For years my work was about hanging on and letting go. More recently, in an attempt to control chaos, I am on a desperate yet sometimes futile search for perfect vessels to contain things. Some satisfaction is gained by a cozy fit around a teetering pile. Containing the uncontainable is a more daunting task. It seems I am back to holding on. I attempt to organize, support, catalogue and reconfigure. I dream of large, precarious stacks secured under custom-fit domes and lids that snap around and balloon over bulbous mounds. I delight in a dramatic reveal. The quiet spectacle of surprise and possibility. The contents may disappoint, and the results may be underwhelming or even anti-climactic, but if the exterior promises some glamour, some surprise, or absurdity, hope exists, and wonder is cultivated. That’s what is contained by my dome lids big and small; wonder, hope, air, maybe nothing, maybe something special, and in this case pancakes.
There are more to come.
I like filtering stories through the notion of spectacle, anything bigger or better, synchronized, brightly colored and given special attention. I embrace all spectacles, especially the unassuming spectacle that begins with simple changes in everyday activities. Two people brushing their teeth simultaneously can be as spectacular as shadows on a wall, a fire hydrant in the right light, a dance recital.
It used to be about hanging on and letting go, but sometime after the sequence fell off and the balls stopped floating the focus shifted. Still desperate to maintain control, I organize, contain and reconfigure. I look to many places at once for something happening right in front of me. My simultaneous search for calm and adventure leave my wanderlust feeling like an extravagant buffoon. I want to love my buffoon. Together we can do some night driving. Why, because yes.
This piece was inspired by the first flight in which I noticed that the plane I was riding in was casting a shadow on the ground. Next, I noticed that the clouds were casting shadows as well. This change in perspective and the ridiculously large scale of it all amused me and allowed me to notice all the pattern and repeated amazing shapes occurring in the landscape, in the sky and on the airplane. The fact of being able to go from one place to another very, very far away in a relatively short period of time is still a surreal marvel in the same part of my mind that was amused and delighted by the cloud shadows. Easily, flight and so many everyday moments can be overlooked and become mundane pedestrian events.
An exercise while working with students at Harold Washington College, during a time spent as a visiting artist started this series. Discussions of vessels, containment, wanderlust, and memory were the catalyst for these interactions.
This is a piece that straddles and questions the not so fine line between a child’s delight in playing spontaneously and the satisfaction of a well rehearsed piece coming together perfectly. I was working with kids and contemplating being an adult.
I wanted the free sense of play exhibited by the kids that I worked with and wondered if it was possible to recreate that with rigorous practice.
I had a dance choreographed by a 6 year old. I gathered professionals; a surgeon, a guidance counselor, an engineer, a lawer, a professor, etc. We rehearsed to classical music. When we had it just right, we very seriously performed her dance. Were we be closer to the Rockettes or closer to a child dancing freely?
Intrigued by their ability to seem ubiquitous while remaining invisible, I thought by taking their function away and placing them in an apparently fraudulent familiar settings I could restore the fire hydrant’s dignity.
A letter to Esther Williams: An Artist's Statement
Dear Esther,
Imagine 15 men and women at the local YMCA trying to be you for a few minutes. We were all former somethings. We all had dreamed of personal successes and known failure. It was a day where the lines between success and failure were blurred for 11 ½ minutes. After only 1 hour of practice we were perfect. Everybody dove, the circles were circular and the lines were straight. Only 1 prop was broken and we finished the performance just moments before the music's final crescendo. Our effort was absolutely earnest. There was a uniform feeling of complete success and perfect synchrony.
I was almost willing to miss graduation to see a screening of "Million Dollar Mermaid". I feel that our connection, unbeknownst to you, has been parallel to my work's connection to your films (maybe not the whole film but just the really good dance and swim numbers, you know the great Busby Berkley extravaganza's). Somehow, during the last year, you became an important "symbol". You became not just Esther Williams: champion swimmer, star, but also the synthesis of all my dreams. I swam for 18 years and it still remains a big part of who I am, who I think I am, who I would like to be and who I thought I would be. It was in the water where I have felt most proud and showcased my greatest insecurities. You seemed to succeed where I fell short. Through it all you were surrounded by others yet magically elevated to a level only dreamed of by the other gelatin headed beauties.
Memories of triumph and even mediocrity carry all the pageantry and drama of one of your fantastic sequences. I am interested in the absurd quality of your movies that allows for groups of people to swim in perfect unison while singing as if part of a normal day. In your films spectacle and supposed reality are allowed to take turns. Occasionally, they will even have a swim together. In my work, the attempt at "spectacle" is the reality in which normal people in unusual circumstances can do fantastic things. I hope that all involved leave with an indelible memory just as spectacular and absurdly endearing as your films. With the YMCA as the backdrop, the extravaganza begins and ends. And we are stars for 11 and 1/2 minutes.
Sincerely,
Carrie A. Ohm
An homage to Esther Williams. A "synchronized swimming" performance starring swimmers and non-swimmers who all had experience with grand attempts and certain failures. Our attempt was to secure an absurd reality where, with parameters and expectations lowered significantly, success was guaranteed.
With the Logan Square YMCA as our backdrop, we were stars for 14 and a half minutes.
Maintenance
Hand built and cast porcelain plumbing parts lie on the floor above a drawing of a map-like plumbing system. The drawings and fine parts are evidence of a desire for an increasingly “perfect” system. Buckets of water and pumps at either end of the installation introduce liquid into the system. The shortcomings of the pieces and their map become apparent as the system begins to leak and water eventually pools upon the floor.
Drain Cups are thrown porcelain cups and saucers each with a drain at the bottom. I asked people to drink from the cups as best they could.
