September 2020: Rosalie Smith - Week 2


Rosalie Smith
 (@rosalieglsmith) is a New Orleans based interdisciplinary artist who uses poetry, organic materials, and alternative archival documentation in her installations and 2-dimensional work. Her work pertains to grief, impermanence, and attachment. 

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I installed “My mother’s last garden” @cacnola this week. It is made from flowers that were given to my mother when she was dying, that I then coated in resin and mounted in individual squares of cement. It is intended to speak to the individual yet universal nature of grief.  

The piece will be on view through the fall at the Contemporary Arts Center New Orleans as part of the exhibition, “Make America what America Must Become.”

Preparatory images for the exhibition “Make America What America Must Become” at the Contemporary Arts Center, New Orleans

Preparatory images for the exhibition “Make America What America Must Become” at the Contemporary Arts Center, New Orleans

“My mother’s last garden” installation in progress at the Contemporary Arts Center in New Orleans

“My mother’s last garden” installation in progress at the Contemporary Arts Center in New Orleans

“My mother’s last garden” installation in progress at the Contemporary Arts Center in New Orleans

“My mother’s last garden” installation in progress at the Contemporary Arts Center in New Orleans

A previous iteration of the piece “My mother’s last garden” at Art Klub in New Orleans

A previous iteration of the piece “My mother’s last garden” at Art Klub in New Orleans

September 2020: Rosalie Smith - Week 1

Rosalie Smith (@rosalieglsmith) is a New Orleans based interdisciplinary artist who uses poetry, organic materials, and alternative archival documentation in her installations and 2-dimensional work. Her work pertains to grief, impermanence, and attachment. 

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This week, Smith shares a snapshot of works in progress to welcome us into her practice.

These works include a large scale drawing of a plastic bag that once contained a dog’s ashes, a 4’ x5’ painting, and little book experiments that are, in the words of Smith, “loosely investigating dream architecture as a more accurate depiction of the way the waking landscape is interpreted through layers of memory and trauma.”

Enjoy! 

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Welcome Rosalie Smith, our September 2020 Artist-in-Residence!

This month, Southern Heat Exchange is delighted to welcome Rosalie Smith as our newest digital Artist-in-Residence! Smith (@rosalieglsmith) is a New Orleans based interdisciplinary artist who uses poetry, organic materials, and alternative archival documentation in her installations and 2-dimensional work. Her work pertains to grief, impermanence, and attachment. 

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Smith graduated from Smith College in 2015 with a BA in Studio Art and Landscape Studies. She is a founder of @luckyartfair, an art fair and collective that experiments with co-ownership amongst artists and administrators as well as socialist financial and curatorial models. She is a member of @thefrontnola and has shown her work @cacnola, @barristersgallery, @antenna.works, and @aquariumgallery, among others. 

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This month we will be following Smith as she prepares her installation "My Mother's Last Garden" for its inclusion in "Make America What America Must Become" @cacnola and her upcoming November show @thefrontnola. Check in with us here each Friday in September for updates on her progress!

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August 2020: Elspeth Schulze - Week 4

Elspeth Schulze is an interdisciplinary artist originally from Grand Coteau, Louisiana. Through ceramic, textile and sculptural processes, she explores the complex relationship between material and place.

website: elspethschulze.com 

ig: elspethschulze

Snapshot from my studio last fall, of work in progress and images of recent work

Snapshot from my studio last fall, of work in progress and images of recent work

This week I started my final semester of grad school, remotely. Classes at the University of Colorado Boulder are meeting in person, but I decided to stay in Tulsa, where I’ve been since March. I moved out of my on-campus studio last week with mixed feelings. Relief to be leaving before the onslaught of students and classes; regret at leaving behind the studio that has been such a productive place for the past two years. 

Studio shot from last winter with material tests on the table and work in the windows

Studio shot from last winter with material tests on the table and work in the windows

This was the first studio of my own. I’ve worked in a range of spaces over the years- from an extra bedroom that served as a sewing room to a shared ceramic space at a small college. In the spring, we instructors at CU tried to convince undergrad art students that a studio could be a corner of their bedroom. Everyone has their own needs for making work- but having a private space, away from home, has been game changing for me these past two years. My studio on campus was hard to beat- tall ceilings, large windows, and a door that locked.

The clay mixing room on campus

The clay mixing room on campus

I realize it wasn’t just a room of my own to think and make in, but a network of facilities that made the past two years possible. I spent more time glueing panels in the woodshop, pouring forms in the plaster room and sanding on the loading dock than I did making solely in my studio. When I packed up last week, it felt like losing a larger network of spaces geared towards creative production. Grad school has been such an important period for my work- a time of intense focus within amazing facilities.

Considering the truck full of my studio supplies and work this week before unloading in Tulsa.

Considering the truck full of my studio supplies and work this week before unloading in Tulsa.

When I was younger, my sisters and I dreamed up fantasy houses, with rooms full of water or wall-to-wall mattresses. Now, my partner Shane and I talk about a dream studio. We imagine a warehouse with tall ceilings and natural light. There’d be spaces for messy processes and spaces for clean ones- endless rooms that could encompass all the ways we make. Throw in a gallery space, a kitchen and a pizza oven outside. We’ve been rolling stones for the past 10 years, and this vision is the best version of stability we can imagine. We’ve been lucky lately to have studios provided through grad programs and residencies,  and we’ll keep pursuing these while we can. But the glimmer of that dream studio is like a mirage that keeps me moving forward. I hope you can come visit someday :)

August 2020: Elspeth Schulze - Week 3

Elspeth Schulze is an interdisciplinary artist originally from Grand Coteau, Louisiana. Through ceramic, textile and sculptural processes, she explores the complex relationship between material and place.

website: elspethschulze.com 

ig: elspethschulze

Fiber reactive dye on paper with versions of a repeated textile motif

Fiber reactive dye on paper with versions of a repeated textile motif

After I finished college, I took a series of workshops at Arrowmont School of Crafts in Tennessee and Penland School of Crafts in North Carolina. It was the best thing I’ve ever done- I was fresh out of college, not sure what to do next, and was immersed in these rich communities focused on making. I applied to be a work study student at both schools and was able to take free and reduced tuition workshops in exchange for working in the kitchen.

Motifs cut from carbon paper and pasted onto tracing paper, placed on large sheets of drawing  paper brushed with fiber reactive dye

Motifs cut from carbon paper and pasted onto tracing paper, placed on large sheets of drawing paper brushed with fiber reactive dye

The first workshop I took was a textile design class, where I learned how to use fiber reactive dyes for surface design. These dyes produce a vibrant range of colors- the dye chemically bonds with the fibers, so instead of sitting between the fibers and gradually washing out, the color is UV and water fast. In the workshop, we learned how to thicken the dye into a paste, which could be brushed on in bleed proof lines or used to screen print. After the class I bought a batch of powdered dyes that I’ve had for the past twelve years. During this time, I’ve used them occasionally to dye and print yardage, which I’ve sewn into clothing.

Layout of a textile design on paper with color test strips

Layout of a textile design on paper with color test strips

In March I lost access to my on-campus studio in Boulder and joined my partner in Tulsa, where I found a temporary work space. Access to this space was closed shortly afterward, and I found myself in our studio apartment, overwhelmed and ungrounded. I decided to take a break from my thesis work to play with textile designs and color- I knew I needed a process that I could work with in our small space that would keep my hands busy and ease my mind.

Dyed paper color tests

Dyed paper color tests

Dyed sheets of watercolor paper

Dyed sheets of watercolor paper

I’d been admiring the work of Matthew Ronay lately- these incredible installations of wooden shapes that are dyed vibrant colors. The fiber reactive dyes I have are intended for natural fabrics, like cotton and silk, but I realized this summer that they also work with any cellulose based fiber- which means they can be used on paper and wood. I had a pad of thick watercolor paper and decided to dye pages of this to make cut paper collages. First, I cut a stack of two inch strips to make color tests. I combined colored dyes in various percentages, brushed the dye on the surface, and wrote the recipe on the back of the paper strip. I chose my favorite tests and remixed the colors in larger batches to dye full sheets of paper. These sheets became both the background and the stock to cut into motifs to place on top.

Textile design mockup: dyed watercolor paper, cut and collaged

Textile design mockup: dyed watercolor paper, cut and collaged

I’ve always loved Henri Matisse’s paper cuts- so graphic and sharp- and I learned years ago that he didn’t start these until he was in his late sixties. I find this so comforting- it makes me feel like there’s time enough, if we just keep moving. My recent work involves some pattern- sharp slots cut in plywood; and color- bright yellow sandbags- but both are pretty restricted. I find so much pleasure in color and pattern that I’ve wanted to find a way to merge my ways of making, bringing these aspects into sculpture. I’m not sure exactly how this will happen or what it will look like, but I’m eager to find out.

My posts for the past few weeks may feel wildly different, vacillating between plywood sculpture, ceramic forms and textile designs. It’s a pretty accurate snapshot of what feels like an unhinged summer in (and out of) the studio. But moving between materials and processes is a major part of my practice in the best of times. Somehow, these disparate parts will come together to a greater whole. Next, I’ll test my dyes on the plywood forms I cut with the CNC machine, and combine these surfaces with tinted plaster and ceramic. In the meantime, I’ll keep chasing textile designs in my dreams…

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Resources:

Book on using fiber reactive dyes: Color by Design: Paint and Print with Dye by Ann Johnson. Ann Johnson taught the workshop I took years ago and gave me a copy of this book. This is a great step-by-step guide on the complete process and materials needed.

Source for buying fiber reactive dyes: Dharma Trading Company I purchased my dyes from this website- a mix of Procion MX dyes and in-house dyes. This is also a great source for fabric- silk noil dyes beautifully. Note: the shipping adds up at the end, but the prices are low and the quality high, so it evens out.

August 2020: Elspeth Schulze - Week 2

Elspeth Schulze is an interdisciplinary artist originally from Grand Coteau, Louisiana. Through ceramic, textile and sculptural processes, she explores the complex relationship between material and place.

website: elspethschulze.com 

ig: elspethschulze

My mother, Tanya Nehrbass Schulze, at Festival Acadiens in the late 1970’s

My mother, Tanya Nehrbass Schulze, at Festival Acadiens in the late 1970’s

My mom is an artist. When I was young, her studio was in a room just off the kitchen, that also served as the laundry room. I still remember the comforting sound of the dryer and her pottery wheel turning at the same time. If she didn’t like a piece she was throwing, she’d let us push in the walls- that soft collapse of clay was enthralling. When I was older, my dad built a freestanding studio for her in the backyard. I visited my parents this weekend, and fired some small ceramic pieces in her studio- it was really sweet to be in her space.

My mom’s studio in Grand Coteau, Louisiana 

My mom’s studio in Grand Coteau, Louisiana

I wasn’t interested in ceramics myself until I was in college, living away from home. I took a wheelthrowing class my junior year, and loved the process. After I graduated, I stayed on as a studio and teaching assistant in the ceramics area. Around the same time, I worked at a series of bakeries, finding so much in common between the two roles- mixing dough and glazes, firing ovens and kilns. 

Sketches of plywood wall panels with inset ceramic forms

Sketches of plywood wall panels with inset ceramic forms

I’m a grad student in a ceramics department now, but haven’t worked much with clay during my two year tenure at the University of Colorado Boulder- I’ve spent more time in the woodshop and digital fabrication area. Now that I’m away from campus I’m longing for the facilities- the glaze and clay mixing room stocked with materials, the endless row of kilns.

Unfired ceramic shapes drying in my temporary studio in Tulsa

Unfired ceramic shapes drying in my temporary studio in Tulsa

I have a few boxes of clay left over from before grad school, and last month I started to make small, handbuilt forms in my temporary work space in Tulsa. There is something so grounding about having your hands in clay- it was just what I needed while everything feels so up in the air. I don’t have any of my ceramic tools with me, and it was nice to realize I didn’t need them. I used a votive candle to roll out slabs, and took the plastic tube from a bic pen to punch holes in handbuilt shapes. The tip of a cheap foam brush worked pretty well as a sponge.

Working in my mother’s studio this weekend

Working in my mother’s studio this weekend

I didn’t realize how much of being an artist would revolve around the computer- it feels like I’m always answering emails, applying to opportunities and editing images and artist statements. Working with digital fabrication only increases this screen time, which makes me feel a little crazy. Working with clay is such a welcome break- I can cue up an audio book and work with my hands for an afternoon.

Coating unfired ceramic shapes with underglaze before bisque firing

Coating unfired ceramic shapes with underglaze before bisque firing

Over the past couple years I’ve been using a CNC router to cut plywood, which is basically a big drill bit controlled by a computer. The end product is almost too precise, so I’ve been looking for a way to add my hand back in. I just regained access to the community digital fabrication lab in Tulsa, which is an amazing resource. Over the past couple weeks I designed and cut some test wall pieces out of plywood. These are arched panels with recessed faces, and I’ve been making small, handbuilt ceramic forms to tile into these recesses.

Bisqued ceramic shapes placed in CNC cut plywood panels

Bisqued ceramic shapes placed in CNC cut plywood panels

I’ll adhere these ceramic shapes to the face of the panels and pour tinted plaster around them. I’ll also dye or paint the wooden frames- so tinted wood will be framing tinted plaster and ceramic forms. I love the combination of multiple material surfaces side by side, and am excited to see where these material tests lead. For now, I’m happy they took me back home.

August 2020: Elspeth Schulze - Week 1

Elspeth Schulze is an interdisciplinary artist originally from Grand Coteau, Louisiana. Through ceramic, textile and sculptural processes, she explores the complex relationship between material and place.

website: elspethschulze.com 

ig: elspethschulze

Elspeth Schulze // Drawing of proposed thesis work: Side A of hinged panels, gouache and pencil on paper.

Elspeth Schulze // Drawing of proposed thesis work: Side A of hinged panels, gouache and pencil on paper.

It’s a strange time to be planning a thesis show. I’m in a 2.5 year MFA program at the University of Colorado in Boulder, slated to finish this fall. When campus closed in March, I packed essential studio materials and tools into two tupperware bins and drove to Tulsa, Oklahoma. My husband Shane is also an artist and has been based here for the past couple years as an artist-in-residence at the Tulsa Artist Fellowship. I’ll be joining the fellowship in January, and had planned to make the move after my thesis exhibition. Now, I’ve decided to stay in Tulsa for the fall and finish my final semester remotely. I have a temporary studio to work from here, that will see me through the fall. It seems like the right time to be in one place, to weather our worries together.

I’m in the ceramics department at CU, and my fellow grads and I were working towards our thesis exhibition this November. Those of us who plan to stay on track will still finish our work and defend it remotely this fall. We’ll exhibit the work in the spring, once the University of Colorado Art Museum reopens to the public and resumes programming.

Elspeth Schulze // Drawing of proposed thesis work: Side B of hinged panels, gouache and pencil on paper.

Elspeth Schulze // Drawing of proposed thesis work: Side B of hinged panels, gouache and pencil on paper.

I imagined this summer to be one of material testing and high production, but instead it has been full of closed work spaces and uncertainty. I have access to work space once again, and as everyone gears up for the semester, it’s been hard to navigate the studio. I feel so fortunate to be in a supportive grad program right now, making work. But the world has changed in so many ways since March that I have trouble connecting to the work I had in progress. We are so much in the middle of this time that I don’t feel ready to respond to or process what is happening through my work. And so what happens now? Do I move forward with work I began before, or do I start over in this strange, between place?

Elspeth Schulze // Material and color swatches for thesis work with maquettes

Elspeth Schulze // Material and color swatches for thesis work with maquettes

I’ve been planning a series of hinged, folding plywood panels- reminiscent of room dividers. I’ve worked with plywood panels often over the past couple years, using a combination of digital fabrication and manual studio processes. These panels have usually interacted directly with the architecture present: either leaning on or coming out from existing walls. With this work, I wanted to take the panels away from the walls and turn them into self-supporting structures. By hinging shaped plywood panels together and arranging them in a zigzagging shape on the floor, the panels become architecture in their own right- influencing the way a viewer navigates and considers space.

Elspeth Schulze // Maquettes of potential panel combinations, laser cut ¼” plywood and tape

Elspeth Schulze // Maquettes of potential panel combinations, laser cut ¼” plywood and tape

These panels would have holes and slots cut through the faces, with sewn forms and cast objects intersecting each panel. I like the idea of screens that at turns conceal and reveal, like a confessional. I want these panels to invite and impede viewers- here, giving a clear view of the other side, there, a hazy impression.

Elspeth Schulze // Side view of a test model of a panel set to scale, with unfinished surfaces. CNC cut plywood panels with plastic and plaster.

Elspeth Schulze // Side view of a test model of a panel set to scale, with unfinished surfaces. CNC cut plywood panels with plastic and plaster.

Creating interior, partially enclosed spaces feels relevant, still- as does the idea of an impeded view punctuated by small moments of clarity. But making this work asks for a certainty that I have trouble locating. In the past several months, I’ve lost and gained access to work spaces multiple times. Will I be two panels into production, and lose access once again? If I do, there is no room in my studio apartment for this scale of work. There is nowhere to sand plywood or pour plaster- no place for my industrial sewing machine. This uncertainty makes me feel at once isolated and connected to everyone around me- How do we move forward while the ground feels so uncertain underfoot?

Welcome Elspeth Schulze, our August Artist-in-Residence!

After some rest and reflection, Southern Heat Exchange is excited to resume our digital Artist-in-Residence program with the skilled and thoughtful Elspeth Schulze! She will be sharing updates from a new home studio based in Tulsa, OK this month as she, like all of us, adapts and evolves her practice to new constraints and environments.

Studio Portrait, 2018  Photo by Shane Darwent

Studio Portrait, 2018 Photo by Shane Darwent

Elspeth Schulze is an interdisciplinary artist originally from Grand Coteau, Louisiana. Through ceramic, textile and sculptural processes, she explores the complex relationship between material and place. Elspeth studied literature at Loyola University New Orleans, pattern making and garment design at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York, and is finishing up an MFA in Ceramics at the University of Colorado, Boulder. Before grad school, she worked behind the scenes in the arts as a studio assistant, production manager, and gallery director at a small college. In January of 2021, Elspeth will join the Tulsa Artist Fellowship in Tulsa, Oklahoma as an artist in residence. 

website: elspethschulze.com 

ig: elspethschulze

To be of use, Elspeth Schulze, 2019  stoneware, fiberglass insulation, blue tarp, sandbags, sand, extension cords, hydrocal, concrete, plywood, Dimensions variable

To be of use, Elspeth Schulze, 2019
stoneware, fiberglass insulation, blue tarp, sandbags, sand, extension cords, hydrocal, concrete, plywood, Dimensions variable

From the artist:

I combine a background of ceramics and patternmaking to sew, cast and cut forms, creating sculptural work that responds to space. I grew up near the marsh in Louisiana, where the ground is soft underfoot. The marsh is a between place, where solid land meets the Gulf of Mexico. This is a muddled middle ground, where the land is full of water and the water is full of land. My work explores the idea of a porous place, a passage between one thing and another. Plywood panels become sieves, sandbags slipping through slots; fiberglass insulation winding through perforated ceramic vessels. I use materials that keep things out, like blue tarps and roofing tar, and materials that filter things through, like steel mesh and silk. 

I work through a series of repeated forms, each piece relating to the last. The meander, a riverine shape, is a common motif in my work and comes from the decorative border found on ancient Greek vases. The pattern is named after the Maeander River in present day Turkey, but here, the meander relates to the Mississippi River that shaped Louisiana. This force of water is highly controlled but poised to break levees and shift course. In my work, the meander stands as a symbol for change and a reminder of the inevitable limits of our command. 

The shape of water, Elspeth Schulze, 2017 sandbags, blue tarp, thread, sand, Dimensions variable Installed in the boiler room of the former public waterworks building in Adrian, MI.

The shape of water, Elspeth Schulze, 2017
sandbags, blue tarp, thread, sand, Dimensions variable
Installed in the boiler room of the former public waterworks building in Adrian, MI.

A trying: of what, of weight, Elspeth Schulze, 2019 plywood, blue tarp, thread, sand, 90 x 30 x 18 inches

A trying: of what, of weight, Elspeth Schulze, 2019
plywood, blue tarp, thread, sand, 90 x 30 x 18 inches

What about the brink? (The moment just before),  Elspeth Schulze, 2018 plywood, sandbags, sand, 96 x 48 x 24 inches

What about the brink? (The moment just before),
Elspeth Schulze, 2018
plywood, sandbags, sand, 96 x 48 x 24 inches

Over, under, through, Elspeth Schulze, 2019 tarp, oiled paper, oil pastel, thumbtacks, Dimensions variable

Over, under, through, Elspeth Schulze, 2019
tarp, oiled paper, oil pastel, thumbtacks, Dimensions variable

Aggregate (the Unwilding), Elspeth Schulze, 2018 steel mesh, Colorado rose granite, rainbow chip granite, white mason sand, recycled asphalt, recycled concrete, sandbags,  Dimensions variable

Aggregate (the Unwilding), Elspeth Schulze, 2018
steel mesh, Colorado rose granite, rainbow chip granite, white mason sand, recycled asphalt, recycled concrete, sandbags,
Dimensions variable

Whole or Part(ed) (overhead view), Elspeth Schulze, 2018 porcelain, stoneware, plaster, bisqued sand, 30.5 x 96 x 48 inches

Whole or Part(ed) (overhead view), Elspeth Schulze, 2018
porcelain, stoneware, plaster, bisqued sand, 30.5 x 96 x 48 inches

June 2020: Millian Pham Lien Giang - Week 4

This week, I’m contemplating on the nature of risk, sacrifice, losses, and gains. I grew up hearing that my parents, especially my mother, sacrificed a lot to ensure my siblings’ and my success. It’s a common Vietnamese story about the war, US immigration, and working odd minimum wage jobs to make ends meet. Many of my Viet friends have similar stories despite being deemed successful or not (here we are busting the model minority myth by just being our unsuccessful bad model self). I’m not sure my siblings and I are considered successful either, but the pressure is still there because our parents sacrificed so much. However, sobering reality makes me not so easily swayed by such simplistic narratives. Behind every story are hidden pages of intergenerational traumas, abuse masked as discipline from some bygone era, and manipulative psychological warfare between parent and child to save face for superficial social standing. It was all done for our own good. Or so it is still being said. What was the true cost of all these sacrifices?

 

When my dad passed away six months after his brain surgery from cancer, we sold our house in Oklahoma. It was a house my parents scrimped and saved to buy and promptly—much to my surprise—paid off their loan less than halfway through. My mother gave me a chunk of money for the house, saying that it was my inheritance since my parents never gave me any money growing up like they did to all my siblings. Confused for years afterward, I was waiting for the strings to be pulled and to hear the terms of the money. For my mother, money was always a way to get us to do what she wanted. Much to her dislike, I paid for my own college education to get an art degree, so she was driven by ulterior motives. When I finally declared that this was money my late father left for me, and when my move 700 miles away proved too difficult for her to control me through the phone, my mother backed off. 

 

But the strings weren’t the sticking point. It was the opportunity cost. How was it when I didn’t need money that I received this useless gift from my mother with the idea to control me from afar? The sleepless nights when I worried over being able to afford a class field trip or the materials to make a mandatory bottle rocket that the teacher never graded, the long school days I waded through Pre-Calculus on an empty stomach because I didn’t have money to buy lunch but still graduated Valedictorian, the nights where my brother and I ate Dollar General cookies because dinner was not available again, and the countless events that would have been easily solved if my mother had loosened her purse strings to actually feed and clothe us rather than pretending. That level of narcissistic control baffled me for years afterward. But there was one thing that I was very clear on even at a young age: that behind every action, whether with good or ill intent, there are gains and costs. I later learned in my college economics class about cost/benefit analysis and the term opportunity cost.

 

Years after I moved out of my parents’ roof, I still battle those opportunity costs of saving money for my mother. The gains for my mother was a chunk of money that she still waves around my siblings face, but the costs for me were a poor adolescent and teenage diet that still wreaked havoc on my health, anxiety and bad habits from stress to succeed without the tools, the unending imposter syndrome from being boxed into outdated cultural gender roles, and the inherited intergenerational traumas going unresolved. The opportunity costs were exponential but the gains are frustratingly and almost flatly linear. 

 

These are some of the personal thoughts that surfaced as I sketched out OPPORTUNITY COST IS SOMEONE’S SACRIFICE. There’s more to it on a broader and different social level—how marginalized groups have had to sacrifice their due gains to benefit someone else, and that novel will be written with ample space for it in the future. For now I leave you with the following sketches, which took a digital turn this week. 

“It’s in the intersections—those deviations from straight lines as I plan out the shapes of text. These little intersections are so indicative of each letter that I decided to highlight those areas and see what they look like superimposed on an imag…

“It’s in the intersections—those deviations from straight lines as I plan out the shapes of text. These little intersections are so indicative of each letter that I decided to highlight those areas and see what they look like superimposed on an image. In this case, it’s a custard apple.”

“I scanned each sketch as text and created a selection of lines of shapes in Photoshop, and superimposed them onto a heavily edited fair use image. These are dragon fruits. I wanted to see what these lines and shapes would look like superimposed on …

“I scanned each sketch as text and created a selection of lines of shapes in Photoshop, and superimposed them onto a heavily edited fair use image. These are dragon fruits. I wanted to see what these lines and shapes would look like superimposed on an image, and something I may have to do with the previous developed sketch.”

June 2020: Millian Pham Lien Giang - Week 3

This previous week had me pondering what it means to be an artist, which is not a new notion to wrestle with, but it is more pertinent now that I find some new solutions for the present moment. In light of Black Lives Matter and the protests that rightfully call for justice and systemic change in the US, I’m looking at the importance of art and what role would an artist, in this case someone like me, play in the larger conversation of racial injustice and systemic oppression.

 

Before this current flash point, I’ve been making artwork crafted from my individual experience on systemic issues and those effects on the body through a range of metaphors. Keeping in sight the bigger picture of historic and current racial issues and systemic inequities in the US (and more broadly the lasting legacy of colonialism across the globe), it is important to understand that there are many parallel paths and intersectional experiences of BIPOC and other marginalized groups. These different voices are not in competition with each other, as sowers of discord would fool us to believe to our detriment, but work in unison to bolster our individual voices into a collective symphony.

 

Looking at the troubles of our current time, I wanted to echo this tune by Civil Rights hero and Georgia Representative John Lewis as he addressed it in the 150th Bates’ Commencement speech in 2016, “You must find a way to get in the way and get in good trouble, necessary trouble. … You have a moral obligation, a mission and a mandate, when you leave here, to go out and seek justice for all. You can do it. You must do it.” This call to fight and make good trouble appeals to folks of all ages and backgrounds. The truly beautiful thing about Lewis’ words is how it pivots our perspective to reconsider that what we’re doing as not just causing necessary trouble for others and ourselves, but we’re making good trouble for the advancement of society and future generations. Our efforts are worth it. Pivoting perspective to see things in a new or different way is a very powerful skill, and something that the visual arts have an abundance of tools to accomplish. So using the power and skills gained through years of art school, I started making a visual sketch that would honor Lewis’ words GOOD TROUBLE as another way to understand the power of those words—through the act of seeing. I didn’t realize that this was such a huge undertaking to complete within a week.

 

As it turns out the words Good Trouble is also the title of Dawn Porter’s documentary on John Lewis himself and his work. The documentary was slated to be released in May 2020, but due to COVID-19 had to be rescheduled for July 2020, but was then premiered in Tulsa, OK on Juneteenth as a peaceful protest to Donald Trump’s rally (originally scheduled on Juneteenth but later changed to June 20th, a second speaking engagement was canceled due to low attendance thanks to ghost ticket reservations). I’m excited for this documentary, as we collectively need this education. Filmmaker Dawn Porter also produced other films including Gideon’s ArmySpies of MississippiTrapped, and many other, as Porter had been involved as a co-executive producer in numerous projects. All of Porter’s works bring to light and give voice to little known big issues, and exemplifies what John Lewis calls good trouble.

 

In light of Lewis’ words and Porter’s work, I had huge reservations about my GOOD TROUBLE sketch as it neared completion. I took a different approach from my usual cryptic visual puzzle to create something straightforward and that can be easily read. Unfortunately that only made the finished sketch looks like a cross between a half-hearted poster and a half-baked attempt at fine art, which is one of many unintended consequences of working with text and a trap that I fell into face first this time. The sketch doesn’t do Lewis’ words and Porter’s work justice. Instead of seeing this as a huge setback, I’m taking the cue to pivot this perspective and see it as a good setback. I’m using this as a learning opportunity and this platform to amplify Black voices by talking about John Lewis and highlighting Dawn Porter’s work (as mentioned above). I hope readers of Southern Heat Exchange get the opportunity to see this documentary soon and view many of Porter’s works.

In the far future, I may have a better composition for GOOD TROUBLE worked out (it’s going to take some time), but for now, it is deemed unresolved and tabled until such time. In the meanwhile, I’m working on a composition with the words THIS OPPORTUNITY IS SOMEONE’S SACRIFICE, which comes from a place of individual and collective responsibility from my personal family experience. More images and thoughts to come.

 

This week, I leave you with an old composition called BLAME FRAME. It was created in response to the many ways BIPOC were scapegoated by the colonizers. It’s an oldie from last year but still pertinent in light of today’s troubles.

  

Note: some may argue that paying tribute via an artwork is fine and dandy in their book, but unless the work adds to the conversation in a different way without further marginalization, then it causes more harm by competing with the voices one is supposed to pay tribute to. This is especially pertinent in light of so many artists of all backgrounds (but especially non-Black folks) making works that revolve around Black Lives Matter issues. Representation doesn’t start until we reach Responsible Representation, and all artists bear a responsibility to check themselves and learn from it.

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June 2020: Millian Pham Lien Giang - Week 2

HAPPY HUBRIS HARMS 

That hour waiting on the line to chirpy music after punching in an endless series of limited choices dictated by a robot, and only to have your call dropped after another hour wait. Many more hours are taken up by anxiety as the deadline draws near.

That moment when you realized the person on the other side of the screen is wasting your time and labor with endless questions that could easily be answered by simply googling some basic key words and doing their own emotional work. They’re hiding behind strategic good intention.

Those pits of despair when you submitted all the necessary paperwork only to not see any change to your case.

Those words a parent uttered to appease all sides and sweep things under the rug with no real resolution. Those words build up a façade of a happy family but everyone is silently suffering until key events implode the nuclear family.

Those blanket statements they wrote on your performance review that could neither be proven nor disproven, but it was up to you to rebut with evidence. Then they suggested you become better at communicating without any clarification.

 

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In addition to wrangling with HAPPY HUBRIS HARMS, I’m reflecting on what it means to cause and fight for GOOD TROUBLE. I came across these words from a Facebook repost of Martin Luther King Junior’s “Letter From a Birmingham Jail” and a reference to John Lewis as it pertains to protests and riots. I’m spending this upcoming week looking into John Lewis’s work and understanding this socio-political history of the United States. This understanding is important to see where we each fit in the current and future moments as movers and shakers. What is the role that you and I play together and separately to cause and fight for good trouble? Moreover, what can we each do with the resources that we have individually and together?

In progress stages of HAPPY HUBRIS HARMS sketch. I’m embracing mistakes and messes by not erasing them but instead layering them with ink and other marks.

In progress stages of HAPPY HUBRIS HARMS sketch. I’m embracing mistakes and messes by not erasing them but instead layering them with ink and other marks.

Finished HAPPY HUBRIS HARMS sketch. I’m not entirely sure how this would translate into a fiber composition later. Mostly looking at shape contrast right now.

Finished HAPPY HUBRIS HARMS sketch. I’m not entirely sure how this would translate into a fiber composition later. Mostly looking at shape contrast right now.

Early stages of GOOD TROUBLE. This may just remain a developed sketch after I add ink to it later this next week. This is more of an homage to MLK and John Lewis, and an opportunity to relearn and explore history rather than artmaking or creating a …

Early stages of GOOD TROUBLE. This may just remain a developed sketch after I add ink to it later this next week. This is more of an homage to MLK and John Lewis, and an opportunity to relearn and explore history rather than artmaking or creating a response.

June 2020: Millian Pham Lien Giang - Intro/week1

Introduction:

Millian Pham Lien Giang is an artist and educator based in Alabama. Her work centers on oppressive structures on the physical and metaphorical body using text, images, objects, and installations. For the June SHE showcase, Pham will share her studio practice from the beginning to completion stages in creating a series of artworks. The series specific for the month of June will focus on mixed media text-based sketches on issues of the current moment. For context, more of her works can be viewed on her website: altimablossom.net

Week 1:

This month started on a somber yet serious note on both personal and social levels. I had plans to create a series of work called Love Letters to Self, in which I would construct my text pieces with words of encouragement to my younger self, who had to endure countless abuse by the hands of my narcissistic mother. I also wanted for these works to serve as encouragement for those who still suffer from their narcissistic parent/s. 

 

But as the month started out, one of my close family members suddenly became the target of this narcissistic abuse by their extended relative (unrelated to me), and I found myself coaching this dear person to navigate through all the clever manipulations thrown at them. But perhaps the biggest thing weighing on my mind lately has been the very unclever manipulation of our current president, who’s narcissistic personality disorder had resulted in violent and deadly force on peaceful protestors and has been wreaking havoc on the US society as a whole. These events made me realize that I need to take a step back and refocus on some of the issues. There are questions that still have not been asked.

 

For this month of June, I’m brainstorming and asking these questions. I’m sketching out ideas on paper (that will eventually turn into fiber compositions in the near future). The works for this first couple of weeks will appear a bit preliminary with tidbits of thoughts, sketches, and brainstorming. I hope to finish at least five developed sketches by month’s end. 

Square Not: Durian Flower and Dragon Fruits, mixed media collage, 15 x 11 in. A recent composition I've completed for a broadside collaboration (release coming soon), which has the same aesthetic choices that I will employ for these newer sketches.

Square Not: Durian Flower and Dragon Fruits, mixed media collage, 15 x 11 in. A recent composition I've completed for a broadside collaboration (release coming soon), which has the same aesthetic choices that I will employ for these newer sketches.

A page from my sketchbook. These are texts I'm refining to include in a separate and larger sketch.

A page from my sketchbook. These are texts I'm refining to include in a separate and larger sketch.

Starting out each sketch with hand gridding on watercolor paper with graphite. More in-process shots will be available in the coming weeks.

Starting out each sketch with hand gridding on watercolor paper with graphite. More in-process shots will be available in the coming weeks.

Southern Heat Exchange Values Black Lives

Southern Heat Exchange is a platform to lift the voices of Southern artists. Today, we lift the voices who are raised for justice. We mourn the devastating loss of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and Tony McDade. We seek to stay connected to this loss, to the actions being taken in their memory, to the outcry for change. We seek to hold space for artists as they capture, ignite, uplift, and unite during this moment of clarity and injustice. 

Below are examples of work from artists and writers we are inspired by and admire.

Rirkrit Tiravanija, Untitled (fear eats the soul) (white flag), 2017 Image source: creativetime.org

Rirkrit Tiravanija, Untitled (fear eats the soul) (white flag), 2017

Image source: creativetime.org

“I believe the roots of most harm are systemic, and we must be willing to disrupt vicious systems that have been normalized….I believe that with time it must become an incredible pleasure to be able to be honest, expect to be whole, and to know that we are in a community that will hold us accountable and change with us.” 

“I believe that all organization is science fiction—that we are shaping the future we long for and have not yet experienced.  I believe that we are in an imagination battle, and almost everything about how we orient toward our bodies is shaped by fearful imaginations.  Imaginations that fear Blackness, brownness, fatness, queerness, disability, difference.  Our radical imagination is a tool for decolonization, for reclaiming our right to shape our lived reality

adrienne maree brown, Pleasure Activism

David Hammons Untitled (Body Print), 1974, Five Color Monotype on White Woven Paper, 21.5 x 22 inchesImage source: harvardartmuseums.org

David Hammons Untitled (Body Print), 1974, Five Color Monotype on White Woven Paper, 21.5 x 22 inches

Image source: harvardartmuseums.org

"'Sister' is a verb...Sistering requires food.  It requires specific intentional foods that support our spirits...What happens if we replace the roles patriarchy has scripted us into with actions guided by what we want to create instead?  

…if we want to have a revolution, we have to craft revolutionary relationships…a revolution cannot be created by conforming to existing roles in relationships already defined by the systems we want to overthrow.  We have to practice creating new relationships."

Alexis Pauline Gumbs, "The Sweetness of Salt", Pleasure Activism, p 71

May 2020: Sara Madandar, Week 3

Sara Madandar is an Iranian multi-disciplinary artist based in New Orleans. She received her MFA from the University of Texas at Austin and her BA in painting from the Azad University of Art and Architecture in Tehran. Through a range of media such as painting, video, installation, and performance—Madandar explores migration and the human experience of living in between cultures.

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A small painting (In process) which I was working on while I waited for the Window #2 stretcher to be ready.

A small painting (In process) which I was working on while I waited for the Window #2 stretcher to be ready.

When I began the residency, I hoped I would finish at least three paintings by the end of May. But as usual, working in the studio has its own surprises. While I finished four small paintings in April, I had to be patient in May: even delivery of materials to the studio seemed to take forever. In the meantime, I am documenting my studio practice working on the piece titled Window #2. I would like to share some images that inspired the concept for my Window series, as well as some photos and videos of my process.

The images below are from 19th century Iran, when the Qajar dynasty ruled the country. What I like about these paintings is how the figures are posing in front of arched windows. The windows in the background are in perspective, yet the rug in foreground is in two dimensional, much like Persian miniature paintings from an earlier era.

A lady playing a Tonbak, Persia, first half 19th century, oil on canvas framed

A lady playing a Tonbak, Persia, first half 19th century, oil on canvas framed

A mother and child, attributable to Muhammad Hasan, Persia, Circa 1810-1830, oil on canvas 188.3 by 86.6cm.

A mother and child, attributable to Muhammad Hasan, Persia, Circa 1810-1830, oil on canvas 188.3 by 86.6cm.

Stretcher/frame for Window #2, 64”x 53”

Stretcher/frame for Window #2, 64”x 53”

Giuliano Bugiardini, Madonna Breastfeeding Jesus, 16th century Oil on canvas, 82.5 cm x 58.5 cm

Giuliano Bugiardini, Madonna Breastfeeding Jesus, 16th century Oil on canvas, 82.5 cm x 58.5 cm

Back of the painting titled Window #2, 64”x 53”

Back of the painting titled Window #2, 64”x 53”

May 2020: Sara Madandar - Week 2

Sara Madandar is an Iranian multi-disciplinary artist based in New Orleans. She received her MFA from the University of Texas at Austin and her BA in painting from the Azad University of Art and Architecture in Tehran. Through a range of media such as painting, video, installation, and performance—Madandar explores migration and the human experience of living in between cultures.

︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿

Being a SHE resident artist has been very beneficial to me during this pandemic, motivating me to work and stay on my deadlines. Not knowing whether I will even be able to have any shows in 2020 had made it hard to maintain my focus and discipline. Yet the residency has given me an opportunity to step back, refocus, think, write, and read, all in order to develop my ideas. In doing so, I have been inspired to revisit an old project, and give it new life in New Orleans.

The project is titled “The Sidewalk,” and it consists of hours-long videos of different sidewalks in different cities in which I have lived. The first film was made in Tehran, Iran, from a French café on Enghelab (Revolution) Avenue: an important street in Tehran and the historic center of the capital’s book trade. Iran’s premier university, The University of Tehran, is also on this street. The street offers the chance to see different people with different bodies and clothes and from different socioeconomic classes all together in the same public space. The angle of the video looks down to the sidewalk, with the camera playing the role of observer.

Video still from “Sidewalk #1”, Enghelab Avenue, Tehran Iran, 2013

Video still from “Sidewalk #1”, Enghelab Avenue, Tehran Iran, 2013

The second film was made in Austin, Texas, from a restaurant on 6th street, a busy center of the city’s nightlife, and I am now making a third video, shot from inside a bookstore in New Orleans’ Frenchmen Street.

Video still from “Sidewalk #2”, 6th street, Austin, TX, 2014

Video still from “Sidewalk #2”, 6th street, Austin, TX, 2014

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Video stills from “Sidewalk #3”, Frenchman St, New Orleans, Louisiana 2020

Video stills from “Sidewalk #3”, Frenchman St, New Orleans, Louisiana 2020

My videos are intended to record the rhythms of daily life while also discovering the patterns lived by people in the city. In the video series, I exhibit the diversity of people’s lived experience in the city: some go quickly about their daily business without noticing much, while others stay, working on the streets, selling their wares or playing music.

The video consists of three layers. The first layer is indoor; the second layer is the sidewalk, and the last layer is the street. We can see how people’s speeds change drastically across each layer. Inside the café and bookstore, they linger socializing and having coffee. On the sidewalk, they go and pass from left and right at a quick pace. While the videos in Austin and Tehran had only one long sequence, the video in New Orleans will reflect the new reality we are living in. It will have two sequences: one during the height of the pandemic, with the shops and bars closed, and another sequence shot after their reopening. We do not know when the pandemic will end, but we know Frenchmen street will once again see dancers, musicians, and happy, mischievous revelers.

Installation: The first video has been previously installed in two exhibitions. One installation was on a large wall at Co-Lab Projects (Austin, TX), with a life-sized projection that acted as a living a mural on the street. The other installation was indoor at the Asian American Resource Center (Austin, TX), where the video acted as a window to outside.  

Installation of “Sidewalk #1” on Co-Lab Project’s wall, 2014

Installation of “Sidewalk #1” on Co-Lab Project’s wall, 2014

While those projections were of Tehran’s streets in Austin, this project is now evolving to become a connection between many places and cultures. To do so, I will be installing it in different cities, where the video will be projecting the life of another far away city. Now that I am creating the video of Frenchmen street, my next step is to project the street life of New Orleans onto the streets of Tehran, where I hope to create my next installation.

May 2020: Sara Madandar - Intro/Week 1

Sara Madandar is an Iranian multi-disciplinary artist based in New Orleans. She received her MFA from the University of Texas at Austin and her BA in painting from the Azad University of Art and Architecture in Tehran. Through a range of media such as painting, video, installation, and performance—Madandar explores migration and the human experience of living in between cultures.

Her work uses the aesthetics of language, clothing, and bodies to study the complexities of cross-cultural experiences from a unique perspective. Madandar’s most recent accolades include an award from the Texas Visual Artists Association (TVAA) and an award from the Southeastern College Art Conference (SECAC) for an exhibition curated by Jessica Beck of the Andy Warhol museum. Sara’s work has been featured at Co-Lab Projects, Elga Wimmer PCC, New Orleans Museum of Art, Austin City Hall, New Orleans Contemporary Art Center, Elisabeth Ney Museum, Mom Gallery, Courtyard Gallery, and the Asian American Resource Center.

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Madandar Sara_Window-223.jpg

Sara will be working on her series “Window” while in residence. She writes:

The idea of home as a shelter, and windows as connections to the public sphere, is a central concept to my new series “The Window.” I have completed its first painting, titled “Window #1”, which uses technology to transform itself over the course of a day. The frame mimics traditional Iranian windows in their arched shape, while the red, yellow, blue, and green colors evoke their stained-glass panes. But there’s more to the painting than meets the eye. Hidden behind the basic colors, the painting continues on the back of the canvas, where nude figures are painted. They are not visible by daylight, but as the sun sets, the painting comes to life. LED lights built into the back of the frame gradually brighten as the sky outside darkens. The light reveals the figures behind the canvas much like one can peer into a home when its lights go on at night. When the sun rises in the morning, the light slowly fades away, hiding the nude figures and returning the privacy to the “residents” of   the painting.

This series plays on the concept of a home as both a protective shelter, but also a barrier that isolates its inhabitants by censoring what’s inside. Windows break that barrier, allowing us to look outside while letting the light in. Curtains create a compromise where we receive light while still hiding within. By opening the curtains, we lift the censorship over our bodies, exposing ourselves to the world. In the paintings comprising “The Window” series, the frame is the window and the canvas is the curtain. The light emanating from within the painting is the metaphorical opening of the curtains. The nude figures inside, however, do not feel shame in their exposure to the world: they sit comfortably, unafraid of the outside gaze. Through this exposure, I try to explore the notion that censoring our bodies, be it with walls, clothes or veils, is what creates the shame we live with. The exposure of the nude self through the intentional opening of the curtains by light shatters the censorship of shame – replacing it instead with a confident self that, unencumbered by societal judgement, engages the outside world.

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April 2020: Tom O'Brien - Week 4

Update time!

Last week April Bachtel pointed out how my work tends to have a certain kind of quality of light, and wondered if it was due in part to the material used. This week I sketched out a drawing in ink and then started working on it at a much larger scale (2 x 3 feet) in charcoal. The light feels totally different, and while the ink sketch is clearly less defined in a lot of ways, it was fun to see the difference between the two as far as material is concerned.

I'm also drawing water for what I think is maybe the first time ever??? The idea of drawing water has always been a really daunting idea in my mind. It has a really rich history. Vija Celmins is the artist that always comes to mind when I think about drawings of water, and while my depictions couldn't be further than her photo realistic work, I'm happy with the pseudo-psychedelic rendering of water I've begun.

As always, I'm fighting the constant battle of wondering how much information is too much information to lay out in a drawing. There is a point I usually hit very early on in making work where my ego takes over and I think to myself "damn, that's pretty good, I should stop there." I"m pretty much always wrong. But in these moments I find that I need to stop working, before I push through and make the drawing way busier than it needs to be. I hit that point on this drawing, and decided that before I work on the upper portion of the drawing, I'll take a breather. 

So here is both the sketch for the drawing, and the drawing as a work in progress, as well as one of Vija Celmins' drawings.

Sending out virtual hugs to everyone in lieu of physical affection,

Tom O'Brien

Tom O’Brien, sketch, ink on paper

Tom O’Brien, sketch, ink on paper

Tom O’Brien, WIP, charcoal on paper

Tom O’Brien, WIP, charcoal on paper

Vija Celmins, Big Sea II, graphite (1969)

Vija Celmins, Big Sea II, graphite (1969)

April 2020: Tom O'Brien - Week 3

Hey Y'all!

I hope everyone is doing well. This past week brought a bunch of frustration. I didn't make anything that I was fully satisfied with, but it was a nice reminder that part of the art making process is making work you won't always like. One of my favorite things about drawing is the process itself, sometimes more than the final result. I threw away an almost finished drawing this week, and it felt cleansing in a way.

Here are a few images of my studio to show you my messy live/work space, and to show how hard storage of finished work is for me, especially with larger framed pieces. However, I'm mostly sending these images because I love the way my drawing wall looks when I take work down off of it. It feels like a finished piece by itself.

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I'd also like to share two images (below) of an artist/friend who's work I find brilliant, Sophia Belkin. She's based out of New Orleans as well. We moved down here together from Baltimore back in 2012. Her work has a collage quality that I love.

Best,

Tom

In Petri Idyed cotton, embroidery, assorted fabrics10x132019

In Petri I

dyed cotton, embroidery, assorted fabrics

10x13

2019

Dacha Potdye on linen, photograph on chiffon, hoop earring, resin23x25x32018

Dacha Pot

dye on linen, photograph on chiffon, hoop earring, resin

23x25x3

2018

April 2020: Tom O'Brien - Week 2

Born and raised in northern New Jersey, Tom O'Brien went on to attend the Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore, Maryland, where he graduated in 2012 with a major in Interdisciplinary Sculpture and a minor in Printmaking. After graduation, he briefly taught large scale drawing at the Putney School Summer Program before moving south to New Orleans, where he currently resides. He plays drums in the all gay punk band Rim Job, but most of the time can be found making work out of his house in the St. Roch neighborhood.

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I spent four years in school unlearning everything I knew about art as a teenager, and it was incredibly important for the way I view the world now and for my ability to discuss and create art in an articulate manner, but last year the time came for me to relearn what I'd forgotten. I've returned back to what first got me into making art, and that's drawing with charcoal. The physicality of making a mark on paper is a universal action that most people are familiar with to the point of it being banal (less and less as technology advances, I suppose). But mark making is simultaneously unique for each person. Marks on the page can be an easy way to identify the mark marker - my father's handwriting will always let me know it's him who wrote it. My marks will always be mine.

I make my drawings in order to feel physically closer to my friends. I tenderly smudge their figure with my palm. I sculpt their features with my thumb.

But this distance I've felt has left an abstraction which is represented figuratively in the work.

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As for the poem: it's about New Orleans. It's about ownership of something that can never be owned, regardless of who created it and how. And it's me questioning what it means to steal culture, or if that's even possible.

Neither the drawing nor the poem have titles (yet).

"See" ya next week!

This garden
Tough and poor
Like you
Rock smitten silt drifting
With the woes of the Mississippi
Untamed animal
Unbridled passion

And from the chaos of the summer soil
Roses flare up to scratch the sun
Jasmine screams in the night

They are your kin
Or you are theirs
And together you will ride
This beautiful ship
And all will suffer you

But beauty is always noticed
(Sometimes for the Better sometimes
for the Worse)
And money floods
Your garden, threatening to kill
All that stand in its path

you say

There is no garden without me
My garden is poor and so am I
Nothing green will grow
Where my fingers have not proved their worth
Where my struggle has not sown its seed

But you are wrong
And the garden will prosper without you
And you will die
And roses and jasmine will bloom from your bones
And nature will run its course
Without you

April 2020: Tom O'Brien - Week 1

Born and raised in northern New Jersey, Tom O'Brien went on to attend the Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore, Maryland, where he graduated in 2012 with a major in Interdisciplinary Sculpture and a minor in Printmaking. After graduation, he briefly taught large scale drawing at the Putney School Summer Program before moving south to New Orleans, where he currently resides. He plays drums in the all gay punk band Rim Job, but most of the time can be found making work out of his house in the St. Roch neighborhood.

My work is a reflection of the fleeting intimacies of gay culture in modern society. Simultaneously passionate and cold, my images confront the viewer from private moments. At times they lay out details for you to explore, while in other areas they purposefully give minimal information. Bodies are concrete yet ephemeral. Furniture fades into the room. It is this contradiction that I find beautiful, and hope to share with the viewer. 

︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿︽︿

Life in the dawn of the age of Covid-19 has been strange. I recently moved myself into my friends' empty apartment in the Marigny as they have left to go ride this out in San Francisco. I've been mostly out of work, but still pulling some part time gigs as a way to make some money working for other artist friends as they are still producing and selling work. I'm usually an incredibly social person, living with roommates and out with friends every night of the week to some capacity, whether it be drinks at a bar, dinners at home, or backyard movie nights. This pandemic that has led to intense social distancing has so far helped me feel somewhat refreshed and simultaneously aching for connection with my friends. I'm single, and this has been the most alone time I've had in years. I know it's healthy to some extent, but it's uncomfortable.

In my recent drawings, which I'll be sending to you this month, I've been exploring the feeling of intimacy. The work I've made over the past year has explored this concept too, in a much more sexually charged way. These new drawings are portraits of multiple friends combined into one image, not sexual at all. More to come about them as I develop them more and send them your way.

With this initial introduction, instead of sending you a drawing, I'd like to start with a poem.

In the midst of all the chaos, some more chaos was thrown my way last week. One of my best friends from college, who recently visited me here in New Orleans, decided to prematurely end her life. As a result, she was left on life support for several days, before her family made the incredibly brave decision to take her off life support (there was no chance she would ever come back), and donate her heart and lungs. In the days she was no longer with us, but still connected to this world via life support, I thought a lot about what that means, and what the implications are. I never found an answer. But as this nation struggles to keep up with the supply of life support machines, i.e. ventilators and the like, I'm still left with a lot of questions about the beauty of what we're capable of creating, and about our ability to play god with life and death. So here's the poem I wrote when she was undergoing the procedure to remove her heart and lungs and inevitably finish the decision she made to end her life.

In the pale white light of the morning
Machines hum
And whisper secrets to each other
Far too simple for us
To understand
Far too cryptic
Mystic gods of our own creation

I wish I could ask you-
Did your heart beat for
Something else
Were the rats
Too big in the harbor
Was love too far away?

But the answer is not binary
There are no zeros or ones
We are not machines
And love has never left