Kelly Lynn Jones has been making art since the moment her mother gave her a crayon. Being an artist is a way of life for Kelly, and so it was natural for her to go to art school. In 2002 she received her BFA from the California College of Arts and Crafts, and in 2010 she graduated with an MFA from the California College of the Arts. Since her BFA, she has shown her work all over the United States and Europe.
After graduating from art school, she wanted to create an online platform where she and her friends could sell their pieces to help support their individual art careers—and so, in 2004, Little Paper Planes (littlepaperplanes.com) was born. She now divides her time between running and curating LPP, and her personal art practice. She works in all mediums, but tends to focus on sculpture and installation. She takes a very conceptual approach to her work, so the idea comes first and the medium comes second.
JC—By day, you run Little Paper Planes. Does that influence your personal work?
KLJ—In some ways Little Paper Planes is an extension of my practice. My role becomes curator, which is being just as creative as making work. It is different, but still using a lot of that creative energy. I feel incredibly lucky to do what I do, but sometimes I wish I just had a job I didn’t care about so I could save all my ideas for my personal practice. Though all in all, most days I am completely inspired by all the artists I work with, which directly relates back in the studio.
JC—You see amazing art every day. Have you been influenced by anyone specific?
KLJ—There are so many artists who have influenced my practice along the way, but one who always stands out was Gordon Matta-Clark. The way Matta-Clark used existing structures like houses to create new spaces was incredible. He stripped down the “persona” of these places and opened the viewer’s eyes up to the actuality of the materials, which lent for a space of openness within the viewer’s own personal perception.
JC—Do you ever have creative blocks? How do you get through them?
KLJ—Of course, I have them all the time. Sometimes I have a mini-tantrum inside my head and need to leave the studio. Though usually all I really need is a break, and when I come back to whatever it was I was working on, everything feels better.
JC—How long are those breaks? What do you do during the break?
KLJ—It really just depends on the situation. It can be a day, a week, or longer. One of my professors in grad school suggested that whenever things are not completely working out with whatever piece you are working on, you should start another side project. This project doesn’t have to relate at all with your practice, but the idea was to let your mind be open so it will be easier to see things clearly. Often when you are working on something and it isn’t coming together or translating the way it was intended, it is good to step away. Basically, I have about a million side projects.
JC—Would you ever throw your work away?
KLJ—I have no problem with throwing away work or remaking it. I think some pieces just need to be thrown away. However, I am the kind of person who doesn’t get emotionally attached to my work. I see everything as a whole and that all that I have ever made and will make are contingent on one another.
JC—Do you ever equate your self-worth with your artistic successes?
KLJ—There are times when I struggle with that. I try my hardest to not let external factors like the “art world” affect how I make work, or how I am navigating my practice in the art world. I always try to remind myself that none of that stuff matters, especially when I am in the studio. The studio is my sacred place.
JC—How do you feel about criticism?
KLJ—Let’s be honest, no one likes it. However, not all criticism is bad, and it often has truth. I think dialogues are crucial around art. I welcome conversations around my work. I need them.
JC—What was the most enlightening piece of feedback you ever got from one of these discussions?
KLJ—Well, I never would have started working with photography or video if one of my professors in grad school hadn’t mentioned it. He was looking at my work, which was mainly arrangements of sculptures, and pointed out that there was so much action in my work that it lent itself to video and photography. I won’t go into all the details, but that was such a breakthrough for me for my practice. Two years later I am working with those same ideas and relating the sculptures to video. If I had not had that conversation, I am not sure if I would have gotten to that conclusion on my own.
JC—Do you have a relationship with your inner critic?
KLJ—Sometimes I just want to bitch-slap that critic. I think it is important to listen to my gut as well as to contradict it.
JC—Give your best analogy to describe the artistic process.
KLJ—I often relate art-making to the act of climbing a mountain. While struggling to go up the mountain, you wonder if it is worth it, and just at the moment you want to quit and go back, you reach the top. The top is spectacular. The view is endless, which words cannot describe; however, you can only stand there for so long before you have to make your descent. As you walk down, the high you experienced moments prior slowly disappears as you see the next mountain in the distance.
I think it is important to listen to my gut as well as to contradict it.
