Quixotic

An interview with artist Giovanna (Jo) Brunini Congdon

 

Part One/ interview by Judith Vivell, Soho, New York City. In the seventies, Jude hosted a radio program called "Talking About Art" on the moderately radical, listener-sponsored station WBAI. We met on Instagram over art. Please find my complete interview with Jude under "The Interviews."

My parents on a picnic during their courtship.

Where did you grow up? Who were your parents? What did they do for a living? Tell me about your education. Were there teachers or mentors that influenced you?

I was raised in Vermont, home to many artists and writers. My parents were both educators at various times in their lives, and each the first generation with a college degree. My father was a business manager at IBM, and later became a college professor. My mother was dedicated to civil liberties and progressive change. I have a BS in Education from the University of Vermont. I had two mentors while there; one was renowned for his methodology in the teaching of reading. He and I became good friends. Professor Lyman C. Hunt taught me to write. He worked solely in the grad department, singled me out and overwrote into his graduate classes. We had a remarkable connection. Dr. Hunt was about to retire, and my life was beginning. Professor Ted Brenneman was in the religion department.

A goat farmer, Dr. Brenneman's specialty was mythology. The buzz was that he talked to his goats. When he arrived at his Myth and Creation class, his wool plaid jacket stuck with hay, his Bean boots bore the muck of the barn. A Joseph Campbell proponent, he introduced me to the concept of cosmology and culture married as one. His lectures were a grounded exploration of the metaphysical. Dr. Brenneman saw the world's religions at the point where they meet head-on.

My sister, Lisa, and me, June 13, 1982, protesting nuclear arms in New York City at a gathering of 700,000 participants. We marched with Bread not Bombs, political theater from the Northeast Kingdom, Vermont.

What are your metaphysical beliefs now? How have they evolved?

As a child, I began asking the big questions about existence; my father says at age four, "Who and where is God?" As a teen, I received a copy of Kahlil Gibran's, The Prophet, and it cracked my heart open.

According to Campbell, by walking the path of personal growth—a youth follows the way of expansion.  My metaphysical framework at the time told me "there must be something more." And in that period I believed the search had structure and sought out spiritual teachings. I don't anymore.  In writing or painting I am most authentic, my mind quiets, and I remember to breathe. I'm trying to focus on the art of becoming compassionate, and becoming a valley instead of a mountain. 

I called Dr. Brenneman one day out of the blue, ages past, to ask a question, having spoken after graduation only once. I'd been researching the history of Black Madonnas. I am a Virgo, and that might be why Madonna imagery threads through my life. He answered the phone, and I randomly asked, "What is your opinion of the Black Madonna?" He nearly jumped out of his skin; having just walked in the door after arriving home from a world tour with his wife—the "Black Madonna Pilgrimage." There was a pause, he asked, "How did you know? Why did you ask that?" I had no answer. He then told his story;  peering over a hole in the ground above a site deemed sacred, (Greece or Italy) he had the sensation "the goddess" screamed at him, in an attempt to pull him into the bowels of the earth. 

All this said, my metaphysical belief has a great deal more to do with the everyday mystical, if you will, encounters we experience than with the hereafter. I do believe in a God, or Great Spirit, that is unquantifiable, and I believe in free-will. I think we're placed here to become oaks, and that happens daily.  I think physicists one day will prove the string dimensions of time—physicists will prove if you will, the concepts of our spirituality. As I understand it, they're hot on the trail of discovery now. The mystical is in the minimal encounters we record each day. It is a voice calling from the earth screaming at us to see. Paradise is the earth we stand upon.

What is your writing process? In painting? Do these activities feed back and forth, or are they separate?

I am all in when working. There is little separation between the disciplines in my life. I've cut a hole in the wall, and boarded up an original door. I cut and paste and edit. The walls of my house appear as an oversized canvas, and so I paint a floral frieze with dragonflies. When it no longer resonates, I paint it over. Very little is static in my life. My demands might make me the last person you'd want to live alongside indefinitely.  It could be said, I seek or prefer "blank documents" that perpetually ask me to create.   I can't say I've ever experienced writer's block, and am never bored. Please don't hate me for that admission. Blue, yes, but not bored. I give credit to my mother who encouraged creativity.  Never a Cloud, published November 15, 2022. 

Simonetta's Blue Veil, 2019

What is the relationship between your painting and your writing?

I like my painting to tell a story. I guess you could call me a realist with a vivid imagination. Often my work references my love of history, either universal or personal. Boy Posse, 2018, is inspired by time spent in Mexico my nineteenth year. I like realism and beauty in my writing and my art.   Writing and painting are oxygen. Artists are complicated; we think the rest of the world understands us, and this naiveté lands us in trouble. It is also our gift.

How would you describe the process for your painting day? Is it the same for writing or a poetry day? Do you intermingle them or does each get its day—space—time?

In all honesty, art isn't something I structure—it's something I've done lifelong. It's time that's the problem. That said, I drive my life with structure, things don't fall apart so quickly.  Running and yoga are my meditation. When young, I gave the children full attention. Now I've returned to my art and writing. I hate to leave a project in either camp. Though writing needs to rest. In my absence, a scene or protagonist has gained strength. I get a kick out of my characters. I love them like attractive, complicated people I want to meet. I laugh a lot at myself. I love writing dialogue and painting pictures when I write.

Who are your painting, writing, and poetry gods?

Painting: Da Vinci, Botticelli, Caravaggio, Hammershøi, Modigliani, Chagall, Wyeth, and William G. Congdon. (There are so many...)

Writing: Anna Karenina, Tolstoy, In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust, Issac Bashevis Singer, The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck, Joseph Campbell.

Poetry: Tennyson, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, and Frederico Lorca. 

An interview with Italian artist Francesco Galmarini

Francesco Galmarini lives in Luino, Italy. Thank you, Francesco, for sharing your work in charcoal and oils. He may be reached at [email protected]

The Darkness Inside - self-portrait

 

You teach math and physics. Many people would like to find the dedication to pursue a new field beyond their careers but few do so. How do you balance your life? What is the greatest challenge?

I don’t blame them; it’s often not the lack of dedication but probably the fear of the unknown. That’s especially true when it comes to the art field, which is notoriously not the best path to follow if your aim is to obtain financial stability. That’s why the best option is to balance the two things, your main source of income and your true passion, which is essentially your job. As Van Gogh said, “Your profession is not what brings home your weekly paycheck, your profession is what you're put here on earth to do, with such passion and such intensity that it becomes spiritual in calling.” His words are maybe a bit too passionate, but the concept is valid. I have no problem balancing my life since my job is relatively quiet. I work mostly as a private teacher so I can schedule my day as I choose.  I am self-taught in most of what I know and in most aspects of my life. If anything, art is not currently receiving enough attention.

What about art compels you?

I use drawing and painting as an outlet for my emotions. As someone with Asperger Syndrome, which is a mild form of autism (also called high- functioning), it can be hard to find the words to express what I’m feeling. I love images because of their strength and the way they say so much as soon as you see them. On top of that art is often cathartic, and can help you overcome difficult emotions. That’s the reason why, for example, Munch used to paint several versions of the same painting.

Daydreaming by Francesco Galmarini

Are any of your relatives also artistic? Or self-taught? Were you drawn to art as a child?

My father used to paint in his youth, but he was not very passionate about it. I’ve always loved art, and as a child I remember I was very gifted at drawing but then I stopped and I don’t even know why. I used to draw something occasionally, maybe once every few years, but it has only been since 2015 that I started drawing seriously.

You also study languages. Is this from a love of travel?

I don’t consider myself passionate about languages. I only study languages I like, because of their sound, their grammar, and their cultural background. I don’t like to travel much, generally speaking, but I love Nordic countries, their culture, and their nature. Among the languages I have studied, or investigated, Icelandic is definitely my favorite; although Finnish, which I’m currently struggling to learn, has a very beautiful sound.

Desolation by Francesco Galmarini

Which writer has influenced you the most?

I’m not really an avid reader, so to say. I read mostly historical books (I love history too), but if I had to name a writer it would be George Orwell. I also have great admiration and respect for Bertrand Russell and his work.

If an artist is innately an aesthete–as I believe–what environment, be it a place or realm in nature, resonates with you most deeply?

The north. Absolutely. I love the snow. When I look out of the window and see everything painted in white, it makes me feel better and relaxed.

What historical period are you dedicated to in art if any?

I love traditional art, but there’s not a specific period I’m dedicated to. I don’t really like conceptual art, or at least most of it. When you can’t tell the difference between art and trash I think we have crossed the line. But this is not the place to talk about that, or this answer will probably never come to an end.

Loneliness by Francesco Galmarini

In what direction would you like your art to grow, or are you content with your current focus?

I’m only partially content with it. My main goal is to transmit emotion. I believe that’s what art should aim to achieve. I’m trying to move away from realism towards a more expressionistic style. Sadly my extreme perfectionism is playing against that.

What artist’s life resonates with you?

I can feel a strong connection with Edvard Munch, my favorite painter; I totally agree with his vision of what art should be. For the most part, I can even say I share his vision of life, and I’m not saying this in a positive way. While my childhood wasn’t as sorrowful as his, I’ve had the same painful experiences with relationships. Another artist I admire is Van Gogh for the passion he could express in his paintings. Yes, that’s something I would like to achieve.

How does the world feel different in the silence of working your art?

It doesn’t feel different but I can detach my mind from the world, which is a good thing. It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s quite the opposite actually, but I sometimes feel like I was born in the wrong era. There’s no appreciation for art anymore, luckily that’s not always the case.

Is there something else about your work you’d like to share?

I never know how to answer questions like this one. But there is something I’d like to add, even though is not strictly related to my personal work. Nowadays it’s really hard, at least in Italy, for artists to make a living out of their work, and that’s really sad if you think about it. Modern society doesn’t encourage art production since it’s not seen as “necessary” and figurative art is not even taught in schools anymore. This has to change if we don’t want art to die altogether.

Thank you, Francesco.

An interview with Gaspare da Brescia, Italian sculptor, architect, and painter

"The lands around the world have taught me my art."

–Gaspare da Brescia

Gaspare da Brescia was born in Calabria, Crotone, Italy, in 1955. Early in life he knew that fine arts, and sculpture most importantly, was his passion. His early education taught him to follow his own creative instincts and guided his independent self- taught exploration. As a young adult he left school early following his father to Germany, where he worked as a factory worker in the metal industry.

A first foray into Paris' art world inspired him to resume studies. Gaspare graduated from the Art School of Cantanzaro, followed by more academics in Turin, Milan, and Rome where he lived for many years. He's worked as a set designer in Cinecitta; the film studio in Rome considered the hub of Italian cinematography and his work has been commissioned by the Vatican. Since 2000, Gaspare has made the  remote island of Sardinia his family's home. It was there in the small international arts community of San Pantalone that we met. Gaspare was crafting in terracotta at his gallery displaying work in clay, bronze and oil painting. Italy's a place where the moment is very often truly the moment...  Gaspare invited our family home to visit his studio and we happily obliged.

Johns at home with Gaspare in San Pantalone.

Sardinian Capra by Gaspare da Brescia

Life in Sardinia enables outdoor studios the majority of the year. Our daughter (2006) appreciating Gaspare's art.

Toro by Gaspare da Brescia

Arabian Horses by Gaspare da Brescia

 

Calypso by Gaspare da Brescia

 

Askos by Gaspare da Brescia

Jeannette by Gaspare da Brescia, 2017

Contact Gaspare by email, he ships worldwide.

[email protected]

http://www.gasparedabrescia.it

Solitary Sojourn: an Art Residency in the Arctic/ interview with Johns Congdon III, 4/4

An interview from the Arctic, November 21, 2014,/ part four

A RISD Photography grad reflects on the start of his sixth week on a two-month stay in Longyearbyen, in the Svalbard Islands of northernmost Norway ~

5. The work of which artist has the greatest resonance with your artistic aspirations?

I think the artists I am most drawn to use light as their medium. Photography is naturally all about light; I am most inspired by the installations of James Turrell and Doug Wheeler. The sense of space I found atop the plateau here is remarkably similar to Doug Wheeler's recent exhibition at David Zwirner Gallery. It's an incredibly engaging form of presentation, the creation of a visceral experience that one can enter into and interact with. These type of installations attract people from beyond the art world and I think the medium will continue to be fertile ground for inquiry. I want to try my hand at installation work some day.

 

6. How does the world feel different in the silence of the Arctic?

Silence is the ideal adjective for this place. Unless the wind is blowing there is nothing to be heard but your breath, or perhaps reindeer rooting for what little vegetation there is under the snow and ice. Travel permits one to be confronted with deeply rooted convictions and perhaps reflexively look around the corner of their beliefs, to face a concentration of perspectives forming a whole. The pen and the camera are great clarifying agents in doing so, so long as you don't allow the act of documentation to impede the experience itself! I'll leave that thought there with this nice quote from Pico Iyer ~ "Home I began to feel was the half-formed beliefs you fashioned in the middle of all you didn't and couldn't understand, a tent on a wide open plain."

 

 

An interview from the Arctic, November 21, 2014,/ part four

A RISD Photography grad reflects on the start of his sixth week on a two-month stay in Longyearbyen, in the Svalbard Islands of northernmost Norway ~

5. The work of which artist has the greatest resonance with your artistic aspirations?

I think the artists I am most drawn to use light as their medium. Photography is naturally all about light; I am most inspired by the installations of James Turrell and Doug Wheeler. The sense of space I found atop the plateau here is remarkably similar to Doug Wheeler's recent exhibition at David Zwirner Gallery. It's an incredibly engaging form of presentation, the creation of a visceral experience that one can enter into and interact with. These type of installations attract people from beyond the art world and I think the medium will continue to be fertile ground for inquiry. I want to try my hand at installation work some day.

 

6. How does the world feel different in the silence of the Arctic?

Silence is the ideal adjective for this place. Unless the wind is blowing there is nothing to be heard but your breath, or perhaps reindeer rooting for what little vegetation there is under the snow and ice. Travel permits one to be confronted with deeply rooted convictions and perhaps reflexively look around the corner of their beliefs, to face a concentration of perspectives forming a whole. The pen and the camera are great clarifying agents in doing so, so long as you don't allow the act of documentation to impede the experience itself! I'll leave that thought there with this nice quote from Pico Iyer ~ "Home I began to feel was the half-formed beliefs you fashioned in the middle of all you didn't and couldn't understand, a tent on a wide open plain."

 

 

Solitary Sojourn: an Art Residency in the Arctic/ interview with Johns Congdon III/ 2/4

An interview from the Arctic, part two, October 22, 2014

A RISD Photography grad reflects on the start of his third week as part of a two month stay in Longyearbyen in the Svalbard islands of northernmost Norway...

3. Describe the sensation of being at such an extreme geographical location?

The town of Longyearbyen is home to 2000 people from 42 nationalities and despite its location it is quite remarkable the normalcy of life that is achieved here. There is a kindergarten, surrounded by a fence - not to keep the children in but the polar bears out - a university, home to 350 students studying various polar related sciences, lavish restaurants and a Radisson Blu. Due to the permafrost all pipes above ground, and all infrastructure is built off the ground. The architecture is extremely utilitarian, which is to be expected. There are only about three or four main roads in the town and the walk from my apartment to the center is about twenty minutes, which is cumbersome on the coldest days, however the view of the distant mountains across the fjord, especially when cast in pink evening light is always enchanting. There is virtually no crime and everyone keeps their doors and cars unlocked in case someone needs to take immediate refuge from a polar bear. The other day I took a hike up behind the town onto a plateau, a rather steep two hour climb to the top. The first thing you notice is a complete loss of depth perception, orientation and physical context. Due to the falling snow, and extremely 'flat' light your sensory experience is quickly swallowed in a fog of indeterminate boundaries. It is quite literally the 'ganzfeld effect', pilots experience this when flying through clouds, - the loss of spatial orientation. In such an environment your mind plays tricks on you as it constantly searches for patterns, a sense of scale, a grounding object, anything to give it a sense of place.

 

In such environments it is not uncommon for visual anomalies to occur, such as a speck of black rock that appears to be moving, floating free in the sea of white. As I was walking, for which seemed like an eternity without any change in the visual environment, I experienced this a couple of times. The second time I sat down and placed the rifle stock into the snow as a comparative visual to there percieve movement, for fear the black spot I saw was the black nose of a bear, or hopefully just an Arctic fox. Sure enough, it was just a rock. For somone unawares of neurological events that can occur in such climates, it can quickly become quite a profound experience. In extreme environments or under extreme stress it is possible for the connection between both hemispheres of the brain to become asymetrical, producing what is sometimes referred to as the "third man factor" or "sensed presence effect" common amongst solo sailors, arctic explorers, and endurance athletes. When the two hemispheres of the brain are out of sync the left interprets the right as 'another self,' and because there can only be oneself the two selves are organized as oneself and something else, oftentimes labeled as an alien, gods, or guardian angel, manifest in the mind under extreme stress, in extreme conditions - hopefully, I won't encounter such an effect although it would be interesting. The feeling of disconnect from your environment is such that in some areas, even taking the next step, is an intrepid act, because you literally cannot tell if the ground in front of you is rising, falling, or dropping off abruptly. At a couple points I stopped to throw snow in front of me in an effort to survey the terrain a few feet in front of me. I found this experience very compelling.

4. What writer has influenced you the most?

Overall it is hard to say, there are too many, but for where I am right now I think NYU philosophy and law professor Thomas Nagel's early work, especially his book The View From Nowhere resonates with me. In essence, he examines the implications of combining the perspectives of a single person in the world with an objective view of the world, including the person and its perpsective. It is a difficulty encountered by every conscious creature with the desire and abiltity to transcend its partcular point of view and to conceive the world as a whole. That juxtaposition of external, internal, subjective, objective coincides nicley with the general efficacy of the "overview effect," the act of as he states; "stepping back from our initial point of view to form a new conception which has that view and its relation to the world as its object." Despite the fact that the desire to get outside of ourselves has its limits, each scientific advancement forms a new conception towards a centerless detached objectively. Although this endeavor may engender positive cognitive advancement, it is important to remain humbled by the notion that we are likely unable to transcend the human viewpoint entirely, merely develop a concept of mind general enough to enable us to escape solipsism and insularity. Much of "reality" may remain constitutionally beyond our reach, beyond our capabilities due to the limits of our nature - the way the word appears to us, our 'emwelt' or model of the world. Nonetheless this detachment, in theory, enables different individuals, starting from divergent viewpoints to converge on conceptions that can be universally shared. Physical detachment and noumenal detachment seem to complement each other. I think there is an interesting parallel or congruency between theoretical and literal "centerlessness." At the moment I only have jumbles of notes on the subject, but with a little effort, I think there is an engaging concept to be played with here visually.

 

A cave formation in an opening running 40' or so under the glacier directly behind the town.

 

An interview from the Arctic, part two, October 22, 2014

A RISD Photography grad reflects on the start of his third week as part of a two month stay in Longyearbyen in the Svalbard islands of northernmost Norway...

3. Describe the sensation of being at such an extreme geographical location?

The town of Longyearbyen is home to 2000 people from 42 nationalities and despite its location it is quite remarkable the normalcy of life that is achieved here. There is a kindergarten, surrounded by a fence - not to keep the children in but the polar bears out - a university, home to 350 students studying various polar related sciences, lavish restaurants and a Radisson Blu. Due to the permafrost all pipes above ground, and all infrastructure is built off the ground. The architecture is extremely utilitarian, which is to be expected. There are only about three or four main roads in the town and the walk from my apartment to the center is about twenty minutes, which is cumbersome on the coldest days, however the view of the distant mountains across the fjord, especially when cast in pink evening light is always enchanting. There is virtually no crime and everyone keeps their doors and cars unlocked in case someone needs to take immediate refuge from a polar bear. The other day I took a hike up behind the town onto a plateau, a rather steep two hour climb to the top. The first thing you notice is a complete loss of depth perception, orientation and physical context. Due to the falling snow, and extremely 'flat' light your sensory experience is quickly swallowed in a fog of indeterminate boundaries. It is quite literally the 'ganzfeld effect', pilots experience this when flying through clouds, - the loss of spatial orientation. In such an environment your mind plays tricks on you as it constantly searches for patterns, a sense of scale, a grounding object, anything to give it a sense of place.

 

In such environments it is not uncommon for visual anomalies to occur, such as a speck of black rock that appears to be moving, floating free in the sea of white. As I was walking, for which seemed like an eternity without any change in the visual environment, I experienced this a couple of times. The second time I sat down and placed the rifle stock into the snow as a comparative visual to there percieve movement, for fear the black spot I saw was the black nose of a bear, or hopefully just an Arctic fox. Sure enough, it was just a rock. For somone unawares of neurological events that can occur in such climates, it can quickly become quite a profound experience. In extreme environments or under extreme stress it is possible for the connection between both hemispheres of the brain to become asymetrical, producing what is sometimes referred to as the "third man factor" or "sensed presence effect" common amongst solo sailors, arctic explorers, and endurance athletes. When the two hemispheres of the brain are out of sync the left interprets the right as 'another self,' and because there can only be oneself the two selves are organized as oneself and something else, oftentimes labeled as an alien, gods, or guardian angel, manifest in the mind under extreme stress, in extreme conditions - hopefully, I won't encounter such an effect although it would be interesting. The feeling of disconnect from your environment is such that in some areas, even taking the next step, is an intrepid act, because you literally cannot tell if the ground in front of you is rising, falling, or dropping off abruptly. At a couple points I stopped to throw snow in front of me in an effort to survey the terrain a few feet in front of me. I found this experience very compelling.

4. What writer has influenced you the most?

Overall it is hard to say, there are too many, but for where I am right now I think NYU philosophy and law professor Thomas Nagel's early work, especially his book The View From Nowhere resonates with me. In essence, he examines the implications of combining the perspectives of a single person in the world with an objective view of the world, including the person and its perpsective. It is a difficulty encountered by every conscious creature with the desire and abiltity to transcend its partcular point of view and to conceive the world as a whole. That juxtaposition of external, internal, subjective, objective coincides nicley with the general efficacy of the "overview effect," the act of as he states; "stepping back from our initial point of view to form a new conception which has that view and its relation to the world as its object." Despite the fact that the desire to get outside of ourselves has its limits, each scientific advancement forms a new conception towards a centerless detached objectively. Although this endeavor may engender positive cognitive advancement, it is important to remain humbled by the notion that we are likely unable to transcend the human viewpoint entirely, merely develop a concept of mind general enough to enable us to escape solipsism and insularity. Much of "reality" may remain constitutionally beyond our reach, beyond our capabilities due to the limits of our nature - the way the word appears to us, our 'emwelt' or model of the world. Nonetheless this detachment, in theory, enables different individuals, starting from divergent viewpoints to converge on conceptions that can be universally shared. Physical detachment and noumenal detachment seem to complement each other. I think there is an interesting parallel or congruency between theoretical and literal "centerlessness." At the moment I only have jumbles of notes on the subject, but with a little effort, I think there is an engaging concept to be played with here visually.

 

A cave formation in an opening running 40' or so under the glacier directly behind the town.

 

Solitary Sojourn: an Art Residency in the Arctic/ interview with Johns Congdon III, 1/4

An interview from the Arctic; part one, republished from October 16, 2014.

 

Johns Congdon III, a RISD 2012 Photography grad, took a unique sojourn with his art. He shares his experience in SVALBARD, Norway. The Svalbard Islands in the Arctic Ocean, are located at 74 degrees to 81 degrees North latitude and 10 degrees to 35 degrees East longitude, halfway between Norway and the North Pole.

Polar bear tracks were found crossing in front of the Svalbard school yesterday, and earlier this week the Governor of Svalbard used a helicopter to encourage possibly this same bear away from town. All of the townsfolk in Svalbard have to traverse to and from any destination with shotguns and flares as protection against polar bear attacks. All means of dispersal are used first before firing a shot in the bear's direction.

1. What did you do to prepare for this journey?

I've had aspirations to visit the high Arctic for a few years before securing this residency here at Galleri Svalbard. Preparations included extensive research on the environment surrounding Longyearbyen, (capital of Svalbard) climate, seasons (for which the differences are vast), polar bear self-defense protocol and so on. I chose from October to December because this is a transition period, as the sun's position in the sky shifts from a 24h day in the summer to 24h darkness in the winter. The quality of light in this period is remarkably unique, as well as in February when the sun returns after a few months of complete darkness. I also did quite a bit of reading on cognitive neurology, scientifically founded philosophy, anthropology and sociology so that the concepts I would be putting into play with my photography work would have an informed base from which to be propelled. Having felt divorced from my last significant body of work for some time now, I wanted to ensure that this time around I was operating from a more informed perspective, instead of manifesting imagery from a yawning chasm of raw, unmitigated curiosity as I had previously while at RISD.

 

2. What is it about the Arctic that compels you?

Being the most northern 'town' in the world, Longyearbyen quite literally sits on the precipice of human civilization. Beyond which lies an external realm, inhospitable, and nearly otherworldly. I think in some theoretical respects the poles of our planet represent some of the furthest vantage points one can attain, to turn back and view ourselves and humanity at large from the outside without having left the world's surface. From the poles there isn't much farther you can go, aside from a few research stations on the seafloor, and then, of course, the furthest reaches being the ISS (International Space Station), an orbital vantage which is unattainable for 99.9% of humanity at this point in time, although the gap seems to be closing rapidly and relatively affordable trips to orbit should commence within my lifetime. Humanity is hardwired through evolution to be pattern-seeking, agent postulating primates, for whom it is easy to fall for the oldest trick in the book and orchestrate ourselves at the center of the story, as the central pattern in a vain attempt to find purpose. It is what American historian of science Michael Shermer refers to as 'Protagoras' Bias' - "Man is the measure of all things." A purpose seeking primate will find itself as the purpose of nature. This conception of our situation intuitively leads us to believe that the world was finely tuned for our existence which is nothing less than cosmic chauvinism. "It is not finely tuned for us; we are finely tuned for it."

This is when I think an awareness of scale is paramount, in that the sheer magnitude of the cosmos is something that is difficult for us to grasp is that our brains developed in the 'macroscopic world' codifying knowledge on a scale ranging from a grain of sand to a mountain. But in that light, and corroborated by every experiment conceived, our emergence into the cosmos theater is nothing but a fluke, an empiricist view, sour to the taste due to our propensity to find meaning under every rock. I, however, find this awareness humbling for it is a launching pad for inquiry at the boundary of the unknown. Point being, we don't even need to venture too far to be transported into an environment entirely unconducive to human flourishing. The habitable zone is razor thin, and finite. The Arctic is a boundary line. Being human we have the unique ability to step outside of ourselves and look back at our existence "Sub specie aeternitatis," "from the perspective of the eternal," and ascertain an increasingly objective picture. Anyone who has been to space or even to 75, 000 ft in a military plane can attest to the immense and lasting impact that distant perspective has on one's consciousness - in a very Carl Sagan moment of realization of how uniquely precious and fragile our planet truly is. "Awareness of this reality elevates us all to a higher place of humanity and humility, as we course through life together in this limited time and space - a momentary proscenium in the drama of the cosmos." (Michael Shermer, The Believing Brain). I intend to work with this notion of the "overview effect" in mind, utilizing the remote high Arctic as a laboratory.

The world's Global Seed Bank hidden deep within the earth.

 

An interview from the Arctic; part one, republished from October 16, 2014.

 

Johns Congdon III, a RISD 2012 Photography grad, took a unique sojourn with his art. He shares his experience in SVALBARD, Norway. The Svalbard Islands in the Arctic Ocean, are located at 74 degrees to 81 degrees North latitude and 10 degrees to 35 degrees East longitude, halfway between Norway and the North Pole.

Polar bear tracks were found crossing in front of the Svalbard school yesterday, and earlier this week the Governor of Svalbard used a helicopter to encourage possibly this same bear away from town. All of the townsfolk in Svalbard have to traverse to and from any destination with shotguns and flares as protection against polar bear attacks. All means of dispersal are used first before firing a shot in the bear's direction.

1. What did you do to prepare for this journey?

I've had aspirations to visit the high Arctic for a few years before securing this residency here at Galleri Svalbard. Preparations included extensive research on the environment surrounding Longyearbyen, (capital of Svalbard) climate, seasons (for which the differences are vast), polar bear self-defense protocol and so on. I chose from October to December because this is a transition period, as the sun's position in the sky shifts from a 24h day in the summer to 24h darkness in the winter. The quality of light in this period is remarkably unique, as well as in February when the sun returns after a few months of complete darkness. I also did quite a bit of reading on cognitive neurology, scientifically founded philosophy, anthropology and sociology so that the concepts I would be putting into play with my photography work would have an informed base from which to be propelled. Having felt divorced from my last significant body of work for some time now, I wanted to ensure that this time around I was operating from a more informed perspective, instead of manifesting imagery from a yawning chasm of raw, unmitigated curiosity as I had previously while at RISD.

 

2. What is it about the Arctic that compels you?

Being the most northern 'town' in the world, Longyearbyen quite literally sits on the precipice of human civilization. Beyond which lies an external realm, inhospitable, and nearly otherworldly. I think in some theoretical respects the poles of our planet represent some of the furthest vantage points one can attain, to turn back and view ourselves and humanity at large from the outside without having left the world's surface. From the poles there isn't much farther you can go, aside from a few research stations on the seafloor, and then, of course, the furthest reaches being the ISS (International Space Station), an orbital vantage which is unattainable for 99.9% of humanity at this point in time, although the gap seems to be closing rapidly and relatively affordable trips to orbit should commence within my lifetime. Humanity is hardwired through evolution to be pattern-seeking, agent postulating primates, for whom it is easy to fall for the oldest trick in the book and orchestrate ourselves at the center of the story, as the central pattern in a vain attempt to find purpose. It is what American historian of science Michael Shermer refers to as 'Protagoras' Bias' - "Man is the measure of all things." A purpose seeking primate will find itself as the purpose of nature. This conception of our situation intuitively leads us to believe that the world was finely tuned for our existence which is nothing less than cosmic chauvinism. "It is not finely tuned for us; we are finely tuned for it."

This is when I think an awareness of scale is paramount, in that the sheer magnitude of the cosmos is something that is difficult for us to grasp is that our brains developed in the 'macroscopic world' codifying knowledge on a scale ranging from a grain of sand to a mountain. But in that light, and corroborated by every experiment conceived, our emergence into the cosmos theater is nothing but a fluke, an empiricist view, sour to the taste due to our propensity to find meaning under every rock. I, however, find this awareness humbling for it is a launching pad for inquiry at the boundary of the unknown. Point being, we don't even need to venture too far to be transported into an environment entirely unconducive to human flourishing. The habitable zone is razor thin, and finite. The Arctic is a boundary line. Being human we have the unique ability to step outside of ourselves and look back at our existence "Sub specie aeternitatis," "from the perspective of the eternal," and ascertain an increasingly objective picture. Anyone who has been to space or even to 75, 000 ft in a military plane can attest to the immense and lasting impact that distant perspective has on one's consciousness - in a very Carl Sagan moment of realization of how uniquely precious and fragile our planet truly is. "Awareness of this reality elevates us all to a higher place of humanity and humility, as we course through life together in this limited time and space - a momentary proscenium in the drama of the cosmos." (Michael Shermer, The Believing Brain). I intend to work with this notion of the "overview effect" in mind, utilizing the remote high Arctic as a laboratory.

The world's Global Seed Bank hidden deep within the earth.

 

Solitary Sojourn: an Art Residency in the Arctic/ interview with Johns Congdon III, 3/4

Part three, November 6, 2014

A RISD 2012 Photography grad reflects on the start of his fourth week of a two-month stay in Longyearbyen, in the Svalbard islands of northernmost Norway ~

The gallery at Galleri Svalbard. Artists live their residency here in guest rooms, sharing a kitchen.

 

The last sunset in Longyearben of the season, this week, the sun turned a corner and now never comes up in Longyearbyen. It is well below the horizon, but you get an ambient glow from ten to twelve o'clock which dinishes more and more each day until the 14th of November when there will be no visible difference at any hour of the day; an absence of light/ blackout.

5. Tell us about the trip you took this week~

Leaving Longyearbyen which sits at 78 North, I made a boat up to the Russian settlement of Pyramiden at 79 North, a once lively mining community abandoned at the end of the 20th century. After a three or so hour journey we neared the town, but before disembarking, we ventured across the channel to the face of Nordenskiöldbreen Glacier. Nearing the wall of ancient ice is an ineffably emotional experience, 25km long and 11km wide. With each caving a chunk of 1,000 year old ice is lost, revealing bright blue scars on its face. If climate change continues unmitigated, then glaciers such as this one may very likely be lost within my lifetime. It's a sobering realization when considering the implications. The guide fished a small piece of breakaway ice from the glacier out of the water to serve us whiskey on the rocks with glacial ice. We then had a quick lunch on board which included whale meat for those interested. Upon reaching Pyramiden, we were greeted by Sasha from St. Petersburg. Sasha has been living in Pyramiden for some time now with a group of eight to ten people who operate the only inhabited building, the hotel while overseeing the general maintenance of the town. The hotel has none of the normal amenities one would expect, not even the internet. Twice a day Sasha must walk to a specific location outside of town where he can hold up his phone and receive just enough reception to check for SMS bookings at the hotel, which is the only way to make a reservation. He led us through the town, past the men's quarters, women's quarters, former offices of the KGB, sports and event hall, etc. We were allowed to wander about the 'culture house' which contained a gymnasium, concert venue, assorted music rooms, and a movie theater, still with broken instruments and spools of the film cast about the floor. From the light of my phone, I discovered Russian newspapers from the mid-'90s, and other documents were strewn about the place. It served as a fascinating window into life in what was once the crown jewel of communist achievement for the Soviet Union. Towards the center of town is a stone bust of Lenin looking out towards the distant glacier. When we entered the operational hotel, Sasha indicated where a polar bear had broken in the previous week to steal beer and peanuts from the bar before making its escape. As we boarded in darkness, Sasha said a somewhat emotional goodbye as we were the last tour of the season being that Polar Night was upon us. He stood on the dock and fired three celebratory rounds into the air as we departed.

Hotel Pyramiden, the sole habitable structure remaining in Pyramiden.

Sasha was pointing out the window and wall where the polar bear broke into the Hotel Pyramiden.

A RISD 2012 Photography grad reflects on the start of his fourth week of a two-month stay in Longyearbyen, in the Svalbard islands of northernmost Norway ~

The gallery at Galleri Svalbard. Artists live their residency here in guest rooms, sharing a kitchen.

 

The last sunset in Longyearben of the season, this week, the sun turned a corner and now never comes up in Longyearbyen. It is well below the horizon, but you get an ambient glow from ten to twelve o'clock which dinishes more and more each day until the 14th of November when there will be no visible difference at any hour of the day; an absence of light/ blackout.

5. Tell us about the trip you took this week~

Leaving Longyearbyen which sits at 78 North, I made a boat up to the Russian settlement of Pyramiden at 79 North, a once lively mining community abandoned at the end of the 20th century. After a three or so hour journey we neared the town, but before disembarking, we ventured across the channel to the face of Nordenskiöldbreen Glacier. Nearing the wall of ancient ice is an ineffably emotional experience, 25km long and 11km wide. With each caving a chunk of 1,000 year old ice is lost, revealing bright blue scars on its face. If climate change continues unmitigated, then glaciers such as this one may very likely be lost within my lifetime. It's a sobering realization when considering the implications. The guide fished a small piece of breakaway ice from the glacier out of the water to serve us whiskey on the rocks with glacial ice. We then had a quick lunch on board which included whale meat for those interested. Upon reaching Pyramiden, we were greeted by Sasha from St. Petersburg. Sasha has been living in Pyramiden for some time now with a group of eight to ten people who operate the only inhabited building, the hotel while overseeing the general maintenance of the town. The hotel has none of the normal amenities one would expect, not even the internet. Twice a day Sasha must walk to a specific location outside of town where he can hold up his phone and receive just enough reception to check for SMS bookings at the hotel, which is the only way to make a reservation. He led us through the town, past the men's quarters, women's quarters, former offices of the KGB, sports and event hall, etc. We were allowed to wander about the 'culture house' which contained a gymnasium, concert venue, assorted music rooms, and a movie theater, still with broken instruments and spools of the film cast about the floor. From the light of my phone, I discovered Russian newspapers from the mid-'90s, and other documents were strewn about the place. It served as a fascinating window into life in what was once the crown jewel of communist achievement for the Soviet Union. Towards the center of town is a stone bust of Lenin looking out towards the distant glacier. When we entered the operational hotel, Sasha indicated where a polar bear had broken in the previous week to steal beer and peanuts from the bar before making its escape. As we boarded in darkness, Sasha said a somewhat emotional goodbye as we were the last tour of the season being that Polar Night was upon us. He stood on the dock and fired three celebratory rounds into the air as we departed.

Hotel Pyramiden, the sole habitable structure remaining in Pyramiden.

Sasha was pointing out the window and wall where the polar bear broke into the Hotel Pyramiden.