Collecteurs on Evan Robarts
Interview: Lara Konrad - Photography © Albrecht Fuchs for Collecteurs
Evan Robarts began practicing art while entertaining side jobs as superintendent, carpenter and waiter. Little did he know that the mundane movements his body was recording while doing such work would later surface in his artistic practice. Now with works in international collections, Robarts is humbly forging his place in art history. Collecteurs sits down with Evan Robarts in his New York studio.
Collecteurs: Your art practice inhabits working-class actions from former jobs as a janitor, carpenter, waiter. How do these dynamics relate to your relationship with society?
Evan Robarts: These experiences were discrete chapters in my life. Working with my body and hands in each of these jobs transformed into a dance of sorts, bleeding out in my studio practice. Unpacking these movements and materials is a means of research and a platform for discussion.
C: What caused the definite switch from working as a Superintendent to an artist?
ER: There wasn’t an abrupt transition between the two. I worked as a superintendent in the same building I lived in but was always driven to pursue art even though there were long stretches where I wasn’t able to make work. Finances were a pressing issue then and I was juggling a few jobs to stay afloat. Superintendent work being one of them, happened to be more flexible than the others, so I could pick up the mop whenever I made it home. Eventually, I had to give it up when I moved out of the building in 2013, which is when my studio practice re-entered my life. The transition was organic in that I was able to lean on the work I made in my studio to fill the financial void janitorial work left in my pocketbook.
C: Mop strokes often make it into your practice; for example, in forms of paintings. It’s interesting how this type of gesture will inherently change in meaning and value depending on where and how it takes place. Do you wish to interrelate somehow and compare the role of the artist and a blue-collar worker?
ER: Mops are basically giant brushes. Depending on the gesture, color of the tile, and the plaster mixture, the brushstroke has the potential to carry significant range. It can resemble something more recognizable like a mop stroke or something more abstract. There are a lot of uncontrolled elements since my movements aren’t rehearsed and I don’t follow a recipe.
There are a few bodies of work I engage in that speak to a connection between the artist and blue-collar worker. I’ve always been enamored by the activity of hard labor and the artifacts left behind; an unfinished painted wall, dirty foot prints on a clean floor, a hose strewn over a walkway. I highlight these moments as a means to discuss topics around exploitation, class critique and capitalism at large. The drive for social mobility seems to be hardwired into Americans. We’re a country that has enticed people to migrate over on dreams of prosperity and manual labor is often a point of entry as it offers an opportunity for employment regardless of language or origin.
I worked as a superintendent in the same building I lived in, but was always driven to pursue art even though there were long stretches where I wasn’t able to make work.
C: Considering your previous jobs somehow make it into your practice, what has changed ever since you became financially-independent as an artist?
ER: The change has been positive for me even though there is a disconnection from the type of labor I once engaged in. The distance has allowed the work to mature. I’m happy to see my ideas grow to stand on their own. I will continue to explore the path I have carved out because I feel I have barely scratched the surface. The space I’ve come to feels healthy as long as I don’t try to reinvent the wheel.
C: Now that you work full-time as an artist, what is the economical situation like? Is it possible to make a living as a young artist in New York?
ER: My finances are delicate, but that’s generally the case with all artists if they’re not in the top tier of the gallery hierarchy. At the moment I can make a living off my work if I’m mindful of my expenditures. Most of my earnings go toward material costs, food, and barebone needs. I’m sober so don’t drink or party but that’s a tradeoff I’m willing to make. That being said I’ll still take on freelance work when it pops up. It feels good to work for others, especially for artists, and it makes sense to keep all my options open in case I need to fall back on something later on. I’m also strategic about the work I show, embracing sale opportunities when they come my way.
The second question is complicated. I have noticed a stigma around artists when they turn a profit. I encourage artists to consider the financial realities, opportunities and practical strategies of a studio practice early on. This isn’t something to be taken for granted if you’re coming out of school and thinking about how to keep the creative flame burning. The expectation society puts on artists is difficult and exacerbated in NYC due to the high cost of living.
If I had to choose a chapter of my life to be “making a living off my art,” I’d lean towards old age because the reverse scenario would haunt me. Being successful when you’re young can be a curse if you can’t sustain the momentum. Traditionally, the end goal was to die a master, but something happened in the 20th century, for better or worse, when artists were becoming very successful early on.
Evan Robarts solo exhibition Within cells interlinked at Bryce Wolkowitz – February 28 – April 13, 2019
C: Tell us about the insecurity behind the sentiment of artists turning a profit. Why is there a stigma around artists making it, as well as artists not making it? Is there ways to break this stigma? How do you experience all of this within your enclosed artist community?
ER: I’ve only seen this manifest with younger emerging artists, particularly when they transition into a full-time studio practice. I suspect this happens for two reasons. The first being predicated on fears of failure and envy if one is positioned on a lower rung of the art world. The second reason is more of a cultural response. Turning a profit implies a sense of success, at least from a capitalist perspective. A lot of contemporary art here in the US is critical of capitalism (for good reasons). This results in a conundrum of sorts and can cast a hypocritical light on the artist if they’re not careful. I don’t think the stigma is there to be broken, but a necessary obstacle. In my own experience, it has helped me blast through psychological impediments dealing with the fact that art is a form of commerce. It has forced me to own certain bodies of work that have commercial success while pushing me to experiment with new ideas that are more conceptual and aggressive.
C: In terms of working together with galleries, do you genuinely experience a strong sense of support? In what ways could galleries improve the relationship with their artists?
ER: At the moment yes, but if they start rolling out a red carpet I’d become suspicious. Too much attention raises red flags for me. The reality of being a gallerist is just as difficult as being an artist if not more so. I have experienced positive relationship building practices from galleries and the most helpful has been being in regular communication. Even if the artist has nothing going on then, it’s a supportive gesture to receive an update or check in and shows appreciation from the gallery. Sales are never guaranteed, but a gallery can do a lot by getting behind artists on social media and inviting them out to openings and other important events. Sending out group emails to their artists is a great way to cultivate a sense of camaraderie and builds a stronger community around the gallery. Being prompt with payment is obviously important, but it’s also great when galleries provide critical feedback as well. The most successful gallerist model are those that recognize this business as a team effort.
Making art is like making a sacrifice: only the universe knows if I’m full of shit or not.
C: Having experienced different kinds of jobs aside from being an artist — the formation and meaning of identity becomes an interesting aspect. In life, what do you identify with?
ER: The past few years I’ve been focusing on local social and political events in New York where I live and Miami where I grew up. Transformations within a community and environmental changes like gentrification, climate change, and urban development fascinate me. Big cities are of particular interest due to an often diverse demographic and the social rub created by their interactions. I think about how people self-organize into communities, how these communities coexist, change over time, and how these conversations then translate in a global context. Regarding my sculptures, I lean towards readymades, found objects, and construction material to speak about the meaning of place and history. There’s a lot of demographic research and face-to-face dialogue that form the backbone of my practice. At the moment I’ve been thinking about Joseph Beuys’ theory of “Social Sculpture.” How art engages with and fosters change has moved me to embrace the power of reconciliation art can imbue.
C: Your works are politically charged, addressing topics like labor exploitation or the suppression of free speech — for instance, in Newspeak(2017). Do you consider your work as personal as much as it is political?
ER: I do my best to find a middle path. Work that leans too far in one direction has a way of policing conversation. I believe there should always be room for reinterpretation and disagreement.
C: As a conscious artist, do you feel obligated to make political work?
ER: No, not always but recently yes. I noticed that my political ideology has a way of entering the work in unexpected ways so I don’t feel a pressing obligation. My position in the political spectrum leans left as most artists tend to but I don’t fit a specific cast. I’m somewhere in between center-left and social democrat as I agree and disagree with specific elements within both parties. Ultimately, I find a work to be successful when it can balance multiple interpretations and there is a graceful logic by which one can move with.
C: Considering these former labor jobs influence your work, do artists influence you similarly?
ER: Of course, going out to openings, engaging in conversations w my peers, attending lectures and reading about other artists work, particularly by them, all play a significant role in my practice. A few of the artists I currently find inspiring are Allan Kaprow, Mierle Laderman Ukeles, Cady Noland and Mark Bradford.
C: Moving along with Bruce Nauman, would you qualify everything as art that is created inside your studio?
ER: My personal truth is no. There is a lot of failure built into my process, and I like to maintain the “Art” validation for particular works. Otherwise, it’s just artistic, but not art. There’s a big difference to me.
C: So what’s the difference between art and being artistic?
ER: Defining art and the state of being artistic as the same is too ambiguous for me. The economy of information is moving too fast for me to get behind this interpretation. I have a strong desire to pull back and slow things down in. Despite my admiration for Allan Kaprow and the takeaway’s in his Essays on the Blurring of Art and Life, I’m a strong believer in the artifact that’s left over. As I said before, it’s a personal truth that I see in a pseudo-biblical light. Making Art is like making a sacrifice: only the universe knows if I’m full of shit or not. I’ve come to a place where I don’t feel good about myself when I qualify all my creative energy in this way.
Photography © Albrecht Fuchs for Collecteurs Magazine