Author name: Carlota Ortiz Monasterio

Carlota is a curator and art historian from Mexico City and a rising second-year MODA student. Her research focuses on theories of the archive, narrative strategies and practices that explore notions of identity, diaspora and embodied knowledge in relation to Latin America and the Caribbean. She received a BA in Art History from Universidad Iberoamericana, Mexico City, and is a 2023 MODA Curates Fellow.

Photos of the Mind: An Interview with Jamie Nares (Part 3)

Exhibition /

Brushes made by the artist, 2013, courtesy of the artist.

Working at the edge of painting, photography, music and film over the course of five decades, Jamie Nares has profoundly explored the relationships between memory, time, movement and thought. I spoke with Jamie about her childhood, her move to New York City in the 1970s, her multidisciplinary practice, and her generous vision of art and life.

Continued from Part 2

 Part 2

COM: And once you moved to New York, it seems that you hit the ground running. When did you begin doing the paintings that you are so known for?

JN: Well, I’d always, like I said been making drawings and stuff. And when the ’70s hit suddenly people were able to make a living making paintings. And I had been trying to make films and I just didn’t see a way to support myself making the films that I liked. And I didn’t want to go to Hollywood. A couple of my friends did. I never really saw the world in narrative terms, it didn’t really interest me to do that. I thought it interested me for a while and I tried. I made that film “Rome ’78,” which was about as close as I ever got to making a narrative film. There’s a funny letter I have from someone at Paramount Pictures saying, “We hear wonderful things about your film Rome ’78, would you like to come out come out to Los Angeles and meet us?” you know, with the idea of making another movie. And I just wasn’t interested at that point because I realized that… I always wanted to do everything. And I realized that you can’t do everything and be successful. Although I had a pretty good shot at it. But at that point, at that time, I figured I needed to focus on one thing and get really good at it. And painting seemed to be the thing that I would be most likely to get good at. So, I started painting. My early paintings were kind of all over the place. I had a couple of years where I was really just finding out what it was that interested me. And I started making work that was closer in look to a lot of the expressionist painters that were around then. I made a piece in 1977 called “Red X,” which was a big enamel red X on a piece of cardboard, which is still one of my favorite paintings I ever made. Julian Schnabel owns it now, but it’s been shown in Gagosian gallery, and in Milwaukee in my retrospective. And it was one of the best things I ever made. Just a simple, bright red, red X, on a black background painted on cardboard. And there’s something about the painting that people just love it. Of course, it stood for the kind of negativity that we were awash in, but it was always the negativity that was that aimed towards something better… We were fledgling iconoclasts, but I really believed in something better to come. But I started making paintings and they changed quite quickly.

JN: The thing that really interests me most in painting was the brush stroke. And I figured there was enough happening with no single brushstroke could keep me interested. And it still does, all these years later. But that wasn’t until 1992 when I was living out at the East End of Long Island, and I had a studio in a barn, and I was working very happily there. And that’s what I really refined what I was doing. I’m working right now on putting together my notebooks in a sort of facsimile edition from that time, because it was a time when I really forged the thing that I was most interested in and started making my own brushes. I started making paintings that were made in one movement. The way I would work then was to make a big brushstroke and if I didn’t like it, I’d get down on my hands and knees with a big sponge soaked in mineral spirits and wipe it off and then and then dry it with a rag. And by the time I’d done that, I had lost the muscle memory of what I was trying to do. And there’s a lot more work to do that. So, I eventually figured out this way of erasing a brushstroke that I didn’t like by squeegeeing it off with the same kind of squeegee to clean a window booth. So now I have a guy with a squeegee while I put down the brush strokes and if I don’t like them, he just Bzoop! and they disappear very quickly. And I’m able to get back into it again, trying to make it better.

Installation views, Nares: Moves, Milwaukee Art Museum, June 14-October 6, 2019, courtesy of Kasmin Gallery.

COM: I’m interested in this idea of muscle memory because your work seems to be very bodily. In a way your whole-body kind of comes through because it requires so much movement. Do you conceive your works as performative in any way? 

JN: Yeah, in that they are the product of an event. They’re not performative like I’m performing painting for an audience. I wouldn’t have any interest in making a painting in public… They are performed paintings, preformed, performed paintings. And they require a certain centering of the mind, which I like. I have to get to a place where I am not leading the brush, but I’m not following the brush. There’s this edge between those two, leading and following, and it’s a place that I have to reach. And that’s the magic can happen. 

COM: That’s interesting. It’s sort of a dance in a way.

JN: Yes, dance is very important. Rhythm, dance, music, photography. The paintings are made in a… what you see, the brushstroke is made in the same kind of time frame that a photograph is taken. It’s just a matter of seconds. So, it’s like you’re capturing a moment in time, like a photograph. And I like that the viewer can kind of participate in that moment of discovery that I had when I made the painting. It all there, it’s just like [being] naked. I don’t hide anything. I don’t go back and correct anything. If there’s something wrong with it, I wipe off the whole thing and begin again. Of course, they have a sort of photographic look, too. It’s always been a conversation between photography and painting ever since photography was invented. The dialog of one kind or another. And this is my dialog. It’s to paint like I was taking photographs. There’s that quote from Kazimir Malevich, where he says the painter has to paint the photos of his mind.

COM: That’s beautiful. Is that how you see your work? 

JN: In one aspect, yes. But it’s like capturing a moment of thought and a moment of a feeling or a moment of some kind of congruence between myself and any given moment. I said somewhere that you could connect all my paintings from one end to the other and you’d have, like, the story of my life in paint.

COM: That’s a great idea for an exhibition.

JN: Yeah.

COM: What do you consider to be your subject matter? Is it about memory time, movement, music, or all of them? 

JN: All of the above. Memory, time, movement, music, thought. It’s making manifest, manifesting an abstraction of a moment in time using the traditional tools that a painter uses: a brush, a canvas or surface of some kind, and paint. And I’ve come up with my own versions of those tools and make my own brushes and mix paint in a way that’s a bit unusual. And I prepare my surfaces. My whole practice of painting is something that I think I’m the only one who does it. But it was all necessity, you know? My invention is always because of necessity. 

COM: It allowed you to achieve something you couldn’t with the readily available materials.

Jamie Nares playing with the Contortions, 1977, Betsy Sussler.

JN: Yes, I couldn’t buy a brush that does the things that my brushes do. I just repurposed things to suit me the way I wanted it to be. There’s something very Zen about it, my practice. There’s something kind of tantric or shamanistic about it, too, in some ways. And there’s a lot of influences. 

COM: I’d love to talk about your influences. 

JN: Well, you know, I’ve been influenced by just about every other artist ever met. Something rubs off, even if your influenced in a negative way. And then I’m influenced by the things I see, the things I see other people doing. I was very influenced by my peers early on because it seemed like we were kind of forging something, figuring something out together. Those were good times, in a way. Oh, they were good times. Those seventies were rough too, the city was dangerous, and nobody had any money. It was a tough time. But it was great.

COM: A formational period.

JN: Yeah, so my influences are every place and everything I’ve ever done or been or heard or saw. It all filters through to who I am and what I do. 

COM: That’s a very generous way of looking at it, and very true about life in general. 

JN: I think so, yes. It’s life in general that interests me. I mean, there’s so many things going on in this world.

COM: It’s a matter of slowing down and looking closely. 

JN: Yes.

COM: You had a major retrospective a couple of years ago at the Milwaukee Art Museum. And now you’re returning to London after so much success. How do you see your journey from this point in your career? 

JN: Oh, it is very strange. It seems like if you make it to a certain age, people suddenly get interested in you. I made it to an age and survived. A number of people I’ve known who gave up or passed away or just disappeared. There’s something just by having stuck around. People like you when you stick around and keep going. I do have this thread of my own personal histories and it seems to be interesting to people right now. But it also seems that people are interested in that period that I was talking about when I said I was coming of age, the seventies and eighties in New York. And I have something to say about that just by virtue of being there, you know. Oops, I forgot the question.

STREET, 2011, HD video, 61 mins.

COM: Oh, well, it must be interesting to look back at so many decades of production, having that perspective. 

JN: The show in Milwaukee was just great because we worked on it for about six years. Marcelle Polednick who curated it and became the director of the museum during the time that we started working on it. So, everything just came together nicely, and she was so wonderful and supportive, and she’s the first one who really saw me and understood what I have been doing all my life. She put this show together and curated it, and we organized it thematically rather than chronologically. It was really a lovely show for me to wander around. The effort that people put into it, the exhibition designer, everybody. It was a magical time for me.

Plus, I’d just come out. I mean, it was a very intense time. I had just announced my true nature to the world, and I’d had a show that opened five days earlier in New York and I had showed up as my true self, so to speak. And had spoken to all the gallery and announced, it was like a formal announcement, that sort of thing. And I went down to Milwaukee five days later to start installing this show and was greeted with a newspaper article calling me the inadvertent advocate. I was like, “No, I’m not an advocate, I’m just trying to figure out who I am.” And of course, it was a surprise for everybody. And I could see these two trajectories converging. One was the retrospective with my life story, in a way. It was like these two trains, the other one was my transition that was coming to a head, this new life that was happening. And I could see they were going to collide, which they did at the Milwaukee show. It couldn’t have been a more perfect time and place. And Marcelle to her endless credit just jumped right on board and supported me like a 100% and sent out memos to everyone in the museum, and changed some of the bathrooms to gender neutral, and did all these little things to make it nice for me. People were so wonderful. It was just a wonderful experience. 

COM: That’s great to hear. Big moment. 

JN: Yeah, it was. It was a very big moment for me. And I think very fondly of it. There’s a wonderful catalog from that show. Just “Nares: Moves,” that’s it. But my transition is an ongoing process. 

COM: What keeps you going today? And are there any projects that you’re excited about looking towards the future? 

JN: You know, it’s very strange because I have so many things I want to do. I’ve never had so many ideas and thoughts and things I want to do. And it’s kind of tragic that I’m declining physically at the same time… It’s more difficult for me to do the things I want to do. A lot of the things I want to do I can’t do, which is frustrating. But you know then I just do things I can do. I’m perpetually motivated and interested. Something keeps me going. It’s just the same thing I’ve always had. It’s like a life force, I guess.

COM: That same sense of direction we talked about at the beginning. 

JN: Yeah, yeah, I think so.

Continued from Part 2

 Part 2

Photos of the Mind: An Interview with Jamie Nares (Part 3) Read More »

Exhibition

Photos of the Mind: An Interview With Jamie Nares (Part 2)

Exhibition /

Red Handed, 1971, color photograph, 12 in x 17 1/2 in.

Working at the edge of painting, photography, music and film over the course of five decades, Jamie Nares has profoundly explored the relationships between memory, time, movement and thought. I spoke with Jamie about her childhood, her move to New York City in the 1970s, her multidisciplinary practice, and her generous vision of art and life.

Continued from Part 1

Part 1

COM: You mentioned you always felt like you had a sense of direction or that you knew what you were doing and where you were going. 

JN: It’s true. 

COM: That’s pretty unique for such a young artist. 

JN: Maybe, yeah. I read so much about art, and about the art being made by the artists in downtown New York, and California, and other places, too. And in Europe. It was a very lively, inventive time for the visual arts I think, the whole dematerialization of the art object, the way of seeing things. There was so much going on, and I knew about it. I read about it even if I wasn’t really involved with it in England. I was doing things like, I had a job as a motorcycle messenger delivery person and I signed my name across London traveling along roads and then marking where I went on the map and put my signature right across London, things like that. Humorous. But I did some really beautiful things. Did you see a book of mine, a Rizzoli book? 

COM: Yes. 

JN: Under the dust cover there’s a photo of me with red hands which I love. And it was it was just called “Red Handed.” I just painted my hands red, and I was standing there with a hat on. There was another piece I made when I knew I was going to be coming to the States. And I took the little schoolboys plastic map of the United States, the kind that you put it in a book and then trace around and you got a map of America and then you can color or something… I took the edge of the East Coast and embossed it in my forearm on the place where you commit suicide, the inside of the forearm… I called it “A New Vein.” So, it was like a little death going and something new. That’s a nice piece. I like that. And of course, the piece itself is just two photographs, one where I’m pressing this thing in and the other one where you just see the bust outline of the East Coast.

Jamie Nares playing with the Contortions, 1977, Betsy Sussler.

COM: Did you feel as a young artist that you were constantly inventing or reinventing yourself? This piece seems to suggest something around that. 

JN: I would say so. Like every day something new going on and there were very rapid changes happening. There were very rapid changes happening in the world and inside me. But I was saying that around 1976-77, we kind of revolted against the art world and we didn’t want to show our films in the established art houses. We opened our own cinema. And it was called the New Cinema. It was on St Mark’s Place, and we had something called an advent TV screen, which was a humongous projector. And you could plug a video deck into it and see your film projected onto this old TV shaped screen that was concave. So, if you were standing, like right behind the projector in the perfect place, you could see what was going on. But if you were anywhere off that line, the image deteriorated. And I remember Amy Taubin who became a great friend of mine later, writing our first review she said that the image was like bent pink soup. And that became a kind of refrain for us. Bent pink soup, is still think of it. And she thought we were just a scam to make money. And she missed the point entirely. We were very dedicated, and we did want to make money. We wanted to be sort of in the real world. We didn’t want to be in the alternative world. You had to pay to come into the movie theater. $2. There were no freebies. It’s great. It lasted for about seven months, and we closed it when it was at its hottest. I forget why exactly; I think we just didn’t want to become an institution. We saw a kind of looming bureaucracy that was going to be involved if we kept it going… We just wanted to feel like we were in the real world, making our living doing what we did. 

COM: You said that after this period, things started changing and the groups began dissolving. How did that transition into focusing on your own practice go for you? 

JN: Well, I was never the best one at being the member of a group, because I just wanted to do my thing. And, out of those groups Colab was incredible. It was wonderful, [we put some] great shows. And I have a lot of friends that were in there, but I just was more interested in doing the things that I felt compelled to do. It seemed that there was a kind of urgency to get the work made. And around ’77 music became very influential. That was when the punk bands from England became very important to us. And then the music that was happening in the States, too. And next thing I knew, there was a kind of dissatisfaction… How do I put it? The possibilities seemed to be closing down a bit or something. And so, when James asked me, do you want to play guitar in my band? I said, “Yeah, sure.” Did you see the film Blank City? 

Installation views, Nares: Moves, Milwaukee Art Museum, June 14-October 6, 2019, courtesy of Kasmin Gallery.

COM: I don’t think so…

JN: Yeah, it’s good. It was made by Celine Dahnier. The first half of it is a documentary of the scene that I was in. And then there was another scene with people who would they call themselves “the cinema of transgression,” and their names are going out of my mind right now. But the first half of the film is really good, and in it, Charles Leary, my old buddy who I don’t talk to anymore, says, “anybody who is doing what they knew how to do is very suspect.” And there was this conscious doing of things that you didn’t know how to do because it made them completely fresh. You know what I mean? We delighted doing things we didn’t know how to do and bringing ourselves to it. It seemed like the way to make something really different. And certainly The Contortions, when we first appeared, we made quite a splash. Nobody had heard anything quite like it. 

COM: Speaking about trying new things. When did painting become something you were interested in? 

JN: Well, like I said, I painted when I was young. And I had painted really up until the time I went to school in London, right through high school. I was blessed with the most wonderful art teachers at the schools I went to. It was wonderful. It was so it was so great to have these teachers and I was painting then. But I was also doing other things, like I would go out and paint the grass green, paint the bricks red, or in a piece of home I’d penciled in a rectangle on the wall our house. And it had some prints and scars of things on it and I very carefully painted it. It was what was there exactly… It was like kind of like putting makeup on or something. I just painted what was there, but it looked a little different with this penciled rectangle around it. My mother wanted to get rid of it so badly, but you know, she knew she couldn’t do it. It lasted for a long time; she really didn’t like it. But I was always doing things, you know. As a kid I was always doing things. And my parents were incredibly forgiving. I took over my stepdad’s old 16mm home movies that his father in shot of him with his brothers and sister, and I put them on a piece of wood and hit them with a blowtorch and made a kind of celluloid Jackson Pollock. It was great, it was really good. But he didn’t complain at all. I never heard a word of complaint. He’d come home to find that I raided his drawers, taken out his pipes and glued them to a chessboard and spray painted them silver or something. I was a little bit of a terror, but it was a creative terror, you know. I think they thought that it was good that I should be doing this because I was doing something I wanted to do, and I was a disaster in all the other areas. 

Back Then, 2021, oil on linen, 66 x 54 in.

COM: They sound supportive and forgiving.

 

JN: They were supportive and forgiving to Nth degree, I have to give them that until eternity. They were wonderful. And then there was a lot of music. My stepfather played the piano. That was when I was three. And actually, my stepdad bought a beautiful old gypsy caravan, and it was just like a house on wheels. It was a spectacularly beautiful thing. And they painted it in bright enamel colors. So, it was like this enamel jewel that he put on the side of the house, and that became my studio. My first studio was a gypsy caravan. I have a photo of it, it’s really nice.

 

COM: How old were you when you had your first studio? 

JN: Like ten. I was doing things like I got a chemistry set for Christmas and I very quickly found out, that if you mixed all the chemicals together and put them in a test tube and put a cork in the top and then hold them over a burner, they would explode and make this incredible multicolored splatter on the ceiling. I amused myself doing that for a while. Gosh, poor parents. Wow, I’d never spoken about this stuff before. 

COM: It sounds like a like a wonderful creative childhood. 

JN: Yeah. I think it was, I really do.

Working at the edge of painting, photography, music and film over the course of five decades, Jamie Nares has profoundly explored the relationships between memory, time, movement and thought. I spoke with Jamie about her childhood, her move to New York City in the 1970s, her multidisciplinary practice, and her generous vision of art and life.

Continued in Part 3

Part 3

Photos of the Mind: An Interview With Jamie Nares (Part 2) Read More »

Exhibition

Photos of the Mind: An Interview with Jamie Nares (Part 1)

Exhibition /

STREETS, 2011, HD video, 61 mins

Working at the edge of painting, photography, music and film over the course of five decades, Jamie Nares has profoundly explored the relationships between memory, time, movement and thought. I spoke with Jamie about her childhood, her move to New York City in the 1970s, her multidisciplinary practice, and her generous vision of art and life.

COM: We were just talking about London, and you were born in London. What drew you to New York City and when did you settle in New York? 

JN: Well, I was born in London, but I grew up in the country from the age of three onwards. My father had died when I was three and just before that he built us this house in the country. So that’s where I grew up. And then I was sent off to boarding schools when I was seven. Horrible boarding schools. So, I never really lived at home. And I think that it made it easy for me when I landed in New York and realized that it felt like I was home for the first time in my life. It was easy for me to stay because I had been leaving home all my life. But I came in 1974. I came because I was interested in all the American artists. They were the ones that interested me most, and I wanted to be around it. And I lucked out because a friend of mine had just rented a big loft in in Tribeca, which was… the kind of ground zero was the art community at that point. It shifted from Soho down to Tribeca and there were so many artists who I admired, and I’d read about so much living there and I just jumped right into the middle of it. It was a stroke of immensely good fortune. 

COM: That’s fantastic. What are some of the names of artists that you were thinking about or looking at that drew you to the city?

JN: Richard Serra, Mel Bochner, Vito Acconci, Bruce Nauman, although he just moved to California at that time… Oh, my mind’s gone blank but it seemed like everyone was there, from Claes Oldenburg to my small circle of contemporaries who were all interested in the same things. 

COM: It must have been a really different New York than it is now…

JN: Keith Sonnier. Sorry, I’m thinking of names that are beginning to pile into my brain. I was thinking Keith Sonnier who was wonderful. And then Willoughby Sharp and Lisa Béar who did Avalanche magazine, which was my favorite magazine. And the list goes on. 

COM: What a what a great moment. How did the 1970s downtown Manhattan art scene shape you? I bet in many different ways.

Tetragram, 1999, oil on linen 108 x 92 in.

JN: Many different ways. I kind of came of age there, the way I see it. I had I been the art school in London for not even a year, just two semesters when my friend suggested that I come over and I just came straight over… New York in the seventies, especially down there, was a ghost town. It was great. It seemed like the whole city below 14th Street was very, very depopulated, and we never went above 23rd Street. 23rd Street was way uptown. Although that’s not strictly true, because we were also great adventurers. We’d go up to Harlem to drink in little bars. But we were so welcomed, they loved seeing those little fresh, young, white faces. It was a great time. It seemed like you could do anything and get away with it, or not. I got arrested a couple of times, but stupid things. 

COM: It sounds like a moment full of possibilities. 

JN: It was. The world seemed wide open. And it was just perfect for me because, you know, when I arrived and I looked around, I understood painters like Robert Rauschenberg. Because on every street corner, there was something that looked like a painting by him. You know, some pipes sticking out of a wall painted with a bright red enamel or something. There were little details of the city that just, I understood where all the art that I had loved came from. And I just fell into it.

COM: You also played the guitar in various groups.

JN: I was in various bands, in two bands.

COM: How did musicality influence you at that time that you were beginning to develop your practice in the visual arts? 

JN: Well, there was always a musical element in what I did. Sometimes directly, like I did a performance where I went up to Central Park, sat on a bench with a guitar which I completely detuned, and strummed away for an afternoon. Much to the surprise of people sitting on those park benches. But music was always a big part of my life. I grew up in a very musical household. Rhythm has always been a very important element in my work. And we used to fuck around with guitars and tape recorders. We had instruments. We were playing very, very sort of wild experimental stuff. And it seemed like everybody was. It was just a time of incredible creativity. When 1976 happened. Oh, I like that “when 1976 happened…” [Laughs]. When it rolled on by, things changed or began to change. But by 1977, there was a kind of malaise in the art world and a kind of frustration on the part of younger artists that they weren’t being seen or heard. And we became more vocal and visible doing things. There was Colab, this group of artists that did a lot of stuff. There was The Times Square Show, the Doctors & Dentists show, and all these shows that we put together as groups. But then, as happens with groups so often, it began to splinter up into factions and individuals and I was one of the first to break off from that life. I couldn’t stand the kind of bureaucratic, starting of a business.

Portrait of Jamie Nares, 2021, Katherine Stewart.

COM: So, there was a period in those early years where you were more involved with creating your own spaces to show your work in and to be a platform for other artists, right? 

JN: Yeah, we had a space in the garage that was underneath where I lived and where landlords kept their enormous Lincoln town cars and things during the daytime. But in the evenings, it was just an empty garage, and we would go in there with a movie screen that we built, a collapsible movie screen, and put it up and show films and do performances and have music played. That was the first place I saw James Chance, who led The Contortions a year or so later. He was playing a duo, him and this drummer. So, we did. We invaded spaces, we used them as movie backdrops. We used them as very alternative exhibition places. We were in and out of a lot of buildings, but there was a lot of empty buildings, you know? It was crazy. 

COM: Right, not like it is today. 

JN: Not like it is today, it’s true. The only empty buildings now are the ones in Hudson Yards and places like that where they’ve built all these high rises that nobody lives.

COM: Yeah. It must be kind of wild to think back on all of the different New York cities that you have experienced over the past 50 years. 

JN: That’s true. The Giuliani years, which was pretty awful. The AIDS epidemic. All these things shaped who I am and my practice. 

COM: I imagine. What were some of the early works that you started developing? Were you focusing on a particular medium or were you working across various? 

JN: I was working across various mediums. I did a lot of video and film. I wasn’t really painting, but I did a lot of drawings. I was always drawing and making sketches for, you know, ideas for events. But the most formed artwork that came out of that of mine was in my movie “Pendulum” which has been getting a lot of play lately. I thought I lost it, but I found it in deep storage a few years ago and people really like that one. But I was making sure a lot of short movies, too, like three-minute movies or ten-minute movies. And making objects and all kinds of stuff, doing performances. You know, I painted when I was a youngster and I didn’t really paint at school either. I did other things always. Photo pieces. My work was more conceptual. When I was a student, I remember I would do things like, I’d go into the common room in the middle of the night and moved everything, every object, one inch to the north or something. And then I would put up a sign on the door saying, “every object in this room was moved one inch to the North last night.” And just leave it for people to kind of go “Ah!” There was a lot of humor in my work and wordplay and stuff. 

STREET, 2011, HD video, 61 mins.

COM: You were at the School of Visual Arts, correct? 

JN: Yes. Again, I stayed there two semesters. Seems to be a pattern of mine. But I always knew what I wanted to do. And I just did it. I didn’t really take advantage of the teachers that were there in both art schools. But, you know, it was okay in the end because I just did what I was doing. It was discovering a lot about, you know, like how the education system worked. Like I showed up at the first day school and was expecting to be told where to go and what to do. I didn’t realize you had to sign up for classes. So, all the teachers that I had seen listed on the School of Visual Art’s official advertising bill, their advertising was very good, all those teachers’ classes were full. And I had slim pickings, although I ended up with some good teachers. Hannah Wilkie who died sadly. It was a good way to get acquainted with New York, and America and meet other people. 

Working at the edge of painting, photography, music and film over the course of five decades, Jamie Nares has profoundly explored the relationships between memory, time, movement and thought. I spoke with Jamie about her childhood, her move to New York City in the 1970s, her multidisciplinary practice, and her generous vision of art and life.

Continued in Part 2

Part 2

Photos of the Mind: An Interview with Jamie Nares (Part 1) Read More »

Exhibition