A conversation between Heidi Schwegler and Sarah Granett on the occasion of Heidi’s show “Who is afraid of matter” at Monte Vista Projects in Los Angeles. 17 September 2023 - Download PDF
Sarah Granett: There’s an invitation for me to put my body into the works in this show which are often partial bodies. Like imaginatively putting on a hand, a pair of knees, stepping into a foot, or the mirrors that mix my image with the imagery of the works. It’s pretty dramatic— And also there’s a reference to fear as a subtext in the works. Is this show a dare?
Heidi Schwegler: That made me chuckle. It totally reminds of that kid’s game ‘Truth or Dare’, and now that you say it, truth or dare might actually play a part in everything I do. Since most of my work is existentialist in nature there are truths that I dare you to consider (I dare you to look). Most of what runs through this work oscillates between notions of mortality, my future broken body and the broken things I notice in the world. ‘It cannot be helped’ (the beaten up piece of cardboard now cast in aluminum) had been trapped between our chain link fence and a creosote bush for about a year. For some reason I never hauled it to the trash, but I would occasionally hear it flapping in the wind. Suddenly one morning I noticed its beauty and brought it into the studio. The brutality and the forces that make up the desert shaped it. Back in 2010 when you and I were artists in residence in Beijing, I once saw a huge pile of something I didn’t recognize at the end of a Hutong. I had to try really hard to see what was in front of me. When I realized it was just a pile of cardboard boxes I was struck with its beauty, mostly because that experience allowed me to see a cardboard box again for the first time. I suppose that’s what I try to do with my work, I dare you to look closer in order to see the beauty in something we’ve deemed worthless. For me that’s sublime.
In terms of the telepathic potential in the things I make, hopefully there is something in what you recognize (a braid that has slipped between the knees, a gummy bear squished between two chunks of concrete) that allows your body to become the object and the object your body.
SG: You’re saying my body becomes the object and the object becomes my body? A play back and forth?
HS: Yes, and it may not even be conscious, it may just be a sudden physical sensation somewhere deep. I have been drawn to discarded things for years and tend to anthropomorphize mundane objects. I wander a lot in the hopes of accidentally stumbling over something compelling on the sidewalk ( a still life composed of wet panty hose, a single nike shoe and a tousled braided hair extension), or discovering something humorous shoved in the 2” gap between buildings (like a half eaten almond croissant). That said, I am not drawn to ALL trash - there are certain characteristics that need to be present: what it used to be, where it is now and its position in space. If these three things align, I am instantly reminded of my mortality and think about (and more importantly feel) my body. This is what I try to do with most of my work. Can an object be so compelling you begin to feel things virtually.
SG: I like to think about how objects communicate. And it’s fascinating to think of a non-art object having its own voice through the circumstances and conditions of its experience.
HS: I often think about those objects in our homes that are ‘malleable’ versus those that I would consider ‘hard’. What I mean by this is that there are certain things that have somehow absorbed our memories, and in extreme cases the actual bodies of those who used to own them. Hard objects on the other hand are just things, they have a function, we use them, we only think about them when we need them or when they break, but they don’t emotionally or psychologically transport us to those who are long gone. So what I like is that the malleable objects can become triggers for our memories. An example would be this little buddha lamp that used to be in my grandparents house. We had holiday dinners next to it, I would pass by it when I visited, it had a very specific click when you turned it on, it was always present. It now has a prominent spot in our house in Yucca Valley, even though it no longer works. I’ve tried to repair it many times with no avail, but I just can’t get rid of it since my grandparents are somehow embedded in that object. When I pass by it I am flooded with memories from Lawrence, Kansas, certain sounds, colors, sensations and smells and a perpetual and surreal sadness knowing they are forever gone. In a way I will have to continue to carry that little object until my life is over.
SG: About place and positioning in space, some of the the objects in the gallery seem to recreate a sort of found object experience by being on the floor. Like the two feet in Little King and the paving material in You are the Fear. How do you decide when an artwork should go on the floor?
HS: In terms of how to position objects, I actually feel more strange putting the forms on pedestals. In fact I used to put a lot more work on the floor. I’ve never really considered why, it was mostly intuitive and felt like a more authentic way to present the pieces. Maybe because they have a more direct relationship with the architecture and space that we inhabit? Or maybe because that’s how my initial relationship develops with them in my studio?
And I suppose how they are positioned in the gallery also then more directly relates to how I found some of them (the aluminum cardboard sheet leaning against the wall and the broken concrete from a driveway are perfect examples). The pedestal can seem too clinical, which is why I was so excited how the pedestals in this show were resolved. They were initially unpainted plywood but I quickly realized they overpowered the objects once they were placed on top. The pedestals began to take on a yellowish orange hue, the grain became visually stronger, and the glass objects dulled out and almost became invisible. Thinking my only other option was to paint them solid white I realized I would have had to completely remake them because the grain would have been an issue with the paint’s surface. So I opted for a transparent white stain. I love how the grain still came through and the color has turned into a soft pink, they really came to life and the green in the glass now pops.
SG: Yes! The white-pink staining on the pedestals is really cool. It seems to set off the palette of the show. Especially, to me it contrasts beautifully with the cool greenish white of the cast glass. That green-white color is evocative too. And it takes a different role in each piece. How did you come to that color?
HS: I knew I wanted a soft foamy look and the basic clear glass from Bullseye has a perceptible greenish tint, versus their crystal clear which is more pink. If you use small enough grains the clear also starts to shift the transparency into a milky white (technically this is caused by the air bubbles around each grain, which I love - you’re actually seeing the effect of the bubbles). And I don’t know if you noticed but I also didn’t want it all to be the same level of translucency so I threw in different sizes of glass grains, and even large chunks from former castings. This brings out a marbling which I felt really added to the depth. I also didn’t mention that I had to remake those knees four times. They kept failing in the kiln for a variety of unpredictable reasons, and normally after the third failure I would walk away. I wrestled that piece knowing it was something I really needed to make, and it was well worth it. It’s one of my favorite pieces in the group.
SG: The imagery you work with is mostly cast. Which means there was an original and its external form has been replicated with great accuracy. What are your thoughts about the technical part of castings? Including from a point of view of meaning— what does it mean to replicate a form in another material?
HS: I’ve been drawn to casting for a long time and for several different reasons. I sometimes make molds of things as a starting point for transformation and abstraction, but mold making also allows me to copy and use the unaltered form. Once I have a mold I can iterate with multiple materials and capitalize on the alchemical potential, that is: casting an object in a material that is antithetical to its original function forces you to renegotiate your relationship with it. A concrete or glass pillow may make you reconsider comfort. Casting a lead foot with misplaced toes from different people, casting a fragmented piece of packing foam in glass or memorializing a cardboard lid from a Home Depot toilet bowl by casting into an aluminum ‘tombstone’ can conjure overlapping notions of mortality, consumption, beauty and disquieting humor. My ultimate goal.
