Snake House conversation with Clare Dolan, Glover, Vermont
Clare Dolan is a Nurse/Puppeteer and the Founder and Chief Operating Philosopher of the Museum of Everyday Life in Glover, Vermont. Her early interest in object collection and experience as a touring puppeteer with the Bread and Puppet Theater informs the mission of the Museum to explore, analyze and celebrate banal but beloved objects we touch every day. Dolan’s work appropriates the visual vocabulary of the Museum (drawers, cabinets, vitrines, frames, titles and labels, pedestals, wall text, etc.) and the performative vocabulary of museums (guided tours, docents, security guards, educational lectures, surveys, promotional posters, maps and cordons and barriers). These familiar devices are re-assembled into installations and performances that challenge the notions of culture and upend understanding of the mundane and the extraordinary.
SH: How did the Museum of Every Day Life come about? What are its origins?
CD: There are a lot of different ways to tell that story…but the version I’ll tell today - goes like this: I’ve always been an object oriented person. From my early childhood I had hoarded weird little collections of pebbles and plastic mice and pennies and shoelaces and stuff like that - I was always a collector by nature. I went to college and after college I came to Vermont to work with the Bread and Puppet Theater and my time there was very formative in many many ways. B&P really inculcated me with this do-it-yourself, sort of cheap art philosophy. I saw how they made a museum out of an old barn, I could too without any training (laughing). The philosophy over there is you don’t need to be a professional to make culture. So I think that was of course a profound influence on me when I was in my twenties. I had this idea of something called “the museum of everyday life” and for me it was sort of like a universe I inhabited in my imagination.
A moment came when I was leaving B&P. I was sharing a house with a local friend who was much older than me and very wise and I was trying to figure out what to do with my life and that friend told me to go nursing school and get a useful skill to make money and I took that advice. While I was in nursing school, I won’t give you the details, a series of events happened where circumstances changed and I was starting to think along the lines of - wouldn’t it be nice to have a space to work in and do things in, a place where I can make stuff and do stuff? I knew I was about to start nursing school and I was very nervous about that taking over and not being able to keep up with my creative life. I was driving past this place one day going from Glover to Hardwick and there was this for sale sign. It didn’t look the way it does now. It was an old, really ramshackle farmhouse and it was back in the days before the financial crisis, when anybody could get a mortgage. I got one of those adjustable rate, criminal, totally irresponsible mortgages. They didn’t even ask me if I had a job, which I didn’t. I was a nursing student. I didn't even have a job and they gave me a mortgage.
I bought this place. It had a barn and I was already thinking - that’s where I can make projects. That’s a great possibility right there. Suddenly I had a place to anchor my imaginary museum of everyday life. It was a whole complicated universe in my imagination and at first I didn’t quite understand how to manifest it but I sort of worked on it and worked it out. I started making things happen in the barn. At a certain point we had a house fire and the house burned down and that turned out to be in some ways a lucky event. Because it was a total reset, I was able to get a better, safer mortgage. I rolled my student loan into it and suddenly things got a lot more reasonable and stable. The house size shrunk a lot, I was in a better place, I also had graduated nursing school so I was starting to work and actually make money. I thought I can actually make things happen now in the barn. I started making exhibits there.
And that’s kind of how it happened. At the beginning I had other kinds of projects, like performance projects and events that I would call the MOEDL, and I still do, but the physical space of the exhibition space, the permanent collection, the special exhibition space and how the structure has developed in there has grown to be the centerpiece of the MOEDL and the peripheral events and performances have kind of taken a back seat. I have mixed feelings about that but that’s sort of what’s happened. That’s the logistics of how it came to be. It was a slow motion coming together of circumstance, chance, a little bit of thinking ahead and opportunity, and seizing the opportunity as it came around.
SH: Were you collaborating from the beginning with other folks?
CD: Yeah, I would do different projects and collaborate with people. Different iterations of MOEDL would involve different groups of people and that would shift and change. When I started developing this very clear pattern with making exhibits here, that’s when a solid, fixed little core group of people began to develop that would come back year after year to work. I developed this rhythm: in the winter time I am researching, thinking about the subject matter of the next exhibit and then May would be my installation month. It started to be predictable and so then folks would come back. Every May Angela, and Kate, Leah, and Catherine would come and we’d work on it together. As it became more of a predictable rhythm the group of collaborators developed and stabilized. Usually in February I announce the subject matter of the upcoming exhibit and I put out a call - this year’s exhibit is about chairs, send me your chairs, send me your ideas…
At first it was only my friends who would hear about it. I’d put out an email or something and so all the people who would send me things would be all people I knew. But of course by now there’s quite a wide network of people who hear about it this way and that way, and so mostly now I hear from people I don’t know. In that way it’s become a much broader and richer group of collaborators. The group of people who send things in for the exhibits, or give me ideas, or ask questions that help develop the exhibit changes every time because certain people respond to certain subject matters. Some people are really turned on by lists and notes and they dive into that but then they’re not at all interested in chairs. So that is an everchanging group.
SH: What’s your relationship to the conventions, structures, ideas of what a museum is? Of what a gallery is.
CD: I think my relationship to museums starts in childhood. I think I fell in love with museums when I was seven and the King Tut exhibit came to Chicago where I grew up. It came to the Field Museum there and I think it’s the first museum experience I can remember. My parents took me and we stood in a really long line to get in and that was kind of exciting and then we got in. The lighting was low because the artifacts were so old and there were such huge crowds that they controlled the flow. There were all these stanchions with velvet ropes and you had to go in the direction they told you. Whereas nowadays that might make me crabby, when I was a kid that was magical: the vitrines, and the little labels that told you things about what you were looking at through the little glass window, and the pillows with little velvet pillowcases that the objects were laid on. And the objects themselves: you had to imagine someone touching that in ancient Greece, the queen would comb her hair with that comb! (laughter) I was the kind of kid where that kind of thing sent me to the moon. I had this very early falling in love with the vocabulary of the museum - frames, pedestals, vitrines, stanchions, the velvet ropes, wall texts, the way you move through a thing and experience interacting with objects in an order, the narrative.
I think all of that really entranced me and then I got older and developed a more critical mind.
I started to see how museums can be so problematic in so many ways and I became familiar with the institutional museum. I started to travel more and see the Louvre, the British Museum and I started to realize, oh my god, these institutional museums are articulating really specific agendas that reinforce empire, and craft national identity and a particular narrative that make me feel unwelcome and that are too expensive for me to be able to afford and, and, and. I think the two, the early love and the later criticism, sort of collided and mixed up in my person. When I got to Bread & Puppet and saw this other way, this other kind of museum which is this really weird do it yourself, roadside attraction, with Peter Schumann, who is definitely outside the established world of culture making. Seeing that I realized, of course, there are many iterations of “museum”. I started seeing everything as a museum, yard sales as a museum. My understanding of “museum” and my use of the word and my use of the vocabulary of the museum blossomed.
SH: Related to that, there’s a particular aesthetic and stylistic consistency throughout the space. How do you describe the aesthetic of the MOEDL?
CD: Nobody has ever asked me to describe it before. I guess I’m eager for other people to describe it because I’m not sure what the experience is for someone who isn’t living in my brain to enter into that. So I’m always eager to hear, I’m always excited if some very interesting and articulate person writes a review of a show or something. That doesn’t happen very often but when it does I’m excited because I really want to know, what is this like for you? Because for me it’s a very interior space. I guess I’m creating the space that I want to inhabit if I were driving along the road and saw a barn with a sign painted on it and pulled over and then walked in. I’m kind of making the thing I would want to see. I think that’s the best way I can describe it. It’s like my interior life really. It’s an expression of my interior landscape. (laughs) The things I’m thinking about are there. It’s an expression of all the stuff I’m thinking about, and feeling. I feel like it’s a very affective place. It’s more about emotion. I’m kind of an emotional person. It’s more about feelings than thoughts really, but there are a lot of thoughts mixed up in there. For me it’s a feeling space.
SH: With a lot of visual intention though, the font you use for all of the cards, even the way that they are cut, how they're laminated, where they’re positioned. There’s so much about being in that space where there’s a tremendous amount of care and intention within it. It’s like being inside someone’s medicine cabinet or inside someone’s junk drawer but with a pretty hefty intellectual backbone and a sense of humor. It’s part of the pleasure of being in it, but that intimacy is very present. It’s not arbitrary. There’s nothing that’s arbitrary.
CD: It’s not arbitrary. Well that’s good, I’m glad it doesn’t feel arbitrary. It’s not arbitrary. When I put up the chairs exhibit at some point it was close to being done and I was walking through and I thought, is this a yard sale? (laughter) No, No, No it’s an exhibit. It’s kind of like roadside attraction meets yard sale, hoarder, meets MOMA. It’s a good mashup of these.
SH: But that is the surprise. Yes, it does look like a jumble of things but as you investigate, as you move further in you realize that you’re leading us through some thought process, something you’re thinking about and we’re allowed to enter into that thinking. Then you think less about the chaos or the every day of it and more about the sublime readings (text) and what is generated from moving through the space.
CD: It’s interesting. I think a lot about the balance between the text and the visual. When I first started making the museum it wasn’t as text heavy and I was really into the idea that you could just display two objects next to each other and that would be enough to point out the thing that I wanted to point out. I still believe that’s true and I still try to do that very hard, but I do take great pleasure in writing and so I find I’m allowing myself to put more text in there as the years go by. And I’m always kind of worrying at the same time, is it too text heavy? But what I realize, and the thing that liberates me to do the thing that I want is, I realize people don’t read it. If it’s too much for them they just skip it. And I watch people go through and some people are really not reading a thing and just kind of wander through and look at the stuff and other people will read a lot. So I realized that people self-regulate. If there's too much text a person will stop reading it. But at the same time I don’t want to take up too much room with all that text if it’s just in the way. I think about that.
SH: That’s always the tension between this idea of an audience and the work and why you're making the work. You initially started by saying you wanted to see this thing that you wanted to see in the world regardless of the audience first. What is an audience for?
CD: What is an audience for? To have a conversation with? Any time I’m making a thing I guess it’s really to share the experience I’m having with somebody else. That’s the idea.
SH: You talked about writing and how you love to write. One of the things we’re curious about is how people research and how they define what research is. What do you choose to research? When you take on a topic as large as scissors, chairs, or combs, how do you know where to begin? And how would you even begin to research stains?
CD: It’s very idiosyncratic I’d say. And sometimes I do feel twinges of guilt. “Oh, I’m not really going about this correctly.” But I’m lazy enough though I’ll have the thought “I really should read about the history of whatever it is” and then just be like, “oh well I’m not going to.” (laughter) Sometimes that comes home when people see the website and they write in questions like, “I’m really interested in the pencils of the Sumerians” and I have to write them back to say I can’t really tell you. I have to confess I’m a hack. (laughter) I only know this much about pencils. I don’t know everything there is to know about pencils. Yes, so it’s idiosyncratic, I just think about the thing. If I’m considering something as a subject for the exhibit it will be because something about it interests me. And then I think about why I am interested in stains. What is it about them? And then I’ll just follow along if it reminds me of this book or I’ll do a search. When I google “stain” on the internet what comes up? And then when I put out the call people start sending me ideas and things they want to send in. “If you’re making an exhibit about stains don’t forget ____” And those will send me off to other avenues of research: “read the book such and such if you’re interested in chairs, I wrote a book about the electric chair…” Things like that.
What I research organically spreads branches out as I start thinking about why I am interested in this thing and as people start responding to the call. I’m not a methodical, good, thorough researcher. A lot of times I feel like I probably should know more about this thing before I do an exhibit on it. And sometimes I try to cram. I do a little dutiful cramming. I knew with chairs there were going to be a lot of furniture people out there so I did some dutiful reading. You’ll see in the exhibit there are some big chair history books that I did read, not cover to cover. I’m not thorough.
SH: You’ve talked about this a little bit already but it’s something that’s very interesting to us and that’s the idea or process of putting out a call. We do that a lot. We put out an annual call for the International Video Festival and then there are times when we don’t, where we are really intentional about who we’re selecting, where we’re reaching out to someone. We’re trying to balance intentionally finding and bringing in someone and also opening oneself to the universe and letting things come. Tell us about your process for putting out a call. Even some of the dumb, practical stuff around it. Where do you put it? Do you email people? Do you put it in a newspaper? How do you even put it in the world?
CD: I’ve reached just the right size, just the right amount of people hear about it. Because if it was more it would be too much and if it was less I’d feel a little like oh I need more. It does vary by subject matter. The response I get really varies. I have a mailing list that has accrued over the years. The museum has been operating for fifteen years now and all that time I’ve had people sign up for the mailing list. So I have a list of email addresses, it’s not huge, maybe three thousand people or something. It’s not that much. I send out a mailchimp announcement to them. I have a guy who manages an Instagram account for me, I don’t do that. He makes a post whenever I tell him. I put up a couple of posts when I’m announcing the subject matter and I put out another one when there's an opening or an event. It’s a very low volume thing with very few followers, but enough.
I send out to people I know and I’ll say share this with people who might be interested.
And I think that’s actually how the most interesting things get around. Because people will think - “my aunt Helen has a thing with chairs, I’ll send it to her” or I have a number of friends in academia and they think of that person who wrote a book and they might be interested. I think that’s how word gets out the most effectively. I put an ad in the local papers because I’m trying to engage with my neighbors: the Barton Chronicle, The Caledonia Record, The Hardwick Gazette, The Burlington Free Press, Seven Days. I put out a press release for the calls for submission and events.
SH: Are you selecting the work solo or with other people? You have the submissions, what do you do from there?
CD: Right now it’s pretty much a dictatorship. I select, I read everything and with some I know right away - hmm, barking up the wrong tree. A lot of times I’ll put out a call and I’m really not looking for art work, I’m looking for the actual objects and people get confused and they say, “I make art about chairs.” And I have to write back and say I’m not actually looking for paintings of chairs, I’m looking for actual chairs with stories or actual chairs that represent something that has to do with human culture. People are very kind, they say, “Oh, I didn’t realize.” There’s a certain amount of misunderstanding that happens and I take care of that right away. And then of the remaining things, it’s a balance of thinking about what I’m trying to articulate about the object and which things are helping me get at that. Often things come that totally surprise me, that I did not think of and that’s always wonderful. And then if I get multiples of the same idea or same thing, I have to choose and there are different ways of making that choice.
SH: How do you consider the lives of an object? Especially as a collector, you have a thing that sits with you over time. Something we’ve talked about, and certainly noticed when we’ve gone there, is that there are objects that came from people that have died. There’s a sort of post mortem built into the object. Maybe that’s an extreme example, but how do the objects evolve for you, especially since they live next door to you and you spend a lot of time with them?
CD: I do. I think I’m an animist. I think about ancient beliefs where the objects have souls, they have volition, they have memory, they have gifts, and they have punishments. (laughter) That’s an easy religion for me to partake in. The cup is a person, sort of. For me they’re kind of all people. I think on some very basic level I relate to them that way. I feel very aware that each one has its own personality and its own history and its own multiple layers upon layers of stories to tell and experiences, and affordances. The things it can afford to humans. I think a lot about how objects relate to the human body. I think our experiences as embodied creatures is very interesting and I think these objects relate to our body in a different way and those connections are quite present in the object. (lifting cup) This cup is speaking to my thumb right now, because of the way my thumb fits in that handle and my fingers wrap around. That kind of thing. I like to think that way. The world is a very living place if you think all of these objects are alive.
SH: They also decay.
CD: Oh yeah.
SH: This is one of the interesting things going back to the question about the conventions of “museum” and what are the things you take or not take, use or not use from those conventions. This is not a conservationist space.
CD: Right.
SH: It’s not temperature controlled…
CD: Yes, the roof leaks, dirt gets in and I put pushpins through things and I staple them to the wall…
SH: Eventually some of the objects will disappear and that’s sort of part of their life cycle.
CD: Yes. They're like us, right?
SH: Yeah. Related to that, what are your thoughts on the future of the museum?
CD: I’ve been thinking about that a lot. This past year and a half I’ve been, in my usual slow motion way, making moves towards addressing that. A couple of things come up when I think about it. One is, the museum has sort of necessarily grown. I do an exhibit and I accumulate some things, then I do another one, then another one and before you know it I have a very big permanent collection. Over the years I’ve become more attuned to the grounds around it, how I mow and where I put things and how I construct the area around the museum and then before you know it, there’s about three hours of mowing, there's cleaning and repairing the stuff. The audio breaks all the time. There’s restocking the store, servicing the composting toilet and before you know it the stewardship of a thing…
You grow a thing, it starts out like a little embryo and all you have to do is eat your meals and it grows by itself and it’s fine but then by the time it’s a teenager, you have to drive it places, and it becomes a very involved project. It’s not anyone's fault it’s just become this very time consuming creature, the museum, for me. It keeps me from doing other things I’m interested in doing. So, I’ve been trying to think how I can liberate myself a little bit from that. Even though it’s a beautiful project and it’s fun, it’s also a burden, the stewardship of it. And you think, well on the one hand you could just stop doing it, but I feel some obligation. There’s this nice thing now, it would be a shame just to stop taking care of it and go make paintings now. Or maybe it wouldn’t? I’m very torn about it. Maybe this project has done its thing and now it’s time to do the next project.
But people keep coming, they’re still coming and I know they enjoy it. So I feel, wouldn’t it be sad if they couldn’t enjoy it any more? I’m thinking a lot about that. How can there be a structure that does some of the stewardship and how could there be more people involved? Maybe at some point it could be people thinking of exhibits and making their own exhibits or programming and scheduling events. So I start to imagine how there could be a structure where the MOEDL becomes an entity, more like a real museum, a nonprofit that has a board or at least like a director, or a collaborative of people doing the programming and exhibits. Something detached from me where I get to come and say, I would like to make an exhibit this year. Where I wouldn’t be the only one minding the store.
So that’s one part I think about and then the other part has to do with my father. I’ve had a lot of loss recently. My father died, one of my dear friends died, and a big, important mentor died. A colleague who I was guardian for because she had Alzheimer's, died. All in the same year. I had to deal with a lot of “stuff”, cleaning out people’s houses and taking care of their stuff. And that has had a big effect on me and is really making me think, if I dropped over dead tomorrow, that would be an awful thing to leave to somebody who loved me. That would just be mean. My Dad died and he had a beautiful long life. He was ninety three and he lived in the same house for sixty years and you can imagine it was just full of stuff. At some point when I was toiling away trying to deal with it I thought, Dad, why did you leave me with this shit? Why didn’t you deal with your own stuff? You were an adult, you could have organized this. Of course I forgave him, I understand.
SH: Grief is a wild ride.
CD: Yes. But I understand how it happened because I’m doing the same thing here. I’m not leaving my situation in any better shape for anyone who cares about me. So I’m really thinking about the MOEDL in terms of that too. Even if I decided I want to start making paintings and writing books and I didn’t want to do the MOEDL anymore and I just stopped, there would still be all of that to deal with. It’s a lot of stuff. So that has me thinking about a future too. Because of that I am taking steps towards forming a board. I want to organize money in some way where I can involve other people in a way that they can invest their time without feeling that they were being exploited so I want to be able to pay people. It’s very complicated. I’m working on all that.
Some structure I think is going to come into place that will make the MOEDL a little less my personal art project and a little more like a regular entity, probably a nonprofit entity. It’s a sticky wicket, because you want people to care about it and you want people to be involved, but it’s also very tricky.
I have a very long and complicated relationship with Bread & Puppet and I volunteer so much time over there and sometimes I resent it. I’ve learned a lot from that experience. There’s service and then there’s service. Let’s think about what is just. Justice comes into it somehow too. And it’s really fucked up how money and justice are related, but they are. And it’s so hard to disentangle them.
SH: And time.
CD: Yeah, and time. All that’s a lot of heavy thinking that’s going on right now.
SH: Stuff. We marvel at the wonder of things and at the same time they are an incredible weight over us in all terms.
CD: They require stewardship. They require care. How well are we going to care for them?
SH: You won’t be able to control it once you push that button. Then there are all of those conversations around watching something that is so closely connected to you move away and become something else. Because, inevitably, it will and how are you going to feel about all of that? It’s also right next to you! The physical proximity of it to where you live…
CD: Yes.
SH: Occasionally you will do things like bring a show somewhere else..
CD: Every once in a while, yeah.
SH: What’s that like when you leave the land and take an idea somewhere else?
CD: That’s interesting. It’s hard. I just did this exhibit at ArtYArd in New Jersey and that was really scary because I did have that feeling of, is the only reason these exhibits work is because they’re in the barn? It could be that that’s the only reason they’re really working. And to a certain extent I think that’s true. But the New Jersey thing I think was also fine. I felt like that space, I don’t know if you’ve ever been there but, it’s a big, well appointed, very nicely designed art space. It has two big galleries, one upstairs and one downstairs and it has a big theater and a work space. It’s very nice and has polished cement floors and the ceilings are fourteen feet in one room and maybe sixteen in the other gallery. Thank god I was only in that one. Very white, tasteful, very tasteful. Someone with very good taste designed it and put it together. It’s an amazing space and very nice to spend time in there.
But I did feel worried. I think my conclusion was the space was infested or colonized for a little while with a different kind of organism. I’m thinking of biology now, you know a worm or moth will get in a nice piece of wood, and you’ll see the place where the creature made lots of little channels. It sort of felt like that. Ok, I’m this creature coming in and I’m thumb tacking my text to the wall and there’s thumb tacks everywhere and I’m making holes. But there was still “the white wall” behind everything. But then I realized in my little exhibit space I’ve painted white walls. There is a white wall down there. I felt like it was ok. It was certainly odd and I did worry about it. That’s the first time I’ve done a big exhibit in another space. Other times I’ve brought a performance or a little installation in a very limited space. If I were to do a big exhibit somewhere else again I’m sure it would bring its own set of challenges.
SH: You brought the exhibition there but you also brought your own conventions to space vs theirs.
CD: It was a meeting of the minds.
SH: I imagine they don’t typically put push pins in the walls.
CD: To the pushpins and the laminated labels they were like - OK! They had a woman there who was a genius installer and she did build really nice plinths for things to sit on. They were her style plinths but they were great. There’s something about having a beautiful plinth and then having a ratty old chair sitting on top of it. It felt like the two things came together in a nice way. The space was hard because it was just so big and the ceilings were so high I kept feeling like I had to keep raising things up off the floor a lot.
SH: How did you connect with each other?
CD: I met them years ago through Bread & Puppet. Sometimes I install Bread & Puppet exhibits for Bread & Puppet and there was a big Peter Schumann retrospective at their space. And I had installed that so that’s how I met them. They’re very nice people.
SH: Our closing question is: How do you fold a fitted sheet?
CD: How do I fold a fitted sheet?! That’s actually an amazing question. Wow. I love that. Here’s how I do it now: (demonstrating) I stick my hands in the corner pockets. So I establish the pockets. It’s easier if you have two people but you can do it by yourself. I make the corner pockets go together this way so that the hanging doily part is on the inside, so then I have corner pocket, fold, corner. If I can establish that, good. I lay that down, then I do the same thing on the other end: corner pocket, corner pocket, doily part. So then I have a square, or rectangle, I guess. And then I just continue folding that way so that all the doily stuff is on the inside. How do you do it?
SH: I kind of do it like that. I was taught to fold it in half and stick your hands in the corners, the two corners at the same time. It’s a little lumpy. I’m going to have to try that. How do you do it? Similar, it’s definitely a hand in one but then, I take one and I glove it over the other. So that if there’s a wrong side or a right side you take the one corner and I flip it out so that it feels like the wrong side is in so that it tucks into the other one so that if there’s a pattern everything gets hidden in there. And then I do what you do from there, I lie it down and then I try to, because it’s essentially not a square, because it's a curve, I fold to make the curve disappear.
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