Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Tryst Red. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Tryst, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. What’s been the most meaningful project you’ve worked on?

The most meaningful project I have worked on has been my last few installations. I consider each one an iteration from a larger body of work, focusing on personal moments made shared sensations, addressing themes of home, memory, presence, and loss.

It all started when my grandmother passed away; my father called to tell me they made the tough decision to sell our family home where he and my grandmother lived. This house was where I had spent most of my formative years and beyond – always going back meant being somewhere that hardly changed, filled with family that embraced me and encouraged my spirit, in a space I could count on and feel safe in. Losing my childhood home was something I had feared and knew would one day come, but even with this knowledge, it still felt like heartbreak, as if I was losing a friend, a piece of myself, and the connection to my childhood.

This experience led to the exploration of memory and attachment. I found I could vividly visit the home in my memories and dreams, and everything would be as I remembered it or wanted it to be. For a year, I dedicated my art practice to this space and my relationship with it and those who inhabited it. As a form of preservation, I created large-scale projection installations that immersed my viewers in the memories, spaces, and moments of my home.

These installations eventually led to the broader themes to which I currently make my work, investigating the relationships we have with ourselves and our environments. To do this, I explore the physical and mental connections between a body and memory. I create experiences that pull at the collective thought, celebrating the self and individual story as feelings of familiarity.

Losing my childhood home was painful. I felt tremendous grief, but it also made me look at what I have and what I want to create. It helped me appreciate and see the new memories and experiences that form from time spent with those I love. These moments manifest in my current home and in homes that are not houses. Homes that you feel but can not see.

With each installation I create, I experience more growth and appreciation for what I have – still sad for what is lost but grateful for what can be made.

Tryst, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

In my professional life, I am an installation and photographic artist and educator. The word artist is not something I had used to describe myself until only a few years ago. I thought the term artist was reserved only for the most respected and influential creatives who made their whole career from their craft. Now, I believe we are all artists with a variety of creative ambitions, pursuits, and skills.

Although I had desired a career working with wildlife, I have always created in some capacity. This only started to manifest as fine art when I was in high school and pursued an interest in photography. I was fascinated by the camera – this apparatus could capture time, preserving a moment forever. I think then I considered it more magic than science. I thought of images as portals, a way to visit a time passed. I committed myself to photography, learning all I could of the medium – mastering lighting, composition, and post-production software. I never considered I would one day expand beyond photography and create conceptual work dependent on space, film, and technology. My exploration into film-making only came out of necessity. I had always resisted the need to make videos, but as my desire to create immersive work grew, and I had already begun to pair still images with sound, it seemed to be the obvious next step in my practice.

It can be difficult to understand my work from images alone, so I will do my best to describe it. My installations are site-specific. I create films depicting small and intimate moments from around my homes and travels. The videos are then projected onto the walls of the space where large mirrors hang wall-bound and smaller mirrors are suspended from the ceiling. The films, which also incorporate audio, bounce from the mirrors, reflecting light onto the adjacent walls, floor, and ceiling, while the suspended mirrors spin, casting orbs of light around the space, isolating moments from the films. When in the space, it can feel very chaotic, sometimes overwhelming, as you are immersed in an abundance of sound, light, and color. This feeling is designed to represent my perception of how memories flood the mind.

The mirrors I use to throw the light around my installation space help us see what is not only visually reflected, but what is beneath the surface in the hidden parts of our being. Mirrors send signals from below the surface of our awareness. These signals may be interpreted as desire, guilt, memory, or loss – if you stare long enough, you will feel vulnerable, confronted by both your past and the present.

What’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative in your experience?

I never considered my practice an outlet for people to air their grievances or a means of connecting. Before I moved into installation work, I was creating photo series’ that doubled as expressive experiences. These photo sessions provide a platform for those I photograph. It also creates a space for collaboration, where people can share their struggles or concerns while simultaneously creating art, and in doing so is endlessly rewarding.

Although I no longer only make photography series, I find I can connect with people through my installations – this I am thankful for. The work affects everyone differently. I have had multiple viewers cry in the presence of my video installations, as it awakened something from their past, forgotten but still felt. I am happily surprised when someone has such a strong physical and mental reaction to my work. It feels as though I have created something meaningful that can go beyond building an aesthetic piece. If my work encourages viewers to think about their past experiences and reflect on them, then I have succeeded.

No matter the medium, my work is connected through a common theme. I have always desired for both the individuals who are present in my work and my audience to feel a sense of familiarity, relatability, and acceptance. As though they are seen and understood within the work despite it depicting moments from my personal life.

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can provide some insight – you never know who might benefit from the enlightenment.

I think understanding the process and what it means to be a creative trying to achieve success and financial stability can often surprise many people. I have noticed now, more than ever, that when I create something, whether it is a video for my next installation or a large photographic print, I am often asked what it is for or where it is going. I think this a tricky question. Although I function better as a deadline artist, creating for the next big show, I want to be making for myself, not for others. So when I have prints hanging in my studio, or I tell people I am unavailable because I will be working on my art, often it is expected there will be a grand event on the other end of it, but this is not always the case.

I have to keep making, not only because I desire to, but because time demands it. As well as being an artist, I am an educator. When I am not working on my next project or piece, I am teaching multiple classes at multiple institutions. This means fitting my practice into my busy schedule whenever I can. When the time comes for my work to be seen firsthand, I need to be prepared, no matter the timeframe.

The other thing I am accustomed to is the assumption that, because I do what I love and get to create, I do not feel the weight of stress and anxiety as severely as those in other professions. I can experience burnout just as much as the next person, regardless of the love and passion I feel for my craft. The path of a creative is never linear, and this can be difficult for some to understand. It might mean I work odd hours and odd jobs. I typically have multiple projects going on simultaneously, and I have to be flexible with my schedule. This also means being comfortable with change, something that I struggle with. To achieve my version of success might mean sacrificing personal time for studio time or relocating for better professional opportunities.

The journey of a creative is complicated and often dispiriting. Maybe your work in its final form does not match the vision, or you did not get that sale you wanted. Perhaps something you poured hours into and felt initially proud of was not received the way you had hoped. Whatever the circumstances, it is important to make work that is meaningful and true to you. I strive to stay true to my artistic intentions despite the temptation to create work that appeals to a wider audience. Have pride in your craft and create what you love.

Contact Info:

• Website: www.trystred.com
• Instagram: @tryst.red

Image Credits
Tryst Red