I feel better already, or at least I think I do

The paintings are small, most under two feet, and at first glance the gallery appears a little empty. Perhaps this is because the last show I saw in the space was huge photographs that took up most of the walls. The paintings themselves, however, seem to vibrate with energy. They are incredibly, almost absurdly, overworked, with layer upon layer of texture and pattern. Yet somehow they feel restrained; there is a great tension between the almost grotesque amount of physical material and detail, and these moments that are executed with such control and gracefulness that make the pieces as a whole feel so much more comfortable to look at.

The perspective in the depictions of interior spaces is playful and storybook-like, imparting a super flat feel to all of the work. The few figures that appear function like the other objects in the room, feeling flat and expressing almost caricatures of emotions. The titling add another aspect to the playfulness of the work, with names such as “sometimes you have to just make things work, even when its really hard.”, “my what a glorious view you have of the milky way there, pete.”, and “sometimes some things seem far better in other places.”. The name of the show and the titles impart a hesitant or unsure mood on the work, while I think the work itself appears super confident, almost cocky in railing against conventional views of less being more. They also suggest pretty bizzare narratives (at least in my head).

I was really interested in Eddy’s practice and what he had to say about this new work, and he was kind enough to answer some of my questions (even though it was Thanksgiving day).
So in my mind you’re in a studio surrounded by lots of paintings that you’re working on simultaneously. Do you work on more than one at a time?
There are always lots of things going on. More often than not ill work on four paintings at a time, but when one reaches a point that is more problematic than the rest that one becomes the focus and will usually be the one that gets finished first. The process is usually that. Sometimes however, I’ll just sit down and do one at a time. That usually happens when I have a very specific idea in mind, or I know exactly how I want this to go, or I just want to take a break from the mode of making that is more comfortable. This is a less likely process for me while working. I feel more comfortable making decisions when there is more room. Less pressure. There is more room in my mind when working on more paintings at once due to the fact that there are more possibilities for things to happen and more room for ideas to be bounced around between paintings.

How do you know when a painting is done?

I would like to think that a painting could never really be done; there is always room for reworking and new resolutions. The potential of endless possibilities for the end result is important to this work because that is to say that the decisions made in the process of making are more intentional and they need to be there. That being said, I usually stop working on a painting when it feels like there is a good visual balance and there is some presence of harmony with in the work. The harmony I am aiming for can be described as this combination of choices that in the end are arranged in a way that allows for vibration and visual relationships to take place somewhat seamlessly.

I really like the titles. Can you talk about how you name the work?

Titles are always a little difficult for me, and there is no real method to my titling. Sometimes the painting informs the title, but also the title can inform the painting. At times they reference rock songs, or a statement pertaining to something that has happened in my life.  More often than not, the titles function to inform the narrative aspect of the painting.

How did your practice arrive at this place? Can you describe the evolution of your recent work?

The evolution of these latest works is sort of a natural one; right now I am applying the tools I have gained through the process of my image making. I have always been interested in paint and trying to find an engaging way to move it around and have it sing. That interest has taken many forms, but as of right now I am working on applying this sort of personal lexicon to art historical images.

I feel better already, or at least I think I do at GOLDEN will be up until December 12, 2009.

Got a response to this post? Let us know! Email your comments to  mail@badatsports.com. We’ll feature thoughtful responses to issues generated by our posts in our Letters to the Editors Feature on Saturdays.

The first story, The Phantom Form, was captivating to me. You become aware of his job (direct support for adults with developmental disabilities) and his politics (radical) immediately. He speaks very eloquently about “debasing power dynamics” in his work, and lack of privacy as well as trust with the adults he works with. There is a wistful cast to the whole book, and the pages seem very much alive with various music lyrics that flow through the panels.

Punk romanticism and the sentimentality of a transient lifestyle are captured, as well as an intense melancholy. Powell illustrates his interactions with adults with developmental disabilities with honesty, respect, and subtlety that I don’t think I’ve ever seem before, especially in comic form. In the third story, Work At It, there are almost two pages depicting Powell and a man that he works with staring at each other while they’re taking a walk. One panel depicts the two men as muscle and bones, two humans with the same structure looking at each other, and then they are shown back in their clothes, back in the dynamic of care provider and incompetent person.

Full disclosure- I work as an art instructor for adults with developmental and cognitive disabilities who are Deaf or Deaf and blind. This could be a large reason why I devoured this book and promptly ordered his previous work on Amazon. But I firmly believe that the stories are honest and lyrical in a way that isn’t hokey, and that Powell has an intense understanding of his craft, the illustrations, flow, and dialogue in the book are fantastic.

Man, I love when the name of a gallery references where it is located. I mean, how convenient? Noble and Superior Projects had their first opening this past weekend with their show DOUBLE FANTASY featuring the work of Ivan Lozano and Kate Brock. The brand spanking new gallery is run by SAIC grad students Erin Nixon and Patrick Bobilin.

The space is an apartment that is not trying to be anything more than what it is. You enter through the kitchen. The show consists of an installation by Lozano and a small room of Brock’s photography. The installation is a projected video with sound, two circles on of video the wall, the bottom image falling onto a mirrored floor. The bottom is a male face, in agony or ecstasy, in extreme slow motion. The top image is more amorphous shapes, colors and patterns. The sound is repetitive and loud, like exceptionally unpleasant dance hall music. The piece is encompassing and engrossing, spilling off the wall onto the floor, changing the color of the entire space, with mesmerizing patterns. I couldn’t stop watching. Knowing a little bit of Lozano’s work, I understood the allusions to disco and could tease out the origins of the bottom face from some gay porn. However, because there wasn’t any literature available at the show, I think some of the subtleties that could have been enjoyed (where the footage came from, heck, even the title of the piece) were inaccessible.

Brock’s work was photography displayed in a small room off of the installation. There were four small black and white images, three slightly larger color, and four large color prints. They were all portraits of semi naked, thin, attractive people in various environments, sitting, standing, lounging, wearing brown paper bags to cover their heads. They are expertly executed portraits, visually stunning, with urban landscapes and intimate interior spaces as the backdrops. From the gallery website, the series (BAGHEAD, not sure why all caps) “highlights the shape of the body and forces the viewer to imagine each of her characters through the prism of an irreconcilable anonymity.” Well, yes. Because there is no face to connect your gaze, you are left looking at these people and their attractive bodies. I enjoy this idea of removing agency, and how the relationships between the characters are complicated by the lack of eye contact, in the series however it comes off as a sort of one-liner.

I did appreciate the dialog between Lozano’s work and Brock’s. There was delicate connection between where to place or locate the gaze in the photographic as well as an extreme emphasis on the gaze in the larger than life face in the installation. In the conversation between the work, Lozano’s work felt much more secure in a time and place (post-AIDS epidemic) while Brock’s work felt very contemporary it did not feel deeply attached to a history.

More so than the show itself, chatting with Nixon and Bobilin really excited me about the future of the space. They want to focus on two artists at a time; one working in a way that must be “experienced” (I’m thinking more video, installation, performance) and the other in a way that is able to be easily distributed. For this show, I got to take home a small photo of Brock’s work (packaged in a paper bag, no less). I think this could be a very dynamic experience, and with so many galleries or shows focused purely on one concept or the other, I am interested to see how this plan develops.

Noble and Superior Projects is located at 1418 W Superior St in Chicago, IL. They are open to the public Saturdays from 12-6 and monthly for openings. They can be contacted at nobleandsuperior (at) gmail.com

Presented by the Department of Film Video and New Media at SAIC, the Video Data Bank and the Gene Siskel Film Center, as part of their Conversations at the Edge series, Mark is a video portrait of Mark Karbusicky, created after his suicide in 2007.

Director Mike Hoolboom began his opening remarks by stating that there was a time in his life when all the good things happened in a movie theater, until a day in 2007 when he found out that his friend and collaborator of six years Mark had killed himself, which he was told right before a movie began. Yikes.

The film reads less like a documentary and more like a moving collage of stock footage, childhood portraits and relics, as well as interviews with his friends and family. Beginning with his oldest childhood friend, the film traces the life of a man you end up knowing less about in the end than you did to begin with. It is an odd portrait in that it seems to capture more the periphery of his life than actually attempting to memorialize the man himself. Or perhaps documenting the margins of his life, his politics, odd moments in home videos, Hoolboom was attempting to achieve a more genuine view of Mark as a person.

Created mostly of footage taken by his partner (who happens to be transsexual, although this is actually irrelevant), of her own performances and activism, Mark by default seems to be the supporting character in his own life memorium. Mark was clearly a tortured person. Deeply invested in animal rights, queer politics, and helping others with mental illness, a lot of attention was focused on how little he cared about himself and put all others before him. Hoolboom spoke after the screening about how the film was created in the space between the way things were before Mark had died and before things had settled into the way they would be after his death. The rawness of this period is apparent especially in the interviews, which were all done within the year after his death.

The film is edited to create an intense amount of tension. Many pieces of footage are overlapped, the hand-heldness is emphasized in upside down and shaky camera work, and shots seems to be just too short, or just too long or just too out of focus for one to feel comfortable. In an interview with one of Mark’s friend and coworker, the camera is at table height, and the woman is half obscured by a large candle holder. The focus goes in and out as she tells this heartwrenching rendition of their final interaction. After the screening, Hoolboom explains that he wanted to give his interviewees physical space, and referenced this shot in particular to demonstrate how he wanted the candle to mediate the space between her and the camera. Although I acknowledge the  gesture after he spoke about it, during the shot I felt myself wanting to peer around the obstacle and actually see her face. Another shot I thought was more successful was that of Mark’s partner Mihra-Soleil Ross; the camera was focused on the deep red wall of their apartment, you could see a bookcase and a plant, and she walked almost around the frame while she spoke about her recurring dreams during their ten year relationship that he had left her. Her body was just present enough to give you a sense of agency, but the lack of her presence really caused you to focus on her words and storytelling.

I wish the voiceover was left out. Hoolboom in person is charming and eloquent and gesticulates beautifully; on screen his voice seems affected and melodramatic. I think the subtly is lost when documentarians feel the need to describe what has happened instead of letting moods come across through images.

The film was successful in that it felt vast and encompassing, through the use of stock footage that spanned decades, Mark’s own home videos and photos as well as different people speaking about him. It did not feel like the entire momentum of the piece lead up to a dramatic revelation of how he killed himself, which was refreshing. Hoolboom said that his death was not the most important thing that happened in his life, and I think the film reflected this sentiment.

Liam Gillick is completely charming Englishman who wore very nice shoes. The MCA is the last institution to host the exhibition, which was previously in the Witte de With in Rotterdam, Kunsthalle Zurich, and the Kunstverein in Munich in different manifestations.

Gillick began speaking by saying that he was curious as to how one could reinvent the midcareer retrospective. Instead of seeing the evolution of his work as a linear progress to be documented according to its timeline, he noted his own “promiscuity of ideas” and wanted to return to his own 17-year-old, suburban, pre-art aesthetic for this survey. Consumed at that time in his life with the legacy of acrchitecture and design, Gillick and curator Dominic Molon (through “dynamic argument and discussion”) created a space that is half carpeted and half concrete, separated by wooden screens. The normally milk white plexiglass ceiling in the gallery is replaced by multicolor plexiglass tiles. There is a vitrine with various posters, books, small designed objects, and publications, which is stunning to look at. Interestingly, Gillick likened this collection of paraphernalia to the experience of moving your home or apartment, and realizing you have so many things, and then realizing that you don’t want to be the sum of these things. There are only two small images hung on the wall, a hand drawn self portrait, next to a digital cubic image done by a German graphic designer. The portrait, which looks like a dopey school mascot, Gillick jokingly described as representing himself as well as all “verbose, self involved, white guy artists of the past 50 years”. The last piece in the room, which appeared incredibly sparse, especially for a retrospective, was a power point presentation set to a repetitive drum beat. Gillick spoke about how he created the drum beat, and then pulled one image at a time, pairing with each image one line of a story that he made up as he went along.

Jeremy Deller’s artist talk felt very different than Gillick’s. As the herd of us media folk slowly was lead into the room, Deller invited us to sit on the nice ikea furniture in the center of the space. There was a coffee table, there were tea and cookies, and mostly everyone was very uncomfortable being asked to sit down. A few martyrs sacrificed themselves and sat down, and then Deller introduced the project. In the space, there are the rusted remains of a car, exploded by a car bomb on Al-Mutanabbi, a street in Baghdad in 2007. This car was towed behind a truck on a six week trip that the artist, an Iraqi citizen, and a marine (that sounds like a terrible joke…) took across the country before the work was exhibited. The artists explains the trip, which was filmed, as a way to promote discussion about the war in Iraq with everyday people as the troup stopped in cities across the US. Also displayed is a huge flag by artist Ed Hall that says “It is what it is” in English, and an equivalent saying in Arabic below it. Painted on two walls are Iraq and the United States, on which the artist has proposed sister cities or twin cities, mimicking what France and Britain did after the second world war to foster community and dialogue between cities that had been in conflict.

The “main part of the show”, as Deller put it, was the lounge area, which will have various service veterans, Iraqi citizens, and academics available daily to engage in discussion with the public. The morning I was there, Iraqi translator and artist Esam Pasha was there, as well as economist and retired marine veteran Wesley Gray. Deller was very adamant that this was “not art”, but an exhibition, and wanted the conversations had to “be the art”. These conversations are not going to be recorded or documented in any way, which I think is kind of a bummer.

The questions from the media to the Wesley Gray and Esam Pasha were uncomfortable at times. When one person asked Gray (who is fluent in Arabic) how he learned the language (through a virtual reality video game), he spoke breifly about customs and signs of respect to the Iraqi people that he had to learn before shipping out. When another journalist followed up with Pasha asking how the people of Iraq were prepared for the American culture (rock music, hats, sunglasses), Pasha replied that they only learned to smile, raise their hands, and do what they were told. He said that the people with the guns are the ones in control. I think a huge success of this project is the civility of the “professionals” during the dialogue that was started. Esam Pasha, another marine veteran and Jeremy Deller were together nonstop for six weeks and could still sit down for a discussion on that day.

I genuinely respect Deller’s desire to create a space for an informed discussion to take place between strangers. We are taught in America that politics is one thing that you shouldn’t bring up at a dinner party, let alone with a stranger. What I think is bullshit, however, is Deller’s assertion that this project is “not art”. He stated this many times during his talk, raising examples like if it was an exhibit in a natural history museum we wouldn’t be calling it art. It kind of miffed me because it seemed as if he was saying that because it wasn’t art, it was somehow more than art, or more significant than art. He seemed to be implying that admitting it was art (hello, you have chosen to exhibit it in a contemporary art museum in a white walled room) would detract from the project, which I think is insulting.

Art or not art, decide for yourself. The calendar of daily talk schedules and speaker biographies for Deller’s project can be found here.

Three perspectives and a short scenario will be up until January 10th, and It Is What It Is: Conversations About Iraq
will be on view until November 15th.

I live in Chicago, I work with kids, and I am one of the many people who are aware that the public education system (in Chicago and elsewhere) is doing a huge disservice to our youth. That said, I was very curious when I saw the trailer for The Providence Effect and it stated that a school on Chicago’s west side had gotten 100% of its graduates into four year colleges this year…and has been doing so for the past 30. Years. Damn.

I got into a nice early bird matinee, hoping I would be the only person in the theater, and was until a gaggle of high school girls and their teacher decided to join me. They did shut up when the film started, thank god, but there was quite a bit of talk about homecoming. Maybe it was all this youthful estrogen in the room that actually made me a little teary towards the end of the film.

The streak of sending every graduate to a college started when Paul J. Adams III began working at Providence St. Mel School in Garfield Park, first as a guidance counsellor and then as principal. He came to Chicago after he was “blacklisted” in Alabama for being involved in the Civil Rights movement. Basically, the school relies on discipline, teachers who are passionate about what they do, and a hands on administration. There is some narrative arch, sort of, about how the Catholic archdioces sought to close the school, and the Baptist Paul Adams ended up buying the building so he could continue what he was trying to do.

But this is an art blog, so lets get serious. The film was very straightforward. There was no conflict to be resolved, no sudden twist of fate, just a bunch of educators talking about what they do. That said, it did seem fascinating that our public schools are so epically failing while this one system is succeeding so incredibly, and everything that the people involved with it were saying seemed so damned simple. Have competent teachers. Excite the students. Set the bar high. Expect and celebrate excellence.I think that the momentum of the school also helps set the pace for the students; I mean, who wants to be the one kid who doesn’t get into a college?

The actual filming of the feature was mediocre at best. The talking heads were fine, well lit, interesting backgrounds. But interspersed between these interviews was reality-tv-esque shots of jumpy handheld hallways and classrooms. The camera seemed almost intrusive in the classes, and incredibly awkward. While discussing gearing children towards college from a young age, a kindergardener is attempting to anwer a question when a camera swoops into his face for a close up and he struggles to finish his sentence. Nice one, jerk. In another incredibly uncomfortable moment, the assistant principal is catches a student doing *gasp*homework from Spanish while in math class, and the cameraman practically falls running over to catch her handing the book over, head hung in shame. The soundtrack was all inspirational pump up music that at one point reminded me of “Eye of the Tiger”, and added a significant cheesy factor to the overall experience. Also, at least a good 30 minutes could have been shaved off of the total time.

If you want to feel good about kids in one school in a bad neighborhood being serious about their education, and maybe cry a little, this is the film for you. Just try not to think about the hundred and something thousand other schools that are completely in the shitter.

Marginal Waters at GOLDEN in Chicago exhibits 13 of the works in the series by Doug Ischar. The backdrop of Chicago’s own Belmont Rocks, since destroyed, sets the stage for the documentation of gay men in the 1980s.

The first room in the impeccable space presents three large framed photographs. The titles of the images are sterile and indexical, simply numbered. MW 19 (1985), the first piece I confronted, is a portrait of a scattered group of men, sunning on the rocks by the water. Two men are standing close, just of the verge between friendship close and intimately close, and there are men stretched out sunning on towels.  Besides the incredibly dense colors, there is something about all of the photographs that is so captivating; the latent sexual desire rubbing up against the innocence of an afternoon in the sun. The subtle hand on the thigh, the peak of underwear beneath impossibly short shorts, the glint of a nipple ring, or connection between two bodies that speaks to the audacity of a normally closeted culture behaving freely in a public arena, almost like  Sunday In the Park on poppers.

The dual landscape of bodies and the rocks was elegantly captured in MW 22 (1985), a portrait of two men embracing on the ground. The curve of the shoulder, knee, seem to act as an extension of the terrain. Also in this image is a lone can of Miller High Life, just one of the many cultural artifacts that look planted in the compositions. Other images include a Diane Arbus book, a Vanity Fair, walkmans (walkmen?), and many ten speed bicycles. There is a subtle illicit implication to the images, an innuendo of illegality.

This feeling of “getting away with something”, as opposed to just being or doing is represented extremely well in the one video piece in the show, Forget Him (2009). This single channel video is extremely compelling and layered. Silent footage found by the artist in a Chicago area flea market in 1990, originally shot in the 1960s, is kept in its entirety with only the playback speeds altered. Ishcar adds captions of Walter Benjamin’s One Way Street, as well as a beautiful section from Heirich Schultz’s Symphoniae Sacrae (1629) . This video serves as a present day reflection on the project from the 80s. It begins with footage of a backyard flower garden, has spaces of blank footage with dust and scratches, and then segments of two men at the rocks. The men are changing, one taking off his pants and donning a jock strap, the other removing his fishnet shirt and khakis and dressing in the tightest shorts you have ever seen, struggling to zip them up. The whole time they are looking around, and the gaze of the camera catches passersby in the distance. This seems like a getting ready ritual that would contemporarily be done in the home, to get ready for a club, but takes place in the open space of the Belmont Rocks.  The word from the text, “lovesick, sick, sick”, echo on the screen, seeming to allude to the previously believed “illness” of homosexuality, as well as the consciousness of the AIDS epidemic.

The gallery itself, located in a classic Chicago graystone in Boystown, (apparently one of the first officially recognized “gay villages” in the United States) is incredibly appropriate, adding to the sense of history and urgency of preservation felt in the show. There was also a neatness to the images that worked extremely well in the historic yet well-groomed space. Jacob Meehan, director of GOLDEN, says that many of the neighborhood homos who showed up for the opening this past weekend actually thanked him for showing the work, and reminisced over the images. I think that this show is a great way to begin the year, and to make a meaningful connection with the community.

There is going to be a catalog for Marginal Waters, which will include all 26 of the images in the series as well as text by David Getsy, Steve Reinke and an interview with John Neff. The exhibition has been extended and there will be a closing and catalog release reception, the dates of which will be posted on the website.

Everybody loves a zombie movie. I recently saw the trailer for a new film, My Bloody Wedding, and got to ask a few questions to the writer and star Morgan C. Mead. Not to be confused with Morgan D. Mead who cowrote the screenplay and directed the film.

From the website:

A feature length comedy about Doug, a dorky young mamma’s boy, who is about to get married to his beautiful bride, Callista, when he notices a change come over her. He catches her sneaking around at night and lying to him…and she’s begun to display flu-like symptoms. So naturally Doug thinks she caught a disease while cheating on him. In reality she has become possessed via an ancient stone and she’s been eating his friends and family without him knowing. When the truth comes out Doug and his remaining groomsmen (his best friend, his robot, and a Luchador) must team up with a psychotic gardener to stop Callista and her demon-possessed bridesmaids before they kill everyone in sight.

Why does the world need another zombie movie, especially now?

Oh gosh! I feel that now more than ever people are looking to escape! With the state of the economy; with work; or maybe without work, people have a lot on their minds. I am a big fan of giving the mind a break. My Bloody Wedding is definitely a good break from everyday thought. To me zombie movies are like romantic comedies – they can be done over and over again in so many different ways. Ours is a comedy/horror. It’s more of a story about a misunderstood “possessed spirit”, a love story. My college thesis was about postmodernism. It’s been going on for centuries. I guess this was my first hats off attempt.

What attracted you to this genre?

I think the idea of a ton of blood and laughs attracted me. I always go toward contradictions. How can I make light of something dark? How can I look at something different than the norm? Also, horror fans are incredibly loyal. I have a ton of respect for that kind of commitment.

What was your inspiration for the screenplay?

Inspiration? Oy! I think that we subconsciously gather inspiration all of our lives. It wasn’t until the actual shoot that I got to see what had inspired me. I must say my main inspiration was Morgan Mead; that’s right! Not me, but another Morgan Mead that I cowrote the movie with. We inspired one another. We wrote the movie from different locations and every draft back and forth was a taunt to make the screenplay better.

You can become a fan on facebook, and keep your eyes out for it to be released around February 2010.

barbara&barbara is a gallery that doesn’t accept commissions from the artists, supports itself by giving legit lesbian haircuts, and is having a BBQ for the closing of the show Pardon Me, I’m Just Not Feeling Like Myself Today at the end of the month.

The barbaras are Kara Wabbel and Sierra Berquist, who opened the gallery in October of last year, and moved to their current location this past April.

The show features the work of artists Ben Speckmann, Tim Pigott, Brian Yates and Tony Francesconi, and aims to focus on the more animalistic drives and desires that humans exhibit.

The space is a store front and has a few couches in the center. When I arrived, music was blasting, and one of “the barbaras”, Kara Wabbel, greeted me in blue latex gloves. Not knowing about the salon operation in the back, I assumed she was preforming some sort of back porch surgery. I am not sure why my mind jumped to this conclusion.

The first work I encountered was Tony Francesconi’s Snare (2009), forcing a fist (presumably his own) into his mouth. He is gazing off into the distance, and the figures teeth are violently pushing the flesh on the fist into wrinkles. The print is larger than life size and glossy, and feels very aggressive, like a bear gnawing it’s paw off. I just grossed myself out.

Brian Speckmann’s Farmer’s Tan Experience (2009) consists of documentation of an experiment of acquiring a farmer’s tan. The male subject poses for a full body portrait of before, during, and after the experience. There are also photos of the subject in a tanning bed wearing a v-neck shirt, shorts, and socks. I have yet to see the fetishization of this type of body in contemporary photography, the quest for markings of someone who does manual labor. Coming from half of a lifetime spent on a farm in New Jersey (yes there are farms there), it seems like a fairly pathetic and urban gesture, along the lines of co-opting the mohawk or white dredlocks. Consulting the text for the show and the context of the work, however, I would read this piece more as attaining a camouflage of sorts.

Tony Francesconi’s portrait, Dripping (2009) was by far my favorite piece of the show, apologies for the funky angle of the image. It is a close up photographic portrait of a subject presumably crying in grief. At least that is how I read it. Being an “ugly crier” myself, I immediately understood the gesture. From a distance, the grimace looks like a cartoonish smile, and I like how this is pushed up against (what I felt was) an agonizing moment.

Tim Pigott had a few hand drawn portraits in the show, similar to his work I had seen at BelieveInn, and Brian Yates had some sculptural and photo work.

The show overall felt like a mixed bag to me. I was seriously drawn to a few of the works, and others I was pretty ambivalent about. I was really curious about a show exploring the fringes of human nature, but I was expecting something a little more raw and dirty than what I saw. But perhaps that is just my own human nature. I’m really into the gallery as an idea; supporting artists and supporting itself while still being accessible and sustainable. I look forward to seeing more shows in this space.

barbara&barbara is located at 1021 N Western Ave in Chicago, IL. The closing for Pardon Me, I’m Just Not Feeling Like Myself Today will be on September 22nd from 6-10pm.

Jill Frank, who had a great show at GOLDEN just about a year ago, and now has a 12×12 up at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, will be giving an artist talk at the MCA this coming Tuesday, August 25th at 630pm. She was kind enough to answer a few questions for me, even though apparently she was in the middle of the woods.

What sports are you bad at playing?
All sports that require coordination.  I like jogging because less can go wrong.  However, I still run into tree branches and trip over potholes on a regular basis.

What was the first photograph that you ever took?
I remember taking a picture of this crawdad in my backyard, my friend was trying to hold it still for me and I was using a polaroid camera.

Can you describe the evolution of your work?
I am interested in aligning images with actual experiences.  I started with a project on my family, where we reenacted all of our most important memories for the camera, in a sense creating a more accurate family album.  This included awkward, humiliating, embarrassing moments rather than the usual portraits.  I moved from that project into photographing other people’s un-documented experiences- (Psychodrama)- which involved advertising my project and looking for participants willing to share.  I ended up with some really interesting people, and I learned a lot about how to document these incidents.  I think the images became more about documenting a performance than making a pristine singular image of an event.  Recently, I have been working less with individuals and more with groups of people and larger histories.  I am really excited about this newer direction because it involves making alternate versions of culturally accepted images.  I am interested in what seems to be missing from these iconic images: the awkwardness, the anxiety, the embarrassment of being human.  I have included two of these newer works in the 12×12. One is Mother and Child #1, where the baby is not in a peaceful state; rather, it is exhibiting signs of anxiety at an early age.

From the series Psychodrama, 2008

What is the significance of creating images from your own memories, and how does this translate to creating images from collective memory (historical, etc)?
I think that images often serve as anchors for our experiences.  It is really interesting to think about whether we or not we value the experience more or less if there is some visual document to serve as evidence.  I want to facilitate a  conversation with this project. As for the way it has moved from individual to more collective experiences, I think that historical events  and collective memories can be just as subjective as our own personal memories.  For me, this project questions the objectivity of the “original” image, and the authors and artists who made them.  I also like to find room for my own spiritual curiosity inside the religious iconography.  I am making these images work for me.

How did the transition in your work from creating images from personal narratives to historical, literary and biblical narratives happen?
I put the word out that I was looking for participants for the personal narratives, and I ran into several groups of people who were well-schooled in different religious histories.  It was a very natural transition in which I learned a lot from the participants. I specifically enjoyed working with  a group of students from Wheaton, Illinois who were extremely open to be a part of whatever strange idea I had.

Do you look at your work as documentation of performances or events, or more
as constructed portraits?
Both.  I started out with very constructed portraits of the participants and moved into a looser, more documentary approach.  Now I think of the performance as the most interesting aspect – the photograph as a document of the reenactment or the reinterpretation.

How has collaborating changed your work?
I enjoy meeting new people and learning about their interests and life experiences, so collaboration is very rewarding.  I still make all of the photographs myself, but I have considered different approaches to this as well.  Generally speaking, I can’t imagine making images based only on my own experiences and interpretations; I am not that interesting!  I think the most amazing part of the collaboration is the learning aspect.

For Ye Shall Be as an Oak, 2008

What do you see as the failures and successes of photographic representation?
Well, I believe failure and success is relative to our expectations of the medium.  The photographic image is the form of visual representation that most closely mimics the human experience, and it is through existing images that we gain an understanding of what may be worthy of representation.  If there are pivotal moments in a person’s life that go undocumented, are documented inaccurately, or events of historic  consequence that are not photographed – it could be perceived as a failure.

Photography succeeds at specificity:  things that our eyes are incapable of processing, a camera can render in permanent painstaking detail.  I think this is a question of subjectivity- one person’s idea of a successful photograph may not speak to another person’s idea of that same moment in time.  These conversations  about the medium make you consider the larger questions surrounding the production of images.

Jill’s work will be up as part of the UBS 12×12 New Artists/New Work program until the end of August.