A Galvanizing Conversation with Mara Adamitz Scrupe
Photo credit: Daniel Jon Holm
Mara Adamitz Scrupe is a Poet & Essayist/ Visual Artist/ Documentary Filmmaker Distinguished Visiting Professor in the Liberal Arts, University of Minnesota Morris (2023/24) Lance Williams Resident Artist in the Arts & Science, University of Kansas (2022/23) Dean & Professor Emerita, School of Art, University of the Arts, Philadelphia and the author of six award-winning poetry collections. Her fellowships include NEA CEC/ArtsLink, Washington, DC Arts Commission, Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Virginia Arts Commission, MacDowell Colony, Djerassi Foundation, Tyrone Guthrie Centre/Ireland, Montalvo Arts Center, Irish Museum of Modern Art Artist Fellowship Programme, and USF Verftet-AiR/Bergen. Her poems have been published widely in national and international literary magazines, journals, and anthologies, and she has won or been shortlisted for Canterbury International Arts Festival Poet of the Year (UK), Brighthorse Poetry Book Prize (USA), Grindstone International Poetry Competition (UK), Fish Prize (Ireland), Aesthetica Award (UK), Erbacce-press Poetry Book Prize (UK), Plough Prize (UK), Ron Pretty Prize (Australia), Cornwall Festival Competition (UK), Canberra Vice-Chancellor's Award, (Australia), and National Poetry Competition (UK), among others.
I had the pleasure and honor of asking Mara about the poetic aspects of filmmaking, which encouraged her to be an artist/ poet and so much more.
UZOMAH: What makes art a personal experience you want to share with others?
MARA: Because we are all human, we all share the same life experiences, one way or another. Making art in any form or discipline is a way of exploring what it is to be human, and perhaps in the process, coming upon an image, thought, or gesture that speaks to our humanity in a way that is insightful, moving, and even revelatory. That’s what art does. And, in my view, that’s why artists make art. How do you draw on personal experiences and make them universal artistic representations? Much of the answer is instinct, which I’ve learned to rely on. If an idea emerges that seems particularly silly, or impassioned, or dark (etc, etc), and personal, at first I’m inclined to dismiss it, and then, often as not, I’ll give myself the chore and challenge of making something from it – a poem, a drawing, a photograph, or something dimensional; an object or an installation composed of image and text. I invest in what I’m doing and take it as far as I can, without critique, until I believe I’m finished. It’s a question of allowing personal experience to gestate and become metaphor. We’re all human, and as such we all have essentially the same emotions, feelings and experiences. Inevitably, if I believe that my experiences are the equal of everyone else’s – and they always are – then if I explore those experiences completely I’m likely to arrive at something both reflective of my world, but representing something of someone else’s as well.
Back to Nature: collecting the preserved garden: A museum installation commissioned jointly by the Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum and Grand Arts, Back To Nature addresses the loss of habitat for native plants as the result of encroachment, development, and environmental degradation. The “off-the-grid” greenhouse, which features an artist-designed solar power system, hosts plants that were organically grown from seed by the artist and represent many species currently listed as threatened, endangered or species of special concern; at the exhibition’s close, all plant specimens were gifted to local gardeners. Large color transparencies represent amateur floral oil paintings contained in the artist’s personal collection, and bear witness to the historical significance of plants in everyday life.
U: Is putting together a book of essays or poems different from putting together an exhibit or making a film?
M: No, not really. I think of disciplinary engagement across forms as a process of understanding tools and how to use them most effectively. I happen to have a great deal of skill working with all kinds of “making” tools but I don’t take credit for these talents, only for developing them to the greatest extent possible. I very much enjoy the craft of making across disciplines. It’s a great challenge to create an object, a piece of writing, or moving images, and do these things well in terms of crafting at a high level. I believe that art without some commitment to the craft of a given discipline tends to be thin and distracts from the artworks central themes and ideas. Hence, in taking on any project in any art form, I spend a lot of time learning the craft before I consider what I’m making to be art. Though we live in a world that, we keep hearing, is by necessity interdisciplinary, yet all of my experience in academia and in the art and literary worlds has led me to conclude that most artists prefer to aim for mastery in only one form. Also true of gallerists, dealers, publishers; and folk who want to be able to offer a clear description of who the artist/ writer/ filmmaker is, and what that artist is doing. Interdisciplinarity muddies the water, and makes it more difficult to talk about an artist’s oeuvre. In fact, I might even suggest that there’s some suspicion of those artists, like myself, who work across a fairly broad range of disciplines. The word “dilettante” comes to mind. Though I will add that the high level of accomplishment that I’ve been able to achieve in a variety of art forms belies that possible judgement. In the end, to my mind, putting together a book of essays or poems or organizing an exhibit, or making a film, all these activities share the same baseline requirement: vision expressed via theme or idea, executed with skilled craft in materiality, and ultimately accomplished by choosing the right medium or form to best express one’s creative content.
U: What are some poetic aspects of filmmaking?
K: The person operating the camera is a poet. Selecting an image through the camera’s lens is exactly like choosing language to express an idea, thought, or emotion. It’s both a conscious and an unconscious process. The very best, most experienced poets and filmmakers are those who are attuned to both the conscious choice as well as to the instinctive or subliminal. So much of what we do as artists is driven by the unconscious mind, but is often somehow leached of potency when the critical mind becomes involved. This is also true of what happens during editing. I find it critical to be attuned to nuance and the unexpected. Many times we shoot a segment of a documentary with some sort of intended outcome. Avoiding weddedness to the original idea, I believe, allows for poetry to surface in the editing process. But getting back to the question, as a documentary filmmaker I believe that poetry emerges when I allow the place, people, and situation, to drive content, rather than scripting a scene or tableau. I try very hard to move the project, and people undertaking it, away from “acting”, and toward a more natural “reacting” to whatever is going on at a given moment. This involves a level of trust between the filmmaker and subjects that can be difficult to achieve. But when it is effected, filmmaking becomes a naturally poetic process. But not one that can necessarily be determined in advance. Of course, narrative filmmaking is very different from documentary, thus the answer to this question may, likewise, be at variance with what I’ve discussed above.
Fota Lichens Project: An environmental survey project supported jointly by the Crawford Municipal Art Gallery, Sirius Arts Centre, and the Fota Arboretum in Cork, Ireland, the Fota Lichens Project was exhibited at historic Fota Arboretum during the e v+a Open and Invitational Biennial in Limerick, Ireland. The project represents a survey of lichens found in the celebrated gardens on the once-private Anglo-Irish estate at Fota Island; lichens are recognized by scientists as very reliable bio-indicators since they take their nourishment from the air and water, rather than from the host plant or structure. The research undertaken at Fota presented an opportunity to gauge the effects of development on environmental conditions in the surrounding region based on the existence and health of various lichens species found at Fota. The resulting project offered visitors to the arboretum an opportunity to view enlarged and illuminated lichen images alongside living specimens and accompanied by information about the conditions of the surrounding natural ecology.
U: What made you want to become an artist in the literary and visual worlds?
M: I never wanted to be an artist. Raised in a poor, working-class family, the last thing in the world I wanted was to become an artist and to work in a field that from the very start I knew would not offer much in the way of financial rewards, or for that matter social rewards. But as it happens, all of my talents are firmly situated in the arts, whether in terms of writing, or making two and three-dimensional or moving images. There was nothing else that I imagined doing with my life in terms of a career that I thought I would be good at, and that I could take any pleasure in doing. So I suppose it would be most honest and revealing to say that in many ways I’m a reluctant artist.
Suspicious Science: Suspicious Science is a permanent installation of giant hand-cast resin vegetables illuminated via solar power. Commissioned by the Europos Parkas Open Air Museum in Vilnius, Lithuania, with funding support from NEA/ CEC ArtsLink, the project responds to the country’s energy plight: 100% of Lithuania’s power comes from dangerously outdated Soviet-era nuclear power plants. Lithuanian’s grow much of their own food in small family plots, but the soil, air and water have been contaminated by nuclear accidents (such as Chernobyl), and pollutants continue to threaten Lithuania’s local food sources.
U: Who encouraged you to be a poet/writer and overall artist?
M: No one, at least not directly. I was mostly discouraged from taking this path, perhaps because of my working-class background, or because I was the first in my family to attend college, or because I’m a woman from a generation that was only just starting to accept a multitude of career options for women. Certainly, my family wasn’t crazy about the idea that I would want to be an artist. And by the way, it took me a long time to admit that this is actually what I was doing when I started out. Having worked my way through my undergraduate education, initially with the intention that I would be able to get a decent job upon graduation and earn some money and support myself reasonably well, the realization that I was going to be an artist didn’t come as particularly good or encouraging news. Back to your question: Indirectly, and without saying anything, I believe my father was the single greatest influence on my decision to pursue art as a career. But not in any traditional manner he never told me to take this path, or even said I might be good at it. In fact, his life and how he lived it have proved to be the single greatest impetus for my creative work. He was an extremely artistically talented and intelligent person who was strongly discouraged from pursuing any of his foremost gifts and talents because the arts were not a viable professional career choice for a man of his generation and (working class) background. In his deep resentment and frustration, he drank, became an alcoholic, and spent the majority of his life disappointing himself and those who loved him. Watching him flail his life away was extraordinarily instructive. I often think that I do what I do as an artist both for myself, and for him. Perhaps that’s why I constantly work so hard and make every effort to achieve a high level of success in my various artistic endeavors. I have two people’s goals to meet in only one lifetime. And I don’t want to waste anything that was given to me, any talent or skill, or any of the drive and focus it takes to pursue my ideas.
Apothecary for a New Millennium: An installation commissioned by the John Michael Kohler Museum, the project consists of salvaged food storage and display cases converted for use as fully solar-powered mini-greenhouses filled with threatened heirloom plants long recognized and used in Western cultures for their medicinal properties. The project comments on the changing definitions and roles of food in American culture.
U: What important universal message can students use to help them develop their creative process?
M: Listen to yourself. Don’t pay much attention to others’ judgements. Be open to critical conversations. But in the end, stay attuned to your inner voice. No one but you knows what you need to say through your work. Be stubborn. But be honest with yourself. Honesty is the highest ideal for any artist.
The Yilan Lichen Project represents a survey of lichens found and photographed in and around the cities of Taipei and Yilan, including the beautiful, mountainous Ming-chih Forest Preserve. Since lichens take their nourishment from air and water, rather than from a host plant or structure, they are recognized by scientists as very reliable bio-indicators. The research undertaken in Taiwan presented an opportunity to gauge the effects of development on environmental conditions in the surrounding region based on the existence and health of various lichen species. The resulting permanent public art installation offers visitors to the Bioresources Building of the National Yilan University an opportunity to view over 50 enlarged and LED-illuminated lichen images – each measuring appx. 30” x 50”, suspended from the ceilings in cell-like formations – and to appreciate their remarkable beauty and their role in understanding our changing natural environment. Marble benches, hand-carved from native stone and reminiscent of the amoeba-like forms of the suspended lichen modules, accompany the illuminated images, inside as well as outdoors in the newly designed garden spaces adjacent to the Bioresources Building.
U: Which book should be required reading for anyone who wants to be a poet, writer, visual artist, or filmmaker?
M: Unfortunately, I can’t answer this question because there are just too many important books to read for all kinds of reasons: for enlightenment as a human being, for information or ideas about the creative process, and/ or for professional guidance as artists move forward in their careers. So I will offer this answer: read and read and read. Keep reading. Then read some more. Never stop reading.
For more information about Mara’s artwork, poetry, writing, and filmmaking, please visit her site.
