Where's the Pussy?

This Master’s Statement is respectfully submitted to Cranbrook Academy of Art as partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts.

Elliott Earls Head, 2D Design Department Artist-in-Residence

Charlotte Jackson May 8, 2015

Table of Contents

Preface

4

Writing

10 Work

58 Pattern

174 Curriculum Vitae

210

4 Preface

5 A selection of artist statements and personal musings, in no particular order.

6 Where’s the Pussy?

7 I explore the female form by reclaiming the dismembered figure that is frequently used as an object devoid of any individuality by the media and by our culture at large. I often struggle personally with the idea that my work may be a reflection of that same removal of an individual from her form, but as a woman myself I have always felt comfortable artistically exploring the female form without the hindrance of shame or doubt. In removing limbs and parts, more geometric shapes readily take form from the organic flesh – something that helps me as a drawer and artist to understand the shapes, curves, and contours of ourselves. In this process, the parts are not removed to strip the body of its sense of person, but rather to extend the self by exploring the new shapes made when the parts are removed.

“What the hell am I doing here?” was a thought that crossed my mind frequently. “How the hell am I supposed to make meaningful work? What do I have to say that is important or interesting?” I was reminded that my work didn’t necessarily need to be socially or politically conscious, but I, as a person, am. I want to create work that reflected my values and my voice in an inspiring way. But isn’t the dreaded “f word,” feminism, dried up? Isn’t socially aware art becoming tiring? Repetitive? Unnecessary, with so many images already existing and speaking louder, better, to a wider audience, with more coherent language, with more striking imagery? Is feminist language a “schtick?” I couldn’t imagine burning people out on what I consider to be one of the most important things in my life. In considering that importance, though, and my anxiety over other people’s reacting along the lines of, “Not this whiny bitch again,” I realized my fear was founded in my every day experiences as a woman being told that there are more pressing issues to talk about, or think about—that I’ll grow tired of caring about being second rate or that I’ll be convinced that I’m just going through a “radical” phase.

Why feminism? Some questions aren’t easy to answer. Even with all of the passion in the world, it can be exceedingly difficult to explain what is most important to you and especially, why it is important to you. After being asked this question recently and finding it hard

8 to come up with a coherent response, I felt jilted and uneasy about my identity as a feminist. I too, have found the same discomfort plagues me as soon as a conversation about traditional design territory that I have yet to master takes place—what is my identity as a “true” graphic designer? Along with serious personal reflection, I have been challenging myself to experiment with both traditional design and feminism in my work as I have never shared with anyone.

While traveling through Indiana this summer, I noticed that the rural roads were lined with signs that read “NO ZONING” and “LESS GOVERNMENT.” The only kind of zoning I knew was business and commercial, so these signs made no sense to me, until the man that was hosting the workshop I had traveled there for discussed it. “Where we live is unincorporated,” he explained, “so I can go anywhere on my property and shoot my shotgun with my granddaughter.” He lamented the fact that the government wanted to change this, and zone his town.

The fervor with which he wanted to go in his backyard and shoot a gun was lost on me and honestly, I am normally at great political and social odds with these no zoners. What struck me, as well, is that the general party that favors no zoning and little to no government regulation is the one that polices women’s bodies the most.

When will people who demand the right to use a shotgun on their property demand with the same zeal that a woman’s body is not property for the government to regulate or zone?

I have found that the highs and lows of self discovery and finding my “true self” has often been complicated by hesitating from being who I already am when it is assumed that change is the only recipe for self improvement. In the process of constant attempts at change, holing myself up inside of my head has led to a lonely, tiresome struggle with identity and idealization that inevitably leads to guilt and feelings of inadequacy. It can be truly hard to come to terms with who you are without becoming overwhelmed by your own negative qualities due to the constant barrage of information around you that reminds you that you’re still not good enough

9 and that your human desires for anything for yourself is narcissistic and unhealthy. The struggle has led to a realization that the negativity and the desire that has remained locked inside is what ultimately leads to a toxic sense of self, and that in the search of identity, it is important to remind yourself at times, “I am not a bad person.”

The historical weight of pattern-making places my work within a feminine dialogue that reinforces my alignment with feminism and re-examines decidedly masculine traits of art such as vertical hierarchy and instead favors a more lateral plane. Through my paintings I have incorporated this particular line of thinking and pattern-making in an attempt to illustrate the ongoing internal struggles that I have as a woman, and most importantly, a person.

10 Writing

11 Critical writings from 2013–2015 in chronological order

12 Tekikki Walker October 31, 2013

13 The elements of a busy collage seem to arouse the same emotions in most viewers: first, a sense of being pleasantly overwhelmed because of the sheer amount of subject matter being presented, and second, an eagerness to tie together the elements in order to create an overarching theme or understanding.

I had this reaction with Kikki’s collage. Upon approaching the piece, I was overcome with excitement akin to that that a child experiences when entering a luxurious candy shop. Such is a case with successful collages; they create a new story or new emotion as each element is discovered and added to one’s mental candy bag.

The poster is largely covered with scrap paper bag pieces and brown cardboard that create a window revealing a digitally printed collage beneath it that features a photograph of a window and navy shutters. Brown textural elements peek out from beneath the outer edges. Yellow paper from a legal pad reaches out from the flat surface, as well as scraps of paper painted with intricate, bright patterns. Candle wax not only creates dimension, but appears to act as an adhesive for the flyaway elements adorning the outer edges of the poster that seem to want to burst from the deliberately placed brown paper. A large, graphic eye dripping with red lines peers out from behind the textural elements, and sits atop of a poem entitled “moonchile’.” As a whole, the found elements of the poster seem to create an homage to fading memories or a frantic assemblage that is created out of mourning or obsession.

Cardboard and scrap elicits the image of untrained outsider artists constructing elaborate works with solely what they can find.

The Art Brut movement, founded by Jean Dubuffet, drew upon the art of the untrained or mentally unstable, attempting to replicate the purely expressive form and quality that the rigid cultural traditions of artistic institutions could not seem to replicate.

Although different in medium, a declaration inscribed on a drawing by the outsider artist/Art Brut artist Vojislav Jaklic calls to mind the foundation of this movement—something that resonates in Kikki’s piece—“This is neither a drawing nor a painting but the sedimentary deposit of suffering.” The raw production value of Kikki’s piece builds in the viewer emotion and a relationship to the conceptual map that she’s plotting.

Considering the connotations of this emotionally charged assemblage, nostalgia begins to resonate as I also notice a Winslow Homer stamp and an older highway map that has “Chicago” scrawled across it in black pen. Another part of the map highlights

14

1 Donald B. Kuspit, “Collage: The Organizing Principle of Art” in Katherine Hoffman, ed., Collage: Critical Views (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1989), 42.

scenery, reading “Covered Bridges in Northeastern .” Both of these elements appear to be bygone practices: with technology, handheld, printed maps seem scarce and irrelevant, as well as stamps for written mail. They read as scraps that have been kept for years and finally laced together with flower petals and grape stems to create an ornate frame for an altar to memories past. The contrast of the golden memory and the trash creates an even more profound relationship between the window of the memory of the past. Likewise, the separation of the more graphic elements of the printed poster even further suggest this boundary.

Despite the poster’s strengths, I become distracted when inspecting the faded map elements. After close inspection, I learn that the map of “Chicago” actually represents a region of Ohio off of the Ohio Turnpike, and that the highway map scrap at the bottom of the poster further suggests a relation to Ohio. Noting this, I wonder what other components of the poster are misleading or if the identification of the map was meant to intentionally misguide the viewer. I become more intent on deciphering that relationship instead of examining a broader interpretation of the poster, thus limiting the potential of the poster’s communicative qualities. And as art critic Donald B. Kuspit notes, the collage’s message is central to its success: “This is relativistic message of collage: the keeping in play of the possibility of the entry of the many into the one, the fusion of the many into the one.”1 I wonder what I’ve lost while spending time connecting unrelated elements, while largely ignoring the other brilliant moments that emerge from the piece.

My frustration, however, begins to wane when I realize that the piece in and of itself is largely reliant on the viewer’s visibility or lack there of: the sea of “junk” is essentially a window looking in on another obscured and broken window. In the top left corner, a piece of sheet music with only a few notes revealed has words that have been written on the opposite side—only glimpses of what they could be present themselves (“enj(oy?), your?”). A KOOL menthol cigarette logo barely reveals itself at the bottom of the poster. The Winslow Homer stamp that I was so drawn to is also hidden precariously, only accessible at close distance due to the piece’s three dimensionality. These little pockets of discovery indicate a larger theme within the piece: obscuration and revelation. The major elements of the piece—the central eye, the frame created by the physical collage, and the actual photograph of the window—play with the viewer’s accessibility to subject matter. The masonic eye,

15 or the “Eye of Providence” is in itself laden with symbolic history about sight. Being featured on the U.S. one dollar bill and being examined by conspiracy theorists and hollywood directors alike (see: “National Treasure” starring Nicolas Cage), makes it a highly prevalent and loaded image in our culture. Thomas Smith Webb, author of the Freemason’s Monitor, writes “the All Seeing Eye, whom the Sun, Moon and Stars obey, and under whose watchful care even comets perform their stupendous revolutions, pervades the whole, and will reward us according to our merits.”2 Despite being historically “all seeing,” the eye’s obfuscation by additions of color and red tears (blood?) escaping from its bottom lid suggest that its omnipotency is being drained.

The language presented in the poster repeats two themes, the first, a plea for freedom. Throughout the poster, elements of color and complexity try to escape from the overbearing three dimensional applications, attempting to reach beyond the boundaries being set by the window frames. The once omnipotent eye begs—“set me free / to converse with the moon / a fickle exchange”—the moons acting as a “spine” down the center of the poster being obscured by text and the river of blood draining from the eye. However, the second theme of the poem seemingly contradicts this request for deliverance by responding, “do not clutch those / earth baked hands of yours,/ simply let them be, / with soot, under your nails.” The dissonant “trash” protects the delicate elements that try so desperately to break out and strengthens the composition both interpretively and literally—the candle wax drizzled over the paint seemingly acts as an adhesive, the thick, rusted nails hold the piece to the wall. Like in the Art Brut movement, another artist who has used methods lacking what has (or had) been considered culturally acceptable is Dadaist Jean Arp. Of his practice in collage, Arp speaks: “I had accepted the transience, the dribbling away, the brevity, the impermanence, the fading, the withering, the spookishness of our existence. Not only had I accepted it, I had even welcomed transience into my work as it as coming into being.”3 Kikki’s “moonchile’” explores similar themes, with this poetry explicitly resigning itself to the inevitability of decay: “simply let it be.” Her symbolism is deliberate and sophisticated as well as being successful in recreating the frenetic quality of the untrained artist’s work.

However, this interpretation of the relationship between text and subject matter seems to nullify or conflict with my initial

2 Thomas Smith Webb, Freemason’s Monitor; or, Illustrations of Masonry : in Two Parts.(Cincinatti: Moore, Wilstach, Keys, & Co., 1859), 91.

3 Jean Arp, quoted in “Constellations and Cosmos,” in Jane Hancock, Arp 1886–1966 (Minneapolis, Minn.: The Minneapolis Institute of the Arts, 1987), 122.

16

4 Katherine Hoffman, “Collage in the Twentieth Century: An Overview” in Katherine Hoffman, ed., Collage: Critical Views (Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1989), 3.

understanding of the piece visually, and I find myself becoming confused and detached from the piece as existing as a singularity, and more drawn to separate elements. When first experiencing the poster, I knew immediately that the poem “moonchile’” was an essential part of the work, but my brain and eyes wouldn’t allow for me to stop and read the text. Instead, I felt the need to take in all of the pictorial elements of the poster, which led to associating the large amount of textural components with one another before being able to tie them together with what’s written. Art historian Katherine Hoffman writes, “The concepts of disintegration, fragmentation, and integration are perhaps particularly important for the medium of collage,”4 but my general understanding of the piece is lost at fragmentation and the language and imagery never seem to fully integrate themselves with each other, or else the interpretation between them seems to cheapen them both or become forced when examined literally.

Kikki’s poetry in itself is thoughtful and deserves a thorough and deliberate analysis, yet the vehicle with which she chose to deliver it creates a fundamental problem: elaborately visual collages require dedication and attention which is lost when complicated with an excess amount of interpretive language. As separate elements they are complete in themselves but combining the two makes for a difficult and taxing read for the viewer. I’m not suggesting that all graphic design need be an easy read, as that discredits all viewers, as well as the integrity of design as an intellectually competent media—but combining these two specifically dense components creates a problem in which neither or them can exist in their full potential without being bogged down by the human propensity to be distracted when overwhelmed by information. I commend Kikki for her skillful application of collage and her use of language, but suggest that in the future she finds a way to harmonize the two elements so that they don’t overpower each other, either by utilizing less imagery by different technique or a sparser application of her collage, or by using less language.

17

18 Hwan Jahng November 13, 2013

19 “The End of Suffering, or the Beginning of Bliss?” Hwan Jahng’s poster asks me as I first approach it, and I’m immediately struck with an overwhelming sense of death and dying. The economically simple, central composition still features a plethora of dense and loaded imagery—ornate line work, three dimensional modeling, and highly symbolic digitally drawn elements. My internal dialogue begins calling upon references to medieval art and architecture and images of elaborate portals with high relief tympanums and flowery pillars, as well as what is commonly defined as black metal imagery.

Looking at Hwan’s piece begs for a conversation regarding Christian imagery. The central image—a digitally rendered three dimensional facade—resembles a simplified gothic portal. However, with the direct orientation of the door that seems to only extend backward and not beyond the columns as if connected to a surrounding cathedral, a comparison to mausoleums and tombs is called upon, as well as the spiked lines surrounding it seeming to recall the typically viney scenery associated with death and gloomy cemeteries. Considering the central object as a tomb, the slightly open doors with an eerie red glow emanating from the crack begin to beckon the viewer to question what’s taking place inside or beyond them. Traditional medieval sculptures and tombs feature canopies, which were decorated roofs that acted as “a symbolic arcade through which angels sometimes floated, [and] was considered to be the open door to the world beyond, and thus served to place the transfigured dead on the threshold of eternity.”1 I’m further intrigued by the realm beyond this door and the relationship between what’s beyond, and the overlying sentiment—end of suffering, or the beginning of bliss.

Interpreting this text begins to draw upon considering the highly symmetrical composition of the piece. At first I under­stood the words to present two separate ideas, yet realized that one could interpret the concepts as equals. The end of suffering would essentially be the beginning of bliss. Visually, there is a strong dichotomy within the piece that signifies a relationship between two separate outcomes: a symbolic death or beginning. As noted, tombs traditionally signify death or an afterlife across multiple cultures. However, on the left and right of the tomb, the imagery begins to interpret something beyond simply an end; it starts a conversation about what is the end, or if it’s a beginning instead.

1 Kathleen Cohen.

“Metamorphosis of a Death Symbol: the Transi Tomb in the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance” vol. 25, California Studies in the History of Art. (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1973)

20

2 Leroy H. Appleton and Stephen Bridges, Symbolism in Liturgical Art, 101.

3 George D Bond, “Theravada Buddhism’s Meditations on Death and the Symbolism of Initiatory Death,” History of Religions 19 (February 1980): pp. 237­­–258.

To the left and behind the tomb, framed by Hwan’s delicate line work that dances throughout the background, a figure and a tree has been drawn digitally to resemble pastel or some other rough, dry media. Although the background, too, incorporates color, the vibrant and deliberate green of the leaves on the tree stands out in the foreground as a symbolic life—“The tree has been an ever present witness to the change of seasons with its pattern of hope, fulfillment, and resurrection after decline.”2 This language commonly associated with trees—beginning, renewal, etc., support the language written on the tomb, “beginning of bliss.” Behind the tomb, too, appears to be a large green leaf that pushes this interpretation further. This representation of what lies beyond the tomb in the red glow posits a more neutral, if not positive, outlook on death, akin to a more Theravada Buddhist dialogue than a Christian one, especially when coupled with the notion of rebirth: In Buddhist thought death constitutes an essential part of the human predicament; it is one of the central factors contributing to the imperfection of existence (dukkha); it is a pivotal reality in the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth (samsāra) that imprisons human beings. Despite this negative valuation of death, however, death also serves a positive role, for Buddhism has maintained that one does not find liberation from the human predicament by shrinking from death and avoiding all thought of death, but rather, one finds liberation by confronting death and encountering it as an existential reality.3 This realization also presents an interesting concept about the true role of the tomb: whether it be an entrance, the manifestation of “imprisonment,” or the concept of samsāra. This, then, suggests a more insidious interpretation on the human condition of life and death.

On the right behind the tomb, similarly framed by the ornamental backdrop, is a frantically drawn skull. The quality of the drawing and the medium itself, the same rough texture, creates a sense of anxiety and foreboding—scribbles emanate from behind the skull, as if it is coming forward, propelled by the darkness

21 behind it. There too is a symbol on its forehead, although not discernible, but reminiscent of something one might associate with the occult. This imagery denotes a more cynical facet of death or the afterlife—being hell, or suffering, or even nothing—certainly no conceptual renewal.

This sense of duality repeats itself with the runes on either base of the columns, which I gather are representative or associate with their respective images. However, I do find myself a bit frustrated as a viewer being unsure of their origin (considering they do not appear to be of any language that is regularly written or spoken) or of their purpose, or if they are just decorative flourishes. For the purposes of interpretation, I imagine them to define each concept: the left recalling life renewed, the right recalling death or suffering.

The left symbol does slightly resemble a tree, whereas the jagged lightning bolt accents on the right symbol indicate a less delicate or fluid meaning.

The dichotomy is repeated in the left and right columns with color, red and white, the decorations seeming to glow from some source inside of them, perhaps fueled by the red glow beyond the doors. However, if one is to consider their typical interpretations by color theory, the colors themselves do not seem to match their respective images. White typically recalls peace or purity, whereas red is indicative of passion, rage, fire. This discrepancy further complicates the interpretation, along with the confusion surrounding the language. However, it doesn’t negate the conceptual dichotomy entirely, only muddles it.

Considering the piece as a whole, this is a nice step for Hwan in relation to his previous work, and I commend him for his use of new media and technique. The newly developed use of color and texture adds intrigue and a new dynamic to his composition.

However, in terms of his three dimensional rendering—which too, is an amazing addition to his visual toolbox—something in his decoration is still lost. Since medieval cathedrals are either decorated in high relief or through otherwise greatly defined details, I am disappointed that the main “show” of Hwan’s work—his intricate linework, hand-lettering and compelling imagery—seems somewhat lost in the gray, low relief. The bolder, flatter elements like the black decorative background and the flourishes stand out and are aesthetically pleasing, but lack the same character as his intricate line work due to being more smoothly or mechanically

22 rendered, unlike the more organic lines seen in his other work.

Although they do work together, a better balance between what the skills he already has and his new ones could be fleshed out by remembering what elements of his old pieces worked and what works with this piece.

There is also the overarching theme in Hwan’s work with its relationship to graphic design. This piece is moving in the common direction of his other pieces. That is, closing in on the gap of his work being more defined by the language of graphic design. However, I feel that it stepped back from the bolder, more typographic elements of his other new pieces that worked so well. This piece, although grounded with the solid three dimensionally rendered figure that ties it with more modern design, still veers into a more delicate, almost timid territory. I sense confidence in his three dimensional rendering, but combined with his application of more solid type, I foresee an even more intriguing direction that his work may go in.

Additionally, I found myself putting my pre-conceived notions of the metal aesthetic aside for most of my interpretation, I still find myself returning to the commonality between Hwan’s work and other gothic inspired black metal art that features similar Christian and occult imagery. I realize that his work is intensely personal—as is metal music, lyrically, and that the scene in itself is comprised of “outsiders” looking in, critiquing a world that I know— as a metal fan myself—we might find hard to understand. Robert Walser describes the scene itself:

4 Robert Walser, Running with the Devil: Power, Gender, and Madness in Heavy Metal Music (Hanover, New Hampshire, & London: Wesleyan University Press, 1993), 170.

… heavy metal musicians explore images of horror and madness in order to comprehend and critique the world as they see it.

Although they are continually stereotyped and dismissed as apathetic nihilists, metal fans and musicians build on the sedimented content of musical forms and cultural icons to create a social world of greater depth and intensity. They appropriate materials for their music and lyrics from the myriad sources made available to them by mass mediation, selecting those they can fuse into a cultural alloy that is strong and conductive.4

23 I commend Hwan for doing just this in his work. He develops an amalgamation of loaded symbolism that is ever pervasive in our culture, but through his own language, he creates an aesthetic that harkens metal imagery yet remains original given the work’s context. He continues to grow even more unique with each piece he does. If Hwan were to add the same bold, graphic elements that have been making appearances in his other pieces, his visual vocabulary will only get better and better.

24 Shiraz Gallab February 6, 2014

25 “Welcome to the good life.”

Shiraz Gallab’s video starts and we are confronted with two characters, both portrayed by Gallab. “BLACK BITCH” flashes across the screen, stylistically reminiscent of hip hop montages.

Besides the flashing women, music, and typical hip hop jargon, the video is in no way similar to something someone might see on MTV or World Star. Shiraz begins to reveal a more internal dialogue that hinges on the experiences of being a “black bitch;” her video calls on what Cherrie Moraga describes as a: nightmare, for each of us in some way has been both oppressed and the oppressor. We are afraid to look at how we have failed each other. We are afraid to see how we have taken the values of our oppressor into our hearts and turned them against ourselves and one another. We are afraid to admit how deeply “the man’s” words have been ingrained in us.1 Of the two characters, one wears a modest gray sweatshirt with pair of crudely drawn breasts and bitch in Arabic written beneath it. She is without any discernible make up and wears her hair naturally, as opposed to the other character, who appears more like a typical hip hop video cast member: dressed in sequins, wearing a wig, and donning a superfluous amount of make up. The stark difference between the two is pushed by their actions: the sweatshirted character appears bored, uncomfortable, and pained at times throughout the video. The nearly palpable tension delivered by this character is successful in setting the stage for a more critical viewpoint of the medium and cultural context with which Shiraz has chosen to deliver her message to us. As she fondles her own chest, she appears unsure of how to make it sexy, or if she even should. At one point, she forces a smile, but then appears defeated after her attempts at being sexy go from looking like a chore to becoming increasingly aggressive. The defeat is highlighted by “black” flashing in front of her in neon type, suggesting a relationship between her efforts and her blackness.

The negative image of black women as hypersexual is reflected across pop culture, including the route with which Shiraz has chosen to deliver her message. The perpetuation of these stereotypes throughout the media creates a framework in which

1 Cherrie Moraga, “La Guera,” in Cherrie Moraga and Gloria Anzaldua, eds., This Bridge Called My Back (New York: Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press, 1981, 1983), 32.

26 a woman’s blackness could be called into question if she sits outside of them, thus inaccurately labeling black women as a monolith.

Blame often shifts from a racist, patriarchal society, to the individual choices of black women and how they choose to represent themselves. Musician Lupe Fiasco raps about a young boy growing up and witnessing his mother “assimilating” into this system,

2 Lupe Fiasco’s “Bitch Bad,” http:// rapgenius.com/ Lupe-fiasco-bitchbad-lyrics.

3 Kate Millett, Sexual Politics (New York: Avon Books, 1969, 1970), 39.

4 Moraga, “La Guera,” 32.

Couple of things are happenin’ here First he’s relatin’ the word “bitch” with his mama—comma And because she’s relatin’ to herself his most important source of help and mental health, he may skew respect for dishonor2 Lupe suggests that women are accountable for the lack of respect that men show them by defining themselves as bitches, which further complicates the overlying narrative of identity that Shiraz is portraying in her video. Pop culture is not all that perpetuates the regularity of the stereotype. Sociological practices are notorious for redefining cultural stereotypes as fact by assigning them the more subtle title of “phenomena” and situating them as realities based in science rather than irrational judgment. This position further promotes acceptance of those stereotypes and a societal conditioning to adhere to them.3 This logic places the onus of healthy representation entirely on an oppressed group of people rather than addressing the structure that they are oppressed by. The lack of acknowledgment toward the system as a whole has lead to the sense of confusion Shiraz displays as a woman who is torn between generally accepted stereotypes as they apply to herself: should she be ashamed of adhering to—or feeling obligated to adhere to—how the media represents black women; would she be abandoning her identity if she didn’t? How do the disenfranchised identify themselves if the dominant culture that they exist within strictly controls their representation? On this structure, Cherrie Moraga writes that in our media “that what is dark and female is evil. Consequently, each of us—whether dark, female, or both— has in some way internalized this oppressive imagery.”4 “Black bitch” is itself arguably denigrating and aligns with the internalization of oppressive forces on one’s psyche, but the reclamation of these words also outlines the importance of defining oneself as is written by Patricia Hill Collins:

27 Self-identification speaks to the power dynamics involved in rejecting externally defined, controlling images of Black womanhood. In contrast, the theme of Black women’s self-valuation addresses the actual content of these self-definitions. Many of the controlling images applied to African-American women are actually distorted renderings of those aspects of our behavior that threaten existing power arrangements.5 The “black bitch” that defines herself as such—instead of submissively allowing others to do it for her—could be in defiance of both a racist and sexist society. However, the juxtaposition of that label with Shiraz’s awkward body language suggests an uneasiness with actually defining herself as such, as though the culturally pervasive label is inherently wrong for her. This is further illustrated with the flashing “bland” label on her less sexualized manifestation that sets a conversation in motion about the relationship between the “black bitch” and the black woman who does not necessarily adhere to that stereotype.

Although Shiraz’s glittery representation seems to portray a normative model of the “black bitch” and a foil to her other self, over time she begins to appear uncomfortable and displays increasingly bizarre behavior. This shift in focus serves as a critique on the representation of the black woman as over-sexualized by presenting their objectification as physically unappealing. Furthermore, as she continually gropes herself, “CHECK CASHERS” flashes, essentially reducing her body to a form of currency. However, this aspect of the work becomes muddled loses its strength when taking into account the other Shiraz’s shameful and frustrated body language. She feels inadequate, or in her own words, “bland.” The use of self-deprecation does not align with the assertion that objectification is solely gross and not sexy. The actual relationship between the two becomes unclear without a stronger conceptual link between the shame and the critique of stereotypical representations of black women as grotesque.

The concept is further complicated by small elements in the video that have no apparent relationship between the rest of the subject matter. Throughout the video, Chester the Cheetah makes appearances. Every avenue one tries to go down to relate its part

5 Patricia Hill Collins, Black Feminist Thought, Sec. ed. (Great Britain: Routledge, 2000), 114.

28 of this story seems convoluted or unnecessary. Historically, Chester does not seem to bear any significance to any political or social endeavor, beyond possibly representing poor health. This issue is certainly relevant to the black community, which suffers disproportionately from obesity and related diseases like diabetes, but does not seem to have a place in this particular conversation and comes off as confusing and extraneous. If this is an important element to Shiraz’s message, as with the unclear relationship between the two women, a stronger conceptual link is necessary to tie it into her piece as a whole.

The presentation of the video itself seems relatively timid or poorly planned, as it is marked as unlisted on YouTube. Does Shiraz want to share her experiences at all, or just with a select few?

Is the actual meat of the video not important enough to her for the entire world to see? This timidity seems to represent a fatal flaw in socially conscious artwork and in presenting a rawer, more genuine side of ones self that confronts identity and powerlessness:

6 Mitsuye Yamada, “Invisibility is an Unatural Distaster: Reflections of an Asian American Woman,” in Cherrie Moraga and Gloria Anzaldua, eds., This Bridge Called My Back (New York: Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press, 1981, 1983), 39.

… those who feel powerless over their own lives know what it is like not to make a difference on anyone or anything. … women have known it since we were little girls. The most insidious part of this conditioning process, I realize now, was that we have been trained not to expect a response in ways that mattered. ... our psychological mind set has already told us time and again that we were born into a ready-made world into which we must fit ourselves, and that many of us do it very well.6 It appears that while Shiraz is eloquent, insightful, and adept in her craft, she is still uncertain of how to marry her voice and visual competency together in a way that equally highlights both in the social context in which she is trying to situate herself. She is clearly trying to speak out against the powerless feeling that Mitsuye Yamada details, and while the visual elements of her video— quality, type, and editing—are formally interesting and well done, some of the more veiled elements and her presentation still forbid desired access to her thoughts. Shiraz deserves to do work about things that she has experienced and is passionate about, with clearer and more fully formed opinions and agendas. She has all of

29 the intellectual capacity to create thought-provoking work and as a designer, has all of the technical resources to create work that is both meaningful and challenging. Both she and others would benefit from her insight if it were applied to upcoming as she develops a stronger, less barred visual language that promotes her interests, passions, and identity as a multi-dimensional person.

30 Tong Xing March 27, 2014

31 Upon first examination of Tong’s newest installation, Hiding Yourself, I was excited to see projected imagery over a more conventionally printed poster. Projected imagery, while not exactly new in the art world, is something I still rarely encounter and savor for its capacity for experimental practice. The actual language employed is short and somewhat vague, yet, the message draws me in and resonates personally. The directness almost feels as if it could be construed as accusatory, confronting my own (or anyone’s) propensity for “hiding myself,” assuming that this action is a flaw that I should feel negatively about. Even if this message is read as the artist’s own narrative and internal dialogue, the general statement and use of “yourself” create a conversation that requires the viewer to examine their own sense of self and personal insecurities.

First, when considering that the poster is metaphorical rather than literal, a question of what the “self” is arises. What really is the self? Dr. William Huitt writes, “the term self is generally used in reference to the conscious reflection of one’s own being or identity, as an object separate from other or from the environment.

There are a variety of ways to think about the self with self-concept and self-esteem as two of the most widely used.”1 In relation to this piece and our understanding of hiding one’s self, “self concept” is an important theory to understand. In discussing the self, Huitt goes on to quote William Purkey, who further defines self-concept “... as the totality of a complex, organized, and dynamic system of learned beliefs, attitudes and opinions that each person holds to be true about his or her personal existence.”2 The self-concept is made up of self-schemas that further define how we react with our environments: “a self-schema is a belief or idea about oneself that leads to a bias that is self-perpetuating. It could consist of a particular role in society or a generalization based on social stereotypes.”3 Self-schema is essentially how we label ourselves, and leads to a different “schema” for each role we play: “the selfschema becomes self-perpetuating when the individual chooses activities based on expectations instead of desires.”4 For example, a designer who works in a cube farm during the day may maintain a certain identity that is defined and more informed by that office culture, as well as creating work that fits into this model. On the other hand, a studio practice that aligns with a particular convention of the fine arts, would yield a different schema.

In continuing to examine the self, the schema as a vehicle for social interaction predicates a discussion of symbolic

1 William Huitt, “Self and self-views.”

Educational Psychology Interactive (Valdosta, GA: Valdosta State University, 2011).

2 William Purkey, An Overview of Self-Concept Theory for Counselors (Ann Arbor, MI: ERIC Clearinghouse on Counseling and Personnel, 1988).

3 “Self-Schema,” Psychology Glossary, http://www.alleydog. com/glossary/ definition.php?term=Self-Schema 4 Ibid.

32

5 Niklas Luhmann, “The Individuality of the Individual,” Reconstructing Individualism: Autonomy, Individuality, and the Self in Western Thought, ed.

Thomas C. Heller, David E. Wellbery, Morton Sosna (Stanford University Press, 1986), 316.

6 Purkey, An Overview of Self-Concept Theory for Counselors.

7 Alex Hanimann.

Interview. Bright: Typography Between Illustration & Art, ed.

Slanted (Daab, 2012), 47.

8 Jurgen Seibert, and Sibylle Schlaich, Emotional Digital: A Sourcebook of Contemporary Typographics, ed.

Alexander Branczyk, Jutta Nachtwey, Heike Nehl (W. W. Norton & Company, 2001).

interactionism. Symbolic interactionism defines the notion of “self” as largely informed by a person’s socialized perception of the world.

This is met with “social interaction [that] requires superficial conversation without risks or consequences. Its essence is to take the role of the other and to avoid bothering others with one’s own problems or peculiarities; not to speak about oneself is one of its central norms.”5 Understandably, this leads one to feeling a general lack of individuality or that they are “hiding themselves,” and contradicts the nature of self concept that dictates the existence of an organized, singular self or, “a continuously active system that dependably points to the “true north” of a person’s perceived existence.”6 Faltering with self conceptualization leads to anxiety and opportunities for growth.

Despite all of the complexities of the psychological studies and theories mentioned above, Tong’s piece still employs only two words. The limited use of language here is important. Each word must be thoroughly examined and deliberated in order to create a meaningful reaction in the viewer and to provoke a dialogue that calls us to consider our inner compass. Alex Hanimann, an artist that uses language in his own work, writes that “if you attempt to express specific content, thoughts, feelings and so on in language, you are always searching for the right formulation.”7 Based on my initial reaction with the piece, I find the language Tong has chosen to be impactful and successful.

The words themselves utilize handmade or filtered type that has been distorted into triangles. The combination of dropshadows and projections tricks the eyes into believing that the type is floating above the surface of the poster and existing without a foundation. The letterforms of “HIDING” appear to be drawn by the artist and stand out as a unique and personal typeface. However, “YOURSELF” is set in Stencil (a stock typeface known for its use in Home Depot’s wordmark) and was obviously filterized. This is disappointing in relation to the uniqueness of Tong’s handmade type: “the more specific the effect, the easier it can be recognized as the result of a certain filter. And since half the world uses the same filters, there is not much room for originality. ... the effects are all preprogrammed and therefore quite predictable, and predictability is the last thing a designer should want!”8 While Tong’s piece initially appeared to be very strong, it seems to unravel as individual elements are dissected. Parts of the work begin to appear overly transparent and trite: the faceless

33 human figure that is tangled in “HIDING,” the hand reaching out for the viewer from the abyss of one’s self consciousness, the eye that could be interpreted in a plethora of ways that aren’t particularly creative. Lawrence Weiner, one of the most important faces of conceptual art in the 1960s, answers an interviewer’s question on typography and typeface influencing the meaning of written language: “THE PURPOSE & THE FUNCTION OF TYPOGRAPHY IS TO BUILD A MISE-EN-SCÈNE FOR WHATEVER IT PRESENTS.”9 In other words, the designer must take advantage of the impact of type treatment as a narrative element. My initial response to the piece was caused by the piece’s ability to confront the viewer through language and presentation; unfortunately, having spent more time with it, I find it less compelling than I did prior. While some of the symbolism is complex and interesting, other elements appear trite, superfluous, and hinder the more meaningful or nuanced relationship the viewer might have with the piece.

Tong’s use of projected animation is one of this piece’s saving graces. Although projection as art is not exceptionally revolutionary today, it is still relatively new and innovative in terms of art criticism and viewership. Lars Qvortrup defines a double relationship in (most) art: “the internal narrative relationship in the story being told or the painting being shown and the external relationship between the agents or actors in the story or the painting and the storyteller” and further concludes that “...this double relationship is repeated within projection art installations, with the projector as a technical representative of the narrator.”10 The nature of the presentation lends itself to the theme of masking and hiding one’s self, as the actual printed imagery is projected upon by overbearing geometric shapes that dance across the surface and distract the eyes from what’s beneath. In that way, Tong is building, as Weiner defines it, a mise-en-scène in a creative and more exploratory way rather than through overused symbols.

On more than one occasion now, Tong has presented his imageries through a combination of different media. Like his piece “TIME,” he is featuring a digitally printed poster with an accompanying element. Both of these presentations beg the question: are the posters necessary? How does having them as a part of his body of work contribute positively to the whole? In both cases, Tong shows the ability to employ creative, thought provoking ways to explore media that certainly enhance both his skill set and the sophistication of his designs. However, the reliance on digital prints and

9 Lawrence Weiner.

Interview. Bright: Typography Between Illustration & Art, ed.

Slanted (Daab, 2012), 51.

10 Lars Qvortup, “Digital Poetics: The Poetical Potentials of Projection and Interaction,” Digital Media Revisited: Theoretical and Conceptual Innovations in Digital Domains, ed. Gunnar Liestol, Andrew Morrison, Terje Rasmussen (The MIT Press, 2004).

34 hackneyed imagery serves to mire a broader examination of graphic design and a sense of a creative self in his work. The adherence to normative design conventions, like the poster, seems to deter from his creative abilities, and in the end, his piece’s message of hiding oneself becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. The struggle in this piece, and others, seems to be rooted in either timidity or a self restricting definition of what design should be, rather than what it could be. Defining oneself as either/or and attempting to play a singular role is futile in contemporary design, and only limits the growth and potential of future experimentation and individuality in one’s work.

For better or for worse, our critique structure dictates the outcome of the work we see. Too vague and one risks lack of meaningful interpretation or dialogue; too obvious, and the work is equally lambasted. The delicate balance between both can be elusive and serves as a difficult goal for any designer, especially when creating not just good work, but work that is intended to be meaningful and relatable. The issue of fine art vs. design also becomes relevant to this discussion and presents a dichotomy that some find hard to overcome. It is important to remind oneself that, as Tobias Rehberger puts it,

11 Tobias Rehberger.

Interview. Bright: Typography Between Illustration & Art, ed.

Slanted (Daab, 2012), 27.

considering something to be a work of design doesn’t depend on its possessing particular design qualities but simply on one’s viewing it in that light. You can view anything as design—even a ham sandwich. By the same token it can be viewed as art. The question is only how well the item in question functions within the relevant parameters and perspectives, and what qualities it can take on in those conditions.11 In moving forward, questioning the almost-default way in which a message is presented in our critique environment is necessary for Tong. In his body of work, he has presented interesting attempts at employing different media, although they are often too timid.

Perhaps a gentle reminder for Tong to re-examine the successful elements of those experimentations and to continue to break away from doing what seems most “natural” or expected will allow him to develop his practice into a new territory not strictly bound by the labels of fine art or design.

35

36 Jean Egger September 24, 2014

37 “Apart from simplicity of form, what struck students of Mies’s buildings was their painstaking craftsmanship, their attention to detail.

‘God is in the details,’ Mies liked to say.”1 Although an architect, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe’s (1886–1969) philosophies, including the adage, “God is in the details,” and the famous “Less is more,” have resonated for decades in all design practices, including graphic design. As an educator, he most valued process and a hierarchal approach to teaching. First, foundational studies in drawing, then a mastering of features and use of building material, and lastly, the fundamentals and principles of design and construction2. His own work was at the forefront of design in his age and reflected Modernist aesthetic values.

Mies spent time educating at the Bauhaus, where the design reflected his values in functionality and Modernism. German graphic designer and typographer Jan Tschichold was too so moved by the Bauhaus that he began creating Modernist work and published a typography manifesto, Die neue Typographie, Ein Handbuch für zeitgemäss Schaffende (The New Typography: A Handbook for Contemporary Creators) (1928) that denounced most typefaces other than sans serifs and essentially created a rigid set of rules for progressive typography. This adherence to the sans serif typeface manifested itself in not only Modernist design, but bled into design movements that were later to come out of both Germany and Switzerland.

The International Typographic Style, also known as Swiss Design, called upon this adherence to sans serifs and stripping work of eccentricities and prioritizing clarity and order3. This particular movement still defines what is considered good design, and clearly informs the stylistic choices still made by designers today.

Is God or the Devil in the Details?

With a history of this particular kind of design and typography now laid out (and necessary to understand the underlying critical sentiment of this piece)—a more thorough analysis of what is written is required to form a relationship between the two. Investigating the statement presented further, I found myself trying to parse the relationship between what is before me, and the history from which it derives. So, is the Devil in the details the antithesis to the modernist dictum that “God is in the details?” Using the more negative connection—that is, the Devil and detail—favors detail as trivial, and implies an inadequacy in the rigidity and minutiae

1 Alden Whitman, “Mies van der Rohe Dies at 83; Leader of Modern Architecture,” The New York Times, August 19, 1969

2 Mies van der Rohe Society, Mies: the Man, the Legacy, http://www.miessociety.org/legacy/

3 Philip B. Meggs, Alston W. Purvis, Megg’s History of Graphic Design, 4th ed. (Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, Inc.,2006), 357.

38 of functional typographic design (or indeed, design in general).

This in itself contradicts the minimalist foundations and principles that are called upon in the visual form of Jean’s piece. The typeface mostly conforms to historical precedent: it is functional, clear, deliberate. It also asks that we engage with this Devil, that we “party with it,” which—although effectively branding detail as a vice—does not critically reject the dominance of its practice.

Is there attention in the detail?

At the risk of sounding overly descriptive or formal, both the motto presented and its historical connotation require that the viewer turn their attention to the formal detail and craft, both as a typeface and as a physical object. I bring up these things not out of disrespect for the piece, or to assert that its role is purely formal. The inconsistencies in the detail are exactly what the language itself calls upon, and serve to further decipher the message.

The piece, measuring over 17 feet wide on the top row with each letter about 13 inches tall, requires a considerable amount of space between the viewer and the wall in order to view. From a distance, it seems crafted well, with solid straight lines and placement that is thoroughly considered. As a typeface, there is solid readability and the characters are pleasantly consistent in both weight and width. Overall, it is visually appealing and I am drawn to the formal elements of the work: it is bold, the scale commands attention, the 3D elements and perspective provide interest and a sense of dimensionality and movement.

However, after prolonged inspection, and still at a distance, one can begin to see gaps in the overall consistency of the work.

Little details that weren’t attended to: the perspective between the top row and bottom are not entirely correct in relation to each other, as well as a few letters faltering in their singular perspective. The stems of the M appear to slightly stray from uniformity of the rest of the characters. Upon closer inspection, there are also a couple of craft errors in the vinyl.

Does detail matter? A contemporary critique These simple craft errors help guide Jean’s piece into the realm of a critique of the juggernauts of design and their design “values.” It should be considered that all the manifestos and pioneers of design that have been previously noted were pioneers decades ago. While their influence is still seen as relevant to contemporary

39 design, their theories and fundamentals are not particularly progressive anymore. Along with the presented flaws, the typeface (which derives its aesthetic language from these designers), and the tongue in cheek homage to Mies van der Rohe all serve to call out the banality of contemporary design and the designers who still adhere to those antiquated principles in their practices.

But, I still find myself a bit lost with some of the decisions Jean has made. Her typeface is beautifully crafted by the standards that she denounces. It seems that there is either timidity in expressing the frustration of being bound by design conventions, or else a disconnect in communication between type and message.

While there is value in infiltrating institutions through appropriation—such as in Barbara Kruger’s work that adopts the visual language of advertising to examine gender roles—the visual elements of the piece aren’t sharing the workload with the statement’s historical baggage. Kruger’s subversion of familiar icons and imagery creates strong, critical undertones that grant urgency and a strong sense of presence to their message. While the energy of Jean’s work is heightened with the dimensional elements of the typeface and has a sense of dynamism, it still falls short of any intended commentary that places it within a larger, critical discourse.

Sometimes it may be best to go by the rules; at other times the rules need to be broken to get the point across. Good designers learn all the rules before they start breaking them.4 Like van der Rohe, Erik Spiekermann—a more contemporary German figure in design—reiterates the importance of the fundamentals of design as a guideline by which work should be created. I end on this quote because it is clear that Jean—although critical of the residue that Modernist design has left us with—is well trained in their aesthetics herself. I think that her type treatment is thoughtful, visually appealing, and—for a lack of better words—especially “design-y” in light of her more experimental work. She clearly has a solid “design” ground that she is working on, but maybe in the words of Spiekermann, it’s time that she puts this thoughtfulness into breaking the rules that she now knows.

4 Erik Spiekermann, Stop Stealing Sheep & find out how type works, 3rd ed.

(Adobe Press, 2014), 41.

40 Anthony Warnick December 4, 2014

41 Good morning, 2D department. Here we sit, our selected silo1, sharing our specifically 2D thoughts. We’re here for our weekly critique, but we can now solely uphold our own glorious departmental philosophy2, free from the influence of any other ideologies3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11 that could infiltrate our space or our understanding of the works that we are being presented with. We have been suddenly treated with the isolating performance work of Anthony Warnick—a real, physical act of separation highlighting our departmental divisions and how this informs operations within our institution.

It is perhaps out of my own understanding of most institutional critiques that I am compelled to believe that Anthony’s performance is trying to implicate a larger institutional framework beyond our (admittedly isolating) brick walls. In this case, the current presentation and the overall impact suddenly seem negligible as they situate themselves in the default or convenient Cranbrook space. However, I find little in the work that hints toward a broader critique of institutions (or which). That said, my investment in the work as a critique of Cranbrook seems to wane as I fall short of understanding the implications of sequestering our respective departments. Anthony’s act opens to an unending stream of interpretations, all of which seem as relevant as the next but perhaps not as poignant as a singular, impactful statement. Furthermore, are the dramatic touches (e.g., having a security guard or bouncer) and the generally hyperbolic nature of this performance truly reflective of the institution?

Performance As I have written this before I have witnessed the performance, I can only hypothesize what the reactions may be, what reservations may be had, or how the actual critique will pan out as we suddenly find ourselves in exclusive company. I must remind myself that not only are we witness to this performance, but we are all participants—even those from the other departments that are currently not with us. In this case, I feel particularly involved (in both senses of the word: invested, and implicated) in the outcome of this work, and what it means to Anthony, whatever that may be. That said, I’m perhaps uncomfortable in my role as I feel that I am operating on mostly blind trust in believing that Anthony’s piece will garner an impactful reaction from its participants. Will the critique be profoundly changed by our missing students? Anthony too, must

1 si·lo /sīlō/ noun a system, process, department, etc. that operates in isolation from others.

2 Cranbrook 2D Design departmental philosophy 3 Cranbrook 3D Design departmental philosophy 4 Cranbrook Archictecture departmental philosophy 5 Cranbrook Ceramics departmental philosophy 6 Cranbrook Fibers departmental philosophy 7 Cranbrook Metals departmental philosophy 8 Cranbrook Painting departmental philosophy 9 Cranbrook Photography departmental philosophy 10 Cranbrook Print Media departmental philosophy 11 Cranbrook Sculpture departmental philosophy

42 12 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientific_method#Elements_of_the_scientific_method 13 Science fair, from 5th–7th grade

14 Jackson, Shannon. “Staged Management.” in Social Works: Performing Art, Supporting Publics, 124. London: Routledge, 2011.

have some sort of trust in us as his pawns. As I have defined this performance as an experiment, I assume that Anthony has gone through all of the steps of scientific method12,13. He has: 1 Researched, observed, and posed questions that characterized his inquiries: “Nested within the framework of an institution whose organization follows a divisional structure …

[What] is the determining power of this structure to itself?”; 2 Constructed a hypothesis of our reactions, of how the structure of our critique has become determined by the company that we fïnd ourselves in; 3 Predicted the outcome of his work; 4 Is now testing all of the above.

Outlining this method of approach, I find myself most interested in the unseen elements of what I’ve just described: where is Anthony’s research? What is his hypothesis? I am suddenly aware of my part in his piece, of his calculation, and I have a relatively negative reaction once I realize that I am just means to an end. Although he has orchestrated this exaggerated segregation of departments, the true work lies in how we respond. This part of the piece and its self-reflective quality forces us, as students, to position ourselves within the institution and not separate from it. We are all active participants—and to some degree—implicit in its functions.

Artist Andrea Fraser, in her most famous performance, Museum Highlights (1989), critiqued the institution of museums by posing as a tour guide at the Philadelphia Museum of Art and elaborately describing mundane aspects of the museum (e.g., the cafeteria, the water fountain) in fine art vernacular. It must be noted, however, that through her work she still remained aware of her role within the institution that she was attempting to dismantle. She writes: “...art is not only ‘institutionalized’ in organizations like museum and objective in art objects. It is also internalized, embodied, and performed by people,” and further expands her belief that “the institution is inside of us, and we can’t get outside of ourselves.”14 In Warnick’s work, we are confronted with the inseparability of ourselves from the spaces and fields that we operate within.

Yet, through some of the gestures that he has taken, I am unsure whether this nuanced awareness manifests itself in the piece.

43 Anthony’s piece has highlighted our separation as departments, but the symbols that he has employed begin to obfuscate a clear reading of what, or why exactly, we are now implicated as a singular department and what this represents. The ceremony-esque nature of the performed acts carry an amount of baggage that lend themselves to a laundry list of extrapolations. The guard has, amongst other things, connotations of security, elitism, privilege, class. Yet, these connotations branch into a multitude of dead ends and redirects: Is security bad? Is it inherently wrong to deny certain people access to spaces? Are we supposed to suddenly feel elite for being admitted into a critique, whereas some others were not? Most importantly, where at Cranbrook are you disallowed entrance by a security guard for being in the wrong department?

Couldn’t it just be a door? Being so steeped in this symbolism only serves to separate me from what could be a fertile conversation, rather than realistically manifesting the problems that we encounter in our institution.

Physical Object At the time of this writing, I have only been able to hypothesize. I will discuss what I have been given: Anthony’s directives. I experienced some confusion with the language, which also complicates my relationship with this work. It is clear that the work is institutional critique in some way, mainly through positioning itself specifically within the institution. That said, I will expand on the idea that Anthony has isolated us in an attempt to control how the critique will function in our own company. I find myself wanting to take this time, since I am now surrounded only by designers, to mirror Anthony’s hyperbolic symbolism with an exaggerated designer quip of my own: let’s talk about his typography. On Tuesday night when I returned to my studio, I found his unmarked manila folder that held a printout on speckled paper from Anthony.

On it were a set of directives. The stage settings—The Site, The Context, and The Action—are in a typewriter font, which is a clear nod to screenplays. Yet, there is inconsistency in the other elements of the page that are left either untreated (“Page 1 of 1”— why is that there?!?) or are treated in another serif—which is, by my understanding, not indicative of screenwriting conventions.

The speckled paper also renounces screenwriting etiquette and is more reminiscent of stationary, yet I’m missing “From the desk of Anthony Warnick” in the header. But most baffling to me, as a

44 2D typography snob, is the absolutely catastrophic inattention to contextual alternates as displayed by the fi ligature in “office”.

Obviously that complaint is especially petty, but as a participant in Anthony’s work, I feel obliged to suddenly take the reins as a designer, with my designing brothers and sisters, and determine the structure of our critique (2D! 2D! TYPEFACE! TYPEFACE! GRID! GRID! GRID!). Is it our directive, now isolated from the others, that we only discuss these things?

Tying Up the Loose Ends (A Summation) Upon reviewing my own review, I realize that the bulk of what I have written is overwhelmingly negative and lacks the sense of charity that is critically important to Anthony’s development of practice.

At the risk of doing something Elliott renounces in every critique, I want to use my summation to do two things: attempt to salvage both Anthony’s ego, and my own. Bear with me while I do so.

As I detailed earlier in this review, I had no actual interaction with the piece as a performance and thus could only criticize its utilization in theory, while only making observations or summaries based on what I hypothesize to happen, or what was given to me. Even with the information I did possess, I can’t foresee its effectiveness without it being enacted. That said, I want to highlight that I think the act, or the spirit of what Anthony is doing is patently important to not only his own practice, but to ours, as well.

I am entirely for the questioning of hierarchy and systems, however I may have come across in my frustration of operating in the dark.

The way that we function as an institution—really, the way that any institute functions—would not progress without a constant questioning of its value systems and operations. We require explorations like these to structure how we interact with each other in a progressive and thoughtful way.

While I can’t say as I write this exactly how his experiment has affected us emotionally and situationally, I can for certain say that the actual experience will no doubt be the strongest element of his work. It is brave to assume that a meaningful conversation will come out of an unexpected turn presented within the hour of critique that we have, and I imagine that because of that limited amount of time, as participants we will be left thinking about it even after. Most importantly, I think that Anthony should keep in mind that however unsuccessful or successful his experiments

45 may be, institutions will always be unforgiving, but will always call upon work like this to question themselves.

The only important thing is to create—in a very precise, but at the same time improvised manner—the situation where open communicationtion flourish, a situation that builds trust and generates circumstances where intelligent criticism and support can contribute equally to change.15

15 Van Der Pol, Bik. “Changing the System Unexpectedly, 1995.” in Situation (Whitechapel: Documents of Contemporary Art).

Ed. Claire Doherty.

N.p.: MIT, 2009. 206.

46 Kelsey Elder February 12, 2015

47 The discovery of extraterrestrial intelligence, if and when it happens, will impart a chance in human selfvperception that may be impossible to anticipate. My only hope is that every other civilization isn’t doing exactly what we are doing because then everybody would be listening, nobody would be receiving, and we would collectively conclude that there is no other intelligent life in the universe.1 In the Postmodern age, there has been an ambivalence toward science and technology, and a “gradually increasing skepticism … [that has] led historians and philosophers to postulate a crisis in the legitimation of science as one of the pillars of western thought and society.”2 One of the driving factors of this decline is “the Hegelian idea that the human spirit itself progresses over the course of history, and that the expansion of knowledge is one of the most visible tokens of this progress … neither [of which] commands widespread adherence … in an age when science itself has disintegrated into highly specialized research projects that maintain only scant communication with one another.”3 What better manifest of the human spirit to progress itself than communicating with space? What better endeavor could Elder have undertaken than an attempt at extrastellar communication to highlight the lost romance of the space age and its futility? Legitimate science practices, such as astrophysics and astrobiology, and not-so-legitimate fringe UFO societies both tend to alienate (pun intended) people outside of their groups, either willingly or unwillingly. Society at large, despite efforts to make science fun, has largely lost interest in the “space race” (perhaps worth noting, in the fiscal year of 2015, NASA’s Astrophysics budget was cut by $61 million, its planetary science budget cut by $65 million4). However, while these modern realities are touched upon in the set of this piece, they only serve to be overshadowed by a misjudgment of their too negligible role in the more visceral performance.

In his performance, Elder isolated himself from the audience in a white cube, with plywood at its entrance and as a ceiling.

At 17:50 exactly, and as the gathering looked on, he began to chisel concrete bricks on a white podium centered within the space. Set on the white podium was a radio transmitter, and surrounding him within the space were more bricks piled neatly in the corner, a

1 Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Death by Black Hole: and Other Cosmic Quandaries. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2014.

2 Steven Connor, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Postmodernism, Cambridge Companions to Literature (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 148.

3 Connor 148.

4 Phil Plait, “Another Year, Another Set of Bizarre Cuts to Nasa’s Budget,” Slate, 3/5/2015

48

(from personal performance notes) 5 going on 16 minutes—no change in motion or sound (really) 6 23 minutes— same actions.

7 30 min—no change. sound remains the same (kind of echo -y) 8 1 hr 8 min—no change in methodology 9 appearing tired/ irritated over time 10 at 27 min—frustrated appearing, threw down the block instead of placing it in the pile 11 occasionally altering / addressing the receiver 12 54 minutes—25 left, 8 right. Checked transmission 13 Just noticed that he injured finger? @ 1 hr­—finger is fucked up 14 Tyson, 33–34 15 Tyson, 241.

speaker, two astroturf circles laid flat on the floor, and a metal circle set atop one of the turf circles, resting upright against the wall.

Black tape marked grids in the far left corner and near right corner.

As he began chiseling, the bricks were placed in the front right grid, assigned to one of two piles, seemingly separated by the successful and the unsuccessful. He began to repeat a set of motions: pick up brick, place on podium, chisel “HELLO,” place the finish piece in a pile. As the performance endured, there was no change in his actions5,6,7,8—save a few moments of frustration9,10, a few checks of the radio device11,12, and injury13. It ultimately ended with Elder leaving the space without speaking, 51 bricks and 1 hour and 11 minutes later.

Based on his flyers and signage, these actions are assumed to be attempts by “the Extrastellar Communication Project” to send messages to outer space. This is not the first time, and certainly won’t be the last, that Earth has attempted this feat. While many of our efforts could be considered valiant—like the Voyager including sounds of the human heart beat, whale “songs,” and music from Beethoven to Chuck Berry—realistically, “it’s not clear whether alien ears would have a clue what they were listening to—assuming they have ears in the first place.”14 This seeming futility is exaggerated by the almost romantic homage to the history of human communication that Elder makes by reverting to using chisel and stone, a practice that goes back to the Iron Age (1200 BCE–1 BCE). The radio, through its forgettable role in the performance and its size, also seems to also be a symbol of its own pointlessness. Radio waves aren’t limitless, nor would this tiny one likely be powerful enough to make it out of our ionosphere, let alone to far away galaxies: “as the signals move out into space they get weaker and weaker, becoming diluted by the growing volume of space through which it travels. Eventually, the signals get hopelessly buried by the ambient radio noise of the universe … These factors, above all, will limit the likelihood of a distant civilization decoding our way of life.”15 These gestures are accompanied by other symbols present in the space (pun intended, again) Elder has chosen to operate within. The green turf circles: Earth? The metal circle: a distant planet? Along with these signifiers, there are a few confusing or otherwise difficult-to-access cues: the number of blocks, the number of squares in the grids that have been outlined by electrical tape. The number of blocks (51) can be interpreted as a nod to Area

49 51, the United States Air Force facility that is commonly tied with conspiracy theories relating to aliens. The grids, 28 for the far left, 6 (or 8, counting the squares on the wall) for the near right, seem to be important—however, their functions lack immediate clarity for the spectator. Even after research, possible connections seem reaching. In simple gematria (numerical values assigned to words or phrases) 28 corresponds with man16, which seems fitting in the pursuit of extraterrestrial communication, and it might be worth mentioning that “hello” is 52, which led me to believe that I had possibly miscounted the bricks? Were there really 52? Six, however, doesn’t particularly highlight any similar revelations, nor does the grid’s purpose seem readily apparent by the placement of the bricks within it (nor did the other grid, where the bricks lay outside of it, arranged separately). The ambiguity in the coded language leads to misunderstanding or being overlooked at best, and frustration, at worst. Where these points of access could have given greater insight into the endeavor, they either ultimately fell short, or displayed Elder’s lack of insight or understanding of the propensity of his viewers to try to make sense of their role in his piece.

After having covered the objects or “props” of Elder’s piece, I feel like it is most important to discuss his actions, which were undoubtedly the most poignant and striking take-away from the entire experience. Where those props may have fallen short, the immediacy of their importance was overshadowed by the pure endurance of his motions and his commitment. The lack of change in the entire performance tested his participant’s own endurance, while the minute differences (mainly his injuries) challenged his audience’s role as spectator.

Certain parallels can be drawn between Elder’s work and Marina Abromavić’s Lips of Thomas (1975). In her two-hour long performance, the artist performed acts of self-mutilation in front of her audience. Even though the injuries that Elder sustained are not directly comparable to Abromavić’s the amount of intentional physical distress that she inflicted upon herself, the role of the audience was rendered more or less the same: the spectators, too, took on the role of actor through their implications in his actions.

While this level of engagement is a success in Elder’s piece, the work is too full of aforementioned and muddled clues that point to an aboutness—that is, it is about the extrastellar communication and its futility—that seems to escape the spectator’s experience and falls short of the simple reward of being a participant

16 m

a

n

13 + 1 + 14 = 28 (http://www.gematrix.org/)

50

17 Erika Fischer-Lichte, The Transformative Power of Performance: a New Aesthetics (New York: Routledge, 2008), 16 18 ibid.

in his “play.” The overarching narrative begins to feel like more of an excuse for the performance, rather than an integral part of the work. In contrast, Abromavić’s performance “eludes the scope of traditional aesthetic theories. It vehemently resists the demands of hermeneutic aesthetics, which aims at understanding the work of art. In this case, understanding the artist’s actions was less important than the experiences that she had while carrying them out and that were generated in the audience.”17 Art critic Erika Fischer-Lichte further explains, “It can be assumed that the affects that were triggered … by far transcended the possibility and the effort to reflect, to constitute meaning, and to interpret the events.

The central concern of the performance was not to understand but to experience it and to cope with these experiences.”18 That is not to say that Abromavić’s work meant nothing, nor that Kelsey’s should mean nothing in order to be more successful—but that there lacked a balance between the strengths of his actions and the comparatively weak way in which the “content” of his piece served as little more than backdrop.

I would consider this a very strong performance, which only further highlights where its setting and prelude to a dialogue about space fall short. That said, I think that it’s important to again commend Elder for what did work, and that a testament to the piece’s success could be his viewer’s endured attention despite the relative lack of drama; and even though there were no explicit directions, the silence was barely broken by his audience. I look forward to seeing how or if Elder continues in the direction of this piece and see that he could, using this piece as a springboard, create some very enriching performances.

51

52 Zartavia Howard March 23, 2014

53 Although American society has defined progress as a focus on the future, we must now return to the past in order to place ourselves in that history and understand how we got to where we are.1 Zartavia Howard’s latest installation takes up this method of practice set forth by Cuban American Coco Fusco by creating a piece about identity that calls upon symbols borrowed from both the past and the present. With a light centered on the throne, the piece immediately commands a regal attention. The wooden throne, flanked by a display of bandanas and two black boards spray painted with “S” and “C” in blackletter, begin to come into light as a kind of self-portrait that asks its viewers to examine and decode the story present in each piece. In borrowing visual cues from different cultures, the piece begins to create a history that potentially creates a thoughtful representation of its maker and her life.

The throne is a cross-cultural signifier for royalty, as it is an object of tradition in monarchies across the globe. Typically, they are “often placed in an elevated position and accompanied by a footstool, a cloth hanging and a canopy.”2 The piece adheres to these conventions strictly in its presentation, making it obvious that it is indeed a throne and that it is important, but in its relatively simple construction it does not seem to clearly align with any distinct visual traditions and markedly removes itself from the custom of ornamentation. Where this interpretation could lead the throne to be read as unique and one of a kind, its haphazard construction makes it hard to understand the chair’s character as intending to suggest this.

There are, however, minute gestures made in its details that attempt to align the throne with a history—the back is adorned with gold geometric symbols that suggest hieroglyphs or ancient phoenician (fig. 1). It also features ንጉሥ (niguši) on its left arm, meaning “king” in Amharic, the official working language of Ethiopia. As a person who gets a thrill out of translating languages or decoding symbol in pattern, I felt excited and intrigued by these cues but was left disappointed when they ended up acting only as obvious labels and as relatively superficial representations of antiquity or culture. This falls short of a distinct and personal message that points to a deeper relationship between the maker and her roots, and the importance of those roots in defiance to an

1 Coco Fusco, English Is Broken Here: Notes On Cultural Fusion in the Americas (New York City: New Press, 1995)

2 “Throne,” oxford art online.

54

3 Patricks S. De Walt, “In Search of an Authentic African American and/or Black Identity” Journal of Black Studies 42 (April 2011): 479–503.

4 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handkerchief_code

5 “Slave Women and the Headwrap,” PBS.

oppositional society—“the concept of identity has powerful implications in forming the social fabric of the United States. Within a racist and oppressive society, identity becomes more complex when the embedded meaning of American as a Eurocentric construct is illuminated as a fundamental component of American as an identity, whereby people of color’s cultural/ethnic/racial identities are dismembered into socially unequal components.”3 Yet still, where the piece teases a discussion of this complex situation, the viewer’s interpretation is stopped before a more in-depth understanding or interpretation can play out, and ultimately I find my in-depth analysis or assumptions about the piece to be either projection or simply not present in the form in front of me. All of this is compounded by the physical object and craft of the throne falling short of the authority it demands. While not calling on the throne to be exaggerated or overly elaborate, the overall form seems more like a sketch of an idea, over being purposefully humble. In this way, the work presents itself with another paradox in that the piece commands the room, yet still seems withdrawn.

Unlike the confusion felt by the throne, its accompanying bandanas represent a more fully formed sense of personality in their bold application and more subtle referential nature. In the United States, bandanas have been incorporated into a range of subcultural histories: from cowboys, to bikers, to miners, to gay men4. They have served to be especially symbolic in Black American culture, having an array of both negative and positive affiliations. Used in this piece, and very poignantly, the bandanas serve to bridge positive associations with ancestral roots in Africa (mirroring the homage to Africana in the throne’s language) and contemporary fashion. Historically, despite being a mark of enslavement, African American women have worn bandanas as a “[head] wrap, which varied in form from region to region, [and] signified communal identity. At the same time, the particular appearance of an individual head-wrap was an expression of personal identity.”5 And still, they serve as modern identifiers for urban communities.

Zartavia has used the form of the bandana in order to create a symbolism that is unique to her personal history but still manages to reference communal aesthetics and places it in a cultural context that allows the viewer to have a more insightful relationship with the piece.

The sense of individuality in these bandanas is mimicked in their creation through block printing, which, to most printers, might

55 seem like an outdated method. However, printmaker Susan Bosence, a british artist who also creates textiles from block prints, finds that “Block printing, in her eyes, can be a very personal craft. It is one of the few areas of printing where the presence of the hand can be clearly felt in terms of the rhythm and shape of the repeat pattern cut into the block, the way in which dye is applied to it and the pressure with which it is applied to the cloth. Block printing is a laborious and time-consuming activity: it requires an investment of self.

Bosence’s work is about personal integrity, a way of life.”6 Through this laborious act, these bandanas supersede their mass-marketed counterparts, however culturally significant, and begin to enter a more successful self-centered aesthetic. However, the actual pattern again falls into the same territory as the throne, in that they display a lack of history that the piece is seeming to call upon. The geometric patterns, while formally appealing, do not bear the weight of the cognitive load that had been suggested by the elements surrounding them that are steeped in symbolisms and references. That, or they simply resign themselves to a similar adherence to a plethora of cultural signifiers that muddy the opportunity for a more intimate interpretation: geometric pattern is common in so many visual traditions that they only seem to serve as shallow associations and an otherwise lost opportunity.

Up until this point, I realize I have also neglected to elaborate on the black boards spray painted with “S” and “C.” I don’t know what S or C mean, and while I could speculate, the lack of access point into deciphering them deems them more or less negligible, which is counterintuitive to a piece that seems to be serving as a self-portrait or to be about identity. This quality of withholding that is also present in the throne only frustrates my desire to have a more intellectual or meaningful relationship with the piece and its maker. Compounded with this, (and while I am loath to make this reference again, in light of her previous critiques) blackletter’s association with hip hop culture and graffiti seems to stand out in an unnatural way from the rest of the piece. While bandanas can also be attributed to hip hop culture, through her application of patterns, the subversion and appropriation of the association was more successful and personal, yet in these two blackletter pieces, there seemed to be none.

I enjoy this piece and think that it is visually appealing and has a commanding presence. Still, beyond its initial boastfulness, it lacked—for a piece that I have read as a self portrait—a

6 Chloë Colchester, The New Textiles: Trends and Traditions (New York: Rizzoli, 1991), 112.

56

7 Elliott Oring, “The Arts, Artifacts and Artifices of Identity.”

The Journal of American Folklore 107 (Spring 1994), 212.

stronger personality or voice. Each part begins to touch upon an interesting thought, and in and of themselves, a melting pot of cultures and personal history. In defining personal identity, it is difficult or impossible to remove the person from their communal context—“Personal identity is shaped from experiences that are unique to the individual as well as from those common to a collection of individuals.”7 Considering this, a unifying conceptual grounding could have been a fruitful endeavor, but the relationships between the visual cues in her work are strained by the lack of friction present in how they are united so ambiguously. Neither the generality nor the specificity of each element is pushed enough to recognize these qualities as being purposeful. While upon first approach, the piece has an overwhelming presence that excites and intrigues, there is little in the piece that defamiliarizes the viewer from that initial reaction.

57

58 Work

59 A selection of works from 2013–2015

60

61 ENTITLEMENT Digital collage 30" × 40" 2013

62

63 ENTITLEMENT (Detail)

64

65 Are We Ready?

Digital collage Diptych, 20" Ă— 34" 2014

66

67 Are We Ready?

(Detail)

68

69 Are We Ready?

(Detail)

70

71 I AM NOT A BAD PERSON Digital Collage 20" × 30" 2014

72

73 I AM NOT A BAD PERSON (detail)

74

75 The Well Educated Man Reminds Me What's Important Digital Collage 20" Ă— 30" 2014

76

77 The Well Educated Man Reminds Me What's Important (detail)

78

79 I Have Nothing Left to Say Digital collage 15" Ă— 25" 2014

80

81 I Have Nothing Left to Say (Detail)

82

83 BECAUSE Essay, digital prints Heptatic, 10" Ă— 10" 2014

84

85

86

87

88

89

90

91 Trio Graphite and digital 10" x 10" 2014

92

93 Trio (Detail)

94

95 Peaceable Kingdom Artist book 3.5" x 5.5" 36 pages 2014

96

97

98

99

100

101

102

103

104

105

106

107

108

109

110

111

112

113

114

115

116

117

118

119

120

121

122

123

124

125

126

127

128

129

130

131 No Zoning / Unincorporated Screenprint on Clothing 2014

132

133 No Zoning/ Unincorporated (Detail)

134

135 Cranbrook 3D Design iDSA Magazine Ad Digital Collage 8.5" x 11" 2014

136

137 Cranbrook 3D Design iDSA Magazine Ad (Detail)

138

139 Lucky Artist Book 5.25" Ă— 8" 25 pages 2015

140

141

142

143

144

145

146

147

148

149

150

151

152

153

154

155

156

157

158

159

160

161

162

163

164

165 Winter is Coming Digital 8.5" Ă— 7" 2014

166

167 After The Execution of Lady Jane Grey Oil on Canvas 48" × 36" 2015

168

169 After Time Saving Truth from Falsehood and Envy Oil and Acrylic on Canvas 46" Ă— 60" 2015

170

171 After Time Saving Truth from Falsehood and Envy (Detail)

172

173

174 Pattern

175 A selection of patterns created in the studio from 2013–2015

176

177

178

179

180

181

182

183

184

185

186

187

188

189

190

191

192

193

194

195

196

197

198

199

200

201

202

203

204

205

206

207

208

209

210 Curriculum Vitae

211

212 Charlotte Jackson 361-290-8544 cbr.jackson@gmail.com

213 Education 2015 MFA, 2D Design, Cranbrook Academy of Art, Bloomfield Hills, MI 2012 BFA, Illustration, Savannah College of Art and Design, Savannah, GA Exhibitions 2015 Graduate Degree Exhibition, Cranbrook Academy of Art, Bloomfield Hills, MI 2014–2015 Experiencing Perspectives, Mercedes-Benz Financial Services Corporate Headquarters, Farmington Hills, MI 2014 Pyrocognitions, Forum Gallery, Cranbrook Academy of Art 2013 The Metal Show, Forum Gallery, Cranbrook Academy of Art 2013 The Sketchbook Show, Little Beasts Gallery, Savannah, GA 2012 The Tiny Show, Little Beasts Gallery, Savannah, GA Recognitions 2014–2015 Lucy Ann Warner Scholarship Cranbrook Academy of Art 2014 Cranbrook 3D Design department advertisement, published in iDSA 2012 What’s Up Annapolis magazine editorial illustration,“Signs of a Vitamin Deficiency” 2011 altpick.com promotional card contest, second place 2011 Savannah Stopover Music Festival promotional poster competition, runner-up