SOCIETALVENGEANCE

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“Volunteer grandmother works with retarded foster-child at the Ladd School, Exeter, Rhode Island.” - Spencer Grant 1971

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The Anti-Architect, Diana Al-Hadid Interview

By Brent Randall

Diana Al-Hadid was born in Syria, raised in Ohio and is now based in New York.  Al-Hadid’s multifaceted installations explore architecture, astrophysics, topology and the constructs which keep us all bound together. 

Suggestive, cheeky and historically rich narratives draw us into her detailed voids, immersing and subverting them in her own unique world of intricate fantasy and abysm.

Brent: You’re often described as an “Architectural Artist”, though early on your works were more about avoiding the containment of spaces. You preferred to build boundaries and define perimeters rather than the creation of its centre or axis.

I see you more as the ‘anti-architect’. 

You’re resisting convention, opposing established control and rebelliously fucking with our established concept of containment. You’re challenging what we’ve come to expect from architecture. Spaces, voids and constructs designed to be protective, comforting, contained and safe. Pushing you to respond in contrast with an almost anarchistic exploration of spaces and boundaries. It’s an altered state that you’re creating, a rebellious disruption to comfort.

Diana Al-Hadid: I feel very different from architects but perhaps for contrary reasons than you mention. I am married to an architect, and we both share a love of problem-solving, but an architect is much more cooperative. If I’m an anti-architect, as you say, it’s because I don’t play well with others!

Brent: One of your earliest pieces, ‘Paper plate cave’ inspired by a cave in Tripoli, it was the first time you’d noticed a ‘room’ naturally evolve, not something manmade. You’ve said it was an important discovery for your evolution as an artist. Why was that discovery is so edifying?

Diana: I think the thing that struck me the most about the cave was the enormity of an enclosed space that was not made by man. Being from the Midwest, large enclosed spaces are not special, but obviously this cave was a very different kind of enclosure. Its beauty was shocking, but it also felt old in a way I never experienced before. That was the surprise I was fully not prepared for. On the other hand, I noticed the construction of the tour—the pathway and the artificial lights—a very much a ‘built’ experience, controlling our movement through the cave.

Brent: Your works always have what you’ve described as “a nugget of an experiment in it from the previous piece, the catalyst for the next one”. What was the nugget you pulled for ‘Zipper Mountain’?

Diana: I suppose the notion of a landscape acting like a body was something that I took from the previous piece. The first one I made when I moved to NYC.

Brent: It crossed into a sensual, borderline sexual landscape which you hadn’t really talked about before.

Diana: Yes, it’s a little bit of a sexy piece. It was also a little playful problem about scale and inappropriate anthropomorphization. It’s strange to think of the seduction of a mountain in another way.

Brent: You’ve said, “I’m going to outline the whole world. I’m going to outline Pangea.” I love that you aren’t scared to outline the organisation of our planet in its entirety through your work. Where does one actually start the mapping our existence? It’s seems an inordinate task.

Diana: Yes, I suppose I aspire to inordinate tasks. To look up to them like an older sibling. It’s healthy to approach inordinate tasks with a bribe or a soft-serve ice cream cone. Another direction would be to make the inordinate task small, try to digest it in more manageable bits. The “whole world” is more manageable when you realise there are 400 billion stars in our galaxy alone and 400 billion neurones in the brain.

Brent: It’s a credit to you. You take on such big, critical ideas, never fickle or cheap. Do you ever desire to simplify everything and say stuff like, “Ugh. Here’s a flower. It’s just a flower, shut up” - Or is it all over when that time comes?

Diana: Everything both is and isn’t exactly what it is all the time. I do tell flowers to shut up quite often, though!

Brent: “I’ve consistently been working on my art career since I was eleven.” Tell me about the eleven year-old Diana.

Diana: The eleven-year-old Diana was in 7th grade, moving from the suburbs of Cleveland to the even more suburb-y suburb of North Canton, Ohio. My social bubbles burst and got disorganised, and I felt totally alienated, but knew that I loved to draw. It was both a private and public thing. Private while I made it, public when the popular kid sitting in front of me in English Literature would sometimes wake-up to tell me that my drawing was the bomb.

Brent: How did you know so early on that this art was for you?  

Diana: Lots of kids want to be artists when they grow up. At some point someone will likely talk some sense into them, and they abandon that path…for better or for worse. Anyway, it’s a popular myth (or at least a rumour) that people have to do one thing for all their lives.

Brent: Your desire to disrupt classical order through the undoing of math- ematic organisation, is quite rebellious. Is this the attraction and repulsion you’ve talked about within your work?

Diana: It’s the oldest kind of rebellion in art, so I don’t think it’s really rebellious anymore, but I do find the conflict of attraction and repulsion endlessly interesting. It’s fascinating how thin the line is between the two, and how quickly tastes can change. Most things are both attractive and repulsive at the same time. Your opinion on the matter just depends on where you are standing at the time.

Brent: With your works being so large scaled and automatically immersive, how important is this pushing and pulling of your viewer?

Diana: To be honest, I pay most attention to how it pushes and pulls me as I work on it. Usually when a work is finished, I don’t think much more about it, unless someone or something brings it up.

Brent: Your interest in topology and mapping seems like you’re trying to make things tangible that shouldn’t be. Tell me about your interest in the hidden math within religion which you’ve said “Helps contain god”.

Diana: I think I just meant to say that rules and boundaries help us to cognitively cope with the notion of the intangible, or “god”, or whatever else is impossible to conceive. Numbers and words are tools in that sense. 

It’s a paradox, we can never really understand what infinity is. It’s not possible to really ‘see’ infinity, so we have to draw constraints around it, or just make a shorthand symbol.

We can’t visualise a million, let alone a billion, let alone infinity. But to help put things in perspective we can think of these numbers in terms of time: a million in seconds equals about 12 days, but a billion is 31 years.

Sometimes it’s much easier to understand simple math in terms of shapes and space, but then, bigger, more complicated math is only understood in terms of digits on a page. When Benoit Mandelbrot came up with fractal geometry it was after asking how long the coastline of Britain was. The answer was impossible because one needs a fixed point of reference from the coastline, otherwise it would expand and contract infinity. That length is impossible to visualise, but if we drew it as general shape, it would be identifiable as the coastline of Britain.

Brent: On religion and ritual, you see it as “an effort for subjectivity to be contained and organised.” What specifically is it about these constructs us humans have built around religion which interests you?

Diana: It’s interesting that our mind relies on the organising, sequencing, categorising, compartmentalising left side of the brain to understand the instantaneous, free-wheeling, associative right side of the brain. It’s interesting to notice how often these religious rituals so closely mirror others from across the world, but we don’t identify them as our own.

Brent: You’ve said that it “gets absurd” when you try to articulate things that shouldn’t be tangible. The belief that these things exist without any proof, only living and existing in the land of hypothesis. How do you avoid getting completely buried and lost in the weight of these subjects and when do you know it’s time to stop?

Diana: It’s never time to stop! I honestly don’t really think about these things as heavy pressures. I focus on the practical details of a project, like, how will I get that thing not to fall, or what else can I do with this new material, or how can I finally use this piece of junk I have saved for six years now?

Brent: Your ‘Tower of infinite problems’ deals directly with the birth and death of art and cultures, and the dispersion of religion after the destruction. How did that come about?

Diana: That piece got its start from my love of the obsessive Bruegel Tower of Babel paintings, so he’s responsible for the big interpretations, I’d say. I just liked his painting.

Brent: Why are you so interested in religion?

Diana: I’m as interested in religion as probably anything else I’m interested in, and also just about as interested as most of the world.  I’m sure it’s because I was raised in a non-majority religion. I had more questions to ask about my and others’ religions than your average person. I can say I’m ‘interested’ in it as a historical subject and a sociological study, but that’s probably a way for me to psychologically cope with my strong dislike of religion in general—sort of a way to politely repackage my feelings into an objective scientific study. Perhaps it’s another attraction and repulsion thing.

Brent: Around the time of the ‘Tower of infinite problems’, you were starting to tire of architecture. You’ve said in past interviews that you “felt stuck as an Arab artist” who was essentially “creating fallen structures and buildings in New York” post-911. True?

Diana: I couldn’t ignore the way I was being “soundbited” for press. But then maybe that’s part of the process of being an artist?

Brent: Telling the press that you were “stuck as an Arab artist” is not only provocative, but divisive. Some would argue that ’art isn’t art until the work is seen by others’.  One of my university lecturers told me that art no longer belongs to me when others own it. ’Releasing your art to the public, hands the ownership to them. Their digestion, mastication and absorption has little to do with the artist and is really none of your business once you’ve finished.’

Diana: It felt like I was being publicly psychoanalysed. It made me realise I needed some distance from it to understand what that meant, and how much responsibility I should take for it.

Brent: Was that a direct response to the mood surrounding middle-eastern tensions, religious stigma and America’s fear around that time?

Diana: Yes, probably. It’s just strange to see yourself as a statistic, when you forgot that in fact, you are just a statistic. 

It’s true that I am in fact, statistically speaking, an Arab woman living in New York who made work about fallen towers, but I am also a woman from the suburbs of Ohio who is deeply interested in Flemish Painting and illustrations of built structures and myths. You see how all these things are true, but they feel a little different depending on the order you put them in and what you leave out.

Brent: You started to look internally. To our bodies as vessels, as containers, as constructs for these ideas to reside in— as opposed to man-made structures. Tell me about some of the earliest rumblings of inspiration and what were some of the bigger personal issues you were dealing with around this time which brought these to the surface?

Diana: I’ve been thinking of my work as containers for a long time. But perhaps my first figural work, was “Actor.” I approached this sculpture a bit architecturally and a bit like a drawing, extruding a form from a printed image. I used small rods to weld the figure, interpreting the curves of the fabric as facets, drawing them up like small marks.

Brent: You were shifting the idea of containment and vessels with ‘Pedestal’. Contextualising and destabilising the figure. Introversion for me, generally happens when the outside world becomes quite shit and unbearable. Do you find that you’re more productive in the darker periods of your life or is it the opposite?

Diana: I suppose that depends on the shade of black. Being productive means not totally being overrun by the darker periods.

Brent: This led to the first piece where you used your own body. You wanted to make a building made of your body instead of for your body. I imagine placing yourself into one of your works, was quite challenging coming from a place where your identity had only ever emerged through less blatant, broader terms. Was it a difficult transition?

Diana: I didn’t really think of my own body as a marker of identity, it was just a tool that was a means to an end. It was the first time I had made a work like this, so it was a little intimidating, but mostly it was exciting. I knew it was a necessary thing to do, which made it less difficult.

Brent: You said that you don’t really live in your work, it’s not really you. You’re very practical and not into so much ornamentation, though your work couldn’t be more ornate and detailed. Tell me about that disconnect?

Diana: I meant that my work is more irrational and perhaps more chaotic than my personal life is day to day. I prefer not to waste space, materials, meaning in either my work or in my life.

Brent: “I’m not trying to please people by making beautiful objects…I don’t need the public to relate to it, I don’t need to explain to anybody.” …You might have to explain that one for me, please?

Diana: Of course I want and need there to be an audience, or else there would be no work. I was referring to the process of making something, while it is being made. When the work is being made in the studio, which is the part of its life that most concerns me, it’s important that I feel free to experiment and to pursue my curiosities without fear of what the public may or may not interpret them to be.

Brent: What do you need the public to do with your art? What is our role on entering your installations?

Diana: When the work leaves my studio, I don’t really need much more from it personally. But perhaps it can be of use to someone else. I would really only hope that someone looks carefully at the work, and perhaps that they slow down and spend time with it and move their bodies around the entire thing if possible. Like anything, art requires attention and some understanding of history and context. Like anything, a person has to become interested and motivated to look at art. 

Brent: You once asked fellow artist Paul Chan what his most important failure was. I’d like to know what yours is, or what you fear it may end up being?

Diana: I worked for a year on a project in grad school that taught me about the difference between broad and narrow focused problem solving. I was looking so closely at the problem, and being so over-focused that I couldn’t see how to approach the work from any other perspective. I became so attached to the tedious monotonous efforts I had invested, I wasn’t willing to destroy to re-create. I learned from that project how to undermine myself for the sake of the work, how to gut it from its core and turn it on its head. I also learned how to let it go when it wasn’t becoming more than the sum of its parts. It was a very important failure at a very formative time.

Brent: During your training at VCU, you learnt ‘how to interrogate yourself’. Is technical training necessary for an artist?

Diana: Technical training is not important to all artists, but for some it can be a great way to creatively misinterpret a problem.

Brent: You were trained by modernists, which are very stripped back, paired-down and singular – though your work is almost the opposite negative inversion of those ideals. You’ve said yourself, “I have the modernist in me, I just sort of resent it.” Elaborate please?

Diana: I am balanced between two worlds in this sense. I am interested in the relationship between skin and struc- ture, and often try to join the two as much as possible, to use only with what is essential. But then I have a more disorderly, chaotic side, which compels me with equal strength. It’s easier to resent the part of you that is essentializing and orderly, because the left side of the brain can tend to feel louder than the right side of the brain, which we are less likely to value.

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Micah Lidberg Interview

American-based artist Micah Lidberg creates complex illustrations laced with movement, humour and fanciful characters. 

With a love for nature, colour and the absurd, Micah illustrates hyper-detailed intersections of the world around us, coloured with his unique and often twisted imagination. 

His work garnered the attention of Lacoste, which led to his collaboration on their 2012 summer line, consisting of polo shirts and sneakers. 

His illustrations and commercial works have been featured on everything from the pages of the New York Times and Nylon Magazine to album artwork, posters, book covers and typography. 

Micah’s frenzied, wild characters form twisted tableaus with hidden narratives as they play within the surreal world which the artist has created, coming to life as you dive into his land of complex psychedelia, colour and fun.

Brent Randall: The amount of detail in your work is infinite, every time I see a piece of yours, it’s almost like a Where’s Waldo or Animalia search for hidden gems. Is your process organic in its development or do you set out and plan those hidden, humorous elements early on?

Micah: Well, it’s a little bit of both. Before I set out to start working on a piece, I imagine what the general layout is going to be. In that way, I do plan an environment for hidden gems to live in. However, all the little moments and stories don’t become a reality until I get down to the actual, final drawing. They take form when I begin to address each little square inch of the piece.

Brent Randall: What are some of the challenges you face when working on collaborative projects?

Micah: When two unique parties come together, it can be hard to align their separate visions into a cohesive idea. Communication, both in style and frequency, can either help or hinder the project’s progress. The major challenge is usually time. Everyone involved has competing schedules and I considered it a small miracle when anything is completed.

Brent Randall: Tell me about your process. Do you start with physical pencil sketches or is all of your work digital from the very start?

Micah: My work has two phases, a physical phase and a digital phase. Almost everything I make is completely drawn by hand on paper. All the originals drawings are produced in black and white and then get scanned so they can be arranged, cleaned up, and coloured.

Brent Randall: Do you have any particular typography dislikes or quirks.

Micah: I have a funny and special place in my heart for monospaced fonts. I really like boring, logical, rational systems. If it’s not that, I really enjoy their counter part, like big emotional and illustrative typefaces. Everything in between those two categories often loses my interest, unless the balance is perfectly mixed.

Brent Randall: If you could have one of your pieces printed or displayed on any medium, of your choice, no matter how big or small—What and where would it be?

Micah: It might be rear-projected on to a giant piece of glass. I’m not sure. I see most of my pieces through my imagination. The closest simulation of that would be through the projection of pure light. I would say a hologram as well, however, my work lives in a strange world between 2D space and some implied 3D space. I don’t know if it’d look quite right if it were translated into a literal 3D world.

Brent Randall: Your works are loaded with colour, movement and humour, often set in an acidic kind of wilderness. 

So, Micah…did you take heaps of LSD in the woods when you were younger?

Micah: [Laughs] I’ve been asked many times if I do drugs. And it’s usually by people who’ve had experience with hallucinogens. The boring but honest answer is no. It might be a bad idea for me…

All of my work comes from my sober imagination. I’m not sure what an influenced imagination would be like for me. It might be a little too much.

I think my interest in the kind of work I do comes mostly from my childhood, or at least; the spirit of my childhood. 

I loved going out and playing in the woods and being mesmerised by all the things going on around me. Have you ever turned over a log in the the woods, Brent?

Brent Randall: Yeah of course. I was born and raised in Australia, half of my childhood was spent either running through the bush looking for snakes, catching frogs and poking bugs…Or being bitten, stung or chased by the creatures that I shouldn’t have poked, caught or looked at.

Micah: The moment we do, an entire micro-universe of bugs, creatures and life goes scattering everywhere. It’s kind of like biological fireworks. That’s the feeling I’m after in my work.

Interview by Brent Randall | Sketches by Micah Lidberg Micah Lidberg Website

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Peter Downsbrough LINK

LINK is the 100th book by American conceptual artist, Peter Downsbrough. LINK is priceless and it cannot be bought. The only way you can secure a copy of this limited edition, eight-paged, saddle-stitched book, is through a trade or swap. Downsbrough has created a minimalist, delicate volume in a limited edition of 300, which connects the reader to the author as it aims to establish a book within the flooded shelves that evades the usual rules of the market and creates a direct LINK between the author and the reader. 

I wanted one. I wanted a priceless connection, goddammit. So, after trawling my collection of hoarded books, I came across a bunch of old shit from high school.

I sent Peter Downsbrough, minimalist master, a broken-down, offensively vandalised book of Salvador Dali.

The book was from my grade nine high school art class, mostly likely stolen, or borrowed, then vandalised and too scared to return to it to the library. Every single page had some kind of fuck-off message about how much I loathed Dali. 

I don't remember doing it but there's clearly some urgency in the text, or maybe just angsty, misplaced hormonal rage. Or maybe scrawled in an automatic writing exercise that our teacher had learnt at her annual art and "let's smoke weed till shit looks good" festival. 

We were forced to study him but I thought he was a cunt...I was an angry and acne prone teenager, though. So shut up.

To my surprise, a neatly wrapped, minimalist package arrived in my mailbox containing my connection to one of my favourite artists...of this month anyway.

me: What was the catalyst for this project?

Markus Hartmann: The artists’ book LINK that we are “trading” is the 100th book by the American conceptual artist Peter Downsbrough (°1940, New Jersey, lives in Brussels) and was created on the occasion of his itinerary exhibition The Book(s) 1968-2013, an overview at the new centre for contemporary arts Fabra I Coats in Barcelona (22.02-19.05.2013) of all his publications made since 1968. LINK is the result of a collaboration between the artist and the curator of the exhibition, Moritz Küng, in which Hatje Cantz became involved as co-publisher. Most particular is that this book, counting only several pages and having a print run of only 300 copies – can’t be bought. An additional loose coversheet, specially designed by Downsbrough – states: “This book is not for sale and can only be acquired by trading it for another book”.

me: How hands on was Peter Downsbrough in the creation of each book?

Markus Hartmann: Downsbrough designed all his books by himself, except some exhibition catalogues which were realised in close collaboration with graphic designers. Since the artist considers his books as objects, or if you like as sculptures, he developed the content, structure and visual aspect of the books all by himself. And that happened with LINK as well, except that it was the curator who came up with the “trade” idea.

me: What are the criteria for people to receive a book?

Markus Hartmann: The print run of 300 copies has been split in equal parts between Peter Downsbrough, Moritz Küng and Hatje Cantz. All one has to do is send or give a book of their choice to either the artist, the curator or the publishing house in exchange for a copy of LINK, as long as supply lasts. One little remark for potential collectors: It helps to include one’s postal address when sending us books. Some people have sent us books without any indication where to send their LINK copy.

me: Why is the book essentially free?

Markus Hartmann: I guess that’s the result of the discussion between the artist and the curator. As a matter of fact Peter Downsbrough dislikes the term “Artists’ Book” and the fetishism going along with it. He considers his own publications “just books” and in that sense, accessible to everybody. Maybe LINK marks the beginning of a new economy where money is becoming obsolete because it is just a worthless concept in itself, isn’t it?

me: What will the artist be doing with all the submissions?

Markus Hartmann: I guess that none of us really knows. The trade of 300 copies will result in a library of 300 diverse books and maybe that library will become part of an exhibition. However, all traders and their titles will be listed and representing a “linked community”.

me: What kind of content can the contributor expect to read, or is it a blank notebook or something completely abstract?

Markus Hartmann: From a normal book trade point of view LINK is certainly an unconventional book by the sheer fact of its eight page volume. Related to Peter Downsbrough’s oeuvre of books, the simplicity and the visual concept of LINK is comparable with his series A PLACE from 1977 which counts up to date six volumes referring to different cities (Düsseldorf, 1977; New York, 1977; Vienna, 2011; Paris, 2012 and Barcelona, 2013). LINK contains four elements: one image – a photograph taken in Brussels, a Two Linedrawing – Downsbrough’s signature work, the two words “the” and “then” – which are part of the artist’s vocabulary based on adjectives, adverbs, verbs and prepositions, and three blank pages – which represents according to the artist “the space in between”. Indeed, one could call it “abstract”, although everything in this book is what it is: an image, a line, a word, a void.

me: What are some of the books you’ve received so far?

Markus Hartmann: All kinds. People traded other artists’ books including Richard Long, Lawrence Weiner, catalogues of Antoni Gaudi, Raoul Hausmann, literature (George Steiner), travel guides, maps and even cookbooks. Some people include elaborate explanations as to why they sent this or that book. Some people sent their exchange copy without any comment. And some people forgot to give us their address!

me: Are there any restrictions to what people can send in, regarding content?

Markus Hartmann: No. No restrictions at all. It should be, to use the words of Peter Downsbrough – “just a book”.

"No Restrictions" :)

[societalvengeance]

Peter De Potter Interview

Peter De Potter is an artist and photographer hailing from Belgium. He studied at the bougie Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Antwerp, he’s Tumblr famous and is not a fan of labels. Most of us became aware of his work through a collaboration with designer Raf Simons. His gritty black and white images of predominantly young men in suggestive scenarios were manipulated through collage with engaging and thought provoking texts. Images of Scally-boys in compromising positions and half-naked men lasciviously hanging off beds, lead the viewer to see a heavy dose of ‘man’ in his work. It’s easy to file Peter De Potter away as a ‘queer-artist’, but that’s the last place he wants to be.

me: We were talking about masculinity earlier, you mentioned you prefer to use the subject as a “tool” for your work?

Peter De Potter: If a painter paints flowers, does that make him a florist? Apparently people seem quite intrigued as to why my work features predominantly male figures. I’m more intrigued why people even notice that in the first place. As if it is something noticeable. The male figure, together with the female figure and the landscape, has been part and parcel of art history for centuries. It’s completely natural – every day you see at least a hundred male figures anyway, on the street, on the train, on your computer screen. More than anything else, my work is about the image. The image as an event, much more than the image as a summary of content. What it is exactly what you see on a picture I’m less interested in. I care more about what you feel and experience when you see an image. My work is not about masculinity. It’s not the subject. I mean I would tell you if it was, but it isn’t. All the images, all the people in my work, all the pieces and samples are tools to construct a new visual story. Or a specific feeling. Or a state of mind. Or a moral statement. Masculinity, at least the visual side of it, is a very interesting tool to convey new emotion or meaning. Because as a subject it seems to be taken for granted, like it’s this monolithic, one-dimensional thing. In a way it’s almost a blank canvas. It’s generally more accepted that femininity, even outside the arts, is more layered and intricate. I want to show that the depiction of a male figure can equally be used to symbolise endless complexity.

me:  You said, “There seems to be some confusion already about the exact nature of my work.” Let’s clear things up then. What is the exact nature of your work?

Peter De Potter: I was referring to the more practical side of things. People have seen my work online, in magazines, as part of projects, in the past on clothes even. But especially with the online versions, it’s confusing to people whether these works actually exist in real life, how big they are, that kind of things. In fact, I like the idea that the status of my works is often ‘in-between’. I have images I make to put on people’s walls and I have images I make solely to store on people’s hard-drive.  Obviously there’s some sort of overlap, but the online works are not some sort of introduction or side-project. They are equally important. I plan to keep on doing them regardless of anything. In general I find that artists are somehow too absent from the digital world. Not many are really engaged in the internet. Which is really strange. I’m not talking about networking or marketing the art. No, I mean the actual presence on the internet. It’s like they’re all hiding. All over the world people are talking about music and movies and politics and fashion and war and yes, art as well. But the creators of said art are pretty silent themselves.

me: You started collaborating with Raf in 2001. What effect has the relationship had on your art?

Peter De Potter: We were friends long before that. He knew that I was doing things with images and text in my own time so he invited me to collaborate on visuals for one particular collection of his. We both liked the outcome of it and it just developed into being involved over and over again. It happened very organically. Very good times indeed. I’m very proud of everything I ever done with Raf. And what I am doing now doesn’t differ a great deal from what I was doing back then. How could it, I’m exactly the same person. I have always been doing my pictures and my collages and my texts – it’s just that a designer decided to put some of them on clothes and on show invitations and on brand imagery. An image can come to you from the front of a t-shirt or from within a frame on a gallery wall. There’s little difference. In both cases an image is used to communicate. In both cases a work is kissed to life. It’s being released.

me: You’re not a fan of the term ‘source material’. Does it detract from the personalisation of your work, to have it seen as almost second hand?

Peter De Potter: I like when a new life is breathed into existing images.

me: I’ve read some negative comments regarding collage and appropriation work in general. That it often borders on plagiarism and not so much reinterpretation. How do you respond that, though?

Peter De Potter: Appropriation is just an art technique. Just like some artists will push a brush against a canvas in order to place some paint, other artists will re-appropriate images. Like anything, it used to be an art statement that has turned into an everyday technique. I make images with images, nothing more to it but certainly nothing less either.  Self-made images, and also treated images, fragments of images, reworked images, sampled images. To the point where a lot of people can’t tell one from the other, which was never the plan, but pleases me nonetheless. There’s this whispered assumption of laziness however to the way collage and anything even remotely resembling appropriation is looked upon. To me, that whole discussion is completely outdated.  In fact, the more the technical or crafty side of an artwork is discussed or pondered upon, the more it loses its value as a good piece of art. Technique is the responsibility of the artist, not the viewer’s. I think it’s the artist’s job not to bother the viewer with all of that.  There’s this famous photograph of Marilyn Monroe standing on a subway grate. You might remember when it was taken. Or you might think of the photographer’s name. But does anyone care what type of camera that picture was made with? Exactly.

me: You mentioned internet images bring an informal, less reverential approach to your work. Aside from your self portrait pieces, have you ever been tempted to play with the opposite side of that spectrum and fully blow-out budgets with hyper-stylised shoots and use top models?

Peter De Potter: The catch is: there really are no fully blow-out budgets at De Potter HQ, quite, quite the contrary. Given the opportunity – or said budget – I think I would consider doing it, yes. Internet images, smartphone pictures, webcam portraits, social media imagery in general, they all differ from professional shoots in the sense that they have only one purpose: to capture a moment, or a face, or an event. It’s very traditional photography, totally basic, totally comprehensible. Most professional shoots by very nature have a message to convey, be it of beauty or impact or whatever. They want to be the opposite of hands-on photography by focusing on composition and lighting and what have you. So from whichever angle you look at it, they are constructed images. The social media images are definitely posed, but that’s not the same as constructed. The professional image presents itself as a product, while the social media one presents itself as just an image. It’s a different approach, nothing to do with one being better than the other.

That is not to say that social media images are made without any knowledge of beauty. Quite the contrary. ‘Real’ photographers tend to look down on the digital camera revolution, implying that everyone else but them are complete simpletons with an Instagram account. I don’t agree with that. I am genuinely excited by the fact that each day a few million pictures are being added to the global canon of imagery. All because of technology. And people’s apparent instinct to document life. And themselves. No matter the content. Of course the majority of those kind of pictures is pointless and uninteresting and forgettable.  It’s not people’s job to produce a ‘good’ or an artistically ‘valuable’ image. Or decide whether it’s useful or not. That’s where artists come in. Let them sift through the rubble.

me: Your work presents images in a new light, venerating found images with esteem. Is it sort of like iconography of the mundane?

Peter De Potter: As an expression, ‘iconography of the mundane’ has this whiff of faux-liberal superiority to it, and I’m very much against that.  This subtext of ‘oh look at that chubby girl down at the chip shop, so quaintly vulgar and therefore fabulous’. Also, when it comes down to it, is there anything else but the mundane? Even the purest fantasy takes its origin in the mundane. In my work I don’t have a judgmental eye. And I would be upset if my work would come across as judgmental. I’m not celebrating or criticising anything, least of all my visual material, whether it’s a person or a scene. There are no ‘high’ images and there are no ‘low’ images. Whatever you think you see, it’s only played out in your mind. In that sense, images are blameless.

me: We were talking earlier about vanity and male ‘peacocking’. How social networking and dating sites have essentially changed the way we present ourselves to the world; blurring honesty with vanity, projections and perceptions. Why do you think this incarnation of male-bimbos has emerged?

Peter De Potter: Maybe the new thing is not the peacocking itself but the ease and eagerness to make it more public than ever before. Or that it’s made public to start with. It’s not so much the fact that men have become aware of their physical and aesthetic features that’s the revolution. It’s the fact that they are willing to display them so openly and brazenly to be judged and evaluated and commented upon I find very novel. In general, men have become very cocky about their own beauty yet at the same time they put themselves in a vulnerable, passive position because to let them know otherwise is only a click away. They really put themselves in front of the jury. Beauty for a long time seemed to be a woman’s business, you know, the feat to put to her own advantage. And now men seem to be stealing that particular thunder in quite an ostentatious way. Yet while every woman that ever lived was instructed to feel modest, apologetic even about her natural beauty – if she didn’t she was labelled ‘vain’ and ‘superficial’ – men nowadays are much more sympathetic to the cause, turning it into a very public competition. It would be really interesting to hear more female voices on the subject. Or to see a female counter-reaction.

me: What does your online presence say about you?

Peter De Potter: The thing is that all of us are now getting versed in the act of self-portraiture. We just had to. In the internet age it just comes with the territory.  We all used to be a bit hesitant and we weren’t really up for it, but we’re all way past that point now. But we shouldn’t forget it’s actually a very new phenomena. You didn’t have it 20 years ago, let alone 100 years ago. Apart from artists, no-one did it. The actual realisation that all of us are now being watched and looked at and visible to each other is still such a silent shock to people’s mind that I think we’re not even close to grasping it, let alone coming to terms with it. Online self-portraiture is rapidly becoming a discipline of its own and I think that’s quite fascinating. It’s like vanity born out of necessity. Some pictures I’ve done have been a kind of send-up of this idea, others are just another batch of visuals to use in my work. It’s no longer me that’s in the image. It’s an image, from start to finish. I like the fact that an artist can now represent himself with a set of images instead of his or her physical self. Like a free-for-all Cindy Sherman.

me: You divide your works into separate series, each with its own dedicated Tumblr page. Take us through each of those projects.

Peter De Potter: Angelic Starts: Basically a list of values. Values are somehow not very hip but they should be. It’s not a didactic list of values. It’s more this hazy, slurred list of values. They’re all presented, or better: carried by bodies. Sleeping bodies, drunk bodies, ecstatic bodies, unwinding bodies. The series is also about contours. And about the statuesque effect of a body in an image. I keep getting comments and questions about this series. It seems to strike a chord.

Routine Routine: This is more some sort of diary. About making images as a routine. Like working out. One after the other. It’s going in all kind of directions. And as such there’s this surreal, dreamlike mood in a lot of these works. Shaken images, blurred colours, juxtaposed quotes. It’s a very psychological page, without the logic. Very ebb and flood.

I Am An Image Machine: This series was directly influenced by the internet. It’s about the way the modern generation deals with images. Authorship, history, context, all of these aspects of an image seem to have become redundant, unimportant. The only thing people respond to is the emotional resonance of an image. Any image. I find that very modern, very effective. It’s about the way people now communicate with each other through images instead of words. People show a picture of a dying flower or a clear-blue sky and everybody instantly gets the message. It has become so commonplace but in itself it’s quite remarkable.  So the series is about bringing together images solely chosen for their emotional resonance. And in doing so creating new emotion.

[societalvengeance]

Boudicca - Zowie Broach Interview

With a strong conceptual and intellectual methodology, fashion house Boudicca dances around the fine lines between art and fashion. Designers Zowie Broach and Brian Kirby aim to proffer a world of imagination and enchantment by creating a dialog between designer and wearer. Drawing on a broad spectrum of artistic disciplines, Boudicca is fashion, performance, art and architecture — all at once. It’s in this unique, holistic approach to design which allows the artisans to create pieces that respond to our environment; socially, politically and culturally. 

This is one half of Boudicca, Queen of hearts, Zowie Broach.

me: You and Brian Kirby met during a trip to Italy. Brian said that when you met, “The foundations, the manifesto were set…” It sounded like all kinds of love at first sight! Was it that romantic? A meeting of hearts and creative souls from the get-go?

Zowie Broach: Yes and yet we did argue a lot. Well first we talked a lot, that went from agreements to opposing thoughts, to disgruntled frustrations of not wanting to be with each other, to wandering along the windy, empty beach front, where Fellini filmed some of ‘La Strada’ and so the muscle man and the clown met.

me: So you must believe in serendipity then? Sounds like you both needed each other at that exact moment in time, that’s so bloody beautiful!

Zowie Broach: It is wonderful to have someone else’s perspective on your life and that meeting and I guess yes, we did both have a need that somehow through all of its confusions we have managed to continue to agree and disagree now for many years. And a spark occasionally occurs, attempting to create something, to continue the belief that we can understand more of what lies ‘in between’ and express those thoughts somehow.

me: I’m always interested in that moment when a person realises that their dreams or goals are coming into fruition. Was there a definitive moment when you noted that happening? Maybe post-British Fashion Council show?

Zowie Broach: [Hmm] Maybe it’s hard to have that pinned on just one moment.  It is never this way. It is always a collision of moments and then to get back to your question I am not sure we have realised any dream as of yet. We are still preparing for that one. And then…a soundtrack comes on in the background, the first track to ‘The Romantic Museum’ show and I know that moment, & I remember a feeling. The minutes, seconds even, just before the first girl walks out to present your next scene; this music walks through your very soul.  Every part you have worked so hard to build right for that very trembling second, it all begins to be revealed … and it is not the best collection for me, nor the best show but there are moments like that when I feel that sense of overwhelming release and maybe a small sense of achievement. [the track was by Apocalyptica: Album CULT: track Romance]

me: You’ve been hesitant to subscribe to feedback or celebrate your celebrity clients. Is that just part of your creative process, to keep it more insular and protected from influence and interference?

Zowie Broach: Well we are not driven by the celebrities wearing what we do, although sure, wear away ladies!  And we definitely feel more comfortable away from the madness. Although I have a craving to show again. I do miss that absolute moment of totality where you make and consider not only the dress but how she walks, what she looks like in completion, the sound, the smell, the room, like a piece of theatre, a spectacle, a scene from a film, the next part of the story. All of that anticipation, experience, performance.

me: You have a Boudicca ‘artefact hallway’ in your showroom. It seems like a passage way of inspiration. A physical, immersive mood board. Is that a fair assumption?

Zowie Broach: We take for granted our exposures.  Most of the time we wish we had an empty space but surely only to fill with more ideas and so the cycle continues…

me: What is your favourite piece to walk past?

Zowie Broach: That depends, as the rooms and the walls change constantly. The thought of anything staying in one place for too long feels stagnant.  I think it is crucial to create visual upheaval in your life.

me: What were some of the standout artefacts from your recent works and how did you relate them to the collection?

Zowie Broach: The recent collection is extremely classic, simple, easy, smooth, elegant, confidently nothing, empty, quiet, restrained, refrained from any strong shapes or difficult wearing and so, I think this is a moment when we are in between.  Like breaking down the jigsaw puzzle once more and putting the pieces back into the box… until the same idea comes out but maybe this time you get closer.

me: There is a lighter calm through the pieces from the collection compared to previous works. The fabrics seem weightless and diaphanous. Even the more structured, tailored pieces seem to have had the corners ‘rounded’ slightly. Was that more a commercial decision or has Boudicca’s journey changed direction slightly?

Zowie Broach: I think the road is as they say uncertain. Maybe with uncertainty the positive is that it means you should do less for a while.

me: “It would be a huge cliché for us to do a fragrance as we all know it’s a well-trodden path.” You mentioned that your fragrance Wode, was an exercise in art, not so much in commerce or sales. Can you elaborate on the difference please? And, In your mind, what separates art from branded, sellable products?

Zowie Broach: Wode is a simple moment that to this day can capture someone and expose them to a new emotion unexpectedly. This is fascinating. It was a phenomenal process that took many years to create, working with Geza Schoen of Essential Molecules and other great people who advised and worked with us to really make sure the end result was perfect. Wode is neither art nor a commercially successful product but it is unique and for that we are both incredibly proud.

me: There seems to be reluctance to succumbing to the evils of capitalism while still needing to stay true to your art and fund your creative endeavours. What advice would you give to other artisans who’ve been given grants or who struggle with creative commercialism?

Zowie Broach: I think right now we have many powerful questions to ask of our times, ourselves. Could this include questions about capitalism and its potential strangle hold on all that we imagine? What if we were to imagine without those demands? What if we ask why and not because?  [watch Alphaville directed by Goddard.] Maybe right now we could all use a space where we are allowed to be inactive in many ways. Stay still; get some silence within the noise.  Allow a beauty to imagine itself from our wondrously, complex, headspace. My suggestion therefore, is to compose and control the individual budget to give this freedom and not be answerable to anyone, even if only for a short while every now and then.

me: Generally I don’t like to ask what inspires artists or designers, because to me, everything does. Though your collections seem to have strong themes, are peppered with hidden gems and are always driven with a strong direction. So, where do you start each collection and what has been on your radar recently that may have filtered into your work?

Zowie Broach: There is no beginning or end. There is no linear process at this point.  It no longer works in that way. It is only a ‘trying’ to capture those multiple fragmented patterns together.  We have been amidst a world of BOUDICCA for nearly 15 years and so although we are still a very young company in the bigger picture of our corporate world, we have been trying to create a language for a long time and therefore the process is muddled and over lapping, a mixture of times and dimensions, a fusion of ideas together, running from archive to new thoughts, to adaptations of thoughts on thoughts and a gelling with projects that fill time in and round a collection. Collections, projects, deadlines, outlines are part of all of our lives and really the positive here is, these give us ‘end’ points but this need not be a conclusion, like a list of credits coming up at the end of a movie but should be more a sitting down with Vladimir and Estragon, that of course you never get up from.

me: Take us through your fabric selections for the season.

Zowie Broach: A physical liquid is what I dream of it being, that only the wearer truly, fully understands; and so words would only diminish and a dress however simple, can bring so effortlessly this possibility to the wearer’s reality.

"Maybe right now we could all use a space where we are allowed to be inactive in many ways. Stay still; get some silence within the noise."

me: Regarding your manufacturing process. How hands-on are you throughout the process, from initial designs through to production?

Zowie Broach: Extremely. The construct, the make, is often a key part of the idea, the drawing of the idea.  How you paint with a fabric, build, hold together, finish the edge. How the line cuts across your neck and how thick is the outline, how wide is the edge, the frame and how do you open the garment? How do wear the garment? What does that feel like against your skin; it is all the many roles and parts of the idea. So it is all a process that is not modular, or linear in fact but all intertwined.

me: Each of your pieces are generally personalised and named. Could you introduce some of your favourites to our readers and give us a little background on each piece and their respective personalities please?

Zowie Broach: I have to have honesty right now. Yes when we began we named everything by a name that came forth from the research or from the immediate world we were in at that given specific point. The Jean Peters trouser was the name of Howard Hughes first wife, Oscillate Wildly a skirt’s hem named after a Morrissey track, the Black Lowry skirt  that ends ‘The Invisible City ‘ show AW06 was named from the erotic silhouetted imagery that was found after Lowry’s death...but these days we maybe get one or two named in a collection and the rest have begun to be more functional. The naming gets pushed down the list under essential and immediate. I think as we move forward though, we will begin to engage into this once more as we want to give more time to each collection, maybe make it really small maybe a single, lone dress even…

me: You’ve recently started a fellowship residency with Stanley Picker Gallery. How did that relationship come about and what are you hoping to gain from the experience?

Zowie Broach: Yes, right now, we are Fellows at The Stanley Picker Gallery in Kingston, London.  We are actually about to have a week where we will multi-project over a room – an emersion into signs, and codes of our thoughts, less about concluded work and more a sketch of something.  This is a great opportunity to be experimental and ‘play’ with some amazing facilities and so yes, this feels right and makes sense to both of us. A project where you can experiment with a sense of not knowing what you are doing or going to create is way more powerful and feels appropriate to our times.  I think we are at our best when we question, search and ask openly in our work. Do we make with clay or record with Kinect?  How do we fund a virtual adventure where the identity of the gamer is fully integrated to the rhizomic links of literature and this I know is what excites us and so if we can survive and find those that further support, this is where we will stay for a while.

me: Regarding supporting new talent, you said: “What really angers me is how people who make millions from the industry give fuck-all about bringing people from the bottom to the top. It’s really key to support those who are new.” In that spirit, who has recently caught your eye or heart that we all should know about?

Zowie Broach: Where did you find that quote!? We sound so angry! And so there are many new designers out there that are amazing but to be honest the people we work with are generally those still at college as we both still teach at times or they are ex students.  As we are not owned by anyone we definitely do not have the money to become a patron but we have often thought of opening a school for a period of time. A Black mountain college inspired thought. Society has a responsibility to create developing circles of the new.  We should be less in fear of competition but generate it. Less occupied with making more and yet if you look at Comme des Garçons, they managed to have both.  I think apprenticeships and downward supporting structures are an essential part of the new ways we should be developing. Yes engage a celebrity to design your new high street collection BUT do so with some transparency that shows a team of new young individuals designing for them. We all know it is achieved this way but it is not openly discussed and so the customer, the culture is lead to believe it is all the imagination of the super star. We are in a time of assimilation anyway and the industry is very comfortable with that as it is the best economy for them.  So a beginning out of this cut-copy-paste would be to create value in design that shows a professional and yet supportive way forward.  Then we can start to ask ‘why’ and not ‘because’ again!

me: You said Boudicca hasn’t ‘gotten to where you want to go yet’. Do you have an idea of what that place is, or even looks like? And, if it’s all about the journey, how will you know when you do eventually get there?

Zowie Broach: No end; no getting there.….maybe though a warehouse on the edge of a forest with wifi and a large screen to watch football on, a room full of orchids above a walk in steam room that looks over the water, daylight from above with tall walls, quiet and yet soundtracks delivered electronically each month and an ongoing development program where we design experiences that begin to appear sometimes real, some times artificial, all over the world, experiences that attempt to ask a poetry of us all and demand little.

me: Crossing disciplines of performance, fine art and design, Boudicca actually is art. How did you come to settle under the umbrella of “Designer” as opposed to any other disciplines?

Zowie Broach: This the question on everyone’s lips. What is it? Can you be? Is it ok? Is it acceptable?  What does it mean? What is what is who and what if……? I don’t know. We began at a time when all we were both doing was exploring identity and what could that mean or become. Could this be illusive or poetic? I believe we are still asking the same questions.

me: If you had to choose five of your creations from your entire archive to sit in a room with you for the rest of your life, which would they be and why?

Zowie Broach: They don’t exist as yet and I have a feeling they will be always remain that way. I do love the invitation for a show a long time ago. Battle of Altruism; it was a metal nail, you could potentially wear, with a Shelley quote engraved upon it ; ‘Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number - Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you - Ye are many – they are few.’ It is the same quote we painted on our fluorescent orange banner when we went to Genoa to protest at the G8 summit in 2001.

me: On your philosophy. If form follows emotion, what’s following form?

Zowie Broach: ‘The Rip’ by Portishead just started playing and distracted me away from any pretentious answer. Imagine being able to record that track, be there at some hour to lay down your vocal that will one day perfectly demand a distraction to a place that plays you a hand of cards that makes a complete misbalance from everything that you were concentrating on at that very second.

me: Your mission statement: “A constant evolution between light and dark, hot and cold, hard and soft, right and wrong, day and night, male and female, rich and poor, fast and slow, now and never, forever and ever.” Does Boudicca even really exist!? I try to imagine this dreamy magical place of contradiction where these possibilities could live and thrive, though it doesn’t seem to fit anywhere that I know of in this world. Elysium Fields perhaps?  I think Boudicca has broken my head…and I couldn’t be more grateful!

Zowie Broach:  Well it certainly broke ours. Apologies & yet thank you…. VLADIMIR: Well? Shall we go? ESTRAGON:Yes, let’s go. They do not move.

Curtain.

S.Beckett – Waiting for Godot’

[societalvengeance]

Vincent William Gagliostro Interview

New York based artist and activist, Vincent William Gagliostro, has successfully been shaking things up since the early 1970s. He was part of the first LGBT activist group, ACTUP and is credited as one of the pioneers of the vibrant, downtown New York art scene.

His latest exhibition, TABLETS, is the third and final instalment of his semi-autobiographical trilogy which includes drawings, paintings, sculpture and video installations. Gagliostro has also recently completed the script for his first feature film,  After Louie, where he’ll be making his directorial debut.

me: It was 1976, you were twenty one years old and had just secured your first solo show. Tell me about the scene in D.C back then?

VWG: The scene in D.C. was tightly closeted. I remember walking around Georgetown and thinking ‘where oh where could they all be’. My friend William Wilson was staying at the Hay Adams. We went one night to what seemed like a big empty parking lot and a one story garage. It was a rather big leather bar and what I remember most was that I ordered a Brandy Alexander to my friends’ horror and howl of laughter.

me: It was shortly after when the world became aware of this new, growing health crisis among gay men. Tell me about that moment when you first became aware of the gravity and pervasiveness of AIDS, and the impact it had on your art?

VWG: Late fall of 1984. One particular friend Don was a brilliant singer and composer and our friendship bonded by our love for Laura Nyro became a deep one. We met in 1975  when a few friends and I were living in the same apartment building in Tribeca (NY).  I was babysitting a piano and Don would sit for afternoons while I was at work making music. One day I came home to a note left on the piano and my stack of Laura Nyro albums splayed on the floor. The note read, " I needed a big hit of Laura today, call me when you are home."  

Many of us went our separate ways a number of years later but Don and I remained close friends. I ran into him one night in 1984 at the ballet with his boyfriend, also a friend of mine. There was something about that night that made me think it was the last time I would see him. I was right. That November he died. He kept it from me, his illness and I never knew why. I was told he just didn't want me to know.

me: With the sexual freedom and liberation of the Seventies, there must have been a huge roadblock in the development of sexual identities. Surely it changed the fabric of the community. What were some of the most notable and personal changes you observed during that period?

VWG: For starters, we had sex in the open. I mean really open. The open-air of the westside highway piers and trucks. It seemed like sex was everywhere. I was never one for the pitch dark of it all. My first time at the Mineshaft was a disaster. Don had taken me there. I quickly lost him in the dark of the basement and just clutched tightly to my can of beer and as someone began groping me, I thought how do I know he is my type and quickly moved away. I was too judgmental and needed to know my approacher was beautiful. That was that. No darkness for me.

me: Essentially, we lost a large part of an entire generation because of AIDS and it changed the path of the community, permanently.  It went from Pride to Fear in no time at all, tell me how you processed that.

VWG: We became fearless. We refused to play the victim. We noted that the wolf was at the door and our accusers were everywhere. We became living proof that we could not be erased. Not our dreams, nor our imaginations. We did and will continue to do whatever it takes to survive.

me: What do you make of modern Gay Pride? Does it all feel a little disingenuous and more ‘branded’ compared to the early days?

VWG: It’s no longer a march. It’s a parade. In NY now, one cannot even march as an individual, one must “belong” to a group. Fuck, I thought we were the group.

me: There’s a rise across the world of HIV rates among gay men, it doesn’t appear to be waning. Sexual promiscuity and unprotected hookups are amplified with the addition of drugs like Meth and GHB. There seems to be a growing disregard for our health, in a  selfish pursuit of impersonal fucking. How do you feel about the current fabric of LGBT culture and have we even evolved that much?

VWG: We have become a single non-diverse culture. We marginalise our own. “What do you mean you don’t want to get married?” I’m often asked. My god, my own mother never asked me that question! We bought the farm and it’s full of weeds. Do you realise that almost half of college-aged gay men will be HIV+ by the age of 50? We are being blindsided by the idea that somehow the whole idea of marriage will protect us. It will not.

me: You’ve said: “One more gay marriage portrait of a privileged white male couple in the New York Times, really, that’s the protection we are offering kids?”  Where are you on gay marriage/equality or whatever the politicians are calling it now?

VWG: What are they calling it now anyway? If they want to equate marriage with equality, well god help us all. It’s not our fault though. What else could we do but to buy the store? After all, the one equality we all share is capitalism. And that alone answers the question. I asked in a recent installation, ‘Is there a queer future?’ You answer it.

me: In 1987, you helped establish the AIDS Coalition. It’s been suggested that ACTUP was partly responsible for bridging the gap between the AIDS crisis as a health issue and bringing it into the political arena for social discussion. You’ve said that the group “couldn’t really see past its nose” though, with dissension within the ranks.

VWG: Dissension came much later on, which is probably the time period 93-94ish that that comment of mine refers to. I was one of the masterminds of the Stop the Church action and loved what happened in the church. But I don't want to dwell on that. ACTUP was without question responsible for merging health issues with politics. As far as we were concerned it was as much a political crisis as it was health.

For many years I shared a summerhouse every season with my three best friends. On the way to the supermarket early one evening the boyfriend of my friend Tom, turned to me as I was getting into the car and asked, “Don't you ever stop?” I had no idea what he was talking about. We paused. He pointed to my ACT UP t-shirt. “That.” he said. I swear I didn't get it. I am happy to say some 25 years later, I still don't get it. Every time I had that shirt on I felt like I could blow down the doors of City Hall and The White House. Every Monday night the facilitator would call to order ACTUP. “We are ACTUP, the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power…” And the floor would cheer louder than anything one would ever hear. That is how ACTUP we did it.

me: Was there a certain point in your career where you realised that your work was more than just creative expression, where it crossed over into activism?

VWG: You could say it goes back to when I was thirteen years old and painted posters for a demonstration in front of our family church, Our Lady Queen of Peace in Maywood, New Jersey. It was in protest of the parish and the pastor wanting to transfer a young (and cute) priest, because he wanted to take a group of us to the projects in Newark to paint walls. I never really had a decisive moment when my creative impulses crossed with my activist ones. It’s all about turning darkness into light, isn’t it?

me: In TABLETS, You’ve further removed any tangible, identifiable symbolism and superfluous form in order to bring the core materials into the light. There’s a noticeable impermanence here, almost like they’re set-up to decay. It feels contemplative and kind of sad. There’s a real sense of loss here…or am I just overly sentimental?

VWG: You are spot on. The only part that is not, for me, at any rate is the sentimental. I am not. You are right about the impermanence of the materials. Don’t tell anyone but they are meant to fall apart, eventually. Like us, we are meant to fall apart, eventually.  We all have that in common.

me: The direction for TABLETS comes from a quote by fellow Abstract Minimalist, Frank Stella. ”What you see is what you see.” That quote pretty much exemplifies minimalism. In that spirit, what do you see today?

VWG: It still has resonance but in the context of the need we seem to have to photograph our food and post it all over everything. So in that sense there is an unfortunate irony here.

me: There’s a poignant nostalgia in your work. A celebratory sadness. “What is left behind once the glitter is gone”.  What do you miss most about that time, and what are you celebrating?

VWG: What I miss most about the time is it seemed like we were just doing it because that’s what we did. We didn’t think beyond the work itself. It was also crazy fun. I didn’t have a publicist then. I have one now. I am celebrating all that got me here, right now.

me: I’ve been focusing on male artists and masculinity lately, so tell me what do those things mean to you?

VWG: Telling the truth… Getting it up the bum. Did I just say that? Well you know what I mean!

me: Oh, my god. Brilliant.

[societalvengeance]

Vassilis H Interview

Athens based artist Vassilis H. creates works that consist of paintings and sculpture which reference and celebrate the morphological elements of the architectural movements from the 20th century. With a focused interest in the Bauhaus and Constructivism movements, Vassilis aims to bridge the past with the present by starting a dialog between modernist movements, contemporary culture and our storied history. His work is not about mourning a shattered utopian ideal, the sculptures and paintings reflect a darker, more indulgent vision that awakens an uncomfortable grit within – affirming the absence and celebrating it at the same time.

me: Your work lives somewhere between formalist and modernist art. Where do you think you belong?

Vassilis H: I am a contemporary artist, whose work is influenced by several art movements, mainly Modernism. Form is simply the outcome.

me: You often reference typologies of 20th century architectural movements, with nods to Bauhaus, Constructivism and de Stijl movements. What interests you most about those historical movements?

Vassilis H: Those movements were born during an intense, turbulent period in history. They were radical. Their aim was to bring about change. They brought tangible answers and solutions to problems through architecture, art, design, fashion, literature and cinema. In Greece, on one hand, the presence of Modernism has been minor and mostly superficial and I strongly believe it contributed to what we call contemporary Greek culture and aesthetics. Today, on the other hand, there is an intense need to redefine our culture. An intense need to bring radical change, as Modernism did almost a century ago.

me: In your first solo show Iconomachia, you transformed religious iconography into contemporary works of art. Some of the pieces were described as “deformed”. You were referencing the sectarian war and the imagery that contributed to the divisions between the churches, yet you weren’t comfortable making this statement in your homeland of Greece. Why did you choose New York to show this exhibition instead of the place of its origin?

Vassilis H: At that time it was hard, almost dangerous to show Iconomachia in my country. Today, it seems forbidden. As the economic crisis grows, so does the fundamentalism. Religion is a very sensitive matter here and no one is willing to risk their neck over a young artist. In NY, you could see this work through a distance, without being emotionally involved. You could see it as art, not as blasphemy. It felt right to show this work in NY.

me: Through your work, it seems as though you’re attempting to redefine history, in your unique way. What is it you’re hoping to achieve from producing and showing your art?

Vassilis H: Modernism in our days tends to be more a collection of forms, deprived of its theoretical background. By referring to, not reproducing Modernism through my work, I am hoping to evoke questions to my viewers about contemporary reality, a rough reality that resembles that of the beginning of the 20thcentury

me: It’s been said that you create artwork that bridges the “culturally rich modernist past with the vagueness and ambiguity of today.” Do you feel our current culture is lacking a certain “cultural richness”?

Vassilis H: No, on the contrary. Our culture is rich in terms of both quantity and quality. What our culture is lacking is critical thinking and methodology, in terms of production and consumption.

me: What gets you out of bed in the morning and what drives you to create?

Vassilis H: The past 14 months, my daughter. What drives me to create is my belief that this is what I do best.

me: What are you currently working on?

Vassilis H: After an intense period of two solos in Athens and in Vienna, and a few group shows, I feel the urge to work on my garden.

[societalvengeance]

Brent Wadden Interview

Canadian-born artist, Brent Wadden has been based in Berlin since 2005. His geometric abstractions and hand-woven fabric pieces colourfully blur the lines between traditional folk art and contemporary fine art, through his use and exploration of aboriginal, native or cultural totems. Within these intricate and complex geometric patterns, immediate references to traditional and tribal art challenge you to take a deeper look. The hidden geometry sort of tricks the viewers eye. With intense textures, complex patterning and the dissection of the canvas, Wadden plays with our focus; implanting abstracted portraiture within a framework of rigid geometry. Look a bit deeper into Wadden’s pieces and you’ll start to see the wild characters and totemic faces peeking back at you as they surface from the divisions.

me: You were quite isolated as a child, growing up on an island which according to you “lacked culture”. Small towns usually force-out some pretty interesting subcultures. What kind of kid were you and how did you come to entertain yourself through art?

Brent Wadden: You would usually find me hiding in a corner drawing or playing with legos for hours on end. I was an introverted kid and gravitated towards activities that wouldn’t draw too much attention. Not much has changed. I started playing in bands in my teens and by default ended up designing all our tapes and flyers for shows.

me: Your work covers different mediums including: painting, illustration and weaving. Stylistically, can you take me through the elements which tie all these disciplines together in your work?

Brent Wadden: I try to not make the distinction when switching between different mediums. My paintings inform my weavings and vice versa while both retain their own unique flavor due to the limitations of the medium. My work tends to be laboriously handmade, consisting of repetitive geometric or organic forms.

me: You’ve been weaving now for two years. It’s not an easy or simple technique to master. Where did your interest in weaving start and what kind of technical training have you had?

Brent Wadden: One day a friend suggested we make a simple frame loom out of a cardboard box. The results were rustic but it got the wheels of curiosity spinning. Shortly after I emailed Travis Meinhof of actionweaver.com, he was generous enough to loan me a mini laser cut backstrap loom. Besides the internet and trial and error he’s been my only source of information.

me: There’s a fluid geometry within your work. Grid structures, lines and symmetry are contrasted with looser organic forms. Some people see Navajo rugs, some see graphs and some see vintage semaphore flags. I think I see faces or masks— completely abstracted portraits. What do want us to see and more importantly, what do you see?

Brent Wadden: The reference to portraiture is a conscious decision that I attempt to make as ambiguous as possible.

me: If your works are abstract creatures or characters, where do you think they’d reside and what would they do with their days?

Brent Wadden: They only exist within the paintings so the objects actually become the physical characters. If the work is hung in a gallery, home or studio then its experiencing whatever you are experiencing. Chillin. Eating. Looking at art. Living. Loving. Being.

me: I read that you use the exact same grid structures for every piece. What does this recurring base or starting point offer you, aside from comfort?

Brent Wadden: I’ve used it as a starting point for many works but not for every piece. It started as a way to connect a series of different sized works vertically which was later broken down into pieces and hung horizontally. By deconstructing the initial structure I was hoping to draw attention to the variations in size as well as how each work was initially connected to the others.

me: Do you have any particular quirks or dislikes regarding materials, threads or colours?

Brent Wadden: I prefer natural over synthetic but will use whatever. I’ve been moving more and more towards earthy, dirty tones.

me: Favourite geometric shape and why?

Brent Wadden: The rectangle because it’s what I’m most familiar with.

me: You’re currently based in Berlin. What are some of the localised influences you’re starting to let filter into your work?

Brent Wadden: The availability of studio space as well as having access to materials and the time to experiment.

me: You were indirectly referencing Canada’s indigenous art and totems while you were there. Tell me about some of Berlin’s more interesting totems or imagery which has your attention?

Brent Wadden: I’m mostly watching the graffiti and old faded abstract murals while trying not to roll through piles of broken glass.

me: What do you plan to do after ‘About Time’?

Brent Wadden: Keep the flow going. In September I’m showing some new weavings at ‘Sorry Were Closed’ in Brussels. I’ve recently started making some cement sculptures that I want to develop further. Hopefully, I’ll find the time to relax by the lake with some beers.

me: Weaving really opens up a world of possibilities. Have you ever entertained the idea of commercial production? Or would you rather avoid having your works presented in poncho or throw-rug-form during a sale at Anthropologie or Pottery Barn?

Brent Wadden: I would be more comfortable with producing a limited edition piece of one hundred or so and having them available in specific shops or websites.

images courtesy pr