by Richard Holland
If law school resulted in no other tangible change to my life/personality it truly cast in stone my cravingÂ for escapist entertainment. Iâ€™ve seen crime scene pictures galore, Iâ€™ve done legal aid work, I work withÂ BAS, Iâ€™ve seen enough horror. I like my entertainment light and happy, more or less.Â Also, I am a complete sucker for magical realism, I admit it, Iâ€™m out of the closet, you wanna makeÂ something of it. Any of you who got excited about Harry Potter, I dare you to scoff.
I saw this movie, shortly after itâ€™s release on the airplane back from Paris. The friend we were visitingÂ there, Adam Jolles (now the Chair of Art History at Florida State University), between spats with hisÂ dramatic, angry and lovely French girlfriend, raved about how much he enjoyed the movie and I mustÂ see it. So when I saw it available as an option on the flight, I figured why not.
What ensued was as over the top charming a movie as one could endure without slipping intoÂ diabetic shock. Directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet. Written by Jeunet with Guillaume Laurant, I had seenÂ Jeunetâ€™s work before with the unique films Delicatessen and City of Lost Children (far darker films, butÂ completely enjoyable, they are definitely on the â€œBrazilâ€ pile).
The filmâ€™s protagonist is Amelie (Audrey Tautou doing an excellent personification of every straight art-boyâ€™s dream girl) a shy, introverted waitress in Paris. Her simple life is set into upheaval by her fatefulÂ discovery of a treasure trove hidden in her apartment by a boy many years ago. After secretly returningÂ the box to the now middle-aged man and unexpectedly changing his life, she has an epiphany andÂ dedicates herself to elaborate attempts to aid others by giving fate a nudge (not all positive, she torturesÂ a cruel grocer in a masterful way). At the same time she stumbles upon and finds her perfect match in aÂ man who collects discarded photos from photo booths in Paris, who is just as much an odd-duck as sheÂ is. Wacky misadventures, misunderstandings, and tangents worthy of a Shakespeare comedy ensue.
If that wasnâ€™t enough the Yann Tiersen soundtrack is amazing.
It is cute, yes, sappy, probably, but if you are feeling like the world is a dark evil place, no one gives aÂ shit, everyone hates you, etc. this film canâ€™t help but generating some happy feelings.
Work by Ellen Garvens, Joanne Tilley, Yoni Goldstein, Meredith Zielke, and Thomas Joseph.
The International Museum of Surgical Science is located at 1524 N Lake Shore Dr. Reception Friday, 5-8pm.
Work by lionvsgorilla.
Fulton Street Collective is located at 2000 W. Fulton Market. Reception Saturday, 8pm.
Work by Stacey Holloway.
Fulton Market Gallery is located at 310 N. Peoria St. Reception Friday, 6-9pm.
Work by Joshua Albers, Daniel Bennett, Lauren Edwards and Kera MacKenzie.
Gallery 400 is located at 400 S. Peoria St. Reception Friday, 5-8pm.
Work by Meryl Bennett, Anita Brathwaite, Gracie Hagen, Julia Haw, Meredith and Anna, and Brittany Southworth LaFlamme.
HAUSER Gallery is located at 230 W. Superior St. Reception Saturday, 6-9pm.
Christy LeMaster is the powerhouse behind the Nightingale, a Chicago microcinema dedicated to screening experimental film. Itâ€™s a welcoming and unpretentious space thanks to her generosity and openness. The Nightingale engages in inclusive conversation surrounding the production, distribution and consumption of new work, but at the heart of everything it does, beats the fans, makers, viewers, colleagues and friends itâ€™s cultivated. LeMasterâ€™s ingenuity, sweat equity and contagious enthusiasm has kept the place humming for the past several years, and nowâ€” poised to celebrate a milestone anniversaryâ€” she was kind enough to recount the Nightingaleâ€™s gradual growth in scale and scope; discuss the film sheâ€™s currently making; and give us a teaser regarding the new website sheâ€™s developing, a project which will vault the community built in her brick and mortar space into the ether of the internet with the hopes of connecting and supporting even more filmmakers, cinemas and cinephiles.
TLN: April 5 marks the five-year anniversary of the Nightingale. Can you recap the activities and structure of your space over the last few years and let us in on what’s next?
CL: You say “5 years”, and it seems like it’s been so much longer; and at the same time, it feels like it’s happened at light speed. When I started the Nightingale it seemed like access was the issue; there was more work being made than was screened, and seeing one’s work in front of an audience should be the bedrock of artistic development. The city just seemed hungry for it. When I first began talking about starting a microcinema, people just rushed in to help. So I decided to do as many screenings as I could, and to not be overly precious about the idea of curation. There seemed to be a need for a community screening room as well as an experimental cinema; we got requests to be an auxiliary venue for other arts organizations; to screen social-issue documentaries; to host youth-media showcases; and to feature work from all the city’s art schools. And so the momentum became its own practical logic: What do we need right now? What do we have that we can use? Who is coming to town? What is the rest of her work like? Those sorts of questions often propelled me forward more often than “What should we be showing?” Luckily, generous and gifted people keep showing up to help. Patrick Friel has been presenting every month for years; Jon Cates and Nick Briz brought us UpgradeChicago for awhile; My dear friends Doug and Chloe McLaren have been managing tech concerns and special event details for years; Sally Lawton showed up a year ago asking to help out with screenings, and is now involved in every aspect of the place. It all happened pretty organically. I would ask for help as needed and people helped. The place runs entirely on a gift economy and volunteer labor. With exception of special events and multi-artist shorts programs, we always pay artists out of the door and spend the rest until it’s gone. For the most part we break even.
When I started, I gave the project a sunset date of five years so I could re-assess if I was happy doing the work and if the space was still needed. And here we are. I think it is still useful to do, but I am being pulled by other projects. So I am handing off. The main bulk of the work will be managed by five programmers/keyholders: Patrick Friel, Emily Kuehn, Jesse Malmed, Chloe McLaren, and Doug McLaren. They will all have autonomous use of the space. We have structured the new system around transparency. We have put all of the tools for running the space online, and gathered a group of volunteer staff to assist the programmers. And we are taking this moment to refresh the space in lots of other ways too. We will soon launch a kickstarter to get a new projector. We are overhauling the website and changing the look of the space. I am excited for the transition. It seems really natural. I can’t wait to see what happens next. I hope to still organize programs occasionally and think about the space in a more macro way.
TLN: The Nightingale has managed to transcend its programming by acting as an informal hub of community building. I know intentional communities, post-nuclear family structures and Utopias are all part of your research interests, can you tell us more about how they relate to the activities of your micro-cinema and your own arts practice?
CL: Early on, I decided on a few small details that have become our ritualsâ€” we make pretty tickets for every screening, we always have a raffle, we host a big potluck every year and film a trailer.
I’m really interested in issues around interdependence. I think in the wake of the implosion of the nuclear family, we’re all sort of floating into new models of how to take care of each other. I heard a woman say once, “co-dependence is no joke in a world without interdependence,” and that’s really led my interest. It was always more important that the Nightingale be accessible instead off curatorially perfect. And for a long time I didn’t think I had an art practice, I just thought I had projects. But over the last couple years I’ve started to see that all of my projects are concerned with the same issuesâ€” how do people establish interdependence outside of traditional means; heteronormative relationships, institutions of church or work? I think a lot of us arts organizers in Chicago are remaking a small corner of the world in a vision that we value. Utopia is social critique. We aren’t interested any more, it seems, in removing ourselves from society entirely, but a lot of people we know are working very hard to rebuild small parts of society from the ground up. The Nightingale is my vision of an interdependent cinema, and a lot of my other projects are concerned with the same dynamics. I’m working on a movie about utopias where I invite different arts organizations in Chicago to re-enact an intentional or utopian community from American history; I’m researching sacred harp choirs because of how they use performance as collaborative practice. I’ve been thinking about how to be a good collaborator for 10 years, and I’m only now applying it pragmatically.
TLN: Your network of colleagues and collaborators extends well beyond the city of Chicago, which makes you the perfect person to take on the build out of Splitbeam, an online resource you dreamt up and secured funding to implement. Tell us more about the project, its function and its design.
CL: It turns out that the experimental cinema community is pretty small; Splitbeam is an idea that I had over the last years at the Nightingaleâ€” I wanted a resource where I could see what other microcinemas were doing, and right now experimental moving image makers are working on a sort of punk-rock model where you book your own shows; we’re not really relying on media to travel independently of the artist very often. Splitbeam is a web directory of microcinemas, independent and alternative cinemas, and it houses a modular, open distribution that is meant to take some of the administrative burden off of curators and artists. I am lucky to be working on it with my good friends Nick Briz and Michael Castelle; Nick is doing the front-end design and Michael is handling the database, and I am taking on the research and organization. We received a generous grant from the Propeller Fund and used it to hire Sonnenzimmer to create a visual concept for the site. We’re going to work on it hard this summer and hope to launch in the Fall of 2013.
Interview conducted over email March 2013.
It seems impossible to enter an exhibition with the title WHEN WILL MY LOVE BE RIGHT without the expectation of heartbreak. This provocative phrase, taken from a 1980s soul classic by Robert Winters & Fall, reads as an ominous declaration of sentiment that, beyond unrequited, has been relegated to a realm of social and cultural taboo. In a moment when debate over DOMA abounds, the political and personal are inherently interwoven in this new body of work by Arnold J. Kemp, a Portland-based visual and performing artist who is recognized for using glitter and a Duchampian sense of humor to explore issues related to identity and subjectivity.
WHEN WILL MY LOVE BE RIGHT, recently on view at PDX CONTEMPORARY ART, was not all political machination wrapped in clever art-speak. Kemp certainly took a cue from the spirit of Robert Wintersâ€™ early-80s falsetto, (a sound that can only come out of Southern California by way of Detroit!), to imbue his performance and handmade readymade objects with an endearing tendernessâ€”sentimentality pervasive in popular music and cinema but still somewhat disconcerting in the realm of fine art. Stand out were Kempâ€™s two pairs of handmade menâ€™s shoes each accompanied by two seashells, two-by-two creating a veritable Odd Couple of characters marooned on adjacent islands just barely raised above the gallery floor. Thinking about shoes in contemporary artâ€”Christian Boltanskiâ€™s piles and Bedwyr Williamsâ€™ crusty size 13s, for exampleâ€”thereâ€™s something tragic and futile with these works that is entirely absent when viewing Kempâ€™s stunningly crafted footwear. His sculptures, contentedly paired in convivial conversation, exude a humble opulence. Though alienated from each other, the shoes seem at home with their chosen partners, both pairs of empty vessels enlivened by the echo of past and future inhabitants.
All was not harmonious in Kempâ€™s installation, however. Photographs of portentous empty masks lined the gallery walls, and an index card reading: EYES REMAIN RIVETED ON THE MOON THATâ€™S RISING FROM THE EDGE OF MANâ€™S SORROW, added an uncanny punctuation mark to the entire tableau. When will my love be right? The specifics of to whom Kemp asks remains ambiguous. What can be gleaned from this body of work is that love and alienation, fulfillment and pain, presence and absence, all operate in tandem, and it is the space of artâ€”abetted by pop musicâ€”where these dichotomies can meet.
I spoke to Arnold J. Kemp over chilled rosÃ© and cured meats in downtown Portland.
Sarah Margolis-Pineo: I was hoping that you could begin by elaborating a bit on your most recent body of work, WHEN WILL MY LOVE BE RIGHT, which seems to speak very much to your multidisciplinary and multisensory approach to making. How did the show come together?
Arnold J. Kemp: I come at things like a sculptor who is trying to make paintings. When I moved to Portland, I was very involved in making paintings that had a sense of humor. Sometimes theyâ€™d be all black paintingsâ€”Vampiresâ€”named for the idea that vampires donâ€™t have reflections when they look into mirrors. Another series were these glittering pink and black paintings that completely resembled the disco-era. But with this new work, I think it started with wanting to make something that people could really see my hand in. So, I donâ€™t know precisely how I arrived at it, but I was messing around in the studio with aluminum foil and what emerged were these mask-like objects. I have a history of drawing and creating things that resemble masks, but what was interesting about the aluminum foil, is that it really conveys the movement of my hand manipulating the material. I never thought to exhibit the objects themselves; instead, I used the quickest, easiest, and dumbest way of rendering them into an image, which was to use a scanner. With this series [of Aluminums], I began to play with framingâ€”the frame around the imageâ€”as a way to emphasize the idea of painting.
AK: Other elements of the work are the handmade shoes and the 15-foot leather belts with the belt buckles spelling â€œshy,â€ which were displayed very low to the ground in steel trays that functioned almost as a piece of furniture. There was also the performance, In Arms. In Arms is sort of an abstracted, sad, love story that really relates to the main theme of the show: when will my love be right? As I was making this work, I got really involved with this one song with the same title from the 80s by this group Robert Winter & the Fall. I found it on YouTubeâ€”itâ€™s amazing!â€”the vocals are amazing. Itâ€™s all about longing, yearning, and impossible love.
Having the play as a piece in the showâ€”it was on the checklist, performed on one night only for 50-peopleâ€”was very important to me because it made the exhibition something really specialâ€¦ [During the performance,] the gallery was completely dark and we all were wearing handmade headlamps so we could read the script as we were performing. And when I say â€œperforming,â€ we were more giving a good reading than actually performing. My direction to the actors, [Travis Nikolai and Sara Jaffe,] was to speak slowly and clearly so people could actually hear the words because the text is somewhat abstract. There are parts that are narrative that resemble what you would hear if you were walking down the street and hearing fragments of various conversations, or eavesdropping on hearing two lovers talking.
SMP: Iâ€™m interested in your use of the term readymade for something that is ephemeralâ€”text basedâ€”distinctly non-material. I remember reading in an interview that Jonathan Lethem is not interested in originality, but rather, in expressing the grain of human experience, even if that means sourcing from plagiarized material. How do you approach using readymade text and is there a limit to sampling and re-sampling existing creative work?
AK: Itâ€™s not about originality, and itâ€™s not about waiting for inspiration as an artist. Ezra Pound said: to make it new; and Gertrude Stein said: Iâ€™ve read everything! Which I love! By using texts or words as readymades, I feel as though this play is put together like a sculptureâ€”all these parts just come together. All of this stuff is in the world to play with and make with, and I just want to use it all. We have so much at our fingertips with the Internet, although Iâ€™d prefer to be in a library surrounded by books, which is where the material for this play comes from. To resist that would be resisting the whole way our culture is going with mixing and remixing, DJ-ing, and mashing up. The whole idea of the hip-hop posse has really fascinated me for quite a while. Warhol referenced the factory, and I think about the posse, and how itâ€™s fairly impossible for a single, autonomous artist working alone to make itâ€”legitimately make it in the art worldâ€”whatever that means.
AK: As for the text in the play, most of is was drawn from sources that came from a practice that was almost like contrived community building, rooted in my personal desire to have conversations with people like Angela Davis, Brecht, Billie Holiday, MallarmÃ©â€¦ There could very well be 100 different people quoted in that script. There is a line that reads: donâ€™t explain; thatâ€™s Billie Holiday. The whole thing is very research process-oriented. Itâ€™s about being part of a community. And itâ€™s about love.
SMP: Is it a collaborative work then?
AK: Me and Angela Davis! A collaboration? Truly, I do consider my work a collaboration between myself and who the piece is dedicated toâ€¦ The characters in the play are specific people, and I donâ€™t know if I want the public to know this, but one of those characters is me and the other character is someone Iâ€™ve been romantically involved with since 2003. For ten years, weâ€™ve had this very intense, serious, in love, calling each other fiancÃ©es relationship, but there are impossible things and weâ€™re not together. He and I have performed this play once before at California College of the Arts, (CCA), as part of Bay Area Poetâ€™s Theater. We got rave reviews and I thought I would never have to perform it againâ€”I would just publish it, but then this show came up: WHEN WILL MY LOVE BE RIGHT.
People should ask: who is he talking to? It could be those shoes. The shoes are very abstract to meâ€”they could be very simpleâ€”but their simplicity is complicated by the fact that my father is an incredibly well dressed man who is very critical the way that I dress. His father made men’s suits, and my motherâ€™s father made shoes. My mother comes from a family of six daughters and no sons, and my grandfather made the entire familyâ€™s shoesâ€”this was in Panama.
SMP: Is that biographical reference important to the work?
AK: Yes, it is. In addition to the shoes, there are seashells that certainly refer to my Caribbean heritage, but they also are echoes of the shoes. A seashell has a similar function and a similar shape to a shoe, and if you hold a seashell or shoe up to your ear, youâ€™re going to hear the ocean.
SMP: In graduate school, RenÃ©e Green had us read Muriel Rukeyserâ€™s Life of Poetry, a text all about the revolutionary potential produced by the emotional stuff of poetry. Why bring poetry and love into your work?
AK: Even when I was doing a lot of curating, I was always watching other artists. I had to write these curatorial essays and there was always this point in writing that I wanted to write about loveâ€”what love has to do with art making. Itâ€™s not just a love of objects or love of museums, but heartache, the blues, jazz, Bessie Smith, Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Shirley Horn, Betty Carterâ€¦ All these amazing people who do take on love, bring it into themselves, and translate it into something that resonates with others. Love is very personal. Iâ€™m not talking about a universal love, although love is universal. My experience with it, which has to do with being black, being an artist, being queer, being a teacher, being part of a family, is very intense. This exhibition was really hard to put together emotionally and Iâ€™m always thrilled when even a bit of the conceptual intent comes through.
SMP: It seems as thought youâ€™re able to leverage you love of idolsâ€”Angela Davis and Billie Holidayâ€”with a very personal, day-to-day, lived version of love, and the art making is where those two meet.
AK: I donâ€™t know how, but I know itâ€™s purposeful.
SMP: What is your relationship to craft? Is there something about craft-based materials and processesâ€”shoe making, for exampleâ€”that allows you to approach a subject or articulate something differently than your work that comes from the trajectory of fine art painting and photography?
AK: Thatâ€™s an interesting question. When I teach, I say to my students: you canâ€™t make art by making art. They might not know what that means at first, but I say it over and over again, and I applaud them when they donâ€™t make art. Making art by not making art is really a Duchampian thing, and itâ€™s funny to talk about Duchamp relative to craft, but someone made the toiletâ€”it was porcelainâ€”so someone had to make it! But anyway, back to the shoes. To give a little back-story, for a long time, Iâ€™ve wanted to do a project where I make mirrors by hand. I want to present handmade mirrors as paintingsâ€”I still want to do that projectâ€”but when I was about to, there was a shift in my social world that made me not want to make mirrors anymore. So, instead, I thought: Iâ€™ll make shoes.
AK: When people would ask what I was working on, I would say: handmade readymades. This idea of the handmade readymade, (and I thought was being clever), was a first a way to get Duchamp. Not, get Duchamp, because you really canâ€™t get over him or his work, but, I thought they could look, simply, like a regular pair of shoesâ€”not like artâ€”but like a finely crafted, all hand, no machine, leather shoe. I was able to connect with a very skilled shoemaker who is a cobbler from a really old Romanian family that had been in the business of making shoes for about 200 years and he has been making shoes since he was 12 years old. I saw an advert that someone had tacked up reading â€œShoemaking Course,â€ and because there was no venue for the class and people were flying in from all over the country to take it, I was able to offer space in the PNCA sculpture studio in exchange for taking the class for free, (although I did pay over $1000 for a set of tools).Â The shoes that I made are not perfect. People ask all the time if I wear themâ€”I could wear themâ€”but I wouldnâ€™t sell them to someone to wear, because I think of them as sculpture, and I believe in this craft of shoemaking so much that I feel that Iâ€™d have to make 20 or 40 pairs of shoes before I was really able to sell a pair of shoes to somebody.
SMP: It seems to me that in this exhibition and your past work as wellâ€”and Iâ€™m thinking of the glitter works hereâ€”that youâ€™ve intentionally played with concepts relating to luster and artifice, drawing attention to a painting as a painting or a poem as a poem in a very post-Brechtian way. Why this interest in artifice?
AK: When I work, I try to make myself laugh. When I first made the masks, I had an a-ha moment: no one has made this before and it is so dumb! It was so dumb, and thatâ€™s why it was so good. When I make the masks Iâ€™m laughing. Each one is unique and each one of the frames is also unique, (thereâ€™s no edition), and there is some process to them, but in some sense, anyone could go to a hobby shop, pickup some black glitter and dollâ€™s eyes, and create something that looks very close to one of my paintings. In a way Iâ€™m daring them toâ€”the black glitter is sort of a dare, as is the aluminum foil. (I dare someone to make the shoes!)
SMP: My immediate referent with the glitter and dolls eyes is not necessarily this hobby shop kitsch, (although thatâ€™s there), but instead, my first thought is of the countercultureâ€”the Cockettesâ€”and glittery gestures of resistance.
AK: Thereâ€™s a reason that all the glitter paintings are smallâ€”theyâ€™re resisting the idea of the masterpiece, resisting master narrative, resisting hyper-masculine painter. When I went to the Museum School, I was taught by third-generation abstract expressionists who told me that I was too smart to be an artist and I would be a better artist if I thought less. I really struggled in art school to figure out how to be an artistâ€”how to resist and persistâ€”which is what my whole life has been about. And really, my work may come from thinking too much, but it also comes from looking at Jasper Johns, and I guess it all comes back to figuring out what art is for me.
AK: One of my first big breaks was Freestyle at the Studio Museum, (2001), an exhibition that featured the first generation of black artists after Carrie Mae Weems, Fred Wilson, Lorna Simpson, and many others that our generation really respects. There was a point though, when we had to consider: we love that conversation, but does it benefit us to be a part of that conversation or to try and move this conversation in different directions? I am continuously addressing this issue relative to my work: Freestyle and the post-black ideas about blackness, which really matter to me as someone from a really racist part of the country. The other piece here is my gay identity, which is maybe what you were getting at with the Cockettes reference and all the 60s glitter. I did spend 15-years in San Francisco, and a show that really changed my life was curated by Nayland Blake called Situation at New Langton Arts in 1991. The exhibition was a survey of queer artists. I walked in not knowing anyone in San Francisco at the time, and I thought to myself: I want to work here. That happened, and that led to everything else.
SMP: Iâ€™m curious: what is the Black Monochrome Machine?
AK: Black Monochrome Machine is an idea I came up with as a way of producing work. Iâ€™ve also created: Arnold J. Kemp, Principal of Invisible Inc. and Black Arts Index. These are entities that I was producing work out ofâ€”not as if Iâ€™m not the authorâ€”but as if I wasnâ€™t by myself. Black Arts Index was an idea that began in college; it was an actual index of references to blackness, from race to the occult and black magic. Another project under Black Arts Index and Invisible Inc. was an idea I had for a book about slavery. In 1993, I was walking with David Hammons and we walked by the work of an artist from his generation and he said to me:Â Why is she making work about slavery? Everyone knows that we were slaves.Â Art is not to tell us about what we already know, but there definitely is a market and a curatorial push that supports artists who deal with struggles of Africans derived people in this country. In my youthful naivetÃ© I wanted to write this book to free those artists, but i could never write that book.
Arnold J. Kempâ€™s recent exhibition, WHEN WILL MY LOVE BE RIGHT, was on view at PDX CONTEMPORARY ART January 22 â€“ March 2. Currently, Kemp is Chair of the MFA in Visual Studies Department at Pacific Northwest College of Art, (PNCA). In 2012, Kemp was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship, and his work has been collected by a number of institutions including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Studio Museum in Harlem, and the Berkeley Art Museum. 1993-2003, Kemp was Associate Curator of the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, San Francisco.
Images courtesy of the artist PDX CONTEMPORARY ART unless otherwise specified.