There is something refreshingly retro about Wendy White‘s solo exhibition heart beats dust. The astute shapes, the quirky but grounded palette, the almost off kilter arrangement of the pieces, it all congregates to create this ionic atmosphere that feels brilliantly charged–both condense and spacious all at once. Housed by Gaa Gallery in TriBeCa, heart beats dust conceptually blurs the lines between painting and sculpture. Even alongside traditional abstract sculpture, White’s clear paintings attempt to intermingle with its counterpart and then nonchalantly disorientate its audience in a way that makes us question the separation, questioning the classifications of mediums in art as a whole. It is this very nature of the works that make them so compelling and memorable. It refuses to conform.
White, who grew up in a small town called Deep River, is intentful in her disruptiveness. She purposefully chose the modern plastic aesthetic and skillfully orchestrates the clash between the clear vinyl and the traditional wooden stretch bars. The overall presentation is some signature form of rustic futurism that draws directly from the past. It’s rural and sincere but also has an air of contemporary street-wise snark. You quickly become aware that White is thumbing her nose at the gatekeepers and connoisseurs of art. Yet beneath its too-cool-for-school exterior, heart beats dust is a rebellious effort to find peace in the face of grief. White states that she created these pieces during “a time of huge loss” which adds a poignant layer to the exhibition that isn’t apparent at first glance. This means that heart beats dust is rooted in healing, making the exhibition as therapeutic as it is errant.
Akeem K. Ducan: Tell us about your latest solo exhibition, heart beats dust… What was the process behind this exhibition?
Wendy White: “Grief and pain mostly :/ This show came at a time of huge loss for me; I felt like I was drowning. I had to throw myself into my studio to cope, so there was a lot of research and material testing. I had an emotional impulse to use transparent vinyl. I wanted to start from nothing, and white canvas wasn’t blank enough. My mind’s eye desired nothing. To blur it all out. Clear it. I had to convince myself that I even wanted to make a single mark because nothing felt like it could describe what I longed for, which was just—air. I wanted the stretchers to be visible. It was conceptually really important, not in a Support/Surface kind of way, but as a way of exposing my own emotional urgency. So I had to figure out how to show that it was intentional and content-driven rather than just an aesthetic decision.
I always make work specifically for the gallery space. I made the three big multiple canvas paintings first, decided they weren’t clear enough, trashed them and painted them again. They needed more air. It took forever to get them right. Then it became apparent that tondos were the right shape to flesh them out. A circle is infinite, it can just float on the wall and change the air and space around it. I tested gauges of vinyl against the radius of each size circle to be sure it could be done, and found paints with the right solvent chemistry to bond with the vinyl. I had to figure out how to build circular frames—not easy when sheets of material that can be CNCed max out at 48 inches wide. So they all had to be cut in arcs and joined with dowels in the studio. Is this technical stuff super boring? Anyway, it was weeks of figuring all that out before I even started mapping out what the paintings would actually look like. I had to do it without losing the freshness of the idea.”
AKD: What is the meaning behind its title? What is the intent of heart beats dust?
WW: “I borrowed the title from a 1968 work by Jean Dupuy. I was randomly flipping through a catalog I’ve had in my studio for years from a show at MoMA in 1969 called The Machine as Seen at the End of the Mechanical Age. Dupuy’s piece was just dust activated by the viewers’ heartbeats. It resonated with me. It was intangible, made visible simply by people being alive. Everything from nothing. Perfectly devoid of anything extraneous, but not minimal with a capital M. I loved the way the title could be read in different ways, and since the show was already shaping up to be centered on describing absence through materials, it just made sense to co-opt it.“
AKD: Describe your aesthetic…What are some elements that are present in your work?
WW: “My aesthetic. Hmm. I love a mix of high and low. There’s always a clean, graphic sensibility paired with something that shows the hand or some kind of human touch. Typically my palette is bright with dense jabs of black, but in this show I dipped into some pastels because I wanted the paintings to feel like you were seeing them from space, with layers of atmosphere in between. I wanted them to feel detached and a little melancholy yet warmly familiar, like faded t-shirts. I was thinking of a used universe where everything has been repurposed or recycled, as if the graphics and the frames are the only things that lasted—the only things that remain in focus. The logos are pulled from surf and skate brands, car racing etc, manipulated and combined into personal messages in a concrete poetry kind of way. They communicate with the viewer through a clumsy system of nostalgia and quasi-recognition. How do you communicate when the usual lines are shut down and inoperable? Asking for a friend.”
AKD: Your work seems to have a hint of rebellion. Is there any truth to that?
WW: “Yeah, is it that obvious? I despise most traditional things and I don’t like rules. I’ve never seen the point because it’s all so arbitrary. Who made the rules, anyhow? I’m alive, I have a pulse, so why make anything unless it’s brand spanking new and adds a contemporary viewpoint? I am not a purist about anything in my life. I want to live among new ideas, and I have a ruthlessly forward-thinking agenda.”
AKD: There are also some automotive leanings in your pieces. Are you into car culture?
WW: “I am. I have two ‘72 Plymouths. I grew up around classic cars—my dad has a collection and was always working on something. Years later I realized that working in the garage is really similar to the studio, and that cars are essentially sculptures with motors. That led to thinking about customization, how cars are extensions of our personalities, especially when they’re modified. Some people have really lame taste in cars, or they don’t care about them at all. I don’t really trust those people. I mean, cars are historically and culturally significant. They’re amazing. They’re real art. Learning how to work on mine has opened my eyes to a world that was always in my periphery. I get it now.”
AKD: Where is your work now compared to where it has been before in your career? How does heart beats dust represent you as an artist now?
WW: “Good question. I hope I’ve managed to maintain the level of investigation and experimentation that I had when I started out. I think I have? I’m still really curious. I’m a better craftsperson, that’s for sure, and I own more expensive tools. But I’m still extremely DIY.
I think this current show is the most personal one I’ve ever done. It’s me at this moment—really vulnerable, having lost people close to me, having absorbed and internalized a lot of things that I didn’t think I could ever withstand, having had some hopes smashed to smithereens. That’s why I started with clear vinyl. I wanted everything to be new; to start over. It’s not possible to start clean, but it’s fun to try.”
heart beats dust is on display at Gaa Gallery (4 Cortlandt Alley, New York, NY 10013) in TriBeCa until July 3rd!
Akeem is our founder. A writer, poet, curator and profuse sweater, he is responsible for the curatorial direction and overall voice of Quiet Lunch. The Bronx native has read at venues such as the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, KGB Bar, Lovecraft and SHAG–with works published in Palabra Luminosas and LiVE MAG13. He has also curated solo and group exhibitions at numerous galleries in Chelsea, Harlem, Bushwick and Lower Manhattan.