
Triumphant Wednesday greetings, collectors! Today's editions by Matthew Moore are a testament to the triumph of persistence. I am so excited to be finally releasing this edition. I've been working on Matthew for eons: I can recall at least three separate meals, shared with him and his wife, the uber-talented Ms. Carrie Marill, over which I pleaded, cajoled and otherwise hectored the poor fella.
Persistent though I was, I proceeded with care because Matthew's reticence wasn't such a mystery to me. His work is deeply personal, connecting as it does with his family, his history and being created, quite literally, from the soil he grew up on. Yet, the places he's channeling -- the suburbs that have steadily encroached upon his family home throughout his lifetime -- are arguably the most iconic symbol of contemporary American anonymity and alienation. As Jeffrey has realized while watching people interact with Matthew's work in Land Use Survey at the gallery, the forms in Moore Estates (detail) and Moore Estates (West) are ingrained in us. He wrote:
The piece hangs close to my desk and more than a few times throughout the day I get a sideways glance and and hear, "What is going on? Are these crops? No, it's a subdivision. That is not real is it? There's no way." I watch as visitors try to find the ways to prove that the image is in fact a document of development, instead of something farm-able on farm land. It seems these patterns are burned in our minds.
I've been thinking about his work a lot lately, and not only because it's hanging in Land Use Survey right now. But, partially, because of time I've been spending out in tony East Hampton (of all places!) with David Steward and his partner, Pierre Friedrichs. Pierre is growing the most amazing garden out there, at the EECO farm. Going there with them a few Saturdays in a row to prune and pick stuff has been considerably transformative.
What Pierre has created at the farm is completely different, and in many ways, more real, than anything I make and/or most of the things that occupy the majority of my brainspace. It's entirely different to eat food once you've see where and how it's grown, and have subsequently been involved in its preparation. And while there is some obvious satisfaction in enjoying the fruits of ones labors (yuk yuk) it also has a lot to do with how freaking long it all takes. This is something I find incredibly vexing on the surface, but ultimately connective, both to the food itself and to the people I prepared it with.
Sincerity and authenticity play a huge role in Matthew's work -- there is no bobo pretense afoot, nor is he humorless, preachy or scoldy. While the suburbs are also, one might argue, the cradle of irony, Matthew himself is so totally unironic, sincere and passionate, I would hate to for anyone to interpret him as being anything but.* He doesn't want us to feel guilty or bad, he wants us to feel connected: to the food we eat, the places it comes from, and the people who grow it.
*Listening to a talk that Matthew gave awhile back actually made me cry. Matthew, too, was choked up as he described how he and Carrie are literally surrounded by the encroachment of suburbia. I don't remember what he said exactly, but it was about his family and his history, but also about us, Americans and our history, and our ever-more-distant relationship with food and our physical selves.
Next Email : Edition Announcement #297 - Michelle Hinebrook