With a wide range of artistic influences, Alex Lukas creates highly detailed

drawings, subtly rendered prints, and complex 'zines. Moving between

mono- or duo-tone and lush color, his work challenges the perception of

the urban environment as a place of inevitable destruction. Though his

landscapes can seem eerily foreboding and forsaken, the artist eschews

the term "post- apocalyptic" for his work, preferring to leave the meaning

behind his works open to viewer interpretation in a variety of ways. Lukas

is a Philadelphia resident and member of Philadelphia-based collective

Space 1026. His imprint, Cantab Publishing, has released over 35 small

books and 'zines since 2001.

Recently Dan Haddigan talked with Alex about his ideas, his use of

printmaking in contemporary work, and why superheroes don't seem to

show up when you expect them to.

Dan Haddigan: You have a very interesting and diverse body of work,

incorporating a number of different techniques. Since this is the

Philagrafika blog, I think the best way to start the conversation is for

you to speak a little bit on your printmaking practice. I recall reading

in an interview that you use a special silkscreen technique on your

flooded-city pieces - the rendering of the water is all done by hand,

and then silkscreened, correct? Do you ever re-use the same

textures from one piece to the next? Can you discuss your feelings

on the use of silkscreen techniques as a tool to produce a single

image rather than a printed edition? What is your attitude, and your

thoughts on printmaking in general, and printmaking as a tool to

create certain effects?

Alex Lukas: I try to use printmaking techniques where it is appropriate. I

don't really consider myself a capital-P "Printmaker." I'll always consider

myself a 'zine maker, since for a long time that was really my primary

focus. When creating 'zines, I try to consider technique, form and the idea

of editioning these printed objects-in-multiple.

That said, I have never taken a screen-printing class - so all of my

knowledge came from observation, helpful peers and figuring it out

myself.

 

When I first started incorporating screen printing into my one-off

drawings, the technique was heavily influenced by a lot of the posters and

'zines I had seen being produced in Providence, Rhode Island, where I

went to college. Other than going to a few parties, I was never even

tangentially involved in any of that Fort Thunder stuff, but I was really,

really excited by the process of it - the use of transparent ink overlays

especially. It is such a smart and economical way to produce color with

just a few screens. When I realized I wanted to use this effect in my

drawings, I couldn't figure out any other way than screen printing.

And, to me, that is still the key: using printmaking techniques for effects

that I couldn't otherwise achieve. The screen-printed book pages that you

are asking about usually involve a split-palette pull through an open

screen - an opaque ink fading into a transparent over a partially masked-

out cityscape. For many of my other drawings, I'll screen-print

advertisements or murals - objects in the composition that I want present

as distinct from my drawing. The water patterns I re-use many times, they

are printed from photographs I find or take myself. The reflections of the

buildings are painted into each work.

 

DH: You've touched on what I think is one of the most exciting things

happening within printmaking today. I think that the discipline is

currently in the midst of an evolution, moving from something very

structured and academic to a medium that’s more about

experimentation and combining other media. Where in the past it’s

been a tool to unleash multiples upon the world, now more and more

artists are using print techniques in a much more fluid way. The fact

that you regularly employ silkscreen techniques despite the fact that

you've never taken a screen-printing class shows that you belong in

sort of a "new school" of artists who learned the techniques second-

hand and adapted them to your circumstances. (That’s not to say that

printmakers haven't been experimental before, but now it seems

extremely prevalent, more like the rule and less the exception.) You

don’t have the onus of "the right way" floating above your head while

you work, and I think it can be difficult for classically trained

printmakers to steer away from that mindset. It really opens the door

to a wealth of possibilities.

AL: I agree - but I think this cross-disciplinary practice is really just the

way people make artworks today in general, not just as it relates to

printmaking. I like the idea of de-stigmatizing printmaking from a craft to

just another tool like video or sculpture or performance. I think the idea of

printmaking as a tool for craft and not simply another method of making

work is outdated, but not everyone has come around yet. And, just for the

record, I have taken some printmaking classes, just never a screen-

printing class. I took a continuing-ed etching class and a letterpress class,

and I'm very interested in those techniques, but screen-printing has

always been the most attractive and appropriate method for my work.

 

DH: In addition to the silkscreen drawings, you also do editioned

prints, as well as run a 'zine publishing imprint. How do these works

compare to your other work? Is it any more or less enjoyable than

your mixed-media pieces or drawings? How important is it to your

artistic process? Does the fact that you publish 'zines inform any

other part of your work? Is there any connection between publishing

others' work and appropriating published works (book pages) for

your pieces?

AL: I'm not sure I can quantify one as more or less enjoyable. All of it

obviously comes from me - but I do consider them distinct bodies of work

stemming from similar influences and interests. I used to get the comment

a lot that I should add superheroes to my drawings - Superman flying

through or something - but that doesn't really make sense to me. I get

why the suggestion would be made, but it doesn't correlate with the

reason I make those works.

 

The drawings I make are intended (and this is a drastically oversimplified

summation) as quiet reflections on violence and rebirth. The 'zines are

generally collections of photographs, interviews or focused on the history

of some obscure place. The superhero prints are nerdy one-liners. All of

these things are interesting to me, feel important to make, and come from

a similar place and set of experiences, but they have different goals, so I

try not to cram all of these intentions into one body of work.

Like I discussed before, there is a lot of technical overlap and influence as

well. I'm not sure if there is a correlation between publishing and

appropriating, other than the natural impulse to collect printed stuff -

books, 'zines, posters - it all accumulates together. I really like printed

material.

 

DH: Just because you have a lot to say doesn't mean you need to

say it all at once. Good artists know how to edit themselves. It's

important for artists to have ideas outside of their main body of work

that occupy some mental real estate. I find that I have my best ideas

when I'm focused on something else. It's interesting to me the way

that two separate entities can overlap subconsciously. The fact that

your superheroes are existentially walled off from the disasters they

can help alleviate or prevent makes both bodies of work all the more

interesting.

AL: Yes, I think the delineation of the work is good, but it has also

sometimes been a hindrance. It has gotten easier recently, but for a while,

when an opportunity would come up for a show or an illustration project, I

would need to ask very specifically what work of mine the person

expected.

Very recently I've begun to try to break down some of the walls I've built

up for compartmentalizing my own work. I'm increasingly interested in

trying to incorporate some of the photography I do into the work I exhibit.

I mean, it has always been integral for research and reference, but I've

started to show some new drawings alongside diazotypes (blueprints) or

unique photocopies that come directly from my reference photography.

I'm really excited about the direction these pieces are going.

 

DH: I saw a recent group show you were in at Extra Extra Gallery in

Philadelphia, which I believe was their last show, appropriately

enough. You had an installation set up, including a large white

skeletal structure for displaying your framed pieces, flanked by

potted plants and fluorescent lights. What spurred your work toward

a more installation-based approach, and is this a direction you will

continue with in the future? How do the structure and the plants push

the work further, in your opinion?

AL: I was really excited with the installation at Extra Extra. For a year and

a half I have been working on a 'zine series titled OF NOTE. Each issue is

one or two 11" x 17" photocopied pages folded into quarters and

dedicated to photographs I've taken and collected together under a

simple thematic umbrella: vans in the snow, a graffitied plant, hand-

painted couches and so on. Issue #12 was just released. Sometimes it is

a set of photographs taken in a few minutes, sometimes it takes a year to

compile. Issue #7 was dedicated to fluorescent lights and the spaces they

occupy - loading docks, vacant storefronts - generally commercial

spaces. My favorites from this collection were fluorescent lights left on

inside of vacant storefronts. As I've been hinting at ideas of commerce in

my work for a while now, I decided to try incorporating this type of lighting

into my installation at Extra Extra. The structure itself is a pretty direct

extension of structures I've been building to hold my large drawings for a

while, so it seemed appropriate.

 

DH: For all of its blank, dull evenness, fluorescent lighting can be

very expressive. To use it as a sculpture or installation medium and

to use it to light artwork is to make a very distinct decision about

presentation, especially in the capacity you speak of. It's a very

convenient and clever way to make that connection to

commercialism without being too overt (the same goes for the

billboard-inspired structures). In my opinion, when used to light

artwork, fluorescent lighting has a way of making it look sort of

ghastly, as opposed to the enhancing qualities of halogen lighting.

AL: Fluorescent lighting has been a pretty well-trod path in contemporary

art. Simon Boudvin's Concave series is one of my favorites. Robert Irwin.

Dan Flavin, obviously.

I'm not sure I agree with your characterization of fluorescent lights as

making artworks look ghastly, though. I think a lot of galleries that I'm

really excited about have exclusively fluorescent lights, but I take your

point that it is a different way to view work.

That line between the familiar and unfamiliar, between ease and disease,

is really important to me. I'm really interested in pursuing that more

through the structures and lights that hint at commerce but re-

contextualize it. That is a similar impulse, in my mind, to depicting these

scenes of destruction in a fashion that references the idealized depiction

of our country in 19th-century American landscape painting.

 

DH: Your subject matter is obviously pretty dark. However, the

scenes you depict always have a certain light to them. Your color

palette is generally neutral, the weather is often overcast, but it's not

night time. Although humans are not depicted, there are still traces of

life. The word apocalypse is thrown around pretty liberally, although

not many people are familiar with the original meaning of the word - it

relates to the permanent triumph of the forces of good over the

forces of evil, the revelation of truth, the "lifting of the veil." Is this

something that you think about when you approach your work

conceptually? How much of this is a conscious decision in your

work? Why do you choose to focus on this type of subject matter?

AL: I like that - "lifting the veil." That is much more interesting and

appropriate than the term "post-apocalyptic," which people often use in

relation to my work. I get it: it is the most accessible descriptor for what I

draw, but I think that focus is wrong for what I make. And I think in

articulating why I dislike that term, I am able to describe my intentions

better. These drawings are non-narratives - they are not meant to tell a

particular story nor have a sense of a specific moment. So much of the

fascination with end-time "post-apocalyptic" imagery gets burdened by

particular descriptions of "what happened" - which often devolves into

vampires and zombies or cautionary tales about global warming or

nuclear proliferation. Some of those fears are more valid than others, but

either way, I'm not trying to be a didactic picture-maker. I'm trying to take

the specificity out of the image and focus instead on these contradictory

feelings of anxiety and peace; hints of violence surrounded by rebirth

through these placeless landscapes. These themes and contradictions are

much more interesting to me.

 

 

The book pages are obviously not "place-less;" they all depict American cities, but by using older imagery I'm able to engage with ideas of false histories. The source of these book pages are usually coffee-table books from the 70s or 80s, so they generally depict skylines that are different from how they appear today. Sometimes buildings depicted have been demolished, sometimes I'll cover up other structures, sometimes the names of defunct companies still adorn facades. All of this is really, really interesting to me and takes away from the simple notion that this is a "warning of one possible future if we don't 'shape up'."

 

DH: It's human nature to analyze an image and relate it to the

present - we look at something and decide if it's now, the future or

history, and then the next logical step is to construct a back-story for

what we see. I think you do a great job of reducing specificity, but the

instinct to contextualize will always be there. With your work, you

seem to have a specific goal in mind. Do you think it detracts from

the work if it operates on a narrative level? Are you troubled when

people mistake your work as a warning message? You mentioned

that using older images is a way to create disassociation; are there

any other specific steps you take to achieve this?

I'm very interested in the conceptual thinking and the depth of

intellect in your work. Have you, or would you ever, consider doing

any sort of written companion to your work?

AL: I'm not sure about a written companion to the work. I feel much more

comfortable dealing with these issues visually than through writing. I think

it's just easier andmore fun for me.

I understand that the work will operate on a narrative level; it is a

landscape painting, after all. I just ask the viewer to provide that narrative

for themselves, starting with a set of cues I give, and then I hope the more

they look at the work, the more they will question the narrative they initially

had.

I'm always excited to find spray-painted graffiti written by high-school

kids under bridges and on rocks. I love that method of communication

because it is so hyper-specific ("Steve was here"), in that it lets you know

exactly what happened ("Steve was here"), but at the same time, it is

totally vague (Steve who? When was Steve here? Who was Steve with?

Why did Steve decide to commemorate his arrival at this spot? Where did

Steve go from here?). The more you think about it, the less specific it gets.

I think that process is a good parallel for what I try to do with my

drawings.

 

 

Alex Lukas was born in Boston, Massachusetts in 1981 and raised in

nearby Cambridge. He creates both highly detailed drawings and intricate

Xeroxed 'zines. Lukas's imprint, Cantab Publishing, has released over 35

small books and 'zines since its inception in 2001. His drawings have

been exhibited in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, San

Francisco, London, Stockholm and Copenhagen as well as in the pages

of Swindle Quarterly, Proximity Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle,

the Village Voice, Philadelphia Weekly,Dwell magazine, Juxtapoz and

the New York Times Book Review. Lukas is a graduate of the Rhode

Island School of Design and now lives in Philadelphia, PA.

Alex's most recent projects include VIID and Underneath Providence.

Click on the links to discover more of Alex's work.

 

POSTED BY TIMOTHY EVANS

 

http://philagrafika.blogspot.com/2012/11/interview-­‐alex-­‐lukas.html