FEED ME

A large part of this exhibition is concerned with the transformation of the single image when placed next to another. Where the random nature of the sketchbook page is filtered and artificially adjusted to create the possibility of a new narrative and progression that shifts from sketches to larger works.

One of the logistical challenges of this grouping not only involved the process of placing the work outside of its original context (personal notes), but it also brings up the physical dilemma of not wanting to rip out pages from the actual books. So without any apologies, FEED ME displays photocopies, printouts and fakes as the whole aligns itself with the backpocket tendencies of throwaway sketchbook work.

Spread across seven years, 84 months, 336 weeks, 2555 days,15 sketchbooks and 1125 pages, the pieces in FEED ME are crammed with accidents, personal notes and unconscious links that are not pretending to be high art or of any real value. The work is presented in the spirit of curious discoveries, and much like the vulnerable sketching stage – to go all the way through the process of putting it all together was the only way to find out if it worked.

Vernissage & Room layout (above)

The Exhibition ran from from Sept 17th - 30th 2009 at the Warren G. Flowers Gallery (all photos above by Chelsea Grey.)

Gyula Gefin: What motivates you to draw or to take notes in your sketchbooks?

Martin Dupuis: Oddly enough, I find myself sketching much more when things are going badly. I can flip through earlier sketchbooks and recall specific moments in my life in the way a song or smell can bring you back childhood memories. It’s very immediate. I remember writing down something to the effect of: “Great! Now I have all these detailed notes of times I’d rather forget, how useful.” But, in many ways the process has been valuable.

Boredom is a big pull into drawing in them, being in a room full of people and looking to take distance. Sometimes it’s just about this urge to get into that solitary mode, that inner dialogue. I like visiting that space.

What prompts you to give some of your work such grotesque characteristics?

On an instinctual level I’ve always gravitated towards the grotesque. I don’t know why but it often pulls me in. I guess there is an element of shock to it all and that can stop you in your tracks and get your attention. But it’s all about what someone does after they’ve caught you with the shock and how good they are at transcending it and getting to something meaningful.

I do think that exploring these darker, grotesque avenues is constructive in the way that they can directly inform someone about beauty. It seems that the more you can submerge and explore the ugly, the better you will understand beauty. They don’t make sense without each other. When it comes to my drawings, I think there is an automatic reflex to sketch exaggerations and that usually translates into monstrous looking elements. I have a hard time drawing beautiful things (figures of women, faces etc.) so it has everything to do with my lack of abilities - falling back on what is easier.

A large part of the exhibition has examples of drawings you did while struggling with hospitalizations. What kind of health issues were you dealing with?

For about 10 years or so I had Ulcerative Colitis. It’s very similar to Crohn’s disease and is an auto-immune deficiency disorder. Basically, the immune system is so out of order that it keeps fighting and working even when everything is fine - creating an inflammation (an over working) that results in the system corroding itself and that eventually ended up ulcerating (on and off) my intestines.

At one point it got too severe and my body couldn’t get off the large amount of Cortisone I was taking, so they had to remove my large intestine. It took five hospitalizations and three surgeries over a two a half year time span. They where able to build a new digestive system with the small intestine, which is pretty amazing. I was very lucky it all worked out.

The experience you had to endure while at the hospital was in no doubt a difficult one. Was your illustration method notably altered by this trying event?

I’m not sure I’d say my illustration was altered. There are certain themes that may have begun in the hospital (obsession of curved lines growing into each other) and have been expanded and explored since; but I think the change has been larger, and more personal. If anything the whole experience has altered how I see certain things, and some of it has to do with the physical relief of pain (I’d had these health issues for the past 10 years), opening up an alertness and day-to-day appreciation on how good it feels to be “normal”. Not needing anything “extra” to be content.

It spawned an acute awareness of how good we have it and it’s a great thing to have as a reminder. Things like… I got to the concert late and it’s sold out - well, at least my digestive system is working. I can’t afford the new issue of Eye magazine cause it’s so darn expensive, I didn’t get that job that I wanted, money is low these days… at least my digestive system is working etc.

You mention to me that during your stay at the hospital, a nurse pointed out a few things while gazing over your drawings. can you expand on that?

There are a few things that happened in the hospital that were interesting. First off, there was that nurse looking at my drawings and mentioning how fascinating it was that I had all these tube like formations being pulled, contorted and twisted in my drawings. She wasn’t a psychologist or anything, just the day-to-day nurse giving me my daily blood test. I was stunned, and as obvious as it was (my intestinal problems), I hadn’t seen it myself. But something was definitely working itself out on the page!

There’s also a fragility in some of these sketches that directly relates to having my I.V. needle changed every three days from being stuck in my right arm to being inserted in my left one. A lot of the time I had to draw with the wrong hand, making the lines all the more unsure, broken up, shaky and vulnerable.

Before I had a proper sketchbook with me I was drawing on scrap paper from the hospital. One night right before supper, a nurse came by and knocked a big jug of water over my little pile of precious drawings (the only thing I had with me that offered a pause and distraction from all the problems around me). They got soaked and I got really bummed out.

Luckily another nurse came by, quickly slapped them up on the wall and told me they would dry up and be fine. What came out was interesting. The water had infused the drawings with ink bleeds that created something even more beautiful than I could have done and, in an odd way, visually summed up my whole situation. As much as I was trying to get better and be whole, there was something I didn’t want being imposed on me that I had no control over. No choices. Getting frustrated or feeling sorry for myself was useless; it was all out of my hands – the whole game. That realization brought a lot of relief.

Draw Comments on Wall

Since a lot of the show had to do with sketching, instead of putting a small booklet for people to sign we decided to try out the idea of pasting up xeroxes (xeroxes of xeroxes, actually) on a full wall with a few markers and a note to draw comments on wall.

When I proposed the idea people said that (of course) if we let people loose with a wall we'd get the obvious obscene images and notes etc. This was fine with me, and actually the only *rule* that needs to be followed is that everyone use the same (green) marker.

As expected, the comments run the full extremes from anonymous secret crushes, thoughtful analysis, Harry Potter scars, genuine compliments, silly nonesense, graf tags, book suggestions (Kurt Vonnegut), e-mail addresses, penises and a Crucified Woody Wood Pecker.

www.feedmeexhibition.com (Blog)
www.kingdomshore.ca (Mark Molnar)
www.blushingbridestudio.com (Chelsea Grey's photo studio)