A number of oddities can be found inside Ivy Haldeman’s Brooklyn Navy Yard studio: fake On Kawara paintings, models sporting dramatic shoulder-pad blazers, a small citrus garden on a windowsill. The artist, who is best known for her larger-than-life paintings of resting hot dogs, however, does not keep that processed meat on hand in the studio.
This ostentatious absence takes on its full meaning when one realizes the atmospheric rigor Haldeman strives to maintain a literal atmosphere in his studio. His studio is filled with gauges measuring the humidity and temperatures of his studio space. Small variations, she noted, make all the difference in her compositions.
Courtesy of Ivy Haldeman.
Haldeman moved into the studio a few years ago after carefully researching a recipe for the perfect elements: good light, a cargo lift, first-rate ventilation, space to stretch and prepare the canvases. Oh, and the studio had to be a not-so-impossible distance from the noodles of Chinatown.
Currently, Haldeman and his team are preparing for his upcoming solo exhibition at François Ghebaly in Los Angeles in September, working on the process of bringing the drawings to life on canvas. We caught up with the artist to talk about her very specific listening choices and the studio task on her schedule she’s most looking forward to.
Tell us about your studio. Where is it, how did you find it, what type of space is it?
I work at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, in a multi-story manufacturing building. There are a lot of manufacturers here, small import/export companies, a few other artists. The sets for Saturday Night Live are made on the ground floor. This building was probably built for military purposes and is now, ironically or not, used for cultural production. I actually sublet my space to a larger builder who has had their business in the building for over 20 years.
What made you choose this studio over others?
I need very specific elements in a studio. Good bright lighting. It’s good to have daylight in addition to electric lighting. I love being able to see the paintings in different lighting conditions. I need a space that I can divide into different working areas, because there are so many different kinds of processes that go into making the paintings – some messy, some very clean, and they need to be kept separate. It must be able to be ventilated and have neighbors that do not produce harmful fumes. I need a large hoist, so as not to kill the art handlers, and temperature control, for materials and for people. The journey must be reasonable for the people who work with me. I looked at a lot of studios during the pandemic – I had a choice between Manhattan and Brooklyn when the city emptied out – but this was the only studio that fulfilled those conditions at a reasonable price.
Courtesy of Ivy Haldeman.
Do you have studio assistants or other team members working with you? What are they doing?
I have a few people working with me. It is important to me to have a very stable and archival surface to work on. To do this, we make all the surfaces ourselves. There is a lot of work to stretch, size and prepare the canvases. We continuously test and monitor materials and keep records of our processes. In addition, the surface to be painted must have a particular luminosity and texture, which requires a lot of gesso and sanding. There is general upkeep of the studio, which requires regular organization and cleaning. The painting process takes a number of steps, from drawing, material testing and color testing. I have my team doing everything that doesn’t require my special hand and sensitivity. I like people working with me, it brings different skills and knowledge into practice.
What’s the first thing you do when you walk into your studio (after turning on the lights)?
Wash my hands and open the blinds to let in natural light.
Courtesy of Ivy Haldeman.
What is the studio task on your calendar this week that you are most looking forward to?
Paint a suit purple.
What are you working on at the moment?
I’m preparing an exhibition at François Ghebaly’s LA space in the fall. I am currently in the various stages of sketching in watercolors, creating pencil drawings and bringing those images to canvas.
What tool or art supply do you most enjoy working with, and why? Please send us a picture of it.
I’m very attached to my temperature and humidity gauges. I have about four or five of them hanging around the studio in different areas. I think it comes from working in so many old commercial buildings in New York and realizing that all the quirks of those buildings – the dampness of the cement floors, the heat of the windows to the south, the painful dryness of the heating, etc – will affect how your materials and people function in a space. There are so many things that are subjective in an art practice, but these gauges help me monitor if I’ve generally gone mad, or if I’m just delusional from the cold or the heat.
Courtesy of Ivy Haldeman.
What atmosphere do you prefer when you work? Is there something you like to listen/watch/read/watch in the studio for inspiration or as ambient culture?
My current schtick is an eight hour loop-free 4K recording of deep forest birdsong. But I also like a good Marxist text; nothing makes me want to do art like david graeber Debt: the first 5,000 years.
How do you know when a work you are working on clicks? How do you know that a work you are working on is a failure?
I am generally looking for empathic pain. I generally believe that people will feel a painting before they actually see it. If an image I make seems clever or tricky or just plain boring, I know I’ve lost my way.
When you feel stuck while preparing for a show, what do you do to get out of it?
I usually need a break. Nothing like cheap Chinatown noodles with friends.
Courtesy of Ivy Haldeman.
What images or objects do you look at while you work? Do you have other works by artists in your studio?
I have a few models in business suits in the studio. I use them for reference in drawings and generally enjoy their company. As for the work of other artists, I have a fake On Kawara that I keep. There was a time when I made On Kawara paintings as birthday gifts for friends. This one was just done with a cheap stretcher and some homemade paint, but I appreciate being reminded of Kawara’s practice: the daily task, simplicity, capturing time. I think there is something I aspire to.
What was the last museum or gallery exhibit you saw that really stood out to you and why?
I keep thinking about the Kehinde Wiley exhibit at the de Young Museum in San Francisco. The show is so carefully orchestrated, and yet there are plenty of repetitions that lay bare the formulas he uses to make the body of the work. There is a certain distancing of the artist from the artworks, but I feel that his intention goes far beyond the objects in the gallery, and his actual materials are the social narratives and structures that he gave himself the power to navigate. Her practice raises many questions about the role of the artist, her relationship to her making of objects, and how her platform should be used in the world.
Courtesy of Ivy Haldeman.
Is there anything in your studio that a visitor might find surprising?
I have a small garden along my windowsill. It’s packed with citrus fruits that I grew from seed, including yuzu, sweet lemons, and Makrut limes.
What is the most chic object in your studio? The most modest?
Most whimsical: Conservator-approved Artfix Primed Polyester Canvas, proven to be prepared in the temperate caves of France. The most humble: the tool that takes on the auxiliary work of mixing paints and cleaning the bottoms of containers, the 20-year-old beater of a brush.
What’s the last thing you do before leaving the studio at the end of the day (other than turning off the lights)?
I usually have some time to look and pace around my paintings.
What do you like to do right after?
Turn off the studio lights, get off my bike and ride into the night.
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