IMofCollective

At the Transcultural Exchange Conference in Boston last year I attended an amazing 45 minute workshop on marketing art.

Note: In case you are interested, here is a link to the conference website:

http://transculturalexchange.org/2016-conference/overview.htm

I will never forget the words stated in that workshop:

“Blogs should seldom exceed 500 words.”

It is for this reason that I will forego summarizing my IMofCollective project in every blog post. For those of you who are discovering the project for the first time and are wondering what it’s all about, just scroll down to my previous entry.

And now…back to business.

So, I am en route, returning to the village of Goult from whence I commenced this not-so-long-yet-massively-transitional hike to the chapel, on the hill above the Monastery of Lumieres, France.

I have successfully installed my “Stubborn” memorial plaque, pictured here:

I am returning to the first location scouted, somewhere on the old chemin d’ecole  (school path) up the Goult hill.

I pant my way uphill, under the weight of a full backpack (note to self: “next time don’t bring the ENTIRE container of cement”). I’m hoping that the afternoon heat has dried the cement base I prepared earlier. Without it I will not have a flat surface on which to adhere my next plaque.

I find the spot. The cement is still damp, but usable. I begin to prep the plaque pictured here:

I’m getting better at applying the material, and (this being my third try) handling the plaque is a less clumsy endeavor. Nevertheless, the surface of the stone wall is too vertical. The piece won’t grip. Right now, the dry Provence climate is working against me and the cement on the back of the plaque is drying too quickly. I am scrabbling to leap over the giant gap in my learning curve. I’m going to have to come up with a better way to install on vertical surfaces…next time.

Desperately, I scan the rock walls around me, thinking,

“Please Goult, my dear old friend, can you provide me a special spot, right here, right now,  where this plaque can make its home?”

As the prayer emerges from my minds eye, a humble rock immediately whispers to me

“Choose me. I may seem plain, but I promise that I will surprise you.”

No time to ask questions. I wipe down the surface and lay down the “vanity” plaque.

As I step back to look at it I smile at the paradox of choosing such a modest location for “vanity” instead of the throne I had originally primed. Go figure.

Could this be natures’ way of laughing at my presumption that a strong word deserves a spot in the limelight? By installing “vanity” in a nondescript place, am I disempowering its role in my psyche?

Yet, when I look at the photo below, I am struck by the discourse happening between “vanity” and the nature enveloping it. There is so much color and personality in their partnership. In this light, vanity, though humbled has its rightful place within the ferment of life.

So after my most recent post, I received some valuable advice from a friend.

She graciously complimented the vibe of my blog, along with the images. However, she noted, in my determination to record the progress of the project I have neglected to provide a summary of the concept. When she mentioned this I was reminded that this is true. It has been some time since I explained the overall theme.

Coincidentally, I also happened to submit a project description for a recent grant application. The requirement demanded a maximum of 2000 characters (no small feat for a verbose artist).

In honor of my friend’s request, I am posting that project description here:

Memory, and the places where it is conceived, deserves to be honored. These memorial plaques are part of an ongoing public art installation called the IMofCollective (In Memory of Collective).  The IMofCollective is an organization composed of individuals  employing artistic expression to mark memorable locations. The choice of location is initially personal, honoring the unique remembrance and perspective of the creator. Once it has been consecrated as public art it becomes part of a wider audience and an ingredient for larger discussions.

Each of these ceramic plaques exhibits a word that I display in relationships and deem of equivocal value. Words like “anger” are clearly problematic, while others such as “dreamer” contain idealistic qualities but may lead to undesirable circumstances. After a difficult divorce I moved from my home in Provence, France to Massachusetts. I sculpted these plaques, reminiscent of those commonly placed on tombs in France, to consecrate five years of my life there. They embody an integral part of my healing process. Once completed, I transported them back to France and installed each one in a location of particular significance to me. I wanted to pay homage to the power of memory. I also hoped that through the fiery act of emblazoning these words into earthly materials, I might begin to rid myself of them.

Through this process I am learning that the emotions tied to behavioral patterns are difficult to shed, because they are bound to the memories associated with them. I am composed largely of my experiences. I hope that, by choosing to expose intimate vulnerabilities to the public I am not only transcending emotional limitations, I am allowing them to be reborn as a communal experience. I want to put old habits to rest and make way for fresh memories and emotions to come to life. That is the ultimate goal of these installations.

There! I’ve done it. I will try to provide a more succinct version in future blogs, and on more regular occasions.

Where did I last leave off?

Aaah yes. The Chapel at Lumieres. How could I forget?

So, here I am seated at the wall beside this enchanted Chapel, savoring the view of Goult and the valley below. I take a series of photographs. All along, my eyes are open to the prospect of the perfect spot to place my next “In Memory of” plaque.

I know I already posted a photo in the previous blog, but for posterity’s sake I will include it in this blog as well.

Prior to arriving, I thought I might choose an installation spot next to the Chapel or to the statue of Jesus and Mary, in the stone grotto immediately facing it.

Instead, I am drawn to a large stone perched on an overgrown spot about twenty feet to the left of the statue. The stone itself, large and oblong, reminds me of a sarcophagus, which sparks my morbid fascination with tombs of all kinds. Pushing aside prickly brambles, I discover a square hole cut out of the floor of the grotto. The cutout piece is laying to the side, as if whoever opened it ran off in a hurry and forgot to replace it. Peering into the dark entry of a mysterious cave under the rock, I can imagine all manner of things tucked away in its depths….treasure? Bones?

Whatever its function, I take its appearance as a sign that I am on the right path to my goal.

As soon as I get a better view of the sarcophagus stone, I know I have hit the mark.

Here is a shot of the sacred location. Through the break in the trees across the path you (and my plaque) can enjoy a peek of the hillside of Goult.

Here is a close up of the naked surface of the stone, pre-installation.

There is something about the way the light hits it, like a beacon, that calls to me.

Finally, here is an image of the final installation.

And an even better one.

I feel the need to say how happy I am with this last shot. It is difficult, for many reasons, to part with these memorial plaques. Although each word may not be considered an agreeable quality, it represents a part of myself. “Stubborn” is a word that I have been called countless times, since I was a little girl, for better or for worse. It manifests itself in many forms, and can both help and hinder me in my life goals. Probably in relationships, such as my previous marriage, it proves more problematic then helpful.

Nonetheless, I deeply identify with the word “stubborn”. It is soothing to know that I have preserved something of the essence of this word in a thoughtful image.

When I walk away from a plaque I am leaving it to the elements, and I am (hopefully) leaving a part of me behind. It may be destroyed in a matter of hours. All that hard work and preparation becomes a figment of the past. That is part of the process of letting go.

On the other hand, it may become a fragment of the future, opening the doors to someone else’s story.

Who knows? Anything is possible.

On this steaming hot morning of June 5, I begin my hike from Le Moulin at the top of Goult, down the old school path (chemin d’ecole). The SW side of the village leads to the village of Lumieres. Nestled in the hillside above what was once a 17th century convent (now converted into a hotel) is a tiny, one-room chapel. It is one of the last remaining vestiges of a pious climb for the sisters of days of yore, meant to inspire prayer with its wondrous views.

Knowing what is to come, my emotions sway between nervous exhilaration and calm recognition. This village was once a second home to me, not because I lived so very long in Goult (in fact the time totaled about one year) but because I loved it so much. I once hiked this very path in the wee hours of the night, without the aid of any light save that of the full moon. It is an enchanted passage.

The way is pretty steep, with loose stones that threaten my footing. I keep a constant eye out for signs of nature, seeking the perfect temple in which to offer my memorial plaque. Here is the word I intend to plant somewhere on this trail.

Certainly one worth identifying, and parting with….

I consider many possibilities. Finally, my eye falls upon these stones.

Something about this seems so perfectly phantasmagorical, a spot marked by the passing of hundreds or possibly thousands of years, and of creatures both earthly and mystical.

I sand and rinse the stone (a process I have since come to see as a kind of ritual of purification) in preparation for the task at hand. I notice that the surface of this particular stone is unusually uneven, so I lay a base of cement in hopes of leveling the surface. When I realize that it will take awhile to dry I decide to return later to complete the installation.

This is when I discover that I have forgotten my camera battery pack in the car. Aargh!!! This is not the first time I have forgotten an essential installation item. I feel like such an amateur. Oh well, live and learn. I sweat my way back uphill, swearing that this is life’s artful way of keeping this pilgrimage memorable.

The continuation of the expedition down Goult and back up another hill, by way of a trail called “Mange-tian” is short but arduous.

Entry to the grounds of the Church of Lumieres, France.

On the grounds of the Church of Lumieres, France.

As though ordained from above, the final steepest stretch offers the greatest rewards.

One portion of the cathedral grotto.

Tucked into the overhang of the stone grotto, Mother Mary weeps over her sons’ collapsed body.

View of the valley between Goult and Lumieres, France

Just to the right on exiting the trail, I enter a cathedral grotto where the tiny Chapel stands like a humble sentinel worshipping the view.

This is a powerful place, one visited throughout the centuries by meditating sisters and wanderers alike. It is also a place of worship for me. Every time I return to the Luberon Valley, I make my pilgrimage to this Chapel. In my mind, it represents the perfect marriage of nature and man. I run my fingers along the rock wall and relish its staunch imperfections. I identify with its constitution….a craggy soup of sentiments.

Where better than here to honor those parts of myself that I otherwise fear admitting to? By honoring, I hope to let go of them. For now, that’s the best I can do.

Next up….

The IMofCollective (In Memory of Collective): is an organization composed of individuals employing artistic means to mark choice locations, memorializing their life experiences.

I originally launched this blog with a post about the Provence installation, and I am committed to keeping up the thread of both this project and the Soho project. Thus, I have returned to the discussion concerning the memorial plaques (some of which are shown below) that I plan to install this June.

Each of these markers (varying in length from approximately 4″-6″) is intended to commemorate, or in some cases facilitate the letting go of parts of myself. They represent personality traits that I consider to be problematic in a relationship dynamic.

“Why install these in Provence?” You might ask. That is an important question and the perfect opportunity to segue into my focus for today’s blog:

Location, Location, Location.

I lived in Provence for five years, experienced huge life changes there, was married, divorced, made lifelong friends, in sum feel that a part of me will forever be connected to this special place. In truth it’s not one location. It’s many points of reference, condensed into a territory of approximately 20×5 miles, which is often referred to as the Luberon Valley. Considering the relative immensity of this area to the space inhabited by Soho, NY (the target of my other IMofCollective project) it might seem daunting to try to pick out a handful of spots that are of particular importance to me.

However, as I reminisce the memories come flooding back at the flip of a switch, and I immediately begin to hone in on some definite contenders.

This list (keep an eye out for it in my next Provence installment) represents the first memories to come to mind but there are so many, filled with happiness and sadness, love and longing, every imaginable emotion. Some spots are associated with other people, a shared experience. Others with a song or album that I was obsessed with at the time.

Sometimes a smell (such as wild thyme or burning leaves and firewood) can immediately catapult me into my past in Provence. Isn’t smell transporting?! I’m just saying.

The process of simply envisioning memories is rewarding. How can I NOT expand my IMofCollective projects into this region? It provides me with an opportunity to re-experience moments of significance in my life, and integrates the structure necessary to make something of those memories, to turn them into something new.

You might be wondering, “what inspired me to give the markers this particular form?”

In the case of public installation I consider it a worthwhile challenge to reference the environment in which a piece is to be installed. In this case, I have drawn from the aesthetic of the grave markers commonly seen dotting tombstones in France.

While living in Goult, a small village on a hill, I frequented the graveyard. Every village has a graveyard but this one is unusual in that the flora is manicured in a topiary style uncommon to the region. There is something very quirky and artistic to its layout that creates a feeling different from the usual sombre cast of a graveyard. Memorials, gifts to the deceased from friends and family, can be found by the hundreds, possibly thousands. Each one is unique, while still adhering to a broad formula for shape and size.

Here are two examples:

My “letting-go”memorials mimic the style of these tombstone memorials, and so reflect their connection to the region in which they will eventually rest.

It is the emotional and spiritual bond of people to a particular location that is an essential component of the IMofCollective. I want other people to share their memories, in countless locations around the world. There is no location too obscure. There is no such thing as a boring location. It is the individual experience and the voicing of that experience that makes a location special.

You might choose only to create memorials for various spots in your bedroom. I just hope that you will talk to a friend about it, or (even better) post a photo to the IMofCollective Facebook page and accompany the image with a brief description. That’s all it takes in this day and age to make your memory a collective one.

What is the “In Memory of Collective”?

Definition;  the IMofCollective is an organization composed of individuals employing artistic expression to mark a location. The choice of location is initially personal, honoring the unique memory and perspective of the creator. Once it has been consecrated as public art it becomes part of a wider audience, reborn as a fresh experience.

When I read this definition it dawns on me that the IMofCollective includes not only the artists voicing their experiences. It includes, in equal part, the people who interact with the work, photograph it, or are simply moved by it. To those of you regularly making public art this concept is probably self-evident. Public art is, by definition, collective art. Being new to this particular process I am embarrassed to admit that when I came up with the name the IMofCollective, I was thinking primarily of the people constructing the installations. I am already learning so much.

Follow effective action with quiet reflection. From the quiet reflection will come even more effective action.                                                        -Peter Drucker

Soon I expect to have a renewed appreciation for social media platforms, on which the broader Collective can contribute. I’m really looking forward to learning from other people as well as from my own process.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I would eventually elaborate on my New York IMofCollective project. The header image for this blog (a nighttime shot of the intersection of Spring and Mercer, the corner where I grew up) is a nod to my past, and to that of countless artists living and expressing themselves in the Soho of the 1980’s. To those of you lucky enough to grow up downtown, you know that graffiti, sculpture, and various other manifestations of public art were part of your daily experience. As soon as I was old enough to walk home from school (PS3 on Hudson street) I would drop into the galleries  to take in a quick exhibition. Art was accessible. It was commercial but it was also free. The streets with their buildings, pavement, lampposts, etc. were the platform for people to voice their opinions. And they did, in every shape imaginable.

What about the unnamed artists? Does anyone remember the footprint guy? For years, the sidewalks of Soho (and elsewhere, I imagine) were dotted with flourescent painted footprints. I could follow the feet, from the exit of the 6 Train on Spring and Lafayette, directly to my front door. One day a sidewalk would be empty, and the next there they would be, leading us somewhere exciting, telling a story about a voyage that was soon to become ours. My friends and I would wonder who this footprint guy was. Someone once told me that they had spotted him late one night riding a bike, with feet (made of what?) rigged to the spokes of his bike, magically applying paint as he pedaled along his path.

Reminiscing recently  with my friend Daniela, she told me that the artist’s name was Adam Purple, and that we were friends with his son. Who knew?! That was the world we lived in, an intimate setting where artistic blood ran deeper then we could possibly imagine.

This is one mystery solved, but what of the countless other artists that unknowingly shaped me and my friends? What about the artist that created those amazing wire sculptures hung high on corner lampposts. We used to marvel at how in the world he/she had manged to touch the sky. How many people created the ever-changing landscape of graffiti dotting the walls across Mercer street, so lovingly observed from the fire escape on my bedroom window?

Here is a fascinating article written by my friend Kyle Spencer for the New York Times. It describes a project (begun by a Yukie Ohta) memorializing Soho:

The memories described above (and many more) form an integral part of who I am, and so directly influence ideas for installing work in my old stomping grounds.

As I continue to scope out locations and plan out the work, I will continue to post the process. Stay tuned for more, and please feel free to share those neighborhood stories you hold close to your heart. I can’t wait to see them come to the surface.

-Aria Doner Tudanger

http://www.ariatelier.net

ariatudanger@gmail.com

It’s late. I have promised myself to keep this post short.

I keep saying I will record my ruminations in a journal, make lists, notes, etc. in order not to forget the details of my IMof Collective projects (I have a few already in process). Someone said to me, “why write it down? why not just make that the blog?”

I’m considering how best to make pedestals for exterior installations. I prefer to wait a blog or two before I elaborate on the finer details of this specific project. Today, I am focused on a few technical considerations concerning public art in general. It just so happens that I have currently been constructing pedestals out of plaster-of-paris and acrylic. It is the construction of pedestals that leads me to ask these questions:

1. How well will plaster-of-paris hold up outdoors in humid conditions? Note: I’m no fool. I know its life is limited. It is porous, after all. I also know that if I place a sculpture in the public domain, it is liable to be removed at any moment. So this is what leads me to my second question…
2. How essential is the longevity of self-installed public art? Is it a real consideration? Note: Grad school installed in me a real-life awareness of long-term investment in my work. I try to consider what materials are most practical, and most congruous with their environment. I have considered experimenting with pigmented concrete and done a bit of research into the topic (although I am always open to more input, should you desire to share). Concrete would provide a logical base on which to build New York City shrines. However, working with it means learning a new process, new material expenses, more mess, and on and on. Sigh………we artists aren’t usually renown for our simplicity.

Here is a random online link I found with input on mixing concrete:

http://www.familyhandyman.com/masonry/pouring-concrete/how-to-properly-mix-concrete/view-all

And here is a very informative overview of the history and technique of mixing color into concrete:

http://www.concretenetwork.com/chris_sullivan/colored_concrete.htm

Part of me is saying, “fuck it, stick to your current trajectory and focus on figuring out ways to make plaster more resilient, though not immortal.”

I looked up ways of sealing plaster sculpture and found a couple of forums in which Boat Resin and polyeurethane were recommended (both disgustingly toxic, so far as I know). I may try anyways (with the help of gloves and mask), and see what happens. I am currently casting more pedestals, and once they are dried and coated I will post the results.

It may be awhile before you see those. although I DID happen upon a post describing the process of speed-drying plaster molds in the oven.

Good or bad idea?!

-Aria Doner Tudanger

http://www.ariatelier.net

ariatudanger@gmail.com

Years ago, when I was struck with this idea for an art project, I thought it was all about me. My memory bank, always full, threatened to overwhelm me at unforeseen moments. I was looking for a way to purge myself of the past; honor it, come to terms with it and, in the process create a revelatory present. But wait. I get ahead of myself. Let me explain.

I have always been fascinated by graves, graveyards, etc. They transport me to an indescribable realm linking my past to that of others. Someone once told me to let go of the past and live in the moment. I don’t think I can do that. You see, I love my memories, the good and the bad. They are so much a part of me, and are constantly reborn in my current art-making process.

Have you ever really paid attention to those “In Memory Of..” shrines, often bordering roads? When I see them, I always have to repress the urge to jump out of the car and more closely observe them. They are so powerful and yet so fleeting, marking a time and place, sending a prayer, and inviting others to join the chant.

My original idea was to create my own “In Memory Of…” shrines, marking locations that are significant to me. When I pass by those places I feel a synthesis of emotions; sadness, happiness, longing, gratefulness, joy, peace, to name a few. Despite my move to make public art I was coming primarily from a selfish place. True to my artist identity, I didn’t care. However, I’ve matured over the years, and come to the realization that public art, no matter how intimate, is inevitably about the collective experience. Knowing this I realize that this is not just about me….it is about US!

I no longer want this to be about one person sharing her memories. I want it to be a forum for anyone to express her/his voice, to mark a spot and make it known that this place is honored. Wouldn’t you like the opportunity to share your memories and make a new present moment? I most definitely would love to listen.

This is just the beginning. I’m still hashing out logos, social media websites, all the necessary accoutrements to make this project a group experience. It’s ironic, I know, that all I have so far is a blog. This site was a necessary jumping off point to get off my ass, put things in motion, and begin tracking the process. I promise there is more to come.

Just to give you a taste of the first stage of my “In Memory Of…”projects, posted above is a (way too sunny) shot of my Luberon Valley, France installation. These small clay markers are awaiting their final firing. I actually began them long ago. They have finally come full circle as I prepare to visit Provence this June 2016, the location of my previous beloved home, life, and marriage. They represent aspects of myself in relationships that I grapple with regularly. I’m not yet sure where they will live, but I will be certain to keep you abreast of my decisions.

Welcome to our art project. I am so excited to hear your stories.

We will call this the IMofCollective. Stay tuned for more.

–Aria Doner Tudanger.

ariatudanger@gmail.com.

http://www.ariatelier.net