Tomato 57

Every kitchen table tells a story, and at the center of the American one — from backyard barbecues in Bolinas to diners from coast to coast — sits the Heinz bottle. Kathryn Cirincione grew up absorbing worlds: the painted churches of Southern Italy in her family's blood, the vivid street life of Medellín, the cultural crosscurrents of California. When she turns her eye to the condiment shelf, she brings all of that with her. This print asks: what does the ordinary hold? Working in her studio on the Marin coast, Cirincione pulls images from the culture the way a beachcomber pulls objects from the tide — noticing what everyone else has stopped seeing. The Heinz bottle, 57 varieties stamped at its neck, is at once utterly familiar and, under her gaze, suddenly strange and luminous. Set against a ground of deep, almost liturgical green, it floats like an icon — the kind of everyday object elevated to altar status, a nod to her ancestors' sacred murals reinterpreted through a contemporary, knowing wit. This is a print about recognition and re-seeing — about the moment an object you have reached for a thousand times suddenly stares back at you. Cirincione leaves room, as she always does, for the viewer's own reading. Is it a celebration, a critique, a love letter to the mundane? The bottle holds its secret, and the edition holds only ten.