Tell us a little bit about yourself and what you do.
I recently graduated from a psychoanalytic training institute after many years of schooling. Big transition time for me. I realized in 2017 that I needed to study psychoanalysis as my own weird version of an MFA because, for me, art and psychoanalysis are intertwined. Both pursuits are about bringing our unconscious to consciousness, expressing it in some way, whether verbally or in images. I am primarily a painter, but I also write (fiction and nonfiction), and sometimes I make short videos.

Are there any influences that are core to your work?
Recently, I saw Michael Roemer’s film, “Pilgrim, Farewell” at Film Forum. Unbeknownst to me, the director was doing a Q & A at the end of the screening. He said, “If you’re going to be an artist – just don’t lie.” That sentiment struck me as something core to my practice and being, something I wanted to remember.

How were you introduced to the medium(s) that you work with?
My mother is a novelist and Gothic literature and writing professor. My paternal grandmother and my brother are both painters. Writing and art came naturally to me.

Is there a moment you look back on as being formative to your identity as an artist?
I grew up with a cool older brother who introduced me to good music and gave me art books at a young age. He gave me Roni Horn’s book, “You Are The Weather,” and a Cindy Sherman book because I was always dressing up and taking photos with my friends. And I remember going to a Robert Gober show at the Hirshhorn Museum in D.C. when I was in middle school – that blew my mind. There was also the summer I spent in Hawaii working on a ginger farm.

Your work sometimes depicts figurative subjects painted onto singular fields of color vacant of additional context. Viewing them feels like trying to remember a dream or a fragmented memory. What draws you to these compositions? Is there a conversation you want these compositions to foster for the viewer?
That’s exactly what I was going for! As a psychoanalyst, I’m particularly interested in dreams, memories, family histories, mental illness. I want my work to evoke an uncanny essence, a feeling that something is familiar yet off-putting, the way an image from a dream can appear to you at some seemingly random moment during the day, not connected to anything else. The figures and patterns in my work feel meaningful but the meaning is obscured, which contradicts the straightforward way they are painted. I think there’s something interesting in that contradiction – the figures become abstract by removing context which renders them both eerie and appealing.

What was your experience like as a volunteer at the Living Museum? Has it influenced your work?
For those who don’t know, The Living Museum is part of Creedmoor Psychiatric Center. It’s a building on the Creedmoor campus that was founded by Janos Martin and Bolek Greczynski. It’s essentially a huge art studio for patients who are artists. I volunteered there for a year and a half, and got to be part of the community. I would not say it influenced my work in any direct way, but it certainly found a place in my heart. I organized a solo show of one of the artists Alan Sturm (who recently passed away) at Situations Gallery in 2019 – that was really special.

Do your written practice and your visual art practice influence each other, or do you view them independently of each other?
I have trouble writing and painting concurrently. I don’t know if that’s because they occupy separate parts of my brain or the same part. They are different modes for me, require different energies and focus, but the output often deals with similar content and tone – minimal, and dark, but also playful. The vision is the same.

Do you consider the reception of your work while you are making it?
First and foremost, my work is for me. Of course, I love when my work communicates and connects to a wider audience, and I want that, and context is important, too, but if I thought about the market or what others think during the process, I’d imagine I’d lose my true creative thread. My work is deeply personal and I hope that the personal can touch on something bigger.

What kind of imagery are you drawn to?
I like simplicity. I like camp, underground aesthetics. I like imagery that’s rough around the edges.

What is one of the larger challenges you and/or other artists are struggling with these days and how do you see it developing? 
Times are tough. Shit is expensive and it’s hard for people to afford rent, much less, studio space. It’s hard to feel a sense of possibility. There’s the challenge of how to be artists in this political climate, how to find meaning in what we do, and how to acknowledge our particular privileges. The art world sucks, but art and artists do not. It’s hard to feel motivated to participate in the art world when it often contradicts an artist’s personal values. We’re in a particularly important moment where we need to come together, be supportive, and create a strong sense of community in the midst of political chaos and hatred. Bad stuff is happening around us, but something is shifting, and we should take hold of it in whatever small and big ways we can.

Is there an area that you’re interested in exploring further in your practice?
I fantasize about writing more fiction and making more videos…I’d be a documentary filmmaker in another life.

How do you mitigate burnout or exhaustion?
I like bedtime.

What do you collect?
I like to get rid of things.

 

Interviewed by Luca Lotruglio.