Katie Hubbell, Artificial Paradise / In conversation with Jonathan Goodman

Katie Hubbell, in her mid-thirties, is based in New York City. She currently enjoys an extended residency at NARS, a non-profit space in south Brooklyn. She works in several media, including all-inclusive installational spaces and collage drawing, the first genre notable for its exploratory energies and the second genre compelling in its highly sophisticated use of an abstract idiom. Her art reflects the new in a challenging fashion and the more historical, made new to describe our times Still quite young, Hubbell came to New York City to participate in a sophisticated, if financially difficult, art culture. She enjoys the broad range of styles and people found here, and it is clear that she has the wherewithal to learn from and make use of the urban art mission and the internationalism that makes New York City so exciting a place to work.

Hubbell is a woman artist and strongly supports feminism, but that manner of thinking is not central to her work. Neither can it be said that she is a formalist, entirely driven by previous energies. Instead, she takes leave of particular influences, informally and eclectically choosing what works for her. Her materials are often taken from everyday stuffs such as makeup, food items, thread. Perhaps the most striking thing about her environments is their allover embellishment; the floors and walls and ceiling are often designed and patterned in a way that intensifies the experience of her audience. And Hubbell’s marvelous drawings, given to abstraction in a manner that recalls modernism, makes it clear she is in command of a style that began more than a good while ago but which is practiced, with skill and originality, even now. Hubbell is one of those artists who is comfortable with the modernist idiom, fashioning collage drawings that use modernism as a jumping point for compositions both old and new in feeling.

What does it take to be a viable artist in the beginning of the 21st century? What does it mean to be innovative and historically minded at once? Hubbell seeks a place in contemporary art, but she doesn’t worry too much about her origins. Instead, like all good artists, she makes use of what is possible in the moment. There was a time, historically, when one period followed the next in ways that could be differentiated from the work made previously. Now, everything takes place at once. The breadth of the spectrum available to Hubbell means that she has to focus on an interior discipline that would structure her efforts, even when she is working as freely as she does, for example, with her environments. But this is all descriptive theory. What matters is the extent to which the artist is successful in her efforts. Hubbell employs her active imagination in ways that reflect current thinking in art, but she does so in a way that embodies her own imagination. That imagination ranges across the past and present, making her an artist of integrity not based on a recognizable time. This is extremely unusual today, but the range of implied allusions in her output become highly original and independent as a result.  

Jonathan Goodman:

You have studied art at several schools in different parts of the States. Has school prepared you well for art, or do you feel you have learned your skills mostly on your own. Is the MFA still useful for artists?

Katie Hubbell:

I think it’s a case-by-case basis. I started at Kansas State with the intent of studying art therapy but got swooped away in oil paint. I learned the foundations of painting, art, and art history, but also had the chance to study things like sociology, kinesiology, geology, and more. I received my MFA from The Slade School of Fine Art, University College, London, had a very different experience of academia. I studied with wonderful mentors and built a community of international artists. The Slade was geared toward conceptual rigor, and the technical skills were things I sought out independently, as opposed to being learned in formal, largely formal studies, with endless workshops, lectures, and critiques. For me, an MFA was incredibly important in how my work grew, but everyone has their own journey. It can be detrimental in certain circumstances. I’ve heard experiences where students feel pushed to present their work in a certain way or make work in a certain esthetic. The pedagogy of “breaking you down” isn’t always beneficial. I want to get to the guts of the work and dig into what’s true, but it could go the other way and you could end up with an A+B=C kind of art. And then there is also the financial burden. I think of the Open School East in Margate, London, a free non-accredited art school. Tracey Emins just opened one in that same neighborhood, but those students aren’t even allowed to have part-time jobs.

JG:

You moved recently to New York City from Philadelphia. Does Philadelphia have a viable art life? How does it compare with New York City’s bigger scene?

KH:

Philly is a fantastic place to make work. Space is affordable, it’s easy to get around and source materials, and there is a good community with many artist-run galleries. But I really enjoy the energy of New York. I love going to museums/gallery openings on a regular basis, and the frequency and variety of people I’m meeting is very exciting. There are pros and cons to everything, but I feel inspired and energized being here.  

JG:

You make installations, sculptures, and flat-form collage drawings. Do you have a favorite genre, or do you see all three bodies of work as related to each other?

KH:

They all flow into one another. I work like a bumblebee, focus on one thing, then shift to another. The sculptures are often used in the video work, and subsequently find their way into the installation. The flat-form drawings are an ongoing series that I pick up and put down from time to time. For those, I use materials that I have around the studio or remnants from other projects. It’s important for me to be able to shift the speed of working. I’m a person with a lot of energy, and the physicality of making sculpture is important, but sometimes I want to sit on my floor with a 00 brush and make something very slow and structured. I like to shift the way I think as well. When I’m doing something formal, repetitive or even meditative, my brain can wander. I guess it’s a matter of active vs. inactive thinking. 

JG:

Your installations and sculptures relate to Pop art quite clearly. Do you see these bodies of work as indications of the art of a younger generation, or do they continue what is now a tradition established by such artists as Andy Warhol, Jeff Koons, and Kaws?

KH:

I could see a relation to Pop art in that I’m using popular materials like slime, bubble gum, PETG plastic used for blisters in product packaging, and more. But I try to push the materials to a different place, where Pop art is more about the thing itself. I’m interested in using dollar store materials in ways that make a connection to the body. I like pushing something glittery and sweet to a point that feels a bit rotten or foul. But I never want to go too far; the Pop/neon colors or highly estheticized imagery serves as an entry point to the work. I think beauty can be a tool. I sometimes think about Paul McCarthy’s use of ketchup vs. the Viennese actionists use of blood. My work does talk about consumerism, but I don’t specifically look to the Pop art canon. 

JG:

Your drawings are very beautiful, nearly classic versions of abstract art. Would you agree that they align with tradition? Is the work influenced in any way by earlier artists?

KH:

The flat works use colors, materials, and remnants from projects in the studio like gum wrappers, nail polish, fabric I’ve painted, color swatches stolen from the hardware store, and more. I spent the bulk of my childhood in Switzerland and Paul Klee was the first artist I learned about in elementary school. His work seeped into my conscience at a young age and has been with me since. Miro is similar in that regard. I love the play in Richard Tuttle’s work and think about Kurt Schwitters often both formally and in the use of materials. I’ve always been interested in Dada as well. 

I’m influenced by a large variety of artists working before me. Traveling around Europe as a kid, we would often visit cathedrals. I remember a wash of colored light radiating from the stained glass, scattering shadows on the cool mosaic floor, the waft of frankincense, the slow drip of blood from Christ’s rib, the echoes of whispers, and that reverberating glitch of sneakers on a marble floor. This immersive experience was profound, and I was somehow so aware of my breath and my body. Baroque cathedrals were my favorite. I’m inspired by the richness in the painting of that period as well. But I also think of Cindy Sherman’s art history series and find her plastic prosthetics and cakey makeup influential to my practice, too. 

JG:

Do you worry about an audience for what you make? Do you feel it is possible for the general public to not only enjoy but also understand your art? 

KH:

I think there are many different layers to the work, and I want there to be different entry points as well. As humans, we have innate responses to certain materials, textures, sounds. I’m interested in questioning the psychology of things that attract but simultaneously repulse us. Exhibitions that move me the most are those that leave me with questions. I like the idea of work that feels a bit unstable. When you think you’ve figured it out, something else whispering in your ear shifts and crumbles. In my recent installation, “The Tastebud I Swallowed,” the viewer could immediately connect to the moving images of mushy materials, worms, planets, etc. There is a sense of being interior, soothing, echoey, but then there is something bodily and difficult to look at. When you start to question the materials and realize you are looking at a bathbomb, and glittery face mask, and pop rock candy, you might understand a different layer of content. I want you to feel amoeba-like, drifting, like a tastebud that senses but is dislocated from the whole. Then you move to a certain part of the room and hear a sound, a whispering voice that comes in and out of abstraction, speaking a skewed guided meditation, and another layer is revealed. 

JG:

You are currently in a studio in the building of the NARS Foundation in south Brooklyn. (NARS is a non-profit organization dedicated to supporting local, national, and international artists.) You have been asked to stay another term, lasting through June. How do you work in a small space, especially if you are attracted to constructing installations? Does this residency give you the chance to become acquainted with New York’s art milieu? Can residencies be described as regularly useful for artists?

KH: 

No matter how much space I have I will fill it up. My studio is chaos, and I blame it on my aforementioned bumblebee process. I’ve worked in different spaces at varying points of my life and try to work modularly so things can be taken apart and assembled. I have a storage area, and I think this will be something I’ll need to continue. I am nervous about the affordability and limited space in New York, but sometimes problems just create more interesting solutions. 

Residencies in general have been invaluable to me. When I moved to the US after school, most of my network was scattered across the world. I was working remotely before that and didn’t know many artists. I love working in a communal setting and having challenging conversations about the work is important. I’ve grown so much from these experiences. NARS is fantastic in connecting artists with a larger community. It’s an experience that I don’t want to end. 

JG: 

How do you see New York as a site for your new work? Does its internationalism attract you? Are you excited by the possibility of collaboration? Or is the city too crowded with artists and overly expensive?

KH:

I am certainly attracted to internationalism and love the diversity of the city. I’m very excited about ideas of collaboration. It is saturated and massively expensive, and I’m nervous about that. I know there is a lot of competition and egos, but for me, working in a bubble is very lonely and discouraging (although sometimes I do enjoy periods of focused work and solitude). I think artists really need each other. For support, to push to develop the work for all of it. But I also enjoy having non-art people in my community. Varying perspectives and backgrounds are things I value and enjoy. 

JG:

Is your work essentially American in nature? If so, what does that mean? If not, what does that mean? Can we relate art to specific geographies any more in contemporary art?

KH:

I use cheese whiz in my work, which is quintessentially American. Monster energy drink is another recurring material. For me, it has become a symbol of American capitalism. It’s the push to be more and more. “Hydro Super Sport Macho Mango”—this is literally the name of one of their beverages.  With “superior hydration,” packed full of electrolytes and vitamin B. There is also a Monster Re-hab beverage if you have pushed yourself too far and need to recharge. 

Recently, I’ve been very interested in the way ideas of spirituality are used as a marketing tactic. Like I have a “Cosmic Holographic Hydrating Amethyst Peel-Off Face Mask’’ that promises to boost my aura. Toxic positivity is another layer in my research, and I find this more blatant in America. It’s the “Good vibes only” or “No negative thoughts allowed” rhetoric. There is so much “positivity” being marketed in wellness culture, I think it’s problematic. What if a thought is just a neuron, what if sad is just sad and that’s not bad—it just is. Everything comes and goes. I think we have to accept the full range of emotion and experiences to live a full life. 

JG:

As a young woman already with good experience in the art field, would you say that the current emphasis on feminist art in American culture has been a help or a hindrance? Or do you feel your work exists outside the boundaries of such a question?

KH:

I wouldn’t be where I am without a lineage of female artists and activists working before me, and I am indeed inspired by many of them. I am also interested in a more contemporary and nuanced definition of feminism. One that is inclusive and expansive. I am thrilled we are having conversations about gender expression, consent, equal pay,N= and so much more. I don’t present my work within the context of femininity or feminism. That word means different things to different people. 

JG:

Please name two or three contemporary artists whose work means a lot to you. Can you tell why they are important to your practice?

KH:

I feel like I could answer this question in so many ways. I don’t like to pick favorites, but I’ve been thinking about Mike Kelley’s “Kandors” work (a series of sculptures aligned with the Superman mythology) recently, and Lynn Hershman Leeson has been on my mind. I think they are all artists who were pushing into new spaces at the time. But there are so many more. I’m also influenced by science, psychology, trash reality TV, the targeted Instagram ads I get of people injecting botox into their faces, and more. 

JG:

The art world, already extensively international, is growing by leaps and bounds all over the planet. Do you see this growth as something positive, or are we overwhelming the field? 

KH:

I wish the art audience was growing at the same rate. I don’t know the last time my sister went to an art museum. I really hate how expensive museums are in the United States and how that excludes a lot of people from being able to see art. Everything feels overwhelming sometimes. But I just keep making art.