Sasha Backhaus Foley

On my family farm in Iowa large machinery plants miles of patchwork fields, filling them with infinite rows of growing crops. These lines are drawn into the earth moving parallel with the land. They pause at the end of their sections, change direction, and begin again full of life and movement. I think about them and the space on which they are created, the space on which they are drawn.

My work has become a manifestation of how I relate to the space around me. I have been breaking down the great expanse into its most rudimentary components: the lines and marks that define it.

Living in both Iowa and Baltimore, I am between two visually different worlds. In each, I am even more aware of the other. The spatial differences relate to my physical perspective. For example:

Urban Baltimore: the horizon line is not there; it is interrupted by the buildings, lights and concrete, leaving me with only dominating vertical lines. | . |

Rural Iowa: the horizon lines are very apparent; the distances are massive and flat with miles of fields, leaving me in a very horizontal space.

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Leaving a mark is my way of inserting myself into these existing lines with lines of my own.

Sketchbook Reincarnated – The Scroll started as an expansion of Sketchbook Reincarnated. The panels felt like pages and finite breaks, but this does not capture my stream of consciousness. So what happens if I think of it as a continuous book; a never ending, unrolling scroll? Upon completion, I realized my massive drawing was not just a monologue, but also a 160-foot, transportable line. This line can be rolled up, taken with me wherever, rolled out, and function completely different in each space. 

I have been creating sketchbooks for years. They are part of my process and have developed into a place to collect and keep images, ideas, emotions, moments, everyday life and interests; they became “My Library of Reference". I spend hours mindlessly creating things in them, almost acting from memory. What are all these things? Would I ever share them? If I keep them to myself, are they not significant to me? Are they too significant? What if it is the process of collecting and pasting that I find important? How do I test and expand this hypothesis? These three panels are the product of self-testing my process of collecting and pasting. When finished, they had developed an unexpected movement that looked almost digitally written and edited. They felt like large pages of data but as a viewer you weren’t sure what they were saying.

Living on the farm in Iowa has influenced my thinking about different ways of making a mark. In this work, I created four drawings: two are a line and value studies; two are experiments with different types of soil (sand and ash) to create a contrast in color and texture. In this new work, I explore drawing and line, the physical labor of creating them with the knowledge that the image will only live on in this picture; as it changes daily, growing back to its original state.

This artwork was made to create the spatial image of being "inside the box" compared to "outside the box." When I lived in the city of Baltimore the constant proximity of both buildings and people was much different from the 20 minute drive to the nearest city. Baltimore makes me feel very claustrophobic, whereas in Iowa I feel like I have space and am unconstrained. I have contrasted this openness of rural areas while exploring the fear of what is unfamiliar to the compactness of the urban areas.

This artwork is a collection of domestic objects that have been hidden out of sight and forgotten in the junk drawer of my immediate family. I wanted to highlight these neglected objects by bringing them out of the darkness of the drawer and back into sight, in hopes of provoking conversation of how they change when painted. In their raw form they have individuality, memories, and personality; but when painted, they become unified and part of a common piece, but lose their persona. 

Moving from an environment like Iowa to a neighborhood in Baltimore posed new challenges for myself as an artist. Working in a new space caused me to realize the importance I put on a table and a floor as an area to create artwork. This installation is about the moment I learned that working with my hands on an empty, clean table or on the openness of a floor is a priority within myself. This installation reflects the idea of work, repetition, and the impressions one’s presence in an empty space can make.

What does it mean to draw? Does it refer to an object that is drawn across a surface to make a mark? Is that the only way to create a drawing? This installation presents the question of whether this artwork can be considered both an installation and a drawing.

This body of work was created with the intention of understanding relationships, friendships, and myself. The artwork makes an effort to work through personal thoughts and emotions that I struggled to express. This work is meant to, in a way, tell the audience about myself: as every piece directly connects to people and experiences growing up.