“I see it as all being on a line and the further
you go down the line, the more abstract something is.
Not every sculpture begins at the beginning of the line;
sometimes I come in at the middle, then I go up and
down the line.”
you go down the line, the more abstract something is.
Not every sculpture begins at the beginning of the line;
sometimes I come in at the middle, then I go up and
down the line.”
CARA ERSKINE: Diamond Shadow and Puddle Shadow seem aggressively abstract; one half hangs, one half is on the floor, and the physical relationship of the two creates visual tension, while Plants and Window Shadow primarily point to instantly recognizable things in nature.
SARAH E. WOOD: I feel equally connected to both approaches, and sometimes don't see the difference. Because they are physical and they reference other physical forms, they aren't those things: a photo of a chair is not a chair. I know there is a difference, and for me, I see it as all being on a line and the further you go down the line, the more abstract something is. Not every sculpture begins at the beginning of the line; sometimes I come in at the middle, then I go up and down the line. Diamond Shadow and Puddle Shadow represent a real phenomenon, just like Window Shadow does. So the relationships aren't abstract, they're actual.
CE: Window Shadow feels like the Modernist grid in atrophy. It reads like a well-structured joke, the build-up of tension only to release…
SEW: I think that’s an interesting read, it’s as if the window is slumping against the wall, but the joke, if there is one, would be that it’s not a Modernist grid, it’s not that abstracted.
CE: Yes, it’s deflated, and seems like something you’re pulling the rug out from under. In Beggin’, both the title and the sculpture suggest action, implied or foreshadowed.
SEW: With Beggin', I'm going out on a limb—taking a risk by identifying the mood in words, and not just letting the object do it on its own. It's an uncomfortable proposition because I generally don't lead the way so literally. Perhaps it's due to the form of the hand being so direct and so sticky with symbolism. This hand form seems more tied up with possibilities than other forms I use, so the title reigns it in.
CE: You've said color is not a decision you're interested in making. Your use of color seems to be materially driven, like Frank Stella using a house painter's brush to determine the width of a stripe...
SEW: What I should have said is this: Color is a decision that I've already made. Color is something that I struggled with in the past because it seemed arbitrary. Once I began using black, only black, I felt freed up to focus on other concerns: content, form, creating an atmosphere. This freedom also opened up a new phenomenon for me where each object connects with the next, they associate primarily with each other and secondarily with anything else.
CE: It makes sense to limit the variables to create freedom, but I think it's interesting that you saw color and form as mutually exclusive.
SEW: I just feel like reducing my options right now, I think all of these moves have to do with discovery, and it’s entirely possible that other colors—even though black really has so many varieties within it—could also be included.
CE: I’m curious about the new benches for the plants. The plants were once placed on hulking, grey platforms made of felt and concrete, right?
SEW: The original benches for the plants were brown felt and while they looked heavy, weren't actually, and had no concrete; regardless, that was the look. The feeling was that of 1970s public-use architecture, like libraries, classrooms or malls. I abandoned these benches because this wasn't the location that I wished to invoke for the plants, the form was good but misplaced. The place for the plants is my grandparents’ sunroom, or a porch or a radiator or a bookshelf. It's a specifically modest place, a familiar place. If all of the plants are directly on the floor they seem anxious, like something is going to happen…in a way, the trick in displaying them is that all of the rules are already in place and exist for all to see in any house or office. It’s part of their making, the form is predetermined.
CE: I look to certain writers to clarify my visual practice, and always find myself reading Mary Gaitskill. You introduced me to Flannery O’Connor, what in particular interests you about her writing?
SEW: Her writing is important to me because it's about a really specific mood. It touches on humor and disappointment, embarrassment, expectations thwarted, but it's not a downer, it seems a complete picture, layer upon layer of specificity, I can really soak that up.
CE: “Expectations thwarted” seems like a metaphor for making. I feel like making is a search for something complete, made through building or rebuilding, a series of decisions, then the work makes some decisions for itself at some point. What helps you to create a particular atmosphere in your work?
SEW: I’m trying to pinpoint that myself. I’m working towards a goal which can be obscured from me if I’m not careful, but I feel supported by the works of art that give me what I am trying to do myself. I can recognize in a story or movie what I’m doing.
CE: I'm thinking of a sculpture I saw of yours in 2002—in the hallway of a building in Bushwick where I was living—a disembodied hand on a table. I’m interested in this autonomous hand, do horror films influence your work?
SEW: I am a fan of films like Lars Von Trier's Epidemic, his television series The Kingdom or any of Michael Haneke's films, where an ordinary situation goes awry, like Funny Games, Code Unknown...these aren't “horror films” in the American sense. I have trouble with straight horror movies, like I couldn't watch Hostel, but I thought Cabin Fever was funny. I am a huge David Lynch fan and as a young person watched the television series Twin Peaks—that kind of horror I can really feel inspired by—Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire. Also, I think it’s a little obvious, but in Blue Velvet there’s an ear in the grass…this kind of disconnection is the kind of thing I find exciting, it calls everything into question, especially if it goes unexplained.
***
Sarah E. Wood lives and works in Brooklyn, NY. Her work can be viewed at http://www.sarahewood.blogspot.com
Cara Erskine is an artist based in Pittsburgh. http://www.caraerskine.com
