The Fall/Winter Edition 2020

DANA KOTLER

Interview by

Lon Levin

"I first paint or make the parts I sense most vividly, and then listen to what I just made and figure out how to proceed and where it can take me."

"Figuring out for what I find significant in art, and changing my mind about prior convictions got me a lot closer to sensing what I truly want from my work."

When did you first think about art as something you wanted to do? Were you encouraged or discouraged by family, friends, teachers, mentors?

I first discovered drawing after a single class in 10th grade. The teacher gave each of us a black and white photograph, told us to flip it upside down and draw what we see. As I began drawing, time vanished, I entirely forgot what the photograph was of, it disintegrated into abstract shapes and the most beautiful transitions of lights and darks. Something clicked in my mind. It was a way of seeing that I was oddly familiar with. At that point I never met an artist and honestly thought that they were all dead, since the museums I’ve been to always listed a birth and death year by each painting.

I found myself drawing more and more, however it wasn’t until my freshman year in college that I met my painting Professor, and later dear friend George Dugan. I never meant to be an artist. I was a molecular biology major and imagined I’ll be a scientist, but as I kept painting, I realized there was no turning back. I was a molecular biology

major and imagined I’ll be a scientist, but as I kept painting, I realized there was no turning back. George spoke and thought differently than anyone I’ve known, he worked, saw and consequently spoke as an artist. He made me realize that the way we see is significant, and that spending time on my work is serious matter, not a guilty indulgence. As I spent more time in the studio, my biology grades dwindled, although I did manage to get the degree for some reason. George was the one person who I am fully obliged to for not only discovering art but being able

"I think that staying the summers with my grandparents has had the most influence on what I do now, they shared with me their natural curiosity and the value of making things."

(Continued)

to hold on to it. Initially my parents were understandably concerned about my decisions, but are absolutely supportive now.

What kind of kid were you? Where did you grow up? What were your influences?

I was born in Odessa, Ukraine, and grew up in Israel, Ukraine and Moldova, relocating to the US to complete my last two years of high school. I found the frequent moves more stimulating than stressful. My parents loved spending a lot of time at work, and since I was the only child I got plenty of alone time, which I absolutely did not mind, in fact, I feel it was crucial for me (and still is). I’ve never been bored.

I am forever grateful to my grandparents. Both of my grandfathers are makers, they build things around the house, and would talk to me about science, show me how to make electrical circuits, carve things, and burn stuff with magnifying glasses. One of my grandmothers was the kind of person who managed to hold on to her childhood, so she was able to partake in my imaginings fully. I think that staying the summers with my grandparents has had the most influence on what I do now, they shared with me their natural curiosity and the value of making things.

How has the background you got at New York Academy of Art played a part in your career?

The Academy was an incredibly valuable turning point in my career. I met some amazing artists who were fellow students, got to know a couple of great professors, loved hearing the visiting speakers, went to China on a residency, and gained quite a bit of technical proficiency which I am very thankful for. The school triggered a major transition in my work. At some point I found myself disagreeing with some of the priorities of the school, which have attracted me there in the first place. Figuring out for what I find significant in art, and changing my mind about prior convictions got me a lot closer to sensing what I truly want from my work, and sticking with it.

Throughout my last semester at the academy my work began undergoing a major transition, which really made itself felt throughout the following year when I was able to work in peace and privacy for a while after receiving the Elizabeth Greenshields Foundation Grant. In the end however, most of the learning takes place after school, when there are no opinions, and you are forced to figure out what is good and worthwhile on your own.

Your work seems to have evolved from detailed and realistic drapery and objects to more flattened visceral imagery with hints of Romaire Bearden in the collaged nature of the pieces. How did that evolve and was that an asset for you or a problem that affected your salability as a fine artist?

Thanks for bringing up Bearden! I love his play of spaces, textures and the way his shapes line up and fit with each other in almost humor like, is simply because building

the piece in fragments allows me to discover it, rather than to plan it. The major reason I enjoy painting fabrics is the fascinating abstraction that they create with their ever changing folds and shadows. At some point I tried to legitimize my excitement with this abstraction, and made whimsical still lifes, overloaded with folding fabrics. The fabrics turned out to be an opportunity for me to show off my painting skills, and I tried making them interesting by using them as stand ins for figures, trees, waves etc. However, I acutely felt the hollowness of the work I was making, and at some point reached a breaking point with it. I decided to try to make something that feels truly meaningful to me, so I abandoned any kind of planning, and dived in armed mainly with intuition. I wanted to abandon the objective of making a “good painting”, and just do what felt important in the moment.

This process was most liberating. Currently, I first paint or make the parts I sense most vividly, and then listen to what I just made and figure out how to proceed and where it can take me, so I am not working towards a goal, but rather figuring out the direction as I move forward. I am intrigued by all the dimensionalities inherent in painting and sculpture and love to explore their different juxtapositions, so flatness, illusion and bulging sculptural elements are incredibly exciting to play with.

I don’t think that the collaged feeling of the works has affected my salability, but I am aware that the flip flopping of space, and the ambiguity of my subject and content can make for a confusing experience for the viewer. I suppose I ask the viewer to do

some work when looking at the piece, which probably shrinks my audience, but I certainly don’t mind that.

How do you stay up to date on styles/process outside of your projects? What do you recommend to younger artists who are just developing their portfolios?

I usually go to see a lot of exhibitions at galleries and museums and try to see what I think I’ll like, what I think I’ll hate, and stuff I don’t know anything about. I think it is quite important to see what is being made, exhibited and discussed, and most importantly try to figure out my own opinion about it. Seeing art is wonderful - outside. HOWEVER when I come in the studio I feel the need to tightly shut the door to all of that, and just do the work. Of course it is not possible to fully get rid of the influences, things I see affect me, so I do have to be careful, but apart from when I’m intentionally stealing, I strongly prefer to try to shut everything away, especially my favorite artists. Otherwise my work will be no fun. I never keep images of anyone’s work, or any art books in my studio, it would drive me crazy.

Can you explain what the experience of working on large scale projects vs smaller pieces is all about?

That’s a great question. I love making large work, it absolutely comes most easily to me, and constitutes the bulk of what I do. I wish it wasn’t such a hassle to lug around, but it is what it is. There is all this space in which to play, to think and feel your way through. Nothing is too much of a mistake, nothing is too important, since there is still so much space to

breath. Also, I feel a strong need to paint things life sized, so whenever I have an anthropomorphic type of character, or a few of them, the painting has to be human sized. The smaller paintings are usually very hard for me, and take forever to click. Every decision feels too important and hard to make. They’re usually fragments, a part of a body. I usually have a few small paintings sitting in very unsatisfactory states, waiting to be figured out. Sometimes something snaps a year later, I change it and it works out, sometimes it gets chopped up into a larger painting, and sometimes it sits there indefinitely waiting for either of these two fates.

Your mixed media look of artwork is great. Love the “The Courage To Hold Three Small Perishables” piece. How did that style end up as something you do a lot of ?

Over the past five years or so, I first got very interested in incorporating various languages of painting and textures within one work. I felt that every part of the piece has to have its own kind of language and/ or material, which is intertwined with the content itself. One day, a very old tube of, I think, Alizarin paint I found somewhere fell apart as I tried to open it, the paint solidified and came out of the tube like a whole tube shaped chunk. I stuck the paint chunk to one painting and made it into a tongue, and removed the metal tip of the tube and made it into a nipple in another painting. That simple experience was something of a revelation to me. Gradually I began to glue pieces of failed paintings into the work, experiment with thick sculptural paint, and with sticking other objects into it. I love sneaking in unexpected materials that you wouldn’t notice unless you really look, and also include some

objects that carry personal significance in such a way that you are unlikely to find it unless you know to look for it. It’s a bit like an inside joke or a whisper between me and my painting. I love making materials do things they’re not used to doing, and explore where I can push them. Also, since I’ve been painting for a while, I get thrilled with using new mediums which provide an exciting sense of resistance, allowing me to make something that is not like what I imagined, more like what the material itself wants to do - a kind of cooperation

What’s going on in your head when you work on a piece/campaign? Your fears, anticipation, confidence, etc. How do you know something is finished?

Way too many things run through my head. I alternate between overthinking and not thinking at all. My best work happens when I am not thinking much. My biggest fear happens when I see my own finished work - each piece is done intuitively and seems to be a result of its own internal logic and accidents that I found meaning or beauty in as I worked. I’m always thinking - how can I ever make something like this again? There is just no path or system to fall back on, each time a completely new venture and I’m afraid I won’t be able to make something as good. But then I just work on the new piece and keep hitting at the thing until it finds itself. Almost everything eventually does, it just needs enough time.

My other biggest fear is dishonest work. It is hard to make something honest, and can be hard to catch yourself when you're dishonest

A dishonest decision in the work is what I would consider a “mistake”.

I suppose my only confidence in the process is that I will have a blast with it - discovering, playing, inventing, stealing, absorbing, transmitting, no matter what, no matter how frustrating, complicated, melancholy, or mistake laden. I it will always be fun. How do I know I’m finished? I wish I had a clear answer. I suppose I’m finished when nothing is bothering me about the work, when it feels pulled together. Once I decide I’m finished I feel a sense of detachment from the work, it becomes a separate creature, as though I’m not even sure I actually made the thing, even though I clearly remember making it.

Who if anyone influences your work?

It is hard to filter out the major influences, but here are some that have stayed with me over time, and some that have added recently in no particular order: Dostoyevsky, Edwin Dickinson (I try not to look at him), Comte de Lautreamont (!), Simone de Beauvoir, Nietzsche (can’t get away), lately Marisol Escobar, and always Rothko. It’s hard to select visual artists, there is just too many influences, including drawings by kids, and ads on billboards. Everything is food.

I’m curious about how you choose what to work on. Is there a certain type of project or client you gravitate towards?

It is simple. I choose to work on whatever is on my mind consistently. Whether it is a theological crisisa celebration, or a struggle with the facts of existence, there are plenty of things on my mind, so I’m never out of subject matter. Every now and then it spontaneously distills into some kind of a very loose vision or sense, and then I have something to grab onto when starting a painting.

What do you do to promote yourself and get work?

I suppose the major thing I do is meet people and make friends with the people I like.

What’s the future hold for you? Any ultimate goal?

I am naturally skeptical about any form of certainty. I see the future in general as a form of hope. If I were to take the liberty to imagine a future, I would imagine that I manage to make work that is truly mine, where I can play out my life. I’m learning to do that. Also, again, despite my skepticism, I have some very ambitious hopes for humanity. I wish art, would be a bigger part of our culture, and I wish we took more time to figure out what is important in life, and nurture it, rather than let time slip away in absorbing someone else’s meaningless pursuits, in a distracted existence. Although it may sound naïve, I am confident that every single one of us is capable of it.

If you could meet anyone in the field you’re in who would it be and why?

Slava Polunin. This winter I went to see his show in New York, and he brought me to tears (of joy). I came down to the stage and we had the most wonderful hug. His clown makeup was smearing and he smelled of sweat. I would love to be his friend.