«Oh god, the nostalgia is going to kill me»

An enquiry into the labyrinth of self-invention, the shadow-games of nostalgia, digital aesthetics and the undressing of sobriety: an interview with Brian Cattelle.

Text: Eli Tenga Photography: Brian Cattelle

Hausmania presents: Implications of a Throwaway Society - a solo art exhibit by visual artist Brian Cattelle (27/08-30/08)

‘Honesty’, is a term often affixed to art and one many artists use, when talking about their work. That their work carries honest qualities, that their work somehow is more revealing, than what they perceive others routinely express around them. So much has honesty become a quality in art, that we prefix it adjectives like ‘raw’, ‘disturbing’ or ‘touching’. Meaning that somehow honesty by itself is not fully transparent; it can be coloured, cut or shaped to a form which carries it to us. Where does the character of this form come from? Well, where other than the souls from which this honest work emanates, the souls of the subjects, the soul of the artist.

Hausmania this week exhibits an artist, whom is more than ready to examine his soul, the character it projects and its dealings with societal history. It’s a lay-it-bare affair, it’s destruction Americana with stars-and-stripes as heart-on-sleeves. We had a remarkably candid and refreshing chat with the artist in question, Brian Cattelle, in full below:

Hi Brian! So, I take it now, you`ve had some time to saunter around Hausmania and its environs…have your thoughts about the place changed compared to your first encounter? What was the first time you saw and/or heard about the place?

- I remember I first heard of Hausmania back in 2000/2001 when I was going to Skiringsal Folkehøyskole in Sandefjord. I had come to Oslo and one of my friends had pointed it out. It was like this mysterious, rebellious, badass place I didn’t really have access to, maybe I didn’t think I was hard enough or cool enough. I just always thought it was quite intimidating. Some years later I went to Westerdals for advertising and there was Hausmania, in all its graffiti glory. I still found it intimidating and had yet to get inside its walls. I vaguely remember being there for an after-party with some people but it’s a foggy memory. It had a bit of a stigma in my mind. Lawless. In my ignorance and fear I thought there might be drugs there, yet I never got any there. It’s just always been this mysterious inaccessible place.

Then this year I asked a friend about possible places to do an art show and she suggested I reach out to Hausmania. I didn’t understand, I didn’t know they did that kind of thing. I checked out the website and did some research and was feeling pretty encouraged so I reached out to Hanne with my idea. To my surprise she got back to me right away and offered me a space. And all of a sudden this thing, this intimidation of the place washed away!

Also a lot has changed for me over the past 15 years as far as self-confidence, understanding who I am, how I fit into this world, not having to be cool or not cool, all of that shit. Now I’m really excited to be doing my show at this long-standing cultural institute as I see it. An icon of the city. Everyone has heard of Hausmania, well except my dad, he had never heard of it. And even though I’m not trying to measure my self-worth in relation to being cool, I’m feeling pretty cool. Hanne has been so kind and I hope to get a chance to meet more of the community.

Underneath it all I always understood it as a place that holds the line, but now I understand that it does that through fostering opportunities for art, music and culture to thrive, to say something meaningful.

Although you in a ‘conventional sense’ would be categorized as a photographer – you yourself see yourself as more an artist than that. Was this always the path you set up on or one that came to pass?

- It came to pass. I think at first I was just focused on photography. I fell in love with photography back in high school. I was thinking that was all that I was going to do, something I could be really good at and be known for. But as I continued to create it became clear photography wasn’t enough for me to express myself, my thoughts and feelings and the things I wanted to share with the world. I already had difficulty not feeling like an imposter as a photographer so other mediums even more so, but the need to explore was just too overwhelming so I just had to allow myself to do just that.

I also decided I didn’t want to get known for one thing. Some artists have made quite a career for themselves doing one thing. I can see the appeal. I would get bored with that. I figured it was best just to let people know that they should expect the unexpected. I am on that path now, and I’m really happy with the fact that I am giving myself the freedom to do whatever I want to do.

It’s easy to get stuck, to do one thing because it’s working, it’s safe. I’m still a single guy with no kids and very little fixed responsibilities so I still have the flexibility to not be too concerned about what’s working or what’s safe. I’m still in a position that my financial risks won’t really affect other people. So I might as well establish myself as anything I want to while I still have the freedom to do so.

You have described yourself as someone who works with “photo-based mixed media pieces”. Can you unpack that a bit for us and also tell us about the specific tools you use for projecting the pieces?

- It all started with photography and as I move towards allowing myself to expand my practice I still hold on to my roots. I also aim to test photography and the definition of it. Is a photocopy, a “photo”copy, considered photography? Is making portraits with a photocopier photography? Can a VHS video be considered photography, or a still frame from a video? I experiment with that in my Millennial project, which features single framed video scenes that closely resemble the nature of a photograph. I guess that’s how the expansion started, by expanding my photography practice. But I soon found out that even that wasn’t enough.

I started experimenting with collage, as seen in my Corrupted Cognition collage masks. I also started trying out gel transfer prints and painting amongst other things. I’m also interested in presenting my work in different ways, making it more of an experience rather than just a framed photo on a wall. You can see that in how I put the photos from my BARE USA project on vintage Viewmasters, using old technology to really enhance the experience of my work.

The long and short of it is, I’ve come to realize and accept that you can do anything with anything. We see that many of the legendary contemporary artists do this. I’m going to do the same. It’s just a matter of letting go of that thing I thought I was going to be, to define myself as a photographer. Fuck labels. It’s funny how, as I say that, I still try to give myself one as I explore my art career. I guess I just want to say something that makes it easy for other people to understand, but there is just too much for one word. We are more than what we do, yet it’s one of the first questions we ask people to get an idea of who they might be. To quickly compare ourselves to others, to figure out where we stand.

Rereading the question it seems I might have gotten a bit off track on a philosophical rant. That happens sometimes. My work is often derived from a photo, whether it be a gel transfer print of which the image started from a photo, or photo-based collages, or line drawings based off of a photo I’ve taken. I have a tattoo like that. And a lot of my work has layers on top of a photo. I’ll probably start calling myself a visual artist, maybe just an artist or a creative. What do you think I should call myself? I like what Prince did when he called himself a symbol.

A lot of your journey is centred around the experience and strong feat of overcoming addiction and turning sober. Do you think that most who suffer from the disease because of nature or nurture? In other words is there something about the world that drives us to that decay or is it an inner malignant drive? (If this line of questioning feels to personal we skip it no problem)

- It’s not too personal at all. I think it’s important people know that I am here now, working hard for this art show, living my dream, my life almost exactly as I want it to be, totally free, while 17 years ago I was buying heroin in front of Oslo S. But it might be uncomfortable in Norway to talk about this stuff. I hope I don’t embarrass my family with my honesty and transparency. It seems addiction isn’t as prevalent here in Norway. But it’s important that people know everyone has a chance to come back.

So nature vs. nurture, I mean that is the million-dollar addiction question. I think it’s a perfect storm of the two. There seems to be evidence of a predisposition to alcoholism in my family, a pretty solid history of alcohol abuse, though most also found a path to recovery. Yet I did not experience that in my household. I was raised by great parents with most anything I could want or need. But there was always something in me that made me extra sensitive to the human condition, my own human condition. There seemed to be a lot of overthinking and a deep concern for my own needs being met. As I got older it got worse, and the overthinking and anxiety were constant. When I had my first drink that went away, it solved the problem, I could relax and be comfortable around people.

Maybe there are conditions that can exacerbate those feelings. Maybe those conditions are more prevalent in my small town in the U.S. Maybe there are things that happen to us that create an emotional tipping point. Some people seem to have that, but I can’t say I do. Maybe there are environmental issues, a general dissatisfaction with your surrounding conditions, a dissatisfaction with your purpose in life, with the opportunities your environment has given. I think that is happening a lot in small-town America — lack of purpose, dissatisfaction, and frustration. Like I said before, it seems addiction is less of an issue here in Norway. Maybe most people are content here. Or maybe we just have so many people in the U.S. that it’s just more noticeable.

I can tell you this: I worked at this café/bar in Grønland called Fu Hagen, it’s not there anymore. They used to serve a snitt, a half of a beer. I thought it was the dumbest fucking thing I had ever heard of — why would you ever drink just half a beer? But people did, lots of people did, because they were not like me, and that is where the nature might be. My response to drugs and alcohol is different, I might have an allergic reaction of sorts, one that makes me want more and more.

Does this malignant or environmental certain something manifest itself visually?

It’s hard to pinpoint because a lot of stuff comes from the subconscious, but you know people like nice, joyful things to hang on their wall and I guess I just don’t know how to make that. So there is an underlying tone from my past that continues to find its way into my art. I think some of it is still there, the pain and loneliness of it all, although for the most part I am quite happy these days.

It’s not the drugs I have to work on staying away from, that’s easy, I have no interest. It’s my mental health I need to take care of. As a human, a deeply emotional and sensitive human, that can be difficult.

That all being said, there is a lot of strength and perseverance in my work. I’m also trying to push my own boundaries, both artistically and personally, getting comfortable with the uncomfortable, and all of that is an effort to break past the confines I have created for myself, to find freedom from the things that once held me back and drove me to self-destruction, as if I am rebelling against myself.

There are two buzzwords in the text for the exhibition I was distinctly captured by: ‘contradiction’ and ‘self-invention’…Firstly, how do you see self-invention spell out today? Is there any confluence between this and our constant hunger for a certain nostalgia?

Oh god, the nostalgia is going to kill me. It lies so deep inside. It just crushes my heart out of nowhere. Sometimes I push it away. Sometimes I let myself fall deeper into it. That can be quite painful but I can also recognize it as something very beautiful. But that is where one of the many contradictions lies. I want to stay there, in nostalgia, because it’s safe, I know what it is. But I also want to be strong and fearless, I want to let go of the past and just not give a fuck. So I try, I really try through my art. I make what I love. I know it’s weird, I know a nice landscape is much safer, but I push myself to be free, to not care.

Yet I do, I still do. I care so much. I’m trying to accept myself for exactly who I am while also trying to push and change myself. I want to be honest with the world and vulnerable, yet I want to be seen as strong, and sometimes I wonder if the two can exist at the same time. But I’m working really hard on not discarding that vulnerable part of myself, not to throw it away. I’m working really hard to explore my creativity and not throw it away, no matter what it looks like, no matter what my subconscious digs up.

Other contradictions include the age of social media and remaining authentic, the push and pull of what works as methods of marketing vs. the truth. And then there is this interplay between intention and unpredictability in all the forms of media I explore. The Polaroids, for example, have this unpredictable outcome in their quality and development process, yet I often meticulously set the stage and framing for the exact shot I want.

Is our nostalgia a true wish to undertake the past or in some ways a way of updating the past to fit our present? Where does this come from you think?

It’s so confusing, isn’t it. As I mentioned before, there is comfort in the past, we know what it is. Good or bad, there is comfort there. I think if I can recreate that, I will be safe, because I know what it is. The future is the unknown, anything can happen. That’s scary.

I think a lot about past memories, wanting to relive them with the understanding I have now. How special they all are. Much of my present is spent thinking of the future, the moment squandered by fearing the unknown. So I’m always trying to go back. Maybe for comfort, maybe to try and make the moment more valuable, maybe to try and fix it, maybe to try and shelter in its warmth.

The harsh truth is the world we once knew is gone forever. It’s never coming back. That’s not entirely true from a quantum physics standpoint, but as far as our finite experience here and now is concerned, I believe it holds true. Anyway, the best thing I can try to do is live in the present, but that can be so hard when the past is always there.

Do we contradict ourselves between the self-invented image we market on social media and our true, everyday practical self? Do we indeed market our own identity?

I’m doing my best not to be full of shit. I try to keep my complaints, my personal suffering, my anxiety and sadness in my work. No one really wants to hear about it. Not until you’re successful. For example, I don’t think my journey through addiction would be interesting if I wasn’t sober. The same as an artist’s struggle isn’t interesting to hear about until they are successful.

So for now I do my best to balance developing a good “brand” while staying true and authentic. I guess I’m really trying not to overshare while trying not to undershare. Uff da, more contradictions as I try to self-invent. It seems that social media is a necessary evil I have to participate in to get my work out in the world, so I do my best.

Since all of these phenoms mentioned are very image-based and in cases of Instagram based on curated pictorial aesthetics – has the idea of the image, both the conventional still-image and the broader idea of images, changed since the social-media boom of the 2010s till now?

Oh man, and now with AI. I think images were once a trusted source of honesty and truth to some degree, whatever that may be. I think social media has pushed us to use images to tell a preferred narrative, whether it be images that show how great our lives are, how great things are, how nice that thing we own or want to own is, or how amazing that place we visited is. I’ve done it before, intentionally cropping a vacation photo full of tourists only to show the brief moment of beauty amongst the messes.

I think Trolltunga is a perfect example of that. I posted a photo of me on the edge, leaving out the line of at least 100 others waiting for that same shot. I personally think it’s quite boring and sometimes I’m ashamed I occasionally partake in the debauchery. I’m really not much interested in living like that, yet the images and the messages are so powerful I still find myself doing some of these things — curating my personal life, waiting for the cloud to pass so the beach I’m on looks nicer, checking my hair, my teeth. I have a crooked tooth I get a little self-conscious about. I also feel a bit self-conscious about the car I drive sometimes. It’s a great car, but everyone else’s is nicer.

So I try to tell the truth in my art and my images. It’s funny how some of my images are staged. The Gummo Land Polaroid series, for example — I want it to be raw and unpolished, I want it to be honest. My art is the place I can do that. And sometimes it’s challenging, but under the spirit of creating “Art” I think I allow myself more freedom. “Oh why is that guy being so weird?” “He’s just making art.” “Oh, ok.”

But now, unfortunately, images can no longer be trusted. I think it’s only going to get worse, they could eventually become insignificant. There is a theory that the end of social media, the internet, is near. Shit. Well, that sucks. But here’s the thing: I think the images that will be significant are the ones that tell an honest, truly authentic story, however that image is created, wherever that image exists.

Three words for what the audience can expect at your exhibition?

I don’t know if three is enough but “Raw, Nostalgic, Experimental” or wait maybe “Honest, Alternative, Interactive” or hold on maybe “Unconventional, Unpredictable, Unfiltered” or maybe “Please love me”

Vernissage, Wednesday 27. august / 1800 / 18 years