Be Still My Heart
BY PATTIE CHALMERS
Growing up in Winnipeg Canada, I found solace in the pages of my father’s Time-Life Library of Art books during the short winter days. Initially, I was drawn to the flowing gowns and palpable flesh in the figurative paintings of Bruegel, Cranach, van Eyck, and Gainsborough. But as I repeatedly returned to these images, my attention was drawn to the objects within the painted scene, and I became enamoured of these seemingly haphazardly arranged belongings that were so carefully rendered. It was through these portraits that I began to gradually understand how an arrangement of objects could reveal as much, if not more, about a life than the static visage of the painted subject.
These painted things piqued both my curiosity and imagination and led me to look at the still life paintings of Pieter Claesz, Cornelis Le Mair, Clara Peeters, and Paul Cezanne, among others. I would examine these arrangements like a crime scene detective looking for clues to a narrative that I could perhaps one day decipher. Eventually, I learned that the objects in these paintings were imbued with specific meanings—the ephemeral nature of beauty, the fleetingness of earthly pleasures, or the suggestion of spiritual devotion, for example. However, even with the key to the visual language, I continued to test my deductive skills; it was like returning to a film or book and becoming increasingly engaged with a subplot or the unresolved story of a minor character.
While in art school, I learned of the 17th-century hierarchy of painting, a ranking of works from the most lauded historical paintings to the least valued paintings of still lifes. Despite (or perhaps, because of) the underappreciation of the genre, my admiration for these compositions continued to grow, as did my interest in contemplating how these collections of often mundane items could provide significant insight into the cultural, moral, and spiritual beliefs of a time—a vase, a lemon, a loaf of bread, flowers, a knife, a glass of wine—each pointing to meaning. This capacity of seemingly ordinary objects to contain memories and then ignite a connection is magical. I am inspired by our ability to condense such a variety of experiences into seemingly mundane mementos. This enduring interest in the language of still life paintings and the nature of objectness acted as the catalyst for organizing Be Still My Heart.
“The appeal and power of still life…lie not only in its comprehensible scale, but in the fact that extraneous details are stripped away and what is left speaks to the responsive eye, simply and directly, of matters large and small. Of what do still lifes speak? Of relationships—connections, reflections, support, power, balance; of cause and effect; of things that have happened and will happen; of taste, touch, and smell; of man and nature; of markets and appetites and genetics and diet; of time, mortality, and regeneration.”¹
The artists included in this exhibition engage in a variety of approaches to making, their work reflecting moments of the past (both personal and historic), and presenting ideas of culture, class, identity and race. For me, a connection to the genre of still life is the linchpin. There is a sense of longing in all of this work, a request to slow down and give space to wonder and find meaning in the stillness.
¹Lowenthal, A.W. (1996) The Object as Subject: Studies in the Interpretation of Still Life. Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, p.3
Grant Benoit fashions sentimental arrangements of flowers, vases, and ceramic ornaments out of paper, cardboard, and carpet remnants, with the ephemeral quality of these materials conveying a quiet and fragile beauty. However, unlike the 16th-century Dutch still lifes, these bouquets do not pretend that they are real flowers and perhaps exist more as a shadow of a moment in their beige blush over a lack of colour and scent. The cardboard and paper bring forth associations of life transitions, of moving boxes and cast-off mementos packed up for charity shops. An overall impression of melancholy imposes itself on the delicate compositions. Still, the truth of one thing masquerading unsuccessfully as another suggests something less serious, and the overall effect is both sad and sweet.
“The grey film of dust covering things has become their best part”, Walter Benjamin Dreamkitsch 1927²
Caro Prados Burks tremulously renders swans, pink seashells, wax fruit, gothic romance novels, and family heirlooms and arranges them in the manner of one’s great aunt’s china cabinet. Through this imposed proximity, unexpected narratives emerge, in a way that corresponds with the flux of how things are remembered. The truth of her objects is often fragmented through hybridization— spawning memories of vague objects from the edge of slumber that linger like the ghost of a touch. In this space between dream and waking, a new reality can exist, and something new can emerge—something seductive and slightly dangerous.
“…[T]here is a melancholy associated with physical objects. That Melancholy differs from the traditional lament for the ephemeral object: the morning rose must fade alas…it is generated by the act of perception, perception of the object by the subject. This perception, always falling short of full possession, gives rise to a melancholy that is felt by the subject and is ultimately for the subject.”³
Guy Michael Davis & Katie Parker, the collaborative partners of Future Retrieval, find source material in the archives of museums, historic locations, and rare book collections. They collect interesting objects and images to reimagine, recreate, rescale, and reorganize, and, in doing so, discover new meanings and associations. The re-creating and re-placing of these historical and culturally steeped artifacts serves to illuminate connections to history and culture. The created objects can act as talismans or mementos for a larger narrative that remains tied to the past but is something entirely new.
“Consolidated into a perfectly flawless version of itself, the censored event becomes a sort of ‘cultural fossil,’ the static and idealized blueprint of an experience…the cultural fossil recalls an immaculate memory, continuously regenerating it in ahistorical purity without the annoying distortions brought about by the passage of time—death and decay."⁴
Christina Erives fabricates playful depictions of food preparation—limes, peppers, and cucumbers populate her cutting boards as she explores the narratives around food and connections to culture and relationships. Her creations resemble the graphic qualities of a picture book, comic, or Loteria
²Olalquiaga, C. (2002). The Artificial Kingdom: A Treasury of the Kitsch Experience (1st University of Minnesota Press ed.). University of Minnesota Press, p.7
³Schwenger, P. (2006). The Tears of Things: Melancholy and Physical Objects. University of Minnesota Press, p.70
⁴Olalquiaga, C. (2002). The Artificial Kingdom: A Treasury of the Kitsch Experience (1st University of Minnesota Press ed.). University of Minnesota Press, p.70
cards, offering the opportunity to imagine individual stories in these intensely coloured scenes from life.
“…[S]till life pitches itself at a level of material existence where nothing exceptional occurs: there is wholesale eviction of the Event. At this level of routine existence, centred on food and eating, uniqueness of personality becomes an irrelevance. Anonymity replaces narrative’s pursuit of distinction.”⁵
Arthur Fields photographed within the home of a recently-departed woman and was able to capture “the ghosts of love and loss” within his compositions of left-behind objects. These images are hushed moments of transition, fleeting, but frozen in time. They are more lines of a poem than a novel—these lonely vignettes suggest something personal but also make connections to an unknown history.
“It is the silence that obliges the poet to listen and gives the dream greater intimacy.”⁶
Gustav Hamilton depicts arrangements of objects in surreal landscapes that are inspired by midwestern and western landscapes. There is a surreal quality to his compositions that invokes a dreamy quality. This work exists as an “auto-fictitious diary,” and the connection becomes amplified by what seems to be the clues of an unseen event. The artifacts within the frame, and the frame itself, provide a mystery to uncover. But then a suspension of disbelief, allowing the freedom to believe in the presented possibilities, becomes a moment of joy.
“Objects of desire. This term must be understood in its broadest, most generic, sense: that the objects an artist chooses to present or depict correspond to a notion of desirability, either in a general social context or in a microcosm of that society. Domestic objects, which imply comfort, stability, and well-being, may be universally seen as objects of desire. But desire is a complex emotion, triggered by a broad variety of real and imaginary situations, conscious and unconscious impulses, sublime and mundane objects.”⁷
Janice Jakielski creates impossible objects of beauty. Through mysterious techniques, she fabricates historically-inspired works out of fragile sheets of porcelain. There is wonder in the material and technique, but more so a quiet sentimentality as these objects exist as a description of something else. The attraction of material curiosity shifts on closer inspection to a sense of playfulness and joy.
“[Our] capacity for thinking gives us a consciousness of the world: we know that we exist, that we are born and that we will die, that we are temporal beings, with a past, a present and a future. And this consciousness requires that we make sense of the world. We do this through language, spoken and written words, literature,
⁵Bryson, N. (2001). Looking at the Overlooked: Four Essays on Still Life Painting. Reaktion Books, p.61 ⁶Bachelard, G. (1994). The Poetics of Space (M. Jolas, Tran.; 1994 edition.). Beacon Press. p.179 ⁷Rowell, M. (1997). Objects of Desire: The Modern Still Life. The Museum of Modern Art Stable, Summer, No. 25. p.7
fiction, theory, science, religion, history also with music and song. We do this as well by creating images and we do it by creating objects.”⁸
Matt Nolen sculpts decorative sets of vessels, or garnitures, that bring attention to the space between beauty and the grotesque, organic and inanimate, natural and fabricated, illness and health, and life and death. The space separating these dualities is amplified by the distance separating his bodily ceramics. These forms convey a sense of the uncanny, an invitation to look for meaning and wonder, to exist in the liminal space between clarity and uncertainty.
“Objects have a Perfectness—a vivid and indifferent presence that sets off by contrast the perceiver’s amorphous being, along with the very opposite of indifference: a kind of longing toward something that continuously recedes into dimensions of loss.”⁹
Kristen Morgin makes small arrangements of objects out of unfired clay and paint that are convincing fakes—the thing that is not the thing—and in doing so, she creates a distortion between fact and fiction. The details of these items—price tags, stickers, name tags, doodles, and worn edges—are clues perhaps to identity and narrative. The type of objects—comic books, pencil stubs, cigarettes, and toy parts—suggests cultural relics from a specific time and place. There is a sense of nostalgia or sweet sentimentality to this work, but this acts only as a kind of dust jacket to a deeper emotional weight, an unseen heaviness as though the objects were handled by ghosts.
“Still life proudly pretends, but only pretends, that its absolute unreality is the simulacrum of real presence. It parades the completely fake as the copy of a completely real original. But it lets us suspect it may be lying. Its emphasis is on the completeness, the conspicuousness, of its fakery.”10
Sharon Norwood recontextualizes objects such as ceramic tea services, 19th-century prints, handmade bricks, and recreated personal and historical artifacts to reframe historical narratives of postcolonialism and power. Her collective work provokes an honest conversation about race and difference while revealing intertwined histories. By arranging these objects in the manner of a still life, she creates space for the presentation of “difficult histories and quiet resistance.”
“Since its appearance as an autonomous genre in the early seventeenth century, the still life has been a highly coded art form: the objects chosen and their manner of organization represent social and economic value systems that may not be immediately visible to the untrained eye. This is also true in the twentieth century, although the value systems may not be exactly the same. Whereas earlier examples of the genre were often commissioned by individuals as a means of conveying wealth or social status, in the twentieth century, artists are more often their own arbiters, moving freely between principles of tradition and transgression in their invention of singular codes.”11
Erin Palmer’s collection of objects and interest in still life are strongly related. Her paintings depict a reverence for the ordinary and patience for what is revealed through the activity of
⁸ Mathieu, P. (2017). Object theory. In The Ceramics Reader (p. 268). Bloomsbury Academic Publishing, p.7
⁹ Schwenger, P. (2006). The Tears of Things: Melancholy and Physical Objects. University of Minnesota Press, p.6 10 Berger, H. (2011). Hyperreality and Truthiness. In Caterpillage: Reflections on Seventeenth-Century Dutch Still Life Painting (p.6). Fordham University Press. 11 Rowell, M. (1997). Objects of Desire: The Modern Still Life. The Museum of Modern Art Stable, Summer, No. 25.
contemplation. Within the work, there are unspoken or implied truths—the pairing of familiar objects amid patterns and textures allows for personal connections and links to the past. Through her work, she contemplates similarity and difference, finding beauty in the ordinariness of the act.
“For many, the familiar presence of things is a comfort. Things are valued not only because of their rarity or cost or their historical aura, but because they seem to partake in our lives; they are domesticated, part of our routine and so of us. Their long association with us seems to make them custodians of our memories; so that sometimes, as in Proust, things reveal us to ourselves in profound and unexpected ways. Yet all this does not mean that things reveal themselves, only our investments in them. And those investments often carry with them a melancholy in the very heart of comfort…”12
Karl Raschke presents photographs of interesting moments from places he has visited, an immortalization of the relationships between objects, light, and shadow. The compositions he creates may be beautiful or strange, and the photographs themselves become objects to be arranged within the gallery, coaxing new fictions or sparking memories from the activity.
“Of course that is not the whole story, but that is the way with stories; we make them what we will. It’s a way of explaining the universe while leaving the universe unexplained, it’s a way of keeping it all alive, not boxing it into time. Everyone who tells a story tells it differently, just to remind us that everybody sees it differently.”13
Dennis Ritter’s work explores the replication of everyday objects to act as indicators of identity and memory—a boom box, a house plant, an ashtray, and a tangle of extension cords, for example, presented as if on a stage. The pieces fit together in an order that suggests remembered spaces. By fabricating and organizing these objects in the manner of a still life, the arrangements seem to be fossilized moments of anticipation. There is a distortion to the work, a moment where memory and experience merge with imagination and point to a reflection of personal and cultural identity.
“Possession is most overtly ownership, called by Walter Benjamin the most intimate relationship that one can have to objects. But he immediately cautions, not that they come alive in him; it is he who lives in them”14
Tammie Rubin creates compositions of objects that act as familial, historical, and literary artifacts of Black American citizenry, migration, autonomy, and faith. Through her creation of new artifacts, Rubin reveals an American history tied to personal experience and imagined spaces. Her ceramic and mixed-media work defies conventional history telling by interweaving her expressions of the past with firsthand knowledge and stories of lived experiences— the resulting work moves towards a new account of history.
“Maybe meaning is in gazing till it hurts” Santiago Vizcaíno15
Amy Santoferraro arranges collections of objects to organize and make sense of her surroundings. Through this act, she hopes to gain further understanding of the need for, and affection for,
12Schwenger, P. (2006). The Tears of Things: Melancholy and Physical Objects. University of Minnesota Press, p.6
13Winterson, J. (1985). Oranges Aren’t the Only Fruit. Virago Press, p.85
14Schwenger, P. (2006). The Tears of Things: Melancholy and Physical Objects. University of Minnesota Press, p.6
15 Daigle, C. (2020). Stirring the Sentient Dust: Marie-Rose Sousci’s The Grey Moth. In S. Simon (Ed.), The Anthology of Babel: Dead Letter Office (p. 1). Punctum Books.
objects. It is through the acts of rummaging, seeking, tinkering, and imagining that she creates her work. Finding beauty and promise in cast-off materials, she then reinvents. Often, the truth of these objects becomes fragmented as they are subverted from their original banal existence, the splinters of which get twisted together with imagined elements to create something wholly new and sometimes magical.
“This mode of conveying meaning—representing the whole through one of its parts—invests souvenirs with a large fetishistic potential: souvenirs begin to stand in for events or situations they were contingently associated with or were supposed to represent, gaining a life of their own.”16
Josh Stover paints domestic scenes of what seem like familiar household spaces that become stages for antiques and vintage objects to exist as if characters in a story. His compositions are loaded with cues to his own memories but also open possibilities for connection to others. These images suggest a space for narrative, either personal or public, serious or humorous, and in so doing provide a gateway to experience the work in an expanded way.
“And yet these images which, when all is said and done, represent at first glance the monotony and the insignificance of the object, conspire not to weary us, but to attract and hold us. We persist in looking at them. They provoke an obscure feeling, whose origin, whose nature we do not quite understand.”17
Kari Woolsey creates pinched clay bottles, pop cans, lemons, and fruit baskets in muted colours that invoke a memory of fading light through a rolled glass window. Her compositions reference overlooked domestic spaces where articles of life accumulate. These collections of commonplace objects act as conduits to memory and emotion and result in a tangle of possible narratives or a tender moment remembered, if only vaguely.
"…every corner in a house, every angle in a room, every inch of secluded space in which we like to hide or withdraw into ourselves, is a symbol of solitude for the imagination…To withdraw into one's corner is undoubtedly a meager expression. But despite its meagerness, it has numerous images, some perhaps, of great antiquity, images that are psychologically primitive. At times, the simpler the image, the vaster the dream."18
16Olalquiaga, C. (2002). The Artificial Kingdom: A Treasury of the Kitsch Experience (1st University of Minnesota Press ed.). University of Minnesota Press, p.87 17Harari, J. (1984). Dream objects. French Issue, 99(4), 836–844. The Johns Hopkins University Press, p.837 18Bachelard, G. (1994). The Poetics of Space (M. Jolas, Trans.; 1994 ed.). Beacon Press, p.136-7