“Where does authenticity live in cultural society today? These systems that we have in place now for communication and information sharing, they have to be taken a bit with a grain of salt.”
There’s a lot in Sandberg’s tool box. He has worked with acrylic and oil, etching and photoengraving. Frequently, he plays with characters that blur the line between human and monster. Their bodies are shaped like ours. Their clothes are like ours, but their covered in hair. Sometimes, they take on the appearance of werewolves with animal-like fur. Other times, the hair spirals off their faces and bodies like think pieces of clumps of brightly colored yarn or long, rolled strands of Play-Doh.
“I don’t usually take photo reference or things like that,” he says. “Usually, a lot of that comes out of expression in my mind. Once in a while, I’ll use some photo reference with a very specific lighting source.”
In “Girl with Sunset,” pink hair covers almost the entirety of the head—only the character’s eyes and mouth are fur-free—and sweeps back into the sides as if it has been windblown. In “Rapala” (2016), a man and woman cruise in a BMW. Black hair knots up on their faces. The characters are just human-like enough to become relatable creatures.
Previously, Sandberg was concentrating on photography and film. At the time, he was living in a large warehouse in Atwater Village, a neighborhood near the L.A. River. It was a largely industrial area, so he could work late and make noise on these complicated projects. He would build “big, elaborate” costumes for the shoots and bring in friends to model. He would offer some direction to the models, but Sandberg, who says was intrigued by the screen tests of Andy Warhol’s players, also wanted to see what the models could bring to the image. “It was a really interesting experience,” he says.
In “Beach Day,” waves roll over the sand as a model, Leah Raquel, sits on a swing and slurps a thick black concoction through a long, thick straw. The model flirtatiously plays with long tendrils of yellow hair that, close-up, look like rolled up pieces of plastic. Appearing more like a Creature from the Black Lagoon-made-waste, the model gulps
down the drink with the excess falling against hair. Seductive poses meet the ugly effects that humans have on the environment. “The Washing” is a little less obvious commentary, maintains that creepy, goopy monster vibe.
“With photography, there is a sort of truth to them. There is a sort of reality to it. It’s able to manipulated so greatly through the pixels, but there is this inherent truth to it,” says Sandberg. “You see components of it through advertising. Here’s this because it’s believable. When you see that manufactured family on the catalog for the mall, you believe it even though we know it’s all actors. It feels like, the scenario feels somewhat believable.”
That believability inherent to photography and film brings up more questions for the artist, especially in an age where technology has made it much easier to manipulate images. “Where does authenticity live in cultural society today?” he asks. “These systems that we have in place now for communication and information sharing, they have to be taken a bit with a grain of salt. Obviously, if you’re in the visual arts community, you’re a bit more savvy… To maybe the average individual without that visual sophistication, how do they know what’s fully believable or real? Does it matter?”
At the time of this interview, Sandberg was part of a group exhibition at 101/Exhibit in West Hollywood called Figurative Futures. Amongst the work he contributed to the show was “Arboretum,” a 2016 ink and acrylic piece that depicts a thin woman with black hair curling and clumping as if it were air-drying after a day in the pool. The hair crawls down her neck and shoulders, under the straps of a cut-off Black Flag tank top. The wire of her earbuds falls towards the gizmo in her hand. Behind her is a wallpaper-like scene of plant leaves.
Amongst Sandberg’s current influences are flowers and plants and that connects to his digital interests. He recalls a condolence email that he received after his mother died a few years ago and how the note featured a .gif of a wreath. “I like the fact that it doesn’t keep that normal, cyclical aspect of receiving something,” he says. “The fact that it’s still twinkling in the inbox, in the email, I find slightly fascinating in form and culture.”*
This article originally appeared in Hi-Fructose Issue 45, which is sold out. Support what we do and get our latest issue by subscribing to Hi-Fructose here.
