Morgan Blair’s live/work studio is located in a converted two-story garage in Ridgewood, Queens. The neighborhood is quiet and the building is largely inconspicuous despite her recent foray into murals. We talked about her process where texture and masking dominate and where she sources her imagery from (Youtube tutorials, Seinfeld and Cheetos to name a few). In our short time in her work space, we got a glimpse into her massive VHS collection and a few of the quirks in her studio including a CD rainbow that occurs at 3pm everyday.

Morgan Blair has shown at Greenpoint Terminal Gallery, Nudashank, and White Walls Gallery. Her work is included in the group show “Pattern:::Chaos” at Cinders Gallery which runs until Oct 2.

F: First, how do you start your paintings?

MB: I often start on the internet looking around for an image that I think could be interesting abstracted and/or repeated in a pattern. I go through phases of collecting screenshots from people’s homemade tutorial videos on youtube where someone is demonstrating how to do a craft project or cook a certain food. There are usually some good close-ups on the person’s hands doing something where the whole situation becomes slightly obscured and ends up looking like mostly abstract shapes but with some recognizable elements like fingers or fruit or something. Sometimes I look specifically for tutorials on fruit-based projects, like how to make your own edible arrangement, or how to carve a flower out of a watermelon. There’s also a website I love where people post photos with step-by-step instructions for how to do really specific things. Some of them are amazing because they’ll be like someone’s blurry photos unironically showing how to make a piece of toast which looks like total shit in the end. I found one, I forget what the end result was supposed to be, but the instructions involved soaking a smashed brick of ramen noodles, crushing up a bag of cheetos and then dumping the waterlogged noodles into the bag of crushed up cheetos and squishing it all around together until it was a paste, and then like rolling it into a log to eat. I think it was someone’s totally earnest, alternative burrito invention. So, part of my process is getting distracted by stuff like that in the beginning. Then I play around with the image in photoshop and come up with a pattern, project and trace it onto my surface, and start filling in the shapes. The rest of the time, when all that planning out feels unsatisfying, I just draw a pattern piece by piece onto the surface without knowing what it will be, which is a lot harder for me and makes me spend a lot more time looking at it and thinking.

F: There are these textural elements to your paintings that feel very organic and painterly that contrast with the hard edge gradients. How does that fit into your process? Do you start digitally and then paint? How do the painterly textures come about within your process?

MB: The sandy textures I sometimes use are there to interrupt and contrast the flatness of the rest of the painting and introduce a different kind of space. I also tend to use the airbrush to make scribbly, mottled-looking but flat areas of pattern that might end up looking like they’re in from a second-life scene or video game. I like using that kind of texture to mimic sections of blurry background from whatever image I’m referencing. I usually think a few steps ahead about where the sections of texture will be, so I don’t forget that I want them in there and just plow through them with flat gradients.

F: The shapes in your paintings are very reminiscent of 80s and 90s textile patterns with some pieces like Helen Hunt’s 1968 Snow Globe Containing Vision of Future 1994 Grocery List, Mariah Carey CD and Quack is Wack actually having a repeating pattern. Even the color palette feels very retro. Can you talk about how the abstract shapes are formed as well as how you choose your color palettes?

MB: The shapes in my work are either abstracted from whatever screenshot or still I’m working from, or made up out of nowhere as I work, as in the two pieces you mentioned. In the latter case, it usually happens more easily if I have the pressure and parameters of a specific encroaching deadline with a topic attached (such as, “ducks”), that forces me to come up with something without over-thinking it. Otherwise, if I’m working off an image from the internet, I usually trace and retrace the shapes in the image, first in photoshop, then onto acetate, then onto my surface, so they get looser and more morphed every time they are retraced. That way I can start to let go of the original image any impulse to accurately reproduce it. Color palettes are generated somewhat randomly without too much thought. I just kind of shuffle around bottles of paint until I have a combination that feels new. Or, sometimes I lift color palettes off of video covers or clothes I have.

F: There are a variety of different shaped panels that you use for your paintings including squares, rectangles, and circles. Can you talk a little bit about this decision?

MB:I started using shaped panels when my friend offered some to me that he had made and didn’t have a use for. I don’t have any conceptual reason for using them that relates to my subject matter, but I like switching up the format for variety’s sake and being able to hang the circular panels so the imagery and patterns on them can be more immediately recognizable or less, depending on the orientation of the circle.

F: Since this is a studio visit blog, can you describe your studio space?

MB: I share a live-work space with my boyfriend, in Ridgewood, Queens. It’s a two-story garage with a side room that we made into a kitchen. Out front is a big driveway that houses all our landlord’s junk, and where Nick built a shed and a quarter pipe and a compost bin and some garden beds for tomatoes. Inside, the bottom floor is our studio. The front wall has sections that open up barn door-style, and in between those is a section of glass bricks that let in some good light. We’ve kind of divided the room into our own halves, with my half towards the back.

MB: On my back wall is a glass door that opens to a very shallow alley between our building and the next building, where there’s a bunch of bricks and other refuse. We started seeing an awesome orange cat back there so we dragged a tv cabinet off the street and wedged it back there and made it into a cat hotel with little nest-beds, two egresses, plastic sealing it all in, the works. Duffles, the orange cat, hunkered down there a lot this past winter, which was super cool because we could watch him nap through the glass door. And once a huge raccoon came through. Other than that… there’s just a bunch of ordinary art stuff around – lots of shelves with supplies and books, paint, etc. My flat files miraculously fit exactly, like within a half inch, against a little stretch of wall between the bathroom and the end of the wall next to the stairs. The surface of the flat files is the main resting place for stuff on it’s way to a more permanent location. Currently there are Pat Berran and Ben Sanders paintings waiting to be hung, a few small paintings of ours, a jar of red sand from Utah, a bone, a bike light, a dish of rocks, a bag of sage, three disposable cameras, a deck of cat cards, and two piles of books. There’s a cd on the little window sill in the corner of Nick’s side of the studio that casts a big rainbow onto the wall and ceiling every day around 3, which is cool. Overall the whole place has a good, do-whatever-you-want feel.

F: How long have you been here and what do you look for in a workspace?

MB: We’ve been here one year now. Before that, I still lived in Ridgewood but had a studio in our friend Maya’s space in Williamsburg, which was fun, too. But, since I got a job a few years ago I started wishing I could have my studio at home again (or, live at my studio?), so it would be easier to get into my own work at the end of the day without debating with myself all the time if I had the energy to go to the studio after work. With our situation now, I like being able to work late without then having to bike half an hour home when I’m already tired. And I like having access to my whole vhs collection to watch while I work if I feel like dragging the tv/vcr downstairs. Being in New York, of course the most important thing I look for in a workspace is a good price per square foot, which is so hard to find now and inspires rage every time I have to look for a new spot. But, this place is pretty cheap and all the outdoor space and our weird and quiet surroundings are nice. The light and temperature are decent, too. If I was in a place where I had choices beyond the most basic functionalities, I might allow myself to indulge in the fantasy of some additional studio features such as 5,000 more square feet and a cat sanctuary.

F:What does an average day in studio look like?

MB: When I have the whole day to work and am in the middle of a painting I pretty much just hunker down and spend all day going between cutting and sealing contact paper, filling in those shapes with the airbrush, peeling off the contact paper (my favorite part, maybe even the true secret motivation behind the whole endeavor), and continuing on the next layer of shapes. When I’m not in the middle of a painting, I dick around a lot with other stuff like emails and plants and cleaning and other projects before I can force myself to start something new.

F: What are you working on next?

MB: I just painted a mural in Prospect Heights, went on vacation in some western states, and overhauled my website which were all long-impending projects, so now I have to face my plans of starting a painting based on someone doing a weird strawberry finger-puppet thing on youtube. Then I’m in a little group show at Good Work Gallery opening in early October. Then I’m going Portland, Maine in early/mid October to paint a mural there, and then I have to think about making some new work for a small group show I’m in at Left Field in CA, in March.

You can check out more of Morgan Blair’s work at her website www.morganblair.com

In conjunction with curator and artist, Steve Mykietyn of Orgy Park, we visited Robin Kang‘s spacious studio located in Ridgewood, Queens.

Focusing on weaving, fibers, and collage, Robin Kang utilizes these various techniques to transport the viewer to a place where the abstract and real meet with all of its plans and imperfections. Enlisting techniques of photoshopping imagery, Robin systemizes this with a high tech loom machine that tells which parts of the threads can go up or down according to the imagery. Her practise takes on modes of research in very tactile ways that absorbs the viewer into touch or ideas outside of fine art and into craft and pattern. We talked about her process, the history of weaving and how digital technologies have played a role in her work.

F & S: Can you talk about your process?

R: As in all weaving processes, there is a considerable amount of time and work that goes into the setup of the loom. Warp measuring, winding, and threading can take months. Usually, I wind on very long warps that will then be used for several projects back to back. With the loom set up, each work begins with a research and digital sketching stage. Source material from my research on early computer hardware and historic ethnographic weaving symbolism become a jumping off point for my digitally generated images. After I’m satisfied with an image, it gets translated into a series of weave structures made up of black and white pixels. This is the binary language that my loom understands, either the thread lifts or stays down. Currently, I am using a TC-2 digital Jacquard loom, which utilizes an exciting mixture of contemporary technology and hand weaving. Then, I hand weave a series of tests for the file with different potential yarn colors, textures, and variations. Each weft thread is woven by hand, so there is creative freedom for changing colors and using unusual materials as well. Selections from these tests will become the final works.

F & S: What inspires your interest in making artwork?

R:I’m very interested in the history of weaving and its connections with memory, technology, and communication all conglomerated within an object of usefulness. Additionally, I find satisfaction in the rhythmic and repetitive process of creating the cloth. Cultures all over the planet have engaged in various forms of weaving for centuries, so it is a deeply rich craft to study.

F & S:How did you go from working with collage and printmaking into weaving?

R:My background with creating compositions digitally is very important for working with this particular type of loom since there is a considerable amount of process that goes into the file set up. In a way, it lead me to it. I found myself creating prints that were referencing patterns inspired by textiles and pixelated grid related structures. Learning to weave was a logical next step. There are many similarities with the two process-heavy mediums that still allow for a wide range of improvisation. Now I’m able to create digital images with interlocking threads instead of ink!

F & S:The reference images that appear in your wall pieces come from early technology, can you talk a bit about your findings and decision process?

R:The Jacquard loom has a historical relationship to technological development, and argued by some to be an ancestor to the invention of the computer as it was the first machine to use a punch card system. Additionally, there was a moment in computer history when computers stored data in woven copper wire grids called Ferrite Memory Cores. Researching these beautiful and often hand woven early computer parts became a source of inspiration.

F & S:You recently bought a loom, what new things do you think it will inspire you to create?

R:After utilizing similar looms in another location for several years I decided to take the plunge and get one. Having access to this amazing tool whenever I want has proved so far to be invaluable for the amount of works that I have been able to produce. Additionally, my loom has a capability to weave projects up to 58” wide, which opens tons of possibilities for future projects. It still very much feels like a shiny new toy for me with so much to explore!

F & S:You are also involved with organizing and curating art shows can you talk about your ideas with these? How do you feel that informs your practice?

R:While in grad school at SAIC I ran a small apartment gallery called the Carousel Space Project. I learned so much from that experience and really enjoyed working with other artists that I admired. When I moved back to Brooklyn, I looked for ways to engage with the flourishing Bushwick community in the same way. When a space connected to my studio opened up, I was in the setup stage with my loom so I decided using it for pop-up exhibitions would be a much needed creative outlet. That project space, and also my loom, have been named Penelope. Curating is something that I really enjoy, and I think it’s important for the artist community to have non-commercial exhibition opportunities that encourage experimentation.

F & S:Are these designs created on photoshop or another digital process? How do you anticipate the translation between the digital set up/digital drawing and then the process of physically weaving them?

R:Though I usually use photoshop, there are several ways that you can approach creating files that are compatible with the loom. The process involves a series of steps that translate digital images into weave structures. These determine the way the threads interlock and which ones are visible on the surface of the cloth. Then, the hand weaving aspect is actually very similar to that of a floor loom, using shuttles and bobbins of chosen weft yarns. The exciting part of the process is that, the translation from computer to weaving is never exactly what you expect. Every step has a surprising amount of variables that can drastically change the outcome of the final weaving.

F & S:There is a long history of weaving and see a juxtaposition or even an inherent conflict between the process and application. Do you see it as a conflict between this digital and physical thing or more of an extension of a long lineage of weaving and a logical next step?

R:I see what I’m doing as highlighting the relationships that have already existed between two seemingly unrelated fields. For me, it feels like a logical next step that blends processes from the past, present, and potentially the future. Manifesting something tactile from the digital is really exciting.

F & S:In our visit you hinted at certain traditional ‘correct’ ways of going about weaving in order to achieve a certain amount of ‘good craftsmanship’. How do you navigate through this with the long history of weaving and still have the ability to explore the the material?

R:Compared to lifelong weavers, I’m still relatively novice in terms of certain aspects of craftsmanship that takes years of considerable practice to develop. So, I decided to embrace my mistakes as part of the beauty produced by a handmade process. Sometimes I choose to even highlight these errors by leaving dangling broken threads or wild messy selvages on my finished works. They are handmade glitches, and sometimes I find the mistakes are the best part.

F & S:Your work hangs on the wall reminiscent of antique rugs, very much objects found in craft or collectables, how has your dialogue developed working alongside these sets of formal composing ideas?

R:So far I have used the mode of presentation to play with various ways a viewer may have interacted with textiles in their past. For instance, a precious antique cloth at a museum might be framed under glass or carefully hand stitched to stretched linen, while a folk art tapestry might hang in a home from a dowel rod. Different works seem to call for different presentation modes that fit their personality.

F & S:What can we see from you in the future? What projects are underway?

R:I anticipate a long summer of quality loom time weaving some new projects that I’ve recently designed. Additionally, there are a few curatorial projects currently on view in Brooklyn (Static Cling 2 at BAM, Neo-Craftivism at The Parlour Bushwick) and an upcoming one in the Upper East Side. The fall will also be busy with an amazing group textile exhibition in LA and a great lineup at Penelope. Details for all of these can be found on my social media outlets.

You can see more of Robin Kang’s work at robinkang.org.

As an artist, Jennifer ties in ‘bad humor’ through the use of found material and working on top of it with an almost academic execution. She appropriates these different vocabularies like inkjet printouts and cartoons found online, and combining them in the work. At first, these different vocabularies seem haphazard but on closer inspection the work is extremely meticulous and specific. Jennifer’s work talks about proficiency and brings about a sense of nostalgia by her use of appropriating these high school drawing aesthetics and twisting it with a bad joke.

Jennifer Lee is an artist living and working in Bushwick, Brooklyn and you can take a look at her Sister window project across the street from the Maria Hernandez Park off the Jefferson L stop. ‘the beautiful room is empty’ featuring the work of Daniel Fairbanks is currently on view until May 17th at Sister.

F: Can you talk about your process?
J: My process is varied in terms of how it starts out. Sometimes its how something is going to look, sometimes it starts with the object itself. I always try to find humor in my work. It gives me a sense of perspective and a clear way to understand the relationship between art making and the way it is received. One of my early pieces I did in high school was this bad pastel drawing of Dr. Kevorkian. It was kind of accidental in that it ended up looking like a joke, but there was this light around his face that made him look god-like, and doing the portrait in pastels made this association more clear. It wasn’t meant to be irreverent towards him but for me, it ended up being pretty funny. I do love bad jokes!! I guess you could say that cliches enforce a type of complacency and working with the obvious “bad-joke” type of material you are dealing with that complacency in some way, or at least calling attention to it.

Image courtesy of the Artist

F: Your work is very meticulously and academically done but at the same time, you’re appropriating objects such as cardboard from a cat food dispenser and giving it the same amount of importance. Can you talk about that relationship?
J: I wouldn’t say that I consciously affect an academic style, more that I am trying to paint neutrally, which I guess has that kind of history to it. Although I will say that I think academia was something to rebel against in the early part of modernism, then it went back to academia i.e. Baldessari style in the late 60s, so maybe I feel like we have had an “academic moment” in this stage of art history. It is hardly as defined as that for me though; like if i find something peculiar at a thrift store, or on the internet, then I might want to add to it or accentuate its weirdness via superimposition. Like the cat food dispenser juxtaposed with a medieval video game image, I really have no idea what the relationship means, but it struck me as I was culling images alongside this cat-box and it seems to work intuitively. As far as the tightness in my work, again I strive for a neutral style, but also enjoy the contradiction in appropriating or collaging an image “by hand”, like it would be so much easier to just stick the photo on the box or silk screen it or something but it gains a humanness that I think has more potential for comedy.

F: Where are you finding your references from?
J: I’ll take materials from anywhere really but I love searching at thrift stores for bric-a-brac and of course random google searching.

F: Can you talk about your live/work space?
J: I live in a two bedroom apartment that I share with my partner Zuriel Waters who is also an artist. We sleep in the living room and use the two bedrooms as separate workspaces. We have lived here for about 5 years, we moved to NYC after grad school in 2010 and this was our first apartment.

F:Can you talk about your ‘Sister’ window space gallery?
J: Sister lives in my studio window which is ground level and facing the street. It is on the corner of Starr and Irving in Bushwick. At 5pm (4pm in the winter) we have a light that turns on which is technically when the gallery opens. At night the window lights up and the artwork becomes very easy to see and illuminates the street almost like a beacon. The physical gallery space is remade for each project but the window itself is about 30” square, so obviously the work we show has to be pretty small. Because of this the shows end up being more collaborative and site-specific. Also that means we are limited in terms of what we can show (small things) but on the other hand we can very easily do projects with artists that live far away since the shipping is so affordable.

F: How does this project relate to your own work?
J: I think that the first impulse for me to make Sister was actually humor, the old ‘NY real estate is so expensive we could rent out our window’ thing; like it could be a new yorker cartoon or something. Now it has become much more than that but the absurdity about it is still there which is important. More importantly though is the act of collaborating and connecting with other artists which is a really enriching experience. The fact that I can go on with Sister really without anyone’s permission and that I can offer shows to people who I think deserve them is amazing and genuinely uplifting!

F: The idea of a window is to look out of and instead, your ‘Sister’ window gallery project is allowing people on the street to look in. Can you talk about how this idea came about?
J: My neighbor a few windows down started putting things in his window like an Elvis bust, and I always thought it was a funny idea, and impressed at how actually visible it was as a thing. I thought that it would be conceivable that a small space lit up with some of the signifiers of a gallery could possibly exist in a way if it took itself seriously enough.

F: You personally don’t get to see and interact with your window project works. Do you keep these pieces in mind when you work or do you consider it a separate entity?
J: I do consider them separate when i am in my studio, only because there is a glowing box in my window that feels more like a giant lamp. But every month I have to start preparing for the next show which does take a lot of studio time.

F: How do you choose and curate the work that goes into the window gallery?
J: Well the project sort of originated with conversations I had been having with my friends Terry Young and Christina Fisher who were the first two shows. Not all artists would be interested or have a flexible enough practice for the window so whenever we see something that would work we try to pursue it. So far we have shows lined up through the end of the year including Peter Wilson, Lisa Cobbe, Faith La Rocque and Cooper Holoweski who are all people that we happen to know socially or through school, but we are not opposed to submissions either.

F: Can you share the response you’ve been receiving with this project?
J: All the responses so far have been great, especially from my landlord’s mother

You can see more of Jennifer Lee’s work at jjlee.org and learn more about Sister at sisterbushwick.com

F: Can you talk about your process and how you start your projects?

C: I’m interested in thresholds and boundaries, both psychologically and physically. I look for behaviors that express a duality, a subtext – when a gesture appears to be dominating, but is ultimately an expression of vulnerability; when a person appears under control, but you can sense an unraveling; sexual desire that hovers between violence and pleasure – the moment or space when a behavior changes from being exactly what you anticipate, to the complete opposite.
I find these dynamics in everything; I seek them out. I guess that’s the beginning of everything. I think I am most comfortable in those states— high intensity, uncertainty, with an implied boundary.
I write about these experiences, and try to understand their origins. I perform sketches, and make drawings and photographs before I start experimenting with more people in rehearsals.

F: You start your projects with movie stills, drawings, sketches and photos that you have taken yourself. How do the films evolve throughout the project?

C: I talk about the scenes a lot.  It’s all very psychological and I intuitively understand it sometimes to the degree that I no longer see it. The way people don’t see themselves. Talking about it and performing it, even having someone repeat it back to me in their own language helps me to understand it. Those conversations shape the piece in progress, and that is really what rehearsals are—a visual conversation.

F: Is it as much a collaborative project with the performers and people that you work with? Can you talk more about that?

C: It has to be collaborative when you are working with so many people.  The performers bring themselves to the work, and that is important. I choose and direct them to a certain point, but I don’t want to control every detail. I’m interested in communicating the idea and I like to remain open to the different interpretations of that idea when I watch people in rehearsals. It would be boring if everyone translated a task or a feeling in the same way.
I learn more precisely what I want by watching it unfold, which is the nature of my work.
When I work with a crew, they are as much a part of the collaborative process as the performers. It’s a small crew and everyone has multiple roles to fulfill.
I work with people that understand the power dynamics at play in my work. I like being able to work with all of these really talented people, who bring something different to the table.

F: It seems like a very demanding process and very taxing to the performers. How does this play into your work?

C: Are you relating the challenging physicality involved for the performers to the challenges involved in producing the work? I’ve realized that I am actually performing the same thresholds as a director that I am asking of the performers in the work.
Because I’m not performing in the work as much these days, I think I recreate that physical challenge by pushing myself as a director. It’s become about the process of making these videos and testing myself- how far I can push myself physically, mentally, emotionally and financially.
Of course, there’s the belief that asking people to perform physically exhausting tasks is sort of sadistic, but I think a lot of people like that challenge – it’s gratifying.

F: Some of your earlier videos include you as one the performers. How did this change the overall piece and why have you decided to not include yourself?

C: Since grad school I’ve been in most of the work, but not usually in obvious ways.  I tend to hide, but I wouldn’t say that I’ve decided not to include myself. I am still performing in the recent works. I’ve become a director because I’m working with more people.
I still come up with the gestures, positions, and choreography by practicing and then photographing it.  I like figuring things out that way, because I intuitively know something is good when I am physically doing it. Unfortunately for the performers, I usually know it’s good when it hurts.  

F: The performers backgrounds are mainly in dance. How does this change the way you communicate your ideas or convey what your concept is? Does this change the overall feel of the film?

C: I approach the films as a visual artist and generally everything I ask the dancers to do is something I have done.  I think we bring different things to the work because of that.
Everyone uses their body to communicate, it’s universal. As a woman and an artist performing in images, I’ve always been very attuned to that language.
My ideas are based around communicating emotions through the body, and that is a very human thing. Dancers and actors are trained so they are more aware of the nuances of this communication.

The main difference is that dancers and performers are more familiar with the physical discomfort that comes along with this kind of work so their threshold is often higher. They know their bodies. If something is wrong for their body, they figure out a way to do it so it works.
It’s important working with people that are able to let go. You really have to be able leave parts of yourself out in order to be present. Or maybe I mean hold back–holding back parts of your self. That’s when it gets powerful because you begin to see the threshold of the body, and the person, beneath the surface of the performance. It’s more honest.

F: The video you are currently working on was shot in Skowhegan using artists and instructors. Was this different from your other projects working with professional performers?

C: I’ve only been working with dancers/performers since 2012. In my other work, I’m usually performing along with my friends and lovers.  The majority of my work has been created with people in my life who are not performers.

F: How long does each performance take from early development to completion? Do you work on multiples at the same time? Does the time between filming and edit change how you look at the project?
 
C: It takes a while. I’m working on several things at once, until it comes time to do a big shoot and that completely takes over everything.
I can’t dig into editing the footage right after a video shoot. I need some time away from it. There’s such an adrenaline rush while doing it–all the production, the rehearsals, the meetings, the scripting, the photos, the equipment sourcing and scheduling. It all comes together for 6-8 hours, and then it’s over. It’s sad when it ends.

F: How do you find the places to film? What are the logistics of finding the space, renting the space out and finding costumes?
C: I’m scouting locations constantly. It takes a lot of searching to find a place that will host a shoot with a very small budget. And then it’s all about the schedule – getting 15 people together at the same time the space is available is actually the hardest part. Costumes are usually from my closet.
The props are sourced from all over. I just bought 100 wine glasses for a video I shot, and now I have milk crates full of glasses in my apartment. I don’t know what to do with them.

 
F: Do you see your photographs as a separate body of work than the videos? Do they inform each other?
C: The processes are really different for each. The photos generally come first and inspire the videos—not always, but that is the current process. It’s that thing again where I have to see it to know what to do next. I’m a photographer at heart I guess.

You can see more of Cortney Andrews’ work at www.cortneyandrews.com

Peter is currently preparing for his upcoming solo exhibition in the at the Delaware Center for the Contemporary Arts (DCCA) in Wilmington, DE which will run from April 8th through May 11th.

F: Can you talk a bit about your process with your paintings and drawings? How do you start?

P: I usually begin a small drawing (5×5 inches give or take) in crayon and colored pencil. I remember going to a fantastic Roy Lichtenstein retrospective and was blown away with how much of the final imagery of his paintings were all basically thought out in his little sketches, usually no bigger than 6 x 6 inches. When I do begin a drawing, I usually start with looking at older paintings for something that can be pushed further or commented on in a new work. Pizza slices, fingers, toes, arms, and legs have been populating my paintings and drawings for the last year. As a painter, I am constantly aware of my hands, and as an art handler, I’m on my feet most of the time, and I eat more pizza than I should. If I’m away from my studio, I try to make a drawing or two for the day, usually making them in front of my computer while glancing at past images of my work. Then I’ll tack up the more successful drawings in my studio and give them a shot on a 2 x 2 foot canvas, my current size of choice.

F: Your palette consists of bright unnatural colors giving off an alluring yet toxic vibe. Can you talk a bit about that?

P: Last summer I started using these neon orange, red and green gouaches. I dove right into using them to paint a series of works on paper, entitled “summer dudes” depicting fat, redneck men with pizza slice faces. I wanted to explore the use of garish, synthetic colors in depicting naturally occurring hues of grass, sky and skin. After completing the “summer dudes” series I began thinking more intentionally about the role of these new shades in my work. I began juxtaposing these lurid paints with my previous vocabulary of neutral and primary colors. Frequently I paint one arm or leg in a middle value, while the other is pulsating with an almost off the charts vibrant neon. These discrepancies in color emphasize the fact that the arms or fingers are striving to connect.

F: You work really thin and build up the paintings into these thicker surfaces. How long do they take to paint?

P: Most of my paintings get blocked in with in a two-week period, and then I will put them aside and revisit them intermittently for three or more months. Much of the time bringing these paintings up to my standard of finish is inactive. They hangout on my studio wall (or floor) with little or no progression. When something clicks while I’m lying on the couch, I make the next move. During this period, I determine what elements are resolved and what needs more attention, fully articulating the role of body parts and background in each painting.

F: How many paintings do you do at one time?

P: Typically, I work on up to ten paintings at a time. In any given week I will focus on three or four paintings to push. I prefer to work on multiple pieces simultaneously since it gives me time to think about the next move while not putting too much pressure on any particular painting.

F: Upon close examination I realize that they aren’t taped but rather meticulously painted free hand, allowing for the paint to lip up making this hard edge but juicy quality. Is it important to you to show the paint being paint?

P: Correct, the edges are free hand. In previous works I sometimes taped edges.
I’ve gone back and forth with using tape and what that means to the viewer. I’ve found that my hand does naturally want to tighten up the edges of things, but I’m beginning to slow down that intuitive process if I think a part of the painting can benefit from a brushy or softer edge. That juicy lip quality you mentioned is something I am consciously pursuing in my work. Similarly, Elizabeth Murray’s late work flirted with machinelike execution, while creating a deft comedic lightly-quivering line. This seemingly perfect yet intentionally flawed surface creates a visual reference for an exacting yet personal touch. While in the past, I have relied on a mechanical approach to how I build up my surfaces, I am now interested in creating a dialogue between stark seemingly taped areas and lighter, more fluid textures to show that the paint, is in fact, paint.

F: Some paintings are done in thin washes and others have really juicy paint. When do you know that the surface works in the painting? Does it depend on the image?

P: It often does depend on the image. Currently, I am enjoying the play of combining thick, juicy oil paint with areas of thin, washy acrylic and gouache. Often, it is the figurative elements in the painting, such as the paw-like hand (a nod to Philip Guston) that are painted with a juicier texture, while the background or a pizza pie wedge is painted with a lean, acrylic gesture. The reason I treat these areas differently is to focus as much attention on the figure as possible.

F: Do you use your drawings as a color and composition tool only or are you directly translating the markings into paint?

P: Initially, the drawings were meant as simply a color and composition tool. That was the idea over a year ago when I began painting directly from the drawings. However, right now is a really exciting time for me in the studio because I am making it a point to translate the crayon and pencil marks into the paintings themselves. It is interesting to blow up a pencil or crayon mark that began within a 5×5 inch square onto a 2×2 foot canvas. I recently began a few 4×4 foot canvases, to explore reproducing the markings on a larger scale. For a long time that didn’t occur to me as something that was acceptable for my paintings, but now I’m using crayons and colored pencils, in conjunction with paint to further reference their origins.

F: The paintings make allusions to phallic objects, hands, feet, arms, legs and greasy late night pizza. There’s a built in narrative, journaling or chronicling certain events or ideas. How does this play a role in the work?

P: Yeah, there are some weird things in these paintings. For the last few years, I’ve been interested in referencing the body without having to paint the whole thing. I mean once you paint something resembling a hand or a foot, there’s the body. Sometimes I like to use a pizza slice as a stand in for a head or a torso, but it’s also clearly just a stupid slice of pizza. It happened by chance that I kept rounding the ends of my “legs and arms” and they then resembled phalluses. I often paint late into the night, and that’s as good a time as any to think about failures and triumphs in love and friendship, these paintings deal with a lot of those experiences. How these hands and feet touch each other, or fail to touch each other, are taken from my own life and helps me process relationships.

F: The square orientation of the canvas is reminiscent of a pizza box or record album. At the same time they relate to a small portrait. Are you consciously making a reference to these other objects with your paintings? What about the square format interests you and what is its relationship to your imagery?

P: I wasn’t initially thinking about the shape and size of a pizza box when deciding on the 2×2 foot canvas, but I think it’s great that it came to mind when you looked at my work. The fact that the canvases could be a reference to a pizza box, which is usually resting horizontally (on a table or my chest), but then mounted vertically on a wall is something weird and funny to think about it. Also, interesting that they remind you of the scale of a small portrait. Whether there is a more blatant reference to a head or not, these images are portraits to me. It’s also a conscious decision that the hands, arms, heads, etc. are close to human scale.

As for the square format, I’ve always just found it to be a very pleasing shape to populate with my imagery, but it became important for my body of work entitled “One More Slice” that I created last spring. In this body of work, I repeatedly placed a large circle in the center of the canvas and then carved it up as I saw fit in order to reference parts of the body, a slice for a head there, a slice or two for a plaid shirt here. I wanted each carved slice, in the center of the picture, to immediately draw the eye to the outer corners. The best way to do that was to use the square, and now I’m too stubborn to change.

F: There’s a great deal of humor in the way you paint as well what you paint, this kind of signature heavy-handed mark that describes your
“hands” grasping for things. How much does humor and the role of the hand matter in your work?

P: My wheelhouse is a brand of humor in the vein of the tragically sad Charlie Brown. My characters and their hands never quite resolve their desires or know how to express themselves fully, but they still want the chance to succeed! These grabby hands are happy to take center stage, but then find it difficult to simply clasp the other just three inches way. When one paw does actually manage to locate and press its nuclear glowing skin onto its more subdued counterpart, there isn’t any clear evidence of reciprocation, only acquiescence. The tenderness and vulnerability coming from one claw to the other is coldly shut down or at best, acknowledged with only apathy. Humor matters a lot in my work, it’s what makes the complicated life experiences palatable enough for me to depict on my canvases.

Peter is currently preparing for his upcoming solo exhibition in the Art Lounge Project Space at the Delaware Center for the Contemporary Arts (DCCA) in Wilmington, DE which will run form April 8th through May 9th. You can check out more of his work on his website at www.peterschenck.com

Located in the Brooklyn Fire Proof building, Mike Schreiber’s studio is found just beyond a wall, inside the Group Club Association (GCA) gallery. The front half of the space acts as a gallery space that he runs with his partner, Mary Kosut. To get to Mike’s studio, we first have to walk through the gallery. When we visited, the show ‘Viewing Room’ with work by Cooper Holoweski and Clive Murphy was on view. In keeping with the shows theme of domesticity, we walked over pristine white high pile carpeting specifically installed for the show. Beyond the gallery space, we entered Mikes personal studio. In contrast with the white space that is GCA, Mike’s studio is clearly a workspace with multiple “stations” located around the room where he can drill holes and paint.

Can you talk a little bit about your process? Your work seems to tread between printmaking, painting and sculpture.

I’m a painter. We take a lot for granted. However, I believe that every aspect of an object
must be considered. For example, painters tend to make major decisions without stressing the things a sculpture-oriented person would be concerned with from the start – like scale, materials, placement, and space. I care about these things more and more. All of it nags at me. I’m always playing with ratios and the way my work interacts with the viewer, and connects to other works, and the way it changes the space it occupies. My recent stone paintings solve a lot of problems for me.

Immediately when I walk in the room, I’m confronted by these slabs hanging on the walls but I’m not sure what the materials are. In closer examination, I realize that they are all marble slabs. Is the material intentionally obscured with the process?

I love that idea of obscuring. I hadn’t thought of it that way. The slabs are actually a quartz material used in residential kitchens. And these lozenge shapes are the cutouts of sinks. The stonemasons around here have no use for them, so they put them out on the street. That’s how I originally found them.

There seems to be this built in narrative with the materials. Can you explain your process with the slabs?

I’ve been calling them tablets. They started last summer when I used a lot of this stone cutoff for an installation “Counter Culture,” a floor mosaic people had to walk on in order to view the other works in the show. It was for the exhibition ‘In Every Dream Home…’ here at GCA. The show was about the rapid turnover happening in this neighborhood, materiality vs. materialism, and loss. While making the mosaic I kept noticing the recurring shape of these sink cutouts. They’re like tombstones, or vanity mirrors. Each one represents some kind of void.

Holes and rivets open the surface of the tablets. Are the holes already present when you find them or are you creating them?

I add the holes. The quartz is just soft enough so that I can get through it with a hammer drill. The holes are paradoxical in that they literally represent absence but they add up in other ways. I think about them as negative points, or locations. Each painting has three points and together they create an invisible shape – a triangle – the simplest shape. The invisible triangle is a constellation, a kind of map. Then I add these grommets as value referents or correctives. The reflective metal shows the brightest whites and the darkest blacks. I use grommets because they’re typically used on fabric and these refer to the printed image of fabric on the stone. They also make me think of drain holes, or bushings that act as guides for your eyes and thoughts.

How do you achieve the black paint patterns on the surface? The buzzy texture that occurs reminds me of the Moiré effect seen in multiple screens overlaying each other.

The image is mono-printed. I use matte black gesso. I paint the gesso onto the surface of grid textured foam carpet padding and then press the stone onto it with my full body weight. If I do it well I get a very crisp image. But no matter how well I do it the image is always unique and singular. It becomes a snapshot of itself, or a record of a moment captured in stone, like a fossil.

Do you see this body of work as an extension of your other work on canvas or as a separate entity?

It’s definitely an extension. Different materials, same sensibilities. Different bodies of work, but maybe they’re more like limbs on the same body. Lately I’m freeing them up or liberating them – seeing what the hands have to say to the feet, or what the feet want to do with the head.

Your studio is split into two distinct spaces, a gallery (GCA) and your work space. Do you find your curatorial projects in GCA influencing or informing your studio practice? For instance with the floor mosaic piece or your tablet paintings?

Absolutely. GCA has been really generative that way. And the spatial arrangement here has worked well because there is a direct link between public and private. The GCA side is like a test-site for artworks and exhibitions. In turn, the studio side has somehow become better equipped for making things. In a tangible way, I’m in conversation with my artist friends. My studio is a private space, but I don’t want to work in a silo where I am shut off. I guess this is why I deal with the innumerable difficulties of living in NYC. Its important for me to be surrounded by my peers – and that includes not only painters, but musicians and writers as well.

I’d say what’s been most informative personally is the challenge of doing right by other artists. It can be difficult to talk about an artists’ work and do it justice. I’m sure you can relate. And getting it wrong or misrepresenting someone is the worst thing you can do. I’ve had nightmares about it.

GCA is run by Mike Schreiber and his partner Mary Kosut. Their next exhibition Deep Space/Shallow Grave opens Friday March 27th. More info at groupclubassociation.tumblr.com

More of Mike’s work can be viewed at his website www.mikeschreiber.info

Happy New Year!

2014 was an introspective year at #FFFFFF Walls. We thought about what kind of blog we wanted to be and what information we want to bring to you. After experimenting with a few things, we felt our sole focus should be spent on documenting artist’s studios and their work at the time – the reason why we wanted to start this blog. Going into 2015, we plan to continue to go on studio visits and interview artists. Thank you for reading and supporting. We couldn’t have done it without you!

Cheers,
Lorraine & Jonathan

2014 Studio Visits
Michael Dotson
Zuriel Waters
Stephen Truax
Cooper Holoweski
Alexandra Phillips
Shara Hughes
Austin Eddy