Gwynneth VanLaven

My interest in the topic of visibility comes from both my critique of visual culture, and personal need. Since I was struck, pinned, and disabled by a car in 2007 while walking on the safety of a sidewalk, I have wondered how to keep others and myself safe from similar fates. I notice the fluorescent lime green vests that police and rescue workers wear, as well as construction workers, trash collectors, joggers and cyclists. I see the color becoming more prevalent in our (sub)urban landscape, even on everyday objects such as children’s backpacks.

I began research into the properties that make this color visible and signal warning to drivers. It relates to studies on colorimetrics, semiotics, and human factors research. The effect is curious when we don the color, imagining that it might stop or slow an oncoming car and protect us from injury or death. I wonder what will happen as the trend continues. As the color pops up everywhere, will this diminish the awakening effect on motorists?

I wonder, who is visible? Does visibility make us safer or more vulnerable? Can everyone be equally visible? How do we keep a sense of safety in a world that feels chaotic and over-sped? With these questions and more, I met with the Director of Transportation Services, and the Project Manager of the construction contractor, among others, at George Mason University. I am struck by the interest in creative works about public safety coming from the campus community. Both those offices offered up resources to fuel a project on visibility, including access to workers for interviews, donations of used high-visibility vests, flags, and so on.  Please check back as there will soon be more on that front.

In a photographic series In the Wake of a Lincoln Town Car, I center on the safety color fluorescent yellow-green.  This color shrouds, cloaks, and envelops me.  With light from automobile headlights, the gestures and textures bespeak both dwelling in and departure from the memory of being struck by a car.  Through these large-scale, painterly photographs, I explore new territory in relationship to color, safety, and memory.

In these photographs I ponder how a mobility scooter can be a sign of toughness and virility.  By putting my scooter (”Pride Mobility” brand) at the front of the pack, I am redefining toughness and pride on my own new terms.  One true sense of strength is daring to be different, to risk being judged, and to know when to draw on one’s resources.  I extend a special thank you to my friends from Firebase Fairfax and Rolling Thunder, who are strong, daring, and fun.

In 2007 after being struck and crushed by a car, I gained a visible identity, “Disabled,” along with many of the social stigmas of life inside the blue box of a wheelchair symbol.  I have been playing with ways to shift the viewer’s expectations of a disabled identity. These photographic works are set in an everyday landscape where tasks are usually proscribed and predictable. Bathing Independence, above, examines my one aspect of my life with disability.  I find getting out of a bathtub can be source of both difficulty and humor.  The text borrows from a form I have faced on “Activities of Daily Living.”  There are only two answers to each category (Cat 1: Bathing).  It asks, “Independent…. yes / no?”  I ask a more complex question, “What can it be like to have no independent way out of a bathub?”  As I take an unconventional and awkward exit from the tub, I reclaim control, confirming that we can adapt to new circumstances through our creative potentials.

For the above  image, Daily Prep with Trauma Kit, I donned the clothes the paramedics cut off me the day I was hit, stitched back together.  Trying to get ready for the day, putting on my earrings and pinning my hair, is harder when bearing the accouterments of an ambulance trauma kit.  This highlights the futility of trying to ready oneself for a traumatic event, and its effect on the simplest of daily activities.