I love receiving Cat Lynch’s postcards because they are painstakingly painted, unique objects. They are special as if they were selected and made just for me (or so I’d like to believe). The watercolor paper arrives folded but never torn with a handwritten note on the back. I think about these cards frequently and quizzed Cat on her process.

JR: You are in the minority of Postcard Collective participants who make unique objects en masse. Some of the things I think about when I look at your two submissions, 32 and 30 new paintings of 30 old things, are: your medium of watercolor on paper (I would consider it too valuable a commodity to send unexposed in the mail) and the concept of painting reproductions of paper on paper whether it be paintings of postcards or partial envelopes. Can you discuss your relationship with materials?

CL: My reason to make 30 paintings was simply that it was how I worked before the Postcard Collective. When I was accepted into my first exchange, I looked through exchanges from the past and noticed that a large number of participants were photographers who made photographs- from there it seemed to make sense that as painter, I’d make paintings. And if I was going to make 30 anyway, why not 30 that were different? (I should also mention I enjoy pointless challenges, endurance tests and bets with myself.)

As I was making them I found other reasons to keep painting. I love how immediate and unforgiving watercolor is- the moment the brush touches paper a mark’s made that’s fairly permanent. When I used to paint with oils I’d get stuck in feedback loops, going over the same section over and over trying to get it perfect, but with watercolor I’m forced to accept whatever happens.  Along that same train of thought, I also love how vulnerable and human watercolors look.  Sending something that feels so fragile unexposed in the mail is a bit scary, but in the fun, low-risk sort of scary that I enjoy. Postcards in general are pretty exposed items- your message is open and has the possibility of being touched and read by several anonymous people. After the initial gut-drop of dropping the cards in a big, dirty mailbox, I rather like the idea of these small, highly personal things being passed from person to person.

It’s funny that you mention that both 3o New paintings and 32 are reproductions of paper on paper- I somehow managed to miss this super obvious fact! I started out both thinking of them primarily as collections that had been meticulously assembled and then abandoned. A collector and documenter myself, I felt sad for Margaret Ann Tilly and the anonymous envelope-clipper, and wanted to add importance to their objects- a sort of final commemoration. The only way I knew how to do so was to paint them, since to draw or paint an object I have to look at it intimately and for an extended time- intimacy and time which is then reflected in the marks made on the paper (hopefully).

JR: You are a process based artist (that’s an understatement!). How long does it take to paint 30 different postcards? Do you finish one before beginning another? I envision an assembly line of sorts. Anything else you would like to reveal about the production of these?

CL: Yes, if there’s one word I think is accurate to describe my art and my practice, it’s definitely process! My brain runs on kinetic energy- the more I’m moving the more I’m thinking. Process also gives me time and space to find layers of meaning in my work. Back when I used to fancy myself a Painter with a Capital Oil Painting P, I really struggled with making work that meant anything to me- I felt I to come up with an image first and make the painting second, which was really hard for me. (Painters who do this are, I’m pretty sure, wizards.)

The process is somewhat of an assembly line; The production usually begins with an idea that’s either way too boring or way too convoluted. To get past either problem, I start by cutting the paper down to size. It’s usually during this rote activity that I accidentally stumble upon another, more exciting story to add to the original idea. If it’s exciting enough, or simple enough, I start working on the cards individually, finishing the front of one before starting another. Addressing and writing the back are assembly line-like steps that I save for whenever I get stuck or need another rote activity. (With 32, for example, the idea for the text on the back of the cards came while writing out the return addresses).

I usually finish the last postcard a day or two before they’re done. This is in part because painting takes so long, and in part because I work full time, am a chronic overcommiter (In addition to working on the postcards, I usually have one or two other major projects in the works.) and an easily distracted research junkie- (Wikipedia’s link system is best and worst thing to happen to my art practice.. )

JR: I’ve been very curious about the origin of the tweet written on the back of my 32 entry: “RT@KrisHumphries if this tweet gets 1000 RTs I’ll leak the sextape. iDisprespectHoez 27 Jan.”  Did all the postcards have different text? If so, what else did you include? Your inclusion of a tweet on the back of a postcard with a scrap of an envelope painted on the front references dueling methods (and eras) of communication. I’m curious to know more about that.

CT: Well, originally the idea for 32 came from the contradiction implied by the number and the Postcard Collective- With the rise of the internet, the postal system is barely staying afloat, however it’s the internet that makes initiating a wide reaching exchange like the Postcard Collective possible. My initial thought was to take something interior (the envelop lining) and make it very visible, and to take something normally considered public (the internet, twitter, etc) and make it all about secrets and privacy.

The quotes on the back of the cards (and yes, all of them were different. I didn’t even think about recording all of them before sending them off, alas) are all tweets found by searching for various synonyms of the word ‘reveal’ (I believe yours was found while searching ‘leak’). I tried to chose tweets that not only used the word, but were also about revealing something one wouldn’t normally reveal in public (offline).

I think outlets like Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, etc, are fascinating- Especially Twitter, which seems like its sole purpose is to exist as a public platform for private thoughts. I’m pretty slow when it comes to technology, and was intrigued by how many tweets were extremely personal and confessional. In my research I found a surprising number of twitterfeeds entirely devoted to anonymous secret-posting. It’s like there’s something hardwired into our brains that needs to confess to someone, anyonee0 like Midas’s brother and the lake. Even as a fairly private person, I kind of understand the appeal of an anonymous confessor.

My decision to handwrite the tweets was inspired by the constantly evolving nature of social media- everything’s constantly changing and almost always time stamped. Even the time stamp changes- a tweet that was posted ‘a minute ago’ is only more minutes away from being posted ‘an hour ago- It’s only after days, in some cases, that an objective date is given to the data. A part of me thought it would be funny to take something so fluid and high tech and put it into a fixed format (A good deal of my art is meant to make myself laugh.)

JR: Both of your submissions exist online and the blog entry is integral to understanding them as a whole. Can you talk about the online presence/history/documentation of these (which is highly contemporary) versus the handmade nature and nostalgic subject matter which references the past? This is one of the things that fascinates me most about your postcards is this juxtaposition of time and materials.

CL: Originally, with the 30 New Pictures… I decided to make all the cards available because if I knew I was receiving one of thirty items, I’d want to know what the others were- Like one of those mystery prizes- ‘which one will I get?’ I see the postcards, especially 30 New Pictures as part of a complete story-  I wanted the recipients of each card to feel that their card was entirely their own (each had a personal message related to something I thought we might have in common) but also to be able to see how their card fit into the overall story. The internet is a marvelous tool to make that happen.

At the same time, it’s also a bit of a tease- you can see the front of the cards, but not the back (each postcard has a personal message.).  Also, you can see each front, but knowing they’re paintings, you know looking at them in person is different than seeing them digitally- like looking up masterpieces on Google Images – I’ve looked up Eva Hesse’s sculptures online hundreds of times, but I’ve never gotten misty-eyed staring at my monitor or thought ‘Yup. Don’t need to see that in person now. This isn’t meant to say that seeing a Cat Lynch postcard is the same experience as seeing an Eva Hesse sculpture, but I do think that art that exists first as a physical object is meant to be seen in bodily person. But like I said, initially? Mystery prize box.

JR: Can you drop a hint as to what we will see next in May?

CL: The method’s are fairly similar- watercolor drawing, 30 different pieces. With this next exchange, however I wanted to incorporate more of my writing and tell a more personal story- hidden under layers of process and metaphor of course. This time, rather than documenting a stranger’s abandoned, physical collection, I’m documenting my own personal, somewhat intangible and ongoing collection. Readers of my blog, or of the Oxford English Dictionary will recognize a few elements.

[All studio images are courtesy of Cat Lynch.]

You have one more week to submit yourself for consideration to participate in the Spring 2012 exchange. Instructions are here. Don’t delay!

It’s that time again. We now are looking for 10 artists to participate in the Spring 2012 exchange alongside 20 of our active members.

To enter, send an email to submissions@postcardcollective.org, using “Spring 2012 submission” in the subject line. In the body of the email, include a paragraph detailing your interest in participating in the exchange, a link to your artwork, and your mailing address at the time of the exchange (see schedule below). Note: your message will be spam-filtered into oblivion if the subject line contains anything else. Images attached in the email will not be considered.

Inquiries can be directed to info@postcardcollective.org.

Below is the schedule for the Spring 2012 exchange.
Entries accepted until 11:59 pm, March 1st.
Accepted artists notified no later than April 1st.
Postcards must be sent on or by May 1st.

I received my rejection notice for the Imagination exhibition at A. Smith Gallery today, juried by the fantastic Aline Smithson. My disappointment quickly dissipated when I saw that not one, but two Collective participants got in. Congratulations to Anne Berry and Carrie Crow for their acceptance!

Aline did a great job with her selections, as usual. Take a look at the winners here.

If I had a pristine photograph of Tim Walker’s “Circa 1978″ I would be content. Unfortunately, two tears inhabit the bottom and the post office’s magenta scan runs through the left side.  That’s the beauty of a postcard though – never quite knowing how it will arrive. Despite it’s imperfect condition, I remain enamored with this small landscape. I was really pleased Tim agreed to answer some questions, putting to rest some of the ambiguity that I wanted to resolve from the moment it appeared in my post office box eight months ago.

Jacinda Russell: You’ve sent one of the most compelling postcards throughout my brief participation in the Postcard Collective.  It is one of my favorites because of the mysterious location.  I can read so much into it but if you don’t mind, I’d love to hear the story behind its creation.

Tim Walker: Let me first say that I feel the most successful platform for visual images in my mind is the middle ground between maker and viewer. This middle ground is an area where each viewer brings something from his or her experience to the viewing of the image. It’s not meant to be strictly ambiguous, but it’s not didactic either. So I appreciate the “reading into” observation.

As for it’s creation, what I will say that as someone who makes images using a camera it soon became clear to me that ideas of location and narrative are not inherent in images. I’m not sure if this idea is something that is a priori for most, but for me it was a meaningful epiphany.

A long time ago I read a review of the movie Brazil. The review took great lengths to describe how Brazil was a state of mind. I like the idea that an image or a piece of artwork can have literal trappings, but represent a state of mind.

JR: “Circa 1978″ is written in a large font and “perhaps” runs up and down the far left side.  The latter is so inconspicuous that it might not be noticeable with the post office barcode printed alongside of it.  What does “Circa 1978″ have to do with the photograph and why “perhaps…” thirty-three years later?

TW: I’m fascinated by how slippery memory is. How our memory exists for own purposes and not in any way to aid “Truth”. I’m also fascinated for some reason by those years in the ’70s. For some reason they represent a time that is real history to me as opposed to thinking about historical events in other eras like the ’60’s or WWII, where they seem less like history and more like a movie, perhaps because of my own proximity to that time period.

“Circa 1978” is certainly a nod to these feelings of history and memory. “Perhaps…” is the wink to the slippery value of both, and to the idea of a state of mind.

JR: It’s an escapist image of a blurry sea with some running along the horizon.  I’m reminded of Gerhard Richter paintings or Uta Barthe photographs.  Did you have any influences when making this piece?

TW: That’s an interesting observation. I remember seeing a Ute Barthe show in the ‘90s and was very struck by the blurry images, but I’m sure I would say a direct influence. Gerhard Richter however, I would say yes. His 100 Pictures book is a favorite of mine. I have been spending time recently looking at Richter’s books, especially his Baader-Meinhof book.

JR: You live in Tucson.  I lived in Tucson.  I loved the desert but spent a great deal of time turning the land into the sea on the distant horizon.  It’s a place that screams of an ocean that once was.  What’s your relationship to the desert and does it have anything to do with this image?

TW: I didn’t grow up in the desert. I grew up in Minnesota, a land ripe with lakes and water. I always joked that water wasn’t my natural habitat, but now as I’ve lived in the desert for a while I’ve been rethinking that. I share your pull to the horizon. I lived on the Pacific Ocean for a spell and was completely fascinated by the completeness of the horizon. The horizon is definitely a key element of that image for me.

JR: Is this postcard an anomaly in your oeuvre? What are you working on right now?

TW: I wouldn’t say that it is an anomaly in the sense that it pokes at the ideas of history and memory as mentioned above, but I would say that it is different in the sense that it is less representational that most of my images are.

You heard me. You now have until midnight MST on December 20th to get your entry submitted for the 2012 Winter Exchange. Please see the call for entries for more information.

Disclaimer: I met Amelia Morris 4.5 years ago when she walked into my office, introduced herself, and shook my hand. I own two of her photographs and currently am vying for a copy of the faux-tattoo print though a trade is not set in stone. Amelia knows all the best restaurants to frequent off the beaten path in Indianapolis and can whip up the best cupcakes on command. When I presented Camden with the concept of doing interviews for this blog, she was one of the first people that came to mind. She’ll be famous someday. Just wait and see.

Jacinda Russell: Self-portraiture is an important aspect in your work. Can you describe its role in the three images you’ve submitted for the Collective?

Amelia Morris: When I first started submitting postcards to the Collective, I thought it might be a good way to experiment with something new or branch out from my usual modes of working. However, I’ve discovered that old habits die hard, and so far have continued to utilize self-portraiture. In the future, I might try to wean myself off the self-portraiture by photographing my cats in funny costumes but include a glimpse of my foot in the corner of the frame…wait…32 cat costumes! I’m so ready for the next exchange! But in all seriousness, I feel most drawn to personal subject matter, both in my own and others’ work. If I’m feeling introspective, it makes sense to use my physical self (or a surrogate in the form of a significant object or photograph) in the image. It’s most autobiographical that way.

JR: Writing or drawing on skin is a common motif on your postcards. Curious people might want to know the story behind the faux-tattoo. Is there anything else you’d like to reveal about it other than it giving you more street-cred?

AM: Ohhhhh, where to begin? My father and his family are British, and since my early teens I’ve thought about applying for dual citizenship as a way to try to preserve my roots back in England. As wonderful as I think it would be to have citizenship in two countries (or as my boyfriend says, to have a place to flee to if things get too crazy here), I’ve heard horror stories about people being stranded abroad due to silly clerical errors compounded by the fact that they belong to two places. This has lead to a fear of commitment concerning the whole issue, and I haven’t moved forward in exploring my options.

About a year ago, I was immersed in a project about that side of my family that brought these feelings back to the surface. One day, I stumbled across a photo of a Victorian-age tattooed lady, complete with a chest piece featuring a crossed American and British flag. It seemed to sum up perfectly what I wanted myself, even with the extreme commitment of having it permanently displayed on flesh. I asked a friend in Muncie, IN working as a tattoo artist to produce a faux-tattoo for me, so that for at least an afternoon, I could appear to be as self-assured as the woman in the photo. The tattoo made it into this image, which is now part of a working series about my post-undergrad blues.

The night before the “Faux-Tattoo” postcard photo, I tried to scrub the marker off my chest with a little soap and a washcloth, but didn’t make much progress. In the morning, I couldn’t help but enjoy the bruise-like quality of the faux-tattoo, and decided it needed to be documented for posterity. The intensity of the collaborative process was really different from how I usually work, so I thought image leant itself well to the theme of “newness.” The text on the front of the postcard is meant to be both silly and self-deprecating. While in Muncie, I met up with some friends at a great local bar, and it being the height of summer, had the faux-tattoo on display under a low-cut tank top. As someone who avoids drawing attention to herself, I couldn’t tell if I looked absolutely ridiculous or slightly hip. The faux-tattoo may have fooled a few folks from a distance, but my bad-assness faded upon closer inspection.

And in case anyone wants to know, a paste of baking soda and castile soap makes an effective faux-tattoo/permanent marker remover.

JR: I view “Remember” and “Try to forget” as a diptych that followed one another three months later in the mail. In addition to having the most fascinating handwriting of anyone I’ve met, I am really drawn to your use of text. “Remember” is faint when it should look permanent. “Try to forget” is written in thick, block-like letters when I expect it to be washed away. Can you tell me more about your process in using text both on your body and underneath the photograph?

AM: I’m not sure how my interest in text got started. Phrases tend to get stuck in my head, and when they make their way into my work, it’s usually in a confessional context. Though the image should be able to say what I want it to say on its own, text seems to push things a little closer to the territory of a cryptic diary entry, and I think it adds to the narrative of the piece (…and since I’ve failed too many times when it comes to keeping a diary, perhaps it’s good to express these feelings in this way).

I remember a conversation in school about using a piece’s title card to present a creative title or back story for the image. We decided that if the text was so important, it should be inseparable from the finished image so that the viewer would be forced to acknowledge it. I’ve experimented with both incorporating text into the finished image (perhaps most successfully here and with further examples to be found here) and outside the frame as a caption. When I do this, sometimes I feel too Duane Michals-y, but the separation of text from the image feels best with what I’m working on now. And I think I’ll stick with utilizing my handwriting (few things can be as personal and telling as someone’s handwriting, you know…), unless I suddenly find myself enchanted with the idea of anonymity.

The “Remember” and “Try to Forget” postcards are my first experiments with using text on my body for the purpose of an image (though now that I write this, I seem to half remember a shot from Photo II where I drew something like a broken heart on my chest….yikes). “Remember” was originally inspired by a conversation with a friend about how our reliance on gadgets has hindered our once basic abilities to remember things like phone numbers, birthdays, or even when to take a pill. When I’m in danger of forgetting something urgent, I write whatever it is on the back of my hand for safe keeping (seeing it every time I look down really makes a difference).

Around the time I was thinking about making this first postcard, I was trying to come to terms with the project about my Grandmother’s home and belongings. I felt overwhelmed by the fact that no matter how hard I try, my memories will lose their edge. I’ll be stuck with a reminder for something that’s no longer there. It’s funny that you can have a set idea of what you want an image to look like, but when you’re working on it, it just doesn’t feel right. I took several shots of my hand with remember, but until I took a short break and washed my hands, I realized that the faded reminder was exactly what I needed.

When I signed up for the next exchange, I didn’t set out to make my second postcard a sequel to the first. However, after hearing some disturbing news and not being able to set myself free from it, I realized that making a photo about it could offer some kind of catharsis. Thinking about the delicate manner of the first postcard, I knew that the text would have to feel drastically different, almost violent. I think I wielded a magic marker like a machete for that one. Unfortunately, I haven’t really forgotten anything.

JR: Your postcards work well as straight images sent through the mail. Is this your ideal way of viewing them?

AM: I’ve been thinking about this question a lot lately because I’d like to share the “Faux-Tattoo” image beyond the context of the Postcard Collective. I haven’t worked in a small scale like this for some time, and though I like it, I’m not opposed to seeing the images in what has become my usual size, about 10×14 inches. I wrote the message on the back of both the “Try to Forget” and “Faux-Tattoo” postcards off the top of my head, but now I’m not sure I’d feel the same about the image without its accompanying text. The message on the back of the card helps complete the narrative by adding further meaning to the front. Aye aye aye. I’ll have to figure out some kind of resolution.

JR: What is the most memorable comment made about the title of your website thanksandsorryphotos.com?

AM: Oh, I get good-hearted laughs from some, perplexed looks from others, but always a slow reading aloud just to make sure they’re reading it correctly. After reading the name, someone once said, “Oh! I can tell we’re going to be great friends!” Maybe I should have stuck with something still self-deprecating but a little more to the point like “ameliaoccasionallytakesphotos.com.”

We are now looking for 15 new artists to participate in the Fall 2011 exchange alongside 15 of our active members. In honor of the Postcard Collective’s “rebirth”, the theme for our Fall 2011 exchange is the concept of newness.

To enter, send an email to submissions@postcardcollective.org, using “Fall 2011 submission” in the subject line. Note: your message will be spam-filtered into oblivion if the subject line contains anything else. In the email, include a paragraph detailing your interest in participating in the exchange, as well as a link to your artwork.

Below is the schedule for the Fall 2011 exchange.
Entries accepted until 11:59 pm, August 31st.
Accepted artists notified no later than October 1st.
Postcards must be sent on or by November 1st.

I had been planning to start up a collaborative mail art project since mid-2007. Fifteen months ago (three years later), I finally ran out of excuses and put my plan into action. Thus, the Postcard Collective was born.

The Collective was, initially, an experiment. I sought to determine whether the mail art model is sustainable in the age of the Internet; in other words, I wanted to see if there was still a desire among artists to share their work in the form of tangible objects. A few days later, I had my answer: yes!

This project was (literally) an overnight success. I had put out a call for the Spring 2010 exchange on my blog, and announced the blog post on Twitter, optimistically hoping for 20 participants over the next two months. Man, was I wrong about that. I had met my goal within the first 24 hours, and suddenly found myself worrying about taking on too many people. I closed the flood gates and turned to a word-of-mouth approach to acquiring members. Since then, the Collective has taken on a truly spectacular set of active members, and transcended my wildest fantasies about what it could be and become something much bigger than myself, something important.

Looking back on the last year, managing the Collective has been an extremely rewarding experience. I’m grateful to those who’ve helped me bring this crazy little scheme to fruition. But, as a grad student entering my thesis year, it’s no longer possible for me to be solely responsible for this project. So, in the spirit of keeping things going in my (partial) absence, I have assembled a dedicated board of directors to help make decisions, publicize the project, organize some group exhibitions, and many other administrative tasks. Not to worry, I’ll still be pulling levers and pushing buttons behind the curtain; the only difference is that now I’ll be able to get a full night’s sleep every once in a while.

We’ve made several major changes to our operational procedures. I’ll spare you most of the boring details, but I would like to highlight one that I feel is the most exciting. We are now actively seeking new artists! We’re still ironing some of the kinks out of the system, but the plan is to allow 15 non-member participants into each postcard exchange. Calls for entry will be posted here on the blog as well as our announcement list (you can subscribe via the form at the top of this page) three months before the scheduled mailing dates. For more information, take a look at our Call to Artists page.

We have also put together a team of bloggers to keep a steady flow of interesting content, so stay tuned for that!

Needless to say, I’m thrilled to see what the future holds for the Postcard Collective. I have no idea what to expect, so I’ll just keep making my postcards and see what happens.

Kristen Fecker Peroni

A couple weeks into the Summer 2010 exchange, I’ve received postcards from 20 of the 30 participants. Those 20 have already been posted on the Postcards: Summer 2010 page, and I will continue to add to the page as the cards come in. Stay tuned.