Our Artist to Watch: Ian Van D. Chandler

By Marissa Beaty

The work of Ian Van D. Chandler is nothing short of extraordinary. In just his second semester of the MFA-Sculpture program at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Chandler is about to display his second solo exhibition, a feat typically completed during a student's second and third years.

Titled, With Time, I Trust My Labor, Chandler’s most recent body of work plays on the innate emotive qualities of expressionism and gesturalism made famous by Pollock and De Kooning, by playing on scale, materiality, and interdisciplinarity in such a way that he reinvents and re-articulates the 40’s movement to have relevance to a modern audience.

Wandering through this exhibition, which is on display at the Backspace Gallery of the UW Art Lofts until Sunday, March 8, I found myself reminded of the fun houses I forced my mother into during every childhood summer carnival.

When you first walk into the show, you are confronted with an explosion of vibrancy, an expressive colorfulness splattered across larger-than-life sculptural forms in chaotic, yet simultaneously harmonious gestures. Teal blue against bubble-gum pink, latex yellow besides matte gray, the natural tone of cardboard contrasted with a cloudless summer sky blue; with every step, you are enveloped in the colors, awed by the expansiveness. You have officially entered the funhouse.

As you move closer to the pieces, however, this illusion of wonder and excitement fades, or really, is tainted by emotions of anxiety and stress as piece’s clear marks of abuse and fragility become apparent. The smooth surfaces are slashed and shredded. The youthfulness of color is impaled with metal pipes, industrial nails, wire, and even measuring tapes, as though relating a sense of violence or impending doom upon the previously deemed childhood fantasy. This is strengthened by the whimsical shapes that tilt and waver as though your breath, if too close, could send the sculpture crashing to the ground. At this point, you have become lost in the funhouse.

That is, until you reach the center: the most vulnerable and secure positions in the gallery space. On the one hand, you are surrounded by the objects, their physicality imposing itself on your own. On the other hand, you are most aware of your association with the work, aware of the interaction between your bodies. Though their presence pushes against you, in this one moment, you can push back. You are no longer lost.

You are one with the art. You breathe and they breathe with you. You move, and they follow along. There is a dialogue - a mutual understanding - created with you and the work that is truly unlike anything I have ever experienced.

As I completed my tour of the exhibition, I felt like I had been emotionally repositioned. It was as though the work had taken in the emotional charge I had entered with - diluted it, enhanced it, manipulated it - so that when I left, I felt relief. I had made it outside of the house and everything...everything is calm.

I feel very fortunate to have not only gotten the chance to experience this exhibition before its opening but to also sit down with Chandler as he was in preparation for the show. As we discussed his work, I found myself, quite honestly shocked by the depth of thought and clear articulation of ideas he presented as the foundation of his work, his artistic journey, and his future career goals, especially for someone so early in the program. Most importantly, however, I found myself warmed by the passion and openness of his character.

I am honored to name Ian Van D. Chandler Illuminations very first Artist to Watch For, but don’t just take my word for it, read it for yourself, or take a look at his website (ianvand.art). Here is my full interview with Ian Chandler:

MB: How did you get interested in art?

IVD: Well, in high school I did have to take art classes but there were always funny stories about me being given a project and me not doing the project correctly, and getting in arguments with my teachers, and ending up getting the piece into some submitted gallery or something. So, there were these moments when I was so angry at art and the structure around art in the academic institution, offset by these little spurts of like, “Oh! That. That is exciting.”

I think that when I started identifying as a creative mind, though, was when I was a senior in high school, and we’ve talked about it a little bit, but I started to get into poetry and creative writing. I worked on this long short story, which was probably more of a poem, to be honest. It was called equations and I was getting into this idea of words and math and where they intersect with the notion of love because I had a girlfriend at the time and was obsessed with love.

But this short story actually won me a writing award, and I realized, “wow, this is really cool.” You know I’ve always been dyslexic and had a lot of trouble within the circuit of “you’re supposed to do things this way,” until this moment when I realized that the way I think could actually be special and apply a uniqueness to my perspective. That was the first moment I knew.

So, I went into college thinking I would be a poet, and I took a bunch of English classes, but as I said, I was dyslexic, and it just did not go well. I started taking illustration classes. I’ve always been a comic book kid, and so I thought, “I want to be into comics and illustration.” The thing is, I just couldn’t draw things that translated in a formal way. I just really didn’t like that, and I kept pushing against the way I was supposed to do things.

I finally took a 3D design class in my sophomore year of college and I remember my teacher said I had to make a small object big, and I wanted to make it super big, like gargantuanly huge. I found this car lighter on the ground, and I said I wanted to make this car lighter 8 feet tall. He said to me, “If you say you can do it, then do it,” and I took that as, “oh, he’s going to let me do it,” and I did it. I made this thing out of chicken wire and aluminum foil and it was 8 feet tall.

At this point, I was committed to 3D work, and it all ramped up from there. I started to do metalwork. I started to do some film work. I started using fibers. I really experimented with all sorts of things in undergrad and then by the time undergrad was coming to a close, I said I gotta keep doing this, and now I’ve ended up in grad school.

“With Time, I Trust My Labor.” Backspace Gallery, March 1, 2020.

How would you describe your art now?

I have found the way a lot of my work goes is, I will choose a theme and create a body off of that. I have always loved abstract expressionism and I think the discussion of abstract expressionism now, especially pertaining to white men in power and white men in art, is actually one of those things where I think people will often dismiss that work because of the nature of the conversation, but as a white man I find myself liking that work and being interested in that work and kind of wanting to approach that work from a perspective where I want to keep that conversation going and keep it alive.

I think it's because it inspires me, but I also recognize that I can’t really be inspired by that work without being part of that conversation.

As for right now, I’d say my work is super immediate. I have an idea, I create that idea. I hash it out right away. Usually, each piece builds, so I’ll do one and then I’ll say, “oh, what if I do this?” Then I’ll create another rendition of that one with this new idea. In this way, my work really goes as a body. It’s almost like each piece just descends into the next one, and so, my work as of late has been incredibly fluid.

What interests you in the materials you’re using and the relationship of found versus bought objects?

Well, it’s been a little bit of a mix. I did a number of work with cardboard, well not a lot, I did some work with cardboard, and it was really about finding the cardboard and then using the cardboard in an alternative way. This body of work started with that. A while ago I layered up some cardboard and thought it was interesting, but in doing this, I realized I was less interested in the cardboard as something that I find and more interested in the formal qualities of the cardboard.

I started buying big sheets of cardboard. I found that these big sheets of cardboard had so much opportunity, because once you do something with cardboard you can’t undo it. I found that when you buy cardboard it is perfect. It is literally perfection. In my work, this work, I just completely obliterate that sense of perfection. So, I started with found cardboard, but I have since turned to using purchased cardboard to really start thinking about the materiality of the cardboard.

The more I worked, I really became interested in this, and began thinking about the way we use material in society and the way we adapt to the material and how the material adapts to us. I was thinking about as much as we destroy the Earth, we are destroying our own society, and in many ways destroying ourselves.

So, I was really thinking about myself within a larger population and my experience and how I interact with space. How do I interact with materials? How do I interact with objects, both in art and in my life? I actually began to find this discussion really interesting, and began to create some pieces I wanted to be perfect and untouched, while others I wanted to obliterate and destroy, and those had such a similar discussion. I find that’s a lot of why this work exists as a body so well: that each one is a separate discussion but within a similar topic.

Would you say that this is what inspires you, this discussion and this relationship? Is this what inspires the work itself?

No. What inspires the work is definitely inner-motivation. I find that I come up with things, with an idea, and then I relate that to something like a topic. I don’t necessarily come up with a topic and then think of an idea.

This all really started with paintings and thinking about gestures and my movement. I was interested in the relationship I had with the surface, and so just showing my strokes and my drawings had me thinking about how me, as a person but also an artist and a thinker, can be seen or maybe, what I was thinking of, could be seen, and how I could have a relationship with the viewer through this other party.

This transformed into a larger discussion of labor, material, time, futility. So, I think the inspiration is that I find that I am extremely motivated towards creative expression and in using this expression as my way of having a relationship with the world and with people.

Let’s talk about your process. I am very fascinated with how you work, the speed that you work at. Is this particular to this body of work? Does your process change based on what you’re working with?

As I initially described, each body of work is within a certain idea, so I would say within each of these bubbles exists their own time base. Maybe three summers ago, I was doing a research grant that was essentially using CAD to create these sculptures online and then cut them out. At the end of this, I had made three sculptures, well I made more than three, but three I really liked, over 10 weeks. What I’m working on now is more like three in a week. I would say this is specific to this body of work, but because it is so much about my relationship, I feel content with putting all of my energy into this extended period of time and transforming the material within this first experience, and having the end of that experience being this final product.

Could you expand more on your previous work? How is it different from what we see in this show?

It was much more about the relationship with the surface to objects. There were a number of paintings, maybe about twelve paintings and about six sculptures. With this, I was interested in the sculptures and the paintings as having started the same way. I used found surfaces turned some of them into paintings and some of them into sculptures. The ones that turned into paintings usually had a conversation with the ones that turned into sculpture.

As I was creating, I was seeing my gesture and my interaction with the material on the paintings, and then began thinking about, “Okay, how can I take this surface and put it in this space?” There was this back and forth between me and my gesture and my expression and the material. I ended up having this ongoing conversation, where if I wasn’t doing a sculpture, I was doing a painting, and when I wasn’t doing a painting, I was doing a sculpture.

The show was called Authentically Human, and I named it that because I was thinking about this idea that all the work I was doing was the closest thing to expressing my humanness and thinking about how humans, as objects and bodies and energy, leave a mark. In this case, gesture was the mark. These [the art] are the marks. This is my space, and by walking through the space, you are the closest you can be to me. I liked that idea.

This body of work bounced off that. There were so many ideas that stemmed from those paintings and that relationship with the painting and the sculpture the surface to the object that I just rolled right into this next body. The difference being, rather than taking found surfaces, I used all cardboard, which created a futility, they’re all so light, and so many of the pieces are on the cusp of just being trash. The last show, the sculptures really stood strong, and they were really object. With these, you’ve almost lost that. Not quite, but just enough where they still very much have a formal shape and quality, but for how much longer?

With that same vein, I feel like art likes to categorize things, and I’m curious you work with a lot of different mediums and you work with a lot of different ideas, so how would you categorize yourself?

I had a studio visit once where someone came in and said, “oh, you’re trying to be a painter now.” I thought, well...it’s not that cut and dry. I’ve always painted, and I’ve always sculpted and they meet in the middle. I would say if we’re following the context of disciplines, I’m interdisciplinary. I’ve thus far always identified as a sculptor, but I love painting, I really do. I almost feel too boxed in being so cut and dry saying I’m a sculptor because…

It’s much more than that.

Right, and so the goal is to make sculpture, but to also make paintings.

Going back to your upcoming show, if you could describe it, to strip it down, how would you present it?

I actually would cite the title of the show as a great way of looking at the work, because it is about me, my time, and my labor, but it's also about the relationship with the study of gesture with the study of material.

I want the viewer to feel and to recognize this shared creative exchange of destruction and chaos as well as purposefulness and care and how those align with being an individual. I want the viewer to feel as much as an individual as part of something. The work is a big body. You’re part of a big body. I want this relationship to be, I guess, reminisced.

As an outsider, when I look at your work and when I think about the idea of “trusting our labor,” there is a certain vulnerability to that. In your work, in particular, there exists a sense of strength but also fragility, as though things could fall apart at any second. I feel like for many people, especially within the relationship with the world, there is this similar vulnerability and fragility coinciding with moments of strength that keep things together.

Right, and I tried to explore that. Some of the pieces that you’ll see are literally ripped to shreds and bound together and then some are not touched at all, they’re just formed in a way where they can stand. Like I said way back in the beginning, so much of sculpture and abstract expressionism - like Richard Serra, he had that big piece that was like the leaning wall where people felt that it had this imposition, that it was scary, and it made them feel timid. There was a masculinity to it that was overwhelming. In many ways, the large canvases used in Abstract Expressionism, feel like they’re consuming you as they’re also consuming the space. I’m not saying I'm not doing this, but I want the weakness to be more apparent. I want myself as the artist to be as vulnerable as the viewer.

Which I think you do beautifully. This is your second show as a first year student, which is unusual and incredible, and I’m wondering what have you learned from your past show, and how have you altered what you’re doing to reprimand that?

The first thing I learned: you can do anything if you try hard enough. When you step into grad school, every artist is a talented artist. Every artist has a perspective. Every artist has a work ethic. Every artist has either been there, done that, already done what you’re doing in some way. There’s so much to think about that in some ways your first year can weigh on you. I’ve felt that weight, but I’ve realized too, that the way I think about things like that, the way I process, in some ways anxiety and worries and depression and fear, is by making.

The first show started with kind of the necessity to think about myself in this program, and in doing that things clicked, and it felt so good to just get going. Immediately off that show, I got an opportunity to be a visiting artist at the Holter Museum in Helena, Montana and they mentioned that they wanted to see what i’m doing and see essentially how that show is progressing. There was so much energy that went into that first show that I realized that the best way for me to keep going is to stay high energy and stay progressive. So, one thing I learned was that you have to keep working, even when all odds are against you, and stay hopeful and have a good attitude. I think also taking the time you need to discuss with yourself what you need to do. You know a lot of people they don’t necessarily need to do this kind of work and have these shows to feel successful or to be productive and for me, I do.

I think I’ve also learned, because of where I’m approaching in this program, is that now it’s time to reassess. I’ve done two solo shows right out the gate, and I’ve loved it and needed them, but now it’s about how I can assess this work, and one thing I can change is the time of my labor.

I think the next body of work will be entirely different. It will definitely be in the same realm of my interests, but maybe reassessing how I would construct things, and giving a piece two or three months and seeing what that does to it.

Do you have anything else you would like to share about your work or your show?

One thing I always find interesting is that when I tell people I knew I wanted to be an artist is when I started to write poetry, they kind of look at me funny, like what are you talking about? What does poetry have to do with this? The way I write poetry is about taking moments of my life or almost moments I have invented that could be in my life, and presenting them to the reader as something that they can experience and reminisce on.

In many ways, I think of this show like a poem. I am presenting myself, in my own humanness, in my own fragility, with the fullest amount of labor and expression, and I want the viewer to feel like they’re given the space to feel these moments. I think when you’re looking at my gestures, the gesture itself is just as important as the story I tell through them, and I think that this is apparent in my work. I hope that it is apparent in my work.

I know I am working to show this to the fullest extent that I can, but if that doesn’t come through, I’m not entirely sure what else I can do. It’s up to the viewer.

There is something absolutely lovely about this, though, especially with abstract expressionism or gestural expression: about leaving it up to the viewer. I guess you do that with all versions of expression, whether it’s art or music, you’re kind of giving it all to someone to see.

One thing I do love about this body of work is that I put all of my energy into it. I made it so quickly, I hustled for it to happen, and now that it has happened, it exists almost more for you than it does for me. It’s the same thing with writing. It’s the same thing with poetry. It’s the same thing with photography. There are always moments that you have in your life that you want to share with others and this is as much about that story than anything else.

So in a way you’re putting yourself in a vulnerable position, too.

I would hope so. I hope that my vulnerability shows through, because I think that’s one thing in the discussion of men and art that is really important.

And often forgotten.

And often forgotten. And I’m not saying that my work is only about that. I think it’s very important for artists and art to express vulnerability or in some cases to express strength, but for myself, where I fit into the art world right now, especially in this circuit, is by being vulnerable. If I’m going to do this work, I think what is important is not necessarily showing it as something that is so grand that it stomps on the space or controls you, but that maybe it expresses weakness. I hope that people would feel that way in just knowing me, because I don’t know shit. I don’t know anything. But I do know this work...and that’s enough.

This interview has been edited to increase readability.

Our Artist to Watch: Ian Van D. Chandler

Recap of Zine Workshop

Meet the Cover Girl: Ellie Braun