In Light Of- : Q&A with Emily Fussner

Emily Fussner (b. 1991, Indonesia) is an artist based in Northern Virginia. She holds a BS in Printmaking from Indiana Wesleyan University (2013) and an MFA in Visual Arts from George Mason University (2019). Studying abroad with Gordon College in Orvieto, Italy, and with American University’s MFA Studio Berlin residency program also influenced her greatly. Fussner has professional experience in graphic design, teaching printmaking and papermaking, and arts administration. In the past she worked for the Joan Hisaoka Healing Arts Gallery in Washington, DC, and most recently curated exhibitions as the Graduate Professional Assistant for Fenwick Gallery at George Mason University.

In Light Of- was on view at Hillyer on August 2 – September 1, 2019.

What first intrigued and attracted you to the mundane spaces that most people over look?

That is a good question! It’s hard to say what was the first intrigue, or if I can remember. But I do know that my semester abroad in Italy with Gordon College, my second year of undergrad, is where I learned to take seeing more seriously. It was the first time I was living abroad without my family, and there was so much to take in. It was unlike any place I had ever been: the textures, the light, the architecture. Our drawing professor read to us from architect Juhani Pallasmaa’s Eyes of the Skin, and I held on to the quote, “Focused vision confronts us with the world, whereas peripheral vision envelops us in the flesh of the world.” I’ve always had an eye for detail, but this helped me begin to consider my environment differently. When I returned to the US, I wanted to continue paying attention and seeing with a sense of wonder. And a lot of life happens in mundane spaces and in transit between places.

In your work scale seems to be a major component. How do you decide the size of a piece, whether it will be a large scale installation or an intimate book? How do you connect the two together?

Scale is important to my work, and I explore it in different ways, whether it is a large installation, the intimate size of a book, or the one-to-one scale produced by tracing or casting (as in my practice of casting cracks, not present in the current exhibition though referenced). With a background in printmaking, I often work in multiples, which allows scale to expand through quantity.

I’m drawn to architecture and spaces where I become very aware of human scale and movement. In my photographs of cast light, I try to include at least some small element of furniture or architecture that gives a sense of place and scale. Within the gallery, working in an installation format or larger scale creates another sense of space. We approach the work differently, and I like that physical interaction, the possible walking under or over or into the work. In both a similar and very different way, books gather, condense, and unfold space. There is a pace and sequence of information the viewer takes in, and a movement through the work. I’m a very tactile person and I love when it is possible to touch an artwork–so I also appreciate the connection books create, since they are meant to be touched and held.

I find that each piece tends to know what it wants to be, and sometimes the scale isn’t a very conscious decision. Other times, experimenting in the studio helps determine that outcome. For example, “Threshold” is a variation of an idea I’ve had for awhile. I first started working in cut-outs of various reflective and translucent materials on a much smaller scale in Berlin last summer, at GlogauAIR with American University’s MFA summer abroad program. Those cut shape and light compositions were small, on shelves, and though the size worked and drew viewers in, I knew I wanted to try that on a larger scale. I wanted to be able to walk into it—which is possible with “Threshold” although it requires care and for some may feel a bit close.

Why do you like working with paper as a medium?

Papermaking is a very haptic process. You measure a lot by touch: the consistency of the pulp fiber, how thick or thin the concentration of pulp feels in the vat. The general process of making paper requires breaking down a base fiber and literally beating it to a pulp. The breaking down, beating, pressing, transforms the fiber into a new material; the structure and strength is formed by the interlacing of the fibers. It is a very physical, methodical process that allows time to think or not think. At some point I thought about it on a metaphorical level, relating to my own experience with the brittle bone condition, Osteogenesis Imperfecta (OI), of breaking and re-building, of strength formed through interdependence rather than independence. Perhaps for similar reasons, I like working with fibers like abaca, flax, or kozo–they can be formed to make very delicate, thin, translucent paper, and yet they are surprisingly strong and resilient. Whether I make the paper or not, I also like using thing sheets as they transmit light well.

How has the bone condition, Osteogenesis Imperfecta impacted your work?

OI has influenced so much of my development, my way of seeing and moving. I mean, I’m smaller, closer to the ground. I try to notice the ground as to watch my step and prevent falls, and I think that’s probably how I began noticing the patterns of cobblestones or cracks. My day-to-day life is fairly “normal,” but holds an underlying tension that I’m still fragile enough that a simple action gone wrong can have significant consequences. I’ve found that even when I’m not making the work specifically about this, that the materials I use (even aside from the paper mentioned before) tend to inhabit this tension between what is fragile and strong, what might seem to be strong but is actually brittle, and vice versa. Similarly, when I discovered Kinstugi (the Japanese art repairing broken ceramics with gold lacquer, highlighting the brokenness and repair), it resonated with me on an embodied level, and I became interested in exploring that concept through my own methods and approach to place and the body.

What do you hope the audience achieves by interacting with your installation at IA&A at Hillyer?

I hope In Light Of– creates a peaceful, still space for viewers, an encounter where one can slow down, look closely, and reflect. I hope it helps people ask new questions and see their usual surroundings in a new light.

You have been living overseas for large segments of your life. How have the places you’ve lived impacted your art?

I’m so thankful for the opportunity to grow up in several countries–it shaped my worldview in unique and I think helpful ways, taught me to consider different perspectives. I was five years old when my family moved back to the US from Indonesia, and then I was 13 when we moved to New Zealand and 18 when we left. Adjusting to different cultures and places required a lot of observing. And as each context was so different and far away from the other, I think it taught me to connect to place deeply. Responding directly to place is a key component of my artwork. When I lived in Italy, for the second time, after college, is when I first began casting crevices in the ground with paper pulp; and during my six weeks in Berlin was when I started more intentionally working with cut-shape light and shadow sculptures—so the time in those places has more directly influenced my current work.