tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46155579096497593922024-03-13T13:01:03.998-07:00Studio Chicago BlogStudio Chicago is a collaborative project that explores the artist’s studio. This blog features artists, curators and program collaborators from this year-long project. Collaborators include Chicago Department of Cultural Affairs, Columbia College Chicago, Gallery 400, Hyde Park Art Center, Museum of Contemporary Art, The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and threewalls.Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-44007534941607749402010-10-27T08:33:00.000-07:002010-10-27T08:38:03.729-07:00The Great American Loserdom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TMhCXTkfYYI/AAAAAAAAAw8/JIcXC8h2XxY/s1600/mountainconrad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TMhCXTkfYYI/AAAAAAAAAw8/JIcXC8h2XxY/s200/mountainconrad.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><b>Conrad Freiburg <br />
Artist, musician, & carpenter<br />
<a href="http://www.fpdcc.com/"> Forest Preserve District of Cook County</a></b><br />
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There is no romance in artists studios. There is a loser rolling off his couch next to his pick up truck. There is cold pizza and coffee for breakfast. There is homelessness and shitting in buckets because what meager space can be afforded on the margins is a garage on the west side without a toilet. In addition to forays into what might be the greatest failure in sculpture since that cargo ship filled with baby doll parts capsized on the shore of eighties art schools, you begin to innovate and take pleasure in finding solutions for civilizing the life of the loser in the 21st century. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TMhCaz7g2UI/AAAAAAAAAxA/CD0qCtc_uk0/s1600/moving+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TMhCaz7g2UI/AAAAAAAAAxA/CD0qCtc_uk0/s320/moving+out.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The artist in process of vacating his studio.</span></span></td></tr>
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One finds kinship with homesteaders and the make-do spirit of desperate Americans of the civil war era foraging their circumstance for what joy and pleasure and steadiness might be found in the open and dangerous beautiful places of the Open Western Skies. You get a membership at the YMCA so you have a place to shower, shit, and exercise with machines. Your open western skies, your expansive becoming, your brief unutterable pleasures are found in those strange objects produced under such circumstances, shown publicly, and then put into the storage pile, or, if you are lucky, on a collector's wall.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TMhCcNc0FxI/AAAAAAAAAxE/1y2PjRvGTVk/s1600/tp_holderwith_nothing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TMhCcNc0FxI/AAAAAAAAAxE/1y2PjRvGTVk/s320/tp_holderwith_nothing.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The artist's toilet paper holder.</span></span></td></tr>
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In these sideways situations there is a perpetual uncertainty. When the hammer falls it is traumatic. You can be turned out when your landlord's ragtag unpermitted electrical schemes are finally discovered because there was a shooting across the hall. In addition to the .45 callibre bullet hole in your wall, you get the subsequent city inspectors, city lawyers, and city Orders to Vacate. You spent all your spare money on building the space for unknown unfoldings, and your 2 month deposit is forfeit due to your landlord's bankruptcy. I for one wish this were not my truth- these unfortunate and sickening vapors of burnt normalcy. To not take it personally, I bathe myself in the Waters of Odd, play music, sing songs, make art, make friends. With all these refined pleasures of loserdom, Henry Miller was right “genuine needs are met.”<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TMhCTvnfrZI/AAAAAAAAAw4/tQAlht7xAl0/s1600/you+are+not+the+first+one+to+destroy+this.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TMhCTvnfrZI/AAAAAAAAAw4/tQAlht7xAl0/s320/you+are+not+the+first+one+to+destroy+this.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A delicate sculpture destroyed.</span></span></td></tr>
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You find that you have friends who bring food from their kitchen to you on the sidewalk as you set your panhandling art machine in motion. When you and your love call it quits and its not dark yet you find that sofa surfing is a delicate art of washing dishes and singing for your supper. You find that you cannot do this alone; this anything alone. You find that friendship is the most valuable thing when you are poor and some people are surprisingly kind. It can break you open to be allowed to be cared for, to be given gifts not asked for. The unplanned special offer of free space inside a small institution's walls can begin to make you feel that maybe all these terribly inexplicable choices are adding up to something someone else might be interested in engaging with deeply over a period of time. That the <a href="http://www.hydeparkart.org/">HPAC</a> is offering a physical place for work to unfold in a community that might care about such things as harmony, formalism, cosmology, phenomenology, demolition, entropy, dissonance, absence, and the unknown blossoms of the VOID might make you think that there may be a place to bury what can't be carried. Maybe life is easy after all.<br />
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-Conrad Freiburg<br />
from the <a href="http://www.fpdcc.com/">Forest Preserve District of Cook County</a>, 2010<br />
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<a href="http://analogyshop.com/">Conrad Freiburg</a> is an artist, musician, and carpenter who grew up on the Mississippi River. Last Summer he recorded an experimental folk album, and also made drawing charcoal from pieces of his bowling ball roller coaster called the Slipping Glimpser. This Fall and Wnter he plans on singing sad songs on his happy little ukulele, making drawings, and building the most fantastic Nothing the <a href="http://www.hydeparkart.org/">Hyde Park Art Center</a> has ever not seen. His acheivements are beginning to exceed his wishes.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">All images courtesy of the artist.</span>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-62496680353905178942010-10-20T12:11:00.000-07:002010-10-20T12:32:11.327-07:00Studio Soiree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL88uke8k4I/AAAAAAAAAw0/W93EPU9o8zM/s1600/Chad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL88uke8k4I/AAAAAAAAAw0/W93EPU9o8zM/s200/Chad.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><b><span id="goog_1680607819"></span><span id="goog_1680607820"></span>Chad Kouri</b><br />
<b>Artist & Curator</b><br />
<b>The Post Family</b><br />
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Over the past couple years I have become infatuated with the artist studio and its role in our vastly diverse creative community in Chicago and elsewhere. Some of this obsession can be tracked through <a href="http://thepostfamily.com/">The Post Family</a>’s studio tours. I'm a strong believer in process being part of the product. Not only is it interesting to see how other artists work but it puts the general audience in a better position to start a more informed dialog about the work beyond "Oh my god, I love/hate it!" So you can imagine my excitement when the Studio Chicago theme was announced. In the following two interviews I attempt to shed a little more light on the creative process while asking two artist with drastically different styles and processes about their work flow with only five questions! I know it's a big task, but I have to say I learned a thing or two and was inspired to get down to work after reading. I hope it has the same impact on you. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lugc2eJI/AAAAAAAAAww/z2x4yHScRJE/s1600/nancy-work.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lugc2eJI/AAAAAAAAAww/z2x4yHScRJE/s320/nancy-work.jpeg" width="319" /></a></div><br />
The first is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nancy_Rosen">Nancy Rosen</a>; A Chicago-based painter and stuff-maker focusing mostly on portrait work with dashes of pattern and tons of texture. Nancy has been painting longer than anyone else I know so I assumed that this would be an appropriate place to dig a little deeper into her process and workspace which she has been tweaking for decades. Also, in the spirit of collaboration, I have asked Margot Harrington of <a href="http://www.pitchdesignunion.com/">Pitch Design Union</a> to drop in and ask a few questions as well. Let's dive into a shorthand look at Nancy's wonderful spirit and unwavering dedication to creation.<br />
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Chad Kouri: So you have been in your studio for a while now… how many years? I always have a hard time staying inspired in the same place. Do you feel like the only way you can really get down to work is if you are in a more "permanent" space?<br />
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Nancy Rosen: I've been in my studio for 12 years or so. I LOVE MY STUDIO. I was in another for 6 years. Did I ever tell that wonderful story of my husband, for an anniversary gift, gave me keys to a studio? All mine. The kids will not touch any thing. Everything will be just as I left it if for an hour or 3 weeks. Benny (my youngest son) was 2 years old and I had just started drawing again at the Evanston Art Center.<br />
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INSPIRED... When I gave myself the permission to paint what I loved (people) and not care what anyone else thought, it became an endless volcano of work. So it's not about the space as much as whom I'm painting or what I'm painting or where the painting has led me. I'm not big on change. I like getting up and going to my studio. I love the permanence of my studio; I love the way it evolves. The piles of paintings that grow, shelves filled with treasures I gather (and now, treasures people gather for me). I love the photos of my family. They make me smile. When people come to my studio, that's what they seem to love the most. When my soul sister from Art school came into town and we spent some time there after wandering around for a while she looked at me and said, "Its like being inside your head." Of course I wrote that on the wall along with everything else.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lsYyQBMI/AAAAAAAAAwo/od01oqtV814/s1600/nancy+studio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lsYyQBMI/AAAAAAAAAwo/od01oqtV814/s320/nancy+studio.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Storage in Nancy Rosen's Studio</span></td></tr>
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Margot Harrington: How has your studio practice changed throughout your life? For example, your husband said you stopped painting for several years while your boys were small. What was it like to pick up a brush again and how did you get back into the habit of it?<br />
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NR: Actually I stopped painting in the early 80s and had a business painting fabrics and designing and manufacturing clothing and upholstery fabric. So not making paintings but was certainly painting and making stuff. Ever since I was 5 I've been doing that. I've never stopped. I'm pretty driven that way. it’s what wakes me up in the morning.<br />
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CK: What do you use your studio for? Some people say they just use if for conception of ideas, sometimes it's just the creation of the work. Some say they use it start to finish. I actually really like people in my space while working so the social aspect is really important to me.<br />
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NR: I use my studio. It's my other home. It’s where I work and reinvent myself and, as of recent, it’s become a classroom for others. I some times go to other studios to draw. I'll bring that info back to my studio and work on it until it's done. Could take moments or years, but it does get done. I have to finish what I started, but also work on what came to me in the middle of the night or while walking down the street or perhaps what my model might be talking about. The paintings create a conversation for me and my studio is a place to get back and work on them until the conversation is resolved.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8ltmZDP8I/AAAAAAAAAws/svEuVj7Zmik/s1600/nancy+working.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8ltmZDP8I/AAAAAAAAAws/svEuVj7Zmik/s320/nancy+working.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Nancy Rosen working in her studio</span></td></tr>
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CK: I've recently been thinking about seeking out a mentor for my "fine art" work. I feel like I have hit a spot where I can't go much farther without some expert knowledge on a more regular basis from someone I admire. Someone who can help me set goals and get out of ruts. Can you tell us a little bit about one of your mentors and what kind of impact they had?<br />
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NR: When I started drawing again I took some classes with <a href="http://www.eleanorspiess-ferris.com/">Eleanor Spiess-Ferris</a> (an amazing Chicago artist). I was perfectly happy just drawing with my 2B pencil on my bristle paper but after a bit she would look at me and suggest I experiment with charcoal. I would say I hate charcoal and she would demand that I get some. I ended up loved it. A few weeks later she suggested conte crayon. My responses was something like "oh my god I hate conte crayons” but like a good student I marched right out and bought myself some conte crayons and loved them..............Still use them.<br />
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A great teacher can help you explore and grow. Eleanor could guide me gently, or not so gently, on how to get my work out of my studio and into the world. And then there was “Nancy can you sub my class this Friday?” I really wanted to say "NO WAY!" l was scared to death but managed to fall in love with teaching. Eleanor has been my mentor and friend for some time now and I'm endlessly grateful.<br />
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MH: I think most artists and designers truly feel like there's no other profession they could see themselves doing. Just like a spider spins a web, not because it's beautiful, but because it's all they know, plain and simple. If you had to change professions though, any inkling what you'd do?<br />
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NR: Funny, at the end of the day I feel like I am a factory worker at heart. Although I am driven to helping others. So there it is.<br />
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Nancy has a show up at <a href="http://thepostfamily.com/events/25-more-is-more-nancy-rosen">The Family Room</a> until mid-november. Gallery is appointment only. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lrpm87qI/AAAAAAAAAwk/5MeiWMK4Szg/s1600/pajon-work.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lrpm87qI/AAAAAAAAAwk/5MeiWMK4Szg/s320/pajon-work.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><br />
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The second artist is collage warrior <a href="http://michaelpajon.com/home.html">Michael Pajon</a>. Michael has recently moved from Chicago to New Orleans and in turn has come up with a lot more time for creating. With the chance of city, studio size and everything else in between, I was curious to see the affect its had on his studio practice, materials and finished pieces.<br />
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Chad Kouri: Do you find that the change of city and moving from a large home studio to a much smaller one is affecting the subject manner of your work? Your process? The supplies you use? Even the time you spend in the studio? <br />
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Michael Pajon: The biggest thing affecting the work these days would be the amount of time I have to spend. In Chicago I had a full time job as a studio manager for <a href="http://tonyfitzpatrick.com/">Tony Fitzpatrick</a>. When I moved to New Orleans I had no place to be for any part of the day in particular. I spent many hours bicycling around the city, getting familiar with my new home, exploring and drinking tall boys with my neighbors.<br />
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The smaller space has created a more compact environment, so I'm no longer able to spread out my collage materials like I used to. I feel this has made me more confident and slightly faster with the choices that I make. I have learned to trust my instinct to keep from digging further into my supply and committing to the materials at hand.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lqIoZ5LI/AAAAAAAAAwg/Le0lcVAT4ts/s1600/michael_pajon-new_orleans_studio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lqIoZ5LI/AAAAAAAAAwg/Le0lcVAT4ts/s320/michael_pajon-new_orleans_studio.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Michael Pajon's current studio in New Orleans</span></td></tr>
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CK: I can imagine that since your work involves a lot of appropriated imagery that the change of city had a big impact on your art. What was one of the most unexpected changes in your artwork or process when moving? <br />
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MP: Time, I have been employed here and there, but mostly I have free time to roam. Somehow being in the 3rd busiest port in America becomes part of the work. Watching tugboats and tankers pushing up and down the Mississippi is semi-hypnotic and allows the mind to wander. New Orleans is much older than Chicago in terms of its architecture and roots. The city itself is a sort of collage of Western Europe, particularly Spain and France, the Caribbean, and the culture of the South. Recently I've incorporated a lot of antique portraiture to create tighter individual narratives.<br />
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CK: I've always found it hard to include other mediums in my collage work. Like pencil marks or paint. Do you have any crossover of mediums in your work? Does it go down before or after the cut paper?<br />
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MP: My technique is a little haphazard. I use fountain ink, watercolors, pencil, and paint to manipulate and enhance the collage. It really just depends...some pieces have little to no mark making and some have a lot. I typically find an image that is mostly black and white and decide that to make it fit it will require some color. <br />
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I can't really say whether or not I make more of the marks toward the beginning or the end because I just finished two pieces that had a lot of mark making throughout the process.<br />
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CK: Do you think you would benefit from a studio outside of your living space or do you prefer the in house workspace?<br />
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When I have been printmaking I definitely work better with an outside studio. So much is process oriented that it it really nice to have a few other people working around you. For my other work...I love getting up, making coffee, having my cereal, throwing on some Ghostface and getting into the studio, aka the front room.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lpCrdTtI/AAAAAAAAAwc/aA-fV7ZqAcM/s1600/michael_pajon-chicago_studio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TL8lpCrdTtI/AAAAAAAAAwc/aA-fV7ZqAcM/s320/michael_pajon-chicago_studio.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Michael Pajon's past studio in Chicago</span></td></tr>
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CK: Have you ever done a residency? Do you think that it would be beneficial or a hindrance to your processes?<br />
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MP: That is a great question. I have no idea what the answer is. I have often thought of doing a residency, but unless it was for printmaking of some kind I have no idea what I'd do. I feel as though residencies are a kind of place to work through a creative transition or to simply have set aside time and space with few distractions to make your work. I love my distractions, and would feel a little naked without my shelves of old children's books and bins of matchbooks and postcards. I have a dog now as well, and if Miss Marge the dog can't come, then sorry Charlie.<br />
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Michael Pajon's work will be displayed in <a href="http://www.prospectneworleans.org/">Dan Cameron's Prospect 1.5</a> in New Orleans at <a href="http://lsm.crt.state.la.us/madam.htm">Madame John's Legacy</a> next month through the end of the year. Opening November 6th, 2010.<br />
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<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.longliveanalog.com/">Chad Kouri</a> is a living breathing mobile human being in the great city of Chicago. When not working on commissioned illustration and design work, hand lettering poorly spelled phrases, art directing Proximity magazine, rockin out on found object and collage work – or blog jammin, space touring, curating and high-fivin with <a href="http://thepostfamily.com/">The Post Family</a> crew – he hibernates like the great grizzly. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">All images courtesy of the artists.</span></span></div>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-59697107096546154942010-10-13T09:58:00.000-07:002010-10-13T09:58:07.172-07:00The Studio Is Where You Are<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKzCIp2j9TI/AAAAAAAAAwU/K9ZrnGOUQCo/s1600/DSC00491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKzCIp2j9TI/AAAAAAAAAwU/K9ZrnGOUQCo/s200/DSC00491.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><b>Peter Fagundo<br />
Artist/Educator<br />
School of The Art Institute</b><br />
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When I was in graduate school at SAIC, we were given these studios with no windows, no doors and low fluorescent lighting. They had a feeling of office cubicles and the effect was anxiety producing. I felt sort of naked and nervous. This circumstance became the fuel for much of my work that year. I even used mostly office supplies from the old Horder store across Monroe Street. Yellow legal pad paper and white out were the carbohydrate of my practice. I filled the space with work and then emptied it…twice. By the end of the that year, there was only two pieces of Belgian linen, that fit perfectly out of the wrapper, on the two long walls, a square of cotton duct canvas on the small wall and the floor donned a “rug” made from yellow legal pad paper scotch taped together. Ray Yoshida, my adviser, said on one of our last meetings… “It’s better when you are quiet.”<br />
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Since then my studio has always been in my home; in the basement, the dining room or the pantry… where ever I find myself. An image comes to mind I saw years ago of an aged Sam Francis painting, hunched over the canvas on the floor, in an old pair of sweats and white tube socks. “That’s what I want!” I thought to myself. Then I remember reading somewhere that Pablo Neruda used to disappear during dinner parties, at his house, to sneak a bit of writing in his study, only to reappear, giggling, as if nothing had happened. Where ever I find myself, that’s where the studio is for me. <br />
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At present, I find myself living in Evanston with my wife and three kids. We reside in an old manor house that my wife has spent the last 12 years restoring to perfection. It is beautiful but the only place that feels right to have a studio is in the basement. I used to only make work down here. I used to think that was all one was supposed to do in a studio. I even had fluorescent lighting installed at the beginning. Now I have half fluorescent lighting and half lamp light which is warm and cozy. I work hard but I also read, eat, nap… what ever else we do. One of my favorite studio occurrences lately was a day that my four year old was home sick. He was not feeling well and I was in dire need of some studio time. I tried everything to entertain him and make him feel better but nothing was working. I finally just brought him down to my studio, the place I really wanted to be. “Do what you want.” I said in a salty tone. “I’ve gotta draw today.” He whined and I put him on the little couch I’d found in the alley last year. I put on some Mabel Mercer, took out my drawing things and let him be. He was asleep by the end of the first song. He took a three-hour nap on that little couch. I joined him for the last hour. We both woke up feeling better.<br />
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<a href="http://www.peterfagundo.com/"><b>Peter Fagundo</b></a> lives and works in Evanston, Illinois. He received his BS in Psychology and Fine Art from Regis University, Denver, Colorado in 1997, and his MFA in painting and drawing from the <a href="http://www.saic.edu/">School of the Art Institute of Chicago</a> in 2003 where he was the recipient of the Merit Scholarship. He is a currently a faculty member in the Departments of Contemporary Practices and Painting and Drawing at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago. His work has been exhibited at venues including devening projects + editions, Chicago (where he is represented).<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">All images courtesy of the artist. </span>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-23585490292874284922010-10-06T10:25:00.000-07:002010-10-07T08:22:46.841-07:00Studio Expanse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKyd4_fVd0I/AAAAAAAAAvw/pvUCsU8dbn4/s1600/Isabella%27s+Headband%2800OOO00%29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKyd4_fVd0I/AAAAAAAAAvw/pvUCsU8dbn4/s200/Isabella%27s+Headband%2800OOO00%29.JPG" width="136" /></a></div><b>Alberto Aguilar </b><br />
<b>Professor of Studio Art</b><br />
<b>Harold Washington College</b><br />
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<b>This Is The Introduction </b><br />
I regularly stand in front of a group and sing unscripted verse for three minutes. This is my current trademark introduction to a new class or a lecture. I usually sing about the time as it passes, my fear and anxiety of being in this moment, my hope that something meaningful will come out of it and announce as I begin to gain confidence and feel comfortable in this awkward situation. I enjoy that these works are immaterial and explain themselves in the making. This new medium that I employ gets rid of the middleman. There is no loss of meaning through the materials. The viewer is directly tapped into the thoughts, feelings and revelations involved in my creative process. It is also an icebreaker and instead of painting me the fool it immediately puts us on the same human level.<br />
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<b>Let Go</b><br />
As a young artist, after a late night of painting, I was washing my brushes at the sink and was struck by a deep feeling of loneliness. I accepted this as my lot in life and painted in the seclusion of my studio for many years after. Eventually I began to feel skepticism towards painting, its ability to communicate my ideas and guilt for spending so many hours alone making work. I made my last painting in 2004 after having my fourth child and getting my first full time job teaching Art History but continued to keep a studio which was a shared space with the laundry room. After purchasing a digital camera I began documenting household chores and daily life. The most iconic of these images is one that of me proudly staring at my garage door after completing the duty of painting it. It is titled “Finished Painting”. At this point I decided to let go of my studio.<br />
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Open House</b><br />
Last year I launched a project on facebook to inaugurate my 36th birthday in which I invited over 1000 strangers into my home to have dinner. The idea for this project first came about after two curators requested to pay me a studio visit. Being that I no longer kept a studio I decided that I would have them over and be a great host. Also I set up several domestic monuments in my home for them to look at. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Open House, 2009, Digital image</span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKyd8CSlDvI/AAAAAAAAAv4/QX0oNo0YQZk/s1600/Open+House.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>After this visit the idea of having some sort of art exhibition in my home started to take shape. In the end I realized that it would not involve art but that I would have people over and treat them with great hospitality. After making 1,136 friends on facebook I fearfully sent out invitations that stated all that would be included in the dinner party and how to be considered for it. There would be 36 guests at 6 separate dinners of 6 people. I promised to arrange interesting groups of people. I also promised a six-course dinner and a handmade gift box containing compact versions of all the works I made since letting go of my studio. <br />
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Out of all the invitees, 109 agreed to be considered and 39 made the short list. Upon the arrival of my guests I gave a tour of the house, we ate, I played a soundtrack, we looked through photo albums, we played a board game and I gave henna tattoos. An art writer that attended one of the dinners was upset to find out that I did not have a studio and that we would not be looking at my work that night. At the dinners I wanted to give them a taste of my daily life but I was conscious of creating a strong memory so that even if it were too uneventful they would always remember the night. This was reinforced through the repeated soundtrack of nostalgic songs, the henna tattoos that would stay with them for up to 2 weeks and the handmade gift boxes that they took home with them. Without fail after each night I had great sadness and longed for the company of my guests for several days after the dinner. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Final Dinner, 2010, Digital image</span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Six months after completing this project I asked guest to send me pictures of the current location of the gift box. I purposely asked them not to stage or move the box but to take a picture of wherever it was kept. I received only a few photo responses and although there was a couple that gained prominent places at homes most were shuffled amongst the residue of daily life. <br />
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<b>Domestic Monuments</b><br />
Another aspect of my work is that I make sculptures out of objects in my home. These act as monuments that celebrate everyday life. One great thing about these sculptures is that after they are completed, documented or shown the objects could return to its original function or place. I do not have to find storage for these pieces; they do not have to join the collection of “ The Museum of Decaying Paintings” which currently abides in my mother’s basement. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Double Stuffed Column, 2010, Digital image</span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I make these monuments in the homes of others as well. Once I made some in the home of guy who runs an apartment gallery in his spare bedroom. He gave me the key to come to his apartment while he was at work. Rather than working in the extra bedroom I was compelled to make monuments all over his apartment using his personal belongings. I did this on various visits to his home. At first he thought it was funny but after a while he seemed to get annoyed because I would leave these monuments for him to find, disassemble and return to there original place.<br />
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More recently I did this at the home of an art director in Kansas City. I got her permission and arrived at her home at 8 am. She received me in her nightgown and told me to have at it, that she would continue her sleep in the guest room in order to give me free reign of her home. I made many monuments, documented them, returned the objects to their original place and let myself out before she awoke. I included the photos of these monuments in a show that she co-curated in Kansas City. At the opening reception she told me that she felt extremely honored that I was showing these works made in her home. <br />
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<b>New Mode</b><br />
Some of my first acts of collaboration were in graduate school. Because of my domestic circumstances my time in the studio was limited. I usually arrived at 7am and was out by 4pm which was when most students would just be arriving or warming up. The first thing I would do when I got there is to go through everyone’s studio and shuffle through there personal belongs getting to know his or her visual tendencies. These were collaborations that I had with them by myself. <br />
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I got to know the power of working with others soon after. The first instance was when I made two murals with students in the suburbs of Chicago. Here our concentration on the materials of paint and the goal of finishing a singular work kept us from intimately getting to know one another. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="229" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKyeEbHms1I/AAAAAAAAAwM/v3aJclY3cS0/s320/Chain+Reaction.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Alberto Aguilar with the Outliers, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chain Reaction, 2009, Digital Image</span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Through a residency/ youth mentorship program that I was part of in 2005/06 I got to know my collaborators more in depth. Together with a group of teenagers we explored my ideas while incorporated their interests. In these groups there was fighting, crying, playing, joking, wasting time and sometimes working. I made an effort not to be the authority figure. We saw one another daily and our relationship was more akin to brother and sister. Here our studio was lively and far from lonely, I accepted this as my new mode of working.<br />
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<b>Grande Finale</b><br />
This past summer I was granted a prime space in downtown Chicago for a given time period. I considered using it to spend time making my own work but in the end I decided to open it up to others. From this decision came the first “Center of Multiple Middles”. The Idea behind it was to have an open site where people of diverse background and experience could come exchange ideas, make work and then show it collectively: on top of, butted up against, and all over the space. There would be no curator, no singular voice, no work considered more than the other. The amount of people involved kept growing up until the night of the opening reception.<br />
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The second “Center of Multiple Middles” took place at Harold Washington College. Rather than happening in a one space it took place at various points around the college with the hopes of expanding the viewers line of sight. In the elevator waiting area, on windows of the building’s façade, in my office, in the refrigerator of my office, in display cases, in the reception area of the President’s office and as a scavenger hunt on every floor of the college. All together there were over 20 artists involved. The night of the opening reception we had performances happening in a room adjacent to the main gallery. The audience was split between all the various points of the exhibition. The performance space was crowded and a bit chaotic as people were coming in and out and there were two stages. As my contribution to the performances I sang one of my three-minute songs, which did not turn out as I hoped, but all together we moved with great force.<br />
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</style><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Alexander Cohen, Composite Eyes Surf and Slide, 2010, Office Installation</span></span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Christopher Santiago, Map for the second incarnation of “Center Of Multiple Middles” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">2010, Digital image</span></div></td></tr>
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<a href="http://albertoaguilar.carbonmade.com/"><b>Alberto Aguilar</b></a> is a Professor of Studio Art at <a href="http://hwashington.ccc.edu/">Harold Washington College</a> in downtown Chicago. He is the founder and coordinator of <a href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?v=wall&viewas=0&gid=60989526253">Pedestrian Project</a>, an art initiative dedicated to making art accessible to people from all walks of life. He currently lives on the southwest side of Chicago, on the path of airplanes, near Midway airport. On windy days the airplanes land instead of taking off bringing them fearfully close to his rooftop. In his current work, every aspect of his daily life and exchanges with others are treated as creative acts.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Opening Image: Isa’s Headband (00OOO00), 2008, digital image </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">All images courtesy of the artist. </span>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-14361940285993298872010-09-29T10:14:00.000-07:002010-09-29T10:14:57.276-07:00Lantern Projects: The Collective Studio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNp4Q9tFmI/AAAAAAAAAs4/-iF4Q52q2aw/s1600/3Czd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNp4Q9tFmI/AAAAAAAAAs4/-iF4Q52q2aw/s200/3Czd.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><b>Zach Dodson<br />
Artist, Writer, Designer<br />
Bleached Whale Design</b><br />
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I've never had a proper 'studio', but this summer I have moved in with a bunch of artists and we've begun to build a collaborative effort in a very studio-like space: a temporary gallery and office spot in the Ukrainian Village of Chicago. I thought it might be interesting to examine what we are creating together in the space from the perspectives of the four main folks involved: Caroline Picard, Devin King, Abby Satinsky, and me, Zach Dodosn. This four-part blog, everyone will give their take on what's been happening in the 'summer studio' that has become Lantern Projects.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNtALkqnhI/AAAAAAAAAuI/DqtYDtVeSGo/s1600/CarolinePicard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNtALkqnhI/AAAAAAAAAuI/DqtYDtVeSGo/s200/CarolinePicard.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><b>PART 1: CAROLINE PICARD</b><br />
A Summer of Architectures<br />
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I have always thought of studios as sites of investigation: physical spaces in which one can spread out and examine everything collected over the course of an interest. It is a selfish space, a place intended for indulgence and freedom and fearlessness. For that reason it always felt a little untoward to consider the Green Lantern a personal studio --because facilitating the work of others really only works when the facilitator gives up control. Nevertheless the project has become it's own process of investigation--perhaps especially because in order to give up control of the outcome, one must have a very study administrative structure. There is an art in that structure. An artistic desire to develop a cohesive environment with clear intentions--such that any future activity has the freedom to grow around and through that structure organically. It's one thing for one person to develop that--quite another for a group of people to develop that structure together.<br />
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I always think about the project as an artistic endeavor--particularly now that we are trying to explore a possible reciprocity between a non-profit and for-profit model. The physical space becomes an opportunity to manifest a rather large notion: The goal of this project is to create a new sustainable culture that supports contemporary art practice, while simultaneously building bridges between those different practices.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNp_snY4WI/AAAAAAAAAtE/iKTQmW02D7o/s1600/1Acp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNp_snY4WI/AAAAAAAAAtE/iKTQmW02D7o/s200/1Acp.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNu_UojS-I/AAAAAAAAAug/3fZUH3nfkaM/s1600/1Ccp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNu_UojS-I/AAAAAAAAAug/3fZUH3nfkaM/s200/1Ccp.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>In moving from an apartment to a storefront space in the Ukrianian Villiage that suddenly incorporates not just one person but four regular administrator/brain-stormers, the project itself becomes a collaboration. Between Zach and Abby and Devin and myself, we are all the time working through issues, troubleshooting and of course celebrating aspects of the space. This summer was particualrly interesting because there was so much theoretical sketching going on; sometimes it felt like we were talking about a pipe dream. (Sometimes it still does feel like we are talking about a pipe dream). We met once a week at 2542 W Chicago and tried to plan as best we could the next steps. This included the gallery programming, developing an on-line presence, developing an on-line shopping cart for our forthcoming bookstore, while also meeting with other artists and writers and performers to see what kind of projects we host in the fall. Through a series of long conversations over the summer and into the now, we have snipped and tweaked and pulled our vision into shared focus. Over the course of those conversations, our surrounding environment also changed, going from empty (one visitor suggested we were "squatting in an office") to painted, to furnished to open with artwork and artist talks and screenings.<br />
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While developing our physical and administrative environment, we inadvertently began establishing a working relationship as well. I always feel like relationships develop the same way brains do. In other words where new experiences carve out new pathways in the brain, pathways which are then used again and again, I feel like a similar thing happens when you're hanging out or working with people for the first time: new communication pathways have to be built, styles of relating have to be established in order to solidify a common ground on which jokes and hard work can rely on. I feel like the empty space of our nascent summertime Green Lantern was a studio for our collaboration, as much as it functioned as a space to develop our relationships. Because I feel like studios are essentially private places, places where things develop confidence through risk, so our empty storefront was a place to, simply, spend time together.<br />
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One of my main concentrations was to look for a more permenent space. Over the course of the summer I probably saw between 20 and 30 spaces. Every Wednesday I would give an update. I would also draw out the floorplans of the most interesting possibilities. In those floorplans, we daydreamed collectively, discussing how to prioritize and organize a given (and more or less imaginary) space: Where to put the bookstore? Where the gallery? How many people would we fit in this performance space? In that action too, an action of sketches, we further articulated something cohesive--even though it lacked definite physicality.<br />
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Inviting David Moré into our space was the final step before opening our doors. David was a fifth party--our first guest. He tested the structure we had been building over the preceding three months. And of course there was a really lovely parallel in his studio-oriented project, which resonated in our own process of development.<br />
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--<a href="http://lanternprojects.com/">Caroline Picard</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNxtXLULTI/AAAAAAAAAvA/GGBMzPB7xMw/s1600/AbbySatinsky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNxtXLULTI/AAAAAAAAAvA/GGBMzPB7xMw/s200/AbbySatinsky.jpg" width="135" /></a></div><b>PART 2: ABBY SATINSKY</b><br />
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This was our first project at Green Lantern, Normal Bias, a minor business venture by artist David Moré. From August 21st – September 11, Moré set up a studio in the gallery space and welcoming passers-by to participate in his free service: a portrait studio rendering the customers’ likeness in sound. The finished portraits were documented on audiocassette. To take part, visitors invited to visit the space during the hours of operation and there was a group portrait on the night of the opening. The accompanying exhibition from September 11th through 18th included sound portraits recorded over the month as well as a site-specific installation that utilizes the physical, architectural space as an instrument for an experimental, auditory composition.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNx5eCGPdI/AAAAAAAAAvE/dzu0wnI8hWk/s1600/2Aas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNx5eCGPdI/AAAAAAAAAvE/dzu0wnI8hWk/s320/2Aas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Our thematic exhibitions and artist projects are thought experiments, models for critical and social engagement, poetic ruminations, and interrogations of the creative process from all angles. We hope to be a center for artists’ research, meaning that we highlight the process through which artists’ arrive at their creative ideas, rather than the product of their inquiry. We also support a transdisciplinary and transgressive wandering across contemporary art and its history as well as politics, social history, economics, science, and other bodies of knowledge, to get there. At the same time, we believe in critically investigating what is being produced by artists’ research and asking what marks the difference between art as one’s life “work” and living life creatively everyday. In other words, what do artists know? We hope to welcome many more artists that will use the Green Lantern as an open studio for their investigations and contribute to a public dialogue about the process of making things.<br />
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-- <a href="http://thegreenlantern.org/">Abigail Satinsky</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNyFRMr67I/AAAAAAAAAvM/7zxfaV72azE/s1600/ZachDodson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNyFRMr67I/AAAAAAAAAvM/7zxfaV72azE/s200/ZachDodson.jpg" width="134" /></a></div><b><span id="goog_1226379534"></span><span id="goog_1226379535"></span>PART 3: ZACH DODSON</b><br />
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The idea of a studio is alien to me, I'll admit. The reason being I've never thought of myself as a fine artist. The reason for that being, I don't produce fine art. Graphic design usually falls on the other side on the fence from art, and my education and practice has traditionally had a lot more to do with design than art.<br />
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That being said, I'm thrilled to find myself among artists, in an art space, that could rightfully called a studio. It's a very eclectic version of a studio, and I think stretches the definition, but that's part of what our experiment is about. Plus, there's lots of overlap. And that overlap is a great place for innovation, for all of us. Even though I might be the least involved in the art world of the four of us, I have had a hand in the creation of the look and design collateral of the space in a big way. And collaborating on that has been a lot of fun. We eventually arrived at the idea of a Secret Society, cloaked in symbology. Rather than a closed entity though, we have a Secret Society that's open to the public, with symbols which are easily decipherable. The only bar to admission is showing up and hanging out. Working out the look and logos for the various part of the space was a great design project, and one where I could bring my poor art skills to bear.<br />
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One thing I've learned here though, is that art practice extends to all things. Caroline considers the entire business her art practice. Abby and Bryce have introduced me to the practice of 'Arts Administrators' (though I call them Art Bosses, cause that's easier). Devin tells great jokes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNyLw4_ZiI/AAAAAAAAAvU/d7_awUcrDi0/s1600/3Azd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNyLw4_ZiI/AAAAAAAAAvU/d7_awUcrDi0/s200/3Azd.jpg" width="200" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Figuring out how the various pieces of the puzzle relate to each other, and how they don't has been a long tangled process this summer. We've mashed all the ideas together, we've pulled them apart, and I think, arrived at a very finely balanced structure of really very different sorts of arts organism co-habitating the same space. As the bookstore arm, I feel I'm the least fully realized so far, as we have only one measly shelf of books for sale, in a very unserious way. Devin's performances series have started and Abby and Caroline have worked hard on mounting the art shows. Me, I'm working on an online shopping cart and check-out system for our new independent press bookstore, The Paper Cave, and it's coming great, but I don't have much that's public at the moment. I'm just happy to be in a cave-like, studio-like space drawing weird pictures.<br />
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--<a href="http://bleachedwhale.com/">Zach Dodson</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNyqhgnIoI/AAAAAAAAAvc/DFhTMD2usNg/s1600/DevinKing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNyqhgnIoI/AAAAAAAAAvc/DFhTMD2usNg/s200/DevinKing.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><b>PART 4: DEVIN KING</b><br />
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Most of the work I did this summer in advance of the Corpse Performance Space at the Green Lantern Gallery didn’t need a studio space—meeting people for coffee is always an option and, during the earlier summer months, I tried to have as many planning sessions outside, in the park, with a nice salad or some bread and cheese. Which is to say, since most of the work I was doing this summer was chasing performers and artists and musicians down and trying to talk them into planning a series at our space, I didn’t need a space to show them anyways.<br />
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Well, sort of. By August, it became clear that even though most of the series curators knew the space was going to be last minute, that last minute was arriving and we needed to figure out how things were going to work. I ended up having to cancel some of the larger performances and scale back some of our ideas; four hour readings with jugglers and acrobats (really) became your normal 60 minute three author and discussion after; performers known for working with large piles of dirt were asked if it might be possible to do something in the spring when we were, hopefully, in a larger, more permanent space.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNx5eCGPdI/AAAAAAAAAvE/dzu0wnI8hWk/s1600/2Aas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TKNx5eCGPdI/AAAAAAAAAvE/dzu0wnI8hWk/s320/2Aas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Which isn’t to say that I’m disappointed in what we ended up with—we’ve still got a 9 person improv night planned and some amazing reading and film series. Only that, as with most projects, artistic or otherwise, there’s been editing. Normal, banal editing within or without a studio.<br />
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--<a href="http://thecorpselives.com/">Devin King</a><br />
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<a href="http://bleachedwhale.com/">Zach Dodson</a> is an active member of many different arts communities, forging connections between the worlds of design and literature. He has launched such experiments as <a href="http://www.featherproof.com/Mambo/">Featherproof Books</a>, <a href="http://bleachedwhale.com/">Bleached Whale Design</a>, and <a href="http://showntellshow.com/">The Show N' Tell Show</a>. His hybrid typo/graphic novel, boring boring boring boring boring boring boring, was released under the nom de plume Zach Plague. His Art Direction credits include shelter, Echo, and <a href="http://makemag.com/">MAKE: A Chicago Literary Magazine</a>. His design has appeared in Newcity, Punk Planet, Resonance, TimeOut Chicago, Mule, and Bagazine. His writing has appeared in Monsters & Dust, ACM, Take the Handle, and <a href="http://proximitymagazine.com/">Proximity Magazine</a>. In 2009 he was named to Newcity’s Top 50 Literary Figures in Chicago.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">All Images Courtesy of the Artist </span>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-1034137943738703552010-09-22T12:51:00.000-07:002010-09-23T08:37:53.215-07:00They Do It For Free<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJpURfESUaI/AAAAAAAAAsY/yPZONEWc5kM/s1600/60554_610115233964_194301732_34611509_8081536_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJpURfESUaI/AAAAAAAAAsY/yPZONEWc5kM/s200/60554_610115233964_194301732_34611509_8081536_n.jpg" width="133" /><span id="goog_555272299"></span><span id="goog_555272300"></span></a></div><b>Nicolette Michele Caldwell<br />
Curator<br />
Sixty Inches From Center: <br />
Contemporary Graffiti<br />
C33 Gallery, Columbia College Chicago</b><br />
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These days street art is everywhere. Chicago is my hometown and even though street art does not possess as strong of a cultural presence as it does in other American cities, you will find many talented street artists who choose to live here. The exhibition <i>Sixty Inches From Center: Contemporary Graffiti</i> at Columbia College Chicago’s <a href="http://www.colum.edu/Student_Life/DEPS/">C33 Gallery</a> attempts to foster a meaningful discussion about the importance of street art on the contemporary art stage. <br />
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As a curator, I am constantly looking for new work or for familiar pieces in a variety of Chicago neighborhoods. Sometimes the artwork remains for a while and sometimes it is “buffed” over like the south wall of Boulevard Bikes in Logan Square with work by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/prettydelicious/2127279694/">Goons</a> and Sonny. Street art is a continually growing artistic endeavor on the contemporary art map and has a rich and diverse history beginning with graffiti writing and tagging on subway trains in the late 1970s and early 1980s in New York City. There is a growing community of street and graffiti artists in New York, Los Angeles and Chicago, but there is also a burgeoning presence of street and graffiti artists in online communities. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJpZMI8tlqI/AAAAAAAAAso/8Ei-9ruosqE/s320/hebru+brantley+wicker+park+beach+.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hebru Brantley, acrylic on brick wall, 2008</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJpZMI8tlqI/AAAAAAAAAso/8Ei-9ruosqE/s1600/hebru+brantley+wicker+park+beach+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>These street artists beautify unappealing wall facades with interesting and culturally inspired aesthetics. They hide their identity with an alias, but what should not remain a mystery is the studio practice involved in this discipline. The urban space or ‘urban studio’ that street artists work in provides a unique level of artistic freedom uncommon to other art forms. <br />
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<b>What makes up street art?</b><br />
Street art, elements of traditional graffiti, wheat-pasted posters, stencils, broadsides and ephemera are the most common form of street art in Chicago followed by spray paint, acrylic paint and stickers. You will see many current street artists working with found materials such as wood and other random scraps that make sense for their piece. Another interesting alternative to traditional street art practice is a new method called ‘green graffiti’. There are two approaches that I have come across that include moss graffiti that looks like moss growing on a wall. Moss graffiti is made from specific recipes found online and applied freehand or with a prefabricated stencil. Another material used is “ stenciled mud” and is probably one of the most ephemeral since it is the most susceptible to weather elements.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Jova El Grafista, Dumpster Diving For Materials, 2010</span></td></tr>
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<b>Skill and studio practice</b><br />
Within the last two decades contemporary street art has become widely popular amongst many artists who combine both traditional studio practice and self-taught skills such as “graffiti writing”. Graffiti Writing is comprised of self-designed graphic font, text and symbols. Not all street artists have a background in graffiti writing and not all graffiti writers are practicing street artists. Participating artists in <i>Sixty Inches From Center: Contemporary Graffiti</i> are <a href="http://elgrafista.com/">Jova el Grafista</a>, <a href="http://hebrubrantley.com/">Hebru Brantley</a>, <a href="http://brooksblairgolden.blogspot.com/">Brooks Golden</a> and <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/blutt/">Blutt</a> who all work with a variety of media and uniquely incorporate traditional elements of graffiti style. Like all the artists in the exhibition, they all work in and out of the studio. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Brooks Golden, Installation Wall, Meeting Of Styles, Chicago, Illinois, 2010</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Blutt, Sticker, Possibly 2009/10 </span></td></tr>
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<b>Nothing and everything compares</b><br />
When I look at a piece of artwork I consider both the production and product. This is true with street art as well. Of course, all street art can be appreciated specifically for it’s aesthetic value but after learning more about street art practice I absolutely think it is important for the public to understand the production process. After having discussions on this topic with a few Chicago street artists, it is largely agreed upon that there are certain criteria that are used to critique the production and final product of the work. <br />
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1. Risk absolutely needs to be part of the process. If it seems to easy then many will not accept the work as authentic street art. It is part of the experience of working in the urban environment as a partial studio. Risk demonstrates how solid the artist’s dedication is to their artistic practice and crew who act sort of like a collective. Murals are not street art they are commissioned, legal, public art and created with ease. <br />
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2. It is also important to make the distinction between graffiti and street art as separate disciplines. The line can become blurry but it is helpful to know that street art is planned in advance while graffiti writing is done on the spot. When ‘traditional artists’ showcase a body of work in a gallery they make sure it is their best work and that it is representative of their talent. It is the same as any studio critique – there is bad illustration, bad painting, bad photography and there is bad street art. Likewise, street artists also take pride in the art they incorporate into the urban landscape - not that graffiti writers do not take pride in their work, they just work less preemptively and you can tell because the style typically remains the same. With street art there is much more variety. <br />
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<b>Street art and the growing dialog </b><br />
In conjunction with Chicago Artists Month and the Studio Chicago Project initiative the topic of street art and graffiti art could not be more appropriate. Street Art is not a common debate in academia nor is it incorporated into the contemporary dialog in Chicago. After co-curating <i>Sixty Inches From Center: Contemporary Graffiti</i> with Casey Champion, I was able to become a part of a slowly growing dialog. The main purpose of the exhibition was not necessarily to say, “this is street art” but to showcase street artists, highlight their talent and make the studio process as transparent as possible. My hope is to educate others on this topic and advocate for growing acceptance of street and graffiti art. These artists are contributing an important artistic voice at the contemporary art table in and outside of Chicago.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Image Credit: </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hebru Brantley, acrylic on brick wall, 2008; </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Jova El Grafista, Dumpster Diving For Materials, 2010; Brooks Golden, Installation Wall, Meeting Of Styles, Chicago, Illinois, 2010; Blutt, Sticker, Possibly 2009/1; Video by Cristina Aguirre, student and reporter for "The Loop" at Columbia College Chicago<br />
</span><br />
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<b>Nicolette Michele Caldwell</b> is co-director of <a href="http://sixtyinchesfromcenter.org/">Sixty Inches From Center: Chicago Arts Archive and Collective Project</a>. She is a graduate of <a href="http://www.colum.edu/">Columbia College Chicago</a> who is passionate about increasing awareness of the city’s local artists and organizations. She received her Bachelor’s degree in Art History, specializing in Modern to Contemporary Art and the History of Photography. Caldwell’s post-graduate work has served in the development of grant proposals and fundraising efforts for <a href="http://rootsandculturecac.org/info.htm">Roots and Culture Gallery</a> and as a gallery operations and administrative assistant for the <a href="http://www2.colum.edu/adgallery/index.html">Averill and Bernard Leviton Gallery</a>. Her experiences curating include the 2009 and 2010 student BFA exhibitions and Sixty Inches From Center, an exhibition highlighting Chicago street art. Caldwell has volunteered services to the Poor Farm experiment and is also a lifelong lover and maker of photography.<br />
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</script>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-87675443962429712202010-09-15T10:23:00.000-07:002010-09-15T11:56:54.997-07:00Louise LeBourgeois on Studio, Partnership and Swimming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1l0ghC8I/AAAAAAAAAsI/Jd0Tq_WYzZA/s1600/profile_pic_louise.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1l0ghC8I/AAAAAAAAAsI/Jd0Tq_WYzZA/s200/profile_pic_louise.JPG" width="143" /></a></div><b>Louise LeBourgeoise</b><br />
<b>Artist/Educator</b><br />
<b>Columbia College Chicago</b><br />
<b>Art+Design Department</b><br />
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Where is my studio? It is the physical place where I go to make my paintings, but it is also a psychic space containing memory, experience, and ideas. I bring these mental constructs with me when I walk into my studio. I take them with me when I leave. The studio is a place with walls. And it isn't.<br />
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Painting is an incredibly solitary activity. When I was a younger artist, I thought that painting full time, with very few distractions in my life, was a level of perfection I wanted to achieve. I now know that such isolation is not good for my state of mind, nor is it good for my ability to get work done.<br />
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Paradoxically, the community I create in my life outside of the studio, spending time doing things that seemingly have nothing to do with making art, allows me to become even more creative and productive as an artist. It’s like being a deep-sea diver. When you know there are people waiting for you in a boat on the surface of the water who can pull you back to a place where you can breathe, you become more willing to take risks, to dive deeper and further than you ever have before. The more closely connected I am to other people, the easier it is for me to put in long, solitary hours in my studio.<br />
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I think this is the single most important thing I have ever learned about being an artist.<br />
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The diving metaphor is apt for many reasons. I am a swimmer, and the older I get, the more interested I am in painting water and sky. It’s an image I started working with almost two decades ago when I was an M.F.A. student at Northwestern University and casting about for subject matter onto which I could pin all my aching and almost absurd hopes of becoming a successful artist.<br />
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I wanted to become a good painter. I thought if I were able to paint water, elusive and refractive as it is, in a convincing manner, then I would be able to paint anything. It really wasn’t any more complicated than that.<br />
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But like a dream whose layers of meaning are only revealed over time, the significance of this simple image, and simple intention, has evolved into something entirely different.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1fyAZptI/AAAAAAAAAr4/I5ELXM24Kig/s320/lake1%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Lake</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, oil on panel, 5.5” x 7.5”, 1994</span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1fyAZptI/AAAAAAAAAr4/I5ELXM24Kig/s1600/lake1%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
Here are some snapshots of the relationships, experiences and community that sustain me as a painter.<br />
<br />
1.<br />
For many years, I shared a studio at home with my husband Steven Carrelli www.stevencarrelli.com . We met in 1993 while we were both graduate students at Northwestern. We married in 1995. Our entire lives as working artists has been in partnership with each other.<br />
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It’s a funny thing living with another artist. It’s like hearing the repetitive running monologue of your own obsessive/creative mind come out of someone else’s mouth. Here is a video interview of Steve with Columbia College’s Elizabeth Burke-Dain that illustrates perfectly what I’m talking about:<br />
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This is exactly the kind of thing we listen to from each other almost every day, these random thoughts and doubts. It doesn’t make sense to try to turn it into conversation. That can have doomed consequences. We only critique each other's work when asked.<br />
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Steve and I bought our condominium in Rogers Park in 1998. Until this past January, we shared the 400 square foot living room as our studio.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1Yq8yONI/AAAAAAAAAro/YdeAysy6Skw/s1600/IMG_8037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1Yq8yONI/AAAAAAAAAro/YdeAysy6Skw/s320/IMG_8037.JPG" /></a></div><br />
This worked well for all the years we both made intimate, face-sized paintings. Then Steve began to work on much larger drawings and last year I was also struck by a need to work much bigger. I ordered two 46” x 46” panels.<br />
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I quickly realized I couldn’t work the way I was accustomed to in the studio I shared with Steve. It wasn’t practical for me to move bulky panels around in the same space where he had set up intricate still lives, and neither of us wanted to risk my spattering paint onto his carefully rendered drawings.<br />
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I found a new studio at the <a href="http://www.greenleafartcenter.com/index.html">Greenleaf Art Center,</a> a five-minute walk from our front door. Now that I paint elsewhere, it's changed our interaction with each other.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1WasAw0I/AAAAAAAAArg/VZdWSg7bhNU/s1600/IMG_6957_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1WasAw0I/AAAAAAAAArg/VZdWSg7bhNU/s320/IMG_6957_2.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Many years ago, we worked on our first collaborative drawing. We did a few more over time. Now that we don't share the same studio, we both have more motivation to do these drawings together. One of us starts, and we pass it off to the other in turns until it’s done. These drawings are weirder, and the outcome less foreseen, than anything either of us would do on our own.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD08stp3eI/AAAAAAAAAqY/-I7ANpKBXG8/s320/3louisesteve_untitled_2010.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Untitled</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">, graphite on paper, 15.75” x 9.5”, 2010</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD03b0f-TI/AAAAAAAAAqQ/yIgtWnhqb0U/s320/2louisesteve_untitled_2010.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><i>Untitled</i>, graphite on paper, 16.5” x 10.5”, 2010</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD03b0f-TI/AAAAAAAAAqQ/yIgtWnhqb0U/s1600/2louisesteve_untitled_2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD08stp3eI/AAAAAAAAAqY/-I7ANpKBXG8/s1600/3louisesteve_untitled_2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD01YOB2fI/AAAAAAAAAqI/DTv2hyIT6nw/s320/1louiseseteve_untitled_2010.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Untitled,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"> graphite on paper, 14.5” x 11.5”, 2010, in progress</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD01YOB2fI/AAAAAAAAAqI/DTv2hyIT6nw/s1600/1louiseseteve_untitled_2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
2.<br />
I have a group of friends who swim at Promontory Point in Hyde Park at dawn in the summer and early fall. I am not naturally an early morning person, but it’s such a transformative experience, with such friendly people, for such a short window of time each year, that I make the effort to go two or three times a week.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1dlyO8RI/AAAAAAAAArw/JYXqGKzHgzE/s1600/IMG_9217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1dlyO8RI/AAAAAAAAArw/JYXqGKzHgzE/s320/IMG_9217.JPG" /></a></div><br />
It’s like swimming in one of my paintings. Or conversely, it is a visceral experience that keeps me in touch with what I need to know to make the paintings I make.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1QtsQEHI/AAAAAAAAArQ/Y5UuAdzyb3w/s1600/IMG_6881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1QtsQEHI/AAAAAAAAArQ/Y5UuAdzyb3w/s320/IMG_6881.JPG" /></a></div><br />
In late summer, it is still dark when my alarm goes off at 5am. Going out into the world before daybreak spooks me. Lake Michigan spooks me, for good reason. It’s a powerful body of water. Twice in my life I’ve been truly frightened by its tremendous force, and both times I hustled myself back onto land as quickly as I could.<br />
<br />
When we get into the water around 6am in late August or early September, the sky is a dilute gray and the sun isn’t up yet. Sometimes the water is crazy cold, in the low to mid 50’s. Over the years, I’ve learned to tolerate cold water. Like any difficult skill, you can train yourself to do it if you are motivated enough.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1Tm1-eMI/AAAAAAAAArY/RuBB_RKywvE/s1600/IMG_6913-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1Tm1-eMI/AAAAAAAAArY/RuBB_RKywvE/s320/IMG_6913-1.JPG" /></a></div><br />
It is true urban wilderness. The lake tells you how far and how long you can swim and it is in our interest to listen carefully. Our lives depend on it. My swimming friend Grace Tsiang wrote an article for the <a href="http://www.usms.org/articles/articledisplay.php?a=268">U.S. Masters Swimming</a> website about one particularly challenging swim last summer.<br />
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Swimming out into the lake and watching the pink sun rise over the horizon is worth all the exertion of an early morning swim. It is as if you’re watching all that spookiness dissolve into benign reality.<br />
<br />
3.<br />
For two weeks in June this year, I participated in the BAU Institute’s artist residency program in Otranto, Italy. There were about twelve to fifteen artists while I was there, the numbers fluctuating as people arrived and left. We all had our studios on the top floor of Otranto’s 15th century castle, which has a vast terrace overlooking the Adriatic Sea towards Albania. I could step outside my studio door and actually see water and sky.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1J6YcaoI/AAAAAAAAAq4/qJWenXFSgiI/s1600/IMG_5527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1J6YcaoI/AAAAAAAAAq4/qJWenXFSgiI/s320/IMG_5527.JPG" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1MIIv3AI/AAAAAAAAArA/-WUPA3qkI6E/s1600/IMG_5561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1MIIv3AI/AAAAAAAAArA/-WUPA3qkI6E/s320/IMG_5561.JPG" /></a></div><br />
During a typical day I worked for six or seven hours with pencils, erasers and paper. The simplicity of drawing was perfect for this trip, particularly since the castle and our studios were closed from 1 to 3 in the afternoon. There was no need to clean up in the middle of the day or at the end.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1OZ1ZAwI/AAAAAAAAArI/8P7yu_gEPUE/s1600/IMG_5595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1OZ1ZAwI/AAAAAAAAArI/8P7yu_gEPUE/s320/IMG_5595.JPG" /></a></div><br />
I swam almost everyday, the warm salt water a pleasant change from my chilly swims in Lake Michigan. One day the water was extremely choppy. I treaded water and could see the quick instant of sharp pointed peaks at the top of each wave. I decided to make a drawing of that.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1in__MkI/AAAAAAAAAsA/8eG_pYE7LUY/s320/otranto0625_26_27_10_small%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><i>Water, Otranto #7</i>, graphite on paper, 11” x 14”, 2010</span></span></td></tr>
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I completed <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=189327&id=743953442&l=1ccf693db3">seven 11” x 14” graphite drawings</a> of water and sky while I was there.<br />
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4.<br />
I have vivid memories of painting when I was in nursery school. I would stand at the easel, load my brush with a bright color and slather it onto the paper. Then I’d dip the brush into another color and slide it into the first, noticing how the colors merged and blended. I’d bring home large pieces of paper that could barely support all the paint I’d layer onto it. My mother would listen to me as I gave elaborate explanations of what each painting meant. I don’t recall ever painting any thing, although I probably did. I do remember seeing what the other kids painted— people, flowers, fire trucks, the sun. I felt wistful about it, liking what I saw, but not wanting to do the same thing. I was much more interested in color and the physical sensation of messing around with paint.<br />
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Now that I am working on much larger panels, the way I paint now is beginning to feel very much like the way I painted when I was very young.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1G9gPHGI/AAAAAAAAAqw/7kcQaTqrpIs/s320/430%2Bwater_small.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: 'times new roman',fantasy;"><i><span style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Water #430</span></span></span></i><span style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">, Oil on Panel, 46” x 46”, 2010</span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1CH2nh7I/AAAAAAAAAqg/f0u8osnyu4c/s320/420_water_small%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Water #420, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Oil on Panel, 46” x 46”, 2010</span></span></span></span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1E3xxbYI/AAAAAAAAAqo/OgB9D3_d4pk/s320/423_water_small%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Water #423, </span></span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Oil on Panel, 46” x 46”, 2010</span></span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1CH2nh7I/AAAAAAAAAqg/f0u8osnyu4c/s1600/420_water_small%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1E3xxbYI/AAAAAAAAAqo/OgB9D3_d4pk/s1600/423_water_small%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TJD1G9gPHGI/AAAAAAAAAqw/7kcQaTqrpIs/s1600/430%2Bwater_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>I have worked with water and sky imagery for many years now, inspired by Lake Michigan and the conundrum that the horizon line presents: a straight, visible line that actually describes the invisible curve of our planet. Although none of these thoughts are explicit in the drawings and paintings I produce, my fascination with the illusion of a sharp divide where none actually exists is what drives me to create such labor-intensive images of very simple compositions.<br />
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<a href="http://www.louiselebourgeois.com/">Louise LeBourgeois</a> swims in Lake Michigan (and other places) and teaches painting and drawing in the Art + Design Department at Columbia College Chicago. She is currently exhibiting her work in the “Imagine Everywhere” show at <a href="http://www2.colum.edu/adgallery/">Columbia College’s A + D gallery</a>.<br />
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She graduated with a B.S in Art from the University of Wisconsin/Madison, a B.F.A from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and an M.F.A from Northwestern University. She and her husband <a href="http://www.stevencarrelli.com/">Steven Carrelli</a> will both have one person shows at <a href="http://www.packergallery.com/">Packer Schopf Gallery</a> in Chicago in November.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Images Courtesy of the Artist</span>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-18620117642141161682010-09-13T05:17:00.000-07:002010-09-13T05:17:16.757-07:00Still Action<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TI4U54gBNgI/AAAAAAAAApo/orNVcnWb2Pc/s1600/libby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TI4U54gBNgI/AAAAAAAAApo/orNVcnWb2Pc/s200/libby.jpg" width="165" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TI4U9rZq6EI/AAAAAAAAApw/1MHPadn6-B0/s1600/elissa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TI4U9rZq6EI/AAAAAAAAApw/1MHPadn6-B0/s200/elissa.jpg" width="179" /></a></div><b>Elissa Papendick and Libby O’Bryan, co-curators of “Still Action”</b><br />
<b>On view at SAIC’s Sullivan Galleries through October 2</b><br />
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“Still Action” began with a shared interest in the artists’ process: the increasing prevalence of artists engaging in a practice of slow-, craft-, and process-based work. We wondered, what if this trend could shift from the maker to the viewer, or participant? Our question came from an intrigue in how the social and political shift of our culture has affected these art practices and what potential it has to influence its audience. We sought work for a fall exhibition in SAIC’s Sullivan Galleries that would challenge these ideas.<br />
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We were invited to participate in SAIC’s “Summer Studio,” a residency project at the Sullivan Galleries, to engage our curatorial process as studio practice. Embracing this opportunity of time and space, the six-week residency allowed for an intense period of research and interpretation of the concept that sparked our initial thoughts for this exhibition: still action – an idea introduced by anthropologist Nadia Seremetakis.<br />
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In her book Senses Still, Seremetakis explores an “anthropology of the senses,” privileging sensorial engagements of the everyday. Through stillness, the imperceptible becomes perceptible, allowing dismissed modes of understanding (partly resulting from fragmentation of labor and commoditization of goods) to be realized. In stillness is movement.<br />
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In order to broaden these ideas, challenge our perspective, and ultimately find artists to participate in our exhibition, we held an open call for conversations during “Summer Studio.” Through a process of unfolding, the printed invitation to participate revealed a brief summation of the still act and asked “What are still acts?” and “How can artists engage their viewer in still action? Close to forty artists, art historians, and art administrators from Chicago and beyond responded to our call. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TI4VR5MQLXI/AAAAAAAAAp4/OqR_RhMmJeg/s1600/IMG_0012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TI4VR5MQLXI/AAAAAAAAAp4/OqR_RhMmJeg/s320/IMG_0012.JPG" /></a></div><br />
With a full schedule of discussions, we considered how this curatorial process would take form during “Summer Studio”? How would we occupy the studio space during our residency? We felt the following were essential:<br />
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1) To embrace the shared, open studio environment of “Summer Studio” which would be filled with artists and administrators with whom we could visually present and share ideas. <br />
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2) To create an intimate space for private conversations which would engage and comfort our guests.<br />
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3) Ultimately, to embrace the duality of public and private – of making and thinking – of collaboration and independence.<br />
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In the way we wanted our concept to develop and expand, we wanted our studio space to mimic this process – much like the intricate unfolding required by our printed invitation. We presented this idea to architect Brandon Pass and he designed and built – along with Nick Bastis, our unfolding studio structure. A ten-inch thick suspended plywood “wall” deploys into a “Murphy bed” desk with storage and pin board on the public side. The wall hinges toward the gallery walls to delineate the conversation space with coat closet, small table, and access to folding chairs.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TI4VZQZJ2xI/AAAAAAAAAqA/SF9oHKrl2fo/s1600/StillAction_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TI4VZQZJ2xI/AAAAAAAAAqA/SF9oHKrl2fo/s320/StillAction_1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
When a guest arrived at our studio, the structure was closed. We then asked the guest to assist in the labor of deployment; we thought this would be as fun for the guest as it had been for us! We learned from our guests that this aided in their transition into the present experience. Also, the investment of creating a stimulating and purposeful studio instilled our work with intention and integrity, and therefore, sincerity in the invitation for conversation. From this we learned the value of creating a thoughtful, enjoyable experience within the studio – for your collaborators, guests, and yourself – and how your studio can reflect and nurture the nature of your work.<br />
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We wanted to pursue an unconventional curatorial model, so we created an unconventional office. We wanted guests to feel comfortable, open and present, so we nestled them in with tea and treats. This physical environment was vital to our process. It gave the process a visual expression, and inspired interesting and often pleasantly unexpected reactions; it formed a personality for the work. <br />
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<b>Elissa Papendick </b>is currently pursuing a dual MA in Modern Art History, Theory & Criticism and Arts Administration & Policy at SAIC, after receiving a BA in Environmental Studies and Art History from Oberlin College. Elissa continues to explore the role artists play in affecting positive environmental change, including creative remedies for polluted sites and strategies for urban agriculture. Elissa has worked with The Chicago Park District, The Joan Flasch Artists’ Collection, The Headlands Center for the Arts, and Greenmuseum.org in curatorial and administrative positions.<br />
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<b>Libby O'Bryan,</b> a native mid-westerner, has returned to Chicago following a career in New York City's fashion industry. She recently received her BFA from SAIC, where she focused her studies in the Fiber & Material Studies and Performance departments. Libby has served as Project Manager for “Local Industry” during Anne Wilson: Wind/Rewind/Weave at the Knoxville Museum of Art (Knoxville, TN) as well as Curatorial Assistant for Shannon Stratton and Judith Leeman with Gestures of Resistance at The Museum of Modern Craft (Portland, OR). She has exhibited work in New Blood III at Chicago Cultural Center, The Breathing House in Minneapolis, Ano Viejo at Tom Robbins Gallery and She went back to where she began . . . at The Attic.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Images Courtesy of the Artists</span><br />
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<b>Artist In Residence</b><br />
<b>School of the Art Institute </b><br />
<b>Summer Studios</b><br />
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In July I participated in <a href="http://www.studiochicago.org/summer-studio/">Summer Studio</a> at The Sullivan Galleries, sharing an open studio with a dozen artists and at least as many different approaches to the idea of a studio practice. In the weeks following, I’ve been reading, <a href="http://badatsports.com/2010/art21blog-interviews-mary-jane-jacob-and-michelle-grabner-about-saics-summer-studio/">The Studio Reader,</a> and enjoying the diverse tapestry of studio descriptions compiled within it. Inevitably, this led to personal observations of my own studio habits, and models for working in the nine cities that I’ve maintained a studio at various points in the past twelve years. My practice usually looks back in order to move forward, gathering an index of images, attitudes, and production through a determinedly assemblage method of research and practice of looking, analyzing and categorizing. <br />
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For the summer, I committed to memory a black and white, scanned catalogue image of a geometric sculpture made by Burgoyne Diller in 1943. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the image I had seen was oriented sideways, within a scanned catalogue of images oriented vertically. By the time I realized the error in my perception of Third Theme Construction, opinions had already formed in my mind’s memory map and I had grown attached to the shallow depth provided by the side view. Which side? I rescanned the faded Xerox I’d held onto, and flipped the image, re-emphasizing the distance between the page and the space it contained. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TIer-zLy3oI/AAAAAAAAApQ/zWLzDZxPsuo/s1600/Burgoyne_Diller_Sculpture_Image_sm_vers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TIer-zLy3oI/AAAAAAAAApQ/zWLzDZxPsuo/s320/Burgoyne_Diller_Sculpture_Image_sm_vers.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div><b><i>Third Theme Construction III</i></b></div><div><i>xerox print 2010</i></div></td></tr>
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Diller was a founding member of the American Abstract Artists, and the head of The Mural Division of <a href="http://www.theartstory.org/org-wpa.htm">The WPA/Federal Art Project</a>. In 1936 he commissioned little known abstract painters to create nonobjective murals that were intended for public spaces of transience, gathering, and leisure in the Williamsburg Housing Projects.<br />
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In time, the maintenance and protection of these public in between spaces diminished and the murals were covered over, and disregarded until their recent restoration and exhibition at <a href="http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/">The Brooklyn Museum</a>. I draw on the potentially overused term in between to describe a type of time spent. Neither completely engaged in work, nor leisure, these spaces were multi-use, occupying visitors during brief durations of time spent daydreaming, having a cigarette, or chatting with a coworker. This time spent in proximity of the murals was neither fully subconscious nor fully conscious and as a result, the mind was able to wander, dwell, skip ahead and fall behind. I have an Eames chair in my studio on wheels, which serves as a vehicle for this same sort of in between time in my own practice and I began to wonder if, and what types of seating were originally present in view of the murals. The space between the viewer and the mural seems visually aligned with the shallow depth of field created by the sculpture Third Theme Construction, at least when viewed in black and white, on its side. I began to reference this shallow space visually in the gestures of simple objects at hand. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TIesKAbbJiI/AAAAAAAAApY/5zgTZB8QcGY/s1600/hands_2_3_final_sm_vers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TIesKAbbJiI/AAAAAAAAApY/5zgTZB8QcGY/s320/hands_2_3_final_sm_vers.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div><b><i>Third Theme Construction V</i></b></div><div><i>inkjet print 2010</i></div></td></tr>
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I wonder about the specifics of the studios used by the artists commissioned to create the Williamsburg murals. By indexing the shapes found repeated between several of the murals, I imagine a series of studio visits and visual discussions happening between the artists during production. These fantasies are based in part upon my own desire to work amidst a community of individuals engaged in the lexicon of visual culture today. These visual overlaps are comforting, as if reassuring me that on some level we do have shared perspectives, albeit across our oceans of difference.<br />
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The formation of <a href="http://www.americanabstractartists.org/">The American Abstract Artists (AAA) Group</a> fascinates me as a community effort to draw attention to a shared way of seeing and interpreting, not previously acknowledged through American exhibitions. Indeed, it was Diller’s support for the group that lent it credibility in those early years; a brave move for a federal employee during the latter part of the Great Depression. A year after he commissioned the murals, seven members of AAA Group wrote a letter to the Art Editor at The New York Times, which was published on August 8, 1937. The letter was signed by; Hananiah Harari, Jan Matulka, Herzl Emanuel, Byron Browne, Leo Lances, Rosalind Bengelsdorf, and George McNeil. These artists were repositioning themselves in response to statements made by the AAA Group, of which they were all continuing members. <br />
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Using the following paragraph from The New York Times letter as a grounding text concerning my own practice, I started a series of single session sculptures, which attempted to index the reoccurring shapes found within the Williamsburg murals: <br />
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<blockquote>It is our very definite belief that abstract art forms are not separated from life, but on the contrary are great realities, manifestations of a search into the world about one’s self, having basis in living actuality, made by artists who walk the earth, who see colors (which are realities), squares (which are realities, not some spiritual mystery), tactile surfaces, resistant materials, movement. The abstract work of an artist who is not conscious of or is contemptuous of the world about him is different from the abstract work of an artist who identifies himself with life and seeks generative force from its realities. <br />
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– excerpt from Letter to Art Editor at New York Times, August 8, 1937</blockquote><br />
Working in clay, a material I had little prior knowledge of, I rolled out slabs, cut out the discrete shapes seen in the murals, and then draped the leftover, remaining slab in a single gesture fold. I found that these intimate gestures carried the connective force that the murals brought to viewers’ physical awareness and symbolic relationships to other works in the body’s visual vicinity.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TIerIVXT72I/AAAAAAAAApI/P6g-UraivC8/s1600/single_session_sculptures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TIerIVXT72I/AAAAAAAAApI/P6g-UraivC8/s320/single_session_sculptures.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div><i><b>Single Session Sculptures</b></i></div><div><i>clay and steel (view of six, from larger series)</i></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<a href="http://shaneaslanselzer.com/home.html">Shane Aslan Selzer</a> is an artist based in Brooklyn, NY. Her work has been exhibited internationally in venues such as <a href="http://ps1.org/">P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center</a>, <a href="http://www.jcal.org/visual_arts/JamaicaFlux.html">Jamaica Flux</a> in Queens and <a href="http://www.bagfactoryart.org.za/">The Bag Factory</a> in Johannesburg. She teaches a contemporary art seminar for graduate students at <a href="http://www.albany.edu/">The University at Albany</a> and is currently organizing a symposium based on experiences of FAILURE.<br />
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<i>All Images Courtesy of the Artist</i>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-80157814808646660702010-09-01T10:46:00.000-07:002010-09-01T10:46:43.816-07:00The Mind In The Body: Thoughts On A Conceptually Oriented Material Practice & The Studio of Clayton Merrell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TH6M-EMCdNI/AAAAAAAAApA/5Q7YgdOlBRQ/s1600/adam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TH6M-EMCdNI/AAAAAAAAApA/5Q7YgdOlBRQ/s200/adam.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><b>Adam Grossi<br />
Artist</b><br />
<b>Ground Floor Exhibition at Hyde Park Art Center</b><br />
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I received a fantastic undergraduate art education from Carnegie Mellon University (CMU) in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. CMU was a relatively forward-thinking institution, rather agile on its pedagogical feet considering its size and history, when it transitioned its traditional studio arts program into a more conceptually oriented studio program in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s. By the time I arrived as a contemporary-art-ignorant first-year student in 1999, the undergraduate curriculum was well established. Traditional media courses like “2D Media Studio” were (and are) requirements alongside courses called “Concept Studios” which are designed to introduce young artists to the idea of thinking about art as a discipline in its own right. <br />
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It is not without difficulty that I developed and sustained a focus on painting in this environment. My commitment to the disciplines of painting and drawing had little to do with any judgment on my part of their perceived relevance in the artistic discourse, nor was my continued interest in these traditional forms some kind of implicit protest against newer models of practice; in fact I was incredibly taken (and still am) by video, performance, and various forms of social practice that were emerging within the school at that time.<br />
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The difficulty I experienced was an internal one: while the curriculum had me parallel processing material-based and conceptual practices, I was having a hell of a time synthesizing them in my third and fourth years of study. Painting, in particular, felt just about impossible to engage with, event though on some other level I desperately wanted to continue painting. Of the traditional disciplines, painting is probably the quickest to wilt under intense exposure to flippantly applied Marxist economic critique. The cognitive dissonance I experienced while absorbing eloquent lectures on critical art theory and concomitantly observing the powerful possibilities arising out of my own art-object-producing studio practice was paralyzing. In a sense, my body wanted to paint but my mind would not let me. <br />
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It was at this point in my development that the artist Clayton Merrell became an invaluable guide, resource, and example. Clayton is a painter and professor at Carnegie Mellon, and I credit him with providing a formative example for myself and other students of a materially based conceptual artist. In his studio classes, painting was not defended from conceptual practices; it was just another form of conceptual practice, one that relied on thinking through materials in a particular way. Of equal importance was his understanding that the intellectual or theoretical realm of painting involved the theory of painting but was not confined to it; that paintings have subjects beyond their own navels, and that perhaps painting is a discipline uniquely suited to grappling with certain concerns in the realms of representation and the production of cultural meaning. His own work is absorbed in the nature of landscape, both its construction and perceived appreciation, and he was always working on a couple paintings in his on-campus office/studio that students could have the privilege of seeing in person as they met with him to discuss their own work. I developed an appreciation for the clarity and geometry of his paintings, and to this day, some ten years later, I still find my own evolving painting practice to be heavily indebted to my admiration of his methods.<br />
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In March of 2009 I had the opportunity to visit Clayton’s home studio for the first time, and after years of absorbing his paintings it was a revelation to see how he cultivates the site in which they are produced. Over the course of our conversation Clayton was generous enough to allow me to photograph anything that interested me. If a conceptual painting practice is a form of thinking through materials then it follows, as these photos demonstrate, that a conceptual painter’s studio is an arrangement of materials and space that can ably encourage the body and stimulate the mind.<br />
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“I use the simplified and codified languages of landscape painting and mapping as means to examine context and world-view in general. The bewildering multiplicity of the natural world is equaled by the multiplicity of explanations and systems (scientific, pictorial, psychological, etc.) which purport to represent the world. These systems are interesting to me largely by virtue of what they omit, and what those omissions reveal. So, in a sense, landscape is my medium because its unassuming quietness is a kind of transparency through which structural differences and subtle systemic shifts can be more clearly apprehended.”<br />
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--Clayton Merrell<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Clayton’s studio is a two-level house-like building that sits on the steep slope of his backyard. He shares the studio with his wife, Valerie, who is a ceramicist.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Valerie’s workspace is the first area of the building, and without knowing much about her work, it’s already apparent the influence of sharing space with her has on Clayton’s practice. From her materials and works in progress I deduce that Valerie is forming curvilinear vessels and covering them with mineral glazes, which can only further ignite Clayton’s fascinations with pigments and non-flat pictorial surfaces.<br />
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Here’s Clayton standing in front of a few of his paintings in progress. The photo is taken from the second floor, and you can see the openness of the space allows for a multitude of angles from which to view the work, which must be helpful in exploring the different geometries and perspective shifts he employs.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TH6F9-bY0VI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/q1oa9l_TaLQ/s1600/Photo-05-PaintingsWall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TH6F9-bY0VI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/q1oa9l_TaLQ/s320/Photo-05-PaintingsWall.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
The paintings occupy available space, and at the same time, the form of the space seems to encourage some of the spatial distortions in the work. At left, a sky seems to fold in on itself, and on the right, a horizon line is mirrored along the central axis of the canvas. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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On the second floor we have a kind of relaxation area, for reading or conversing. Hanging on the opposite wall are finished works that straddle sculpture and painting; the shiny golden areas are actually hand-carved wood that is painted with gold leaf. As we get to talking, it turns out that Clayton has also carved the table that sits in the middle of the chairs.<br />
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A bench he’d been carving. I had seen the carved paintings in a gallery, but seeing the carved furniture reframed my understanding of the paintings; it now seems like the carving may have been initially peripheral to his practice, possibly as a form of productive procrastination (we’ve all got those), that then worked its way in the actual paintings.<br />
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Smaller paintings, studies, and works on paper hanging in close proximity. The small works on paper at right look like they may have been cut down from larger paintings and repainted, always an incredible advantage to using paper. Evidence of sanding is apparent on the two panels, presumably functioning as a way to reclaim the surface after some kind of failure, but also serving as a texture and method of application as the painting is reconstituted. At bottom left is an actual map adhered to paper and embellished with painted icons.<br />
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Intricate assortments of collected odds and ends, variously categorized and uncategorized, occupy several tables in the back of the second floor. This area looks to be designated for tinkering. I see that some spherical forms are painted, so they must have served at some point as research for other works. I’m not sure if the beakers are interesting to Clayton as objects or if they are tools. I know he mixes his own pigments and maintains an interest in alchemy (which is, essentially, what painting is) so they could function as both. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>More of Clayton’s work can be seen on his website: <a href="http://artscool.cfa.cmu.edu/%7Emerrell/">http://artscool.cfa.cmu.edu/~merrell/</a> <br />
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<i><a href="http://www.adamgrossi.com/">Adam Grossi</a> is an artist who relies heavily on images and words, which usually take shape as paintings and texts, though occasionally become other things. He hails from Reston, Virginia and is nearly 30 years old at the time of this writing. Adam received his MFA from the University of Illinois at Chicago in 2009 and five of his recent paintings are currently on exhibition at the Hyde Park Art Center as part of the show "Ground Floor." He lives and works in Chicago. </i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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Artist, Educator</b><br />
<b>Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA), Chicago </b><br />
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You go there for 10 hours a day, sometimes 12. You stare at the project, thinking with a strained look, interrupted only by phone calls from important friends who have brilliant insights on your work. You wear very scruffy clothing, but you’ve been working this look and people know you’re covered in a thin crust because of the intense schedule of painting and building to which you are a faithful acolyte. <br />
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You have a pile of drawings scattered in the corner in a tornado of angst. One day, perhaps, a true connoisseur will pick one up from the pile, the best one. You keep creating, and are rediscovered from time to time. You stay there late, exhausted. You bring beer. <br />
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I’m not sure where this image of the artist’s life came from, but this is the vision I sustained even as I exited undergraduate studio life and moved forward. Graduate school modulated this image, but I must have tucked it into some deep brain recesses, because it comes back to haunt my idea of what a studio practice should look like. Today I look out onto my garden-surrounded porch and view a sea urchin sculpture explosion on the table, covered in gesso and black paint, drying from the night before. There are oversized penguin drawings on the dining room table, surrounded by feather pieces that my cats have been trying to conquer for weeks. <br />
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A few miles south of here in a hot industrial space, there’s a mass of pink foam chunks surrounded by paper slices, with DJ black lights and skeleton chandeliers balanced around the moat of scraps. Things are messy. And studio time rarely comes in those beautiful 12-hour cascades of productivity. I clean things up and have a sort of homeostasis for the space during visits and open studios, but a ragged spillover in terms of time and space is my happy reality. <br />
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To help question my original ideal studio universe, I did some surveying-the-choir research with the following post on Facebook: <br />
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<blockquote>hello artists -- what does your studio practice really look like? How many hours, all at home, all away from home, are you messy like me?</blockquote><br />
Yes, I went looking for a mess. And I heard from Darrell Roberts with photos right away, showing the overflowing visual splendor of his space.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/THVDV6hg2dI/AAAAAAAAAnY/_2yb_lAL8es/s1600/Darrell_Roberts_Studio_PhotoCredit_Arno_Mayorga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/THVDV6hg2dI/AAAAAAAAAnY/_2yb_lAL8es/s320/Darrell_Roberts_Studio_PhotoCredit_Arno_Mayorga.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/THVDYdo-6dI/AAAAAAAAAng/uNs1MevajYg/s1600/Darrell_Roberts_Studio_PhotoCredit_Darrell_Roberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/THVDYdo-6dI/AAAAAAAAAng/uNs1MevajYg/s320/Darrell_Roberts_Studio_PhotoCredit_Darrell_Roberts.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Somewhere in my striving for sustained professional practice I had decided that the studio should be a symphony of clarity and purpose. When I stepped into Darrell’s space and saw a big pile of pencils and chalk flowing over onto a stack of papers, I felt like I was home. Now when things start to get entropic in my space I think about Darrell’s joyful and productive way of working, stop in my tracks, and snap a picture on my phone to celebrate it. <br />
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While Darrell’s practice has a specific site, he travels his studio-at-large fluidly and immerses himself in making, viewing, and teaching at intervals. Which brings up the issue of time. Recently when poet Dan Godston asked me to participate in a panel discussion on the intersection of writing and visual arts practices in Chicago, our conversation about space quickly became an analysis of time: the idea of the studio needing to occupy a space of any sort was tossed out, with time being set as the determining dimension of artistic practice. While I need to produce and stage work with an understanding of how it will meet its audience in space, the emphasis on time stuck with me. <br />
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I’m reminded of this turn in our conversation as I type furiously, waiting for sea urchins to dry. In my case, an effort to find the perfect spatial situation for artmaking was a detour from the need to establish clear boundaries for time. Creating periods of relevant focus, and allowing for things to happen without my ideal 12-hour daily retreats is crucial for me in making anything happen with a degree of independent thought. Brian Kapernekas reminded me of this when he responded to my query, including a summary of his time: <br />
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<blockquote>Work 8 hours a day, parent time 3-5 hours, studio 2-3 hours a day, weekends longer 4-6, sleep 5-6 hours.</blockquote><br />
Depending on upcoming exhibits, his time shakes down differently, but there are some basic proportions in play. For me each day is broken down differently, with a combination of office, studio, teaching, and whatever-the-hell else needs doing. But whenever time is dedicated to art consistently, with attention given every day or in big enough chunks for my brain to process, thoughts are formed and art gets made. <br />
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This leads me to my current expectations for studio practice, which are looking richer at the moment than my original fantasies:<br />
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You go to the studio every day, but the studio is situated in four different places, and travels. You go there for 10 hours a day, split into fragments, with residencies adding in more hours and teaching subtracting or integrating some time in phases. All friends are important, and you contact each other in waves. People discover your work because you tell them about it. Your clothing is scruffy sometimes, but the thin crust is unintentional and you relish the chance to wash it off. Your cats are hell-bent on curbing your productivity. You bring coffee. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/THVDSRFbKQI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/RTcWRE6KMWE/s1600/Annie_Heckman_Studio03_resize.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/THVDSRFbKQI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/RTcWRE6KMWE/s320/Annie_Heckman_Studio03_resize.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<i><a href="http://annieheckman.com/index.html">Annie Heckman</a> is a visual artist based in Chicago. Her work explores mortality and afterlife ideologies through sculptural animation installations and works on paper. She graduated with a BFA from the <a href="http://www.uic.edu/index.html/">University of Illinois at Chicago</a> and an MFA from New York University, both in Studio Art. Annie has exhibited her projects in numerous spaces, including exhibitions in Chicago, New York City, Budapest, and Białystok, Poland. Her recent projects include animation installations using phosphorescence and moving parts. She is the founder of <a href="http://stepsisterpress.com/">StepSister Press</a> and works as a museum educator with the <a href="http://www.mcachicago.org/">Museum of Contemporary Art</a> in Chicago.</i> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Other Links: Darrell Roberts: <a href="http://www.darrell-roberts.com/">http://www.darrell-roberts.com/</a>, Dan Godston (Borderbend Arts Collective): <a href="http://www.borderbend.org/">http://www.borderbend.org/</a>, Brian Kapernekas: <a href="http://kapernekas.com/">http://kapernekas.com/</a></i></span><br />
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<b>Artist in Residence</b><br />
<b>threewalls</b><br />
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I’m only in Chicago for 8 weeks. I’ve been here a month, and have a month to go. I am loving it here. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TG1RgVb_lKI/AAAAAAAAAmY/zEw6sN5BcGY/s1600/CSmith1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TG1RgVb_lKI/AAAAAAAAAmY/zEw6sN5BcGY/s200/CSmith1.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">“I Love You, Chicago!” Ballon Vendor at the Bud Biliken Parade Aug. 14, 2010. C. Smith</td></tr>
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I am here because I want to make a film, objects and sound pieces about and for this city. My project is an insane sprawl. (You can read about it here: http://solarflareark.wordpress.com/ ) So I hope you’ll forgive me if my thoughts seem didactic, shallow, or plain simple-minded. I’m sure they are. I spend all of energy on running the streets, meeting people, and making stuff in my studio - every day - in the hopes of getting something off the ground before I leave this amazing city. Thanks to Studio Chicago for giving me opportunity to think about something other than marching bands! <br />
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<blockquote><i>Caveat: The studio is private space, not a public place. Even when used as the stage of performance-- even when used as the place of display-- when anyone other than the artist enters an artist’s studio they have entered a space of the artist. So I’m only talking about my studio, not all studios, not the conceptual notion of a studio, not the problem of the studio- just my studio.<br />
</i><i><br />
</i></blockquote>Here we go:<br />
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1. Having a studio is a privilege. When I have a studio, I can do things and make things that I cannot do without a studio. The privacy of a studio makes thinking out loud (and acting on those thoughts) significantly less embarrassing that it could be. I know a lot of people enjoy doing private things in public space. I know that even more people get off on seeing private things being done in public. I also suspect that no one will believe me when I say this, after all I am a filmmaker, but I’m just not into that. I think privacy is precious. A lot of people don’t have it, you know? They have to love in the streets. Fight in the streets. Think on their feet on the streets. Back home, I have a key to a door that leads to four walls that frame some floor and hold up a ceiling. That is privilege. (I greatly value real estate in general. It’s one of the few forms of economy beyond trade that I well understand.) The stakes of the studio circulate around class, mobility, and capitalization (i.e. how much money/ juice/hype you got?). What I understand about the economics of the studio is that, within studios, objects can be made. Objects can be traded for other resources. This is a good thing for the artist because it allows them to keep their studio. I am aware that there are artists who de-materialize or re-cycle everything. They make ideas. That’s awesome. I suppose they’d find my studio abominable. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crap everywhere... Chicago 2010. Three views of my public studio at Sullivan Galleries, SAIC. C, Smith</td></tr>
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There’s crap everywhere. My studio is a place and a space for things that can turn into other things. My light kit turns unexposed film into a movie. My Sharpies® turn perfectly good paper into storyboards (maps towards unrealizable dreams). My books turn into reminders of things I know and the things I need to get around to knowing. Everything-is-everything up in that mug (my studio). How many people get to have a space like that? Privilege.<br />
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2. Because thinking and dreaming really can happen anywhere to extraordinary degrees of radicality -- which is why mass media goes to great lengths to prevent thought -- the studio is a place to work. It can be called an office (which is just not sexy). It can be called a spare bedroom (I like this one simply for its inference of hospitality which I’ll come to next). It can be a garage. The studio is a physical space in which to work. I never went to art school. I suspect that has something to do with how LITTLE anxiety I feel when I enter my studio. (I wish I could say the same for entering editing rooms!) There are definitely days where I do not get anything done. Usually when that happens, I stay away for a day. I either do not work at all, or I find some work to do that cannot be done in my workspace.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ping Pong Intervention #01: 1: Limited supply of Paddles. 2. Hiding Paddles. 3: Paddles modified after they were returned. Time cycle: 48 hours. 2010. C. Smith<br />
This project is one intervention in a series of five in which I engage with the “art project” undertaken by BAD AT SPORTS. They installed a Ping Pong Table as part of their residency in the Sullivan Galleries. The table is very popular with the new residents who are participating in Mary Jane Jacob’s Studio Reader Class. The piddling sound of the bouncing ball drives me insane. It creates a cognitive dissonance between my own focus on work and my studio-mates focus on socializing, unwinding and expelling anxious energy. I removed all but one Ping Pong paddle. I hid them. Then I told everyone that my studiomate, Georgia, had stolen them. It was much quieter after that; but some poor student did try to play ping pong by him or herself with the lone paddle. So I took that one too. After a day and a half, I was told that the removal of the paddles was considered a theft and that the authorities would have to be alerted. I take threats of police very seriously. I returned the paddles. Ping Pong games immediately resumed. The following day, the paddles were labeled with “SAIC” in permanent marker. </td></tr>
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I have no resentment, ambivalence, or confusion about what my studio is for. It is a space for production. The production of thought. The production of actions. The production of objects and images. It’s all good. No one necessarily needs to see the stuff that is made. But it generally needs to be made; and for me, the studio is a place to make it.<br />
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3. The studio is a great place to practice hospitality. Tea tastes better in my studio because the comfort, the ease, the slowing down of time when company enters the space is so incongruent with what generally goes on in my space. I don’t always get a chance to clean up before I have a visitor. So being able to sit them down and give them some tea (one of my colleagues always has cookies too and I love that) makes a person feel wanted and welcome in a space that, in its very conception, has no space for them. There are some essential tools for the practice of studio hospitality. I value these tools as much as my cameras, and my mac tower (almost). My tools for trading in hospitality - in case anyone is interested - are: toaster oven, water kettle, refrigerator, coffee mugs, tumblers, bottle openers, cutting board and pairing knives, yoga mat, rug, exercise ball covered in fur, music, Makers Mark (a little goes a long way. you don’t need ice or mixer ,and anyone will drink it if that’s all there is), fizzy water, some-thing to look at, admire or criticize, and art supplies that can be shared and used easily by all (video cameras, paper, etc). Being near a Trader Joe’s is extra wonderful. Once I am in the studio for the purpose of hanging out, I may not want to break the spell by breaking for a meal so stocking up on foods is good. The studio is really good for creating the psychic space that pulls one away from the out-there and towards the in-here. When I’m spending time with friends in my studio, it is all about exploring the in-here. Sometimes, I like to see how long we can hang, and what kind of work gets done while we are there together. I’m always amazed that we do indeed manage to do stuff in spite of ourselves. Usually it’s a call-response kind of thing. I might show a video that I’m editing. Or someone will hook up their camera and show some snaps of something. In the studio space, conversation can take shape, become forms, spring into actions, produce images, and solder connections . But this can only happen if the space is not just safe for me, but for my guests as well; hence the essentialness of hospitality.<br />
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4. The studio is a site for judgement. It does not matter what anyone says, the fact is that when someone enters an artist’s studio, they judge that artist. Visitors/Observers form opinions about work that is not fully formed and hold those ideas way past the point that you’ve long discarded them, or transitioned them into something entirely new. Frequently the visitor is there - has been invited there - for specifically that purpose. Crazy, that we do that to ourselves! But it can be profitable for some (not me, but yes, for some). A person enters the studio of an artist and naturally, they start looking around, looking for something “interesting”. Something “cool”. Something to borrow, something to buy. And you know the rule: Once you let them in, they get to bite you. This is why folks don’t want people rolling up into their studios unannounced. Once one enjoys the privilege of a studio, one also feels entitled to having a certain amount of control over how they will be judged, and on what terms - I wanna have a say in who bites me. Is that asking so much? So some things must be hidden. Other things must transition from just-sitting-around to now-being-displayed. This can be hazardous. Little toxic puddles where a probing visitor may have knowingly or unknowingly taken a dump in your private world can stink up the place for days. That is always an unfortunate by-product of welcoming someone into one’s studio, one’s world, one’s life. There are rewards as well. That’s why we try to let the right ones in, right? <br />
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5. This last piece is more of a caution, that I give to myself when I’m tempted to drag something into my studio even though I don’t know why I’ll use it, or because I want to store it and there is room in the studio and there is no room in my bungalow. The fifth rule of studio club is: You must accept change. And you must protect your work. You must never remain static. A studio is not an archive. It is not a museum. All beings and things have energy; move it in, move it through, move it out. Make room for growth (and rent a storage unit or build a shed for all your old work). Let the light in. And shut the B.S. out.<br />
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Ping….pong...ping……..pong...ping…...<br />
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Easy.Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-76850497086012341572010-08-12T13:41:00.000-07:002010-08-26T09:48:49.710-07:00You Are Here<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TGRZqbyLHqI/AAAAAAAAAl4/5uYCZM9OO7c/s1600/IMG_4055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TGRZqbyLHqI/AAAAAAAAAl4/5uYCZM9OO7c/s320/IMG_4055.jpg" width="173" /></a></div><b>Adia Millett</b><br />
<b>Artist In Residence</b><br />
<b>threewalls</b><br />
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To discuss the physical needs of an artist is close to impossible, simply because it varies for each one of us. Some of us need privacy, some us need 24 hour access to our space, some of us need controlled lighting or sound, and some of us will take whatever we can get. Whatever the circumstances, artists have no problem finding ways to produce art, as indicated by the variety of alternative, artist-run spaces in Chicago.<br />
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What is so intriguing to me is that we love to analyze everything, for example: Do artists need studios? The classic way to understand this is to examine what artist did in the past and how it is different from what we’re doing now. And there is always someone (like Kerry James Marshall) who makes it their duty to point out that everything has already been done before (by black people)… which is pretty much true.<br />
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Yes, artists desperately need space to work in if they’re making objects or they need an office, or a darkroom. But for many artists, the creative process begins from the moment we wake up. Every conscious act can find it’s way into our visual expression and the spaces we work in are simply extensions of that expression.<br />
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What if rather than investigating an artist’s space, we put an artist’s daily practices up for everyone to see and even participate in. “Where” then becomes dictated by “what”. This is not suggested for the purpose of making some comparison between the happenings of the 1960’s or intervention art with something occurring today, but to invite viewers, artists, curators, writers, or collectors into the most valuable space an artist occupies, their mind.<br />
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New York based artist Stephanie Diamond and I began exploring this conversation about seven months ago when we decided to design a project entitled, You Are Here in order to heighten our awareness of our routines as well as the peculiar oddities that artist so often engage in. Through daily tasks, given to each other, we began to express our personal and professional vulnerabilities, in order to heighten our awareness of ourselves and the world around us. We then invited gallery/museum staff and visitors from various institutions to participate in tasks ranging from something as simple as eating with your hands to something as significant as creating an alter for someone who has passed away. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>You Are Here</i> Alters, Adia Millett & Stephanie Diamond</td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Like the processes that occur in one’s “studio”, actions suggested in You Are Here require being present, critical, and creative anywhere, at anytime. Whether we’re writing a grant proposal, updating our website, drawing intricate patterns, or calling our mother to say “I love you”, in some ways we are always in our studio. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TGRZthZEmGI/AAAAAAAAAmA/WKkD59kVudA/s1600/IMG_0529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TGRZthZEmGI/AAAAAAAAAmA/WKkD59kVudA/s320/IMG_0529.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Blood, Sweat, & Tears</i>, at Sullivan Studios, Adia Millett</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.adiamillett.com/">ADIA MILLETT</a> received her BFA from the University of California at Berkeley in 1997 and her MFA from the California Institute of the Arts in 2000. Millett has been an artist in resident at the Whitney Museum’s ISP program, the Studio Museum in Harlem, the Headlands Center for the Arts, the University of California in Santa Cruz, Columbia College in Chicago, and Cooper Union in New York to name a few. She is a 2003 New York Foundation for the Arts fellowship recipient. Millett’s work has been exhibited in such institutions as The Studio Museum in Harlem, The Museum of Contemporary Art in Atlanta, The New Museum in New York, The Craft and Folk Museum in Los Angeles, The California African American Museum in Los Angeles, Smith College Museum of Art in North Hampton, and The Contemporary Art Center of Virginia.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Image Credit: Courtesy of the artist</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Melissa Stanley</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> ArtHouse Chicago Real Estate Services</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As a real estate agent I might see studio and live/work space in a different light than most artists. I am more interested in it as a housing and development issue. I believe strongly that promoting housing for artists is the quickest and most beneficial way to revitalize a community. I also strongly support artists owning property so they will not be displaced by the improvements they helped to create.</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the last few months I have been working with Alderman Rey Colon to try and re-zone a small strip of Milwaukee Ave as B2. The portion of Milwaukee on the north end of Alderman Colon’s ward is struggling and many of the store fronts are vacant. I see the zoning change as a chance to re-energize that area. Allowing live/work space at street level will make the area more attractive to small business and artists. This strip is has the added advantage of being in a TIF zone with SBIF grant money available to build out the spaces. You can check out </span><a href="http://www.arthousechicago.com/My_Blog/page_2335644.html" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">my blog</a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> to see how the process moves forward, my goal is to create a road map for B2 zoning changes in other wards.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">More on the B2 zoning:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The City of Chicago created the B2 live/work zoning a few years ago. It was supposed to allow for live/work space on any floor so that artists could have access to more versatile and practical space. It seems to have had an added benefit to developers as it allowed them to build larger buildings on commercial and business streets with no setbacks on the front or side of the buildings. I don’t think the zoning has been very well-utilized by most property owners. Many artists have been living in storefronts and mixed-use spaces for years and either they or their landlords don’t seem to see a value in making a zoning change. In its current fashion I am not sure I see much value either. I was reading this <a href="http://blogdowntown.com/2010/03/5167-changed-livework-definition-will-take-time">blog</a> about live/work space in California and a light flashed in my head. The best way to encourage the use of live/work space and the B2 zoning would be to allow the properties to be considered residential for the purpose of real estate taxes and mortgage loans. If artists could qualify for FHA financing and artists or their landlords could reduce the tax burden on the property by converting storefronts to live/work space, then I think you would see a large increase in use of B2 zoning. This has already happened in some condo buildings that are zoned B2 (I only know of a handful of these), most of those owners have been able to get residential loans and residential property tax rates (which can be 3-5 times lower than commercial rates) for their live/work condos. I would like to see that model extended to storefronts and one-story buildings that are being used at least 50/50 for live and work. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Is this possible? I actually think lenders will be easier to convince than the City. The City would have to give up on some very necessary tax revenue at least in the short term and it would add a new layer of verification for city inspectors. This is a vision I am willing to work on for the future. I just need to find a good Alderman and several artists to join me.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Please join me on August 17th from 4 to 5:30pm for a Salon on SBIF funding and how tenants and building owners can receive matching grants to make improvements to commercial spaces, at Multilingual Chicago, 2934 N. Milwaukee.</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_868556464"><br />
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</a><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Melissa Stanley</b> opened her own real estate brokerage, <a href="http://www.nicherealty.net/">Niche Realty</a>, in 2007. In 2010 she decided to find her own unique niche and created <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%20http://www.arthousechicago.com">ArtHouseChicago</a>. This was a chance for Ms. Stanley to combine her love of architecture, real estate and art together. Melissa grew up in an art loving family. Her mother lived in Manhattan in the 1960’s working as an abstract painter, she stopped painting to raise a family, but is painting again. Her father is an art historian focusing on architecture and design. Ms. Stanley graduated from Alfred University with a BFA before moving to Italy for a year and then on to Chicago. Melissa worked for ten years as a property manager before moving to real estate in 2001. Ms. Stanley is a regular presenter at the Chicago Artist Expo and has worked with several artists and art organizations helping them find or sell the unique spaces they need as artists.</span></i></span><br />
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Art Educator / Scholar / Writer<br />
Stockyard Institute</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the 80’s and 90’s, art studio was the kitchen table or my bedroom growing up. When I went away to the University of Kentucky in 1998 for undergraduate studies in Fine Art, I realized the significance of space and the value of art studio. At the University of Kentucky, art courses are located off-campus in a semi-condemned tobacco warehouse formally owned by the R. J. Reynolds Tobacco Company. “The Reynolds Building” is freezing cold in the winter and downright stifling in the summer. As student artists, we weathered the harsh conditions like a badge of honor. Due to its location, there was nothing university about the art studio experience. It was more than a series of workspaces, it was a place to visit, talk, and get ideas from peers and professors. The accessibility to the physical structure and faculty remain its most redeeming quality.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-cVM0XwNI/AAAAAAAAAkw/affHx-7CI_Y/s1600/William+Keith+Brown_Studio+Library_2010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-cVM0XwNI/AAAAAAAAAkw/affHx-7CI_Y/s320/William+Keith+Brown_Studio+Library_2010.JPG" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
It was in the art studios were I felt the call to teach. Helping friends hang shows and giving advice was how I learned about multiple perspectives and diverse artistic procedures. At the time, I was a graphic design and drawing major, working odd jobs and skateboarding. I gleaned meaningful experiences through conversations, visiting artist lectures, many art history courses, and helping others in the studios. After graduation, it would take me three years of being a freelance graphic designer to realize that teaching is what matters most. Showing others, mainly artists, how to do something or providing a resource to inform their work remains the most satisfying feeling.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-cMCbTjYI/AAAAAAAAAkg/Z5WFet4nxMs/s1600/William+Keith+Brown_Control+Panel_2010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-cMCbTjYI/AAAAAAAAAkg/Z5WFet4nxMs/s320/William+Keith+Brown_Control+Panel_2010.JPG" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In 2006, I moved to Chicago to become apart of our amazing city and pursue graduate studies in art theory, practice, and education. As an artist, I now use writing and teaching as foundations for what I see as conceptual art practice. I view the interaction between student and teacher as an artistic exchange. For me, talking about art with young people is the art. When we come together and learn from one another about the subject, we create a situation that changes something. We alter the way we think and talk about art from that point and beyond. Often times we discuss philosophical questions regarding art markets, value of work, and aesthetics, sometimes we just spend time talking about our experiences. I believe all of these conversations inform making and that exchange becomes an art practice. Call it relational aesthetics in a school setting or socially engaged praxis, but communicating art’s processes, practices, and production methods is what I try to do through teaching. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-cO5MTfxI/AAAAAAAAAko/ykQYv-M243M/s1600/William+Keith+Brown_Studio+Library+Closeup_2010+%282%29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-cO5MTfxI/AAAAAAAAAko/ykQYv-M243M/s320/William+Keith+Brown_Studio+Library+Closeup_2010+%282%29.JPG" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As an education person, I also have a background in critical pedagogy, social theory, and social justice education. Everything I do in visual art and education is slanted for posing questions and gaining meaning. I believe that knowledge has the ability to empower us. I believe that access to knowledge and questioning author / authority is necessary for constructing knowledge. Students / people should be invited to actively participate in the construction of their own knowledge as well as have a say in what subjects are relevant for them. Teaching and visual art are both cultural positions, as an artist or teacher you are a cultural worker, you have to form opinions and understand certain phenomena in order to do this work. Artists usually provide commentary on topics and teachers have to identify and explain those topics. Both positions communicate something to people. On a simplistic level, both positions are entrenched in the communication business.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My writing is somewhat separate from art education, even though I sometimes write about the field of art education. As a writer, I see myself as a translator, not in an authoritative means, but in the Benjamin sense. My interpretations of texts, art museums / galleries, and Chicago's numerous critical spaces; serve as ways of understanding context, visuality, and emergent situations. The process of writing a review, conducting an interview via email, and interpreting art spaces and theoretical texts is a laborious process, much more than my artwork ever was. I used to make a lot large-scale automatic drawings and figure studies. Living in my small apartments in Chicago pushed me to work smaller and to give up art almost exclusively. Writing is desktop oriented work; it is research based and gives me much fulfillment. Depending on a deadline, I can start writing on a piece three weeks ahead of time and use every minute until it is time to send. I write in very small chunks of time, once I have the ideas down, I begin editing and changing word choices. I can usually find three hours most mornings to write about something. I also carry moleskin notebooks and pens with me any time I leave the house. I always find something to sketch or jot down when I commuting around town.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-cYGgB1zI/AAAAAAAAAk4/iRpGoYsWXzs/s1600/William+Keith+Brown_Studio_2010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-cYGgB1zI/AAAAAAAAAk4/iRpGoYsWXzs/s320/William+Keith+Brown_Studio_2010.JPG" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Today, my “studio” is the dining room in my East Lakeview apartment. I like everyone else wish I had a different space to work, some days it is hard to focus in the house. I am distracted with other household chores and responsibilities. However, this is where I read, write, develop curriculum, and think about art and education. As humans, we can make do with almost any environment.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.williamkeithbrown.com/">W. Keith Brown</a> is a Chicago-based art educator, researcher, and writer. Aside from being an art history teacher at ChiArts, Brown is also a member of the artist-pedagogical collective, Stockyard Institute, founder of the <a href="http://cvae.blogspot.com/">Critical Visual Art Education</a> (CVAE) Club, art critic for <a href="http://whitehotmagazine.com/">Whitehot Magazine of Contemporary Art</a>’s Chicago division, contributor to Proximity Magazine, and editor for the Illinois Art Education Association (IAEA). </i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The views and opinions expressed on this blog by W. Keith Brown do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of those organizations with whom he associates.<br />
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Image Credit: Courtesy of W. Keith Brown<br />
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Art Educator / Scholar / Writer<br />
Stockyard Institute</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It is my belief that artists crave traditional art studio spaces (lofts in Montmartre and Lower Manhattan) because they have been taught what success is by the art establishment (historians, popular art world culture, and society). It is from the teachings, writings, and examples of success spoon-fed by the art establishment that young artists are forced to become overly competitive and slightly insecure (see Bravo’s latest ambition, Work of Art: The Next Great Artist). Young artists are seemingly encouraged to live out terribly naïve and sometimes destructive alterna-life-styles in the name of becoming whatever concoction of art history they find romantic. In this model, a successful artist is not complete without great monetary wealth and her/his large overly expensive one-person art studio space located within a gritty urban center. My position is this, if artists never had access to art world narratives there would be no reason to have a citywide exhibition in Chicago on the art studio. The artist studio would have nothing to compare itself to, thus no extreme relevance. Artist could make with pure freedom instead of financial insecurity (see folk artists in Louisiana who just make things without money or ego).<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-eb5bfEKI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/GHO2vGZx8fY/s1600/Art+Studio_Barnett+Newman_1952_Courtesy+Hans+Namuth_Jerome+Hausman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-eb5bfEKI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/GHO2vGZx8fY/s320/Art+Studio_Barnett+Newman_1952_Courtesy+Hans+Namuth_Jerome+Hausman.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Depending on what you were exposed to as a young artist or how you developed throughout your art education, at some point, somebody explained or illustrated a workspace designated specifically and exclusively for art making. Chances are, just knowing about this changed the way you viewed art practice. The first thought that focuses the mind is how you would engage such a space. If you had so many square feet to dedicate to making art how would that look and how much work would you be able to produce if given that opportunity. It is very exciting to think about such possibilities. As domestic creatures, we enjoy division, classification, and separation of spaces. Art studio appeals to this fascination of dividing rooms into areas specific for certain activities (i.e. the sewing room, the garage, the basement, the home office, and the playroom).</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-efRbldyI/AAAAAAAAAlY/srEGZVbiEJY/s1600/Art+Studio_Hans+Hoffman_1963_courtesy+Hans+Namuth_Jerome+Hausman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-efRbldyI/AAAAAAAAAlY/srEGZVbiEJY/s320/Art+Studio_Hans+Hoffman_1963_courtesy+Hans+Namuth_Jerome+Hausman.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
<span id="goog_1300423553"></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The art studio model we fantasize about today is the one developed and used from the 1500’s through the 1900’s. If you studied visual art in college, you were exposed to this particular model of art studio. This is the model that likely stirred your imagination and cemented your quest for space. In the undergraduate art history courses, you likely had a professor who was devoted to two decades out of the forty she/he was required to teach. Whatever the time explored in your experience, undoubtedly, your passionate professor shared with you countless stories of rebellion, bohemianism, and spaces for making art. There is something extremely useful and fascinating about that knowledge, but the over exaggeration and enthusiasm for the way things used to be clouds the way things are today and the context in which we exist. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-ekE_vLsI/AAAAAAAAAlg/8ShoMqzD1sQ/s1600/Art+Studio_Jasper+Johns_1970_courtesy+Hans+Namuth_Jerome+Hausman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-ekE_vLsI/AAAAAAAAAlg/8ShoMqzD1sQ/s320/Art+Studio_Jasper+Johns_1970_courtesy+Hans+Namuth_Jerome+Hausman.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The way artists work today is just as socially and culturally relevant as those working in large loft spaces in bohemian centers worldwide centuries, decades, and years ago. We need not measure our successes on material commodities such as real estate and party invitations. While the art establishment perpetuates outdated production models and “ideal” studio environments, we should question their positions and ask that they speak more on relevant economies and conditions for art production.<br />
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<span id="goog_1300423577"></span><span id="goog_1300423578"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-epJ72oEI/AAAAAAAAAlo/04fzv_Kfvxc/s1600/Art+Studio_Jean+Tinguely_Niki++de+Saint-Phalle_1962_Courtesy+Hans+Namuth_Jerome+Hausman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-epJ72oEI/AAAAAAAAAlo/04fzv_Kfvxc/s320/Art+Studio_Jean+Tinguely_Niki++de+Saint-Phalle_1962_Courtesy+Hans+Namuth_Jerome+Hausman.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Art studio has a certain feeling about it; a place to work and process ideas is extremely important, however, work takes place at many different sites. The studio concept is a fixed location, a space, but it no longer requires paying rent or purchasing a property. A lot of work can be on the go. This is also true for certain cities such as New York. We no longer have to live in New York to show work there. We have the internet, we no longer have to pack our bags, go into debt while sleeping in an overpriced Brooklyn shoebox. The new media artists have shown us that as long as you have a recording device, laptop, and software you can edit and create anywhere you please. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our culture is extremely mobile; utilizing wireless servers and 3G networks, we can stay electronically connected almost all of the time. Some days it is hard to escape your work due to its transportability, which then generates an entirely new discussion about technology. Many people outside the realms of art often bring laptops to bookstores and coffee shops, they spend hours doing work, studying, and/or reading. These public shared spaces are altering work, leisure, and our everyday interactions. A cultural movement of migratory labor practices is underway and it up to artists to provide cultural understanding and continued dialogue. <br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.williamkeithbrown.com/">W. Keith Brown</a> is a Chicago-based art educator, researcher, and writer. Aside from being an art history teacher at ChiArts, Brown is also a member of the artist-pedagogical collective, Stockyard Institute, founder of the <a href="http://cvae.blogspot.com/">Critical Visual Art Education</a> (CVAE) Club, art critic for <a href="http://whitehotmagazine.com/">Whitehot Magazine of Contemporary Art</a>’s Chicago division, contributor to Proximity Magazine, and editor for the Illinois Art Education Association (IAEA). </i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The views and opinions expressed on this blog by W. Keith Brown do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of those organizations with whom he associates.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image Credit: Courtesy of Jerome Hausman via Hans Namuth</span></i><br />
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Art Educator / Scholar / Writer<br />
Stockyard Institute</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The <a href="http://www.studiochicago.org/nomadicstudio/">Nomadic Studio</a> can be described as four months of rotating and fluctuating artistic and pedagogical actions that seek to celebrate, inform, and shape divergent cultures within the realms of art and education. The exhibition is timely in that it engages contemporary strategies in not only the city of Chicago, but across the globe. In urban and rural communities, people are inventing, conceptualizing, documenting, and collecting new materials that help them navigate personal knowledge and unique environments. <a href="http://www.studiochicago.org/nomadicstudio/">Nomadic studio</a> seeks to make visual and material connections to these people, places, and practices, thus showcasing productions of the maker and their efforts to create meaning.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>On the Art</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Contemporary artists are constantly developing new strategies to produce and distribute culture. The artworks displayed throughout nomadic studio are a direct result of these scattered modes of production and represent the outcomes of the latest conditions under which art is made. Over time, art studio, like culture, has undergone radical shifts in its location, square footage, and conceptual orientation. Today art studio can be just about anything or anywhere: a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, garage, basement, storage unit, abandoned building, storefront, neighbor’s house, backyard, shared space such as home/office/studio/recording studio/editing suite, etc. <a href="http://www.studiochicago.org/nomadicstudio/">Nomadic studio</a> as an exhibition space is investigating artistic and educational practices that operate within these transitional areas and structures that affect all of us. Situations and circumstances force locations and thinking to change course sharply, which then compels the maker to adapt and respond to such abrupt movement.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TZiDYPfI/AAAAAAAAAkA/c6NgsUWaesk/s1600/Dayton+Castelman_Chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TZiDYPfI/AAAAAAAAAkA/c6NgsUWaesk/s320/Dayton+Castelman_Chicken.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TdezkdcI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/bfAZF8qXZOQ/s1600/Mike+Slattery_mobile+screenprinting+cart_nomadic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TdezkdcI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/bfAZF8qXZOQ/s320/Mike+Slattery_mobile+screenprinting+cart_nomadic.jpg" /><br />
</a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">How humans view and interact with space is evolving, we no longer declare certain spaces unsuitable, possibilities surround us. What was once viewed as non-resource for many has emerged as a vital mode of production for some. The variety of materials being used to make art for the opening of nomadic studio was a testament to the conceptually useful, Dayton Castleman recently used layers of cardboard to produce a large-scale sculptural installation of a fighter jet playing “Chicken” with a bird. Ian Bennett created an aerosol installation using homemade stencil patterns applying each one onto various panels and found forms to create a stimulating yet relaxing lounge nook for guests. Mobilization is a spatial tactic being explored, art strategies used in Mike Slattery’s “Mobile Silkscreen Cart” (courtesy of Ed Marzewski) and Brandon Alvendia’s “Portable Bookmaking Studio” are examples of sharing processes and resources via an abandonment of fixed location.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TbYsox5I/AAAAAAAAAkI/fMgFOYljvOk/s1600/Ian+Bennett_nomadic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TbYsox5I/AAAAAAAAAkI/fMgFOYljvOk/s320/Ian+Bennett_nomadic.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Other artists featured over the next few months use traditional media mixed with found objects, recycled materials, cultural fragments, digital debris, and discursive media to communicate thoughts and ideas. This mode of making is not something that nomadic studio is discovering or setting out to find, it is what people are showing us. For <a href="http://www.studiochicago.org/nomadicstudio/">nomadic studio</a>, the studio aspects of the space are taken seriously, the programs and exhibitions are interactive places of play as well as mini-social settlements, visitors will not find art that looks like a studio nor will they find hodgepodge versions of workspace. Artists are presenting work that was made under a certain physical condition unique to the artist and the piece on view.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TW9Z6i7I/AAAAAAAAAj4/BsElvYwX_y8/s1600/Brandon+Alvendia_Portable+Bookmaking+Studio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TW9Z6i7I/AAAAAAAAAj4/BsElvYwX_y8/s320/Brandon+Alvendia_Portable+Bookmaking+Studio.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>On the Pedagogy</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The educational aspects of the nomadic studio are less obvious if a visitor misses an opening or one of the many <a href="http://www.studiochicago.org/nomadicstudio/">monthly programs</a>. As mentioned above, the materials, use of spaces, and strategies of the artists are educational in and of themselves. The work is providing new ideas and perspectives on making that heretofore seemed obscure. The level of transparency for knowledge sharing is evident in the programs, zine/publication collection, art materials, SITE office, nomadic library, and the nomadic center for public research (ncpr).</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TgVHQg4I/AAAAAAAAAkY/rhYkd2fBwhs/s1600/SITE+Office_ncpr_+nomadic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TE-TgVHQg4I/AAAAAAAAAkY/rhYkd2fBwhs/s320/SITE+Office_ncpr_+nomadic.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Nomadic studio is following exhibition protocol by showing artwork, but it breaks with tradition by showing the viewer how to make the art she/he is encountering. Programming is a way for audiences to access new knowledge by interacting with speakers, panels, and workshops. They provide opportunities to learn from others, which is how education should be—a knowledge exchange. The zine/publication collection, nomadic library, and nomadic center for public research are all little places for guests to read, take notes, and learn. The nomadic center for public research (ncpr) has over 100 PDFs on art, education, artists, and theory all made available for public consumption via a 1999 red G3 imac. The policy for ncpr is bringing your own flash drive or (BYOFD). Other features for learning are the nomadic studio and the stockyard institute web sites. Each has resources about projects and participating artists and educators.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The SITE office is a legitimate office space in the gallery for <a href="http://www.stockyardinstitute.org/nsprogram-july23.pdf">Stockyard Institute Teaching Experiments</a> (SITE), which is a multi-media publication effort dedicated to teaching and learning and sharing common resources through the lived experiences of educators. During SITE month in November, we will have an open office that will be reflecting, organizing, and documenting the previous month’s programs for the purposes of galvanizing future efforts for the publication. Feedback and participation is highly encouraged during that time and beyond.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In August, nomadic studio will be transforming into the Bird Sanctuary. The main gallery space will be turned into a replica of the former Chicago loft space, A\V Aerie. The Opening on 8/12 features work by: Rob Funderburk, Susan Hall, Nikki Jarecki, Christophe Roberts, Jay Ryan, Tom Stack, Erik Stenberg, and Diana Sudyka. On 8/19 come see AndrewandAndrea. On Saturday 8/21 see, Baby Teeth, Tim Kinsella and Willis P Jenkins perform on the newly constructed A\V Aerie stage. On 8/26 see Mary Mattingly and Mockhouse. 8/28 Bird Building zine release.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.williamkeithbrown.com/">W. Keith Brown</a> is a Chicago-based art educator, researcher, and writer. Aside from being an art history teacher at ChiArts, Brown is also a member of the artist-pedagogical collective, Stockyard Institute, founder of the <a href="http://cvae.blogspot.com/">Critical Visual Art Education</a> (CVAE) Club, art critic for <a href="http://whitehotmagazine.com/">Whitehot Magazine of Contemporary Art</a>’s Chicago division, contributor to Proximity Magazine, and editor for the Illinois Art Education Association (IAEA). </i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The views and opinions expressed on this blog by W. Keith Brown do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of those organizations with whom he associates.<br />
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Image Credit: Courtesy of Kelsey Moher</span></i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: small;"><script type="text/javascript">
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Performance and Installation Artist, Designer, Educator</span></b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The curatorial essay in the brochure for the exhibition at Columbia College Chicago's Leviton A+D Gallery, </span><a href="http://cms.colum.edu/newsandnotes/archives/010833.php"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>X-treme Studio</i></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> considered the idea of genius and varied, changing definitions of "studio" over time. As an undergraduate student, I took a class entitled "Portrait of the Artist" that focused primarily on musicians from the classical era to the present. The class discussions centered around the concept of "genius" in reference to artists like Mozart who was revered as having a genius spark, an unknowable, unfathomable quality that enabled him to create glorious works that caused a passionate public response. I do not believe that "genius" and “spiritual” should be confused as synonymous concepts within the realm of artistic works. And certainly one can operate a studio as a spiritual arena where spirituality is the principle tool of creation, the very foundation.<br />
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At the curator’s request, I included sketches and images to reference my process in preparing my installation for <a href="http://cms.colum.edu/newsandnotes/archives/010833.php"><i>X-Treme Studio</i></a>. One image depicts Tina Turner whose life and later artistic practice have been grounded in and transformed by her embrace of Buddhism. The practice and discipline of Buddhism enabled her to rise up from one of the darkest periods of her life and to refocus to rebuild a new and improved life and career path. The Buddhist tradition is rooted in part in the use of chant. Sun Ra delved into this concept of voice and sound vibration, and the revered jazz musician's work and philosophies have been instrumental to my own practice.</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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"In the Space of Art"</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">, the introduction to her recently published book Buddha Mind in Contemporary Art, Mary Jane Jacob writes<br />
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This space of art is a mental space in which we see things as if for the first time. So the mind the artist possesses in the space of art-making is Suzuki’s “beginner’s mind,” where “there are many possibilities,” while “in the expert’s there are few.”5 In art, as in Buddhism, creative potential resides in that nothing place, that nowhere of emptiness: an open space without attachment to outcome, with an aim to guide the process but the goal (the answer) kept at bay...for as long as usefully possible.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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In my piece in </span><a href="http://cms.colum.edu/newsandnotes/archives/010833.php"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>X-Treme Studio</i></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">, I set the stage with carefully, meditatively sculpted environments that were dictated by a dream I had specifically asked for after a series of painful and mystical events. Through the chant, I posed the question of our ability to "alter destiny" (from Sun Ra's iconic film "Space is the Place": "I am the Alter Destiny."). The gallery then becomes the test site. What will the outcome be and will we know it if we see it?<br />
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And/So what is the value of art? What does art do? What happens in the experience of art?...The space of art and the space of life are different dimensions of the same space. The “imaginative vision” of artists is one of the things that allows us to see and experience reality fully. Buddhist practice is another. Sometimes, as in the work of the artists interviewed here, they are connected.*<br />
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Sun Ra was a philosopher-musician who understood and experimented in the mystic realm. What he has given us musically touches us even today whether we know his name or not. These are tools to effect transformation...perhaps on a cellular level? (Then again, what transformation isn't cellular?) This speaks to a world that is not as set as we would wish to imagine it where we are reminded of Chemistry 101 when we were first informed that the lab tables were not solid mass but rather comprised of very slow moving molecules. We understand the fusing of metal with the tool of fire, but chemistry can also be used to explain how Jesus might have walked on water (apart from the idea that he had super powers). Is it science or spirit or both? How much power do we have to effect physical, environmental, global and universal transformation? Can we induce the mystical and change fate?<br />
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At its core, Performance Art plays with these questions. It distills them into poetic actions that are extreme, sometimes violent, taxing to the physical body, strange, simple, beautiful, elemental and sometimes a matter of life and death.<br />
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Recently, in a review of Marina Abramovic's retrospective, a critic referred to a period in the 1980s of her then-partner Ulay's work as "... suffering, growing ever more calculated and heavy with cultural-tourist baggage...Performances had started to smack of religious ritual and Orientalist theater..." My question is why the use of religious iconography and/or ritual is deemed a negative. I would posit that this has more to do with conceptions about the parameters of art/artist and of the role of art/artist than it does with the work itself. It is a key question that's been on my mind for some time and I'd like to consider this further.<br />
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Sun Ra believed in the power of sonic vibration ("teleport the whole planet through music"), and with a similar belief I have used the work, studio, and gallery performance-installation as a testing ground. My life is an intentional laboratory. It is not random or unconscious. My artistic practice is my spiritual practice. My studio is my body and my home is any space in which I am actively creating is a spiritual arena. They are so completely linked that I don't see where one ends and the other begins. Even my commercial design and interior projects begin with an intention of altered destiny with the creation of spaces that are literal catalysts highlighting individual movement through color, sound and material placement for specific transformation.<br />
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Marina Abramovic conceived her "goodbye" walk of the Great Wall of China with Ulay in a dream. I asked for and received the gift of a dream as I was planning my contribution to this exhibition. I took the premise seriously: the idea of the extreme and of the studio as a site of alchemy. The alchemic arts are associated with the Yoruba god (orisa) Ogun, the tragic actor, the artist, the one who would traverse the chthonic realm to unite gods with humans, the fuser of metal-to-metal, agent of destruction and construction.<br />
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The collection of stories, The Big Book of Giants, tells tales of a smart, courageous boy who cured a giant's fears with a pair of extra large eyeglasses. Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax entrusts the last truffala seed, and thus the last hope for the environment and humanity, to the hands of a small child. I see my artistic practice as a way of reframing perspectives, as a precious tool, a sacred gift. As Fela Anikulapo Kuti once said in an interview: “You curse God if you are given the gift of singing and you do not sing.”<br />
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The danger is that the artist becomes stuck in Ogun's chthonic realm. The essential key of what ritual does, then, is to train the self/artist/practitioner to tap into these sources, move through the creative process, and come out the other side, leaving the final change or results or work to fate. One must continue to be an empowered vessel--empowered vessel but vessel nonetheless. In the Performance Art tradition, I am the tool. Stripped down even from my role as "artist", when in the installation, I as a physical entity, malleable matter, am in service of the work just as simply as any other piece of the puzzle. I step out of the studio as alchemist and become earth/light/video/paper/pillow, sculpture come alive. I am not performing per se nor is the focus to be on me, my personality, my self-hood. Rather, I am a stand-in, a piece of the whole, a living object in a mystical diorama of sorts. My installations function with and without this living object though differently in each case. And in addition, the audience can also become this object; it is not "artist" specific.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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*Excerpt from "In the Space of Art", introduction to Buddha Mind in Contemporary Art, edited by Jacquelynn Baas and Mary Jane Jacob, featuring references from Shunryu Suzuki Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind and Mark Epstein essay “Sip My Ocean: Emptiness as Inspiration."</span> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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The Narratives of Works from </span><i><a href="http://cms.colum.edu/newsandnotes/archives/010833.php"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">X-Treme Studio</span></a></i></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Burning Bridges (Gift #1): Exercise for Banishing Palpitations and Regaining Perspective" and "The Dream (Gift #2): Meditation Metaphor, Illustrated"</span></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">These two works draw from indigenous traditions as in the preparation of the ground, the self/vessel, the environment, sacred objects. I offer my work as a vessel, a portal, to see what might emerge. My sacred objects are my sculptures. In the making of them as with the wood of the carver, the rubbing of my hands, the shaping of the earth, is a meditation, infusing the material with power, activating it, inserting a spirit. The sculpture/sculptural installation used for/created for performance is "sleeping" when the performer is not present. The sound/chant continues to activate it while I am not present (a counter to African ritual objects displayed "dormant" in white cube plexi-glassed museum spaces).<br />
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Performance ritual in sculpture or installation environments is an artistic practice to manifest or to consider the idea of transformation. It's a test. Can a sculpture and my performance within it actually alter destiny? Can sound vibration effect actual change? How would we know if we did, in fact, "alter destiny"? Tina Turner was introduced to Buddhism and credits the chanting of the Lotus Sutra "nam myoho renge kyo" with taking her from the depths of destruction post-Ike to superstar heights. But wasn't she a star before and didn't she have that talent before the chant? I question even as I practice. It's the age-old question about fate.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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• </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">nam:</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> to devote oneself;</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">• </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">myoho:</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> invisible mystic essence of life expressing itself in tangible form,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">• </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">renge:</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> lotus, karma;</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">• </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">kyo:</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> sutra, voice/teaching of Buddha, sound, rhythm, vibration<br />
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In contrast to one characterization of a studio as spiritual arena as "laughable", my studio is an intensely spiritual place. My work and studio investigate the nature of spirit, personally and as a coping mechanism, or tool. In the modern dependency on virtual-ness and the absence of access to shamanistic ritual as everyday community practice, the studio becomes the site for ritual, for reenactment, for rejuvenation, for sustaining spiritual practice. (Works such as "Virtual Exorcism" 2002, "Weight of Words" 2003, "Super Space Riff" 2006 have all responded to ritual in a virtual society, the connections between cuneiform and html code.)<br />
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At the core, I am interested in the role I believe all artists play as shamans within society, a part we have enacted throughout the history of time. Our task is the path of the Yoruba orisa Ogun, to traverse the realm where no gods or humans can pass, to link the world of orun with our human world, aye. Like Ogun, we are the brave alchemists, fusing metal with fire, willing to step in and say: Take me, I'll go. The process is demanding. Being an artist is not an easy path to choose though some would argue that it is not a choice. But one must choose how to handle it, whether to become lost or to learn ritualized ways of manifesting creativity, developing a practice that allows the energy to move like breath so that it sustains and flows through and out rather than become stuck in the bubbling chthonic realm.<br />
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"Burning Bridges" is an attempt to reframe, re-contextualize and establish my own perspective on a feeling (of burning bridges). Rather than allowing that feeling to control me--doesn't it always feel so huge and overwhelming when you think you are burning bridges left and right?--I used a tip on perspective from Drawing 101 professor Miss Lantinga. Making the bridge tiny, I took my power back and burned it myself. That burning bridge is no longer huge and out of my control. Now it is forever locked into a tiny repetition until it disappears like the original Terminator's last breath and glowing eye is extinguished. And then the process starts again.<br />
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From The Book of Giant Stories wherein a witch casts a spell upon a giant: "My spell will play tricks on his eyes/To make things look two times his size!" After the gift of eyeglasses by a courageous little boy who spots the solution to the problem changes everything, "Birds looked no bigger than gnats/Trees looked no bigger than grass", and the boy and giant were friends forever. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br />
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"The Dream (Gift #2)"</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I asked for a message and was given the gift of a dream. (I think of Marina Abramovic and Ulay's walk across the Great Wall of China and how this monumental "goodbye" act was conceived in her dream.) I awoke in a room filled with soft grey light, sat up and ahead of me at the far wall was a square of earth with open spaces cut out, like puzzle pieces. Above each floated a cloud of earth, shaped like the puzzle pieces. I knew that I could move them back into place. As I began with the first one, a flood of voices and negative thoughts from people and situations I was dealing with in waking life surrounded my head like a sonic wave of gnats. My pulse raced, my heart sank and I was taken over. The earth cloud stopped moving. I realized that the only way to move the pieces was if I allowed absolutely no interference, no detractors, nothing but me in the calm, quiet room and the perfect meditation. So mentally, I forced the mess away without forcing; it flowed away as soon as I focused and realized that all that mattered was being present in my bed to the scene before me. And then I was able to start again, keeping my mind clear, and move each one back into place to complete the earthen rug.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TEdPRBT3r7I/AAAAAAAAAjo/LG1spFOyMUk/s1600/ddAkpem_EarthClouds-062410_01-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TEdPRBT3r7I/AAAAAAAAAjo/LG1spFOyMUk/s320/ddAkpem_EarthClouds-062410_01-1.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
The day before the night I had this dream, a priestess told me that I needed to make space to listen to my maternal great-grandmother. My mother read us story after story every night before bed. I loved witches with all of their mystical powers and their ability to do and be anything they wanted (even as I was sad for their necessary isolation and negative view of them by the public at large). What I see now in my favorite books, The Book of Giant Stories and The Lorax, is the power given to the gentle, inquisitive and positive child in each tale. They see and manifest solutions. The children are not afraid.<br />
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(Thank you to Mom and to Great-grandmother...and to Ifa-Lola for the reminder...)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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Akpem holds a BA from Smith College and MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. She is currently Adjunct Faculty in the Department of Humanities, History, and Social Sciences at Columbia College and with her interiors company is currently redesigning a 2500 square foot Chicago residence utilizing her "space sculpting" principles and the concept of personal space as the stage for the performance of life. Awards include 2010 and 2007 Illinois Arts Council Awards, 2010 NAP Grant, 2010 and 2007 CAAP Grant, and 2004 Anna Louise Raymond MFA Fellowship Award. Her multi-media performance/installation "Rapunzel Revisited: An Afri-sci-fi Space Sea Siren Tale" at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago, was chosen as one of the top ten exhibitions for the Chicago Reader's "Best Of 2006" among other distinctions and press. Other selected venues for installations and performances have included: Hyde Park Art Center's inaugural "Takeover" exhibition, Chicago; Museum of Science and Industry, Chicago; and The Urban Institute for Contemporary Arts, Grand Rapids, MI.</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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Image Credits: 1) Super Space Riff: An Ode to Mae Jemison and Octavia Butler in VIII Stanzas; Still from video of lakefront performance, 2006; Photo courtesy the artist, 2) </span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Video by Jonathan Woods,</span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> 3) </span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Emily Evans, www.naivetestudios.org</span></i></span><br />
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<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Artists In Residence</b></span><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Hyde Park Art Center<br />
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</b></span><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I.</b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Where do we locate the studio in 21st century practice? Why is this a matter of pervasive inquiry as indicated by the year-long Studio Chicago project? Is my laptop a studio? My server? Is the gallery where we train volunteer performers also a studio? <br />
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</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDScGIuHdbI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/H-xl8AcrIPY/s1600/-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDScGIuHdbI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/H-xl8AcrIPY/s320/-1.jpg" /><br />
</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Studio comes from the Latin studium, study. The studio is a space of research, of making rather than made, practice rather than piece, a site where things are assembled, destroyed, and evolve according to countless largely invisible decisions, conscious and unconscious, micro and macro. With the highlighting of the studio within gallery spaces, for example, in the recent MCA exhibition, Production Site: The Artist's Studio Inside-Out, we see not merely a celebration of the creative work-space but a re-thinking of the role of the gallery, the gallery studying itself and what it might become. This attempt to address the conditions of a process-oriented culture via the studio is also related to the current growing prevalence of performance in visual art settings, an instinct to hold the ephemeral within institutional walls as a necessary adaptation to cultural conditions. “The Artist is Present” at MOMA and the MCA's purchase of Tino Seghal's delegated performance, Kiss, are just two recent examples of this. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDX3nRhdM_I/AAAAAAAAAig/1PV-n_aBjWk/s1600/.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDX3nRhdM_I/AAAAAAAAAig/1PV-n_aBjWk/s320/.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
In contemporary networked culture, we are subject to a continuous flux of data: email, news feeds, status updates, all driven by underlying largely invisible codes and computational processes. In social networks, we aggregate “friends”, gathering digital representations of bodies as one might have once collected and arranged stamps. We scan over-abundant data-scrolls, punctuated or paused, but with no end in sight short of a mass exodus. With networked mobile devices we are in multiple places at once, and more and more, mobile apps directly augment or respond to our physical surroundings. Our constant interface with networked processes and 'places' re-orients us cognitively, culturally, and spatially. It is not surprising, then, that both artists and cultural spaces are re-thinking themselves along similar lines. With the destabilization of the conventions of the book, the museum, the theater, the individual – sites that must adapt to new conditions -- can the studio be seen as a ubiquitous space of inquiry – a way to study ourselves while in perpetual motion? Is the studio everywhere? Is it anywhere?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">II.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Why does a writer need a studio? Why does a performance-maker need a screen? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSdUlWLwxI/AAAAAAAAAgg/8kvBQ-arQYQ/s1600/Dam.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSdUlWLwxI/AAAAAAAAAgg/8kvBQ-arQYQ/s320/Dam.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We often describe ourselves as a collaboration merging digital literary practices and performance. Both of these designations require clarification. While Judd's background is rooted within writing, he uses computer code to remix, visualize, and animate his texts on the web while also collecting data from online sources. Mark generates movement and constructs images activating the body and installed objects in response to source material such as a memory, a site, or a sampled text or image. In the collision of our individual practices, physical and virtual sites and audiences are of equal importance. <br />
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</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDTykHxjP0I/AAAAAAAAAiY/IpNfNxkyfcY/s1600/dam1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDTykHxjP0I/AAAAAAAAAiY/IpNfNxkyfcY/s320/dam1.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Our work is adaptive and multiple in that a given body of material can be configured as internet art, performance, installation, or public event. Our studio may be a public site, a gallery, a rehearsal room, a laptop, a server. It has therefore been ideal for us to work as artists-in-residence at <a href="http://www.hydeparkart.org/">Hyde Park Art Center</a> which has generously provided both physical work-space and access to the building's external 10-screen digital facade, the largest of its kind in the country. We were in residence from April-June 2010 and will return from September-December when we launch a new large-scale digital work and stage a series of performance events both in the gallery and in the studio. Our current work-in-progress is called The Precession. The seed of the work was planted when we took a trip to see the Hoover Dam and were struck by a site-specific sculpture commemorating the dam's improbable feat of construction. The sculpture, Oskar J.W. Hansen's 1935 Winged Figures of the Republic, depicts two 32-foot tall twin winged workmen seated within a complex celestial map. The map engraved beneath their feet illustrates 209 stars visible in the night sky on the date of then-President Franklin Delano Roosevelt's dedication of the dam, a federally-backed public works project. Hansen designed the sculpture with the idea that future civilizations or visiting extraterrestrials will be able to correctly decipher the date of its completion for millennia to come. The Winged Figures star map also charts the position and identity of the polestar as seen from Earth over 26000 years. What we perceive to be our polestar changes due to the slow and cyclical tilting of the earth's axis known as precession.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSejz33k7I/AAAAAAAAAhI/nUZlRUTeFpQ/s1600/dam2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSejz33k7I/AAAAAAAAAhI/nUZlRUTeFpQ/s320/dam2.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
This chance encounter with a sculptural site within a sculptural site intrigued us with its rich references to the New Deal era, the laboring body, and the night sky. We detected the word recession contained within precession at a time when people were discussing with either great hopefulness or dread the advent of a “new new deal” with the relatively recent election of Obama. Our engagement with this source led us to study a diverse set of other sources including John Steinbeck's dust-bowl narrative, The Grapes of Wrath, the choreography of Bugsby Berkeley, a hoax poem called The Darkening Ecliptic, and a socially engaged genre of 1930's theater called the Living Newspaper. </span></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSenk3lkiI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/m-Vgb1cCTfM/s1600/dam3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSenk3lkiI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/m-Vgb1cCTfM/s320/dam3.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
We will here mention in brief summary a few instances of creative production throughout the development of this work-in-progress.<br />
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</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">a. Initial Work-In-Progress on the Vernal Equinox</b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In March 2009, we were invited by Brown University and Firehouse 13 gallery in Providence, RI to work in-residence and end with a public showing of our progress. Over the course of 5 days we lived in the former firehouse developing performance sequences and digital material for projection. We integrated volunteer performers from the community whose backgrounds related to our inquiry. We included two physics students, an astrologer, a pole dancer, a fire twirler, a trumpet player, and local playwrights who re-enacted a living newspaper play. We allowed the site itself – its history and architecture -- to seep into the work. As we generated textual material, we posted this to our Twitter account and invited poet-friends and public followers to respond to us. We integrated their responses into the performance. We also 'tapped' the location for Twitter activity within a one mile radius of the firehouse, allowing local tweets to enter into our dialogue or appear in visualizations on-screen. Some of these tweets were spoken by us as we embodied an image of two winged figures with the help of a local artist who lengthened our arms with her construction skills. The event took place on March 20, the vernal equinox. Five minutes of edited material are available <a href="http://vimeo.com/8767254">here</a>.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">b. The Living Newspapers @ MCA Chicago</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This outgrowth of our overall project came at the invitation of curator Tricia Van Eck for her Hide-and-Seek series, an exhibition that playfully problematizes the distinction between art and the ordinary. The Living Newspaper, from which we derived our title, was a genre of socially engaged theater funded by the federal government in the 1930's. The plays were constructed from factual information on culturally pertinent topics such as the syphilis epidemic or the economic plight of farmers and were were often designed to educate or mobilize their audiences. With our MCA intervention, we wanted to re-engage this idea at a time of constant data consumption when anyone can become a persuasive transmitter of news.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSjFYmW62I/AAAAAAAAAiA/ZmJJDmZyozk/s1600/LN1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSjFYmW62I/AAAAAAAAAiA/ZmJJDmZyozk/s320/LN1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Working with 32 volunteer performers, who we trained in a series of three-hour sessions, this piece consisted of pairs of 'museum visitors' seemingly engaged in pedestrian conversation. Their conversations, however, were actually comprised of real-time data harvested from Twitter. The performers in The Living Newspapers acted as subtle embodiments of the collective voice of social discourse.<br />
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The piece took place each day with pairs of performers in rotating shifts. The subtle activity was revealed as a performance twice daily, in the middle of each shift, when the performers transformed into two winged figures. The image constructed was based on the Hoover Dam sculpture, Winged Figures of the Republic. Information on the Hide-and-Seek exhibition is available <a href="http://www.mcachicago.org/exhibitions/exh_detail.php?id=255">here</a>. <br />
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</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> c. Hyde Park Open Studio: In the Vicinity of the Hoover Dam, I hear...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We culminated the first round of our residency at Hyde Park Art Center with showings for small groups of friends and presenters in mid-June. We presented 50 minutes of material that had elements of digital poetry and interdisciplinary performance. The projected component included a textual panorama, 11.7 million pixels wide, created by algorithmically re-writing The Grapes of Wrath, and visualizations influenced by source material such as the Hoover Dam and the drawings of Sol Lewitt. In the last three weeks of our residency, we worked with two young identical twin performers to embody our winged figures. For one 20-minute section of the performance, they stood on either side of</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> the space, mechanically reciting texts that they received in earphones while we performed in the larger space of the studio. The texts they received were Twitter updates culled live from within a mile radius of the studio, or collected from the vicinity of the Hoover Dam, or they were texts chosen randomly from our databases of original and found writing.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDX-H3ZeGPI/AAAAAAAAAjI/WQg0lp1Oekg/s1600/.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDX-H3ZeGPI/AAAAAAAAAjI/WQg0lp1Oekg/s320/.jpg" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDX9R_4iIuI/AAAAAAAAAi4/eu90PgAJEWQ/s1600/.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDX9R_4iIuI/AAAAAAAAAi4/eu90PgAJEWQ/s320/.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Our HPAC blog entries to date are archived <a href="http://hydeparkart.org/4833/">here</a>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This summer, as part of <a href="http://welcomedoubleagent.com/2010/radicalcitizenship.html">Radical Citizenship: The Tutorials</a>, an ongoing series of artist-led events on governor's island in NYC, we will create an additional component of The Precession, a delegated dance in which 209 volunteer performers re-enact the choreography of Busby Berkeley with their physical positions dictated by the locations of visible stars overhead.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDShYlT6s9I/AAAAAAAAAho/YaxCgFOhX-I/s1600/-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDShYlT6s9I/AAAAAAAAAho/YaxCgFOhX-I/s320/-6.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDX9tWsegyI/AAAAAAAAAjA/rT1pSf687Uc/s1600/.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDX9tWsegyI/AAAAAAAAAjA/rT1pSf687Uc/s320/.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Our work attempts to engage the flux of contemporary, networked culture and to contain a complex diversity of material within rigorously defined forms and structures. We are interested in a variety of contexts, instances, and interruptions for the work to evolve and be staged as it moves towards something like completion across multiple platforms. Our studio is anywhere, but we still need a studio.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSheJv03gI/AAAAAAAAAh4/Kl_EB35NCGA/s1600/-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TDSheJv03gI/AAAAAAAAAh4/Kl_EB35NCGA/s320/-8.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Precession will be on view at Hyde Park Art Center from December 18 through March 2011. It is supported in part by a grant from the <a href="http://www.arts.illinois.gov/">Illinois Arts Council</a>, a state agency.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Judd Morrissey and Mark Jeffery</b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">are a collaboration merging digital literary practices and performance. The work, which is visual, textual and choreographic, evolves through context-specific research and practice and always considers the constraints of a given venue or occasion. Site- responsive considerations include the performance/exhibition/production space as well as the local community and [online] textual activity happening within the locale. A given piece is a body of material that may have no singular fixed form but is alternately or simultaneously presented as internet art, durational live installation, an ongoing activity, or a performance of fixed length. The two Chicago-based artists are currently in residence at Hyde Park Art Center working between the studio and the venue's 10-screen digital facade.<br />
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A new performance-based exhibition, The Living Newspapers, just completed its second run at the Museum of Contemporary Art. In this work, performers with earphones and a wireless device enact dialogue and choreographic sequences in response to information culled in realtime from the internet and converted to synthetic speech. Morrissey and Jeffery have presented throughout the US, UK, and Europe with recent venues including the <a href="http://www.mcachicago.org/">Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago</a>, <a href="http://www.cccb.org/en/">Center of Contemporary Culture Barcelona</a>, Landmark Cafe @ Bergen Art Museum, <a href="http://www.hkw.de/en/index.php">House of World Cultures Berlin</a>, <a href="http://www.explorechicago.org/city/en/supporting_narrative/attractions/dca_tourism/Chicago_Cultural_Center.html">Chicago Cultural Center</a>, <a href="http://www.brown.edu/">Brown University</a>, and the <a href="http://www.ontological.com/">Ontological-Hysteric Theater </a>in NYC.<br />
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Both artists were members of the Chicago-based international performance collective <a href="http://www.goatislandperformance.org/">Goat Island</a>, Jeffery as a performer and collaborator for 13 years, and Morrissey as an external collaborator on writing and digital art projects for 5. They both teach at the <a href="http://www.saic.edu/">School of the Art Institute of Chicago</a>.<br />
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For more info: <a href="http://www.judisdaid.com/">http://www.judisdaid.com</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">All images were generously provided by Judd Morrissey and Mark Jeffery </span></i></span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Jennifer Geigel Mikulay</span></span></b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ph.D. in Visual Culture</span></span></b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Professor at Alverno College,</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Milwaukee, WI<span id="goog_1640173514"></span><span id="goog_1640173515"></span></b><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">How do the streets of Chicago function as a studio? What may spring immediately to mind is the city’s fantastic heritage of public murals, architectural ornament, monumental sculpture, seasonal festivals, and frequent displays of what curator Mary Jane Jacob calls “culture in action.” Yet, most of these works arrive on the street only after prolonged periods of trial and error, incubation, dreaming, and planning, activities associated with the studio. Chicago’s most beloved works of public art—such as the downtown sculptures of Abakanowicz, Calder, Kapoor, Picasso, or Plensa, for example—were imagined in studios far from their ultimate siting. <br />
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The relationship between public art and the studio seems somewhat unidirectional: artists envision and make their work away from public view and then present it as a final production. Though work may be inspired by the activity of the street, most public art is not actually planned, refined, or made there. In fact, many artists do not find a need to engage local publics directly in the creation of public artworks.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Reception of public art is a different story. Response—a creative and critical process in its own right—begins on the street in the direct encounter between artwork and viewer. Could there be value in conceptualizing this space of openness and response itself as a studio? In the shadow of an outdoor sculpture, how do viewers imagine the range of possibilities for that work? How do these ideas emerge, find expression, change, and develop over time? Is the street an extension of the studio, rather than its opposite? If so, what does it mean to extend the domain of the studio to non-artists?<br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCtuJ0pRzZI/AAAAAAAAAfY/hOs2yFfTdVo/s1600/ancawonka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCtuJ0pRzZI/AAAAAAAAAfY/hOs2yFfTdVo/s320/ancawonka.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I recognized public art’s ability to convert the street to a studio in 2005 when Chicago photographers organized a protest of restrictive policies in Millennium Park by encouraging anyone and everyone to post images of Anish Kapoor’s Cloud Gate on Flickr. The sculpture’s reflective surface and highly accessible location instantly made it an appealing subject for photographers, but civic powers initially tried to control representation of the work. Within a matter of weeks, many thousands of images were shared on the web creating sufficient popular pressure to relax restrictions on photographing the work. Another key moment of recognition occurred when I participated in Milwaukee artist Paul Druecke’s 2006 project, <i>A Public Space</i>. Druecke challenged two dozen people from all walks of life to produce an image of Daley Plaza, and then he arranged an exhibition in the tunnel running beneath the plaza. Participating photographers looked at the monumental Picasso that is the plaza’s focal point, but they also looked away from it to turn attention on myriad activities also animating the site. Dan Wang’s catalog essay for the exhibition notes, “When viewing these images we must ask ourselves, What, exactly, is this space?”<br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCtwTNFBsfI/AAAAAAAAAfw/4Dc81mjUFDc/s1600/apublicspace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCtwTNFBsfI/AAAAAAAAAfw/4Dc81mjUFDc/s320/apublicspace.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
<span id="goog_1640173525"></span><span id="goog_1640173526"></span><span id="goog_1640173547"></span><span id="goog_1640173548"></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Across any sculpture’s lifespan, public interaction stages surprising, unanticipated events. But, until recently, these responsive interactions were largely ephemeral or only recognized in private. The proliferation of mobile web-enabled devices in an increasingly digital culture facilitates greater awareness of what people actually make from their encounters with public art. The ubiquity of cell phones turns everyone into a photographer. Add Wi-Fi, and everyone is a publisher. Everyday life becomes a studio where anyone may produce images and texts expressing their experiences and observations. The production of these images and texts is creative activity, and the products themselves are artifacts of a sort of studio of the street. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Public art can be a locus for experimentation and meaning-making activity. Response to public art is ongoing, and this response often takes visual forms produced by ordinary publics themselves. Artifacts of this response are a register for the quotidian contributions publics make toward understanding public art. The changing, constantly renewing, circulating responses to public art multiply the meanings that may be attributed to it—and reveal that claims to own and represent the work of public art are never final.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Jennifer Geigel Mikulay is a Milwaukee-based public art researcher. She holds a Ph.D. in visual culture from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. She recently joined the faculty at Alverno College.</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i> For more information visit www.mikulay.org. </i> </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Photo Captions/Credits</span>:<br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cloud Gate by Anish Kapoor. Cloud Gate on a Cloudy Day photo by Anca Mosoiu. Accessed via Flickr.com (ancawonka’s photostream).</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A Public Space: Daley Plaza 2006, a project by Paul Druecke. Installation view, Pedestrian Tunnel connecting Daley Center, Subway, and City Hall. Photo courtesy of artist.<br />
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Collaborator/founder of <br />
ARTivention </b><br />
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Working in a studio space always seemed clinical, sacred and self-righteous all at the same time. As an undergrad, I had the opportunity to visit and work in a fair number of established artists’ studios. Although each studio was very different from each other, I never felt that it was a space that I could envision producing meaningful work. Then, once out in the real world, I attempted to designate a space in which I could work first as a room in my living space then in a converted garage/artist studio. But no matter how many hours I worked in that space the studio seemed a façade. I felt that the space between me and the place that I work was too separate, so I began working wherever I was comfortable. Eventually, this space expanded to everywhere I was…totally uncontainable. Once I realized that the studio wasn’t or didn’t have to be this prescribed space, I took off making art in all sorts of spaces such as on the train as I went to and from work (the reality being that this was often the only time I had to make art) or in a tiny studio apartment balcony shared by three people while living in Japan. I am, therefore I create was and is my motto to sustaining a dedicated practice to my visual and conceptual explorations. <br />
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Along with this understanding of my creative practice, something wonderful happened when I made art in public places. People would come up and either stare at me trying to comprehend what on earth I was doing and what mental asylum I escaped from, or they would engage with me questioning my process and intent. While at first these encounters were uncomfortable, I soon became addicted to these interactions. I was getting direct feedback from real people, ones not often well versed in post-modern contemporary lingo. Sometimes they understood what I was making or trying to say with a piece, other times they would just shrug, offer a “hmm” and walk away. Simultaneous to this experience, I began teaching an intro to art class that attempted to explain why art is made, what function it serves and why it is valuable to approximately 240 students (all non-art majors) in one year. This opportunity, as with many teaching opportunities, demanded a full understanding of subject matter. For me, this meant finally answering a question that lurked around inside my head, “What is art and why is it important?” I was afraid to answer this question in fear that the whole house of cards, or purpose for my existence, would come tumbling down. But these combined experiences of making art in public and teaching to non-art majors made me explore, delve deeper and find not only the answers I needed to educate students but also transform, sustain and enrich my work.<br />
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<b>So, who is the audience?</b><br />
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By engaging with my students about their art experiences, I learned that while some do frequent museums and galleries, many do not. Some students lived in Chicago their whole life and had never been to the Art Institute until I made it a mandatory field trip. Other students who lived adjacent to Hyde Park had never heard of the Hyde Park Art Center, the Smart Museum or Little Black Pearl. In another administrative position, I learned that one in four public schools in our city provide art education and many of them only partially through the year. The last time that many adults had any interaction with art was as a pre-schooler when crayons and maybe watercolors were available. The same students who I knew came from public schools with very little art instruction were the ones who grew up to be adults that only traveled within their immediate communities, not even aware of cultural resources on their campus let alone in the broader neighborhood. It was during this time that the Stockyard Institute had a summer long exhibition/community dialogue at Hyde Park Art Center and I brought my students to experience something within relative proximity to them. One of the exercises available was for viewers to fill in an outlined map of Chicago of where they situate themselves in proximity to the rest of the city. All of the students lived within a 2 mile radius of 95th St., and all of them placed themselves in the center of the city—a place many had not even seen. <br />
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Profoundly impacted by this experience, I knew then that while I still loved the precious moments of internal discoveries of playing in a private space, that a portion of my work must become dialogical and directly engage with people outside the art system of academia, curators, gallerists, collectors, colleagues, etc. If people are not exposed to art, then why would they vote for higher taxes to increase government funded programs that go into schools to enrich children’s artistic education and discoveries? Or seek out artistic explorations at the local arts center? Why pay money to see art in a museum? And how many people who visit larger institutions even understand what they are viewing? <br />
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<b>Launching ARTivention</b><br />
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On a perfectly cool sunny mid-October day in 2008 I was sitting in a diner on the upper West side in Manhattan, and it hit me that what I needed to do was to start a movement—like the ones I always read about and drooled with envy that history placed me in this time and not in a prior one. While reading an article about Guantanamo refugees for the millionth time, I became so full of rage over the abuse of human rights, and the audacity of our government to presume that we had the right to overlook conventions that had been in place since World War II all in the name of terrorism. I also felt very helpless. After all, I was just an artist, what could I possibly do to make an impact? But it was a time of great optimism as I headed off to work at a campaign booth and it was there that I knew that one person collectively could make a difference. Out of this experience came ARTivention, a true collaboration between artist and public. I say artist, because I want this to be about something larger than myself and invite others to take the lead as artist. The goal of ARTivention is to connect to all community members and to not only gain insight to an artistic process or concept but to also provide a simple action to solving large problems such as human rights abuses, poverty, homelessness, environmental concerns, etc. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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The first project initiated by ARTivention was Care Packages. Throughout November, December of 2008 and January 2009, I organized several workshops throughout the city inviting the public to help me construct 17 prayer mats for the Uighur refugees at Guantanamo Bay. In addition to helping construct the mats, participants also were able to send a letter of protest via a link posted by the Human Rights Watch in opposition to the current practices of our government. The mats were then packaged and shipped on the last day of the Bush administration.<br />
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The second project coalesced through ARTivention is Commune-ique. This project began with the symbolism of wool for the three Abrahamic faiths and embodies communal diversity, individuality and awareness. Chicago maintains a diverse population, however, there is not a lot of crossover from one community into another. Take for example the neighborhoods around California and Devon. On one side it is a Hasidic Jewish population and on the other it is the closest proximity to India and Pakistan that many people will encounter. Yet, these two worlds never seem to interact. In response, Commune-ique is a portable structure made from hand-felted wool that is the site for durational art making experiences. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCN-g-KBwDI/AAAAAAAAAe4/SS--Onugs_A/s1600/CarePackage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCN-g-KBwDI/AAAAAAAAAe4/SS--Onugs_A/s320/CarePackage.jpg" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCN--YKEG_I/AAAAAAAAAfA/N6cRg1fbNYo/s1600/Leininger+Response+Ltr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCN--YKEG_I/AAAAAAAAAfA/N6cRg1fbNYo/s320/Leininger+Response+Ltr.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The wool has been hand-felted by many individuals including transitional housing residents from Lincoln Park Community Services to visitors of the Arizona State University Art Museum. The project also is an embodiment of collaboration between students from the School of the Art Institute and Roosevelt University. On the days that the structure is placed in public, students from both schools will lead an interactive studio experience where the public will stitch individualized designs and marks onto cloth. What will happen to that cloth? It is hard to say, as this project is forever evolving and changing. Will this structure and the resulting embellished fabric make it into the art system of galleries and educational museums? Probably. But it will be in these direct public “non-art” locations that will sustain my interest as a maker, educator and member of society. As I write this one week prior to the installation of this structure, there are still many unanswered questions—all of which will only come throughout the actual experience itself. And that is the best part about projects that leave the confines of the studio, gallery, museum or what ever establishment that they originate from. They take on a life of their own.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCN_WN3GhrI/AAAAAAAAAfI/Ab3_ZphdAlE/s1600/Felting.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCN_WN3GhrI/AAAAAAAAAfI/Ab3_ZphdAlE/s320/Felting.JPG" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCN_wSczjII/AAAAAAAAAfQ/BPgtz5y1cxY/s1600/Feltmaking.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCN_wSczjII/AAAAAAAAAfQ/BPgtz5y1cxY/s320/Feltmaking.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Maggie Leininger is currently a visiting professor at Arizona State University in fibers and founder of ARTivention. Previous experiences that have contributed to her outlook on art and the public include being manager of outreach and educator at Marwen Foundation, an artist in residence at Snow City Arts, and an adjunct faculty member at Chicago State University and Roosevelt University. In addition to Commune-ique, ARTivention is also producing Found Objects that ask collectors/finders of miniature hand knit sweaters that are placed in public sites every day for a year to donate the value of the found object to the National Coalition for the Homeless. </span></i><br />
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Link to ARTivention Blog: <a href="http://artivention.wordpress.com/">http://artivention.wordpress.com/</a><br />
Link to website: <a href="http://maggieleininger.com/">http://maggieleininger.com/</a><br />
Link to ARTivention Face Book Page: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#%21/pages/ARTivention/53594511312">http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/ARTivention/53594511312<br />
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Curator of Exhibitions and Programs <br />
Center for Book and Paper Arts<br />
Columbia College Chicago</b></span><br />
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<i>In my room, No. 13 on the fifth floor of the Hotel Carcassonne at 24 Rue Mouffetard, to the right of the entrance door, between the stove and the sink, stands a table that VERA painted blue one day to surprise me. I have set out here to see what the objects on a section of this table (…) might suggest to me, what they might spontaneously awaken in me in describing them: the way SHERLOCK HOLMES, starting out with a single object, could solve a crime….<br />
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-Daniel Spoerri, in An Anectocted Topography of Chance</i></span><br />
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I recently began working at the Center for Book and Paper Arts as Curator of Exhibitions and Programs, and so I have been spending ample time thinking about artists’ books as they relate to just about everything- contemporary art production, discourse, literature, me, curatorial practice, Chicago, and, of course, the studio. The following blog post is about an artist’s book project that relates to the studio in a big and fantastic way. A big thanks to Steve Woodall, director of The Center for introducing me to this project. </span><br />
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In 1961, Fluxus artist </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><u><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_Spoerri"><u>Daniel Spoerri</u></a></u></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> initiated the project </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anecdoted-Topography-Chance-Atlas-Arkhive/dp/0947757880"><i><u>An Anecdoted Topography of Chance</u></i></a></u></i></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">, for which he pieced together a written history for 80 objects found on a blue table in his Paris hotel room, where he lived with his wife Vera. His and the reflections of several friends, including artist Dieter Roth, and anecdotes for each object were compiled into an artist’s book- a choppy and extensive text that relayed the discursive nature of his table and its “chance” constellation of material objects.</span><br />
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</span> </div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">The list of objects is long, and it certainly made for a crowded table. Candles, screws, coffee, tubes, corks, nails, knives, wine, jars, pens, paper clips, crumbs, stains, matches and jars are just a few of the items chronicled, and, though I am not sure if he had a different studio, they suggest that this residence certainly functioned productively. Page after page, the objects are points of departure for stories, memories, exchanges (between Spoerri and the other contributors), inside jokes and definitions. Some entries are merely a sentence, and others go on for pages.<br />
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For example, the entry for ‘chunk of white bread’ looks like this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Why does Spoerri’s artist’s book, a self-reflexive and ambitious undertaking, provide a useful framework for thinking about the studio today? In short, because studios are places where stuff matters. They will always be places where stuff matters. To that end, in the introduction to </span><span style="font-size: small;"><i><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Social-Life-Things-Commodities-Anthropology/dp/0521357268"><i><u>The Social Life of Things</u></i></a></u></i></span><span style="font-size: small;">, Arjun Appadurai discusses things and how they gain meaning by way of human transaction and interaction. </span><br />
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Even if our own approach to things is conditioned necessarily by the view that things have no meanings apart from those human transactions, attributions, and motivations endow them with, the anthropological problem is that this formal truth does not illuminate the concrete, historical circulation of things. For that, we have to follow the things themselves, for their meanings are inscribed in their forms, their uses, their trajectories. It is only through the analysis of these trajectories that we can interpret the human transactions and calculations that enliven things. (Appadurai, 5)</span><br />
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In other words, embedded within the exchange of objects is the “flow of social relations”(Appadurai, 11). As an artwork Spoerri’s book carefully tells his history of social relations as they are held in certain objects. The loaf of bread that had a slice cut out from is the starting point for the beginning of a narrative-- a visit by someone named Renate Steiger. Futher investigation might tell us who Steiger was, and why he was there. To that end, the term ‘chance’ in his book title only partially explains the objects on the table. They really are a deliberate practice made visible: an ongoing series of decisions that result in works of art, and an artist’s life lived. </span><br />
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That Spoerri presents this project as an artist’s book is significant. According to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johanna_Drucker"><u>Johanna Drucker</u></a></span><span style="font-size: small;">, the artist’s book throughout the 20th century has often served as document. <br />
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As a document, the book becomes a space of information. (…) This use of the book seems almost obvious, something one can take for granted. In fact, the forms by which their presentation is realized ranges from banal to the extraordinary… (Drucker, 335) <br />
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Spoerri’s project is inherently relational, but its discursive nature is manifest in an ‘extraordinary’ book form much more effectively than if he had created a painting, series of photographs or sculpture. It allows for typographic liberties, and myriad narratives- both layered and broken. The book is bound by two covers, which physically contain a beginning and an end. And finally, the reception of his work is amplified for that the act of reading a book is at once investigative and intimate, making it easy to fully engage in the text’s stops, starts, twists and turns. From concept to form, the work is resolved, and we can really explore the objects on Spoerri’s table. </span><br />
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It seems to me, that Spoerri’s project reflects how an artist’s personal objects can be granted truly dynamic agency by an artist, as opposed to a curator, critic or historian. But even more remarkably, as an artist’s book it expansively makes visible the dialogic process by which that stuff in the studio begins to gain meaning in relation to artwork and vice versa. As Kirsten Swenson points out in her essay, Potraits of the artist with work: Eva Hesse, the studio “emerges as not so much a place for work, but as a place for displaying, staging and acting, while also functioning as a compendium of external sources (…) (the) studio is anything but cloistered; it is a crossroads of diverse practices and source as much as it is a private space of production.” In other words, the studio is where objects gain symbolic value and narrative currency, and this happens by way of studio visits, talking, people visiting, artists hanging out.<br />
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In a deeper reading, his project is an art object—and from start (his first written anecdote about a piece of white bread) to finish (an artist’s book that was also the exhibition catalog for a related commercial gallery show)—it is kind of a double agent. It maps out for us both actively (in its text, which describes its coming into being) and passively (through its own life as an artwork) how art objects gain momentum as art. After all, the legitimization of any art in the field of production is nothing if not a social project. </span><br />
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Or, maybe in the end it’s just about the life of his stuff; his stuff, and our stuff- the things that clutter our creative spaces. And what’s great about that? I’ll tell you. All the while-- in our studios, administrative offices, writers’ lofts, junk drawers, bedrooms, “rooms of our own,” and kitchens alike-- the objects we keep around us continue to shift and change-- from handwritten letters to printed out emails, record players to iPods, and Wonder Bread to Whole Foods baguettes. At the end of the day, though, they are just our lovely vessels, and the stories stay pretty much same. </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCI84KtFbPI/AAAAAAAAAeI/3b1FnilYMR4/s1600/Image+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TCI84KtFbPI/AAAAAAAAAeI/3b1FnilYMR4/s320/Image+3.jpg" /></a></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>A view of my father’s home library/exercise room/storage room in Minnesota- he is a scientist, a keeper of stuff. Each time I visit, I check to see what new objects have moved or been added, or what might be missing. </i></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>How can everyday life be defined? It surrounds us, it besieges us, on all sides and from all directions. We are inside it and outside it. </i></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>-Henri Le Febvre, in Clearing the Ground (1961)</i></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Works Cited: </span></b></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Spoerri, David. <i>An Anecdoted History of Chance</i></span><span style="font-size: small;">. London: Atlas Arkhive Four, 1966. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Appadurai, Arjun. <u>The Social Life of Things</u></span><span style="font-size: small;">. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Drucker, Johanna. <u>The Century of Artists' Books</u></span><span style="font-size: small;">. New York City: Granary Books, 1994.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Swenson, Kirsten</span><span style="font-size: small;">. "</span><span style="font-size: small;">Portraits of the artist with work: Eva Hesse.” <i>The Fall of the Studio: Artists at Work</i></span><span style="font-size: small;">. Ed. </span><span style="font-size: small;">Wouter Davidts and Kim Paice</span><span style="font-size: small;">.</span></div><div style="color: black; margin: 0pt;"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Valiz</span><span style="font-size: small;">, </span><span style="font-size: small;">2009. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Jessica Cochran is currently Curator of Exhibitions and Programs at the Center for Book and Paper Arts (Columbia College Chicago), and Director of Exhibitions at the O'Connor Art Gallery (Dominican University). She has previously worked for Art Chicago/NEXT as Director of Marketing and Programs and Around the Coyote as Visual Art Coordinator. Her writing has appeared in Proximity, Newcity, CS and Curating Now.<br />
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<div><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Curator of Exhibitions and Programs </span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Center for Book and Paper Arts<br />
Columbia College</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Studio visits. Most curators would agree that the opportunity to engage with artists in their studios is a core reason we do what we do. I tend to arrive at them after a long day at work—I am a little bit tired, hungry and thinking a little too much about getting home and catching up with the Real Housewives. In those weak moments, I am fueled by a comment made by Matthew Higgs as guest lecturer in one of my graduate courses. It went something like this: “Studio visits, studio visits, studio visits- <i>you’ve got to do hundreds of studio visits</i>.”<br />
<br />
More often than not, I leave the studio visit transformed, feeling something akin to exhilaration: my interest is piqued, and I am fascinated by the work I just saw. My brain is cycling with ideas and possibilities. In other words, I am not thinking about a trashy television fix anymore, because spending time in a studio is awesome. <br />
<br />
Every studio visit is a little bit different, and I have occasionally wondered if I am doing the right things. You know-- asking the right questions, offering adequate insights, maintaining a “proper” level of critique. This was on my mind when I recently saw Steven Colbert on his show performing a studio visit of sorts. He interviewed Alan Bean, artist and former NASA astronaut about his paintings—large and moody depictions of astronauts on the moon. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TBeYeBIqirI/AAAAAAAAAdw/XhaMfgUuw4k/s1600/Colbert_Bean.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TBeYeBIqirI/AAAAAAAAAdw/XhaMfgUuw4k/s320/Colbert_Bean.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">“May I suggest another title? The most awesome painting in the history of anything.“ </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">-Steven Colbert to artist and former astronaut Alan Bean, June 10, 2010 on The Colbert Report. </span> </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Colbert maintained a tenor that was typically sarcastic; staying as always in “Colbert character”, he made no attempts at satirizing jargon-laced art world banter. Bean’s own verbal offerings were nothing if not sweet, as, beaming from ear to ear, he described using moon boots (yes, <i>moon boots</i>) to create texture on a painting’s surface. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Colbert asked obvious questions, but he let Bean talk. And in front of millions, Bean described his materials, his process and his way into painting. Colbert, though chasing punch lines, was oddly refreshing, and it was fun to watch. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">My own studio visits with artists are nothing like Colbert’s interview, but rather (I hope) serious and productive discussions of intent, influence, decisions and materials. But there is something to be said for re-considering one’s strategies by way of new, or maybe even irreverent approaches to such a dialogue. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">So it was in the spirit of Alan Bean’s approach to painting, <i>“Study, practice, make mistakes, study, practice, make mistakes ”</i> that I asked many of my own colleagues, former instructors, and favorite artists to share their best advice and thoughts on the studio visit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Each contributor was asked the following question, and the resulting comments are pasted below:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><b><i><br />
"Based on your experience, what is your advice for a good studio visit?</i></b></span>"<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">Enjoy, and please consider dispensing your own advice in the comments section below. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;">-Jessica Cochran</span> <br />
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************************************************************<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><i><u><br />
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Advice to artists</u></i></span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><b>Susanna Coffey, artist:</b><br />
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Do not show too much work, hang that work so that it can be clearly seen. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><br />
Allow your visitor to look at the work in silence. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><br />
Remember that your relationship with your work is always at the center. A studio visit can inform your working process but cannot make or break the art itself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><b>The Franks, artists:</b><br />
<br />
Be respectful of other people's time. One way to do that is by being well prepared and organized - present your work in a way that makes it easily viewed and talked about. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Listen carefully to the questions you are being asked and answer them to the best of your ability. It's important to be clear and honest about your work. The curator or collector might be trying to suss out who you are as an artist, how you think, and how that translates into the work you're presenting. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Don't pretend they're standing there in their underwear - depending on who they are, this may only distract you.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><b>Mary Jane Jacob, director of exhibitions, School of the Art Institute of Chicago:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br />
To an artist: <br />
Have stuff to look at, but it doesn't need to be art and the art doesn't need to be finished.<br />
Have ideas, not to present but to kick around.<br />
Be open to wherever the conversation may go, but don't plan it out beforehand.<br />
Think about what advice you have been given or taught to prepare for a studio visit; then be prepared to ignore it or let it go the opposite way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><b>Jason Foumberg, critic and curator: </b><br />
<br />
Be open, honest, and chatty. It’s okay if the conversation isn’t fully intellectual. If you’re uncomfortable talking informally about your art, buy a couple of beers and we’ll drink them together.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br />
Don’t clean up the studio before a visit (except for old take-out cartons). I want to see your source materials, sketchbooks, stops and starts, the layers of your process, some failures and experiments. It’s only later, in a gallery exhibition that I’ll be focusing solely on the finished product.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br />
I like a studio visit without an agenda. If you’ve just made a bunch of new stuff, and you want people to see it, then invite us over. Likewise, I might ask to visit your studio if I saw your last show and I want to see what else you make.<br />
<br />
Follow up a few months after the studio visit. Keep in touch and keep me informed about new projects, even if you don’t have an upcoming show.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><b>Nicholas Frank, curator, Institute of Visual Arts (Inova):</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri,Verdana,Helvetica,Arial; font-size: small;">Food! A studio visit is a human activity: studio visitors should be treated humanely. A nice cup of tea, coffee, or a lemonade, and a light snack, can take the edge off of the travel, scheduling and stress of making a professional studio visit. Chicago artists are tops in this category, I find -- at least the mature ones -- and never fail to offer homemade and thought varieties on the above: fresh espresso, homemade pastries, toasted almonds, fine cheeses. No need to be fancy or try to impress, just have a good sense of hospitality. Younger artists in Milwaukee are just beginning to catch on. Fact: advice given to a pair of artists here before a studio visit for a major fellowship resulted in them winning an award! Fact #2: they passed along this advice to a candidate the following year, who also won. I’m sure the art was much more important than the food in juror deliberations, but real human connection is important.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><b><br />
Jefferson Goddard, collector:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br />
A good studio visit involves planning, patience and pelligrino. The artist must be on time and organized but not too methodical. A studio visit must flow with a free exchange of ideas, critical questions and pregnant pauses. Also, sometimes theatre can afford a more comfortable environment: leave the windows open, have other studio mates work nearby, borrow a laptop and play a short (silent) loop in the background. In all, be positive and prepared but open.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><b><br />
Catherine Howe, artist:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><br />
The Studio Visit.<br />
How lovely that we still bother to share our work in the intimate setting of the studio. Nothing, esp. the"Virtual" world can replace it.<br />
It is a reciprocal transaction where both parties participate equally, though in different ways. Here are a few suggestions.<br />
<br />
For the emerging artist:<br />
Unlike your grad school professors, curators and dealers are not at your service and are not required to give you a critique, or massage you with platitudes.<br />
Do not put people on the spot or act "needy" (kiss of death). Do not start talking about yourself the minute your visitor walks through the door, in fact, disappear for a moment to fetch a beverage for your guest, to allow them to adjust at peace.<br />
Do not show everything you have ever made- be very selective.<br />
Pay attention and be open, as this is a rare opportunity to learn more about yourself and your practice.<br />
Do not allow yourself to be crushed by a bad visit- these are bound to happen.<br />
Smile. Relax.<i><u><br />
<br />
Advice to Curators:</u></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><b>Stephanie Smith, director of collections and exhibitions and curator of contemporary art, Smart Museum of Art: </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><br />
Only go on a studio visit if you’re truly curious about the artist and the work—apathy wastes everyone’s time. Look closely—not just at the art, but also the space, the setup, the light, the books, the sketches, the website open on the laptop, the bits and pieces pinned to the wall, the piles in the corners. Question intensely. Listen well. And enjoy it—access to artists’ private spaces and working processes is one of the great privileges of working in this field.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><b><br />
Paul Morris, founder, The Armory Show:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><br />
Look at the work and listen to what the artist has to say and then think about what they chose not to talk about. And remember to look at what else is in the studio - what books are they reading, what images are pinned up. Do they have other artist's works hanging in their studio? As artists have millions of choices to makes it's important to ask what they chose not to do. It's also necessary to place the work in the context of the artist's generation and you should also be aware of your own personal bias. You may be partial to works on paper for example don't let this color your reading of a painter's work. Think of where they studied--who was their teacher and did they find their own voice?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><b><br />
Davis/Langlois, artists:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br />
Our best studio visits happen when our visitors come into the studio prepared to spend some real time with us. It's difficult to get an idea of what our work is about in less than an hour. We have been working together for thirteen years and there is a lot of dialogue to catch up on if someone is truly interested in knowing our work. It's like they jump in midstream and it takes a minute to get used to the flow. A few hours of conversation and consumption of dubious origins never hurt anyone. If they give us helpful criticism, buy a piece, or offer us a show, everyone wins. It's not always about what they can do for us, but how they can contribute to our ongoing conversation.<i><u><br />
<br />
Advice to both Artists and Curators:</u></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><b>Kay Rosen, artist:<br />
</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">I would suggest focus as an important reminder for both artists and curators, especially if time is limited: it helps if the curator says what exactly he/she is interested in seeing and talking about (new work, old work, specific media, themed, etc.) and if the artist makes a coherent presentation. If they have time to see more work and have more discussion, great. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><b>Christian Viveros-Fauné, independent curator and contributor to the Village Voice and ArtReview:</b> <br />
<br />
Whatever the professional goals and power dynamics involved, studio visits are about establishing a dynamic conversation. Both the artist and the visitor (presumably a critic or curator, though he/she could just as well be another artist) need to respect a few basic rules of exchange. Listen, talk in good faith, don't bullshit people, leave saying something constructive, however much you may not agree with your interlocutor (if, in fact, you disagree at all). I am always shocked at stories of colleagues being dismissive or outright rude on studio visits (have yet to hear of an artist being rude to someone he/she invited into the studio, but, like everything else, it is certainly a possibility). That kind of crap should be checked at the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"> <br />
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Jessica Cochran is currently Curator of Exhibitions and Programs at the Center for Book and Paper Arts (Columbia College Chicago), and Director of Exhibitions at the O'Connor Art Gallery (Dominican University). She has previously worked for Art Chicago/NEXT as Director of Marketing and Programs and Around the Coyote as Visual Art Coordinator. Her writing has appeared in Proximity, Newcity, CS and Curating Now.</i></span></div></div><br />
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</script>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-51303853246702536072010-06-10T13:06:00.000-07:002010-06-16T11:25:27.835-07:00<div style="color: black; margin: 0pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_2073942678"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>Building (and Revising) A Community Studio:</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b> </b></span></span></a></div><div style="color: black; margin: 0pt;"><a href="http://studiochicago.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>A short review of the creation of Spudnik Press Cooperative</b></span></span></a></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TBFBY9In_QI/AAAAAAAAAdg/kKFuQR-6OvI/s1600/angee+printing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TBFBY9In_QI/AAAAAAAAAdg/kKFuQR-6OvI/s320/angee+printing.jpg" /></a></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><h1 style="font-weight: normal; margin: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">Angee Lennard</span></b></span></h1><h1 style="font-weight: normal; margin: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">Printmaker/Founder of Spudnik Press</span></b></span></h1><h1 style="margin: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></b></span></h1><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">In establishing <a href="http://www.spudnikpress.com/">Spudnik Press</a>, I aimed to create a community that allows artists all the benefits of working among peers without the compromising their own studio practice. Another main concern was to create a space that was sustainable. I had seen too many interesting projects deteriorate because of unstable economics or administrative support. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">I aim to share a few stages of Spudnik’s development that led me to the current “business model” we are using. Instead of focusing on particular problems that could arise, I will address thematically my approach to developing Spudnik Press Cooperative. I have outlined the core principals that guide the choices made at the studio. Returning to these fundamental goals of the studio has helped me through tough decisions regarding how the space should be funded, how exactly we should provided accessibility, and how to allocate use of the studio.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><h1 style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Building the Foundation</span></b></span></h1><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Planning a new project is one of my favorite things to do. Envisioning what something can be and creating a plan to achieve those visions is rewarding and fun. However, I found the period immediately following this, to be the most daunting and lonely…</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the initial stages of any project, there is a lack of evidence that the project will be successful. This causes skepticism. I continually asked for favors and quickly became indebt to most people I was close with. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Growing the Studio</span></b></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Once Spudnik was officially open, it gained momentum very gradually. Although our early Open Studio sessions were often quiet, I was able to effectively use this time to research the next stage of the press. We gradually added materials and tools as well as classes, portfolio exchanges, additional hours, memberships, and a residency program. Increased programming was matched with increased volunteering and income. Gradually there was a welcoming shift from me asking for help to help being offered to Spudnik. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><h1 style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Reflection and compression</span></b></span></h1><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">At this point, I decided it was time to move Spudnik Press out of my apartment. Spudnik went through a period in which printers did not feel ownership over the studio. Printers felt that the space was my own, and that they could not (</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">and should not</span></i></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">!) partake in decision-making. The press had recently moved from my apartment space to a dedicated commercial space. Printers overly respected that I had built the studio from the ground up, and didn’t want to infringe upon my goals and aspirations. As respectful as this was, it was also problematic because I wasn’t entering the role of Director with prior experience. I needed help determining our direction. Additionally, we started to outgrow the systems that I had created when we were a fledgling print shop. I was eager to keep growing and expanding, but need to pause and readdress what roles Spudnik could and should serve in a more thorough way than was possible when I was in the planning stage.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Some of the projects I spent time on were pragmatic like website development and streamlined accounting through improved excel formulas. I also extensively researched how other studios provide access and establish fees for use of the space. I created surveys and held meetings. Eventually, I was able to come to some conclusions about how Spudnik should move forward. I increased transparency and was very open about Spudnik’s need for a participatory community. I streamlined more of the day-to-day administration of the shop and made a distinct plan for the next year, allowing me to enter a second period of growth.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Growing the Capacity of the Space</span></b></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Many of the earlier difficulties have been replaced with new ones. For example, we no longer have to plead for volunteers. Instead, we are struggling to find the best ways to effectively utilize </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">multiple</span></i></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"> volunteers. We are working to maintain balance among the various uses of the space, and working on long-term goals like applying for tax-exemption and seeking outside funding. Instead of expanding the programs offered, we are working to maximize the capacity and the impact of the programs. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">I currently don’t have the luxury of being able to step aside to reflect and compress, but need to do these things </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">while</span></i></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"> growing and expanding. I also am reaching a point where the things I need to learn to stay a step ahead of the game are larger and more daunting topics. Without a background in law, accounting, real estate, art administration, or experience as a press technician or manager, I am reaching out to a larger network of people. I am utilizing other organizations like </span></span><a href="http://law-arts.org/"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lawyers for the Creative Arts</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">, other print shops like </span></span><a href="http://www.colum.edu/Academics/Art_and_Design/Facilities/Anchor_Graphics/index.php"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Anchor Graphics</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">, individuals serving on our board of directors, and members of Spudnik Press. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><h1 style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">POSSIBLE MODELS FOR SUSTAINABLE SPACE</span></b></span></h1><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">While researching ways to structure our studio, I looked to many other established print shops. I borrowed heavily from some of the philosophies and structures of the following places: </span></span><a href="http://www.as220.org/printshop/"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">AS220 Printshop</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">, </span></span><a href="http://www.chicagoprintmakers.com/"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Chicago Printmaker’s Collaborative</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">, </span></span><a href="http://www.flight64.org/" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Flight 64</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">, </span></span><a href="http://www.lillstreet.com/"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lill Street</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">, </span></span><a href="http://thepostfamily.com/"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Post Family</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">, and </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://allalongpress.com/">All Along Press</a>.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the end, I settled upon the following principals to guide decisions regarding use of the studio: </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Allowing Self-Determination</span></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">: Through maintaining independence from any institution and not depending on restricted funding, such as grants, we are able to determine our own priorities and allot funding appropriately. We aim to support the studio through earned income. We will seek grants to improve and expand what we are able to provide the community, but not rely on grants to make ends meet.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Creating a Culture of Learning: </span></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">When conceptualizing new classes, determining pricing structures, and developing new programming, we focus on creating multiple avenues for members to grow their artistic practice. Offering classes creates the opportunity for people to learn. However, if we intentionally foster particular types of interactions, learning (and teaching) becomes practically unavoidable for those using the studio. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Supporting Varied Studio Practices:</span></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"> By providing multiple ways an artist can use a space, we can enhance their artistic production and output instead of hinder it. Allowing the artist to determine how they wish to function in the space allows printmaking to be fluidly integrated into their studio practices. Artists are welcomed in whenever a print project presents itself. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Support the Artist beyond the Project:</span></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"> By working with artists beyond the print process alone, we are able to help them realize their artistic goals. For example, by providing artwork documentation and representation at shows and sales such as NEXT and </span></span><a href="http://www.renegadecraft.com/chicago"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Renegade</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">, we are able to help artists have the tools they need to increase their exposure, apply for grants and residencies, and supplement their income through their art. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Maintaining Relevancy to our Community: </span></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">The studio is a place for diverse people to interact, engage with each other, and be affected by each other. The studio is also a place where content is made to take out to the community and create the visual culture of a city. By working with artists from multiple disciplines, varying age groups, diverse backgrounds, we are able to bridge communities. By partnering with organizations that work in fields beyond our own such as </span></span><a href="http://homeroomchicago.org/"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">Homeroom Chicago</span></span></a><span style="background-color: yellow; font-family: Arial;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"> and </span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4615557909649759392&postID=5130385324670253607"><span style="background-color: yellow; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></a><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.marwen.org/"><span style="background-color: white;">Marwen</span></a></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"> we preserve relevancy beyond exclusively printmakers and printed matter. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Incorporating Evolution into our Structure:</span></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Recognizing that the particular people and projects that support our community will change over time allows for the studio to progress. We often reprioritize based on what resources we have on hand and what skill sets our volunteers and interns are bringing to the studio. We are constantly revisiting and altering studio availability as we become more or less reliant on particular sources of income. We have diversified our sources of income such that one area can decline without the studio loosing our stability. Our flexibility allows us to find alternative means to supplement our income, such as private lessons and consignment printing.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Angee Lennard</b> is the founder of Spudnik Press Cooperative, and currently serves as the Executive Director. She has participated in group shows at Green Lantern, Heaven Gallery, Butcher Show, Beverly Art Center, and Marwen and been an Artist in Residence at AS220 in Providence, RI. She has been a panelist at Zygote Press’ Collective INK and The Chicago Cultural Center’s Collaborative Studios Discussion. She is currently the secretary of the Chicago Printers Guild and a member of Southern Graphics Council. She received her BFA with an emphasis is Print Media from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 2005.</span></i></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0pt;"><br />
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</script>Studio Chicagohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02903296612234848682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615557909649759392.post-89852829369676317182010-06-07T12:56:00.000-07:002010-06-16T11:26:20.451-07:00The benefits of a shared studio space<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1QsrvsGkI/AAAAAAAAAdI/B9HOycgXVls/s1600/SpudnikLogo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1QsrvsGkI/AAAAAAAAAdI/B9HOycgXVls/s1600/SpudnikLogo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="91" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1QsrvsGkI/AAAAAAAAAdI/B9HOycgXVls/s200/SpudnikLogo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><br />
Angee Lennard<br />
Spudnik Press</b><br />
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We all know that sharing space can be hard:</b></span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Through directing a print shop, I have been able to work with many artists in their studio. This studio happens to also be my studio, and for that matter, the studio of about 200 artists: <a href="http://www.spudnikpress.com/">Spudnik Press Cooperative</a>. I have been able to observe that the advantage of sharing a studio go far beyond economic benefits. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A little background about Spudnik Press Cooperative:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1LlkMvAlI/AAAAAAAAAcI/Oz_ytfkIygQ/s1600/whole+studio+b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1LlkMvAlI/AAAAAAAAAcI/Oz_ytfkIygQ/s320/whole+studio+b.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Spudnik Press Cooperative is a community printshop in West Town. We are now celebrating our three-year anniversary. Our mission is to provide facilities and services available to artists who need a place to create or exhibit their original artwork, especially those who cannot obtain access to traditional printmaking facilities and exhibition spaces because of financial or other limitations. We provide education in printmaking practices though uniting professional artists with a diverse community of emerging artists, established artists, youth, and adults.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sharing things saves money:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
The most obvious reasons for artists to share studio space are financial reasons. We all know that when we convince our friend to move into the “office” not only does rent go down, but utilities are also split two ways. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1LuykcdFI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/tmBAQV7kw1k/s1600/screen+ink+b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1LuykcdFI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/tmBAQV7kw1k/s320/screen+ink+b.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But it doesn’t stop there:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
By sharing materials such as ink and screens, printers are able to freely experiment with color and technique. At times it is as literal as one artist using surplus ink from another artist’s print run. Not necessarily because this is resourceful, but because they were witness to that color being used, and would like to investigate using it in their own work. Not only is this saving time and money, but also it is allowing artists to experience a material being used in a way that they previously hadn’t seen. They are making discoveries through their peers’ studio practice as well as their own. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Learning through others:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1L2cQq6VI/AAAAAAAAAcY/c3ODnj7obO8/s1600/screen+filler.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1L2cQq6VI/AAAAAAAAAcY/c3ODnj7obO8/s320/screen+filler.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Members of Spudnik Press receive 15% off <a href="http://www.spudnikpress.com/classes/">classes</a> as a way to encourage continuing education. This is merely a gesture representing our philosophy that one should continually be honing their craft and expanding possibilities in their art. One day I came to the studio and found Pablo, one of our most frequent intaglio printers, explaining to Tom, one of our most frequent screen printers, how to properly apply a hard ground to a sheet of copper. This summer, Tom will be showing Pablo how to screen print. Observing this interaction was much more than a gesture. I was able to physically see two artists from very different backgrounds working together, trading knowledge for knowledge. This interaction was only able to happen because both artists signed on to work in a community space. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Problem Solving:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Printmaking is a process-oriented craft. If one variable is out of line, an entire project can quickly deteriorate. And as anyone with printing experience knows, printing is about 75% problem solving. Online forums are very helpful but nothing beats a room full of printers working together to conquer one of the many mysterious jams we often find ourselves in.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Exchange Projects:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1MA6ynEzI/AAAAAAAAAcg/LlfGSqFqbf0/s1600/S-P0001s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1MA6ynEzI/AAAAAAAAAcg/LlfGSqFqbf0/s320/S-P0001s.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Collaboration is second-nature for the printmaker. An age-old printing practice is to have “clean hands” and “dirty hands”, with the artist inking and printing their plate or screen, and a friend (with freshly washed hands) handling the paper. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Printers are also often drawn to the medium precisely due to printmaking’s democratic capacities. From this ideal has grown a tradition of hosting print exchanges. A pool of artists is created, all contribute one edition of a print, and everyone trades with everyone. Exchanges can range in scope, but usually there is a size requirement and a theme. This allows the end product to be a sizable body of cohesive artwork. It functions as an entire group show in a highly transportable envelope or folder or box. Exchanges also are a departure point for building a collection of artwork. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We have hosted three exchanges at Spudnik Press: The 3-D Print Exchange (comes with red and blue glasses), Tender Twenties (20 artists in the 20’s making work about their 20’s), and MEAT!.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Interdisciplinary Collaboration:</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1NEo3vzYI/AAAAAAAAAco/_xxVSRTTLks/s1600/wilder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1NEo3vzYI/AAAAAAAAAco/_xxVSRTTLks/s200/wilder.jpg" width="135" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1NQ_6EX3I/AAAAAAAAAcw/XfQG8d5J1IM/s1600/Lundquist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1NQ_6EX3I/AAAAAAAAAcw/XfQG8d5J1IM/s200/Lundquist.jpg" width="138" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1NcvJ4u3I/AAAAAAAAAc4/eSwxcvrQucs/s1600/Palombi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1NcvJ4u3I/AAAAAAAAAc4/eSwxcvrQucs/s200/Palombi.jpg" width="138" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">One of our more structured collaborations has been with the literary magazine <a href="http://www.artificemag.com/special1/">Artifice</a>. We teamed up with the editors to pair up the work of ten writers with ten printers. During the planning stages, we saw that this project could become a logistical mess due to the quantity of prints needed and the amount of materials we would use creating the work. So we decided to make some restrictions. All ten printers shared the same colors of ink, and we all printed each others' work. Printers gained experience printing a variety of types of illustrations. The resulting body of work demonstrated ten approaches to the same color palette. Writers were able to see their work illustrated for the first time, reveal insights to their own work. At the release of the magazine, writers and visual arts were able to meet each other, opening up possibilities of future collaboration.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Artists in Residence:</b> </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1ORY1ZyXI/AAAAAAAAAdA/R_K4_0pflf4/s1600/N%26O0045i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_joyNOwsfnbQ/TA1ORY1ZyXI/AAAAAAAAAdA/R_K4_0pflf4/s320/N%26O0045i.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
The <a href="http://www.spudnikpress.com/residency/">residency program</a> at Spudnik Press funds one print-based project per season. We have worked with two collaborative groups, to date. Dutes Miller and Stan Shellabarger in the fall of 2008. Last spring, we were able to work with Onsmith and Paul Nudd. Miller and Shellabarger have a history of working collaboratively, and it was enlightening to see them work so fluidly in a collaborative situations. Nudd and Onsmith have long been supportive of each others work, but prior to the residency had not collaborated in this way. While both artists do create their own work from independent studios, utilizing Spudnik Press gave them a meeting point in which they could both contribute equally. They created a dedicated schedule in which they were able to balance working individually on their own contributions, and working as a team. It was rewarding to see these two artists evolve as they became more influenced by the process, and more fluid in navigating a collaborative print.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In conclusion:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
A primary motivation at Spudnik Press is to cultivate engagement among different sectors of society and to establish community by creating a common cultural heritage. We aim to create a platform for members of the artistic community to communicate with individuals without artistic training. We hope to empower people without artistic training to see themselves as part of a larger community; as individuals capable of creative endeavors that can have a lasting (positive) contribution to the community. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I began this post exclaiming that sharing space is hard. I thought that my writing would investigate how we can best navigate community space to minimize the difficulties of sharing personal space. But in truth, the difficulties amount to nothing more interesting than what we all experience in any public space. Some times two people need to use the sink at the same time. Some times one person would like to listen to a podcast while another would like Reggae. I am more interested in the possibilities of a space that is simultaneously the studio of individual artists as well as a group space. I am interested in creating an environment that does not hinder personal visions for the visions of the group, but that enables personal visions to swell and proliferate and mingle with each other to create yet more visions. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Where to go from here:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This Thursday, June 10, Spudnik Press is hosting a panel discussion, <a href="http://www.studiochicago.org/the-local-residency/">The Local Residency</a> to continue the conversation about the affects of working in a community studio. Past Artists in Residence will speak about their experiences at Spudnik Press and address how a local residency can function in an artist’s career.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My next post will focus on the trials and tribulations of building Spudnik to be a collaborative studio space that allows each artist to maintain a sense of ownership. I will share a variety of business models that I have come across in my research to create a shared studio that is sustainable. </span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Images:</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">1. Spudnik Press Cooperative, 2009</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">2. Surplus Ink, 2008</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">3. Students; Intro to Screenprinting Class, 2009</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">4. Untitled, Brian Stuparyk, 2008</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">5. Police Procedural, 2010, Tom Wilder</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">6. Apples, Crosses, 2010, Jeremy Lundquist</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">7. And This Would Happen Too in Other Homes, 2010, Colin Palombi</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">8. Onsmith Dog Stew and Monkey Nudd Wine, 2009, Nudd and Onsmith</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Angee Lennard</b> is the founder of Spudnik Press Cooperative, and currently serves as the Executive Director. She has participated in group shows at Green Lantern, Heaven Gallery, Butcher Show, Beverly Art Center, and Marwen and been an Artist in Residence at AS220 in Providence, RI. She has been a panelist at Zygote Press’ Collective INK and The Chicago Cultural Center’s Collaborative Studios Discussion. She is currently the secretary of the Chicago Printers Guild and a member of Southern Graphics Council. She received her BFA with an emphasis is Print Media from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 2005.</span></i><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
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