Hayley Eichenbaum on

Going Viral, Being

Instagram-Famous, and
How Photography Almost
Saved Her
Deborah Shapiro

01.25.17

The romance of the American road has a lot to do with

renewal, how to take what’s fallen into cliché and make it
alive again. This is just what Hayley Eichenbaum has
done in several photographic series — going on road
trips to capture and create images that reframe the
familiar as unearthly and surreal. Her work is guided by
the geometry and clean lines of minimalist architecture
and design, revealing a mysteriousness beneath flat
facades and surfaces. But her pictures are also
cinematic, echoing everything from Technicolor
melodramas to Two-Lane Blacktop, while Eichenbaum
specifically cites sci-fi films of the 1960s and Stanley
Kubrick’s work as influential. Her method seems to be a
mix of intentionality and spontaneity — literally knowing
where she wants to go but allowing for unexpected stops,
which she jokes makes her “the worst person to drive
with.” But in a more figurative sense, for an
interdisciplinary artist without much formal training in
photography, that balance of calculation and accident is
something of a thread running through her process and
her life.

As a teenager in Milwaukee, Eichenbaum was getting

together a portfolio to apply to art school. “I’d jammed
the back of my car with everything I had ever made in
preparation for documentation the following day. I parked
outside of my dad’s home for the night, and came down
in the morning to find my car robbed clean. Everything
was stolen: Every drawing, every painting.” It turned out
to be for the best, though. “My portfolio was chock-full of
uptight still-life paintings. It lacked any conceptual
substance” and the loss of it left her open to begin
experimenting with sculpture, kinetic installation, video,
live performance, and photography. She discovered she
“was a strong metaphorical thinker, which helped
translate concept into concrete projects,” and in 2007,
she went off to the San Francisco Art Institute. “I would
have never gotten in with the portfolio that was stolen.”
She eventually transferred to the Milwaukee Institute of
Art & Design and after graduating in 2013, stayed in the
city, working at The Pitch Project, an artist-run
brewery/gallery/collective of studios “created and
comprised of some of my greatest mentors and friends.”

Despite the supportive environment, her restlessness led

her to plan a month-long, solo road trip along Route 66. It
would be the first of many drives she’s since taken on the
historic highway that begins in Chicago and ends at the
Santa Monica Pier. The first time she arrived in Los
Angeles, she had a “visceral reaction” — a mix of “fear
and affection” and promised herself she’d move there by
the end of 2015, which she did. It’s been a good base for
her travels and she was in-between places when we
reached her over email to find out how she makes the
captivating images that have garnered her a devoted
Instagram following, what obsesses her, where she’s
been, and where she’s heading.

How would you say your process has evolved over the
last few years?

It has changed drastically. When I transferred to MIAD, I

decided to declare a major in Illustration. It seemed more
practical. I operated within the design department for a
long time before my affair with conceptual and 3D work
crept back. I ended up majoring in Integrated Studio Arts
with a focus in sculpture and performance, and a minor in
Illustration. I really find joy in mixing disciplines and
exploring the boundary between fine art and design.
Some may say it’s a fear of commitment. I like to think of
it as an “open relationship” with my mediums.

After graduation, I began taking photos of my travels. The

work began to generate a lot of interest, to my complete
surprise. Despite feeling more comfortable describing
myself as an installation-based performer, I have now
found myself taking on the role of digital photographer.
I’m still learning the ins and outs of this tool, every day.

What prompted your Route 66 trip and other road

trips? Is there something about the road trip — this
kind of classic American journey — that interests
you?

Initially, it was about therapy. I battle acute anxiety and

panic disorder, and being on the road helps confront that
struggle. At the risk of sounding cliché, it’s the closest I
feel to being free, so, in a way, it has certainly become
about that romantic American journey. I have now
completed Route 66 eight times. I have explored it so
extensively, and as my roots in LA are growing, I feel I’m
close to wrapping up The Mother Road series. That being
said, I don’t think I’ll ever stop photographing the open
road.

How do you recognize the shot when you see it? What
draws you to a particular image? Light, color, subject
matter?

The first thing I’m attracted to is color, and secondly,

architectural geometry. I just may be the worst person to
drive with (hence the solo road trips). I’m constantly
pulling over to capture an image. In an attempt to be a bit
safer, I do a lot of research into the locations I travel to,
down to weather reports. Weather (sky-scape) has
always played an important role in my compositions.

What do you shoot with?

A Nikon D7100 with a 30mm lens and an 18-240mm lens.

Occasionally, I reach for my old Panasonic Lumix; I like
how that camera captures movement.

You often manipulate and edit your images after you

shoot. Do you tend to know what you want to do with
an image as you’re shooting or does that come later?

I don’t think I ever really know in the moment what the

post-production plan is; you just follow your gut. But I
have one rule: Clean it up. Take out the distractions. All
images are genuine moments, with the visual clutter
removed (such as excessive power-lines, garbage, etc.)
that does not contribute to my final vision. I see color and
shape first. When I upload the images, I begin to edit out
what I perceive as disorder. This helps achieve the
minimal, yet surreal aura. And I pump up and edit already
existing colors to match skylines or other surroundings.
That color is crucial to my final vision, and I have no
shame in heightening what is already there. If a hue
doesn’t translate well through the camera, I will make
sure to bring it forward in the editing process.

Your earlier work has kind of a staged quality, like you

created intentional compositions in order to explore
certain themes, especially relating to women and
their social roles and sexuality. Your more recent work
— like The Mother Road series and the images you’ve
recently been posting on Instagram — still has that
very deliberate quality but the emphasis seems more
strongly on a sense of place, whether it’s real or
imagined/heightened. Does it feel like a departure to
you?

I absolutely agree. It outwardly seems like a complete

departure. My photography began with an interest in
capturing kitsch and the idea of colorful, yet,
disintegrating façades: The preservation of romance.

I take great pride in Pilot, [from 2013] which was my BFA

thesis. To date, it is the most complex project I have ever
taken on. I’d spent almost three years learning how to
incorporate electromagnetic levitation into my
performances. I was interested in the act of floating
because of its conceptual associations to reverence, or
holiness. And the ideas of “floatation,” “lightness,” and
“rotation” are often associated with stereotypical
behavior of women. I first reached out to an engineer
named Guy Marsden, who had patented a top-levitation
device. I utilized his design to complete my project,
Attack! The appliance levitates a tube of lipstick upside-
down, while paired with an image from a 1969 sex
education film. When the lipstick is suspended, it looks
phallic, and, also, very much like a bullet. The screenshot
from the film was an image of a woman pressing her
lipstick into the eye of a man as a defense mechanism.

This study led to the beginning of Pilot. I reached out to a

company called Fascinations Inc., which produced
bottom-levitation devices. Master carpenter and designer
Adam Waite and I embedded nine of these devices within
a vanity set, which we made with plywood coated in a
high-gloss lacquer. Nine cosmetic objects levitated and
rotated during a four-hour performance. The objects only
levitate in a sweet spot. If they are not operating in that
very sensitive area, they snap down with great force. It all
references the clichéd female. I was attempting to keep
up with the objects, as I compulsively did my make-up. It
was painfully repetitive, leading to a very visible sadness
at times. I wanted to pose the question, “Who is in
control of the feminine journey?”
During that time, my conceptual practice revolved around
breaking down western feminine ideals. I’m still working
with these notions in some unreleased projects, while
trying to relate it back to the idea of “the façade” that
dominates my photographic work. I focus more on place
and environment lately. Settle Down concentrates on
environment and pattern, with myself playing a faceless,
restless character. Those images are taken by my
collaborator Zachary Swearingen. With my performance-
based installations, such as Pilot, I aim to create a hyper-
surreal space in hopes of activating it with conceptual
gestures. Within my photographic practice, I hope to
capture that hyper-surreal quality while still focusing on
telling a story. The act of driving to these locations has a
performative quality as well, and the images act as
documentation.

There’s a such a sense of mystery to your images and

they strike me as rather narrative, like they’re each
telling some kind of story. That’s something you’re
going for?

It is a definite goal. Especially with a background in

illustration, storytelling is germane to every project. And
with a platform like Instagram, one has an opportunity to
post their images in a specific order. I enjoy that
curatorial aspect and, thus, the story that evolves over
time.
You’ve got an amazing Instagram account. How has
social media, especially Instagram, influenced your
photographic practice?

I appreciate that. Social media has completely shaped my

career. Without IG I wouldn’t even have a photographic
practice. I wouldn’t have been offered the commercial
jobs I have worked on over the last four years if it weren’t
for the power of social media. Essentially I went from
sculptor/performer to photographer in a matter of
months. I still have a hard time accepting the title of
“photographer,” but perhaps I will warm up to it. It still
seems foreign and I wish not to offend those who have
trained their whole lives mastering the medium.

It is pretty unreal to experience the phenomenon of going

viral. It’s confusing. It’s exciting. It’s nerve-wracking. No
one prepares you for that kind of attention. It’s one thing
to prepare for, or to be nervous for, an in-class critique or
gallery show. It’s another thing to be nervous about
people all over the world critiquing your work. But in the
end, all I have is gratitude. I’m thrilled to be able to reach
and connect with people I have never met.

Whose work do you admire? Are there photographic

influences you draw on or would you say your
inspiration tends to come from other, non-
photographic sources?

I’ve always been attracted to science fiction films of the

1960s: the punchy colors, exaggerated shapes, and
sense of symmetry and balance. On that note, I have to
mention Stanley Kubrick. His work is calculated and
groundbreaking. I have been heavily inspired by
multimedia artists Pipilotti Rist, Isabella Rossellini,
Melanie Manchot, and Olafur Eliasson. In terms of
photography, Stephen Shore and William Eggleston are
immediate influences. Yet as of late, I look more to my
fellow Instagrammers for inspiration: Sinziana Velicescu
(@casualtimetravel), Michelle Gropskof (@dailystreet),
Tekla Severin (@teklan), Petra Collins (@petrafcollins),
Aleia Murawski (@aleia._), George Byrne
(@george_byrne), and Efi Gousi (@efi_gousi). I could go
on forever; the list is vast and always growing.

What are your work days like? Do you have a typical

work day?

When I’m not on the road, a typical workday consists of

editing images and writing/researching for new projects. I
also have worked in the service industry since I was
young to help finance my practice. I’m currently focusing
on reopening my online shop in order to sell prints.

What’s currently obsessing you, in relation to your

art? Are there themes, places, or ideas you find you
keep returning to?

Coming back to the idea of the façade, New Mexico

knows how to stay “pretty.” It’s a place where
deterioration and romance coexist. It’s brimming with rich
colors and patterns. It’s a place that feels otherworldly at
times, a quality that lends itself to my investigations into
the surreal. I find it heartening how even the smallest
towns are preserved with such care. I think what it comes
down to is that I wish to go back in time. A trip through
the American South West is one way to feel like you’re
avoiding the forward nature of time.

At the risk of drawing you back into that forward

nature of time (sorry!), what are you working on now
and what’s next for you?

I am still heavily invested in my collaborative duo Settle

Down. Zachary Swearingen and I began our collaboration
a little over a year ago, and just completed a three-day
shoot at The Madonna Inn, in San Luis Obispo. Those
images have yet to be released.

I have a show at the end of February in Silver Lake at a

gallery called Dust Muffin. I will be exhibiting and selling
my prints through March. Beyond that, I look forward to
refocusing my energy on installation and performance-
based work. I plan to apply for grad school within the next
two years. And of course, there are a few road trips in my
near future.
10.08.10

Excerpt: Magazine

Death Magazine, Issue #2

The funny thing about Death magazine — a thrice-yearly
publication inviting designers, artists, and writers to use
humanity's darkest subject as a creative catalyst — is
that it's not really all that morbid. You'd get more
depressing stuff asking musicians to write songs about
love. While Portland-based graphic designer Forrest
Martin was moved to found the magazine last year in part
by a deep-seated fear about his eventual demise ("I'm an
agnostic worrier raised by a professional hypochondriac,"
he told a blog at the time), his contributors filter the issue
at hand through all kinds of artistic lenses, some of them
masterfully subtle. In Death's recently launched second
issue, Michael Zavros's lush large-scale charcoal
drawings of young male models with their faces
scratched out could just as easily be from an artsy
spread in a fashion glossy as they could a death threat
from a homicidal stalker, while photographer Jason
Lazarus's super-saturated color fields, sprinkled with the
cremated remains of the late artist Robert Heinecken, on
first glance resemble star systems photographed in deep
space.

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