From the Bay Area, Los Angeles-based artist Haleigh Nickerson uses recognizable and invented personas to explore notions of freedom and possibility in the complexities of identity. Through photography, installation, video, sculpture and performance, her work evokes narratives through real and imagined worlds, playing with expectations and our collective experience of culture.
We sat down with Nickerson for a chat about putting herself in the work, and where she wants to take it next:
Shelley Holcomb (Curate LA): Can you talk us through the genesis of your current practice and what made you decide to start using yourself in your work?
Haleigh Nickerson: I think the beginning of using myself in my work was in undergrad. I was really into painting at the time, but I took this photography class, which was where I started to take self-portraits for a project where we had to take staged photographs. I became interested in turning the lens on myself. I was inhabiting different characters, like a lot of other artists do — Cindy Sherman or Renee Cox — where they’re re-asserting themselves and their bodies while flipping the photographic gaze back toward themselves.
I viewed it as a way of subverting power dynamics and ways of being seen. Re-asserting the body, turning the camera on myself, felt like essentially pushing back on or complicating specific ways of being seen.
I’m really interested in complicating the ways in which we’re seeing, how I’m seen, or how the Black female body is seen, and kind of muddling it — playing around with many aspects of identity.
So I started there and continued to inhabit these different characters. These were the different archetypes or icons that I resonated with personally, but that also illuminated how I understood constructions of my own Black female identity. The work grew as I realized that not only was I inhabiting these characters, I was also shaping the worlds that they came from and lived in — I was manipulating the narratives.
I would construct the worlds from the many icons, images, archetypes or objects that informed my memory; pop cultural and personal icons. I would unravel the character to the point where the world around the character would unravel as well. I started constructing environments out of different materials: fabric, images, construction paper, found furniture — a lot of different layers and elements. I would incorporate objects and create sculptures that fell back into the narrative of the character. I guess I could call them props, but they’re sculptures that I imagine that the character could have used at some point in their world. In a certain way, what and how I’m constructing feels a lot like the way films are constructed. You have characters, props, a set. There’s a narrative happening, a story that’s unfolding.
I’m interested in teasing out what identity means to me. I think about identity as this constantly shifting space of freedom to a certain extent. I think about the agency within different spaces, contexts and environments. Maybe in some places, it’s not as free as in others, but the space is there for me to play around with, to construct entire worlds for everyone to see.
Shelley: You’re inventing worlds and completely taking command of the scenarios. You’re taking icons that were fed to you and reimagining them in your own identity.
Haleigh: Yeah. It really feels like unraveling or teasing out these core aspects of identity — aspects of Black womanhood and Black female identity that I know well. I’m using icons and persona from media, memory and from my childhood that stuck with me in some way or another. I think a lot of it has to do with a desire to connect, a desire to reclaim my body and claim space, me reclaiming my own sexuality. In the red installation, called “Who Is She,” like in most of my practice, I was interested in thinking about vulnerability and refusal along with questions of what is real, what is fake, what is over the top, and what is normalized — and a character called Sista Soulja is used as the main entry point. The point was that it felt super fabricated. Of course, it wasn’t real. This iconic thing was never actually obtainable or achievable.
I think of the [“Who Is She”] installation as something that explored the shift and duality between two different characters or persona — the imagined character and the normalized self. I saw the left side as perhaps being the normalized self’s interior space…and the right side as being where the Sista Soulja character transforms and unravels for the viewer to see. It was about exploring aspects surrounding the labor and maintenance in having to upkeep, maintain a particular image or likeness. Or feeling stuck within a way of being seen and viewed as, while also alternatively exploring empowerment within this space.
There are points when you think you’re not going to make it, but your body just continues to push through. That is how I understand Blackness. The will and perseverance to move through things.
Shelley: It’s interesting that you use found materials but also create materials that look like they could be real. You create props that require viewers to really discern between what is real and what isn’t.
Haleigh: Yeah, [“Who Is She”] was a starting point — it made me realize that my sculptures could be presented in different ways instead of just stand-alone objects. I think that was one of the first explorations where I realized I was building a narrative to accompany these characters or a setting where a series of transformations might have occurred. It makes the viewer question what happened to this character or person. It also nudged me towards wanting to see how the objects or costumes would present in video or film.
I feel like installation gives me an opportunity to be able to put as many things into one place as I can, and I haven’t even taken it to the extent that I want to be able to. Installation lets me throw in so many things — video, sculpture, 2D works, paintings — and merge it all together as one.
Shelley: In this installation [“Who is She”] there are different types of photographs — studio portrait shots, but also intimate Polaroids. Can you tell us about those?
Haleigh: I used a Polaroid camera to capture more self-portraits and small moments of performance, using objects from the character’s environment. There were scattered and compiled with other media throughout the installation as details. As I explored the set, becoming and embodying the characters, I used some of the beauty objects in the installation. The goal was to use the objects in relation to my body strenuously, and see how long I could go without breaking character. The shower cap images were of me seeing how long I could withstand the feeling — having the shower cap over my head, unable to breathe — all while still inhabiting the character. I was also mirroring some of the media images in the installation. There was this old Lena Horne Jet magazine cover that I was intentionally trying to mimic in a couple of the images. [In another part of the performance,] I used the hot comb on the dresser to comb my hair. I was using the objects to show an element of strenuousness or strain within the character and becoming the character, the effort of keeping up an image. So the Polaroids are essentially performance documentation that have become part of the installation. I think the element of seeing the character being constructed is important to what I’m doing.
I was thinking of not being able to breathe in Blackness, and of feeling suffocated. I was thinking of “I Can’t Breathe” in an indirect way.
Shelley: Can we talk more about the endurance aspect of your performances?
Haleigh: The endurance aspect of the performances is all about testing the limits of my body. I’m really interested in the idea of “strength” and what that means — questioning it. I’m fixated on ideations of what the “strong Black woman” is as a trope, and using these characteristics as a vehicle to talk about strength in general — strength in having to continue on continuing, along with the shouldering act of it. [In “Who Is She”], the task was really in playing the character while seeing how long I could go without breathing, but still being able to push through and shine through. I was thinking of not being able to breathe in Blackness, and of feeling suffocated. I was thinking of “I Can’t Breathe” in an indirect way.
Shelley: What about exploring endurance interests you?
Haleigh: I used to be an athlete. So with that, there’s an aspect of being able to test the limits of my body. I’m fascinated with the ways our bodies hold strength and what that looks like visually over extended periods of time. The idea of strength and endurance is a double edged sword: it’s incredibly burdensome and tiresome, but it is also incredibly empowering and beautiful. The use of endurance is rooted in the way I envision my Blackness and experience as this strength in pushing through limits. There are points when you think you’re not going to make it, but your body just continues to push through. That is how I understand Blackness. The will and perseverance to move through things.
At the start of 2020, I was diving back into endurance performance. One performance — “Lean On Me; 1” — included me and another performer. We were wearing normal clothes with red capes. So I was still playing on that notion of the Superhero, but altering it a little — stripping the fantasy and focusing on the ordinary or the mundane. When you see a cape, you think of a superhero or a similar archetype. It’s a visual indicator of strength.
[In the performance,] we were back to back, leaning on each other for an hour. We were able to move around, but we were bent over, each supported by the other’s neck. I was interested in presenting how we hold each other up. When one struggles, the other bears the weight to assist and so on and so forth. There were elements of shared strength and support; shared resilience and vulnerability. Both bodies struggled from time to time throughout the duration but were fortified and held on. [The piece] is a part of an ongoing series that I haven’t really been able to explore further because of COVID. Essentially I’m challenging the ways that the body can rest on another body while continuing to show resilience and hold the body in a static pose in performance.
Shelley: Can you tell us more about the body armor sculptures?
Haleigh: Yeah. This piece, called “Uniform 1: 2nd Skin,” was intended to be a sort of cape, but it also incorporates aspects of armor. It’s a hoodie attached to a police vest that I deconstructed and tried to make into a cape.
I was thinking about the way that hoodies are viewed adjacent to the Black body — how they are sometimes viewed as a threat.
When I was making that work [“Uniform 1: 2nd Skin”], I was thinking about the armor that we put on as Black women when we are in different spaces. And so, of course, it has a lot of spikes and compiled bamboo for protection. I’ve been thinking about the idea of the shapeshifter in terms of Black girlhood and womanhood — about putting on different layers of armor depending on the spaces we enter. It falls in line with my interest in the hero and the cape, all of these things that are meant to indicate strength.
Shelley: I want to get into the objects that you use because you’re extremely meticulous. In this installation, “Through The Fire: 1,” mannequins are wearing what looks like very large chains with boomboxes on them. But when you look closely, it’s braided hair, hair clips and bamboo earrings. It’s so detailed. Can you talk about the significance of where you source your materials from and the process of making these objects?
Haleigh: The objects that I use for these installations and most of the sculptural works are from beauty supply stores. I love going to the beauty supply store and picking up all of these objects and materials that have some sort of cultural significance or that I have memories of. The clips, the knocker balls, the things I remember being used on my own hair as a kid. It feels like I’m piecing together my Black girlhood, like I’m creating a rhythm when I’m using them.
I love going to the beauty supply store and picking up all of these objects and materials that have some sort of cultural significance or that I have memories of… It feels like I’m piecing together my Black girlhood.
Shelley: It also feels like you’re giving them a new identity unto themselves. Like you’re empowering them to be more than what they are.
Haleigh: It’s a way to communicate this layer of protection and relating it back to the body and my understanding of Black womanhood. It’s a manifestation of feeling like a Black woman. As a Black woman, I often feel like I have to protect myself in one way or another. I’m using these objects as armor — layering bamboo earrings, gold chains, curlers, all of these things. They can protect you if they need to; they push back.
Shelley: I want to ask about this image, “Soul Out The Blocks.” This was one of the first pieces I saw when I came to know your work.
Haleigh: I constructed an environment that alluded to a [running] track but didn’t really seem like a track. It feels indistinguishable, you’re not really sure what it is. I used fabric, a bed skirt, bedding, and raw materials like doors, paper and bricks. Primarily I was focused on embodying this character, Flo-Jo [Florence Griffith Joyner], at the [1988] Seoul Olympics where she won [three gold medals]. I was thinking a lot about one movement in particular. I wanted to capture that as a moment.
Shelley: Yeah, I feel this. You can feel the endurance in the image because, to me, there’s no way you got that shot on the first try.
Haleigh: Oh, no. It took a few tries — a lot, actually. And they usually take a lot of tries, but this one was tough. I will say it definitely helped that I used to play sports and run track. I was thinking about progress and forward movement. I wanted to convey this empowered body and empowered character moving forward…but is she moving forward? In the video work “Trust In Me” from 2019 — which was a video compiled of the self-portraits and performance footage I took back in 2017 — it’s me in the same position as this character, but my feet don’t move from the blocks. So kind of playing on the idea of the starting blocks, where the character is moving her arms in a running motion — but she’s not going anywhere. Then I layered that performance on top of actual footage of Flo-Jo in the Olympics, running the race. I was taking the idea of this character attempting to move forward and getting nowhere, with the added layer of me imitating Flo-Jo — connecting to that representation.
In inhabiting these characters or people, there’s a layer of intended mimicry. The point is that you’re trying to achieve something, but you’re never going to get it or be that person. I’m playing with what’s real, what’s fake, what’s achievable, and what isn’t, along with largely connecting to these representations that I feel have formed my own identity.
When I was making the work, I was personally thinking a lot about stagnation and having a hard time moving forward.
Shelley: That goes back to what you said earlier, about working with your own identity, yeah?
Haleigh: Yeah. My identity comes into play and intersects with these characters in many ways. When I was making the work, I was personally thinking a lot about stagnation and having a hard time moving forward. Around the time I made [Soul Out The Blocks], I had an intense period of autistic regression where I felt I had lost a lot of my ability.
Shelley: And finally, what have been working on during quarantine?
Haleigh: I’ve been doing a ton of storyboards. I’m moving toward making films, expanding the work and seeing how others beyond myself can be brought into the work. I’m taking objects, concepts and characters that I have already constructed, along with some new ones, and teasing them out to see what aspects and components of their worlds can be brought into narratives and films.
Follow Haleigh Nickerson on Instagram at @haleighnick and visit Nickerson’s website to see more work. All images courtesy of the artist, unless otherwise noted.
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