April 2024
what progress:
Chris Dorland
Saul Appelbaum speaks with artist Chris Dorland about painting, process, technology, and life-like dystopias in this exclusive interview and multi-channel short film.
ACT ONE
PROGRESS
Agile Cinema™: Narrative Fieldwork, The Pioneers, 2024
Saul Appelbaum: When our initial dialogue began back in the spring of 2023, you sent me a series of PDFs outlining your trajectory from 2002 - 2023. What stood out most was how you’ve grappled with technology, aligned that with some hard-won original and quite beautiful gestures in painting, and then carefully laid out each invention into a retrospectively logical linear timeline, plot line, progression, or progress, if you will. What do you think about linear narrative or plotline in the life of an artist?
Chris Dorland: Yeah, it’s weird. I have a real need to order and structure things in a way that makes sense and appears linear, at least to me. It’s almost like a pathology: constant chiseling, ratcheting, and adjusting. Refining. It’s definitely my system for coping with the chaos. The creative process is like punching in the dark over long stretches while trying to build something that has no inherent logic or structure until it’s revealed or imposed. But maybe in a more general way, it’s my coping mechanism for the overall disorder and instability of being alive. Either way, I sort of obsessively structure and restructure things.
Detail, Untitled (necro techno), 2024. Courtesy Chris Dorland Studio and Super Dakota. Photo: New Document
Untitled (necro techno), 2024. Courtesy Chris Dorland Studio and Super Dakota. Photo: New Document
SA: Does your focus on fiction operate in parallel to the more or less real dystopian results of modernism, its hopes, spirit, abstractions, tropes, desires, dreamscapes, horrors, etc.? It’s perhaps like parallel shooting and editing in film. Maybe it’s like the romance parallel in The Matrix. Maybe there’s more to life than purist abstraction and pure data. Cross fade from a love scene to dystopian hell, and then back to love, and so on.
CD: Yes it’s definitely important to cut to the love scene every once in a while. It’s not all just a hellscape. To be alive means we also have the great privilege to witness heartbreaking beauty and connection. I find myself moved to tears more often than I like to admit. The world, and ultimately humanity, is so fragile. It’s also important to laugh a lot.
SA: Will you tell me about your upcoming presentation at Art Brussels?
CD: The Brussels presentation with Super Dakota is pretty straightforward. I’m very excited about it. The booth will consist of five large new paintings from a body of work I’ve been referring to as screenscrapes. They were all made over the last six months. The only additional intervention to the presentation is a chrome metallic floor covering. The idea is for the paintings to reflect and shimmer on the floor; hopefully it’s going to feel like entering a mechanized dream space. The paintings are dense and compressed, like digital palimpsests of future ruins.
Untitled (background host), 2024; Courtesy Chris Dorland Studio and Super Dakota. Photo: New Document
Detail, Untitled (background host), 2024. Courtesy Chris Dorland Studio and Super Dakota. Photo: New Document
SA: I’m still determining if it’s straightforward. You made them recently so they would fit into something you told me about your latest series: they have a “synthetic reality” to them, or “Meat-space thrust into digital space in ways that the two collapse and merge, creating a new third space.”
Let’s flashback to some of your earliest paintings in a linear plotline. It’s a story of a youngster sweetly painting modernist architecture. Then, there’s a loss of innocence via terrorism, financial collapse, and a pandemic happening almost in real time on the global media stage. You move into an acceptance of that reality of constant crisis and full throttle frame it, a kind of “techno violence,” also in your words. Is there any resolution in this plotline?
CD: I have plenty of concerns, but I don’t know if resolution is one of them. Time and space operate differently in the studio–I think the studio suspends linear time and ultimately morphs into something liquid and multi-directional. Creative time operates on a different matrix. Hours can fly by, and on other days, time can stretch out, and minutes can seem interminable. One is constantly finding, losing, and reinventing the plot. I feel like an ouroboros is eating itself, spitting things back up, and rebuilding new limbs, only to chew them back up again and have them fall apart. And, of course, there is the constant toggle back and forth between physical and digital states. Nothing ever stays anywhere for too long in the studio. It’s in constant flux–until the work leaves, at which point it’s suspended and frozen like an archaeological relic of time spent doing, or thinking, about something.
SA: Your work focuses on dystopian narratives. Some of the attributes of your paintings relate to cyberpunk color schemes, glitch-like layering, and the collapse of meaning in a soul-crushingly dense information network advertising hell, bound to a chair, eyes mechanically pried open, in an isolation chamber, as seen in Clockwork Orange. That’s an incredible cinematic dream sequence that’s also more or less real, no? It makes me shudder with fear.
Untitled (leviathan), 2016. Courtesy Chris Dorland Studio and Super Dakota. Photo: Isabelle Arthuis
CD: I flew to Mexico for a family vacation earlier this year. The entertainment system, courtesy of DIRECTTV, was super janky and outdated, but it couldn’t have been that old. There was a weird contradiction to its clumsy anachronism. It felt and operated like dial-up. For the whole flight, and I mean the entire flight without interruption, the monitors on the seats across from us (and everyone else’s) were playing ads for the airline. You couldn’t turn them off. You could only switch to watching whatever crap shows were available. It was terrible. Ad after ad after ad. Cruises, flights, credit cards. It wouldn't stop. We ended up covering the screens with tape we had brought with us to keep our kid busy. At the end of the flight–the steward gets on the P.A. to say “Thanks for flying United” and then promptly dives into reading a script for a branded credit card advertisement. The whole experience was insane. Not only because it was a literal form of consumer torture that we were subjected to but because you could feel that it was also kind of quaint and old-fashioned. The whole flight, I thought, god fucking help us all, imagining what’s in store for us as capitalism continues its death spiral towards its next phase. When that phoenix rises from the ashes–it’s going to be terrifying.
SA: In many of your other interviews, you often use variations on the word capital. I usually cringe a little when I hear it. It feels like a stand-in for everything. Recently, I’ve given a lot of thought to libertinage and the idea that humans are first and foremost primal pleasure seekers, and knowing that one may create a series of checks and balances that are more predictable and civilized. Capitalism, I have much more trouble wrapping my head around. What do you mean by hyper-capitalism, late-capitalism, capitalism, capitalist, etc.?
CD: Yeah, I mean, I feel you. I think everyone, myself included, groans a bit at the mention of “Capitalism.” But at the same time, there is a reason capitalism or its multi-headed derivatives show up so much as a subject or catchphrase within critical contemporary thinking and the arts: it’s monstrously dominant and permeates all our lives without exception—even the richest among us can’t fully escape its tentacles. To reference the now-famous quote by Fredric Jameson and Slavoj Žižek: “It’s easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism.”
I grew up in Montreal, Canada, just north of the N.Y. border. My Dad, in particular, really exposed me to an incredible amount of pop culture in the form of music, television, and movies starting at a very young age. He was a communications and media professor, and despite his Marxist roots, he enabled me to flourish as a consumer for some reason. There were very few boundaries, if any; it was almost perverse. We watched The Shining when I was five years old. I mean, it’s kind of insane in retrospect. So, as a kid, I was heavily invested in consumer culture. As I got older, mainly as I developed my first body of work, I came to understand that the myth of the future, of progress, or even the cherished concept of “freedom” are all interconnected into the logic of a particular brand of American-made corporate capitalism that has functioned very effectively as a form of highly effective propaganda that has enabled a tremendous amount of ideological dominance over the planet. One can easily see how Hollywood functions the seductive dream factory in the propaganda machine. It’s so pervasive and all-encompassing a matrix that it’s almost impossible to delineate. It’s as if we’re all living in the Truman Show inside some giant mechanical dome we can’t visualize. That’s why the financial crisis was so powerful: it was a significant crack in the ideological screen. And as such, it exposed that there was an illusion. Unsurprisingly, Mark Fischer’s writings emerged at that time and were so influential in analyzing and dissecting what he calls “Capitalist Realism.”
I’m pretty sure we no longer really live under late-stage capitalism but have already begun to slowly morph into whatever postcapitalism is. The conditions of which will slowly reveal themselves over the next few decades. Cryptocurrency and AI are both likely going to play prominent roles in that. To reference Leonard Cohen: “I’ve seen the future, brother. It is murder.”
Exhibition view, Chris Dorland: New Day, 2021, Lyles & King, New York. Courtesy Chris Dorland Studio and Lyles & King. Photo: Charles Benton
Exhibition view, Chris Dorland: New Day, 2021, Lyles & King, New York. Courtesy Chris Dorland Studio and Lyles & King. Photo: Charles Benton
ACT TWO
DEADPAN, FOR REAL THOUGH
SA: In another interview, you joked that if you weren’t a painter, you’d be a C.E.O. Your paintings nod to managerial factory production, bureaucracy, and marketing. Are you serially pounding out units or products? Do you sign your paintings? What about blockchain signatures? Do you do cost, sales, and demand analysis?
CD: Yeah, I was tongue in cheek, but there was a tiny grain of truth–or at least of possibility, in that answer. But the older I get, the more obvious it is how dysfunctional and unhappy I become if I’m away from the studio for too long. So, that ultimately limits my options!
In terms of production, I like to make work, and I’m productive, but I’m definitely not pounding out units or anything. I have a fairly low annual output and always have. But I think it’s hard for anyone involved in the production of a painting not to be aware of its status as a commodity object. It’s definitely the most commercial of the fine arts and the most market-friendly. I think all contemporary painting grapples with that condition to some extent.
I maintain a fairly extensive and comprehensive database for my work. And I love the idea of barcodes or Q.R. codes for each painting, but it also feels a bit gimmicky, not to mention sort of annoying to have to manage an additional management system, which is why I haven’t implemented a barcode system (yet!). I’ve also considered backing my paintings with blockchain. And conceptually, I’m into it, if not entirely. It all adds a whole new layer of management that, while compelling, feels a bit too cute of a gesture for me to take action. But once the technology evolves a little further, it will make sense, and I’ll adopt something along those lines.
I think a lot about hardware vs. software when it comes to how my work operates in the world or what kind of physical substrate is needed for it to snap into focus. It’s probably my roots as a painter, but ultimately, I’m most drawn to things that have hardware as opposed to purely digital works. I’ve often described my work as operating like a virus hunting for host bodies to take over. And yeah, I’m a fan of analyzing the analytics when possible.
SA: I have a confession. I had some dark thoughts. What if painting, writing, and ideas are only beautiful insofar as they’re also quite evil, things worth doing ineffable horrors for, like diamonds, gold, data, nation, and religion, and we’re all complicit? Maybe the horrors even feel good to commit. What if the beauty of art, thought, poetics, and systems sets the stage for us to commit horrendous acts at a distance, like the beauty of a Taurus missile?
CD: Those are both excellent and legitimate questions. I have a lot of dark thoughts as well. Art functions in tandem with humankind. Humans, while capable of heartbreaking beauty, are monstrous and wretched little creatures as well. The history of the world is built upon humans doing horrible and atrocious things. It’s delusional not to acknowledge that about human nature. What makes art so powerful is that it’s adept at holding those complex contradictions together at once—the beautiful and the vile.
Untitled (data haven), 2021. Courtesy Chris Dorland Studio and Super Dakota. Photo: Isabelle Arthuis
ACT THREE
LIBERTINE PROGRESSIVISM
SA: I usually severely cut my preparatory observations for these interviews, but going out on a limb, all of this dystopia and madness in our ongoing conversation gave me a space to come to terms with Marquis de Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom. Thank you for that. I recently completed it after about two years. I kept putting it down when things got too intense, when I started to see myself and those around me echoed and reflected in it. It was a more intense experience than Sartre’s Nausea and Bataille’s Story of the Eye. It started to palpably and negatively color my world outlook and observations about money, sexuality, and power in the art and culture industries, and society at large.
Yet despite this, on a good day, I still believe in the positive energy of sublimation or turning primal urges like greed, stealing, murder, etc., into culture or something civilized, like philanthropy, S&M, painting, and legal justice at their best. Last month, I did a web search for Eros. I happened upon the Merriam-Webster definition with an entry that read, “Eros is the sum of life-preserving instincts manifested as impulses to gratify basic needs, as sublimated impulses, and as impulses to protect and preserve the body and mind. Compare Death Instinct”. That was a light at the end of the tunnel moment, or another cliché, that love is the cure.
I’d venture to say your art expresses quite well the inhumanity and humanity of it all. It’s about as oxymoronic as the idea of progressive libertinage, yet those two conditions sometimes exist simultaneously in the same person or thing. There’s good and evil, yet no moral or ethical compass or imperative, no resolution, no catharsis, no progress, yet it’s moving the discourse forward, and the tactility of painting as a process feels good to make and behold, like making love and pornography. Alternatively, maybe you’ve cleared the playing field for us with a process of speculation and then elimination, arbitrated noise into silence, and crystalized ideas so we may look at a painting and enjoy it while calmly coming to terms with our imperfections, like public therapeutic catharsis. You may be more like a public servant or official. Thank you for your unwavering commitment and service to the arts, humanities, public good, and nation. Here’s your title, Sir Dorland, and a platinum medal. All of the above? Did you see Everything Everywhere All at Once? It has some spectacular bureaucratic and dream sequences.
CD: I love this—all of the above. Thank you.
SA: All of the above gets under the skin of the beautiful and tragic human condition without making hasty judgments. That’s an accomplishment—progress. Is this end cliché? Do you have any thoughts that may be less so? Maybe something with a redemptive and uplifting quality?
CD: “Time moves in one direction, memory another. We are that strange species that constructs artifacts intended to counter the natural flow of forgetting.” ― William Gibson.
Chris Dorland is a New York based artist working in painting and digital media. His work examines the ways in which technology frames and reproduces reality. Dorland uses a variety of screens, scanners and other tools to explore the increasingly tenuous boundaries between physical and digital environments, actual and virtual realities. His work has been exhibited nationally and internationally.
Chris Dorland
@chrisdorland
Saul Appelbaum
@thepioneers.la
Music: Leon Louder
@leonlouder
Cover Photography: Jason Schmidt
@jasonschmidtstudio
Saul Appelbaum is the Founding Director of The Pioneers. He holds a Bachelor of Fine Art from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, a Master of Architecture from Cornell University, and a Master of Fine Art from the University of Chicago. He has worked with Harper’s Bazaar, Serpentine Gallery, Asics, Petzel Gallery, Elle, FGP Atelier, Heidi Klum, the Scottsdale Museum Of Contemporary Art, InStyle, the Ann Hamilton Studio, Snoop Dogg, the Jewish Federation, Zión Moreno, Kohn Pedersen Fox Associates, Mick Jenkins, Transfer Gallery, the Columbus Museum of Art, de Sarthe Gallery, TCAmgmt, Diego Boneta, SCNR and Rocco Castoro, L’Officiel, Hirmer Verlag, Kids of Immigrants, Natalia Reyes, Vogue, the Singapore Art Museum, The Visionaries Agency, Pope.L, Grazia, Critical Inquiry, Perry Ellis, and Numéro