Laura Fritz's "Convocation" (Jeff Jahn)
BY BRIAN LIBBY
I first began following the work of Portland artist Laura Fritz over a decade ago. With her months-long exhibit at the Portland Art Museum coming to a close on February 23, I wanted to spotlight her work while there's still time to see it.
"Spotlight" actually has more than one meaning in this case.
The Fritz exhibit I saw back in 2009 and reviewed for The Oregonian was an installation at Southeast Portland's New American Art Union called "Evident" that consisted of little more than a projector beam of light in a dark room, but the more one observed the small details, the more mysterious and meticulous her work seemed. There was a wardrobe in the corner, its door slightly ajar. The projector itself was covered with by box with a pattern of circular holes cut into its sides and a mirror inside the box angled in front of the lens that multiplied the effect, sending beams onto all four walls. And while the beams at first appeared to be clear patterns of light, in time it became clear that Fritz was using abstracted images of insects for her footage. It was if she was introducing something organic into a clean room.
At once, Fritz's work was all about conjuring a mood, and she used a fascinating blend of minimalist architectural sensibility, auteur-driven cinema and an entomology as her vocabulary. As a former visual art and movie writer, I guess I'm always drawn to people who blend those influences with an interest in design and architecture. So I decided to ask Fritz a few questions about her art and inspirations.
PORTLAND ARCHITECTURE: Has film always been a passion of yours? I'd love to hear about a few that have influenced you as an artist. Hitchcock and particularly The Birds quickly come to mind: not just the swarming but that Hitchcockian sense of menace. And of course Kubrick seems like another clear reference point, not just in this show but past exhibits of yours: something about the cold meticulousness. Are there other filmmakers who have played such roles? I wondered about David Lynch, for example: another filmmaker with a highly idiosyncratic vision born out of menace. But that may be a little to surreal. Jeff mentioned that your favorite film is Harold and Maude, and that seems less intuitive for me as an influencer, although of course it's another great movie.
LAURA FRITZ: I’ve always had an interest in the psychology and setting of mood in spaces, which correlates to both film and architecture. When I first headed to college, I was interested in pursuing interior design, but I realized that I didn’t enjoy drafting all that much and I didn’t want to create a typical kind of utilitarian space. I had previously developed an interest in set design from when I had acted in plays as a child. The changing of the scenes on stage just by switching out a few pieces of furniture and placing the items strategically for the audience to view really intrigued me. I loved how just a few details, and lighting, could have such a complete effect on the mood and bring the audience to a new understanding of time and place.
As far as film-makers, I wouldn’t say I’m directly influenced by very many specifically. Hitchcock’s The Birds made an impact on me, though. The build-up of suspense with the menacing sight of so many birds congregating, and especially the silent space surrounding them, was something I kept in mind ever since I first saw the movie as a child.
"The Birds" (1963, Universal Pictures Company Inc.)
Surprisingly, I never watched anything by David Lynch until after I had already made my first video installation, "Section 1," which involved a moth pacing in circles in a flickering white space. After people saw this piece, they kept telling me I needed look into David Lynch, and when I finally did, I was really hooked on Twin Peaks. When Twin Peaks had first come out, I was in college and had heard of it, but didn’t own a TV and was spending most of my time working in the studio anyway.
Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey really made an impression on me with its use of space and silence, and the unknown. The scene at the end, where the main character is put in the white space made to look like a fake French Colonial room, and especially the fact that his every move was under complete observation, was so creepy and haunting to me. In fact, I remember the feeling more than the details of the room and this is a sensibility I carried to my work.
"2001: A Space Odyssey" (MGM)
I also feel like when I combine this PAM show with other past exhibits of yours I've seen, there's something to be said for a kind of cinematic influence that goes beyond specific movies. It feels like you also may be influenced by projection equipment itself. I imagine that like me, you grew up with analog slide projectors at home and film projectors in school classrooms. Is there something about that analog equipment you respond to? Or aside from the equipment, what about the simple act of projection itself? Just the act of casting a limited band of light in an otherwise dark space is an artistic act of its own that can be manipulated and be an inspiration, right? Is that true for you?
It's not so much the projection equipment I’m interested in, but the light itself and how it can really influence the viewer’s perception. It can highlight and draw the attention in a certain direction, obscure, or even become a sculptural material. It can also influence expectations, such as making it the subject seem imposing or vulnerable. For instance, when a subject has a small spot light focused on it, it appears more exposed and could suggest that it is there to be observed by us or that something may happen to it. But when a piece is lit from within, such as [the] video installations "Convocation" or "Alvarium 2" in my APEX show, or some of my cast objects that catch light and glow, the subject then appears to almost have a life of its own. It becomes something we might feel the need to watch out for, and could make us feel more vulnerable in the space.
In some ways, the structures in my video installations, which often resemble some kind of hybrid between scientific equipment and ergonomically awkward domestic furnishings, actually take on the role of the projection equipment when video projects from within. Instead of looking like straightforward functional equipment, it feels more Gothic, yet clean and minimal. It serves to further re-focus the viewers’ attention to themselves and their relationship to the space and the apparent goings on in the room.
Fritz with "Convocation" (Jeff Jahn)
You grew up around a lot of mid-century modern architecture. I've been writing about some mid-century modern house designs lately, and the thing I keep coming back to is a sense of horizontality. But when I think about larger-scale modern architecture, like the Mies building at Drake you mentioned or Memorial Coliseum here in Portland, what is compelling to me is all the light and wide-open volume. What do you respond to in mid-century architecture?
I think what I respond to the most is the contrasts, which balance and bring out the best in all of the elements. A couple examples are the glow of light through glass and the way heavier materials compress open spaces. The voids open up questions and possibilities. Then there is balance, such as in Mies van der Rohe’s Meredith Hall at Drake University, of a horizontally oriented building with vertical windows that is stunning when contrasted against the snow or the grass alike. The proportions and lines really stand out since there is a general lack of ornamentation. Combining this with the organic can be a very powerful contrast as well. One example is the Paul V. Galvin Library by Skidmore, Owings and Merrill (with Walter Netsch as lead designer) at the Illinois Institute of Technology, which is covered by foliage. In my show, and my work overall, I contrast the controlled minimalist aspects of design with the organic. In contrast, the organic elements, such as the movement of bees or a murmuration of birds, may appear to be chaotic, but they are actually adhering to a different system that is not man-made. Both bees and birds are under increasing pressure as human construction continues to encroach on their environment. That tension and empathy really interests me.
Galvin Library (Étienne Taburet), Meredith Hall (Illinois Institute of Technology)
Also, when I look at your PAM show, I feel like I see a reverence for other historic architectural styles, like how "Specimen AO38" is reminiscent of perhaps a Gothic cathedral or an old schoolhouse. Does that ring true?
I was thinking a lot about church architecture, shrines, and stupas when I designed the enclosure for "Specimen." Since the installation is in such a large room with soaring ceilings, I wanted to direct the attention to the tiny object, or specimen, and elevate its importance while at the same time protect it from handling. The somewhat arcane structure that I built to frame "Specimen A038" evokes Victorian and Gothic Revival architecture and spiritualism. With limited viewpoints and a focused spotlight above, much like an oculus, it is reverent and troubling at the same time, and also feels scientifically engineered. Organic technology is present.
"Specimen A038" (Ben Cort, Jeff Jahn)
"Angular Wall Piece" also creates a Gothic chapel feel, especially with the cathedral ceiling of the Belluschi-designed room. I chose to have all of the skylights covered except for one, just above the piece, to accentuate the verticality and be somewhat suggestive, but not explicit about what the object actually could be. There have been several interpretations, such as crucifix, doorbell, resting bird or bat, or some sort of omniscient being.
"Angular Wall Piece" (Jeff Jahn)
I know in the catalog interview you talked with curator Grace Kook-Anderson about making that Belluschi-designed space in the Portland Art Museum your own by manipulating the skylights and other moves to establish your own atmosphere. But did this experience, of using the building as a backdrop and inspiration, impact how you see this work of architecture, or Belluschi in general? When the exhibit closes, will you feel differently about his design(s) than before the exhibit opened?
As a space, the gallery is very idiosyncratic and required many visits to get a feeling for how to best use it. I have a very intuitive process. I made multiple prototypes and foam core models and brought them in on several occasions to see how they felt in the space. I wanted to make sure the proportions worked with the architectural details in the most optimal way. There were some features of the space that I initially didn’t want to highlight because I didn’t think they would work well with my installation, but I ended up incorporating them into the overall design and grew to like them.
An important aspect of Belluschi’s designs are the use of light. One thing I admired about another of his buildings nearby, Zion Lutheran Church, is the use of compressed light, which is something I often use in my own work and initially came into contact with in Paul Schweikher’s buildings. My ceiling-based video installation, "Convocation," functions by compressing and releasing light in the form of video projection at various eye levels on all four walls of the APEX gallery. The quiet dimness of the room, due to closing off the skylights, sets off the haunting swarm video footage of murmurating swifts surrounded by white light.
Zion Lutheran Church (Jeff Jahn)
When I designed the video’s enclosure, I made numerous models to test out the shape, settling on the five-sided structure that resulted with angles nearly mirroring those of the pitch of the ceiling. Through a series of studio studies, I had determined that a four-sided structure would be dull and six sides would look toy-like or too closely resemble a honeycomb. Very few things are built with five sides, so this gave it a kind of arcane otherness. The way the paired circles of video punctuates the space is almost musical, slightly like the rhythmic way Belluschi built the punctuations of light in the otherwise heavy walls of Zion Lutheran church.
I also mix the cues of the scientific, sacred, and domestic so, unlike an architect or an interior designer, I’m unmooring the programmatic cues of the space. This gives the space a surreal or supernatural feeling and leaves space for the viewer to conduct some investigation of their own devising. The viewer gets to complete the circle.
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