Lichen

Abby Neale

Interview by L. Valena

Can you tell me what you responded to?

I responded to a piece of electronic music. I don’t really have a good vocabulary for how electronic music is made, but what I noticed was kind of this idea of a rhythmic element that was also kind of building and growing. As I listened to it, I got the sense of a structure that was under the surface— couldn’t quite see or feel it. And also this idea of accumulation.

Where did you go from there?

I was thinking about my fascination with fungus, mushrooms and lichens. I’ve been kind of obsessing over them for a while. I was also using this project as an opportunity to use some pieces I’ve been accumulating from collections that I’ve had. I have my cyanotype fabric that I made two years ago. I have this upholstery trim and lace collection, so I thought about that element of accumulation, and then also about this idea of a repeated form building onto itself to create something. And also the idea of rhythm in a visual format.

I want to hear more about these collections. Is that a part of your life that you’d like to talk about?

Yes! My undergrad was in sculpture, and I was very into collecting things like fiber and rope, things like that. I was also a kids camp teacher, and loved bringing those worlds together— bringing pony beads and tie dye into the sculpture studio. At the time that felt very feminist. I was around a lot of people who were making work with steel, wood and cement. I think everyone in the Bennington sculpture studio tried cement at one point, and I wanted to use things that seemed slightly flimsy. It was an emerging idea about accessibility in materials that I was interested in. Also, my mother is a quilter, and a collector of fiber materials too. She loves ephemera. She’s gone to thrift stores and come home with half-finished quilts and just finished them. It’s kind of amazing. I thought it was kind of dorky when I was younger, but I realize that these quilts are sometimes like 50 years old.

There’s something so amazing about that- finishing an unfinished quilt. The idea that the quilt deserves a life. They take so much work, that it makes sense that people abandon them sometimes, but for your mom to come along and give them a home.

Yeah, it’s pretty cool. So I kind of drew on that. I also have the tendency to buy the tiniest measurement of fabric or trim that I can, because it’s beautiful and I want it, but then I don’t know what to do with it. So I end up with experiments. Under this is cyanotype fabric. I was doing that as a lesson that I was teaching with kids a couple of summers ago, so it was more about the process. I collected this fringe because I was listening to a lot of Orville Peck music- he’s a queer country singer who wears a lot of fringe. I’ve been collecting for a while, and fascinated by lichen and mosses and things like that for a while- especially the forms. And this was the perfect opportunity to have these things come together.

Have you ever been to one of the big trims stores in New York City?

Yes!

Oh man. The first time I went into one of those places, I thought I was going to have a seizure.

And then you look at some of the stuff, and it’s $100 a yard. Next to the one that’s like $6 a yard. It’s overwhelming in a way that’s very fun —I think that’s part of the experience.

This piece is a bit of a departure from my usual practice. Thematically, my work is generally about the intersection of ecology, social justice and history. But I tend to work a lot faster, and do zines and printmaking— making multiples. It was fun and different to go back to fiber sculpture.

Cool! Has it been a while since you’ve worked on something like that?

Yeah. Other parts of this series were half finished for like a year and a half. You know that pandemic thing, right? The pace of my practice was a lot different before, because I had a lot of art fairs and shows that I had to make prints and zines for. The pace of what I was doing didn’t really welcome that slow motion, nit-picky, spending-a-lot-of-time on one piece thing. Ironically, this project is about moss.

Why is it ironic? Because moss is slow-growing?

I guess it’s not ironic, but it is poetic.

Slow growing, but on a tight deadline.

Yeah, I don’t know how that worked.

What about moss? Tell me more about your fungus/moss obsession.

Robin Wall Kimmerer, who’s famous for writing Braiding Sweetgrass, also wrote a piece about moss and fungus. She’s an indiginous environmentalist who brings together her indiginous creation myths, her tribe’s community, and their ideas around ecology and tradition, with botany, biology and ecology, which she teaches at a university level. And what I love about moss and fungus, is that it’s this interconnected network. It’s all about relationships. And slow-moving growth that you don’t always see. And also, if you cut it in half, it’s resilience is through it’s connections.

Now that you’ve been through this, do you have any advice for someone else approaching this project for the first time?

I would say to use more of the intuitive side of your brain, and less the logical.

Call Number: Y45MU | Y46VA.neaLi

Abby Neale is an artist and educator based in Boston Massachusetts. She’s a teacher at Boston Public Schools. She creates zines, community arts, and installation as Lavender Menace Press. Her work offers people a micro liberation that inspires resilience in people committed to social justice. Thematically, her work links nature, history, and activism.