A CONVERSATION WITH JACLYN MEDNICOV, CONDUCTED BY ELIZABETH LALLEY ON THE OCCASION OF MEDNICOV'S SOLO EXHIBITION "BENEATH THE GREEN"
Elizabeth Lalley: So much of your practice involves transfer processes: taking plant matter, for instance, and applying it directly to a surface, or creating positive and negative molds of material impressions and using them in the creation of your relief paintings, where acrylic paint is applied to and then lifted from the molds, resulting in textured casts that exist between sculpture and painting. Can you talk a little about your interest in using modes of transference? How do you navigate elements of chance and surprise that seem to inherently exist when you’re working in this way?
Jaclyn Mednicov: I employ the transfer process as a means of exploration, seeking the unexpected. Traditional brushwork in painting was often a source of frustration for me, prompting a shift towards working with materials in new ways. In my current work, I still play a role in composing the image, yet the outcome is tied to the qualities of the actual plant materials used—ranging from their dryness and freshness to potential mold and decay. Consequently, the degree of control over the final image becomes limited.
Regarding chance, I’m driven by responding to the unforeseen elements that arise during the process, allowing the image or impression to guide the work into something entirely new. Embracing the belief that life itself cannot be controlled, I deliberately chose a medium that reflects the unpredictability of nature. With each transfer—be it a monotype, cast, or rubbing—I discover new details, previously unnoticed. The elements of chance and surprise serve as a guide behind my work, preventing monotony and making space for new modes of making.
EL: I’m curious how you think about multiples. What does it mean for you to begin with an initial object/image/impression which then gives way to many different iterations, all materialized from an original source. How do you think about the shifts in composition that occur, and the idea of that first “image” versus the permutations of that image which build a body of works from a single mold?
JM: I find myself captivated by the concept of transformation and the nuanced nature of memories as they evolve over time. Using a singular source as a catalyst for producing permutations allows for parallels to the variations within our memory. Moreover, nature is constantly subjected to a spectrum of environmental conditions. A single plant, for instance, can exude warm greens, cool greens, or even appear nearly black, casting a diverse array of impressions depending on the range of atmospheric conditions. I enjoy the challenge of manipulating an original source to create outcomes that potentially evoke different emotions.
EL: Often, after the initial transfer, you apply more paint onto your relief paintings, transforming them even further. How do you make decisions about what to change in these repeated forms, and what to leave? How do you consider the pieces individually versus seen as part of a larger, connected body of work?
JM: I obsessively take photographs of nature while walking, observing the interplay of light, color, form, and the emotion of nature. When I approach a surface to translate these experiences, I sift through my imagery, seeking a direction for further exploration. As I attempt to recreate that initial feeling, the work evolves, taking on a life of its own. The process continues until a new moment/image emerges.
For me, each work, whether it is ceramic or painting, possesses its own individuality, capable of standing alone or living within a collective. In a grouping, a viewer might discern the same composition connecting them, or it may escape notice entirely. I don’t necessarily want to guide the viewer's perception but rather to encourage a gradual revelation upon looking. The realization that these pieces share a common origin might prompt reflections on varied times of day, changing seasons, shifting light, and more.
EL: I want to ask about your new body of ceramic work, much of which is included in “Beneath the Green.” This venture into ceramics is a more recent one, even though it continues to build on integral processes within your practice (such as transference, the creation of multiples, etc). Can you talk a bit about how you began working with clay?
JM: For years, I utilized clay exclusively for mold making, never considering it as a final medium for my practice. However, while crafting test pieces for a ceramic residency application, I discovered the immense possibilities inherent in the material. Clay became a compelling surface for my work and quickly a newfound obsession. Employing the same transfer process as in my other works, the imprints left by plants on the clay surface made room for new outcomes.
EL: How do you think about the reactions between the materials you’re using (for instance, laying paint directly onto a mold and then later mounting that paint “skin” to a board) and what are some ways they’ve revealed unexpected connections or material possibilities to you?
JM: In certain respects, I don't often perceive my work as overwhelmingly playful. But reflecting on this question prompts thoughts about the various ways the relief paintings are presented. Exploring the tactile sensations of manipulating the pliable works devoid of a rigid substrate adds a dimension to the experience. The paintings take on distinct identities when suspended as opposed to being mounted. Frequently, I am asked about the properties of the materials—whether they are textile, fabric, photographs, or genuine plants. I want to sustain the ambiguity to provide thought-provoking questions while the viewer takes in the work.
EL: As you mentioned earlier, you recently completed a residency at the European Ceramics Workcentre in the Netherlands, building a body of ceramic work collectively titled “Vestiges of Time.” Can you talk a little about this residency and your experience there? How did it open up new ways of working for you? What influence did the landscape and environment have on your practice?
JM: In my proposal for the ceramic residency, I expressed my interest in exploring the local flora, particularly wildflowers and weeds abundant around the factory. The visual contrast with my usual Chicago environment was striking, and the untamed vegetation in the Netherlands was unfamiliar, including the visceral experience of stinging nettles. My initial approach involved collecting, rolling, and pressing these specimens onto clay sheets, revealing their impressions by removing them.
Transitioning from a two-dimensional maker to conceptualizing three-dimensional forms proved challenging at first. I soon realized that the conventional vessel form not only allowed me to create a metaphor but also facilitated the production of unique multiples. Subsequently, I crafted additional molds and incorporated forms found in the factory surroundings, aiming to establish a dialogue between fossil-like shards/fragments and vessel/cylinder shapes.
What surprised me the most was the transformative nature of ceramics, notably through the firing process. The outcomes were consistently surprising, occasionally even disconcerting. However, with time and reflection, the work grew on me, and I developed a fascination to experiment with firing temperatures to manipulate and transform the ceramics further. This extended to both shape and color, leading me to the realization that clay resonated more directly with my vision as an artist than any other material I had previously worked with.
EL: Your work subtly plays on the relationship between natural and synthetic. As we’ve talked about previously, you incorporate plant materials into your work, while exploring both their formal and ephemeral qualities, composing and freezing them as the initial molds which you then use for your relief transfers. I’m interested in the way the plant material and imagery here feel heightened and acutely defined, their forms captured and articulated by paint.
There is a ‘fossil-like’ quality to your works, too, which interests me, because of course fossils are an original material transformed into another form; the bones or fragments embedded in sediment have materially vanished, and have instead left an image, an impression; the original specimen has been replaced by minerals in the rocks themselves. Similarly, the plant material you use ultimately exists as an impression, formed in the mold and replicated through layers of paint. Can you talk a bit more about your interest in using plant materials? How do you think about them both as “natural” materials, but also as formal ones, too?
JM: For me, nature serves as a symbolic representation of time. I observe its swift transformations, contrasting with the gradual progression from life to death in a human body over an extended period. While a body undergoes decay post-mortem, the impending transition can be discerned through observable changes such as shifts in skin color and temperature. Rather than using the human form to convey these concepts, I turn to nature. This approach adds complexity, mirroring the multi-layered essence of the natural world.
My practice oscillates between utilizing nature to construct landscapes or images, reminiscent of photographic compositions, and viewing it as a storehouse for fossil-like impressions. I operate in two modes: one is to aestheticize the material experience of nature by investigating aspects of nature that have longer timelines, especially those that are about to degrade or are slowly decaying. At the same time, I’m interested in materializing the sensory experience of nature by investigating aspects of nature that are ephemeral and fleeting, yet immeasurable.
EL: You often use “weeds” and other overlooked, native plants that grow in abundance in alleyways and vacant lots in cities. Can you talk a little about your interest in using natural materials that are often dismissed as purely invasive or as “unsightly” vegetation in the landscape?
JM: It's a metaphor for how weeds disrupt our constructed sense of nature. They're unexpected, thrive like real life, and to some, are unsightly nuisances. Weeds may disrupt the aesthetics of a planned garden in both design and beauty. But to me, they are equally beautiful and threatening. They can hurt if you touch or pull them with bare hands, but they add texture, form, and color. It’s like they lure you in to take a closer look and then repel upon contact. And they are arguably a more honest representation of nature itself.
One of the weeds that often stung me is described as this:
The brandnetel (Urtica dioica ) – or stinging nettle – is steeped in dualities: both fierce and soft; painful and restorative; tenacious yet humble. This often-overlooked weed brings magic to fairytales, protection in folklore and vitality to soils.
I want to bring beauty back into the vestige to reveal something new. The works result in both positive and negative forms. One resident called them innies and outies. I thought about fragments and completeness while making this work. Fragility, fossils, vestiges, loss, ephemerality, traces, marks, stains, loss, beauty, decay, light, forms, multiples, repetition, memory, time, temporality (all things that have already been said)!
