Samantha Buchanan

ARTIST STATEMENT

My work is born from a strong interest in sensory systems, more specifically, the perceptual qualities of light and color. As a means of exploring these two visual elements I often incorporate materials that are highly sensitive to ambient situations, such as screens, mesh, and other perforated textiles. This is in part due to a screen's unique ability to be either an opaque or transparent medium depending on variations in environmental context. Shifts in a person’s angle of view, changes in light from the time of day, or movement caused by airflow, all render the viewing experience differently. In this sense, there is an endless possibility of potential interactions with the work. Such a multifaceted viewing experience highlights not only the inherent subjectivity of perception, and all the uncertainty that this entails, but also the pleasure that can be derived from tenuous and ephemeral relations with light and color.

Interview with Samantha Buchanan

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 was raised by very thoughtful and supportive parents, both distinctly creative in their own right. While I was growing up in Chicago, my parents were adamant that I experience the diversity of cultural benefits my urban environment had to offer, but they also made a point of taking me outside of the city and into more bucolic landscapes. This was mostly achieved through summer road trips, which I loved (except for I-70 through Kansas, sorry Kansas, but that’s one mighty flat road). I believe my parents taught me how to notice the smaller details of various environments and now that way of looking is an essential part of my artistic process.

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 spend most of the year in Reno, Nevada. My partner and I are both educators and we moved here several years ago for work. I didn’t know much about the area before I arrived but living here has been a pleasant surprise. The high desert is a lovely place with many magical qualities that inform my work—the colors of the arid hills, the plant life, and the sky are the first things that come to mind. Sometimes, during summer sunsets, the color in the sky is so saturated that it’s almost as if you can *feel* the weight of the pink in the air. Last year I drove a couple of hours north to Massacre Rim, a dark sky sanctuary, to watch the Perseid meteor-shower. Most of the meteors streaked across the sky, as they do, but others appeared as quick bursts of multi-colored light. I feel like I’ve seen a fair number of meteor showers in my day, but none that looked like this. On that same trip north, when the wind was at its strongest, it sounded as if I was surrounded by women and children laughing. It was such a unique and eerie sensory experience and one that now makes me consider Nevada’s frequent afternoon zephyrs in a different way.

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 converted my garage into my studio a couple of years ago. I sacrificed space for convenience, but I really enjoy being able to roll out of bed and get right to work. The studio has two garage doors—a more traditional one in the front and a large glass door in the back that leads directly into the yard. When the backdoor is open, small birds often fly in and sit next to me on my studio plants. I love it when they tilt their heads in such a way as to suggest an interest or curiosity in what I’m making. Working in this hybrid indoor/outdoor space has aided in my observations of how the materials I use respond to variations in environmental context, such as airflow and the angle of sunlight. In the warmer months many of the native plants in the yard produce very strong but pleasant fragrances. Though scent is currently not a sensory system I explore in my creative practice, it does contribute to my own personal associations with light and color and perhaps that is reflected in the work as well.

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

I suppose I have three types of days: studio days, teaching days, and other days that tend to involve outdoor activities. An ideal studio day would start very early, when I’m still half asleep and am able to let the waning parts of my subconscious dictate my decisions. On this ideal day I would work, music playing, for several hours, stopping occasionally for snacks or maybe a brief nap, until either I lost the natural light, or felt like I needed to step away from the project to reflect on how it was coming along. Dinner would be fried-avocado tacos.

What gets you in a creative mindset?

Travel, walking, and laying on the ground staring at plants from the bottom up.

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

I began working with perforated materials in grad school almost by accident. I was using origami mesh paper as a means of transferring a grid pattern to a photopolymer plate. While arranging the papers I noticed how the different colors of mesh interacted with one another in unique ways depending on the order in which the colors were stacked. Some arrangements were opaque, others more transparent, some produce dynamic moiré patterns, others just a slight shimmer or nothing at all. I was too far along in my existing MFA thesis project to shift gears, so I kept my experimentations with this new media to a small scale—cutting and layering the mesh into different arrangements in a corner of my studio wall. The summer after grad school I jumped from working with 6in x 6in origami mesh to using 6ft x 6ft fiberglass window screen. Since then, I have worked with a variety of hole-filled materials in a range of different scales. Guipure lace, perforated sheet metal, and utility mesh are just a few examples.

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

My process depends a lot on the project. When I’m working with print media, like in the Party Animal series, I typically start by identifying and then mixing the specific ink colors with which I’ll be working. Often these colors are inspired by elements from my direct surroundings, but more recently I’ve started incorporating colors from memories of previous spaces as well. Color mixing is definitely the most rigid aspect of my process. Once the colors are established and the ink is applied, I approach the project in a much more intuitive manner, layering and adjusting the screens until I achieve the desired amount of vibration and luminosity.

When working on installation pieces, like my semi-recent project, Modular Visions, my process is a bit different. Patterns are the starting point for these works. Although I have relied on mechanical assistance in the past, I usually prefer to hand cut the patterns into the mesh, which can be time consuming depending on the scale of the work and the intricacies of the design. Not all my installation projects are intended to be site-specific, but when they are, the quality and duration of light, as well as the existing colors of the space, play a large role in my selection of the hue and value of the ink or paint. If I can, I like to spend a good deal of time observing the site before applying color to the mesh.

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?

My continuing goal is to draw attention to the partial and contingent nature of perception and foreground the dynamic capacity of art to mediate our environments. I aim to create sensory experiences in which the audience is surprised by what they see, one in which their perception of the work seems unexplainable or magical.

When I first began exploring these ideas I was focused on the bodily experiences of each individual viewer and how their unique encounters with the work shaped their interpretation of what they were seeing. My objective was to create a shared context through art that would enable us to acknowledge that there is no truth, per se, to perception, and instead it is always in flux and changing depending on the characteristics of viewer and shifts in environmental contexts.

In recent years I have grown less focused on the individual viewer and instead think of the members of an audience as more of an aggregate. I question how, as human beings, do we experience the work? I include myself in this aggregated version of the audience, yet, ironically my work has felt more personal since doing so and perhaps more playful. I like to ask myself how I would view the work if we were another animal with different physical characteristics and different sensory abilities. I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of ghosts and panpsychism. If I were able to change my approach to cognition, would I be able to see a spirit sitting next to me or hear the plants talking to each other?

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 view my process as a very solitary and personal experience, so I don’t often collaborate on studio projects. That said, I was recently asked if I would be interested in including an installation piece in a poetry performance. When constructing installations, I am primarily focused on how the perforated materials veil the existing landscape—transforming but also partnering with the space. Adding a human body, in this case a poet, and their voice to that landscape has a lot of interesting potential.

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 worked a bit less with print media during the pandemic and instead focused more time on the painted mesh installations that I had begun a few years earlier. It had been a while since I worked at that scale and it felt good to once again be staring at large, highly saturated, colored screens. By not relying on a printmaking press, the process also enabled me to work outdoors frequently, which is something I really valued during a time when so much of life was spent on Zoom.

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

In addition to being an educator, my partner is also a musician. I feel lucky to live in a house that is always filled with evolving sounds. Whether he is noodling around on the guitar or working on a more structured project for his band, his musical contribution to our daily lives certainly influences what is happening in my studio. I’m also partial to 80’s music—Pet Shop Boys & New Order make everything better.

Lately my interest in what we can and cannot experience through our sensory systems has had me thinking a lot about the idea of spirits and what, if anything, comes after death. Luminous Through the Mist, a recent work by Casey Bell, is a wonderful short story about a possible afterlife scenario. Spoiler…there’s a floating couch involved.

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?

There are so many, but Lauren Clay, Molly Greene, Ryan Mrozowski, Isabella Cuglievan, and Tauba Auerbach are the first people that come to mind. I’m really looking forward to seeing Auerbach’s SFMOMA exhibition, S v Z.

I’m also particularly drawn to printmakers who work with color in interesting ways. Sarah Smelser, Takuji Hamanaka, Jeffrey Dell, Mike Sonnichsen, Karen Lederer, and Nick Satinover are just a few of the contemporary printmakers whose work I find inspirational. I recently read an interview with Satinover where he talked about ink as “layered color films” and I thought that description was just so spot on.

I’m fortunate to have taught many talented students over the past few years, but recently I’ve worked with three students who are making particularly complex and thoughtful work: Josh Galarza, Adam Benedict, and Hannah Huntley. Being in a print studio with them feels like binge watching a really well-written show—as soon as it’s over you look to see if there will be another season and, in a similar manner, I can’t wait to see what these artists will produce next.

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

Many moons ago, when I was really struggling with a career decision, my friend Sarah Lidgus advised me to surround myself with kind people whose company I enjoy and let the rest fall into place. That may be easier said than done, but every time I make a point of following that advice, things seem to turnout well.

When I was in my early 20’s a mentor gave me Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet. I’m not sure that this collection of letters counts as advice, but it was certainly something that I reflected upon frequently as I began my career as an artist.

Along those same lines of artistic reflection, I love this poem by Rebecca Bridge:

HOW YOU CAN SAY WHAT YOU REALLY THINK

Understand that words are just little poofs of air husked in a delicate shell of meaning. They will always burst the moment that they are spoken. You cannot change this, you cannot change this. Instead, what you can do is remain patient and know that eventually you’ll be surrounded by a pile of worddust so thick that you’ll be able to doodle your truest beliefs in their word-remains.

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

Perforated materials are still my primary medium, but I’m experimenting with some structural adjustments that might result in the work taking two different directions:

I’m exploring a variety of new wall-mounted and hanging armatures for the printed screens. Eventually I think this will involve welded or brazed metals, but for the time being I’m working with different reeds, sort of himmeli style, to increase the three-dimensional possibilities for the work.

With the outdoor installation projects, I am moving away from the awareness of the materiality of the mesh and armatures and instead embracing how the colors in the work often appear to float in space with no reliance on solid structures. They seem to emerge out of thin air, luminous and shimmery, as if the surrounding plants just burped out the color.

Anything else you would like to share?

I’d like to use this question as a way of giving props to all the amazing art spaces and galleries that have worked so hard to support the creative community during the past couple of years. I think everyone reading this has a venue or organization in their town that has done an excellent job of continuing to provide interesting and diverse exhibitions during the pandemic—whether online or with limited in-person attendance. In my community I’d like to thank window mine gallery, the Holland Project, and Laika Press for continuing to keep Reno rad.

To find out more about Samantha Buchanan check out her Instagram and website.