By LUIZA LUKOVA

Brittany V. Wilder is a visual artist currently based in Portland, OR, working primarily in photography and written media. One of the last diplomees of the now-shuttered Oregon College of Art and Craft, she has continued honing her largely self-referential practice since her graduation. Brittany is quick-witted, hilarious and unabashedly herself. We met in her studio at Yale Union in SE Portland to talk about poetry, grief, and narrative a few weeks ago, before Portland closed for business under our current health crisis. In these uncertain times, it is even more critical to continue to support each other, emotionally, creatively, and spiritually - we hope that this interview can bring the reader even a small glimmer of hope or inspiration in their day.

Luiza Lukova: You consider yourself first and foremost a photographer - how did you first begin working in this medium? How has your background in photography influenced your greater studio practice?

Brittany Wilder: I was very lucky to have access to an amazing darkroom when I was in high school, and a photo teacher who was hugely encouraging. I spent many years with an old 35mm Vivitar and a digital camera that I think was maybe 4 mega pixels? I’m so grateful for this and for my foundational work when I was at OCAC which has provided me with a solid base so I don’t spend too much time thinking about the technical aspects anymore. 

I find photography and the nature of how we choose to document our lives so fascinating. For me, photography and the cameras and the film and all of the shop talk is really just a tool. I’m more interested in the impulse to capture something—in my own work and others. That impulse translates pretty fluidly to other practices: writing, sculpture, collecting. I’m also obsessed with light (who isn’t?) and light is such a huge part of working as a photographer, that has always really spoken to me.  

Also in a practical way photography is a practice that actually happens for me mostly outside of my studio space. One of the best parts about that is in a sense I’m always working. I’m always looking and catching moments that might turn into a larger idea or theme later on. 

LL: Your work - ranging from photos to floral, to sculpture - all seems to tap into a more deeply emotive state. In fact, your entire practice seems to be imbued with personal transparency which I greatly admire. It makes it that much easier to relate to both you as an individual and an artist. Could you speak to your desire to not blur any lines between your studio self and your "real" self? Have you always evoked the deeply personal in your art?

BW: Oh man, my work is and always has been sooo personal. It’s a little painful sometimes. And I still struggle with what is “real” even as someone who tries to be pretty straightforward in her documentation of emotions. I’m so aware of the fact that the identity I’m projecting is constructed, and I’m not sure you can ever really break down those barriers completely, but I think I’ll always try. I’m always going to be pulling apart this idea—what parts of me are art, what are worth documenting and remembering. My work is really sentimental, which I think gets a bad rap so often, but I fully identify as a sentimentalist! And part of that is processing all the parts of life—the boring ones, and the stunning ones, and the horrible ones. Art is how I do that and always has been. 

LL: Going off of that, does it give you a sense of relief or release to not hide anything from your audience? What are some of the common themes you explore with your work? 

BW: It definitely does! And it teaches me to own my emotions and strive to be as vulnerable as I can while protecting my heart. There are for sure some things that take me a long time to share with my audience (and to be totally honest—even with friends and lovers. Despite how personal my work is, I can be pretty guarded too), but I usually reach a point where it feels so much better to have it out in the world rather than trapped in my metaphorical diary. I went through a divorce and end of a ten year relationship last year, and as a result my work from the past few years has revolved heavily around grief, desire, love, and regrowth. But really what I’m interested in is using those themes to speak on a larger issue of how we tell our own stories, how we designate who our “real” selves are, and how we process and share memories. (Especially in the context of writing and photography.)  It can get a little abstract, but I’m always hopeful that will allow others to see their own narratives in my work. 

LL: I think that is so powerful; that’s something I grapple with as well, knowing how much to reveal and what to hold back with an audience. Do you set any personal or artistic limits/boundaries in terms of diving into the personal and sentimental? 

BW: I really try not to limit myself when making work. I usually assume going into it that no one will see it, which of course is just a way of protecting my heart so I can make what I need to make. It’s sort of a different story with sharing and showing work though, and I often find that I need to wait until enough time has passed after the act of making the work before I’m ready to share it. Almost like letting the dust settle. For most of 2018 and early 2019, I was shooting a series of self-portraits that I eventually titled Not Not Known —which began as a way to process a period of intense growth. It wasn’t until I had been shooting them for over a year that I really started to be okay with the idea of people standing in front of them. And then eventually that scale tipped and I couldn’t imagine people not standing in front of them. There are a couple of projects that I’m still not sure will ever have new eyes on them—and that’s okay. Some things I save for myself. 

LL: Having come across your work before, it seems to me that you could just as easily classify yourself as a writer as well as a photographer. How tied are language and narrative to your studio work? Have you always been able to express yourself more intimately through writing?

BW: They are so intertwined! I’ve always been a sucker for text and image and I’ve always been a writer—though it still feels a little foreign to claim that as a label.  When I sit down in front of a blank page it’s sort of like facing a mirror—I don’t really have anywhere to hide. And there’s this sense of safety in that I don’t necessarily have to share anything I write. Seriously sometimes in the middle of a poem if I’m stuck or feeling vulnerable I’ll actually write out “No one’s going to read this.” So in that sense, sometimes it’s more natural to express intimacy through writing. But there are also a lot of moments when words aren’t enough, and then I can usually turn to photography or sculpture. So my work, especially lately, has become this ever evolving conversation between words and images. Both feel vital, sometimes one carries more weight and sometimes the other. Sometimes they’re overlapping and becoming one. And really—they’re both accomplishing the same end goal. All things are tools in the hands of an artist. 

LL: “All things are tools in the hands of an artist” - that’s so spot on. Is there a project you are currently working on that is fueling this energy for you right now? Would you mind sharing with me a little bit of where your studio has been taking you recently?  

BW: Right now I’m obsessed with a color. Red. A lot of projects begin in a singular way for me and then sprawl out from this. Because I shoot diaristically I have a huge collection of images to pull from so I’ve just been pulling all of the images that have the color red and using those as a starting point. And really where it’s going is this sort of abstract visual language that’s being made of up of many small images.  

What’s on my wall right now is basically a visual poem—that’s how I’m thinking about it and talking about it. I was having a conversation with someone recently and came to the realization that this is a really clear way for me to be vulnerable while also still hiding—as the viewer can’t literally read the piece, just infer based on the subject matter and color of the images. So it’s very much about how much we chose to reveal about ourselves, how we communicate and process with each other, and how we understand photographs. This phrase someone used to describe it in my critique group—beyond words—keeps running through my head. That’s an idea I love musing on. How are images and words holding each other up? How much weight are we giving them? When can they become something bigger, something entirely different than themselves? 

As we continue staying at home, may we all take this time to reflect within ourselves and to cultivate more creative space that feels within our reach. If you find yourselves in need of some inspiration, take a moment to explore more of Brittany’s work on her website here or follow her on Instagram @brittanyvwilder. Stay safe, stay healthy, check-in with one another xo. 

Luiza Lukova is a poet, curator, and visual arts critic. Born in Bulgaria, she is currently living and working in Portland, Oregon.