Ashley Gillanders
“As these rendered fabrics move between virtual and physical spaces, the ability to determine their spaces of origin and what is ‘real’ becomes unclear.”
Interview by Maddie Rose Hills
Could you tell us a bit about yourself and your background? Where did you study?
I was born and raised in a small community just outside of Winnipeg, Canada, which is where I lived for most of my life. Like so many artists working in photography, I fell in love with the medium during a high school darkroom class and the rest is history. After abandoning plans to study architecture in University, I decided to pursue visual art and completed my Bachelor’s degree in Fine Art at the University of Manitoba. The five years that followed were spent travelling, doing residencies, gaining professional experience, and figuring out who I was as an artist and what I wanted to make art about. In 2016, I left Winnipeg to do my MFA at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where I continued to live and work until very recently. This past fall I relocated to the Dallas Fort-Worth area in Texas, where I am currently teaching as an adjunct professor in photography and new media at the University of North Texas.
A sense of theatre runs through the work, through the use of curtain fabric, dramatic lighting, and prop-like objects. While these items may also be found in photography studios, the dramatically tuned up versions of them are more evocative of stage sets. Where did your connection to theatre develop from?
The connection to theater in the work comes from a specific concept, rather than any sort of personal experience. These visuals and aesthetic decisions function as visual metaphors for larger ideas related to photography, reality, and perception. For example, in the series Views from the Apron, the curtain, used as a threshold on a theatrical stage to distinguish reality from non-reality, functions as a location to explore illusion and the spatial complexities created between virtual and non-virtual space. The photographs in this series consist of imagery created and rendered within Maya, a 3D animation program that are often printed, collaged, and re-photographed in a physical space. As these rendered fabrics move between virtual and physical spaces, the ability to determine their spaces of origin and what is ‘real’ becomes unclear.
It's a Poor Sort of Memory That Only Works Backwards, 2018
Installation view from ‘Mirror with a Memory’ at Platform Center for Photographic + Digital Arts (Winnipeg) 2020
Installation detail of ‘Views From the Apron (yellow)’ 2020
Installation detail of ‘Views From the Apron (pink)’ 2020
Installation detail of ‘An Immitation of Truth’ 2020
Was it through learning more about the medium of photography that you developed an interest in perceived realities, or did this initial interest draw you to photography?
In addition to its instantaneity, the ability to create and manipulate realities is what initially drew me towards photography and continues to motivate my practice today. I often wonder where this interest originated from and have simply attributed it to my own desire for control.
Mirrors point back towards the viewer, as does the subject matter which leaves us asking questions about perceived reality and photography practices. How important is the viewer in experiencing the work?
The viewer plays a significant role in a lot of my work, which is something I hadn’t considered until very recently. As I had mentioned with It’s a Poor Sort of Memory that Only Works Backwards, the installation of the work controls the movement and pace of the viewer, and it relies on their physical presence and position within the space in order to function. An interesting development in the work which continues to occur when this piece is exhibited, is its unintentional influence on the role of the viewer as artist or collaborator. Very often, mobile phone cameras are employed by viewers to aid in the process of making comparisons between the photograph and the sculpture. It’s something I never considered would happen but it makes so much sense. I think that these digital images, which function as personal visual aids, are so rich. Even though they aren’t shared with me and I will never see them, I have started to think of them as part of the work.
Speaking specifically about It's a Poor Sort of Memory that Only Works Backwards, the setting and objects surrounding a photograph creates a whole experience. Firstly, do you curate your own shows, and secondly, can the photograph and sculpture function individually or purely as a whole installation?
Sometimes I work with curators and sometimes I don’t – I like having the opportunity to do both. My most recent solo exhibition, Mirror with a Memory, was self-curated. I have a very close relationship with the gallery where it was located, which was ideal because I knew exactly how I could best use the space. This became especially useful while I was planning out I would install It’s a Poor Sort of Memory that Only Works Backwards. With this work it’s very important that the photograph and the sculpture are installed together and in a very specific way. The consideration of sightlines and the use of physical distance is important, as the two components aren’t meant to be in view at the same time. By creating this distance, it asks the viewer to rely on their own memory to make comparisons between two seemingly similar objects, which then leads to a larger conversation about memory, perception, and truth in photography.
Installation view of ‘It's a Poor Sort of Memory That Only Works Backwards’ at Sullivan Galleries (Chicago) 2018
Detail view of ‘It's a Poor Sort of Memory That Only Works Backwards’ at Sullivan Galleries (Chicago) 2018
Installation view of ‘It's a Poor Sort of Memory That Only Works Backwards’ at Platform Center for Photographic + Digital Arts (Winnipeg) 2020
Installation view from ‘Mirror with a Memory’ at Platform Center for Photographic + Digital Arts (Winnipeg) 2020
Tell us a bit about how you spend your day / studio routine? What is your studio like?
I feel so lucky to have found a great studio space in Texas, which I share with my partner just outside of Fort Worth. It’s a 1200 sq./ft. industrial storage space surrounded by farmland, with goats on one side and cows on the other. There is a large garage door on the front of the space that opens up to the outdoors, providing access to fresh air and the warm Texas sun all year round. It’s been a privilege having the ability to create an indoor/outdoor work space all through the winter. Most of our neighbours are contractors and/or mechanics so we are the only artists in the area. I have almost everything I need to be self-sufficient in the space, including a couple of large format printers, a 3D printer, computers for rendering, clean space for print finishing and framing, wet/messy space for construction projects, art storage, etc. I feel very lucky.
My mind functions best in the morning so it’s rare to find me in the studio late at night. I spend a lot of time teaching so I try my best to keep a consistent studio schedule throughout the week. I crave routine and find it necessary to compartmentalize my time in this way.
Is there anything new and exciting in the pipeline you would like to tell us about?
I am scheduled to be part of a two-person exhibition at an artist run space in Tokyo called Mumei this summer (alongside Chicago-based artist Sarah H. Reynolds), as well as a group exhibition at Heaven Gallery in Chicago this fall (curated by Chicago-based curator Pia Singh). However, it looks as though both of these exhibitions will be postponed due to the global pandemic. In the meantime, I’m continuing my work and research related to the series Playing Against the Apparatus, with a focus on writing about the function and form of the camera in virtual space.
All images are courtesy of the artist
Date of publication: 29/04/20
