Author: Teresa Fischer

My thoughts on crying in an artistic context, aka artist practice which I define as “artistic crying” culminate in my textile piece “A souvenir of a day in the country with you”. Which I started creating because of my manifested thoughts during “Crying Institute”.

The idea of a universal pain that we all share is a central theme throughout the piece, and the responsibility of mending it is a recurring motif that runs throughout it.

As a work of art, “A Souvenir of a Day in the Country with You” not only invites viewers to reflect on their own experiences of pain and how art can help to heal these wounds, by clearly stating “You inspire me“, “I want to mend your pain“ but it also indirectly delves into the idea of pain within the artistic practice itself. The process of creating these textile carpets is not only physically demanding and time-consuming, particularly in this case because every carpet of the series aims for more complexity in production (in this case: naturally dyeing the fibers, which included collecting 20kg of red onions for example), but it is also emotionally challenging due to the historical dismissal of textile art as a legitimate form of artistic expression. The pattern used in “A Souvenir of a Day in the Country with You” is a direct reference to one of Gunta Stölzl’s woven carpet drafts, which is not only painful because of its’ transfomation into tufted pattern but also because of the dismissal of textiles as a legitimate artistic medium. Historically, textile art has been undervalued and relegated to the realm of craft rather than art. This dismissal of textile art was particularly evident in the Bauhaus movement, where textile artists such as Gunta Stölzl were marginalized and their work was often dismissed as “women’s work.”

Using an old amateur photograph of two women kissing further emphasizes the idea of reclaiming and reinterpreting history. By taking an image that was likely dismissed or hidden away by society and transforming it into a work of art, I am trying to subvert societal norms and celebrate the beauty of diversity and individuality.

The inclusion of this design element within “A Souvenir of a Day in the Country with You” speaks to the power of art to challenge and reshape societal expectations and norms. Or the pain of not being able to do so, as queer and female artists are still marginalized or only used for queering art institutions and polishing their diverse images.

Lastly, this carpet was also inspired by a very personal encounter. And tries to keepsake it.

Through the fusion of different ideas of pain and artistic expression, “A Souvenir of a Day in the Country with You” offers a unique and deeply moving perspective on the role of art in our lives.

“A Souvenir of a Day in the Country with You” serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of recognizing and embracing the full spectrum of human experience and artistic practice.

EXPOSURE

My artistic practice makes me want to cry because I feel like I can never be soft. I want to be seen as human. It makes me want to cry because I feel like I can never be authentic. And maintaining a perfect image of the artist feels exploratory towards me. It makes me want to cry because it lives with the art school-taught premise that “good” art can never be personal.  It makes me want to cry because it doesn’t shield me from the art world but teaches me to adapt and move on. It makes me want to cry because it means giving myself up to be seen. It makes me want to cry because I constantly have to recontextualize myself and give myself up to be seen.

EXHAUSTION

My artistic practice makes me want to cry because it is destruction. It is more than 24/7. My artistic practice makes me want to cry because I have to do everything myself. I have to be responsible for everything all the time. And sometimes I don’t want to know how to fix things besides myself. I Don’t want to be my production firm. I don’t want to manage myself.

My artistic practice makes me want to cry because I am constantly under pressure. To produce to perform.

Surviving makes me want to cry. My endless search makes for meaning makes me want to cry.

My artistic practice makes me want to cry because I don’t want to suffer through overstepping my boundaries and pushing my body for a greater cause. Seeing my art as a calling makes me want to cry. I don’t want to sacrifice myself. I do not want to do care work for a world of outsiders.

ECOMONY

My artistic practice makes me want to cry because being financially unstable makes me want to cry. Three days ago, I read: an artist without funding is no artist. I don’t want to be discovered by the art world. I don’t want to capitalize on creating art. Capitalizing on art makes me want to cry.

CLASSWAR

My artistic practice makes me want to cry because it means fighting against the people who should be your friends and allies. It means not engaging too much. My artistic practice makes me want to cry because whenever I am “succeeding” in this art world I feel like a hypocrite.

My artistic practice makes me want to cry because it means comparing myself to others.

It makes me want to cry because it means withstanding dismissal by other artists. My artistic practice makes me want to cry because it means constantly defending myself.

A definition:

In a contemporary context artistic practice always causes pain. While a more traditional definition might only see the origin of pain and suffering in art-making connected to inner factors such as deep levels of personal reflection, vulnerability, and the willingness to push boundaries and challenge oneself as well as the process of creating art (which can be physically demanding, especially for those who work with their hands or require long periods of time in a sedentary position), a more modern definition might also consider outer factors causing artists in practice immense pain and suffering. Such as the patriarchal structures and class war dominating the art schools, art scene and the art market, causing the artistic practice to become political art itself. And even though an artistic practice might cause artists crying it is no battle cry. It is a new form of crying. A hybrid one. Causing artists to directly and metaphorically weep. Always renewing the pain. Always adapting to pain. Causing greater pain. All in all, artistic practice can be defined as artistic crying.

My artistic practice makes me want to cry, because I feel like I can never be soft. I want to be seen as human. I don’t want to suffer through overstepping my boundaries and pushing my body for a greater cause. Seeing my art as a calling makes me want to cry.

My artistic practice makes me want to cry because it is more than a 24/7. My endless search makes me want to cry.  I don’t want to sacrifice myself. I do not want to do care work for a world of outsiders.

I don’t want to capitalize on creating art. Capitalizing art makes me want to cry. Doing commissions makes me want to cry.

Being financially unstable makes me want to cry. Three days ago I read: an artist without funding is no artist. I don’t want to be discovered by the art world.

Taking trains for hours makes me want to cry. Meeting all the people I need to meet makes me want to cry.

My artistic practice makes me want to cry because I have to do everything myself. I have to be responsible for everything all the time. And sometimes I don’t want to know how to fix things besides myself. I Don’t want to be my own production firm. I don’t want to manage myself.

Surviving makes me want to cry.