Master of Fine Arts Thesis
Summoning Self
Samantha Leopold-Sullivan
Submitted in partial satisfaction of the requirement for the degree of Master of Fine Arts, School of Art and Design
Division of Sculpture/Dimensional Studies
New York State College of Ceramics at Alfred University Alfred, NY
2019
Samantha Leopold-Sullivan, MFA
Coral Lambert, Thesis Advisor
Sarah Blood, Thesis Advisor
We, as individuals, are sentient stews given form by bone, sinew, and muscle, encased in skin. We, as a society, are fleshy lumps of emotion regimented by
expectations, rules, and norms, surrounded by the built environment. I investigate the intersection between our fundamental and constructed natures: how that interconnection emerges from the psychological world into the physical world, what it means to be an individual amalgam of emotion and logic, and how we as a society maintain balance between the two. Without this unique combination of squish and structure, we would not be human.
I explore this concept through making sculptures that physically represent
“emotional bodies” and placing them in situations where they interact with human-made structures. I conceptualize the emotional body as a discrete part of oneself to make it easier to talk about where our irrational, emotional impulses and feelings interact with logical, structured, and calculated thoughts. This separation into distinct categories is artificial but allows for more in-depth exploration of the concept, providing a safe distance in which to discuss these sensitive issues in public.
The sculpture’s surroundings and environment often function as its structural component. It is place-based rather than site specific, using a set of parameters to determine ideal installation locations as is evident in What My Hope Looks Like. While the sculpture relies heavily on crumbling industrial surroundings to act as a foil for the intensely organic forms, it works in a variety of different buildings.
What does your hope look like? Mine is meaty and stout, softly resilient, firmly anchored yet always probing the cracks for a new way forward. Stitched laboriously by hand, reminiscent of roots and viscera, My Hope appears as a thing of nightmares- yet its
bright fleshy colors and plush forms are oddly comforting. I feel my hope reaching from my gut out to my furthest extremities, holding me together when everything else seems to be falling apart. If the viewer is attentive and listens very carefully they can hear its muffled, whispering counter-statements to negative thought spirals.1
What My Hope Looks Like marked a turning point in my life and artistic practice.
The first physical representation of an emotional body, this sculpture emerged from a very tumultuous time in my life. I faced a decision: I could either consciously recognize and begin to work with and through my emotions, or be overwhelmed and dragged into the abyss. I chose the former, and fittingly the first emotional body I extricated from the tangled mess was my hope.
What My Hope Looks Like fabric, dye, stuffing. 2018
What grows in the Dark?
1See endnotes for excerpt of whispers
Archetype as Foundation:
Carl Jung’s framework of archetypes and the collective unconscious guides my exploration of the relationship between emotional body and mental and societal
structures. In The Undiscovered Self Jung argues that each individual’s own furthering of their individuation process helps create a better world. He emphasizes that we all have
“‘archaic vestiges,’ or archetypal forms” that are “ineradicable, for they represent the foundations of the psyche itself. They cannot be grasped intellectually, and when one has destroyed one manifestation of them, they reappear in altered form. It is the fear of the unconscious psyche which not only impedes self-knowledge but is the gravest obstacle to a wider understanding and knowledge of psychology.”2 My work provides the viewer with an opportunity to face the fear of their unconscious psyche and begin to reconcile with it, for that reconciliation is an essential part of the process of individuation, which in turn is necessary for developing a healthy society.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes explores Jung’s theory of archetypes by applying them to folk tales in her book Women Who Run With the Wolves. She makes each archetype more accessible to understanding, and this book was invaluable in the research that lead to my current body of work. She focuses strongly on the Life/Death/Life cycle encompassed in many folk tales, and how the protagonists of each one embody and interact with
archetypal characters. She uses these stories to discuss the series of psychological phases women go through over the course of their lives, and to illuminate the various traps and pitfalls one might fall into. The part of the book that was the most fascinating was how
2Jung, C. G.. The undiscovered self. 1st ed. (Boston: Little, Brown, 1958). 50.
many women were able to dive deep, find their rock bottom, and resurface stronger, wilder, and more trusting of their intuition.
This is exemplified in Estes analysis of “The Tale of the Handless Maiden.” This story is about a young woman’s journey through the underworld to reclaim herself. Estes sees this as a long initiatory test because “if the maiden soul remains untested, nothing more can occur in our lives. But if we can gain underworld roots, we can become mature, nourishing the soul, self, and psyche.”3 As a result of her journey through the underworld, the maiden has a child with the king of the underworld. The resulting birth of the “spirit- baby” is important because “to give birth is the psychic equivalent of becoming oneself, one self, meaning an undivided psyche. Before this birth of new life in the underworld, a woman is likely to think all parts and personalities within her are rather like a
hodgepodge of vagrants who wander in and out of her life. In the underworld birth, a woman learns that anything that brushes by her is a part of her.”4 My work is an underworld birth, a re-knitting of our disparate parts, an exploration into our dark internals.
What grows in the Dark?
What do we hold in our belly?
3Estes, Clarissa Pinkola. Women who run with the wolves: Myths and stories of the wild woman archetype.
(New York: Ballantine Books. 1992) 399.
4Estes, Women who run with the wolves, 431.
Intuitive Making:
After reading Women Who Run With the Wolves, I began trusting my intuition, letting it take a leadership role in my art. To make work I prepare a set framework to guide the overall process, and then let my hands and gut lead the way. This is evident in both What My Hope Looks Like and Home. What My Hope Looks Like began with a simple set of instructions: cut fabric into long skinny triangles, dye so it looks like flesh, sew into long pointed tubes, stuff, and stitch together to create a cohesive whole. Within that score my gut feelings decide the particulars: cut the fabric and add dye to the bath until it feels right, meditate on the concept of hope while sewing and stuffing, then puzzle it all together into a final form using the internal logic the parts provide. The final install of What My Hope Looks Like in its room in the large derelict 1940’s Old Post Office involved a lot of positioning and then sitting with my hope while listening for a response from the installation. Was it in the right place to say what it needed to say? How about now? Or now?
With Home the process was different because iron casting requires more forethought and planning. The overall form of a crescent with myriad legs occurred organically, accompanied by feelings of peace and calm. Reminiscent of the circles of protection used in certain practices of witchcraft, home is incomplete because the tips do not touch, so it protects while still allowing a space for growth or change. Upon seeing it in my mind I knew I had to make it and that it needed to use materials with inherent protective properties.
Home is an organic worm-like shape; fat in the middle with two tapered ends, criss-crossed by hand-sewn scars, and voluptuously wrinkled on the interior of its curves.
It fought many battles and bears the scars of survival on its iron hide, a metal known for its magical protective properties as well as being commonly used for strength in
infrastructure. The tendril-like legs are made of latex stuffed with salt. Latex is a natural rubber, commonly used in thin stretchy sheets as a fluid barrier. Salt has protective properties in the practice of magic as well as a very important function in the balance of fluids in our bodies. The form of the legs references deep-sea life, where the buoyancy of saltwater allows for soft structures to maneuver and support surprising weights. Each leg is stitched by hand, a meditative action of joining and transforming flat into round that leaves the process plainly visible, referencing medical sutures.
Making Home necessitated a deeper dive into the symbolic meanings behind materials and forms. It is fascinating how certain symbols mean similar things across cultures and continents, and this phenomenon provides backing to Jung’s theory of universal archetypes and the collective unconscious. Take, for example, the circle.
Circles and incomplete circles have high levels of cultural significance across the world.
They are used as protection, to contain both everything and nothing, as portals to another world, as an origin and an end, to reference the sun or the moon, to stand for the ineffable and the numinous.5
It speaks to the baseline of our consciousness and biology that no matter where we are, circles have a specific, important, and comparable meaning. Such a universal theme, an archetype, is what I hope to bring out into form and being. This is not to say that everyone has the same emotional bodies as everyone else, but that there are more concurrences than one would think. One similarity is our tendency to adopt rules that
5Nozedar, Adele. The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs and Symbols: The Ultimate A-Z Guide from Alchemy to the Zodiac. (London: Harper Element, 2009.) 21.
ostracize our very inner beings and then punish those who remain true to themselves in spite of or perhaps because we long to also be true to ourselves. If we discard the trappings of class and privilege and peel away the skin, we are all made of similar meat.
Why is it then that we still have systems of structural inequality? Why do we collectively have such a hard time changing our built social, political, economic, and literal
environments to be more just and equitable? We made these things, we can change them.
What grows in the Dark?
What do we hold in our belly, spilling out when we split the skin?
Home cast iron, latex, steel, salt. 2019
Home [detail] cast iron, latex, steel, salt. 2019
Norms and Neurodiversity:
I focus on the societal and psychological structures we build that perpetuate injustice internally. One such structure is the requirement to fall within the norm.
Conforming to “normal” behaviors and appearances is rewarded by society at large.
Failing to do so is punished, in both obvious and more subtle and systemic manners.
In Brilliant Imperfection: grappling with cure author Eli Clare explores the ways that the false dichotomy of illness and cure is used as a tool for oppression. This
phenomenon is seen throughout history, such as when women were diagnosed with hysteria because they refused to remain sequestered within the household and obedient to men, to the forced sterilization of incarcerated people of color or those deemed “mentally deficient.”6
This misuse of diagnosis and cure continues to this day, accompanied by stigma and shame. It is most visible in the struggles of disabled and neurodivergent people. For many of us, what makes us different is also an important part of what makes us us.
Clare’s cerebral palsy is a very important part of who he is, and he states: “I have no idea who I’d be without my tremoring and tense muscles, slurring tongue.”7 In many
neurodivergent people, the difference in perception and processing leads to unique gifts or perspective, which the obsession with cure seeks to do away with. There needs to be a different approach to mental health, one that focuses on individual wellness rather than meeting a general standard of normality.
Contemporary poet Neil Hilborn addresses this topic as well, writing about his own struggles with OCD and bipolar disorder. He has clear insight on the relationship
6Clare, Eli. Brilliant imperfection : Grappling with cure. (North Carolina: Duke University Press. 2017).
39.
7Clare, Brilliant imperfection, 6.
between creative output and mental health, tweeting in regard to his poem “OCD”: “To be real, I am still astounded that this little poem has allowed me to have a career as a writer. I just wrote it because I was trying to explain what OCD was like for me, and I never dreamed that people would connect with it like they have.”8 This tweet also
conveys how one artist’s sharing of their internal world can impact others, even though it comes from such a singular and personal place.
The concept of mental and societal structures demands deeper exploration.
“Structure” refers to the specific thoughts and behavioral patterns we learn from our cultural surroundings. These can be both positive and negative, and they have a very complicated relationship with our emotional bodies. Some common structures include:
obey and adapt to social norms and participate in the larger society as a productive citizen. As well, the structures imposed upon an individual vary with their race, gender, orientation, and economic class.
It is good to maintain some level of control over our emotional bodies, to consider the greater good as a way to navigate our baser instincts. Some level of mental structure is needed, just like we need the infrastructure that ensures clean water and safe transit.
However, at this moment there are too many extraneous and harmful rules and
regulations that we internalize. What parts of ourselves are repressed because they didn’t fit with societal norms? How do we summon them back from the shadows? We have imposed unhealthy structures on others around us in addition to ourselves, how can we dismantle them?
8Hilborn, Neil. Twitter Post. January 30th, 2018, 11:43am.
twitter.com/neilicorn/status/958425338056454144 For full poem see endnotes
One major step to mending our broken internal infrastructure is taking the time to reflect and tease apart the thoughts and impulses we have, considering them both under the microscope of their individual instances as well as what rippling effects they have on the world around us. The second step is realizing and internalizing that there are many right ways to feel and act, and any structure that insists there is only one requires closer examination. Perhaps the norm as we conceive of it, as a bounded form, does not even exist.
What grows in the Dark?
What do we hold in our belly, spilling out when we split the skin?
What happens when it meets the Light?
Making as Mirror:
I bring my own emotional bodies and structures out into the physical world in the form of sculpture and installation. In doing this, I inspire others to take the time to dig into themselves and examine their impulses and actions, hopefully resulting in a readjustment of their internal structures. In addition to making work to spark reflection and change in others, I make it to process my own emotions and examine how my
internal structures are acting. The intuitive method of making allows me to converse with my unconscious, and to draw out the pain so I can address it in the waking world.
I always knew I was neurodivergent. My mother used to joke that I was “on the spectrum.” I see more details and patterns than most people seem to, and more varieties of color. The subtleties of social interaction continue to elude me, which in some cases allows me to avoid awkward situations and in others creates a great deal of friction.
From the lessons of my mother, who is an excellent and extremely extroverted networker I learned how to approach and interact with people the “normal” way, setting in place a variety of internal structures. Some of these are helpful, such as “pay attention to what people are telling you and look them in the eye.” Some are not, such as “never share your true feelings or vulnerabilities.” For a long time I was able to coast along on this rickety wagon of coping mechanisms, maintaining a “normal” outward existence through sheer force of will. I was an obsolete machine, still technically functioning but so inefficient that most of my energy dissipated before the task began.
The breaking point came with Cluster: social existence had become confusing, painful, and exhausting. Cluster is a self-portrait, a me that no longer recognizes itself, encrusted and brittle with broken homemade armor stitched together like its fractured
memories, viewing the world through a single peephole. Mixed into the video projecting from the eye of the unoccupied armor are snippets of dark water and fast trains, both soothing to watch but too tempting to be near.
Cluster [stills]Plywood, Steel Wire, 4 Mil Black Plastic, Duck Tape, Flesh. 2017
I started going to counseling in January 2018, beginning the long process of probing and unknotting that continues to this day. I was so overwhelmed by all the suppressed emotion that I did not know how to let it out without losing myself in the flood. I was afraid that if I relinquished even a little control everything would come rushing out, people would see who I really was, and nobody would like me anymore.
This fear was true, a lot of things came rushing out, and there are people who don’t like me. I realized they never liked me in the first place, even when I was putting all my energy into creating a perfectly likeable exterior, and the things that came rushing out were leaking through well before I broke the dam. These realizations helped me on the path to really embrace myself as a whole person, and to honor and claim the darkness along with the light.
Continuing with counseling I was struck by how muddy and incomprehensible my emotions were. This inspired I’m Fine. It was an interesting experience blowing the multitude of glass bubbles knowing that I would eventually destroy them, a lesson in appreciating the moment and not getting too attached. I set them up in the Cell, a white cube gallery, lovingly filling each one with dark staining liquid before quickly flipping them hole-side-down onto the floor arranged like a fairy ring, as if they had deeply buried hyphae connecting each one to the rest. These dark bubbles were my mental and
emotional state at the time, well bottled but stuck and immobile, ready to pop.
I’m Fine. [before breaking] glass, dye, paint, water. 2018
I crouched in the ring, adding the final bubble of liquid as if I had extracted it from myself. I considered for a moment, should I just stay here, purged yet stagnant? In a swift movement I snatched up a bubble -liquid streaming from the hole as I unsealed it from the floor- and flung it against the far wall. It shattered, leaving a splattering trail of teal and purple. Maybe these feelings weren’t as opaque as I originally thought? I flung another, and another, and another, grunting with the effort and enjoying the low boom of impact and the chime of breaking glass. By the time I ran out of bubbles the room and I were the colors of an old bruise and shattered glass was everywhere. I felt nothing, a welcome change from feeling everything.
I’m Fine. [after breaking] glass, dye, paint, water. 2018
In the following months I teased out the individual causes and effects. This lead to What My Hope Looks Like, Ever Onward, Ever Just Feel Heavy?, and Give It Your All.
This series separates out individual emotional bodies from the heaving mass. In
simplified terms these stand for, in order: hope, endurance, despair, and desperation. In making these sculptures I thought about the process by which I summon and manifest these emotional bodies into the physical world, which lead to researching magic.
What grows in the Dark?
What do we hold in our belly, spilling out when we split the skin?
What happens when it meets the Light?
We welcome our Shadows.
Ever Onward cast aluminum, cast iron, steel, wood. 2018
Ever Just Feel Heavy? cast iron, dye, gelatin. 2018
Give It Your All neon, latex, steel, water, dye, stuffing, transformer. 2018
Making as Manifesting:
Condensed Chaos: an introduction to chaos magic by Phil Hine provides a window into the realm of chaos magic, a branch that holds the core tenant: “nothing is true, everything is permitted.”9 Chaos Magic is less structured than some branches of magic, there is no one right way of doing things. Instead, it is up to the individual practitioner to find their own course and feel their way through, borrowing from other traditions as needed. This is reminiscent of Women Who Run With the Wolves, in each story all the heroine needed to continue was already part of herself and she just needed to trust and access it. Hine also heavily references Carl Jung’s theories of the collective unconscious in his discussion, and admits that for a long time he “believed that magic was merely psychology dressed up.”10 Framing magic as a way to change our own perception of the world or of ourselves rather than literally changing the world as it objectively is makes it more approachable. Magic is a useful tool for exploring our murky interiors.
My art is a self-divinatory tool, intention infuses every stitch and intuition leads the way. Learning to be more attentive to the subtle cues that arise from the unconscious mind, I own what I am rather than shove it back under the surface. My work has always come from this submerged, internal place, and that is why I fail when attempting to make pieces about a specific topic external to myself. That is not to say that all my work is exclusively about myself, just that the internal is the underlying state of the work: the subtext.
9Hine, Phil, and Peter J. Carroll. Condensed Chaos: An Introduction to Chaos Magic. (Tempe, AZ:
Original Falcon Press, 2010.) 24.
10Hine, Phil, and Peter J. Carroll, Condensed Chaos, 39.
It is a relief now to finally align with it openly, and talk about it clearly. It used to feel like I was cursed. I would make these things, be unable to stop making them, know in my gut what they were really about, but be completely unable to verbalize it, even within my own mind. Now I’m closer to sharing them fully, and using the process and resulting pieces more precisely as tools of healing for both others and myself.
What grows in the Dark?
What do we hold in our belly, spilling out when we split the skin?
What happens when it meets the Light?
We welcome our Shadows.
We reconcile with ourselves, drawing out the pain.
Lights in the Dark:
Lights in the dark relate back to emotional body/structure duality in that they are a man-made clarifying presence in the dark natural world. They serve as a welcoming and boundary point, a beacon and barrier, especially when one occurs in a spot where there aren’t usually people, or where humanities’ influence ends with the light.
It is important to have something near the light to catch it, with deep darkness surrounding and isolating the pair. Each one of the triad cannot exist without the other, the light by itself is meaningless without the object it illuminates and the darkness that separates them from the rest of the world. There is a sense of unreality when
encountering a light in the dark: outside of this softly glowing microcosm there is nothing, or there is only unknown and unknowable.
In Summoning Self, the viewer has to be their own light in the dark, discovering and illuminating the emotional bodies emerging from the architecture of the gallery with the assistance of a flashlight. Some of the sculptures contain their own internal light, such as Beacon and Barrier. Rather than clarifying white their light is an abrasive red,
contained fire and pain, overwhelming the detail and narrative of their skins. In order to be understood fully they still need the caress of a flashlight, an externalized viewing.
Beacon and Barrier neon, latex, dye, yarn, thread, stuffing. 2019
In addition to Beacon and Barrier, there are several sculptures lurking in the dark.
Six large tendrils coil out from under the wall, lit only by the viewer. These latex forms are the emotions we have suppressed for far too long: anger, fear, and lust, but they have returned for reconciliation rather than vengeance. Fingers of Shadow, they reach out in search of recognition. They are the six sisters: Virago, Harridan, Termagant, Fury, Hag, and Slattern. They are all things we are not supposed to be, yet are.
Lying on the floor are two skins, a third hangs on the wall, emerging from a crack of light. They are rumpled, reddened, bruised, and scarred, with sutures mending words cut into the flesh. Each skin holds a questioning line of the recurring and slowly building poem that runs through this text. They do not have the answers, and whatever once wore them now has a new skin, perhaps a skin with the answers emerging as patterns of veins or freckles, an organic response to the painful questions.
What grows in the Dark? latex, dye, thread. 2019
What do we hold in our belly, spilling out when we split the skin? latex, dye, thread. 2019
What happens when it meets the Light? latex, dye, thread. 2019
Conclusion:
In a recent article titled “Why Contemporary Women Artists Are Obsessed with the Grotesque” Tess Thackara argues that the “hunger to explore and break down the boundaries of human experience, however anxious or unsettling—to deconstruct and reinvent the body—is generating some of the most vital and complex art being made today.” 11
I make art to reach the deep coils that I’m too afraid to share through spoken or written language, that seem to require cloaking in pattern and form before sending out into the world. I hope they meet similar manifestations in other people’s psyches, and engender unspoken conversations, calls and responses, and a change in thought or behavior.
What grows in the Dark?
What do we hold in our belly, spilling out when we split the skin?
What happens when it meets the Light?
We welcome our Shadows.
We reconcile with ourselves, drawing out the pain.
We become our own Lights in the Dark.
11Thackara, Tess. "Why Contemporary Women Artists Are Obsessed with the Grotesque." Artsy. January 18, 2019. Accessed February 22, 2019. https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-contemporary-women- artists-obsessed-grotesque.
Endnotes:
Transcript excerpt from What My Hope Looks Like:
“Follow me. Follow. Me. I’ve found a way, a path. We must keep moving, we cannot stop, we cannot give up. I know it’s hard, but we cannot stop.”
OCD by Neil Hilborn:
The first time I saw her…
Everything in my head went quiet.
All the tics, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.
When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments.
Even in bed, I’m thinking:
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips..
Or the eyelash on her cheek — the eyelash on her cheek — the eyelash on her cheek.
I knew I had to talk to her.
I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.
She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.
On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or fucking talking to her…
But she loved it.
She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday.
She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.
When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times.
I’d always watch her mouth when she talked — when she talked —
when she talked — when she talked when she talked;
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.
At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.
She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her.
Some mornings I’d start kissing her goodbye but she’d just leave cause I was just making her late for work…
When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking…
When she said she loved me her mouth was a straight line.
She told me that I was taking up too much of her time.
Last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place.
She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but…
How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touched her?
Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t.
I can’t — I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her.
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.
I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars…
And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel..
How she turns shower knobs like she’s opening a safe.
How she blows out candles — blows out candles —
blows out candles — blows out candles — blows out candles — blows out…
Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.
I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once — he doesn’t care if it’s perfect!
I want her back so bad…
I leave the door unlocked.
I leave the lights on.
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