Photos and videos of the process and installation of these works can be found in the gallery section. Follow the links provided in the work titles. The images are in chronological order, so please scroll through to see the images and video from December 6.
Essential to the realization of Wanderland and Look In Glass was their presentation on Saturday, December 6, 2014 at my home-studio. For Wanderland it was the cummulation of its existence, it is a site-specific installation bound both by concept and aesthetics to the ground floor hallway of my home. Look In Glass, while not a site-specific piece, is nonetheless eternally tied in its conception to the physical presentation of the journal pages, the main component of Wanderland. Wanderland cannot exist without Look In Glass and Look In Glass cannot fully exist without the journal pages, but it can exist without Wanderland as long as the journal pages are physically present in some form.
Despite the existence of Look In Glass as a transportable object, conceivable as a ‘stand alone’ work of art; despite the possibility of the journal pages slideshow being presented as a film or video independent of the mirror box, either of these presentation formats would result in Look In Glass loosing much in way of its intended meaning. Look In Glass is an alienated, virtual, passive, cool and controlled experience of the journal pages. Yes, it would be possible to retain these characteristics within the context of a stand alone object or film, but the point is not the characteristics themselves, but the juxtaposition of them to the actual, real, warm and textured, out of control, ‘in your face’, ‘up close and personal experience’ of the journal pages, as the viewer experiences them in Wanderland.
I invited twenty-eight people to come to my home and view Wanderland and Look In Glass. Twenty responded and sixteen were able to come. The viewers’ ages, socio-economic, and professional backgrounds are varied across the arts [performing arts, visual arts and design], sciences, business, humanities, journalism, theology and service industry. All had previously been to my home and walked through the hallway. Two of the viewers are family members and live in the space. Most were familiar to some degree with my paintings, a few knew of my health history, and three knew of what I am trying to achieve in this project. Except for those three, the viewers did not know what to expect when they opened the door and entered Wanderland. The three who knew about the project were still unsure of what to expect behind the door.
Wanderland and Look In Glass are intended to be experienced by one person at a time. They are not meant to be viewed in an open, public space, with other individuals physically present. [This will prove a challenge when presenting Look In Glass and the companion piece, which will take the place of Wanderland, titled Just Between Me And You at the Winter Residency, but I am currently in the process of developing another presentation format that maintains the desired experience.] The experience of the work as a personal, solitary experience is important because it mirrors the experience of a seizure which can only be fully understood and experienced personally and in a solitary manner. The way the works were installed on December 6 enabled me to control to access to the space, limiting it to a single person at a time. In the invitation I sent, I requested the guests to RSVP with a time they would like to visit. This was meant to help maintain the sense of an intimate experience even when the viewers were outside the space waiting to travel through it. Some visitors did do this, with just one or two people other than myself present in adjoining rooms while an individual visited Wanderland and Look In Glass. However there was a moment when about seven of the viewers who did not state a time arrived simultaneously. This meant there was a longer wait to view the work. It also prevented viewers from providing much feedback in the first moments after viewing because they wanted to keep what they experienced a ‘secret’ from those who had not yet traveled through Wanderland and visited Look In Glass. Feedback has trickled in via email, phone and social media messaging.
The voices of those seated, waiting in the living room, drinking mulled wine, tea, and eating German holiday cakes were kept low and conversation to a minimum; like most wood framed American houses, the walls are thin and sounds easily carry. Although my original intention was to make the experience as ‘sound free’ as possible for reasons mirroring my own seizure experience, about four of the viewers mentioned the experience of the sounds carried through the walls in relation to their viewing of the work. None of these were mentioned negatively or as being a distraction, instead they all mentioned how it added to the sense of isolation- solitary, inside space versus a space outside occupied by other individuals in conversation. Some found this comforting, reassuring that they were really not so alone. Others felt that it made the solitariness of the space more special, as if it was created just for them and the people outside the space were being excluded from experiencing it. Some mentioned being able to identify the voices, but not really understand what was being said. Much of what was said about the sounds reflects my own experience during a seizure, but it was not something I directly referred to, stated, or even intended to do. I did not reveal to these viewers how accurate their understanding of the sounds in relation to the experience were for me. All understood the sounds as chance occurrences, perhaps not intended as part of the piece. They all began to question if perhaps by not including another type of sound in the space the chance sounds coming from outside the space were really, in an unplanned way, intentional. It was encouraging for me to hear the direction this feedback took, and has made me consider how much the work, when pointed in the right direction, on its own can develop pertinent layers of meaning.
This larger group of coeval viewers consisted primarily of people least familiar with my work, the project, and my personal health history. While they were waiting I quietly provided a bit more information to the viewers about why I had invited them, as a means of gathering feedback outside my Crit Group on the works which in an altered form would be presented at the residency next month in New York City. I told them the title of my first year project: “Self Portrait of a Female with Epilepsy”. I did not go into details about the project other than the title and that I was planning a series of self portraits, contemplating various approaches to “painting”, and had worked on a loose leaf journal which is incorporated in various ways into these works, and the pages will be addresses in the paper I will write this winter about the project. Most of this group was fine with waiting, and when it came time for their turn they took their time going through the pieces. A couple of the waiting viewers were more noticeably agitated by having to wait, and both went through the pieces at a much quicker pace than other viewers did. This could have been because they might have had other plans that evening, they were receiving text messages and left quickly after viewing the pieces. In other words, they seemed personally distracted and unable to fully engage with the pieces, which might not necessarily be just attributable to the work. The only feedback I received from one of these viewers was, that not being an “object” person, the viewer would have preferred more text telling what the piece was about. This person is an academic with a background in art history and cultural studies, and writes a lot in these areas; a person who self-identified as “needing the text”. However this person was not the only academic, writer, or “word person” present; yet the only one that had this type of response.
Most of the feedback provided focused on the contrast between the intensity of the experience of Wanderland during the first walk through towards Look In Glass. Then the calmness of the space Look In Glass occupied and of the piece itself- especially after the revelation that the images were ‘the same’ source they had just navigated through was mentioned. Finally how the viewer experienced a change in feelings on the return journey back through Wanderland to re-enter the more ‘public’ space of the living room.
A number of viewers mentioned the concept of intimacy that was being expressed in both pieces and by the event in general. The invitation which I sent out echoed an invitation to a private party. The event was held not only in the space which houses my studio, but is also my home. It was a cold, rainy December evening, but I had a fire burning in the cast iron stove in the living room, mulled wine, hot tea and cakes. The overall atmosphere exuded ‘intimacy’. To this another layer of intimacy was added by limiting access to the artworks to one person at a time. Some of the viewers said this made them feel “special”, as if it was only created for them, I was only allowing them to be privy to something. On top of this layer was yet another intimate layering, the artworks were not located in what one would consider ‘public’ space in a family home, but in a hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathrooms, the ‘private’ spaces; and Look In Glass occupied a bedroom, with a bed and heavy black drapery over the windows keeping the space intensely private, intimate. One viewer found the experience to be quite sexual.
The initial entry into Wanderland was quite overwhelming for almost all of the viewers, especially who were taller and those with a tendency towards claustrophobia. Navigation of the passageway was another central theme mentioned. Some realized immediately they would need to find ‘alternate routes’ through the space, which meant they got down low, walking hunched over or crawling on the floor beneath the pages. Others, usually those most overwhelmed with feelings of claustrophobia or being under attack by the pages, were unable to look for the logical way through the maze, so they tackled it head on, pushing through the pages to get to the door at the other end of the hallway. Interestingly the only person to mention feeling “attacked” by the pages is a curator who puts together ten exhibits a year at a local university. He mentioned thinking “You’re not suppose to touch the art, but it’s touching me!”. Despite having known the before entering the space that the piece was part of my project “Self Portrait of a Female with Epilepsy” he was unable to retain any of this information upon encountering the pages because at that moment his ‘learned’ behavior of how to interact with art came to the forefront and the internal conflict created by the situation overwhelmed him. He still journeyed through the space, and even on his return journey from Look In Glass was never able to feel fully comfortable in the space because of the taboos he felt he was breaking, but he was able to then handle the pages and examine them more closely. On the other hand, when a painter with whom I’ve been involved in an art group and exhibited with numerous times in the past ten years entered the space, her initial thought was “You’re not supposed to touch the art, but wait, if Robyn hadn’t wanted me to touch it, she wouldn’t have hung it this way” so she grabbed hold of and examined each piece; she is a very physical person by nature. She did not stay long at the Look In Glass because in contrast to the pages with their tactility, she found the glass “dull” and distant, so she went quickly back to Wanderland and spent more time with the real things.
A couple each separately found their way during their journey to the bathroom located off the hallway, and sought a few moments retreat in order to regain their composure in that banal space. They both said they found as soon as they re-entered the hallway the overwhelming feelings came back, but they knew they had to get to the other door. Both mentioned how the bedroom in which Look In Glass was placed had the calming effect they had sought in the bathroom, but had been unable to find. In that space they were able to regain their composure, and not only spend time with the images in that space and become comfortable with the pages through the distancing which occurred through the glass, but they were able to re-enter Wanderland and begin the return journey through the passageway without the fear and anxiety they had experienced on the way to Look In Glass. As one visitor put it, he had been through it once before, survived, and realized it was not going to hurt or destroy him, he could now go through it again, look at the work, and he’d be okay. One visitor, who did not feel the same anxiety on the initial journey through the passageway, but rather experienced a sense of enchantment, still had a similar response to the second space, the bedroom and Look In Glass. After the calmness of that space and spending time looking at the images of the pages inside the mirror box she was eager to re-enter Wanderland and look at, touch, and hold the actual pages again in person. But she said she did receive a shock when she opened the door because at that moment she first noticed the sparkle of the floor covering which she was not aware of on the journey to Look In Glass. It appeared to drop away beneath her feet as she stepped onto it. Unlike the viewers who experienced the hallway as ‘claustrophobic’ she was one of about half the viewers who experienced the space as endless, open and filled with potential, not an anxious, narrow space. She gladly stepped out into “outer space” as she described it to further explore the pages. On a similar note, the viewers who I would say tend toward a self image of risk taking and openness towards life in general tended to find the space expressed in Wanderland most constrained. The viewers who tend to be more closed, conservative, and passive in their daily approach to life tended to find the space most open, unconfined, and freeing.
A final bit of the feedback I received and wish to share is from my 13 year old son who was present at various stages of the installation and creation of the pages. Upon experiencing the completed installation he was amazed at how spaces which he otherwise takes for granted, in fact hasn’t ever considered them as meaningful spaces, could be transformed by things as simple as paint, fabric, pieces of paper, a mirror, and a few lights. His relationship to the space prior to the installation was different from the other viewers, yet the other viewers were also familiar with the space somewhat as a central hallway connecting the front of the house, the upstairs, the guest bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. For those viewers the space itself gained additional layers of meaning; for my son the space not only gained new meaning, the ability to transform space through such basic measures has [hopefully] altered his perception of spaces in general. It makes me think of how it would be to go into the homes of others and transform their living space. Often when people purchase a painting to hang on their wall they let the artist know how much it has “made” or “transformed” the space; and usually when purchasing a work of art it is because at first sight the buyer “knew” where it belonged. I have also had people not buy a piece because as much as it “spoke to them” they could not picture where it belonged. So how would it be to go into their private space and transform it without them having a preconceived notion of what that transformation would entail?
What insight into Wanderland and Look In Glass have I gained by this showing and the feedback I received? First, that I was able to achieve the emotional responses and understanding I sought through the work without having to explain anything in advance. For me this is a pretty big step. Second, although everyone who viewed the works are personal acquaintances, some closer friends, others less close, there was already a certain level of familiarity with each other which allowed me to gauge their responses to the the work in a way I could not do from a stranger. And yet, at the same time, the work by which they have known me to create would appear to them to be very different from that which I was presenting to them on this December evening. In the last hours of installing the work I decided to include five canvases which I had painted in the past 18 months. These not only helped define the space and the context, but for a couple of viewers they literally served as buoys on which they could grab hold of what they knew to be “Robyn’s painting”. These viewers found it difficult to talk about the other parts of the pieces, aside from references, red threads, that they found connected the canvases they knew me for and the rest which was so foreign to them. Knowing their biographies I did not find this shocking, I was more amazed by the viewers I thought might do this and did not, but became incredibly erudite when speaking of the whole experience.
As I mentioned at the beginning these pieces are unable to travel in this form to New York for the residency, so I will be making a new piece and presenting Look In Glass along with it in a slightly altered form. Hopefully I will be able to attain similar results. It would be nice to be able to present Wanderland and Look In Glass to viewers completely unknown to me and I to them, but this is not something I would want to do within my personal living space, mainly because it is also the personal space of three other people. At the same time I feel that the context of presenting the pieces in a personal living space is vital to the overall concept of the work. Wanderland and Look In Glass [in this form] are well documented, and in the right context could be re-presented. But at this moment they are done for me and I am ready to move on to the next iteration of the Series of Self Portraits of a Female with Epilepsy.