Heléna Thompson
All images property of Heléna ThompsonMichael Rippy (MR): Your involvement with the visual arts developed in a unique way. Can you describe from the earliest point you remember how your interest took shape and who instilled that curiosity in you? Moving beyond those early memories, how did your own art practice begin, and what has kept your interest kindled over time?
Heléna Thompson (HT): I grew up in a very industrial part of Providence, Rhode Island. The schools I attended didn’t offer art or music classes, but for as long as I can remember, I have been drawn to art and music. I dabbled with drawing but didn’t give it much time. Then when I was around 12, one of my brothers, who is eight years older than me, got a camera. He was taking pictures of landscape and people, and I saw that he was able to use photography as a creative outlet. It seemed like a way that I could also explore what I was seeing. Even then, the things I was attracted to were abstract.
I finally bought myself a camera and some micro lenses—probably by the time I was 13—and I experimented for a few years. When I was about 15, I became interested in learning instruments and writing music. Although I still took photographs on and off, my focus turned to music. I began performing in bands but also in multimedia projects that incorporated photography, video, and movement.
Around 2009, I bought a digital camera because it allowed me greater freedom to take more photographs and to make mistakes and learn more. It took about two years to adjust to digital and figure out basic technical stuff.
MR: You were 12 when you picked up a camera—were you already interested in abstraction, even at that age? You mentioned that you had some micro lenses. I’m intrigued with the mechanical aspects of your early exploration because this seems consistent with your transition from photography to music.
I’d like to pose several questions about this: Have you always had a curiosity about how machines work, for example, instruments and cameras?
How did you transition from using a camera, where did your interest in abstraction take you, and when you went into music, what type of music interested you and how did abstraction figure in your music?
HT: Oh, I love those questions. I continued my exploration of abstraction with my music, but it was not as abstract as my photography. Somebody once asked me about my lyrics—because they are somewhat abstracted too—“Why don’t you just say clearly what you mean?” But that’s not as interesting to me.
I like to make people think about what it is they are looking at or hearing. I do this with both music and photography. I don’t care if they don’t see exactly what I see, as long as they get something out of it. It’s more about evoking something and that expression being open to interpretation.
When I began playing music it was during a transitional time. I had been listening to a lot of straight-up rock, but punk, new wave and industrial were starting to surface and I gravitated to those more and more.
Some of my music has familiar structures, like verses and a chorus, and some is very open and abstract. Because I wasn’t trained, my approach was rooted in my love of music and playing until I got something that I liked. In that way, I think the abstraction carries through.
As far as the mechanics of photography informing my transition to musical instruments, I definitely have a fascination with machines and instruments. I’m very right brain dominant and most left-brain subjects don’t come naturally to me. It’s like I have to endure the technical part as a means to my creative goal. I’ve never thought about it before, but I do think that learning the technical aspects of photography and the camera made it easier for me to transition to musical instruments, especially when it came to electronic music gear.
MR: What is your photographic process like, and how has it developed since 2009?
HT: When I started taking photos again, with a digital camera, in 2009, I became even more focused on making abstract works. When I was first beginning to photograph, I was attracted to abstraction, but I was still exploring different subject matter and ways of looking at things.
I was in my 40s when I started working digitally, and I knew better what I liked visually. There was a point, a year or two after I started using the digital camera, when I was looking at my images and thought, “I wish I knew how to paint.” That was because what I would see in my brain when I took the photo was more disconnected from reality than what I was seeing in my photographs.
Although the photographs were very abstract, there was something that was rooted in reality. More rooted than what I saw in my imagination when I was taking them. I knew that I already had too many artistic interests, and I decided, “I’m not going to try to take on painting too.” So I ignored that impulse and just kept taking photos.
About two years later, I realized that more and more my photographs were looking less based in reality. I had consciously let go of making the images less reality-based but my subconscious began to figure it out. They started to look more the way I imagined them.
Another point I should add is that I didn’t want to alter them in post-production, except for exposure and spot removal.
MR: I think a lot of photographers and artists have similar experiences, where their expectation of what they want to see, balanced with the tools they have, creates a kind of push and pull in their work.
I think it is very interesting that you refrained from doing major editing in Photoshop because you wanted to transfer what you saw in the real world to a presentation of abstraction in the image.
HT: I try to understand the essential aspects of postproduction, basic sharpening, exposure and things like that, but it would be too easy to edit the image so that all of a sudden it looks like a painting.
At the same time, if I were using film and processing in the dark room, I’d have no problem with that because I feel it’s more tangible and I would feel more involved and connected to it. For me, that’s the difference with digital. Being on the computer and making something look unusual in a snap doesn’t engage me. I much prefer to be at a site spending time with the subject. Also, there’s a soulfulness that I try to extract from my subjects, and too much digital manipulation interferes with that.
MR: Can you describe the process in more detail? I find it interesting that your approach to abstraction requires you to be outdoors. I’ve talked to some photographers in Los Angeles who shoot street scenes, but their images are more like landscapes. You go even further with abstraction in that you have to be physically out in the world in order to do that.
How do you feel about being on location and photographing there? What is that process like and why is that important to you?
HT: Part of it is the exploration that I think many photographers love. It’s like a physical high. You explore, and then you find that thing and you dive in to it.
Often, I’m doing close-up photography, and it can look really weird to the passerby. I get the vibe that initially people think I’m photographing them and then as they get closer, they realize that I’m two inches from a surface. It can be a little sketchy at times. Portland, Oregon, has a mental health and homelessness crisis. Unfortunately, there are a lot of unstable people on the streets, without resources. Having been a firefighter and EMT, I can usually navigate those interactions easily. However, there are situations where I’ll leave a location if I think it’s too unpredictable.
Because I have done several series where I go back to the same location, there is an element of being in that environment and absorbing it, obviously through the camera, but also the smells, the sounds and even the people. In some locations, I’ve gotten to know the community. I love that too, because it feeds into the outcome and energy of the work.
There are a few things that I do indoors. One is working with what I call “roadkill”, but they’re not animals. They are chunks of metal or whatever falls into the street. I ride my bike a lot, so I will find something on the street and take it back to the studio to compose it there. I can definitely get utterly absorbed in that too, but there is something about being out in another environment, not my home, that becomes part of the inspiration and part of the content for me.
MR: What about abstraction for you draws you in so completely?
HT: The first thing that comes to mind is that when I see these subjects, I tend to see them separated entirely from their context, which is why I use a close-up lens so much. I see an object, and I get rid of all the other stuff around it and focus on the thing itself. The things I see are little universes. A lot of them are landscapes in and of themselves, just small ones.
The other thing that interests me about the abstraction of these subjects is that they contain a lot of energy and history. It could be mark-making or weather impact or a thing that occupies a particular place and gets acted upon in different ways.
MR: Abstraction offers a kind of clarity that can be centering. It can also be very process-oriented, and somehow the idea of time is stamped into the work. When you discuss your work, both of these things are evident, which I find interesting.
You’ve been making work using this process since 2009, for well over a decade. Where do you feel your work is going now? Do you have a solid sense of what you’re making, or do you feel it is still evolving?
HT: I do have a stronger sense of how to get what I’m seeing, although there is always room to improve. Because I’ve been doing some of my studies for six or seven years, I’ve been able to refine the outcomes. It took time to really start getting what I wanted. The ever-changing content of these subjects kept me coming back, which has enabled me to become more familiar with them and correct what wasn’t working. I do think I can get even more out of it though—I’m still obsessed with them. I also explore these subjects in other cities, which creates a different pallet, depending on where I go and the energy there.
I could very easily see photographing the minutiae in skate parks for the rest of my life. They are all different and have different things to offer. There are other places that I would love to have access to, but because of lawsuits and for other reasons, nobody wants you on their property. I hope to break through that eventually—maybe as I get more credentials. They take you more seriously if you’ve got somebody saying, “Oh, yes, they’re legit.”
MR: Is there something new that you’re working on?
HT: I’ll be at a residency at The Wedding Cake House in Providence, Rhode Island, in November, where I’ll photograph the minutiae of other artists’ work environments. My project is titled Detritivore.
Before we conclude, I have to credit David Acton’s book The Stamp Of Impulse for helping me validate and understand my natural tendency towards abstraction. His book also sparked my interest in printmaking. Before finding his book, I knew very little about printmaking. I ended up taking an introductory printmaking class to get a sense of the medium and see how I might combine it with photography. I’m in the beginning stages of experimenting with that now.
MR: Do you have any final thoughts about how you became an artist?
HT: I spent my life trying to just cobble together money to make art. Becoming a firefighter was a smart move financially. I was able to retire after 15 years of service with the Minneapolis Fire Department. That work really influenced my photography. It fed me in so many ways. It was an amazing job with extraordinary people and was a remarkable experience. It exposed me to imagery that has influenced me too. I didn’t get my full pension because I wasn’t on for 20 years but it enables me to focus on my art, which is really all I ever wanted to do.
You can find more of Heléna’s work at her website, https://helenaduprethompsonphoto.com.