Creativity Q+A with Carolyn Swift
Carolyn Swift, 66, is the visual art version of living [well, making] large. Her collages — a melange of materials, and techniques — can measure as wide as 60″. And across all that surface is a feast of marks, color, texture, raised elements that explore collage beyond its humble cut-and-paste foundations. It has been “a long journey” for Swift, out of an urban life, onto Northern Michigan, and into the “world’s best studio” where she contemplates the sound of the wind, and tries to figure out a way to make it visible with paper, colored pencil, paint and glue.
This interview was conducted in November 2023 by Sarah Bearup-Neal, GAAC Gallery Manager, and edited for clarity.
Pictured: Carolyn Swift
Describe the medium in which you work. What is your work?
I make large-scale works on paper. They are collage and relief. The collage pieces are made from a combination of things: painting, from prints — that would include old prints of mine, and other people’s I know.
Talk about why you make your own materials — as opposed to, for instance, shopping for commercially-produced papers.
It’s about control. When I make these pieces, I’m looking for a particular mark making. If I find some [commercially-produced paper], I’ll buy it and build on it. For example, I use some Japanese papers that have fibers in them, and that has a particular movement to it, which I’ll build on with painting and printing.
Using materials you’ve created allows you to bring a distinctive visual signature to the work.
Yes. I have a good friend who has a printmaking and painting background. She was getting rid of a huge stash of her old prints, which have a very different quality than my own — as far as the color and the layering. A whole different feel to them. It’s fun to explore adding my “signature” to her “signature” and see what comes up from that. I’ve loved that process.
How are you making your prints?
I am using old woodcut boards that I’ve had since the 1980s. When I got out of grad school, and moved to the Detroit area, I was doing a series of large-scale woodcut prints, and I still have all those boards. I print off of sections of those. I’ve enjoyed this. I see threads that have run between then and now, things that I’m intrigued with, or mark making I have been using.
You work in a large format.
Yes. And I’m going to do that as long as I can. The pieces I have been working on for a while now are shaped, not on a rectangular base. When I frame [work] the largest piece is 40” tall by 60” wide.
Why do you work at such a large scale?
I have chosen a large format because the scale creates a particular relationship between the piece and the viewer, different than, say, something small that one could hold in one’s hands, or larger, like a wall-sized piece or installation. I think of the scale as almost 1:1, our size to an object that while not exactly the same size, has a “presence” that feels almost the same. I think it is more apparent in the vertical pieces, as opposed to the horizontal pieces.
And by “shaped” you mean what?
The edge of the piece is not a rectangle. The shapes themselves create the edge of the piece.
What does working in collage allow you to do that you can’t do in other media?
It has opened up a huge world for me, and that world has primarily been being able to experiment without committing. When I make these pieces, I start off on a large piece of paper and I draw a tentative composition. Then I’ll make pattern pieces using transparent paper. I’ll then pull out a printed piece set it on that spot and block it off.
Are you a scissors or X-acto Knife person?
Generally scissors, but it depends. I did a whole piece that was based on the breakup of ice in Grand Traverse Bay — when it used to freeze. They were very intricate pieces cut with an X-acto Knife. But generally, I use scissors or a mat knife.
And, adhesive of choice?
Acrylic gel medium. It’s a tremendous adhesive, and it’s waterproof. The downside of that is because it’s water-based, and the base paper I’m using is unsized printmaking [paper], it will buckle. I’ve solved that by taping my paper to a wooden board. It dries flat.
Did you receive any formal training in visual art?
I have a BFA from Albion College [1980] with a focus on drawing and printmaking. Then I received an MFA in printmaking from Indiana University [1983].
How has your formal training influenced or informed your practice?
There was a foundation of knowledge that I got at the undergrad level, from two professors, regarding formal elements — composition, line, shape. From both of them, there was such an emphasis on nuance. I drew easily. I didn’t have any problem drawing things representationally, but to take it to the next level, and think about the nuances of the relationships — that was the huge one, as well as the passion for art. In my schooling I really learned much, technically (representational drawing skills particularly). What has taken me much longer to learn is how to convey qualities about something or some experience, and that involves nuance. For example, how does one convey the power of a thunderstorm? For me it involves very particular colors, shapes, rhythms, etc that are different from trying to convey, say, the power of a blizzard. Being able to keep searching for the particulars, that is what I learned really well through my schooling in drawing and printmaking.
The graduate world was more of a negative experience. Without going into a long rant, I didn’t find a whole lot of support from the professors. The professors were more neglectful. I went from being really supported in undergraduate school to being dropped off into the deep end in grad school. There were things I was struggling with in the work, and I got no guidance. If anything, from graduate school, I learned a lot from the art history classes I took.
What ways did all this schooling prepare you for being a practicing artist?
How did you reconcile it in your own life?
It was a long journey. Needing to be financially self-sufficient, I stumbled into teaching. I didn’t get an art education degree. And I really enjoyed teaching. That was two-birds-with-one-stone for me: being able to teach and stay in art that way. It wasn’t until I left teaching 12 years ago that I had the unfettered time I needed to devote to the work. I’d never experienced that.
[Another strategy was to keep] an art journal. Whatever I’d notice, I’d jot down, and that has been invaluable — to see [for instance] that something I was thinking about 15 years ago, I’m still thinking about.When did you teach, and whom did you teach?
My first 10 years out of graduate school, and this was in the Detroit area, I did a whole host of part-time gigs — from college teaching at the Center for Creative Studies [now College for Creative Studies], I taught in their extension program, both adults and kids. I got certified to teach in public school, and I ended up for 17 years teaching in Clarkson [Michigan]. I was hired along with two other people to form an elementary art program [pre-kindergarten through fifth grade] because they did not have one. I left in the fall of 2012. I moved from metro Detroit and moved up here.
Describe your studio.
The best studio I’ve ever had. [Located in her Traverse City, Michigan home], it’s a lower level walk out. There’s some daylight. The biggest thing is that there’s space. I need oodles of space. When I’m making these pieces, I lay out all the possibilities from my collage [papers] stash. It looks like an explosion in there. It’s a finished space, a heated space, a lit space. There’s a storage space. And when I go to move these pieces, I can walk outside as opposed to trying to angle a 40” x 60” frame up the stairs and around the corners.
What themes are the focus of your work?
It all stems from nature. To be more specific, my relationship with nature. It’s not just a portrayal with nature. It’s the transitory nature of things, ephemeral qualities — predictable changes like seasons, but also unpredictable ones. I would like someone looking at the work to feel, even though it’s a static image, that if you turned away and turned back, something would have changed. Changing light, changing temperature, clouds, I’ve always been deeply affected by that.
Your work is not representational.
It’s a mix. There are elements that are very concrete. Then there are others that suggest that quality. It isn’t about the exact look of things. It’s about their qualities. For example: There are woods behind this house, so the wind in the leaves is this incredible sound. I’m trying to figure out how to represent that. But to make it also, so a viewer could pick up on the fact [what they’re seeing] is a sound that comes from leaves in trees. It’s a hybrid, tricky territory that’s fun to explore the options — not having the leaves be green, for example; but exploring what other colors might show the qualities.
What prompts the beginning of a project or composition?
The making part of your process is also slow?
Yes. Increasingly. For two reasons. One is that what I’m doing now is not just using colored, collage pieces, but a relief aspect. I build up the surface on various levels with foam core, or two layers of mat board, so that surface shifts. Technically, on the scale I’m working, and in my 60s, having the endurance in my hand to cut mat board in the intricate way takes a while. The other thing is I spend a lot of time in the process: I put down a piece, I block it, I lift the pattern piece, I look at it. I might spend a whole day just doing that; and, then all the steps [of assembling the composition]. Generally, not always, I end up drawing on them.
Is the process as important as the product to you?
Hugely. For me, it’s not just about making a thing. It also shapes how I interact with the world. I’m hoping to transfer that in the pieces, so they don’t look like a static view of one thing. The pieces are an event that are in the process of changing.
Do you work on more than one project at a time?
No. One reason is I just don’t have the space — it would take a warehouse. The other reason is once I’m hooked into an idea, my brain is really just into that mode until I resolve that piece, and then I can move on. I was a huge multi-tasker when I was teaching — I had to be — and it wore me down to a nub. The process, if I’m really paying attention to it, forces me to be present with it as it is. I encountered this in teaching. I think it’s important to impart this to students, who naturally are about the process. I encountered huge resistance from the powers-that-be in public school because they really just wanted to see nice projects. It’s important for kids to explore in a validated way the process: try this, try that, we’ve made mistakes, what can we do? I don’t think they have a whole lot of room to do that anymore.
What’s your favorite tool?
Prismacolor pencils. They’re such a minimal part of my work. My first love is drawing. What you can do with the nuances and subtlety of color layering that you can do with Prismacolor pencils, especially on top of an already colored surface, is pretty amazing.
Why is making by hand important to you?
When I look at artwork, I’m always looking for who is the artist? Why did they go to the time and trouble of making something? What is their visual signature? Can you get that digitally? Yes. That is a form of hand making, but I like the direct connection between something in your hand and the marks that are made from it, which can only be made by a hand directly into the material. I’ve always like the physicality of it. There’s no substitute for that experience for me.
Do you think that working by hand remains valuable in modern life?
More than ever. The digital world, the AI world can duplicate things. The handmade and the experience of it — not just the product of it — is about humanity. It’s really easy for individuals and humanity to get lost. I’m really looking for things that have always been there, that we’re hardwired for. That hand connection to material is always going to be there. It’s a deep part of us.
Working with your hands is a direct experience. Tapping a keyboard and telling a machine to do something is an abstracted experience.
Yes. There’s a separation. We are in trouble in this world in part because of that lack of a direct connection. We need physicality. Someone asked me once if I thought you could have as strong a connection with nature by looking at Google Images? It’s not a substitute. There’s no substitute for all the sense being involved, so I think it crucial, more than ever: If we don’t have that full, rich sensory connection to the world, then it’s diminished. And when it’s diminished, it’s not valued, and then there’s no stewardship.
When did you commit to working with serious intent?
Right after I got out grad school. There I was, without having to produce [school assignments], and that was my moment of, Do I want to keep doing this, and what does that mean? It was a very conscious choice for me.
Talk about the role social media plays in your practice.
I don’t do any social media. So, zero. I have a website, and that’s as far as I’m willing to go. For me, it’s a bigger picture of social media. Could more people see my work? Yes, that’s true; but, in general, even if I wasn’t an artist, I wouldn’t do much social media. I’m really troubled by much of it, as far as the companies who run it, and the data gathering. I’m really leery. I’ve not gone down that path. It’s a question of who’s benefiting from my use of social media.
What do you believe is the visual artist’s role in the world?
That’s a challenge these days. I think the visual artist’s role is to bear witness: Here I am in the world, here’s what I value, and I want to see if others can connect with that. When I think about the role of painting and sculpture and photography 150 years ago, they were the social media. Think about when [Igor] Stravinski’s Rite of Spring was performed, it caused a riot. The idea of a piece of art moving people that strongly, I think that day has passed. At the same time, art’s function is still huge. It’s easy for people to get lost in this world. To say, I made this thing, I want to be a connector with the people — it’s not just about me expressing but connection with other people as well. That’s a deep human need that, I hope, won’t go away.
What parts of the world find their way into your work?
I would connect that to a bigger picture of trying to show that these experiences are crucial to well being; that these connections provide us with a primordial grounding. I think that’s a message that needs to continuously go out there.
How does living in Northern Michigan inform and influence your work?
I’ve always had this connection with the place, the physicality of it, the energy of it. I was in metro Detroit for 29 years, and that was always a challenge for me. The work that I did then showed that. I did a piece called In Search Of A Horizon. I felt so blocked-in downstate. Back to bearing witness: Here’s my place, here’s my connection with it. I was searching for wider, open spaces. I have family and friends up here. I needed a place that was quiet, where I could see stars, not have to commute 45 minutes each way with crazy drivers and traffic. Northern Michigan checked off all the boxes for me. And, seasonally. I wanted a place with more winter, but that’s starting to change.
Did you know anyone, when you were growing up, who had a serious visual art practice?
Before college, no. My family was very supportive. There was always great support of the arts. My mother was an amateur musician. My father went to the University of Michigan on the GI Bill, and studied English literature. It was striking to me that before the war he was preparing to be an engineer. I speculate that he thought, My time on this earth is limited, what do I really want to do?
Who has had the greatest, and most lasting influence on your creativity?
My printmaking/drawing professor Richard Brunkuis. He set me on a path, and it was life altering. The way he approached the complexity and nuance of a piece, that has stayed with me forever.
Where or to whom do you go when you want honest feedback about your work?
There are two artist friends of mine, one in particular — we were in undergrad together. She’s a painter. We’ve always shared work.
Talk about the role exhibiting plays in your practice.
It’s a critical role for me. I really want to share my pieces in person. There’s such a different experience in-person than online. First of all, because of scale. Especially looking at them on a phone. I have not gone the commercial gallery route. I’ve really gone the route of a lot of art centers. They play a huge role in connecting general populations with artwork. That has been one of my primary motivations. Especially, having taught in the public schools for 17 years, and seeing how little art plays a role in the vast majority of peoples’ lives.
How do you feed and nurture your creativity?
What drives your impulse to make?
That’s a mystery. I don’t have the words for that. All I can say is that it’s present. The process is about joy and connection, and I’m really happy it’s still there.
Learn more about Carolyn Swift here.
Sarah Bearup-Neal develops and curates Glen Arbor Arts Center exhibitions. She maintains a studio practice focused on fiber and collage.
