My name is Mel Fleming. I am here to assist in your passage. Can you remember your name and the circumstances of your death? Gia Riley. Cancer. And hey, would you mind not coming any closer? Of course, I wasn't going to. I just prefer not to be seen like this. There's a good picture of me on the shrine, so just pretend you're talking to her. You see it? Yes, you look lovely in it. Thanks. It's from one of my old shoots with Peter. He really knew my angles. And he had this gift for making people look their best when they had their guard down. And Peter was your partner? Yeah, for a while. We had a sort of Patty and Robert thing going on. I moved in with him a little after I landed in the village. even though I spent most of my time at the studio. Gosh, I'd go weeks without seeing him when I was preparing for an exhibition, but he was a good sport about it. And I think he also liked having space to himself. And this was the East Village? You were both part of the art scene there? Art scene? I mean, sure. The artists were there because it was cheap. that's the only thing we shared. It wasn't really a scene. There wasn't any big idea that united us. It was just a bunch of freaks who'd been priced out of Soho. Some of us were trying to make it back there, of course. I just wanted more for myself. I always knew I'd be famous. But what was great about the village is you had a great mix of people who looked fabulous while being completely out of their minds. It was as if fashion week took place inside a Dali painting. I remember a New Year's Eve party at David Byrne's loft before he got really big. Half the lights didn't work. There was no heat. I was wearing a gown Paul made for me, and it was sheer fabric. I was absolutely freezing, but I looked incredible. We all did. You know, I really screwed up by not leaving a will with better instructions about the whole embalming thing. That Methodist funeral home, they did an absolute hatchet job. Nice people. Terrible taste. You'd think there'd be at least one undertaker out there who knew a little about color theory. Well, I'm sure you look much better than you think you do. Mel, please, don't patronize me. Maybe that works on the wealthy dowagers down here, but not me. My apologies. So, getting back to your work as an artist, would you like to talk about that? About your work? Sure. You know, it's been a while since anyone's interviewed me. Have you met any of them? I'm sorry, met them? The dolls. My dolls. Oh, yes. Your artwork. I think I may have seen a few at the MoMA a while back, actually. They were part of the Intransigent Bodies exhibit. Intransigent Bodies, huh? That's cute. Who was there? I don't recall their names, but I believe the exhibition had two dolls of yours seated at a table. They were both a bit gaunt. One was covered in scars, and I think they were drinking tea and smoking cigarettes. Marjorie and Grace. Couple of holy terrors. Always sneaking out shoplifting. Well, Marjorie was the real bad influence for the shoplifting. I always got the sense Grace was just along for the ride, you know? Impressionable. Wanted to be liked. I'm glad they're in the MoMA. I just hope they haven't ransacked the gift shop yet. So your dolls are alive? Of course they are. Why wouldn't they be? Well, I just noticed they didn't seem to move when I saw them at the exhibition. A guy who talks to the dead for a living, underestimating the consciousness of an inanimate object. Really, Mal? I thought you of all people would get it. Well, I don't... I'm just teasing, darling. Of course the dolls aren't literally alive. But I like to think they carry a sort of life force. When I look at one, I remember where I was and what season it was and what I was thinking about when I made it. For instance, Marjorie was the fall of 86. I was trying to quit smoking and I was just agitated as hell That probably why she turned out so rebellious Everything I experienced in that moment flowed through me into her Interesting. It's almost as if they served as a way of journaling for you. Yes, they did, but now I find they're sending things back to me. From the galleries and warehouses and private collections. Sometimes I find I can see through their eyes and hear through their ears. The museums are my favorite. First dates, those are easy to clock. You can tell by the body language. I've noticed there's a lot of straight-laced types who don't really even acknowledge the dolls. It's like their way of moving through the world makes them invisible. Always interesting to see how people react to my work. Discomfort is pretty common. Disgust. collectors try to hide it, but you can always tell. But the people who do see them, they really see them. Every once in a while, I can tell someone's lingering in my part of an exhibition. There's something drawing them to my work, something they might not even be aware of consciously. I felt so much curiosity and pain from people I'll never meet. but but I'm curious how did you feel when you saw them? Well I wasn't on a first date it was a while ago but I remember I was very impressed with the quality of the crafting I know they're not literally alive but there's something lifelike about them like they were really watching me I guess I was right also there was a part of me that felt sorry for the dolls Oh so you pitied them no no not exactly they were just there was just something some sort of sadness to them something painful that's interesting that you felt that there's a part of you that personifies them is it because um did you ever play with dolls growing up i can't say i did i was more into books. Oh, but they say reading makes you empathetic, so maybe that's where the pity comes from. It's certainly possible. But getting back to you, I am admittedly curious about what inspired your work, if you're comfortable talking about that. Sure. Well, at first it was practical. I wasn't allowed to play with dolls growing up, so I had to make my own. I used whatever I could find, pipe cleaners, rags. Making the dolls was a good distraction for me. It required a lot of focus, really took me out of myself, which I liked. I love the process. you know for me it really was about the work itself as much as the end result i knew a lot of so-called artists in the village who loathed the time they had to spend in the studio they only liked to create so they'd have something to talk about for them it was about a write-up in the voice and coke in the bathroom cbgb's i enjoyed those too obviously but the work always came first And what did you like most about the work? All of it. Sourcing the fabrics, figuring out the proportions, choosing names, applying the plaster to the skeleton, and seeing how the frame dictated the likeness was fascinating. You don't realize how much the subtle shape of someone's skull determines their face until you've made one from scratch yourself. was always this kind of miraculous thing. Seeing them come to life. Not that it wasn't difficult at times. And what was difficult about it? It's funny. I had a sculptor friend at Cooper Union who told me how marble or clay has a mind of its own, right? The material determines the form of the artist's work. It speaks to them. The dolls weren't that way. Each and every one of them was a struggle. I mean, nothing about the stuffing or seams or joints came into being naturally. It was a fight. It had to be forced. It was an act of violence. Couldn't have been pleasant for them to be born. Not that it's pleasant for anybody, I suppose, but for them in particular. I hope it's alright for me to say this, but you mentioned that you liked your work as a way to forget yourself. Yes. But you also say that you see the dolls as something that you put yourself in your experiences and feelings and memories that you remember where you were when you see one Well both can be true I mean I think every artist pulls a little bit of themselves into what they make don they I mean, you have to live authentically to make anything worthwhile. Otherwise, you're just a hack. Definitely. But I thought forgetting yourself was part of the process. They're not mutually exclusive. How so? I was trying to forget how I felt in my body, the pain of it. But I also wanted to remember myself, my life. So creating them was also an act of becoming. Sometimes adults were representations of others. they were also a lot of the times a version of the self that I wanted to be is there one in particular you'd want to be? there's one just called Gia the self portrait unfinished there was always something I couldn't quite nail down about her one day it'd be the cheekbones another the hair a number of her visions, they took their toll, and eventually she looked more sickly than glamorous. She's not on display anywhere. She's in some climate-controlled collector's warehouse, alongside a few other sorry pieces. I suspect she'll never be out in the open. Whoever owns her is keeping her there to preserve her value, so she can be auctioned off again someday at profit. As if there wasn't value in having her outside engaged with the world. Hearing the museum goers, watching the sun rise and set through the gallery windows, looking into the eyes of someone who's not ready to admit the refuge they seek from their own body. Which brings me to my own sorry condition here. I'm sure you have no shortage of artists here who are frustrated with how their work is remembered but it is different for me imagine you dedicated your whole life to creating bodies to creating and becoming your own body only for someone else to decide how they put you in the ground I can't imagine and I'm incredibly sorry that they did that it's not that they did anything wrong on purpose they really did their best mom and dad and Peter they picked out a nice dress they had a nice ceremony I'm really lucky in that way a lot of girls weren't I just wish I'd been there to give a few more notes. I'd love to have at least done my own makeup. I don't know if this will work, but if you'd like, maybe there's some way I could help? Mal, that's very sweet, but you're not an esthetician. Okay, hey, I think I have at least some sense of style. I'm just teasing. And I love the professorial look. Really, I do. But talking to the dead and styling the dead are two different skill sets. You said yourself that your dolls have a life force, that they see and hear and perceive things. I wonder, do you think they do this on their own? Would they continue to do so if you were to pass on? I'm sure they would. And maybe there's... Maybe you might be, I don't know, holding them back by staying here. Maybe. But it's scary to think about leaving them alone. You mentioned you could tell when someone is really drawn to your work. Can you remember a specific time? Or is there someone at a gallery somewhere right now? Let me think. Hmm. Yes. A few days ago. There was a young person. Maybe in their 20s. They were alone. Do you remember anything in particular about them? Where it was? I think it was at the Tate Modern. There's a corner of one hall dedicated to a few of my works there right now I can't remember the exhibition name It not in Transigent Bodies but I sure it just as bad as that Anyway it has some old sketchbooks and a film uh an Agatha, who I was watching through the eyes of. She was a quiet one. Not a social butterfly, better suited to sitting and observing. I worry she holds onto things too much. but this person they wore men's clothes but uh i don't want to assume they seemed really fixated on a part of my sketchbook which part early in my career i was obsessively journaling i thought it would help with the pain to have a record of everything that could have been affecting me. What I wore. What I ate. What I talked to. Medication I was taking. It's not particularly interesting. It's just a lot of raw information, really. But I could sense some feeling of common ground with the person looking at it. Like they understood why I was doing it. maybe they'd done something similar you know while they were seeking comfort from their own pain and then there was the body language the way they carried themselves when a person who doesn't feel at home in their body like recognizes like you know doesn't matter what they look like or how they're trying to present themselves it's something beyond that so They stood there looking at the sketchbook for a long time. And then they came back a few hours later. I'm guessing they wanted one more look before they left for the day. Do you have a sense why? Maybe it helped them. Maybe it made them more confused than they were before they walked in. Maybe they just liked the handwriting. But something was there. Agatha noticed. she's quiet, but she always notices things. You have to watch the quiet ones. And she'd still be seeing this, even if you were gone. You're shrewd. But, Mal, there's still a lot of uncertainty. If I go, I could be going to the afterlife version of the Venice Biennale. Or I could be going nowhere. I could be in a temperature-controlled storage facility purgatory for all eternity. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what to expect. I don't envy your job, Mal. You're like a suit salesman. But you're selling people a suit you've never seen or worn. You don't even know if the suit exists. You just know I have to buy it somehow. As you said, talking to the dead and styling the dead are two different things. Clever. You're more direct than Caldwell, I'll give you that. Okay. But, I have a request. Of course. Gia, the self-portrait. if she goes on sale or if she comes out of that awful place. I don't know if you'd be in the financial position to buy her, but if there's an auction, try to say hi to her. I will. I'll be there. G. O'Reilly. Passage completed. you've been listening to conversations with ghosts a dead signals production for complete cast and crew credits check out our website at conversationswithghosts.com dead signals is an independent operation and we're supported by our patrons if you like what you hear and want to support the work we do go to patreon.com slash archive 81 to sign up you'll get a bunch of fun extras including behind the scenes q and a's music and access to the first podcast Mark and I ever made together. That's patreon.com slash archive81. As always, thanks for listening.
