University City Station: Glassboro, Audio Essay by Anne Cross on Recent Work by Phillip Scarpone

This audio essay by Anne Cross was recorded on July 19 2016, at Grizzly Grizzly Gallery, inside of Phillip Scarpone’s installation, University City Station: Glassboro, at the time of his exhibition. Cross’s essay draws from both discussions between the artist and the writer, and the artist’s own statements about his work, and thus the essay should be viewed as a collaborative effort.


// Download Transcript //

// Link to Scarpone Exhibit //



About the writer: Anne Cross is a second year PhD student in Art History at the University of Delaware, where her research focuses primarily on photography and print culture of the long nineteenth century. Anne received her Master’s degree in 2013 from the Institute of Fine Arts at New York University. Prior to attending the University of Delaware, she spent two years as the Luce Fellow in American Prints at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

About the artist: Phillip Scarpone received his MFA with distinction from The University of Georgia, Lamar Dodd School of Art and BFA from the University of Delaware.  He has exhibited nationally and internationally including Washington, DC; New York, NY; Austin, TX; Philadelphia, PA; Atlanta, GA; Richmond, VA; St.Louis, MO and Baltimore, MD. He is a recipient of an NEA Established Professional Fellowship in Sculpture through the Delaware Division of the Arts, in 2013 was selected for the Miami University Young Sculptors Competition juried by John Hatfield, Director of Socrates Sculpture Park and in 2014 was a finalist for the Dave Bown Projects 9th International Competition.  Phillip is currently represented by the Seraphin Gallery in Philadelphia, PA.

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Derelict: A Conversation Between Marie Lorenz and Sean FitzGerald

This conversation was recorded, and subsequently transcribed,  at Grizzly Grizzly gallery, taking place between Philadelphia based artist Sean FitzGeraldJohanna Povirk-Znoy, and Brooklyn based artist Marie Lorenz at the time of her exhibition, Derelict, in March 2016.

Derelict Conversation – Transcript – 4/5/16

Sean FitzGerald: So while I was researching to prepare for the interview I happened to also be reading some books on Cezanne; there was an interesting questionnaire I came upon that was included in the catalogue for his first solo show of drawings. The idea behind the questionnaire was that it might reveal something fundamental about the person who answered it and it’s this amazing relic-document that Cezanne filled out. So I thought that it would be fun to punctuate our interview with some of the same questions.

Marie Lorenz: I love it. That sounds perfect!

S: So, to begin, what is your favorite smell?

M: I like the smell of low tide. Some people think this is a bad smell, but to me it is the smell of adventure. I like that you can smell low tide all the way through the city. It permeates the city even if you can’t see the water. Low tide reaches out to you like an invitation to explore.

S: So I guess another way I thought about beginning…I think it’s really important to view the work that’s in here within the framework of the larger context of the Tide and Current Taxi. So if you want to just begin and say something about what that project is and how the work in here relates to that, in a larger context.

M: The Tide and Current Taxi is a project that I’ve done for 11 years. I take people around the waterways of New York City using the tidal current to push the boat, and then I make a blog about each trip. People email me with a place they want to go, I study the tidal charts and suggest a time based on when the currents moving.

I design and build the boats that I use for the Tide and Current Taxi. The print on the wall at Grizzly is of a boat that I made two summers ago. The shapes you see on the far right and left, those are the ribs of the boat. The long vertical strips toward the center are the planks. I cut out the shapes of the boat, then printed them, then assembled the boat, so this print was made when the boat was all flat shapes.

S: So the boat’s made of plywood?

M: Yes, a simple construction of plywood and fiberglass.

The mobile in the center of the room at Grizzly is made from things I found in the New York Harbor. There is a buoy, a skull, flotation foam, those are typical things you find floating around New York. Then I like to have some anomalies. The glass buoy for instance, my parents found on the beach in Japan in the 70’s.

S: That actually leads well into the next question that I wanted to ask you. We’re super privileged, I feel like, to be actually in this space talking about the work and having it in front of us at the same time. So I wanted to really focus on what we have in front of us and maybe if you could go through and just talk about some of the objects that physically compose the mobiles; where they come from, how did you assemble them, what was the criteria for selecting them, and how they relate to each other.

M: Most of the stuff is from Shooter’s Island, a tiny strip of land between Staten Island and New Jersey. It is one of my favorite places to go in New York. Not many people land there because it’s an industrial area surrounded by landfills. But the island itself is really wild, nesting birds, trees, grass… and tons of garbage.

S: Is it the current that makes so much stuff accumulate there?

M: Yes, the currents, and the fact that no one sets foot on the island. It feels extremely remote, even though it is geographically close to Staten Island.

S: Wow, so it’s like a huge repository?

M: Yes, a huge treasure chest of trash. Sometimes you can find really old stuff there because it’s washing out of landfills that were capped in the 70s. There are old ceramic dishes and antique bottles, things with an almost historic value, but then real junk too. There is a section of beach on Shooter’s island with hundreds of balls; soccer balls, basket balls, and every size of rubber ball,  you would not believe it. Things kind of sort themselves out on the beach. I guess when I started making the mobiles I was thinking about that, how I like to see where different things wind up, how the curve of the coast and can affect how currents will deliver objects with certain properties.

S: So the tide kind of organizes things by their density?

M: Yes, like insanely so. I once found a little stretch of beach with hundreds of drinking straws – all different colors and shapes… How did they find each other?

S: Like a gigantic trash centrifuge….

M: Yes, so I guess the mobiles started because I was thinking about that. I wanted to create the pleasure of beach combing without overtly enacting that for the viewer. I feel like the mobiles offer a version of that centrifugal sorting because they also organize things by mass. They are also floating.

S: I’d like to switch focus for a moment and talk about the large prints that are hanging on the wall behind the mobiles. Can you begin by just describing to us briefly how you made them?

M: Technically the process is called ‘nature printing’, because people traditionally use sumi ink and mulberry paper like this to print leaves or wood, or in the case of Japanese anglers to record  the size of their catch.

S: Fish prints…

M: Exactly! The prints on the column are of more plastic junk from the harbor. I like the association of using a process called ‘nature printing’ to record plastic debris. It seems to suggest this plastic as our new nature.

S: Do you think of the prints as almost like an index of a performance, or more like   autonomous pieces that exists beside a performance?

M: Yes an index, or a remnant of the performance.

S: I’m reading this particular set of prints as indexes because of how schematic they look. But more importantly, many of your prints, especially the collagraphs and the other flotsam prints are really beautiful and set up a kind of poetics of trash and they almost look like tapestries. They’re undeniably quite beautiful and elegant. Would it be wrong to read this as a schematic drawing of a boat?

M: It really is! I made this print initially to record the shape of the planks in case I wanted to build the same boat again, and then I was like oooh…this could be a thing…

S: I wanted to talk a little about nature and the Tide and Current Taxi. The river, in a lot of your work, acts as a vehicle or lens through which the familiar or the everyday becomes destabilized and unfamiliar. And I think it’s interesting that you’re using nature to render the contemporary uncanny in some way, and I was wondering if that was an accurate read or something that you think about or relate to?

M: Yes. I think that’s a great read. Because I make boats, people often ask I’m interested in the sea or exploring rivers in wilderness. I like that stuff, but my project is about the city. Nature, or the natural force of the tide, is a vehicle for looking at the city. It is exactly what you said, a vehicle for destabilizing our perception of the city.

S: Most people don’t even realize that’s what’s happening with the tide. They’re so close to it, and they see it every day, but don’t ever interact with it.

M: Yes, I love thinking about that. The gravity of the moon can pull you to Harlem…

S: [Laughing]

M: or downtown. It’s crazy to think of this as a viable way to travel, but it really is.

S: So here are two big questions: How would you define nature today and how does it exist within or alongside the metropolis?

M: I think there’s been a push with speculative realism to redefine the nature/culture binary, to stop thinking about nature as other and to see what we are actually left with on the planet. I think that reading speculative realism hasn’t changed my concept of nature so much as my concept of culture. Before I would have said that culture is, you know, art and theater and stuff. Now I think of plutonium and global warming as cultural products. So I would say that nature is… I don’t know what it is. I guess that’s what the project is about, finding weird boundaries, looking at the wilderness that encircles Manhattan, and how it penetrates the city in the form of sewers or something…

S: It’s also how those boundaries exist, that they’re very permeable and they’re not necessarily static throughout time…It’s constantly evolving and de-evolving and coalescing, even though we don’t necessarily pay attention to it.

M: Exactly! And it is exciting to think that more specific our instruments get, the more we study, the more we realize how even the human body is an amalgamation of non-human habitats.

S: What’s your favorite form of relaxation?

M: Ha! It’s amazing how all the Cezanne questions relate perfectly to going out in a boat! But really, it is very relaxing to boat in the city, a complete anecdote for normal city life. If you have enough time, I highly recommend it.

S: Are you reading anything interesting right  now?

M: mmmm… The Dark Forest. This is the second volume of a science fiction trilogy by Liu Cixin. Oh my god, it’s so good. So scary and weird…

S: I was trying to think about art historical points of reference for boating. The three most obvious ones I could think of were Bas Jan Ader, Monet and Turner. And I was wondering if you identify your work with any of them.

M: (27:58) I love Bas Jan Ader, of course. I love all the references to falling and (of course) searching in his work. Also, I like to think about the Tide and Current Taxi as analogous to painting, like an impulse to represent the landscape. It is also in the lineage of land art too, thinking about Agnes Denes, or the Robert Smithson field trips.

S: Going back to Bas Jan Ader, were there ever any sublime moments of terror during the project or anything related to the project where you felt like you were in real danger, or you were on the verge of losing control?

M: Being in the water is like always on the verge of losing control.

S: There is always an accident waiting.

M: It’s true, because you are suspended over this place you’re not really supposed to be. At the same time, it’s all very familiar on a neonatal level. I think it’s a challenge that the human body is capable of solving. In the boat, small problems keep arising that your body is perfectly capable of solving, it’s like this low level emergency unfolding every second, and you solve problems without even thinking about it.

S: Who’s your favorite painter?

M: …Sean Fitzgerald.

S: [Laughing]

M: Who did Cezanne say his favorite painter was?

S: Rubens

M: Who’s your favorite painter?

S: ….Cezanne?


S: In 2002 you did a performance called Ice Flow, Where you…

M: [Laughing]

S: …dressed up as a seal and floated down the East River, on a Styrofoam iceberg.

M: It’s true.

S: Can you talk a little bit about that?

M: [Laughing] I made these costumes in grad school – a seal and a sea lion – they looked like huge stuffed animals but you could get inside and zip yourself up. Your little arms fit into the flippers, but you couldn’t do much from inside, you couldn’t see, you could barely breath, you were completely in this sack It felt like some sort of deprivation chamber. But from the outside, you were a seal! I didn’t originally make them for the river, it was actually my Yale thesis show in 2002.

S: Oh really?

M: Ha! Yes. The costumes were lying open on a Styrofoam iceberg unzipped, and the insides were bright red satin. It almost looked like they had been flayed open, but also very inviting for someone to get inside. I realized a year later that the whole thing would float, the styrofoam iceberg and everything so I got inside and floated inside the sea lion for a bit down the East River. I had a paddle hidden under the costume so I could unzip myself and paddle to shore. A police helicopter followed me down the river, and then it followed back home and hung out above the house for 20 minutes.

S: [Laughing] Did they come talk to you?

M: No one came. Just the helicopter.

S: I bet you were on at least one person’s news feed: “I saw a seal floating down the East River today”.

M: exactly!!


S: Speaking of seeing crazy things, what is one of the craziest things you have seen through having access to these liminal spaces?

M: One of the unusual… there are so many things, I guess…

S: Or maybe just one of the most memorable…

M: One thing I see very often in New York City (and you would never know this from land) many people sunbath nude along the water’s edge. Sometimes folks will hop a fence, and get down to the water on the rocks around Roosevelt Island or Queens, completely invisible from the shore and it is so nice down there, like having a huge park all to yourself, no one else in sight for miles, except then I come by… It is interesting to see how people use the liminal space, like you said.

Johanna Povirk-Znoy: It’s weird that you guys were talking about nature earlier and thinking about rivers and cities, but there is an attitude, in general, as urban waterways being really dirty nasty places. Like the way you hear about the Schuylkill river being used as the water supply, and what a problem that was. Also like that Seinfeld episode where Kramer goes in the East River and gets so dirty and gross, no wants to smell him. In the city people relate the water with relaxation, but they also think they can get an STD from it.

M: It’s so true, I love that it can be both ways. The New York waterways have some real problems, the sediment is full of old industrial pollutants and new pollutants get dumped in every day from the Combined Sewer Overflow. But there are still more things, or a greater variety of things living in the water around New York than on land.

S: Have you heard of plastiglomerate?

M: Yes.

S: Some of the things in the mobile definitely…

M: They look like plastiglomerates.

S: Totally. The Styrofoam, or whatever that thing is, immediately made me think of plastiglomerate.

M:  I would love to find a plastiglomerate.

S: I’m surprised you haven’t.

M: I guess it depends on how you define a plastiglomerate. That weird rock thing in the mobile is the home of a tubeworm – a snail that dissolves the shells of its host and secretes calcium carbonate in that tube shape. I have definitely seen that around plastic, so it would be like a rock and plastic mixed together – but I does that really count as a plastiglomerate?

J: You also have the barnacle on the Buoy.

M: That’s true! Would that count?

S: I think the defining characteristic is that It’s from molten plastic; molten plastic that had rocks and other debris accumulated into it. But it’s like its own geological classification of a new rock.

M: I think you have to go to Hawaii to find them…

S: Alright, well, to wind down, maybe one last Cezanne question. You can take one person out on the boat with you, dead or alive, sky’s the limit: Who would you take ?

M: Ha! That sounds like a game we used to play in High School called ‘Would You Rather’ – like would you rather sail around the world with Rochelle Feinstein or Sam Messer?

S: [Laughing] That is a hard choice…

M: So if I could take anyone out in a boat…ok, Bas Jan Ader.

S: Well of course, many people speculate that his disappearance was part of his performance…

M: Maybe he is still out there…

Since 2005, the artist Marie Lorenz has been operating the Tide and Current Taxi, a rowboat water taxi in New York Harbor. Carefully planning each trip to coincide with strong tidal currents in the harbor, Lorenz documented the journeys through stories and photographs. ‘Derelict’ at Grizzly Grizzly makes tangible several facets of the on-going project. She describes the pieces in the exhibition below.

To find out more about the project, visit:

 Right Wall: Boat Print (Derelict)

“For the wall paper, I printed the planks of a boat during my building and design process. I make a new boat for for the Tide and Current Taxi every couple years, designing something that meets changing conditions on the East River. I always think that the boat planks look more interesting before I put them together, like sound waves or parentheses. In maritime law, the word ‘derelict’ refers to something at the bottom of the ocean, or a drifting ship.”



Center of the gallery: Mobile (Flotsam)

“The mobile is made from things that I use out in the boat, the actual ropes, ores, and paddles, but also stuff that I find in the New York Harbor. Operating the Tide and Current Taxi over the past 10 years has increased my interested in debris and pollution. There is all this material out there being carried around by the tide that I interact with. Those materials are like my collaborators or my copilots. Making the mobile made me very aware of the weight and balance of the objects, the same way that floating makes me aware, it was disorienting in the same way. In maritime law, the word flotsam refers to floating wreckage (as opposed to parts of a ship that have drifted to the bottom of the sea).”



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In Front of Your Eyes: A Conversation Led by John Muse with Artists Jacob Lunderby and Martha MacLeish

In early April, Jacob Lunderby, Ephraim Russell, Josh Weiss, and I met to discuss In Front of Your Eyes, the exhibition by Jacob Lunderby and Martha MacLeish at Grizzly Grizzly.


Grizzly Grizzly member Ephraim Russell talking with artist Jacob Lunderby.

They asked me to facilitate the creation of a text that engages with the exhibition.  Based on our conversation and my own responses and passions, I proposed a few topics and invited Jacob and Martha to play with and around them, replying to me individually.  Having gathered their remarks, we then spoke by phone and each took another turn revising, growing our language towards, around, through the works and vice versa. Below is our call-and-response, documentation of the work, and documentation of the deinstall, which, given the works and the topics below, should complete the picture.

Note that the proposed topics all begin with a versus, which is only a heuristic: no need to trust in or even take seriously the relevance of these oppositions.  But let me confess: for me they’re useful, i.e., practical; they’re tools and also toys. And like tools and toys, they may be broken or used up or set aside as useless, dumb, or no longer age-appropriate. I like to bathe myself and others in the heat of such oppositions, work out for a while, and then cool down, cycling around a both/and and a neither/nor, hankering for The Neutral and for paradox.  Through the versus, now you see them, now you don’t.  So much theory, so much eros.


1. Surface vs. Depth. The works in the exhibition tell me that you both care not only about surfaces but about the thickness of surfaces, the plasticity of surfaces, their physical properties: surfaces fold, crinkle, crack, curdle, froth, bubble, and slip.  The concept of surface too easily falls prey to an idealization, where surface is posed against depth, with depth carrying the traits of the real and surface the traits of illusion, mere appearance, superficiality, the unreal. The latter paradigm would allow surface no depth of its own. But I see you both working to displace this paradigm with another; your working methods, your ingredients, recipes, and moves, all seem to hinge on this play of one surface enveloping another: paints and plastics, mylar and board; exfoliation, burnishing, sealing, ablating, skimming.

Martha: I use plant forms and other organic material to make marks that have an almost photographic character; they provide a level of detail—surface detail—that I can get down directly and without having to make too many decisions. The methodology of collecting them, soaking them pressing them, etc. gets me going, lets me pretend I know what I‘m doing by imitating something—in this case, a surgeon or a conservator. I act like a conservator; I play this role to change my habits in the studio. Or sometimes the studio feels like a crime scene. I’m a detective; it isn’t immediately possible to distinguish between relevant clues and red herrings. By approaching the situation of making art deliberately, but according to the deliberate methods of another profession, I can build up some momentum.

Embracing ornamentation of the surface by recognizing its potential to be an essential aspect: with the corrugations of the “X” piece, the surface and form are united. For me ornament signifies the formal, aka formality, which I’m thinking of both in terms of ceremony and ritual—precisely not as frivolity. For example, ornamentation like this, the corrugations and the folds, give these structures strength.

2. Representation vs. Thing. There are representational moves in many of these works, appearing as they do to be pictures or depictions of something absent and distant. But they are also objects, things, i.e., things that you don’t simply look through to see something else but things to look at, be with, and work with. You want your works to, as they say, hold the wall, to treat the wall as a ground, just as the modernist strands of 20th c. Art History teach us that painting were to do, from Jasper Johns to Frank Stella to Ellsworth Kelly. The wall behind the work isn’t to disappear or withdraw but to be an active partner in a larger perceptual and physical game. I’m particularly struck by the way you both use white—Jacob’s white edges and Martha’s white plastics—to play with and against the typically white skin of the gallery. During our initial conversation, I called this chameleon-like power to merge with the surroundings, gallery camouflage. You both refer to walls in the works themselves, to walls as infrastructure and as enclosures, but your works also invite us to think of the infrastructure of exhibition, the lost and found of one thing touching another. They don’t only represent this infrastructure, nor do only they partake of it; they also diagram it; they map an otherwise abstract system of relations.


Martha Macleish, Untitled, 2016 Mixed media on pvc plastic, detail

Martha: I am grateful for how John articulates the relationship between the wall and the gallery space in relation to the whiteness of the work. The “X” is the most thing-like, and also the most diagrammatic. Some of the works feel miniaturized–and have pictorial relationships to the landscape, whereas the “X” is life-sized, neither a blow-up nor a scale model. The “X” doesn’t refer to another scale or even call attention to the concept of scale.  “X” has the quality of standing for something, of marking-the-spot, leading to inference and clues, not representing. As a diagrammatic symbol, it has a timelessness that interacts with the idiosyncrasies of the corrugation’s curving contour, as well as with the pressed leaves and painted marks.

 Jacob: I am going to try and respond to question 1 (surface/depth) and question 2 (Representation/Thing) here. The white space in my work, e.g., the painted edge of the wooden panels that are the support for my paintings, marks the transition from representation to thing (object). Seen obliquely, the painting floats half an inch in front of the wall, the shadow cast by the panel creates a frame for the object and visually projects the painting forward. The cast shadow separates the object from wall; as the shadow registers the wall, the painting resists “gallery camouflage.”

Seen from the front, the painting’s cast shadow infers dimensionality but the visceral combination of the physical object and the simulation of texture and depth become complicated. The smooth reflectiveness of the painting surface mimics the glass that is present in the image itself. The varnish seals an object that is physically sensitive and glazes the illusion of a very fragile surface.

The images I use are printed on translucent mylar and generally modified with enamel paint before being glued to wooden panels and sealed with varnish. Occasionally, I will paint on the surface of the print to redact visual information or add false strips of tape, though the painting is typically done on the wooden panel or on the back of the print itself. Since the image has been printed on translucent mylar, the paint acts as a secondary layer to the image of the print. The way I use paint can have several roles in the work; it might interfere with the image, it can subvert the logic of the space, it can become complicit in creating a passable illusion or it might direct attention through perspective. Paint is used as a gesture to modify the image of the photograph; it shifts the representation of the image and can make the work harder or easier to see.

As the movement within each painting is organized by the layering of image, mylar and paint on a wooden structure, a visual connection is established throughout the work in an exhibition via repetition, rhyme, and redaction.

3. Part vs. Whole. Also during our initial conversation we talked about the relationships between parts and wholes. Some of Jacob’s pieces appear to be cut-outs that imply larger spaces: beyond the edge of the image…  — “image” is a word I don’t like, because it opts out of mediation and volatilizes the things that mediate and sustain relations between bodies and other stuff, nervous systems and worlds, but for now, I’ll use it, keeping this in mind.  So, let me start again: beyond the edge of the image, a blind field opens up, not so much for imaginative play or narrative thrust as for strict projection, as when in an engineering drawing, a line cuts another to indicate that the latter just continues. Martha’s work insists on this action, with various cuts through the material suggesting cutaways and break lines. Neither of you appear to make works that aim for autonomy, but rather put works into the world that organize absent worlds around themselves.


Martha Macleish, Untitled, 2016, mixed media on pvc plastic, 30W”x 24H”

Martha: I hoped that maybe the “black triangle” piece would be able to do something like organize “absent worlds” about itself—though I never would have thought to articulate it in that way. The mirrored parts in that work reflect the world outside of it, bringing it into the work, making it more complete.

  Jacob: I have used the term “image” perhaps loosely in the discussion of the photographic element in my work. I think that as I am calling these objects paintings, “Image” seems to fit my needs better as an object and process in painting, rather than “picture” or “photograph.” I would agree with your note on making work that does not aim for autonomy. There is a combination of representation and repetition in my work that is used to keep fragments pointing to fragments. For example, I might use an image where there is evidence of a person “fixing” a cracked window using a method where the protective tape covers and mimics the damage itself—the tape tracing the cracks presents a sort of repetition and redaction simultaneously. As I find these repair situations, I photograph the passive sign left by an absent figure as a mark of care in response to a transgression. I edit the image to wipe out information and make the site of the window somewhat anonymous; my use of the image is about a surface/sign and not an address, not a particular place.

4. Temporary vs. Permanent. I don’t want to overplay this opposition, or let it stand for too long, because about neither body of work would the words “ephemeral” or “dematerialized”—à la the conceptual turn—come to mind, being both so sturdy and full of craft- and object-love. Rather I’m using “temporary” to simply mark a hiatus, a pause, the way scaffolding and debris netting cloak a building, i.e., temporarily but extravagantly. Just the way Jacob’s blue tape holds signs and things together, the way too the registration of the various images—that word again—drifts, as though promising alignment, soon but not too soon. Or the way that Martha’s folds and volumes are in medias res; any disturbance, any break or fault, is in process, as likely to shed as to solidify. The works open and sustain this hiatus, telling me that finish isn’t finished but ongoing.

Martha: In medias res—I had to look up this phrase! And I love it! I am interested in gesture as form. Though I had not articulated the idea of peeking in on something that is already underway, I have thought of works as coming into consciousness, or awareness, only belatedly. Like we’ve been sitting in the room together, always, but only gradually becoming aware of each other’s presence. Or like a noise that is continuous—a hum—that doesn’t register initially, and as it does register, it isn’t with a startling beginning, but as if it has always been there—right in front of your eyes.

It’s also like the sound of an airplane overhead, which I hear before I recognize it. For me—and this is a story from my childhood—every airplane I hear is somehow the very same airplane that flew overhead when I was a child, like it’s back to check up on me. All time is happening simultaneously. Somehow it becomes this equalizer. When it shows up again, time collapses. So, “in medias res” to me means not in the middle, or the temporary, but that the middle is everywhere. Strangely, even the temporary is permanent!

Jacob: I like the idea of work sustaining a hiatus; I see my work as finding an event and folding it into a hiatus. For example, I happen across something on the street, a piece of plastic that has been hastily taped over a window as a sign to temporarily mark attention/intention. Perhaps this act has been committed to show someone’s intent on fixing a window, or it’s a device meant to prevent an outsider from looking into the space. In either case, it is a sign that indicates occupation of space, or, attentiveness at least.

I find the trace (plastic, etc.) of the event and photograph it. After editing, the image is printed and becomes a layer in the production of a painting. At this point, the image does not represent the site any more though—as an image it disconnects from site specificity. If I were to return to the site of the image it is possible that the window has been repaired or uncovered, but it is also possible that the building has disappeared.

Similarly, if the image becomes part of a painting that I exhibit, the exhibition layout might be organized to connect elements from one work to another through repetition, rhyme, or spatial awareness. The trace of the event that I found and photographed becomes part of a painting that is exhibited among other paintings, and when the exhibition closes the painting will be wrapped in plastic, taken from the exhibition venue, and put into storage.

It is possible that the painting will be taken off the shelf again for another engagement, but it is also possible that the painting will remain on the shelf for an undetermined amount of time.

5. In Front of Your Eyes vs. In Front of Your Eyes. I want the play of this title, both under erasure and not-yet-erased, to receive some love. The strike-through invites me to imagine a moment when something was in fact in front of my eyes, that you gave me something to see, but that you also took it away, leaving me with a shadow, a trace, a print, a crease, or stain—e.g., a zip of yellow epoxy, a sign that says “Missing” that is itself mostly missing. The title helps me toggle most if not all of the above topics, because as idiom, the phrase “right in front of your eyes” brings exasperation and befuddlement to the fore. Where? Right in front of your eyes! Poe’s purloined letter, hidden in plain sight, the emblem of both obviousness and failure. To only partially redact this title then affirms noon-day enigma, the paradox of Stella’s “what you see is what you see,” which is anything but clear, being a tautology, a rude rejoinder, and a koan. The permanent, the whole, the object, the depths, these purport to be right in front of my eyes. But what I see, right there, under erasure, are the temporary, the part, signs, surfaces.

Jacob: The voice of the text is still partially present (visible, readable) via the strikethrough, but is meant to recede. It is a give/take gesture that never fully resolves itself to being present or absent. I am more visually aware of the phrase because of the strikethrough- the redaction draws more attention to the phrase than the projected exasperation of an interlocutor. The phrase suggests something about seeing, but the content is silent and might be a blind spot.

What you see is what you don’t see.


To close, below I include documentation of the deinstallation.  As suggested above,  the works of In Front of Your Eyes are gallery creatures, like most artworks, but both for and of display and display systems, not only when they’re “rested and ready” but also when they’re being handled, moved, and stored.  Hence the blue tape, both in and out the work, the packaging that shrouds the already shrouded, the labels and instructions that make explicit already gestating infrastructure, and the installation systems—all hands on deck—that perforate already perforated works.

John Muse teaches at Haverford College, makes art, occasionally curates exhibitions, and writes criticism.

(Exhibition Images)


(De-installation Images)


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EchoLocation: A Conversation with Richard Hogan, Doa E. Lee, Sarah Legow, and Heather Raquel Phillips

This conversation took place between Keenan Bennett and Philadelphia-based artists Richard Hogan, Doa E. Lee, Sarah Legow, and Heather Raquel Phillips, on the occasion of their group exhibit EchoLocation at Grizzly Grizzly Gallery, February 2016.

EchoLocation is the second group exhibition of the Incubation Series, a collaboration between Art History and Fine Arts graduate programs at University of Pennsylvania. Incubation Series was co-founded by Keenan Bennett and Kirsten Gill and curated by Haely Chang, Kirsten Gill, and Hilary Whitham.

Keenan: The curators for EchoLocation have put together a rigorous statement describing the concept of the show that brings all of your works together. I want to take this opportunity, in conversation with you all now, to learn more about how you all see your work intersecting with the themes of the exhibition.

Heather: I couldn’t envision this show prior to seeing the artists’ work together. I thought the conversation that happened among the pieces created a dialogue that became compelling.

KB: I agree. Are there any dialogues between certain works that were especially unexpected?

Sarah: This is interesting, all of us artists are part of the MFA program at Penn and if you’d asked me whose work in the program mine is most related to, I might have answered very differently. But there were visual echoes between mine and Richard’s work that I wouldn’t have predicted until I saw them side by side.

Richard: [Nodding head] Sarah’s reliance on text in this particular show, the way it’s placed so near two of my images, sort of insists on a beginning space to consider my images. The way Sarah inserted the text near my work, you can’t look at the text and not see my photographs, and you can’t look at my photographs and not see Sarah’s text, and it creates this automatic positioning to guide you through building meaning through each of them, and I couldn’t have anticipated it but it works so well.


Richard Hogan, Untitled (Fruit of the Loom), Archival Inkjet Print, 30″ x 40″



Sarah Legow, Site specific installation, 2016

KB: How about you, Doa, what pieces do you see your paintings in dialogue with?

DEL: Heather’s banners are really interesting. Before you enter the space and you look through the door, you see Heather’s banners and you see my large painting, Present/Absent, and they harmonize in a way. The colors of the banners are saturated and red; they call to our eyes. And the “FUCK” — you see it and it goes right to your brain — and then you see my painting. I like that scaffolding, that of seeing Heather’s work and then seeing my work. Our attitudes are different, but we are both dealing with the world, and this is what’s great about the group show.


Heather Raquel Phillips, (Text concept by Charles Hall) Fuck, Fight and Forgive, Forget, 2015. Flags, felt and cotton blends



Doa E. Lee, Present Absence, 2015, Mixed media on cotton fabric, 60″ x 105″

KB: I’m glad you dropped the f-word, Doa. The word comes up several times in the show. Heather or Sarah, do either of you want to discuss how fuck operates in your work or the show generally?

HRP: I want to quote Sarah’s piece, “language reduced to a binary of silence and the word fuck.” I think that for me, it’s a distancing tactic. It works the same way in Sarah’s work in how fuck ends the conversation. But there is also a bubble that gets created that the artist stands in, like in the artist’s own entity.

SL: [silence]

KB: The venue for each of the shows in the Incubation Series is always different. Is there anything you all want to say about the Grizzly Grizzly space in particular?

SL: I like being forced to work improvisationally in unusual conditions, so Grizzly Grizzly was right up my alley. Corners and columns and odd little nooks always seem to me like opportunities. My work is small, too, so I didn’t feel any constraint.

HRP: That work [I showed] in particular, I really like the small space. I think it pronounces the character a little more. What I’m saying with Pom Pom is maybe not relatable to the greater mass of people. Maybe she’s small-time in a way that non-normative figures can’t be big-time. The artists and entertainers I’ve been friends with over the years have taught me the importance of the small-timeness of certain bodies, because they can never be read as a majority. It’s a queer body, a queer figure, doing their own thing. If the work were in a larger space, there’s a good chance the marginal figure might shrink away. And she’s meant to feel big, but in the area that she is big.

RH: The size of Grizzly Grizzly also makes a linear reading of all the works impossible. There becomes a physical presence to them. You feel them all around you. Conceptually, it’s hard to ignore the relationship when they are literally facing each other in such short distance.

DEL: Yes! I like how all the works are facing each other in the space. Both of my paintings sort of are a response to society and I liked them facing and watching each other. The viewer is also implicated in the facing works. When you come in, you are looking at a painting, the painting behind you is watching you. And you can turn around and look at the opposite painting, and the first one is watching you. The gaze ricochets. Everyone, my paintings and the viewers, they are all watching each other. I think it’s really interesting, the direct physical response.

KB: The curatorial statement is complex and we haven’t talked about it much yet. Do any of you feel as though the concept for the show reverberated especially with your work or issues you are thinking about in your studios?

SL: My work might be the most literal of the group in reflecting some of the content from the curatorial statement, since I’ve used actual mirrors in two places. So I’ve brought visual reflections as well as verbal ones — the repeated references to ambiguous “you” and “I” characters in my text, and then all those “fucks” too.



Sarah Legow installation reflecting Heather Raquel Phillips’ BullSh*t

DEL: I feel like my work is a lot about self-identification and analyzing who I am. Self-identification is different than identity. How you see matters; it is key. Through observing the world, I come to know myself. The way / how I am looking.

RH: Mimesis is central to my photographic process. When we see a photo of something, we are automatically reminded at once of its presence in the image and its physical absence. A lot of people approach photography as a representation of something that exists out in the world, for better or for worse, so I’m interested in the tension between presence / absence.

KB: Thank you all for joining me today in conversation. I’m glad we had the chance to unpack some of the issues addressed in your works and in EchoLocation. I have to agree with what Heather mentioned earlier, that I would have never envisioned a show comprised of the four of you all. After seeing your works in Grizzly Grizzly and speaking with you all today, however, the curators’ choice to bring you all together becomes clear. Thank you all again.

RH: Thank you and thanks to the curators and Grizzly Grizzly as well.

DEL: The show came together very well. Thank you, Keenan.

HRP: Yes, the show is super successful, I think. Thank you.

SL: Thanks. And thank you to Grizzly Grizzly.

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Hex Outpost/Post Hex: Conversation With Jason Urban and Leslie Mutchler

This conversation took place via email between Ephraim Russell and Austin based artists Jason Urban and Leslie Mutchler, on the occasion of their exhibit at Grizzly Grizzly Gallery, December/January 2016.

ER:  I am very intrigued by your current exhibit at Grizzly Grizzly after attending the first iteration on December 4th. I found your Pennsylvania Dutch Gift Haus construct a fascinating, as you put it, “jumping off point” for the development of a body of work and its retail outpost. The hex and fraktur aesthetic are both such a distinct part of this region’s cultural and physical landscape, so I would like to begin our conversation by asking you both about your connection to this cultural history and visual nomenclature.

JU:  We met in Philadelphia a decade ago and we’re both from Pennsylvania originally. We’ve been based in Austin for eight years now but we get back to the region regularly. Our work is focused on handcraft and the relationship of analog to digital. The notion of looking back to a not-so-distant time to examine cultural connections, albeit somewhat idealized, to labor made sense to us. While neither of us can claim any direct ties to the Pennsylvania Dutch, it’s something we’ve been exposed to since childhood having grown up and lived in Pennsylvania. The iconography was familiar to us but we knew relatively little about its meanings and history. This project was an excuse to research.

LM:  We also noticed on our research trip (summer 2015) the abundance of printed ephemera at the museums, shops and historic sites we encountered. Handmade and simple publications, such as “Idioms and Expressions of the Pennsylvania Germans” to “Butter Tools and Processes” to “Popular Home Remedies and Superstitions of the PA Germans” became important fodder for the publications we made for HEX Outpost. We became engaged in processing this culturally-specific material though a more contemporary lens (i.e. The Modern Day POWWOWING publication which details a couple PA Dutch remedies with the aid of to purchase otherwise difficult to obtain supplies.)

ER:  The irony of using Amazon to obtain supplies to concoct a pre-modern Dutch remedy represents a powerful intersection of old and new practice. It always feels a little awkward when the two come together; it also has a strong undercurrent of humor. It also brings to mind Atelier Van Lieshout’s “A Manuel” and the book I had growing up, Foxfire, which is a practical introduction to Appalachian culture. There seems to be a similar complexity in this installation, in that it’s very serious looking, but in actuality it is interactive, fun, and affordable. Would it be a reach on my part to think of Hex Outpost as a sort of PA Dutch “Non-Site“, in the Smithson tradition?

JU:  Smithson never came up in our discussions but I can see why you might bring up his notions of “Non-Site.” We consciously went into the real world looking for material to assimilate and distill. We traveled around Pennsylvania over the course of a few weeks visiting historic sites and some cultural centers. It was a cross between scholarly research and local tourism. That said, HEX Outpost isn’t recreating a specific stand or location- it’s a composite structure built from lots of source material. We invented it as a vehicle to house our research-based publications and materials. Actually, the second exhibition, Post-HEX, will break down the first one and provide more of a direct window into the research. Thinking of Smithson again, Post-HEX will place an emphasis on documentation in a way that the HEX Outpost definitely doesn’t.

LM:  I have never heard of Foxfire- but what an amazing publication! Did you grow up in the south? How did Foxfire fall into your hands? (I’m excited to look into this publication a little more). When we began our research we came across the Pennsylvania Folklife magazine: a publication dedicated to preserving all things PA Dutch started by the Pennsylvania Folklife Society in the late 40s. It’s something akin to Foxfire, albeit produced by leading researchers in the field and not students, and it chronicles stories, letters, fraktur, folksong, religion, furniture, etc. It’s a pretty comprehension and once we found out that the entire collection existed at Ursinus College, we made it a point to visit and “archive” the archive. The librarian was so taken aback that someone was actually interested in the collection. I think it will continue to be a rich area for us to mine.

You’re right about the current iteration of HEX Outpost, it is designed to be serious- an art object unto itself. Upon returning from our research trip this summer, Jason started to design his own blackletter type and I couldn’t resist utilizing the typeface as an abstracted, repeat-pattern, wallpaper-type graphic. It’s intentionally graphic and binary, yet minimal and economic in design. We were thinking about current design trends in graphic design (specifically related to signage) and also the concept of dazzle camouflage. The disruption of the image/ object. The hands-on, interactive part is more playful, perhaps more lowbrow, and certainly more accessible.

ER:  Leslie, to answer your question, I did grow up in Virginia but I can’t remember specifically how I was introduced to Foxfire. Regardless, it definitely made a mark on me and carries a cultural/collaborative/DIY sprit that I innately respond to, especially the chapter, Moonshining as a Fine Art. The teaching lesson that Foxfire coveys, tends to resonate with me as well.

Well, I greatly appreciate being able to frame my experience of your work through the collaborative process you’ve outlined. Especially through the language you are both using to describe your process, e.g.; “part scholarly research part local tourism”, “archiving the archive”, “assimilating and distilling”, “ a composite structure from lots of source material”; I get such a strong sense of the aesthetic and investigatory decision making that went into the various zines and hex templates you developed.

Now that the original Hex Outpost structure has been dismantled and the Post Hex phase of the show has begun, as a viewer, I almost feel like I’m working backwards through your physical and mental research as you deconstruct/reconstruct the materials in the show. But, maybe more importantly, you also seem to have changed the context in which I’m examining things. Would you both talk about the Post Hex transformation?

JU:  Well, “backwards” is probably a good way to think of it. I think there’s a strong narrative element inherent in the sequential nature of two back-to-back exhibitions. In a lot of ways we put the cart before the horse by showcasing the more commercial outpost first. Part of that was the timing- why not make a piece about commerce around the holidays- but on some other level I hope that it is good storytelling. The viewer finds a situation in the first exhibition and in the second gets the back-story and conclusion. The two things are intrinsically linked so either is incomplete without the other. Post-HEX definitely showcases the research leading up to HEX Outpost but it is also built from the physical remains of HEX Outpost. We turned the stand into tables and piled the signage as evidence of the original form. The two works have an ambiguous relationship to time.

LM:  I would agree; “backwards” does seem appropriate. But logistically speaking, we started with research so why not end with research? The collection of photographs, books and materials exhibited in Post-HEX is in no way finite or definitive of our research. It begins to paint a picture, and as Jason said, has an ambiguous relationship to time. This is a collection that I imagine will grow as we continue to conduct research as well as seek other opportunities for exhibition/ conversation. The modes of representation we have chosen for each photograph or object varies based on our personal relationship to the environment/ moment/ experience we had while conducting research this summer. For a long time I’ve personally been interested in the archive, and perhaps more specifically the design of the archive. From 16th century Wunderkammers to the 21st century tumblr Things Organized Neatly we, as humans, are fascinated with our own collections. Curation of materials, images, and objects has come into play in my interactive work over the last few years (and I’m not unaware that it’s paramount to how I teach in the classroom). Finding modes of representation appropriate for collections, ways in which to organize, to clarify, or to tell a story with the design of a collection is of upmost importance.

ER:  Things Organized Neatly is a great reference! It brings to mind Karsten Bott who, according to his writing, is “trying to evenly collect and archive all existing things”. Conversely, your use of archiving seems to be more about generosity than it is about catharsis. Post Hex really did inspire me to investigate the material you laid out and to attempt to cognitively link it back to the zines and structure that came before. As Jason mentioned, it does unfold as a story telling of your investigatory process. Out of curiosity, in the case that a viewer was not able to see both parts of the exhibit, would you consider their experience to be truncated, or incomplete?

JU:  I don’t think seeing only one or only the other is an incomplete experience. They relate and are more complex as a pair but each should stand on its own merit. Having the two sequential shows allowed us an opportunity to dissect our own studio practice in a way that a singular exhibition wouldn’t. In some ways, I think we were allowing the audience to “watch” us learn and in doing so, maybe they can learn as well? As Leslie mentioned, our identities as artists are influenced by teaching.

ER:  Having viewed both parts in sequence, I think your explanation is apt. My understanding of your larger investigation was very much directed and enriched by Post Hex but it by no means diminished one or the other experience. I think that we naturally intertwine or conflate things when given the chance, which is why I was wondering about the shows as dependents. For me, the relationship between the parts really came down to access; access to ideas, ways of working, etc.

Because the evolution of the work and learning process for both you and the audience is so relevant, is there a possibility of another iteration of this investigation, perhaps a Post/Post Hex?

LM:  Definitely. We have already been discussing other ways in which to interpret and reproduce the research. Both of us are excited to keep pursuing work in the form of publications (accessible multiples) but we have also started a slower process of laser cutting and relief printing birch substrates of simplified geometric patterns (in reference to hexes) as well as letterforms. So I think it’s safe to say another iteration is inevitable as the subject is rich for mining.

ER:  I like your term “accessible multiples”. In general, there doesn’t seem to be enough affordable/accessible work being made. In the recent past GG and TSA adopted the CSA (Community Supported Art) model here in Philly with that same notion of access and affordability in mind. Too often artists follow a standard commercial sales model that can make it next to impossible for most people to buy work. Regarding multiples, I really look forward to seeing how the laser cutting work unfolds. I saw evidence of that thought process in the small laser cut forms in the current work and it seems to make a lot of sense in terms of pattern making and the print context of the hex symbols.

It has been a pleasure having this conversation with you while watching your work unfold in the gallery. Just this week I just happened to re-read Duchamp’s Creative Act, so I found myself actively thinking about the role of the spectator, regarding the meaning of work. It was particularly interesting for me to think about the points in which my questions or thoughts about your work both merged and, at times, diverged with your explanation of things. I learned a lot about your work and practice and thank you for sharing your ideas with me, and the Grizzly Grizzly community.

JU:  Thanks.

LM:  Yes, thanks so much Ephraim. And thanks to Grizzly Grizzly for the opportunity; it’s always great to be back in Philadelphia to make new and strengthen old connections.

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Speak Speak: Peter Crimmins on Grizzly Grizzly for CITYWIDE

This month we present 3 audio compositions by Peter Crimmins made to accompany Grizzly Grizzly’s exhibition, “B-Sides,” at Rebekah Templeton Contemporary Art for the CITYWIDE collective exchange.

In Peter’s own words:

The audio pieces I created for Grizzly Grizzly play with — and hopefully expand — the tropes of a museum audio tour. The pieces start with the voice (I interviewed all six members of Grizzly Grizzly on tape) but are not necessarily linear. Each of the three stops pairs two members of the collective talking about their work.

I started with the material of my own art: sound. Based on what they said on the recordings, I searched for connections. Then, as though it were paint on a canvas, I pushed the sound around until it felt right.

I discovered that all of the members of Grizzly Grizzly struggle with narrative. They all harbor a compulsion to tell stories, and they fight to free their work from the constraints of storytelling. A work that “makes sense” usually makes a single kind of sense, keeping it from working on you, abstractly.

Likewise, the Grizzly Grizzly tour does not attempt to describe the art, explain what it means, or tell the story of the artist. Rather, the audio tour is a sonic extension of the artist collective’s process.


Peter Crimmin’s full statement accompanying his audio pieces can be read at NewsWorks: When Art has no Story to Tell, It Doesn’t Need to Make Sense

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Speak Speak: Three Questions for Tom Lauerman, Fabio Fernandez, Colin Keefe

Image credit: Tom Lauerman.  Gemini.  2013.  Wood, ink.  3 x 3 x 5.5".

Tom Lauerman. Gemini. 2013. Wood, ink. 3 x 3 x 5.5″.

‘Urban Environments’: Colin Keefe, Fabio Fernández, Tom Lauerman
Curated by Jacque Liu
Exhibition Dates: September 6–28, 2013

Curator Jacque Liu spoke with the three artists about their working processes.

Tom Lauerman

What role do you think architecture plays in your work?

These days, the subject of Architecture provides me with some clear limitations for this body of work, as I’m often asking myself “what has this got to do with Architecture?” I have a tendency to over-complicate my work and follow tangents so its always a great pleasure and challenge to return to this collaborative body of work which in it’s title lays out somewhat strict parameters.

For some time I worried that perhaps I should have studied Architecture rather than Art, as I find myself consistently drawn to Architectural subjects. Over time I’ve spent enough time around Architects to recognize that their field is not what I had imagined it to be. Tony Hepburn, an artist who has had a huge impact on my work, said to me “Your work isn’t Architecture, it’s about Architecture”. Simple as this sounds, it has affected me tremendously.

Most built structures aren’t about Architecture. They are a reflection of the needs of a client, the realities of a budget, and the coordination of multiple agendas of which the Architect’s is just one. In contrast, work that is about Architecture would allow narrative elements to dominate practical concerns. It allows for an emotive or intellectual response to the questions of function.

What role do you think the built environment plays in your work?

There is an unfortunate and persistent tendency in some circles to always want to wipe the urban slate clean. The architect Le Corbusier famously advocated for the bulldozing of Paris in order to renew it, and more recently the Museum of Modern Art plans to demolish the American Folk Art Museum in a forthcoming expansion (reason given: “. . . the opaque facade is not in keeping with the glass aesthetic of the rest of the museum. The former folk museum is also set back farther than MoMA’s other properties, and the floors would not line up.”).

I’m interested in the opposite of this tendency. I enjoy seeing individuals and small groups intuitively adapt existing structures for new uses. The narrative of a particular building becoming richer as a result of having multiple lives.

In this series of artworks “Sculptures in Love with Architecture” we have made variations on ventilation ducts, bollards, pilotis, parking structures, and any number of anonymous industrial stacks and heaps. Its the result of the two of us constantly seeking out all the structures that are not presentational in their design. Fabio and I share this inclination to re-create, celebrate, and catalog these otherwise mute remnants.

What role do you think abstraction plays in your work?

As a kid interested in art I was scared of abstraction. I perceived abstraction as a destructive force that invalidated the work I tended to like. Fortunately it became apparent to me over time that all art is abstraction and this terrifying conflict in fact did not exist.

In this body of work we have an interest in dealing with archetypes. Perhaps we might rename the series, Sculptures in Love with Archetypes. Anyhow, if these little objects get too specific or realist in nature they devolve into a space that has more to do with souvenirs and nostalgia. We’d like to keep the focus on architectonic potential, expression of material, and an evocative character that is a result of formal clarity.

Fabio Fernandez

What role do you think architecture plays in your work?

During the course of any given day, I occupy a variety of different architectural spaces and try to be aware of how they affect me. Do they elicit emotion? Do they dictate how or where I can walk, talk, stand, or sit? Are they beautiful, ugly, light-filled or dark? As an artist, I am particularly interested in the formal properties of architecture and in the sculptural possibilities of architectural elements and details like columns, bollards, and vents. Like art, architecture requires careful observation and reflection. My pieces in the Sculptures in Love with Architecture are the three dimensional results of some of these observations.

What role do you think the built environment plays in your work?

My colleague Tom Lauerman and I have been collaborating on our Sculptures in Love with Architecture series since 2005 so we have a pretty good grasp of each other’s artistic interests. A few years ago Tom observed that my work rarely deals with natural or organic forms and suggested that the Woody Allen quote “nature and I are two” also applied to me. Tom led me to the realization that in fact I am not terribly interested in nature. Now the built environment is a different story…

My sensitivity to the built environment – the objects and places designed and built by man – became heightened during my first semester in graduate school, at Cranbrook Academy of Art. Charles and Ray Eames, Harry Bertoia, Eero Saarinen, Florence Knoll, Niels Diffrient… all taught and/or studied at Cranbrook and they helped shape the course of 20th and 21st century design. While pursuing a graduate degree in Sculpture, I became interested in this aspect of the school’s history and in particular to the contributions that Cranbrook people made to chair design and production – form and ergonomics, innovations in material manufacturing processes… Studying the Eames LCW can teach one a lot about art and architecture.

What role do you think abstraction plays in your work?

While most of my individual pieces in the Sculptures in Love with Architecture series are abstractions of existing architectural forms and elements some are what I consider more literal interpretations of the same. Current art trends do not favor art that is too literal as it is often judged as lacking the poetry associated with abstraction, I tend to disagree.

Colin Keefe

What role do you think architecture plays in your work?

My father was an architect, mainly Catholic churches in New England, so I grew up with Maylines, scale rules, and a sense that the places in which we lived were an outcome of design. Later I began to see that the role of architect was a minor player in what really caused cities to change over time – that these changes were as much about human needs and nature, changes in technology, in markets, and social structures as anything else, and that urban planners and architects only influence those things to the extent that they are actually aware of them.

In my own art practice I became interested in the organic qualities of human habitation in the aggregate – that if the centuries of a city’s life could be observed over a compressed time period, like time lapse photography, one would see the city as a living, breathing organism, and its inhabitants part of its whole.

What role do you think the built environment plays in your work?

The built environment serves as a physical representation of what the human experience is. If we understand dinosaurs from their fossils, we also understand a bit about ourselves by examining the places in which we live, work and play. In my work I try to inject changes in how cities grow and change by taking some of the metaphorical rhetoric around “evolution and growth” of cities and literalizing them. What if the houses in which we lived were themselves organisms of a kind? Cellular clusters in some grander arrangement, fluid and mutable?

What role do you think abstraction plays in your work?

I came to architecture from a sculptor’s perspective. Initially these drawings grew out of a series of working sketches for city sculptures I was making in the 90’s and early 2000s. Prior to that point I had never really focused much on drawing and sketching as anything other than a mark making process in support of another practice. But I began to become very interested in the formal properties of these sketches, and over a period of years the drawings became my main body of work.

Abstraction is a great tool for dealing with concepts like these because it allows me to subtract away unnecessary details, and turn the study of the artifacts of human habitation into a form of play.

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