Artist Statement | Sandy Skoglund

Thinking back, I remember a feeling of artistic exhaustion in the 1970s. Modernism seemed to be finished in the face of pop culture, and it felt as if painting had finished its long journey as the pioneer of Western art. In 1972, I moved to New York, and Conceptual Art was on the rise. It was the new avant-garde. It felt amazingly original and was so intelligent that only a handful of people could understand it, but that was part of the thrill.

While conceptualism had a limited audience, there was also a post-minimalist spirit that allowed for a certain warmth and a casual approach to amateur photography. I remember John Baldessari's series of throwing balls in the air to get a straight line, captured with his snapshot camera. The unique, quirky performance and the impact of the orange balls against a bright blue sky were striking. I saw the exhibition in New York in 1973. Although it consisted of photographs, it would never have been called a "photography show."

As conceptualism made its way through the New York art world, it eventually felt as if there was a lack of joy. The art didn't seem to care about an audience beyond the art world. It was all process and intellectually austere.

Into this vacuum came Post-Modernism, to which I attribute the origin of Radioactive Cats. It embraced everything that Conceptualism was not: entertainment, media, advertising, social impact. It was about refocusing the art world back on the disturbing spectacle of our mediated society. What better medium to express this feeling than still photography, which was already being used in brilliantly crafted images for advertising? Commercial photographic practices put the meaning of truth and illusion under the microscope. Whether fake or real, artificial or natural, it gave me a way to make pictures.

Photography is a transparent medium that allows us to look seamlessly through it and experience what was once in front of the camera as if we were there. So at the end of the 1970s, photography became radical in its overwhelming familiarity, not because of its exclusivity, but precisely because of its inclusivity.

My response was to teach myself the craft of commercial photography. I did a lot of shopping for things to put in the photos, and I found things on the streets of New York. Still, my inner life was unsatisfied. The imagery was limited to things that other people had made. I decided it would be more compelling to make the props myself. I wanted to pay homage to the stray cats on the street, and I had taken classes in plaster sculpture in college. The process of sculpting became repetitive. It felt similar to serialism, but with desire. While working on the sculpture, I was also thinking about the photograph. For me it is multimedia, many different processes packed together in one image. Although the installation with all the cats is in a museum collection, the photograph is ultimately the best container for all this work.