Five Questions with Artist Brandon Vosika

The Pacific Northwest has always been a sanctuary for creatives, shaping the culture of our region from their corners of the Northwest.

Brandon Vosika is one such creative. His current show, Vases to Hold My Tears at Gallery ERGO, drew me to speak with him about his art and life.

Nicole Bearden (NB): Your bio describes your studio as being 'haunted', which sounds very tongue-in-cheek. But reaching a bit deeper there, given how your work intertwines nostalgia and nebulous emotions, how does your physical workspace and the fact that you live in the PNW shape the aesthetics of your art? What role does memory play in your creative process?

Brandon Vosika / Courtesy of Brandon Vosika

Brandon Vosika (BV): I used to live and work in a notoriously haunted building, and I guess it felt worth mentioning in my bio because I feel a deep nostalgic connection to old ghost stories and haunted houses from my youth. Now I have a new studio and only live in the haunted building! I used to put ghosts in my work a lot but I don’t so much anymore. They’ve become very popular which makes me want to stay away. In general, I’m not influenced by the PNW in my work aesthetically. Okay, I probably am subconsciously because I’ve lived here my whole life and love the rain and dark, but the typical PNW-themed art I find totally uninteresting.

Nostalgia and feelings do play a large role in my work. I’m a very sensitive person, think I feel things more than most people or on a deeper level? (I’m moved to tears by music often, almost paralyzing empathy at times, etc.) I need to let it out. My current studio has no windows, which I’m sure influences me. I was diagnosed by my doctor with “extremely low” Vitamin D.

NB: The tension between a surface level playfulness that hides depths—your works always seem to draw me in with the colors and subject matter, then the more I look, the more I see—seems central to your work. Could you talk a bit about how your background influences this duality?

BV: This one is hard to answer because I don’t think about the work on this type of analytical level usually. I’m very dynamic with many conceptual and aesthetic ideas. I like to be playful with my art, even when the tone or meaning of the piece isn’t. Maybe it comes from the many years I used to mask the sadness I felt when I was young. Never thought of that before.

NB: Your work spans multiple disciplines: paintings, sculptures, collages. As an artist who moves fluidly between mediums, how does the emotional core of a piece guide your choice of material, and what draws you to experiment with new forms of expression?

BV: For commissions and projects with particular specifications, I use whatever medium makes the most sense. Usually for small works or more illustrative stuff I do watercolor, which I’ve used for about 20 years. Larger pieces with more expression, acrylic. But when I’m doing the work just for me (which I prefer) the draw to any particular medium at any given time is personal to how I’m feeling. When things won’t work and I’m tired of painting and want to stamp my feet and collapse onto the floor, it feels very good to make things out of clay, it activates a different part of my brain and lets the other parts rest. And from there I think of what to make, how I feel, what that would look like. I play.

Much of what guides what I do is an effort to simply enjoy the vast amount of time I spend alone in my windowless studio. I used to really battle with the art; I was very hard on myself and it was exhausting. But I could at times feel so proud of the finished piece [and] it was worth it? But at a certain point I realized that if I’m not enjoying making the art, this career isn’t sustainable.

It’s too difficult to be an artist if you’re not absolutely in love with it. So I try and do whatever my heart tells me to. I’ve also self-published almost 25 little art books, made many print editions, things like that. I like those things when I want to tell a story. I also have a mail club; I’ve been sending out about 40-50 letters with little art things every month for about three years. I’m unhappy when I’m not making things. The connective tissue between all the mediums is me.

NB: Your work shows a distinct artistic voice while touching on elements of pop art, surrealism, and fauvism. Which artists—historical or contemporary—have shaped your artistic evolution, and how have your creative collaborations in the Seattle arts community influenced your practice?

BV: I’m not influenced by much of the art in Seattle, though I am very inspired by my community and friendships I have here. The Seattle arts community is strong, but the city and people here are not very rewarding to artists.

Recently I’ve realized the most influential figure in my art career came from the artwork left behind by my great-grandfather John Ward McClellan who died before I was born. He was a lifelong artist, he did everything. I was around his life’s work when I was young, and it comes out a lot in much of what I do.

As far as who inspires me: the impressionists, Matisse, New York in the ‘70s and ‘80s, Philip Guston, Ray Johnson… everything inspires me. Contemporary artists I love are Emma Webster, Andy Dixon, Colleen Barry, Wayne White, Will Bruno, Ryan Humphrey, Matt Bollinger, Oleksii Shcherbak, Teresa Murta, Kyle Staver, Rae Kline. There are about a thousand more. Music influences me just as much as art. It brings out deep feelings I try to turn into visuals.

NB: Your show Vases to Hold My Tears suggests a deeply personal response to tragedy and emotion. How does transforming these heavy themes into physical art objects help you process collective grief, and what do you hope viewers take away from these pieces?

BV: I couldn’t decide on a title for the show for a while. Most of the pieces are about tragedies in my life or the world around me so the title made sense. I love my life but really hate the culture and society we’re living in right now. A few of the paintings are very personal. I guess they serve as monuments to people and dominant or reoccurring conflicts of my life.

One piece, [based on] Goya’s “Saturn Devouring His Son”, depicts me as Saturn eating my son. I do not have children, so I made this piece to represent myself hating my own art and essentially wanting to destroy it. Another piece is about watching people I love in the final years or months of their life. Art is how I process how I’m feeling; without it I think I’d burst or jump off a cliff. Maybe being able to see what I’m feeling and contain it, change it a little, filter it through my brain and my hand helps me process what I’m feeling better.

I hope people can relate to my work. I suppose that’s the goal; however, it’s different for everyone. I’ve stopped trying to control it. I just hope people connect to the art, even if it’s just on a subconscious level. I’m comfortable in that place.  

---

According to his site, Brandon has participated in over 100 group and solo shows with galleries and museums in Seattle, New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Portland and has been featured in print and online publications including The New York Times, Hi Fructose, Juxtapoz, Architectural Digest, The Seattle Times, City Arts Magazine, Relish Magazine and more.