jan/issue 07 by FORGET GOOD

jan / issue 07

ARTISTS

peter hoffmeister connor r. creagan justin c. rhody amanda b. friedman jack fisher jessica sanders

peter hoffmeister

peterjhoffmeister.com

who/what was your introduction to the art world? it’s always hard to tell where things begin. officially, i suppose that would be my discovery of the chelsea galleries during my first week of art school in nyc. but more importantly, it is worth mentioning my introduction to art-making through the antithesis of such places as the chelsea galleries. when i was really young, my grandmother would babysit me, and she was an artist. she would go to a drawing class once a week, and work from models, mainly doing portraits. anyhow, when i was over at her house, we would watch bob ross, and copy the paintings bob made using my crayons. i worked alongside her; it was like a little studio. she really showed me that art was something you could just start making—using whatever materials you had at hand. and yes, this means that bob ross had some strange and mysterious influence on my formative mind… describe something that you were afraid to start (start doing/start making). well getting out of bed can be hard, especially if you have a double feature dream that just keeps going. dreams can be demanding, and sometimes i’m afraid to let a good one slip by. what is the best thing someone has said about your work? i was in a group exhibition and had my piece “blueprint 2.0013” on view. this kid, probably seven or eight years old, walks over and points to it, saying to his father, “that looks wrong!” if you saw the piece you’d probably agree. what retro-future type object/ability do you wish existed? hmmmm....maybe to live in a john steinbeck novel? i just wish it was the 1920s, back when it was a big deal to own a refrigerator and everyone drank gin. how has your work developed over the last year? well i’ve begun a great collaboration with my friend jack laughner, a project called the moonshiner. it’s a lot to go into here, but i’ll see if i can keep it short. basically, we are creating a newspaper to critique mass media. by using a visual approach instead of writing articles, we aim to transcend everyday politics, and inject the newspaper with issues we feel are missing from the discussion mass media outlets control. all the while, we are consciously creating an art object. the first issue will be 24 pages and explore the rising police state in the US, which we plan to distribute outside of new york city art museums. this project is a big change from my usual methods of art making, in several ways. it involves a lot of computer work, direct interaction with the public, and collaborating with another artist. all things i’ve brushed elbows with but never done seriously. so i am definitely learning a lot. you can explore the project at our website, www.whoismalcolmford.wordpress.com.

winner takes all #1

09.09.1850

03.03.1845

winner takes all #3

12.29.1845

connor r. creagan

connorcreagan.com

who/what was your introduction to the art world? art world in the miami basel sense or in the “world of art” sense? i’ve never really known how to relate to the term “art world”, as i feel that it somehow alienates art from the world. for the sake of the question though, i’ll understand it as the world of art; and i suppose my introduction to arts, to the ability to open up a world itself while being open to the world, came from reading a lot of heidegger in a seminar with susanna coffey and consequent discussions with fellow peers and instructors. describe something that you were afraid to start (start doing/start making). i’m often afraid of slipping into a system of making what is known to me. i believe very strongly that if it’s easy, it is not worth doing (or making), so i guess i’m afraid of losing the ability to let go, if that makes sense. when i make a work that i don’t particularly like or relate to or whatever the case may be, i understand that i am responsible for that, and that can be very scary, very frightening. an “oh my god, i made that, what the hell? fuck you, connor” moment that really hurts, and i think we’re all at least a little afraid of being hurt. what is the best thing someone has said about your work? i’m not trying to devalue anyone’s positive and/or honest criticism of my work, but recently it was relayed to me that a viewer of my work really felt that he could relate to me. the fact that i was (allegedly) able to build at least one relationship within an exhibition of my work really meant, and continues to mean a lot to me. piggy backing off of that, i’m always working to be open and receptive to the world, so whenever someone says that of my work i get truly excited. what retro-future type object/ability do you wish existed? i was watching one of those tex avery cars-of-tomorrow cartoons and they had this one that folded up into like a pocket book -- that would be so unbelievable convenient i can’t even stand it. either that or “morning routine machine” where you just ride a conveyor belt and robot arms brush your teeth, get you dressed, etc. how has your work developed over the last year? how hasn’t it? that wasn’t meant to sound like, “oh yeah, my work is so developed now,” of course it’s always developing in some way. this time last year, i had just finished my first painting course, and was just starting to recognize paint as the form by which to exact my touch in the world. from imagery to comprehending my responsibility of/to the work, even to the simple understanding of the viewer’s freedom to say “no” to me, my work has changed completely, but i feel still comes from a (similarly) sincere place.

annunciation

wishbone

carolina

how do you feel? how do you feel?

untitled

justin c. rhody

justincliffordrhody. blogspot.com

who/what was your introduction to the art world? i’ve never been to art world. describe something that you were afraid to start (start doing/start making). “------ ----- ----------- ---- ----------- -------.” what is the best thing someone has said about your work? at an opening: “these beers are getting warm. you should keep them in the cooler.” what retro-future type object/ability do you wish existed? i’m okay actually, there’s already too much of that for my taste. how has your work developed over the last year? i spent half of the year living out of my car and traveling abroad, focusing almost solely on photography -- so quite a bit has happened! in regards to projects, a book of my photos (“sliding glass door”) was published last summer through bathetic records, and i did a series of slideshow presentations & talks based around its release. projecting the photos in non-traditional spaces was always an exciting experience (large warehouses, backyards and garages) and allowed me to experience an energy more visceral than that of the gallery context while sharing my work. during the moments of clarity and success it felt as if i were a rock band, and i loved the experience of “performing” photographs. i was able to return to central america for a month and a half this fall/winter to complete a series of photos that began in 2009. now i’m currently in the phase of “custodial labor” with those images (scanning negatives, sequencing, etc.) and am excited to see them come together in an intentionally cohesive and loosely-coherent fashion. i also spent an encouraging period shooting in the desert (predominately new mexico) that i’m excited about. --------> i’m currently in the process of moving to the west coast and would like to take advantage of its relative proximity to spend as much time as possible working there further. in an intrinsic sense though, i’ve begun to be able to “move faster”, and that’s what feels to be the most important overall. analyzing without resorting to literal mental objects; allowing my experience to become a more complete extension of myself.

untitled

amanda b. friedman

amandabfriedman.com

who/what was your introduction to the art world? working in the studios in the mackintosh building at the glasgow school of art. that said, there are many art worlds. describe something that you were afraid to start (start doing/start making). diving. what is the best thing someone has said about your work? it exists out of time. what retro-future type object/ability do you wish existed? a peace on earth giving object/ability. how has your work developed over the last year? through reading, sleeping, talking with friends, working in the studio, laughing a lot, squinting and staring, going to my job, viewing art in person and online, emailing, petting my cat, taking public transportation, driving, the seasons ----

untitled

jack fisher

jackfisher.eu

who/what was your introduction to the art world? i couldn’t say that i’ve really ever had a proper introduction into the art world. i’ve always been aware of its omnipresence but we’ve never formally been introduced. describe something that you were afraid to start (start doing/start making). i’m not sure that starting things is my problem. i like to think i am a fairly pro-active person, so starting ideas off comes pretty easily. it’s my ability to keep up-to-date and maintain a constant level of input to each project i start off. i don’t think its anything to do with fear as opposed to just time management and my alarm. i need some floating avatar buddy to manage my day for me -- a portable holographic personal assistant (PHPA)? what is the best thing someone has said about your work? i’m not too sure to be honest -- the odd compliment is always warming but i don’t remember anything in particular. it’s always more interesting when someone has something negative to say. what retro-future type object/ability do you wish existed? there’s too many -- i’m always coming up with new concepts for products we’ll probably one day have. i can’t wait for wireless electricity. having to charge our gadgets is becoming a nuisance when we’re all using them constantly. this will definitely get ‘sorted’ within a couple of years. electromagnetic technology will start to change the way we go about our daily lives. i just got a pocket HD projector -- it seems almost ridiculous that in 10 years i’ll probably look back at it and think, “wow; thats old.” also, the thought that our connection to a virtual world might one day become more real than our awareness of the real world -- a reality with the research being done into dream receptors in the brain. it starts to sound a bit sci-fi, but what we think of as ‘the matrix’ could one day become sort kind of reality. how has your work developed over the last year? i feel that i’ve started to take a much more informed stance on my work and role in the art world. my ever-growing awareness of what’s going on globally through my ability to harness the power of the web and use it to my advantage. as a race; we will soon be fully connected, which means the sharing of information is on the rise. art is in sense a reflection of society of the time; it’s interesting to think that in 100 years people will look back on a certain movement of our time. this being said, i’ve begun to think of new ways of presenting the work, and whether the presentation of an object as art brings the object some kind of sacred power.

understanding christmas/ understanding jesus

do you remember that year london hosted the olympic games?

i wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t say i was religious

mugs

when we grow

jessica sanders

jessicasanders.org

kylie gava: would you like to introduce yourself? jessica sanders: i’m an artist living and working in greenpoint, brooklyn, ny, where i share a studio with my frequent collaborator, ryan estep, and a much beloved boston terrier, camden. i’m american born, and i received my BFA from the university of miami, in coral gables, FL and my MFA from ohio state university, in columbus, OH. KG: who/what was your introduction to the art world? JS: my grandmother is a quilter, and my mother was a potter. both were collectors of sorts, so i grew up surrounded by incredible materials and a great cross-section of traditional craft and folk art. being alongside these two women as they went through their routine and time of making is my most base feeling and memory of art. KG: describe something you were afraid to start (start doing/start making). JS: truly afraid to start -- never. anxious about starting -- “tend time pour stretch mass”. it’s a piece from my MFA thesis exhibition, and it was one of the most engineering- and planning-dependent pieces i’ve made. it involved heating 80 gallons of wax at once and pouring it all into a fabric pocket i built on the wall, all with the help of only one person. there were a lot of logistics and everything had to go just right. the first attempt failed (with an epic rupture) and i was quite anxious about the second try after i had made a few changes. all went well, despite the anxiety. KG: you explained, in a studio visit with gn8project, the importance of malleable materials that respond to the heat of hands in your work, but you have also said, “i feel that the more my hand is removed, the better the work is.” is it important that the hand is used but at the same time feels removed? is using your specific hand important? why not a machine? why not another person? JS: those ideas sound like a contradiction, and they may very well be, but in my disparate brain, they’re separate thoughts that run parallel to one another. malleable materials are my mainstay and what i’m drawn to. after many years and many materials, the best overarching way i’ve found to describe the matter i choose is that they each have a lifespan. my work is constantly searching for a way to meld the most interesting part of that lifespan with a form that can draw out a sense of its liveliness. a large part of that is how the material reacts to me, and me to it. there are so many reasons i’m attracted to beeswax: its translucent skin, its sweet smell, its buttery color and texture, how it’s made, its relationship to the body, just to name a few. but its capacity to exist steadfastly on the edge of flux is something i’m endlessly fascinated with, and it’s one of the most direct i-respond-to-you, you-respond-to-me relationships i’ve come across. i’ve made pieces about beeswax’s relationship to my touch and heat, but not each piece i make with wax is directly about that. once it’s established, it’s in each piece for me, regardless of how the wax was heated. as a whole (and a separate thought), the lighter my touch is in the work, the better it is. it’s always my goal to know the material and its behavior so intimately that i can set up a system of creating so it seems like it was the material’s idea—even when it’s pushing the material

into uncomfortable forms and formats. so to finally get to your questions: it’s not important to me that my hand feels removed; i just don’t want it to be everpresent. i want the material to look effortless, as if it just became or was that way. every material has a personality and a mind of its own—i’m trying to show it, not me. if a material is only presented with itself, it rarely shows its range, so i put it in situations and forced interactions to show the far ends of its disposition. as to why not a machine or another person, my work is learned, and not thought out as a beginning to end project -- i don’t have a clear goal or form in mind; i let the material dictate what happens. it’s intuition and experience that leads me, and if someone or something else made the choices along the way, it wouldn’t be the same work. KG: in your interview with IKOIKO, you listed things like: growing up in a place with no seasons, peeling an orange, and the physical presence of a body with a material as some of your influences. do you think you could flush those out a bit? JS: growing up on a farm in south florida, i learned to track time and memories a bit differently. since living in a place with seasons, i’ve realized how dependent people become on the weather to mark time. in a place with no seasons, i became attuned to much subtler shifts and those subtleties, as well as the continuous buttery light of south florida, find their way into my palette and my aesthetic. i eat A LOT of clementines and oranges. i might peel 30 in a day, and that kind of repetition sticks. there is so much repetition in my work and the idea of covering and layering and binding and permeable skins beeswax and gouache on canvas

untitled cotton candy and hair (with ryan estep)

are everywhere in the work as well. it’s hard to not see the connection, even if i don’t make work directly with or about oranges. one of the most monumental art experiences i’ve had is standing next to joseph beuys’ three towering stacks of wool felt at the dia: beacon. but he’s an exception; there is such physicality in the world that i don’t often find in art. slowing down enough in life to experience the materials around me is where i get so much information for my work. KG: that is so much citrus! JS: it’s just so good! KG: i am going to list some words that i think relate to your work. let me know which ones you agree or disagree with: visceral, bodily, physical, sweet, disgusting, uncanny, natural, time, quiet, soft. JS: agree with all! the two on which we may have a division are sweet and disgusting. i make work with sugar and honey and it’s sweet, but i don’t try to make work that’s inherently pleasant or agreeable. i also don’t try to make work that’s disgusting, but i get that from a lot of people and i can see where that reaction is coming from. i’m fine with it as a response; it’s just not an intention. KG: disgusting may not have been the exact word i meant, but something with two sides like sweet and disgusting. maybe a sweetness and an unraveling. i mean, i imagine eating “untitled cotton candy, hair” and it is not pleasant, but just looking at it -- it feels soft and light. on the same note, i also think of “untitled insulation” with the same dual feeling. i want to squeeze it or taste it even though i know it will not be pleasant. JS: unraveling i can get behind; i like it as both a verb and an adjective. there are some unnerving parts of the work, but they aren’t overt, which makes them all the more pernicious. KG: do you think your work could be considered performative? especially in projects like “structural investigation #72”, “conceptual structure, familiarity”, “untitled wax light bulb,” etc. i see the materials’ transformation as a possible performance. JS: very much so, and it’s something that i have wrestled with for some time. the way a piece is made or comes about is often far more interesting than the end result. i see the materials as the performers, though, and it’s difficult to take myself out of the equation. a large part of my practice is finding a way to harness those interesting, alive parts of making work and put them into a final form. there are works in which their final form is them in flux, like “untitled wax light bulb”, and they certainly exist with one toe in sculpture, and one in performance. people often suggest making videos of the work changing or the process of making them, but i very much want the work to be a real time experience of the viewer in the presence of the work. i document the work in both still images and video, but i would never want that to take the place of the work itself. KG: would it be fair to say you are the conductor or choreographer and the materials are the performers? JS: that’s very much how it feels. there is a grandness and a drama that comes with both of those that i don’t necessarily feel, though -- an orchestra and a ballet have such a gamut. i see that range over the course of my work as a whole, but on a day-to-day, piece-by-piece basis, i work with a bit less immensity than those words conjure. KG: to me, your work feels like it comes out of trial and error. do you try a lot of things before you stumble upon something that feels right, or maybe wrong, or is it more precise than that? JS: it does! i’m so interested to know as a viewer what made you think that about the work. i make so much work, and spend so much time in the studio. i make a lot of junk to get to the good stuff, but i learn from everything. as i’m working in the studio, i’m making a library of information about all of the materials and processes i’m working with. i’ve had pieces or ideas that didn’t go anywhere for years come

back to mind and be the solution to a problem now. it’s based on intuition, so i have to have a lot of trust in my practice. i’m constantly building on what i do -- everything informs itself. KG: that reminds me of this quote from tatiana berg, “when race horses are trained some of them are given little goats as pets that live with them in the stables and keep them company, so they stay calm when they’re traveling or in a new place. some of the paintings you’re going to make are horses, and some of them are going to be goats. the goats are really important; you just wouldn’t ever send them down the racetrack.” basically, you make a lot of goats, but the goats are really important. maybe in the same way that your work is often repetitive, i imagine your process must be repetitive and that there must have been many other objects before the object i am currently looking at. JS: i read that in the young brooklyn article as well and really dug it. it’s a great way to put it. goats. and it’s nice to hear that a bit of the background and studio process makes its way into the final forms. it’s always a balance for me of how much of the studio process to show and how much history an object can intrinsically carry. KG: what would you consider the opposite of your work? do you think you could ever make that type of work? JS: the opposite of my work would be a drawing made digitally that went directly to digital form, never existed as a material, and was not conceptually processed-based in any way. it would be figurative, and probably exploit women in some way. i like to give myself challenges or assignments to mix up my studio practice from time to time, to push myself, and i could see myself working digitally for a short time for that

latch

purpose, but i couldn’t move away from the intellectual ethos of my work, and myself. KG: what is the best thing someone has ever said about your work? JS: “i want to touch it. i lied, i actually want to lick it.” KG: i can completely understand that. KG: what retro-future type object/ability do you wish existed? JS: straight from “hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy”, a machine that detects and produces exactly what you’re craving. KG: how has your work developed over the last year? JS: i have been given the opportunity to be apart of wonderful projects since moving to new york, but so many require work that’s of the ready-to-hang nature, which most of my work does not fit into. i’ve given myself the challenge of figuring out how to make my work my way, but still have it border ready-to-hang. or ready-tosit. KG: ask yourself a question and answer it. JS: how many rube goldberg machines exist in the world? - not enough. *

go brooklyn collaboration (with ryan estep)

lambskin cutout/ wax curve

overlap

wall investigation

succulent fur

big thanks to all participating artists. interviews by kylie gava designed & edited by tara mahadevan to be considered for our next issue please visit our website: