The "Reef Cycle" exhibition was featured in the Los Angeles Daily News!! To view the article, visit here.
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Given the amount of time I devoted to the reef structure with my last installation, it's no surprise that my interests have drifted to other areas of the ocean as well. On my last visit to the Long Beach Aquarium, I spent extra time enjoying the jellyfish tank. Of all the jellyfish I have encountered (and even the few I've been stung by), I have never seen a Portuguese Man O' War. Man Of War. With such a grandiose name, I envision the Man O' War to be the super god of translucent sea beings. Maybe it can swim at great speeds, or perhaps its tentacles are three times the length of a normal jellyfish with human heat-sensing capabilities. I started to ponder the origin of the name and research more about these creatures. "The English common name for the genus Physalia, "man-of-war" is borrowed from the man-of-war, a powerful 16th century sailing ship of English ... based on its resemblance the Portuguese-built caravel. In the 16th century, the English adapted the earlier Portuguese caravel design for its man-of-war class ship, and presumably as "man-of-war" replaced "caravel" in the English navy, so it also did in the English language," according to Princeton.edu. The most obvious connection between the ship and the sea creature is that the Man O' War vessel, or caravela, has a triangular sail that resembles the air-filled bladder of the marine invertebrate. The Man O' War cannot swim and it relies on the wind, currents, and tides to propel it around the ocean. While also keeping the main portion afloat, the bladder acts as a sail by using the wind to move the Man O' War. Not only are the ship sail and the bladder similar in shape, but they also serve the same function. I learn that the Man O' War is not a jellyfish, but rather a colony of four organisms that function together. Each organism has a separate, specific role: floating, feeding, defense, and reproduction. The long, thin tentacles of the Man O' War can extend more than 150 feet below the water's surface; however, like the bladder, the tentacles rely on the wind and water to move them. While the sting of these tentacles may be extremely painful, the wounds are rarely deadly in humans. At this point in my research, I am not impressed or convinced that such a helpless, heartless, codependent cluster of jelly-like polyps are deserving of a name like Man Of War. Of course, I see the striking phallic qualities and the nickname "bluebottle" helps lead the mind, but this is no warship. I have been trying to define how two terms, "environment" and "erotic", are related to each other in my practice. The working title of this project is Environmental Erotica, and the Man O' War presented itself as the subject for these first pieces. While I enjoy both the name and the look of the Man O' War creature, I also wanted to integrate my own theme or ideas into the works. What could be used to wage war (especially a war between men)? The process begins with an ink blot on cardboard or watercolor paper. Following that, a layering of pen, acrylic and gauche creates the delicate tentacles and other details. So far, the pieces range in size from 4" square to 18" x 24".
Back to work.... EVERY YOUNG ARTIST SHOULD KNOW THREE THINGS 1. Talent is cheap. 2. You have to be possessed, which you can't will. 3. Being at the right place at the right time. -John Baldessari The two weeks following the opening of Reef Cycle have been almost as (if not more) busy than the two weeks leading up to the reception. On November 4th, there was a gallery talk featuring all of the artists exhibited at Angels Gate right now. This was a good first experience for me because while I have given presentations of my artwork, I haven't had a scheduled group conversation outside of grad school. The discussion began around my material choice: cardboard tubes. Why had I chosen these instead of something like plastic bottles or straws? My answer was a simple one. There is not an island of discarded cardboard floating around in the ocean, while there is a huge, clear mass of plastic debris that slowly breaks down, leaching toxins into the water. Ultimately, the pieces of this project will either be regenerated into something new, or broken down and recycled. I didn't just want to talk ABOUT consumer culture in relation the the environment; I desired the process of this project to exhibit the same sensibilities I was referencing. Next, I was asked about my relationship to time. There are many ways time is important to my process. First, there is is the time it takes to collect the materials, and for this project it was a six-month period. Then, there is the creation and installation time. Finally, there is the amount of time that a piece will exist before being regenerated or recycled. I view this time of existence as being equivalent to a lifespan; my art has a life and death cycle similar to all things found in nature. Permanence is not important here, which is counter to why many artists choose to create. While others use their artworks as a way to live on past their physical body, this is not currently my concern. Perhaps this will one day change, but I enjoy maintaining a casual, playful relationship with the work at the moment. The annual Inglewood Open Studios also happened November 10-11th. I didn't know what to expect in terms of a turnout, especially since I'm perched on the top floor of the Beacon Arts Building. It was hard to get the masses to climb the stairs, even for the sake of seeing interesting art; however, I managed to lure some people with cookies and stickers.
After six months of collecting cardboard tubes, today was the last day to add more rolls to the reef. Now that I have gotten over the fear of not completing the project, I've been thinking more about the options for displaying in the gallery space. The reef is not as large as I had expected after collecting tubes for half of a year, and I have built open pedestals which will raise the sculpture off the ground. The gallery space is long and narrow, with only one window that does not provide much sunlight. Rather than light with spots from above, I will be placing the lights on the ground and casting shadows onto the gallery walls. The tops of the pedestals (still covered to prevent scratches) are made out of clear plexiglass to allow the light through.
As the construction of the reef nears completion, I sample different lighting options. The shadow is being used not only as a formal element that adds a dramatic, theatrical effect, but it also is a visual metaphor for casting light onto an issue.
It would be a lie to say I am not frustrated by the incredibly slow speed of this project. The most challenging element, by far, is the glue. Yes, the same glue I had to extensively research and special order and have delivered at a snail's pace. This adhesive is turning out to be a little less than ideal (for me) as it takes hours to dry and requires being taped down. I am not accustom to working at anything less than a manic-like pace. This project requires an extreme amount of patience, which is not something I always have when creating art. I am often working on several tangential projects simultaneously, and it has been difficult at times to return day after day to the same work. Unlike when I can become blissfully engaged with the process, these last few weeks have really felt like work. I have realized that procrastination is self-induced anxiety.
It's at this point in the project that I start to think about authenticity. Do I stick with this process even though it is much slower for the sake of staying true to the project? (Remember, the slow glue was chosen for its unique recyclable properties) Or, do I move to a quicker method, such as hot glue, and focus more on how the installation will look rather than the initial concept? I am suffering from a moral art dilemma. Voids have been a consistent theme in my art for many years. Whether working 2- or 3-dimensionally, my art refers to the form of a container. More specifically, a container for living; however, these spaces are empty and evacuated of any signs of life. They are not luxurious containers. Not necessarily a place you'd call 'home', but somewhere to survive. The voids embody an in-betweenness, a tension created by opposing forces. This repetitive reference to home-like structures symbolizes not just a transitional physical place, but also a psychological space. Though inspired by personal experiences, this pursuit of the undefinable and the in-between is one shared by those who continually interrogate their surroundings and question the world. “To live means to lack something at every moment.” ― Paul Valéry These are the first works of my Glorious Void relief series. Check www.melisemestayer.com for more images!
I have been researching different species of coral and studying the various forms and textures. The extensive variations makes choosing a single form difficult. From the round and playful Bubble coral, to the grooved, rough Brain coral, to a slick flat Mushroom-like species, I have been challenged in choosing a place to begin. Instead, I'll be creating a reef that is composed of a few different types of coral - probably more of a hybrid than an exact replica of a species. I have to consider which will be most interesting to create given the limitations of the materials, and that requires some experimenting. First, I cut the tubes into thin slices, about 1/8" thick, using a blade. Then, with the reversible adhesive I ordered for this project, I glue the slices together. Unlike quick-drying hot glue, this adhesive takes a while to set. I have to tape the pieces together until they are dry, making this process much slower. The result is something similar to the honeycomb structure from the straw sculpture. Although beginning with a form like the maquette seems like a logical place to start, it is not where I want to end this process. I continue to pull, glue, and tape the tubes, creating more irregular shapes. Then, I cut into the structure, making little slivers of cardboard that can be bent and woven throughout the main form to create an intricate inner circuitry. Once again, glue, tape, and wait. Using approximately 10 or 15 of my rolls, I create different sizes that are then stacked on top one another with the largest on the bottom. After becoming more familiar with reef species, I have a vision for this particular structure as expainding as it rises from the ground; however, in order to assemble it like I am thinking, it must be glued upside down. Why fight gravity when it can be used to your advantage?
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MELISE MESTAYER
Born in New Orleans, LA Archives
February 2015
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