May 26 – September 10, 2006

Sigrid Sandström’s art explores the various ways we claim land (linguistically, mythically, or physically), as well as the motivations for such claims (exploration, property, sense of self, manifest destiny). The raw material for these explorations is the landscape of Sandström’s home country, Sweden. Dramatic scale shifts and purposely awkward surface treatments create powerful images that question how we understand the nature of Nature. Ginnungagap, a Swedish mythological reference to a place between fire and ice, includes Sandström’s recent paintings, sculptures, projected works, films, and works on paper.

Born in Stockholm, Sweden, Sandström received her MFA from Yale University in 2001. She currently lives in Red Hook, New York, where she teaches at Bard College. Ginnungagap is organized by chief curator Robin Held and will be accompanied by an exhibition catalogue.

RELATED EVENTS

Artist Talk

Sigrid Sandström

Thursday, May 25, 6 pm

Members Reception

Thursday, May 25, 6:30 pm

Interview with SIGRID SANDSTRÖM

What is the meaning of the word Ginnungagap? When did you discover the word? Tell us how it sparked your imagination.

I was trying to create a title for an exhibition of my work and one of my native English-speaking friends, who is amused by the appearance of Swedish words, suggested that I might find an appropriate word in Norse mythology.

In Norse mythology Ginnungagap is the primordial void separating the land of eternal ice and snow (Niflheim) and the land of eternal heat and flame (Muspell). Over a long period of time, water ran across Niflheim and poured into the northern part of Ginnungagap. The water froze, forming vast sheets of ice in the void. Hot air from Muspell melted some of the ice, creating a watery zone amid the ice and snow. According to the myth it was here that life began.

I was excited to find a word that has an origin equally as mysterious as the places that I paint.

Can you explain the relationship between the twenty-four paintings in the Ginnungagap series and your film?

Each of the paintings appears as a frame in my film. Mounted on the wall, the twenty-four paintings behave like a unified environment. In contrast, the joggling, rapid rush of images in the film (twenty-four frames in one second) punctures and compresses the expansive vastness shared by the paintings. The paintings become a fractured mishmash, creating a breakdown of space that contrasts with the narrative space often used in film.

Exhibited together, the film and the paintings address different aspects of the same fictional place. Viewing the series of paintings with the film allows one to become aware of how our perception of time alters and warps our experience of a place.

Much of your work engages cold, desolate landscapes. What is the role of winter in your recent work?

I have worked with winter motifs for the past six years. The landscape and time of day vary in my work, but in most cases the winter season persists. I find that there is clarity in the winter landscape, a pause, and a graphic or structural simplicity that appeals to me. It is as if things are put on hold in the winter. I find the waiting during this season melancholic, but beautiful. Waiting seems related to longing, much like a painter's longing for a solution or clue for what needs to be done.

In depicting vast and desolate places I avoid temporal and cultural issues. The place in my artwork remains anonymous but specific. In a time of speed and fast decisions, the seemingly outdated painting is reveling in its slow pace, resisting; it offers a moment of thought in the frenzy of contemporary life. However, in our current time, a vast ice landscape is suddenly less eternal than we ever imagined – our uttermost idea of eternity is melting day by day.

Who are some artists – historical or contemporary – viewers might find relevant in thinking about your work?

I love the Scandinavian symbolist painters as well as the Canadian Group of Seven. They shared a true devotion to their landscape and an endearing clumsiness in their paint-handling. Another great influence is Malevich's black square paintings. I recently discovered the political rebel, illustrator, and painter Rockwell Kent and was thrilled!    

I am interested in contemporary artwork that is slow and painterly, especially paintings that make you aware of the amount of time it took to create them. Among contemporary painters some of my heroes are Karin Mamma Andersson, Lisa Sanditz, Amy Sillman, Peter Doig, Angela DuFresne, Richard Wright, and all the German guys, including Alberth Oehlen, Daniel Richter, Thomas Scheibitz, and Neo Rausch. Other contemporary inspirational sources in sculpture and video are Taylor Davis, Hilary Harnischfeger, Karyn Olivier, Simon Starling, Lucy Gunning, and Ian Kiaer.

Can you tell us about your interest in exploration, utopia, and the desire to stake a claim in uncharted territory?

I find the utopian aspect of exploration – its noble and idealistic cause and its quest for the unknown – truly fascinating and absurd. Our inherent desire to claim and expand territories and the idea of looking for the unknown is a ridiculous concept in our time since every inch of our planet has already been charted. The adventurous explorations of the past now seem endearingly naïve. Previously the sublime was a possibility; now it needs to be invented.

The choice of materials has always been important in your work. Some of your recent paintings have been executed on the back and front of Mylar or polycarbonate sheets. The use of polycarbonate means that the viewer's reflection becomes part of his or her experience of these works, making one very aware – almost claustrophobically so – of the surface of the painting, in tension with the vast expanses of space you depict. Tell us what this strategy means for you.

I have always been interested in what happens in the moment we are captivated. How long can we be held in suspension, where does engagement break down to skeptical disbelief, and when does the participant turn into an observer? I have used multiple devices in my artwork to heighten a viewer's awareness of him or herself as a viewer. This seductive approach, however, is countered by devices such as binoculars, flashlights, grid constructions, or, in this case, reflective surfaces, that separate the viewer from what's being viewed. In phenomenology one talks about a reduction that occurs when the viewer becomes self-aware.

You have worked in a wide range of media-painting, photography, sculpture, and, more recently, video. Can you tell us what moving images have meant for your work?

Although I work in many different media, the core issues I address are the same, such as the notion of place and our visceral and cerebral understanding of it. My videos are rather simple; I use a fixed camera view to record time at a specific site. As in a painting, the landscapes in my videos remain still. Subtle changes take place within the landscape – a flag moves in the wind or a skier slowly skis by – prompting the viewer to observe the passage of time. The activities that take place in my videos are time indicators, much like the layers in a painting. The fixed camera view allows the viewer to contemplate entering the place, but also provokes an awareness of the limitations of what can be entered and perceived.

Scale is given much attention in your work. Can you elaborate on this?

The subject matter and scale of my pieces are quite grand. Sometimes the extreme scale shifts are used to enhance a sense of isolation and solitude. But they are also brought in as reminders of absurdity and wonder. Hopefully, the viewer will be pushed back and forth between austerity and humor, belief and detachment.

Scale is also a good device for measuring distances; it allows viewers to understand their relationship to a subject of a painting or a video. By using a variety of scales and having them co-exist, I explore the relationships between the artworks, as well as what kind of hierarchies and power structures are created when they are placed next to each other.