HEL[ICON]
#4
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contributors Editor and Chief Olivia Kinker Katie Raymond
Photographer Katie Raymond
Financial Coordinator Alison Campbell
Feature Writers Elena Mosher David Streicher Liz Broene Mariah Scissom Rene Diaz
Contributing Editors Alison Campbell Liam Dougherty Julia Pompilius Annie Turpin Kris Cho Miles Honey
Cover Art Annie Turpin Katie Raymond
As a student-run organization within the History of Art department, Helicon provides different platforms for cultural enrichment grounded in academic discourse. The annual Helicon publication features artists that are part of the official university arts culture and also establishes a space where students from any concentration can submit work to be viewed and appreciated by their peers. We thank everyone who responded to our call for submissions this year and are proud to feature your work. At its core, Issue 4 of Helicon presents our generation’s impressions on contemporary visual culture. In a series of features, artists discuss their recent projects and their respective creative processes. Other articles provide a space for Helicon members to review and discuss art happenings and current events. Helicon hopes that you can connect to these pages and enjoy our publication as representative of the vibrant student art scene at the University of Michigan. We also wish to thank the University of Michigan's History of Art Department for their continued support of our student group. Sincerely, The Helicon Publication Team
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of conten e l ts tab
14 - Magic Skoolie
43 - D/ART: Art on the Diag
18 - Artist Profile: Jordyn
44 - Living Arts Interview
Fishman
27 - Jeff Koons and Real
Estate: A Love Affair
30 - We Need to Talk 34 - Community, Change,
and the Irrational: A Foray into the Hinterlands
50 - Artist Profile:
Claire Zimmeth
59 - Talking with
Nachiket Chanchani
60- Artist Profile: RELLA
Livvy Arau-McSweeney, Plastic, digital photograph, 2016 [opposite] Adrianna Kusmierczyk, Glow, mixed media collage, 2017
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(Empty) Studio Stephanie Sim An empty studio is a vacuum room. Acoustic: a good space to sing. Unlonely and whole, you spread out there, starfishing. You pet the vacant tables lined with paint stains and knife slips. Marker up the open air. You practice voodoo, sticking pins in soft walls; contemplate death by letterpress, the one in the back corner. (What a way to go: stamped in capitals, a paper proxy, art.) When there is no more to magic, you crawl back up the hill, calves stinging, and push into your dark apartment, your creaking bed, your walls that are so beige.
[opposite] Nathan Malonis, Untitled, mixed media on cardboard, 2017
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Madeleine Messinger Imagined Daguerreotypes, digital prints, 2017
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[top] Haley Winkle, auto show in the middle of nowhere, photography [bottom] Anina Dassa, Shatter, pen and ink, 2017 [opposite top] Haley Winkle, a late summer’s walk, photography [opposite bottom] poggio cantina, liminal village, photography
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Camille Johnson, bed makers, typewriter, 2017
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What came to be The Magic Skoolie was first a daydream about being able to travel around and volunteer on farms after I graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in Art and Design. Although my first experience of being hosted while WWOOFing in Ireland was a super great one, the aspect of popping around from farm to farm, town to town, was nerve-wracking to me – the unknowns of housing. If I wanted to be on a “farming tour” for three, six, maybe even nine months, I didn’t want my sense of security and basic comfort to be in question. Especially after my stay in Ireland with the Cartys, I knew that many hosts couldn’t possibly compare to them! My first idea of a solution? To be able to create and take my space with me. So, I’m now on a path to convert a school bus into a mobile living space. I’m doing so, I’m exploring themes of sustainability and living a creative lifestyle. People often ask, “Farming? But aren’t you in art school?” But what I’ve gained in art school is the confidence to think critically and problem solve through playing with material and to me that is an aspect of growing vegetables and keeping chickens happy. I’ve also learned to follow my intuition abstractly and conceptually and so here I am, now a school bus owner! I’m using my bus conversion as my senior thesis project, but the experiences traveling on the bus will happen once I’m out of school. I’ll be using it to take trips to volunteer on farms and for non-profits at first in and around Michigan in 2018, and then across the United States after that. Instead of making work about sustainability and a creative lifestyle, my work aims to embody these themes while serving a utility. The bus was featured in the Stamps Senior Thesis Exhibition, Exchange: How We Got Here from April 13th to 29th, 2018. Follow the project on instagram @themagikskoolie! - Victoria Essex
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photos courtesy of Victoria Essex
Annie Turpin, Self-Portait, 3D print, 2017 [opposite] Olivia Kinker, blue chair, ďŹ bers, 2017
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19 Olivia Kinker met with Jordyn Fishman in the Work Commons at Stamps School of Art and Design, where Jordyn paints and stores her supplies during the school year. Jordyn is from Grand Rapids, Michigan and is currently a junior studying art and design. She has shown her paintings in numerous spaces in Grand Rapids and most recently had pieces at the Wassenberg Center in Ohio and the Lansing Art Gallery. Olivia: How did you become interested in creating art? Jordyn: I actually got into art really weirdly. I haven’t been doing art my whole life, and it wasn’t a huge part of my life when I was little, but it was always there indirectly. My Grandma and aunt were artists, and my parents had art around the house. Art was always around me, but I was doing gymnastics – that was my thing. I even had a sort of pact with my sister where we were proud of being ‘bad’ at art. We would compete to see who was worse. Then my sister started to get really into art, so we let the pact go for a few years. Around 7th or 8th grade, I realized that the only subject that really challenged me, that I didn’t do well in, was art. So, I thought, “I’m going to do this; I’m going to conquer this”. O: That’s a pretty unique way to come into making art. Do you feel like you conquered it? J: No! No, I don’t think I ever will. But I’m getting better than I was when I told myself I couldn’t draw a stick figure. O: And now you’ve shown in galleries and have had work in Art Prize! Can you talk a little about that? J: Well, when I put my mind to something, I become determined to do it. So, in high school I went around to coffee shops and galleries in Grand Rapids and handed out printed images of my paintings with my email literally taped to it and asked “Hey, can I have a gallery here?” and they all said no. Then in my freshman year of college, someone finally said yes, and I had my first little show in a coffee shop. From there I’ve had a handful of shows: one in Bend Gallery in Grand Rapids, and one piece in Art Prize. O: Where did you have your painting at Art Prize? J: In the Grand Rapids Art Museum. O: That’s like the main, high-profile spot!
J: That’s probably one of my proudest moments. I applied to art prize through the regular portal, which is kind of like a dating website, but I was denied from pretty much everywhere. I wasn’t even going to apply because I’m from Grand Rapids and know how big of a deal it is. But once I decided to apply I really went for it; I showed up to the GRAM and pestered the receptionist until she gave me the email for the right person. I took that email and pretty much just spammed this person with my work, and she finally replied. I had an interview that I thought went pretty horribly, but then I got a call when I was in my studio that I got in. O: What piece did you have in Art Prize? J: It’s called Income Inequality Imagine, and it’s an 8’x24’ tryptic that I made for sophomore studio. O: Do you have any sort of creative patterns, routines or ways that you like to work? J: I stretch my own canvases, which makes my fingers bleed, but you do what you have to do. I write a lot; I make lists and unpack my head that way and then make a quick, three-second scribble. Also, just staying true to what I care about. A lot of my work is
social commentary, like the income piece for example. I have more recently been trying to be honest with myself about what I care about and how I can fuse my story with a bigger story. I make lists of what I care about. Sometimes when you’re going through shit, it really hurts, and it’s hard to admit that to yourself. When you write it down, it becomes real. I am very good at compartmentalizing; you can put things away and compartmentalize when you go through hard times, but at some point you have to work with it. Painting helps me do that.
at the Wassenberg Center in Ohio. It focuses on women and the empowerment of women, intersectionality, and taking control in the bedroom.
O: I feel that way sometimes too. I have never said that out loud before, but I really like the way you put it. Okay, changing gears a little bit – are there any artists or art that you look at or identify with?
O: Well, thank you so much Jordyn, is there anything else you would like to add?
O: In the future do you see yourself continuing to make large-scale paintings? J: Yeah, I want to go bigger. You know Julie Mehretu? Her work is monumentally huge. I actually did a mural this summer in Grand Rapids with the Cook Arts Center - a youth program.¬ It was a big community project.
J: One thing that is present in my work is that I really love love, and I really believe in love. People think that I am naïve for that, J: The contemporary artists I’ve been looking and while love can’t solve all of the inequaliat most recently are Dale Lewis, Nina Schnell ties in the world, I think it is still one of the most powerful things we have. And whether Abney, and Zia Ziegler. I am just obsessed or not it can solve a problem, I still think that with their form and the way they use space. it is important to come together with and Then people who are dead – Moreau is out of this world. Everyone always says my work show more love for the ‘other side’. H looks like Basquiat, and, yes, he’s been a huge influence. Lautrec. O: What are you working on now? J: I’m working on a big triptych for a show
[left] untitLed, acrylic paint, oil paint, pastel, crayon, graphite, charcoal, nail polish, and glitter [opposite top] Love Dunks!, acrylic paint, oil paint, pastel, concrete, crayon, graphite, charcoal, nail polish, and glitter [opposite bottom] Love Dunks! pt. 2, acrylic paint, oil paint, pastel, crayon, graphite, charcoal, nail polish, and glitter
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[top] Courtney Ignace, Boiled Frogge (pronounced: froggy), acrylic, oil, & resin on MDF board, 2018 [bottom] Nathan Malonis, The Birdshit Boys, ceramic, 2017 [opposite] Perry O’Toole, Typology 1, photo, 2017
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poem by Stephanie Sim
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[top + bottom] Julia Pompilius, Break my heart, ink on paper, 2017 Darian, my ex-husband, ink on paper, 2017
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An excerpt from the History of Art honors thesis of LSA senior Kathryn Moynihan
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or Koons, art and commerce have had equal presence in his life from the beginning. Koons’ father owned a furniture showroom in York, Pennsylvania, which was a formative element of his childhood; he has described visiting the showroom many times, stating that each time he entered, it would be different. He always knew he was “being manipulated” but states that he enjoyed it.1 At the same moment he was taking art lessons, creating paintings that his father would sell in the showroom for outrageous prices. For Koons, art and business were always intertwined. In the next phases of his life, this pattern did not shift. Koons received a Bachelor of Fine Arts from the Maryland Institute College of Art in 1976, and his first job out of college was selling memberships at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. This seems like an incredibly art – heavy path, until his next step working on Wall Street as a commodities broker. A job as a commodity trader is different than that of a stockbroker in the sense that one literally works with commodities, such as oil, gold and agricultural goods instead of stocks.2 In his own words, Koons states that this career move was made in order to fund his ambitious art projects and to gain independence from the art market. With financial stability under his belt, Koons launched into the illustrious art career that the world knows today.3
smaller details to the map. Each of Koons’ series represents a different facet of consumerism, such as mundane objects of everyday life in The Pre New and The New series, pornography in Made in Heaven, cartoon characters and celebrities in Banality and Statuary, classical works of art in Antiquity, and so on. Ultimately, Koons is making millions through appropriation of preexistent consumer patterns. This could undoubtedly be considered the act of a con man, and having such works displayed in a museum would could certainly be seen as vulgar. However, the direct exploitation of our capitalist system completes the conceptual demonstration that the body of work itself sets up; in order for his work to truly ape consumer culture, it too must be consumed. As Roberta Smith of The New York Times puts it, Koons gets to have his cake and eat it, too.6 The feature of consumerism that this artist is exploiting the most heavily is kitsch; his work demonstrates that no individual, even (perhaps especially) the upper classes, are ummune to the allure of kitsch. Koons both appropriates objects that already exist as kitsch (baubles, trinkets, inflatable figures) and objects that are not yet kitsch (fine art, appliances, etc) and augments or transforms them to be monuments of ultra kitsch. Of course, appropriation of well-established taste will naturally generate consumption of the art; people are of course interested in purchasing that which they are already actively purchasing. This propels the success, and therefore lifespan, of his work. As Thomas Kulka writes: “If works of art were to be judged democratically – that is, according to how many people liked them – kitsch would easily defeat all its competitors.” It is equally important to note that many aspects of Koons’ work are often treated as radical or controversial, such as the glorification of popular culture forms
Photo courtesy of www.forbes.com
There are numerous approaches to interpreting Koons’ oeuvre, around which the art world tends to polarize. Each individual, it seems, holds a different view of this artist. There are three common viewpoints surrounding Jeff Koons; one such interpretation is that of face value. The artist frequently states that his work is innocent, playful and lighthearted, meant to impart hope and promise on viewers. Many – generally those with lesser understanding of art – accept this claim for what it is.4 On the other end of the spectrum, there are many who view Koons as nothing but a con man, exploiting the art market in every way possible. Thus, Koons is simply pumping out artworks and chasing down collaborative opportunities in pursuit of fortune.5 There are many implications of these two viewpoints, the foremost indicating a general lack of artistic merit and unironic tackiness that positions Koons as a sort of artworld counterpart to Donald Trump, with tawdry gilding and sparkle at every turn. A third common analysis of his career exists toward the middle of the spectrum, and is one commonly held by curators. In the eyes of these individuals, Koons’ work is likely ironic. In this regard, the lighthearted, shiny works would function as such, with the viewer attracted to these works entirely unironically. This fact itself, however, serves as a critique of consumer capitalism. To what degree irony and criticism are present in his works is a point of contemption for many art historians; some find it to be a sort of playful wink at irony, while others find it to be a full critique of consumerism through glorifying it as he does. Irony in the latter sense is bathetic, or a sort of “anticlimax” of “vulgarity and triteness”. In other words, Koons is essentially critiquing consumerism through hyperbolic celebration. The notion of bathetic irony is the form used in this case study. Viewing Koons’ oeuvre through a lens of bathos makes his purportedly lighthearted and “transcendent” works exercises in irony, with the approachability of their bright colors and fun subjects acting as a façade for nuanced critiques of consumer culture. It seems that Koons’ work goes beyond ironic commentary, however. When considered as a whole, Koons ouvre draws a sort of conceptual road map of our consumer culture as it exists in reality, with each of the individual works adding
Photo courtesy of www.luxuo.com
into his art. In truth, however, he is likewise appropriating a common practice of postmodern artists; the act of transforming pop culture elements into fine art in itself is a pre-existent, commodified path, and a successful one at that. Koons is also careful not to step outside the parameters of the artworld, as each series is carefully crafted to include enough references to art historical canon to flirt with the realm of fine art; this includes elements such as scale, materials, subject matter, motif, etc. His work crafts the illusion of being controversial without truly being so. To summarize, Koons’ oeuvre itself is a conceptual reproduction of our consumer capitalist society, completed through the re-consumption of each work for vast sums of money; Koons’ exploitation is demonstrative. Our obsession with consuming items of kitsch has given Koons his success as the world’s richest living artist. It is highly likely that Koons is exploiting the art market, but doing so bathetically. With such high amounts of speculation surrounding this artist, one cannot help but wonder if he is perhaps familiar with the ideas of Paul de Man, who writes that the generation of uncertainty and the inability to distinguish truth, in itself, is a form of irony. In the end, ambivalence seems to lie at the root of his success.
The Jeff Koons Handbook (p.2) Investopedia, “commodity trader.” Scott Rothkopf, Jeff Koons, A Retrospective 4 Christina Pazzanese, “Jeff Koons: High King of Middlebrow.” 5 Merriam-Webster, entry for “bathos.” 6 Roberta Smith, “Shapes of an Extroverted Life”. The New York Times, June 26th, 2014. 1 2 3
Anna Herscher, Icon, woodcut prints, 2017
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We need to talk about Kevin. And Harvey. And Aziz. And Chuck. an opinion piece by David Streicher Aziz Ansari, Woody Allen, Mel Gibson, Kevin Spacey, Harvey Weinstein, John Lasseter, and many others (as well as those complicit or complacent with the systemic abuse of power in Hollywood like Ben Affleck) are all deserving of blame. These scandals are career-ending, and justice should be dealt with as fair a hand as appropriate. However, that leaves us with the art these men leave behind and further questions. Is Aziz a hypocrite for rising to fame as a feminist comedian when he acts inappropriately behind closed doors? Is the same true of Justin Timberlake for standing with victims of sexual assault while starring in an upcoming Woody Allen film? In another case, writer Dan Harmon (of Community and Rick and Morty fame) publicly admitted to mistreating a female member of his writing staff, leading to a subsequent confrontation and ultimately an accepted apology coming from Harmon. And yet, despite a seemingly amicable end to the case, within weeks Harmon’s planned appearance at Rochester Institute of Technology was cancelled on grounds that his behavior was in conflict with the school’s core values. Each case is fairly different but the recurring question is this: when the creator is accused, is their art indicted with them? First of all– for the men above and others who are guilty of heinous crimes, punishment can and will take the form of legal penalty– we must put faith in the justice system that they will be punished appropriately. Careers are already ending, with Kevin Spacey’s hit series House of Cards terminating as result of the scandal. It’s not as though watching House of Cards now somehow undoes the damage Spacey’s crime has wrought on his life or legitimizes his actions. However, this also doesn’t mean we should ban or censor all of his movies and television appearances. While writing this article, another story broke that caught my attention: Chuck Close, a famous American painter known for his portraits and nudes, was accused of inappropriate sexual behavior by eight of his former models. The allegations have sparked conversation among museum directors and other voices in the world of fine art to discuss whether and how the artist’s work should be publicly exhibited
You can still enjoy the work of an artist who has been convicted of sexual assault, but you must take the events of their life as context when viewing the work. The importance of a great piece of art does not absolve the sins of its creator, and I think it is important that when engaging with the influence of these artists it is important to break the discussion into two parts– separate the artist’s skill from their personal life. It’s why I’m such a huge advocate for Out of this argument, I’d like to highlight one labeling and artist commentary in museum and particular perspective that I think offers the gallery settings– context matters in the world best answer to the Close issue as well as all the of art, and when you have artists with unsavory other artists whose skeletons have finally been personal lives it is important that their demons brought out of their respective closets. Performance artist Emma Sulkowicz (known generally play a role in their public legacy. I know this may seem like a lukewarm stance to take, but for their protest during the Columbia Univerwe live in divisive times where Americans on sity Rape Controversy) asked for an “asterisk” both sides are quick to take sides and dig in attached to future exhibitions of Close’s painttheir heels with regard to political and social ings. Basically, museums just need to include a issues. There’s a difference between nuance and discussion of Close’s character along with the hypocrisy, and it lies in keeping in mind that history of their art. The work left by Chuck all-important tenant of art history– context. H Close, Kevin Spacey, and John Lasseter each has artistic merit that other artists can learn from and build upon, while their personal lives should be taken as examples others should not follow. After all, isn’t learning from the examples of history why we build museums to house the works of artists, rather than monuments that only glorify them? going forward. Abusive behavior by male artists towards their models is nothing new, Picasso is a particularly infamous example. However, the Chuck Close scandal has drawn a great amount of attention with reactions ranging from apathy to anger. With the hanging question still left unanswered: what do we do with Close’s work now?
If I can wax religious for just a moment, I’d like to paraphrase the Talmud (Jewish religious text of rabbinical commentary and collected stories)– in the tale of Elisha ben Abbuyah, the eponymous heretic is described committing heinous crimes against his countrymen– acting as informant for the occupying Romans and murdering young scholars of Judaism. At the end of his life, his student Rabbi Meir ultimately forgives his teacher. He states that his life was not as important as his Torah, his personal religious work, likening his sinful life to the cover of a book while the Torah is its content. In the end the book and cover are inextricably linked– they form a complete package. And while you should never judge a book by its cover, your overall opinion of the content will be affected by how the book appears from the outside. The art is the art. The people are the people. And both stories are equally worth telling as distinct parts of one narrative.
RE: We need to talk
an opinion piece by Liz Broene and Mariah Scissom We really do need to talk about these men. One of the first things that comes to mind when we talk about these men in conjunction with the word justice is: ephemeral. We all know what they did, but will that stop us from consuming what they brought us? No. The clock is running out on collective anger and soon we’ll all go out and watch the next Mel Gibson movie. When discussing the surge of women coming forward with stories of abuse and breaches of power, it seems a few “how terribles’” and “Times Up!” are exchanged before most pull out their watch and ask a tentative “So, can we still watch the new season of House of Cards?” Then what inevitably follows is a slew of think pieces debating “Do we separate the art from the artist?” This conversation is stale and keeps the focus on artists who don’t deserve any more attention. A much more valuable way to spend this time would be to support artists who have been overlooked in an industry that, for decades, has celebrated work from such monstrous men. This argument is one that is inherently selfish and kind of disingenuous. When your first consideration is whether or not you should feel guilty watching Midnight in Paris, you’re completely disregarding the experiences of countless victims all in sake of The Art™. This question is a gut-reaction and a way of salvaging one’s own conscience more than anything. If you’re going to participate in this conversation, understand that “separating the art from the artist” is essentially what complicity is in this situation. Just own up to it. Take a stance one way or the other but acknowledge that there are people out there that don’t have the privilege to ignore these types of transgressions in their lives. If you want to go see Wonder Wheel, so be it but maybe stream it online. But f*** Woody Allen and the rest. H
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Grace Gebhard, Self Portrait, oil [opposite] Perry O’Toole, Portrait of Elizabeth, digital painting, 2017 [opposite bottom] Grace Gebhard, There Was Pain Involved, oil
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I am ushered down the steps into the basement of The Play House, an old house renovated into a theater in the Detroit neighborhood commonly known as Banglatown. Exposed light bulbs illuminate cardboard file boxes lined against cement walls. A woman in bell-bottom jeans and a red sweater invites us, the audience, to peruse the archives. I open a box. Inside, three aged copies of the play Antigone and a grayish, shorthaired wig. In another, a photocopy of the Black Panther’s Ten Point Program. A short time later, the woman in the red sweater begins to read a document pulled from a box. We follow as she ascends the stairs, carefully folding the paper away and continuing the monologue by memory, and the show has begun. The Radicalization Process is an intimate, athletic, imaginative portrayal of the 1960’s and 1970’s radical left set inside a Detroit safe house. The actors, Liza Bielby, Richard Newman, and Dave Sanders, use their full bodies to express the intense emotions in the play, convulsing, jumping, and collapsing with such force that I worry how badly they will bruise. The characters morph from extremist left-wing radicals, to the unapologetically vulgar teacher and timid students in a college method-acting class, to the tragic and terrible roles in an interpretation of Antigone. The play explores the histories, personalities, moments, images, and ideas that weave into radicalization. What drives people to radicalize? What does it take? How far is too far?
Community, Change, and the Irrational: a Foray into The Hinterlands by Elena Sica
At the end the stage is left with a deconstructed set, a banner reading “Bring the War Home,” and red streamers that were strewn about during an impassioned rendition of L’Internationale. I leave feeling like I’ve just experienced a history lesson, a radical revival, and an intensely moving Mosher piece of art all in one. By exploring the social, philosophical, and personal underpinnings of radicalization in the context of the 60’s and 70’s, The Radicalization Process begs the question: what’s next? The Radicalization Process was created and performed by the Detroit-based theater company The Hinterlands, which is comprised of Liza Bielby and Richard Newman, in partnership with Dave Sanders. To learn more about The Hinterlands, I attended their “Open Training” at the Play House, where they are program curators and artistsin-residence, and I spoke with Bielby afterwards. When Bielby and Newman were forming The Hinterlands together in 2009, they were looking for a city to begin their new project, somewhere affordable and not oversaturated. Biebly’s Michigan roots – she is from Flint and then lived in the Upper Peninsula – and Richard’s love for Detroit techno are both factors that influenced their move to the Detroit area. What won them over, Bielby says, is that people in Detroit were friendly and they felt they had found the community vibe they were looking for. Bielby describes Detroit as an “interdisciplinary” community where people don’t hesitate to collaborate. “It is the community I have always wanted to be in,” she says, “People are very accepting and friendly. People say hi to each other on the streets.” When I asked how their location has influenced their work, Bielby responded, “You can’t live in Detroit and pretend there’s no problems. You have to be involved and address history because you are living with ghosts that are very visible.” The Hinterlands focus on community and using theater and performance as a way to build and nurture community both locally and in broader contexts. They curated the Porous Borders Festival, which spanned the border between Detroit and Hamtramck, using food, music, theater, art, and sports to explore and celebrate the diverse people
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and cultures in the area. Other collaborations have included projects that bridge international barriers, such as “The Enemy of My Enemy” (2017), which used technology to facilitate artistic exchanges between Chinese, Russian, and Iranian artists. I converse with Bielby on the wooden floor of the Play House in a casual interview after the “Open Training” in which I participated. We are both drenched in sweat from spending three hours jumping, dancing, writhing, vocalizing, and traveling across the floor as an amorphous blob of people attuned to each other through the sheer act of trusting our bodies and letting go. I am exhausted, but feel light from the joy of unfettered physical expression and the trust built among a group of strangers with almost no verbal communication. “Being irrational is important,” Bielby muses, “The art I want to make is irrational. When we lose the irrational, we lose the ability to see the world.” H
photo by Alverno Presvaents/Kat Schleicher Photography actors pictured: Liza Bielby, Richard Newman, and Dave Sanders
Mackenzie King, Genres of Love found in Paris, digital photography, 2017
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Miles Honey, Oops, ink on paper, 2018 [opposite top] Nathan Malonis, Nail, mixed media on cardboard, 2017 [opposite left] Larkin Meehan, Orsanmichele Arches, ink, 2017 [opposite right] Kate Bishop, no smoking, photography
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October 16, 2017 Isaiah Zeavin-Moss
Julia Rose Lawson, nature, “ow,” film photography, 2017
at an improv jazz concert. a guitar and a trumpet. electric guitar. people are covering their ears. grimacing. one of the guys is also screaming into a mic. mix between Kurt Cobain and the Lion King. a steady loud electric hum and rattle from the guitar over which they riff. life’s like that - never totally silent. movement, desire, I need to get there not here - this fact of life makes some people grimace, others smile, others turn to their friends and laugh, others write. and the people producing the noise are like life itself - crazy hectic unbelievable not keeping rhythm but keeping themselves organized up there in a recognizable albeit abrasive form. we as humans exist as humans despite all of the stuff we hear / feel / cry about / laugh about. this is not the end of the world. now the trumpeteer’s picked up a recorder. simple sound now to the composition. like a new relationship or to go upstate to do the simple stuff — wander in the forest, the quiet natural forest, ‘away’ from it all. but the recorder begins to wander, begins to screech. suddenly you’re not away, you’re right in it still. it’s all you can think about. and the guitar riff in the background, the quick shifty riff makes you think why am i still thinking about it why is she still on my mind I thought I was going away to be away this isn’t that this is a trap + a cage. but they play on. nobody breaks in and shuts down the club or demands that we be quiet now. they will only be quiet when they want to be. they will never be quiet. when they go to sleep, maybe. but even then, now the trumpet wanders, it contradicts itself it screeches it crosses the line of what is palatable. and I feel the sweat building up in my forehead and I can’t fall asleep. still the background hum of the guitar and now it all breaks down sounds like castles collapsing and smashing and instruments crashing no harmony or notation he waves an unrecognizable furry item in the air who has he become? a moment ago he was peaceful on his trumpet peaceful in his dress jacket. he speaks into the microphone and it comes out like staticky. it sounds like he’s saying, “I am not sorry. I am not, in the end, sorry.” and why should he be? the piece ends, people clap, smile, talk to their neighbor, re-enter the space of the reliable. it starts again and one of them makes an abrasive honking sound that sounds like dental technology failing after you kicked yourself for not ever learning to floss. and people laugh at the sound out of discomfort out of a wish to at least hold hands with their friends as they’re brought into a space of such violent confusion and mystery. am i alone? am i completely alone? the room is dark the lights shine on the musicians and their instruments because this is what you came to see and whether
41 you laugh or not this is here this sound is in you now. smoke rises blurring the exit. be here now. breathe as your mind begins to wander to refocus yourself back in this space because you know these guys have something to say. you know you’ve felt this broken, now elated and violated and reaching out for help and unable to escape even if it’s your only way to gain control again. give up control. you trust these two people, trust all of their messiness and making new shapes out of familiar constructions that you’ve always known. sounds you’ve always heard and known but never could tell who was generating them. you wrote an essay earlier and you like this experience so much more, listening watching writing, because why should anything be cut out? hide nothing from yourself. hide things from others, to keep distance, to always make sure you know more about yourself than anyone else. right now it feels like these two musicians know things about me that I didn’t know. they’re bringing things out of me. annihilating boundaries of distance. boundaries boundaries. separate. keep that here and that there. i am not that, no no i am not, that is there i am here. how do I relate to these sounds that I’ve never heard before? where are they coming from? is this writing good? can I hand it in as an assignment? will it be graded and will my message get across? what is my message? start and see what happens. start with a person (maybe just yourself, except the book says you’ll need a partner) and with tools that you trust and go. go on your own time making your own noises. if it’s with somebody else, make an environment that invites you both to wander and explore, for yourself. “I’ll go see what food I can find and I’ll bring it back for us.” next band now. find myself zoning out in thought. like in meditation, wanting to get into the train and ride through as stuffs come up, shielded by the train’s walls, protected by my breath. ride through the tunnel and look up knowing nothing can penetrate the walls of the metro. protected here by this sound. can always come back to the sound, to this band, because they’re hiding nothing. they’re just playing. that’s comforting to watch chaos break out but know they’re all in it together, not to do anybody harm. they will collaborate their way through all of it. this is not the end of the world. meanwhile just breathe and watch and listen and when your mind wander do not get upset with yourself or judge because this music will always be here if nothing else than as the background with its slippery craggy cranky trippy surface. ‘floating round and round.’ sometimes up, sometimes down. ecstasy. like when India Witkin and I kiss in front of everyone at senior year high school parties, you’ve known me all these years but you’ve never had me and now this beautiful girl does, look at us look at me. and back down, when I call her three weeks later and abruptly tell her I’m done w/ her, and I hang up and it’s back to nobody wanting me again. leaving parties alone. and then back up again — the evening fall breeze feels reinvigorating on my sweaty neck as I emerge outside, no longer alone but independent, going home to my foundation. not to judge, but to know it’s all equally part of it. it’s why I like the Pompidou. looks like a heap of towers and pipes and wires strewn onto an abandoned structure, left for dead, ugly and cumbersome. but there nonetheless. a part of all of us. all of these brash harsh erratic sounds are all part of us, it comes from and to and for and with us wherever we go. not to laugh or tune out or to call it weird and dismiss… that’s the challenge. to accept it as life. ---------------------------------------------------------------
Elena Sica Mosher, Self Portrait, ink on paper, 2018
D/ART: Art on the Diag words by D/ART President, Anne Tsaloff
Art on the Diag, founded in 2015, is a platform for the students of the university to showcase their creative abilities in a public setting on the Central Campus Diag. We facilitate the interaction between students and student-designed art installations.The installation strengthens the bond between the student community, public space, and contemporary art presenting art to the whole university in a public space, and allows students across all disciplines to engage in art. Through integrating student art into campus life, D/ART challenges social and cultural perspectives in Ann Arbor by voicing out concerns with topical and/or historical conversations. The mission of Art on the Diag is to bring public installation art to the center of campus, and for our projects to be as collaborative and interactive as possible. This project directly engaged audiences by three creating prism-like sculptures made of wood and clad with mylar. Each sculpture was approximately seven feet tall and two feet wide. Viewers were invited to circulate through these prism-like sculptures and transform the space around them through experience. The Space Between provided a platform to introduce members of campus to participatory artwork where viewers not only see the art but add to and become part of the artwork. This installation challenged the boundary of the definition of art and through viewer experience, testing the limits of these two ideas.
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S: Yes! I’m a game designer. As I said before, Living Arts kids are trying to fire off absurdities, which is really great when you’re crafting fantasies. With the Living Arts Dungeons and Dragons communities, as well as projects done in community meetings, I can get a perspective on what kind of games people want. In my independent study, I’m studying how video games can be used as an art form.
Living Arts an interview with Sara Eskandari by Rene Diaz
R: Could you talk more about Dungeons and Dragons in Living Arts?
Rene: What is Living Arts to you? Sara: Living Arts is the community that made the transition from high school to college really smooth. And because the people are whacky and open to new ideas, thinking and hypothesizing about absurdity provides an environment to let your ideas run wild. R: What was your best memory of Living arts between being a mentee and mentor? S: Me and my group did our creative collaborative project on sexual education in high school and college. There’s a transition between your views and sexuality in college. We did interviews around the dorm based on a series of questions. Everyone just has vastly different views on sexuality, but complete strangers would say the exact same thing verbatim and not even know it. R: Tell me more about the CCP. S: The CCP is a project that happens in the second semester each year in Living Arts. Each mentor will work with their mentees in groups of 4 or 5. Based on a theme, you will break down what that theme means, your own interpretations, and you create a project in response to it. The goal is to make an interdisciplinary project. At its core the community is a collaboration of makers with engineers, artists, and musicians wanting to make something at the end of it. R: What’s it like being an RA for Living Arts? S: They make my job very easy and enjoyable. Having the mentors there, they’re organizing community events, and it’s very open. Everyone welcomes everyone with open arms and gives time to open up. It feels like I have a team taking care of small groups as well. R: Have your residents in any way inspired your own work or creative process?
Collaborative work is something we’re constantly told to love here at Michigan. Even if it results in a group project where only one kid does most of the work, professors love to stress its importance. While it may feel forced to work with people in a class, Bursley Hall has a hidden gem that makes collaborative work an enjoyable experience. Sara Eskandari is my coworker. A Stamps student with an EECs minor from Ohio, she has a special position as an RA for the Living Arts community. Living Arts is a collaborative learning environment that brings students from multiple disciplines together. Students live in Bursley, participate in community meetings and a seminar studio, and work together on a final capstone project at the end of the year. Sara was able to take time out of her busy day to talk to me about the community.
S: It started last year with a character building workshop hosted by my coworker. It’s significantly expanded to thirty or forty participants. I think the reason we enjoy it so much is that it’s very reflective of the community identity of problem solving, entertaining fantastical notions, and the consequences. R: As your coworker, I’ve noticed potatoes usually arrive at your doorstep. Would you care to explain? S: The offerings began last year as gifts labelled “offerings” left by our RA’s door. They could be anything from silly doodles to muffins to snacks. It’s become this little game of seeing who could give the best or silliest offerings. I personally made it clear that I love potatoes, so my residents just started leaving potatoes at my door with little notes that said “an offering.” I’m assuming it started with a mentor, since they knew of the tradition. But it lives on, and other RAs get extravagant offerings at our doors. H
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[top] Perry O’Toole, Me and Dad, digital painting, 2017 [bottom] Liz Broene, croc, ceramic, 2017
statement Well, Cowboy Dan’s a major player in the cowboy scene He goes to the reservation drinks and gets mean He’s gonna start a war He hops in his pickup puts the pedal to the floor And says “I got mine but I want more”
Ben Leigh, Cowboy Dan, oil, house paint, collage, and fabric on canvas, acetate paper, and wood, 2017
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Conversations with Dixie Highway Jesus Claire Zimmeth I found jesus on I-75 you can’t miss him there’s a huge sign literally, not figuratively I was going north to the lake and there he was a likeness in black and white looking to the sky he asked “are you on the right road?” figuratively, not literally and you know, jesus the ship for you and I sailed a very long time ago but in response to your question I’m not quite sure but I think so
Jonathan Riley, Dendrites and Petioles, film photography, 2016
49 every day i am still growing tomorrow i will grow i will extend my limbs open my heart remember my past move forward from my loss, heartbreak, insecurities and surely i will start to presently thrive relishing in my growing strides. for if i do not start here now i will be cheated by yesterday’s yesterday that provided tomorrow with tomorrow but made little commitment to honoring this today and so today i will remind myself i am still grow-ing - anonymous
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Helicon junior Rene Diaz interviewed Stamps student Claire Zimmeth after a Stamps lecture. Claire is a senior majoring in Interarts Performance. Claire likes stories and the making of objects that give you room to create a universe around them. Rene: How would characterize your desire to create? Claire: Probably aneed. I think it just happens. I don’t think I can stop it even if I try. It’s just something I think about generally. I do a lot in music, so sometimes a lyric would appear. I’ve got notes, a sketchbook for words, and a sketchbook for images. It’s kind of like how you can’t suppress a cough. R: Can you describe the time when you realized that you needed to create art? C: When I was really young, about 5 or 6. I would make these really elaborate playground games. This one game went on every Halloween for three years . A game of a ghost named Bob. R: What kind of creative patterns, routines, or rituals do you have? C: I like to go to museums a lot with my sketchbook.
I’ll sketch a statue or something, and I’ll add to it. There was one statue in Scotland of a sculpture without arms, and I made a phantom painting. I was wondering whether statues miss something that’s not there anymore. I go to estate sales a lot. Because I like to go to a place where everyone has all their belongings in one place. And having their stuff in one place stimulates the ideas of what type of person they were before passing.
C: I look up to Tuesday Bassen. She’s an illustrator primarily, but she started off doing corporate freelance stuff and realized she wasn’t making what she wanted to create. She broke off and made this really successful brand for herself. It’s very inspiring to see her succeed doing what she wants to do. I also really like comic books. And this sounds so 2006, but Gerard Way inspires me. His art is very evocative.
R: What do you hope to communicate with your art? C: My art is either really fun or nostalgic. A lot of the time, I start a project with a pun. I have a quilt that, when unsnapped, looks like a vagina, but when snapped, you can vanish into it. I based it off the pun “a womb with a view.” A lot of the time, I’m just really delighted by making art, and I like to delight people with the art I make as well. Art is really subjective, and you’re relinquishing your control when you put something out there. It’s interesting to see how people respond to your work. It’s an endless cycle of interpretation of interpretations.
R: What other comic artists to you like? C: Marley Zarcon. Also Jillian Tamaki. She does mostly graphic novels, but Superhero Magic Academy is really good. There’s this nihilistic humor that I really love. Also, there are great jokes about performance art that I really love and relate to as someone who does performance art.
R: What art or artists do you identify with or look to?
R: What are you working on now? C: Mostly my thesis project. It is inspired by a 1960s idea of space and sci-fi. It’s a live performance. I composed 4 songs interspersed with conversations and commercials. It centers around listening to holographic band, Cassi-o Peia and the Red Giants, in a space stationSirius Station 6. The band members develop feelings for which they are not programmed. H
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Madonna and Food Baby, digital photograph, balloon, cake, 2018 Party-time Pieta, digital photograph, balloon, cake, 2018
Livvy Arau-McSweeney, Dissipation Botanical, digital photographs, 2016
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[top] Anina Dassa, Blue Lady, oil and pastel, 2017 [middle] Adrianna Kusmierczyk, Sustain, collage, 2017 [bottom] Adrianna Kusmierczyk, Entangled, collage, 2017 [opposite] Paige Wilson, Flower Girl, digital illustration, 2018
57 Straight from the Dryer Stephanie Sim One push and you animate: Turmoil bowl, household desert, wobbling box. Phase-changer, clothes toaster, sweater shrinker, sock stealer. Troublemaker, you quake as if to say, “much can be lost here”: favorite hoodie turned unwearable, now for a smaller body. Or a blanket made less downy, newness removed. There is risk and reward. Robot with opening stomach, Evaporation wizard. Spin cyclone. Circus juggler, jester of the court. Wring leader. Temporary god, giving life to cloth, power of flight to T-shirt, scarf. I’ve finally begun to understand you: You transform. Powerful. Warm. Winter antidote. Metal nest. Speed-heater: one hour spent spiraling till quiet, still, and almost steaming. My mother used to pop open the dryer hatch and shovel out clothing like coals from a stove, Thanksgiving turkey from the oven. I waited on our flowered couch like a garden sprout, arms wide and reaching up toward warmth that was soon delivered, rained down, toppling like fall leaves. The clothes immobilized me: Beached, unbleached, buried in the sand. Baking, cake-layered, sweet. It was like someone took a cheese grater to the sun till I was cloaked in its glowing shreds. Warm everywhere. Time suspended. And though I am no longer baby plant, No longer fixed under my mother’s basket, I still feel submerged in sun-piles sometimes; You hold me, fold me in warm laundry, unruly and cooling slowly as I fall asleep beneath it. And later, as I tuck socks back in their drawers, As hangers claim clothes in the closet, I ready the cycle once more: worn, washed, then sent through dizzying heatspin again.
Katie Spak, Repeat, oil and acrylic on canvas, 2018
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Talking with Nachiket Chanchani Assistant Professor in the History of Art Department
Helicon Member Liz Broene corresponded with Professor Chanchani in March 2018 Was there something specific that made you want to go into history of art?
decide to make that opportunity of yours into a class?
I grew up in India traveling to places of historical and cultural significance across the country with my parents and spending many hours drawing, painting (in watercolor, oil and acrylic) and making ceramics. Art history allowed me bring my interests together. My teachers and internship experiences also inspired me.
Interning at museums really drew me into the discipline of art history and I was eager to offer students a similar opportunity. Additionally, through my class I hope to draw students into wide-ranging conversations about a host of issues that lie at the heart of the humanities.
Because I took your HISTART: 304 The Was there anything that UM had to offer that Art of Yoga I was wondering if you had any made you want to teach here? insight into if the surge of the popularity of yoga in the US has translated into an interest UM is an ideal place to create a program in in South Asian art? South Asian art. Professor Walter Spink, my illustrious predecessor, built up an almost unpar- Certainly. South Asian material and visual culalleled range of resources of studying Buddhist ture is all around us. We are also beginning to and Hindu art. Add to this the extensive holdsee art museums across the U.S. offer postural ings of the Special Collections Library, UMMA, yoga classes and mounting special exhibitions of Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, Museum of South Asian art that focus on yoga philosophy Anthropological Archaeology. I’m very pleased and practice. Consider the enormous success that the study of South Asian art and cultures of “Yoga: Art of Transformation” exhibition occupies a central place in the vision of the two organized by the Smithsonian Institution a few departments that I am appointed in: History of years ago. Art and Asian Languages and Cultures. I’m also thrilled that we publish Ars Orientalis, a leading What has been your favorite place you’ve refereed journal, and have close connections to gone for research? many museums. A personal note: As a child, I remember looking at a framed photograph of Far too many places to list. Some that come to my grandfather in Ann Arbor (taken in 1956). my mind this moment are villages in the Nepal He would have been proud to see me teaching Himalayas where I discovered temples built here. nearly a thousand years ago, and Nartamallai in southern India where I mapped a cluster of earYou have a class (HISTART 497: Gallery ly medieval monuments bathed in the golden, Installation at the DIA) that is working with late afternoon light. H you to help curate the South and Southeast Asian Galleries at the DIA. What made you
RELLA
61 Helicon corresponded with RELLA, a senior from Ypsilanti, Michigan pursuing a BFA at Stamps School of Art and Design. What medium or media do you work with? I sing and play guitar mostly. Three years ago I took out a loan to buy recording gear and began learning how to track, program drums, and arrange in Logic Pro X. Can you describe the time when you realized that you wanted or needed to create art? Towards the end of 2013, I started to feel uninspired and decided not to make music for a while. It wasn’t making me happy anymore and I didn’t know how I would move forward. I met my best friends the following summer and they encouraged me to keep going after hearing some of my old songs. I was on my way home from work when they waived at me to join and watch a world cup game. My friend Ced had an acoustic guitar in his room and we were all passing it around. I played the last song I wrote before quitting and they all loved it. From that moment on, I was motivated to pick it back up and haven’t looked back since. What kind of creative patterns routines or rituals do you have? I do most of my writing in the car. I have a long commute from home to work/school everyday and use that time to reflect. Sometimes a song comes out of it. What do you hope to communicate with your work? I want to make timeless music. What art or artists do you identify with or look to? I like to listen to Artists with unique voices; their music stands out to me. What are you working on now? I am working on a double single that I hope to release in late April and a full project for the Fall. H www.rellamusic.com
DAYMOON Danielle Falling I was walking As one does Thinking of other things in the blue night While the moon is full and glimmering white The moon’s on fire Burning away the clouds or my misted eyes Round and full and close to the earth She’s perfect. I walk with my head tilted back And catch the droplets of moondust in my open mouth Soft and not thick enough to feel on the tongue The next day I walk As one does I can see it A moon daydream shimmering just there So vividly she does not rest Round and full White as icing, sweet as fence paint I tilt my head up As one does So the leftover memory moonshadows can burn on my cheeks Tears of night slipping through the celeste of daytime Landing on my eyelashes Shiver smiles slide into place She’s not there but if she were She’d be round and full And shining brighter than ever At once in the black obsidian pearl of night Then again, Superimposed onto the brightness of day
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Haley Winkle, getting a sense, photography Katie Spak, The Gradient Fill, acrylic, resin, and oil on canvas, 2017
[top] Livvy Arau-McSweeney, The Red Coat, digital photographs, 2016 [bottom] Katie Spak, The Chromatic Brushmark, oil and acrylic on canas, 2017
65 Phineas Rose Goes to the Shore Nick “Volpe” Volpe I. Eco-tones If you sing to seashells by the bay (on the shore) the snails may come out to clean the leftover trash from all the late night, booze driven whispers. Redundant is the song of the see, but man do I love that repetition.
He learned how to swim, passing on his advice: Cup the hands and bring to the face: a cool, sweet amend (sweet disgrace). Some may speak their sufferings, others float away. but to all he holds a bit of disdain. They’re just the waves all crashing in on the shore.
If you listen, you may hear ducks in the ocean and think,“what are you doing here?” But you must rid the fresh water disposition.
IV. Nights and Fire (Fire and Nights)
The sea salt crystallizes Leaves traces of mid-day sparkles which grace our horrid presence.
Late at night in the fire: how the winds, holding hands, pass on these cruel tendencies. We call that a kiss upon the breeze. But do they ever think of Love as a series of sensual liberties? Denied for those who can’t find deliberate intention in the repetition-
Apropos the intertidal zone is a mysterious Wonderland, Habitable guffaws - the water is always drawn. II. The Voice (The Waves(Not Mine)) Voice speak strange, my own speak softly like yes/no, so biases are like - akin to skin, yet far off the mites which come within, not out of time like frozen tundra where foliage do grow under soft conundrums - go to bed, said Goodness instead but I wish to be so Awake in the morning where the soles are longing for lighttea breaks - the back kicks in and the morning starts to ache. Please enjamb mine mind - so I can get lost in sweet divines, like vines which grow wherever coming by speaking so softly; tis whether it passes and oh! so often. (The waves) Do they attest? the mind does wander whilst in rest straining like noodles in my macaroni salad Crunch like apples where the forlorn sap seeps into the bane - I declare I love you, though the linger remains. Let me attest - this voice speak strangely just like the rest. III. Islands made of Plastic Incontinence - the delicate drastic declaring: Islands made of plastic! Foolish bombastic, the sound of the shore is no longer frugal. (You must all save some cash for the island being built in the center of the lake). He sleeps there, one night, looking at the stars which wade into a fading flashlight, waves crashing, coming to look out from afar. There they see the Little islands as isolation where the condensation of all he had ever known was thrown to the streets in nights of stress, congregated in times of rest - following down the Riverflow. Nowhere does it go, but still. This is not a paean nor a justification. This is a simple fact, that this month’s rent is not in - but to get to the dock...
Whereas I prefer stars to houses, long nights in warm winters where the sparkles surpass the street lamps strange, orange glow. Fuzzy, distorted, never found, like cruel hands in the night I still kind of Fuck with - I don’t know - I’m just into it. They seem to have found the parallels between the weird, escapey, uncertain thing and the persistent, omniscient real low key though: they hold hands so that one day they may kiss. All they do is eat the food off each other’s lips Stomach turns to knots. They had brought these things to be soon forgot, Consigned to oblivion (same hands which build the shacks we live in). V. Ocean, Herself More attentive than ever, she still found it difficult to be the laughter until she was asleep. Yet she was afraid, but surprised to realize the corners of her mouth did not seem happy to see her. “You worry people -” it’s just a saying, a life force from chaos. She created life and warmth - she created between the cold death of chaos and a warm place. That’s why she can bring forth life again: I think it’s time for a celebration. VI. Goodbye True, I said, did you see the sky churn? The clouds had touched the water, but we heard no sound? Yes, I swear, twas therein the long combed nostalgia the hair on your head was a fine tuned ball of yarn which had left the day in monotonous jargon But I like it when you talk this way challenge the self to say I will not stop to assert my grammar - but compress the enzymes with a fine tuned hammer which will allow those molecules not to fit, watch all the pretty accidents. They are the colors I do juggle (was that a Circle? (No!)) It was a Swirl - follow to the end and see the curl wrap around, above the eye - balance on one sole before you say goodbye, for I will miss you! In the mourning I will miss you in the day- I WILL MISS the come what may, but for a moment on the glass stained eye I will miss you; I will miss goodbye
Carly Francis, Don’t Just Google It, marker and acrylic paint, 2016 [opposite] Larkin Meehan, Eat Your Veggies, ink and watercolor, 2017