10 Questions with Christopher Fluder
Christopher Fluder (New Jersey, USA, 1983) was initially a poet experimenting with the visual arts. He began creating film work, finding his filmmaking take shape at Tisch/NYU (BFA). These studies led to further pursuit of producing and a career as a Writer/Producer/Director. In photography, Christopher examines contrast and dichotomy. Eschewing artistic conventions, he captures features of real life as they occur — whether beautiful or horrifying. His photographs have exhibited in New York, Budapest, Barcelona, Glasgow, and London. Christopher is based out of New York City.
Photo Penelope Fluder©
Contrast doesn't come into being by way of permission; it is autonomous, and no one is immune, no one absolved from it. Christopher Fluder's photographs examine contrast and dichotomy. They are eschewing comfortable patterns or artistic conventions. He examines real-life features as they occur — whether beautiful or horrifying. Fluder's recent works represent a reflection of New York City over a tumultuous two-year period; the mistaken, unseen, and overlooked have presented themselves on a case-by-case basis, highlighting our existence's fragile nature. Before harmony, there is chaos.
Interviewed by Mohamed Benhadj.
Phototaxis, 2018, Photo Christopher Fluder©
Walking on the edge of Soho, the day had begun to recede; and evening was coaxing light from windows and half-open doors…. Only as I passed this loading bay, it was unclear whether the light was meant to push forth or draw me within.
Christopher, please describe the intention behind your art. How do you successfully express this intention?
If I'm defining an academic intention of my work, I would say to understand the human condition better. Expressing this is bringing the viewer to a point where they can lose themselves and don't always feel comfortable where they end up. We mustn't overlook the need for catharsis.
Can you talk a little about your formative years as an artist?
Looking back does not necessarily produce a linear explanation of how we got to where we are. Mine has never been a wholly traditional path. I can say writing has always formed the basis for how I create. In adolescence, collaborating with Penelope (my now partner/wife), every avenue culminated in a greater focus on film. In the years that followed, embracing the concept that there is "no color, only light," gave rise to more comprehensive experimentation with still and moving images.
Contrast doesn't come into being by way of permission; it is autonomous, and no one is immune, no one absolved from it. Can you talk about that?
The symbiotic nature of existence is defined by contrast: we are born to a life of it. Terrestrially, physiologically, socially. I have been driven by the idea that our myriad means of expression, our arts, enable us to pull the curtain back and examine the chaos or entropy in a governmental system, a spiritual philosophy, or simply an individual walking the streets…and see ourselves in ways we might not have otherwise.
The Crossing at Night, 2018, Photo Christopher Fluder©
Walking through parkland during the new moon, I came upon a small lighted structure standing out from total darkness. There was no distinction beyond the edge of this outbuilding; no definition to the hands at my sides, or the world to which I was born. The blanket of isolation afforded by the dark had become one which I could not cast off.
How did the idea for "The Crossing at Night" come about?
Not an idea per se; after a long night's walk, I came across this lit pavilion. I was struck by a weightless feeling, as everything at the edge of this light formed an encroaching gauze. This photograph was the best language I could use to convey the dissociative sensation I found resonant at that moment.
"Unconscious Voices," one of your latest artwork, which I find mysterious and intriguing. What inspired you to create such a disturbing photograph?
There are rooms in dreams we don't enter willingly. Sometimes, those same rooms become the ones we refuse to leave. It was in the recesses of a mansion on Gramercy Park that I found such a room. I was able to draw myself to a corner far-flung enough that the voyeur could be challenged by foreboding and yet engrossed: A waking dream I was able to capture.
Unconscious Voices, 2020, Photo Christopher Fluder©
New Year’s Eve on Gramercy Park, all but a few guests had left the Booth Mansion; the remaining assemblage seemed to comment deeply on the mystery that drives our quest for identity in this life.
How long did it take to develop this project?
Like many of my photographs, this piece was captured in the moment.
Is there a piece you consider a "breakthrough" in your work, in terms of approach or subject matter?
Breakthroughs, or realizations, are more often carried on the shoulders of my writing and/or reflection. Do I believe these insights show in what I create? I believe everything we experience eventually finds its way into our work. The idea that maintaining social memory is our responsibility, and that the consequence of ignoring this will be social amnesia, has begun to surface in my photography. Take, for example, Conditions or Not All That Glitters.
Conditions, 2019, Photo Christopher Fluder©
Born of marginalized communities and fed on co-opted ideals, my subject embraces the nonbinary reality found at the precipice of convention and discord: a child of society creating the blueprint for identity in the future.
Not All That Glitters, 2020, Photo Christopher Fluder©
Through the doors down the hall within the dining room of a city club, a lone man stands at the ready with a slight crook formed from years spent in service—An exile, whose countenance knows only what it reflects.
In Not All That Glitters, I'm not certain I could have passed by that scene without taking up the camera. In this instance, it was in the halls of a revered collegial club. The underlying murmur present throughout was muted by a tantrum from the barroom: "Me! Mine! Not yours! Mine, it was mine, motherfucker!" …how this patron had suffered, what they had gone through, and why they deserved more as a result. These words about sacrifice and entitlement washed over the subject in this piece. There he stood, as though a fixture on the wall, witness to a vacuum of privilege, sealed off as though it wasn't oxygen filling the halls.
They say if you could be anything but an artist, don't be an artist. What career are you neglecting right now by being an artist?
In nearly every facet of existence, there is a creative element; creativity has shaped our ability to express ourselves diversely. If we are putting that aside and choosing a less overtly artistic path, I would say psychiatry. In a sense, psychiatry seems the modern age equivalent of shamanism. The role of a shaman was defined by their understanding of people: identifying hopes, fears, challenges. They were responsible for shepherding the growth of the individual as well as the community.
What are you working on now? Anything exciting you can tell us about?
I will be directing a feature my wife and I optioned and adapted from Laszlo Santha, a former Tisch/NYU professor of mine. The script, Strangers, is a Cold War drama set in 1970s Budapest, about coming of age in an era of suspicion, oppression, and revolution. We're readying to shoot in Hungary.
What is your favorite experience as an artist?
I won't apply a hierarchal totem pole to the myriad experiences I've found to be affecting or remarkable and name one above all others. More meaningful among them? When something I've been a part of creating resonates with people.
