5 Questions: Pete Watts
Pete Watts (born 1984, Vermont) is an artist based in New York. He graduated in 2006 with a BFA in Printmaking from the Rhode Island School of Design. In exploring humanity’s relationship with the natural world, his work depicts both the myriad technological systems essential to modern existence, and the temporal, elemental, and entropic forces that place these systems under a state of constant threat. Rendered in painstaking detail, and left unframed, the vulnerability of works themselves mirror the fragile equilibrium sustaining human life on the planet.
he currently has work in the Summer Group Exhibition at Joshua Liner Gallery.
http://www.joshualinergallery.com/
BL: Your work takes on environmental issues, industrial and historical sites, and disaster, can you talk a little bit about how your process of rendering influences your understanding of and relationship to the subject.
PW: Creating the works I do inevitably involves spending quite a bit of time with whatever subject matter they happen to be depicting. Initially, a lot of the drawings I was creating were coming from a source of anger or frustration; based on the contradictions and shortsightedness I saw around me in capitalist society. The destruction of our ecosystem was particularly upsetting to me, and I wanted to share that shock and frustration with the audience. As time went on, this approach started to become really tolling, and I eventually reached a point where I decided that I was tired to focusing on things that upset me. Since that breakthrough of sorts, I’ve been trying to explore the complexity and interdependence that supports existence on the planet- as well as spaces that symbolically demonstrate the give and take between order and chaos.
BL: Graphite gives you a sort of intimacy and detail with subject that other media may not necessarily allow you. What, besides that, is the real draw to this particular medium for you?
PW: Prior to my graphite drawings, I had been creating these really busy black and white line drawings for a number of years. I really enjoy working within self-imposed limitations, but began to reach a point where I found myself concerned more and more with the tonal subtleties of the images I was creating, in a way that line drawings weren’t really able to address. Once I began the first couple pencil drawings, I found myself seduced by the delicacy of the surface, and to the luminosity of the graphite. My work explores the entropy and emergence within systems- the dynamic between order and chaos. The relationship between the subject matter of my drawings and the physical vulnerably of the medium really seemed to echo the ideas in the work.
There’s an inferred criticism of carelessness of modern industrial practices in my work. The material limitations facing earth seem absolutely at odds with an industrial culture built around planned obsolescence, petrochemicals and constant growth. The simple and (relatively) organic nature of graphite drawings on paper and wood are intended as a counter thesis to this model: a mode of production based around dedications and laborious craftsmanship.
BL: The detail, perspective, white space, and cross section technique give me simultaneous reads on the scale of your subject and I think go a long way in making the viewer think both about the subject and the larger picture. How do these things function for you as the image maker?
PW: You phrased it quite well yourself- and its something I’ve struggled trying to articulate. As I was beginning this body of work, I had begun collecting a large number of diagrams, and I kept noticing that industrial/mechanical diagrams generally ignored ecology, and vise versa. Since I was largely concerned with the relationship between humanity and the rest of our ecosystem, it seemed an obvious conclusion that we needed to pay greater attention to the relationship and effects between these two seemingly separate worlds. By depicting industrial scenes in relation to the earth around it, I’m hoping that the viewer begins to consider the larger impact that these scenes are having on the future of the planet.
BL: Who are some of the artists that you call an influence?
PW: Toba Khedoori, Julie Mehretu, Mark Lombardi, and Hans Haacke, and Ron Fricke (the director of Baraka) have all had a significant influence on my art. Documentary photographers like Bernd and Hilla Becher, and Edward Burtynsky have also really informed how I think about the function of my art in society. Less obvious influences would be Spike Jonze, Mike Mills, Ryan McGinness, Social Realism, and WPA-era posters- work that transcends the conventional boundaries between art and design.
BL: I would love to hear what your thoughts on the idea of a body of work are.
PW: To me, a body of work signifies a group of works that are focused around a central theme, and which typically have a consistent aesthetic and medium. I’m actually a little unsure of this definition though- because I feel like a lot of artists, especially when their work is particularly detailed or realistic end up also creating work that can be much faster, looser, and simpler than their ‘normal’ work. This seems to be the inevitable response to working within such limited guidelines, and in some ways, separating it from the rest of their artistic output seems to impoverish the audiences understanding of their work. Dan Colen is a good example of this- an artist who will hang meticulous oil paintings next to a text-based, monochromatic aerosol painting that may have taken all of thirty seconds to create.
5 Questions: Matthew Shelley
BL: Who are some artists that you count as influences?
MS: I think my influences are pretty diverse. Each of the artists that I
look at bring unique interests to the table. I’d like to think that
aesthetics doesn’t enter the equation, but that’s probably not totally
true. I’m very interested in processed oriented artists. I
appreciate work when the appearance of the piece is the result of a
process that leads the work in a direction that is dictated by content
rather than aesthetics. Vija Celmins, Gerhard Richter, Mark Rothko,
Dario Robleto’s early work, but not so much his later stuff, Linn
Meyers, and Kristin Holder… those are all artists I think about
quite regularly. Also, my peers and other artists I get face to face
dialog with. That’s massively important and probably has the greatest
impact. I try and pay attention to blogs and do a little writing on
my own, so that keeps me connected to the contemporary art world.
Staying up on current exhibitions and allowing new work to influence
you is really important, but to tell the truth I’m not as diligent as
I should be.
BL: You work primarily in graphite but I know you have other art making skills. How do you think your understanding of digital making, photography, painting, impacts your understanding of drawing and vice versa?
MS: Yeah, at the moment I am working primarily in graphite drawing, but I
try not to build heavy alliances with any single practice or method.
I admire a lot of painters and people who work with traditional media,
but I’m sort of suspicious of artists who define themselves based on a
medium, such as a painting, or sculpting, or something.
Earlier on I completely defined myself as a painter. My entire
creative life was subservient to this one tradition. I only went to
exhibits that involved painting and I resented anything that
challenged the status of painting. Ultimately, I had to challenge
that idea and redefine how I understood the art world, which is good
because that opinion was really immature and uninformed. In some ways
it’s good that I had to deconstruct that kind of viewpoint because
it’s built a healthy distrust of one’s relationship to artistic
medium. I do my best to keep that in mind when making and when
viewing. I love the process of drawing and painting, but hopefully,
because of past experiences I can avoid becoming seduced by a
particular practice and keep the work about the concept rather than
the pleasure of craft. I try to keep my practice as open as possible.
At this point in my development, drawing perfectly matches my aims,
but when it’s no longer the most effective method I’ll switch to
something else, at least that’s what I’d like to believe.
I’ve experimented with digital media and I think there’s some really
exciting possibilities there. I think that method has a nice way of
keeping things fresh. It seems to present challenging situations and
the medium generally resists stylization. Most artists that I know
who are working with new media are forced to reinvent their practice
with each new project and I really respect that. As the medium
becomes more established it’s very possible that it could become
alexandrian and repetitive, but I guess that’s the artist’s
responsibility to avoid that and really has little to do with the
materials and technology.
Earlier this year I made a series of short films that were developed
through digitizing damaged medium format film negatives. I took the
still images and collaged them together to create a landscape. It
ended up as a three channel projection in which the weather and
lighting shown in the landscapes changed continuously, altering and
redeveloping the landscape. That was a fun project and I plan on
making a second, more refined version of that later this year. When
that’s done I’ll post it on my website for viewing.
BL: Can you talk a little bit about what it means to you to make a mark?
MS: The action of making a mark is extremely important to me and is
heavily connected to the content my work explores. Lately I’ve made
efforts to remove any sense of expression from my mark making and
reduce it to a state where it’s simply evidence of an event, but
documented in a neutral way with no poetics or romance attached to it.
I get pretty worried when I see expressive mark making show up in my
work because my images already have a tendency to become overly
sentimental. I try to strip my imagery of it’s drama through
repetitive mark making. In the most recent landscapes equal
precedence is given to each mark and values build up on their own as
portions of the drawing are worked and reworked. The neutral approach
of repetitive mark making prompts me to treat each part of the drawing
the same and protects the work from my tendency to romanticize the
imagery I use. The process of this action allows the drawing to
develop according to it’s own terms and removes my aesthetics and
desires for how the piece should look. In this way the drawings
retain their integrity and the end result is more honest than when I
manipulate the drawings into having the appearance I want them to.
These ideas are a kind of set of rules that I try to adhere to, but
I’m not always successful. When I get negligent and wrapped up with
appearances, that seems to be when the drawings fail. It’s funny when
you have an inherent appetite for things that damage your work. I
have an attraction for nostalgic images, so I have to set up a drawing
practice that allows me to explore those images, but remains
inexpressive through repetitive mark making. Otherwise the romance
gets turned up to level 11 and the drawings get really gross.
I don’t like the idea of an expressive mark. I think that’s actually
kind of arrogant. To assume that the artist is so remarkable that he
or she can make a mark that communicates an expression, and that we
should then celebrate that expression, and discuss that expression, I
think that’s a pretty funny idea. It seems kind of wrapped up with
stereotypes that elevate the artist to a mythical state, which is
obviously not a reality.
BL: I’ve heard the expression, everything happens for a reason, can you talk a little bit about what kind of implications concept has for form?
MS: I’m not sure how I feel about that. I know that when evaluating my
own art practice that’s a standard I try to live up to, but I’m sure
there are exceptions. I’m most impressed by artwork that is made in a
way that reflects the content that prompted it’s creation, but that’s
all good art, so I don’t really know what I’m talking about. I can’t
think of any good artwork where form is divorced from the content.
Artwork should have a visual appearance that reflects the ideas that
were the catalyst for it’s creation. It’s a visual manifestation of
ideas, and if the appearance of the object isn’t connected to those
ideas then the work needs to be re-evaluated and probably remade in a
way that’s closer to the original intention. If the form the work
takes isn’t in direct dialog with the ideas that it originated from,
then the work becomes materialistic and basically irrelevant. I feel
that the success or failure of a piece should hinge upon how close it
can get to it’s subject matter. That’s why a Minimalist piece can be
equally as compelling and beautiful as a painting from the
Renaissance, because both artworks managed to eloquently express the
ideas that led to their creation. Those works are not important
because the painting involved is impressive, or because the making of
the object was difficult, they’re important because the way they were
made, and the ideas behind why they were made are absolutely seamless.
The form these things take can’t be separated from the content. But
that’s not to say that there is a formula for successful artwork.
It’s complicated because sometimes the direction of a piece is unclear
and it can lead you into unfamiliar territory that may be quite far
from your initial intention. At that moment you have to regroup and
reassess the situation. In many ways, the most exciting elements of
my favorite artworks are the passages that continue to remain a
mystery to me. The aspects of a piece that defy explanation are in
many cases the most beautiful moments in work. At that point it
becomes impossible for me to say how well the connection between form
and content is functioning. I guess that it boils down to intention.
I think that making decisions in art should be a deliberate process,
but I also don’t think that people should hesitate to explore
something that isn’t totally understood either. It’s important to
allow the work to develop freely and in many cases what is confusing
in the moment will become clear later as the work is revisited and
re-examined. This is really not a very good answer, but I think that
as long as one maintains a critical attitude, and challenges the work,
it’s alright to allow it to move in directions that are not totally
understood. It’s tricky because sometimes when reflecting on a piece
directly after it’s made it can be very difficult to connect it’s form
to it’s content and it can seem as though your decisions were not
deliberate. I think that’s an alright place to be. It takes time to
evaluate new work and if it was successful the bond between form and
content will present itself. It probably sounds like I’m saying that
artwork needs to be executed in accordance with a direct idea or it’s
a failure. That’s not the case. I think new content can enter the
work in unexpected ways, and that’s good. If we always knew the exact
direction work was moving in then art would be a very boring activity.
BL: Can you list the five most important non-art related things in your life?
MS: Yes. No problem. The five most important non-art related things in
my life are probably cycling, music, LU BOT!, my day job and spending
time as much time as possible with my friends and loved ones.
Special Thanks to Matthew for his time and images. You can see more of his work at:
Installation Shots from Composites:2010 MFA Show
Anacostia Hooverville Shack with Pedestal and Eden Piece
Western Canon Object
Schimmel Eaglet with Four Gouaches
"Salvation Doesn't Lie Within Four Walls...Even the Most Miserable LIfe is Better Than a Sheltered Existence in an Organized Society Where Everything is Calculated and Perfected." 14x14x14, Oil on Wood, Papier Mache, and Clay
An Unexpected, Unaddressed Package
gouache on arches paper, 22x30
"Not Everything Beautiful Said From the Mouth Comes From the Bottom of the Heart"
gouache on arches paper, 22x30
Peter Protzman Shelving Unit, and Desk with Unpainted Stills from "Hard to Kill," "The Big Sleep," "Let There Be Light," and "The Maltese Falcon"
(detail) Gouache on Arches, 22×30, Dec. 2009
Shelved
Shelved (detail) gouache on arches, March 2009
Untitled, Fall 2009 Drawing from Carlie Leagjeld
check out more of her work on carlieleagjeld.com
