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About this series
The work of fine art photographer Diane Meyer has long been defined by explorations into the physical, social and psychological qualities that characterize place. Just as different locations have different defining features, her work frequently changes genres and mediums in accordance with the conceptual framework in which the artist is working.
The Berlin series depicts the locations where the Berlin Wall formerly stood. Meyer spent days traveling the wall's 100-mile shadow through woodlands, suburban neighborhoods and historic sites. The result is a completed series of 43 hand-sewn photographs. Sections of the photographs have been obscured by pixelated cross-stitch embroidery sewn directly into the photograph. The embroidery is made to resemble pixels and borrows the visual language of digital imaging in an analog, tactile process.
Interview
Your work is driven by experimentation and as such can you give an overview on your projects and materials you used?
As mentioned in the introduction, while I primarily have always worked in photography, much of my work deals with explorations into the physical, social and psychological qualities that characterize place and often my approach to the project or materials used has varied in accordance to the underlying concept. For example, I created a large-scale installation about the gap between the mythology of the American West and the geographic West. This project incorporated several photography projects but also included a life size log cabin made entirely of Lincoln Logs, a 16mm film installation, and a collection of modified thrift store paintings. I did a project at the Society for Contemporary Photography in Kansas City about the relationship of the Midwest and travel. For this project consisted of a series of photographs of sculptural installations created each day in the sleeper car of a cross country train, a separate sculptural piece in which model trains ran through various landscape paintings and a selection of tiny photographs printed on pennies that had been elongated after being placed on train tracks. I also worked on a project exploring the history of Jamaica, Queens which consisted of an interactive sculptural installation of a trading post and another project created during a residency in the Woolworth Building that consisted of an architectural structure made from foam core.
It wasn’t until 2011 that I first started incorporating embroidery into my photographs. My mother did a lot of embroidery- particularly cross-stitch- and I remember that when I was little, she would let me stay up late and watch TV with her on weekends and we would sew. It was always something I liked doing, but I always saw it as something completely separate from my art practice until I started working with photography and embroidery.
Initially, I was interested in combining a traditional, analogue process with the visual language of digital imaging. Through experimentation with the process, I realized I could match the colors in the photograph and create the effect of pixelization. A long time ago, I was working on a series of landscapes using small ½ inch squares of carpet remnants which also created a pixelated effect. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I think the embroidered photographs came from my original experiments using carpet remnants.
Right before I started sewing into photographs, I had worked on large scale portraiture and oral history project of 100 Los Angeles residents living in the city without a car–inspired by my own decision at the time to get rid of my car in a city dominated by the freeway–that was shot on film and was printed completely digitally. I felt a bit disconnected to the work since all the editing was screen based, and I wanted to work in a more tactile way and return to the notion of the photograph as an object connected to the physical world as opposed to merely pixels on a screen that could be carefully controlled. Ironically, this also made NFTs appealing to me as I thought it could be interesting for the work to go full circle from a physical object to a digital one.
Talking about experimentation, when was the moment you decided to use handmade embroidery for the Berlin series?
I did an artist residency in Berlin and, while I hadn’t intended to make work about the Wall, I was immediately drawn to the changing landscape of the city. Specifically, I was interested in the ways in which the wall still felt very present even though it was no longer physically there.
I was thirteen when The Wall came down and have a vivid memory of watching it on TV at the time. And while I knew that it divided East and West Germany and that it’s fall represented the end of the Cold War, I didn’t fully realize the severity or scale of it until I spent time in the city. I hadn’t realized how big the Wall was and how deep it extended into the suburbs and forests–or even that it was a ring that completely isolated West Berlin from the rest of West Germany. I also became very interested in trying to find subtle clues that remained in the landscape even when the Wall was no longer there–small patches of trees that were smaller than others nearby, open plots of land, new construction, architectural discrepancies in some of the suburban neighborhoods, old street lamps facing the wrong way, etc. Following the path of the wall also provided me with an opportunity to get out of the city center and explore parts of the city and surrounding areas I would not have otherwise gone.
At the time of the residency, I had been working on a series of personal family photographs, entitled Time Spent That Might Otherwise Be Forgotten, which incorporated embroidery and photography. With this project, I was interested in the interconnectedness of photographs and memory and also how family photo albums (and now social media feeds) become curated versions of one’s life which often diverges quite dramatically from reality. Because our memories are so tightly connected to photographs, I started thinking about the ways in which photographs now are mainly experienced through screens rather than physical prints or family albums. And how, in this new digital age, photos are so much more plentiful but also more fragile–subject to file corruption, broken hard drives, lost phones, the inability to find images on computers filled with millions of files, images and documents.
In this project, the embroidery takes the form of digital pixilation, making a connection to the human brain trying to retrieve information and digital storage–kind of equating memory loss with file corruption. When starting the project, I was thinking about how images now are taken largely on cell phones and uploaded to be distributed on social media sites. But these images are rarely printed out and therefore usually don’t exist as printed objects and much more prone to be forgotten.
My intention for the residency in Berlin was to continue this project, but I love exploring cities and found myself just wanting to walk through the city as much as possible which is when I started to become really interested in following the path of the Wall. I realized that some of the themes I was working around in the series of family photographs could also be applied to things I was thinking about the Wall but in terms of collective memory and history.
Can you tell more about the concept of the series and the meaning of the embroidered sections?
In the Berlin series, the wall is put back into the landscape through the embroidery. I feel the embroidery both conceals and reveals simultaneously. In this series as well, the embroidery appears as pixelization. On the one hand, this pixelization creates an almost translucent effect and references the idea of the Wall as being a ghost or trace in the landscape–something no longer there but is a weight on history and memory. Because the embroidery takes the form of pixelization, the viewer is both blocked from entering the image, but there is also the perception of being able to see through the wall to the landscape behind.
The embroidery is raised off the surface of the image and literally blocks the viewer from entering the picture plane. I tried to emphasize this in many images by placing the embroidery at the vanishing point to block the viewer’s eyes from moving through the image normally. When seeing the work in person, this effect is more pronounced as the embroidery is raised off the surface of the print and feels more three dimensional.
Optically, I was also interested in the physical quality of the embroidery–that it is raised just slightly above the surface of the image which emphasizes the unnatural boundaries created by the wall itself and literally becomes a barrier to the rest of the image. The curator Claudia Bohn Spector wrote of the work that the “stitching pierces the photograph as it heals and conceals the historic fabric to which it alludes, providing a poignant contrast to the unyielding brutality of the Wall itself and reminding us of both photography’s and history’s considerable artifice.” While this wasn’t something I consciously was thinking about, I really appreciated this interpretation of the embroidery as a metaphor for healing.
In many cases, the embroidery mimics the exact scale and location of the former Wall. In some locations, such as Mauer Park or the East Side Gallery, there are sections of the Wall that still exist and the pixelization appears colorful as it reflects the pixelated graffiti on the remaining portions of the wall. In some images, such as Kieler Strasse or Sacrower Heilandskirche, rather than recreating the wall in the exact scale and detail, I decided to create a thin band of stitching to interrupt the scene. I mainly chose to so this to prevent the series from feeling repetitive, and to make the presence of the stitching act as a barrier into the photograph in a metaphorical and less literal way. In some images, the embroidery takes on more of a pattern effect in the image. In Forest, Hohen Neuendorf, for example, the embroidery takes on the effect of barbed wire as many of the borders in forested areas were created through fencing rather than the usual concrete wall. In some images, such as Engeldamm or Former Guard Tower, Deutsche Waldjugend Nature Conservancy, I was referencing some embroidery patterns I found in a book about German needlepoint.
I also wanted to give the project more context by including sites related to the DDR or the history that ultimately led to the DDR which prompted me to include such things as the interior of Stasi offices, offices in Hohenschoenhausen, Spree Park, an abandoned East German amusement park (which was actually burned down by Arson a few years after I took the photographs), and Templehof Airport. In these images, since it wasn’t a place that had been crossed by the Wall, I chose to just break down parts of the image into pixelization, to make a connection between file corruption and forgetting.
Did the porous nature of human memory play a role in creating this body of work?
I started thinking about the idea that all photographs of cities are always about memory–cities are constantly changing, and photograph of cities become immediate historical records tied to a particular moment in time. But I also started thinking about how, especially in a city like Berlin, the same space holds many different memories for different people. It seemed strange very vibrant streets, now filled with cafés and restaurants, were, relatively recently, divided by the Wall. I thought about how many newcomers to the city may not even realize this, while older residents might not be able to walk on the street without seeing the Wall in their minds or might even avoid particular streets that had been divided by the wall. I also found it very strange how there was a strong sense of Ostalgie (nostalgia for the east), seemingly targeted to young newcomers to the city in the form of DDR themed bars, hipsters shopping at thrift stores for DDR clothing, or stores selling phones and other home décor in drab orange and brown East German colors. There seemed to be this embrace of the Wall and East Germany as a sort of retro, aesthetic thing without any acknowledgment of the brutality and injustice behind the wall which felt very strange and at odds with the memories of those who had lived in a divided Berlin.
When I was in Berlin, I found it very poignant that, in addition to the many modern monuments and memorials to the victims of WWII and the Berlin Wall, actual historic remnants of the city’s painful past were intentionally left in place and not restored as a means as serving as a warning to future generations not the repeat the past. Many building facades remain punctured from WWII bullets and severely damaged buildings have been left in place–including the standing façade of Anhalter Bahnhof, the ruined shell of a 13th Century church, Franziskaner-Klosterkirche, and the broken spire of Kaiser Wilhem Memorial Church. While much of the Wall has been torn down, fragments remain scattered through the city and outlying suburbs, a few guard towers remain in place, and street lamps from the time of the Wall facing the wrong direction can be found.
When editing the images, I also wanted to show as wide a range of places possible that had been divided by the Wall–including the Forests, popular landmarks outside of the city center like Glienicke Bridge or Sacrower Heilandskirche, and neighborhoods like Klein Glienicke–a small village that, because of its small and unusual horseshoe shape made it one of the most heavily guarded places along the wall path–Easterners and Westerners lived so close together, they could see inside each others homes, but were not allowed to speak to one another. I was especially interested in how smaller neighborhoods in the suburbs were impacted by the Wall–particularly as I had previously only thought of it in terms of the impact to the city center. There were other things I found that unintententionally seemed to reference the Wall. For example, a tree house in the yard of a home in the suburbs that had been along the wall path that visually had a striking resemblance to the former guard towers or houses formerly blocked off by the Wall or yards in which residents seemingly barricaded themselves behind large hedges.
By having the embroidery take the form of pixelization, I was again trying to make a connection between file corruption and forgetting while thinking of collective memory. In some ways as well, there are two components of the image–the photograph and the embroidery and the embroidery has a dual role in both concealing the photograph while simultaneously revealing the wall. These two different perspectives also made me think of how historical events in the present moment will be remembered in the future given the very divergent narratives presented by particular media sources or the fact that many people get news from unreliable sources like Facebook. And the division that surrounds memory and what people see or remember.
Can you talk about what brought you into the world of NFTs?
It wasn’t until 2022 that I started thinking about trying to enter the NFT space. At first, when reading about them online, it felt a little daunting to figure out how to buy crypto and set up a digital wallet, etc. But, in actuality, it turned out that this was really easy–basically just downloading and setting up a few apps which was very fast. Had I realized how easy getting set up actually is, I would have likely entered the NFT space sooner.
There were a few things that appealed to me about NFTs. My work is often produced in an analogue process and is very physical and tactile, but uses the visual language of digital imaging. I generally shoot my work on film which is then scanned into a digital file and printed and embroidered. As the work transform from physical film to a digital file to a physical object, I liked the idea of this cycle continuing and the work returning to the digital realm.
The community surrounding NFTs also very much appealed to me. Although I really like seeing work on Instagram and using it as a tool to learn about new artists, the NFT community mainly exists on Twitter which allows for more meaningful discussions and community building. I feel like I’ve met so many great people and new friends through the NFT community. As it is a burgeoning space, everyone seems very generous about helping newcomers to the space with advice and suggestions.
Additionally, I was interested in the idea of the relative newness of the space and the new potentials and possibilities of displaying and exhibiting work in a virtual space or through screens. And, I also like the way in which NFTs can empower artists through the permanent commissions on secondary sales.
Who are some of the inspirations that fuel your work?
This is always such a hard question as there are so many artists whose work I admire and different artists have been important to me at different times. I guess since it is so hard to choose one artist, I will mention an artist from a show that I just recently saw and has recently been on my mind–Gian Maria Tosatti’s sprawling and immersive installation in the Italian Pavillion at the Venice Biennale. In the installation, one walks through several large rooms of what appear to be abandoned factory floors, sewing machines, and a worker’s dormitory before ending in a space of total darkness surrounded by water and fireflies. I really loved the huge sense of scale, the realism of all the details in the installation, and the haunting sense of quiet going from room to room. I really appreciated how such a strong sense of narrative was created just through the spaces themselves and it left me with a lot of questions to think about as I tried to piece together various aspects of the installation. As I explored the rooms, I really felt transported me to another place making It jarring to exit the installation.
I remember being in college and seeing an exhibition by Elaine Reichek at MoMA which was very inspiring to me. Although it was not photographically based, it was the first time I saw the use of embroidery in contemporary art. While embroidery was something that I had always enjoyed, I hadn’t really considered it as a medium that could be used in the context. I am very inspired by textile design in general. I love going to decorative arts museums and looking at wallpaper and carpet design. Other artists who have inspired me, although not visually evident in my work, include Fischli and Weiss, Urs Fischer, Sophie Calle, Maurizio Cattelon, Christian Marclay, Thomas Demand, and Gerhard Richter.
What are you working on now? And where is your photography and art going?
Recently I started working on a new series of hand embroidered photographs taking the city of Venice as subject. I have two images in a collection on Foundation, but these are the only ones I have completed so far. Ultimately, the series will consist of 24 images. In the images, sections of the photographs have disappeared and have been recreated through patterned cross stitch embroidery. At one time, the most prosperous and populated city in Europe, Venice is today a city where tourists outnumber residents and is particularly challenged by rising sea levels and population decline. The embroidery is based on patterns of Venetian lace, once one of the city’s most coveted exports, but now primarily made by machine. The delicacy of lace and the interruption of the image symbolizes the city’s vulnerability to contemporary threats as well as its resilience through time. While the photographs in this series are of Venice and the patterns of Venetian lace are a literal and metaphorical reference to the history of the city, the project intends to serve a more general statement on the changing nature of place.
The embroidered photographs also exist as objects that I exhibit in real life. I also have several ideas for bodies of work that will only exist digitally in the NFT sphere and hope to release them at the beginning of 2023.
Artist Bio
Diane Meyer received a BFA in Photography from New York University, Tisch School of the Arts in 1999 and an MFA in Visual Arts from The University of California, San Diego in 2002. She has been living in Los Angeles since 2005.
Her work has been exhibited in solo exhibitions at the Griffin Museum of Photography, Winchester; the 18th Street Art Center, Santa Monica; AIR Gallery, NYC, The Society for Contemporary Photography, Kansas City; SPARC, South Pasadena, the Granary Contemporary Art Center, Ephraim, Utah; Klompching Gallery, NYC and in a two person show at Pictura Gallery in Bloomington.
Photographer: Diane Meyer
Twitter: @dmmeyerstudio
Instagram: @dianemeyerstudio
Foundation: Diane Meyer
Photos copyright Diane Meyer
DRAWLIGHTS | 1/1 – one post/one photographer, weekly. Off-chain and on-chain. By Peter Nitsch, lens-based artist, a member of Jenny Metaverse and lifetime Member of the Royal Photographic Society of Thailand.