Setting
up a studio space of sorts in a public setting is a bit of a daunting task,
mostly because it’s seen as a somewhat questionable endeavor – to both the
community and the artist. When we think
of an artist’s studio, many images and ideas come to mind. A light filled room with high ceilings and
plenty of open space, a sanctuary of sorts full of varied materials at the
ready, multiple works-in-progress scattered about, the artist dashing back and
forth from one piece to another, making adjustments, standing back and pondering
before making the next move, etc. And,
sometimes it does look/feel like this.
But sometimes, the studio might take the form of a modest or makeshift
space out of necessity, convenience or desire, and sometimes, what goes on in
the space is just plain boring. A lot of
what transpires in the studio is tedious and unremarkable. But these small moments are essential to the
work, and it’s within this space (both physically and mentally) that materials
and ideas begin to come together.
Because
this project relies upon repeated visits to the airport construction site and
its periphery, certain aspects of my studio practice have become somewhat
transportable and it seemed feasible to set up an ad hoc space directly within
the airport terminal. I chose to work on
things that didn’t require too much focus or concentration, so I would be free
to quickly stop what I was doing to chat with visitors or move from one thing
to another. This primarily involved
lightly editing digital files on a laptop computer, printing small work proofs
on a desktop printer, sequencing and arranging prints on one of the tables and
gathering new material in the form of still images and video recorded inside
the airport studio. This last aspect
allowed me to begin responding to the materials of the construction site in a
slightly more careful manner than is possible in the field. I made trips to the site to gather bits of
limestone, dirt and sand as well as samples of grasses and weeds. I also found a pretty fantastic residual
worker remnant in the form of a glove, caked with mud. Using a clunky, still life method, I moved
various arrangements from one place to another, responding to each iteration in
their new and purposefully decontextualized field.
Ultimately,
my goal with this experiment was to see which aspects of my work would be feasible
in such an environment, and to engage passersby with my process both in and out
of the studio and also with larger questions of the role of art and the artist
in community and public art projects. This
type of mobile, transitory studio is not an uncommon practice in contemporary
art, and I was particularly inspired by Dawn Kaspar’s studio residency during the 2012 Whitney Biennial.
Of
course the response to this kind of experimental studio will certainly differ
depending on whether the audience is primarily comprised of museumgoers or
hurried travelers. Certainly a studio
within the context of the museum provokes a certain response, whereas the
baggage claim area of the airport (particularly when situated near the
Information Desk) prompts quite another.
Because of this, there were inevitably many confused responses to my
presence and purpose within the space.
Though these interactions may not have seemed immediately relevant to
either the traveler or myself, they too are part of the chain of small moments,
experiences that may linger and inform a later action or response.
