An Interview with Fay Ray

Haley Laningham

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See more of Fay Ray’s work here. 

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Fay Ray sculpts curious metallic installations, which pull the viewer’s eye across space, giving it pause at this or that attachment, or at a linking of two pieces which make a moment of visual absence in an otherwise whole structure. Ray works with and against senses of delicacy and sturdiness, often in the same pieces. Most of the installations in our published suite play with vertical space, while one—our cover art for issue 42.1, Guardian—interacts with architecture by being itself a collection of three stones chained to a wall. Her own artist statement describes her and her work as such: 

Los Angeles-based artist Fay Ray explores the fetishization of objects and the construction of female identity through high-contrast, monochrome photomontages and metallic sculpture. For her three-dimensional works, Fay Ray compiles cast aluminum objects, bored volcanic rocks, wire, chains, and natural materials into suspended sculptural masses. Conflating worlds of worship and desire, the works across mediums borrow from the symbolism and composition of traditional religious relics and the visual language of the occult. Ray’s sculptures and collages hint at the presence of a rematerialized body through a mysterious yet systematic organization of abstract form.

In this interview, we seek to discuss Ray’s background with metalwork and to otherwise provide her a place to elaborate on the themes and inspirations of her work.

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Guardian, 2020 (granite and steel)

Haley Laningham: You work in many different mediums, but how did you get into sculpture? Was sculpture your first medium as an artist? 

Fay Ray: The earliest artwork I remember making was taking my family camera (a Canon Point and Shoot) with a roll of film I begged my mom for. I ran around taking pictures of plants, weeds, and flowers in my backyard. I was probably eight or nine years old. Not sure if that counts, but I remember not wanting people or things in my shots and wanting the plant life to fill the frame. I got the photos back, was unimpressed, but it was the beginning of me learning how to use my inward dialogue and creativity as a tool to craft a world outside of my head. In high school, I was very passionate about photography and clay/ceramics. I was lucky to go to public schools with ample art facilities. In the 90s, it was more the norm to have art in public schools than it is today. So I've loved art in two and three dimensions from the start. 

I grew up Catholic, and in that faith, it is taught that the images and sculptural likenesses of holy figures are more than the paper, canvas, stone, and metal materials that represent them. This transcendence of materials is something I bring to my experience of art as a maker and viewer. 

I did not consume a lot of "art" as a child. The first artwork I remember seeing was Van Gough's Irises at The Getty Villa on a bus trip from Riverside, California, to Los Angeles with my Grandma Lupe's seniors group. I think I was twelve. Right after high school, after a random twist of trauma and fate, I ended up in Florence, Italy, studying the masters. I went from nearly nothing to walking the halls of the Ufizzi surrounded by Giotto, Caravaggio, Titian, Botticelli, Michelangelo, Cimabue, Duccio, Gentileschi—the list goes on. When I left Italy, I started college and studied design. I gained an appreciation for how furniture worked or did not work for the body and how objects interact with space. But functionality was not something I naturally appreciated. I wanted to push against comfort and norms and purposefully disorient viewers from the beginning. 

HL: That’s interesting. Can you talk more about how your Catholic upbringing influences the way you interact with your materials? Is there a kind of holiness to them in your eyes?

FR: Yes, there can be a holiness in my work if the viewer wants there to be. I use symbolism in purposefully broad ways in my work so that the viewer can have a place to converse with spiritualism if that is the approach they work with. That is what I approach art viewership with. Growing up, I went to church twice a week, sat in Catholic pews, performed the ritual, stood, bowed, kneeled toward an altar in reverence of figurative sculptures and paintings. It's very similar for me to standing in front of a Jeff Koons or a Richard Serra. 

El Gulfo, 2018 (aluminum and zinc plated fixtures)

HL: Did this upbringing have anything to do with your decision to include a cross in El Gulfo? What are the other two objects hanging in this work? 

FR: In this sculpture, the cross hangs low to the ground, just kissing the ground, from the middle of three chains that connect at the top from a crossbar. A solid cast aluminum cactus and clamshell hang on the chains dangling from either side. This is kind of a self-portrait. The cactus representing my paternal influences and the clamshell representing my maternal influences and the intersection of nature and spiritualism. 

HL: You work with a lot of metal. How did you gain experience with manipulating metal? 

FR: I got to a point where I needed my work to take up space. I need my work not to be precious. I need my work to also be lightweight, and metal fulfilled that criteria for me. I started working with metal first by collecting it and observing how simple tools and parts in metal are mass-produced. As a child, some of my most peaceful and safe memories are of me collecting little glimmers of metal on gravel roads and in truck yards, passing my time waiting for my dad to finish his work. He was a truck driver and I was in awe of those hulking machines—I'm sure that plays some part in the inspiration as well. Exploring those memories and material specificities brought me to this work.

I started to ask myself: "How was this cut?", "How was this bent?", "How was this attached?", and then eventually I made my way to a metal shop. 

HL: Dawn makes me think of flowers, specifically Snowbells. Split the Pill obviously makes me think of pills—small, easily lost, medicinal. Can you share the reasoning behind which objects you choose to depict in sculpture, and perhaps also how you intend to change the physical experience of that object?

Dawn, 2019 (green onyx, aluminum, and zinc plated chain link)

FR: I look for simple objects that we have intimate relationships with/bodily relationships with/ritualized relationships within my work. The simpler the better, because I'm always trying to talk about the power of symbolism and what is a symbol if not first a shape. 

Dawn takes an oversimplified outline of a tulip-type flower. I'm exploring more floral references in my work and I've never realized how humanistic they feel when represented in art. I was remembering the other day that my very first heart/head/mind/body experience with an artwork was Van Gogh's Irises when I was ten. I did not grow up looking at art. Most of my exposure was through calendars and cards at my local Hallmark store where Van Gogh features prominently. I remember it feeling like I was meeting a holy figure or a celebrity from television. 

Split the Pill I love so much. For me, it's about a confrontation with a bodily limitation and then mortality. I love how outsized it is compared to the real thing and how impossible it would be to swallow. By splitting the circle in half and connecting it by chain the circle has a different kind of strength through flexibility. Pills represent choices to me. 

HL: Where did you find the stones for our cover, Guardian?

FR: The stones were sourced from a quarry in Riverside County, where I grew up. 

HL: What led to your artistic decision to chain the stones to a wall? What do you want your viewer to glean from this piece?

FR: I think I have a hard time not directly attaching my work to architecture. For me architecture is gendered, all space is gendered, almost no space is neutral. I anthropomorphize buildings and rooms. So maybe in that sense my work is like jewelry for an architectural body.

HL: A lot of your pieces hang. Is there something you like about vertical space?

FR: This is a great, big question for me. I could chew your ear for hours talking about vertical hanging space. For so many reasons, it is a very practical space for me to inhibit. It is an impermanent space. It is an architecturally sensitive space. It is also, usually, an available space. It is a dimension of a room where there isn't already a lot of conversation. I feel free in this space. 

HL: I’d love to hear more about this. When and how did you discover this affinity for sculpting in vertical space?

Split the Pill, 2021 (aluminum)

FR: It's not totally free space like sky space; it is overhead space. I'm not confused about that, but it does feel untaxed up there, contrary to floor space. It's an autonomous zone where heavy things can experience a lightness and I think that translates to the viewer.

HL: In a previous interview, you said that you seek to reinterpret feminine stereotypes with your work. What kind of stereotypes specifically do you seek to reinterpret? 

FR: I have a voice inside of me that says: "Bigger, bigger, bigger, the world wants you to be smaller, declare more space!" and that says: "More and more and more minimal, the world wants you to be more precious and particular, fuck that, be robust and connect to fundamentals, not frivolity!". I think that voice is a bully, but it has really pushed me to create larger expressions in my work when I did not feel the confidence and validation to do so. 

HL: Are there any artists who have influenced your work to whom you’d like to direct our readers’ attention?

FR: This is a list (not a complete list but a damn good one) of art soldiers/sculptor women whom I look to in their work to help me out of mental jams and inspire me: Liz Larner, Jacci Denhartog, Rachel Lachowicz, Jeannne Silverthorne, Shirley Tse, Lee Bontecou, Katarina Fritsch, Cosima Von Bonin, Linda Benglis, Sarah Lucas, and Simone Liegh.

HL: Is there anything coming up for you to which you’d like to direct our readers’ attention as well?

FR: I currently have a show up at Museum of Contemporary Art Tucson until September 22nd. I will be in a group show with my gallery Nazarian Curcio this summer, and my work will be included in a two-person booth at the ADAA's The Art Fair at the Park Avenue Armory this coming fall.

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Los Angeles-based artist FAY RAY explores the fetishization of objects and the construction of female identity through high-contrast, monochrome photomontages and metallic sculpture. For her three-dimensional works, Fay Ray compiles cast aluminum objects, bored volcanic rocks, wire, chains, and natural materials into suspended sculptural masses. Conflating worlds of worship and desire, the works across mediums borrow from the symbolism and composition of traditional religious relics and the visual language of the occult. Ray’s sculptures and collages hint at the presence of a rematerialized body through a mysterious yet systematic organization of abstract form.

Fay Ray (b. 1978, Riverside, CA; Lives and works in Los Angeles, CA) received her MFA from Columbia University and her BFA from Otis College of Art and Design. Solo exhibitions include The Soraya Art Gallery, California State University Northridge, Northridge, CA; Shulamit Nazarian, Los Angeles, CA; Louis B James Gallery, New York, NY; JOAN, Los Angeles, CA; and Honor Fraser Gallery, Los Angeles, CA. Ray’s special projects and installations have been featured at Gagosian Gallery, Beverly Hills and New York; REDCAT, Los Angeles, CA; and L.A.N.D. (Los Angeles Nomadic Division). Group exhibitions include the Palm Springs Art Museum, Palm Springs, CA; Thaddaeus Ropac, Paris; The Mistake Room, Los Angeles and Mexico City; Praz-Delavallade, Los Angeles, CA; Gagosian Gallery, New York, NY; El Museo del Barrio, New York, NY; among others. Her work is held in the permanent collection of the Palm Springs Museum of Art and the Los Angeles County Museum of art. Ray’s works have been reviewed by Artforum, Los Angeles Times, New York Times, New York Magazine, Riot Material, Wallpaper*, Issue Magazine, and The Brooklyn Rail.

HALEY LANINGHAM is a PhD candidate in Poetry at Florida State University. She holds an MFA from the University of Oregon and acts as Art Editor for Southeast Review. 

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