#158 Emily Cannell, on the brink
A conversation between Maddie Exton and Emily Cannell.
Maddie Exton: This has been a physically taxing install. How are you feeling?
Emily Cannell: I feel very much like the title of the show suggests, on the edge! But I’m also really grateful for having the opportunity and space to create something of this scale. The most intriguing part of building this installation has been negotiating the physicality of this heavy mass, with the limitations of my own body. It really is a colossal thing, and I’ve had help from friends and colleagues, who held bits in place whilst I fixed other bits with cable ties. Funnily enough, I only feel satisfied with a piece of work when I have physically had to work, to make it. There’s something a little masochistic about that…
ME: We were discussing the pressure of a solo show and about the idea of having 'nowhere to hide'. Is your work about concealing?
EC: Yes and no. Yes I’m obsessed with coverings, but I also want to reveal something – a shape, an emotion, or a new perspective. It seems logical to assume that by covering things I’m trying to hide something, but actually I’m alluding to the infinite possibility of what’s underneath. I’m puzzled by my obsession with the tarpaulin coverings on boats in boat yards, to me, they are unintentional sculptures. It is this unintentional element that I find so satisfactory with draping fabric, you move it one way and it goes to form itself in another.
ME: You're influenced by painters, studied fashion and sketch in sculpture. Where do you want to sit in all these mediums?
EC: I love the notion of sketching sculpture! The answer to this lies partly in my response to your next question. I don’t want to be tied down to a medium, so somewhere in between all of this suits me. Each time I make a new work, what I do is dependent on the environment I’m working in, so I have no idea how something will turn out and that’s risky - but good. I’m happy to sit on the outside looking in.
ME: Can you tell us about the title of the show?
EC: Initially I wanted to call this show Edge Work, because I’m drawn to working at the edges of things. I prefer to work in between or around, as opposed to from or within. A lot of my work is created in outdoor locations, and I’m consistently drawn back to the East Anglian coastline, which is definitely to do with it being an edge. However, I settled with On the Brink because this notion resonates with me in a number of ways – I like the idea of a ‘tipping point,’ how far can a thing be pushed? My day job is in Great Yarmouth and Lowestoft, and I’m massively inspired by these intoxicating seaside towns. They are on the brink geographically, being the most easterly point of the UK, and throughout history they’ve experienced some extreme highs and lows economically. Also because I’m always on the brink emotionally, in one way or another.
ME: We discussed what belongs in a white cube and you talked about how you don't feel your work does. Where do you think your work belongs?
EC: My work belongs in moments, it’s time based, without wanting to sound too ‘meta’. I’ve mostly worked outside up until this point, and I’m interested in how I can interfere with what’s already there – utilising natural or manmade structures in the landscape – I rarely plan. In a blank space you’ve completely removed all of those references and uncertainties, and to me, it feels like working inside out. I mentioned earlier my interest in the unintentional, and the boat yard sculpture parks, well, I find the whole concept of a white cube as a backdrop an absurdity. The things that exist all around us, functional things that have purpose and the relationships between them, are beautiful. Interrogating this absurdity, however, compels me to make more work in and out of the white cube format.
ME: In OUTPOST you have hung a 76 foot parachute. Why and where did you source a parachute?
EC: I knew I wanted to use the OUTPOST space to create something all encompassing. I’ve mostly been working with a single piece of metallic, jersey fabric, which I bought from Goldhawk road in 2019. Again, I was keen to re-use and re-purpose something, so I hit e-bay and was fortunate to find this incredible military parachute. I was immediately struck by this massive object, which is no longer functional, grounded in a warehouse. I love the strength and thickness of the seams, who made it and where? I mentioned I work a lot around the East Anglian Coastline, where fragments of it’s military past are still present. Pill boxes, concrete bunkers, Radar buildings and disused air bases pervade the countryside. I’m fascinated by the concept that the layouts of our towns, cities and landscapes have evolved with a defensive strategy in mind. Are we always on the brink of conflict?
ME: I find some of your work sinister. How do you feel about that reading?
EC: I’m intrigued by this interpretation! I never intend to create menacing things, but perhaps it’s inevitable… I love ghost stories! I’ll admit there’s something extremely sinister about this parachute. It’s designed to deliver heavy goods, like ammunition and vehicles, to war zones.
ME: When making On The Brink, you struggled to stop in the same way an abstract painter may want to keep playing, adding. A lot of your work is ephemeral. Is it important that your works are finished?
EC: Contradictorily, it’s important for me that the works remain unfinished. I could continue moving, shifting and rearranging this fabric for eternity. I enjoy the restlessness which accompanies endless possibilities, choices, forms and states. It’s important I leave no permanent imprint with my work, that’s why I avoid cutting into things and I try to use and re-use waste materials. This is partly an environmental concern, and partly because of my aversion to decision making. I am restless by nature. When this show ends, I’ll take this material into another situation and it will never manifest in the same way again.
Image credit: Sean Hancock
