Post on 20-Aug-2020
With a wide range of artistic influences, Alex Lukas creates highly detailed
drawings, subtly rendered prints, and complex 'zines. Moving between
mono- or duo-tone and lush color, his work challenges the perception of
the urban environment as a place of inevitable destruction. Though his
landscapes can seem eerily foreboding and forsaken, the artist eschews
the term "post- apocalyptic" for his work, preferring to leave the meaning
behind his works open to viewer interpretation in a variety of ways. Lukas
is a Philadelphia resident and member of Philadelphia-based collective
Space 1026. His imprint, Cantab Publishing, has released over 35 small
books and 'zines since 2001.
Recently Dan Haddigan talked with Alex about his ideas, his use of
printmaking in contemporary work, and why superheroes don't seem to
show up when you expect them to.
Dan Haddigan: You have a very interesting and diverse body of work,
incorporating a number of different techniques. Since this is the
Philagrafika blog, I think the best way to start the conversation is for
you to speak a little bit on your printmaking practice. I recall reading
in an interview that you use a special silkscreen technique on your
flooded-city pieces - the rendering of the water is all done by hand,
and then silkscreened, correct? Do you ever re-use the same
textures from one piece to the next? Can you discuss your feelings
on the use of silkscreen techniques as a tool to produce a single
image rather than a printed edition? What is your attitude, and your
thoughts on printmaking in general, and printmaking as a tool to
create certain effects?
Alex Lukas: I try to use printmaking techniques where it is appropriate. I
don't really consider myself a capital-P "Printmaker." I'll always consider
myself a 'zine maker, since for a long time that was really my primary
focus. When creating 'zines, I try to consider technique, form and the idea
of editioning these printed objects-in-multiple.
That said, I have never taken a screen-printing class - so all of my
knowledge came from observation, helpful peers and figuring it out
myself.
When I first started incorporating screen printing into my one-off
drawings, the technique was heavily influenced by a lot of the posters and
'zines I had seen being produced in Providence, Rhode Island, where I
went to college. Other than going to a few parties, I was never even
tangentially involved in any of that Fort Thunder stuff, but I was really,
really excited by the process of it - the use of transparent ink overlays
especially. It is such a smart and economical way to produce color with
just a few screens. When I realized I wanted to use this effect in my
drawings, I couldn't figure out any other way than screen printing.
And, to me, that is still the key: using printmaking techniques for effects
that I couldn't otherwise achieve. The screen-printed book pages that you
are asking about usually involve a split-palette pull through an open
screen - an opaque ink fading into a transparent over a partially masked-
out cityscape. For many of my other drawings, I'll screen-print
advertisements or murals - objects in the composition that I want present
as distinct from my drawing. The water patterns I re-use many times, they
are printed from photographs I find or take myself. The reflections of the
buildings are painted into each work.
DH: You've touched on what I think is one of the most exciting things
happening within printmaking today. I think that the discipline is
currently in the midst of an evolution, moving from something very
structured and academic to a medium that’s more about
experimentation and combining other media. Where in the past it’s
been a tool to unleash multiples upon the world, now more and more
artists are using print techniques in a much more fluid way. The fact
that you regularly employ silkscreen techniques despite the fact that
you've never taken a screen-printing class shows that you belong in
sort of a "new school" of artists who learned the techniques second-
hand and adapted them to your circumstances. (That’s not to say that
printmakers haven't been experimental before, but now it seems
extremely prevalent, more like the rule and less the exception.) You
don’t have the onus of "the right way" floating above your head while
you work, and I think it can be difficult for classically trained
printmakers to steer away from that mindset. It really opens the door
to a wealth of possibilities.
AL: I agree - but I think this cross-disciplinary practice is really just the
way people make artworks today in general, not just as it relates to
printmaking. I like the idea of de-stigmatizing printmaking from a craft to
just another tool like video or sculpture or performance. I think the idea of
printmaking as a tool for craft and not simply another method of making
work is outdated, but not everyone has come around yet. And, just for the
record, I have taken some printmaking classes, just never a screen-
printing class. I took a continuing-ed etching class and a letterpress class,
and I'm very interested in those techniques, but screen-printing has
always been the most attractive and appropriate method for my work.
DH: In addition to the silkscreen drawings, you also do editioned
prints, as well as run a 'zine publishing imprint. How do these works
compare to your other work? Is it any more or less enjoyable than
your mixed-media pieces or drawings? How important is it to your
artistic process? Does the fact that you publish 'zines inform any
other part of your work? Is there any connection between publishing
others' work and appropriating published works (book pages) for
your pieces?
AL: I'm not sure I can quantify one as more or less enjoyable. All of it
obviously comes from me - but I do consider them distinct bodies of work
stemming from similar influences and interests. I used to get the comment
a lot that I should add superheroes to my drawings - Superman flying
through or something - but that doesn't really make sense to me. I get
why the suggestion would be made, but it doesn't correlate with the
reason I make those works.
The drawings I make are intended (and this is a drastically oversimplified
summation) as quiet reflections on violence and rebirth. The 'zines are
generally collections of photographs, interviews or focused on the history
of some obscure place. The superhero prints are nerdy one-liners. All of
these things are interesting to me, feel important to make, and come from
a similar place and set of experiences, but they have different goals, so I
try not to cram all of these intentions into one body of work.
Like I discussed before, there is a lot of technical overlap and influence as
well. I'm not sure if there is a correlation between publishing and
appropriating, other than the natural impulse to collect printed stuff -
books, 'zines, posters - it all accumulates together. I really like printed
material.
DH: Just because you have a lot to say doesn't mean you need to
say it all at once. Good artists know how to edit themselves. It's
important for artists to have ideas outside of their main body of work
that occupy some mental real estate. I find that I have my best ideas
when I'm focused on something else. It's interesting to me the way
that two separate entities can overlap subconsciously. The fact that
your superheroes are existentially walled off from the disasters they
can help alleviate or prevent makes both bodies of work all the more
interesting.
AL: Yes, I think the delineation of the work is good, but it has also
sometimes been a hindrance. It has gotten easier recently, but for a while,
when an opportunity would come up for a show or an illustration project, I
would need to ask very specifically what work of mine the person
expected.
Very recently I've begun to try to break down some of the walls I've built
up for compartmentalizing my own work. I'm increasingly interested in
trying to incorporate some of the photography I do into the work I exhibit.
I mean, it has always been integral for research and reference, but I've
started to show some new drawings alongside diazotypes (blueprints) or
unique photocopies that come directly from my reference photography.
I'm really excited about the direction these pieces are going.
DH: I saw a recent group show you were in at Extra Extra Gallery in
Philadelphia, which I believe was their last show, appropriately
enough. You had an installation set up, including a large white
skeletal structure for displaying your framed pieces, flanked by
potted plants and fluorescent lights. What spurred your work toward
a more installation-based approach, and is this a direction you will
continue with in the future? How do the structure and the plants push
the work further, in your opinion?
AL: I was really excited with the installation at Extra Extra. For a year and
a half I have been working on a 'zine series titled OF NOTE. Each issue is
one or two 11" x 17" photocopied pages folded into quarters and
dedicated to photographs I've taken and collected together under a
simple thematic umbrella: vans in the snow, a graffitied plant, hand-
painted couches and so on. Issue #12 was just released. Sometimes it is
a set of photographs taken in a few minutes, sometimes it takes a year to
compile. Issue #7 was dedicated to fluorescent lights and the spaces they
occupy - loading docks, vacant storefronts - generally commercial
spaces. My favorites from this collection were fluorescent lights left on
inside of vacant storefronts. As I've been hinting at ideas of commerce in
my work for a while now, I decided to try incorporating this type of lighting
into my installation at Extra Extra. The structure itself is a pretty direct
extension of structures I've been building to hold my large drawings for a
while, so it seemed appropriate.
DH: For all of its blank, dull evenness, fluorescent lighting can be
very expressive. To use it as a sculpture or installation medium and
to use it to light artwork is to make a very distinct decision about
presentation, especially in the capacity you speak of. It's a very
convenient and clever way to make that connection to
commercialism without being too overt (the same goes for the
billboard-inspired structures). In my opinion, when used to light
artwork, fluorescent lighting has a way of making it look sort of
ghastly, as opposed to the enhancing qualities of halogen lighting.
AL: Fluorescent lighting has been a pretty well-trod path in contemporary
art. Simon Boudvin's Concave series is one of my favorites. Robert Irwin.
Dan Flavin, obviously.
I'm not sure I agree with your characterization of fluorescent lights as
making artworks look ghastly, though. I think a lot of galleries that I'm
really excited about have exclusively fluorescent lights, but I take your
point that it is a different way to view work.
That line between the familiar and unfamiliar, between ease and disease,
is really important to me. I'm really interested in pursuing that more
through the structures and lights that hint at commerce but re-
contextualize it. That is a similar impulse, in my mind, to depicting these
scenes of destruction in a fashion that references the idealized depiction
of our country in 19th-century American landscape painting.
DH: Your subject matter is obviously pretty dark. However, the
scenes you depict always have a certain light to them. Your color
palette is generally neutral, the weather is often overcast, but it's not
night time. Although humans are not depicted, there are still traces of
life. The word apocalypse is thrown around pretty liberally, although
not many people are familiar with the original meaning of the word - it
relates to the permanent triumph of the forces of good over the
forces of evil, the revelation of truth, the "lifting of the veil." Is this
something that you think about when you approach your work
conceptually? How much of this is a conscious decision in your
work? Why do you choose to focus on this type of subject matter?
AL: I like that - "lifting the veil." That is much more interesting and
appropriate than the term "post-apocalyptic," which people often use in
relation to my work. I get it: it is the most accessible descriptor for what I
draw, but I think that focus is wrong for what I make. And I think in
articulating why I dislike that term, I am able to describe my intentions
better. These drawings are non-narratives - they are not meant to tell a
particular story nor have a sense of a specific moment. So much of the
fascination with end-time "post-apocalyptic" imagery gets burdened by
particular descriptions of "what happened" - which often devolves into
vampires and zombies or cautionary tales about global warming or
nuclear proliferation. Some of those fears are more valid than others, but
either way, I'm not trying to be a didactic picture-maker. I'm trying to take
the specificity out of the image and focus instead on these contradictory
feelings of anxiety and peace; hints of violence surrounded by rebirth
through these placeless landscapes. These themes and contradictions are
much more interesting to me.
The book pages are obviously not "place-less;" they all depict American cities, but by using older imagery I'm able to engage with ideas of false histories. The source of these book pages are usually coffee-table books from the 70s or 80s, so they generally depict skylines that are different from how they appear today. Sometimes buildings depicted have been demolished, sometimes I'll cover up other structures, sometimes the names of defunct companies still adorn facades. All of this is really, really interesting to me and takes away from the simple notion that this is a "warning of one possible future if we don't 'shape up'."
DH: It's human nature to analyze an image and relate it to the
present - we look at something and decide if it's now, the future or
history, and then the next logical step is to construct a back-story for
what we see. I think you do a great job of reducing specificity, but the
instinct to contextualize will always be there. With your work, you
seem to have a specific goal in mind. Do you think it detracts from
the work if it operates on a narrative level? Are you troubled when
people mistake your work as a warning message? You mentioned
that using older images is a way to create disassociation; are there
any other specific steps you take to achieve this?
I'm very interested in the conceptual thinking and the depth of
intellect in your work. Have you, or would you ever, consider doing
any sort of written companion to your work?
AL: I'm not sure about a written companion to the work. I feel much more
comfortable dealing with these issues visually than through writing. I think
it's just easier andmore fun for me.
I understand that the work will operate on a narrative level; it is a
landscape painting, after all. I just ask the viewer to provide that narrative
for themselves, starting with a set of cues I give, and then I hope the more
they look at the work, the more they will question the narrative they initially
had.
I'm always excited to find spray-painted graffiti written by high-school
kids under bridges and on rocks. I love that method of communication
because it is so hyper-specific ("Steve was here"), in that it lets you know
exactly what happened ("Steve was here"), but at the same time, it is
totally vague (Steve who? When was Steve here? Who was Steve with?
Why did Steve decide to commemorate his arrival at this spot? Where did
Steve go from here?). The more you think about it, the less specific it gets.
I think that process is a good parallel for what I try to do with my
drawings.
Alex Lukas was born in Boston, Massachusetts in 1981 and raised in
nearby Cambridge. He creates both highly detailed drawings and intricate
Xeroxed 'zines. Lukas's imprint, Cantab Publishing, has released over 35
small books and 'zines since its inception in 2001. His drawings have
been exhibited in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, San
Francisco, London, Stockholm and Copenhagen as well as in the pages
of Swindle Quarterly, Proximity Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle,
the Village Voice, Philadelphia Weekly,Dwell magazine, Juxtapoz and
the New York Times Book Review. Lukas is a graduate of the Rhode
Island School of Design and now lives in Philadelphia, PA.
Alex's most recent projects include VIID and Underneath Providence.
Click on the links to discover more of Alex's work.
POSTED BY TIMOTHY EVANS
http://philagrafika.blogspot.com/2012/11/interview-‐alex-‐lukas.html