Bates Interview Series: Otis Klingbiel
This is the second instalment of an interview series between Rebecca Howard and graduated seniors of the Bates College Studio Art class of 2020. Their thesis show, normally a splendid affair in the Bates College Art Museum, was this year presented digitally. While incredibly unfortunate for the students, this provided a wonderful opportunity to view the portfolios of fifteen students to which, barring a surprise trip to rural Maine, there would not have otherwise been access. In these conversations, the students reflect on their artistic processes as distinctly from the turmoil of the COVID-19 pandemic as possible. This choice was made to both respect the integrity of their work and to provide a reprieve from current circumstances.
Otis Klingbeil of Powell, Ohio, uses oil paint and collage to represent the emotions in which specific locations become saturated and grounded over generations.
Questions and responses have been condensed for clarity.
What would the “elevator pitch” for your thesis be?
My work explores how to represent a specific place on an emotional level. Woodstock, Vermont has been part of my family history for over a century now, a constant anchor in my life. I intend to represent the essence of this place by simplifying and abstracting rural barns around my town. I work with oil paintings, collage, and three-dimensional paintings, deconstructing the barns to emphasise their architectural and structural elements through clarified planes of colour and strong contrast between light and shadow. While my focus is on the abstraction of these familiar structures, it is important to me for them to still be recognisable as buildings.
Working from photos I took in Woodstock, my focus is on the abstraction of these familiar structures. Sometimes I leave my paintings in their two-dimensional form, but other times I cut them into shapes and glue them at differing heights, building them out. I leave the edges exposed so the underbelly is visible, similar to the exposed rafters or support beams of a barn, and change the composition to work the angles; from the front the image is coherent, but it is more fragmented when seen at an angle. Overall, I think of my work as a series of repetitive studies of these barns, letting each new piece inform the next.
Is the work in your thesis the same kind of work you normally produce, or enjoy making outside of academic contexts? If given the opportunity to continue working with no limitations, would you continue to produce work along similar lines?
I’ve always been interested in architecture since I was young. I used to draw floor plans and exterior renderings of houses or airports in my sketchbook. For a
short-term class called “Building a Studio Practice”, which is a month-long course intended to prepare studio art majors for their thesis, I painted Maine structures in their landscapes. I think the idea of working with barns for my thesis was a natural transition for me, as I find their architectural elements and angles, as well as the simple shapes they render, attractive to me as an artist. My work has gotten progressively more adventurous in colour and form, through the abstraction of the barns, while it was important for me to work with a structure that is universally recognisable. Given the opportunity to work with no limitations again, I think I would continue to produce pieces along the same lines: combining realism and abstraction in structures, whether that is barns or houses. Colour has become a focal point in my work, so I’d say if I continue with this barn series, I would also want to explore potentially new, cooler palettes in my work.
What inspired your thesis? What inspires your artistic process more broadly?
I think I was generally inspired by the simple beauty of the New England landscape, and specifically the area of central Vermont with its rolling hills and green pastures. To me, the image of a barn nestled into its landscape, became the defining feature that I was willing to base my thesis around to best represent the essence of this place. My family has lived in Woodstock, Vermont since the 1800’s, and we continue to visit my grandmother there every summer. It was important for me to create a body of work that not only symbolised this town, but was also universally recognisable and relatable through composition and abstraction.
More broadly, I’m inspired to create intriguing and nuanced pieces that get the viewer to think more about the actual process of creating the work. I derive great pleasure from building up a canvas over time, and the physical process of applying paint to a surface through a brush or palette knife. Painting offers me a surface and space to create an image that is a unique representation of my personal self. To me, it’s always been about the physical act of moving paint around or sketching gesturally, that inspires me as an artist.
What would the ideal display environment for your work be?
My work is fairly colourful, with a warm palette of yellows, pinks, and reds. I actually think a ‘white cube’ gallery space would be ideal to view these works, as it would provide a sharp contrast to my palette and allow for the viewer to hopefully appreciate the intricacies of colour present in my work. There are subtle tone differences embedded in the barns, where for example a dark pink or plum colour might butt up against a lighter shade of pink. When viewed against a larger white background, I think these variations would be more evident.
Describe the physical space of your studio.
I’m a pretty tidy person, so my studio tends to be organised. Every material or tool has a place that's easily accessible. I’m most concerned about not having my space look cluttered or disorderly, because I find it harder to stay focused and creative in a space that feels chaotic. Unlike other studio majors, I don’t keep objects around me to look at for inspiration. Instead I like to keep only my works in progress and my sketchbook out. I always keep a comfy chair near my workspace, to take breaks in and reflect on my work. In terms of music preferences while working, it really varies. Anything from oldies rock, to country, to more upbeat pop music when I’m really in the zone. Any studio snacks tended to come from Commons [the college dining hall]; a Gala apple or a peanut butter & jelly were probably my favourite.
Describe a typical or ideal studio day.
I tend to work best in the morning. A typical day would be coming in to work from around 9am until 12pm. I work best in three to four-hour chunks of time. Anything longer than that, and I tend to lose focus and find my creative energy drained. I definitely prefer working alone, either in silence or with quiet music, and I’m a natural planner, so preliminary sketches in my sketchbook are always a key part of my process. If I’m really satisfied with where a piece is going, I will tend to ride the wave and finish as much as I can before leaving the studio. For instance, my favourite piece in my body of work, Vermont Barn 1, was done in a matter of hours one afternoon. However, I’d say generally, I chip away at my work, requiring me to come in and engage with a piece numerous times before I feel satisfied with it. Over the course of my thesis project, the more times I returned to a work and made calculated changes, the more successful it ultimately became.
Describe the trajectory of a piece of your work. Do you carefully plan and follow through, or allow a more spontaneous process?
My work definitely ends up looking different from my initial sketches. I’ve become more confident as an artist this past year, and therefore, my work has tended to be fairly spontaneous. It’s important to trust my gut as an artist, and react to a piece emotionally. In terms of colour choices, it’s very much based on my instincts as an artist. I usually have a general idea of the hue and tone I’d like to mix, however, by being a spontaneous painter, I’ve come to value randomness in my colour creation. By trusting my instincts more, I’ve become less static as an artist, and more willing to change my composition if something isn’t working.
How do mistakes inform the work you produce?
I am not so concerned with imperfections in the way I apply paint or make my cuts, instead I think they add value to my work and make it look more handmade. I’m constantly revising and editing my work to the point that any “wrong” stroke or colour choice is an opportunity to learn and make changes to my process. Over the course of this year, I came to value the moments when things weren’t working because I knew that I would become a slightly better artist as a result. I used to hate scraping away or painting over certain places on the canvas, however, now I tend to embrace it because I know it will only push my pieces further along.
If you could be mentored by any artist from any point in history, who would it be and why?
Edward Hopper is probably the artist I’ve looked at the most over the years for inspiration. His subject matter is very appealing to me, and the way in which he depicts his scenes is something I really value in his work. Hopper’s ability to display eerie scenes, while depicting an accurate illusion of light is really appealing to me as an artist. Light and shadow is something I struggled with when painting this barn series, so I’d tend to look at Hopper’s work for encouragement.
What are your thoughts/plans looking to the future? Are your artistic intentions more professional or personal?
Since I’ve been home, I’ve been able to continue to work in my studio at home, which ironically resides in one of the barns on the farm. I will continue my artistic practice in a personal capacity for now. I may do a few commissioned pieces for family friends, but at the moment I’m really enjoying this uninterrupted time at home to continue my practice. I don’t have any concrete plans for the summer or fall yet. The current global situation has definitely altered my timeline and has made me start looking for a job much sooner than I had anticipated. I will say through my time being an artist at Bates, it has encouraged me to look for something creative moving forward.
Imagery courtesy of the artist.
Rebecca Howard,
Contributor, MADE IN BED