Postcards from Limbo

lim⋅bo [lim-boh] 
–noun, plural -bos.
1. (often initial capital letter) Roman Catholic Theology. a region on the border of hell or heaven, serving as the abode after death of unbaptized infants (limbo of infants) and of the righteous who died before the coming of Christ (limbo of the fathers or limbo of the patriarchs).

2. a place or state of oblivion to which persons or things are regarded as being relegated when cast aside, forgotten, past, or out of date: My youthful hopes are in the limbo of lost dreams.

3. an intermediate, transitional, or midway state or place.

4. a place or state of imprisonment or confinement.

Eleven weeks. That's how many weeks classes at York University have been suspended since the CUPE 3903 union initiated a labour strike against the university. As you may know, gentle readers, I am currently enrolled in the MFA in Visual Arts program at York. I hesitate to use the phrase "am currently enrolled" as it's beginning to feel more like a "was enrolled". Myself and 50,000 other York students languish in academic Limbo, waiting to return to our studies. Everyone's frustrated. Everyone's tired. A resolution to this labour dispute must be forthcoming, right? Right???

*Sigh* Oh well. Back to playing Scrabble...

Reposting of essay from Her Circle ezine

An essay about my art practice that I wrote for an online women's art journal Her Circle Ezine. This covers the scope my work from just after my graduation from undergraduate studies to my last body of work entitled "Gravid".

"The primary focus of my art practice has been to address gender-related issues and represent the experiences of women. Inspired by the second wave feminists, who coined the phrase ‘the personal is political’, my work reflects my personal experiences filtered through the lens of art history, mythology and popular culture. Many of the female figures that appear throughout my work are, in fact, self-portraits. I have observed that large numbers of women artists have embraced the self-portrait as a means of representing their own histories and experiences as being distinct from those of men. While I cannot claim to be an art history or feminist philosophy scholar and therefore can't verify that this is a practice seen more often in the work of women artists, informally it does appear to be the case. It is unquestionably a feature of my own work.

My earliest work, however, did not involve the use of self-portraits but rather drew on images appropriated from outside sources such as anatomy textbooks. This work was monochromatic and very minimalist in approach. During this time period ( 1992 - 98 ) I created “The Three Graces” and the “Objects of Desire” series. This work would be best described as highly academic in nature, as it was greatly informed and influenced by the anti-pornography writings of such 80s feminist luminaries as Andrea Dworkin and Catharine MacKinnon. These were the years immediately following my graduation from university when I was still fuelled by the political radicalism of youth. While I still self-identify as a feminist, at present I would describe myself as more of a liberal feminist than a radical one.

In the interest of clarification, I would like to briefly outline the difference between liberal and radical feminism. A liberal feminist seeks to abolish gender inequality through the use of legislation and societal reforms. In essence, they chose to work within “the system” in order to change the system. Radical feminists, however, view this same “system” as the problem. Radical feminist theory views most societies as based on patriarchy—a societal construct that privileges men over women. Gender equality, they argue, is impossible within the framework of such a society and therefore the society must be fundamentally altered. The writings of Andrea Dworkin and Catharine MacKinnon were instrumental to the development of radical feminist theory, and in particular their criticism of pornography which they linked with rape and other forms of violence against women. The anti-pornography writings of Dworkin and MacKinnon were core reading in the Feminist Philosophy class I attended while an undergraduate student at university and as such held a great deal of influence in the formation of my feminist views.

Over the course of my early art practice, however, I experienced a conflict between the anti-pornography view of radical feminism and the strong anti-censorship beliefs I held as an artist. While I did perceive a causal link between certain types of pornography and the subjugation of women, I was not—nor am not—against pornographic images as a whole. Sexually explicit imagery belongs to the spectrum of human experience that an artist may chose to depict, and this depiction should be free from the limits of censorship.

Additionally, I observed that on certain key issues—pornography and the legalization of prostitution being two of these—that the radical feminist left and the socially conservative right were often in agreement, and this was an alliance with which I was greatly uncomfortable. Therefore, over the years my feminist beliefs have adopted a more liberal leaning and include what is now termed “sex-positive feminism,” meaning that I oppose legal or social efforts to control sexual activities between consenting adults.

While my early work was inspired by feminist influences, it also quoted from the classical texts. For instance, the triptych entitled “The Three Graces” took it's name after the famous art historical grouping of three female nudes that stems from classical mythology. Artists of no less stature than Raphael created their own versions of the Three Graces, mainly as an excuse to render the female nude threefold in one composition. In my version of this subject, I appropriated images of naked women from anatomy textbooks and imposed a “black-bar” of text across their eyes, the type of black bar one used to see across the eyes of women in pornographic material. The thought behind this action was to make explicit the essentially pornographic exchange between the nude female subjects and the imagined viewer.

My work frequently uses self-portraiture as a creative point-of-departure. I often adopt the role of characters from classical or biblical texts in these self-portraits. The process of inserting myself into the role of a character creates a level of displacement from what is often psychologically challenging subject matter. In the case of “The Bitter Seed” 񢉏񮖠), I combined family photographs of myself as a child with the ancient Greek legend of Persephone as a means to address my personal history of childhood sexual abuse.

Persephone was the Queen of the Underworld in ancient Greek mythology. She was a tragic figure who was abducted by Hades and forced to remain in the Underworld as his queen after having eaten the seed from a pomegranate. Hence, the pomegranate fruit was initially incorporated into my artistic lexicon as a potent symbol of sexual subjugation. (I have continued to use the pomegranate as a repeated symbol in my work but have since removed the initial negative connotation. It now represents a more positive, female sexual energy). The displacement of myself into the role of Persephone allowed me to exorcise my victimhood as a child without literally representing my own story.

Two years after the completion of “The Bitter Seed,” I returned to the same subject matter with the series “St. Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins” ( 2002 - 03 ), in which I masqueraded as thepatron saint of schoolgirls. In this new series, I no longer represented myself as a victimized child but as an adult returning as a conquering heroine. I borrowed from the tradition of St. Ursula as a protector of schoolgirls and embellished her character until she more closely resembled a superhero or an avenging angel, replete with sword and angel wings. The series played out as a sort of spontaneous psychotherapy and apparently struck an emotional chord with critics and audiences alike.

The “child brides” featured in the “St. Ursula” series are symbolic ofthe innocence, coupled with a burgeoning sexual curiosity, inherent in prepubescent girls. The image of the young girl dressed to receive her First Communion is a potent—if culturally sublimated—sexual image. The white dress and veil, reminiscent of a western bride, and the receiving of the “host” are all psychologically and symbolically weighty.

The red that frequently accompanies these young “brides” is not the symbolic blood of Christ, but the literal blood shed by girls and women: the blood of menstruation (i.e. sexual maturation), the blood that is often shed at the loss of virginity, and the blood shed at childbirth.

My version of “Salome” also belongs to the “St. Ursula” series. According to the Christian texts, Salome was the step-daughter of Herod who was instructed by her mother to ask for the head of the imprisoned John the Baptist. There is an apocryphal tradition of this story that implies an incestuous longing on the part of Herod for his step-daughter and includes an erotic dance performed by Salome to manipulate Herod into accepting her morbid request. Hence, the character of Salome has been granted the ultimate femme-fatale status in Western art history. My version of Salome is loosely based on Oscar Wilde's play “Salome”, in which Salome is enamored with the Baptist and places a posthumous kiss on the lips of his severed head. My version takes the macabre eroticism of Wilde an outrageous step further, blending a sense of playfulness with a legitimate expression of female rage.

The change in the aesthetics of my work, from my monochromatic early work to the brightly-coloured works from the “Bitter Seed” and onwards, was one that came about more through my work as a graphic designer than through any sudden shift in feminist/academic philosophy. In my “day job” as a graphic designer I was often called upon to create bold, eye-catching designs with bright colours. It was only a matter of time until the commercial art I created during the day seeped into the personal artwork I created at night. My signature “stained glass style” which employed the bright blocks of colour and thick black outline of the figures, like the leading found in actual stained glass, was first developed in the “Bitter Seed” series. Stylistically, this series recalled the art of the Pre-Raphaelites, an artistic movement of the latter half of the nineteenth century that included the stained-glass window in its aesthetic milieu. The tragic Greek heroine Persephone, whose character I adopt as my own in the “Bitter Seed”, was also a favourite subject of the Pre-Raphaelites. The stained-glass style remained a feature of my work for two subsequent bodies of work, including the “St. Ursula” series. As this series involved my impersonation of a Catholic saint, the continuation of the stained-glass style throughout “St. Ursula” was highly appropriate. The body of work that followed “St. Ursula”, a series entitled “Gravid” ( 2003 - 06 ), was an exploration of pregnancy and motherhood that was driven entirely by the birth of my first child. As this new content did not warrant the continuation of the stained-glass style, the black outlines soon vanished.

My last series “Gravid” continued my diaristic approach to image-making with an exploration of motherhood from the viewpoint of a professional artist. While the decision to have a child is invariably a momentous one, this decision is made more complex when the woman is also a professional artist. On a broader level, “Gravid” presented an honest, unsentimentalized view of motherhood that challenged the clichéd images often found in the mainstream media.

“Me & My Doll” ( 2004 ), which is a drawing belonging to the “Gravid” series, makes reference to a 1940 self-portrait by Mexican painter Frida Kahlo. This drawing was created in response to the ambivalence I felt with regards to parenthood. As is often the case, I chose to embed my personal experience into the visual language of art by recreating the historical painting of Kahlo (although the compositions of the two works differ slightly). The woman depicted in the drawing (myself) finds herself at a crossroads in her life where she experiences the transition between having responsibilities only to oneself to having the responsibilities of childrearing."

-- Apologies for the rather abrupt ending. This essay was cobbled together from a series of Q&A e-mails which I had with the art editor of the ezine. It was late in my last pregnancy when I wrote this, and I simply grew tired of working on this essay. 

The wind under my wings?

"What a caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly" -- Richard Bach.

"What's this?", I hear you say, "Jen is quoting from Richard Bach?!" Richard Bach, the author of the quasi-spiritual book "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" that is so beloved by the New Age community? The same Richard Bach whose inspirational quotes -- along with accompanying signature image of a seagull soaring against an azure blue sky --  decorate everything from coffee mugs to computer mouse pads?

To tell you the truth, I'm as shocked as you. I've always been fond of the above quote, but until I Googled it only a moment ago, I hadn't realized where it originated. Correction: I had forgotten where it had originated. I had a boyfriend several years ago who was a devotee of Richard Bach (back before Bach's absorption into the folds of New Age philosophy) for whom this was a favourite quote. To be honest, I've never read the guy.

What brings me to this quote at this particular point in time is the massive transition that my life is presently experiencing. This is a transition which is both timely and much welcomed. I've recently received notification that I have been accepted into the Master of Fine Arts program at York University, a two-year full-time program which commences in September. As a result, my life over the past week-and-a-half has been topsy-turvy with preparation for this momentous change.

Allow me to backtrack for a moment so I can place this life-altering transition into greater perspective. Approximately three-and-a-half years ago, I left my full-time job to give birth to my first child, Ridley. At that time, I'd been gainfully employed in the graphic design industry for nearly ten years, working on my own artwork in the evenings and weekends. While this was never an ideal arrangement, it was the only arrangement I'd known. When I left to begin my maternity leave, knowing fully well that I'd not return, I felt like the carpet had been pulled out from underneath my feet. Everything and everyone I'd known vanished in an instant and there I was left, holding the baby. Literally. I found myself cast in the role of the caterpillar, unable to see the transformation enacting upon me.

And then something curious happened. I fashioned a new life. New friends in a new environment and a new, different rhythm to life. This time, life crept by at a slower pace. Through a magical combination of the stars and planets in the heavens, I managed to receive not one but two art council grants during this time, which enabled me to work on my art part-time while being the stay-at-home mother the rest. It was a wondrous, if temporary, balancing act of career and parenthood. 

And now, nearly four years later, I find myself leaving this world of parks and playdates and entering the world of academia. It will be horrendously challenging. I've steeled myself for that. But I embrace this transition wholeheartedly. 

However, don't expect to ever see any soaring seagulls on my coffee mug. I hate that shit.

Sure, but they love me in Portugal...or not?

The Vanity Google, part III

In earlier posts I've written about what is colloquially known as the "vanity Google". For those unfamiliar with this term (and possibly living under a rock) it refers to the common practice of entering one's own name into the popular search engine Google to see what exists out there with your name (or your namesake) attached to it. I perform this act with some frequency as I often stumble across some very interesting and, at times, curious use of my art in the public domain.

This evening I discovered a blog written in Portuguese that features several of my images along with some sort of discussion of my art as it relates to contemporary feminist theory. Or rather, I think this is the case. I confess that I don't understand Portuguese, and therefore am at a considerable disadvantage to discern the intent of the blog's author.

Just for fun, I decided to enter the Portuguese text into one of those notoriously bad online translators. As you might imagine, it yielded some fairly entertaining results:

(Here's the original Portguese text)
"Jennifer Linton, que tenho agora em exposição, é uma artista canadiana que se afirma feminista. Não feminista no sentido histórico do termo, a atitude quase bélica e exagerada que se tornou cliché e em que se pensa com desdém e troça, mas um feminismo reactualizado e presente: as mulheres continuam a não ser iguais em todos os cantos do mundo, a maior minoria.

O seu próprio corpo, a sua cara, são por onde passa tudo o que faz. As imagens refletem a vida: a vida como mulher, o corpo, a moralidade, os valores, a maternidade, a infância e os seus mitos. Aspectos da vida quotidiana, leia-se anti-épica, normalmente associada às mulheres, mas que se infiltra hoje na arte e na escrita de homens que tomam para si essa nova visão do mundo, possível apenas muitos milhares de anos decorridos no caminho da evolução.

Posso dizer que Jennifer Linton não é genial, nem a vejo assim. Mas gosto das cores, gosto de algum desenho, gosto dos retratos e os seus temas são os meus."

(And now the English "translation"):
"Jennifer Linton, whom I have now in exhibition, is an artist canadiana what affirms feminist. Not feminist in the historical sense of the term, the almost war and exaggerated attitude that became a cliche and about that one thinks with scorn and ridicules, but a reup-to-date and present feminism: the women keep on not being the same in all the corners of the world, the biggest minority.

His body itself, his face, they are where it passes everything what it does. The images reflect the life: the life like woman, the body, the morality, the values, the motherhood, the childhood and his myths. Aspects of the everyday life, be read anti-epic, normally associated to the women, but what permeate today in the art and in the men's writing that they take for you this new vision of the world, possible you punish many thousands of years passed in the way of the evolution.

I can say which Jennifer Linton is not brilliant, do not even see it so. But I like the colors, like some drawing, like the portraits and his subjects are mine."

Ah huh. Regardless of the intent behind your post -- which may forever be shrouded in mystery -- I'd like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to the unknown Portuguese (or possibly Brazilian) author.

Muito obrigado!

A rant from your favourite enfant terrible

Have you ever encountered one of those parents who publish a family newsletter which they mail to family and friends who are doubtlessly aquiver with anticipation to thumb through this compelling missive? You can just picture the Christmas-time newsletter, all festooned with clip art elves and decorative snowman borders? Got it? Well, I'm not that sort of parent. I am the antithesis. The anti-Mom. I don't scrapbook. When no one's looking, I chuck the art projects that Ridley creates at playschool in the paper recycling bin. (Well, okay, I keep some of the better paintings that I know he's created himself without too much help from his playschool teacher). 

It's already a couple of weeks into January 2008 and I have yet to write my customary Christmas/New Year's blog entry. Of course, no one is pressuring me to post in my blog. I feel a certain responsibility, however, to continue to document both the progress of my children as well as to assault your senses with my random musings and rants. 

Such as this rant: Christmas stresses me out and I'm frankly relieved when it's over. Yes, yes, Merry Christmas. Happy New Year, too. Thank you for your present. Here's yours. Now get out of my house. 

Sorry. The winter tends to make me a little grumpy. Let's just leave it there and I'll post some pictures of the kids. They're cute, nice kids. Not (usually) grumpy like their old lady ;-)

Making art out of dead things

Last night, I was listening to one of the Alan Cross "Ongoing History of New Music" shows on my iPod whilst drawing in my studio. The topic of discussion was the seminal rock band Radiohead. One of the arcane facts that Cross unearthed in this program was that the video for the Radiohead song "There There" was greatly inspired by the dioramas of a nineteenth-century taxidermist named Walter Potter. One of the anthropomorphic dioramas for which Potter is best remembered is Kittens' Tea & Croquet Party, in which thirty-seven kittens enjoy tea and mouse tarts at a garden party. That's thirty-seven dead and stuffed kittens. Having tea.

So, this has me thinking about making art out of dead things which, as it happens, is a well-established and time-honoured tradition. One of the best known examples of this is the church of Santa Maria della Concezione in Rome, in which the bones of thousands of Capucin monks were used to decorate the vaulted walls of this Baroque church. Richard and I made a special pilgrimage to this site when we visited Rome, and it remains one of the highlights of our trip. The impression that I came away with was just how baroque the skeletal ornamentation appeared which, when you consider that almost all art forms are based on shapes found in nature, really should come as little surprise.

Contemporary examples of "dead things in art" abound as this macabre media appears to have undergone something of a renaissance. Most notable in this category are the bisected and formaldehyde-preserved animals of British artist Damien Hirst. The plastinatized human bodies of German artist Gunther von Hagens received a great deal of media attention a couple of years ago. My personal favourite in this most rarefied of art forms, however, are the exotic bugs of American artist Jennifer Angus's exhibition A Terrible Beauty. Not surprisingly, Angus draws heavily on the art of the Victorians and their taste for the "exotic yet grotesque". Her work is nothing short of brilliant.

It's a pretty grim life, actually

As the Christmas season arrives, the television networks trot out all the usual suspects in their programming such as Frank Capra's 1947 "It's a Wonderful Life". While this film continues to be one of my perennial favourites, it is also one which -- rather than wholesome and life-affirming -- I've always found frustratingly bleak. Evidently, I'm not the only one who has reacted this way to Capra's rather dark film:

"Even in his purportedly wonderful life, George Bailey lives in a town mostly owned by Old-Man Potter. He is saddled with a loser of an uncle, and he is forced to give up his dreams of seeing the larger world and succeeding in a creative career. One of the movie's most visually stunning shots is when George, informed that his brother won't be taking over the building and loan, turns away from his chosen destiny to live up to his obligations at home. He knows Bedford Falls is a trap, and it ultimately drives him to suicide." (from http://www.interestingideas.com/ii/capra.htm)

Thank you! So, you see, it's not just me. Ba-humbug.