Chad Wys, 31
Artist
Peoria, Illinois
Website: chadwys.com
Instagram: @chadwys
Blog: chadwys.tumblr.com
Facebook: facebook.com/chad.wys
Twitter: twitter.com/chadwys
Society6: society6.com/chadwys
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| Nocturne 110 on the cover of The Picture of Dorian Gray |
What is your job title?
I suppose at some point I became an
artist.
Do you work for a company or
organization — if so, what?
No, I consider myself either
freelance or self-employed.
How long have you been doing this
work?
In various degrees for the length
of my life, to an earnest degree for about a decade.
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| Sight Line |
Where are you from?
Born, raised, and stuck in Peoria,
Illinois.
What other lines of work have you
had?
I can’t say that I’ve been a
professional at anything else. But
I’ve had numerous odd jobs in my youth—the most significant of which has been
my role as a student (but I generally paid the schools, not the other way
around). I’ve worked in a
bookstore, in a department store, and at video store (back when we used our
VCRs).
What does
your work consist of?
It’s
always challenging and unsavory to define who I am or what I do—because in the
arts, and in my mind, definitions vary—but it’s easiest to refer to myself
broadly as a visual artist, specifically as a conceptual artist, and secondarily
as a graphic designer.
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| Judging a book by its cover |
What
training does someone have to have to be qualified for this line of work?
Theoretically,
none, apart from the experience of life.
Technically, some academic experience in studio art and design can’t
hurt; there are many artistic skills available for the sharpening. Most of my training, however, has come
from time spent studying art history, criticism, critical theory, and
philosophy. My work and my
methodology is situated less in the realm of the technical and more in the
realm of the conceptual. Studying
ideas over tradecraft has served me well in this regard.
Have you
won any awards for your work? If so, what?
Nothing of
any great mention. It would help
if I positioned myself in a way that sought out such accolades, or ingratiated
myself into systems where my work would receive significant affection and
notice, but I tend to exist very much outside such a framework. I feel stronger the farther away I am
from a predictable industry. I’d
say I’m an outsider artist in many ways.
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| Arresting imagery to illustrate global press |
What
personal attributes must someone have in order to be able to do this line of
work?
I think
good taste is important.
Knowing—instinctively?—which colors and which forms complement each
other and possessing some nuanced sense of the atmosphere and meaning such
combinations create is a knowledge base not shared by everyone. I think that particular set of skills
can be referred to, simplistically, as good
taste, or it’s the artist’s eye,
or the creative’s knack. One learns a great deal by simply
observing the world and deciding, on one’s own or through the cultivation of
research, what good art and design looks like and how best it delivers ideas
and meaning to a receiver (an observer, a viewer). People seem to have a predilection for this ability, or they
don’t. How “good” one is at
expressing oneself, of course, varies, and the degree of one’s skill
contributes significantly to one’s success or failure in the long-run. The acquisition of technical skills
begins to play a significant role in fleshing out those with a future in
creative expression and those without.
To make matters more complex, bad taste can sometimes be intentionally wielded in effective ways. I think I do this in my work to a degree, and I’m by no means unique in this regard. There’s a certain sense of aesthetic and conceptual irony that, in a way, becomes very sincere the more one finesses and arranges unconventional/uncomplimentary data. I think this is why I gravitate to collage: the arrangement of disparate pieces of information holds a lot of allure for me, like a puzzle built from familiar and unfamiliar fragments, capable of evoking sensations as a whole that are not inherent in each single piece. Some think my work is ugly, others find beauty in its unconventional disorder.
To make matters more complex, bad taste can sometimes be intentionally wielded in effective ways. I think I do this in my work to a degree, and I’m by no means unique in this regard. There’s a certain sense of aesthetic and conceptual irony that, in a way, becomes very sincere the more one finesses and arranges unconventional/uncomplimentary data. I think this is why I gravitate to collage: the arrangement of disparate pieces of information holds a lot of allure for me, like a puzzle built from familiar and unfamiliar fragments, capable of evoking sensations as a whole that are not inherent in each single piece. Some think my work is ugly, others find beauty in its unconventional disorder.
Is there a
class in school that you can look back on and say was essential to have taken
for what you do?
Yes. It came in grad school, fairly late in
the game, but it was the important jolt I needed to fine-tune my voice. It was a contemporary art history
course taught by Dr. Elisabeth Friedman at Illinois State University. In retrospect, a veil was lifted in
that class; I could see more explicitly the world around me and the role of art
(and to some degree myself) in it.
“I think connoisseurs are in some ways the preservers of our creative histories and in other ways the enemies of creation.”
What lesson
was the hardest to learn about doing this work?
That I
possessed the tools to be an artist all along. Everything I needed was banging around in my head and rather
than search for some extrinsic magic ingredient or perfect recipe, I had to set
my sights inward and cease caring what anyone else said, did, or thought.
When you
were a child, did you conceive of doing this sort of thing when you grew up?
What did you want to be?
No, not at
all. Despite always being
creative, as a kid I desired a more conventional and immediately prestigious
profession. I wanted to be a
medical doctor of some sort. It
took a little while for me to realize how much I despise blood and, well,
touching other people.
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| Pillow covers by UK-based store Mineheart http://www.betterlivingthroughdesign.com/accessories/chad-wys-portrait-cushions/ |
How many
hours are in your working week?
168, just
like every other week. (I can’t
begin to parse the hours I devote to “work.” When you live and breathe what you do, and when it’s
entirely self-contained and not directly dependent on another living soul, the
hours are indistinguishable.)
Do you do
this work year-round? Do you get time off? Is it seasonal? Do you have a second
job?
I think of
being an artist like being a human being: it’s not a state that’s easily put
aside or avoided. I’m always on
call, as it were.
Would you
consider this a job, a vocation, or a sideline?
I’d call
it a vocation that has sidelined me from getting a “real job.” And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Where is
your work located? One place or various locations?
Primarily
in my home studio: a dark, dingy, chaotic hellscape not the least bit romantic
or endearing to look at, but it’s my
hellscape.
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| The artist in his studio |
Do you
have to travel as part of this work?
No I
don’t, but If I did venture out into the world I have a feeling I’d be a much
more traditionally successful version of myself. (I’d define traditional success in the arts as attaining
fame and riches, neither of which I personally pursue.)
Do you
work alone or as part of a team?
Alone. 100% forever and always alone.
Do you
listen to music while you work? If so, what?
Yes, absolutely. Often classical works, often
contemporary film scores.
Alexandre Desplat is my favorite composer and I tend to gravitate to his
work from period films like Lust, Caution. Dario Marianelli, Adrian Johnston, and
old-world greats like Chopin and Brahms are personal favorites as well.
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| Chad Wys artwork on the cover of a single |
If you
could change one thing about your work environment, what would it be?
Well, I
would love a pristine white studio space with everything immaculately stored
away. But then I’d lose the
benefit of chaos and the happy accidents that messes accrue.
What do
you typically wear to work?
I’ve got a
fleece robe and nylon basketball shorts on right now. That seems about right.
What raw
materials do you work with?
Is glitter
a raw material? Is acrylic
paint? I’ve used a number of
geological specimens in my work in the past. Those seem fairly raw.
A lot of the found objects I use in my readymade sculptures/collages are
caked with dust... does that count?
How does
technology impact your work?
Enormously. Computers influence most aspects of my
work. I think of my PC as my
number one tool, even when I’m creating analog as opposed to digital work. I’m constantly experimenting with color
palettes and ideas on my computer prior to applying paint or glue to a surface. Sometimes I operate on impulse, but
often I like to flesh out ideas on my computer before I proceed in the real
world.
Do you use
any particular tools specific to this work?
I’d say my
most unique set of tools are the objects and the images I find in my semi-urban
environment and incorporate into my assemblages. I travel to a lot of thrift and antique stores and source
objects that I find interesting and that I believe can be subversive in another
context. The materials I
appropriate are key to the work I create.
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| Poster for the Bavarian State Opera |
Have you
received any injuries connected to your work? If so, what?
How many
welts and blisters have I received from a hot glue gun? How many cuts from a razor blade or
scissors? Entirely too many to
count, but I think all in all I don’t have a very hazardous occupation and I’ve
fared very well!
Are there
any words or terms used in your line of work that you could share and explain?
Art
history, criticism, and theory has gifted us with seemingly endless terms that
can apply to various methodologies, styles, periods, movements, ideas,
etc. One of the most loaded terms
that I confronted in grad school is the notion of connoisseur. A word I
still can’t spell without the assistance of a computer.
I think connoisseurs are in some ways the preservers of our creative histories and in other ways the enemies of creation. Throughout the past couple centuries a select group of highly trained, highly knowledgeable people have been the keepers of an artistic cannon, in which many artworks and many artists are not easily, or ever, admitted. This has meant that, historically, women and people of color have been excluded—for a number of reasons, often due to social oppression—but also in some respects because those in positions of academic and economic power have determined their work to be unimportant or inconvenient. So, art history is a white-wash, masculine, Eurocentric, Judeo-Christian love letter, and to a large extent so is our contemporary art market, thanks to specialists, professors, and critics—the connoisseur class—who have fashioned it that way, often in their own image.
I think connoisseurs are in some ways the preservers of our creative histories and in other ways the enemies of creation. Throughout the past couple centuries a select group of highly trained, highly knowledgeable people have been the keepers of an artistic cannon, in which many artworks and many artists are not easily, or ever, admitted. This has meant that, historically, women and people of color have been excluded—for a number of reasons, often due to social oppression—but also in some respects because those in positions of academic and economic power have determined their work to be unimportant or inconvenient. So, art history is a white-wash, masculine, Eurocentric, Judeo-Christian love letter, and to a large extent so is our contemporary art market, thanks to specialists, professors, and critics—the connoisseur class—who have fashioned it that way, often in their own image.
Connoisseurs
are problematic, but to some degree necessary. We just really need to produce better ones, and we are.
“Is glitter a raw material? Is acrylic paint?”
Please
tell us about what you are working on right now.
I’m
gearing up for my first art show in New York City (March 12-28 at Joseph Gross
Gallery). I don’t often exhibit my
work; I favor a low profile, I don’t seek attention. But lately I’ve decided to embrace display and the sharing
of my work with a wider, receptive audience. It will be a departure, but it should be fun.
What are
the biggest misconceptions people have about what you do?
That
anyone can do it. This is where,
although I hate to say it, connoisseurs become important. Because, to the layperson, a child’s
scribble might look as “pretty” as a Picasso oil painting, but the differences
can be quite vast. Sometimes a
refined eye is useful for noticing the details and the important nuances of a
work of art’s technical and intellectual aspects, other times people are just
comfortable in their stupidity and they think anyone can paint a picture (or
slop paint on a found object, in my case). The process of creation is more complicated than that, the
ideas are bigger than that, and being ignorant of those processes or ideas can
sometimes give way to a false sense that art is easy and worthless.
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| A Painting of Flowers with Color Bars |
What is
the hardest part of your work?
Convincing
people that my art is not easy or worthless. And also overcoming my own insecurities and doubts to produce
work that is honest and insightful.
What is
the most mundane part of your work?
I find art
business to be different parts exciting and mundane. Selling one’s work is sometimes a dreary aspect of life as
an artist that holds the power to distract one and one’s audience from the
importance of the work at hand.
Other times, it’s a great way to share work and to find camaraderie and
understanding in complex and beautiful ideas, not to mention earning a living.
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| Composition 496 as iPhone case |
What is
the most rewarding part of what you do?
I get to
think and feel openly, hopefully causing others to think, to feel, and to
challenge the world around them.
What is it
you love about what you do?
I get to
work alone and significantly on impulse.
It’s a very satisfying and self indulgent lifestyle. I express myself for a living and I do
so entirely on my own terms.
What’s not to love?
People
would be surprised to know that:
I’m a
recluse who seldom leaves the house.
I communicate largely by email, avoiding phones and face-to-face
communication almost entirely.
I’ve always been a fairly anxious person and I’ve never relished the
limelight or, well, speaking to people.
Sharing art is an intensely social form of communication, but the
creation process can be a totally solitary exercise. I find it to be a nice balance for my personality, sharing
only the work I choose to share.
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| Visible, actually: book cover |
What
advice would you give someone interested in doing this work?
Take those
nursing classes instead. But
seriously, only be an artist if you can’t stand the thought of being anything
else. It’s a labor of love, a
passion choice, and the rewards are often “just” intellectual and emotional.
Can you
please share an anecdote about your work?
An aspect
of sharing my work online has been the ability to inspire, as well as be
inspired by, other artists. I find
that sharing my work openly on the Web is most rewarding when I receive
enthusiastic messages of appreciation and the confession that I’ve helped set
off a spark of creativity in the mind of someone who had been facing a creative
block. Honestly, that’s the best
part of my “job.”
Sometimes, however, the inspiration turns sinister. Once in a while I receive messages from concerned citizens, or I’ll stumble upon an example myself, alerting me of entities who have transcended inspiration and simply endeavored to reproduce my work and my ideas. That’s particularly interesting since I’m an appropriation artist who confronts reproduction in my work; to be “appropriated” myself is a curious feeling. It can be enormously flattering and/or it can be alarming. It’s most alarming when the infringement is commercial in nature, and it almost always is about making money with people who substantially mimic or copy the work of others; it’s usually little more than a cash grab absent the effort of developing an idea or a style of one’s own. I’ve confronted a number of folks over the years when the infringement is extremely obvious and deceitful, but mostly I’ll keep my distance. It’s hard to prove intellectual theft in the arts, and frequently pointless to do so. All artists borrow ideas and motifs from other artist—me among them—but good artists adapt, modify, and offer a fresh mixture. There are some bad apples out there, but the (art) world has a way of spitting them out in time.
Is there
anything else you would like to share with Forte
readers?
Try
keeping an open mind about thoughtful appropriation.
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| A Grecian Bust With Color Tests |
