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Author: Diana Marin

Diana Marin is a creative content writer, founder, curator, and editor of The Uncanny Archive, art lover, poet, and social media enthusiast. She is a Literature and Film Graduate, with a Master’s degree in Film, Photography, and Media. She is never afraid to explore and embrace the multi-faceted nature of her mind, artistic potential, and of the world through interdisciplinary interests. Some of the themes she has researched and been inspired by throughout the years are the uncanny, memories, identity, dreams, the Unconscious mind, and channelling mental health disorders into art. Personal Website: dianamarin.com

Wuthering Heights (2011): the uncanny connection with nature

Posted on by Diana Marin

Wuthering Heights (2011), directed by Andrea Arnold, is a moody, visceral, atmospheric cinematic version of the story featuring the natural beauty and intensity of Kaya Scodelario as Cathy and her ineffable connection with Heathcliff, both of them sharing a deep bond with the gloomy, bleak, foggy surroundings. A haunting, alluringly grim atmosphere is ever present throughout the film. The scenery is dark and as chaotic and turbulent as the compelling cinematography of the film. The atmospheric sounds are intense and loud. From the very beginning, the sound makes us anticipate the eerie human-nature connection. A grown-up Heathcliff wanders around thoughtfully in an empty room, in what appears to be an abandoned house. We can hear the loud wind from outside, as well as the cracking sounds of the doors and the floor. There is something eerie about the location and the unfolding of this initial scene. It looks and sounds as if it could be a house from a horror film. The moment when the branches of a tree hit the window reminds us of the scene from the book in which Mr. Lockwood breaks the window to make the tapping stop. In the film, Heathcliff runs against the wall and ends up collapsing on the floor. After he starts crying, we hear four blows on the window, followed by Heathcliff’s matching response: hitting the floor four times while crying in despair. Then, we hear the impetuous rain and the powerful wind followed by the loud bark of the dogs. The wuthering sound remains constant. Heathcliff remains behind and is barked at by a dog, to which he responds with a savage snarl that implies his wild nature.

The chemistry between young Heathcliff and Cathy seems to be quite unusual: it is not represented through words, but mainly through looks, gestures, and, symbolically, through the agitation of the natural elements on the moors. Their bond is closely intertwined with the human-nature bond. The point-of-view shots showing Cathy’s wild hair blown in the wind are followed by shots of the wild, high grass and weeds, suggesting a correlation between her tumultuous character and the chaotic movement of the plants. Even though Heathcliff showed he was capable of speaking (despite being mostly uneducated), the two children rarely talk: it seems that there is an unspoken understanding between them or a sense of telepathy whilst they listen to the whistling of the wind and admire the haunting beauty of the landscape. The actors’ performances are very instinctive and have a visceral quality.

The environment provides refuge for Cathy and Heathcliff from the rest of the world. After their escape from the baptising moment, they start running on the windy, misty moors, happy and carefree. When they get back home, they are slapped by her father for their little rebellion. The film highlights metaphors for the conflict between culture and nature, culture trying to dominate nature, but failing, as nature does not succumb so easily.

During the playful yet tension-imbued mud fight scene, the two children bond with each other and with the earth at the same time. The playful exploration of childhood is essential in the film. Everything between them seems pure, simple, and physical when they are little. The moors become a symbol for their love affair that becomes more complicated as they grow up. What for the spectator might look like a bleak dystopian or threatening landscape, was actually Heathcliff’s Arcadia. When a grown-up Heathcliff returns after a long absence, it’s not only for his love, Cathy, but also for the place and time when he experienced that pure bliss. An idyllic image of unattainable splendour is engraved in his mind. Childhood often seems to reside in the realm of Arcadia in our minds, offering a unique way of feeling and experiencing things, which cannot be brought back or re-adopted.

The moors can also be associated with the dark brooding character of a lonely soul (Heathcliff): the moors are infertile, arid, wild, and even threatening. They are not supposed to be cultivated. They are untouched, uninfluenced by culture. Healthcliff is wild in the traditional way which implies unfitness for civil society, yet he is also wild in the modern use of the word, in that he signifies an antidote to hypercivilisation. The concept of wildness denotes something that is shared between humans and nonhuman entities. There are various examples of how this refers to Heathcliff: consider any scene where young Heathcliff resonates with the natural elements.

High Life (2018) – a disturbing, mesmerising voyage

Posted on by Diana Marin

High Life (2018) is a hypnotising, mostly slow-paced, eerie sci-fi film directed by Claire Denis, French director associated with art house films & known for transcending cinematic conventions. The film evokes a dreamlike, uncanny mood with sinister, twisted aspects, sexual experiments, and violence, all wrapped up in a greater sense of despair and despondency attributed to the hopelessness of the space voyage. The plot of High Life reveals a group of people whose common denominator is their capital crime history, setting off on a peculiar expedition into space with the purpose of harnessing energy from a black hole and bringing it back on Earth. Having been deceived into thinking that the mission is the key to their freedom, as an alternative to their earthly punishment, they soon become aware that it appears to be more like a suicide mission.

Juliette Binoche plays Dibs, the mysterious, long-haired, witchy mad scientist figure on the spaceship, who conducts unwanted sexual experiments on the captives, collecting their bodily fluids for artificial insemination purposes. Her bewitching performance is harmoniously intertwined with Robert Pattinson’s intensity and stoic composure in his role as Monte. His character is protective of the women on the spaceship, going from beating another spaceship inhabitant who tries to rape one of the girls, to rushing to save the doctor’s life, and eventually going into fatherhood. We already figure that Monte and his daughter might be the last ones standing, as he discards the corpses of the other interstellar voyagers into nothingness.

The atmosphere throughout the whole film is somewhat alienating and surreal, with uncanny undertones. After years spent adrift in the vastness of the universe, the spaceship has become their home, whilst at the same time being their prison. Monte’s brief musings are poetic at times, and the dialogue is minimal, amplifying the tension and intensity on board. A major aspect of that tension is sexual, and some of it is released within “The Fuckbox” (initially called the “love machine”, before the French director was persuaded to Americanise it), a particularly strange kinky dark chamber designed for individual fantasy-unleashing, which, however, doesn’t prevent the cosmic drifters from sexually assaulting other members on-board or being repressed. “Fuckbox” seems to be a more appropriate term for its nature, unless “love machine” was intended to create a satirical contrast.

Dr. Dibs’ self-satisfying scene in the box is mesmerising and primal, her movements are feral. This impression is further emphasised by the inclusion of animal fur within the decor and by the bizarre mystical soundtrack building up, incorporating sounds reminiscent of a wild animal’s lament. The sound could be mistaken for a distorted human moan for a split second, before turning wolf-like, which enhances the sense of eeriness and ritualistic transcendence. Her frenzy doesn’t culminate as she desired, it turns out the process was all too mechanical. When she gets out, she meets Monte’s reprimanding gaze, who questions her ways and her disturbing reproductive mission.

What follows is Monte’s confession that he had frequented the box, but decided to live a life of abstinence, hence why the others refer to him as the monk. He muses: “Chastity was a way of making myself stronger”. To provide contrast to the kinky box which is the symbol of Dibs’ queendom, the next scene shows Monte in his natural habitat, literally. He prefers hanging out in the little garden because it reminds him of life on Earth. His gardening pal admits that the garden anchors him in the present moment, perhaps making him feel connected to his family back on Earth, yet Monte gives him a painful reality check: that his family is either old or dead. We also find out that Monte’s name belongs to his dog, whom he was raised by, and who also had a more significant impact on his life.

At times, Juliette Binoche’s acting is both trance-inducing and trance-like. Not as if in a daze, but in a controlling, maniacal way. An example of this is the scene following Mia Goth’s character revealing of Dibs’ secret gruesome criminal past. With her ghostly vampiric presence, Dibs steps quietly and secretively through the empty corridor after sedating everyone. Right before the unsettling scene featuring Monte’s sleeping body, she stops in front of the female pilot whom she urges to go to sleep in a weirdly hypnotising manner. The whole sequence is disturbing and uncanny partly because there is a deranged maternal aura about her, her gestures, and the ritual of covering up and putting a baby to sleep (in this case, both Boyse and Nansen). This is particularly disturbing considering what we’ve learnt about her past in the previous scene, even though her dedication to her reproductive mission is derived from that event.

The enthralling aesthetic of the film features a colour palette oscillating from icy tones to colourful, red and purple lights. Within the clinical-looking hallways and inside their separate rooms the characters are drowning in blue lights. The end scene is significantly golden in tone, as the film ends on an enigmatic, positive, vaguely hopeful note. Reminiscent of Danny Boyle’s Sunshine (2007) and Tarkovsky’s Solaris (1972) in different ways, High Life is an arthouse sci-fi film documenting the unfolding of human nature with both its ghastly destructive side and its hopeful nurturing side in the context of a fascinating, dreamlike, ominous space journey.

“The sensation: moving backwards even though we’re moving forwards, getting further from what’s getting nearer, sometimes I just can’t stand it.”

Belladonna of Sadness (1973): an unsettling, luridly nightmarish Japanese animated art film

Posted on by Diana Marin

Belladonna of Sadness (1973), dir. Eiichi Yamamoto, is an unsettling hallucinatory Japanese animated film made up of Expressionistic and Symbolist moving paintings, with a variety of artistic influences. The captivating story of Jeanne unfolds through a succession of stunningly ethereal and luridly nightmarish tableaux featuring symbolic yet disturbing depictions of rape, violence, suffering, decomposition, and witch trials. The visceral, expressionistic paintings of sexual violence convey the emotions behind the unsettling experience of rape with transfixing intensity. Matching the trope of the witch, Jeanne is a formerly pure, now sexually awakened, corrupted young woman who acquires magical powers through a pact with the devil. She uses her powers to heal the village people infected with the plague, then hosts surreal orgy rituals in the wilderness and challenges the oppressive forces of the patriarchal state. Threatened by her influence, the rulers try to make a pact with her “to find a path to lead the people to happiness” in exchange for the secret of her cure for the plague, but Jeanne is unsatisfied with their offers, demanding instead to rule the entire world – a desire which is severely punished. This haunting cinematic tale represents a metaphoric portrayal of women’s liberation and universal liberation. Besides the Jeanne d’Arc historical reference, there is also a historical connection with the women’s liberation movement in Japan from 1970.

Oneiric surrealist art house fantasy horror films

Posted on by Diana Marin

The Hourglass Sanatorium / Sanatorium pod Klepsydra (1973) is a mesmerising, hallucinatory Polish film directed by Wojciech Has, unfolding like a dream with a playful narrative and poetic contemplation on life, time, and feelings of déjà-vu. Once he enters the peculiar, decaying setting of the sanatorium to search for his father, the protagonist goes on a transformative journey through a chaotic mix of dreamscapes in a surreal world where dreams merge with memories and fantasies- a world that is inhabited by uncanny figures.

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders / Valerie a týden divu (1970) is a Czechoslovakian surrealist horror/ fantasy film directed by Jaromil Jireš. The sometimes ethereal and dreamlike, at other times uncanny and nightmarish whimsical fairy tale of death, religion, and lurid sexuality, subversively depicts the adventures of Valerie, a young girl passing through mesmerising, disorienting episodes featuring vampires, a particular frightening, demonic figure somewhat reminiscent of Nosferatu, priests, nuns, and perversions. The moments unfold like symbolic manifestations of the unconscious, the Freudian subtext being Valerie’s sexual awakening.

House / Hausu (1977), dir. Nobuhiko Ôbayashi, is a Japanese lurid surreal comedy horror film characterised by a vivid colour palette, disorienting images, and supernatural events conveyed through peculiar editing and special effects. The atmosphere summoned up by a captivating mix of magical shots provides a wild cinematic experience, evoking dream states. Inspired by unconscious fears of a strange playful nature, featuring disembodied fingers playing a carnivorous piano, an antagonistic cat, and a mischievous flying, severed, biting head, the strange narrative follows a girl called Gorgeous and her classmates as they get caught up in chaotic phenomena inside the haunted house of the protagonist’s aunt. The line between fantasy and reality, as well as the one between the sinister and the playful become blurred.

Meshes of the Afternoon (1943): a spiralling lucid nightmare, Maya Deren, & A dialogue with the Unconscious

Posted on by Diana Marin

Meshes of the Afternoon (1943) is a memorable, experimental, surreal short film directed and written by Maya Deren. Referred to as poetic psychodrama, the film was ahead of its time with its focus on depicting fragments of the unconscious mind, externalising disjointed mental processes, dreams, and potential drama through poetic cinematic re-enactments brought to life by uncanny doppelganger figures. The enigmatic protagonist, played by Deren herself, enters a dream world in which she finds herself returning to the same spots and actions in and around her house, chasing a strange mirror-faced figure in a nightmarish, entangling, spiralling narrative. Whilst she ritualistically goes through nearly identical motions, with some slight changes, within a domestic space that is imbued with dread and a sense of doom, unreality, and foreignness – we also witness glimpses of multiple versions of herself, watching herself. The camera shifts from subjective to objective angles as the self-representation of the protagonist alternates between the dichotomous concepts of the self and the “other”. The domestic space revolves around certain recurrent symbolic objects. The film conjures up the uncanniness of dissociation or, more specifically, depersonalisation; self-obsession, a woman’s dual inner/outer life and subjective experience of the world, all congruous with Deren’s interest in self-transformation, interior states, surpassing the confines of personality and self-construct, as well as the self-transcending rituals of Haitian Vodou. The dream story, culminating in death, symbolically alludes to the -sometimes strange and terrifying- initial, non-rational stage of the Jungian process of the “transcendent function” (the symbolic confrontation with the unconscious) leading to the separation of awareness from unconscious thought patterns and the liberating reconciliation between the two opposites: ego and the unconscious, which also has the effect of integrating neurotic dissociations.

Continuity is absent in the disjointed dream narrative of the film. The woman goes up the stairs inside the house and unpredictably emerges from the window in a haunting shot, wrapped in and caressed by soft, semi-transparent curtains. After catching her distorted reflection in the polished knife, the camera follows her fluid bending movements as she is crawling on the staircase, whilst being strangely blown away by the wind in various directions within a claustrophobic space, levitating, trying to hang onto things, and eventually hanging in a crucified position against the wall. With her bat-like presence casting a larger-than-life shadow behind her, she gazes at her sleeping body on the couch through a point-of-view shot from the ceiling. This moment vividly evokes the concept of an out-of-body experience. She then watches a previous version of herself through the window, following the flower-holding, black cloaked figure outside. Unable to catch up, she enters the house, and the subjective camera movement switches to this version of her, whilst she catches a glimpse of the funereally dark, cloaked apparition walking up the stairs.

The elusive mirror-faced character is compelling and symbolically evocative. Nun, Grim Reaper, or mourner? The hooded black cloak and the ritual of bringing a flower to someone’s bed are immediately reminiscent of death, of mourning, and associations between bed/tomb and sleep/death. As the face of the obscure ghost-like manifestation is actually a mirror showing the reflection of the watcher, the scenario conjures up the idea of mourning one’s own death. After leaving the flower on the bed, the character disappears and the image of the woman also disappears and re-materialises several times, back and forth on the staircase.  She then heads towards her own sleeping body whilst holding a knife, proceeding to try to stab herself before she awakens and sees a man holding a flower in front of her.

The phantom steps of the hooded dream character are traced and re-traced by the man and the woman in what appears to be reality but turns out to be a dream within a dream. The man carries the flower upstairs, leaving it on the bed, a gesture that echoes the dream act but is seen in a different context- of intimacy rather than a religious or funereal act. The flower, a symbol of femininity, is therefore connected with death and sexuality, respectively. After a shot of the reflection of the man in the mirror next to the bed, we watch her lying down through the male gaze. The camera switches to the predatory look on his face, and, as he is about to touch her, she grabs the knife and tries to stab his face. At this point, the knife breaks a mirror instead, and the face of the man disintegrates into shards (another connection between the man and the dream figure), revealing an image -perhaps a memory- of waves and the beach. The man comes inside the house again to find the dead body of the woman on the couch- she committed suicide by cutting herself with a mirror.

Deren poetically described the moment of the intertwining worlds as “a crack letting the light of another world gleam through.” [Deren, “A Letter”, in Essential Deren]

The uncanny dimension of the film lies in the transformation of the familiar environment into something mystifying, the dream-reality ambiguity, the repetition compulsion, the doubling (tripling and quadrupling), the distortions in spatial and temporal awareness, as well as the repetitive use of familiar images such as household objects that seemingly gain unknown symbolic connotations, whilst functioning as mnemonic devices. The juxtaposition of objects also contributes to the sense of dread and paranoia- the off-the-hook phone, the silent record player, the flower left behind by the enigmatic figure, the knife, the falling key. We can associate the off-the-hook phone with loss of communication, the knife -phallic form, therefore masculinity, besides the surface level connection with danger and death, the flower, as mentioned, having a contrasting effect-femininity, but also, death in this context; the key represents confinement, repression, and feeling entrapped, but also the possibility to escape. When the woman pulls out the key from her mouth, perhaps she had “the key” to find the way out all along, and then, as the regurgitated key turns into a knife, there is a connection between escape and (psychic) suicide. The mirror stands for introspection, and the death by mirror cut might allegorically refer to the disintegration of the identity construct, linked to liberation. When a version of the woman picks up the knife, she is re-claiming her agency, wielding phallic power.

It is worth mentioning that the director strongly opposed and discouraged psychoanalytic interpretations of her film and of the symbolic significance of the objects the film revolves around, instead encouraging the viewer to only interpret them in the context of the film narrative as a whole to avoid going beyond conscious intent in art. This brings me back to an inner debate on the topic of film analysis, its limitations and the question whether there is such a thing as going “too deep” into conscious and unconscious meaning behind film. The “risk” of going too deep is ingrained in the nature of the work of any film scholar or critic, especially when it comes to cine-psychoanalysis. However, when it comes to surreal films in particular, the intentions are blurred and open to interpretation, and clearly Deren’s art is lyrical in its symbolic nature, created by association of poetic images, and influenced by her interest in psychology. Before turning to cinematography, Maya Deren expressed herself through poetry, but she found it too limiting to convey the images in her mind through words.

To respect the wishes of the creator, let’s also look at her own statements related to the film, as well as her general preoccupations and beliefs, which are transparently relevant to the film.
“This film is concerned with the interior experiences of an individual. It does not record an event which could be witnessed by other persons. Rather, it reproduces the way in which the subconscious of an individual will develop, interpret and elaborate an apparently simple and casual incident into a critical emotional experience.” —Maya Deren on Meshes of the Afternoon, from DVD release Maya Deren: Experimental Films 1943–58.

The multiplying of the character is connected to dissociation, alienation, emotional fragmentation, and potentially reintegration towards the end. The multiple incarnations of the woman evoke an internal schizoid narrative breathing life into alternative versions of herself- challenging her self-construct. Some of her personas are passively observing her more powerful, key-holding, knife-wielding persona. The suicide is symbolic, despite the fact that, in the final scene, it appears as if the layers of the dream world are peeled off and we have access to the real world. I believe the death symbolism is derived from Jungian psychology- i.e. the death and resurrection of consciousness. In light of this thought, the film can represent a visual representation of Jung’s Transcendent Function. What unfolds on screen is the process through which a person gains awareness of and confronts unconscious material driving their life in order to unite and re-channel the opposing energies of the ego and the unconscious into a third state of being, of wholeness. This would also have an integral effect that will merge the embodiments of the character’s dissociations. According to Jung, the process involves a challenging, unnerving unleashing of fantasies, dreams, and instincts. The sense of dread and panic evoked by the film matches this idea. The process is also associated with the notion of ego death in Eastern philosophies.

To further delve into Deren’s psyche and establish other links, let’s remember that she was fascinated by the rituals of Haitian Vodou and religious possession. She later participated in Vodou ceremonies and documented the rituals. Together with her love of dance (and later, her experience with recreational drugs) her immersion in and fascination with rituals were also a result of seeking to drift away from self-centredness, to go beyond self-construct and personality, and merge with something greater. This is again related to the Buddhist concept of ego death – a transcendent, life-turning mental state with self-revelatory consequences. We know that Deren has a preoccupation with the transformation of the self and reaching higher spiritual states of awareness. In this excerpt from An Anagram of Ideas on Art, Form, and Film (1946), she makes insightful comments about ritual:

“The ritualistic form treats the human being not as the source of the dramatic action, but as a somewhat depersonalised element in a dramatic whole. The intent of such depersonalisation is not the destruction of the individual; on the contrary, it enlarges him beyond the personal dimension and frees him from the specialisations and confines of personality. He becomes part of a dynamic whole which, like all such creative relationships, in turn, endow its parts with a measure of its larger meaning.”

I am glad she mentions depersonalisation and associates it with a form of spiritual awakening, as this coincides with my beliefs on depersonalisation and derealisation. The two often go hand in hand. Both experiences (note I’m not referring to them as ‘disorders’) involve a feeling of detachment – from one’s thoughts and from reality, as well as an awareness of this detachment (which distinguishes it from psychosis: there are no delusions or psychotic elements involved). Derealisation involves experiencing the world as if you are living in a dream or a film, and depersonalisation is the feeling of unreality of the self, which has been introduced as a psychiatric disorder of the dissociative type in 1930 and has been updated and re-interpreted several times in various psychiatric diagnosis manuals. Other common features mentioned in the DSM-IV are an uncanny distortion in visual and temporal perception, a feeling that other people, places, or events appear unfamiliar, unreal, or mechanical and lacking emotional depth. An individual experiencing this might feel like an outside observer of his or her own mental processes. All of this also applies to Meshes of the Afternoon where the protagonist is in a perpetual, adrift state of trance as she navigates the dream web and observes herself from an external perspective, whilst familiar objects appear foreign, strange, or ‘tainted’.

Here is an excerpt from Feeling Unreal, one of the few books tackling the elusive topic of  DPD- written by Daphne Simeon, MD and Jeffrey Abugel. The description matches the insight and feeling revealed by Deren regarding the state of depersonalisation in ritual:

“No longer grounded by familiar sensations or surroundings, they feel as if they’re losing their grip on reality. But unlike people with psychotic conditions like schizophrenia, they are not going insane at all. They are, if anything, suddenly overly aware of reality and existence and of the ways in which their own experience is a distortion of a ‘normal’ sense of a real self. Depersonalisation, in fact, resembles a sort of altered ‘awareness’ or ‘awakening’ that in some cultures is thought to be a level of spiritual growth.”

It is worth watching both existing versions of the film: Your viewing experience might change depending on whether you watch the early silent version or the 1959 version accompanied by the official sombre, atmospheric soundtrack created by ‎Teiji Ito, Maya’s second husband. You may also realise that the dreamlike atmosphere and narrative of Meshes was a source of inspiration for David Lynch’s Lost Highway (1997) and Mulholland Drive (2001).

Interview with Fine Art Photographer Kalliope Amorphous

Posted on by Diana Marin

Kalliope Amorphous’ haunting, evocative work encompasses conceptual, ethereal self-portraits exploring the unconscious mind, the plurality and elusiveness of the self, the realm of dreams, memory, archetypes, our ephemeral nature, trauma, the deconstruction of identity, and states of isolation and transcendence.

DM: A significant part of your artistic work consists of conceptual self-portraits – particularly diaphanous self-representations. Marina Warner mentions that mirror reflections can be associated with both integration and estrangement; this is also true of self-portraits, through which the dichotomy between self and other can be explored. What impact have your self-portraits and the process of doubling had on your self-image?

KA: That analysis resonates so strongly with my process and it is funny you mentioned it, because I am currently reading “Phantasmagoria” by Marina Warner. It’s always been a very therapeutic but also difficult process for me, specifically because I have always struggled with both my own self image and the themes that I explore (isolation, death, and time). Self portraits allow me to step outside of the miasma of my own mind and look at the emotions that I struggle with as something fixed and tangible. In the past, I used to say that I didn’t view these as self portraits and that I was essentially playing out characters. I think the greatest impact is that, after over a decade of doing this work, I can finally see and admit that all of the expression is a reflection of myself and my inner world.

DM: Do you go through a process of mental self-examination when you give birth to the concepts behind your photographs, or do ideas (sometimes) come to you spontaneously?

KA: It’s almost always spontaneous, because I just love to work that way. Usually I will start with a very basic theme or idea and let it unfold. I try to work from my subconscious and put my analytical mind on pause as much as possible.

DM: There is a certain fluidity in your depictions of the Self as something elusive, that flows and changes shape. This is reminiscent of definitions of identity as a collection of different perceptions, impressions, and thoughts. Virginia Woolf said “I am rooted, but I flow”, which can be interpreted to refer to the fluidity of identity, as if parts of us are fluid, ever shifting, but there is also a more unshakable core, something immutable that makes us who we are. As Hume says, when you enter most intimately into what you call yourself, what do you find? Can you convey that in photographs? To quote Whitman, “There is, in sanest hours, a consciousness, a thought that rises, independent, lifted out from all else, calm, like the stars, shining eternal. This is the thought of identity — yours for you, whoever you are, as mine for me.” Do you feel that photographs can capture the essence of your Self, if you believe there is such a thing?

KA: These are wonderful quotes and the quote by Virginia Woolf is one of my favorites. I think that the pursuit of capturing that essence is why many artists are driven to create. For me, I believe that there is an ego and personality based version of self as well as a higher Self that can encompass universal human experience. I try to vacillate between the two of them and hope that somewhere between them there is something that feels like a glimpse of truth, whether my own truth or something more universal. In the same breath, I don’t think it can ever be captured, but the desire to try is what drives the need to create art.

DM: What elements and themes would you say are intrinsic to your shots?

KA: Isolation, separation, the passing of time, loss, birth, decay, female power, and the potential for a light at the end of the tunnel. There always tends to be a darkness, but I think there is also a sense of hope.

DM: Your inner world seems to be your main inspiration; do you have any particular external muses as well?

KA: I am very inspired by music, nature, and animals. These things all elevate my mind and spirit and inspire me in different ways. I am also inspired by the human spirit in general, specifically the struggle to triumph over adversity, to come into its own power, and to love.

DM: Does your artistic identity seep through in everyday life?

KA: There isn’t really a separation at all. My everyday life has been devoted to art for a very long time and I am fortunate that I don’t have to wear any other hats or suppress any aspects of myself.

DM: You have previously emphasised your hyperawareness of the passing of time and the fragile nature of our lives- preoccupations which are also reflected in your work. Do thoughts of the ephemeral nature of human beings depress you, or do you feel reconciled with this aspect of life? Does art have an influence in this sense?

KA: I don’t think I feel reconciled with it. My default nature is a bit melancholy and making art is my attempt to reconcile with all of that. Going into a session to create new work, no matter what the form of art is, always feels like going into a room with death. Roland Barthes’ “Camera Lucida” really resonates with me in the way that he discusses how photography and death co-mingle. It happens when I practice painting or music as well. Whatever the art form is, there are always a lot of intense emotions swirling around. This prevailing sort of existential dread coupled with awe at the beautifully fleeting parts of our existence are what drives me to create.

DM: Some of your self-portraits revolve around inner duality and contradictions. The inner conflict arising from the multitudes within the self has been considered by some artists to be the essence of creativity. What do you think about this?

KA: I think this is very true. I have always felt frustrated by the limits of only being able to express one thing at a time, as if my body is too small to express what I want to express. I think the doubling and twinning that I am constantly drawn to feels like a way to make more room somehow.

DM: What is your view regarding the notion of soul and what do you believe is the role of art in the definition of soul? Do you believe art can lead to spiritual enhancement?

KA: I think that art can bring us very close to the notion of the soul and I feel this is why being in a museum can feel akin to a sort of religious experience to many people. Based on what I have personally experienced,  I believe that the soul is that which contains all possibilities and is enduring. Art can give us a glimpse of that which contains all possibilities and is enduring, so I think they are very intertwined.

DM: Memory is a theme you explore in your photographs as well. How far back do you go in your creative process? Do childhood memories play any role in your work? If not in an obvious way, perhaps only symbolically, as a form of inspiration?

KA: Specific memories from my childhood don’t play a part, but it’s more of a vague interpretation of the emotions connected to those memories or to certain times. I was a quiet, sensitive, creative, bookworm as a child and I never related to other children because I felt like more of an adult. I didn’t fit in at all and was ostracized and bullied, so I think some of the themes of isolation and otherness probably began with those very early memories. I do cull a lot of symbolism from early memories, traumas, and experiences.

DM: Do you ever feel pulled towards a different aesthetic, narrative, or conceptual concern than what has become your signature style?

KA: I think that my signature style for my self portraits will always have a certain aesthetic, because it’s a reflection of my inner landscape and I don’t think I will ever be finished exploring and working out certain themes. I do gravitate toward different aesthetics in my other bodies of visual art though.

I have an ongoing series of New York City street photography, which is a different sort of narrative and aesthetic. Still, it does retain a certain feel that can compare to the mood of my self portraiture work. My street photography seeks to do the same thing my self portraiture does, but through a different narrative. Again, it’s the passing of time, the fleeting beauty, a sense of wistfulness. I also work with glitch art, which is very different aesthetically, but explores themes of synchronicity and decay. Even in my olfactory art, those same themes are there. The aesthetic definitely spills across all of the different art forms that I work in.

DM: What are some other themes you would like to explore in your future work?

KA: It has been a little while since I have done a new series, but as I approach my fifth decade, I find myself thinking a lot about aging, specifically how women confront aging. This is a theme that I have been thinking about lately, because the physical aspect of my self portraiture will naturally change as I age and I have wondered what that might look like or mean for me. I don’t have any idea what that might look like, but I have a feeling it will be an integral theme for me in future work. My Glass Houses series is also something that I have wanted to expand on. The flexible mirrors are something I love to work with and I am definitely going to dive deeper into them in the future, because I feel like I have only scratched the surface.

Links:

Website: https://www.kalliopeamorphous.com/

IG: https://www.instagram.com/kalliamorphous/

Interview with Visual Artist Apollonia Saintclair

Posted on by Diana Marin

DM: Your stirring, tantalising work intertwines surrealist, erotic, neo-noir, and grotesque elements. Talk to us about the creative process behind your dreamlike scenes. How do you generate these fascinating concepts?

A: Creating an image is somehow like being a sleepwalker: you are aware, but it is a kind of scrambled awareness, as if someone else is taking over and leading you.
It begins often with an image or a fragment gleaned from somewhere, which fixes my attention, like an attachment point, without my understanding why. Around that primer, I try to imagine a story, a reason that explains this moment, this snapshot: I am looking for the missing parts of the image. At the same time, I do sketches to set up the composition, to place the geometry inside the frame, to adjust the masses of shadows and light to obtain maximum effect. Visual necessities push me to introduce elements for which I also have to find a narrative role. And each image is also the expression of a purely visual desire, of the desire to create in terms of form, to push the limits of my technical knowledge.

“La lione blessée (Love is a killer)”, for example, started with a complex expression, mixing suffering with ecstasy, read on a woman’s face. I immediately saw, superimposed, the arrows stuck in her flesh. This visual idea, this concept, was born in a second and from there started the drawing process: the question of arranging the image, the lines of force, the movement, the blacks, whites and grays. The search for a balance between density and simplicity. It might sound simplistic, but that’s actually exactly what happens to me in this iterative process between the intuition of a strong but still incomplete mental picture and the material that is building up on the page. Little by little, I approach the moment when I have to put my pen down because it is no longer possible for me to improve the result. This is when I start looking for a definitive double title. Here, it was the memory of a similar impression of pain and strength seen on these famous Assyrian bas-reliefs that gave me half of the answer.

DM: Your ink illustrations are reminiscent of Milo Manara’s artistic depictions of beautiful women in erotic fantasy settings & Moebius’s surrealist & sci-fi illustrations. What are your other influences as an artist?

A: These two are certainly my godfathers of choice … I actually have a very diverse but unfortunately not very deep graphic baggage. On the other hand, it’s great, because since when I have become serious about drawing, I discover every day icons and masters that I might be more able to appreciate now. I have always drawn for my pleasure, as an autodidact and without pretensions and it was rather literature that interested me as a way of expressing myself. Whether it was “Madame Bovary” by Flaubert or “I am Legend” by Richard Matheson, what fascinates me is this power of the writer to arouse with words, like a medium that exudes ectoplasm, a complete world, an absolutely believable alternate reality. Which is, in retrospect, rather surprising because I somehow specialized in singular and laconic illustrations and I am still a long way to creating a graphic novel…

DM: Are your horror-themed illustrations inspired by nightmares, horror films, or literary fiction?

A: Literature plays a big role in the development of my drawings. However, I rarely work with the aim of illustrating a text; it is rather the opposite that happens: I start to work on a drawing without knowing yet where it is going to take me and as it gains shape, I realize that it echoes some reading that struck me.

I am not really interested in horror for its frightening potential, but more for the feeling of strangeness it sometimes produces. This feeling to be beside yourself, on the verge of entering a parallel universe. I had a revelation when I read a collection of short stories by H.P.Lovercraft which exists only in French under the title “Démons et merveilles” and gathers the wanderings of Randolf Carter. This title, which roughly means “Demons and Wonders”, perfectly sums up this state of mind that I’m trying to create, where one is both afraid and attracted, repulsed and fascinated. When you feel something is off but somehow enticing – and you suddenly realize you are off and on the way to a deeper meaning.

DM: What kind of response do you expect your viewers to have whilst appreciating your art? Your Instagram bio states “I draw for my own sake and for your pleasure.” Considering many of your drawings are sexually explicit, do you believe they have the effect of inducing this type of stimulation? Since there are peculiar elements within the scenes depicted in your erotic drawings as well, do you think we have become desensitised to more conventional types of visual stimulation?

A: I’m sure it has an exciting effect, because my drawings stimulate the greatest erogenous zone there is: the brain. But this is not the effect that I am primarily looking for; it is at most a secondary phenomenon. I would like to believe that my drawings are visual puzzles which, like double-bottomed drawers, encourage us to seek beyond the jubilation of fluids, to question, to look at ourselves, to be both voyeur and seer. Then: if I am talking about pleasure, it is not specifically physical pleasure that I mean, but rather aesthetic pleasure, which is the sum of body, senses, emotions, mind and soul. And this pleasure is boundless.

DM: There are some fetishistic elements in your work that can be considered transgressive, as they challenge the boundaries of what is acceptable in some people’s view. Despite that, there are many people who appreciate your artwork. This could be a great sign that people are becoming less repressed, more in touch with their “shadow selves” or comfortable enough to appreciate art that tackles taboo subjects. What are your thoughts about this?

A: I am sure that young people are less repressed than their elders, but from a legal point of view, these are the ones leading the dance. Then I honestly think it’s getting easier and easier to be transgressive today, as very strong conservative currents are reestablishing stricter standards … But, to answer the question, I don’t have any sound explanation why my art found a very large audience; I am the first to be surprised. I can only make assumptions. Maybe the aestheticization of sexuality makes its access less suspect, because somehow we are conditioned to think that what is beautiful is also good. The fact that many of the drawings also have a touch of humour and that they appeal to the intellect probably helps to uninhibit a certain audience, who otherwise would stay off graphic content – at least overtly.

DM: There is something subversive and ironic about your work, especially when viewed alongside some of your titles and captions, and it has been viewed as a rebellion of the female gaze. When I look at your artwork overall, I don’t feel like it goes against the cinematic concept of the “male gaze”; instead, there is an ambiguity that means it can appeal to both female and male viewers in different ways. In fact, it probably appeals to each individual in a unique way, as viewers project their own thoughts and fantasies onto them. Do you agree?

A: Absolutely. It is indeed ironic that I use black and white so much, and that I seek ambiguity in each of my drawings. I try to create images that are anything but one-dimensional and nothing irritates me more than criticism when it stops at the superficiality of the first possible interpretation. I believe, moreover, that it is the stigma of fanaticism to be incapable of seeing anything other than the narration of which one is already convinced.

It is true that the male gaze is a very powerful cultural formatting, and the female gaze is an attempt to escape it, to make room for other narratives. But I don’t believe that one should replace the other; rather, I think it’s a chance to create something new, as the rediscovery of perspective has allowed painting to be reinvented, and to rediscover the world beyond time and horizon. The highlighting of the feminine gaze is certainly a deserved reparation in view of the banishment of women from any leading role for centuries, but it is for me, at the creative level, above all an incentive to look beyond gender, and to create works that reflect not the categories but rather the fluidity of identities and their projections in sexuality.

Personally, I find it hard to imagine an art that is not inclusive, that does not try to offer a gateway to multiple users. A work of art should allow us to see differently, beyond our biases – to see how the other sees and through that, to see yourself differently.

DM: What do your fans and followers confess to you? What is the most interesting or surprising comment you have received relating to your work?

A: I will not betray the confidence of my fans by reporting here what they tell me in private … but what always surprises me is the strength of identification they feel towards images that all in all come from the privacy of my mind. These images become theirs, are real parts of their biography, past or future. Often times they even tell me, “That woman, that man you drew is me, one hundred percent!”

DM: Let’s delve into your mind for a little bit. Is there any visceral experience or dream you’ve had, that significantly impacted your path as an artist?

A: That one is difficult, because there is no direct path between a specific experience and my work as an artist. But I can relate an experience, which has happened to me many times in different forms and which has convinced me very early that the texture of reality is in large part a projection of the mind. When I was a child, I found myself, without an adult, on a small boat in the middle of a very violent storm. The situation was dangerous because I was in the middle of reefs and the wind and the waves could take control of my skiff. While I was struggling to get away from the coast and I was surveying the bottom to identify obstacles, I saw, as clearly as I can see this page, instead of the boulders that should have been there, the collapsed ruins of a Cyclopean city. Needless to say, I returned to the site after the storm and only discovered a very common seabed…

DM: Do you remember your first drawing?

A: Yes, but it was more than a drawing, it was quite a collection: the codex by Leonardo da Vinci. I discovered a perfect fusion of pure science fiction and formal perfection, summoning everything from geometry to weaponry, from anatomy to architecture with an unbelievably clear but also mysterious style.

DM: I know you are a private person and you like to remain anonymous, but are there any autobiographical elements in your work, in some sense? I’m thinking, of course, in a symbolic, disguised way, or in the sense that it depicts your own fantasies. But I will leave this question open to other interpretations!

A: The answer would be yes, my drawings do feed off my substance, but how is indeed private. And to be honest I find that irrelevant and boring because the only reality that matters is the one my drawings create, and not the one I live in. I might be this magical individual who lives crazy adventures, but I have after all, to walk eventually through a banal little door and go back to everyday life, take the metro, etc …

DM: What are some other forms of art you appreciate?

A: Movies, music, literature, sculpture, architecture, videogames… I am omnivorous; a lot of things speak to me. Some because they excite my narrative fantasy, others for their formal aspect. What I like above all is the immersive side of a work, its ability to touch me at all levels, simultaneously: that it triggers my hormones secretion as well as my spinal fluid.

DM: What can you tell us about your new volume of drawings, Chapter 4 of ‘Ink is my blood’? Have your sources of inspiration shifted since your last volume?

A: Volume Four collects most of my graphic work created between 2017 & 2018. It is pure Ink is my Blood – only more so… These drawings bring us closer to today and their technical intensity is added to the themes that are dear to me. It contains among other things one of my favorite images “La technicienne de surface (Worshiping my Idol)” which concentrates everything I love in a drawing: eroticism, irony, phantasmagoria, social criticism, religious iconography, etc … It is completed with an erotic short story by Jehnny Beth, best known as the lead singer in the Anglo-Saxon band Savages and as solo singer with her new album ‘To Love Is To Live’.

Interview with Analogue Fine Art Photographer and Storyteller Brittany Markert

Posted on by Diana Marin

Brittany Markert’s daring introspective artwork resurrects the intimate, haptic process of analogue photography to create expressive, conceptual portraits encapsulating the spirit undergoing metamorphoses in photographic form, whilst at the same time freeing it and exorcising inner demons through cathartic expression. Rooted in Jungian psychoanalytic concepts, her visual narrative explores the repression of fears, repulsion and desires, the figure of the double, the polarities of the psyche, whilst everything is shown through a complex female gaze. Brittany’s art is of an unsettling yet alluring nature, as her visceral depictions of intense states of mind have the power of both enticing and terrifying the viewer. Her project, “In rooms” is a symbolic mnemonic device, a place carrying echoes of her psychological journey, a way of fulfilling the process of shadow work, and ultimately, a mirror in which each viewer sees whatever resonates with them the most.

DM: Your captivating visual diary is constructed from conceptual portraits and self-portraits, exploring sexuality, identity, mortality, and emotional states. Would you like to walk us through your emotional or psychological journey and the intimate meaning of the symbolism so evocatively and artistically portrayed in your photographs?

BM: In the back of my books are the words “For all the words I could never write, the camera became my pen”. Each year that passes by deeper layers of the unconscious are unraveled and frozen in a glass display for all to dissect, question and process. To walk through my emotional and psychological journey with my photographs is to view my books, Volume I, II and beyond. I have laid out my work over four years chronologically, in the spirit of a personal diary. It’s up to each viewer to find meaning, to find their own psychological journey between these pages.

DM: Can you reveal the steps you take on the path to artistic completion, from concept to the final versions of your creations?

BM: Ideas come when I least expect it and begin as notes or poor sketches in my journal. Sometimes it takes years or just a few days for me to attempt bringing it to life through my camera. Typically from there I wait at least a month to develop the film. I find this important so I am emotionally detached and can view the work with fresh eyes. It’s easy to like something because it’s new, but will it stand the test of time? Receiving the processed film and contact sheets is another step. Sometimes it’s quick and I see something profound, I print it and scan the final print into my archive for my books or website. Most often it’s slow, it can take 6 months to a year or longer to finally print an image. After printing in the darkroom, it takes a day to dry the paper, a day to hot press and more to press flat. My process is incredibly slow, a good year is getting 5-15 different great images.

DM: The doubling and the multiple exposure effects frequently appear in your visual narrative. In one of your photographs, this aspect embodies a nightmarish trait, and appears to evoke an emotional metamorphosis, an embodiment of anguish. The elusive double seems to be linked with visceral agony and suicide in several instances. We also see multiple versions of the same woman, watching herself, whilst another photographic setting is reminiscent of Victorian spirit photography. What were your thoughts behind the dissociative nature of your stories and would you link it to a state of psychological disintegration?

BM: To recognize the polarities within ourselves and not accept either as the truth is to be free. This Jungian concept, the tension of the opposites, appears in my double exposures, at first unintentionally, and now with more awareness. Psychologically, Jung considers this the divine drama, we are always at battle with two distinct oppositions. Becoming aware of these polarities is the first step in the path to healing and enlightenment. My piece ‘Ode to Depression’ , a double exposed print of a woman asleep while another version of herself stands upright with a noose, is a familiar polarity capturing a part of my own and society’s battle with depression and mental health. Recognizing the innocent bystander asleep in my mind while the other begs to leave this world has saved my life. I’ve never been interested in documenting the reality of the outside world, I’m taking a microscope to the inside of the mind, the collective unconscious. The ghost like world of double and triple exposures mirrors this experience.

DM: Death and sexuality appear to be the dominant themes in your visual diary. There is a beautiful mix between fine art photography and visual erotica elements in your work, and in some ways, sexuality seems to be symbolically linked to death. The sexual activities seem “unconventional” and depicted through power plays. Would you like to elaborate on the themes of sexuality and power, as well as the link with death?

BM: Both sex and death are an intense physical release from life, a build up and movement of energy and the body. I don’t like to say what my work is or isn’t because ultimately it’s up to the viewer to decide, but I don’t see my work as sexual or physical per se, it’s more about the internal dialogue and tension within the mind.

DM: Has your photographic diary enhanced the intimacy and connection you already shared with the other models represented?

BM: To be seen deeply, and loved for the spirit you possess on the inside is a beautiful rare connection. The subjects in my work are typically lovers, close friends or kindred spirits. Sometimes this is the result of working together, or in most of the cases the work is a result of our close relationship. There is something incredibly intense and cathartic about creating the work In Rooms. Speaking from my recent 16mm endeavors, the subjects I have worked with have a type of familial connection. The exchange of creating the work this intentionally and intensely somehow bonded us by spirit, or at least me to them, but as close as this connection can be there is an equal and opposing force that also happens when I create my work. Some people are terrified of being seen deeply, so raw and vulnerably. I have experienced both the euphoria of life long relationships that feel like chosen family and the extreme sadness of connections that end abruptly because of the process of my work.

DM: You mentioned Anaïs Nin, iconic writer of erotica, as a source of inspiration on your website. What do you like the most about her work?

BM: The mention of Anais Nin in my artist statement refers to her personal diaries. She published Volumes of her life in chronological work and in the same manner I am publishing surreal diaries, in numbered volumes, in chronological order. There was a period, from 2012-2014 in which her writing became a mirror to my emotions and fed into my deep desires. The palpable lust and madness I felt reading her work revealed itself into my photography work, as have many other artists and writers over the years.

DM: What words would you use to best capture the emotions at the core of In Rooms? Are these emotions significant,-or dominant, in your life and inner world and are they temporary and cathartically released / alleviated once you express them through art?

BM: At its core, In Rooms is a realm that exists in the dark matter of our unconscious. The emotions are heavy, dense, often linked to sadness, pain, internal anguish, torment, unrequited desire and love. There are equal and opposing forces of repulsion and desire, for as much as one is seduced into the image, there is something unsettling pushing you back out. Although I live in a colorful house full of beauty and I see beauty everywhere around me, I’ve never been interested in making art about shallow or ephemeral feelings. The spirit of In Rooms is much like the gasp of air one takes before they plunge into the dark depths of waters unknown. It’s not that these feelings dominate my life, surely at times they do, but they are the ones that need to be released cathartically In Rooms.

DM: Your photographic stories unfold as intimate moments depicting human beings who beautifully connect with their vulnerabilities. In what ways did you tap into your vulnerability and the vulnerabilities of your subjects in order to fulfil your creative vision?

BM: The mind and the psychological landscapes that determine behaviors, reactions and emotions drive much of my curiosity. When I am in front of the camera, I show up with complete awareness and intention to the moment and I can only create meaningful work with others that I understand as deeply or that understand the decisive moment of creating as deeply. This takes time and what I call ‘perfect alignment’. A lot of the work involving mental health is created with close friends in which a part of our connection is to speak candidly about our mental health and suicidal ideation. The work I create about eroticism is with friends that speak candidly about their own dreams, fantasies and aspirations. I can not create work that doesn’t exist. If I attempt to force ideas or concepts onto people that don’t connect than it doesn’t work, the results will feel fake. There is fake art and photography everywhere, it’s exhausting as a highly sensitive person. I wanted to create a space for people to run to when they need to feel things vulnerably, when they wanted to be seen for who they are, not for what people think they are on the outside.

DM: At the same time, although in your work, the subjects’ nude bodies are on display- an act which is often seen as a way of relinquishing all inhibitions and fully ‘revealing’ your raw self, they are still sort of wrapped in or protected by an aura of mystery, by the unknown and so many things that are left unrevealed. Photography generally both reveals and conceals. Your photographs, however, seem to reveal a lot more whilst also concealing. The nudity is shown in artistic context, and the context is quite dreamlike, rooted in the unconscious mind. In contemporary society, it seems that posing naked is far from being the most daring form of uninhibited behaviour; revealing your true self emotionally and psychologically, unapologetically, and stripping off the layers of social disguise and conditioning is much rarer these days. As someone who is open to both ways of self-expression, is it challenging to reveal your self, to face your unconscious, to explore the darker impulses and desires of humanity, and to live a life of authenticity? Have you faced any unwarranted criticism for this?

BM: To enter the unconscious blindly, without information, is dangerous. One needs the protection of the ego and information to start the process of shadow work, of shining a light on personal and societal demons. Many of my mentors died by suicide. I went in blindly and spent years dictated by my suicidal ideation, by week long spells of crying, not washing my hair. I killed myself over and over again in my work, but that meant that I was still here in real life. I don’t wish anyone else this torment or pain, but my photographs and the process of making them saved my life. After this time I spent a lot of time researching jungian principles, psychotherapy treatments, memoirs by others with mental health disorders. This gave me protection and the ability to understand my work and actions on a deeper level. In becoming self aware I am over the hill of being blind to my unconscious and fear. The pull of suicidal ideation no longer wanes on me. It’s a miracle.

I’m lucky to not receive unwarranted criticism of my work, the people that don’t see the light in my work stay away and it seems hold their tongues. I would say, however, that I’m misunderstood frequently and judged, but this is a part of projection and entering a realm of shadows. My work becomes a mirror to many others’ suffering, pain and vulnerability and it’s unfortunate to be seen as the face in the mirror instead of their own.

When you’re coming into life and adulthood in your early twenties there is a thrill of being naked. This act of rebellion is less interesting now, but I am still pulled by the power and beauty of the human form. The most daring progressive thing you can do is to become self aware, create vulnerably and follow a path of enlightenment. Being naked is easy, it’s pleasing, but screaming vulnerably into the void while your soul and flesh drip blood of society’s torments is the challenging poetry I choose to work at every day.

DM: Roland Barthes said “The photograph represents that subtle moment when, to tell the truth, I am neither subject nor object but a subject who feels he is becoming an object: I then experience a micro-version of death: I am truly becoming a spectre” (from Camera Lucida). When you are photographed, you get to see yourself as “other”, as something external, and you recognise yourself in and identify with this likeness, this photographic imitation- a specific, fragmented image in time, which is less than you. On the other hand, through self-portraits the lines between self and other, between subject and object, become blurred, as you become both. This artistic reconstruction of the self can induce a re-connection with and sense of control over your image, whereas in other contexts, seeing yourself as “other” or being externally objectified could potentially have the effect of destabilisation or alienation. Do you feel that your self-portraits have any effect on your self-image and identity, and do you ever internalise this way of seeing yourself – i.e. objectifying yourself – in your life?

BM: The camera has a way of revealing that which I cannot see clearly in real life, sometimes it slaps me in the face with its revelations. It is quite dull when I look in the mirror, but the world through my camera, In Rooms, has changed the way I know myself and others forever. At first, when I blindly dove into my unconscious and came out as distinct archetypes they had a way of seeping into my real life, of confusing my actions and relationships, at times even inducing a state of psychosis or depression. It can be immensely difficult to stay strong and centered when I confront my work, which is why I create so rarely. Of course the characters and the body are me, and reveal parts of my mind, but I am not the characters. This took a lot of work and healing to safely navigate how to create my work but not let the results and image of myself be my own detriment or fate. Sometimes I feel I am boxed in by In Rooms, that my image, my body or energy is supposed to align with the work but lately I’m learning to walk away from this, to exist outside and be at peace knowing the work is just a part of me, a truth but not the truth.

DM: You have modelled for other photographers before. From a model’s perspective, are self-portraits a more freeing and rewarding experience than portraits taken by others, since you are in charge of the ways in which you present and represent yourself and your individuality? Photographing yourself nude, in particular, does it come with a sense of liberation and does it make you get in touch with your sexuality more?

BM: The act of creating out of love is freeing, I find this to be true whether I am a model or the photographer. It is rare that everyone involved on a creative set is perfectly aligned, every one eager to breath life into a piece of art. I cherish these times even if I am just an assistant on set. Modeling for others is ultimately limiting, the roles I was cast as were repetitive and not challenging. Ultimately my journey with self portraiture has been more rewarding, a path of discovery, catharsis, and creativity. I have built a life for myself with my work and this would never happen with modeling.

To be comfortable in one’s skin is liberating, to see and feel nudity as being human, not being sexual, is also liberating. There is so much taboo growing up demonizing the body and sexuality. For years of my early adulthood my body was also at the liberty of other artists, mostly the male gaze and it was empowering to see myself in a way that was my own, to take back my own story. To be an artist and create is to feel everything deeply, this includes sexuality. To present oneself as both the creator and the object of desire is to also see how others desire you, it opens up a portal of sexual advances, flirtation, relationships, etc. For awhile I was free to discover, more so than ever before because of my art, but I have grown less interested in being nude for the sake of being nude or as an act of rebellion. When nudity does appear it is a sign of comfort, of curiosity, of beauty, of being human.

DM: Your photographic style is reminiscent of Francesca Woodman’s intimate self-portraits due to the nudity depicted in black and white analogue portraits, the visual exploration of the relationship between body and space, matters of identity, and the nude female body appearing like a ghostly, elusive presence in confined spaces. The more provocative aspect summons up Nobuyoshi Araki’s depictions, interpreted through the female gaze and given a surrealist turn, and the atmosphere and aesthetic also carry echoes of Repulsion (1965). Do any of these references resonate with you in some way, or what are some sources of inspiration for your project besides Anaïs Nin?

BM: It’s mentioned in my artist bio that my work is ‘from the school of Francesca Woodman & Duane Michals. Woodman’s work became a mirror to my own feelings and understanding of the world, her work opened a door for me to believe it was possible to write my own story. I began my work at an age she never reached, in many ways I consider my project a way to keep her journey alive. There are many artists and people I owe considerably thanks to: Diane Arbus, Vivian Maier, Claude Cahun, Joel Peter Witkin, Hans Bellmer, Maya Deren, Carl Jung, Francis Bacon, Lauren Simonutti, David Lynch, Stanley Kubrick, Catherine Robbe Grillet, The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Sarah Kane, to name a few. I can’t say Araki or Repulsion had any influence or effect on my work, but I am trying to represent the female experience on genres of work that are typically accredited to men. It is frustrating that the ‘female gaze’ in photography is often delicate, sad, vulnerably with muted colors and pink. I don’t recognize myself through this lens, In Rooms is bold, intense, heavy. The gender in many cases is androgynous. In Rooms presents a gaze I couldn’t find anywhere else when I was looking for comfort, for friendships, for a place to call home in the real world, so I created my own.

DM: Talk to us about your fondness for analogue photography, whether you ever tried shooting digital, and why the latter doesn’t appeal to you as much.

BM: Lately, especially with the younger generations pull towards Tik Tok, phone apps and lack of education of the darkroom, I feel the world of analogue slipping away like sand between my fingers. It’s disheartening that the film aesthetic is more easily achieved with a few clicks of a button on a phone, but I believe so passionately in the tradition, in keeping the craft alive and physically involving my entire being in the process of creation. To touch a silver gelatin print and feel the energy of the process is something I have yet to see achieved with any digital image or print. There is a lack of connection, a lack of tenderness, between a human and a digital device. Analogue serves as a medium of the human soul, of humanity. It does not hinder the connection, but enhances it with each step, from physically building the set, cranking the film and watching the image come to life while one’s finger tips hold it wet in the developer. The entire process is profound, challenging, infuriating, and absolutely euphoric. I’d say it’s love, it is a gift, and I have zero desire to put anything, such as a digital device, that may hinder my ability to connect to humanity or communicate the inner world I feel so palpably.

DM: A photograph can be a mnemonic device and an extension of identity, but it can also have the effect of erasing the past and replacing it with an image or making your memory revolve around a particular moment or representation. There is an element of absence in any photograph: what comes before the shot, what comes after, the thoughts of the subjects, identities, and perhaps the emotions that bind people together are potentially “erased” or disguised. Your photographic project, especially since it partly features people you love, can also constitute a recording of the past. The way you represent it is symbolic, stylised, at times surreal, with an oneiric quality. To what extent do you feel your visual diary has protected memories and to what extent has it disguised or distorted your memory or your autobiographic narrative?

BM: To the extent that my work is autobiographical, it is my hope that the work is equally documenting a collective psychological experience so that when people view my work, they feel and experience their own story. I never see my photographs for what they are, as you mentioned, I see the time in my life they were created, I feel my emotional journey leading up to that point, I see the people in my life that time. The work becomes a mirror to our current times and I forgot how I created it in the first place.
In Rooms is a delicately laced web of my memories, a graveyard of love, of torment, of deep healing. I visit it to feel at peace, to thank it for guiding me to a more honest place. It protects me from the boredom and pain of reality, and presents the essence of life that is constantly changing. In Rooms is a riddle that even I can never figure out and I can only hope it continues to inspire and heal myself and others.

To support Brittany’s work and view behind the scenes, darkroom and creative processes subscribe to
patreon.com/inrooms and gain access to her private instagram account and print discounts
To purchase prints, books, postcards or rent her films visit www.InRoomsGallery.com
To view galleries of Brittany’s work visit www.In-Rooms.com

Instagram: in_rooms

Interview with French Fine Art Photographer Isabelle Féebrile

Posted on by Diana Marin

Isabelle Féebrile is a French fine art photographer and writer who creates uncanny worlds made up of phantasmagoric scenes, surreal Expressionistic settings, and cinematic tableaux intertwining the eerie with the erotic. In this interview we delve into her mind and her past, revealing more about her life, photographic approach, the beginning of her artistic journey, and her evolution.

DM: Stylised self-portraits represent a great part of your work. When have you started photographing yourself and what effect has this practice and ritual had on you – on your self-image and your life?

IF: My friend in high school had lent me her compact camera. I naturally started to take pictures of me, seeing what I looked like, as well as building characters, wearing make up that I wouldn’t have dared to otherwise. As a withdrawn teenager, very uncommunicative and hurt by the wickedness of others, photography simply helped me get out of it, to accept myself and gain confidence. Photography also allowed me to meet the people who are dear to my heart today.

DM: Your work embodies eroticism and sensuality, depicted in an unconventional, eerie, surreal way. Would you like to elaborate on this mix between the erotic and elements of horror, on the symbolism behind it?

IF: For me, eroticism would not be interesting without a hint of strange, and vice versa : no frightening without a bit of eroticism. It’s all the incongruity of the body. Both beautiful and desirable, hideous and sick. Just like Nature, in general.

L’érotisme, pour moi, ne serait pas intéressant sans un soupçon d’étrange, et inversement : pas d’effrayant sans un peu d’érotisme. C’est toute l’incongruité du corps. A la fois beau et désirable, hideux et malade. Tout comme l’est la Nature, plus généralement.

DM: Your photographs seem to depict scenes from dreams, particularly nightmares, as well as having the surreal structure of a dream. Is your visual narrative rooted in dreams or was one of your aims to create an artistic mirror of the unconscious mind?

IF: It has happened, a few times, reproducing a dream in my photography. In all cases, I like this question to be asked. What would be the use of faithfully reproducing reality? It’s well where it is ! I prefer to have fun with it. The subconscious is so rich, so interesting to try to peel.

Ca m’est déjà arrivée, quelques fois, de reproduire un rêve en photo. Dans tous les cas, j’aime qu’on se pose cette question. A quoi servirait de reproduire fidèlement la réalité ? Elle est bien là où elle est ! Je préfère m’amuser de celle-ci. L’inconscient est si riche, si interessant à tenter de décortiquer.

DM: The phantasmagorical world portrayed in your work sometimes verges on the macabre and the grotesque, incorporating eerie creatures, ghostly presences, distortions, and disjointed bodies. Do you have a fascination with death/mortality, and with occultism?

IF: Indeed, as a teenager, I went through this romantic/gothic stage : I wanted to be a witch. I was interested in fantasy, ghosts, myths, even UFOs stories ! Today, these tastes have taken a more philosophical dimension, even commitment (for example the feminist movement connected to the figure of the Witch or a way of being close to others and to nature). In fact, I’m much more interested by the living now ! : )

Adolescente, j’ai en effet eu cette période, romantique/gothique, je voulais être une sorcière. Je m’interessais au fantastique, aux fantômes, aux mythes, même aux histoires d’ovni ! Aujourd’hui, ces goûts ont pris une dimension plus philosophique, voir engagée (que ce soit le mouvement féministe relié à la figure de la sorcière ou une façon de vivre proche des autres et de la nature). En fait, je m’interesse beaucoup plus aux vivants maintenant ! : )

DM: Besides photography, you also express your creativity through written stories, videos, and music. Describe your creative process as a multimedia artist. How do you piece everything together and how do you crystallise your concepts into your multifaceted oeuvre?

IF: Today, I mainly focus on photography or creating accessories for them (masks in particular). My writing has evolved, I have written a lot of short stories with elements of fantasy, but I think I have less need to write stories because I stage them in photos. For video or music, my old equipment doesn’t allow me to do it -for the moment ! I don’t feel frustrated, I have less need to spread myself too thin; I found in the creation of masks the way to include all the facets of my art. Although, of course, when I can, I would love to come back to video. I have some ideas pending.

Aujourd’hui, je me concentre surtout sur la photographie ou la création d’accessoires pour celles-ci (les masques notamment). Mon écriture a évolué, j’ai beaucoup écrit des nouvelles un peu fantastiques mais je crois que j’ai moins besoin d’écrire des histoires car je les mets en scène en photo. Pour la vidéo ou la musique, mon vieux matériel ne me permet pas d’en faire, pour le moment. Je ne m’en sens pas frustrée, j’ai moins besoin de m’éparpiller, j’ai trouvé dans la création de masques dont je parle le moyen d’inclure toutes les facettes de mon art. Même si bien sûr, quand je le pourrai, j’aurais plaisir à revenir à la vidéo. J’ai quelques idées en attente.

DM: The aesthetic of some of your photographs incorporates unnatural shapes, distortions, stylised Expressionistic set designs, and an old horror style reminiscent of German Expressionist cinema of the 1920s. Has old horror cinema been an influence on your work, or have there been any cinematic influences on your work?

IF: I’ve always thought that photography and character creation had everything to do with cinema. Except that you have to say everything in one still image. I cannot say that the old silent films influenced me but I feel close to this aesthetic. Just like any eerie film.

J’ai toujours pensé que la photo, la création de personnages avait tout à voir avec le cinéma. Juste qu’il faut tout dire en une image fixe. Je ne peux pas dire que les vieux films muets m’aient influencée mais je me sens proche de cette esthétique. Tout comme de n’importe quel film un peu étrange aux cadrages travaillés.

DM: What inspires you? Do you experience inspiration as spontaneous bouts of energy more often or do you also go to certain places, read, or do other things to seek it out and get into that mental state of inspiration and creation?

IF: Everything can inspire me, a book, a film, everyday life, an exciting conversation … Inspiration comes when it wants to ! : )

Tout peut m’inspirer, une lecture, un film, le quotidien, une conversation passionnante… L’inspiration vient quand elle veut bien ! : )

DM: What is a day in the life of Isabelle Feebrile like? Tell us a little bit more about yourself, your lifestyle, and your interests beyond your artistic identity.

IF: Sleeping and eating a lot ! I also spend a lot of time observing my apartment, which I have filled with many objects (masks, puppets, frames, etc.). I have the incredible luxury of working for myself, at home, and to be able to be bored -which is the first condition leading to creation. Creation reflects the wish to get out of boredom, to heal oneself from reality.

Dormir et manger beaucoup ! Je passe beaucoup de temps, également, à regarder mon appartement que j’ai rempli d’objets (masques, marionnettes, cadres..). J’ai le luxe incroyable de travailler chez moi et pour moi, de pouvoir m’ennuyer -ce qui est la condition number one pour amener à la création. Créer c’est vouloir sortir de l’ennui, se guérir de la réalité.

DM: Would you say there have been changes in your artistic practice, approach, and vision along the years?

IF: Of course ! Nothing worse than staying static, not questioning anything. The 20-year-old girl who took photos to discover herself, to repair herself, to escape the family weight is no longer the same 13 years later ! Today, it’s no longer (totally) a work on pain or loneliness, but a sweet game, a source of joy, a renewal ! I like to create characters sometimes very different from me, I speak less of the intimate although I think that my photos resemble me more today, even if that seems contradictory.

Of course ! Rien de pire que de rester statique, de ne rien remettre en question. La jeune fille de 20 ans qui faisait de la photo pour se découvrir, se réparer, s’échapper du poids familial n’est plus la même 13 ans après ! Aujourd’hui, ce n’est plus (totalement) un travail sur la douleur ou la solitude, mais bien un jeu, un bonheur, un renouvellement ! J’aime créer des personnages parfois très différents de moi, je parle moins de l’intime bien que je pense que mes photos me ressemblent plus aujourd’hui, même si ça semble contradictoire.

DM: Do you feel a sense of nostalgia for the past?

IF: Not so much but I like to tap into the past. I prefer something old, handmade, that lasts over time. It is true however, that I’m often nostalgic of my past (rather than the past in general) but I prefer, a thousand times, my life, today.

Pas vraiment mais j’aime puiser dans le passé. Je préfère une chose ancienne, faite à la main, qui dure. C’est vrai toutefois, que je suis souvent nostalgique de mon passé (plutôt que du passé en général) mais je préfère mille fois ma vie, aujourd’hui.

DM: Talk to us about the concept, story, and symbolism behind your series “Les Petites”. What were the thoughts that gave birth to this strange, grim, yet enchanting collection?

IF: In this series of my work, each miniature set is made from cardboard and / or modelling clay. When I was little, I loved to draw but I wasn’t very good. This series is a happy playground, which allows me to break the limits imposed by photography (by inventing a place, an object, a body), because here everything starts from scratch, everything is malleable, everything can be carved, painted, modelled, mixed… like a drawing. Besides, everything begins with a sketch. So, I create my own reality.

Dans cette série particulière de mon travail, chaque décors miniature est construit avec du carton et/ou de la pâte à modeler. Quand j’étais petite, j’adorais dessiner mais je n’étais pas très bonne. Cette série est un joyeux terrain de jeu, qui me permet de briser les limites qu’impose la photographie (on n’invente pas un lieu, un objet, un corps), car ici tout part de zéro, tout est malléable, tout peut être découpé, peint, modelé, mélangé, ce en quoi ma façon de travailler se rapproche du dessin. D’ailleurs, tout commence par un croquis. Ainsi, je crée ma propre réalité.

DM: What words would you use to best describe the stories you convey within your art?

IF: Dream – Persona – Feminine

DM: A lot of your photographs feature peculiar masks, made by yourself- what significance do masks have for you?

IF: I make my masks starting from the shape of my face. Resembling, yet different. By creating a double, we are protected by the very nature of it : a distance is created, a distance which is already there with the makeup or the costume, but which is exacerbated by the mask. On this double, we can transpose everything, we can talk about us but we will not be dispossessed of what we put in it. It’s just like acting. My masks are my different facets but also the companions of my daily life.

Je fabrique mes masques en partant de la forme de mon visage. Ressemblant mais autre. En créant un double, on est protégé par la nature même de celui-ci : une distance se crée, distance qui est déjà là avec le maquillage ou le costume mais qui  exacerbée par le masque. Sur ce double, on peut tout transposer, on peut parler de nous mais on ne sera pas dépossédé de ce qu’on y met. C’est exactement comme un travail d’acteur.  Mes masques sont mes différentes facettes mais aussi les compagnons de mon quotidien.

DM: What kind of reaction would you like or expect the viewer to have whilst experiencing your art?

IF: I really don’t know. Having a reaction is nice in itself ! : )

Je ne sais pas vraiment. Déjà une réaction c’est bien ! : )

DM: How do you select your models?

IF: It’s not all the same, working with a model or getting involved, it’s an exchange, it also brings a part of her (I put in feminine because I work mainly with women but it also includes men), even if I think that a successful photo will always, even in a distant way, be a form of self-portrait because we are always looking for a little of ourselves in the other. So, I imagine that I chose them because, one way or another, I find myself in them.

Ce n’est pas la même façon de travailler avec une modèle (je mets au féminin car je travaille surtout avec des femmes mais cela englobe aussi les hommes) ni de s’impliquer, c’est un échange, elle amène également une part d’elle, même si je pense qu’une photo réussie sera toujours, même d’une manière lointaine, une forme d’autoportrait car on recherche toujours un peu de nous dans l’autre. J’imagine donc que je les choisi parce que, d’une façon ou d’une autre, je me retrouve en elles.

DM: Do you have any upcoming projects or exhibitions? What are some concepts you would like to explore in the near future?

Exhibiting will be complicated in these times of pandemic … I’m in a great collective exhibition, in France, in the super gallery Arts Factory, made by Les Crocs Electriques (underground publishers) but I don’t know when it will be able to reopen. As for my next creation, it’s going to be a “girl-flower” mask!

Exposer va être compliqué en ces temps de pandémie… Je suis dans une super exposition collective, en France, dans la super galerie Arts Factory, made by Les Crocs Electriques (éditeurs underground) mais je ne sais pas quand elle pourra rouvrir. Qant à ma prochaine création, ça va être un masque de femme-fleur !

Links:

http://feebrile.com/

https://feebrile.tumblr.com/

https://www.instagram.com/isafeebrile/

https://www.facebook.com/feebrile/

Interview with Neo-symbolist Photographer John Santerineross

Posted on by Diana Marin

DM: Your artistic journey revolves around Symbolism. What personal significance does (Neo-)Symbolism have to you?

JS: The symbolist movement was one that pushed the boundaries of what and how art should communicate. I am influenced by the early symbolists’ belief that “the creation of a mood is as important as the transmission of information; as it seeks to engage the entire mind and nature of the viewer, by appealing to the viewer’s emotions and subconscious, as well as to their intellect”.

DM: What is the thought process you go through when you put together the pieces making up your mystical & evocative photographs?

JS: That is a very difficult thing to answer as a lot of what I do when I work in on an instinctual level, which is not readily translated into words or thoughts I can verbalize easily.

DM: What are some photographers and other artistic figures you admire (adepts of Symbolism and not only)?

JS: I have a long list of artists that I have admired and who have been an influence on me, but I’ll list ones that are friends, with whom I communicate on a regular basis.

• Alessandro Bavari
• Daikichi Amano
• Daria Endresen
• Derek Caballero
• Jason Guffey
• Jeffery Scott
• Joachim Luetke
• Justin Kates
• Kenichi Murata
• Laurent Fièvre
• Louis Fleischauer
• Matt Lombard
• Saturno Buttò

DM: You mentioned you prefer not to give any explanations about your photographs, the personal meaning or inspiration behind them. What made you decide this?

JS: It would take away from your experience of the image. If I were to tell you that a particular image is about the time I had as a child eating a banana, that is all it would ever be in your mind, because you were given the answer. I like to make my viewer work for it. Digging deep inside them to derive an explanation or meaning.

DM: Some of your photographs incorporate religious symbolism. What are your thoughts on religion in general and what are your beliefs in this sense? Have you been religious at any point?

JS: I am a spiritual person by nature and can distinguish the good and bad in every form of organized religion. As in all things context is everything.

DM: What would you like your photography to evoke and what kind of response would you expect your viewers to experience through your art?

JS: I would hope that my images would stop someone in their tracks long enough to give them time to establish something in their mind. In this world of swiping images on a phone at an alarming rate, that is all I can hope for.

DM: Considering the uncanny as a phenomenon describing a specific category of “frightening”- associated with anxiety, fear, and shock, these three emotions also resonate with the mood that is vividly encapsulated in the sinister scenes and saturnine settings from your photography. Have you tapped into your own fears and nightmares or those belonging to the models or people around you in order to achieve your creative vision?

JS: The model is just another prop, and while each brings something special to the image, it is by no means any more important than any other object in the photograph. This is the reason I choose to shoot nudes and most of the time models without any form of in your face body decorations, (which I love by the way, just not in my image). Clothing or body decoration would add a message that is not mine and can in many cases overwhelm the entire image.

DM: Would life be better without fear and should people strive to relinquish it or do you believe fears enhance our lives and creativity and we should all face and embrace our demons?

JS: Fear should always be respected but worked to be controlled. We all need to make peace and live with our demons, as there is no way to make them not be. Once you have experienced trauma in any of the forms it takes, it never goes away.

DM: How do you select your models?

JS: The process is very lengthy actually. I will be asked by people to pose for me or perhaps I see a face that speaks to me. Becoming friends is vitally important in my process, as I need to know if that person can give me what I am looking for to tell the story. And obviously, there is a comfort level that needs to be achieved and a friendship can do that. My models trust me, which I am ever grateful for.

DM: Some of your work can be controversial. What do you think of the condemnatory perceptions of your photography?

JS: I do not wish to be didactic to anyone, each person is entitled to an opinion. I am not trying to convert people. If they like what they see and it speaks to them, then great, and if not, the world keeps turning.

DM: What concepts do you plan on exploring through art in the future?

JS: As of late I have not been shooting all that much, perhaps I have said what I needed to say in the last 30 years. Perhaps not, I am not sure. We shall see. I am in the process of designing a third and final book, which will include my work as you know it, as well as my still life work and poetry in the Senryu form.

Links:

www.santerineross.com

www.littlevoiceswhispering.com

https://vimeo.com/santerineross