#lhne

I’m not a painter. I’m a photographer. And, to be totally honest, my painting skills have been sub-par from the time I was a young child. However, one of the joys of being in a cross-disciplinary MFA program is getting to work with artists who create with different media from one’s own. And sometimes working with a variety of artists means that one has to leave the familiar comfort zone to venture into something quite different.

The amazing artist Jonathan VanDyke taught an incredibly enriching elective during my last MFA residency in January. We met for two three-hour sessions during which we got to explore different ways in which we could be creative.

For the first session, Jonathan created an approximately 30x10 foot rectangle of brown paper on the floor of a stage. He surrounded the paper rectangle with a number of materials that could be used for crafting- paper plates, streamers, plastic bags, etc. 

Fig. 1 French Hall, New Hampshire Institute of Art

After a brief group meditation and stretching session, Jonathan presented us with the task: We were asked to collaboratively create something on the brown paper surface with the materials he had provided. Only one person was to be on the rectangle at a time and talking was not permitted. We were given 70mins. It was very interesting to be part of this exercise. It felt strange not being able to communicate with one another verbally. I’ve never been a very crafty or even creative person, so the exercise was definitely something that brought me to a place of slight discomfort and self-doubt. 

Fig. 2 French Hall, New Hampshire Institute of Art

The result was a slightly chaotic collection of creative expressions from all participants- some spoke to each other, others lived in their own little spaces. I had a lot of fun.

For the second session, Jonathan brought us to the Currier Museum of Art in Manchester, NH. I should have had a hunch about what our exercise would be. Jonathan had previously shared a few performance pieces with us in which he looked at pieces of art continuously for a prolonged period of time, such as The Long Glance when he stood and looked at Jackson Pollock’s painting Convergence: Number 10, 1952 for 40 hours.

Fig. 3 Jackson Pollack, Convergence: Number 10, 1952

At The Currier, after another short meditation and stretching session, Jonathan asked us each to pick one piece of art in the museum. I chose Picasso’s Woman Seated in a Chair, 1941 because Picasso’s work has always fascinated and confused me. I remember going to the Picasso Museum in Barcelona in 2006 and being blown away by Picasso’s realist paintings, making his cubist works even more puzzling to me. Once we had all chosen our works of art, Jonathan explained the day’s exercise to us. We were asked to look at the art pieces for 60 minutes without looking away. We could move around, get closer or farther away, change our perspective, but not turn away from the piece. For a full hour. And we were asked to do so without speaking. Or looking at our phones or watches. No distractions.

I won’t lie- I felt a bit panicked. It felt like I was facing a difficult task that I might not be able to complete. I approached the painting with reluctance. How long did I usually look at a painting? Maybe two minutes. Four if it was one that really interested me. Some paintings that gripped me I would come back to and look at a second time, possibly a third. Or I might sit in front of the painting and spend some time in its presence. I tried to think of the longest I had ever looked at a painting. It cannot have been longer than 10 minutes. And now I was faced with having to look at one single painting for 60 minutes. It seemed impossible.

Fig. 4 Pablo Picasso,  Woman Seated in a Chair

I stepped in front of Woman Seated in a Chair and looked at it. I decided to do the exercise standing. First, I gave the painting the usual glance-over I would give any work of art in a museum or gallery. Then I got closer. I got incredibly close. (Actually, so close that I got yelled at by the museum security guard twice…) I looked at the brush strokes. The thickness of the paint and the inconsistencies therein. The drips I found in several spots. I examined the different colors that had been layered on top of one another. I moved a bit further away to get a better perspective on the depicted figures. I tried to make sense of the three-dimensionality that Picasso had created within the painting. The parts of the woman’s body. The shape of the chair.

It was very disorienting not knowing how much time had passed. I would estimate that after about 20 or 25 minutes I was sick of looking at the painting. I felt like I had seen all there was to see in this rectangle of colors and shapes. I became quite irritated with the exercise. I had a lot of self-doubt. The little voice inside my head kept insisting that I was faced with a task that I could not successfully complete; it kept telling me that I couldn’t do it. To be honest, the most difficult part of the exercise was having to deal with my inner voice for 60 minutes. Despite my irritation, I stayed with the painting. I had questions. So many questions. The window on the left side of the painting- why were the brush strokes so vastly different in the two window panels? Was that deliberate or just something that happened that way? Why all the imperfections? The heavy globs of paint in the top left section of the painting. The drips in some sections. The underlying colors that weren’t fully covered by the top layers of paint. I felt mystified by it all. No longer irritated, more genuinely curious. Like I would have loved to ask the man himself about it all. And even after all the time I had been staring at this painting I somehow still managed to find things I hadn’t noticed before. Interestingly, I had some physical experiences as well. My heart rate increased at some point for no apparent reason. My body felt restless and I had to move around a bit more than I had anticipated to combat the feeling.

Suddenly, my timer went off and the 60 minutes were over. I had worked through my discomfort and self-doubt and completed the exercise. In addition to being surprised by my own accomplishment I found myself feeling sad that I had to leave the painting. We had become friends, the Woman Seated in a Chair and I. Leaving her behind felt uncomfortable. I rejoined my fellow students in silence while we all jotted down some notes on our experience.

Looking back on this day I feel a fond love for Picasso’s painting. And I miss it in a way. I’ll definitely go back to see it again. After all, I know it better than any other painting in the entire world and that must count for something…

Vivien Stembridge is a documentary photographer based in Manchester, CT currently exploring 'the gaze' in photography. She is pursuing an MFA in Photography at The Institute of Art and Design at New England College. In addition to being a photographer, Vivien is a mother of three, a full-time EMT, and a martial artist.

http://www.vivienstembridge.com/

https://www.instagram.com/vstemb/?hl=en

I have been given an opportunity to paint a mural in a lactation room at the local YWCA. 

As a mother I just completed a difficult 15-month journey nursing an infant, and as an artist I have been focusing on interlocking my motherhood and artistic practice. My work speaks about the invisible labor and hardships involved in mothering a new infant. Personally, I was not provided a lactation space at my place of employment, an all too common flaw in our society. The opportunity to paint this mural seems perfectly timed. I can tie a lot of my research and ideas into it.  Painting the mural has become personal with more and  deeper meaning than merely painting something attractive on a wall.

I remember thinking about the psychology of nursing constantly while struggling to feed my infant. I tended to get stressed out, which would directly affect my ability to achieve let-down. Let-down is the reflex that signals the release of milk. Without it, the milk simply will not flow. Returning to work with no lactation space and having to use a pump can make a tough situation so much worse.

Looking into lactation spaces, my initial thought was how clinical they appear. Occasionally there are flower decals on the wall. Why can’t they have real art on the walls?  If relaxing is so key in nursing an infant, then why do so many of these rooms have to look like hospital rooms? Why does this society have so much trouble imagining a space where women can comfortably nurse their children? What if this space were designed not only to be comfortable, but also to guide, distract and perhaps assist in achieving let-down? This is what I’d like to explore.

While struggling to nurse my infant, I did endless research on how to aid my situation. There was a lot of information on the use of visual stimulation. One recommended method is to watch a video or look at a picture of your baby. This helps release the hormone Oxytocin which triggers the let-down reflex. Another method of visual stimulation commonly suggested is picturing a flowing body of water, or a fountain, or waterfall. This became the object of my focus. For some reason it worked for me. I thought then that it had to be too literal to work, but I discovered that it does. Visualizing rushing water became the object of my focus whenever I struggled to achieve let-down.

It would take all my concentration for the visual stimuli to work. It also took practice. I would have to turn off all outside stimuli and keep any other thoughts from creeping into my brain. That is another common tip to assist with let-down: simply take your mind off it. Easier said than done, of course. Some ideas are to distract yourself with a book, or a telephone call. I specifically remember when I was at work pumping milk in my manager’s office, reading the health and safety guideline posters on the wall to try to divert myself from the stress of the situation.

These are the things I think about as I play with design ideas for a mural in a lactation space. I hope the space feels as comfortable as a home, but I hope it can do more than that. On one wall, I want to paint a mural of a fountain. An image of flowing, bursting water. This will be paired with a sound machine to mimic the experience of rushing water. On an adjacent wall I would like to hand-write a long poem. I have not written the poem yet, but I want it to be encouraging and thought provoking. I would like this to be a room not just of comfort, but of contemplation. I want it to become the space I did not have when I was nursing my own child.

Michelle Peterson is an artist and mother and member of the LHNE Collective. She is currently working toward her MFA at the New Hampshire Institute of Art. 

We’ll be asking her to report back as she makes progress on her mural. 

https://www.mpetersonart.com/

https://www.instagram.com/miche_nicole/