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‘Me“It’s magical,” says Loie Hollowell. “It’s a great time!” The artist, speaking via Zoom from his studio in Queens, New York, talks about the Artemis II lunar mission. Little did he know, when he mentioned his latest series Overview Effect, after mentioning the words used by astronauts to describe what they saw of the earth from space and the great interest and connection it brings, that he was related to a space odyssey. But he wasn’t surprised that anyone would want to leave Earth for a while. He said: “We are facing many problems here.
Overview Effect, currently on display at London’s Pace Gallery, consists of large canvases combining circular and convex sculptures. If you fold the fabric in half horizontally, the halves will fit together perfectly. The work, which is seen outside in rings of glorious color that is beautiful and refreshing, is a continuation of the work of the past that focused on pregnancy and birth through extraction. His Split Orb and Dilation Stage series of pastel paintings responded to the difficult birth of his son at a hospital in New York. Overview Effect is the result of the arrival of his daughter easily: a “cosmic” birth at home that he found very inspiring.
The work that came from the first birth, he says, was symbolic, like my painting: “I am an outsider looking at the middle body, the second one was more internal, I was more present.” Hollowell is a “scientist”, so it’s not surprising that he looked to space to find out what he experienced during that second mission.
“When I was giving birth, there was a moment between the contractions where the pain was so deep and everything around me that I might die. I felt like I came up (myself). Since I was sitting, I could look down and see my daughter’s head coming out. And somehow the vision from heaven was also my head.”
Hence the twin circles of his music, so you wouldn’t know what they represent if you weren’t given the reasons. Scroll down, and his physical works (and yes, genitalia) help you explore the artist’s mind. The implications are deep, tangible: abortion, conception, pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding.
Hollowell was born in 1983 and grew up in Woodland, California. His father, an artist, worked and his mother, a seamstress and illustrator, stayed at home with the children. “My mom had four kids and she was like, ‘Oh, I took them out,'” Hollowell says. “Then she nursed me until I was four. She made it sound so easy. And it’s so easy. It’s so hard.”
Maybe it’s a form of survival to remember only the good parts, I say. Hollowell laughs. “When I look back I’m like, I see the signs of an oppressed spirit!”
As well as modern American artists, O’Keeffe included, Hollowell likes Louise Bourgeois, and cites the birth paintings of Luchita Hurtado as a major influence. He wasn’t just looking to other visual artists for inspiration, however. Instagram photos of home births also made their way into her routine, as did Ina May Gaskin’s birth book that she read while pregnant. He opens it and shows me one of the pictures inside. “It’s funny because all the pictures are the same, you know, there’s the legs outstretched, the one in the middle. And that’s what I used to do.”
I refer to the misogynistic snotiness of artists like O’Keeffe, or the feminists of the 1970s: the idea that they are all obsessed with their private parts. There is this idea (parental, in my opinion) that good artists have to go through the body, so I wonder if they felt pressured to keep it too tight, or “outside the press” as they say. “When people, especially male collectors, start to feel comfortable with my photography, I can talk freely about what influences my style or what inspires me,” he says. “When I started to show, I didn’t talk about the work, some of the ones in the London show, inspired by the miscarriage I had.” But over the years, especially with the help of female curators, putting me in museum exhibitions, I have been able to emphasize that original inspiration.”
The tension between fantasy and symbolism is something Hollowell struggles with. How to “combine” the two, especially when “abstraction sells”? “With the art market being what it is, we get pigeonholed into this one thing and it’s hard to let go,” he says. In addition to his pastel paintings, which apparently represent the genitals and breasts and have interesting titles such as Happy Vagina, Boob Wheel, and The Let Down, Hollowell also makes body casts and collaborates on other pictures with his children. These works might not be taken seriously, but I am hopeful that the barrier that has been created between the body and what Hollowell is hitting on his head can be removed.
Isn’t all art made of bodies, anyway? She said: “When I thought about creating things in the past, I was very scared. “I think about sex all the time, and (now) I don’t think about sex anymore,” she says, referring to the less studied role of hormones in creating art. Now it’s perimenopause, that’s the transition of the body.
“I feel in control, in a way I’ve never felt before, and it’s very exciting. The art is going to change again. The artists I love grew so much in their 50s and 60s, and I can see why.”
We’re talking about the visual style of Bourgeois’s practice, how she refused to be confused by a single definition of what it means to be an artist. Fortunately, times continue to change. “I don’t know if I would have been able to do this 20 years ago,” Hollowell said.
