Over several decades, Galveston, Texas-based artist Eric Schnell has made intuitive drawings that often develop into extensive installations. One small drawing will suggest the next, and then another, methodically creating sequential images that eventually make up a larger work. For the artist, this linear progression of images creates a narrative as well as a map. Schnell sees the creations as exploratory and never finished, with narratives that undercut themselves and maps that are similar to the complexity of human consciousness. He recognizes an installation of works may become “a visual map of human consciousness or a visual poem that embraces the complexity of human experience—both beautiful and sad.”

For this iteration, Schnell employ new drawings and floor sculptures in companion installations titled The Island of The Umbellifers (Part II) installations. Schnell engages the “cells” of the OJAC’s historic jail building as well as one of the OJAC’s more contemporary galleries for this exhibition—creating islands for discovery within the museum. Viewers will be able to participate in a “learning” search for a fictional quasi-utopian place comprised of drawings and constructions that suggest fantastical islands, boats, and gardens. 

The 2024 Cell Series of exhibitions is generously supported by National Endowment for the Arts, Paula & Parker Jameson, and the McGinnis Family Fund of Communities Foundation of Texas, with additional funding from Jay & Barbra Clack, Kathy Webster in memory of Charles H. Webster, and Dr. Larry Wolz.  

Patrick Kelly, OJAC Director and Curator, interview with artist Eric Schnell (March/April 2024)

PK: First off, do you mind sharing a little about yourself, with a focus on your “pre-artist” life…where you were born, raised, etc.?

ES: I was born in Bloomington, Indiana. I was one of those nature obsessed kids. While the neighbors were BMXing and skateboarding, I was studying the backyard ant colonies. In the summers I volunteered to care for the snakes at the Indianapolis Children’s Museum. My family moved to Texas when I was ten years old. In high school, I really struggled. I was surrounded by some really good people, so I’ll never totally understand why things became so bleak. Soon after this was when I discovered art making and another world opened up for me; it felt very similar to my early experiences of the natural world. It seemed like a great adventure was unfolding.

PK: Can you specifically describe, or give an example, of how your relationship with nature was similar to art making?

ES: When we first moved to Texas, we lived in this neighborhood that was still surrounded by large tracts of undeveloped pine woodlands. My younger brother and I would often explore this particularly densely wooded, swampy stretch. It was really quiet and we almost never saw another person. As we are walking in this deeply shaded swampy forest, we were on extra high alert for Water Moccasins. Things are feeling slightly ominous. But then we came upon this little oval of light where there is a break in the trees and we were standing in this small clearing. In the center of this patch of sunlight, there is, unexpectedly, a pile of elegant little bones. The specific animal is hard to figure out. The skull looks like a type of miniaturized deer, but with predator teeth? Many pieces of the puzzle are missing and time has moved and settled this pile many times. But in this setting, I experience something that is hard to explain. A realization of how powerful the response to visual information can be. This theatrical, ready-made sculpture, made me feel very alive and full of wonder. It made no sense at all. But it felt important.

Years later, after school was over and I started making my first drawing-based works, I realized I was hoping that they would recreate this feeling of slowing down time and seeing clearly that I had experienced in the woods that day.

I don’t actually think it is necessary for this to happen only in a natural setting. I think for me, this might be part of the equation because I’m easily distracted; it’s really the quiet or stillness that’s important. These days, it will most likely happen to me while walking the beach and coming upon some small mystery the tide has left behind.

As I am writing this, my partner Susie is reading over my shoulder and tells me a story of this very specific tree that was important to her growing up. Then the conversation turns to how these experiences could never happen now. Smart phones would ruin them. The reason these memories are so powerful is because they live only in our memory. These days, we would take a cell phone photo. Then looking at it later, the picture would not capture the beauty we felt in the moment; it never does. The memory becomes degraded and diminished, thrown away into the digital trash heap.

PK: “Off mic” we talked about my explorations in the Pineywoods near Huntsville. For me it was another world that I rarely got to experience. In a way, I see your art making as creating worlds for others (and yourself) to explore—retaining a sense of wonder and discovery. Is that accurate?

ES: Yes, I think that’s a really good way of putting it. I have a tendency to overcomplicate things, so I really like how you summed it up, clear and concise.

PK: Let me ask you about your installation at the OJAC, The Island of The Umbellifers (Part II). Obviously it’s a continuation or iteration of a project. Can you talk about the concept and how it has evolved? Can you first explain what an umbellifer is and how they fit in?

ES: The Umbellifers are a family of plants that are very aromatic and have clusters of small umbrella shaped flowers. They also have the ability to attract large numbers of predatory insects such as ladybugs, parasitic wasps and tachinid flies. Many common plants are in this family, such as cilantro, parsley, dill, carrots, and hemlock.

My interest in this family of plants peaked when I came to Galveston in 2002 and a friend gave me a hand-bound copy of a book by Dr. Bob Randall, who was the regional edible plant expert. I became obsessed with it, and the more time I spent reading and in my own garden, I started to think more about these relationships occurring between certain plants and their surroundings. It seemed to me that Dr. Randall was very subtly hinting at something almost mystical in the way the umbellifers benefited nearby plants. It was as if they cared for the other plants around them? It seemed that there was something more going on than just an increase in beneficial insects; it felt almost like one plant was offering encouragement to the other plant.

There had to be more to this story, but I couldn’t decipher the code. The closest I ever came—and I do recommend trying this (if you’re not allergic to bee stings)—is in the early spring, when the cilantro explodes into these medium height flowery clusters, humming with bees, just stick your head down, into the center of the flowering cluster of little white umbrella shaped flowers. Listen carefully, breathe in the fragrant thick air, get lost in the little flowers tickling your face and absorb the secret message. This is the best sort of science, one based in joy.

The first journey to The Island of The Umbellifers was shown at the Galveston Arts Center, with the curator, Dennis Nance. For the show here at the OJAC, I’m trying to make sure and cover the entire narrative sequence, directly linking the upstairs and downstairs spaces. One surprise for me, was that when I began, the wall drawings were pretty big, but as I kept working on it, they seemed to really want to become smaller and smaller. It just felt like what had to happen, but I really fought against it at first. I am constantly mulching my drawings into the sculptural elements, so everything gets repurposed pretty quickly.

Slowly, over time, The Island of The Umbellifers developed as a place in my mind. A place where these new relationships and possibilities became visible. But you can’t just project yourself into this kind of place. To access it you must lay down the groundwork, a path of points. Searching for this island embraces a bit of hopefulness about humanity that may not be realistic. Not quite utopian, but leaning in that direction.