Contributed by Sharon Butler / During “Apophanies,” Gabbi Grill and Orli Swergold’s two-person show at Stephen Street Gallery, an artists’ collective and exhibition space in Ridgewood, Queens, funded by NYFA, I invited the artists to tell me about their work and art practices.
Sharon Butler: I love the title of the show. According to the press release, “Apophenia” is the tendency to perceive a connection or meaningful pattern between unrelated or random things, such as objects or ideas. I guess that’s an invitation for the viewer to find the meaning between your work. In Gabbi’s, work it seems that she is constantly trying to break through or permeate the surface. Can you tell me how this started and where you think it might be headed? Is the surface a metaphor for you?
Gabbi Grill: I started making puncture drawings after I graduated from my MFA program at Stanford. In school, I was making sculptures out of gypsum cement and fiberglass, but after I graduated, I was looking for something I could work on out of my apartment. I never really had much of a drawing practice before. I had been making sculpture for years – often wooden sculptures upholstered with textiles. I was always envious of people who could sit down with a piece of paper and make something special happen. When I approached paper at my desk, I struggled for days to make a drawing that I liked with pens, pencils, and markers. I looked around my desk for tools to use, and suddenly it occurred to me that I could use tools for my drawings that I also used for sculptures. I had a bunch of needles sitting on my table, and I started poking the paper with a piece of foam underneath so that the needle could push through. It took off from there.
SB: What do you think the act of poking symbolizes for you?
GG: I use needles for darning – the act of repairing clothing by weaving small patches over the holes. For me, the punctured holes in the paper relate to this process of repair by way of puncturing, and the physical experience is similar. The puncture also means the drawing is a physical transformation of the paper and is not made of materials applied to the surface. The puncture is a hole, a mound, an opening that allows light to shine through. This process was actually used in early examples of animation, where holes were poked into a painted image and light shone from the back, illuminating a constellation of tiny dots. The puncture is both a destructive act on the paper and a constructive act of drawing that allows the materiality of the paper to be at the forefront. The puncture is a kind of tunnel to the other side.
SB: Orli, some of your work is made by layering the Hebrew letters of your name on top of each other to create organic forms and shapes. Where did this idea first come from and how has your relationship to text, specifically Hebrew text changed over time?
Orli Swergold: Many of my early art experiences in school and camp centered on Judaism, so naturally I explore these roots in my work. I started receiving pushback in my post bacc for including Hebrew in my work and it only continued and intensified in graduate school.
My reaction was to encode my identity in my work, either through hidden symbology or through abstracting the Hebrew letters of my name beyond recognition. The silver lining was that it allowed other themes and interests of mine to permeate my practice and fostered my interest in using abstraction to reference multiple sources within the same object. Recent events have only increased my interest exploring this way of working.
SB: Orli, why do you work with paper and metal? Does this union of materials have meaning for you beyond their formal qualities?
OS: Metal is cold, hard, and rigid, while paper pulp is soft, wet, and sticky. I like putting these two things together. It provides a challenge for me in the studio, but also it speaks to my interest in combining opposing forces. I like the fact that it means my objects are two things at once. It is also appealing that these materials are a collaboration with and between nature and industry. They both feel very organic and raw at times, but synthetic and manipulated at others. I have to collaborate with my materials, in a way, to create something meaningful.
SB: Gabbi, where does your use of packing materials and moving palettes come from? If you used something else as your matrix, what would it be?
GG: I am interested in the way people relate to physical objects, how materials hold memory, sentimentality, and deep meaning on an individual and personal level. I started working with found objects almost ten years ago. I had a lot of things myself that I didn’t want to part with but also recognized I didn’t need, like old bandannas from childhood, well-loved jeans with holes, my favorite earring (I lost its match). Not wanting to part with them forever, I started using them in my work. Around that same time, my grandmother’s health was declining, and she had to move to a couple of different places to get the right care. She had a lot of clothes, furniture, and random household items that she could no longer use but also couldn’t let go of. In one of her last apartments, she had all these things boxed up and stacked everywhere. She wasn’t able to unpack the boxes herself and couldn’t move them, either. She was living in the boxes and could barely get through her home. This felt to me like an extreme case of connection to objects, with a negative effect on my grandmother’s daily life. I quickly ascribed meaning to packaging materials and considered them symbols of consumerism, materialism, emotional distress, and environmental tragedy.
When I was in grad school, I started using packaging material in my work as the armatures for sculpture that would obstruct a room. When I started painting and drawing, I started using the moving pallet as the armature of design in my 2D work as well. That’s how my work with packaging materials began, but my connection to them has changed over time as my practice has evolved. When I poke holes or dab paint globs on panel to translate the images of packing material, the image is flattened and appears transformed into serene patterns, aerial maps, or ancient ruins. Pallets are designed to move heavy things, using symmetry, curves, and angles for maximum strength and support. Throughout my journey working with packaging materials, I have taken interest in various aspects of what they represent, but overall, I am most intrigued by how their design can shift with scale and the material used to represent it. The pallet has become the metaphorical armature for my work – it gives me a structure for going through the motions of painting and drawing and developing new processes as I explore the physicality of materials.
SB: What are the outside influences that seem to be shaping your work?
OS: My childhood backyard! I had a creek running through it and I used to make up all kinds of imaginary games there. The Natural History Museum, specifically the insects and the hall of gems. PBS science/history shows like Nova, they give me a sense of connectivity between everything and of awe at the beauty and mystery of the world. Hayao Miyazaki, David Cronenberg, and Fantastic Planet. I like sci-fi a lot and love that our depictions of aliens often come from known flora and fauna. The Southern Reach Trilogy. Stalagmite, stalactites, and rocks more broadly. Clowning: I went to circus camp as a kid, and then clowned with Patch Adams and the Gesundheit Institute, which runs clowning trips all over the world. I recently became enamored with Marcel Marceau – his story is incredible – and Native American sacred clowns.
GG: Well, first I would have to acknowledge the people shaping my work – my fiancé Adam and my family are all supportive of my practice and really champion my work. Adam is a painter, and has been painting much longer than I have, and his critiques of and enthusiasm for my work have been so helpful to me in finding my own way of making paintings. My parents also have been very supportive of me making art since I was young, and they always express great belief in me and my work, which means a lot to me! Also, working at Two Palms with so many creative people, I get to talk about art and materials all day long! The community at work keeps me energized about getting back to work in my own studio. I have also been significantly affected by the many moves I have made since leaving my parents’ house and going to college. I have lived in 11 different homes since I graduated from high school, moving every year or two. I spend a lot of time thinking about and setting up new domestic spaces. I also think quite a bit about all of my stuff and how I am going to keep it with me or transport it. Moving around relates to the imagery I’ve been using in my work, as well as the scale and materials I typically choose to work with. Many of my sculptures, for example, are made with flat planes and hinges so that they can be folded up and stored flat.
SB: Orli, you work at Two Palms, too — a printing and publishing art studio in Soho. I imagine it affects what you are making in the studio.
OS: Working at Two Palms has been the privilege of a lifetime. I’ve learned so much from my team members. I’ve brought things to my work through working on the paper making team that have really enhanced my technique and expanded the possibilities of my practice. On top of that, the team at Two Palms is truly an art family. Everyone, including Gabbi, has taught me so much. From our group critiques together to daily lunch conversations, I glean insights. Everyone is so generous with their time and knowledge. Whenever I want to learn how to do something new, I consult with whoever has those skills and knowledge. I don’t feel that I have to shut off the artist part of me at work, which is a huge gift.
SB: Orli, you are a member of Soloway, an artist-run gallery in Brooklyn, Tell me what curating and installing exhibitions with other artists at Soloway, and then putting “Apophanies” together with Gabbi has been like.
OS: Every show I curate I learn something new. “Apophanies,” was the first time I tiled the floor for an exhibition, and it was really interesting to create an intentional space that echoed forms and aspects of both our works. Gabbi spearheaded the design, but it had parts of both of us in it. The experience felt very organic and collaborative and opened up ideas for me regarding future installations and ways of working with other people. And I hadn’t ever co-curated a two-person show in which I was one of the artists. It was so cool to see how our works spoke to each other and were both similar and different. In a weird way, I was more nervous to do this show than shows in the past because I wanted my work to live up to Gabbi’s, which pushed me in new directions, and I am thankful for that.
SB: What is the experience of being in your studios like?
GG: For the past couple of years, I have been working from my home studio, and I really enjoy it. Home studios are underrated! I started working from home when I was moving around a lot for residencies and a new job, and it didn’t make sense to start renting a studio that I wasn’t around to use. For the past year and a half, I have been working full time, and working from home makes being in the studio feel more manageable. I am able to paint most days after work and on the weekends. I work on my paintings and drawings flat on a table. As soon as I enter the studio or approach the table, I immediately grab a tool and get started. Then I have to stop myself to turn on something to watch or listen to or to make a cup of coffee. I often have the TV on in the background while I’m painting. I can’t watch anything too demanding of my attention, so it’s a lot of reality TV and sitcoms. I think I have watched every season of Survivor in the studio. I also recently watched Avatar: The Last Airbender (the animated one), which was fun. I think all artists grapple with the seriousness of art making. It’s important that I stay connected to play and find avenues that bring me joy and restfulness as I pursue a regimented and time-consuming studio practice. That stuff is also underrated!
OS: I get into my studio, put my bags down, and check my work. Usually I’ve left something drying, so there’s a reveal. That sort of colors the day for me (pun intended). If it’s a good reveal, I’m excited. If it’s a disappointment it means, I have harder work ahead of me. Then I get going. I pick a series of moves to make on each work. Sometimes these moves are extremely obvious – I know exactly I need to do next. Sometimes I have to let work sit while I look and ponder the next move. But I try not to question my instincts too much, because my practice hinges on experimentation. What I think I want to do, I try. If I don’t like it, I try something else. I only pause for a snack – usually a nice little salad and some protein or leftovers, fuel really. I like to take a mental break during this time, too, by watching a sitcom on my phone (usually Seinfeld or the like) and tuning out for a bit. That way when I get back to working, it’s easier to see everything anew. I often listen to KMRD-LP 96.9 FM live, or reruns of my favorite show that my friends Denis and Denise host, which used to be called The Opposite of Midnight and they’ve renamed, I think, Is You Is Or Is You Ain’t? It’s a community-run radio station in Madrid, New Mexico. I absolutely love it. When I’m in my studio I’m almost always working. I don’t have to figure out how to fill my time, my time fills me! It’s like having the best job ever.
SB: What constitutes a successful work of art in your eyes?
OS: With my own work, one that surprises me. I’m usually looking for this ah or cool moment, where I am happily surprised by the result of a move I’ve made. I don’t know how it’s going to look until it’s done so I’m just seeking this very intuitive feeling of satisfaction that says I have achieved the effect I wanted. After that, it’s like it ceases to belong to me. I’m really in it for the experience of making. But in other people’s work, I’m out for something that transports you and makes you momentarily lost in the world of the piece. An artwork in which some kind of transformation has occurred, an alchemy of material or thought. It really is so subjective; I just look for the things that give me these feelings. To someone else it could be shit. And this of course can change over a time – works can speak to you in different ways at different times in your life when you are looking for different things. This makes me sound fickle, but I don’t really believe artists when they say absolutely definitive things, because people are always changing. Sometimes there’s work that at first I don’t have a reaction to, but then I hear someone else talking about it and I gain appreciation for it. I think art is relational. Our surroundings and other people very much affect how we think and feel about it.
GG: Sometimes ideas come from responses to my work, both positive and negative. I made the first painting I did in grad school at the very beginning of Covid, in lockdown, and it was a departure from the work I had been making. Later, in a one-on-one meeting, one of my professors told me that this painting and others were very decorative, and therefore not very interesting. This comment felt like a diss to an entire genre of art as well as a misogynistic comment that discounts what might have traditionally been women’s art and domestic craft (which does reflect culture, history, and thought more than it is given credit for). I felt a huge sense of disagreement and frustration and was motivated to work more with decoration and to be steadfast in my opinions, so the episode may have had a positive effect on me and my work overall.
SB: Thanks Gabbi and Orli for sharing your ideas with me and the Two Coats of Paint community.
“Gabbi Grill + Orli Swergold: Apophanies,” Stephen Street Gallery, 1679 Stephen Street, Ridgewood, NY. Through July 14, 2024.
“Two Palms Staff Show: Meditations on Corporeality,” Soloway Gallery, 348 South 4th Street, Brooklyn, NY. By appointment only.
About the author: Sharon Butler is a painter and the publisher of Two Coats of Paint. She will have work in “Out of The Blue,” the summer group at Frosch & Co, 34 Broadway, NYC, July 17 – August 24.
