Photograph by Jessica Baran
We could call it a scheduling quirk or an acknowledgement of the talent of Sarah Paulsen that we are twice featuring her on Look/Listen this week. Yesterday, Byron Kerman, on this same blog, discussed Paulsen’s upcoming event at fort gondo, the film Elegy to Connie, which will screen this weekend at the well-regarded Cherokee gallery and performance space. Following that Saturday showing, a stop-animation workshop will take place on Sunday, as detailed at the bottom of this piece.
From the show’s prep notes, we glean that “Sarah Paulsen is an artist, filmmaker and community organizer whose artwork has been exhibited widely in local and national exhibitions. She lives and works in St. Louis, where she teaches art and animation at the St. Louis Art Museum, Marian Middle School and the St. Louis Community College, Forest Park.”
Today, we’ll find out more about Paulsen’s process, work habits and enjoyment of community, as part of our every-other-week conversation with St. Louis-based visual artists.
Art school? Self-taught? Some variety of both? Or none of the above?
Art School learned, but self-taught animator. I went to MU for undergrad and studied Fine Art (painting), and Spanish. After school, I stuck around Columbia and ended up participating in an animation workshop during the early years of the True/False Film festival. Two of my good friends, Danielle Eldred and Mikey Lising, taught me how to begin animating, and we worked on projects together for about a year. I moved back to St. Louis to attend the MFA program at Washington University in painting. At that time, the program was doing away with subject areas, and to my luck, I ended up with some excellent painting instructors that were interested in film, animation, and installation. I continued to teach myself to animate, while my teachers taught me how to think about the ideas, concepts, and materials I used in my work. I think to a certain degree, any motivated artist has to be self-taught if they are doing interesting work. I am constantly running up against moments when I don’t know how to do something, and I have to problem-solve it with my peers around me. Being a self-taught animator, I have fewer rules about how to do things vs. say, painting, and this has brought an innovation to my practice that I find invigorating.
Regarding your creative habits, are you a night owl or an early bird?
By nature I am a night owl. As a teacher, I’ve had to adopt a more regular schedule, and so I tend to be most productive from about 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., with a later burst in the evening.
In basic terms, can you describe the set up and vibe of your studio?
Dream art classroom meets antique booth. My studio is on the second floor of CAMP (Community Arts and Movement Project). I overlook part of Cherokee Street. I occupy what I think was the living room of an apartment. There are collage pieces tacked all over the walls, surrounded by a few of my favorite paintings. Right now, I have several filing cabinets containing magazine clippings of future animation bits. In the center of the space, I have a drafting table, from a now-passed St. Louis architect. I do most of my drawing here. Next to my desk is a large copy stand that I use to create multi-plane animations. A cabinet with casters serves as my paint table/all-purpose workspace. It is currently covered with moss and green glitter from a model-building project. Near the cabinet is a small drafting table that my brother, Billy, my studio assistant, has been using. Alongside the window is my “possibilitarian” chair, a vintage velour green armchair with a high back. I used to sit here to think, but now it is mostly occupied by my dog. I have filled the space. Tucked in the corners are easels, video equipment, and potential project supplies i.e. 1950s aprons, food flashcards. A mantelpiece over a non-functional fireplace serves as both an ongoing shrine and a home for found objects that inspire me such as: four flat pink plastic boots, a gold hand earring, and Connie Karr’s campaign brochure. Puppets hang from the wall. There are puzzles stacked near the ceiling. I am constantly messing up, cleaning, and reorganizing the space. Working in a community space, I feel lucky to have both solitude and connectivity.
What are your thoughts on crowdfunding for the arts? And is that option any part of your own approach to creating and selling work?
I am all for crowdfunding for the arts. The People’s Joy Parade has been funded at different times through Kickstarter. These funds helped contribute to the longevity of the parade by supporting organizers’ and teachers’ work, and covering the cost of supplies and space. Ultimately, the funds ensured that the organizers did not go into personal debt to make that project possible. But I also think there needs to be an etiquette to asking for funds. For instance, I wouldn’t ask more than one time a year, as a person or organizer. Also, I think the reality is that many artists don’t have a lot of extra cash, so I don’t want to constantly burden my peer circle. As much as I appreciate Kickstarter as an added boost, I also appreciate a good fundraising idea. Last years’, Margarita off, was a value added benefit for PJP as it was social, unique, and an incredible deal. The weird thing about crowdfunding is that there is no evaluation process afterwards. I mean, you have to just trust that the group used the funds as they described. On the other side, as a fund receiver, I remember I’d notice who’d support the parade or not, and that felt kind of awkward. I constantly feel guilt that I can’t afford to support all my friends’ fundraising endeavors. At this point, I’d have to have a really good idea to ask for crowdfunding.
Do you have a dream project that lacks only funding (or time)?
The movie has been my big “time” work. As for funding, I’d like to see a home for Cameron Fuller’s Institute for the Perpetuation of Imaginal Processes. As a white woman with a developing awareness of white privilege, I also have a dream of participating in listening circles where people of color would share experiences of living with segregation/racism in St. Louis whether historical or contemporary.
To what degree do you enjoy having public contact, whether that means selling your work at a fair, a gallery opening, etc.?
I am going to approach this question in a different way. Whether it is working collaboratively with other artists, a group, or a neighborhood on a project, I think a lot about community. My animations often start from conversations I’ve had with people and I’ve tried to figure out how to get better about making projects with people vs. for them. In the film, I’ve been working with the women I interviewed, to animate certain sections. I’ve included the women in screenings throughout the development of the film. They have been my guides. With the People’s Joy Parade I became much more interested in facilitating the costume workshops as a lead up to the parade (vs. organizing the day-of), because these were spaces where I was working with neighborhood kids and friends to visualize and create costumes and floats together. I mention these projects as well because I think of myself as an introvert forced extrovert. I really treasure the time I have alone in my studio, laboring over a drawing or painting for an animation. In my day-to-day life, I can experience a sensory overload, so I need the isolated studio time to process, meditate, and express. But I also like to challenge the notion of being a sort of stoic painter locked up in the studio. There was a while in grad school when I was trying to create plein air paintings in public spaces. I really enjoyed the disruption of painting in public spaces. The conversations that occurred. Moments I got in trouble for not having “permission” to paint. I consider myself a community artist, but sometimes the interaction or collaboration can be very small.
I am inspired by traveling, taking walks, and collective rituals. As an individual, I move between these roles: Visitor/Resident. Spectator/Participant. Individual/Community Member. In the end, I think the search for community is one of the tensions in my artwork. I need public contact, but I also need to be alone.
To answer your other question, gallery openings are often awkward for me. Usually I’m coming from a long day in my studio, caught up in my head or the status of an artwork. Did I discover anything new that day? I love to look at people’s artwork at the opening, but that at times contradicts with being social. That said, I think attending other artist’s openings is part of the social contract of being in a community of artists. My favorite part of an opening is probably hanging out with friends afterwards and catching up with their lives. The opening is our gathering place, but it’s afterwards that we relate. I enjoy my own openings, but I don’t always get to connect with everyone at the space, which is why I want to be there. If I sell something that is an added bonus.
What other St. Louis artists inspire or motivate you?
My good friends. My friends inspire me, because they possess the following qualities. Hardworking. Humble. Prolific. Excellent craftsmen/women. They are willing to experiment. They keep making things even when they don’t get financial support or recognition. They work at “being in community,” whether in their art or just being ethical humans. They are serious artists, but don’t take themselves too seriously. They have the ability to balance multiple or full time jobs and still get to the studio. They value good ideas, but aren’t pure conceptualists.
As noted in Byron Kerman’s piece: Elegy to Connie screens Saturday, March 8 at 8 p.m. The 2- and 3D materials used in the film are currently on display at the gallery as well. On Sunday, March 9, Paulsen leads a stop-animation workshop. Both events will be held at fort gondo compound for the arts, 3151 Cherokee, fortgondo.com.
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