1,000 Words: stories behind the pictures

Sarah Sudhoff -- whose powerful work is now on view in the exhibit 31 Under 31 -- kindly agreed to share with Intrepid readers the background to her series Repository. I'm always fascinated by the question: Why does the artist make THIS, and not something else? In "1,000 Words" -- which I hope will be a regular feature on the blog -- we'll hear from the artists themselves. (And to all you pure theorists out there who don't think an artists' intentions or biography should ever be considered, well... read Sarah's interview and see if you still feel that way.)

Sarah Sudhoff:
"Repository was created for many reasons and was a result of months of medical treatment following my diagnosis of cervical cancer. Some argue the series was a form of therapy for me and lacked artist merit. I fought this my entire time in graduate school. I don’t deny there are aspects, especially early on, that were in some ways for me a form of therapy. The first works I made were extremely raw and visceral. I am still very attracted to these images not only for what they stood for then or mean now but also for their formal qualities of composition, color, and the story they hold within. For me, the images of containers with organs and the highly saturated photographs of medical waste are a type of portrait -- a story is revealed if one is willing to look. However, I think the project took on its own life and became more than an emotional release for one woman. It began to resonate with the viewer when I introduced myself as the subject and object of the series.

"In May 2004, I was asked to come in to my doctors office. Still I cannot imagine why my doctor did not suggest I bring a friend or family member with me. The news that was relayed to me that day felt like a shock wave through my system. The usual why me, holy shit, and where is the nearest building I can jump off? were all thoughts racing through my head. I left the gynecologist’s office and walked out on to Madison Avenue and headed south all the way to a park on 23rd. I was so distraught I could not even place a phone call to find comfort in a friend or my mother. It wasn’t until much later that afternoon I was able to calm down enough to dial the phone.

"My surgery was scheduled for June. I made arrangements with my mom to fly up to accompany me to the hospital. Ironically, I started graduate school on Monday June 21, 2004, and had surgery June 25, the Friday of that week. The first two weeks of school I did my best just to attend class and keep up with readings. My advisor had met with me prior to surgery asking what I wanted to work on for the semester. I had no real ideas or thoughts. I showed her what little previous conceptual work I had done before and left it at that. Following my surgery, she kept asking me if I had shot anything, and of course I hadn’t. I was sore, uncomfortable and tired. Not to mention emotionally drained. Shooting was the last thing I wanted to do. I mentioned to her the vending machine I had seen on the way up to surgery and explained how it struck me, with its empty containers, florescent lights and tacky impersonal bouquets. She said to start there. And so I did."

Photo: Sarah Sudhoff, available from Humble Arts Foundation.