These things happened and this is how I know

Transcription

1 University of Iowa Iowa Research Online Theses and Dissertations Spring 2013 These things happened and this is how I know Sarah Phyllis Smith University of Iowa Copyright 2013 Sarah Phyllis Smith This thesis is available at Iowa Research Online: Recommended Citation Smith, Sarah Phyllis. "These things happened and this is how I know." MFA (Master of Fine Arts) thesis, University of Iowa, Follow this and additional works at: Part of the Art Practice Commons

2 THESE THINGS HAPPENED AND THIS IS HOW I KNOW by Sarah Phyllis Smith A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Master of Fine Arts degree in Art in the Graduate College of The University of Iowa May 2013 Thesis Supervisor: Professor James Snitzer

3 Copyright by SARAH PHYLLIS SMITH 2013 All Rights Reserved

4 Graduate College The University of Iowa Iowa City, Iowa CERTIFICATE OF APPROVAL MASTER'S THESIS This is to certify that the Master's thesis of Sarah Phyllis Smith has been approved by the Examining Committee for the thesis requirement for the Master of Fine Arts degree in Art at the May 2013 graduation. Thesis Committee: James Snitzer, Thesis Supervisor Isabel Barbuzza David Dunlap Robert Glasgow

5 For Cornelius and Phyllis, without your honest catholic lifestyle, none of us would exist ii

6 Photographs are seen both as facts and as ghosts and shadows. They are the imperfect means by which we fill the voids of memory in the modern culture. Lucy Lippard The Lure of the Local: Sense of Place in a Multicentered Society iii

7 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This list could be endless if I were to try and encompass every important relationship during the time I ve spent in Iowa City. First, I would like to thank my committee members Jim Snitzer, Isabel Barbuzza, David Dunlap, and Bob Glasgow for your guidance and support. To my buddies, Jim and David, your efforts have not been lost on this girl. Jaime I have so many things to be grateful for; the food, the wine, and for always remembering to bring the baguette. Mollie and DOUGHTOATOPS, thank you for the bouts of incoherent hilarity and for your beautiful wolf couch. Kyle, your support, companionship, and ice-skating skills are all greatly appreciated. You came here later than I would have hoped and I m still sorry for driving us off the road in that blizzard. A huge thank you to my father and grandfather, always the willing participants and never asking why too many times. My grandmother, Phyllis is a beautiful name, thank you for it. And finally thank you to my mother for 26 years of unyielding support. I couldn t have done it without you. Thank you New York Thank you FREE ART SCHOOL Thank you Pizza Speakeasy Thank you friends iv

8 TABLE OF CONTENTS LIST OF FIGURES... vi HOLDING GHOSTS...1 SACANDAGA...17 IF TWO THINGS ARE RACING WE WILL ROOT FOR ONE OF THEM...29 v

9 LIST OF FIGURES Figure 1. Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 72in x 25in (shown as diptych), Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 72in x 25in (shown as diptych), Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in, Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min, Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min, vi

10 17. Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min, Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min, Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min, Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min, Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min, Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min, How to measure time, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, The passing of a dear friend, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, Your efforts are not in vain, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, If anything happens, sell the watch, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, We have to use our bodies, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, I can prove how sleazy you were, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, Learning by doing, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, Spunky Rallies, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, No Not Never, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, This is a trick, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, July Swimmers, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, This is where our expectations begin to fail, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, Dad with a new cornea, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, vii

11 1 HOLDING GHOSTS The images in the Sacandaga series are a documentation of my grandfather s house. My family has occupied this house for several decades but there is awareness in these images that this place cannot last forever. A home is a place of permanence and stability yet we are only temporary residents. We look to a home for shelter and sentiment, needing both for survival. The collections of acquired objects and vernacular photographs that are present in each image imply a space that has been lived in. Additionally, there is an incredible stillness in each image. The lack of human presence leads us to think that perhaps this space is not currently inhabited. This place resides in an unrecognizable time and appears as if it has always existed. Each image alludes to the specificity of the people who inhabit this house but never truly addresses who they are. They are ghost-like figures living just beyond the frame of each photograph. A home is not an inanimate object, with our occupancy it is born with the same ephemeral qualities that we possess. By absorbing our energy it lives as if it was human and with our passing it becomes sedentary once again. These photographs are objects, constructed to acknowledge their tragic inadequacy to preserve. The imagery is soft, tactile, and of a grand scale. They monumentalize this place but leave the details concealed and privatized. The viewer is not privy to the story of each image and is continually left with a longing to see and understand. This work is not about these inhabitants, it is concerned with our needs and attachments to the idea of home and the longing sensations we draw from such a place. These images are attempts to hold on to the house and lake, the one constant in my life. They are driven by a fear and anticipation of losing a sense of self

12 2 that has been derived from a place. I understand my history and myself because this place exists. It is my own story, physically manifested in space. Its loss equates to the loss of an origin. I anticipate a future where the only link to my family s history will be within the capacity of my own memory and the will to recall it. These images are artifacts of my own identity and an attempt to preserve the idealization of the place that formed it.

13 Figure 1: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

14 Figure 2: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

15 Figure 3: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

16 Figure 4: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

17 Figure 5: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

18 Figure 6: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

19 Figure 7: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 72in x 25in (shown as diptych),

20 Figure 8: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

21 Figure 9: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

22 Figure 10: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 72in x 25in (shown as diptych),

23 Figure 11: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

24 Figure 12: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

25 Figure 13: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

26 Figure 14: Untitled, from the Series Sacandaga, Silver Gelatin Print from Paper Negative, 35in x 25in,

27 17 SACANDAGA The film Sacandaga is the most intimate piece I have ever made. It consists of a series of re-enactments, physical labors, and pure documentation. It is an offering I submit to my grandfather as a gestural rite of passage. The film recognizes a family that has slowly disengaged from each other with time, and follows my struggle against this slow dissolution through small and earnest gestures. This film is the first thing I ve ever made for someone else and it feels wrong to speak about it with any less affection than its original intention. This film is about intimate relationships, ritual, rites of passage, and the hierarchical struggle of power and responsibility that are experienced within the confines of family. As the oldest of my generation I have chosen to assume the role of keeping the family structure intact. This role was left vacant by the death of my grandmother now three years ago. My grandmother s matriarchal duties included acting as the voice of reason, storyteller, and family archivist. These are now the roles that I am attempting to assume, but with much less authority than she was able to carry. In the four chapters of this film I explore my attempts toward familial preservation. Through sound, performance, and documentation I act as both narrator and participant. Sacandaga begins by introducing family photographs, the catalyst for my obsession with this place and the need to keep it stable. We keep photographs in order to preserve and remind us of the past, in this case, by preserving my family s connection with the lake I create an anchor to affix us to. The lake moves cyclically, and without failure, defies the passage of time. In the film I sift through photographs of my family vacationing here without me and realize that this is the most stable place I have ever

28 18 known. It is a place that has and will continue even without my presence. Investigating these photographs is a direct re-creation of a moment experienced in my grandparent s basement several years ago. The photographs stand as proof of our existence in this place at that moment. In reflecting on the past there is recognition of both the present as well as the future. The photographic show-and-tell ends with the declaration of two simple facts. This will not always be my grandfathers house. This will always be the lake where I learned to swim, but I won t always be swimming in it. Throughout the film you hear two distinct voices carry the narrative trajectory of each chapter. One voice, my own, performed live during the screening, is the narrator. A slightly embittered woman, perpetually looking to the past for answers, and motivations for my current compulsive actions. My voice acts as storyteller, referencing the past to illuminate the labors I perform. I use these stories to interpret the present and predict eventual failures. The other voice comes from a series of recorded conversations between my grandfather and myself. The most unrestrained of these conversations accompanies the second chapter of the film. Under the haze of several manhattans my grandfather begins listing his children and grandchildren by name. The first list, consists of my cousins and myself and is organized by age, a hierarchical system used in my family to assert responsibility. The second list shifts to his own children who are indexed not by age but by who keeps in touch with him the most. This is yet another defined hierarchy that has been meticulously

29 19 organized over a lifetime of mental notes. These lists signify relationships both strong and fragile. This sound is paired with footage from my grandfather s 80 th birthday party, an event where everyone acts as a supporting character, making themselves visible to the flashing cameras as proof of their presence. In contrast, my grandfather s voice speaks another story. In this moment they appear to have all come together for him. I stand as both participant and observer, distanced by the camera pressed against my face. At the beginning of Sacandaga, my role is one of documentarian but in the final two chapters my role reverses. I am now the participant, being filmed by my father as if this were all just a home movie. In the third chapter I can be found tending to the garden that has been left untouched since the death of grandmother. This small unruly patch of land stands as evidence of her absence. No one has been allowed to care for it because my grandfather felt the responsibility was now his alone. Three summers passed and he never touched it. It would have been an admittance of her death if he had ever chosen to tend to it. With our hands we can hold the objects left by those now deceased, imagining the touch they had once left. For him, to touch her garden would be to disturb a place she had once worked with her own hands. With special permission and under a watchful eye I began to tend to the space she had once occupied. I worked, just as he had intended to work for her. Now this is about all three of us. This is when I swim across the lake. As a teenager, my father and his two brothers swam across the lake. This one-mile swim proved their masculinity, for themselves, and to their father. That act became their rite of passage into adulthood. I first heard this story at thirteen and knew immediately that I would do it too. In over twenty years no one had even attempted this swim and

30 20 twelve years after my initial interest, I finally did it. I swam across the lake with my father and grandfather beside me in our small metal fishing boat. In the film the viewer becomes witness to the re-creation of this rite of passage. I am a weak swimmer and I continually struggle as I cross the lake. Another conversation is overheard as I swim. This time it s an interview with my grandfather in the kitchen taken both before and after my feat. I want to know whether he understands my intentions and if he thinks anyone else will notice this act. Has the swim become just a re-creation or does the act still contain its original prowess. He seems to understand, yet is timid in how he answers. Now he is guarded, sober, and aware he is being recorded. He speaks in a tone and language intended to appease everyone. He says what he thinks I want him to say and expresses deep concern over my swimming abilities. I ve completed the swim, made it to the other side of the lake and collapse on the boat launch. The same spot where three teenagers had similarly collapsed decades ago. Sacandaga was screened with my grandfather present, the most appropriate audience member. When it was over, his embrace told me he finally understood.

31 Figure 15: Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min,

32 Figure 16: Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min,

33 Figure 17: Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min,

34 Figure 18: Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min,

35 Figure 19: Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min,

36 Figure 20: Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min,

37 Figure 21: Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min,

38 Figure 22: Still from the film Sacandaga, Super 8mm, total running time: 20 min,

39 29 IF TWO THINGS ARE RACING WE WILL ROOT FOR ONE OF THEM The work in If Two Things Are Racing, We Will Root For One OF Them, is about recognizing photographs as physical objects and understanding our expectations and relationships with them. The images come from a yearlong process of collecting and archiving photographs of the people and places I am most closely in relation to. My assumed role is one of a documentarian who catalogues these images as a means of repairing a rupturing family structure. In this role, I work as author and no longer a participant, piecing these images and their subjects back together. The images are unromanticized and direct as my gaze has now become more distanced than my approach in previous work. Despite the personal origin of these images, they hover between the intimate and the analytic. I am the storyteller, using my own history as a means for addressing the fragile and ephemeral state we all live in. Photography continually promises what it cannot deliver. Photographs are physical objects denoting the possibilities of an immutable existence. Yet they are the epitome of how ephemeral the experiences they represent actually are. Our memories are represented, good or bad and without empathy, and serve as hatch marks on our lives that force us into looking to the past for answers. Each of these images asserts itself as a permanent document but the subjects continually admit their own defeat through temporal limitations. Through layers of subtlety, each image addresses its own failure and the impossibility of preservation. Our expectation that this medium can somehow preserve us despite our mortal fragility comes undone through sequenced images of fractured ice, ailing pets, and the nostalgia of vernacular images and documents.

40 30 The work also questions why we both need and want these images and where the line is drawn between these two ideas. How do we distinguish between need and desire when they both feel equally relevant? Past realities deemed worthy of documentation are reflected on with both sorrow and eagerness. We build a catalogue of our life that in turn becomes a sea of anonymity for future generations. Our images have become reenactments of photographs from the past affirming that we too were once there just as you once were. We hold our photographs close as if we might lose the memory of the experience had we not kept proof that it ever happened.

41 Figure 23: How to measure time, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

42 Figure 24: The passing of a dear friend, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

43 Figure 25: Your efforts are not in vain, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

44 Figure 26: If anything happens, sell the watch, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

45 Figure 27: We have to use our bodies, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

46 Figure 28: I can prove how sleazy you were, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

47 Figure 29: Learning by doing, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

48 Figure 30: Spunky Rallies, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

49 Figure 31: No Not Never, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

50 Figure 32: This is a trick, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

51 Figure 33: July Swimmers, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,

52 42 Figure 34: This is where our expectations begin to fail, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in, 2013

53 Figure 35: Dad with a new cornea, Pigment Inkjet Print, 15in x 20in,