Lindsey Filowitz

BIO

Lindsey Filowitz (b. 1989, Brooklyn, NY) is an image-based media and installation artist, photographer, performer, and illustrator. Her work has been exhibited in San Francisco, New York, and Los Angeles, as well as internationally throughout the United Kingdom. She received her BFA in Photography from Bard College in 2011. Lindsey currently lives and works in Oakland, CA.

STATEMENT

These images were made before breathing the same air as a stranger could kill you. Connection, once dangerous yet thrilling, is now contagious and perhaps deadly. I met these men on Tinder, invited them into my home, and then we both got naked, embraced, and made the photographs I call “Entanglements.” This project got me banned from the dating app in 2018.

Two individuals are communicating through their contorted limbs. A performance as both process and result, I wanted to push the boundaries of photography by using it as a tool for abstraction. The work was an attempt to regain control of my body as a woman - I’m doing the looking, shooting, thinking, decision-making, which inherently reverses the typical gender role of the female muse. By using my own naked body, I level out the power play: both photographer and subject are vulnerable.

“Entanglements” are paired with pressed flowers arranged on paper. A flower’s blossom forever fades - some wither and wilt, while others droop drop or dry. Sometimes their heads hang down as if they are sad or ashamed. These moldy flowers embody the ephemeral nature of relationships, and how we are left only with the impression of another after they have gone. “Impressions” symbolize the memories of our loved ones lost.

Interview with Lindsey Filowitz

Written by Andreana Donahue

Can you tell us a bit about your background and how you became interested in becoming an artist? What were some early influences?

I was raised by two musician and artist parents. My dad is a rocker, my mom lives for jazz and my ears were every day enlightened by some combination of either genre. Childhood was spent learning through the halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, with a particular focus on 19th and 20th Century Masters like Picasso and Van Gogh. It was in high school that I learned about Frida Kahlo, and her work changed my understanding of what artistic expression could be: personal, emotional, vulnerable, feminine.

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

I am based in Oakland, California, and I’ve lived here for 10 years. Coming from New York, a city that cherishes and values art, I knew that I wanted to move somewhere that had similar principles. I liked the idea of being closer to nature while also maintaining city girl tendencies. San Francisco seemed like a good option, and I knew that photo opportunities were out here. I wouldn’t say that my work is anything about this geographical place, although I do take a lot of snapshots of my friends at the beach, on the cliffs, in the trees, or with succulents in the background.

Can you tell us about your studio space? What are some of the most crucial aspects of a studio that make it workable for you?

My studio is one of the two bedrooms in my Victorian apartment. I’ve been super fortunate to have a live-work space during this pandemic. It’s not huge, but I’ve made the most of it by building shelves inside the closet to house my negatives, prints, gear, equipment, and framed work. I’m not a “studio photographer,” so the space often feels like an art office where I use Photoshop. I’ve tried to make it warm and thought-provoking by displaying elements, whether framed or sculptural, from a variety of past projects. I’ve got this bloody wedding dress that I wore to a Halloween party as an “axed-wife” – at the time I was dipping my toes into performance and regularly going to my piano bar to sing alone. The Halloween party had a music room, and I somehow made this captivating performance where people were chanting with me. It was liberating and a different experience as an artist who usually controls every element before releasing. The event wasn’t filmed or even photographed, so all that’s left is the memory and the dress, hanging in my studio.

Bloody wedding dress in Lindsey's studio.

What is a typical day like? What gets you in a creative groove? 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? What are you working on in the studio right now? What’s coming up next for you?

I wake up and all I want to do is go back to sleep. I snooze more times than I care to admit and then I email with one eye open. I meditate while I boil a pot of water for coffee, and then I get to work, as a Creative Producer for a Biotechnology company founded by two artists. I’ve always utilized the money-making job in my unlucrative art practice. I used to work at a photography gallery, which expanded my understanding of a photograph, taught me the ins and outs of the art business, and made me lots of connections. My current position has given me the skills to execute and produce large projects – such as Donkey Talks: 50 Blue Conversations – where I undertook the massive feat of interviewing 50 different Democratic voters from each of the 50 U.S. States. I would not have even known the first thing about approaching a project with so many moving parts if it weren’t for my experience as a Creative Producer. I try to remember this if I’m having a hard day at work.

My art gets made after work, on the weekends, or if I take time off. Before I commit, I think about it a lot. Always thinking, any time, and who knows when an idea will come to me. It often happens before bed. Sometimes I think about projects sporadically for years. Interiors are a recurring motif and years ago I had a few dialogues with myself about photographing lobbies. I was interested in how varied the design can be, but more importantly, there’s something to the idea of waiting. The impetus wasn’t strong enough or worth developing so the idea just sat (in my waiting room). Anyway, I’ve been seriously struggling to find a therapist and I remembered this project, wondering what it would be like if I photographed psychologist waiting rooms specifically, or even better, all the past offices that I’ve sat in, or further yet – self-portraits within them? I may never see this idea through, but my process is long and slow, and hardship or anguish usually ignites creativity for me.

There are so many different kinds of days in art-making because my practice is varied. Shooting days are invigorating and I’m in some kind of acute brain zone – I see the world in pictures. If I’m going to perform, I spend hours beforehand thinking about what I could possibly wear and which version of me I should be. I watch a lot of videos about the certain character I aim to enhance within myself, and sometimes I even make life decisions that I think would make for a better performance because of empathy (is this what they call method acting?). Many days, unfortunately, are the computer monotony of an Adobe Suite program for which I enhance with a joint and some form of audio. I find that pot helps with the dullness of the computer work, but creatively it has brought me to the formulation of many project ideas.

For the “Entanglements” work displayed here, I invited the men I met online over to my house after work. We would share a bottle of wine and talk about all kinds of things for about an hour so that it felt more comfortable. We got naked and staged different abstract positions. I set up my Fuji 645 on a tripod with a flash and self-timer, and we had to jump into place fast! After each session, I felt an overwhelming sense of emotional exhaustion.

The “Impressions” were all flowers that I collected from the farmers market or occasionally I repurposed gifts. I would fold them into stacks of paper, having to often replace because there was so much moisture. I kept them under two heavy boxes of prints. The reveal weeks later was always an exciting surprise - the Impressions could be covered in green mold, or other times they were flat and flakey. Sometimes, they’d be just the perfect amount of both.

I’m always finding ways to engage in projects that are “in addition to my studio practice.” They then just become a part of my practice, which presently stands undefined. I used to make zines with emo illustrations in them and hand-made photo books. I’ve also had this lifelong ritual of making collage cards for my parents for each of their birthdays and Christmas respectively. I’m slowly working on this Spanish covers EP / visual album with Gregory Roberts, another boiling desire of an idea. It’s fun and silly to translate (!) and sing (!). The musical collaborative element is strange and it’s exciting hearing Greg’s renditions of my chosen songs. The sending and receiving of different versions of instrumental and vocal tracks is its own form of communication, one where we build upon the other’s input and toward the sum of two parts.

In 2019, Matty Lynn Barnes asked me to document her transition and healing from M to F reassignment surgeries: vaginoplasty and facial feminization. She was inspired by my previous work about the institution of beauty and places with a mission of altering physical appearance. Our current collaboration is deeply personal, grotesque, and intimate, and together we attempt to destigmatize the notion of transgender through her transforming image. This is the first time I’ve collaborated with a subject over an extended period of time, and navigating with another is inherently different than a solitary operation. It’s a great learning experience to expand my way of working. Matty and I have become such good friends in the process, an invaluable gift I never would have anticipated and greatly cherish.

What criteria do you follow for selecting materials? Do you prefer to maintain a narrow focus or work across diverse media? How do you navigate the limitations and possibilities that result from this path?

I make color pictures. I use film but I am not particular about the size of or kind of camera. My teeny Contax point and shoot is choice when I’m out and situations are quickly changing, but it will never be able to render fine fine detail. My chunky Mamiya is heavy and requires a tripod, but I can capture the pores in a nose or the veins of a flower petal. I’m a Kodak lifer, but wouldn’t turn down other films if it’s what’s available. I also understand that digital can be much more appropriate and is much less time-consuming. I take digital pictures when I shoot as Creative Producer.

I had this identity crisis when I was 27 because I realized I wasn’t just a photographer — I had jammed myself in a photo box for far too long! Yet, I was afraid to pop out cake it and explore diverging creative potential. I was feeling constrained knowing that a still photograph, or even a grouping, can not always adequately communicate an emotion or statement. I had made a few image-based video and installation projects by 2017 and was finally ready to face a pivotal shift in my practice. The most important thing is to convey the message.

My installations require objects that thematically create ambiance focused on sensation. “Active Death” is a tableau inspired by still-life paintings from the Dutch Golden Age. I wanted it to feel old, decadent, natural, and a bit grotesque. I studied the objects displayed in these 17th Century works — silver platters, tulips, oyster shells, cantaloupes, skulls — and recreated the old with the presence of my hand anew. Everything beautiful eventually dies, and after that death, there is always regrowth.

I am partial to antique and vintage objects and clothing because I appreciate the craftsmanship and ornate details that are no longer integrated into modern aesthetics. I also like the uniqueness of them and the sustainability of secondary life. When I dress for a performance, my attire can almost entirely be conjured from the extensive depths of my closet. There are always a few items necessary to complete the work, however, but I try to acquire stuff I will reuse.

Can you walk us through your overall process? How would you describe your approach to manipulating materials? What about decision-making and editing?

This is a hard question. Because my practice is diverse, I don’t know if there is one singular way I approach process. Extensive thinking occurs before I decide to pursue a project or make the next move in all cases. I formulate ideas while meditating, slightly sedated, in nature alone, or driving. They simmer for a while as I ask myself: is this worth perusing? What will I gain from the experience? Will the work help others? Is it realistic to produce? What materials do I need? Is it stupid? Am I stupid? Does it matter? I sit on the idea more, spending a great deal of time mentally working through how the project will look and develop before I take the next tangible step.

Sometimes, research is required, whether to find the appropriate subject (person or place) or to make an arrangement that will allow access. I start obtaining materials, making calls, and appointing my calendar.  If I’m photographing, I’ve got a heavy Pelican case that I need to puzzle pack with gear, and a stair rolling cart to help manage the weight of all that, a tripod, and sometimes even lights. I lug this into my car.

When I’m shooting for a project it’s like I’m in this tunnel that can only see out as a viewfinder. I’m not sure if I can put it into words exactly, but it’s as though nothing else exists when I’m in creation mode. Perhaps this is what the definition of hyper-focus is. I see lines, light, shadows, color, texture — all details being processed at once to make a clickable composition.

I usually wait on the negatives a while because I feel that distance is necessary to objectively look for worth – otherwise, I get too caught up in the way I felt when I was making the pictures. I ship big batches to Dwayne’s Photo in Kansas, because shooting film is terribly expensive, and I also need to get 4x6 c-prints with each roll. I sit with the small prints and review them several times before making a group of selects. Another round of this and eventually these are the images I have chosen to scan. After discovering the Imacon’s quality, I am unable to accept any lesser. Scanning is boring and then there’s all this Photoshopping that is spotting, and mask selections, and color balancing and density contrast monitoring blah blah blah that happens after. This part is actually very difficult, and I often find it excruciating to get past it. This must be why famous artists or rich people have assistants.

I finally get prints out of the Epson, put them away for a little, and try not to think about it too much. I pull it back out, look at it again, think more: did that work? Should this be changed? What to add? What really sucks? Rearrange, add, subtract - go at it again.

Here is where I seek feedback from other artists about which picture is strongest, best composed, most visually interesting, or evokes emotion. I respond best to criticism because knowing what isn’t working proposes an opportunity for improvement. I process the feedback, rip it up, throw it into the trash, take it out and glue the pieces back together. Repeat.

The above regimen can be reappropriated for each medium I work in — the software and the materials are different, but the workflow is generally the same. Killing your darlings is hard, but eventually, I have a good group of pieces that become a project ready for exhibition, whether I like it or not.

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

I use my art practice to consider being human with a conscious mind and an aging body. I make work about places, objects, and people in the process of transformation. The one constant in this life is change and I’m interested in it because it’s inevitable to each and every individual and it’s also often painful. Making art is really just a way for me to process my own life and explore questions or concepts further than I could solely with my thinking brain.

Interiors have always had a place in my work. Rooms and wall confines are analogous to the architecture of the mind in my view. I also tend to incorporate flowers, because their life cycle is easy to capture photographically – they are beautiful when alive, but soon, their process of dying can act as a visual throughline for change.

There might be a tinge (or even a dollop) of sadness or angst in my work. My performance is comedic and silly, but there is also the darkness. I strive to incorporate a deeper message or educational element with the intention of provoking. I made an instructional goth Diva Cup review for my “Quarantime” series during the lockdown. Some of my work addresses the female role in society, and I question established systems that dictate how a woman should look, act or appear.

Who knows what the future will bring, but hopefully fruitful and fulfilling projects!

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? What puts a damper on your groove?

I am extremely fortunate to have maintained my job through this pandemic. It’s paid for the studio bedroom in my apartment. The irony is that my paid work requires a lot of creative and emotional energy, and I often feel too burnt out to make art. I fluctuate between a life of struggling to pay the bills with plenty of time, or no time and enough resources. Finding this balance will probably be a continued pursuit that I hopefully settle soon.  

This period of isolation and insularity has made me realize how necessary communication with other artists – and actually experiencing art in the flesh – is for inspiration. I’ve sunken into a major lull over the last few months and I am attributing it to a lack of artistic exposure. I’m sick of watching Zoom videos and could care less about virtual images or exhibitions (despite making them). I’ve always understood myself to be a person who works well in solitude, but this connection dearth is next level. Things are opening back up again and I’m eager to revitalize that which makes me feel alive.

In a time that seems to be marked by uncertainty, collective anxiety, and increasing social unrest, why do you think the perspectives and contributions of artists remain meaningful?

This year has forced us all to reconsider what is important. 2020 is the demise of public health, a global outcry for racial justice, destructive climate change, and threatened American Democracy – how could we not reevaluate our priorities? Now more than ever have I felt that my artistic contributions are meaningless, but all it takes is one voice from an affected person to make it feel worth it again. If I can create something that is a catalyst for growth or taps into an emotive place, I have succeeded. Art can be thought-provoking, comforting, triggering, visually appealing, evocative, disconcerting, attractive, weird, easy, funny, fun, difficult, [insert adjective here]. I value art because it has limitless potential, and as long as it maintains its ability to move people, it will always remain meaningful.

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 am going to be honest and confess that I have not felt excited about anything lately due to complete cultural repression, and particularly not the work that used to sustain me. In the beginning of the pandemic, I was thinking a lot about the governess character in gothic American literature, and how her relationship to the house becomes a psychological nightmare. I read “The Haunting of Hill House” (Shirley Jackson), “Jane Eyre” (Charlotte Brontë), and Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories. Here’s an excerpt from “The Haunting of Hill House:”

Around them the house steadied and located them, above them the hills slept watchfully, small eddies of air and sound and movement stirred and waited and whispered, and the center of consciousness was somehow the small space where they stood.

Who are some contemporary artists you’re excited about? What are the best exhibitions you’ve seen in recent memory?

This has been an exhibitionless year. I could not get myself to go to art shows despite how much I need them. This attitude has finally begun to shift, and I’m currently in a group show, “Uplift / Heavylift,” at the Berkeley Art Center with some other awesome artists. An exhibition that stood out so tall, strong and shiny, was Isaac Julien’s “Lessons of the Hour” at the McEvoy Foundation. It was a grandiose multi-video installation about Frederick Douglass as told in a series of vignettes depicting his life and internal journey.  

Some contemporary artists that I’ve been interested in lately are Cathy Lu, Simón Malvaez, Phyllis Ma, Laura Rokas, Brontez Purnell (and The Younger Lovers). Musically I’ve been about Babasónicos, Michael Kiwanuka, Kali Uchis, La Doña (and the Adore album by the Smashing Pumpkins – are they contemporary? How many years does contemporary span?). I won’t say more, check them all out for yourself!

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

Don’t expect to ever make money or support yourself financially with your art! Once I gave up on this fantasy, so much stress was alleviated from my life. It means I make everything for myself with no expectations or external pressure.

To find out more about Lindsey Filowitz check out their Instagram and website.