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Find: New articles Process step-by-step Working practicesTina Maas profileAn interview from Diffusion magazine.
Maybe my mum nurtured my creativity and my dad’s scientific mind pushed me to explore the boundaries of photography. When did you start making artwork?I have always loved drawing and painting and knew I wanted to study something creative. A family friend convinced me though to go for something “sensible, where you can actually get a job afterwards” so chose graphic design. I came to London in 1996 to do a foundation course and went on to study graphic design at Camberwell College of Arts in South London. I never really liked working on the computer or the disciplined art of typography. I always saw myself as an image maker and did a lot of experimenting and rule-breaking. I finally fell in love with photography on a school exchange program to New York’s Parsons School of Art in 1999 where I took a class about alternative processes with Jill Enfield. She showed me how unique photography could be and I was instantly attracted to processes that were handmade, experimental and were often prone to mistakes and failures; I have been hooked ever since. For my final degree show back in London, I used Liquid Light (a silver-based sensitizer for applying on any surface, exposing by an enlarger, and processing in conventional chemistry) on found objects. After traveling for a year and living in Israel with my boyfriend I came back to London to do my masters in photography. For two years immersed myself in the study of alternative processes out of which the Ophelia series emerged. Can you please describe in detail the process you used to create the Ophelia series and how you came to it?I created the Ophelia Series during my two-year masters degree course at Central Saint Martins School of Art in London. We were encouraged to work on a personal project from early on in the course. After watching a film on the installation art of Christian Boltanski
So I decided to experiment with putting liquid light emulsion onto wax plates so I could subsequently float the pieces in water. I have always admired the Pre-Raphaelite art movement in England, and especially Millais’ famous “Ophelia” painting that saw at the Tate Britain a few years previously; instantly I saw a connection and decided to name this body of work after it. The sad looking, beautiful and mysterious, eternally young women in Pre-Raphaelite paintings epitomize for me feminine beauty, symbolized by their long flowing hair. Boltanski deals a lot with death in his installations and tried to integrate this aspect into my work through the evocative reminiscence of waxen death masks, whilst playing on the ambiguity of the former the possibility of it simply being innocent sleep. I was drawn to the beauty in decay and death. I took a lot of photographs of my female friends from all around the world, lying on the floor with their long hair spread out. From the digital files printed large internegatives (a negative created directly from a color-reversal (positive) or black-white positive film. It is the negative copy of the camera original) onto acetate which contact-printed onto the wax plates. To make the plates, bought wax pellets, heated them up and poured the liquid wax onto a table coated with cooking oil (to lift the plates off afterwards without breaking) in several layers to create 5-7mm thick plates of wax. To help the emulsion stick to the wax sprayed them with artist varnish before coating them with liquid light emulsion and exposing them under an enlarger. It is hard to get the emulsion to stick, especially as the wax is temperature sensitive, which causes it to expand and contract unpredictably. Some days I would come back after leaving coated plates overnight to dry in the dark, only to find that the entire emulsion had separated and curled up. Sometimes the image would appear fine in the developer but by the time the plate was in the wash the entire emulsion had separated from the plate and had literally washed off. Even if I got perfect images after the wash, the emulsion would sometimes crack under the pressure of the wax expanding a few days later. But all this unpredictability is part of what I love about the process and what makes each plate so unique. It took me about ten plates to get one image was happy with. After I had created the final wax pieces, floated them in a tank of water and illuminated them with underwater lights to re-photograph them. Most of the original wax pieces continued to deteriorate and eventually disintegrated.
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