A Conversation with Artist Jeremiah Jenkins

Jeremiah Jenkins spoke with Sarah Burke at the SFMOMA Artists Gallery about his pieces in Sin and Redemption

Jeremiah Jenkins, Censer, 2012

Sarah Burke: For your piece "Censer," you've turned two coal mining helmets into a sort of incense shrine to acknowledge the work of miners, calling them "industrial monks." Can you talk a little about your decision to pay homage to coal miners? Do you feel a personal connection to the occupation?

Jeremiah Jenkins: Miners are searchers. They're searching for something physical and practical in the industrial world, but if taken out of that part of the context what they do is very spiritual.  To a monk there is acknowledgement of darkness without fear or avoidance. When miners descend into the darkness of the mine each day, it's similar to descending into spiritual darkness. They are guided by a light and by their fellow miners. 

Faith has a huge part in mining culture, because disasters are frequent and the work is hard.  Faith in their god, faith in themselves, and faith in the industry are always a drive for them to go forward.

SB: "Dreamcatcher (Racecar)" alludes to a Native American dreamcatcher, while also commenting on the very American obsession with Nascar and cars in general. What was your purpose in juxtaposing the two cultural ideals?

JJ: Car culture is a modern native American tradition.  While in many many ways it clashes with the views and lifestyles of the original culture of the Americas, it is a very firm fixture.  There is something primal and natural about our fascination with racing or just the speed and power an engine provides.  I think it's the same reason we started riding horses.  It is an extension of ourselves.  Of course that hits trouble when we realize the costs and side effects involved. 

I want to reconcile the two sides of my piece, the dream and the nightmare.

Jeremiah Jenkins, Dreamcatcher (Racecar), 2012

SB: Both of your pieces in our Sin and Redemption show are made of unusual materials. Can you tell us a little about how you choose and acquire objects for your work?

JJ: Choosing and acquiring materials is part luck and part searching.  I'm constantly searching flea markets, thrift stores, and other places for something that gives me a spark.  From there, the more I look into the object the more I find connections to another object or idea.  I try to create a bridge between the ideas that points to a truth I see.  Sometimes I'm amazed by what I find and where I find it.  I think of it like finding tools and arrowheads at an archeological site, but I'm finding the arrowheads of our culture now and making a survey of the present.

Kirk Crippens on his series of prisoner portraits

Kirk Crippens on his series "Hidden Population: San Quentin":

I was in the midst of a long process of photographing portraits inside San Quentin in May 2011 when the Supreme Court declared the overcrowding in California’s prison system unconstitutional and ordered the population lowered by 133,000 to achieve 137.5% capacity. My project began in 2008, when I petitioned the prison to allow me inside with my cameras. A year and a half later I was granted limited access and began a series of brief one-hour visits with the men. I was allowed inside once a year between 2009-12.



When I first arrived at San Quentin with my cameras, the prisoners were seated facing one another in a circle of metal chairs arranged for a gardening class. Fluorescent lights reflected off the tile floor onto their faces. The warden was present and guards were scattered throughout the room. I was given 45 minutes. Rushed and constricted, I struggled to find resonance. A man with a hand-sewn cap caught my attention, and I isolated him in my viewfinder. As I took in the scene, it occurred to me that I could capture individual qualities of the men from behind while they were participating in the class. By approaching it this way, I could also reference the hidden aspect of the lives they lead, locked up inside the prison.



When invited back in January 2012, I decided to try a different approach that included bringing a tripod and directly asking the men to pose for me. I set up my tripod in front of a cinder block wall in the San Quentin cafeteria and began asking the men if I could take their portrait. Most seemed honored; a few declined. It wasn’t how the guards or warden expected me to work, and I could feel the tension. The guards whispered and huddled together in the corner. Less than an hour later they asked me to leave and ushered me out. Although the series I’m submitting feels complete, I continue to be interested in prison culture and the political issues affecting it. I hope to visit again.

Kirk Crippens, San Quentin 7, 2011; photo: courtesy of the artist

Crippens spoke with Sarah Burke from the SFMOMA Artists' Gallery about his series "Hidden Population: San Quentin"

Sarah Burke: This year, you transitioned from photographing the backs of prisoners to taking their portraits. Can you quickly explain that decision?

Kirk Crippens: As you can see by the statement I photographed the prisoners from behind with a concept and from 2009-2011. In the statement I say, "Rushed and constricted, I struggled to find resonance. A man with a hand-sewn cap caught my attention, and I isolated him in my viewfinder. As I took in the scene, it occurred to me that I could capture individual qualities of the men from behind while they were participating in the class. By approaching it this way, I could also reference the hidden aspect of the lives they lead, locked up inside the prison."

SB: The prisoners whom you photograph at San Quentin must have some profound views on the subject of sin and redemption. What have you taken away with you after capturing their photographs?

KC: I am sure the men in San Quentin would have profound views on sin and redemption. The thing about working inside San Quentin is constriction. It's very difficult to get inside with a camera to begin with and when you finally do there is little time and latitude with which to work. As a result I have not been able to connect personally with the men very much, but my approach has always been "There but for the grace of God go I." I think to myself, if circumstances were different it could be me in San Quentin.

SB: What is your view on the American incarceration system as a modern day form of redemption from sin? Does imprisonment actually redeem prisoners or simply hide them away?

KC: I prefer for my work to stand on it's own without presenting a personal judgment about the wisdom of the current prison industrial complex. That said, the numbers of incarcerated people in the United States is alarming. For example, (as my statement says) in May 2011 the Supreme Court declared the overcrowding in California’s prison system unconstitutional and ordered the population lowered by 133,000 to achieve 137.5% capacity! 

Victor Cartagena on his work in Sin and Redemption

Victor Cartagena talks with Sarah Burke at the SFMOMA Artists' Gallery

Victor Cartagena, Cristo al Rojo Vivo, 2012; photo: courtesy of the artist

Sarah Burke: Your installation "Hostias (Mea Culpa)" is surprising and unique. Can you talk a little about the idea behind the piece, and your choice to use amplification?

Victor Cartagena: This piece was inspired by my personal memories as a child who grew up in a Catholic family.  My house in San Salvador, El Salvador in the ‘70s, was located next to "La Casa St. Vicente de Paul" (a Parochial School) which I attended as a first and second grade student.  This was also where the "hostias" (wafers) were manufactured in the old fashioned way by the nuns and distributed to all the churches.  Whenever there was broken wafers they were packaged in small plastic bags and the neighborhood children would buy them for 5 cents or so.  This memory along with the ritual of confession that I was obligated by my family to follow (I had to confess every Saturday from early childhood to my teenage years) have been combined in this piece.  The purpose of this intense involvement was that my family was hoping that I would eventually become a priest.  In regards to confession, my childhood memory of this ritual involves confessions of made-up "sins" since as a child I rarely felt that I had committed a sin.  Whispering in a private space, "the confessional," was also characteristic of this ritual.  The use of amplification in this piece is an ironic element, since something so private, that is whispered to a priest that is not even visible, becomes public.  Finally, the use of the surgical tweezers, is connected to my aunt under whose guidance I was introduced to Catholicism at the time (something I no longer practice), who was a nurse and had clinic and to whom the tweezers belonged.  I was interested in combining this instrument with the confession of sins to illustrate the healing of a physical ailment to that of a spiritual or psychological wound.

SB: You seem to work in a multitude of different media. What would you say is the theme that unites all of your diverse works?

 VC: The pieces exhibited in this specific exhibition were chosen by the curator.  From my perspective a unifying element is that my work is primarily inspired or grounded in the personal experience (either mine or that of others) and is conceptualized in such a way that the personal becomes political or universal, without hopefully losing its cultural and social context.  I use different media because I find that some of the work can be best embodied and communicates what I am trying to express more eloquently or clearly.  An installation, a mixed media piece, an interactive work, a print or a sculpture, each has its unique texture and allows the viewer to connect at different levels.

SB: In your piece "Cristo al Rojo Vivo," the combination of the bleeding Christ with the Christmas snow globe is very affecting, can you tell us a little about your decision to juxtapose the two?

 VC: In "Cristo al Rojo Vivo" I was very intrigued by the juxtaposition you describe, which combines both the element of hope and salvation represented in the birth of Christ that Christmas celebrates, with the violence that organized religion of all faiths (not just Christianity) has demonstrated over hundreds of years, including Christ's own violent physical death.  The red, "rojo vivo," illustrates the violence of the Crusades, of the massacres that have been committed in the American continent (North and South) during the Spanish conquest and beyond, as well as around the world, in the name of Christ and salvation.  Once again, this comes from my personal encounters with religion primarily as a child and of course through my knowledge of history.

SB: Much of your work focuses on the immigrant experience. Would you say that your pieces that employ religious imagery relate to that theme as well in some ways?

VC: In my opinion, some of my work related to the immigrant experience, but most of my work is a response to the personal and socio-political, in this country and the world, including of course, but not limited to the immigrant experience.  In previous work, including my exploration of the "Culture of Violence" I have been interested in how this is manifested in our culture as well as in the global community.  I believe that the religious imagery of the work exhibited in "Sin and Redemption" is primarily connected to my interest of exploring this theme, which of course is also present in much of my work inspired by the immigrant experience.

Victor Cartagena, El Cadejo y la Paperucita, 2012; photo: courtesy of the artist 

Fall 2012 Color Forecast

Every season the experts at Pantone issue a color forecast. For fall 2012 there are ten colors that range from a coffee-colored brown, “French Roast” to a light purple named, “Rhapsody.” There is also an au courant blue called, “Olympian Blue.”




From left to right, top to bottom: 1) Mary Curtis Radcliff, Sonic (diptych), 2010; 2) Kristine Reiner, Dichotomy, 2005; 3)Alan Ostreicher, 805-6, 2008; 4) Tom Bolles, Lots of Them, 2011; 5) Tom Bolles, Nothing, 2008; 6) Sharon Wickham, Aqua, 2009.

 

This suite of paintings and photographs from the SFMOMA Artists Gallery will help you imagine how to work this new, irresistible blue into your room and recharge your whole outlook. Think of this color as a sunny day in the Marin Headlands, or something akin to the feeling you get when listening to Florence and the Machine’s “No Light, No Light.”

A Conversation with Artist Kara Maria

Kara Maria, Voluptuous Deconstruction, 2010; photo: courtesy the artist

Kara Maria talks with Sarah Burke at the SFMOMA Artists Gallery

SB: You use a lot of recognizable imagery in your work such as political portraits and brand logos. Would you say that today, those icons are comparable to the religious icons that were so prominent earlier in history when art was mainly religious?

Kara Maria: It seems to me that the political images, logos etc. of today are sort of layered on top of older icons such as religious symbols from the past. Many of the older images have not disappeared. If anything, we have more and more imagery to work with as time passes - especially now that we have the Internet where we can see lots of it in one sitting. That art was mainly religious in the past has more to do with financing than anything else. In that sense, today's advertising might be a better analogy - contemporary artwork (unless commissioned by a corporation, I suppose) seems to serve a different function.

SB: Some of the imagery that you use is "sexually explicit," and would make many people feel ashamed to be looking at it. What's your purpose for employing imagery commonly thought of as taboo?

KM: I have used a lot of pornographic source material in my work because I find it interesting to work with. It is so loaded and yet so easy to access that I consider it to be part of pop culture. The nude human figure has a long history in art, and for better or worse pornography is one of the easiest places to find images of nude bodies in our society. For me it is a great source of "free" models to work from. I also find that the friction those images create when combined with other elements is not easily to replicate in other ways. It makes the work seems strangely "of the moment" to me.

SB: For your piece "Voluptuous Deconstruction" you manipulate a pornographic image until it is almost unrecognizable. Would you say that in doing so you are pointing out the fluidity of the "sinful" image?

KM: I'm not sure what you mean by the "fluidity" of the "sinful" image. I don't find the original image, or any other pornographic image, to be "sinful". I do find them, especially the more low budget photographs, to be strangely human, tactile, almost too much information. Once you really start to look at them, after any excitement, or revulsion wares off, you realize what is actually going on. The absolute openness, allowing such sexual acts to be made public, but for a profit - it's a very complicated thing. I enjoyed subverting all that into a more abstract image in "Voluptuous Deconstruction" - the complex issues are there, but beneath the surface.



Kara Maria, Canonball, 2010; photo: courtesy the artist

Sin and Redemption Opening Reception July 14, 2012

John Martin with his photograph from the series "In Character" a project done with the SF Opera.

Renee de Cossio with sound artist Sina Serba.

Sin and Redemption is on view through August 23, 2012 at the SFMOMA Artists Gallery.

Francesca Passalacqua and Ed Hardy pose in front of Kara Maria's "Voluptuous Deconstruction."

Ake Grunditz with his column for Sin and Redemption.

Viewers admiring the Grunditz column.

Maria Medua and Renee de Cossio of the SFMOMA Artists Gallery, curators of "Sin and Redemption."

Kara Maria with her work, "Voluptuous Deconstruction."

Photographer Lewis Watts with his work, "The Clark Sisters in Front of Their Church, St. Augustine, Florida."

Installation of David Best's piece for "Sin and Redemption" at the SFMOMA Artists Gallery, Fort Mason Center

Take a look at this video produced by SFMOMA. David Best talks about his work for Burning Man.


David Best and Clarke from the crew.

Pieces come together one by one.

Install will run into the wee hours.

David Best's Work for Exhibition, "Sin and Redemption"

David Best’s altar, made of recycled wood for “Sin and Redemption,” is meant as a touchstone for reflection. Viewers are welcome to write notes or leave messages on the piece that express their deepest concerns: pain, loss, anger, or shame, for example. When the altar is burned, the messages will be transformed into smoke and ash, providing a sense of release. Best uses recycled wood sheets (discarded from making toys and other punch-outs) for the cult festival of Burning Man hosted in the Nevada desert Bad Lands. They’re described as “spectacles of light and heat”.

Best's commitment to public art can be described as going beyond community-based work. For those involved, it is transformational to participate in one of his works. The entire construction of his sculptures often involves the recruitment of over ten thousand volunteers in what have been described as temporary monuments dedicated to the everyday person.

Best’s work facilitates a destructive and yet generative capacity for transcendence to take place. The temples serve as altars of confession for people to release what he terms “dark demons”. The material itself is taken from dumps and dumpsters, i.e. the excrement and soiled material of life that is then liberated from its sullied position into something greater.

People are allowed to write/leave notes/ and even release the ashes of loved ones inside the structure prior to its conflagration. The temple is symbolic of a burnt offering made to facilitate salvation and peace of mind. The temple provides a cathartic release of one’s pent up secrets.

The Requirements of a Temple: Philosophy of Architecture

The temple has to be “so beautiful” and awe inspiring that one succumbs to it; forfeiting our secrets that have been haunting us for most of our lives. This ritualistic confession is an attempt to release us from the burdens of our life and assuages us to accept our sufferings as audacious accomplishments in the face of crisis.

Aside from the morose theme of architecture, Best’s temples are meant to inspire and redeem the lives of those who have lost something meaningful.

“The function of the Temple and his views on the role that architecture should have within the framework of society. As an example, Best describes ‘a welfare office in Sacramento that costs 10 million dollars and a person walks into that office to get an $800 welfare check and that person is intimidated by this 10 million dollar building. There is something wrong with building a building that makes the person feel less and the organization feel better.’ He goes on to state, ‘a building should make a person feel better about themselves’” (September 2009 issue of in Gen Magazine).

1.     Best’s temples are grown out of society. His works invite participants to admire the architecture’s grandeur. The function of the temple is much like an altar that allows for “burnt offerings” that atone for the painful memories or carnal shames.

“Architecture is often concerned with attaining some ideal of perfection. But Best sees the Temple as an imperfect structure due to the constrictions of time and money and materials – much of which is donated. But even if he were given the resources to produce a magnum opus, he wouldn’t want to. He says,‘the perfection’ of the Temples ‘are the people who come into them. That’s what makes them perfect.’ It seems that for Best the construction of the Temple is only complete when it begins to serve the needs of the people for whom it was built” (September 2009 issue of in Gen Magazine).

2.    The temple is made whole “when it begins to serve the needs of the people for whom it was built”. Best’s temples subvert the pragmatic function of architecture. The structure itself is nothing more than a means to some greater humanistic end. In most cases, each temple commemorates the pain and loss or the jubilee of human existence.

“Instead, the Temple offers its space as a refuge for someone to go and reflect upon the struggle of his or her own experience and perhaps find the answer within that solitude... the Temple is simply a gift to someone in need”(September 2009 issue of in Gen Magazine).

David Best working with Clarke to assemble pieces of the altar.

Renee de Cossio (right) Co-Curator Sin and Redemption at construction of altar. 

Leslie and Ake Grunditz of the Rocket Ship project.

Cynthia Kiki Wallis photos document groundbreaking 1994 piece, "Cruci-Fiction Project."

As part of the "Sin and Redemption" show, photographer Cynthia Kiki Wallis is showing prints and photos that document the groundbreaking piece, "Cruci-Fiction Project."

On the evening of April 1, 1994, one week after Easter Sunday, a performance ritual took place on Rodeo Beach in the Marin Headlands Park. Performance artists Guillermo Gomez-Pena and Roberto Sifuentes dressed as Mexican stereotypes crucified themselves on two 12 by 8-foot wooden crosses to protest immigration policy.

The crucifixion image alluded to the biblical tale of Dimas and Gestas, the two small-time thieves who were crucified along with Jesus Christ.

Gomez-Pena and Sifuentes decided to replace the identities the biblical thieves with those of the two public enemies of California: the migrant worker (often perceived as the bandito) and the lowrider (perceived as a gang member by the media).

Instead of the original INRI (for the Latin phrase "Iesvs Nazarenvs Rex Iudaeorvm”, meaning Jesus of Nazareth King of the Jews)  inscribed on the cross above Gomez-Pena were the letters INS ( for the Immigration and Naturalization Service), and above Sifuentes, the letters LAPD (Los Angeles Police Department).

An artists’ statement was circulated to the over 300 audience members, who eventually “freed” the artists from their symbolic martyrdom after three hours on the crosses. The event was organized by Rene Yanez.

If you are unfamiliar with Guillermo Gomez-Pena, this article from the Hammer Museum spells it out quite plainly. He is considered one of a "handful of great performance artist in America" -- more likely it should say the world.

Artist Ake Grunditz on his column for Sin and Redemption

Ake Grunditz talks to Maria Medua about his piece for Sin and Redemption entitled, Columnaris Redempcioun. Grunditz also founded his own company in 1991 called Fine Design. Working with his wife, Leslie, he designs and carves low relief architectural ornaments for residential and commercial clients.

Fine Design’s work is inspired by Mediterranean stonework of the Medieval and Renaissance periods. Grunditz enjoys working with designs from all styles and eras. Most projects are residential, but clients also include restaurants, hotels and wineries.

MM: I remember the kernel of the idea started with this freestanding column you saw -- where was that exactly?

AG: For years I have had a photo of an old beautifully carved column pinned on my studio wall. It is a unique design with several small niches in the column shaft, I have never seen anything like it, very intriguing. Unfortunately, I have no idea where this column is located, there is no information on the photo. My guess is Italy...finding this column will be my quest!

MM: You have a background in ceramics, how does this material differ from clay?

AG:  To create the column I used a reconstituted lime stone material which is applied to a substrate as a wet slurry and then hand carved as it sets up. The working time is 4-8 hours, depending on thickness, and I mostly use ceramics and plaster tools to sculpt the mix. However, once it sets up, the material is rock hard and is very hard to alter with those types of tools. Clay, on the other hand, stays soft and workable as long as you keep it moist. The sculpting techniques are similar for both materials. However, the limestone material demands high paced sculpting, once you apply the wet mix you have to finish the carving in one long session. It is a challenge.... which I like.

MM: Can you talk more about the tree of life?

AG: The tree of life is a very potent symbol used by many cultures around the world, often relating to immortality, fertility, and the interconnectedness of all life. It represents the spiritual realm of existence and is often symbolic of wisdom and salvation. The fruits in the branches are rewards of spiritual growth -  among these are wisdom, love, truth and beauty.

The tree of life is depicted on the lower part of my column together with a Yakshini. The benign version of this Indian nature spirit is an expression of the divine life-force which flows through all living things.

MM: Each niche has a very intricately carved icon, what are the specific symbols you worked with?

AG: The column shaft has 12 niches, each filed with a carved image (an ankh cross, heart, scarab, griffin, skull, sun, hand, falcon, mushroom, and face) I selected symbols from various time periods and spiritual beliefs which could be interpreted as promoting transformation of consciousness and/or connectedness to Nature. Many of the symbols have had their meaning changed over time, for example the goat, which used to be worshipped for its lusty fertility and later, in Western traditions, was transformed into Satan himself.  One carving, the face with an open mouth stuffed with money, refer to selling indulgences, a lucrative business in the middle ages.  

MM: What did you enjoy most about creating the column?



Ake Grunditz, Columnaris Redempcioun, 2012; photo: courtesy of the artist

Columnaris Redempcioun (detail)

Fire is part of the process.

Grunditz carving the capital.

AG: It was very rewarding to get an opportunity to study symbols from various cultures and time periods, I discovered profound beauty and complexity in these ancient images. However, the greatest enjoyment is seeing the column completed, and constantly being surprised by the intriguing and enigmatic juxtaposition of the various carvings. No matter how much I work out a design on paper, I never really know how the finished piece will look....until it's done!