By Kris Lenz | April 2nd, 2012
Angel Otero at the Art Institute of Chicago. Photograph by Kris Lenz.
The history of painting is over 4,000 years old. In that time, historians can point to only a handful of moments when an artist creates a new process for creating visual art with pigment. Angel Otero, SAIC alum (BA, MFA) may have pushed his way into that historical discussion with a method that pushes the limits of painting. He first creates an image on a pane of glass with thick coats of oil paint; when the work is nearly dry he scrapes the work off the glass creating “oil skins” he then affixes to a canvas. The result is visually complex, unerringly beautiful distortions of the original image.
Otero was born and raised in Puerto Rico before moving to Chicago to pursue art. He had a nontraditional education in art history and quickly realized he needed to catch up with his peers if he was going to create work relevant to the contemporary scene. Thus he was “born again as a die-hard art history fanatic who continues to find new life in his art historical forebears.
Recently Otero returned to campus for a packed house lecture for the Sophomore Seminar. FNewsmagazine met with the artist at the Art Institute of Chicago where we strolled through the museum, looking at some of the paintings that inspired him while discussing the role of art history in his work.
[At the Café Moderne]
Angel Otero: I do follow a lot of art history but my approach is different than when I was a teenager or in my early twenties. I used to go to museums to see a particular artist. I’d stand in front of their work and view it materialistically. I wasn’t really into knowing the story behind the painting or the struggle that went into it. I looked at the painting for material and process. I would ask myself how was this made? How did they create this effect? The use of materials is what interests me; how those materials created effects that move people.
Kris Lenz: But that’s not how you view paintings in a museum now?
AO: No, I see that idea was wrong. I got to a level of maturity where I now understand it is important to know the backgrounds and stories behind certain paintings.
KL: You’ve spoken before about how on one of your first days at art school your professor asked who your favorite contemporary artists were…
AO: (laughs) Yeah, and I said Pollock and de Kooning and the dude just smashed me in front of everyone.
KL: Was this a “show up naked in school” moment you still have nightmares about?
AO: It was kind of that, but it was also something that needed to happen in order for me to understand where I was standing. I had very little knowledge of contemporary art. Then all of a sudden I’m in Chicago at one of the best art schools in the country and they’re telling me there’s a broader contemporary art world. That just embarrassed me and put me on track. I started reading reviews, getting the magazines and all that. I started following the line of contemporary art and then I’d go back to my studio and could see where I was standing and where I was going.
KL: Do you think that your lack of a traditional background could be seen as an advantage in a sense?
AO: Now I think I see it as an advantage. There was knowledge of the sort of old-school style of painting that definitely influenced my work. I simply added contemporary knowledge to that. But back then it was embarrassing.
KL: Most contemporary artists don’t seem comfortable discussing influence and art history but you seem forthcoming in your discussion of influence, why is that?
AO: I think that’s because I am almost directly influenced by some artists. I’m not afraid to mention artists I used to imitate in order to understand what they were trying to do. That background is important because my work deals with bringing up questions about the history of painting. I’m balancing the conventional and the unconventional. I still use brushes and oils like they did, I just use them in a different way.
[In front of Jackson Pollock’s “Greyed Rainbow”]
KL: You are particularly connected to the history of oil painting, what is about oil that is so compelling?
AO: The history is so abundant. There are many existing ideas about the possibilities and impossibilities of oil painting: what it can do, what it cannot do, what it’s meant to be and what it’s not meant to be. There’s a constant conversation about those possibilities when you work with oil.
KL: How do you react to people who say oil painting is dead? Is there a conscious effort on your part to prove that it is not?
AO: It’s a statement that’s become very popular in art history. Its not literally dead, painting never dies. It always comes back. In history there were certain moments when painting seemed washed out. Like with the Minimalists, the art world wanted something quiet, serious and formal. Then boom, painting comes back huge with people like Julian Schnabel, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Sandro Chia and the late Andy Warhol paintings. They continued the conversation within the material, imagery, paints, sizes and so on. There’s always a push and pull between the past and what artists think is the present.
KL: Does Pollock’s work and experimentation with process directly influence you?
AO: When I came up with my process is I wasn’t thinking about strategy, it came out of pure impulse. I was reworking and reworking until boom, I got something. I reflect a lot on how people perceived Pollock’s work when it first happened: everyone was in shock. I don’t see that mine has gotten that huge reaction. But it’s the same kind of idea that we are showing the world what we think painting should be now. But even in his work he’s not completely rejecting the traditional modes of painting when it comes to color, shapes and paint.
KL: When you see painting that is difficult or challenging, is that a motivation that causes you to look more deeply at it?
AO: Not necessarily. What draws me is the aesthetics, the beauty. If I see something beautiful I am drawn in because I want to see how the artist created that feeling, that effect.
[At Van Gogh’s “The Poet’s Garden”]
AO: You see, this is one I always used to study.
KL: What is it about this painting that is so interesting?
AO: Van Gogh was obsessed with painting. He wasn’t a guy trying to say “this is my bed, this is my chair.” The imagery he chose was his excuse to start painting. He was so obsessed with the material that he went over and over and over it again. He scraped a few times but really preferred to go over the paint. He kept asking his brother for more paint, that kind of obsession with the material interests me.
KL: When you look for color combinations where do you start?
AO: Different ways. What predicts my next painting is my previous painting. All of a sudden I like how that sky turned out, so my next painting starts by picking up an idea from the previous painting.
[At El Greco’s “The Assumption of the Virgin”]
KL: Did you used to come (to the museum) for inspiration when you were back in school?
AO: I came for the same reasons people go to a church, to feel something or look for something unknown.
KL: The Old Masters play a major role in inspiring your work; have you always felt drawn to them?
AO: It was tricky because I thought you needed to know the background like “this bird represents these people and flew over the Virgin Mary.” But in terms of the object itself, the material, the colors and the composition of the figures in the painting were interesting. I always asked why this guy did it like this, this one like that. This guy is brushy and this guy is so clean. For example, El Greco is muddy as hell but he’s expressionistic in some kind of way.
[At Poussin’s “Landscape with St. John on Patmos”]
AO: I chose Poussin for my new show in Istanbul because I’ve been reading about his obsession with mythology. You see Cy Twombly was obsessed with the way Poussin wanted to convey certain feelings by using posture in a certain way. Poussin was a guy constantly debating about what painting was supposed to be. It was a constant tension between the world and how we represent the world. And I liked that so I used his work as a big reference.
KL: Several of your new paintings are inspired by Poussin’s work. Which painting did you start with and how did you use it?
AO: The images I start with can be figurative, abstract or gestural. With the Poussin paintings I start by selecting an image I want to visit with my process, the first was “Rape of the Sabine Women.” I do my painting on the glass as close as possible to the original. I have a friend who is a master at figurative painting and he helps me do it faster, close to a perfect painting. Then I layer on the colors, let it dry and then scrape.
I know that the image is going to be changed into something else. With my process it’s fifty percent control and fifty percent I don’t know how they are going to look. So every day the crew and I are going to scrape a painting I wake up excited becomes I’m going to see some new shit.
[In front of Edgar Degas’ “The Star”]
KL: Do you feel close to the Impressionists? They were making political and social statements, but you’re not interested in that at all right?
AO: Yeah, I’m aware of that but I don’t think I have same purpose.
KL: Your early work seemed so explicitly personal, involving memories of Puerto Rico and your grandmother’s house. But you’re saying that even then you weren’t interested in narrative?
AO: Those were excuses. I admit that now because I am very confident in my work. My background obligated me to speak romantically about my work: “I need to have a muse; I need to paint at night; this one is about when my girlfriend broke up with me.” So even leaving grad school I was scared of being rejected. I did use references to these things but I made up the stories. I didn’t want to talk to the world about my grandmother. They were my excuses because they were the closest things I had to start any painting. At that point I couldn’t trust abstraction yet, because abstraction is difficult.
I was just doing what I love, and that’s paint. Period. So when they came for interviews and asked about my grandmother, I was like what the hell? I don’t want to speak about this shit. But my work is always about the way it is painted: my obsession with paint and constructive painting. My work is a dialogue between what painting can do and what it cannot do. Just leaving questions, there are no answers.
KL: Then why choose these personal subjects to start with?
AO: I do sometimes use the personal as a starting point. Sometimes I start with a picture of someone in my family, but not with the purpose of telling a story about my life. It’s the same way I grab a big brush or a small brush, it’s a tool for me to construct a painting. That’s one of the cool things about the process, I can pretty much use any subject or imagery to make a painting because it’s going to come out so distorted in the process.
I want people attracted to that dialogue rather than trying to find some story. My work isn’t about Puerto Rico or that I’m Latino, I’m all those. But I wasn’t feeling comfortable with the fact that people thought I was telling stories about my poor grandmother. I thought I needed to speak in that romantic way. Sentimentality is a crazy sort of double-edge sword in the art world.
KL: Are you conscious of your place in that ongoing dialogue of Art History?
AO: I don’t know how to answer that. I do know my place in history with regard to what I should be fighting for. I’m not sure where I’m standing in terms of the effect my work can or could do. I read biographies for these same reasons. I’m curious how other painters live. Do they live the same lives, are they always in the studio, are they questioning themselves on what they do, are they challenging themselves? I question all that stuff in order to see myself where I’m standing. But the only real answer is that we are all different.
tagged in: AIC · Alumni · School
By Nicole Rhoden | March 3rd, 2012
Illustration by Nicole Rhoden.
MsPixy, former member of the long-running Belmont Burlesque Revue, took burlesque to nerdier heights when she wrote and directed Boobs and Goombas: A Super Mario Burlesque in 2010 and Fellowship of the Boobs in 2011. MsPixy discusses her creative processes, her journey through the world of striptease, and her recent appointment as the first artistic director of Gorilla Tango Burlesque.
Nicole Rhoden: In this interview, should I call you MsPixy?
MsPixy: Yeah. I was actually an Ed Debevic’s waiter and Pixy was my waiter name. That’s how I came to choose MsPixy as my burlesque performer name. Stupid choice. Nobody can spell it.
NR: Is it important to separate your burlesque alter ego from other aspects of your life?
MP: The older I get, the more important it’s become. Anytime I take a “family friendly” day job, I make sure my boss is aware that I have an alter ego that’s engaged in adult entertainment. For me, it’s about making sure anybody I’m marketing to as MsPixy is 18 or older.
I haven’t run into a problem with it so far. It is something that I worry about, because it would kill me if I couldn’t work with my other, less scandalous — but equally artistically gratifying — commitments anymore.
NR: What first spurred your interest in burlesque?
MP: I’m such a stereotype. It was the musical Gypsy, and Gypsy Rose Lee. The musical is actually a terribly inaccurate representation of the real Gypsy Rose Lee’s life, but I liked that it was fun, sexy, and positive. I was like 16 [when I saw it], so it was scandalous but not too scandalous for little small-town me.
NR: Describe your first striptease experience.
MP: It was shortly after 9/11. I was working at a theater company that did a regular performance of the Gong Show, and anybody could bring an act. I was really frustrated by all the companies that were using 9/11 as an advertising gimmick, so my striptease was a mini political protest. I wrote company slogans on my clothes, body, bra, and underpants, and I sang the national anthem a capella while I stripped. At the end of the number, I showed my butt and it said “BUY IT”.
I won that episode of the gong show, so I got to come back at the end of the season. [That] striptease was an interpretation of great works of art, starting with Whistler’s “Mother” and ending with Botticelli’s “Venus.” It was supposed to end with Rodin’s “The Kiss,” and another naked person was supposed to come out, but she got sick, so instead I lit sparklers and stood there naked staring at the audience [she laughs]. I was buck naked for that too. That was back before the days of sparkly panties and pasties.
From there a friend in the theater company invited me to start Belmont Burlesque Revue with her. That’s when I started doing legit burlesque, and not just taking off my clothes.
NR: In Belmont Burlesque Revue, you were often labeled “the funny one.” Why do you think humor is so crucial in burlesque?
MP: For me, humor is an important part of sexuality. If you’re going to love your body, you have to have a sense of humor about the things that are imperfect about it.
Also, the tradition of burlesque incorporates a lot of humor. It’s vaudeville’s dirty little sister. I don’t have any problem with all the other delightful kinds of burlesque out there that don’t rely on comedy as an element. I just did what I’m good at, and let’s face it, when I try and dance too hard sometimes I fall down, so I’m better off just being funny.
NR: Talk a little bit about the premises of Boobs and Goombas and Fellowship of the Boobs.
MP: [In] Boobs and Goombas, we created a reality for Mario and Luigi in which it made sense that everything looks like a woman. Mario and Luigi have been chasing the princess for so long that they’ve become sexually frustrated, so now everything they see, including each other, looks like [in an Italian accent] a “beautiful lady,” as they would describe it. They pursue the princess throughout the plot of the show. We go to the underwater and underground levels, we see the Goombas, and then of course they have a big, climactic battle with King Koopa.
Fellowship of the Boobs was interesting, because we did not use one existing plot structure. Instead I relied on the structure and archetypes one finds in role-playing games like “Dungeons & Dragons” and “World of Warcraft.” I also brought in elements from fantasy films and novels like “Labyrinth” and the “Lord of the Rings” series. Depending on what kind of nerd you are, you’ll recognize different references in the show.
I wrote that entire show without the use of gender pronouns. After creating a gimmick in Boobs and Goombas telling us why all the characters are women, I really wanted the gender of the characters in Fellowship to be a non-issue. That was kind of a writer’s exercise, a challenge I put to myself, to see if I could make gender not be a topic in a show about sexy ladies.
NR: That’s very progressive of you.
MP: Well, ya know, I don’t wanna get bored.
NR: Boobs and Goombas has been extended for over a year. Did its success surprise you?
MP: It surprised the hell out of me. We all thought we were putting together an eight-performance, four-week run, and it took off like a firework. I think it was the novelty of the concept that brought audience in, it’s a credit to the performers and to the Gorilla Tango Theatre that it’s still running.
NR: Now other directors are putting out shows like Boobs of Khan: A Star Trek Burlesque and Temple of Boobs. Do you feel responsible, and does it make you proud?
MP: It does make me proud, and at the beginning of October, when I became the first artistic director of Gorilla Tango Burlesque, I officially became responsible for new shows opening and overseeing the developmental processes.
I provide the directors with certain materials at the beginning, like a list of burlesque gimmicks and ways to incorporate their [striptease] numbers into their scripts in meaningful ways. Then I check in at various points throughout the process. [For example], I saw “El Mari Chi Chi: A Robert Rodriguez Burlesque” a month before it opened and did a fair amount of work with the director and the cast during that time.
NR: You’re also working on writing and directing another show of your own, “Superboobs”. How is that going?
MP: Pretty awesome. Right now, in our first month of the show’s development, we’re refining the script, brainstorming ideas, and having the costumes made and fitted. At the beginning of March, we’ll start doing scene work and choreographing the numbers. Hopefully a month out from the show we’ll have all the pieces ready to go. And then we’ll add glitter.
NR: Glitter comes last?
MP: That’s the final step — you just go “PFFFFT!” and then it’s done.
For Gorilla Tango Burlesque’s show schedules and ticket information, visit www.gorillatango.com.
tagged in: Arts & Culture · Boobs · Chicago
By Michelle Weidman | February 20th, 2012
Peanut Gallery interior. Image courtesy of the gallery.
“Peanut Gallery is full of sex, drugs and rock and roll—doused in Old Style and stuck in a bright white cube. With a scorpion.” Co-founder of Peanut Gallery and SAIC Alum Kelly Reaves offered this description to F Newsmagazine’s Mia DiMeo in 2011 when the gallery was housed in an artist studio in Wicker Park’s Flat Iron Arts Building. The gallery recently moved to a more accessible storefront in Humboldt Park. Additionally, it was named Best New Gallery of the Future by New City in December of 2011. With the publicity and new location the gallery is busier than ever and working to adapt to the needs of its new community.
In addition to the new location and media attention the Peanut Gallery has gained two new co-directors Katie Arford and Brandon Howe joining Reaves and co-founder Charlie Megna. The four gallery directors are working to meet the desires of Humboldt Park neighborhood residents by responding to requests for programming including a movie night and, hopefully soon, art classes.
Reave’s sat down with F Newsmagazine to discuss the challenges of balancing professionalism with a punk ethos.
Front window and title wall for “Please.Please.Please. Let me Get What I Want,” An exhibition of work by Jim Ricks. Image courtesy of the gallery.
Michelle Weidman: Why did you choose the Humboldt park location?
Kelly Reaves: Last summer when we started looking for a space this location was called Nudge Gallery and it was a toy store and more of a commercial gallery. We were looking at other storefronts in the area and called up the girl running Nudge and asked her for advice. We weren’t having any luck and all of the other storefronts were awful, with either wood paneling or carpet, we would have had to do so much work. In the mean time Nudge left and we just sort of capitalized on that. But if I could have a gallery anywhere in the city I would have it right here. This is exactly where we want it to be.
MW: How is the space changing the way you do your programming?
KR: Because of the storefront we are more public. People see us in here working so we have a lot of walk-in traffic. I anticipated that but I didn’t anticipate how much. We’ve been molding what we are doing to meet our neighbor’s needs and requests. Tuesday night drawing night used to be three or four people [in the previous location] but now sometimes there will be about twenty people and it is really cool, strangers walking in and introducing themselves to each other and bringing art supplies. … [Now] people want to have bands here and we are trying to figure out how to negotiate that.
MW: How would that change things?
KR: I don’t want it to become a party space. It has been an ongoing challenge trying to maintain a certain level of professionalism — just so we won’t get kicked out really. So we don’t piss off the neighbors and obviously I wouldn’t want any of the work to get damaged either…that has been the most difficult part — just balancing the identity. Trying to let people know that we are serious and we know how to run a gallery but we don’t want to be stuffy. … It would suck to get shut down or sued over something stupid. We’re not trying to get rich; we’re just trying to show people’s work.
Drawing night at Peanut Gallery. Image courtesy of the gallery.
MW: Just out of curiosity, what happened to the scorpion mentioned in the previous article on F Newsmagazine.com?
KR: It was really cold in the studio so we think she either died of old age or she got too cold. We are talking about getting another one, Peanut 2. She didn’t do much but she was cool looking. She is in the basement.
MW: She is in the basement currently?
KR: Yeah, she doesn’t seem to be decomposing at all.
Peanut Gallery
1000 N. California
peanutgallerychicago.com
tagged in: Alumni · Arts & Culture · Chicago · Peanut Gallery
By Stephanie Cristello | December 2nd, 2011
Danny Giles, “Untitled (lean-to).” Courtesy of the artist.
Having just completed his BFA from SAIC this past spring, and getting accepted into the graduate program at Northwestern this past fall, I had the chance to speak with Danny Giles about his recent work.
Recalling the same sort of reliance on space as the work being currently exhibited in the ‘Elemental Structures’ portion of The Language of Less: Then and Now at the MCA, Giles’ paintings lean in a way that is dependent on their surroundings, but far from weak. Drawing attention to the painting support in a variety of ways, such as the ability to balance itself against the wall in “lean-to,” or through the unfamiliarity of what material additions adhere to the surface in “da-da-duh,” the appendages in Giles’ paintings allow the possibility to be read as all things, declaring none.
Stephanie Cristello: How has the transition to grad school been? What are some of the differences, challenges and benefits between Northwestern MFA and the BFA at SAIC?
Danny Giles: I wouldn’t really compare the BFA experience at SAIC to the graduate program at NU. Both have very unique qualities are really two very different things. For the most part, I had a great time at SAIC. I moved around the school and through different departments quite a lot and got to work with many great teachers. Taking classes in sculpture and print media gave me more nuanced ways of dealing with art outside of painting discourse. The Advanced Painting program was especially important — it’s the closest thing to a graduate school setting available to an undergrad, and you really get to learn how to be part of a critical community.
It has been great transitioning into a much smaller community within such a large research institution. In a way, it feels less institutional at NU, working apart from the main campus with a handful of other students in a decrepit old house. It’s challenging but great to be working with the same small group of folks and really getting to know them and the work. Also, working within one small department within an entire school of Humanities reminds you that art is not necessarily the end-all be-all.
SC: I’m interested in how your recent work seems to have taken a more sculptural turn, perhaps more in line with the hair-extension piece you showed at the BFA exhibition last March. “Lean-to” carries that same sort of verticality and relationship to the body — can you talk a bit about your material choices in regard to the newer work?
DG: I have always had sculptural tendencies, even though most of the things I make could be called ‘painting’. I’ve been interested for some time in addressing the object qualities of my pictures and also looking for sculptural approaches to addressing issues of painting. With my current work, I am really thinking about ways of addressing painting as a body as well as representing and addressing multiple other bodies. This has taken me to the point that I am working with ways of articulating the painting’s relationship with literal space.
SC: What are some of those ‘multiple other bodies’? Are you talking about ‘the body’ as a framework, a specific reliance to the space it occupies, or both?
DG: I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my work as it relates to notions of identity. This has led to a particular fixation on the body. I’m interested in the body as it relates to systems of power, which impose conventions on identity. I look at the painting as a body that is formed both through various tropes and conventions as well as the projection of my own subjectivities. The studio space is a space where psychosocial conditions are channeled through me and manifest in the finished work. As the artist, I am both the ‘master’ of the painting, as well as the subject depicted. I participate in the fabrication of the identity of the work through the different gestures I employ and the conventions and tropes of painting and sculpture provide me with a language for investigating issues of race and masculinity. Bringing my paintings into more literal object-space I’m creating a space for the viewer’s body to be implicated within the viewing of a work as well.
Danny Giles, “da-da-duh(oblique).” Courtesy of the artist.
SC: The appendages to the paintings, especially in “da-da-duh,” appear to be a direct reference to Ofili — who are some of the artists you are currently looking at?
DG: Ofili is great — there are some significant ways in which our works relate, but I don’t like to talk about my work as being homage to any one artist. There is a very different charge in Ofili’s paintings with elephant dung. It’s a literal material with very immediate and concrete cultural meanings. The appendages that often adorn my paintings might sometimes look like shit, but I think there are a number of referents available in their ambiguity. The objects attached to “da-da-duh” could read as a variety of forms.
Danny Giles, “Passages.” Courtesy of the artist.
SC: I agree, there is a definitely a level of ambiguity that spans your work, in that any number of associations appear to be welcomed by the audience. The pieces present themselves in sort of an unassuming way — the possibility to be read as all things, but declaring none. Is this something you’re pursuing in your other work or have in the past?
DG: Definitely. I have always been wary of my work becoming too pedagogical. In the past, I had found it reaching the point where the content pushing the execution would be too clear and allow people to dismiss it without having to grapple with their own interpretations and hang-ups. The longer I can suspend the moment at which the viewer forms a complete and settled understanding of what it’s all about, the more likely they are to have some more complex and problematic understanding of what I’m doing. Propaganda and advertising often work the other way, where you know exactly what’s being pushed on you, but since the delivery is so familiar and seductive, you either want to be manipulated by it or you refuse it outright. Marketers seem to be catching on lately, that you can get someone to stick around for your message if you delay the moment of recognition. You could look at my work in this way of a delaying recognition. Different aspects of the works have different speeds of delay, so I can keep the identities of the works unsettled and problematic.
SC: Do you see yourself staying in Chicago after MFA?
DG: Right now I’m really excited about Chicago. I see a lot of good energy everywhere and I definitely want to be a part of that, but I think it’s important to be able to be mobile and to be present where opportunity arises. Chicago has so far been a great place to learn about art and form friendships with some really smart and talented people, but it’s definitely not the only place to do that.
tagged in: Arts & Culture · Profile
By Dijana Kadić | November 22nd, 2011
Andrew Norman Wilson. Image coutesy of the artist.
Andrew Norman Wilson got fired from Google for making a video that violated security mandates. The 27-year old SAIC alum recreated the famous Lumière brothers’ “Workers Leaving the Factory” into its contemporary version titled “Workers Leaving the Googleplex” for a personal project while employed at Google. Wilson wanted to document the “mysterious ‘yellow badge’ Google workers” who did not receive the same perks as “red badge” workers, noticing a race and class distinction amongst the two groups. When Google discovered Wilson’s project, they decided to let him go.
Wilson’s artwork is about corporate control and globalization. He likes to mingle with Sony, Wal-Mart, Target, and GetFriday to “generate surplus materials” from these interactions that turn into his artwork. He prefers the digital form because it comes out of “electronic nothingness, pure systematic possibility” but does not like to label himself a digital artist. “I’m much more interested in orienting my practice around the choices I can make within systems of control to alter their intended processes and outcomes,” explains Wilson. “I should also say that my training into our paid-labor system subjected me to these technologies, and so they’re the tools I know how to use best,” he adds, “But for 30 days in a row this summer, I administered cancer medication via syringe into the mouth of a formerly wild dog, and now that’s a skill. I imagine if I had to do that for the past two years instead of make PowerPoints for grad seminars, I would be working on my ‘art for dogs’ project.”
Born and raised in Medfield, Massachusetts — a town with a population of 11,000 — Wilson remembers trips to 7-Eleven and Blockbuster Video, mountain biking, hand jobs, and flashlight tag in the woods. “[I recall] my friend’s Dad taking us to see the ‘The Rocketeer.’ We arrived way too late, I think intentionally by my friend’s Dad, so he took us to see ‘Terminator 2’ and told me not to tell my parents. [That was] easily one of the best experiences of my childhood.”
Wilson’s love for art started when he saw Jean-Luc Goddard’s “Weekend” as an undergraduate at Syracuse University. What defines art for Wilson is a questioning of industry mechanisms. “Take a painting of a dog, for example,” he explains, “you can make that painting represent the dog realistically or you can let the dog be expressed in the painting. […] The thought process is about how, why, where, and who.” Wilson’s own work is inspired by “temporal, spatial, and social experiences.” This very common muse tends to develop many ideas that are never actualized. Wilson explains: Two main factors — imagine a line graph — determine the actualization of a project: feasibility and excellence. For instance, collaborating with a bakery to create a muffin as tall as a police officer on a horse, and bringing that muffin to a site of public protest — I think that’s a great idea, but there are also more feasible and equally excellent ideas that will most likely come before that.” Wilson’s current interest lies in Sky Mall, philosophy that weds scientific and cultural theory, and his own lived experience of paid labor.
All of his art is available online for free viewing. Wilson even takes it to the next step and contributes some of his work to Pond5, a stock video footage provider. “I like the idea that people can be browsing Pond5 and stumble upon a homoerotic clip entitled ‘man in airport/mall/bank/hotel lounge is subjected to an evaluation of potential.’ That is actually an edited collection of clips with overlaid graphics showing a man in turquoise outdoor performance gear getting bossed around by a yellow-clad American Airlines employee.”
Wilson’s work varies from an installation of a relaxation lounge, color coordinated with Target and Wal-Mart products that were returned after the exhibition, to a guided mediation video that displays various forms of animated blue and is backed up by a hilarious interaction with Sony in regards to why the No Video signal is blue. Wilson is currently working on “a PowerPoint presentation on dog breeds, ski resorts, and Kashi products; a painting workshop for members of Chicago’s financial community; a cannon that will fire dead octopi at the city hall of a town in Portugal; a Crosby, Nash, and Young playlist; and melting credit cards.”
Here is a sample of Wilson’s work:
tagged in: Arts & Culture · Profile · SAIC
By Ziyuan Wang | November 2nd, 2011
Photo courtesy of Jesse Ball.
The young and relentlessly prolific artist Jesse Ball has achieved notable success in the literary world. His first volume of poetry, “March Book,” was published in 2004 when he was still an MFA student at Columbia University. Ball’s literary success has continued to climb ever since, an eclectic collection of books ensuing. His latest fiction “The Curfew,” is a compelling dystopian tale delivered in a graceful style, and has been reviewed favorably by the New York Times, New Yorker, and the Chicago Tribune. He is now an assistant professor in the writing program at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
Ziyuan Wang: How did you decide to become a writer?
Jesse Ball: With great hopefulness and very little understanding of the obstacles. Writing is one of many things I do. Artistically, it has brought me the most success, clearly.
ZW: What is your biggest drive to write?
JB: It differs from moment to moment — sometimes guilt, sometimes curiosity. I write in part to surprise myself. I feel guilty if I have not been productive.
ZW: What are the turning points in your writing career?
JB: When I began to make my own volumes around 2001. At that time, I solidified the style I have used since.
ZW: Would you make drastic stylistic changes in accordance with the evolving ideas as your understanding of the world deepens?
JB: I would think that a different understanding of the world would prompt some sort of stylistic shift. Style is simply a visible form.
ZW: You wrote productively when you were living overseas. Is there something about your dislocation that calls forth fresh viewpoints?
JB: It is easier when in a liminal position to notice who you are and who you are not.
ZW: Where does the version of reality ruled by tyranny in your new book“The Curfew” come from? Does it mirror any real place on earth?
JB: Someone might say it isn’t far from how things are today.
ZW: How do you come up with the minute details of unfamiliar places and people?
JB: It is something natural to that process of imagining, to be familiar with distant and impossible things.
ZW:Is there always a political message in your fiction works?
JB: In so far as all things are political, yes; In so far as nothing is, no.
ZW: What is the intention for you to picture a political backdrop without dictating what to make of it?
JB: I see no reason to tell people what to make of anything. I don’t ask the readers for anything in particular. They may enjoy the tale or roam through the world I’ve made. I won’t restrict them to one view. There is no goal to teach any particular thing, indeed no goal to teach at all. One simply unfolds a tale.
ZW: How do you make sure the experimental elements of your story-telling don’t alienate the reader?
JB: I don’t believe there are experimental elements in my work. There are basic folkloric or “bardic” techniques that predate the novel, that predate written history, probably.
ZW: Is your writing practice influenced by movements and theories in visual art?
JB: Influenced by visual art, yes. By movements and theories only if they are themselves fascinating. I like Bruegel, Manet, Velasquez, Whistler, Corot, Sargent.
ZW: You are known for your fast writing methods. How did you develop these methods?
JB: I have always been a hyperactive and obsessive person. It was true of me as a boy. It remains true. Such a life lends itself to wild and ill-advised devotions.
ZW: Could you give some examples on what you have obsessed over?
JB: Chess, Ms. Pacman, Dream-recording, compulsive film watching.
ZW: Although you write fast, your writings are gracefully composed. Are structures of the stories well thought out before your start writing? How much do you depend on revision?
JB: Structures are not always completely understood before the writing. I prefer to not allow myself to think I can let myself write badly and then revise it; better to write it properly the first time. Giving oneself the latitude to revise makes revision inevitable.
ZW: When you are telling a tragic story using a third person point of view, how do you differentiate your stance between a compassionate observer and an apathetic narrator?
JB: Do I?
ZW: The class you are teaching at SAIC, “ Lucid Dreaming,” sounds very intriguing. What is the intended outcome of the class?
JB: Oh, you must take the class to know. The outcome is that they may be awake while dreaming.
ZW: As an avid reader, one of my greatest pleasure comes from gaining a vantage point that is usually elusive. How does your reading experience influence your writing?
JB: Reading is everything. For those who want to write, better to read a thousand books and then write a page than to labor over technique without a reading practice.
ZW: Being so young and established already, do you have worries that promotional activities and media attention would undermine your creativity?
JB: I am careful to protect myself.
ZW: Do you ever read reviews and criticism on your books?
JB: Yes, though I don’t like to.
ZW: Do they impact on your writing?
JB: No, not much of an impact, luckily.
ZW: As a writer, do you think you have reached maturity?
JB: As in, the style of my greatest works? I would hope that I remain capable of surprising myself and my readers with new ways of thinking about things. I would hope that this current state, then, is deeply immature.
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