Emma Ressel
“Cocktail Hour”, Emma Ressel, 2020 (cropped)
EMMA RESSEL IS A PHOTOGRAPHER LIVING IN BROOKLYN. IN HER STUDIO PRACTICE SHE CREATES SURREAL, PAINTERLY, HIGHLY DETAILED AND METICULOUSLY CONSTRUCTED STILL LIFE PHOTOGRAPHS THAT OFTEN TAKE FOOD AND ITS ACCOUTREMENTS AS A PRIMARY SUBJECT.
Especially now, in our radically isolated and newly “stilled” lives, where our patterns of consumption and production (of food, of images, of media) have been altered in confronting and unpredictable ways, Emma Ressel’s photographs take on fresh relevance. Her images bring new orders of perception and meaning to the perceivably mundane or domestic subjects of our food, our waste, our interior rooms, our gardens, and of the “natural” or outside world. Engaging with her work, our focus is expanded, and wonderfully confused. Felt especially in her previous work is the absence of people, especially for scenes and vignettes (dining rooms, parlors, food halls, kitchens, markets, mirrors, and shop displays) where the human subject is most naturally expected. Again, the inexorably photographic technique of suspension, and of stasis, is deftly resonant during these weird times of food hoarding, scarcity, and cultural atomization.
Food and food culture—its fecundity and decay; its necessity and ridiculousness—are not Ressel’s only subjects. Her work is layered with both symbols and subversions of opulence, exuberance, bacchanalia, wealth, and class. This is food and consumption from every conceivable sensorial and art-historical vantage, often all at once. And then some. Given her concentration (obsession, even?) on these themes, her work—paired with an exhilarating technicality and formal precision—has translated into stunning commissions for commercial work for fashion, lifestyle, and luxury brands, producing images that present its subjects and objects in a strange new splendor.
We asked Emma how she approached this new gallery she produced for TSUKI Journal.
“Radishes and Skeletons”, Emma Ressel, 2020
“Reluctant Curiosities”, Emma Ressel, 2020
HOW DO YOU CREATE AT HOME?
HOW HAS THIS BEEN DIFFERENT FROM YOUR REGULAR PROCESS?
In many ways, moving my practice into my home was a simple transition, as I worked from my home for a long time before I got a studio about a year ago. I am quarantining at my boyfriend’s house in Philadelphia, and while it is hard to not be able to use my studio in New York, I am grateful for the amount of space and plentiful window light I have here at my disposal to make my still life photographs. I feel like it’s good for my practice for me to be living in a new place, as I have lots of new visual stimuli in my immediate vicinity to make my photos. I had been feeling a little exhausted for ideas in the limited square footage of my New York apartment, so this new environment has kept me alert. I left New York for Philadelphia quickly, and I underestimated how long I would be gone, so I didn’t bring nearly all the equipment or supplies I wish I had. Because of this, I’ve really had to recalibrate, improvise, and make some compromises.
“Aloe”, Emma Ressel, 2020
“Stepping Outside” Emma Ressel, 2020
HAS THIS SITUATION ENCOURAGED OR EVEN DEMANDED
YOU TO TRY SOMETHING NEW?
For the past few years I have been working to push my still life photographs further and further, always looking for visually interesting places out in the world, building elaborate tableaus in my studio, and experimenting with artificial light, all in the hopes of expanding the boundaries of the classical still life composition. In quarantine, I’ve switched gears entirely, which can be hard for me to do. I have gone back to embracing domestic interiors, relying on natural window light, and allowing my still lifes to be relatively small and stripped down in comparison to what I had been doing.
“Lunch or Compost”, Emma Ressel, 2020
“Violence of Spring”, Emma Ressel, 2020
“I WAS LOSING A CERTAIN TYPE OF SPONTANEITY AND EXPERIMENTATION IN MY WORK. NOW, I’M THROWING EVERYTHING TO THE WIND EXCEPT FOR SPONTANEITY AND EXPERIMENTATION.”
“Visitor”, Emma Ressel, 2020
HOW HAVE THESE NEW CHANGES TO YOUR LIFE ALTERED YOUR WORK?
I am a freelancer, and just about all of my work disappeared about five weeks ago, which has left me with an overwhelming amount of free time. Free time, however, is an enormous luxury to me, and I am aiming to dedicate the majority of it to my artwork. Before the pandemic I was applying to residencies and grants, so I am trying to treat this period as a focused residency. It took me a few weeks to recalibrate, but I am doing my best to direct my creative energy toward the things that I always longed to do: shooting more, looking at photography, expanding my technical skills, watching photography lectures online, and cooking.
In February, I completed a project I had been working on since 2016, so I was in the zone of trying to launch that work out into the world as well as begin working on a new ambitious project that would involve some travel over the course of the year. The work I’m making now during quarantine is exactly the opposite of what I had planned. In shifting my focus to what I can do with the limited resources I have, the work I am making feels much more introspective and pared down. I realized, looking at things with some new perspective, that over the past few years I had been putting so much pressure each of my photographs to be more elaborate and successful than the last, and I was losing a certain type of spontaneity and experimentation in my work. Now, I’m throwing everything to the wind except for spontaneity and experimentation. The new work I’m making mimics what quarantine has been like—a finger holding down the pause button, allowing for the opportunity to take stock, refocus, and look at things a little differently.
DO YOU HAVE A NEW OR DIFFERENT WAY
OF STAYING INTERESTED, INSPIRED, OR MOTIVATED?
The thing that’s really keeping me inspired right now is the permission I am giving myself to let go of the pressure I normally put on my work. The quarantine has made me realize that my normal state is to always be planning and thinking about the next thing, and stressing about not having enough time to dedicate to my work. Now, with this gift of time and reason to slow down, I am seeing what it feels like to relish in the slowness of an unscheduled day. I’m feeling inspired to reconnect with the natural light, letting myself sit and watch as it moves across a floor or a wall over the course of an hour, or several hours.
“Wilted Petals In Soap”, Emma Ressel, 2020
IS THERE ANYTHING POSITIVE (OR NEGATIVE) THAT YOU CAN SEE COMING
OUT OF THIS SITUATION FOR YOUR WORK?
I am finding it useful, as I’m sure many artists do, to impose certain rules or restrictions on my workflow in order to build a framework for me to create within. Those rules include using only naturally occurring light, staying within and immediately around the house I am living in, and using only objects that happen to be around me. Much unlike my regular practice, the only advance planning that goes into these photographs is studying the light over the course of the weeks I’ve lived here. Without a defined project in mind, this work feels diaristic, and is related to my state of mind and body in the moment that I take the photo. I’ve been experimenting with using tools to filter or distort the light, which I want to reflect a sense of mental haziness or fogginess I’ve been feeling over the past 5 weeks. I’ve noticed that as I tune in more closely to this new, tiny world I am living within, my senses have become heightened, and I am much more powerfully drawn to the intensity of the objects around me and the symbolism I can draw out of them when pulled together into a photograph.
“Easter Cake”, Emma Ressel, 2020
This shift away from my normal practice is showing me that I was probably more burnt out than I realized. While I am disappointed to have my more ambitious, exciting projects on hold for the foreseeable future, I am secretly so thankful for this break. If my normal practice was about pushing my work ahead, this slower, more spontaneous and experimental rhythm is about expanding and stretching my practice, if only for the sake of the exercise. I probably won’t go on to do much with this work. Beyond this, I doubt I will show it to that many people. However, I see the value in switching gears—even, or maybe especially, at a moment where I was sure I was in a good groove. I hope that this “quarantine exercise” can be a tool I return to at periods over the course of my career when I sense burnout coming on. I think it is a lesson I will spend my life learning: that it is ok and valuable to slow down and rethink things, even when I don’t have a grant or a residency giving me the pathway to do so, and even when the entire world isn’t doing it all together.