Christine Rebhuhn

BIO

Christine Rebhuhn (b. 1989 in Mount Vernon, Iowa) is a Queens based sculptor. She received an MFA in ceramics from Cranbrook Academy of Art in 2015. She has had solo exhibitions at Thierry Goldberg Gallery in New York, NY, NARS Foundation in Brooklyn, NY, Soo Visual Arts Center in Minneapolis, and at Makeshift in Kalamazoo, MI. Her work has been included in group shows at Tiger Strikes Asteroid, Brooklyn, NY, the Boiler in Brooklyn, NY and at Stove Works in Chattanooga, TN; she also exhibited at the 2015 Gyeonggi International Ceramics Biennale in Incheon, Korea. She has been an artist-in-residence at the Vermont Studio Center (VT), Elsewhere (NC), NARS Foundation (NY), and Makeshift (MI). Her work was published in ArtMaze Magazine, Maake Magazine, and Artspace Magazine.

ARTIST STATEMENT

“But no matter how many scenes arose in your imagination, in between them there was always enough time to be nothing but a bird, you didn’t even know what kind.” -Rainer Maria Rilke

When two things meet each other for the first time, the most unexpected resonances happen simply from being coupled; it’s as if some objects are fated to be together through an inexplicable, uncanny order. I want to show you some effortless thing, and have you forget how arduous it must have been to get it here, like this. It’s hard for me to ask you to see what was so funny about it, or even try to explain what I saw in the beginning, but I will remove what’s in the way and make it a little easier to witness the moment that destined it all to be together.

Interview with Christine Rebhuhn

Can you tell us a bit about your background and how you became interested in becoming an artist? Who or what were some of your most important early influences?

I’m from Mount Vernon, Iowa. Now it seems like a real blessing that I grew up in a small place, because it took me a long time to open up. I found harbor in art projects while I was socially pretty terrified.

When I was eleven, I started to work with Lynn, a woman who set up a pottery studio in her cellar basement on Main Street. She left the door open for me in the evenings, and I could just go down there and throw pots next to her cats.

During my high school years, I painted musical theater sets with one other student, working on the backdrops for shows like “Oklahoma,” “Guys and Dolls,” and “Fiddler on the Roof.” It was incredible to me that we could walk into the hardware store, choose the color of the sky, and charge everything to the school account. I’d never had so much fun in my life.

There were many people who valued art in my town, but very few who built their livelihoods around it. A renowned studio potter named Clary Illian lived in a town nearby, and I became pretty fascinated by her. When I was in my early twenties, I went over to her house for lemonade, and it truly felt like I was meeting a celebrity. I think her life is so remarkable because she’s in charge of her own time, and her values are completely obvious.

Where are you currently based and what initially attracted you to working in this place? Are there any aspects of this specific location or community that have inspired aspects of your work?

I’ve been living in New York City for the last five years, mostly around Ridgewood, Queens. When I moved here, I felt a sudden infusion of friendship that helped me to transcend the frustrations of adjusting to the city. I still like orienting this way, prioritizing who is with me.

Can you describe your studio space? What are some of the most crucial aspects of a studio that make it functional? Do any of these specific aspects directly affect your work?

I work in a shared space, divided in four, with an adjacent woodshop. My practice has benefited a lot from being in a shared environment with expert builders, because I like to talk (exhaustively sometimes) about how to make something before I really get started. By the time I actually finish a project, my neighbors probably know all about it.

What is a typical day like? If you don't have a typical day, what is an ideal day?

I put a lot of protection around the early morning hours of the day, because it’s my favorite time to read, and exercise, and space out, and imagine things. I rarely skip this part.

At the studio, I might be sanding, building frames, or making a hundred porcelain leaves. I enjoy the repetitive tasks that recede into the background, allowing my mind to wander while I plan out the more difficult moves.

I like to end the day by really looking at the sculptures I am working on, and if I end up lingering a little before shutting the lights off, that’s a pretty good sign.

What gets you in a creative mindset?

I start almost every day reading poetry, which really helps me to open my mind in the right way.

What criteria do you follow for selecting materials? How long have you worked with this particular media or method?

I use a lot of objects that exist already, so I try to ask myself whether the design is exactly how I want it to be. And if it’s not, I’ll make it —often in wood.

I occasionally use photography in my sculptures, which allows me to change the scale of imagery, or flip it around. I’ve also started to print photos on metal, which gives some rigidity to work with.

The flowers, leaves, and branches are made of porcelain; this material isn’t exactly the most practical, but it’s gorgeous and fragile and keeps things exciting.

I’ve used wood, metal, plastic, photography, and ceramics in my work pretty consistently since I began graduate school, almost ten years ago.

Can you walk us through your overall process? How long has this approach been a part of your practice?

I can get caught up in the heat of the moment pretty easily, chasing down an object that I’m looking for. I’ve found myself negotiating as if my life depends on it. The event itself becomes incorporated into the work for me, because that moment of urgency distills what is important and what is not. I might be having a lot of fun on a Tuesday afternoon.

When an object or piece of furniture enters my studio, it’s likely been cast as an element of sculpture already. I have to start problem solving, figuring out the best way to let it rest on, support, or contain something else. I like shifting between states of rapture and practicality; the oscillation is important, to resist dwelling in either.

Can you talk about some of the ongoing interests, imagery, and concepts that have informed your process and body of work over time? How do you anticipate your work progressing in the future?

I’m motivated to find the nature of a moment, to learn more from a feeling I thought I understood. I use objects as vehicles for that discovery, and some of them keep returning:

I use structures from everyday life, especially furniture. When stripped down, it can hold something unpredictable.

Creatures, in photographs or taxidermy, have let me enter a perspective that’s not entirely my own. The animals also bring life and color that’s restricted in other places.

Instruments have so much potential energy, I love to fill a room with just that.

The grey porcelain flowers are so delicate, I break them all the time. They’re made by hand, which allows me to find very subtle gestures in their arrangement. It appears as if the color has been sucked out of them.

Restraint is pretty powerful. I find that a little move goes a long way. I approach my work one piece at a time, so it’s difficult to imagine how it will evolve, but I hope it gets weirder.

Do you pursue any collaborations, projects, or careers in addition to your studio practice? If so, can you tell us more about those projects, and are there connections between your studio practice and these endeavors?

I was previously curating exhibitions at an artist-run space in Brooklyn called Wick Gallery, founded by me and three other artists: Sam Branden, Sol Erez, and Logan Myers. We ended the project at the time of the pandemic, but I’ve never had such an expansive, wild collaboration. I’m really proud of the shows we put together during that time. More recently, I had the opportunity to work with Logan again when he made the catalogue for my solo exhibition “The Breeze Will Kill Me” at Thierry Goldberg. I feel so lucky that we were able to work together in a new way, because his design skills are incredible and I loved the process.

As a result of the pandemic, many artists have experienced limited access to their studios or loss of exhibitions, income, or other opportunities. Has your way of working (or not working) shifted significantly during this time? Are there unexpected insights or particular challenges you’ve experienced?

I’ve retrieved a few things from the tidal wave of losses, most importantly a stronger commitment to my own intuition. Knowing what I want has helped me work harder for it.

Can you share some of your recent influences? Are there specific works—from visual art, literature, film, or music—that are important to you?

I built my most recent solo show around a song I love, “The Breeze/My Baby Cries” performed by Bill Callahan, and originally written by Kath Bloom. I feel like I could listen to it forever without knowing it completely.

Who are some contemporary artists you’re excited about? What are the best exhibitions you’ve seen in recent memory and why do they stand out?

Aricelis Girmay and Ocean Vuong are two of my favorite poets.

Michael E. Smith, Rosemarie Trockel, Robert Gober, and Mark Manders have been some of my favorite visual artists for a long time, I like being able to see their work change over many years.

I was most affected by the Carrie Mae Weems show at Park Avenue Armory. It was really inspiring to see an artist reach through inner life, and shared life, and history to draw out something so big.

Do you have any tips or advice that someone has shared with you that you have found particularly helpful?

The artist Anton Reijnders once said to me “you have to enjoy being alone with your work.” I’m not sure if that was true for me when he said it, but it is now.

What are you working on in the studio right now? What’s coming up next for you?

I’ve been woodcarving a series of turtle shells. My studio neighbors are master woodcarvers, so I’m getting some expert advice.

I have absolutely no idea what’s next.

Anything else you would like to share?

Just thank you. It’s so nice to be asked about my work, it means a lot.

To find out more about Christine Rebhuhn check out her Instagram and website.