18 | Artist profile: Glenn Goldberg

Installation view Studio light | space From the series Other Places | Acrylic on Canvas and paper Photo: Logan Havens

Glenn Goldberg was born in the Bronx in 1953 and attended the New York Studio School and Queens College during his undergraduate education. He later continued his graduate studies at Queens College to receive his MFA. In 1996 he was named the Heilman Artist and since has received grants from The Guggenheim Foundation, The Edward Albee Foundation, National Endowment for the Arts, and The Joan Mitchell Foundation. Goldberg’s work has been shown extensively throughout the US and internationally, and is held in numerous collections, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the National Academy of Arts and Letters, the Brooklyn Museum of Art, the National Gallery of Art and the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, among others. Goldberg has taught at various institutions including The Cooper Union, NY Studio School, Brandeis University, Queens College, Parsons School of Design, and Lodestar School of Art in Ireland. He has also been a panelist and visiting artist for MFA painting programs at Yale, Columbia, Boston University, American University, Hunter College, and others. In 2023, Goldberg was commissioned to create a public arts project at the E. 149th Street subway station in the Bronx by the New York MTA Arts and Design Commission. Goldberg lives and works in New York City.

Glenn Goldberg uses decorative arts, rugs, banners, tapestries, Danish modern furniture, fetish figures, as well as ancient calligraphy as a source of inspiration, providing his work with a sense of varied cultural eclecticism. Goldberg’s compositions, consciously devoid of a narrative context, allow for the discovery of layered visual references ranging from the decorative arts to childhood imagination. The works are charged with a web of multiple dotted lines that delineate the space in rhythmic waves. The embrace of handmade imperfections continues to play an important role in this body of work.

OP-2

Acrylic and ink on paper

2024

21 .” x 14 .”

What was the cultural or creative makeup of your family?

It was mostly based around music. My parents loved jazz singers and records were always playing in the apartment. I grew up listening to their favorites who were Ella Fitzgerald, Sara Vaughn, Joe Williams, Billy Eckstine, Johnny Hartman, Mel Torme, Dinah Washington, Lena Horne and Carmen McRae. Art really had no place in the home with just a couple of things on the walls bought to fill up space. The passion was in the music.

What part of the country did you grow up? (urban/rural) and how did that impact your childhood?

I grew up in The Bronx, New York. We hung out on the street corners and in playgrounds in the neighborhood. It was a concrete environment. There were many street games in those days like stickball, skully, punchball, Johnny on the pony, off the stoop and box ball. We would all show up in the park after school, often playing basketball. On the corner was “Jack’s”, the local luncheonette with a soda fountain, magazines and candy. Those were our two favorite spots to hang out and meet up, both boys and girls, maybe about 20 of us in total.

What’s your earliest memory of an encounter with art or design?

Music wise I loved Nick Drake, Eddie Kendricks  and a band called Poco. The film West Side Story was a favorite of mine as was the play Golden Boy with Sammy Davis Jr and Lola Falana. I also loved Dr Seuss books as a very young boy and the silly poetry of Ogden Nash…

“I work out of an interest in structure, related hierarchies and moods that exist in nature. My works are invented without viewing either nature or images of nature, but I feel that they are driven by what exists in nature. I can’t prove this, but that is the way that I feel. I am interested in art as a re-ordering of ‘what goes on.’” Jennifer Samet of Hyperallergic described Goldberg’s work as “about this meeting point of the ordinary and the other, regularity and refinement… Repetitive mark-making becomes a focused, meditative practice, and a basic indexical sign is transformed into a richly charged visual field.”

Other Place (65)

Acrylic and ink on Canvas

12’ x 9”

2024

When did you start making art, and what inspired you to pursue it as a vocation?

 I started drawing quite often when I dropped out of college and hitchhiked around Canada and the US for a year and a half. They were intricate ink drawings made from my imagination. They looked like very elaborate, intricate doodles. They were related to my hippie lifestyle. After that I finished college, took some art classes and then went to The NY Studio School in Manhattan for a year and a summer. That changed my life as it was a very serious place. I got very involved and caught up in drawing and painting. I got hooked and wanted to continue. I remembering thinking I might be able to do it.

You currently live in NYC, How did you end up there?   

I was born in The Bronx and have lived in New York most of my life with a couple of stints elsewhere. Over the years I’ve lived in four of the five boroughs in NY city.

What are your favorite neighborhoods or parks to walk in the city?

Central Park, Washington Square Park, Prospect Park and Forest Park. Neighborhoods that I don’t have a favorite neighborhood but I spend most of my time below 14 Street and in Brooklyn and Queens. I usually go uptown to see shows or go to the Met (Metropolitan Museum). Lots of people are downtown oriented.

Detail of Bronx River (2023) © Glenn Goldberg, NYCT E. 149th St. Station. Commissioned by MTA Arts & Design. Photo: John Berens.

Please share what it was like to create a piece for the MTA located at E 149th Street (6) in the Bronx, has your work ever been translated into glass before? It seems like such a beautiful and logical medium for your work.

 That was a very rewarding project as the station is close to where I went to high school. Working in that neighborhood brought back memories from my youth. I paid tribute to the Bronx River with a long, winding river theme and animals that lived there in its heyday. Mosaic does suit my work beautifully with its small increments and nuanced color.

Golderg’s daedal designs seem to float off the surfaces and recall outsider art, Tantric art, pointillism, and Aboriginal art, Goldberg cites many, often eclectic, affiliations that fuel his practice and his excitement around artmaking, including Shaker furniture, celadon bowls, Japanese screens, and African textiles.

OP-1

2024

21 x 14 inches

Do you surround yourself with reference materials or colors? What does your studio look like?

 I don’t have reference materials in the studio. I improvise on each work without a specific plan but do have a sense of the basic forms I might use. My studio has a bank of windows on one end that look out on trees and school buses. It is longer than it is wide. Ceilings are about 11 feet high. Most importantly, it is very quiet,

Do you keep a journal or sketchbook?  I draw frequently but usually not in a book, though I do have several sketchbooks dedicated to drawings of heads. I have a lot of paper and unfinished drawings in my midst at all times.

 Finally, What do you need in your surroundings to feel creative and productive?

Not much really…a room with good proportions, my materials and peace and quiet. There is always so much to do. I am blessed to rarely, if ever, feel blocked or unmotivated. I love to work and continue on immersed in the realm of the inexplicable and unpredictable.

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Find Glenn on instagram

17 | Artist profile: Stuart Arends

Studio, Willard, New Mexico

Stuart Arends’ work appears here courtesy of Yoshii Gallery, NY

“When you take someone, put them in the desert, and make them live there for a year, they’ll never live anywhere else.” I found this quote from you, and felt like it was a good opening to this conversation. Even though place is not overt in the work, it seems fundamental to the work that you make. 

Living in relative isolation in wide open spaces is not just something I prefer, which I do, but something I need.  It feeds me in a way that is important, and not just for the work, but for me as a person.

 After learning that you enjoy collaborating with the real light of a room it seems inevitable that you would end up making work in aluminum, pigment and wax. There’s something to the juxtaposition of desert light that compels the soft waxy luminosity of your surfaces as well as that zing that metal requires. Can you speak to the evolution of materiality in your work?

My work is all intuitive. It’s not planned or thought out in advance. I don’t have sketch books full of ideas to be made at some point in the future.  One body of work leads to the next. If I’m working on wood for example, something towards the end of that work will suggest what the next material should be. The only things that have to be planned out and drawn in advance are the supports that need to be fabricated, like the aluminum or steel pieces. But once in the studio, the compositions and paint application on those is again, totally intuitive.

As far as the variety of materials and images I use; I started with a found cardboard box that was laying on my studio floor in 1980. With that first box I arrived at a neutral, cubical, support that has fed the work ever since. The transition of different material for the supports was just a natural, unplanned, evolution from one material to the next. 

The first steel pieces were 2 inches square and intended to be installed alone on a large wall. I thought that anything that would be that visually substantial needed to be physically substantial as well and steel was the heaviest material I could think of.  I came to wax from Joseph Beuys.  My first wax piece, titled, “Rabbit”, (1991) was a direct reference to Beuys’, “How To Explain Pictures To A Dead Hare”. Ed Ruscha gave me words and Jonathan Borofsky gave me numbers. Since that first box I have used only “generic” subject matter, ie: stripes, checkerboards, numbers, or words repeated continuously over the entire surface; anything that is not open to interpretation.

What is it like to make work in the distinct light of the desert and then see it in places like Italy and NYC? (and can you speak to the quality of light and its effect on your choices if at all?)

 I think the light in New Mexico is amazing.  A photographer friend of mine once described it as, “A spotlight on everything.”  I imagine the light has had an influence on the work, but it’s not something I’m aware of in any direct or specific way.

Stanza Dell’ Amore 23/4 2023. (Silver). Aluminum, ink, wax on wood. 5 X 5 X 1 3/4 inches

In your Colores interview for NM public television you describe art as a place. I love and agree with that, can you elaborate on what that means to you?

To me, art is about an exchange of energy between a person who makes or performs something and the person who comes into contact with it and has a meaningful experience as a result. There’s an energy in the Universe that drives all things.  I feel that if an artist, and by artist I mean writers, actors, painters, dancers, whatever, are so involved and concentrated on what they are doing, everything else goes away for them and they unconsciously draw on that source of energy and it transfers through them to whatever media they are involved with. When a person who is sensitive and open to experience encounters, and is engaged by that work, everything else for that person goes away too; all of their distractions or concerns, or whatever; then the energy contained in that work is transferred to them. And that person, after just a few moments, is ever so slightly altered and comes away with the feeling of being refreshed, or maybe, complete. I think of that as the aesthetic experience.  And to me, the arts are the only place where you can go to get that.

 What was the cultural or creative make up of your family?

I grew up in a very small farming community in Central Iowa. My family had no awareness of, or interested in the arts.  My father climbed telephone poles during lightning storms for the electrical coop, and my Mother was a Linotype operator in the local newspaper office. 

 Do you remember the first art that impacted your imagination?

When I was very young I saw a magazine article on the watercolors of Winslow Homer.   They blew me out. I think they are the first things I saw that made me aware of art and the idea of maybe even trying to be a painter.

 What initially strikes me about your objects is the scale and skin like surfaces - How have you arrived at the scale of your work? I love the series that use wooden blocks. How did this motif and series evolve?

The scale comes from the original cardboard box which measured; 15 X 11 X 4 1/2 inches. I worked with the cardboard boxes until 1982. I decided then that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life making little boxes so I let the work expand up to large scale installation paintings; oil on wood. The largest being 10 feet high by 40 feet long. I was awarded a residence with the Roswell Artist In Residence Program in 1983, and spent the year doing the larger works. After the grant I returned to Los Angeles, where I had attended graduate school, and moved into a small apartment in South Pasadena. The only studio I had was a small bedroom and a car port, so I returned to the small scale pieces out of necessity.  At one point those pieces went around a corner that I had not anticipated, and those smaller scale cubes have engaged me ever since. I discovered that works don’t necessarily have to be big to be good, you just have to follow your own inner voice and make the work that needs to be made rather than work you would like to make. I realized that the larger installation works I had done weren’t any better because they were bigger, they were just bigger; so I had all them all destroyed.

Re the small cubes: I found them in an antique store in Iowa. They’re the wooden letter blocks that kids used to play with and helped them learn to spell. They were really small and they kicked around my studio for a year before I could do anything with them. But I eventually covered them with wax and oil paint and they became the “Kid Blocks”.

 The lithographs have a gorgeous relationship to your works, can you share your experience at Tamarind?

 I was invited to work at Tamarind twice. Lithography is not something I ever studied or had any interest in before Tamarind, so the first time was a bit of a challenge. The second time I worked with the two Master Printers, Bill Lagatuda and Jill Graham. They were very knowledgeable, helpful, and responsive to my questions and ideas so we were able to get some good images. It was a good experience.

 What historic artist or movement do you return to, Or, simply put, how do you fill the well?

When I get to a place where I feel like I need to charge my batteries, I’ll go to New York for a week. Sometimes just the vibrancy of the city is enough, but usually I’ll go to the Met and take a hit off the Van Goghs or the Morandis, or if I can find some, Winslow Homer’s watercolors. Or I go to the Frick and spend time with the small Piero Della Francesca panel paintings. If I’m in Italy, I’ll go sit in one of the cathedrals and just absorb the ambiance of the centuries. To be in the presence of that stuff is pretty amazing and inspiring.

Road Trip

When you are getting ready to start a new piece, how do you begin? With materials? Color? A title?

To start a new piece, I just put the support on the wall and leave it alone. Eventually it will tell me what it needs; a mark or color. That mark suggests the next mark, or color, until the piece reaches a point of resolution. It takes a while; usually weeks; sometimes months and often requires tearing down and starting over several times.

 Do you listen to music in the studio? What have you been listening to recently, or what do you return to?

I don’t listen to music when I work. I find it to be a distraction. The studios I have had for the past thirty five years have been out in fairly isolated places so I just have the sound of the wind in the grass or bird songs when I work.

Do you surround yourself with reference materials or colors? What does your studio look like? Or what is the cycle of making for you? Beginning and ending with a road trip?

 Road trips on back country roads are one of my favorite things for sure. Not really certain what impact they have on the work, but they probably do. My studio is white and empty. Everything that I am working on is covered or put away so I can only see the piece I’m involved with.

 At the end of a studio day, how do you extract yourself? Any closing rituals or routines?

  don’t have a specific studio schedule or time to work. I have designed my spaces so that I can see whatever I’m working on from almost anywhere in the living space. The work is the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night so when a piece indicates something, I just go do it; could be anytime during the day.

 What books are on your nightstand right now?

 Louis L’Amore’s “Silver Canyon”.

Road Trip | High Desert

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Find Stuart on instagram

16 | Artist profile: Agnieszka Gasparska

LEFT: A Woman’s Lifetime, 2023, Ink on paper, 26 x 21.75”

RIGHT: A Man’s Lifetime, 2023, Ink on paper, 26 x 21.75”

What part of the country / world did you grow up?
I was born in Warsaw, Poland where I spent the first eleven years of my life. When I was in sixth grade, my parents, my brother and I landed in New York City, which has been my primary home since. So I would say that I grew up in both Warsaw and New York – both places shaped me from a young age. 

Is there an experience that reverberates in the work?
It is tricky to pull out just one – there are so many experiences that weave into the shape that my work happens to hold in this moment. That said, this most recent body of work was undeniably catalyzed by the death of my father three years ago. I had started moving deeper into my art practice a couple of years prior, but in the weeks following his passing the practice became so much more profound, so much more necessary, and so much more alive. When my father died, even though he had been declining for some time, everything felt so surreal. It was December 2020, the whole year had felt surreal, and I found myself deeply needing to find some kind of ground – in myself, in movement, in sitting still. I also needed something to do – something to do with my hands, something to do with all that I was feeling, with all that I was not feeling, with the time I had, and the time I had lost. So I channelled it into drawing. I sat, I listened to music, and I counted. Over and over and over again. I let each mark flow from one to the next, not knowing how it would end, and one mark, one dot, one step at a time, these beautiful, ethereal forms were born.

You currently live in New York and spend time in New Mexico – how did you end up in those two places? I fell madly in love with northern New Mexico when I took a month-long break during a very intense chapter of my New York City life back in 2014 and I came out to wander and explore a place I knew nothing about. People I met kept asking me what I was doing, and the only answer that made sense at the time was that I was just “being” for a while. Almost every year since, one layer of synchronicity after another kept bringing me back for short visits, and when the world changed in 2020 and working remotely became less of an anomaly in our lives, I started experimenting with spending several months out of the year in New Mexico. Thanks to the above-mentioned synchronicities, places to stay started to materialize and for the last two years I’ve come back to the same spot I love where I continue to squirrel away more and more of my things.  

Are there specific areas of New Mexico that you gravitate to?
Over the years I’ve spent time in various areas north of Santa Fe, gravitating toward tiny towns and wild, out of the way places. Coming from New York, the contrast of land and sky stretching as far as the eye can see, hearing coyotes howling out the back door, and having the nearest grocery store far beyond any reasonable walking distance, is what drew me to these places. There is New York, population 8.46 million, and then there is a desert village with a population of 150 – this contrast is precisely what I love and what my soul craves. My spirit needs both ends of the spectrum, both extremes. I have always been fascinated and inspired by polarities, dualities, dichotomies and paradoxes. I embody many within myself and they fuel me and my work. And I love how these two different environments affect and influence my work, how the work changes depending on where I am. 

LEFT: Emotional Landscape, 2023, charcoal, pastel & ink on paper, 21 9/16 x 30”. 

CENTER + RIGHT: Process.

Can you share about your design firm KMIP? What projects are you excited about?

Kiss Me I’m Polish is a visual design studio which turns 20 years old this year – I can’t even believe it. I started the business to be able to do the work I wanted to do, to not be pigeon-holed as one type of visual designer specializing in X, Y or Z – and to be able to pick and choose the clients I work with. And it has been such an wild and amazing ride over the last 20 years. And it’s been hard, and it’s been intense, and right now it’s pretty darn wonderful. We are a small team and we work with a really diverse range of clients on bringing their vision or their story or their unique content offering to life – visually, and also conceptually. At this very moment we are working on digital education initiatives with a music organization, environmental graphics for a media company, a cultural app prototype, a place-based history website, branding for a new bookstore, and a new online exhibition for a historical institute. Every project requires something unique, every project reveals something new, every project is unlike any other project we’ve done before. Historically, a lot of our work has also focused on information design and data visualization so it’s perhaps also not a coincidence that visualizing abstract and complex concepts is such a present thread in my art work. 

How do you balance an art practice and a design business?

It’s those dualities again. The two are not always in perfect balance, or the kind of balance that my mind would like, but they do find a way to flow together, side by side. I don’t follow any kind of pre-set schedule or structure – part of me wishes I did, but anytime I’ve tried to, it just simply didn’t work. Each week and each day, has a different flow, different deadlines, different characteristics, and so the flow is the structure. There are days when I can spend the first part of the day creating and exploring in the flow of my art practice, and then the afternoon is devoted to the business and design work. There are days where it’s the opposite – design work in the morning and creative time in the afternoon and/or evening. And there are days where it’s all of one and none of the other. Because the business is client based, the struggle there is that its needs and its deadlines can sometimes take precedence over the sometimes less tangible and often less loud needs of the creative practice, but over time that has become less and less of an issue as the art practice gets stronger and stronger and its deadlines and needs are getting louder and louder. And when things are really flowing well, I find that my art practice and my design business even speak to each other and influence each other, which is always interesting in surprising and wonderful ways. 

Your Instagram handle and website are sublime/ordinary – what does that mean to you? 

I believe that the sublime can be found within what we typically perceive as the most ordinary. And the opposite is also true – that what we perceive as most sublime, is also quite ordinary – it is not some otherworldly thing but whatever is right under our noses. I make art of, from, about, with, in and for, every day life. 

Breathing Sleep (7,680 breaths / 8 hours)
2023, Ink on paper, 28 x 21 3/4”

 A current series in your artwork is based in time and beautifully depicts the passage of time through days or through breaths, can you tell us about where that springs from? 

In those first few weeks after my father died, when I made the first drawing that would be the beginning of the lifetime portrait series, making the work was not only about seeking solace and an outlet for the loss I felt, it was also driven by a desire to more deeply process and embody what it meant for someone to have lived 74 years, and what it meant to have shared 44 of those years with him. What does the shape of that life journey look like? What does the shape of that time look like? Our structures and experiences of time are often intangible and often also abstract – an hour is a human construct, a week is a construct, so is a month. However, a day as a unit of time is a physical, embodied experience – the earth makes a full rotation over the course of a single day, and as the sun rises, then sets, then rises again, our body feels and knows it. And so the unit of a day has become a tangible and fundamental building block of most of my drawings. As has the breath, and a heartbeat. 

I appreciate how time and breath is embedded in the making of your work as well, are you working on a couple at a time? 

No. I work on a single drawing at a time. Each piece takes several days to complete, and each one is a unique journey in and of itself, so I let each drawing unfold and run its full course, before starting another. 

How would you describe a studio session? 

Maybe it’s the nature of these particular drawings or just how sacred each studio session feels to me (since that time is such a precious resource), a session in the studio often feels like a ritual. I usually start by brewing a cup of my favorite tea (with oat milk and honey), I light some palo santo (one of my favorite scents ever), sometimes a candle too. I set my phone on do-not-disturb (can’t have a call or a message screw up my count), queue up a playlist, set up my supplies and slowly dive in. Since each drawing requires focus and a clear head that can count without losing track, I don’t listen to podcasts or talking or anything with strong vocals, I don’t talk on the phone, I don’t do anything other than being fully with and in the flow of the work. An ideal studio session will be AT LEAST two hours, ideally three or four. Anything less just feels like a tease. 

LEFT: Studio, Brooklyn, NY.

RIGHT: Constant Change, 2023, Ink on paper, 27 x 19”

You shared that your father kept meticulous details about his life in a calendar, is there a way that you are keeping a record?  Do you keep a journal or a sketchbook? 

Yes, I keep both. I love to write first thing in the morning – the kind of free-form “brain drain” writing that Julia Cameron advocated for in the “Artist’s Way.” And I keep detailed process notes in a sketchbook as I work on each drawing. I keep count of all of the marks, the time each drawing session takes, I test, sketch and annotate. My sketchbooks are the unfiltered behind-the-scenes view of how each drawing comes together. They’re like the messy loose threads on the back of a tapestry, which I often find as beautiful as the front.   

What books are on your nightstand right now? 

I love that you phrased this question as plural – because you know there is a pile of books on my nightstand, not just one. Currently in rotation / in the queue:

“How We Live Is How We Die” by Pema Chödrön

“World as Lover, World as Self” by Joanna Macy

“The Mystic Heart” by Wayne Teasdale

“Einstein’s Dreams” by Alan Lightman 

“Seeing Is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees” by Lawrence Weschler

Sketchbook, 2023. 

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Find Agnieszka on instagram

15 | Artist profile: Terran Last Gun

Detail

Seeking Balance (2023) Ink and colored pencil on antique ledger notebook sheet (c. 1908) 

What part of the country did you grow up?

I grew up in Browning, Montana that is located in Piikani (Blackfeet) - Piikani is one of four nations that make up the Blackfoot Confederacy. The original territory extended from Yellowstone River in Montana to the North Saskatchewan River in Alberta Canada.

how does that reverberate in the work?

This is a very rural place. It’s where the plains meet the foothills of the Rocky Mountains to the West, and the North, East, and South are the plains. There is also the Sweet Pine Hills to the east which to me resemble islands out in the ocean, but in this case the plains. My work reflects the land and geographic landmarks  such as the three massive Sweet Pine Hills that sit out on the plains, as well as buttes and other singular elements in the landscape. The singular form are an influence - holding land, cosmos, celestial beings and place within the cultural histories

 Can you share more about your upbringing and background; how has it influenced the artist you are today?

My father is an artist, using ledger paper as well, but I wasn’t interested in making art until I got to Santa Fe, NM to attend the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA). However, Blackfoot painted lodges and our visual aesthetics have always influenced my work. I am working in a continuum manner. I have a book collection of historic and photographic books on my people. The symbolic imagery that was developed through lodge paintings have influenced my visual vocabulary.

 Blackfoot painted lodges can generally be looked at in 3 visual tiers.

Bottom: representing land and place

Middle: unique and personal to the lodge owners

Top: representing the cosmos, constellations, and our solar system

 I view our painted lodges as Classic great plains art that were painted with natural pigments for 10’s of 1,000’s of years. I am drawn to the history, layered personal stories, experiences, and recollections of home that can be seen in my work. The Blackfoot Confederacy were never displaced or relocated off of our traditional territory, but for Piikani in Montana we got pushed up against the Canadian border and Rocky Mountains.

Detail | Where Harmony Exists (2023) Ink and colored pencil on antique ledger notebook sheet (dated 1924) 

You currently live in Santa Fe, NM, How did you end up there? Are you currently teaching?

I enrolled at the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) for museum studies in 2011, and fell in love with art making while I was there. Specifically, printmaking with an emphasis in Serigraphy, and photography. I was invited to teach this year in the printmaking department. It has been great to teach what I know -  Serigraphy 1 – and it has been a huge learning experience. 

 Through research I learned that your father, Terrance Guardipee Last Gun, makes ledger drawings. Can you talk about his work and/or influence?

 My father’s paintings and ledger drawings, depict cultural figures, warriors and Blackfoot narratives in his work. I noticed these geometric forms in his work and wondered where those were coming from. Then I found out it was from our painted lodges and that they all had various symbology. The Blackfoot geometric forms started to influence and emerge in my work.

In 2020, the pandemic closed the print studios that I was working in. My father gave me some ledger sheets some years before that I was just hanging on to and not ready to use, but once the studios closed I shifted into drawing on ledger sheets at that time. I transferred and adapted the visual vocabulary from printmaking to the ledger drawings. 

Your ledger drawings combine a historic page with what seems like a modernist or pop art references, is that a correct interpretation? What does the imagery evoke for you?

My work draws from Indigenous geometric abstraction, as well as pop art for the vibrant, bold, saturated colors (like Lichtenstein, Warhol, and Stella), minimalism, and hard edge paintings. I love op art for its color interaction and the visual vibration it creates.  I’m playing with the idea of abstraction – feelings, experiences, moods and color means many things across cultures, religions and places. And also, what you see is what you see. Titles evoke another layer of my ideas and what I was thinking about as well as inviting the viewers interpretations and associations.  Good or bad, the invokes so many different feelings about the work.

 How do you find ledgers to draw in, do people give them to you? Do you have a secret source?

I’ve gotten paper from my father, through trading, and through folks giving it to me. Government and county ledger sheets are the best, because they are linen ledger, they work well with the colored pencils. The paper is from the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, so I am thinking about that time, what was happening in North America, what was happening to Piikani people. 

Enlightening Sites (2023) Ink and colored pencil on antique ledger notebook sheet (dated 1921) 

 Do you surround yourself with reference materials or colors? What does your studio look like?

I have a home studio, it ties back to The Piikani culture of resourcefulness – of using what we have. It is a small sacred artist space. I have a collection of rocks, driftwood, beaver wood, and toys. I like taking breaks to look at and handle them. They are my little treasures.  I have a collection of books, exhibition catalogs, and postcards of archival photographs by Edward Curtis, Roland Reed, Winold Reiss, Walter McClintock, Carl Bodmer, and George Catlin.

 I also have post it notes up of words, phrases and terms such as:

Visual sovereignty

Survivance

Intergenerational

The power of the world works in circles

I think about the cosmos and how the Blackfoot creation story includes the Sun and moon and morning star. We are star people in that sense – part of the solar system. The expansive origin stories include our own people, as well as the whole of humanity.

 Do you listen to music there? What genre do you return to?

I listen to music and podcasts in the studio

Music - Black marble, still corners, synth wave, dark synth, electronic instrumental and because I grew up in Montana I love country music.

Podcasts - Broken Boxes,  5 plain questions, Hello Print Friend. I was recently interviewed on a local Santa Fe radio show called Coffee and culture

I love films too – Horror, sci fi and comedy. There is so much humor innate to Native people and to my family, and sometimes it’s rough humor. My sisters and I have a group chat, and stay connected through gifs, memes and jokes.

 What books are on your nightstand right now? What books do you consistently return to for perspective?

I collect books on history and art:

Lanterns on the Plains: The Blackfeet Photographs of Walter McClintock (2009)

Painted Tipis: By Contemporary Plains Indian Artists (1973)

Nitsitapiisinni: The Story of the Blackfoot People (2001)

William Seitz - The responsive eye

Frank stella Retrospective

Carmen Herrera: Lines of Sight

Frederick Hammersley to Paint Without Thinking

Detail | Enjoying The Open Space (2023) Ink and colored pencil on antique ledger notebook sheet (dated 1924) 

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Do you keep a journal or a sketchbook?

I document each drawing's color palette in a black Rhodia gridded book for color documentation that I started in 2020. At first I was doing it on printmaking paper, but after seeing an exhibition of Frederick Hammersley, I started documenting it in a book.

 Do you have a favorite brand of pencils?

I use 3 brands of pencils and they each have different qualities and uses

Faber Castell

Pablo

Holbein 

Pencil drawing takes time because I am pressing hard for a saturated bold look. Working with geometric shapes gives me a sense of order - of feeling organized. Drawing on antique paper with someone else’s handwriting creates an interesting play between the two. It doesn’t necessarily drive the composition, but is an element in the final work.

 My background was in photography and printmaking. Switching to colored pencils expanded my color sensitivity and knowledge of the color spectrum. When I am out walking around seeing color, I am naming the color of the pencil, like “”strawberry”, “ tiger lily” or “phthalo blue.” I use a 12 and an 18 color wheel to select and determine color and harmony. Triads, tetrads, complementary, split complementary, and monochromatic. I am also exploring tints, tones and shades of pure colors that amplify the full color.

 Is there anything you would like to add?

Originally or historically, drawings were made on bison hides, elk hides and lodges depicting success and coup stories. In the 1850’s and 60’s, incarcerated warriors were given ledger and accounting sheets to draw on and document and record their lives. In the present time, we are still using the same documents – they are antiques now. When using the ledger sheets, especially the Montana sheets, I feel I am reinserting, reclaiming, reinvigorating our own culture and stories, after generations of being forced to do so many things.

In the Museum of the Plains there is a collection of Historic Native items and ledger drawings of the Plains tribes. I was able to handle a ledger book that was full of drawings  -  war scenes, encounters, courtships, ceremonial scenes, and more.

 My father Terrance Guardipee Last Gun makes drawings using warrior figures and scenes. He and his generation sold work at art markets all over the country, including the Santa Fe Indian Market. My generation of artists sell at markets too (I will be in Santa Fe Indian Market for the third time this year) - but we are also interested in working with galleries and museums, going to residencies, getting support, transcending the boundaries of where our art is shown. I honor the tradition of ledger drawings in my work – but it brings questions about abstraction and symbology. I am in the continuum of what it means to make ledger drawings.

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Join us and Terran on Saturday December 2, from 7-10

14 | Artist profile: Tim Schwartz

The Studio | Philadelphia, PA

Unarose 2023  15.25 x 20.25 inches  oil on linen  Photo: Tim Schwartz

What part of the country did you grow up? (urban/rural) and how does that reverberate in the  work?

 I grew up in a suburb just outside of Philadelphia (Erdenheim) PA. I would say if anything the  grey light and the sort of smaller underdog grit of the city. I grew up going to see art, jazz, and  punk rock shows .

 Do you remember the first artwork/music/book/film that impacted your imagination? When did  you decide to pursue art?

 A good handful of paintings that still reside in the Philadelphia Museum of Art really hit me  early on (and continue to).  As far as music, I learned really young that I can like Metallica, and  Edie Brickell just the same, so I absorbed a lot there too. Particularly a lot of punk, indie,  hardcore bands.  Alice in Wonderland was the first book that really spiked my curiosity.  I knew art was a part of my life really early on. Before high school even. I think I knew in high  school it had to be part of my life, like it was my way of discovering myself..

 At our studio visit you talked about qualities of light in different geographies (primarily in  Philadelphia and San Francisco), can you share that with our readers?

 Well yes, the light in Philadelphia is very grey compared to California. I lived in Seattle a while  before San Francisco. I drove the entire country (East to West) watching the light change. People  always talked about the light in Richard Diebenkorn’s paintings being very particular to the bay  area, and I finally understood that when I was there. Someone asked why all my colors seemed  a little grey while I was in California and I could only explain that it was more the light I

German earth 2023  14 x 18 inches  oil on linen  Photo: Tim Schwartz

What is a dream destination for you?

 Honestly, the southwest was a complete inspiration when I went through there - the vastness  was inspiring, part of why I was so excited  for the opportunity to show in this space. I sensed the vastness from Agnes Martin works that inspired me early on in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. In fact, one of the paintings in this group was intended as an ode to Agnes  Martin’s “The Rose” from the PMA.  Titled “Rose (here to there)” because I felt a sense of  returning the inspiration back, with perhaps a little grey…  But maybe Japan also.

 Your work has so much depth and evidence of the hand, how did you find your voice in  painting? Can you talk about the tactile record of a painting?

 Well thanks! I really appreciate how a painting is/was made, or at least not trying to hide it. My  paintings really build from the support structure on.  Often many layers (not always), but I want  the evidence of that process apparent. It’s a bit like the journey I (or the painting) have been on.  Much like leaving a relic of its own life.

 What historic artist or movement are you inspired by?

 Weirdly Dada. I do feel like a fairly conceptual painter. They were just clever and really thought  about art conceptually/philosophically (in the grander scheme of things). George Brecht broke my brain with such simplicity. I think I am inspired by any art that is simple,  yet endlessly complex. I guess that’s what I’m into - any art I can live with and endlessly think  about. Chinese and Japanese brush painting, pop art, even photorealism. There’s so much to  consider in all of it. Postmodernism was heavy in my art education, and honestly I’m not sure how to come back from that. The world is just really fucking complex, and I appreciate and try  to accept that.

 What contemporary artist(s) or are you inspired by?

 Oh boy. Many local artists around me (some have moved), endlessly my dear friend Ian  Williams.  Aj Rombach, Tess Wei, Quentin Morris, Steve Riedell. I could go on with artists I’ve  known here.. It would be a conversation in and of itself to get into what it is about any of these  artists that  inspire me…. Mary Heilman, Hank Willis Thomas, Raoul De Keyser (passed away in 2012), John Zurier,  Johnathan Lasker, Juergen Teller, Christopher Wool, Vija Celmins, Katherina Gosse. I could keep  going but I’m afraid I’d go down a rabbit hole then worry about who I’m forgetting so I’ll just  stop there.

Detail of Graphite painting 2023 14 x 18 inches hide glue emulsion on linen on panel Photo: Tim Schwartz

 When is your favorite part of the day?

 Probably cooking dinner.

 When you are getting ready to start a new piece or series, how do you begin? With materials?  Color? A title?

 It usually starts (almost out of boredom, like, what’s next? I guess I’ll prepare a new linen or a  stretcher/strainer) so I guess the materials.  Sometimes a simple pigment, material  or paint. But often the work becomes clearer to me as it is being made. A few times I’ve had a plan and  the result stuck to the plan.

Jasper Johns said, “Sometimes I see it and then paint it. Other times I paint it then see it. Both  are impure situations, and I prefer neither.” That speaks to my process…

 Do you listen to music in the studio? What have you been listening to recently, or what do you  return to again and again?

 Very much so. I have (as I duck my head a little) a studio playlist I put on repeat over and over  mostly. It’s a slowly evolving playlist of mostly really sad reflective music. Cat Power, Nick Cave,  Jeremy Enigk, Lungfish, Portishead, Elliot Smith, Nick Drake, PJ Harvey.  I do branch out and go  all over the place but if I’m really “in it” it’s usually the playlist.

 Do you surround yourself with reference materials or colors? What does your studio look like?

My studio I would say is pretty utilitarian. Not too much of a mess but not too neat either.  Completely functional. I feel like I’m adept at taking a space and making it work as best it can for  my needs. I have a garage space I converted right outside of the house. It’s funny because currently I have a few artist’s books in the studio, but that’s usually rare. I still  feel like I can be easily influenced or even misled from where my work is leading me, so I tend to  keep artist’s books out of the studio and in the house.

 At the end of a studio day, how do you extract yourself? Any closing rituals or routines?

 Usually just turning off music and realizing I’ve stayed up too late.

D E T A I L Ground 2023  11.5 x 9 inches lead ground on graph paper Photo: Tim Schwartz

The title of the exhibition is taken from an Italo Calvino book. It is perfect for this body of work.  I’m curious about how you came to it?

 My friend (artist/writer/thinker) Ian Williams, has fed me some of Calvino’s work in how he felt  it related to his and my art”. I randomly ordered a few more of his books - “The Distance of the  Moon” - literally because of the title. I’ve made a lot of paintings relating  to the moon.  I started the paintings for this exhibition  just as I started reading it. The work evolved from a  simple grey painting, then into white/black/grey.. .I finished the book after I had finished this  group of paintings. It’s very short but in my opinion very dense with emotion and concepts to  contemplate,  simple yet I found it very complex. I was shocked to discover how in the end of  the book  grey,  black, and white became a main theme in this story standing in for reflections of  life and our human experience. It was so strange that all of it was in my head throughout the  paintings so I found it so fitting.

 What is a book or album that you have recommended to a friend?

 The Creatures “Boomerang”, or maybe Lungfish “Rainbows from Atoms”

 Do you keep a journal or a sketchbook? Do you have a favorite brand of book, pens or paint?  Is the typewriter your way to journal?

 I’m obsessed with lead holders (particularly Staedtler Mars Technico lead holder - one of the  greatest designs with a built in sharpener) and traditional fountain pens, but mostly I write on  the typewriter. It’s more like cryptic poetry or thoughts, I stow it in a box and just let it go. I  don’t know if that’s a form of journaling or not, just a weird part of my process.

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Join us and Tim on Saturday October 7-6-9