“I enjoy working with books simply because books are a tangible, personal
medium, each with its own pre-existing personality and story to which I apply
my own voice and vision. With each piece I hope to forge a relationship of
word, image, memories, and ideas by chiseling my narrative out from the catalyst
of someone else’s words. My end goal is that my story might resonate
with viewers and change them or at least how they see things.”
“I usually begin with a book which I feel some sort of connection with,
either to its subject matter, imagery or something as simple as the colors used
in it. I then deconstruct the book as necessary, and rebuild it with other found
media to suit the piece. Sometimes I’ll see a an aspect of the book that
reminds me of something or someone, and I’ll riff off of my associations
and use materials reminiscent of them. In the case of ‘Sugar on Snow’, the blue
color of the cover reminded me of my mother (a seamstress) and a certain sweater
she used to wear of the same color. As a result, I knew I wanted to use materials
that had something to do with planning and the alteration of plans, which led
to the choice of sewing patterns, recipes and topographical maps as materials.”
“I began making art books after taking a series of studio classes with
artist Lisa Kokin, whose work I’ve followed and admired for many years
now. In a lot of my current work I wanted to tackle the themes of subtraction
and abstraction, often seen in my repeated use of negative space to imply the
emptiness and voids in life that sometimes occur after the loss of someone or
something. Most of the pieces I create are autobiographical in nature and so
I often choose symbolic forms to represent people or themes from my life, forms
which are often repeated in more than one of my pieces. Ultimately, I’m
challenging myself to tell my own story and find my own voice while learning
to work with whatever I find and make it my own.”
“I enjoy working with books simply because books are a tangible, personal medium,
each with its own pre-existing personality and story to which I apply my own
voice and vision. With each piece I hope to forge a relationship of word, image,
memories, and ideas by chiseling my narrative out from the catalyst of someone
else’s words. My end goal is that my story might resonate with viewers
and change them or at least how they see things.”
“
I usually begin with a book which I feel some sort of connection with, either
to its subject matter, imagery or something as simple as the colors used in it.
I then deconstruct the book as necessary, and rebuild it with other found media
to suit the piece. Sometimes I’ll see a an aspect of the book that reminds
me of something or someone, and I’ll riff off of my associations and use
materials reminiscent of them. In the case of Sugar on Snow, the blue color of
the cover reminded me of my mother (a seamstress) and a certain sweater she used
to wear of the same color. As a result, I knew I wanted to use materials that
had something to do with planning and the alteration of plans, which led to the
choice of sewing patterns, recipes and topographical maps as materials.”
“I began making art books after taking a series of studio classes with artist
Lisa Kokin, whose work I’ve followed and admired for many years now. In
a lot of my current work I wanted to tackle the themes of subtraction and abstraction,
often seen in my repeated use of negative space to imply the emptiness and voids
in life that sometimes occur after the loss of someone or something. Most of
the pieces I create are autobiographical in nature and so I often choose symbolic
forms to represent people or themes from my life, forms which are often repeated
in more than one of my pieces. Ultimately, I’m
challenging myself to tell my own story and find my own voice while learning
to work with whatever I find and make it my own.”
“Sugar on Snow is the title of a book I picked up because of its unique blue-colored
cover even though the content inside didn’t apply to me. My mom used to
wear a sweater of a similar blue color. I took the book apart and started thinking
about what I was doing, and what I was about to do: I was taking apart a story
that has its beginning, middle and end and I was about to reconstruct it to fit
my needs and my vision. When I was creating this piece, I was fresh out of a
relationship and found myself similarly staring at what I would have to do to
rebuild my own life, find my own voice.
Sitting around in Lisa Kokin’s studio where I was taking a book alteration
workshop, I rummaged through her boxes of materials for students and I found
maps and sewing patterns and fabric—items that mean something to me in
the same way that the book as an unalterable object means something to me: They
all represent some form of directive on what to be or how to do something.”
“My mom was a seamstress, so I grew up in the big cardboard boxes that held piecework
in one of the many sewing factories once dotting Chinatown’s Commercial
Street (back when its street signs were misspelled with three M’s before
some kid caught it). I’d watch quietly from my box as my mom toiled away,
assembling cuffs and collars for shirts, and I’d also watch the boss lady
expertly cut thick stacks of fabric with a giant cutting machine tracing off
of a pattern. At home my mom would buy the commercial patterns from Butterick
or McCall’s and I’d watch as she opened the flimsy beige sheets of
preprinted tissue and spread them across her fabric. She’d inevitably drape
the cut-out tissues pieces on her body and alter the tissue over and over again
until she made the pattern in fabric. If she liked the fit, she’d then
immortalize this perfect pattern on cardstock—a snapshot of her body at
that moment in time. From this I learned that no matter what guidelines we’re
given, we still have to tailor them so that they still fit us, that we must make
it so that the rules we impose upon ourselves are wearable.”
“Additionally, the materiality of the tissue paper reminded me very much of the
Chinese calligraphy books I used in Chinese school—they consisted of near-transparent
paper sleeves, and you’d slip a calligraphy template into the sleeve and
then trace over the Chinese characters with a calligraphy brush dipped in ink.
I learned to write Chinese before English, so this rote form of practicing to
be perfect has always stuck with me. (Perhaps because I was always so bad at
it?)
Maps always make me nostalgic for architecture school, where many hours were
spent cutting out topographical models from big sheets of chipboard to replicate
the slope of project sites. Maps also bring to mind learning how to navigate
vast spaces, something which I’m doing more now because I’ve only
recently begun bicycling and learning how to drive. It’s seriously revolutionized
how I see the world, my perspective’s gone from pedestrian and detail-oriented
view to omniscient observer’s vantage every time I plan a trip. In many
ways, when you’re trying to figure out the next step in your life, that’s
what you need to do... pull back, survey the lay of the land, and figure out
your path.”
“The final materials I use in my book—pencil, glue, fabric and tape—connote
potential and change. Endless potential has at many points in my life stricken
me with the same fear as one would get with a blank piece of paper. The only
remedy I’ve found to this fear is to get over it and to be willing to make
mistakes. Sometimes the best drawings come from layers of erasure that add incredible
richness and texture to a piece.”
“Throughout the book you’ll see elements from one page bleed through
to the next, or cut out altogether only to reappear on elsewhere in the book.
Like in life, the patterns which affect you and impact you at one time will continue
to affect you at different points in your life. When I started cutting away at
the pages, I was shocked that I, a designer by trade, was defacing a book and
ruining the author and illustrator’s narrative, but slowly I realized that
in doing so I would be creating my own narrative and vision in its place. Books
are a linear progression and we walk through it like we live life... it’s
always better when the steps you are walking through are a course you chart for
yourself.”
FINDING
MY OWN VOICE ,
an Interview with Jenny Eng. By Adriana de Barros
Scene 360: Your mother passed
away when you were young; she is the
muse for “Sugar
on Snow”. Was making this art series
a therapeutic experience for you?
Jenny Eng: Yes, it actually was therapeutic.
I don’t know that I want to get into
the whole story behind this, but suffice
it to say that after my parents passed
away, I was in mourning for a long, long
time (years) and am finally really getting
over their loss.
In my late 20’s I basically had
to drop work and school to care for my
parents when they both fell ill at the
same time for different reasons: My father
had an illness that required multiple intensive
treatments, while my mom required major
surgery. Both of them required constant
care and supervision for a while and my
family and I felt I’d be their best
advocate and caretaker. Despite all the
efforts we put into seeing my dad well,
he died within months of diagnosis, probably
more from the treatments than the original
illness. I was in shock, but not completely
surprised by his demise considering the
toll the treatments were taking on him.
While I was extremely sad, I felt I still
had my mom at least, and she was a rock.
When I lost my mother a year later, however,
I was devastated as her loss meant I was
at that point completely parentless and
alone. Lost.
When they died I felt suddenly bereft
of the sky and the stars. Even if they
were obscured behind the cloud of some
argument we were having, I knew were there
for me and loved me and that we just disagreed
on the best way to solve something. Like
the stars and the sky, I took for granted
that they’d always be here. And like
the stars, when I was lost, I’d look
to them to guide me towards doing the right
thing in life. Although I didn’t
always follow their lead (as excellent
as they were, they were still very old-fashioned),
I often charted my own path relative to
theirs, so whether by emulation or by rebellion,
who I am today is certainly a reaction
to their influence.
For many years the pain of their loss
and especially the guilt I felt for not
doing even more than I’d done ate
at me. It was genuinely hard on those around
me, especially my partner at the time,
who is an amazing person that took great
care of me despite my despondency. It took
a long time to get to a point where I was
functional again and to get back into the
flow of life.
When there’s a loss in your life,
it brings up memories of other losses in
your life. Kind of like how getting one
new scrape suddenly makes all your existing
scabs itchy. When I made this book I was
dealing with a recent breakup, and it really
echoed through many layers of losses in
my life. When I saw the cover’s color,
I just knew I’d have to make the
piece about finding myself through the
losses.
Collages “Projecting” and “SOS”
from art series Sugar
on Snow by Jenny Eng
Do you think it is necessary
to experience challenging situations
in life, from relationships to losing
a family member or friend—to
begin to find awareness, self-growth,
change, and a greater value of life?
Does negative need to exist to encounter
positive?
Dude, what is up with all of these heavy
questions, Scene 360? Can’t we talk
about puppies or flowers instead? (:
In all honesty, I don’t think it’s
necessary to personally experience challenging
situations in order to grow as a person
in the ways you’d mentioned above,
but I think it does add depth to a person’s
character to go through and survive hardships
for sure. No one needs to get 3rd degree
burns to know that fire is hot and that
they can’t touch it without consequence.
However, I think going through experiences
and having the awareness of other’s
situations and a touch of empathy helps
to open up the way you see the world and
to understand your own place in it. Negative
does not need to exist before we encounter
positive, though after encountering negative,
I think it certainly makes us appreciate
positive more. Did that make any sense?
I felt like I just channeled Yoda, jeez.
Your artwork allows
you to express and communicate your emotions
and thoughts. It mirrors what you see
in life as well as give hints as to who
you are. What did you learn about yourself
that you didn’t
know before making “Sugar on Snow”?
I don’t think I knew I was capable
of thinking on my feet so quickly until
I worked on this project. The bulk of the
concept for the artwork came together in
the first hour of a six-hour workshop I
was taking with artist Lisa Kokin, and
the rest of it (mostly the hand-carved
topography on the front cover) I did later
on my own.
“Soul
Topography”
by Jenny Eng
You’ve defined your art
theme as: “subtraction and abstraction,
evidenced in my common use of negative
space to imply the emptiness and voids
in life that sometimes occur after the
loss of someone or something.” Can
you explain more about negative space?
How did you visually compose it?
Wikipedia defines negative space as:
In art, generally, negative space is
the space around and between the subject(s)
of an image. Negative space may be most
evident when the space around a subject,
and not the subject itself, forms an
interesting or artistically relevant
shape, and such space is occasionally
used to artistic effect as the "real" subject
of an image. The use of negative space
is a key element of artistic composition.
[1]
In Sugar on Snow, very often I cut a main
character out of the picture, leaving a
void, a visual hole in the page such that
what should’ve been the subject on
the page is now the negative space, and
what was the negative space now has to
work harder as it has become the de facto
subject on the page. (See “soul topography” or “projecting” to
see what I mean.)
You talk about your preference
of books, these so called “tangible
objects!” Do you think that the
new generation of artists will disregard
books and traditional art mediums?
No, I don’t think books will ever
become obsolete. There is something so
inherently perfect about the book—the
way it fits into the hand, its heft (as
if the words contained inside had their
own weight) and how its form has been honed
over the years to a known standard—that
I just think it will always remain an object
in our visual vernacular. I’m sure
traditional painters freaked out with the
introduction of photography (a change in
technology, “painting with light”)
over a century ago, and sharply inhaled
at Impressionism and Cubism (a radical
change in artistic style), and yet here
we are in the 22nd century and oil painting
still enjoys the same respect and popularity
it has always had despite the rise of other
media.
Sure, there are far more efficient and
less antiquated ways of expressing oneself,
but oil paintings have a special lustrousness.
And so with a book and other traditional
media—they each have their own unique
qualities that make them irreplaceable.
I guess what I’m saying is that just
because there’s a shift in technology
does not mean that people will abandon
their old methods of expressing themselves.
Most artists and designers choose the method
and medium that is right for their message.
“Time Table Transmission” and
“Poultry Timetable” by Jenny Eng
5 Things you Hate and Love about
the Technology era.
I HATE:
When technology fails and I don’t
know how to fix it. I hate when my computer
crashes.
Obsoletion of new technology within
months of its introduction.
Phishers ‘n’ scammers,
and spammers who think I need Viagra.
I get too much email in a day to be bothered
with filtering this junk.
The fact that people can reach me
24/7—this is the downside of having
multiple channels for communication.
Both the persistence and fragility
of electronic data.
I LOVE:
The popcorn button on my microwave.
Genius.
The convenience of a cell phone/camera/PDA/mp3
player smaller than the size of most
chocolate bars.
Flash drives. It’s amazing what
you can fit onto something the size of
suppository nowadays! Man, I still remember
segmenting files across multiple floppy
drives, so sometimes I trip out over
this. Kids these days seriously don’t
know how good they have it.
Multiple ways for keeping in touch
with people—from instant messenger/VOIP
apps and blogs, to social networking
sites and cell phones, technology has
allowed us many more ways to share ourselves
with others.
Have you considered sharing your
artwork with the author of this book?
Ha, what a fine question! I
think I will and I’ll try to have
no expectations either way. On one hand,
I imagine the artist and writer might
be shocked that I defaced their work
of art by deconstructing and recontextualizing
it to fit my narrative. They might even
be mad. At the same time, I could imagine
that they might be flattered by someone
being moved enough by their work to literally
build upon it. I guess it is a matter
of perspective.
Spread
pages “Horses” by Jenny Eng
In the original book, the
story has a few characters, one is named
Cammie, a little girl that I see sitting
on a log all by herself, with a woollen
hat, coat, and mitts on hands as she
drinks a cup of sap juice. Do you identify
yourself as Cammie?
Yes, I suppose I do identify with Cammie
a little bit, but I think the fact that
she consistently appears and reappears
throughout the book in both positive (collage)
and negative (cut-out/void) means she represents
more the issues we each wrestle with, themes
that keep on popping up through different
chapters in our lives, so to speak. And
in a sense, what we struggle with helps
to create our emotional boundaries and
is what defines us.
What does the title “Sugar
on Snow” really mean to you?
It does not mean much to me except it
is the title of the children’s book
I transformed into my own art book. I’d
never even heard of such a thing as sugar-on-snow
until I worked on this piece, and even
then I didn’t read the story until
I was carving out the pages. I’ve
since learned that sugar-on-snow is a uniquely
New England tradition/food in the U.S.
where people tap maple trees for syrup
in the wintertime, cook up the syrup to
a certain temperature and then pour it
on snow so that it freezes, forming candy.
However, because it cools so quickly, it
doesn’t crystallize but is instead
a chewy treat that’s served with
sour pickles and doughnuts.
When I first read the title and hadn’t
yet learned what it meant, I’d imagined
sugar crystals on freshly fallen snow crystals
instead, and that seemed a pretty image.
The artwork was inspired from the
original book, Sugar on Snow,
(1964) by Nancy Dingman Watson,
Illustrations by Aldren A. Watson, The
Viking Press, Inc., New York,
NY.
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