VSC Exhibition and Special Summer Reading List

Near the end of my residency at Vermont Studio Center, my curatorial self was lured out of hibernation by the wealth and variety of work being created by the writers and artists sharing the experience with me. I decided to curate a selection of their work into this exhibition for my blog. Because logistics and space constraints dictate that I can only include a portion of the residency group, I plan to write another article of this kind in the near future.

The first image you see was not created by one of the residents, but I did find it in a shop in Burlington. It was created by “dug nap,” a self taught artist born and raised in Vermont. The remarkable ecosystem described in this text gives you a taste of how amazing the VSC artists and writers actually are, considering what they have to deal with! Yes, of course it’s exaggerated, but the erratic nature of the weather in Vermont is one of its hallmarks. We experienced all of the named conditions except a blizzard.

Although there were artists working in all media in the program, it unsurprising that I was particularly attracted to those working more conceptually. Among those artists is Danielle Julian-Norton, a sculptor whose sculpture and installation work often involves sensate experiences.

Ambrosia, a 40 ’passageway created with 20,000 bars of Neutrogena soap, suggests a very heady experience in this regard. The variation in the soap’s golden tones and translucency of the installation’s walls evoke magical childhood tales, a quality she also creates with Treading and Transport. In this installation Julian-Norton has suspended dozens of tiny rice paper boats in the gallery space, again carrying the viewer’s imagination to tales of enchanted transport. These qualities are enhanced by the human scale of the work, and her strong use of light and shadow.

In a very different way, Ailsa Staub has been experimenting with creating spaces and modes of escape and safety. With installations like Scout and Escape, she encourages the viewer to tangibly experience their feelings about these activities by partially hiding in a wall mounted box, or by climbing onto

a platform high on the wall. Although these works pose slightly ridiculous solutions to the question of what can provide a sense of escape or safety, the work also addresses the question

of whether these feelings or goals are ever really possible.

Michele Jaquis’ installations, videos, and performances explore the complexity of relationships. In some cases, the work addresses tensions and the dynamics of closeness, often focused on family and friends. During the residency, she investigated this through a photographic series that explored her own sense of cultural identity with 26 Passports (at left). Considering the complexities of immigration in our own time, her work Fake Passport 2 (at right) is a reminder that these issues are not new, and that many of us--born in the US--would not be here if our ancestors did not enter the country surreptitiously.

In 2008 Michele applied her personal identity interests to making the film Recovered – Journeys Through the Autism Spectrum and Back, a remarkable portrait of four children who have recovered from Autism Spectrum Disorder. This award winning film was screened at the ReelHeART International Film Festival in Toronto during our residency, and Michele did a screening for us when she returned from the festival.

Questions of identity are also central to Lewis Colburn's work, which he explores through reenactments and history, as we encounter it "fabricated, sanitized, and manipulated for consumption." Produced for the International Prize for Performance, 4th Edition, put on by the Galleria Civica, Trento, Italy, Colburn hired a local group of Napoleonic-era reenactors to perform drills and guard duty for an evening near the theater where the Performance took place.

Sometimes he recreates historical elements (like the blood spattered coat, appropriated from a 19th century painting) as means to investigate "how history's protagonists become an exercise in contextualizing myself in the 21st century, and an opportunity to interrogate our longing for a past that never was."

Lewis' works sometimes have a surreal quality, such as his Inspections Stations Project, based on an installation of empty guardhouses in Wendover, Utah. Originally part of the Hercules Aerospace plant in Magna, Utah, from 1988-2001 these buildings were occupied by groups of Russian weapons inspectors. As part of a residency at the Center for Land Use Interpretation, Lewis recreated a segment of one of the Soviet guardhouse buildings (at right), that were moved to Utah from Russia.

This work is a reminder that sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction--and that history does repeat itself. Writer and poet Tom Andes evokes this quality in his poignant vignette "Lechery."

Lechery

We bring them oysters, sautéed with butter and leeks. We pour their wine, propping the bottle in the ice bucket next to the table, and we withdraw, bowing with exaggerated flourishes, making the obvious jokes—one joke to him, and then another to ourselves. She looks like his granddaughter, we say, snorting, safely out of earshot, on the other side of the fountain. She’s so young, and yet we cannot stop ourselves from looking. We tally their check, watching with mingled horror and fascination through the French doors, while he leans across the table and cups her chin in his hand, feeding her a morsel of lamb.

-Tom Andes

The expression of desire, coupled with horror and fascination, is also wonderfully expressed in Emari DiGiorgio's "Head in a Hand Basket," published in Barn Own Review (below and at "Head in a Handbasket").

HEAD IN A HAND BASKET

When I get it
in the mail, priority
delivery, I’m expecting
the buy-one-get-one-free
panty offer. Box bigger
than I was expecting but
what do I know of shipping
panties across the country.
And when I open it
I’m not expecting my
ex’s head, swaddled
in bubble wrap, Styrofoam
peanuts littering the floor—why
would I be expecting his head?—
I just hold it in my hands a minute
or two and set it on the table.
What is this? I ask my cat.
She knows that face too.
But she’s hungry and she’s
a cat so she’s not worried
about an invoice or a return
address or how I’m going
to explain this to anyone.
I feed her. And I start
talking to him. What?
He doesn’t have anything
to say now. I wonder
if I should call his sister;
it’s definitely his head.

You would think I’d know
what to do with my ex’s head.
The same way I ought to know
what to do with my mother’s head
or that jackass who let his little
dachshund shit in my yard earlier.
I might bowl his bald head down the street.
But I don’t even know what I’d do
for sure with my mother’s head.
I think I’d like to shrink it and
wear it like a ring. But my ex?
I feel sort of bad just throwing it out
but I don’t really want to keep it
around. If I plant it in the backyard,
not bury it, plant it near the pumpkins,
I wonder if they’ll look like him.
I’m wishing it were October, not
August, I could just leave the head
on my front step with a bowl of candy:
Snickers and Kit-Kats and Gummi Worms.
Some kid dressed as Spiderman might
steal it and then, then I would be free
of this face, I know, I loved, staring at me.

—Emari DiGiorgio

****************************************

Check back in the next week for Part 2 of the VSC Exhibition and Special Summer Reading List.

Preview for Next Post

Today, July 14, marked one week since I returned home to San Francisco from Vermont via Montreal. Although still wistful about leaving VSC, I have retained the feeling of living a writer's life (not easily possible during the school year) and have done much writing during this time. At last, I am ready and able to do the small exhibition and essay focused on artists and writers from the program, which I planned before leaving Vermont Studio Center.

Before I do that, however, I want to mention that I began this portion of the project on Bastille Day. I wish we celebrated it here in the Western US, but unfortunately, we don't. But in honor of the wonderfully curious French sense of humor--evident in contemporary film--I want to first post an image shot in Montreal.

One Month Later--thoughts on residency's end

It's hard to take in that now I am one day away from the end of this residency. It's been an odyssey in many ways. The chance to be a writer for a month has provided a window into the value of unencumbered time to focus on one's creative life. I have been able to focus on a book length manuscript; to get feedback from the two Visiting Writers this month at Vermont Studio Center; to write some fiction; to revisit an old journal entry and turn it into a read aloud story; to collaborate with Alice Pedroletti, an amazing photographer from Milan, which included writing "Sentences for Pictures" (which turned out to be sort of like poetry) and creating a murder mystery for the last night's open studios; and to read part of my interview based manuscript aloud with one of the other writers. This has energized me and I feel I am leaving with a desire to go home and continue with the rhythms established here.

There has also been a great deal of socializing this week, including open studios, the last writers reading (where I did my own reading and slide presentation), and last night's bonfire. The bonfires are sort of a VSC tradition, and we lucked out with the only night of no rain in awhile. It has rained A LOT since I've been here, but it's not cold. It's been a reminder of how dry California is, and what it is like to live in a green state. My eyes don't burn or tear, the water tastes good, and my skin is perfect. Hmmm.

Some of the highlights of this past week are posted below.

The growing play among us. This was before one of the evening events. Alice (left) and Danielle, wearing tiaras.

I know, you had to be there...









The last resident reading: my approach was a departure from the other writers, as I chose to read one of the interviews with another writer, but had him be me and I read the part of the artist I interviewed. I wanted to see what the experience of being interviewed by me is like. It was interesting and fun, and the audience really really liked it.

It has been remarkable, though not entirely surprising, to find out how little people outside the Western US know about art in California. And, how little most artists and writers of all sorts know about Conceptual Art in general. The general enthusiasm about the art and the interview we read part of (in the allotted 10 minutes) has opened up a lot of conversation about it since that time. Stay tuned for more on this. (the person reading with me is writer Tom Andes).

Last night's open studios culminated in a huge party and bonfire. It was one of the only nights in the last month that it wasn't either boiling hot, or raining. It's rained close to every day we've been here. It is, however, what makes the state of Vermont very green.

I realize this picture doesn't seem to have much to do with the rain or the green state. But watching and listening to it is a kind of portrait of this place, at the end of 4 weeks. Social sculpture.

Here's a preview of a detail of the work of Charles Steckler, who has asked me to write about his work for a catalog. I'll be writing more soon about the artists and writers I'm met at VSC. It's been great to meet a new group of creative people, especially because I like their thinking and its outcomes.

Speaking of outcomes, in case you're wondering what happened to the road construction, here's the new road, which was laid yesterday. Because the new road that goes over the temporary bridge runs right in front of the writers building--about 20 yards away--it was amazing to get right next to it, even when it was still hot. There seemed to be no concern that we were all right at the edge of it, watching the street get laid down. Not like where I come from !

It is with some sadness that I must say goodbye to this place. Yet, as always in life, I also get to bring back those stories to share, and all the good creative energy and ideas.


This picture is to give you the "real" picture of how I spent my time here--or at least part of it!

And last, but not least, a studio self-portrait.

Around Johnson--and Beyond

It's strange to be on the brink of the last five days of my residency. Time has felt stretched out through the middle of this month, but now seems to speeding up. I was also reminded of how precious the time spent in this special state (a writer's residency) where our needs are met--food, shelter, a beautiful place to walk and work, a community of creative people to socialize and collaborate with) by today's news of the coup d'etat in Honduras. We are so lucky in this country to have the freedoms we do, and how much we are able to take such rights as the freedom of speech for granted.

In a curious way, I've been struck by how open and friendly people are in this rural area. Walking around Johnson, locals often tell me stories about whatever I'm looking at--and especially what I'm taking pictures of. The stories are most often personal, and have painted a particular picture of this place. It is a somewhat different reality than being in the cloistered environment of a residency, which, now that it is going to end, feels quite precious.

A reminder that Vermont was one of the 13 colonies.

Cat Crossing--this is a first!

I was taking a picture of this and someone told me that it was so in the winter the snow plows would know a fire hydrant is there while plowing. Not like San Francisco winters!






Speaking of preparing for winter...






And now it is raining, and the stream outside my window--lazy for much of the time I've been here, is a raging brown river. When it rains here, it really does pour. Conducive for working, but intense. Here's the river just before it runs under the bridge that connects the town of Johnson to VSC.

Artist's Lives

Artist's Lives

We saw the documentary about Alice Neel last night, made by her grandson, Andrew Neel. it was so moving, as Neel was part of a generation of women that had few role models for making the choice to be an artist first. Born in 1900 and raised working class, she put herself through art school in Philadelphia. Always dedicated to her art, her life was an odyssey through husbands and children, lovers and sitters. She had her first two children with Carlos Enriquez, a Cuban painter from a wealthy family.

The first died of diptheria, and the second, a daughter named Isabetta (born 1928), she lost when Enriquez returned to Cuba (they were living in Philadelphia) with the daughter. Neel became suicidal, spent time in an asylum, and when better moved to New York. It is incredible how poor Neel was through much of her life. In 1933, Neel was hired by the WPA, which afforded her a modest weekly salary. In the 1930s Neel gained a degree of notoriety as an artist, and established a good standing within her circle of downtown intellectuals and Communist Party leaders. She was never an official member of the party, but always felt a kinship with the ideals of Communism, common for the time among liberals and intellectuals.

Then she became involved with Jose Santiago, a Puerto Rican night club singer, and had her first son, Richard. They moved uptown, to Spanish Harlem, which she said was the "kiss of death" for her career. Even though she wasn't selling her work at all when she lived in the Village, she was in the heart of the creative community there. She separated from Jose, and a few years later, had her second son, Hartley, with her then-lover Sam Brody.
Although Brody was abusive, one of the things she remarked on in the film was the fact that he was the first person to truly believe in her as a painter. This was one of the tragic facets of her life, as the abuse took such a huge toll on her sons' lives, fully evident in watching them talk about their growing up and their mother. They both discuss how difficult their lives were--being so poor, their mother's focus on being an artist (her studio was the focal point of their small NY apartment), and the horrors of Sam Brody. Yet, they did not reject her, and in their ways, seem to accept the choices she made. It seems that this is the way life is--no matter what life you are born into, ultimately--hopefully--you try to find a way to resolve what happened. Especially when it comes to your family. So complex.

The most amazing part of the film was watching Neel paint, which occupies much of the footage. She talks a great deal about her life, and observing her painting some of the amazing portraits that were the focus of her life--Meyer Shapiro, Virgil Thompson, and an amazing portrait of Andy Warhol after he had been shot (among the famous); her sons, husband, Isabetta as a child; and the various individuals who populated her life, first in the Village, and later in Spanish Harlem--was astounding. She had a remarkable ability to make her sitters feel comfortable, and her portraits, for me, are like Picasso's: penetrating, distilling the essence of a person with an economy of means. The eyes of her sitters are amazing, and her dedicated choice to paint minimal settings, and to strip away unnecessary detail have astounding effect.

The film is so powerful, it made me and others in the room cry--we were so overcome with emotion because she was so well intentioned, so challenged by the circumstances of her life (female, mostly single, raising two children); dedicated to her work as a painter; and so talented. It was tremendously moving that she did get recognition in her lifetime--a solo show at the Whitney Museum of American Art, and receiving an award from the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters in New York. These awards and recognition were late in life, and through it all, she just kept painting.

Some of those who spoke of her remarkable influence in the film include Robert Storr, Chuck Close, and Marlene Dumas, all of whom talk about her power in capturing character. As Neel said, "I want to capture the zeitgeist," and I believe in many ways she did capture the vulnerability and humanity of her time in powerful ways.

If you are surprised by my passion for this painter, take a look at the film. I'd love to hear your thoughts about it. Here's the link for it: http://www.aliceneelfilm.com/.





Here's an interview with her grandson, Andrew Neel, about the film:

BEING ALICE
Andrew Neel goes behind his grandmother's expressionistic paintings to reveal an intimate side of the legendary portraitist

• The paintings of Alice Neel stare you down. Neel’s subject is intimacy, and her cool portraits of friends and family, New York sophisticates or neighorhood children, all have the haunting ability of freezing you in place, almost surveying you as you study them in and out of clothes or marriages or pregnancies or chairs. It is rather fitting that director Andrew Neel has chosen to make a documentary of his own departed grandmother, splicing archival footage of the artist with interviews of family members and fellow painters. Because capturing the full range of a person seems to be something of a Neel talent. The resultant documentary Alice Neel premiered this spring, and it’s one of the most moving portraits of a difficult icon to make it to the screen in some time. The young Neel answered a few of our questions about memorializing his grandmother.

CHRISTOPHER BOLLEN Were you aware as a child that your grandmother was a famous artist?
ANDREW NEEL Not really. I knew there was something important about what she was doing, but one doesn't really grasp the concept of 'famous' at that age.
CB In the film, Alice’s sons seem to have pushed away from bohemianism. Do you think it skipped a generation and you have something of your grandmother’s bend?
AN Well, I think my parents are eccentrics. They are bohemians in their own way...and I think my sister and I inherited some of their eccentricities. But really the answer to your questions is yes. Hartley and his brother [Alice's sons] were searching for security in their private and personal lives. My sister Elizabeth and I really are not as interested in the trappings of the buttoned-up work-a-day world...marriage...babysitters, etc.
CB Did you find it difficult to interview your own family? Did they try to prevent certain topics being raised?
AN I think it was as hard as any other interview where you are asking intimate questions. Hartley and Richard don’t like subjects that put Alice in a bad light. They loved her and respected her so much. They are annoyed when people focus on the sensational details (that are usually bad). So they were somewhat resistant to talking about some of that stuff. But in the end, being smart people, they felt I was trying to accomplish something interesting and that was more important than controlling information.
CB What did you discover about your grandmother that you didn't know before you started?
AN She had a still-born child in 1939 with Jose (that detail didn't make it into the movie). I can't say I had any sort of dramatic discovery, but my whole conception of her became much more dense and complete.
CB One of the themes of the documentary is that of motherhood—specifically, was Alice Neel a good mother? Did she protect her children, even from her art? What were your conclusions on this?
AN I don’t like making conclusions about people. I think it’s a limited way of looking, especially at enigmatic people like Alice. She didn't protect them as well as she might have in certain situations. I think she made mistakes. But despite that, she was a wonderful mother. She got them all the amenities and advantages of wealthy children. She got them into private schools. She sent them to prestigious piano lessons and ballet school. She saved money in her mattress and bought them Lionel Train sets (which only the wealthy kids had in those days). She gave them self confidence and a respect for art and learning.
CB What do you think is harder—to be a painter in Alice Neel’s day or a documentary filmmaker in Andrew Neel’s day?
AN Being a painter in Alice Neel's day was harder, without a doubt. We have so many places we can show our films today. That doesn't make it peachy. Sometimes it makes it more annoying...but easier too.
CB What is your favorite painting by your grandmother?
AN Joe Gould 1933 (because it freaks people out); Julie and Alges (because it's hot and twisted in some sort of weird, pregnant way); Randal in Extremes (because it's a testament to how hard and anxious it is to be a human being).

Images, in order:

Spanish Harlem

Alice with Enrique, Chester Springs, 1924

Isabetta, 1934

Composite image w/Alice in Studio

Hartley, 1965

Alice with Model

Two Girls, 1959

Andy Warhol, 1970

Alice at opening of her retrospective,

Whitney Museum of American Art, 1980

Studio Notes

One week into being at Vermont Studio Center, things have evolved. The edit of my manuscript is in progress, and I'm working on getting 15-20 pages in the shape I want in order to give them to Sigrid Nunez, this week's writer in residence. Sigrid is a fiction writer, whose texts seem to be memoir, but she says are really fiction. She did a reading last Thursday, and it brought to mind how the best fiction does make one question whether the writing is autobiography or is constructed. I personally think it is some of both. Jumpha Lahiri and Augusten Burroughs straddle this line (among many). If you think about visual art, the same is always true in some way; the work is more or less autobiographical depending on the creator, but if you probe a bit, the personal revelation eventually becomes evident.

One thing I have been interested in for several years is sound and the sound of places. Jane Trowell, James Marriott, and Dan Gretton, who jointly founded the artist collective Platform London, talked about this when I first met and interviewed them in 2001. One of the many walks we took in London, they pointed out how various streets had been paved (many with cobblestones) by the Romans more than 1000 years ago, right over existing rivers. Fleet Street covers part of the Fleet River, and there are various other examples of this. They described the loss of voice of those covered streams as "aphonia," and I have mused on that idea of loss of voice ever since. How we have silenced rivers; made them mute; stolen their ability to speak.

This has been brought to mind by the river that runs through the Vermont Studio Center, and happens to be directly outside the writer's studios. It is a constant auditory presence, though usually a quiet and "white noise" one. However, listen to it on this video.



PS The sound you hear is only the river.

There is a long planned construction of a new bridge over the river, which began just before we arrived last weekend. It doesn't really bother us, but this is what it looks like:






Today, the river is quieter, and this is what I saw and heard outside the window.






Last but not least:
This week's Bonus image: what is it?
Let me know and I'll tell you what it is, and what it reminds me of.

It's so fascinating to be in this residency program with 49 other residents. We're in day 2, and today everyone seems tired, as though the adrenalin rush we all came here on has gone into the ether. Now we get to become present. Having spent my first day getting my Creative Capital grant finished and sent off, I too am tired, but that gets to be OK. I am realizing that I am so used to jamming all the time in order to find space to write in the cracks between my demanding work life, that having this space to primarily be a writer--with my other work life being in the cracks--is going to take some getting used to. I am among those who has spent much of the past 36 hours doggedly working in the studio, but we are all realizing it's not possible to keep up that pace and really get anything done. It is very validating to have a group of people going through the same process together.

The demographics of the group are really interesting. The first night the director gave a speech, and told us that their selection process is based on picking a group that has both affinities and diversity. So in a group of 50 artists and writers, there are 10 individuals in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s. I like that model, and it has felt very comfortable for that reason. I have been spending time with all sorts of folks, and there is a real pleasure in that. Last night I took a walk with two other writers, one who regularly contributes to the Washington Post, and is a character. Another writer with us is hispanic, from New York City, and very different in sensibility. They both have kids, and the flow of conversation felt interesting and natural, as we walked up to Johnson State College on the hill above us. The campus is gorgeous--sort of a cross between Reed College and UC Santa Cruz (it's hilly). A very nice security guard asked us if we'd like to see the inside of any buildings, and I instantly said, "the art department." So we were allowed into the building, which has beautiful big studios, well equipped shops, and picture windows that let you see the very green (as of this season) landscape outside. It must be very white in their long winters--he told us winter is a full six months, which I must confess would be a real deterrent for me if I were to consider living here on an extended basis.

I have also enjoyed getting to know some of the younger residents--painters, sculptors, and this morning met the artist living next door to me in Mason House (my residential house). She looks to be in her early 30s, and lives and teaches new genres (video, installation, etc.) in LA at Otis Art Institute. I liked her too, and it felt good to know I like my next door neighbor, since we'll be sharing a space for the month.

The food is really good--all fresh, salads at lunch and dinner with balsamic and olive oil. to splash on it, chicken or fish options and good vegetables and some sort of starch--little roasted potatoes, or some very good macaroni and cheese at yesterday's lunch. I am hungry a lot (all that fresh air?) but there is always fruit available, as well as coffee and tea. It really is like the perfect summer camp for grown ups. The village of Johnson (it feels like a village, though I don't know if it's actually designated that way) is small, with the requisite bookstore, stocked with good books including one area of VSC resident's writings; a funky coffee and snacks shop (the coffee is very good); and the rest I have yet to explore. I will find the laundromat later in the week, and I was told there are two thrift stores that I'll have to check out. There are also several bars, which I've learned through traveling alot is common in small towns, and a grocery store that sells wine and the New York Times. All good stuff.

The tiny town is definitely class divided, between tourists, which the stores tend to cater to; students from Johnson State College; those of us in the residency program, who use all the services, but especially the coffee and grocery stores, the laundromat, post office, and the library; and residents of this place. Walking to the library, it was surprising to see how modest and slightly dilapidated the streets off the main drag are, a reminder that supporting oneself in this economy and in a rural setting can't be easy.

I will continue to regale you with my tales, but now, having given myself the morning to take it a bit easier, am ready to do some work in my studio. First, to organize more of the book files I've brought to work with--and later to begin to set how I'm going to work on my manuscript. Like many of the people I've met so far, I still have a few things to take care of before I'm entirely free of my home/work life--a review to finish, an interview for another publication to finish, a few other odds and ends I can space out through the next week or two--but basically, the coast seems clear.

One interesting note about the Vermont Studio Center is that most of the buildings and all of the writing studios have name placards on them. I happen to have inherited Dr. Marjorie Atwood, who it turns out was a writer with an interest in the religious art of Mexico, Spain, and New Mexico. I've dropped in a link for her below so you can see more about her.

http://www.whoi.edu/page.do?pid=10934&tid=282&cid=3002&ct=163


PS The chair by the window, with the stacked pillowcases is all my files--my manuscript--which I am now going to tend to. It is, after all, why I'm here--although being a writer full time is really the reason, so I can fully justify the time I'm spending writing this blog!