Hannah Barnes: The Swainson's Thrush Meets Victorian Papercraft

[Full disclosure: The author and the interviewee have more than transformative experiences through their love of birds and participation in the Postcard Collective in common. Together they have visited Maine twice (though the author has no recollection of seeing the Swainson's Thrush),  camped in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, and spent numerous hours discussing their respective artwork. ]

The first time I saw Hannah Barnes draw a bird was on a napkin at a local bar. They have since appeared on many birthday cards and even an abstract rendition in one of her paintings (that I meticulously searched her website for and could not find). Despite knowing Hannah for the last seven years, I learned so much more about her working process and influences through this interview.  There is nothing like a formal structure to better understand someone's artwork you think you knew well.

Jacinda Russell: Tell me about your relationship with birds as they have appeared on and off in your artwork and are featured prominently in both your entries for the Postcard Collective.

Hannah Barnes: I would consider myself a novice birder at best. I don’t know very much about birds, but I do credit them for some of my most profound moments in the wilderness. They have been adept at teaching me how to pay attention. Trying to pick out a tiny yellow warbler high up among a dense mass of leaves, patiently, without moving, with one’s senses fully open – this sort of ‘present-moment awareness’ is profound and transformative.

Both of my grandfathers are amateur birders, but I knew little about birds until I moved to Maine and had the opportunity to spend time in the wilderness. The first bird I learned about was the Swainson’s Thrush. It’s a small, unremarkable looking brown bird that is very difficult to spot, as it blends in very well with its habitat.  Although it isn’t much to look at, the thrush has a distinctive musical, flute-like call, considered by some birders to be the most beautiful of all birdsongs. It can be heard throughout the summer in the wooded areas of Maine. I think the thrush somehow sneakily  ‘throws’ its voice, because although it spends most of its time hopping along the forest floor, its song always seems to be coming from the overhead canopy.

Bird Love Token (Image provided by Hannah Barnes)

JR: You are one of the few people that have submitted postcards that incorporate interactivity as the main means of expression. A story is unveiled at the turn of a dial resulting in a cyclical presentation where the viewer decides where it must end or begin. What is your interest in this format?

HB: Part of what excites me about the Postcard Collective is the format itself. These days, it seems the postcard, like most hand-mailed correspondence, is becoming an increasingly antiquated form of communication (evidenced by the fact that in 2011, the USPS nearly went through with a plan to close more than 3,700 struggling branches). I feel mournful about this because when I was a teenager, letter writing was my favorite way to communicate with my friends. I even had an Australian pen-pal. I loved writing and receiving letters and postcards; I spent hours crafting envelopes from scratch, embellishing them with elaborate text, and filling them with mementos, letters, and drawings. When I first approached creating an artist postcard for the Collective, my natural instinct was to channel these qualities of handicraft and personal exchange.

The simple interactive, handmade format of my cards reminds me of objects and sentiments from a bygone era, much like the postcard itself. The turning paper wheel I’ve used in my past cards is a simple mechanism that offers a narrative ‘page-turning,’ ah-hah/surprise device, as well as an element of play, novelty, and interactivity. As a kid, I loved simple interactive wooden and paper games and toys like Jacob’s ladders, jigsaw puzzles, origami, and pop-up books; the moving-part card works (I hope) in a similar way.

Vintage Valentines (Images provided by Hannah Barnes)

JR: These are sad anecdotes in which humans kill birds maliciously or unintentionally. You conceal their deaths until the last few words spin visibly in the opening. There is excitement in turning the dial (as an element of play) yet the content contradicts this action. Ultimately, I am left despising the people that would kill an animal in these ways. What would you like the viewer to take from this and why was it important to make two postcards that drive these points home?

HB: Birds seem to have so much to tell us about ourselves, and about our planet. We have seen numerous species become extinct in modern history – over 190 since 1500. Many of these extinctions can be attributed directly to human activity – our arrogance toward other species, our disregard for nature, and our failure or refusal to understand its laws of interdependence. I suspect that if we could pay more attention to them, birds would have many answers for us about how and where we are going wrong as humans. Rachel Carson’s research revealed how eagles and falcons were being pushed to the brink of extinction as a result of pesticide use; yet decades later, pesticides continue to be responsible for problems in human health and the environment.

I suppose that’s what my postcards, which recollect true stories, are about. They convey the hubris of our species and our failure to listen to one of nature’s most vocal harbingers. My first postcard tells a story of 100 tropical canaries left to freeze in in the cold on inauguration day. I think the symbolism is profound. I’d like to keep doing tragic bird stories as long as I can find them. As for the interactive element, I’m fond of how the reader/viewer is in charge of turning the wheel – it’s as if the card asks each recipient to acknowledge his or her part in the unfolding of the story.

Hannah Barnes, Fragments, 2008

JR: Artists that submit work that varies radically from their normal practice intrigue me. As an abstract painter and drawer you are producing postcards that are straightforward representations inspired by early 20th century drawing and typology. Is this departure a reprieve from your traditional method of working or do you feel it coincides with previous work but seen through a different medium?

HB: I love working with abstraction, but my main artistic practice is fairly disciplined, formal, and not at all narrative. It’s really fun to have an outlet for other ideas that don’t make it into my primary work, such as nature and storytelling. There are, however, one or two crossovers. For example, I’ve always had a love for the decorative, the ornate, and the handmade, and ornament and pattern have been frequent themes in my abstract paintings and drawings. In the past, I’ve created a couple pieces that have taken inspiration from sources such as Victorian cut paper crafts and traditional Shaker gift drawings. It’s a natural impulse to incorporate these qualities as design elements in the postcards.

As for the ‘vintage’ typography and style of imagery, this comes from my interest in antique postcards. The antique malls that litter the Midwest are teeming with boxes of vintage and antique cards, and it’s fascinating to sift through them. My favorite finds are the overly ornate specimens – often embossed, gilded, hand colored, and embellished with decorative frames and flourishes. I also love finding used cards with personal notes and addresses on the backs – relics of a time when fine penmanship was prized and correspondence was all about etiquette and style.

Shaker Gift Drawing (Image provided by Hannah Barnes)

JR: You have revealed that all of your postcards will feature interactive components. Any hints for what is on the horizon?

HB: In the future, I’d like to rely a bit less on text and more on the forms, pictures, and the movements of the card itself to tell my stories. I ran into some technical challenges with the last postcard I created; it prompted me to brush up on my craftsmanship and do more investigation into traditional paper-crafting techniques. I hope to feature some more elaborate cuts and pop-up elements in future cards, while keeping simplicity of design so that each card can still be cut and assembled by hand.

Hannah Barnes, Gift Series, 2008

Daniel Marchand on the Cinematic Perspective, -32 Degrees & Involuntary Sculptures

Daniel Marchand is one of the of the Postcard Collective’s most ardent participants. His images exude a sense of calm in a harsh climate and beauty in destruction (whether it is natural or human made). He walks through the countryside and the cities, elevating the commonplace and shedding new light on what is easily overlooked. This fall, I quizzed Daniel on his extensive number of submissions and here is some insight to his creative process.

Jacinda Russell: So much of your work indicates walking and taking note of your surroundings. Sometimes I think you are a street photographer and other times, you photograph in the manner of Lee Friedlander (specifically his relationship to the landscape). Who are your influences?

Daniel Marchand: I have always been an avid walker. As a child, I walked to school every day, regardless of the weather, even during the most severe of snowstorms. When I visit new places, I walk to discover them. When I first visited Beirut just after the civil war in 1994, I walked back to my hotel (a one hour walk) after dinner at around midnight to get a better feel of the city. This may have been crazy, but I still have memories of what I saw then. So I guess walking has made me more aware of my environment and has in some way influenced how I see and by extension how I photograph. 

I could not however single out one photographer who would have had a marking influence on me. When I see a landscape, I cannot but think of Ansel Adams for the skies, but I am also very much drawn to the work of Ed Burtynsky. My landscape work is probably a mix of both styles.

Many viewers of my work have pointed out to me that there is a definite cinematic influence. This could be explained by the fact that I was attracted to cinema at a very young age. My first attempt at conceiving a scenario and starting to shoot at 18 was never completed when a close friend who was portraying the main character died in a tragic accident.

JR: Two dominant themes of your postcards are the weather and the large scale. I immediately relate the references to winter to your location in Ottawa and seldom do you send the standard 4” x 6” image. I would love to hear your thoughts behind both of these observations.

DM: Living in Ottawa, the second coldest capital in the world after Ulan Bator, we have to deal with some severe climate, particularly in the winter. I refuse to be stopped by this and "hibernate". I would rather take advantage of what nature has to offer and make the best of it.  Doing so allows me get the image that nobody else has. An example of this is the postcard I sent for the Winter 2012 exchange. The actual temperature was minus 20C with a windchill factor that made it feel like minus 32F. Did that stop me? I grabbed the 4X5 and my digital camera and drove to the outskirt of town, at a local marina to see what was happening over the frozen river. The wind was blowing even more fiercely, lifting a cloud of fresh snow over the river. I spotted the bench, but thought twice about setting up the field camera in these conditions. I tool the shot anyway. It has become one of my favourite shots which I had framed 24X36 for my home office as a reminder. 

[image credit: Daniel Marchand]

I must admit that I never liked the 2:3 ratio very much. I prefer a 4:5 or 6:7 ratio in my photos and, if I shoot digital or 35mm, will often frame the shot in a way that I can crop the edges to give me the ratio I want. Because my landscapes often show large spaces, I like to print them large. I have noticed that it also has an influence on the size of my postcards. I normally print the cards on 17X22 or 24X30 paper and try to maximize the use of the surface I have to play with. 

JR: I am curious about your relationship to titles and the text found on back of the postcards. Your photographs are untitled on your website, yet there is always a description or a quote on the postcards. Sometimes it is personal story and in others, you provide a hint as to the location or time of year. Never do you reveal too much information. 

DM: I always struggle with titles. I take the photograph for what it is and hope that it will also mean something to the viewers. It may mean something totally different to them but that does not bother me. I often find titles artificial and a forced interpretation. I would rather leave the image untitled. But, if I must provide a title, I will come up with one that describes what I see on the printed version of the photograph, and this may be totally different from the original intention when I took the image. It is intentionally that I reveal little, I would rather let the viewers make up their own scenarios.

JR: One of my favorite cards is the story of the “’involuntary sculpture’ left on a city street by a construction worker” which depicts spray painted stone piled into a plastic box placed on top of wood. It is the only image that shows manipulated subject matter but not by you. It is a portrait of an unseen person yet your goal is to provide recognition. Since you gave the creator of this sculpture a “face”, I am curious if you know what became of the object? I love the temporality in the placement of materials that will not break down easily versus a paper postcard that will fade and fall apart, yet the image lives on far longer than the sculpture.

DM: I had just seen a review of Richard Wentworth's work who manipulates industrial and/or found objects into works of art. When I saw this box containing a perfectly cut part of the restaurant patio, I immediately saw that Wentworth could have easily created it. I wanted to give some recognition to the "invisible" and unknowing artist who had done this. I have returned to the location. The original patio has since been replaced by a access ramp for the business. The artist has vanished, but the postcard remains.

JR: Your bio website states that you worked for the Canadian Foreign Service and travelled all over the world. Does this affect the work you create for the Postcard Collective and if so, how?

DM: I worked for the Canadian Foreign Service for 32 years. Aside from serving at headquarters in Ottawa, I had assignments in London, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, West Africa and Beirut. It would be difficult for me to say how this accumulated experience had a direct impact on what I create for the Postcard Collective, but I am sure that it has opened my mind to see differently and appreciate different things.

JR: On the Postcard Collective blog, I am trying to feature some of my favorite pieces of mail art (or at least those that reference objects sent in the mail). I am curious what holds other people's interest. That said, do you have a favorite mail artist?

DM: I had not exchanged art by mail until I joined the Postcard Collective. I was hooked from the start. I look forward to seeing what the next exchange will bring and appreciate the variety of cards and objects that come through the mail.  Although I have not thought about who among the participants would be my preferred artist, I must say that I always look for James "Hope all's well and swell" Luckett's card as much for the written words as for the visual elements. James has a way to grab my attention that is different from the other participants in the Collective.  

Cat Lynch on Endurance Tests, Wikipedia, and the Abandoned Collection

I love receiving Cat Lynch's postcards because they are painstakingly painted, unique objects. They are special as if they were selected and made just for me (or so I'd like to believe). The watercolor paper arrives folded but never torn with a handwritten note on the back. I think about these cards frequently and quizzed Cat on her process.

Jacinda Russell: You are in the minority of Postcard Collective participants who make unique objects en masse. Some of the things I think about when I look at your two submissions, 32 and 30 new paintings of 30 old things, are: your medium of watercolor on paper (I would consider it too valuable a commodity to send unexposed in the mail) and the concept of painting reproductions of paper on paper whether it be paintings of postcards or partial envelopes. Can you discuss your relationship with materials?

Cat Lynch: My reason to make 30 paintings was simply that it was how I worked before the Postcard Collective. When I was accepted into my first exchange, I looked through exchanges from the past and noticed that a large number of participants were photographers who made photographs- from there it seemed to make sense that as painter, I’d make paintings. And if I was going to make 30 anyway, why not 30 that were different? (I should also mention I enjoy pointless challenges, endurance tests and bets with myself.)

As I was making them I found other reasons to keep painting. I love how immediate and unforgiving watercolor is- the moment the brush touches paper a mark’s made that’s fairly permanent. When I used to paint with oils I’d get stuck in feedback loops, going over the same section over and over trying to get it perfect, but with watercolor I’m forced to accept whatever happens.  Along that same train of thought, I also love how vulnerable and human watercolors look.  Sending something that feels so fragile unexposed in the mail is a bit scary, but in the fun, low-risk sort of scary that I enjoy. Postcards in general are pretty exposed items- your message is open and has the possibility of being touched and read by several anonymous people. After the initial gut-drop of dropping the cards in a big, dirty mailbox, I rather like the idea of these small, highly personal things being passed from person to person.

It’s funny that you mention that both 3o New paintings and 32 are reproductions of paper on paper- I somehow managed to miss this super obvious fact! I started out both thinking of them primarily as collections that had been meticulously assembled and then abandoned. A collector and documenter myself, I felt sad for Margaret Ann Tilly and the anonymous envelope-clipper, and wanted to add importance to their objects- a sort of final commemoration. The only way I knew how to do so was to paint them, since to draw or paint an object I have to look at it intimately and for an extended time- intimacy and time which is then reflected in the marks made on the paper (hopefully).

JR: You are a process based artist (that's an understatement!). How long does it take to paint 30 different postcards? Do you finish one before beginning another? I envision an assembly line of sorts. Anything else you would like to reveal about the production of these?

CL: Yes, if there’s one word I think is accurate to describe my art and my practice, it’s definitely process! My brain runs on kinetic energy- the more I’m moving the more I’m thinking. Process also gives me time and space to find layers of meaning in my work. Back when I used to fancy myself a Painter with a Capital Oil Painting P, I really struggled with making work that meant anything to me- I felt I to come up with an image first and make the painting second, which was really hard for me. (Painters who do this are, I’m pretty sure, wizards.)

The process is somewhat of an assembly line; The production usually begins with an idea that’s either way too boring or way too convoluted. To get past either problem, I start by cutting the paper down to size. It’s usually during this rote activity that I accidentally stumble upon another, more exciting story to add to the original idea. If it’s exciting enough, or simple enough, I start working on the cards individually, finishing the front of one before starting another. Addressing and writing the back are assembly line-like steps that I save for whenever I get stuck or need another rote activity. (With 32, for example, the idea for the text on the back of the cards came while writing out the return addresses).

I usually finish the last postcard a day or two before they’re done. This is in part because painting takes so long, and in part because I work full time, am a chronic overcommiter (In addition to working on the postcards, I usually have one or two other major projects in the works.) and an easily distracted research junkie- (Wikipedia’s link system is best and worst thing to happen to my art practice.. )

JR: I've been very curious about the origin of the tweet written on the back of my 32 entry: "RT@KrisHumphries if this tweet gets 1000 RTs I'll leak the sextape. iDisprespectHoez 27 Jan."  Did all the postcards have different text? If so, what else did you include? Your inclusion of a tweet on the back of a postcard with a scrap of an envelope painted on the front references dueling methods (and eras) of communication. I'm curious to know more about that.

CL: Well, originally the idea for 32 came from the contradiction implied by the number and the Postcard Collective- With the rise of the internet, the postal system is barely staying afloat, however it’s the internet that makes initiating a wide reaching exchange like the Postcard Collective possible. My initial thought was to take something interior (the envelop lining) and make it very visible, and to take something normally considered public (the internet, twitter, etc) and make it all about secrets and privacy.

The quotes on the back of the cards (and yes, all of them were different. I didn’t even think about recording all of them before sending them off, alas) are all tweets found by searching for various synonyms of the word ‘reveal’ (I believe yours was found while searching ‘leak’). I tried to chose tweets that not only used the word, but were also about revealing something one wouldn’t normally reveal in public (offline).

I think outlets like Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, etc, are fascinating- Especially Twitter, which seems like its sole purpose is to exist as a public platform for private thoughts. I’m pretty slow when it comes to technology, and was intrigued by how many tweets were extremely personal and confessional. In my research I found a surprising number of twitterfeeds entirely devoted to anonymous secret-posting. It’s like there’s something hardwired into our brains that needs to confess to someone, anyonee0 like Midas’s brother and the lake. Even as a fairly private person, I kind of understand the appeal of an anonymous confessor.

My decision to handwrite the tweets was inspired by the constantly evolving nature of social media- everything’s constantly changing and almost always time stamped. Even the time stamp changes- a tweet that was posted ‘a minute ago’ is only more minutes away from being posted ‘an hour ago- It’s only after days, in some cases, that an objective date is given to the data. A part of me thought it would be funny to take something so fluid and high tech and put it into a fixed format (A good deal of my art is meant to make myself laugh.)

JR: Both of your submissions exist online and the blog entry is integral to understanding them as a whole. Can you talk about the online presence/history/documentation of these (which is highly contemporary) versus the handmade nature and nostalgic subject matter which references the past? This is one of the things that fascinates me most about your postcards is this juxtaposition of time and materials.

CL: Originally, with the 30 New Pictures… I decided to make all the cards available because if I knew I was receiving one of thirty items, I’d want to know what the others were- Like one of those mystery prizes- ‘which one will I get?’ I see the postcards, especially 30 New Pictures as part of a complete story-  I wanted the recipients of each card to feel that their card was entirely their own (each had a personal message related to something I thought we might have in common) but also to be able to see how their card fit into the overall story. The internet is a marvelous tool to make that happen.

At the same time, it’s also a bit of a tease- you can see the front of the cards, but not the back (each postcard has a personal message.).  Also, you can see each front, but knowing they’re paintings, you know looking at them in person is different than seeing them digitally- like looking up masterpieces on Google Images – I’ve looked up Eva Hesse’s sculptures online hundreds of times, but I’ve never gotten misty-eyed staring at my monitor or thought ‘Yup. Don’t need to see that in person now. This isn’t meant to say that seeing a Cat Lynch postcard is the same experience as seeing an Eva Hesse sculpture, but I do think that art that exists first as a physical object is meant to be seen in bodily person. But like I said, initially? Mystery prize box.

JR: Can you drop a hint as to what we will see next in May?

CL: The method’s are fairly similar- watercolor drawing, 30 different pieces. With this next exchange, however I wanted to incorporate more of my writing and tell a more personal story- hidden under layers of process and metaphor of course. This time, rather than documenting a stranger’s abandoned, physical collection, I’m documenting my own personal, somewhat intangible and ongoing collection. Readers of my blog, or of the Oxford English Dictionary will recognize a few elements.

[All studio images are courtesy of Cat Lynch.]

Tim Walker's "Circa 1978"

If I had a pristine photograph of Tim Walker's "Circa 1978" I would be content. Unfortunately, two tears inhabit the bottom and the post office's magenta scan runs through the left side.  That's the beauty of a postcard though - never quite knowing how it will arrive. Despite it's imperfect condition, I remain enamored with this small landscape. I was really pleased Tim agreed to answer some questions, putting to rest some of the ambiguity that I wanted to resolve from the moment it appeared in my post office box eight months ago.

Jacinda Russell: You've sent one of the most compelling postcards throughout my brief participation in the Postcard Collective.  It is one of my favorites because of the mysterious location.  I can read so much into it but if you don't mind, I'd love to hear the story behind its creation.

Tim Walker: Let me first say that I feel the most successful platform for visual images in my mind is the middle ground between maker and viewer. This middle ground is an area where each viewer brings something from his or her experience to the viewing of the image. It’s not meant to be strictly ambiguous, but it’s not didactic either. So I appreciate the “reading into” observation.

As for it’s creation, what I will say that as someone who makes images using a camera it soon became clear to me that ideas of location and narrative are not inherent in images. I’m not sure if this idea is something that is a priori for most, but for me it was a meaningful epiphany.

A long time ago I read a review of the movie Brazil. The review took great lengths to describe how Brazil was a state of mind. I like the idea that an image or a piece of artwork can have literal trappings, but represent a state of mind.

JR: "Circa 1978" is written in a large font and "perhaps" runs up and down the far left side.  The latter is so inconspicuous that it might not be noticeable with the post office barcode printed alongside of it.  What does "Circa 1978" have to do with the photograph and why "perhaps..." thirty-three years later?

TW: I’m fascinated by how slippery memory is. How our memory exists for own purposes and not in any way to aid “Truth”. I’m also fascinated for some reason by those years in the ’70s. For some reason they represent a time that is real history to me as opposed to thinking about historical events in other eras like the ’60’s or WWII, where they seem less like history and more like a movie, perhaps because of my own proximity to that time period.

“Circa 1978” is certainly a nod to these feelings of history and memory. “Perhaps…” is the wink to the slippery value of both, and to the idea of a state of mind.

JR: It's an escapist image of a blurry sea with some running along the horizon.  I'm reminded of Gerhard Richter paintings or Uta Barthe photographs.  Did you have any influences when making this piece?

TW: That’s an interesting observation. I remember seeing a Ute Barthe show in the ‘90s and was very struck by the blurry images, but I’m sure I would say a direct influence. Gerhard Richter however, I would say yes. His 100 Pictures book is a favorite of mine. I have been spending time recently looking at Richter’s books, especially his Baader-Meinhof book.

JR: You live in Tucson.  I lived in Tucson.  I loved the desert but spent a great deal of time turning the land into the sea on the distant horizon.  It's a place that screams of an ocean that once was.  What's your relationship to the desert and does it have anything to do with this image?

TW: I didn’t grow up in the desert. I grew up in Minnesota, a land ripe with lakes and water. I always joked that water wasn’t my natural habitat, but now as I’ve lived in the desert for a while I’ve been rethinking that. I share your pull to the horizon. I lived on the Pacific Ocean for a spell and was completely fascinated by the completeness of the horizon. The horizon is definitely a key element of that image for me.

JR: Is this postcard an anomaly in your oeuvre? What are you working on right now?

TW: I wouldn’t say that it is an anomaly in the sense that it pokes at the ideas of history and memory as mentioned above, but I would say that it is different in the sense that it is less representational that most of my images are.

Amelia Morris talks cats, tattoos, and self-portraiture in her submissions for the Collective

Disclaimer: I met Amelia Morris 4.5 years ago when she walked into my office, introduced herself, and shook my hand. I own two of her photographs and currently am vying for a copy of the faux-tattoo print though a trade is not set in stone. Amelia knows all the best restaurants to frequent off the beaten path in Indianapolis and can whip up the best cupcakes on command. When I presented Camden with the concept of doing interviews for this blog, she was one of the first people that came to mind. She'll be famous someday. Just wait and see.

Jacinda Russell: Self-portraiture is an important aspect in your work. Can you describe its role in the three images you've submitted for the Collective?

Amelia Morris: When I first started submitting postcards to the Collective, I thought it might be a good way to experiment with something new or branch out from my usual modes of working. However, I’ve discovered that old habits die hard, and so far have continued to utilize self-portraiture. In the future, I might try to wean myself off the self-portraiture by photographing my cats in funny costumes but include a glimpse of my foot in the corner of the frame…wait…32 cat costumes! I’m so ready for the next exchange! But in all seriousness, I feel most drawn to personal subject matter, both in my own and others’ work. If I’m feeling introspective, it makes sense to use my physical self (or a surrogate in the form of a significant object or photograph) in the image. It’s most autobiographical that way.

JR: Writing or drawing on skin is a common motif on your postcards. Curious people might want to know the story behind the faux-tattoo. Is there anything else you'd like to reveal about it other than it giving you more street-cred?

AM: Ohhhhh, where to begin? My father and his family are British, and since my early teens I’ve thought about applying for dual citizenship as a way to try to preserve my roots back in England. As wonderful as I think it would be to have citizenship in two countries (or as my boyfriend says, to have a place to flee to if things get too crazy here), I’ve heard horror stories about people being stranded abroad due to silly clerical errors compounded by the fact that they belong to two places. This has lead to a fear of commitment concerning the whole issue, and I haven’t moved forward in exploring my options.

About a year ago, I was immersed in a project about that side of my family that brought these feelings back to the surface. One day, I stumbled across a photo of a Victorian-age tattooed lady, complete with a chest piece featuring a crossed American and British flag. It seemed to sum up perfectly what I wanted myself, even with the extreme commitment of having it permanently displayed on flesh. I asked a friend in Muncie, IN working as a tattoo artist to produce a faux-tattoo for me, so that for at least an afternoon, I could appear to be as self-assured as the woman in the photo. The tattoo made it into this image, which is now part of a working series about my post-undergrad blues.

The night before the “Faux-Tattoo” postcard photo, I tried to scrub the marker off my chest with a little soap and a washcloth, but didn’t make much progress. In the morning, I couldn’t help but enjoy the bruise-like quality of the faux-tattoo, and decided it needed to be documented for posterity. The intensity of the collaborative process was really different from how I usually work, so I thought image leant itself well to the theme of “newness.” The text on the front of the postcard is meant to be both silly and self-deprecating. While in Muncie, I met up with some friends at a great local bar, and it being the height of summer, had the faux-tattoo on display under a low-cut tank top. As someone who avoids drawing attention to herself, I couldn’t tell if I looked absolutely ridiculous or slightly hip. The faux-tattoo may have fooled a few folks from a distance, but my bad-assness faded upon closer inspection.

And in case anyone wants to know, a paste of baking soda and castile soap makes an effective faux-tattoo/permanent marker remover.

JR: I view "Remember" and "Try to forget" as a diptych that followed one another three months later in the mail. In addition to having the most fascinating handwriting of anyone I've met, I am really drawn to your use of text. "Remember" is faint when it should look permanent. "Try to forget" is written in thick, block-like letters when I expect it to be washed away. Can you tell me more about your process in using text both on your body and underneath the photograph?

AM: I’m not sure how my interest in text got started. Phrases tend to get stuck in my head, and when they make their way into my work, it’s usually in a confessional context. Though the image should be able to say what I want it to say on its own, text seems to push things a little closer to the territory of a cryptic diary entry, and I think it adds to the narrative of the piece (…and since I’ve failed too many times when it comes to keeping a diary, perhaps it’s good to express these feelings in this way).

I remember a conversation in school about using a piece’s title card to present a creative title or back story for the image. We decided that if the text was so important, it should be inseparable from the finished image so that the viewer would be forced to acknowledge it. I’ve experimented with both incorporating text into the finished image (perhaps most successfully here and with further examples to be found here) and outside the frame as a caption. When I do this, sometimes I feel too Duane Michals-y, but the separation of text from the image feels best with what I’m working on now. And I think I’ll stick with utilizing my handwriting (few things can be as personal and telling as someone’s handwriting, you know…), unless I suddenly find myself enchanted with the idea of anonymity.

The “Remember” and “Try to Forget” postcards are my first experiments with using text on my body for the purpose of an image (though now that I write this, I seem to half remember a shot from Photo II where I drew something like a broken heart on my chest....yikes). “Remember” was originally inspired by a conversation with a friend about how our reliance on gadgets has hindered our once basic abilities to remember things like phone numbers, birthdays, or even when to take a pill. When I’m in danger of forgetting something urgent, I write whatever it is on the back of my hand for safe keeping (seeing it every time I look down really makes a difference).

Around the time I was thinking about making this first postcard, I was trying to come to terms with the project about my Grandmother’s home and belongings. I felt overwhelmed by the fact that no matter how hard I try, my memories will lose their edge. I’ll be stuck with a reminder for something that’s no longer there. It’s funny that you can have a set idea of what you want an image to look like, but when you’re working on it, it just doesn’t feel right. I took several shots of my hand with remember, but until I took a short break and washed my hands, I realized that the faded reminder was exactly what I needed.

When I signed up for the next exchange, I didn’t set out to make my second postcard a sequel to the first. However, after hearing some disturbing news and not being able to set myself free from it, I realized that making a photo about it could offer some kind of catharsis. Thinking about the delicate manner of the first postcard, I knew that the text would have to feel drastically different, almost violent. I think I wielded a magic marker like a machete for that one. Unfortunately, I haven’t really forgotten anything.

JR: Your postcards work well as straight images sent through the mail. Is this your ideal way of viewing them?

AM: I've been thinking about this question a lot lately because I'd like to share the "Faux-Tattoo" image beyond the context of the Postcard Collective. I haven't worked in a small scale like this for some time, and though I like it, I'm not opposed to seeing the images in what has become my usual size, about 10x14 inches. I wrote the message on the back of both the "Try to Forget" and "Faux-Tattoo" postcards off the top of my head, but now I'm not sure I'd feel the same about the image without its accompanying text. The message on the back of the card helps complete the narrative by adding further meaning to the front. Aye aye aye. I'll have to figure out some kind of resolution.

JR: What is the most memorable comment made about the title of your website thanksandsorryphotos.com?

AM: Oh, I get good-hearted laughs from some, perplexed looks from others, but always a slow reading aloud just to make sure they’re reading it correctly. After reading the name, someone once said, “Oh! I can tell we’re going to be great friends!” Maybe I should have stuck with something still self-deprecating but a little more to the point like “ameliaoccasionallytakesphotos.com.”

James Luckett's Entries for the Postcard Collective

I have been the fortunate recipient of James Luckett's postcards for years and have always been drawn to their mysterious content.  At one point in our lives we each had a post office box that contained the same numbers but in a different order.  His was easy to remember because of this and I tried to drop one in the mail in response semi-regularly though mine were nowhere near as profound.  The card I remember most prior to James joining the Postcard Collective referred to a request for me to continue to use twitter, comparing the experience to the night sky.  I kept that card on my refrigerator for weeks until I received his first entry for the Collective.

Jacinda Russell:  I would love to know more about your process particularly with your decisions in materials. In the five postcards I have received, two feel like they are on single weight paper, one on double weight and the other two commercially printed. Do you have a preference? Were certain cards meant to be original photographs and others not?

James Luckett: Nothing too complex. I’m simply trying, with my limited range of skills, to craft the best postcard that I can. The very first card, the double weight you refer to, was my attempt to make a passable entry. It consisted of a single-weight gelatin silver print spray mounted to cardstock and then trimmed. While it made a pleasurable object, it unfortunately over time was susceptible to warpage and separation. A pretty awkward mess. During that first exchange I saw a few others were using digitally produced commercial type solutions, and since I don’t have access to an inkjet printer and following the labor put into that first card, I figured this could be a welcome process. The next two cards were done this way, organized in Photoshop and printed by cardstore.com. I really like how they turned out and have used the service many times since then for other purposes, however the downside is the expense – about a buck a card. That fact led me back to my darkroom and to contact printing negatives on single weight paper and mailing them out as is. I’ve been collecting outdated gelatin silver printing paper for a few years and so I have a lot of it on hand. So far this has been the most satisfying solution to the problem – lending a fragile feeling and unique sense to each card - and this will likely be how I make the majority of cards for future exchanges. However, the next card, for the November 2011 exchange, in deference of the theme of “Newness”, will be a something completely different. There won’t even be a picture.

JR: How important is anonymity with this project? Curious people want to know who David, Jim and John are (two Davids or the same David)? Only two (Craig and Bee) reference a website and gives this anonymous face an identity but the rest are ambiguous. Do you send them the same postcards (as nonmembers of the collective or at least this is what I presume)?

JL: From the very beginning it was important to me that every card I make for the Collective be addressed to a specific person and that the card should function first and foremost as correspondence. All my life I’ve written letters and mailed postcards and so the editions I make for the Postcard Collective’s exchanges are a way to acknowledge and honor the importance of ongoing and long-term dialogues with people in my life. Anonymity doesn’t matter as much as reifying the idea that each card represents a real communication that is occurring outside the exchange between the Collective’s artists – that each card does indeed, at least to someone, function as a postcard traditionally should. To this end the first card in every edition is sent to the person the text on the back is addressed to. The second card in the edition is then mailed to The Postcard Collective for the archive and then the remainder of the edition is sent to the exchange participants.

There are antecedents that inspire this way of working. The first is Fluxus and their dissolving of the wall between art and life, and in particular Joseph Beuys life-long endeavor to imbue everyday objects with a confluence of cultural, historical and personal meaning, particularly in his crafting of multiples. Another, stronger influence for me is a book by the poet Richard Hugo titled 31 Letters and 13 Dreams– a series of intimate letters addressed to friends and colleagues interspersed with descriptions of nighttime visions, all written in the form of poems. There are a great many aspects of this book I admire and admittedly I’ve mined them all. I’ve always sought ways to merge the personal with the public and The Postcard Collective has provided a welcome opportunity to explore this desire.

JR: I love the autobiographical quality of the written content. Your indirect references to Marcel Duchamp after visiting Philadelphia connect your visit with a particular place. Others are more poetic, as in the reference to the "Phaedrus Incident." Are all the stories the same on each postcard? Are they fact or fiction? Which story was the most difficult to tell?

JL: I’ve never been very good at making things up; likely why I’m a photographer rather than a painter and so it follows: the messages on the cards are true – though I feel the texts generally function more evocatively than concretely. I like puns and alliteration and I defer to words that might resonate, despite the implied context, a multitude of incongruities. The first postcard concerns the aesthetics of Duchamp’s Etant donnés, and in homage to his mischievous methods really goes overboard with double entendres and the like and I even managed a backward allusion to Nude Descending a Staircase. This is my most playful card and I’m afraid the succeeding posts have been increasingly maudlin. Somewhere along the way the messages became less concerned with aesthetics and increasingly more personal and psychological. The most difficult card to make is always the last one. That might sound odd, given the effect some of the more confessional type cards might’ve had on those who’ve received them. Shocking with revelation and/or garnering sympathy through narrative is an age old survival trick of the wounded. While I feel they’ve been successful, I also realize the revelatory nature of melancholy is a much easier effect to put-on and pull-off. It’s more difficult to elicit affections with other methods. With the next card, in an attempt to get back to aesthetic issues, I’ll be doing something completely different. Though really, when I think about it, aesthetics is just another way of talking about the personal, but in safe sounding abstract terms.

JR: With the exception of the photographs taken at the Great Serpent Mound (Min. Northern Moonset and Max. Southern Moonset), all of the images reference the temporal nature of a once living subject: a dead bird, decaying sunflowers, an old wasp nest, and a deformed vegetable. There are ties to your series Practicalities but in some ways, they are less abstract than many of the photographs in that series. Do you see a direct connection or do you consider the images something altogether separate?

JL: I liken Practicalities to x-rays – as if one were looking through the surface of the print to see the underlying semiotic structures of the images. There’s the idealized snapshot, the perfect portrait, an absolute grotesque, the seminal surreal, a resurgent sublime. These images aren’t meant to relate so clearly to the real world as they do to the world of photography. They function something like a typology of photographic use and are intended to be liked, to hit the viewer’s sweet spot. Does the project accomplish all that? I don’t know – just that’s how I think of them. It’s a series of images I’ll be adding to for a long while. Practicalities is by no means finished or complete.

In the meantime other work goes on. As I get older I seem to be less interested in understanding, in having to know just what it is I’m doing. There is what I think, and then there is what I feel and that open-endedness is increasingly enough. The camera is becoming more a tool of discretion rather than of exploitation. A process less about transformation and rather more transmutative in character; less about making the world right for me and more about making me right with the world. I’ve no idea where this new relation to the medium is heading and yet I’m not all that concerned. My practice is becoming less circumspect and a lot more fun. Cameras don’t worry too much. I’m trying to learn from them.

JR: Will the typewriter make any more appearances?

JL: Indeed. While answering these questions I’ve been working on the card for the November 2011 exchange and was at an impasse about how to formalize my concept. This very question about the typewriter struck at just the right time, figuring these machines to be the very thing I need to get out and through. I’ve this recent sense that the bottleneck to communication in the photographic process is the photograph. It’s this thing that has to stand between me and you and the notion that any meaningful signal can be conveyed through anemic modalities of visual tones increasingly feels like a bad bet. So I’m going to see how far I can get with words alone. Words and the hammering of clacking type.

Chris Toalson's "Harvard Sentences"

This is the first interview in an ongoing series of Postcard Collective Members and their projects all displayed prominently on my refrigerator.

From Chris Toalson's artist statement: "In September 1969, The Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers published a study titled IEEE Recommended Practice for Speech Quality Measurements. Due to the increasing variety of speech transmission systems being utilized at the time, communication engineers found a need for standardizing their approach to measuring speech quality. This study included a list of phonetically balanced and homogenously structured sentences to be used as control speech material. Still utilized today, they have become known as the Harvard Sentences. These postcards reinterpret one of those ten sentence lists from 1965.  Amidst a culture obsessed with tweets, text messages, and status updates, communication via postcard seems archaic at best. The sentences themselves evoke nostalgic feelings for a simpler bygone era, and at times seem propagandistic. I’m interested in merging the notion of postcard as a form of communication and the laborious process of artistic creation, while pointing to the era that these sentences present."

Jacinda Russell: Can you talk about the inception of this project? If I remember right, you heard a story about the Harvard Sentences during your commute to Ball State. I hope I'm not making that up because there's something fitting about hearing them on the radio. Have you worked with text based projects in the past?

Chris Toalson: That’s correct. Last fall, I was driving home from teaching and heard a short piece on NPR. I think it was on ‘All Things Considered’, and for some reason a spark went off. I instantly had a project idea. My initial thought had to do with this concern for sound quality when to me it seemed so unimportant because of how common texting had become. Maybe it was also because I was trying to think of my next postcard idea at the time, but I think I was also looking at a variety of different artists who have explored language.

I’ve been thinking about text projects for a few years. My first explorations were a couple woodcut pieces that I was working on in grad school related to my True West series. I probably have more ideas related to text based projects than actual completed artworks.

JR: Why woodcuts? What are some of the pros and cons of using this process?

CT: Printmaking has been a much more experimental process for me. In comparison to my photographic work, I’m never quite sure what I’m going to get. When I started printmaking, I was making a lot of woodcuts and for this series, and I wanted a cleaner look so I started exploring linoleum block printing. I sort of miss the woodcut aesthetic, but I’m really happy with how the Harvard Sentences are coming out. I’ve thought that these would also look really slick as screen prints, but I’m afraid they could look almost too slick. I want that error of the artist’s hand to be apparent. Which sort of ties in to the labor associated with carving each block. I spend a couple days just creating the printing block and making test prints, much longer than it would take to just send a tweet or text.

JR: You choose one sentence in a group of ten lists. If you were to break down one grouping, can you talk about why you chose "Kick the ball straight and follow through" for example. I chose that example because there is sense of autobiography in some of the others. You living in Montana for several years is apparent in "A rod is used to catch pink salmon" and "The source of the river is the clear spring." Does your personal history inadvertently play a role?

CT: So far, all of the sentences have been from one list, List #2 of 72. Maybe it does have to do with personal history, but this list definitely jumped out at me. There are actually so many great sentences among the 720 that I would love to use, I just don’t know if I have that much stamina. I’ve stuck with one list because I see the postcards existing as set of 10. From my research, I get the impression that these groupings of 10 sentences were really important to the initial study of speech quality measurement, so I want to stick to that.

JR: There are 72 lists. Where do you foresee this project going in the future?

CT: I would actually love to do some larger pieces that exist as single phrases rather than as a set like the 10 postcards. It would take on a different meaning, because I wouldn’t be distributing them through the postal system. I’m also interested in taking the sentences back into their original aural form, though I’ve never worked with sound.

JR: In your artist statement presented on the back of "Kick the ball straight and follow through," you mention "I'm interested in merging the notion of postcard as a form of communication and the laborious process of artistic creation, while pointing to the era that these sentences present." They certainly evoke nostalgia and I am still surprised to learn these lists were created in 1965. Your process and the word combinations comment of decades earlier. Do you have any thoughts about that?

CT: You’re picking apart my research here! This is something I couldn’t figure out either. To me, the sentences feel much more reminiscent of a post-WW2 America, but they are dated 1965 in each bit of research I’ve come across. Maybe the sentences were created much earlier because in the 1969 IEEE study the Harvard Sentences are referred to as a ‘revised list’. I guess I’ll have to dig a little deeper if I really want to find out.

JR: Any chance "Open your book to the first page" will make a future appearance?

CT: I do like that sentence. It’s definitely a possibility. If I created an artist’s book of the series, that would be a great title. Do you know any good publishers who would be on board?