Week 43: Vincent Skeltis

The rotating gallery features the work of an emerging photographer as well as an interview with him/her, and will change every Wednesday. The gallery is based off ‘collective curatorship’, where the photographer from week 1 chooses and interviews a photographer for week 2, week 2 chooses/interviews week 3, etc. There is only one stipulation to the process: Next weeks photographer has to be someone he/she has not had direct contact with yet. Ideally, this will take the gallery on a linked tour around the Internet, and exploring and unearthing new photographers as it goes.

This week, Luke Gilford interviews Vincent Skeltis.

Luke Gilford: Hi Vincent, thanks for letting me pick your brain for a little bit…I think your work is incredible!  I was first introduced to it more than a year and a half ago, and I’m still moved by your “Nowhere But Up” project. Could we start by talking about how you originally conceived of it, or what you wanted to accomplish with it? How did the project change or evolve after you started?

Vincent Skeltis: Nowhere But Up didn’t begin with a specific concept, but with an idea. The driving force behind this project wasn’t about me as a photographer – really it was about me being an angry and fatherless son. It initially began recklessly. At the time I had no relationship nor connection to my father, but after receiving information of his whereabouts through my mother after he contacted her mysteriously seeking any remaining medical records from their marriage, I decided to force myself into his life. In truth, I wanted answers to questions I had been asking myself for years, answers only he could provide.

VS: What I set out to accomplish changed dramatically from the day I met him for the first time, to the day he died ten months later. My camera (I shoot predominantly large format) has greatly assisted my work – it’s large, cumbersome, and intimidating, especially to someone unaccustomed to sitting for portraits. I wanted to scare him, and maybe impress him a little too. It’s large enough for me to hide behind when I too am feeling uneasy.  I instinctively hated him, and wanted to impose my success upon him in a childish way. I wanted him to feel regret and shame. The most interesting part was, although I never knew his reasons for abandoning us, not only did the project begin to thrive, but an actual friendship did as well. I began to see who he was, and, if I may go out on a limb here, understand what motivated his decisions. To this day, I’ll vehemently argue against any parent’s choice to remove themselves from their child’s life. But in my father’s case, it was the best decision not only for him but ultimately, for me. Coming to understanding and accept this certainly evolved over time.

LG: I know you and your father share the same name. When thinking about family, what do names mean to you? What about when thinking about art and photography? (i.e. names of projects, image titles, books, etc)

VS: I’ve always been very fond of being my father’s junior by name, even before knowing him. There was a time in my teens when I was so angry that he wasn’t there, and I asked my mother if I could legally change it, but that thought vanished quickly. Later in life I began to romanticize the notion of sharing the same name and ilk with another man I’d never met, wandering the earth somewhere. Perhaps as a result, I place a lot of thought in the naming of things. I especially appreciate a striking combination of a First and Last name. The power a strong name can conjure when said aloud is something of an auditory art form. That said, I love “Untitled” works.

LG: Now that you are a father yourself, have any of your feelings about your own father changed?  How has photography played a role in your relationship with your son?

VS: That question makes my skin crawl. Find me someone that doesn’t embody any, however few, attributes of their parents, and I’ll give you a dollar. From what I’ve come to understand about who my father was in life, I can say without a doubt that I am certainly my father’s son. However, repeating his mistakes is something I will not do. My role as a father has been a two-part story up until now: In the beginning, I didn’t sense he was interested in me at all, as his mother was the caregiver and sole dependent in every way. In hindsight, it’s easy to understand their bond was natural but, as it was happening, it enabled me to distance myself from my son. My ego was vanishing as I felt useless. Now, however, my role in his life is growing as quickly as he is, and our own bond strengthens daily.

VS: My son Henry, is still a little too young to fully understand what it is I do, even when I photograph him. His mother is a stylist, he appeared on the cover of a Nordstrom catalogue when he was one year old, he’s lived in the basement of a Lower East Side art gallery, and he’s always surrounded by creative people. But, he’ll interrupt anyone at any time and begin talking about spear fishing and what animal carcass he saw at the butcher shop that afternoon. He has heavily invested interests of his own, and he’s not the type of child you can sway – an attribute I suspect he got from me.

LG: When I first contacted you and mentioned my interest in “Nowhere But Up,” you called it “a relic”. I know you were just joking, but I’m still curious how you feel about the work now. As time goes by, do the images feel more or less intense to look at?  Whatever the case may be, do you think that perpetuates (or challenges?) your feelings about the more general function / power of photographs as documents or art?

VS: Well, I wasn’t really joking. I’m fond of the work I produced from that experience, however I consider it less of an art project than a personal process I had to go through in order to allow more significant, creative interests to come to light. If I hadn’t had the opportunity to ask questions only my father could answer, I very well could be the same person I was prior to meeting him - the same self-destructive and angry boy. I attribute the work to my transition towards adulthood. The photographs are not commercially viable photographs. They were too raw, real and personal in a way that, say, Nan Goldins’ or Diane Arbus’ portraits are not. In her greatest work, Goldin explored her life with photographic material as the backdrop, and made compelling and human stories through the use of photography that drew you in. Arbus did the same, with a wonderful cast of characters. Nowhere But Up was treated more like forensic familial research. I think great work should transcend one’s personal story, rather than just tell it literally. You could say I’ve moved on from the actual work, although will always carry the knowledge I gained about myself during the making it of.

LG: I know you’re working on a new project about “personal history”, but this time it’s not about yours, and it’s a feature film. When working on these story-based documentary projects, do you find yourself trying to strike a balance between an individual’s “self importance”, and a more universal metaphor? If so, what is that process usually like for you?

VS: I am, yes. In short, the film explores the cultural need to hide our true selves due to our fear of judgement, isolation and persecution. Revealing raw truths about ourselves can be social or professional suicide, and I think that’s bullshit. If more people were to speak freely and openly about their views, concerns and beliefs, while at the same time doing so with integrity and most importantly, vulnerability, I think communication between all human beings would be more efficient. Starting this project, I too have realized my place within this new and cynical culture. I’ve been guilty of speaking a bit too freely. Often times I speak openly with an air of contempt in my voice, and that’s something I’ve been working on. The general fear of saying something, doing something, admitting something or being something that society could possibly reject, is what I’m exploring.

LG: I feel like a lot of your images deal with sex and sexuality in some way or another.  What do you think about the relationship between photography and desire?

VS: As a photographer, my interest in exhibitionism stems from my own desire for acceptance and attention. Voyeurism is just downright human!

VS: Regarding the relationship between photography and desire, Americans know all too well of what I’d call a false sense of desire, commonly referred to as porn. I tried shooting porn in Los Angeles years ago, when Nerve was just launching their online galleries. The photographs were so crude, and about as sexy as a child with a nosebleed. Though I’m somewhat perverted in casual conversation, I didn’t understand the audience I was shooting for. I became incredibly desentized after three days spent taking some of the most absurdly raunchy pictures I’ve ever shot.

VS: Sex and sexuality does play a huge role in most all my work, mostly due to the isolation both the photographer and the model feel while making a sexually charged photograph. A portrait of a nude woman in a stark room, facing away from the camera while smoking a cigarette and maybe staring at the ground, is so much sexier to me than a portrait of a nude woman engaging the viewer, visually asking for attention. Sexuality in photographs is most effective when the subject appears both physically and emotionally contemplative. If you can represent someone’s mind at work while their body is exposed, that, to me, is sexually charged imagery.

LG: What about nostalgia? Is it something you embrace or resist in your work?

VS: Would you mind if I provided a visual answer to this question?

A photograph of an installation piece I made for my exhibition, Nowhere But Up.
Mel’s Coral #58, 2005, Sheet Metal, Photograph, Adhesive, Plexiglass, Electrical Wire, Flouresent and Incandesant Bulbs.

My backyard, where the very same piece now rests, enduring all the seasonal changes New York has to offer.

LG: And lastly, how has being a photographer / artist influenced your thoughts about memory and legacy? How do you want to be remembered?

VS: Legacies! I don’t feel the need to leave behind a “legacy.” Why strive to be remembered for only a small number of things?

But every question deserves an answer. When I was younger, I wanted to be known for shooting fashion. As I got older, and after working on more personal projects, I started to view fashion photography as a medium with a very short shelf life. Many great photographers have escaped fashion’s disposability - Bourdin, Newton, Horst, Hiro, Meisel, Penn, Avedon, Bailey, Knight, Testino - and built legacies based on groundbreaking fashion photography. But they are/were also simply great artists.

This preoccupation with the need to be famous is everywhere you turn. And it shouldn’t be. Stay afloat, make great work for your own reasons, but no artist should give a fuck about what someone writes about you because you took a wonderful picture.