Artist Statement

I do not know what I will read in class tomorrow, but I am pretty sure that this is not it.

I wish I could write a real artist statement about this project. The problem is, that although I have half presented several different ideas that this project could be based on, none have really stuck. None have satisfied my peers or professors. None have been concrete enough to provide me with proper direction. Thus I struggle to write a statement. In addition, this project does not make me feel like an artist. It makes me feel like a piece of shit. So the whole artist statement thing—just not going that well for me right now.

I started this project over the summer. I started it on the day that I read the book The Lovely Bones all in one sitting. It’s a really depressing book. After I finished it, I got an incredible urge to make images that were simple, quiet, beautiful, and soft. I decided to do this by photographing with layers of saran wrap over my camera lens. I decided that making pretty images would make me happy. Thanks a lot, Alice Sebold.

Maybe I should back up. The summer after junior year, despite having a successful semester, I hit a wall. I had no desire to photograph anything. I had no desire to come back to school. I didn’t know what to do for my thesis. I had panic attacks in July. I did brainstorming sessions with my mom in August. I went for long walks, I went to museums, I read books, I read blogs, I searched and searched but found nothing. This is why, when I finally felt inspired to make images again, I latched onto this saran wrap stuff.

So I went for more walks, but I started taking my saran wrap covered camera. I made blurry images. I liked them.

I started searching for the ‘why’. I wrote things in my sketchbook: “If your vision is blurry, what stands out? Not details, just light.” “The reason for this is because I have been focusing so much on dark things and details of dark things and now I want to look at the light.” “Seeing things differently. Rebirth. Finding beauty. Walking in the light. Reconnecting with nature.” “Memory. Romanticized memories. Fading memories.” “Reborn into an infancy where you are unsure of how to address or see the world around you and unsure of how to see yourself. Being lost but exploring.”

A friend recommended Annie Dillard’s essay “Seeing.” I read it; it was beautiful. I referenced it in my thesis proposal. In this initial proposal I talked about people who had been completely blind and then had their sight surgically restored. They had never learned to see the way most of us have. They had no concept of form, distance, size, or space. I was interested in the idea of seeing without understanding, experiencing “the color patches of infancy” (Dillard). I said my project was about being reborn into a world of color and light where the focus is not on detail, but on “pure sensation unencumbered by meaning” (Dillard).

I presented this idea and some of my saran wrap images to my class. There was a long, humiliating silence when I finished talking. The silence was broken by the professor, who, in regards to my photographs, asked “So… do YOU like these images?”

Well, I did until now. Thanks for setting me straight.

For some reason I continued. I would’ve started a different project immediately, but there was nothing else that I wanted to do. I should’ve gone to Philadelphia and started shooting my decrepit grandmother. That certainly would have made me miserable, but if I had done that project I would be miserable and able to write an artist statement, instead of miserable with no artist statement like I am now.

Anyways, I kept shooting through my layers of saran wrap. I felt more and more foolish with every crit. I tried to take the advice I was given. I made the images harder to read. I made darker images, images with less color. I made silhouettes. I re-photographed old photos. I tried different papers. I put holes in the saran wrap.

At first, the changes seemed to help. People initially liked the darker palette. But weeks later, everyone questioned why there wasn’t more color. The first time I showed the silhouettes, they were well received. The second time, they no longer fit with the rest of the project. Everyone was so excited the first time I showed the old photos that I’d re-photographed. Later, they were too obvious and uninteresting. People liked the holes in the saran wrap, that is until they didn’t anymore.

I talked about memory. About losing memories, obscuring memories, remembering only small parts of larger images. This went over well, until it didn’t anymore.

I talked about the meaning of an image. I talked about expectations of what a photograph can or should be. I talked about forcing viewers to project their own memories and meanings onto an obscured image. I talked about frustrating and confusing the viewer. I talked about questioning perception.

I looked at the work of many artists who are making abstract photos, playing with the medium and pushing the boundaries of photography. I hated most of the work.

In review, the professors told me to make lots of different things, to experiment, to play. They told me not to stress out. They asked me what I thought of my work. I wanted to say that I hated it and that it is stupid. I settled for saying that it had been a struggle. I didn’t want to cry in front of them.

So, I experimented. I made new images using old images. I had no desire to shoot anything new, so I used old things. I messed around in Photoshop. I came up with eight new mini projects that were based on questioning what a photo can be and all that. They made me laugh. I was almost excited. This project had never come close to amusing me before. Not since the summer, anyway.

I presented my new work in crit. I wanted to be excited, but at the same time I was certain that everything I had done was probably terrible and would be rejected. The crit wasn’t bad. But again, I was told to find a direction. The professor suggested that I look for a text to solidify my idea. I chuckled because, if you recall, my initial thesis proposal was based on a text. I’m not trying to say that I absolutely will not base my concept on a text. That might be quite nice, actually. It was just something that made me laugh to myself.

Today I am supposed to write an artist statement that will be three minutes long, read aloud. I am pretty sure that whatever I read tomorrow will be absolutely terrible. However, I am still going to work on it all day, all night, banging my head against a wall, searching, stressing, and waiting for tomorrow’s failure. Nobody wishes my project had a great concept and a certain direction more than I. I want so badly for my thesis to be great. I want to love it. I do not know how to make this happen. I do not know if it is possible.