The Quiet Genius of Amy Casey: A RW Interview
The city and the artist are like the sailor and the sea: the person is driven by the setting, and the setting is driven into by the person. Except through the artist we get a glimpse of their journey through the works they create for us to see.
For Erie-born, Cleveland-based painter Amy Casey, this journey in large part documents how we as Rust Belters make sense of the post-industry life around us: the plywood windows—the black and still factories—the aged material that can look both firm and fragile, warm and rough. In effect, Casey gets at our history of losing and our current state of flux while repositioning our cultural relics into novel forms if only to prove there’s a way to reconstruct a region that many have left for dead. After all, said painter Paul Klee, “Art does not reproduce what we see; rather, it makes us see.”
Damn right it does. And Casey gets us to look–with one eye tied to the heart and the other to the head.
I recently caught up with Casey for a Q&A. The former winner of the Cleveland Arts Prize is busy these days, showing talking heads in galleries ranging from Chicago to San Francisco what our world looks like when we step off our front porch. So we thank her for taking the time.
I have heard you describe yourself as a “Rust Belt romantic.” I love the term. To what extent do your Rust Belt roots and the Rust Belt culture drive your creative process?
As an artist I have always looked at everyday life for inspiration, so perhaps it was inevitable that my work references Cleveland. A lot of my initial ideas were found staring at the city through the windows of a bus or train, and so spending time in the Rust Belt is a spark that starts the engine. But this works both ways, because while the area has informed my work, I find my work also informs me about the area. For instance, as I collect more buildings and infrastructure photos for reference, I venture further out into different neighborhoods I have never been to.
I should point out that while what I’ve been creating showcases the Cleveland aesthetic to an extent, I can’t say I did this purposely. I use structures and spaces found [in the Rust Belt] to create something new, something of my own that has its own history completely outside of reality. However, the things I focus on when working: moving on in the face of hardship, vulnerability, community, working with mistakes, and finding stability in new forms, these are things that may be of interest to me because of where I come from.
There’s a lot of vacancy in the Rust Belt, and I feel the prevalence of vacant houses in particular kind of seeps into us and affects us mentally and emotionally on a level that is often not talked about, especially in how it can evoke the facts of life’s vulnerabilities. I see this insecurity of things in your images, particularly in the work that shows houses tenuously tied together. Can you speak as to whether or not the prevalence of abandonment in our region influences your work?
I’m glad you noticed this. I’ve often thought that the interruptions in the landscape here have contributed to the way I use negative space in my paintings, and that living here can make a person more aware of absence. What’s particularly striking are areas of the city where there has been a lot of demolition. You will find these building holdouts sort of bobbing in empty space like lonely boats on the sea. A person cannot help but internalize these sort of things. This, then, leads to reflection, and I have come to think a lot about how dependent we are on each other. The housing crisis has definitely illustrated how we are connected and if any one entity drops out of a community it can have a ripple effect. Conversely, if people or businesses stay and help to create stability, that can also transform the landscape over time.
Some of the work I find particularly interesting are the industrial scenes that look torn away, yet suspended. There is reality to that with the Rust Belt scrapping for what’s left of its industry. The Rust Belt is resilient in this way—it carries on because what the hell are we supposed to do. Are there times when you are creating that you are punchy, or edgy, or fighting to show that where you are from carries on despite it being kicked in the mouth, at least economically?
The ability to continue going in the face of adversity has always been a big influence on my work. And although I agree about the Rust Belt being scrappy, I see it as a core human trait as opposed to something regional. Watching various disaster scenes of the last decade play out–the Indian Ocean tsunami, Katrina, the economic meltdown–and then seeing the way communities come together and life carries on, well, you hate to say it is an inspiration, but it has definitely fueled my work.
Okay, I’ve got to ask you: there is some evidence that Cleveland–and more generally the Rust Belt–is getting its swag back. Your latest paintings frequently give off the aesthetic of tightness and solidity. So, are you a believer? Or have you just been getting out of the Rust Belt more often?
I am always trying to think of ways to make things “better” for the world in my paintings, and the idea of coming together has been of great interest lately. I am wanting to move in a less vulnerable direction in my latest work, and it’s perhaps not a coincidence that we do seem to be reconstructing our way out of a slump right now in Cleveland. As someone with a keen eye on buildings, I notice when my subjects are demolished that in their place often arises new growth. I can’t help but be inspired not only by the new construction projects going on, but also by people transforming older buildings into new entities. And I am not simply speaking of big projects, as there’s kind of a weird dynamic going on in Cleveland where vacancy is creating a lot of opportunities and space for a DIY sort of thing, even for people without much capital. I’ve seen people start incredible things here. So I am guardedly optimistic in the “swag back” theory.
Swag back: the Rust Belt is making waves. And it’s partly due to our region’s artists, and their creations derived from that journey into the wild, rusty yonder.