Exhibition Release
October 13, 2020
visit the show
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Interviewed by
Sophia Stopper
Article Published
October 7, 2020
Polyps, moldy leftovers, wet soapy clay, air pocketed muscle, algae, a pile of intestines, an organ, trash, rotten pumpkin, orange peel, old shattered egg, dust, cells, dried up salad, surrogate flesh.
These are the moments Charlie Arsenault drooled onto my doorstep after asking him the question of what does the phrase Gross Grainy Textures mean to you?
One can compare Charlie’s process of making work to a faucet. One that sometimes leaks, a dripping, and one that sometimes overflows the sink. This ocean is not always in focus. But it is an ocean all the same. It is always there, but it comes in waves. Like water, Charlie reflects on his practice as being a necessity.
The nonlinear path to bringing something to life. Charlie is visionary, and in these visions are organs made of spray foam, pods made of yarn, broken glass, stuffed animal lumps, and shards of ceramic that create something beyond. In his book Killing Poetry: Blackness and the Making of Slam and Spoken Word Communities, Javon Johnson states— death is the beginning of another possibility, something beyond rather than an end. Charlie‘s work is never ending. Though it may have many deaths in his lifetime, it always finds a way to be
reborn.
.
The intimacy of the sketchbook is a relationship Charlie cherishes as this process usually begins with marks on a page. Charlie keeps a dedicated sketchbook practice and it is in these small moments where mountains rise from the earth. Sometimes it starts with a line that soon captures a shape. There are no test runs on ideas. When Charlie commits, he commits. And in this commitment is a force to be reckoned with. Charlie plows through his process with the strength of the fault lines that create earthquakes.
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[My favorite moments in my work] are any that blur trauma with humor, moments that make the audience question if they’re allowed to laugh.
In our laughter there is light, there is the recognition of reality, there is the horizontal thought of Frida singing in the sunshine. We dabble gleefully, as she did, with a smile in our eyes and our bandaged bodies heal as we reenter the battlefield.
.
The ideal audience for the work Charlie creates is a colony of heartbeats that crave to feel discomfort. A palpitation. An irregular beating. A speeding up, a slowing down of the rhythms of the body. Ezra references Donna Tartt’s The Secret History— There was a horrible, erratic thumping in my chest, as if a large bird was trapped inside my ribcage and beating itself to death. That moment of your heart hitting your stomach and making you nauseous, like you may just experience this heart of yours climbing up your throat and exiting your body through your mouth. The hauled around trauma, feeling the weight of these memories collide with your skull in moments when you least expect it. The feeling of meat on bone, Charlie brings forth the sight of certain things that makes your flesh
crawl.
Peach is the color of the fruit sitting between my teeth, not blue, but peach is the color of the fruit dripping off my chin, pppppppppppppppppppeach is crawling down my throat— seeping into my stomach. When I say, my mouth is full of you, I mean, I need more. Those high heels are so peach they’re pink and when I feel big, my legs move miles in a singular step. I am walking, or rather— I cannot stop running. When I run, the sun sets over the ocean, and when I think of the end, I think of the beginning, and I think, this is a beautiful way.
Blue is the color of the mountains you pull out of your memories. Not peach, not pink, but blue—
When you say you are swimming, I know you mean in those oceans that drive you, those rivers flowing with holy water. And when I say, holy, I am missing a letter. When I say we were missing, I mean
we are found.
Trees, the vast expanse of the sky from the top of a hill, blue mountains, old falling apart barns and silos, trespassing, hikes, swimming in natural bodies of water.
When you say you are swimming, I know you mean in those oceans that drive you, those rivers flowing with holy water. And when I say, holy, I am missing a letter. When I say we were missing, I mean
we are found.
Charlie and I share a third floor living space. Share an intimacy that puts a microscope to our outlines. What we contain is saturated to the obvious, yet never overlooked, never taken for granted. That rotten pumpkin from our halloween party, the accidental rager with a costume requirement, was later thrown over the balcony banister with the hope of its explosion onto the concrete alleyway’s surface. This precarious distance between us and the ground was later replaced by a rusted tin can phone, curiously connecting us to the neighbors on the first floor. Connecting us to the two people who root Charlie and I into the earth.
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Earthen moments of maybe you could do some dishes? They’re getting pretty slimy in the sink. Or maybe you could clean up Moon Cat’s vomit? It’s getting pretty plastered to the floor. Or maybe you could pass me the lotion for my crusty knuckle they. I honestly don’t mind the green hair dye in the sink, sure it looks like mold, but it adds some color to my day. These are the gross, the grainy, the moments we cherish, the heightened realization that there is someone looking out for all four of us. That the multiverse moves in a meaningful motion and made us roommates and neighbors for a reason. The crystal clear notion that without each other, The Neighbors would not exist, and how extraordinary of an existence this is. How Lucky we are.
Earthen moments of maybe you could do some dishes? They’re getting pretty slimy in the sink. Or maybe you could clean up Moon Cat’s vomit? It’s getting pretty plastered to the floor. Or maybe you could pass me the lotion for my crusty knuckle they. I honestly don’t mind the green hair dye in the sink, sure it looks like mold, but it adds some color to my day. These are the gross, the grainy, the moments we cherish, the heightened realization that there is someone looking out for all four of us. That the multiverse moves in a meaningful motion and made us roommates and neighbors for a reason. The crystal clear notion that without each other, The Neighbors would not exist, and how extraordinary of an existence this is. How Lucky we are.
When I think of our kitchen I remember all that silverware washed, I remember Lucky mimicking you, sitting in your sun spots, she speaks when we slow blink her orb eyes shimmer. Mooncat we say, you are crawling into a cave, and that blanket fort was built above our bed meant to house us all. When I think of our home, I remember our windows opening in the summertime, I remember our mornings dripping with coffee, the scent of sage in the air, we eat breakfast at a tea table that stretches three stories. Our table is tall. We are high. We enjoy each other. When your floral skirt matches those pink heels, matches your mustache, your sea green hair, I say you are lifted, you are strong. Ezra is those pieces of pottery in his “sharp things” box. He reattaches them, making his scars beauty marks. We rebuild. We repair. We reweave new worlds like Arachne who found herself transformed. Grace grazes our summer skin and we realize these seasons surely pass, this movement of time, this great transformation, this Herculean transition, reminds me of you. Ezra states— I am concerned with making these horrifying images not only palatable but beautiful. Getting to the core of things, Ezra’s work contacts your insides and makes you realize there are rainbows there. For every color makes up the body. If we talk about seedlings sprouting new hues imperceivable in the springtime, our sandcastle washed away with a singular wave. What I really mean to be saying is, when Ezra declares— words must have meaning. I realize there are many ways to cherish, and when I say, I love you, I mean it in every. possible. way.
I want to make performances which find new ways of implicating my audience in violence or destruction. I want to make massive hanging sculptures. I want to reorganize my harddrive that was deleted so that I have access to my archive. I want to collaborate. I want to continue to consciously undermine my authority as an artist/author in more mediums than video. More specifically I want to figure out the best way to activate a fly head mask in a film, and I want to make something out of that big stick in our living room.
Gross Grainy Textures is The Neighbors’ first birthday celebration! The organization is proud to present the debut solo show of their steadfast captain, Charlie Arsenault.
Charlie Arsenault grew up in Southwest Virginia amongst the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. They received a BFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Charlie assisted Oliver Jeffers with a performance of The Dipped Painting Projects at Mana Contemporary Gallery and Joseph Ravens with an iteration of Condom Cloud at Art AIDS America Chicago. After completing the Apprentice Program with Defibrillator Performance Art Gallery, Charlie went on to document many performances for the gallery including Rapid Pulse International Performance Festival. As a performance artist, they have participated in the show Piss and Vinegar at Defibrillator Performance Art Gallery and their work for Power Ouch Performance Festival at Links Hall was highlighted by See Chicago Dance. They are a founder and the Exhibitons Director of The Neighbors, a Chicago Based Community of Artists and Curatorial Collective.
︎ Charlie‘s Instagram
llio sophia is a neuroqueer individual who radiates mad scientist energy. Everyone always assumes sunflowers are llio’s favorite flower, and they’re not wrong. They have unexpectedly received sunflowers at birthdays, openings, and once was gifted two bouquets at a going away party from two different people. When they were first hospitalized for psychosis, they pulled those same bouquets out of their pockets. They recited Since Feeling is First by memory, by heart. llio is a self-taught poet who spends their summers lifeguarding at the local swimming pool and their winters drinking too many cups of coffee. In the springtime they try not to slaughter flowers and during the autumn they fall in love with the fire of their surroundings, every year, all over again. llio cherishes their role as Executive Director of Holly and the Neighbors.
︎Sophia’s Instagram