Artistic Statement
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Klae Bainter
Artistic Statement
A construction worker was belly-up at my bar. He had just gotten off work and was transferring scribbles from a notebook to his computer.
“Oh! I love those waterproof notebooks!”
“Yeah, me too. They’re great when I’m working on decks.”
“I think they’re great for writing poetry in the rain.”
I’m sad to say his only reaction was to stare at me, so I got him a beer.
This is me, &
this is my work.
Even when I can’t find a way into a conversation, writing is my way into the world.
My work draws inspiration from my life, my obsessions, and through the news or historical events. It seeks to find a truth through what are at times, dark situations.
It exists somewhere between lofty and blue collar— where poetics meets vernacular.
Born in the Midwest, I learned how to communicate with folks with a “hello,” or an “Ope,” or a “Just gonna scoot past ya.” A typical Midwesterner that rallies against Midwest sensibilities, who upon learning how to speak, has never shut up.
This is juxtaposed to my formal years on the West Coast in Seattle, where folx tend to keep to themselves, hiding their insecurities with autonomous bubbles and supercilious attitudes. Denying I’m just like everyone else: completely original.
My work examines the grotesque nature of people, their values, and the spaces they hold sacred. World building is extremely important in my plays, in fact it is often where my work begins. Before I have a story, I know the place and setting. My work is often set around a space that holds the meaning of the work as a whole and acts as a focal point for the characters in the play. Many of my characters have no sense of moderation but embody strong values that are buried beneath a hardy exterior.
Just like my own sensibilities, my work is in constant conflict with where it fits in. A collage of both my notebook and the notebook of the construction worker. Building something poetic in the rain, kind of soggy—half drunk, slanging pints -- existing between cornfed and sushi satisfied, a little bit better than you, and way too self-aware to pretend it doesn’t know.
“Oh! I love those waterproof notebooks!”
“Yeah, me too. They’re great when I’m working on decks.”
“I think they’re great for writing poetry in the rain.”
I’m sad to say his only reaction was to stare at me, so I got him a beer.
This is me, &
this is my work.
Even when I can’t find a way into a conversation, writing is my way into the world.
My work draws inspiration from my life, my obsessions, and through the news or historical events. It seeks to find a truth through what are at times, dark situations.
It exists somewhere between lofty and blue collar— where poetics meets vernacular.
Born in the Midwest, I learned how to communicate with folks with a “hello,” or an “Ope,” or a “Just gonna scoot past ya.” A typical Midwesterner that rallies against Midwest sensibilities, who upon learning how to speak, has never shut up.
This is juxtaposed to my formal years on the West Coast in Seattle, where folx tend to keep to themselves, hiding their insecurities with autonomous bubbles and supercilious attitudes. Denying I’m just like everyone else: completely original.
My work examines the grotesque nature of people, their values, and the spaces they hold sacred. World building is extremely important in my plays, in fact it is often where my work begins. Before I have a story, I know the place and setting. My work is often set around a space that holds the meaning of the work as a whole and acts as a focal point for the characters in the play. Many of my characters have no sense of moderation but embody strong values that are buried beneath a hardy exterior.
Just like my own sensibilities, my work is in constant conflict with where it fits in. A collage of both my notebook and the notebook of the construction worker. Building something poetic in the rain, kind of soggy—half drunk, slanging pints -- existing between cornfed and sushi satisfied, a little bit better than you, and way too self-aware to pretend it doesn’t know.