Smith College
Artist Talk
Departemnt of Visual Arts 
2023

Contango Journal
Issue #3: Crime
Designed and Printed in Chicago, IL
Available at The Graham Foundation + The New Museum  

Screening of Canine Unit 341
4.19.2017
Harvard Film Archive
24 Quincy St, Cambridge, MA 02138
Curated by Kiyoto Koseki

​The Emperor Is Naked
Curated by Iben Bach Elmstrøm
Showing works by Annesofie Sandal (Copenhagen, DK), Spencer Elias and Lucas Briffa (Chicago, IL), artists duo Hesselholdt and Mejlvang (Copenhagen, DK), Ana Hansa-Ogren (Milwaukee, WI) and Tia-Simone Gardner (Minneapolis, MN).

​WorkRoom
2205 California ST NE #605
Minneapolis 
Mar 3rd - Mar 25th, 2017

The Emperor Has No Clothes
Annesofie Sandal, Ana Hansa-Ogren, Hesselholdt & Mejlvang, Spencer Elias and Lucas Briffa
Curated by Iben Bach Elmstrøm
Ski Club Milwaukee
3172 North Bremen Street
Milwaukee, Wisconsin 53212

​The project is supported by The Danish Arts Foundation

Acts 12: 6-9
Lucas Briffa, Spencer Elias
Laura (Chicago)
1535 N Ashland Ave, Chicago, IL 60622

​It Was a Low-lying Foglike Floating
Curated by Ian Breidenbach
TSA - Philadelphia 
319A North 11th St #2H

​June 5 - June 28
Opening Reception: Friday, June 5, 2015, 6-10 pm

WUT MAG
interview

Paul Makris
Chicago Artists Coalition - Bolt Residency Exhibition Space
217 N Carpenter St., Chicago, IL 60607 
Friday, May 1 to Thursday, May 21
Opening Reception: Friday, May 1, 6-9 PM

FRONTROOM 
Opening Reception: Sunday, May 3, 6-9 PM
1839 W Thomas St.
Apt. 3
Chicago, IL
60622
by appointment

Transforming Accessory
Benjamin Barretto, Clare Grill, and Spencer Elias
LVL3 Gallery
1542 N Milwaukee Ave, Chicago, IL 60622


​Prismatic Nature
Elmhurst Art Museum, Elmhurst, IL
Acts 12: 6-9An Exhibition by Lucas Briffa and Spencer Elias
Laura Proejcts, Chicago

"During all the late summer and throughout the autumn there could daily be seen moving along the road skirting the cliffs above the sea a strange procession of passengerless streetcars swaying against the skyline. The residents in this area soon learned what was going on. And though the cliffs were patrolled day and night, little groups of people contrived to thread their way unseen between the rocks and would toss flowers into the open trailers as the cars went by. And in the warm darkness of the summer nights the cars could be heard clanking on their way, laden with flowers and corpses."

-Albert Camus, The Plague

"Problem: a group of related incidents or an ongoing situation that concerns a significant portion of those who live or work in a particular area."

-Chicago Alternative Policing Strategy (CAPS)


Posters, curtains, sketches and comic books, television, tee shirts and opened mail: These artifacts are the echoes of private routines, like those found in a teenage bedroom left unoccupied. The decorations still in place, a space that is personalized yet no longer warm, filled with comforts but bringing unease instead. 

A poster pasted to the wall articulates identity in the bedroom, a confrontational display of musical taste or political affiliation. Revisited, its continued presence prods you with twinges of embarrassment: a malformed self-image of a past time.

Hand sketches animate an apprehension of a dreamt hero, while others in comic books wade through crooked worlds waging vigilante justice to save a culture under attack.

Snapshots show forbidden yet playful activities among friends, memories of small defiances in parking lots and suburban streets – horsing around outside of the codes of institutional authority.

The pencil of the police artist flips the freedom to let one’s mind wander upside-down, a daydream given resolution to be apprehended and stalked down, a death threat.

This is a place of habits, a place of stubborn ways and an echo of oneself that is uncomfortably familiar but hard to shed.

​ — Zachary Postone

Canine Unit 341
    2017 | 00:10:40 | United States | Czech (Eng Subs) | Color
    Stereo | 16:9

    Generously made possible by: 
    The Edes Foundation
Harvard Film Archive


    "One of us, product of a vast genetic mixture, is
    called ‘purebred.’ One of us, equally a product of
    names designates a different radical discourse, and
    we,both inherit their consequences in our flesh.”

    -Donna Haraway




    "He told the hound where he wanted to go.
    'jump off me and go through this stone wall,
    There is a garden behind the wall, 
    in that garden the Bird of Light is sitting in a goldenm cage.'
    'Why should I take the Bird of Light without the cage?'
    You might have slept for ever if I had not been there.”

    - Tsarevitch Ivan, the Firebird and the Gray Wolf 
    Collected in Aleksandr Nikolaevic Afanasev’s Народные Русские Сказки,1855

 

Blanche on the Lam
  • A visual Index of Wikipedia articles edited anonymously by the New York City Police Department 

Availible at  Printed Matter,  Inc,  The Graham Foundation , and the New York Public Library



Luma
    2017 | 00:21:40 | Sweden | English | Stereo | 16:9 

    Generously made possible by the Edes Foundation and



    "[...] the inner expression that we receive from present-day
    reality, that we want to perform. And that is the purpose of
    present-day dance, as an expression of our times."

    -Birgit  Åkesson



    “If the approach was to be through movement, there were
    two contenders. One type of movement stemmed from a
    deliberate investigation of the capabilities of the joints and
    spine. These boiled down to bend, straighten, and rotate, 
    between them[...]working in unaccented slow motion,
    observing the possibilities of my body, while passing
    through arm, leg, and torso alignments that were either
    parallel or perpendicular to the floor.”

    -Trisha Brown



    "Elements in postmodern architecture are often explicitly
    conceived by their creators as semiological sign systems,
    and as historical allusions, emblematic references to
    specific periods of architectural history. Indeed, what the
    postmodern architects object to most strenuously in the
    "International Style" is its arrogant disregard for history, its
    attempt to break decisively with the indigenous past by
    relying on formal geometry to create a look of
    "timelessness" and "universality." Postmodernism
    proceeds on the assumption that the historical slate can
    never be wiped clean, that ab- solute "originality" is a late
    romantic myth. As Venturi puts it in Complexity and
    Contradiction in Architecture, 'Architects today are too
    educated to be either primitive or totally spontaneous, and
    architecture is too complex to be approached with 
    carefully maintained ignorance.'"

    -Roger Copelan

Paul Makris
    CAC
    217 N Carpenter St.
    Chicago, IL

BOLT Program Artist In Residence


Vital Fictions
(Lying In Wait to Return)

The human world is made of stories, not people. The people the stories use to tell themselves are not to be blamed. 1 
                                                
The Ryou-Un Maru, a huge Japanese ship, a squid boat that lit up the surrounding waters with bright lights, broke free of its moorings during a tsunami in 2011. Vanishing in the storm, it was declared lost, only to appear two years later off the coast of Alaska, having made its way across the Pacific without a crew. Many maritime cultures tell stories of ghost ships, manned by the dead, drifting in the fog. This was a real-life ghost ship. Floating out of the recent past, it became tangible again after it was forgotten. Even then it proved to be somehow out of reach. Salvage efforts failed. Unclaimable in international waters, it was forcibly sunk, essentially de-reified, returning it to the underworld of human narrative—just another strange story, or a footnote in the annals of law. Objects, whether large or small, seem far more stable, more substantial, more self-possessed, than the stories humans tell and live by—heavy things born of the material world, not just floating through it on the winds of language and thought. But this isn’t always the case, or at least it’s not so simple. 

When we speak of ghost stories we usually mean stories about ghosts. Spencer Elias' latest exhibition suggests the need for another definition, stemming from the observation that a story itself can be a ghost of sorts, a sovereign force with its own power and a spectral agency. A story can possess an object, shadowing it, seeping in, until it can’t be extracted. A story can move unencumbered across space and time, even lying in wait for years before coming back in a form of eternal return. Shaped from nothing, fiction is propelled into the world, where it takes on weight, where it grows powerful.

Consider a portrait of the artist as a young man: at the age of eighteen, Spencer Elias invents a character based on someone he knows—an improvised way to save face with a teacher. The imagined man dies and occasions a funeral, while the real man, the model for this fictional person, lives on. It is entirely unexpected then, years later, when the real man starts dying as foretold in the lie. One cancer occasions another, a cunning echo taking form. In other cases, fiction is known to be a powerful thing. Two thousand years ago, in ancient China, a future emperor, Gaozu, told of an alligator that slept with his mother in a dream and thus conceived him—a divine impregnation on a dark riverbank. Or it could simply be a myth that hid a more shameful family history, we’ll never know. Either way, the chimera served its purpose, bestowing power, while the tale itself lives on with an inhuman longevity.

This exhibition is woven through with narratives like this, and yet they emerge mostly through cryptic objects and images. The artist offers stories in various transformed or mediated states, signifiers drawn from the living world but further obscured or oddly enlivened. We know such things can carry stories with them, narratives suggested or implied, but they can’t be read like words on a page; these narrative-objects or object-narratives are more tenuous, if still insistent transmitters. And together the disparate elements hum with the promise of interconnection. Where does meaning lie here? In a single object? In the constellation? In the circuit between one element and the next? In the reflection on a photograph’s surface? Meaning sleeps like the spider at the center of the web, or perhaps the web itself lies sleeping. Either way, we can’t know where the spider began; the web’s anchors are numerous, and to touch any thread is to send a shiver through it all, edge to edge. 
Various poststructuralist thinkers have written about a world of signification in which each sign only refers to other signs, with a ceaseless circularity: “a whole regime of roving, floating statements, suspended names, signs lying in wait to return and be propelled by the chain.” This is the world we inhabit, unreflectively even as it surrounds us all day long. Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari—two observers of this condition driven by the “deterritorialized sign”—surely knew that this refrain, now familiar, is another story itself, one destined to outlive its tellers. In their version, our signifier-soaked lives resemble a form of paranoia: the world starts signifying before we know what it means; attuned to every little thing, we sense a larger threshold of meaning that is just out of reach. 2 

In Jean Cocteau’s Orpheus, the poetry of the underworld emanates from a car radio. The film’s protagonist leans close to the dashboard, waiting for the next mysterious dispatch. Elias also has us bending down to listen to a radio, only there isn’t a message coming through; his emits only an atmosphere of not-quite-empty fuzz. One radio appears in the exhibition; a second, we’re told, is located elsewhere in the city. The two devices are tuned to the same signal, but they are also linked across time and across an even greater distance. These handsets were produced by the same company—only one was made in Japan, the other in China twenty years later. They, too, are part of a story, much larger than the modest objects and stretching beyond the bounds of a single mind. Left on a psychic riverbank, we might glimpse the dream forms of signs like so many alligators. Or we track the unmoored narratives like ghost ships into an indifferent sea, where their afterlife may be as vital as any living beings we know. There we try to salvage them, or we sink them, casting the elusive things back into the deep.

-Karsten Lund


1. David Mitchell, Ghostwritten, New York: Knopf Doubleday, 378.
2. Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 112-114.

All quotes are from this passage.

Paimao (Annotations)
    Elmhurst Museum
    Chicago, IL

Prismatic Nature 
Curated  by  Heidi Norton


The term 'evidence-based design,' officially defined in 2003 by health care architect D. Kirk Hamilton, has evolved as it has been applied. The Center for Health Design now defines evidence-based design as 'the process of basing decisions about the built environment on credible research to achieve the best possible outcomes.' Although evidence-based design is a recent concept, historic examples demonstrating an awareness of the benefits of psychologically supportive spaces no doubt played an important role in the development of this design model. 
Florence Nightingale’s observations after her experiences tending to wounded soldiers during the Crimean War of 1853 illustrate an early appreciation of the importance of hospital space design. Nightingale noted in her diary in 1860: 'I mention from experience, as quite perceptible in promoting recovery, the being able to see out of a window, instead of looking against a dead wall; the bright color of flowers, the being able to read in bed by the light of a window close to the bed-head. It is generally said that the effect is upon the mind. Perhaps so, but it is not less so upon the body on that account. …'

-Diana Anderson

Privacy and Alternatives
    CAC
    217 Carpenter St.
    Chicago, IL

Curated by Amanda Ross-Ho


​"I am an American fighting man that has defended this country in the past, and I know that when I took an oath to defend this country form all enemies, foreign and domestic, have never swayed from that oath. I am prepared to continue to fight in time of strife. I must and will be prepared to do so. ...] 

I know that my supplies are limited and my choices must be made accordingly. Before I use a new item I will attempt to make use of older scrap materials or if new materials are to be used I will plan to ensure as little waste as possible. When I do have trash I will find alternate uses of this trash to make as much redundant use and reuse of as much as possible. I will never consume materials, resources or utilities as if they cannot be exhausted. I know that all materials can be reused. I will re-use any materials which purpose has changed or become obsolete. I will keep documentation on my material usage as well as all spare materials on hand in order to make the most efficient use of everything I possess."
— cupid0311

Guardian of Liberty


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