On September 9, 2020, artist Danielle St. Laurent attended Dayton Director Ian Berry’s Art History course “The Artist Interview” via Zoom. This interview was part of a series of interviews with artists conducted by Berry for the online exhibition Pandemic and Protest.
Ian Berry
Your new series of family portraits was taken in a New Jersey neighborhood during the first months of the COVID-19 pandemic. The disorienting reality of family life during quarantine is framed by suburban home windows with you on the outside, looking up. The pictures are quiet, and the subjects can feel distant, but the emotions are right on the surface. For some context, can you tell us where you grew up?
Danielle St. Laurent
It starts out about as uninteresting as it can get. I come from Delaware, which is usually a conversation ender. When I say that’s where I’m from, I often get a blank stare or maybe someone says, “Oh, I drove through Delaware once.” Probably the most interesting thing about it is that it’s near a lot of great cities, so you can get out easily. That’s what became important to me: getting out of Delaware.
I grew up in a middle-class suburb that had very little diversity and culture. We had a yard and a driveway. I had two working parents and ours was the house in the neighborhood that no one could look at because the grass was never cut. It had a bit of a junkyard feel, which was humiliating for me growing up. I used to get dropped off in front of other people’s houses and pretend they were mine because I didn’t want anyone to know where I lived. After high school, I went to the University of Delaware where photography became important to me, but getting out of Delaware was my number-one mission.
IB
How was art part of your life growing up?
DSL
It wasn’t part of my life at all. At one point, my mom went back to college and while studying communications, she took a photography class. I remember her taking a picture of me and feeling weird about it because I was so self-conscious. I was standing in our backyard with my long hair down my back, naked. Now I think of it as such a beautiful image: a young girl standing, facing the cornfields where we would play. That moment is frozen inside me.
IB
How old were you when she took that picture?
DSL
I was about eight or nine.
IB
Do you have that photograph?
DSL
No, but I wish I did. Maybe I should re-create it. At the time, I hated that she took it, but now I love that she did. I think it informed the kind of photography I became attracted to.
When I got to college, I started out as a mechanical engineering major because I was good in math and I thought, well, as a woman with those skills, this should be an interesting field for me. I quickly understood that engineering was not the right direction for me, though. Then, in one year, two classes really shaped me: “Intro to Photography” and “Intro to Women’s Studies.” Both of those subjects allowed me to explore my angry feelings about being female, the experiences I had in high school, and how I felt limited by how I was perceived. I found Cindy Sherman’s work and her exploration of clichéd roles for women. I was very into being punk and expressing myself with my clothes and my hair. I would dress up, just me and my camera in a basement. That was an important time for me.
IB
Do you feel like you made your first picture during that intro class?
DSL
Yeah. I took that photography class and then I went on a road trip all over the United States with a boyfriend and a best friend. We took a lot of pictures. I explored everything. I was also shooting bands and started photographing the people I hung out with. I even liked photographing myself, though now the idea of a picture of me makes me cringe. At the time, I loved it because I was trying on other people.
IB
How did you find those sources like Cindy Sherman and punk music?
DSL
I found people who were exciting to me and the music they listened to became important to me. Especially during your college years, when you’re trying to define yourself, you can look at somebody and know if they’re your kind of people. We were really into Beastie Boys and stuff like fighting against “The Institution.” Everything was about creating an individual identity, every second of my life, and rebelling against my conventional suburban upbringing.
As a kid, I remember opening our mailbox and someone had left a note saying, “Congratulations. Ten years of being the messiest house in the neighborhood.” I stood there looking around and thought, “They’re watching me. Who wrote this?” It hurt so badly, even if I knew it was true. I hid the note because I didn’t want my mom to know. While I didn’t really know who I was, I did know that I wasn’t someone who could live on a small street in Delaware where people were judged by their lawns. I knew I needed to forge a path to New York City.
When I moved to New York, I found work interning for a commercial photographer named Michael Lavine, who is a well-known music photographer. That was how I learned to light with strobes and professional setups. It was no longer a bunch of candles in my basement or a little tungsten clamp. Michael had these badass assistants who taught me how to light, how to do everything. I would schlep things around and do the work nobody else wanted to do, but I learned so much. We only had film at that time, so we were running our film logs, exposures, and would do clips of the chrome to see if we had to push it, pull it. It was all very technical. We actually shot the Beastie Boys, and I remember thinking: this is so full circle—my idols! I was assisting on shoots and meeting a lot of people. Michael photographed Nirvana and that Notorious B.I.G. cover with him in the graveyard—a lot of iconic work. It was a dream come true.
IB
This sounds like a key relationship, a key first job. How did you get from candles in the basement to New York City on a set with rock stars?
DSL
Unfortunately, connections are so important. The introduction to Michael was through a musician I knew from Delaware, Sean Pierce. My all-girl band would open for his band. Sean had already moved to New York and randomly had painted Michael’s studio, so I learned from Sean that Michael was looking for an intern. Another friend had a spare bedroom, so I moved to the “big city” and got a job at Wetlands, which was an old jam-band bar. I was bartender by night, intern by day. It was a hard time but amazing. I also got to know Michael’s wife, who was running Bust magazine at the time, which was really influential for me.
IB
What was the name of your band?
DSL
Straddle.
IB
Has Straddle ever reunited?
DSL
No, but we’re still good friends. We actually didn’t do all that great. I was the drummer and had a problem with stage fright. I’m definitely supposed to be behind the camera, not on stage. I think we were more into the punk rock attitude than having any talent.
IB
What was your first hired job?
DSL
Photographing dildos for Bust magazine. It had nothing to do with my personal work, but it was a job, so I took it. After that, they would hire me to do portraits. I got to shoot Amy Poehler early on. I was still focused on shooting bands, too, at that time. When I got my first commercial fashion job, I already knew how to light and how to go on location, but it was a very different type of situation than I was used to. On the commercial fashion shoots there are models, and a big RV with hair, makeup, styling, and styling assistants. It’s a little different than shooting the Wu-Tang Clan, where you’re mostly thinking about the coolest angles and the coolest lighting. Instead, I had to start thinking, “How does the hair look? What’s the right makeup? Should those shoes be with that skirt?”
IB
When was this?
DSL
Late 1990s. I loved having a team. I started doing more stylized band shoots and celebrity things because I found that that a strong visual direction was how you could make the image more interesting without having to rely completely on what the subject was going to give. Sometimes they don’t give anything.