Lois Bielefeld’s “To commit to memory” Reckons with Identity Difference in Intimate Relationships

×

Expand

Photo courtesy Portrait Gallery of Contemporary Art

Lois Bielefeld - To Commit to Memory

My mom is thinking about selling the house we moved into after moving out of the house we lived in with my dad for the first 14 years of my life. Not one time in that house I grew up in do I remember my parents getting along, agreeing, talking—only yelling. It was a blessing to have the privilege to move out.

The house we moved into was our first landing ground out of that debilitating environment. It was a place where we could finally take the emotional and physical space to begin healing from the years of pent-up trauma on our physical and mental well-being.

We painted each room a different color. Bright. No neutrals. Gold in the living and dining rooms, teal and mango orange in the kitchen, lime green in the bathroom, baby blue hallway, rusted orange in the back of house, coffee brown in my mom’s bedroom. The living room has southwest-facing windows for optimal sunshine, allowing plants to flourish. Art my mom has collected over many years adorn the walls. Oak floors, a fireplace with a tile walk up. A galley kitchen—the perfect size for efficient, in-reach cooking.

Making an Oasis

And it’s not even that we didn’t make the house I grew up in equally as home. But this one is not soiled with an alcoholic’s stank. This is our space. One my mom and I cultivated together. Bringing us up and out of the aftermath of long trauma. A place my mom and I both discovered our queerness. Where heartbreak too has passed through yet has given us an oasis to retreat. The sunshine is bright, where even on cloudy days it is unnecessary to turn the lights on, and we can bask in safety.

I am nostalgic of the space, thankful to the space, proud of the space. And now that it is time to sell this house, how do I honor its specificities when it is out of our reach? How can I capture this place in real time? How can I preserve this space in my memory? Documenting the mundanities, the crannies I pass daily, the smallest of pieces that amount to making our house feel like our home?

These are similar questions Lois Bielefeld addresses in her show “To commit to memory” at Portrait Society Gallery through November 13. Lois, a queer atheist artist from Milwaukee, uses her photographic practice to capture the dailies of her Christian evangelical parents that amounts to a life ritualized out of dedication to their faith and honoring everything in thanks and gratitude. Questions like: How to honor her parents’ lives of intense dedication despite their colossal differences? How to capture their daily regimens in real time without interrupting the flow? How to preserve and share their uniquities? Documenting the practices that amount to a life dedicated to faith?

Beauty in the Mundane

The show, two years in the making, finished as a thesis for Bielefeld’s MFA from California Institute of Arts (CalArts) in 2021, takes place in her childhood home in West Allis, challenging our response in the face of difference and seeking beauty even in the most mundane.

The show opens in the front gallery, windows blacked out to run a 20-minute video of Lois’ mother, Sally, planking while reciting passages of the Bible she has diligently memorized, outloud and with ferocity to put mind over matter while pushing her physical endurance. Titled “Thank you Jesus, for what you are going to do,” we see Sally’s faith entwine physically into her body and soul. Sally opens the exercise with a prayer, thanking God for this opportunity to be a part of this project with Lois and her photos, breaking a wall acknowledging the emotional capacity this project holds for both Lois and her parents. The platform it is offering them to foster understanding and love in the face of extreme identity differences.

Lois entered a space she has become quite opposite of, enduring a discomfort for the sake of trying to relate, to see too what they see, or at least attempt to see the brightness and safety it brings for her parents to live their lives in dedication to their faith. A queer athiest amongst evangelical purists. One extreme breeding another. Each valid in their beliefs, but differences spectrally opposite that are beyond ignore.

I find it a deeply selfless act to immerse oneself in an environment that does not agree with your identity for the sake of showing reverence to her parents. Always keeping any judgement at bay. Looking to honor her parents while showcasing the undoubtedly awe-striking veracity of their waste-not ethics from their Depression-era habits that coalesce with their faithful dedication to preserving everything’s existence, even if considered trash to most today.

In one of the photo’s captions, Sally acknowledges, “Part of being a Christian is being a good steward of the time, talent, and resources with which God has blessed us.” Plastic bags are washed, hung and dried on a clothesline in the basement (To Commit to Memory #12), widowed caps are kept in their own bag tethered together with a rubber band about to snap (House Study #86), banana peels are scraped for their extra pulp (The most nutritious part). Nothing goes to waste. Boundaries are then blurred between religious practice and everyday chores. Another moment of blending metaphysical religious faith with tangible actions in day-to-day life.

Intimate Environment

The show is voyeur-like, watching her parents engage in their home that otherwise would be behind closed curtains if not for Lois’ fly-on-the-wall perspective she places us in. We watch her mother fold laundry (To commit to Memory #9), her father’s hands spread butter on some toast (House Study with Dad #97), or see her mother, visually impaired and recognizably short in height, alight the kitchen counter using a foot ladder to retrieve something from the ceiling cabinets (To Commit to Memory #4). Almost invasive yet highly captivating to be with these people in their most intimate environment—the home.

Of the most voyeur while accomplishing a grand artistic feat comes in the 14-hour and 13-minute durational film of her father Eric sitting in his recliner as he does every day—an act Lois captured for its mundane grandiosity. Laptop, cell phone, newspaper, remote—all within Eric’s reach from the chair. Only for the bathroom and occasional snack does he break his last. An epic of extremes within the mundane.

Immersing herself in her childhood home again, Lois could witness quirks of her parents in real time, then restage the ones that piqued her artistic interest she knew would translate to a captivating visual image and address of her parents’ unique lifestyle. Ones she knew were specific to her parents’ ways, things Lois knew were far beyond any norm. One being To commit to Memory #15, the living room picnic at the fireplace.

When Sally and Eric collect enough junk mail, or mail that needs destroying, they set it aside in its own burn pile, accumulating until enough for a living room picnic, outfitted with hot dogs and s’mores—the whole nine yards. Her mother is pictured kneeling, as if at a pew, in front of the fireplace, roasting a marshmallow over the documents aflame. Her father sits in the adjacent chair, staring away from the camera, hot dog in hand. The artificial yet delicately placed spotlights illuminate him, the dogs, Sally, the act of making even disposal a ritual. Using every last piece of an item's existence so far it vanishes into air. A moment our wasteful, single-use dependent society can be stopped to question our own habits when witnessing an opposing extreme.

Considering this show is in a gallery whose goal is to get artists’ works on the walls of homes, this might not land beyond Bielefeld’s own. However, one that I would hang on my own wall is the overhead shot of a pair of work gloves laying on the seat of a chair, House Study #10. My eyes are initially drawn to this piece’s color blocking. The orange fabric atop, the peach version below, brown gloves laying as they were when tossed there, all in a monochromatic composition of family values and lineage. These work gloves were Lois’ grandfathers still in use today, no matter how much duct tape it takes to keep them together. Why get new ones when the old suffice? Lois again captures preservation and the mundane in an elegantly personal image.

Text from either her mother or father accompanies each photo, gathering who is speaking only through context clues, gradually getting to know them better through the course of the show, followed by Lois’ take. The perspective and generational differences in the responses to the same subject were palpable. Acknowledging how each party had different lived realities during the same experience. It helps Lois and by extension, us, begin to understand views that are different from our own. Heightening our empathy for other perspectives deserving of respect.

“To commit to memory” becomes a platform for Lois to begin understanding her parent’s wildly differing views, doing so in reverence and respect, love and curiosity. While showcasing her parents’ unintentionally powerful resistance to our rapidly expanding fast-society of single-use products and expedient practices. It is an inspiring exhibit for the project I hope to undertake in my own home. Framing the space to spotlight, to honor. Documenting pieces that are a part of the everyday presence within the space, things that get passed mindlessly, daily movements, but have amounted to something much more: love, family, home, kinship.

The show is on view through Nov. 13 at Portrait Society, 207 E. Buffalo St, 5th Floor. Portrait Society is open noon to 5 p.m. Thursday through Saturday. Gallery Night on Friday, Oct. 15 is another opportunity after hours to catch the show.