by Ariel Radock

artist's website :: marabaker.com 

Fill In The Blank Gallery: When did you start creating these installations and where did the idea originate?

Mara Baker: It all started in a Jewish Deli. In my second year of graduate school I was struggling with direction in my work and was really grasping for any idea to move forward with. I went out to lunch with some friends and over the course of the meal I started playing with my soda straw. I wondered how long a straw I could make and still physically be able to suction liquid from my glass. I then started thinking about the fragility of my imaginary straw. Would it flop around, would it develop kinks? I went to the local grocery store, bought 7 or 8 boxes of cocktail straws and started working. Initially, I was not thinking of creating large-scale installations but rather small, manageable straw structures. The complications began immediately. Cocktail straws have very little structural integrity and I had no idea how to connect them one to another. I tried every single type of glue and tape at home depot, Walgreens and any other craft/hardware store I could think of. Although I was incredibly frustrated, I was intrigued by the absolute unsuitability of the materials I had chosen for the structure I was trying to build. The decision to use water pumps was a direct result of the fact that I could not create a completely airtight straw system. The inevitability of leaking made me want to hijack this flaw and showcase it. I started to think more conceptually about the functionality of my materials and the inherent impossibilities of my machines functioning properly. As I became more adept at making airtight systems the installations became more ambitious. I was always trying to put the proverbial last straw on the camels back.

FIB: What type of materials are best to achieve a tentative operational failure? How do the materials differ with every installation?

MB: I have a couple of criteria when it comes to materials. First and foremost the material must have some visual integrity. For example, all of the straw systems on their most basic level are formal line drawings in space. Secondly, I prefer to use materials that have an intimate human connection. For example, we put our lips on straws (Weather Systems) or we use kitchen sponges to clean our dishes and our houses (Even the Kitchen Sink, 2008). I like the mundane and part of my job as an artist is to retain the essence or basic intrinsic functionality of my materials while at the same time transforming them into something magnificently other. Tentative operational failure is achieved by really paying close attention to the strengths and weaknesses of any given material. For instance, a straw is made of extremely flimsy plastic meant for one time use. This is a weakness. The ‘one time use’ aspect plays directly into how I build the system. I combat the weakness (e.g. reinforce the flimsy plastic with very strong surgical tape), with full knowledge that I will never be able to completely correct or eradicate the weakness. I am thus guaranteed some level of failure. In the interest of full disclosure, I have built systems that did not function at all. However, I have also built systems that functioned too well. What side of the equation I end up on in any given project is a matter of practiced trial and error.

FIB: Technology is prevalent in our everyday lives. Do you feel that it is satirical for you to create an intentional transitory apparatus?

MB: Satire might be the wrong word. However, the work is definitely confronting or rubbing up against ideas of technology. The transitory nature of the installations ultimately is about history, process, cause and effect and ultimately loss. I adore physicality, which in most cases inevitably leads to deterioration. Infrastructure, bodies, things in general, all deteriorate. One of my favorite books currently is The World Without Us, by Alan Weisman. Chapter by chapter it traces what would happen to our world if we were to simply disappear tomorrow. He talks in great detail about the technological systems we have developed to control the natural world. His conclusion: our roads, underground subways, canals (and the list goes on) would quickly return back to an altered but natural ecosystem. I embrace this apocalyptical scenario in my work.

FIB: Would it be of importance if the viewer did not observe the device in action? Can the installation and its derivative be viewed interchangeably or do they need to be witnessed as one? Do you view them as separate?

MB: All of the systems I have built purposefully run for just minutes every day. Part of the reason for this is purely practical. The system breaks down slower with less use and exhibitions tend to run for at least a month. However, the other larger consideration is conceptual. Making the action of the water pumps in minute increments allows the installation to function on both an experiential and analytical level.

When the systems are turned on the straws and tubing shake with the pulse of the water pressure. The overall impression is of something incredibly unstable and volatile. How the system functions and fails is on full display. When the system is inactive, the viewer is given less information and thus has to come up with their own conclusions as to how the system functions. One of my favorite parts of building these complex installations is observing audience response. I enjoy when the viewer has to become a detective of sorts. I have succeeded if they are curious enough to try to figure out what is happening. In this viewing scenario, the work becomes less about action and more about the history of the action and the residue. Ultimately, I believe the work can successfully function as pure action, derivative of the action or any combination of the two.

FIB: There is great beauty to be found within catastrophes. Do you feel that opposites are necessary for one another to exist?

MB: Just yesterday, I was almost drooling over photos I found of the recent fires in California on the New York Times website. However, as I was drooling, I was also incredibly uncomfortable with my gleeful reaction to images of debilitating natural disaster.

My most recent body of drawings, deterioration of:, derives inspiration from the effects of natural disasters on both public and personal infrastructure. My main sources of imagery come from flickr accounts found on the web. I find this personal documentation reflects an obvious sense of loss as well as a fascination with the confounding terror and beauty of the natural world. What leads a person who has just seen their home or property destroyed by the natural forces of nature to take a picture? Is it a need to memorialize? Is there an underlying fascination at the brutality and sheer force of nature? I have found myself more and more looking at the monumental works of artist’s such as Frederic Edwin Church and being wooed by ideas of the sublime. I am uneasy yet drawn to the great beauty found in catastrophe. My gut reaction is that opposites are necessary for one another to exist. Yet I am also glad that I struggle continually with this concept.

FIB: Temporal art is created to intentionally expire. Although your installations are set up to deconstruct, you arrive at a product of inevitable abstraction. How do you feel about this concept?

MB: Good. The work is about much more than temporality or deconstruction. I believe strongly in the experiential potential and power of conceptual, site-specific work. I am also convinced that my work must be driven by both conceptual and visual concerns equally. The abstractions created by the installations are random is some ways, but are also curated. I have a good idea of what kind of residue will happen.

When I finish an installation I take away every residue that will easily leave the site. If drywall pulls of the wall, I take it with me. I am interested in abstraction that reveals a history. The residues come back into my studio where I can derive new meanings and create new works from the leftovers.

FIB: What sort of images have viewers told you they see in your work? What do you see? Is it necessary to see anything at all?

MB: I get a lot of comments about bodily fluids and stains. Some of my other favorites include, a science project gone wrong, arteries, plumbing, tears, cleansing and catharsis. It is not necessary to see anything. I hope that the viewer makes the connection with the process and the action.

FIB: Do you find enjoyment in unpredictability?

MB: I have a love/ hate relationship with unpredictability. My personality is very ‘plan’ or ‘agenda’ oriented and to let go of a predictable, stable outcome is hard work. I went through a stage in my first year of graduate school where I planned everything. The work was meticulous with no surprises. Eventually, I got bored. I have found that my artistic process is reliant on curveballs. I am good at problem solving and my most interesting work happens when something ‘goes wrong’.

FIB: What’s next for you?

MB: I have finished the weather system installation series. I continue to make mini-disaster situations in my studio, but I am focused more on the residue bi-product. As mentioned earlier, I am working on a series of drawings derived from amateur documentation of natural disasters found on flickr. The drawings have allowed me to layer my own manufactured disasters into a history of actual disasters. I am slowly but surely gaining momentum to turn this work into site-specific installations.