Seeing the work of Canadian artist Kristi Malakoff in person is breathtaking. She creates large-scale installations that you have to see up close to truly believe that they are made entirely from cut paper. Kristi graduated with a BFA from the Emily Carr Institute in Vancouver, British Columbia, and also did a term at the Chelsea College of Art and Design in London. She has traveled extensively, and has been part of some amazing artist residencies in Berlin, Moscow, Reykjavík, Banff, and London. Kristi has exhibited all over the world, and her stunning work is held in private and corporate collections across Canada and the United States.
JC—Describe the first moment that you truly felt like an artist.
KM—I was thirty. It was the final year of my visual arts degree. It wasn’t one moment in particular, but just a gradual understanding that this was exactly what I wanted to do, exactly what I wanted to be, and that I was going to go for this. People were receptive to what I was doing, and things started rolling along of their own accord. It seemed to be confirmation that I had made the right choice. After I graduated, I made a conscious decision not to get a paying job and to devote my life to art, which I did and continue to do years later.
JC—What is it that you love about working with paper?
KM—I love working with any and all mediums—especially everyday household materials like breakfast cereal, stamps, money, packaging, tape, etc., but yes, in the last few years, I’ve been working a lot with ordinary paper in a sculptural context. It’s a big challenge for me, and goes against the grain of what paper is traditionally used for. Everyday paper pretends to be benign and neutral, but it’s actually pretty feisty, and has infinite potential for doing amazingly bold and large-scale sculptural work.
JC—Describe what life is like as a full-time artist.
KM—Being an artist is one of the most difficult professions I can imagine on all levels; it can be grueling, isolating, and devastating. But being an artist can also be unbelievably satisfying, soul enriching, and can take you to places, real and metaphorical, that you never imagined for yourself.
JC—Where do you find inspiration?
KM—There is no end to the places where inspiration can be found: rituals, traditions, signage, theory, materials, architecture, music, sound, design, cakes, shoes, insects, the sky, Russia, miniature dolls . . .
JC—Your work is very elaborate—have you ever thrown your work away mid-process?
KM—I’ve never thrown a piece away before. Ever! I think it is really important psychologically to work through problems, and to find solutions. That said, I never start a piece until I have thought through every potential pitfall and am quite sure that it will work and be successful. My work is very labor intensive; I don’t have the luxury of spare time or money or the luxury of being able to make a mistake—every piece I make must be show ready.
JC—Do you ever equate your self-worth with your artistic successes?
KM—Sure, it’s hard not to equate my self-worth with my artistic successes (and failures)—and by successes, I mean in my own eyes and in the eyes of my peers who know me and whose opinions I respect. I put everything I have into my work—everything of me, and it is extremely disappointing, devastating even, to feel like I have not done my best, or that I have missed the mark somehow. It’s an awful feeling. I don’t know how to get past that—maybe it comes with time? With loving, and being patient with oneself more?
JC—How do you handle negative criticism?
KM—I can’t take criticism too much to heart or that would just paralyze me and end everything. I am just a small human trying my best, spending my own money and time, and at least I had the balls to put myself out there in the first place.
JC—Do you ever hear your inner critic?
KM—There will be one point in every project where I decide that my idea is absolutely stupid. It is incredibly difficult during this time to continue to pour money into the project and to get up every day to invest an obscene amount of time into it. But I do it every time, and I haven’t regretted a project yet. It’s just pure will power that gets me through these moments.
JC—Have you experienced a creative block?
KM—Actually, I can’t remember ever having a creative block. Sometimes it takes longer than average to think of an idea, but the idea always comes. If I don’t feel like being patient, I have a stack of sketchbooks where I’ve written down ideas for rainy days. And if all else fails, I have millions of small-material or conceptual experiments that I want to try. The important thing is to just keep moving.
JC—Your work is mainly elaborate, large-scale installation. How you feel when you finally see the finished piece?
KM—I install my work and see it for the first time only in the days before the exhibition opens. A lot of my work is made up of thousands of smaller pieces and repetitive modules, so in the months while I’m making it I am battling exhaustion and tedium. It is only during the installation period that I get to see what I’ve been working on all those months. And when I finally see the piece—wow! It’s an incredible feeling! It is the most satisfying, rewarding, and euphoric experience that I can imagine. It feels like a miracle.
There will be one point in every project where I decide that my idea is absolutely stupid. . . . It’s just pure will power that gets me through these moments.
Everyday paper pretends to be benign and neutral, but it’s actually pretty feisty.
