Ben Boothby
Mnemonic Reverie Abstract paintings that portray how we internally visualize memory.
Mnemonic: A device such as a pattern of letters, ideas, or associations that assist in remembering something Reverie: A state of being pleasantly lost in one’s thoughts; a daydream
Memory exists in a state of flux, when we try to pin it down, to hold it for a second so we can examine details and feelings, it will not sit still. My paintings are like etherized butterflies pinned in a frozen pose, captured and preserved. And yet I strive to record the flittering pulsation of an active memory without killing it. Pulsation is that state where memory is visible and yet vibrates in selfcontradictions and shifting contexts. The other key visual characteristic of memory is repetition. It is the way we strengthen memories, and its layered associative nature becomes a series of looping visuals.
The Science of Memory
One of the early scientists to conduct studies of memory was Hermann Ebbinghaus. He conducted his research in the 1880’s and his main contribution was to show that memory could in fact be scientifically studied. To that point scientists had dismissed memory as a field of study because it was too subjective for any data to be generated, or any other empirical method to be employed upon it. Ebbinghaus’s study created a principle that we know as the learning curve. The experiment he devised gathered hard data on the re-learning of previously memorized and then forgotten lists. This experiment was tedious, and conducted over many years, he knew that he would not find any test subjects willing to do it. The thing that interests me is that he used himself as the subject. He conducted experiments using his own memory in order to illustrate a concept that was universal amongst humans. That is how I came to think of my own work. I am using my own memories as the subject. However, the manner in which I develop and manipulate them becomes a portrayal of the chemistry of the human mind, and memory’s visual nature.
As I studied the science of memory I found that there were ways I was visualizing aspects of memory that were true to accepted models of memory formation and neuroanatomy. The biggest parallel was the discovery that memories are constructed from combinations of complex interconnections which can involve many different areas of the brain. It is the process of encoding events into memory that separates the multiple visual elements from each other spatially, while it stores the connections between. The implication is that even though we may think of memory as individual files stored in specific brain regions, unique from one another - it is the web of interconnection and combination that is the unique code defining each memory. That non-pattern of random interconnection relates directly to the abstract textures I create. Research has also shown that the brain creates a kind of short hand, using the same collection of brain cells to represent similar elements in completely unrelated memories. This saves space because the specificity of the memory is kept in the code of chemical connections, not in discrete brain cells devoted to a single element of a single memory. The spaces I construct in my paintings are built in the same way that memories are made out of the complex relationships between just a few elements.
Artist Statement
My paintings articulate the way we experience memory. The goal is to engage a viewer’s sense of nostalgia. In this body of work I am using my own neurotic fixation on the past to investigate qualities that are more universal. Our memories are rich with various emotions, smells, and tactile sensations. Visually they are built up layers of spatial ambiguities and shifting degrees of focus, combined with scattered representational details. Memories can be a puzzle we cannot force into clarity, while at other times a small memory becomes a code that unlocks a richness of details. In my re-interpretation of my memories I accentuate this puzzling sensation because it creates gaps that the viewer can fill with their own associations. The most important qualities of memory that I am trying to capture are pulsation and repetition. Memories are made fuzzy by the pulsation of ambiguous space. Our position of viewership is never solidified, and any attempt to recall more details chases the clarity further away. We preserve our memories by revisiting them and re-writing the details. I echo this repetition with layers of texture and line, and by painting variations of a theme. Every painting begins by rebuilding a specific architectural space from memory to create a full perspective line drawing. The drawing is silkscreened onto the panel within the first few layers. After that the painting takes an abstract approach, fluctuating between obscuring the drawing and bringing it back to the surface. Color choices are based on details and emotional undercurrents from the memory. This process strikes a balance between my meticulous side, and the intuitive freedoms of abstraction.Â
Mothballs & Roofing Tar Oil on Panel 48x36� 2011
This memory is from the first home I remember, an apartment on the second floor of a 4 unit building. Our apartment had the access stairs for the attic of the building. The space was mostly empty, I only remember a swing hanging from the rafters. Around this time my father had read Four Arguments For The Elimination Of Television by Jerry Mander, which recommended putting the Television in the attic. So he did. At the time it must have seemed cruel to my sister and I, but in the end I am glad he did. I am not really sure it deterred us from watching as much TV as we would have otherwise. My strongest memory was watching part of The Wizard of Oz, but it was too scary for me so I went back downstairs. Color choices in the painting are based on the worn down patina of unfinished wood, and the cool light coming from the windows and the black&white television.
Trumpet Oil & Beatles Records Oil on Panel 24x36” 2011
This painting is from the point of view of being underneath the bed of my childhood room. The house we lived in was old, from the early 1800’s, and when we moved in the muted colonial color scheme dominated the house. My bedroom was a particularly nasty dingy green-grey, or at least the window trim and floor boards were. At some point we decided to paint the walls and I was asked to pick the color. I chose sunflower yellow. My parents did not approve of this loud color, but my grandfather stood up for me. The compromise was to paint just two of the walls that bright yellow. Regardless of the wall color, this room was kind of scary to me. There was a strangely shallow closet that seemed more like a doorway to another reality. The closet door never closed all the way, something about the latch or the sag of the floor, which added to the creepiness of it. The bed was an adult bed with an old brass-bars head board. It was high enough off of the floor that there was plenty of room to play underneath. It was kind of like my secret fort at the time. In the third grade I took up the trumpet, which didn’t last long. But the trumpet itself stayed in that closet, which was just deep enough for a trumpet case sideways. The lubricating oil for the trumpet’s valves had a particular metallic smell, and it had permeated the case. That is the smell I most associate with that room, but also with the yellow walls and the brass bed board.
Zee Liner & Zee Lion Acrylic & Oil on Panel 24x30� 2011
These paintings are based on memories of the passenger ferry that took us to my grandparents’ summer house on Fire Island, off the coast of Long Island, New York. The space I focused on is the entryway which was in the middle of the boat. There were shelves for people to store their luggage on both sides of the central staircase. There were two levels to the ferry. The upper was open to the sun, wind, and sea-spray. The lower level was cozy, warm, and closer to the loud humming and vibrations of the engine. The choice between the two was made quickly as people jostled in the door. Most of the time we sat upstairs, as close to the front of the boat as possible. The color palette for these paintings is heavily influenced by the aquablue color the ferries were painted. Other color elements were: the watery depths of blue and green, seaweed, seagull poop, wooden docks, and the orange of the life preservers stored in the rafters.
Jelly Donuts & Newsprint Oil on Panel 48x60� 2011
This memory is of the shed, and the back deck area of my grandparents’ house on Fire Island. The shed was where the washer/dryer was, and where the bikes, wagons, and beach chairs were stored. There was a hammock strung between the shed and the house. There was an outdoor shower on the side of the shed. This was the north side of the house, and often in shadow. Coming back from the heat of the beach, we had to go and wash off all the sand before we could go in the house. The cold water was always shocking, especially because we had just walked home on splintery, hot boardwalks. There was a short staircase back there that went under the house, this was where my grandfather stacked gathered scrap lumber and driftwood for the fireplace. The fires he built were mostly from pine, which made for very sparky, popping, fires. On sunday mornings my grandmother would get up early and ride to the store to pick up the Sunday Times, and jelly donuts, which were cut into quarters and part of our ritual Sunday bagel breakfast. When I got a little older, I was asked to go on this errand. The bikes, the shed, all became associated with that combination of smells as I biked home from the store.
Burnt Toast Screen-print, Acrylic, and Oil on Panel 20x24” 2011
This memory is from my girlfriend Kristín’s kitchen, of the apartment she formerly owned in Iceland. It had been her grandmother’s apartment, and kristín kept it in the style of her grandmother. I lived with her there for only 5 months, so in some ways my memories of that space are just as fuzzy as memories from my childhood. That kitchen was the center of life in the apartment, it was cozy and often lit by a single red lamp. It was the place where visitors were entertained with either fresh cappuccinos or recently duty-free gin. The apartment was half below ground – the view out of the window was therefore skewed up at the sky. The color scheme relies heavily on the glow of that red lamp, combined with the colors of memorable sunsets, and brighter daytime light.
Charcoal & Chlorine Ink, Acr ylic, and Oil on Panel 48x36” 2011
This was the view out of the bedroom window of the apartment I lived in for 6 years in Washington DC. The building behind my apartment was much taller, and dominated the view. That building was fancier than mine, and had a large patio with a barbecue pit that it’s tenants would loudly enjoy. They also had a pool, which was mostly out of view, but I could catch a glimpse of it – enough to fuel the jealousy on hot summer days. They also all had private decks, which somehow made their lives more public. There is a silent complicity between people who can see into each others’ living spaces, and the space between my window and that building vibrated with it. The color palette is dominated by the sandy-yellow bricks that both buildings were made out of. In the smaller paintings I explored the colors of rainy days, humid evenings, and snowy nights – when the lights of the city are reflected back as an orange-purple haze.
Ben Boothby, a Maine native, recently earned his MFA at The Academy of Art in San Francisco. He received his BA in Studio Art from Wesleyan University, Connecticut, in 1997. He then returned to Maine, where he showed regularly at The Gallery at 356 Main, Rockland. Later on he moved to Washington DC and showed at Susan Calloway Fine Art. After a brief stint in Iceland, he came to San Francisco to attend the Academy. I would like to thank, first and foremost, KristĂn. I never would have gotten here without her. Also thanks to my parents for their support and encouragement. Sheldon Greenberg, Karl Jensen, Sarah Barsness, Jung Han Kim, and Jenny Balisle all deserve some credit for their role in this process. I am also grateful for the guidance of Craig, Carolyn, and Bill. Screen-printing was made possible through the tireless efforts of Rick Kitagawa.