Join us for happy hour celebrating Jennifer Odem: drawings > < sculpture Wednesday, April 30, from 5:30 - 7:30pm.
Jennifer Odem and I met in 2017 when we were both in the fourth edition of Prospect New Orleans, The Lotus in Spite of the Swamp. We became quick friends and for the past few years we’ve been visiting each other’s studios regularly. Our visits are freewheeling, fun, and often playfully contentious.
I visited Jennifer as she prepared for her show drawings > < sculpture at Other Plans. The studio buzzed at peak energy: sculptures and assemblages in various stages of completion, incorporating bronze, wood, plaster, dirt, rope, and metal; large- and small-scale drawings in charcoal, paint, pencil, and collage; and various experiments that defy description. The energy was infectious, and we talked about how each action builds upon what came before and the subtle art of looking to the work for direction, how discrete works function in the context of other works, and, ultimately, how the work and the ideas merge to become one.
— Wayne Gonzales
JENNIFER ODEM x WAYNE GONZALES
Wayne Gonzales (WG): I love visiting you. We have a short but significant history of telling each other what to do! (laughter) I say something like, “Stop! That piece is finished!” and you answer, “I don’t know...” and when I come back, things have evolved, changed, or mutated, often very subtly, and the work is inevitably better for it.
I think your work exists in a state of becoming even when a piece is “finished.” And in the studio the dynamic between the works mirrors what’s happening in the individual works themselves. So, it’s exciting to move around the studio. It feels like I’ve walked into a poem, and it can be quite
affecting.
Jennifer Odem (JO): I guess you’re tapping into my process—the way sculptures are in flux. One object about to become something other than it is at that moment. You have a way of seeing things shifting into a new sculpture even before I realize it, which gives me hope! (laughter)
I’m always following the relationships or potential relationships between various works here in the studio. I’m drawn to the synchronicity. Initially, I think in terms of individual objects or images standing on their own. It occurs to me after making them that these individual works are informing and interacting with each other. There’s a spatial conversation that seems at play while I’m away from the studio, and eventually I arrive at a place where I can see works from a new perspective. I’m aiming to create synergistic relationships through combining, transforming, and arranging my materials. This is how things are constantly changing until they reach a point of resolution.
WG: I think the random relationships between works in any studio can be the most evocative; though I see you’re testing these relationships purposefully in this tableau you’ve arranged. (Wayne points to a large drawing with an eggplant-shaped form; a metal piece resembling a large, thin rusty tulip leaning on the wall next to it; and a small end table sitting in front, at an angle, with an arrangement of drawing tools on top.)
JO: I enjoy creating sculptural situations in the studio to observe the possibilities among objects and ask questions about them. It’s a way to communicate through a spatial language, where I arrange and rearrange objects, until new forms become realized within specific contexts.
In the studio now, the works create an opportunity to see one form in relation to another, whether through color, structure, openness, or tension. The drawings resonate with the sculptures, which then reveal something about another work in the group. It feels like a natural transition from two-dimensional space to three-dimensional space, one pushing at the edge of the other. Simultaneously, I am often thinking about the space in some poetry and musical compositions, where there is room for the reader or listener to incorporate their own reflection. It reminds me of the negative space in a sculpture or drawing and its significant role in the composition.
WG: You have a knack for casually combining just a couple ordinary objects on the fly that can create a spark. (Wayne points to a bent rusty pipe sitting on a cinder block on the floor which recalls a horizontally distorted and abstracted version of Picasso’s sculpture Bull Head, 1942.) This is such a casual, intuitive gesture, but it does something new, and it’s as if all the work you’ve ever done informs this one simple choice to put these two things together. It feels random, blunt, and potent. It hasn’t changed in three or four months … So, it’s finished, right?
JO: It’s not so random. There is usually a new structure that I want to invent or discover, and yes, all of the work I’ve ever done before informs me at the time; it’s my second nature. The pipe and the cinder block in my studio now are reminiscent of one of my earliest sculptures—a horizontal steel pipe that was supported by two forms at opposite ends. If you took one thing away from it, it would collapse.
I connect to the overall emotion or quality of a particular sculpture. I intentionally create forms that appear vulnerable or soft but become structural elements of my work—exemplifying the idea of strength in vulnerability. The pipe and the cinder block sculpture you mentioned feels vulnerable. There’s an absence of information. What story can the absence of something reveal? The absence becomes a conceptual element in the work.
In my earlier work, Inside Without, 2016, I was really digging into exploring this idea of absence. A draped plaster piece mimics the armature/table that formed it, which is no
longer present. The result is a new abstracted form that evokes the original object. This is how my narrative extends into my process.
WG: I’ve really enjoyed watching this piece evolve. (Wayne moves toward a more developed piece, Fragment, 2025, that has a mound of dirt for a base with a pipe protruding upward from the mound, on top of which is mounted a flapping plaster-frozen skein of burlap attached on the other end to a length of rope that flows back down to the mound.) You replaced the stick with a rope, added a wedge, and added this cozy piece of discarded knitwear to the pipe, as if it’s keeping the pipe warm. (laughter) There are these roughly filled in areas on the mound that I don’t really remember. The gestalt hasn’t really changed, but there’s new depth in the details.
JO: This piece has been challenging. There’s some engineering involved in its structure. I want to present suspension, movement, an action; sculpture that is less about the object and more about the action of the object. For example, the soft rope in this piece appears to be structural. It’s not technically structural, but it is visually.
All parts of the piece are equally significant to the whole, including the knitwear, the pipe, the pushpin, and so on. I’m working my way through the characteristics of the sculpture, looking for the balance and rhythm of the composition. At the same time, I don’t want to impose a specific narrative on the work because there needs to be space for the viewer, literally and figuratively.
WG: (Wayne points to the two circular semi-filled in holes about four inches in diameter on either side of the pipe, which rise out of the middle of the mound.) I like these rough areas, and they feel complete to me. They’re like openings that lead my imagination to other times in the life of the work. It’s an opening for a new thought… a sign of life… the sense of becoming…
JO: I had the sculptor Mel Kendrick here once. When he visited, he commented that my pieces were like “phrases.” And he said about his own work, “All my pieces are just one
thing. I don’t think in terms of parts.” He’s just thinking: “Here’s the object… done… deal with it.” My narratives lead me to work with several elements that all become part of the whole. I work toward a sense of wholeness, whether there are two parts or five parts. I think that is what activates the spatial language.
WG: “Phrases,” that’s so good! The limitations implied by that idea suits me fine. The possibility of unlimited choices causes me deep anxiety just thinking it. The way you work in sculpture, thinking through a few things over time, making choices that are so subtle, so light, sometimes even ethereal, even in a heavy medium like plaster—to wait the piece out until the right mix to make things whole presents itself is certainly bringing maximum intensity to the limitations you define in a piece! But I can see how you could feel constrained pretty fast when the solution takes its time appearing. To make a choice eliminates other possible choices, which can add up exponentially. I’d say the energy of the large drawings reflects your need to keep moving.
JO: Yes. I think my drawings serve me in that way—a way to create spaces and structures that are not possible in the sculptures. Also, many of the drawings are studies for sculpture. In the constant play between the drawings and the sculptures, one affords me possibilities that the other can’t, though they may share the same subject matter. I’m always mining the environment for raw materials and found objects that possess an element of time and potential to be transformed. My drawings help sort out what structures and compositions I want to play with. This is where the poetics of
space and objects begin. Color, surface, density, lightness, vulnerability are a few characteristics or qualities I begin with, and I play with overlaying the elements within the works.
WG: To go back to Kendrick for a second: The idea of a sculpture as a “phrase” aligns with my reading of the poetics in your work, so of course I like it! If each piece is a phrase, then a body of work can be the organizing principal that strings the phrases together. But as a poem, not a story.
JO: I like thinking about it that way. It reminds of a Bruce Nauman quote that I really like: “I think the point where language starts to break down as a useful tool for communication is the same edge where poetry or art occurs. It’s how the familiar and the unknown touch each other that makes things interesting.” For me, sculpture is a language, a means to communicate. My phrases are composed of materials and forms that hold a history or a fragment of a story. It’s an important consideration for me. I work with the mounds and other natural land formations because of the history they hold: a city, a grave, subterranean waterways.
My surfaces are also an indication of time. Thinking about the interior of these forms helps me to imagine their nature and capacity, and how the interior of forms could influence the exterior surfaces. I think this process lends itself to a poetic resolution.
WG: As we’ve discussed often, I think you’re talking about the symbiotic relationship between the conceptual part and the doing part. I see strong environmental and social
connotations in your work—some that are quite pleasurable and some that make me worry! But I never get the sense that you’ve set out to say something about the environment—more like you’re following a train of thought based on something that interests you formally, and things start to happen and the sum of the parts that make you who you are seep in, without making a statement or illustrating an idea.
JO: For years I’ve been inspired by natural geologic formations and suboceanic and subterranean landscapes, as well as other environmental concerns. In the studio, I’m creating situations and performances where the materials and forms are the active subjects. I question the forms and the forms question me.
In this current series, I’m thinking about land erosion, drainage, sediment, and sea level. A sculptural fragment may become a metaphor for regeneration: an imprinted surface might suggest passage of time or a suspension of time. So, maybe the sum of my parts are seeping in.
WG: Do you think you’re saying anything about yourself?
JO: This work is not autobiographical; however, my choice of materials, forms, and arrangements can be reflections of my personality. I intuitively connect to the physical characteristics of my materials: oxidized metals, earthy substances, specific
fibers, and fabrics. The work can become clearly personal, but not autobiographical.
WG: Lastly, can we talk about these beautiful maps? (Wayne points to a hand drawn geographical map.)
JO: Some time ago, I inherited geologic maps from my father. The one you’ve pointed out is a gravity anomaly map of the United States. It shows all the subterranean water basins in the U.S. and where they’re flowing. The map shows the shape of the U.S. by illustrating its water, not its landmass.
The maps are abstract representations of space to me and give me a format to create from. I can conceptually play with, change, and interact with the dynamics of flatness, depth, and surface. I often refer to the quote and metaphor “the map is not the territory,” meaning our perception of the world and the actual world are not the same.
Jennifer Odem is a New Orleans-based artist with a specific focus on investigations in sculpture, drawing, and site-specific work. Motivated by geologic formations, architecture, textiles, and found materials, her work explores issues of landscape and home. While factors such as weight, volume, and materiality resonate within the sculptures, there is an underlying element of absurdity and contradiction that speaks to gender, human relationships, and our connection to the environment. Odem’s recent exhibitions include The City That Never Sleeps, 511 Gallery, New York; Prospect.4: The Lotus In Spite of the Swamp, New Orleans; Map and Territory, Vienna, Austria; and Ear to the Ground: Earth and Element in Contemporary Art, New Orleans Museum of Art. She has participated in exhibitions and residencies throughout the United States and Europe, including projects in Vienna, Dublin, London, New York, and The Center for Polish Sculpture. Odem has also been the recipient of several awards and fellowships from prestigious organizations and institutions including the Joan Mitchell Foundation and The Center for Land Use Interpretation.
Wayne Gonzales (b. 1957) is an artist who was born and grew up in New Orleans and lives and works in New York. He has exhibited internationally for three decades, and has a show of current work opening in May 2025 at Arthur Roger Gallery, New Orleans.
Other Plans is a contemporary art gallery located at the intersection of Dumaine and Galvez Streets in New Orleans, Louisiana. Founded in 2023 by Emily Wilkerson, the gallery presents solo and two-person exhibitions by an inter-generational group of artists whose practices address the most pressing issues of our time.
A printed version of this interview was published in conjunction with Jennifer Odem's exhibition of sculptures and drawings at Other Plans, April - June 2025. Design by Collection of Collections and printed by constance. To receive a copy of this publication, contact us at info@otherplans.gallery.
Special thanks to David Halliday, Elena Johnson, SaskiaTeterycz, Julia Torrey, and Ruben Rodriguez for their support of this exhibition.