"American, Dreaming" Hidden in Place: The Journey of the American Dream, Amy Ritter Written by Sibyl Kempson
In the heart of New Smyrna Beach, FL, at the Atlantic Center for the Arts, fate introduced me to Amy Ritter. A creative soul in her element, Amy was a resident artist there, immersed in her quest to chronicle mobile home parks for her archive (MH Archive). May 2021 marked our meeting: a time freshly graced by the vaccines, a time before the ominous procession of Covid variants commenced. Masks cast suddenly aside, we reveled in restored freedom, mingling unshielded, savoring the closeness of in-person gathering and conference once more. Underneath a canopy, our meals, shared in the open air, were feasts of joy.
Adventurous spirits, Amy and her companions embarked on explorations, venturing to the Last Resort bar, the Cassadaga village of psychics, returning rich with tales. In Amy, I recognized a fearless wanderer, her fascination with the world around her a shield against its harshness. Her work, unveiled over the course of the residency, struck a chord within me.
Amy's mission was her archive, the MH (Mobile Home) Archive. In her official garb, a cute utilitarian jumpsuit with a MH Archives logo sewn on the pocket, she roamed the region in her pickup, delving into the lives of mobile home residents. Her associative thinking - a fountain of inspiration - allowed freedom in interactions, collaborations, and reflections on her work. Amy's art was a territory of love, a bridge to the mobile home communities she cherished.
Her quest was an eternal return to her home, a reflection of her own upbringing in a mobile home near Allentown, PA. In her artist talk, she shared a spoken depiction that evinced deep love, family ties, and the fabric of communities echoing her past across the United States.
These elements interlock in a delicate balance in her work: she is intimately tied to her subject yet maintains an artistic distance. Familial threads intertwined with her creative process, her father's assistance in setting up her pieces a testament to this cohesion. As a theater artist, I resonated with weaving family into art, making the source part of the story. While I pretend no expertise in evaluating art, Amy’s aesthetic agenda struck me as far advanced and refined withal.
Amy, an advocate for her extended community with a buoyant spirit, contagious joy, and an unquenchable thirst for life, captivated all. Her interactions, marked by compassion and camaraderie, revealed a person unafraid of humanity. She was a bright tapestry of humor, enthusiasm, and profound intelligence, her youthful wisdom belying her years. Amy carried her upbringing like a beacon, exemplifying the value of honesty and compassion in revisiting one's roots.
Amy's work sent associative signals to my own past and I recalled some of my own early touchstones of affection and acceptance. My Gram and Gramps lived in a mobile home in a seniors-only park in Union, NJ. Visiting them was magical, with my own pedal motorcycle and Gram's modest touches of fanciness. Their home felt wealthy to me, not for its size but for the love and joy it contained. They seemed to live in luxury, with an airstream-like trailer, warmly paneled interiors, and a compact, efficient space that was always welcoming.
My childhood memories were treasures of gold lamé, ribbon candies, and the magic of a simple, shimmering life. They dressed in outdated but charming clothes, fitting their entire wardrobe in a small closet. I have a cherished photo of them at Christmas, welcoming and smiling, exuding comfort and happiness. Their airstream, a wonder of mobility, was a world of cozy warmth and laughter.
Years later, my stepdad's experience in a double-wide home painted a different shade of mobile home life. His stay was a bit rougher, and quite a bit darker. It represents a contrasting point on the spectrum of modern lived experience, situated at the opposite end of happiness.
Amy’s cultural production and practice transport me to a realm where each memory intertwines, not just because of the shared experience of life in a mobile home, but due to something deeper. Amy possesses a lucidity that challenges our perceptions of wealth's significance in our existence. This nuanced understanding sparked a sense of ambivalence in me, guiding me toward a connection I'll explore further in our discussion.
The works in Amy’s exhibition titled “HIDDEN IN PLACE: The Journey of the American Dream” at Grizzly Grizzly speak in visual poetry. The dialectic of inside/outside, reflections and shadows, invites us into intimate spaces, yet keep us at a thoughtful distance. The gallery itself mirrored the shape and essence of a mobile home, enhancing the experience. We find ourselves outside looking in, yet the spatial experience suggests we're within.
At the room's end, windows deceive subtly, crafting an illusion of peering into a tranquil domestic scene. Inside, a figure rests in the soft glow of privacy, illuminated by a warm lamp against the backdrop of a serene, late afternoon winter sky, not yet devoid of light. The reflection's accuracy mirrors our position, where the dim outlines of neighboring houses enhance the interior's visibility. This moment hovers in ambiguity, questioning when to draw the curtains on the day.
Reflections on the photograph's glass find their counterparts in the room, mirrored on the glass protecting the other framed works. Each piece, enveloped by nature: whether ornamental or wild, speaks to us in the language of the unseen. "Hidden" evokes the mystery and allure of Arnold Böcklin's "Isle of the Dead," with evergreen shrubs concealing a modest dwelling. "Outsider" invites us into a voyeuristic exploration of domestic spaces through a maze of vegetation.
In these black and white images, sunlight reveals the inherent green of the flora, crafting a scene of tranquility, care, and safety, juxtaposed against the decay and neglect on the opposite wall. These color photographs of winter showcase structures barely offering refuge, standing as a testament to calamity and loss.
The exhibition's audio component, a shoebox audio recorder compact like a mobile home, offers narratives of the American Dream tinged with disappointment and longing. As visitors engage, they embody the dual perspective of being both inside and outside the depicted homes.
On the other side of the pillar, another window. This window shows the wear of life, patched with cardboard, blocking light and view, leaving only the marks of struggle visible. This window reflects nothing, only revealing the effort to maintain privacy and warmth.
The impact of these compositions on me is uncertain, yet I'm drawn in by their balanced truth. They evoke a spectrum of emotions, from warmth and welcome reminiscent of childhood visits to my grandparents' trailer, to the harsh reality of their later struggles. For a while, they found solace in a condominium adjacent to my dad and stepmother's place, becoming my haven of joy with each visit. However, this arrangement forced Gramps into enduring a lengthy commute through often harsh weather. Eventually, they relocated to a housing project in Elizabeth, where Gramps would nightly remove the car battery and bring it inside their apartment, a measure taken to avoid theft. Now, at their age then, I reflect on their journey and the complexity of those experiences.
Amy's presence is a sanctuary of optimism and possibility, energizing conversations and igniting creativity. When I talk with her, I have more energy, I get excited about things, I start to have ideas with never-ending possibilities. Evenings spent with Amy and her partner exemplify the enduring spirit of joy, where even grievances are shared with laughter that never dims.
When Amy introduced me to the project in the Grizzly Grizzly gallery, it resonated deeply with some reflections I had on the dawn of the Bronze Age: the pivotal shift from nomadic, hunter-gatherer societies to settled, agrarian ones, alongside the emergence of wealth concepts. My education painted this evolution as a clear progression, suggesting our current era as the pinnacle of human achievement. Yet, I found myself questioning this narrative, eager to explore and challenge these assumptions in my writing.
I recalled a lecture by an archaeologist, Dr. Rachel Crellin, from the University of Leicester, and I told Amy about her. Dr. Crellin delved into the concept of minoritarian interdependent networks, challenging traditional views of ancient societies dominated by singular figures of power. Instead, she proposed a model where a leader's influence stemmed from a complex matrix of interpersonal relationships, a web that sustains and empowers. This perspective echoes in my conversations with Amy and becomes vividly apparent as I gaze through the evocative windows in the work presented at Grizzly Grizzly. Here, the essence of true power: rooted not in dominance but in the intricate bonds of community, reveals itself with clarity.
