“I am drawn to objects that remind me of the environment I was raised in - things that seem like they represent some cultural or social expectation.”

Interview by Brooke Hailey Hoffert

Could you tell us a bit about yourself and your background? Where did you study?

I am originally from Montana and have spent most of my time there. In 2018, I got my BFA from the University of Montana in Missoula. I was lucky in Missoula and able to really stretch out and find some footing for my work. Montana can be rigidly masculine and endorse many social expectations for gender which is where most of the fuel for my work stems from. But during my undergrad, I did a lot of collaboration and DIY shows throughout the community with some really great people and found what I needed from Montana. Since then I’ve been moving around a lot - I did a residency in Pittsburgh for a few months, then got accepted to Tulane for their MFA program where I spent a year in New Orleans. I transferred to another program in rural Illinois last May which is where I am currently.

What is the biggest thing that you want people to take away from viewing your art?

I want people to understand that the symbols and ideas perpetuated by our cultural environment aren’t fixed. The combination of imagery and materials in my work are meant to contradict, exaggerate, and detach any previous associations you might with them. As I grow as an individual my own interpretation of these things change too, so I hope I can project that sense of adjustment and permeability to new ideas. I also appreciate that there may be a degree of separation between the audience and the work; I don’t want every ingredient to reveal itself. So, if they feel a sense of ambiguity or a moment of confusion I really welcome that. My job as an artist is to ask questions - those questions could be political, personal, sociological, etc  - but I don’t think the role of the artist is to have answers for these things. We have a great opportunity to exist in space and observe our surroundings which can often be really confounding and overwhelming. I love being able to find a specific observation and point to it in order to draw attention to it and kind of say like “are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Maybe that’s naive, but if I was able to answer it I think art would lose its charm. 

Your art brings that emotional gratification with your usage of kitsch. What draws you to the objects that you use in your work and where do you find inspiration to use them in the way that you do?

 
Yeah, I think kitsch has this ability to bring some form of humor or lightness to anything. It’s kind of sentimental and tender too, but often a bit odd. Mostly, I am drawn to objects that remind me of the environment I was raised in - things that seem like they represent some cultural or social expectation. There are lots of (cowboy) Western undertones to my work, some sports imagery, a bit of tacky home decor, and trope-y romance. A lot of my work deals with tropes and archetypes, and so I think the objects I utilize represent that in some shape or form. I care a lot about these objects and images and attempt to give them reverence, but I also want to question their legitimacy when intersected with other forces. I try to ask questions about privilege, masculinity, and sexuality (queerness) in my work and the objects must be able to fit into that equation somehow. Most of the items I’m drawn to are ironic in their sincerity, cartoonish, or just kind of ugly by design standards. Because of that, my work kind of becomes humorous or exaggerated in a way that I use to my benefit. The subject matter of my work can feel really heavy at times, and it’s stuff I deal with on a daily basis. I want to expose the fact that all of these constructs trying to negotiate or influence our identities don’t need to actually have the gravity our society gives them - which kitsch is the perfect vehicle to do so.

What artwork have you seen recently that has resonated with you?

Rachel Youn recently had an installation called “Gather” up at the Contemporary Art Museum in St. Louis, Missouri. It struck me in a way I didn’t expect it to actually. They filled the room with artificial plants attached to personal massage devices and had them permanently moving all over the space. To accompany them a sound score made up of electronic, disco, and gospel music mixed with some religious sermons played. There were many large speakers with cords connected to iPhones exposed and tangled throughout the floor. Nothing is disguised and the plants had lost petals or broken as the show continued. Overall it was a really joyous and activated space where the sound and the plants just collide with one another. The lighting was a dim rotation of saturated colors with a disco ball spinning from the ceiling in the center. It reminded me of being in the middle of a dance floor or navigating my way through a crowded party. “Gather” made me laugh immediately - I felt like I was being greeted by a group of friends excited that I showed up to the party. I think all of our prolonged isolation has made me grieve communal space in a way I didn’t acknowledge until I saw this installation. It didn’t make me sad though, it made me hopeful to return to spaces where I can be uninhibited with my loved ones but to return with gratitude and tenderness.

How do you go about naming your work?

Because I make work to communicate with elements from pop culture, I think it also deals with language in a roundabout way. Language dictates so much of how we perceive these things and can really help form its identity. Usually, before I see the idea for a new piece, I hear a phrase that informs its creation. Colloquialisms are a major part of the titles. Usually, they are a paraphrased version of something I heard or a common expression/slang. Like my piece “Blowin’ in the Breeze”, which is a combination of “shootin’ the breeze” and “hanging in the breeze”. I am drawn to language the same way I am to objects - I used each of their prior histories to inform the other. I want my titles to be a generous invitation into the work; they are just as important as the visual elements. Their intention is to highlight the undertones of my content and sometimes they have to be twisted to do so, but it’s most exciting when they align in an uncanny way - like “Best thing since sliced bread” where I found a way to sexualize and queer this phrase I heard so often from my dad growing up. The way I arrange and combine elements in my work can require quite a bit of decoding, so I use titles to clue the audience into where my mind was while making it, but the rest is up to them. It drives me crazy to see a piece untitled, or even worse, untitled with a suggested title in parentheses.

Tell us a bit about how you spend your day/studio routine? What is your studio like?

My studio is the most disorganized place in my life; I work on any and all surfaces. Most studio days begin with a quick clean up to try and clear my thoughts and get ready for what I’m about to do. Usually, when I’m done for the day I’ve exerted too much energy to think about cleaning. I work on multiple pieces at once to keep a consistent flow going and to not let anything get overworked. If I don’t really have a direction, it helps to have the collection of objects and random materials around to consistently be able to combine and play. A lot of my practice lately has been me breaking down my expectations for how a “finished” piece feels or is executed. Is the random arrangement without anything fixed to one another worthy of being shown? Is that just studio play? I’m trying to break down my expectations and allow myself to follow intuition. Since I consider myself a sculptor, I need to allow myself to be as expansive as the medium is.
 

Is there anything new and exciting in the pipeline you would like to tell us about?

I’m just diligently trying to focus on my practice and some writing right now - it’s full-blown winter where I am so I’m staying in. I am looking forward to curatorial and collaborative projects with some new people. A friend and I have a project going and we have been finding places to send the proposal to so hopefully we can see that through soon. I have been feeling like I am not done navigating my way through some past narratives and because I’ve moved around so much I have some new imagery and language to help develop these ideas. So I hope to be able to articulate that through some new sculpture work and maybe get back into painting a bit and explore some collaged videos I’ve been imagining in my notes app. Summer 2022, which feels so far away, I’ll be attending Red Lodge Clay center as a resident with the collective I’m a member of.

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All images are courtesy of the artist
Date of publication: 21/01/21