Breakout Artists 2021: Chicago’s Next Generation of Image Makers

Nat Pyper/Photo: Ang Zheng

Nat Pyper

“I use language as a sieve, and I push the body through it,” says Nat Pyper, a 2018 MFA graduate of Yale School of Art. “Publishing is a way to make kin across time and space.” A self-described “alphabet artist,” Pyper employs science fiction, wearable text, video performance and font design to work toward this goal, using publishing as praxis and literacy as a tool for liberation. Combined with their background in design and a healthy obsession with queer, anarchist publishing histories, Pyper’s work mines the past to service the navigation of identity in the present, while testing the application, form and limits of language.

Nat Pyper, “Together They Ask,” 2020

Pyper’s video, “Get Ups for the Get Down,” shown at Vox Populi at the end of 2019, features a group of dancers at a discotheque wearing two-piece felt garments of the artist’s design; each piece of clothing features snippets of language, also chosen by the artist. As music plays, and the camera cuts between dancers, the viewer glimpses the phrases written on the wearables: “Direct Action,” “In Chaotic Unison” and “In the Club.” By blending performance and text, Pyper presents a nightlife utopia achieved through literal and suggestive messaging, through discourse and dance.

Not beholden to fiction or a fixed studio practice, Pyper’s writing references the printed archives of countercultural scenes of the late eighties and early nineties. Not content to eulogize, Pyper acts as an archaeologist. “When I was researching, there was no definitive map of queer zine history,” Pyper says. “This work does not want to be historicized and I am interested in reinvigorating and recontextualizing this material. Queerness exists outside of reproduction and inheritance. To map this history is to create a new lineage.”

In their contributing essay for the “Hardcore Fan-zine; Good and Plenty 1889-1992” collection reprint, published by Draw Down Books, Pyper writes about how “IN TOUCH,” a softcore gay porn magazine, described to their readers the sensation of body-to-body contact experienced in the pit of a punk show. Alongside photos of Henry Rollins, Jello Biafra and Iggy Pop, the male-dominated and aggressive punk scene of the time is cast in a new light from this explicit editorial angle, and one wonders how this genre of music could present as anything other than virile and sexual and deeply homoerotic.

Nat Pyper, “A Queer Year of Love Letters,” 2021

This kind of language analysis within a countercultural context contains a functional application when it comes to Pyper’s typography project, “Queer Year of Love Letters.” Published by Library Stack, Pyper uses primary source materials from anarchist, socialist and queer groups dating back to the postwar era to design a series of fonts that reference these histories. An example of this work was in an exhibition at Pyper’s undergraduate alma mater, for the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design alumni invitational exhibition, “Vision and Voice.”

“I Take the Sign With Me,” 2018

Pyper released part III of “19 in 2021” during this February’s Printed Matter’s Virtual Art Book Fair. An ongoing science-fiction serial about four Latinx friends navigating an all-too-possible future landscape of late capitalism, the narrative channels literary heroes like Samuel R. Delany and Ursula K. Le Guin. “These people are using genre as a tool, and this gets me excited, sci-fi that is rooted in poetics rather than politics,” Pyper says.

When asked about plans for the future, the 2021-2022 HATCH artist resident at the Chicago Artists Coalition says they look to synthesize their research and writing into more video and object-based art-making, “My interest in video and language is based in my interest of an ephemeral practice. I go back to these aspatial and atemporal kinships because of the way they allow me to read, write and rewrite the world.”

Theresa Escobedo Expresses a Pervasive Anarcho-Punk Ethos in Her Cross-Genre Practice

Photo by Jesse Bryant

Theresa Escobedo’s illustrations pull subject matter from fantasy novels, skate culture and folk art to make cross-genre collage and designs. This fluidity in style and material supports a pervasive anarcho-punk ethos common throughout the work. For one such design, a black knight grips the handle of a sword pointed towards the ground; flowers vine up the blade, and it’s framed within a decorative border. The screen printed handkerchief reads, “the path to paradise begins in hell.” Whether for a unique piece, or a limited run of t-shirts, Escobedo continues to sharpen a visual identity that evolves and expands from one medium to another. Her work is never without warmth, and although the skies above the castle may storm, the promise of shelter compels us to cross the drawbridge.

Theresa and I met in Chicago’s Humboldt Park on the 29th of May. Coffee shops, bars and restaurants are closed. Public parks remain open during shelter-in-residence. We sat on rocks by the pond, talked about the city and watched geese swim circles in the water. What follows is a loose transcription of that conversation. 

Photo by Jesse Bryant

You grew up in San Antonio, and lived in Austin, TX for a spell. How did you find yourself in Chicago? Were you looking for a drastic change in weather, or did something specific bring you here?

Definitely wouldn’t say weather, although I mostly don’t mind it now. Funny enough, the day I moved here, was the first time I had ever been to Chicago. I spent most of my twenties jumping cities. Austin, NYC, St. Louis. I ended up in Chicago after my friends offered a cheap basement room, with seven roommates, no windows, and I figured. . .  that was my green light. I fell in love with Chicago immediately though, and quickly settled up and out of the basement. I feel very lucky to have the friends and community I have here. It’s been a little over two years, and I haven’t had any intention of leaving. 

How did your relationship with illustration begin?

As a kid I occupied a lot of my time with drawing and crafts. Certainly, made a lot of teen-angst bedroom art. I became more consistent, right after high school. I was drawing a lot of flyers for punk shows that I either booked or played. 

Photo by Jesse Bryant

I can see the influence of punk iconography and graphics in your drawings, and you always keep a bold quality to the line. Is this something you strive to maintain in your work?

In my early days of drawing, my interest in tattoos grew, maybe obsessively. I’m pretty sure from 2010 – 2015 I almost solely drew tattoo flash. Completely with the intention of tattooing one day. That’s definitely where the bold outlines originate. The idea was, if I just kept getting tattooed, and putting my flash out there, an apprenticeship would appear. But it never happened, and honesty I’m grateful it didn’t. During those years I was so focused on getting into a shop. I can really see now how I’d struggle with the constraints of a traditional tattooing path. 

I’m still obsessed with tattoos, and the craft, of course.  And I think the influence of tattoo flash is still pretty visible in most of my illustrations. But I think by relieving the idea of a traditional tattoo career, I was able to recognize that approach wasn’t working for me. 

Did changing environments have any significant impact to your process after making this realization?

I’d like to think with all of the moving in recent years I’ve become pretty adaptable. I do prefer to maintain routines though. Drawing is such an isolating practice it is easy to quite literally get stuck in one place, or mindset, for a long time. And I am heavily influenced by my environment. 

I was able to take drawing with me as I figured out where I wanted to be. But now that I’ve settled here in Chicago, I’ve been attempting more involved and large scale projects. I’m trying to explore new methods that evolve naturally. Just slow down a ton. I’ve had a long M.O. of never completing anything after a couple days. So, I’m learning to love the long processes now. More painting, printing, and recently paper mache. 

Photo by Jesse Bryant

You mentioned exploring new mediums; beyond painting and printing, you also use a range of mediums with particular devotion to Mexican Traditionalism. Can you speak on that a little in regards to your latest project?

While in quarantine, I really needed a break from drawing. I was already feeling a bit of burn out, and was searching for more meditative practices outside of art making. I started experimenting with paper mache as a hobbyist, and it’s transformed into a pretty unpredicted introspection.

Identifying as Chicana is important to me. I often use different traditional Latinx mediums and concepts. Ballpoint pen, paper mache, also themes and symbolisms. But as a white, non-Spanish speaking, Mexican-American, I’ve battled with exhibiting that identity in my work. I try and observe my own cultural connection and authenticity, while engaging with my privilege. Which is totally awkward and uncomfortable, but also feels really good. 

Photo by Jesse Bryant

I’ve recently been focused on a series of traditional paper mache masks. A series with no real, structured direction, but an opportunity for self-examination and education.  I hope to release a small photo book of the project later this year. 

Is there one memory that sticks out to you? Maybe a jumping off point when you realized you wanted to make art?

I guess, in all honesty, I watched a lot of TV as a kid, a lot of cartoons. I remember thinking pretty young, it’d be badass to make a cartoon show. Still think so. 

For more from Theresa Escobedo, follow her on Instagram.

Photography by Jesse Bryant.