Featured Artist

Joseph Clarke’s studio is in an old firehouse in Kent, CT. His immaculate light-filled studio is where he disrupts surface and structure, bringing to life significant abstract works that shift in the light, each angle providing the viewer with an alternate image. Clarke shares this building with an art restoration business and art storage; an ample hallway allows Clarke space to skateboard on wet days when it is empty. Some of Clarke’s significant three-dimensional works hang on these walls, casting shadows and shifting patterns as one moves through the space.

Joseph Clarke’s family have been a natives of the Northeast for multiple generations. “My father’s family came from Ireland through Ellis Island and settled in Canaan. Likewise, my mother’s family moved from Italy, arriving through Ellis Island and also moving to Canaan, so my parents knew each other from their earliest school days. This extensive family is still here, which is a wonderful pull to remain in the area with my young family.”

The work is tangible; it reminds me of ceramics, a fine layer of porcelain or clay that has been manipulated. Can you talk about how the work evolves?

This space is a dust-free room, cleaned before any new work can be constructed. All the action happens on this large tabletop on a stretched canvas where the primer and house paint layers are sanded between each application, allowing the work to stack up until the resin is finally added. The fans must be running for good ventilation, the humidity should be perfect, and I wear a respirator, goggles, gloves, the whole deal. I must patiently wait hours to work until the resin is in a sweet spot so it’s not too runny or solidified. If you get a step wrong, it will show up later. I un-stretch each piece when the resin is at its prime spot before the actual sculpting. This is the fun part: working with the whole body, which is why I love this practice. If it is a huge piece, I can use two broomsticks as extended arms to work underneath the canvas, creating folds.

Your work is an alchemy in which you are the tool immersed in the process. So, will the resin hold in place once you’ve moved the substrate?

After the hours of prep, there is a short window to create the work. Some pieces come together immediately, and others are just a real struggle. Resin is a funky material that’s difficult to dictate, so if it goes wrong, I must start again. Occasionally, you’ll get a puddle or a drip that begins to slide, or the resin can become stuck.

In many cases, I work in a frenzy, mentally and bodily. It’s a state of mind. I made all these pieces for the show simultaneously.

Artworks from a recent show in Cornwall at The Souterrain Gallery float on the studio wall in muted colors, working equally as a grouping or individually, I am reminded of Jack Youngerman’s sculptures from the late 1970s.

Who are your influences?

I’ve often drawn comparisons between this work and automobiles. Richard Chamberlain is a crucial influence; I love his work, which I saw for the first time at DIA Beacon. I am an accidental artist, which is a place where some of the best work is born. I am drawn to Dadaism, a movement that values chance and allows mistakes to become part of the art. This series started in my old studio; after leaving college, I had a mountain of 2D paintings suffocating me. I wanted to reuse these stretchers, ditch the paintings, and start again. I ripped canvases off stretchers, crumpled the art, and threw it behind me while neatly stacking my stretcher bars off to the side. At one point, I turned around, and my spotlights shone on this crumpled canvas pile on the floor; I thought, “This is something.” From that moment, it’s been how to make that reality happen, bringing tension and movement into the work by folding and stretching it.

Initially, I went to college, thinking I would be an illustrator as I drew all the time; however, I switched from illustration and joined the painting department, which felt freer. When I met my professor, Power Boothe, my work was more figurative, but he was never impressed by the critiques; instead, he always encouraged me to consider abstraction. So, I started creating my work reacting to music; as a drummer, I used my brushes and drummed paint onto the surfaces – which felt akin to a Cagian concept.

Boothe saw something in this work that initiated a new arena for me. He became a guiding mentor, and I spent much of my free time with him. Boothe encourages artists to allow chance into the work. His best advice to our class was, “The work is where you know you can keep one foot in your comfort zone, but your other foot needs to be outside.” When I graduated college, he hired me as a studio assistant. I learned so much from him.

I also worked with Stephen Maine, and then at the ICEHOUSE Project Space, I met Kathleen Kucka, who I still work with at Furnace Art on Paper. So, it’s been a phenomenal learning curve engaging in other artists’ studios. I’m like a little sponge.

Your early works were just twofold; how has the work progressed from a simple fold to this complex shape?

I wanted more intention with those folds and needed to let go more, but it wasn’t giving the same essence as that initial crumpled-up canvas pile. I could not figure out how to keep the canvas in its form. My studio was above my dad’s workshop at that time – he was a boat builder who used fabric and epoxy resin to build boats. Realizing you repair a boat with hardened fabric, a light bulb went off, and I knew how to retain the shape.

It’s been a learning process ever since. This work is continually new and exciting; I foresee always staying energized. There are still many unexplored paths. I always wonder what shape the final work will be. The surface is a hardened solid, so you have to make it fit on the new stretcher with all the weird bits of canvas; it’s not until the very end, when stretching these pieces, that I get to fuss with composition, deciding how much raw canvas is exposed or where I want it to be. With the sculpting, I’m in a flow state. When I started making this work, I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe it, and it took a long time before I felt comfortable expressing it.

Yes, I love how they flow over the edges. This process relates to disruption. How big do these pieces get?

The most significant piece I’ve ever made is a seven foot by five foot commission. Many are around five feet tall. It is complex to shape a large piece even with my broomstick arms extensions. I’ll slide them under, which gives me the initial fold; this is the hardest one because everything is based on that. Canvas has a memory; once you’ve made a fold, it remembers each movement and will react differently to each action. If I overwork a piece, it can get too messy, or if I wait too long to mold a piece and the resin touches itself, there is no coming apart. I’ve used a hammer on some of them, and the surface is so strong.

They don’t look hard. Instead, they look relatively soft; it is so deceptive. These sculpted works also feel ceramic, a surface that’s been fired. The edge hovers over the walls, casting shadows. You see a hint of a fold, and your eyes are drawn to what’s underneath, as well as the imperfections and undulating form. Can you talk about why the work is monochromatic?

One of the first pieces I sculpted was an abstract painting. I covered and crumpled it, but it was too busy visually, giving me a headache, so I’ve toned the work down. I have worked with a few stripes and checkerboard patterns, but I prefer monochromatic pieces. The color play with light gives me every range from light to dark in one color: the shade shifts, and you move around as the light changes. I use house paints found at the local transfer station or hardware shops, where they sometimes have unwanted paint, which I can recycle and reuse.

It also allows chance to play a role in what you find; however, are you pulled toward a specific range of colors? Do your colors come from a place? Are they seasonal?

I never really used to like yellow, but recently, I started falling in love with it. In doing this work, I’ve developed a much deeper connection to color. Generally, I don’t enjoy electric colors, so my palette does change with the season. But in many instances, I’m governed by what is found, except I go for a matte finish because it grabs the resin better. I am reusing and repurposing, so this work lends itself to the concept of waste.

How often are you able to work in your studio?

I prefer to work early in the morning as I need the whole day to sculpt a piece for the setting time. I still have a full-time job, working for Sandra Boynton and at Furnace Art on Paper Gallery, so I get in here as often as possible. My young children are also art makers, constantly drawing, painting, and making. As a kid, I was allowed to draw on my walls; my bedroom was covered by the worst drawings you’ve ever seen, but it was terrific to have that freedom, which I encourage.

Fantastic. I photographed many of my children’s artwork and made them into photo books as an archive for them. It’s like a diary in time that takes you back to that exact moment.

Yes, my parents and grandparents had photo albums everywhere. Today, we don’t make photo albums anymore because all of our photos are on our phones, but the tangibility of holding a photograph is much more powerful than seeing it on a screen.

What motivates your practice?

I have always needed to be creative; if I haven’t made anything for a while, I feel some pent-up frustration. So, it’s a release of emotions; I’m not great at expressing emotions verbally. However, this work allows me to work them through physically. I’m releasing feelings of curiosity and happiness, or I can feel pure frustration or anger. This work is me letting go.

Sometimes, I come into a piece, and I have an idea. I have a composition, giving all the intention I can to work, but it’s just such an unruly material that it never ends the way I pictured it, so I try not to overwork a piece. One of the pieces I made for my show at Five Points was fully sculpted, and I loved how it looked. When I measured it, the measuring tape touched the surface, which was still wet. I couldn’t get the tape off – it was stuck! That piece had a Duchamp feel.

Do you have a dream project?

I would love to make a monster of a piece. If I can acquire the space and the extra collaboration, I want to make something like a 20-foot piece – something huge that can’t get through the door and takes up an entire wall. It would need a large truck for shipping, but it would be amazing to have that opportunity.

Ha ha! It needs lorries. At art school, we were advised to make work that would fit in a London taxi, as shipping was so expensive. So, what advice would you give an artist today?

If I’ve learned anything, it’s to be open to experiences. If somebody approaches you with a job or some random opportunity, say yes if you have the time. That’s such a positive influence, opening up your practice to chance.

If you could beg, borrow, or steal one piece of work in the world, what would you live with?

Van Gogh’s work fascinates to me. He created as a troubled artist: he was cold in his garret, I would love any of his landscapes. There is also a painting at the Wadsworth Athenaeum that might be my favorite: The Nocturnal Scene, 1887, by French artist Louis Anquet. It blows me away each time I see it. It is a simple scene of everyday life, which can be overlooked at times.

So those half-empty cans of paint left abandoned at the transfer station may have a new lease on life, dancing on the surfaces Clarke sculpts, to be shown or commissioned for a brighter future. One person’s trash is another person’s treasure. Clarke has shown at Five Points Gallery in Torrington and Fort Street Studio in Manhattan with Armature Projects, and his work is often commissioned. His work is best seen in person as the pieces change with each angle, dancing light shifts across the undulating surfaces. Clarke will have work at The Morrison Gallery, Kent, CT, in January 2025 keep an eye out for the show.

To learn more: Instagram: @jclarke_art. Email: jvclarkeart@gmail.com. Gallery: armatureprojects.com and Fort Street Studio Morrison Gallery show in Kent in January: morrisongallery.com.