Brackett Creek Invitational 2022 - Questionnaire

We are happy to present a 10-part questionnaire answered by (almost) every artist in the 47-person exhibtion. 

Questions (answered by correlating number below):
1. Name?
2. Name of the work?
3. Place you reside?
4. Is this work part of a larger series?
5. How do you feel about seriality?
6. Specific references in the work(s)?
7. How has the Pandemic shifted your practice?
8. Does “place” or a “sense of place” change a work/working? And how?
9. Favorite beach accessory?
10. Favorite horse color or breed?

1. Erika Alfonso

2. Butt

3. Los Angeles, CA

4. No, this one was kind of a one-off.

5. I love a good series, nice to play with a subject matter and execute it differently/see where it goes.

6. Not really. Was just having fun!

7. I think it shifted it for the better. When the pandemic first started, I was able to move into a studio and play around more than I would trying to paint or draw at home. Also, I wasn’t working for part of that time so that helped free up my time in a way it hadn’t been for years.

8. I think overall a persons surroundings can influence what they paint especially if they’re literally drawing from their surroundings or life. Guess it depends on your practice and what you’re creating.

9. No single fav but let’s go with an umbrella.

10. I am not very familiar with horse breeds, but love all the spotted ones/marbled ones.

1. Mia Ardito

2. Room for the Show: Peninsula Nation presents House of Love

3. Brooklyn, New York

4. Yes, the trailer is for a larger for a video series and the set is part of a larger installation.

5. I like to work within an episodic structure, pushing up against a familiar for of entertainment and skewing it.
6. Reality television; specifically romantic competition shows. Miniature architecture;  Scaled down recognizable domestic materials; the amalgamation of factory made miniatures and repurposed materials for a miniature purpose. ( I.e. miniature plastic lamp and the furniture felt pads as upholstery on couch)

7. I’m not sure it has.

8. Sure, context is everything. Where something is and what is around it informs the relationship between concept and form.

9. Drinking water.

10. Don’t know much about horses. Any kind is fine by me.

1. Eric Brittain

2. Blue Benjamin Cubed

3. Brooklyn, NY

4. Not series in the traditional sense but part of a larger body of work

5. One thing after another

6. Pewee Longway, Benjamin Franklin, Picasso

7. Slowing things down with more time to think and reflect

8. I’m not sure, but context matters.

9. Sunscreen

10. Brown

1. Sean Cassidy.

2. It was never about my teeth.

3. Los Angeles california

4. Yes. The works are selections from many traps and prints, maps and stories.

5. Seriality is always playing a part in what I make and I think about it the same way I think about metabolism. It just keeps happening no matter how I feel about it.

6. The works are a solution and a documentation of a problem, or what I felt was a problem. They are in reference to that problem; Possums In my studio.

7. I don’t know if it was the pandemic but I realized its totally ok that what I make exists. Making it has always mattered.

8. Absolutely. It’s all mapping.

9. A tent.

10. They are all beautiful. I swam with one once as a kid. She was chocolate and her name was Dr. Pepper.

1. Matthew Chambers

2. Willys Predatory Gaze

3. Brackett Creek

4. Loosely – It’s part of a methodology or specific working model

5. If you destroy most of them it’s ok, seriality requires an editor to answer the larger “why” questions art is supposed to deal with

6. Not so much

7. More visitors?

8. Absolutely – how I see myself and my purpose defines the work

9. Good attitude. The beach can’t change a bad mood but can enhance a good one.

10. Apolusa (sp?) mascot of one of the elementary schools I went to

1. Sophronia Cook

2. I have forgotten

3. Los Angeles

4. Yes

5. I was first a printmaker and mold maker so I love it.

6. a artist I grew up with and images I take

7. I make more and try more.

8. yes I am highly influenced by my environment

9. water

10. Palomino

1. Kyle De Lotto

2. S. Catherine

3. Los Angeles

4. All the work is a sort of series right now.

5. On a personal level, seriality is pretty pleasurable. Whether it’s multiple prints or repainting the same thing again, its liberating to not think about subject or form. You can just kind of turn off and go and all the little differences that happen create a sense of discovery that’s immensely pleasing and sort of addicting.

Bigger picture - the entire arch of art history has a seriality to it. We repeat earlier ideas and forms in new contexts and materials.  Art’s not really about  making something novel. Accepting that it’s all kind of the same but different is liberating. It forces you to lean into who you are - your strengths and faults - because in the end that’s all you really have to offer. You don’t need to overthink it, you just get busy.

6. I made this painting after my wife’s first miscarriage. The flowers are arrangements friends and family sent her.

7. I gave up and everything got better.

8. Painting a mural in Montana the previous summer show was an important experience for me. Living and working in the city, it’s almost impossible to avoid a sense of irony in the work. In Montana, I made a painting of the horses I passed walking to the barn every day and thought about my wife and son. It was so earnest and I can’t help but think I never would have made that work in LA or New York. Opened up a whole new way of seeing the work. Hoping to work in different places in the future.

9. I like to take as little as possible.

10. Love em all.

1. Mark Morgan Dunstan

2. Periopic Plein Aire, Stick Chair

3. Wilson, Wyoming

4. Both pieces are part of a larger series of work, in that they are iterations of an idea or problem I’m trying to sort out for myself.

5. Something about returning to a moment in Modernism where abstraction was becoming a dominant worldview, and probing around, trying to find a new route through it. The Stick Chair has to do with the move that furniture made away from ornamentation, stripping it away. Like, let’s cut all the extra stuff off a Chippendale chair and we end up with a Danish Modern chair. That ornamentation was originally based on natural forms, but centuries of mannerist visual inbreeding brought it to an extremely decadent state that needed to end, it was really pretty gross. So, the chair is an attempt to reenact that moment, to use natural forms in maybe a way more akin to Arts & Crafts version of modernism, but to go straight to the source for form: an actual stick.

The Periopic Plein Air is sort of a parallel question having to do with early modernism, impressionism and post impressionism. The move towards painting the actually experience of the eye when looking at something held a great deal of promise for Truth. Yet, like everything else, it quickly turned into a sort of metastatic mess. Looking like an impressionist painting became more important than faithfully creating a record of an experience. And when it comes down to it, your eye and your brain don’t see a tree as blobs of light any more than they see a tree as a finely rendered 17th century painting of a tree, it’s somewhere in between and elsewhere entirely. I’m not sure what that is yet, but these paintings are my way of working towards finding it.

Seriality is pretty necessary, unless you can nail something on the first try. Some people can, or believe they can, but I don’t think I’m one of them.

6. Specific references, no, nothing singular, but the movements addressed in the previous question are areas I’m looking at, and there are a lot of examples within those movements and outside of them that fit the bill.

7. The Pandemic kept me around home a lot more, that was good. There was a lot of questioning what was necessary to create or share in the last couple years, which was good. It didn’t keep me from making stuff or finding the world interesting, which was good.

8. I think it’s really important to be in a place, to get to know a place, to really dig into it. What place that is probably doesn’t matter so much as really being there. I think a deep noticing becomes quite universal, even if it’s embedded in someplace specific.

9. A tree

10. Painted

1. Bart Exposito

2. Scribes

3. Dixon, NM

4. Yes, this work is part of an ongoing series.

5. Seriality can be great as long as it's connected to content and exploration as opposed to something like producing series for market demand.

6. People

7. None whatsoever

8. Yes. I think being in nature has had a profound impact on my work.

9. I don't really care for the beach

10. I like the horse on the Einsturzende Neubauten album cover. Not sure what breed it is?

1. Thomas Galloway

2. Untitled

3. Livingston, MT

4. standalone piece

5. I don't think I really work serially, more in different styles that I work between and come back to from time to time.

6. Constructivism.

7. It's shifted my perspective a lot.  I'd say I'm making a lot more work since quitting my full time job at the beginning of the pandemic.

8. I've moved around a lot, and I feel like my practice has remained somewhat consistent.  So no, but also the place you are making work in will seep into the work, so yes - it's just generally not very apparent to me how.

9. A good towel.

10. Those Dalmation looking ones - I had to look it up: The Knabstrupper!

1. Joe Garvey

2. a portrait of the artist as a young man 01 (1983. ford ranger) (ode to stephen)

3. I live in Brooklyn & Walton NY.

4 & 5. I am a big fan of series and going down thematic rabbit holes but the truck piece feels singular, especially in the printed form.  The original idea for this piece was to buy an old ford ranger, drive it out to montana, and then display it as a ready made sculpture but finding one worthy of the trek proved to difficult so i thought screenprinting it was a acceptable consolation.

6. Stephen Mcclintock :)

7. Quite literally, I know mostly make my work in my studio upstate, which I enjoy because the distractions of the city are not present.  It also has taught me to slow down in my work, I feel much less pressure to "produce" now and just try and work on one thing mindfully at a time.

8. This piece is actually about place, the ford ranger was manufactured in St. Paul, Minnesota from 1982-2012.  I was born in St. Paul in 1983. So the question I am trying to solve in making this work is if/how/why 2 things made in the same location share any significance, is there any thing from St Paul that is carried between both entities.

9. sunglasses

10. i like the horses that live down the road from me

1. Lane Hagood

2. Post Vitruvian Man

3. Houston, Tx

4. I think of this painting as an experiment, but it is definitely part of a larger body of work of “Rubber Paintings.”

5. I typically let my gut guide the work I make, but I most often make a few paintings that are similar in material and theme. I then get bored and make some other paintings that are often drastically different from the work made before. My work jumps around a lot, and I think that has been detrimental to my “career.” I’m jealous of artists that kind of find the one or two types of work they’re going to make for the rest of their lives, and just keep on cranking them out. That’s just not the way I roll.

6. I worked at a corporation for a few years where I basically looked at over 10,000 digitized pages of military veterans’s medical records every day. There was an image that I saw all the time of this really simplified, digital graphic version of DaVinci’s “VItruvian Man.” I laughed every time I saw it. It was such a ridiculous image compared to the thing in itself. Please don’t tell anyone—because it’s definitely illegal— but I took a quick photo of the image in some veteran’s medical file. I think this was around 2017, but I never got around to making it because I wanted it to have a 3-D element , and wasn’t sure how to execute the idea. I let it sit in the back of my mind for 5 years before I figured out how I wanted to make it.

7. Well, like everyone else I was very confused in the beginning, and felt like I should use the free time to make art since my job shut down. Once unemployment kicked in (thanks Socialism!) I was making more money than I ever had at any job I’ve worked. I had about a month of really productive studio time experimenting with making “Rubber Paintings,” and then world events kind of made me lose my steam. I really began to feel disgusted by the whole Instagram artist hustle culture, and it made me hate art for the first time in my life. I had a creatively fallow period for months and dealt with a major existential crisis about what the fuck I’d been doing with my life. So, I just sat on my couch and read books from morning to night. In the summer of 2019, I wrote a paragraph about Martin Kippenberger’s murdered body washing ashore while I was reading his sister’s biography about him. The writing came out of nowhere and I read it aloud to myself and thought it would make a really good opening for a mystery novel. I didn’t know what to do with it, and had put out two art books with a short story I’d written for them. All of the reading I did during lockdown—except for the tons of fiction I read regularly—was about the CIA, MKUltra, The Jakarta Method, and the Cold War, especially in relation to the arts. Then I read “Gravity’s Rainbow,” and said to myself, “I think I want to try and write a novel.” But it was more like me asking myself, “Can I write a novel? Is that something I am even capable of?” So in October of 2020, I started writing a novel. By the end of the year, I had written three drafts, and was like, holy shit! I wrote a fucking novel! After the fourth draft, I hired an amazing editor and worked with her on two more drafts. I’m currently working on the final draft, and will definitely put it out sometime next year. So, short story short, the Pandemic allowed me the time to take writing more seriously, and I am very thankful for that sweet unemployment money. That gave me the time to read at my leisure. I still made paintings in between drafts while waiting on my editor. And, I got over my hatred of art, as well. So it was all positive, despite the fact that so many people died, and it’s been feeling like the world is caving in since all this started. But, hey, I’m an eternal optimist!

8. I’m conflicted by this question because my whole “career” I’ve made work in Houston. I have a love/hate relationship with this city. All my friends assumed early on that I’d be the first one to escape to L.A. or NYC. Alas, I’m one of the last ones here from my core group of artist friends that were in the art scene long ago. I did have an epiphany in my early twenties while reading Baudelaire’s “Paris Spleen” that maybe all the ugly infrastructure of the city of Houston can be my muse. The way Baudelaire wrote about the seedy, nasty, and grimy aspects of Paris so beautifully made me realize that I need to appreciate all of the madness, the ugliness, the strip malls, the mosquitoes, and the heat, and soldier on making my somewhat weird art. But, I also live in a beautiful, old house full of my books, records, and art collection. It’s like my sanctuary, and I never want to leave. So in that sense I am inspired by the objects I’ve collected over the years in this place. I’ve never had a real studio and have always made my work wherever I’m living. In a certain sense, I read, write and make art to escape my reality. I’m trying to arrive at a place, and that place is getting lost in the moment of making something. I don’t feel it all the time, but when the juice flows out of me and I’m in a zone of contentment, completely occupied by being creative, that’s the place I want to be, and I feel the most free. I’m not sure that answers the question, but that’s my final answer.

9. My gray tote bag that just says F. Nietzsche on it. It will have a difficult book in there—maybe a Thomas Bernhard book since I’m revisiting him now— some sparkling waters, my women’s sunglasses from Target, a sketchbook, pen, suntan lotion, and some sort of nicotine. And when I’m at the beach I will say, “Beachy Nietzsche,” over and over again until my friends slowly start moving their beach towels further and further away from me. Then I will be able to read Thomas Bernhard in peace until I get bored. Then I’ll just stare at the waves rolling on the shore, thinking about being alive and my place in the cosmos.

10. Whatever the breed of horse was that Nietzsche collapsed onto, crying after watching it get brutally whipped by its owner in Turin, as he fully descended into madness. 

1. Kathleen Herlihy-Paoli

2. S.O.S.

3. Missoula, Montana

4. It may be the beginning of a series.

5. It keeps me focused and probably more productive.

6. Water and fire, both are big issues where I live.

7. I think it’s made me more introspective.

8. I think it does, if I were still living in NYC I’m sure my work would be different today.

9. Hard to pick one; Something to drink, my water shoes and sunscreen.

10. A nicely patterned black & white paint horse (pony).

1. Johanna jackson

2. Flower containing mother and baby snakes, fragmented but still whole sweets and a living pet with a past pet uncontained

3. Portland oregonand topanga ca

4/5. I’m into repetition but i’m not into numbering.  

6. i don’t think so, i mean, everything has a string leading back to something. The pets are pet portraits.  

7. Inside of my studio it’s almost exactly the same but outside of my studio

it’s more deathy

8. yes the world matters a lot. The light is different, the chemicals are different. The noise of people thinking, different

9. Book

10. Piebald and brindled horses are my faves. All horses are beautiful,  just like all cats are beautiful

1. Robert Kieswetter

2. Cloud Semaphore

3. Los Angeles, CA

4. Yeah, it’s part of a series of stitched works I’m calling Semaphores.

5. Feels natural to me, working in series. The obvious analog for me is an album. I’m partial to the idea of a cohesive body of work, as opposed to a collection of “singles”. I’m interested in a group of works being in dialogue with each other, reinforcing and questioning each other.

6. I’ve noticed the Semaphores are proving to be pretty nauti(cal) by nature. The materials, color, construction, formality nod to a briny relationship with the elements.

Traditionally, the Semaphore is a clear, direct, universal communication tool with little room for interpretation. My Semaphores aim to send more nuanced signals.

7. It’s given me permission to hunker down and be productive. A real silver-lining.

8. Set and setting looms large. In a practical sense, works I’ve made in Montana, with endless space to stretch out, feel wide-open to me. Like ideas get to tear-ass around the yard, off-leash.

Conversely, I don’t know if I’d be making successful Semaphores were I not surrounded by sandy sea-phemera and the spectre of surf.

9. My first thought is a towel. At once a territory-marker, changing room, sun-shield, drying implement, flag…

10. Is a zebra a horse?

1. Cody Ledvina

2. evolution painting

3. Houston, TX

4. No

5. I only have a couple of series works, Coffee Shaking Machines, and paintings about Jack Kevorkian, everything else is a one-off

6. Process and the pain of drawing tiny squares

7. I work next to my bed or at the kitchen table mostly, keeping it domestic feels better, so it only made more time for me

8. When I moved to London in 2014 I left a sizable studio in Texas for a corner of the dining room table. Canvases became sheets of paper, or boards, and sculpture was completely out of the question

9. Po-boy

10. Brunette and human......OHHHHHH, Horse, yeah I don't know

1. Nicky Lesser

2. Brick Beds

3. Brooklyn

4/5. This is a brand new and ongoing project, I plan to make many more of the beds. They will all be slightly different because each brick is unique. I am still figuring out what the seriality represents in this project.


7. If anything the pandemic has connected me to my work more.

8. I carved the beds in different locations out of bricks that were manufactured in different locations. Because they are old and have been sitting around for years and years in the elements, the bricks sense of place is inherent in its material. That becomes a part of my carving, and so the brick gives the bed an origin. I am most likely working in the location that the brick is from.

9. watermelon

10. Brown

1. Michael Lombardo

2. Water Lily Bud

3. Los Angeles

4. I would say yes

5. all of the imagery I source are things I either see in passing or situations I set up from objects I have collected.

6. This painting references a water lily bud I saw when I first moved to LA.

7. Come to think of it, yes. In the past most of my paintings would reference passing moments I would see or experience; whether it would be seeing how a shadow falls against a wall or the bloom of a flower. Lately I have been building my own situations almost like a still-life; trying to imitate the kind of moments I would casually find.

8. Sense of place has always been a place holder in the imagery decision making. Whether it’s being in places that feel like home and seeing something within that setting, or assembling a objects that come from places I would call home to reference directly. Ultimately I just want to make paintings which almost document different periods of my life.

9. A good vintage sheet.

10. Appaloosa

1. Brian Lotti

2. Untitled (Saturday)

3. Los Angeles

4. This painting was kind of an experiment, and a one-off piece.

5. Generally speaking though, I love working in series and I find that some constraints can really help with discoveries and honing in on aspects of the painting practice. But I'm always open to the random inspirations and wanted to play around with this figure set indoors with the patterned robe.

6. No specific references here, but was definitely thinking about Japanese woodcuts, and also the ways Marlene Dumas, Matisse, and Munch use simplified palettes where forms in the composition become flatter and function more as abstracted color blocks.

7. Overall, the Pandemic has been pretty humbling.  I don't take things for granted like I used to and have a new appreciation for how fragile this world is..  Maybe at some point this American and Global experiment will once again realize a new era of stability, but at the moment things still feel pretty tentative and each day I get to work feels like a small miracle.

8. Sense of place used to feel important and now I just feel like I want to represent the general time, circumstances, and feelings that we are living through, even if this context is muted and distant in a given piece. We're all so much more connected now, and if making work is at least in part a social pursuit, I want to be able to connect and have conversations with peeps wherever we are.

9. Umbrella !

10. Shimmering brown

1. Tyler Macko

2. Knot

3. Dayton, Ohio

4/5. From a macro view It all seems like seriality I think. So it's definitely a part of a larger series.  

6. I had been reading about these footprints archaeologists found in the White sands dunes of New Mexico. Most of the footprints are from the end of the late pleistocene era about 12,000 years ago.

7. Made me appreciate it more and to try and slow down

8. A lot of times when I feel good about a work, it kinda becomes an artifact from my sense of place at the time.

When it all harmonises for a very brief moment and seems to have such a distinct purpose.

9. Sunscreen haha what a lame answer.

My favorite times on the beach it has always been foggy, so Fog is my favorite accessory I guess.

10. Spotted Appaloosa  

1. MarieVic

2. 57th Street, Ferragamo

3. New York City

4. Yes.

5. Infinite pleasure.

6. NYC’s 57th Street on election week of 2021, Salvator Ferragamo more specifically.

7. I discovered Montana and made fantastic friends.

8. Absolutely. Don’t we all live and work in situ?

9. Club Soda.

10. I prefer donkeys.

1. Marisa Marofske

2. One to One

3. Los Angeles, CA

4/5. Yes and no. I think seriality is a natural byproduct of artistic exploration, as it can be hard to find the answer on the first go. But I'm not really concerned with creating a 'body of work' at the moment.

6. The painting references a photograph I took at East LA College.

7. I make furniture and do lots of home improvement type projects, which I used to consider separate from my artistic practice. During the Pando I was able to work from home for a time, and the line between my studio practice and everything else was diminished. I became more interested in a holistic practice that values all my creative output equally. This necessitates a turn away from traditional art markets, but in exchange I feel more free to explore whatever holds my interest and to focus on the enjoyment of making in many forms.

8. Place is not a neutral stage. If you think about art as an act of translation, the lexicon will be context specific. The where has a great deal of influence over how and why the conversation unfolds.

9. Sunscreen of course!

10. I've always liked that horses are moody, it makes them more relatable.

1. Sara Mast

2. Unsurveyed / From the Fire

3. Bozeman, MT

4. No. I have often worked in series in the past, but these pieces are unique.

5. The beauty of seriality is that one creates a family. The risk of seriality is that one may need to leave the family behind. Good work has a mind of its own. One should always listen to the other side of the conversation.

6. In Unsurveyed, the direct reference is Montana history. I used turn-of-the-century survey maps which were digitized and then deemed obsolete. I reasserted the importance of their materiality by liberating them from their cast-off status.

In From the Fire, I embedded PEM glass into pigmented wax (encaustic). PEM glass is a byproduct of plasma gasification, a technology that converts feedstock materials such as plastic, shredded cars, and medical waste (our debris) into hydrogen and vitrified glass.

7. The pandemic reignited my studio practice.

8. Yes, particularly if one lets the history of a place speak to you. I live on the site of Storrs, Montana, an early mining town that had a store, a hotel, boarding rooms, a school, a post office and 5,000 residents only 120 years ago. A sense of place (from regional to planetary) is fundamental to my work. Though my archaeo-ecological sensibility spans timespace, I always keep my ear to the ground.

9. A bucket

10. Appaloosa

1. Georgia Diva McGovern

2. Arcade

3. New York, NY

4. It could be. The painting is titled Arcade partially after the architectural structure depicted in the picture. I am considering making more works depicting public spaces in New York and maybe also referencing those in art history--specifically covered pedestrian walkways that once served as places for gathering in urban areas that became shopping districts and today are abandoned or demolished.

5. It can be a constructive way to commit to an idea and make discoveries.

6. A Byzantine mosaic fragment from the mid-6th century at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

7. It hasn't.

8. Dunno

9. Montana

10. Whatever color or breed Moon-Eye, the elusive wild horse is in Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire.

1. Caitlyn Murphy

2. Buy ‘n’ Sell

3. Toronto, Ontario

4. It is part of a larger ongoing series that documents store windows throughout the city.

5. It’s nice to make a body of work and then move on to something new, though sometimes I revisit a series and add onto it at a later date.

6. Each painting I make is a direct reference to a business located in Toronto where I live, so on one level the specific reference of each work exists that way. But in this painting there are specific references to different painting styles, different time periods for each object. Lately I've been working on more paintings of this one junk shop near me that's closing down due to retirement, and each week I see a new potential painting appear in their window as they start to move/sell off everything. The title of the painting, Buy 'n' Sell, is the name of that store.

7. The pandemic allowed a chance for me to pause, reflect and ruminate on where I wanted to go with my paintings, and how I wanted to get there. My practice has its peaks and valleys, as does everything, but I think the pandemic ultimately has helped me refine my goals and the paintings I want to make, and allowed me to tap into more focus during the valleys.

8. Place is very important for me and my paintings, as each painting depicts a specific place located near me. A lot of the businesses I've painted over the years have closed or moved, so they become a collection of artifacts almost of an older city. Like a map to places that have been erased by time and changing neighbourhoods. This backdrop to the painting I think embues it with something more powerful and meaningful.

9. Chips

10. Li'l Sebastian

1. Rebecca R Peel

2. 1. Dual flexed-burial fantasy (prophetic motif)

    2. Harris Matrix trash fetish (phaleraphile)

    3. shallow well

3. Wyoming, for now

4/5. I think a thread that holds a lot of my own work together is a type of cosplay, or role play — if I were to completely immerse myself in a mindset tertiary to my own, what would I be compelled to make? For example, if my interest in participating in the kitted-out truck microcosm, I’d definitely want to make custom mud flaps. Then from there I'd lace in other diversions or frictional references to another subculture or formal approach, to varying degrees of abstraction from the source; if my inner wine mom and truck dad and bookworm nerd child had to come together to decide on wall decor, how would that settle out? These things are often quite experimental, and an element of surprise is ideally shared between myself and the audience. A modernist-looking concrete slab that operates as a wishing well and also as a suggestion that reservoirs are drying up might be tangled between austerity and doom, optimism and humor; an impression of a four-leaf clover in the concrete is a reminder, perhaps, that even in material strength the balance of opposing forces is still fragile, delicate. Aesthetically and formally, I’m hardly married to anything, as long as it lands in some interesting crosshairs.

6. mud flap/truck culture meets “cheugy” culture meets archeology; large-scale, monumental earth works and grandiose machismo gestures shrunk down to more modest, model-scale movable objects, for fun

7. Not much, except that in a world which was temporarily nearly devoid of showing opportunities we were all kind of cursed and blessed to slow down — for me, once I got past the crippling effect of suddenly having much more time to make things but nowhere to put them, I felt permitted finally to find a pace that didn’t depend on so much immediacy and really get the hands dirty; to ride the full roller coaster from excitement to confusion to defeat to hope to loathing to rekindled spark to finish line has a time span that is sort of self-dictating, and allowing that to happen was a bit of a new thing for me. There’s a nice kind of anticapitalist energy in that.

8. On a fundamental level, context and practicality can dictate a lot of decisions — if I have an opportunity to drive work somewhere, for example, I will lean into working on objects that wouldn’t be easy or affordable to ship. On a more personal level, I often draw materials and references from what exists in my immediate surroundings, so outcomes fluctuate depending on environment, naturally; moving back out West has been a major step in considering cross-cultural bleed since a lot of that was lost on me growing up in a rural environment. Things (political, material, experiential) I took for granted as a youth have some strange relevance again, and it’s been exciting to re-evaluate them with a new vantage.

9. friendship :))))) and a magnetic chess board

10. Blue dun or buckskin favorite color; Heck Horse favorite breed; Bonecrusher favorite race horse (more to come on that)

1. Amy Pleasant

2. Hands II

3. Birmingham, Alabama

4/5. This work is part of a series in a couple of different ways. Hands II is part of a series of banners I started in 2017 after Trump was elected. Banner: A long strip of cloth bearing a slogan or design, hung in a public place or carried in a demonstration or procession

Title of first banner: walking, running, marching, following, leading, stepping, escaping, fleeing, forsaking, protesting, treading, proceeding, stomping, moving, migrating, immigrating, seeking, finding, hoping, leaving, vacating, forgetting, remembering, casting, replacing, burying, reviving.

History of the first banner:
During the Trump administration and continuing into our current political climate, the protest sign has become a necessary tool for individual expression and the banners adopt this format displaying a visual language in lieu of letters or words. This painting brings to mind tapestries, flags, or signs presenting images of the fragmented body that read more like ideograms. I have used the image of the foot many times but as I was making this banner our country was erupting in chaos. So much ugliness has risen to the surface and these feet became a symbol of both oppression and of freedom.

6. All of my work deals with seriality as repetition is a core element of my work. I have made several drawings repeating gestures of the hand, one of the most primal ways humans communicate with one another.

7. The pandemic did not change my studio process, but it certainly brought new images into the studio. I started a series called The Weight/The Wait. The gestures of the body revealed a sense of anxiety and defeat. Arms covered the head of reclining bodies, heavy heads resting on the crook of an arm, figures held within the confines of the paper or canvas.

8. I think that I am always inspired by a sense of place. Certainly, an environment makes its way into the work in some way. It may just be a shift in scale, or seeing something fresh in a new context that can bring new ideas into the fold.

9. Ice cold beer from a cooler, slipped into a hugger.

10. I know very little about horses. What I do know is that I am afraid of them and I wish I weren’t. As a child, I had two very scary experiences and I have never conquered my fear. I think horses are of the most majestic and powerful creatures on earth. I admire them from afar.

1. Sarah Rozell

2. Patron Saint of Rabbits

3. I live in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina and in the New York City area.

4/5. I think my work is a menagerie and I feel as seriality could be inevitable. I am circular with my thinking and I like to come back to re-explore ideas.

6. Earlier this year I found a book at my parents house titled "Bottoms In Art" by The Bridgeman Art Library, around the same time I had an idea about making endangered species into women, then I started making drawings of feminine figures with tails. I came across the title after the piece was finished. I was talking with my mother (Nora) asking her opinion on what to name the piece, she asked me if I was familiar with Beth Cavener's work. She also told me to google "Patron Saint Of Rabbits" and ultimately I just went with that as the name because I felt like the myth closely mirrored what I was thinking about when making the piece.

7. I moved during the pandemic and I have more space to create now. Having more room to make things has been a positive shift and I like being able to leave my studio in chaos. When I was living in Brooklyn pre-pandemic I was painting out of my kitchen. That was great and worked for awhile then during the pandemic I felt called back to my region of orgin. I've been doing both the NYC area for a bit and KDH but most of my making takes place in KDH.

8. I think yes. I think about the Skagen Painters in the 1870s traveling to the northernmost part of Denmark, the quality of light attracted artist to paint en plein air. In my case, I've only ever made work on the east coast and most of the art I've made has been created in the same place I live. However, when I look at the same thing in a different light, that can change a work or something as subtle as moving a little to get the light at the right angle can make a difference.

9. Nothing or I like to bring my dog but it just depends on the day. If there is surf, then the right board for the day. Or I bring my snorkel and goggles to go for a swim when the water is warm.

10. I don’t know much about horses but the first that came to mind is a dark brown horse with black mane and tail. I also loved the story black beauty as a kid.

1. Tess Rubinstein

2. Soft-spoken

3. Coastal California, north of San Francisco

4/5. I have a background in screen printing so I’m definitely drawn to seriality. This piece is one of several gridded compositions that I’ve painted featuring repetitive forms pushed to varying degrees of abstraction. More recently I’ve been experimenting with watercolor grids that I scan and print on a risograph machine in different colors and layers. It feels like a fun, informal way to explore editions.

6. I live in a rural place so I spend a good deal of time walking around in the woods and looking down at the ground to make sure I don’t trip on branches. Much of what I paint comes from noticing the forest floor. This piece references the beautiful things I see in the dirt, both a physical representation of my environment, but also a metaphor for what we choose to pay attention to. I’m interested in how we allocate our attention to our surroundings…what’s flying under the radar of our awareness when our attention is being tapped elsewhere, by some algorithm or something. I think the grid format is an interesting way to explore this idea. It reminds me of a natural history collection where each specimen is carefully preserved and displayed regardless of how small or mundane. Instead of having one subject of focus, the grid format challenges our hierarchy of attention. Dirt, worm, rock, flower, butterfly. What’s deemed “worthy” of our awareness? How can that shift over time with intention and curiosity? 

7. I lost a big commercial art job at the beginning of the pandemic which led me to becoming an art teacher and outdoor educator for 1st-6th graders. Being a teacher pushed me to experiment with new materials on a daily basis, many of which have found their way into my current art practice. Having the container to be messy and process-based was important. It also pushed me to reconnect with that very kid-specific brand of curiosity…that impulse to ask a million questions about everything as you encounter it. I try to access that mentality whenever I go outside or sit down to make something. Curiosity is such a vital lens, it makes me feel very alive and connected.

8. I get a lot of creative information from the sensory experience of the place I’m in. For me it’s coastal California, where I grew up and where I currently reside. I reference it visually in the forms I use, and try to incorporate it physically into my materials as much as possible with natural dyes, pigments, botanical inks, etc.  I also sketch out most of my ideas when I’m putzing around outside.

9. Big sandwich, mini watercolor kit

10. I like those spotted black and white horses. They remind me of old speckled enamelware from camping trips. I also really love a donkey.

1. Nicole Santucci

2. Sunshine, Roses, and Major Technical Difficulties, but the Sound Check Went Well, and That Was Cool; Brackett Creek, MT; 2021

3. Rural Park County, MT

4. The image is from a collection of film photos I’ve shot with a couple plastic toy cameras over the past decade or so. Working with photography in a way that starts and ends with the joy inherent to making a pretty picture has kept my sometimes conceptually heavy work balanced with lightheartedness. At some point, I’d like to sequence some of the photos with some written word, and make a book out of it.

5. I’m a fan of seriality that unfolds in a way that’s a sort of happenstance result of a series of attempts to get at something rooted in meaningful intention and authentic feeling. I get pretty grossed out by seriality that’s a result of an attempt to establish a brand-feel for the sake of establishing a reproducible monetarily-valuable thing and compromises the work’s relevance to the external world.

6. The title references the idiom “it’s not all sunshine and roses” in light of the struggles inherent to maintaining a creative practice and also just being human in a context full of severely polarized mindsets and unrealistic expectations. The black-and-white photo depicts a rainbow and landscape near Brackett Creek.

7. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what shifts in my practice have been caused by exactly what. I will say, as awful and tragic as the last couple years have been, I’ve been encouraged by noticing a lot of realization regarding the importance of taking better care of the basics in life that have, as of late, been relentlessly overshadowed by demands and delusions of consumer culture. Since 2020, I’ve been pleasantly surprised with an increase of expressed interest in showing / buying / supporting my work. On the other hand, my art making flow has been interrupted by a bunch of dumb drama related to all the freakouts that have happened as a result of consumer culture coming to a sudden and abrupt halt in a society where a scary amount of identity is dependent on it, and that’s been annoying, but you know, we all have our moments, new beginnings are born from crisis, and as they say, it’s not all sunshine and roses.

8. Totally, yeah. Places are like fingerprints, they’ve all got some nuanced and/or overt idiosyncrasies, and those affect human experience, understanding, and worldview in some conscious and/or unconscious way.

9. Tie between UV protection and nice / cool friends.

10. I’ve got a lot of love for the whole rainbow of wild horses <3

1. Pete Schulte

2. Untitled | 2019-2022

3. Birmingham, Alabama

4/5/6. This piece is not part of a series per se, but as one work often begets subsequent works there are precedents for this piece found in earlier drawings.  It is important to note that this two-part work juxtaposes a work on paper with a bronze object. This is the first time that I can recall combining two distinctly different pieces to produce a new work in such a manner.

7. I have always had a sense, living in a culture defined by cruelty and oppression, that art-making at a root level is an affirmation of life.  Working during the pandemic in the midst of a direct existential threat has only heightened that sense and made everything feel more vital.  

8. Yes, but…

9. Holding hands with Amy Pleasant, staring at the sea.

10. Blue Roan (gunmetal gray)


2. Tree Ring Studies


4/5. Yes, this work happens to be a part of a larger series in that they are studies that I’ve been doing on and off for about two years. It’s not the main work I’m doing. Feels more like something I do to step away my from other, often more complicated, work. Like a breathing exercise to maintain balance.

6. No references that I am aware of, but nothing is created in a vacuum. These works evolved from other works on wood that I have been working on simultaneously.

7. The Pandemic has increased my desire to connect with other artists. Share, collaborate, ruminate. It has also made me more aware of the uncertainty of life and so has made me work harder.

8. Certainly. I think as an artist I am affected by light and politics and history and the other humans in the place around me. When I first moved to Idaho from Texas, it was hard to make work because I was so distracted in the new place. But after a few years, I now feel more settled and like I am absorbing and understanding the geography and politics and people around me in a way that I believe must be informing my work. When I left Texas all I could think about was about how I missed Texas. I think this is why I began working on a giant portrait of the Rio Grande. It’s 420 8x8 inch wood panels where I am carving out the map of the river. The pieces fit together a bit like a puzzle. I’m about to finish this work, but since I’m no longer living near that border river, it feels a bit like a love letter at this point. Maybe soon my work will be about rivers, and the obsessive damming of rivers, in Idaho.  

9. Goggles. I love to swim in the ocean and it’s even better when I can see underwater.

10. Definitely, Palamino. Used to share land with two palominos named Sunny & Pal. A million years ago in Calamity Creek in Far West Texas.

1. Leslie Shows

2. 9(18) Echoes

3. Los Angeles & New Mexico

4/5. It's part of a related constellation of paintings, 2019-2022.

6. The Ocean, atmospheric oceans, oceans of sound, organs of perception, "perceptual gating" and the nervous system in humans and others.

7. There is an air of destruction and breakdown, which contains elements of freedom and danger. 

8. The ambient frequencies and perceptual differences in nature vs. civilization affects the work, like speaking different languages in different places.

9. Colorescience Sunforgettable Total Protection Brush-on Shield SPF50

10. Black

1. Meghan Spielman

2. Soliloquy VII

3. Bozeman, MT

4. It is part of the Soliloquy series which I started earlier this year.

5. Weaving lends itself nicely to working in a series, setting up the loom with a new warp is a large time investment, so I always try to weave multiple pieces. I enjoy looking at the warp from different perspectives and experimenting within a set framework.

6. The pattern of Soliloquy VII feels like farmed land, or humans' attempt to control nature, which speaks back to the weaving process - listening to material characteristics, while also manipulating them. “Craft” materials like seed beads and nylon cord hidden throughout the piece also remind me of my friendship bracelet making days.

7. I had been living in NYC for the past 10 years before the pandemic. Mid 2020 I decided it was time to relocate to where I grew up, Montana.

8. I think returning to MT, nature, and family has definitely shifted my work. Of course, having more space and being surrounded by incredible scenery is always inspiring, but there is also a sense of memory/nostalgia for me here.

9. A cooler full of snacks.

10. Any horses with spots.

1. Jennifer Sullivan

2. Peter Falk as Columbo

3. Ridgewood, Queens, baby!

4/5. I have historically not been hugely into seriality although I feel like that has changed a bit in the past few years as I have done many versions of similar subjects. But more so, I like to think about making paintings somewhat like a film editor - juxtaposing different images and scenes against one another, so that there is a larger emotional narrative, although not necessarily a very linear one. This portrait is part of an ongoing and intermittent series of portraits of men, some of whom I know, and some of them fictional characters. I think it is also part of some idea I have about exploring my animus, Carl Jung's idea of the masculine aspect which is part of a woman.

6. This is very specifically a portrait of an actor I love (Peter Falk) in his role as a character I love (Columbo). I think Columbo kind of exemplifies how I want to be as a painter - a bit rumpled and messy, but very sincere, dedicated to the modest details of life, and intent to figure out the great mysteries.

7. I think it has made me interested in a quieter way of being. I feel much more interested in nature. One of my new favorite artists is Albert York, someone who was very out of step with his time, and largely eschewed the art world, but the work just has this transcendent quality that is so moving. He was doing something very pure and very beautiful, and he seems to have just channeled a sense of love and reverence and beauty that I admire a lot.

8. Yes, I think so... I feel like a place definitely changes in how you work, because it affects how you feel... being in a new place physically can often help me to find a new perspective. But also, I love the familiarity of having a studio in my home. It's very comfortable and intimate, and I think it helps me to create some sense of a blendedness between art and life.

9. A big hat and some watercolors! The beach is a great place to paint little quick portraits.

10. Oh - definitely a Shetland Pony.

1. Jonathan B Thomas

2. Styles Make Fights

3. Bmore

4. Yes.

5. I mostly make serial images. Few things I make function fully on their own.  Creating versions of subjects allows you to establish a rhythm, something that endures over time, that provides deeper insight into a narrative or aesthetic. The Styles Make Fights series is one of those ongoing series that I expect will grow some more, at least I have plans for more.

6. The title of the series is a phrase you hear in the fight sports world. It speaks to the unpredictability of fighting, but also some pretty sophisticated strategies and subtle skill sets that factor into fight outcomes. Its a phrase that maps out onto other aspects of life pretty well, including art making.  Also, I love George Bellows paintings and prints about boxing. I saw the Bellows show at the NGA in 2012, i think that was my first trip to DC after my move to Baltimore and those boxing lithos really stuck with me, and not just the incredible figurative engagement, but the ropes, the lights, and the crowd. This series is a nod to those images for sure.

7. From a practical/making stuff standpoint, it hasn't affected my particular situation as much as others Im sure, and for that Im thankful. If its affected what I make work about, I don't see it. I might be subconsciously pushing it out of the studio, but maybe upon reflection Ill be able to recognize the impact. The pandemic has revealed some pretty deep fractures in the stability of our world, and I imagine that will come through in the work over time.

8. There are a bunch of ways to consider this question, not the least of which is the tension between our digital and physical lives, but maybe the way I think about this most as I consider my work is through a feeling a placelessness. I don't mean that as being fully reductive, it can be a freeing to not be bonded or to not belong.

9. Hmmm maybe a waterproof camera.

10. Im gonna go with the grey Orlov Trotter. They may not be as fast as the French Trotter but are much tougher.

1. Diana Tremaine

2. Horse Study II

3. Bozeman, MT

4/5. This work is not part of a larger series but it is part of a larger practice. Though I consider myself most completely a painter, and largely a study painter who works more frequently from reference photos than from life, drawing from life is a critical part of any artistic practice, regardless of medium, in my view. Drawing from life heightens one’s ability to see more completely and to discern what parts of what you see and feel are most important to what you would like to communicate? Drawing from life also strengthens the connection between the hand and the brain, again allowing you to better say what you want to say. Drawing from life keeps all you senses awake and connected.

6. There are no references in this gesture study. The only goal here was to capture the relaxation of a horse who stands with one back leg cocked, as gesturally and quickly as possible.

7. The pandemic actually gave me the time and space to get closer to producing the work I want to produce, the work that has value to ME, as opposed to the work I think I “should” produce, or the work that has value to my audience.

8. Honestly I have been working out of the same studio outside of Bozeman, MT for 20 years…so while I assume working in a city would most likely change my work and practice I cannot with an authority say how.

9. shade!

10. COW HORSE!!!! (Stormy :-) )

1. Phil Wagner

2. Self portrait with hex bolt

3. Los Angeles

4/5. No, I like it

6. I’m a fan of Wallace Berman

7. No shifts in practice

8. Not really

9. Marijuana

10. Brown

1. Alexandros Washburn

2. Metastasis

3. Brooklyn, NY/Hydra, Greece

4. Maybe

5. One work is never enough

6. Cancer, bronze, mountains

7. Gave me an excuse to stay put.

8. Of course. Genius Loci. In my paintings, i always start with a reality. That means being there. A landscape of earth or flesh demands presence.

9. snorkel and mask to explore the mountains below

10. Arabian, chestnut to black

1. Ashley Wertheimer

2. Threshold

3. Adel, Montana

4. I have several pieces in progress that explore similar themes.

5. I think exploring an idea requires creating multiple versions of the same thing in order to evolve to the next thing… slay that monster until the next one comes, and do it over and over until you die. I also think it’s sometimes necessary to work on separate ideas tangentially.

6. We’ve got ourselves a portal/window/doorway, which has lots of meanings, but is mostly a reference for womb to world.

7. Pregnancy and the birth of my daughter have both taken place since the pandemic… I know covid has had an impact but the purpose behind my work has truly shifted since becoming a mother. Now with less time than ever to make work, there is a deeper sense of clarity, intention, and drive to explore ideas, a gift I am most surprised by and grateful for. 

8. Definitely. From medium to color to subject matter, I believe, no matter the degree of awareness, that our decisions are inevitably impacted by our surrounding environment.

9. Rosè and a book I won’t read.

10. I live on a cattle ranch with lots of horses and am notoriously horrible at remembering the names of their colors. There are several special horse friends here that I call brown but they’re really bay and sorrel, or so I’m repeatedly told. Blue roans are neat too, which are actually grayish, blackish, whiteish.

1. Wally Whitehurst

2. Untitled

3. Kingston, NY

4. Yes.

5. I like having a sense of order and continuity in the work, it helps keeps the momentum going.

6. I call these paintings windows, but I'm trying to avoid any specific spatial implications or references to anything outside of the work.

7. I became a little less focused. I gave myself permission to experiment more and follow whatever creative impulses came up.

8, Depends where I'm at with the work, but generally anything that effects my attitude will effect the work somehow.

9. Umbrella

10. Appaloosa