Opening this Saturday at The Shooting Gallery in SF is Meticulous Engagements a two person show with Christy Langer and Kris Kuksi. I asked Christy a bunch of questions recently, which she answered with great detail. I just love the visions that she lays out in this interview. Read on to learn more about Christy's process, the inspiration behind her latest group of work and to get a great idea of how hard she works.
Can you tell us about the medium that you are work
in?
Generally I work in sculpture, each
piece is executed in a particular fashion depending on the idea I’m
hoping to convey. It can range from something quite tiny and delicate
that could fit in the palm of your hand, to large-scale installation. It
all depends on the concept of each work. I worked for a long time
building props for films and advertising, and stop-motion animation. A
lot of my process comes from those experiences. I loved that line of
work. I learned so much and how to manipulate such a variety of
materials.
Your pieces are incredibly labor
intensive, can you tell us about your process?
Each work is a
three dimensional illustration of remembered experience. Some works are
based on first person experiences, some come from a third party point of
reference. Each work begins with a memory or image I would like to
illustrate originating from one of these sources. And so, I begin
sculpting either from memory or a point of interest.
Initially, I
build
an armature out of aluminum wire if needed, and sculpt the works with
non-drying oil based clay. I rough out the general shape and size of
each piece, and make changes to the armature if needed. At this point,
if there are teeth, claws, bird’s feet, beaks, or any other parts on the
sculpture that require extra detailing, I will tool them out of a hard
material (usually epoxy putty or plastic). I make silicone molds from
these and cast hard urethane plastic copies, which can then be inserted
back into the clay sculpture for the duration of the sculpting process.
These parts are removed when the final sculpt is molded, and then
reattached after the work is cast.
When the sculpture is ready to
mold,
I paint layers of silicone on it to copy the detail. The silicone is
flexible, so a plaster jacket is cast over it to help hold its shape.
Each mold varies from 2 pieces and up, depending on the complication of
the sculpture shape. The final work is then cast in resin, reinforced
with fiberglass. Each mold piece is cast separately, and then joined as a
last step. After the work is removed from the mold, I re-attach any
teeth or appendages previously removed from the initial sculpt. I
finish the works by painting them in oil paint.
Your work is so
beautiful; the palate is soft and
pale and gives off an almost an ethereal feel yet this is often a disparate
contrast of what is actually on display in your work. Your subjects
seem to be in states of shock, in the grips of death or wounded in some
way. Tell us about this juxtaposition.
The relationship
between subject matter verses presentation is often conflicted. It’s
funny, it’s more of a happy accident- to be honest. I can’t say the
frequent juxtaposition that happens is completely intentional, though I
am always pleased with tension that exists when the sculptures can be
both delicate and fierce.
The ghostly palate largely is conceived from
the effort to illustrate that the animals exist as avatars or
apparitions of their original state, as each piece is an illustration of
a moment in an event or story. And so, often the pose, wound, etcetera
is a signifier for the viewer. These signifiers enable re-access to the
original context despite manipulation of the subject.
Because of
this method, as you mentioned before, the outcome is often a strange
combination of a muted ethereal aesthetic married with an intense
posture or pose.
Can you tell us about your
inspirations behind your latest body of work?
This body of
work is inspired by my continued interest in the embellishment that can
occur during the marriage of gradual ingestion and manipulation of
reference. I’m currently engaged thematically with my relationship with
the natural world. Each work, although deviated, are reconstructions
of previously existing models.
My new body
of work is largely the selection of subjects and removing them from
context, allowing them to exist as individual studies.
Some of
your work originates from memories. Would you
mind sharing with us a memory that continually plays out in your work?
The
idea of
animals as game is a theme I tend to visit often. I realize the
imagery I frequently work with can be vicious- this generally is born
from the fact that images or events that make me uncomfortable tend to
stick around in my mind more vividly than others. Lick is a good
example of this tendency. When I was in elementary school, we moved
to a small town in Northern Canada; hunting was a huge past time there.
As we had moved there from a city on the west coast, (Victoria, British
Columbia, a community not very enthusiastic about the sport of killing
animals) I was previously unfamiliar with the tradition. I remember
walking home from school one day in the fall, and sticking up from the
back of a pick up truck I could see a beautiful set of antlers. In my
child’s mind, I was so excited at the prospect of encountering a
sleeping deer up close; I was completely unprepared for what actually
lay in the back of the truck.
At that time, the image was so disturbing
for me, that I began a serious effort to shift my perception and memory
of what I saw that day. I slowly was able to remember something
different, something more palatable when I thought back about the truck
and it’s contents. To this day, I have a difficult time deciphering
between what I really saw and what I later wished I had seen, both
images simultaneously overlapping one another; Lick is the outcome of
this disparity.
(image from The Shooting Gallery blog)
One of the pieces in Meticulous
Engagements is three wolves in a semi circle (above), looking somewhat like hell
hounds. It's such an incredible piece, can you tell us about it?
Here
we travel back to the northern Canadian town. This
piece was conceived as a representation of an experience I had a few
times up there. We had a small cabin on a lake, the only access to it
was by a rough logging road that was inaccessible by car in the winter
because of the snow. My mom loved taking my sister and I out there, but
during the winter months we would have to snowshoe in a couple of miles
from the highway. The cabin was quite isolated, and in the surrounding
forests there were packs of wolves that used the area as their hunting
grounds.The feeling while walking out there was
both extraordinarily eerie, and extraordinarily beautiful. We could
always spot the wolf tracks around in the snow and hear them howling in
the distance, piercing the quiet of the forest. Snow has a funny way of
both muffling and amplifying sound; we could never tell where the noises
were coming from. I never saw them on those trips, but you could feel
them around you all the time. I remember my heart racing until we
reached the cabin, all the while my mind playing tricks on me - every
shadow or snap of a twig became an imminent threat. Suspended Animation
is a combination of what really was there, and what I imagined was out
there.
Can you share with us some of your
creative inspirations?
I’m fascinated by the prolific desire
people have to record and document their surrounding environments. I
draw a lot of my inspiration from artists who pre-date the 18th
century, having to document without the aid of photography. My
own practice I consider to be a documentation of sorts, and I find I am
constantly revisiting the old masters and admiring the skill and
craftsmanship that is evident in their work. Lately I’ve been
particularly drawn to and inspired by Frans Synders’ work, a Flemish
painter who specialized in still life and game. Reprise, an
installation I just completed in 2009, was an entire sculptural
installation based on his painting Cook at a Kitchen Table With Dead
Game.
What is the art scene like in
Toronto?
Vibrant, eclectic,
and very supportive. I’ve always found it great that despite Toronto
being a fairly large city (about 5.5 million people). The city still
has an inexplicable neighborhood feel to it. The neighborhood
atmosphere is extraordinarily evident in the art scene, resulting in a
strong sense of community. There is an immense amount of diverse
talent channeled into the galleries and events that happen here. Collectively the scene crosses boundaries of medium and aesthetics. I
think widely we share a feeling of appreciation and support for the
community as a whole. Some of my favorite artists live here, Jenn E
Norton, Mat Brown, Shary Boyle, Evan Penny, Heather Goodchild, (to name a
few of many!), it’s a great feeling to be in close contact with so many
people I admire.
What is one piece of advice you would give to
younger
version of yourself?
That’s a
tricky one… I would be paranoid the advice might have a butterfly
effect, maybe change my current situation. Things aren’t always peaches,
but on the whole I’m pretty content these days.
What's up for you in
the rest of 2010?
I’d like to push the limits a bit this
year in my work, see what I can come up with; I’m looking forward to
making a few larger, more challenging pieces. I’m also learning to play
the accordion.
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