Nate Young: (un)time

Nate Young

(un)time

Front cover In Black Untime No. 9, 2022 (detail) Back cover In Black Untime No. 15, 2022 (detail)

Nate Young (un)time April 23-June 4, 2022

Transcribed conversation between Amanda Hunt and Nate Young Edited by Staci Boris Photographed by Robert Chase Heishman

This catalogue was published on the occasion of Nate Young’s fifth solo exhibition at Monique Meloche Gallery, Chicago.

©2022

Table of Contents Introduction

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In Conversation

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Installation views

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Artworks

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Biographies

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Introduction

by Alyssa Brubaker

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“History is not something given, a fixed, chronological linear outline with blank spots waiting to be filled with newly unearthed facts. It’s the activity over time of all the minds compromising it, the sum of these parts that produces a greater ecological whole.

History, the past is what you’re thinking, what you’ve thought. You, the individual, you the enabler and product of the collective enterprise of mind. History is mind, is driven by mind in the same sense a flock of migratory birds, its configuration, destination, purpose, destiny are propelled, guided by the collective mind of members of the immediate flock and also the species, all kindred birds past and present inhabiting Great Time.”

-John Edgar Wideman moniquemeloche is pleased to present Nate Young: (un)time, the artist’s fifth solo exhibition with the gallery. (un)time reveals a series of new drawings by Nate Young that are a continuation of works which stem from a shared source image–a photograph of Young posing with his horse, based on his memory of a photograph of his great grandfather also posing with his horse–referencing the story of his equestrian escape from North Carolina to Pennsylvania. Dealing with notions of remembrance, identity, and death, the artist recreates this imagery as an attempt to access the past in the present, thinking about how images and memories behave in the presence of (un)time.

“Untime” is a framework for the absence of time, and in this context, its relation to Blackness and its immeasurable, permanent condition of being that is dictated by an endless proximity to death (Murillo 54). Each image depicting the artist and his horse and/or his ancestor and their horse offers an ontological glimpse into the temporal distance (or overlap) between two identities. The figures, with their haunting presence, each shift slightly, yet appear frozen against a vast cosmic backdrop, which the artist carefully renders in graphite. They subsist in various distortions–warping, duplicating, blurring–a visualization of Black atemporality, or Black untime, which is dictated by persistent time loss, lapse and loops, a result of the indeterminate negation of Blackness in history, politics, and culture (55). Some figures recede and disappear entirely through the use of vellum, a semi opaque material which Young deliberately employs to obscure their appearance. Like trying to recall an old memory, the figures’ relationship to the viewer is constantly shifting, suggesting an unknowable relationship to time. In what appears to be a sequence of various stages of erasure, we are left in this simultaneous in-between state of never having existed, or, not being while existing (60).

Taken together, (un)time is a meditation on personal and collective memory within the historical framework of Black erasure. By repeatedly rendering and recuperating his personal memory, Young underwrites the notion that the past only exists because we reproduce it.

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Murillo III, John. Impossible Stories, On the Space and Time of Black Destructive Creation.

Columbus, OH, Ohio State University Press, January 2021

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In Conversation

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Amanda Hunt and Nate Young in Converstion The following is a conversation between artist Nate Young and curator Amanda Hunt (Black Cowboy, 2016-17, The Studio Museum in Harlem) on the occasion of Young’s solo show (un)time and in anticipation of his upcoming performance-film project.

Amanda Hunt: I want to start talking about your body of work from the perspective that your material encompasses not just paper, wood, and graphite, but also people and community.

How did you come into this community of horse riders? What brought you to this new chapter, and how did it become part of your life?

Nate Young: I’m only newly involved with horses and the horse community. Even when I started working on this project [(un)time], which was inspired by my great-grandfather and his equestrian escape from North Carolina to Philadelphia, I hadn’t imagined that I would participate in any kind of equine activity. At a certain point, it became one of those things that just made sense: I would try to recreate his journey on horseback, so I had to learn how to ride a horse. That’s all it really came down to. The other interesting thing is there is a big community of horse riders out in Philadelphia. I’m originally from Valley Forge just outside of Philadelphia, and I remember you are from Philly too.

AH: How do we not talk about that? Yeah. I know where you’re from. Wow. NY: So the connection between horsemanship and communities of horse riders is kind of...

I don’t know if it’s coincidental that where my great grandfather ended up has such a big community of horse riders or if it just feels coincidental to me because I wasn’t so aware of it until I started this project.

AH: In Black Cowboy, an exhibition I curated at The Studio Museum in Harlem in 2016, it was about highlighting the fact that one in four people going out west were Black cowboys.

Equestrian expeditions are part of the DNA of the narrative of our country.

NY: From what I understand activities or jobs that had to do with being in proximity to horses were originally assigned to slaves.

AH: Yes. NY: Right? Because when you go to get on your horse to ride into town, it doesn’t necessarily mean you want to brush the horse down and pick out their hooves and go catch him out of the field and get shit all on your boots. You just want to jump on a clean horse. At least with the people who were the owners of horses you had to have someone else to

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In Black Untime No. 8, 2022 (detail)

care for the horse. From what I understand in Philly, it was cowboys who cared for these horses. Horsemanship though is the important thing because it originally, I think, goes back to drivers, people who were driving horses and buggies, driving people around.

These were either Black servants or Black slaves.

AH: Our ancestors.

NY: Exactly. Exactly. I’m not 100% sure why Philly held on this way so strong for so long.

AH: I think anchor points. It was and still is Philly, parts of Texas, Brooklyn, and California.

There are Compton Cowboys who are alive and well. But I do feel like there were anchors for this community. Oklahoma, of course. It’s a network. And it’s a network that I’m still discovering. So, when I learned about your new work and how you were reliving and re-embodying this narrative, and your plan to make this journey and map it, it just resonated for so many reasons. So, I wanted to ask you, it’s not a performance, or is it?

NY: Well, yeah. Yeah, no… I don’t know. It is not a straightforward conventional performance. I suppose it’s a performative act. I don’t even know if I want an audience to witness it.

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In Black Untime No. 8, 2022 (detail)

AH: Even if it’s through documentation?

NY: I’m thinking about making a film, but I’m also thinking about how to make a film that withholds so that it doesn’t become a spectacle. Is it a performance? Is it not? That’s something that I keep wondering to myself.

AH: And maybe you won’t know till after it’s done, trust your impulse. This is something internal. I return to the stories that we do and don’t tell in our families, especially Black families and communities of color who have lived through trauma for hundreds of years.

Whether that be war or the social construction of a modern city and culture, these are things you don’t talk about. I am thinking from a personal perspective that this journey would be a private act.

NY: Right, right, right.

AH: Even if it is a performative act, it’s still for you because it’s your family’s story.

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NY: Right, I don’t think of my work as a personal expression of my feelings, but more an act of searching and an attempt to answer a series of questions; it’s more of an examination into the process of thinking. All that to say that this body of work, and even more specifically, the performative act of what I’m planning to do, is so much more personal than anything I’ve ever done with my work to date. It feels private and close to home.

AH: Yeah. It’s beautiful. I hope that you’ll hold onto that, I know you will.

I guess I’m going to reverse-engineer a little bit. When I mention your work and material as a community, I’m thinking of certainly The Bindery Projects [an art gallery in Minneapolis, Minnesota co-founded by Nate Young and Caroline Kent]. I don’t know if you want to talk a little bit about that here, but it all relates. As I was listening to you share with us what you’re planning, I recall that you’ve been in an equine community of predominantly women. Let’s get into all of that and connect the dots a little bit for folks.

NY: From what I understand, I think that the Industrial Revolution, especially the automotive age and the evolution of farming equipment, changed horse riding into an activity one does for pleasure as opposed to a thing that one does for work. When horse riding was a working activity, it was predominantly men. This is where you envision the cowboy or the horse-and-buggy driver or the jockey. When it became an activity people began to participate in for pleasure, it started to become dominated by women. I believe it is around 77% of people who ride horses are women.

AH: Wow. NY: At the barn where I stable my horse, I’d say it’s probably closer to 100%. So it’s a really female-dominated community. It’s interesting. I had no idea going in that that was the way things are. Speaking to the community aspect of my work, my partner Caroline and I were running an exhibition space, which was a way for us to connect and participate in a broader discourse about art when we were living in Minneapolis. This project space was not really about networking, more just about sharing; sharing work and sharing ideas. I think my work functions that way, at least in my mind, because of the ideas and questions that are embedded in it. Since moving to Chicago, I’ve been trying to figure out different ways to implement that. Was I telling you about the bar project the other day?

AH: Yes. NY: I built a small bar in my studio, which inspired the project I am currently working on.

This was conceived during the pandemic, which is a terrible context in which to start a project that requires social participation, but the idea was to ask or invite artists to work collaboratively on a wooden object. Over the years, I have honed some skills in woodworking and I want to offer my skills to someone else who’s maybe a painter, a writer,

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or a thinker, or really anyone who might be interested in making something collaboratively, and once this object is complete, it would be installed at the bar. Then while that object is installed, I plan to have a series of cocktail hours where we discuss either the object or something in relation. Maybe it’s a text, maybe a small seminar, or a series of meetings. That idea is in its infancy but in terms of community and horse riding, I’m still thinking through what that means because I don’t plan for this journey to be something I’m going to be doing alone. If I’m making a film, there’s a film crew. My friend, Devin Mays, who’s an artist, also rides horses, and he’s thinking about coming along for the ride.

AH: When you said collaboration, I thought about Jackson, your horse, who’s the unnamed partner in this. I want to talk about that collaboration and the physicality of that. If we’re talking about material things and we’re talking about community, there’s this relationship you have with your horse. And that is a point of continuity just in this history of Black cowboys, right? That connection to your buddy, this glorious animal.

NY: I’ve absolutely been thinking about this. There’s this speech by Frederick Douglass where he says, essentially, that when the slaves are free–when Black folks are free–we should remember the other beasts of burden and not treat them as subjugated beasts, but as kin. I was thinking about the potential of a world in which that happened. Would that world not have the same kind of climate change situation if we thought of ourselves as collaborators with the rest of the mammals or beasts or even plants and life, the life that’s on earth? Maybe it’s a cliché, idea, but I like to think about that in terms of Frederick Douglass because I’m like, who knew that Frederick Douglass was a climate change activist?

AH: Before we even had the language for that.

NY: Right?

AH: No, this is ancient. That’s indigenous practice. That’s the Native American way of [thinking]... We’re on Turtle Island. Trees are beings.

NY: Right.

AH: Having that articulated through a cultural framework makes so much sense to me. I probably don’t take care of them well enough, but I do consider it in that way. These are living, breathing things. I don’t think it’s cliché. I know it might be a little far-fetched for some folks who will read this, but yeah, you are in collaboration together, you learn together.

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NY: Right.

AH: You’ll be working together and embarking on this journey together.

NY: And taking care of each other. The horse takes care of you because he understands that you’re taking care of him. Of course, we talk about being akin with plants and all the organic material on earth as not above us hierarchically, but they [horses] are not the same. In some ways, when you’re interacting with a horse, you have to behave a little bit like a horse, otherwise, they don’t understand you.

AH: Yeah.

NY: With horses, they do have a pecking order. You want to be on top of that pecking order because you want the horse to listen to you, however it’s not like a traditional antagonistic hierarchy. It’s a hierarchy, and this is what my first trainer told me, where none of the horses want to be at the top because if some shit goes down, the one on top is the one who’s expected to handle business.

AH: And we’ve all felt that pinch.

NY: However, their instinct always tells them to jockey for the top position. That said if the horse understands you as top of the herd and you’re riding them, they feel safer, they feel taken care of. In return, because they’re feeling safe and calm and taken care of, they’re going to take care of you. There’s a give and take. It’s a hierarchy, but not in the way that we traditionally would perceive of it, and on this really long ride, I’m going to be relying on him a lot to take care of me, and he’s going to be relying on me.

AH: That’s really beautiful. I feel like it comes back full circle to this idea of community as practice, and just taking care of each other. Maybe it feels like the wrong impulse to think of a gathering place in a time of a global pandemic that has changed the world order, but also the perfect time. It is an individual choice, how you participate or when, or how you feel safe together in a strange time and a strange journey. I just see so much of what you’re going to be embarking on as a parallel or an extension of this. As you go along this journey you will make sense of a part of yourself, your family history, and a part of American history.

NY: A lot of this work is about time and about slowing down, the pandemic slowed down a lot of things. I started riding during the pandemic. Riding was something that really saved my mental health in a lot of ways, it allowed me to be in a community with other animals outdoors. The stables never shut down, because the horses still needed to be

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taken care of, they still needed to be put outside, they still needed exercise and to be fed. Having something to care for like that I think is helpful for us. I think we all need that.

AH: Well, it keeps us as parents. It’s a love and it’s a motivation to make sure they’re safe and taken care of. We want to see that through. I love that you found this for yourself and for the work as well. I’m just excited to see what comes of it, or maybe not see, but just knowing that this is something that you will be doing for yourself, however it shows up.

NY: That’s something I’m excited about these days–the things that I’m not sure of. The bar, for example, I don’t know if it’s an artwork. I don’t know if I would consider the conversations or objects that come from it a part of my work. Does it have to be some kind of object in order to be an artwork? I’m just not sure what that is. But doing it seems like the right thing to do. It seems to make sense. Usually, when I’m making art and the idea makes sense to me, it usually means I’m moving in the right direction.

AH: Yeah. It’s an intuition, and you’ve got to follow that, you need to see it through. I understand that differently for different reasons, not as an artist, but it resonates completely.

NY: And you’ll catch up to making sense of it later.

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Installation Views

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Artworks

In Black Untime No. 15, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 25 1/2 x 33 1/2 in 64.8 x 85.1 cm

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In Black Untime No. 13, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 24 x 32 1/2 in 61 x 82.5 cm

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In Black Untime No. 14, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 26 x 34 in 66 x 86.4 cm

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In Black Untime No. 5, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape, oak and ink stamp 34 x 45 1/4 in 86.4 x 115.1 cm

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In Black Untime No. 6, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 33 1/2 x 45 1/2 in 85.1 x 115.6 cm

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In Black Untime No. 7, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 42 x 53 in 106.7 x 134.6 cm

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In Black Untime No. 11, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 33 x 45 1/2 in 83.8 x 115.6 cm

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In Black Untime No. 10, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 32 x 45 1/2 in 81.3 x 115.6 cm

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In Black Untime No. 4, 2021 graphite on paper in artist-made oak frame 28 3/4 x 48 1/2 x 2 in 73 x 123.2 x 5.1 cm

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In Black Untime No. 9, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 35 x 46 3/4 in 88.9 x 118.6 cm

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In Black Untime No. 8, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 38 x 45 1/2 in 96.5 x 115.6 cm

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In Black Untime No. 16, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 26 1/2 x 34 in 67.3 x 86.4 cm

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In Black Untime No. 17, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 27 x 35 in 68.6 x 88.9 cm

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In Black Untime No. 15, 2022 graphite on paper and vellum, archival tape and oak 25 1/2 x 33 1/2 in 64.8 x 85.1 cm

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Biographies

Nate Young (b.1981 Phoenixville, PA, lives Chicago, IL) received his MFA from the California Institute of the Arts in 2009 and BA from Northwestern College in 2004. He attended the Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture in 2009 and was invited back as a Dean of the residency in 2015. That same year, Young exhibited his first solo show with moniquemeloche, followed by a solo booth at Artissima, Italy, and a duo booth at UNTITLED Miami. Since then, Young’s work has been shown at Bridge Projects, Los Angeles, CA (2021); Museum of Contemporary Arts, Chicago, IL (2021); De Pree Art Gallery, Holland, MI (2020); The Driehaus Museum, Chicago, IL (2020); Front Triennial at the Cleveland Institute of Art, Cleveland, OH (2018); Visual Arts Center, Richmond Virginia (2017); and The Studio Museum, Harlem, NY (2012). His work is in the permanent collections of DePaul Art Museum, Chicago, IL; Fabric Workshop Museum, Philadelphia, PA; Milwaukee Art Museum, Milwaukee, WI; Walker Art Center, Minneapolis, MN; and the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, Washington, D.C.

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Amanda Hunt Amanda Hunt is the Head of Public Engagement, Learning, and Impact at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis. Previous positions include Director of Public Programming at the Lucas Museum; Director of Education and Public Programs at MOCA, Los Angeles; Associate Curator at The Studio Museum in Harlem; and Associate Curator at the Los Angeles non-profit LAXART. Hunt has curated exhibitions including the 2019 Desert X Biennial; Xu Zhen: In Just a Blink of an Eye; 20/20: The Studio Museum in Harlem and Carnegie Museum of Art; Black Cowboy; The Window and the Breaking of the Window; A Constellation; Lorraine O’Grady: Art Is; Rashaad Newsome: THIS IS WHAT I WANT TO SEE; Tenses: Artists in Residence 2015-16; and inHarlem: Kevin Beasley, Simone Leigh, Kori Newkirk, Rudy Shepherd, a multi-site public art initiative commissioned in four Historic Harlem Parks. She has produced numerous major art initiatives including The Pacific Standard Time Performance and Public Art Festival (2012), co-produced by LA><ART and the Getty Research Institute; Made in LA 2012, the first Los Angeles biennial organized by the Hammer Museum in collaboration with LA><ART; and Portland2014: A Biennial of Contemporary Art, presented by Disjecta Contemporary Art Center in Oregon.

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Monique Meloche Gallery is located at 451 N Paulina Street, Chicago, IL 60622 For additional info, visit moniquemeloche.com or email info@moniquemeloche.com