Maximilian Schubert's Doubles

April 06, 2020

While he worked in his studio alone, Maximilian Schubert played a game—one that sprung from a resonating quote from Phillip Guston. “When you start working, everybody is in your studio—the past, your friends, enemies, the art world, and above all your own ideas—all are there. But as you continue painting, they start leaving, one by one, and you are left completely alone. Then, if you’re lucky, even you leave," states Guston, inspired by advice from American composer John Cage.

And as the hours waned away, Schubert saw visitors come and go in the studio of his mind. The last visitor remaining was none other than the late political artist Felix Gonzalez-Torres, renowned for his personal perspectives on the boundaries between public and private spaces.

Schubert first encountered Gonzalez-Torres' work as a student at the Art Institute of Chicago. As Schubert labored on his latest body of work, he hadn't expected what would come next—a true visitation by Gonzalez-Torres. With the help of Natacha Polaert, founder of NYC gallery space Off Paradise, Schubert ended up receiving a non-public public loan from the Felix Gonzalez-Torres Foundation in the form of one of the late artist's pieces—but attached with the loan came extremely specific conditions.

Text by Vivian Cheng
Photos Courtesy of Off Paradise

Learn more about Doubles in our exclusive interview with Schubert below, and pay a virtual visit to the exhibition here. It's also on view at 120 Walker Street until May 30. And in tandem with the show, Schubert, Off Paradise, and Hassla are releasing a book that takes viewers behind the scenes of the latest exhibition on Tuesday, April 7 for $30. Named after the show, the book will include "Virus, Imposter, Infiltrator: Recent work by Maximilian Schubert, with a visitation by Felix Gonzalez-Torres," an essay from writer Randy Kennedy. If you're interested in purchasing, contact the gallery at paradise@offparadise.com or visit Hassla.

Why Doubles?

The title of the exhibition was initially referring to the double nature of much of the work, the contradictions embedded in the objects. When the work by Felix Gonzalez-Torres came into the picture, the exhibition title took on an extended meaning.

I read that you prefer to work in windowless studios alone. What role does solitude play in your creative process?

The space an artist works in invariably influences the work that's made there. I have two spaces in Brooklyn, one of those spaces does indeed have windows, but I don’t believe I’ve ever opened the blinds except for the window that houses an exhaust fan. Being alone is a great way for me to work through ideas, and out of necessity, it's become the way I construct the work as well.

Do you work in silence?

I think I’m similar to most artists in that I have music or podcasts or audiobooks playing much of the time while working. The silence comes after they’ve ended.

What overarching themes present themselves in this exhibition if any?

I think the theme that will be evident to a lot of viewers, at least initially, is the genre-bending of much of the work—the fugue state between painting and sculpture—especially the Untitled (fracture) pieces. I think the nature of the works—their objecthood—is something I can take for granted as their maker. But it's there for an audience to discover. Ultimately, I’m always trying to create a kind of tone or feeling that is highly specific to each show, an overall feeling you can recall when you reflect on being there.

You were loaned a fully sanctioned Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ work for your studio while you worked on your project. Can you describe the piece that was delivered to your studio?

Yes. The work was “Untitled” (March 5th) #2, 1991. The work is two lightbulbs, hung at a fairly high distance from the floor. The cords are knotted around a nail and the bulbs hang from this point, and the two plugs drape down to the floor and are plugged into the nearest outlet.

How long was the non-public public loan for? What were the exact conditions associated with the loan?

The loan was for a few weeks in February leading up to the show. The conditions of the loan were of course highly specific, but despite the specificity, there are a lot of choices one can make when installing the actual work. I was struck by how much was left up to me, and I realized there is an amazing amount of trust built into the work.

Do you feel like Felix’s work is fused into the identity of your work due to its presence in your studio? Did you find specific moments where its presence really influenced you? If so, can you describe those particular moments?

I think Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ work and oeuvre is fused into the history of art and will remain so probably forever. I can remember my first encounters with his work as a young artist, and it completely changed the way I thought about art. Of course, one needs their own approach and voice, but you carry these other perspectives with you, and his particular position has always been a touchstone.

As for what it's like to work around something like “Untitled” (March 5th), #2, it was in one moment something completely profound, and at another, simply an additional light source. I was always aware of it, because it gave off a warm light that contrasted with the colder overhead fluorescent lighting. The painting process in my studio requires the light be extremely consistent, so I had to make some adjustments while working. But beyond the practical stuff, there were of course moments where I sat back and just looked at the piece, just experienced it in a way that I couldn’t if it had been in a museum or gallery.

You mentioned that the unique stipulations for the loan were in line with Felix’s view on violating boundaries between public and private spaces. Is that something your work touches upon as well?

My work can never be both public and private like Felix Gonzalez-Torres’; the generosity and the true public nature of so much of his work I don’t think can ever be replicated. I hope my work is generous in that it gives one more than we generally tend to expect from art, but any decent artist hopes that. Art is obviously, above all, a thing of the mind, and there is a place where everyone sees the same objects, and then there is the experience they take with them, which is never the same. If you take a piece of candy away from a Gonzalez-Torres' pile, you’re really taking away, above all, an idea. I think a lot about how my work might live in the mind, outside of the gallery, which is ultimately where it lives most of the time.

Can you speak to your process of working with various materials like cloth/fabric versus metal?

Each body of work has its own specific needs, and material choices are made based on those needs. Prior to this show, I had been working primarily with brass, bronze and copper, and anything that went on those paintings had to be made of the same materials, and the forms had to be suitable to those materials.
For Doubles, there are two works made from cast sterling silver, which was something new for me. The works are modeled after clay slabs I use in my studio, and I really wanted the small fingerprints and texture of the clay to register, and sterling silver is great at capturing this detail.

The works where linen or canvas begins as the basis for the painting, those works share the same straightforward, thousand-year-old sculptural process as the metal works. The cloth is not cloth, but painted polyurethane, so there is this added step of painting which is critical, where even the staples on the cast need to be painted silver. But I guess all of those ancient Greek and Roman statues were once upon a time painted too. I generally don’t enjoy the actual process of anything I make, in whichever material, but I also don’t come to the studio looking to enjoy myself. I let the ideas tell me how I should work in whichever material.

Can you speak to your beginnings as a sculptural artist?

I came to sculpture after a lot of painting and drawing, and also film and video. In art school, the sculpture department seemed to have so few constraints—you could make anything, you could make a painting or a video if you wanted. This was not the status of the other departments. So I went there to be free, in a sense. But eventually, I felt like I needed some of those constraints, and a rectangle on the wall—a painting—certainly offered that. I took the sculpture there.

What do you want to evoke within your viewers when they come to view the exhibition?

I’m not sure I can answer that. The show provides something like the raw materials for an experience. There is a particular density to the show, so there are a lot of possibilities when you visit, and the viewer can find something they need, something they might not get elsewhere.

Can you tell us a little bit about the book (Virus, Imposter, Infiltrator: Recent work by Maximilian Schubert, with a visitation by Felix Gonzalez-Torres) that is being published in conjunction with the show? How did that come about?

The book came out of discussions with Natacha Polaert, the founder of Off Paradise. I had mentioned I was thinking of making a book about the experience of making a show. I had a particular approach that I wanted—the quality of film was important, what you wouldn't see was important—and we worked through the ideas and brought the photographer, Kevin Brady, onto the project. After shooting a bit, we brought the images to Hassla, who agreed to publish it. Then the Felix Gonzalez-Torres work came into the picture, and Randy Kennedy was up for doing the essay. So you have this idea of doing something special, and then other people come into the picture and make it better than you could have imagined, and the result is really beautiful.

You stated that the book and exhibition are perhaps one of the most collaborative efforts you have ever been a part of. When you began this project, did you have any intentions of bringing such a deep level of collaboration into it?

A show always requires some level of real collaboration, but it really depends on the personalities involved. I’m fine working on a project alone, and then delivering on the deadline. However, this show, and with the book, I talked more about art with more people than I have for any other project. Collaborating on something, especially with several people, you really just feel your way through it, and hopefully it's natural and goes smoothly. Then there was the presence of the Felix Gonzalez-Torres work, and the idea that there is a whole art history with you in the studio when you make things, that you are always collaborating with whether or not you’re aware of it in the moment. Even with the doors shut and the blinds drawn, you can never say you’re ever really on your own in there.

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Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

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The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.