Kara Zamora is a social scientist who has worked as a researcher in the health sciences for over 8 years. Currently, she is working on a PhD in medical anthropology from a joint program between UC San Francisco and UC Berkeley. She is also a lay appreciator of the arts, a beginner-level chess player, and friend to Adam for the last 13 years
Kara Zamora: So, I have to mirror you because I don’t quite remember how the pieces should be arranged.
Adam Holzrichter: Sure.
A: A pawn is missing (gets extra chess pieces)
K: I’m pumped. Took us 12 years to get here.
A: White always goes first. I don’t know who made that rule.
K: Some asshole (laughter).
K: Well Adam, I’m thrilled to be interviewing you today, thanks for taking the time. So, first question. For those who might not know in our audience, How do you pronounce your last name?
A: Holzrichter. Like, richter of holz.
K: Is there anything interesting or special about the origin of that name?
A: It means wood judge.
K: What does that mean?
A: “Holz” means wood and “richter” is judge, in German.
K: Is that like a profession?
A: I’m guessing it’s like a...I’ve been told it’s a peasant’s name. I think I was just being roasted.
K: Sounds rugged.
A: Smith is a common name, and has its origins of what that means. I think Holzrichter would be...richter is a judge, so when you meet someone with that name it’s just a judge. Holzrichter is a wood judge, so I assume it’s not a carpenter’s name. Maybe it’s one step separated from that.
K: More elevated?
A: Maybe. I don’t know this for a fact. I’m basing all of my family history on assumption and metaphor.
K: Have you heard of there being craftspeople in your family?
A: Not really. Carpenters and things like that. People who are just trying to get by in construction. We don’t have a huge college educated history in my family.
K: Tradespeople mostly?
A: Yeah, I think so.
K: I never put that together with Smith. That’s really interesting. Alright, usually whenever I interview someone, or get to know someone, I always like to open with some more general questions. Tell me a little bit about what you do - broadly speaking - and a little bit about how you got here in your years of life.
A: Sure. I chose the profession of painting because it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. Since I was a kid I would answer that question...that I wanted to be an artist for my future. That was my dream. There’s one picture that stands out in my mind that I drew when I was in maybe second grade, I’m not totally sure. I had drawn a picture of my profession in the future as a painter, but I was at an easel on a stage with an audience. The view was from backstage. That’s not the reality of what being a painter is like, so I wonder what the root of that was. I wanted an audience, and to be appreciated. All of the different art professions that I tried out, which were more practical applications of this skillset, like illustrator or graphic design and then sculpture, in the format of traditional skills from art school. I took to a job where I was sculpting at a professional level for a company who made walkaround characters for Disney and Universal studios. That was a cool application of the skills, but still not satisfying in the way I had envisioned what I wanted. So tattooing was the next thing I tried out. That community didn’t fit. I tried out 3D animation. That future didn’t fit with my vision of what I wanted. So I came back to painting. This is all I’ve ever wanted to be, and I’ve just made excuses for not allowing myself to do it. I didn’t want to face the stigma around being a painter in a society that’s advancing so rapidly around tech. I finally just said this is what I’m going to do full time. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, and I used just one excuse after the next about why that’s not a valid lifestyle. Anyhow, that’s all I do now.
K: So there are a couple of interesting things you said to me. I was really struck by thinking about you as a kid painting yourself with an audience. Usually when I think of an artist having an audience I think of a performer. I guess when I think of painting I think of it as kind of a solitary activity. You don’t really, for the most part, experience your audience experiencing the work, so what does a desire for an audience mean for a painter and in what ways does that play into the way that you go about your work?
A: I think the audience for a painter is going to be mostly invisible, through history’s lens. Today we have social media, so we have this immediate response when someone likes a picture you’ve made. It’s a direct interaction with the audience, and people who are able to reach you. It’s performative in that way. I think it’s a little more direct than it would be just reading a newspaper clipping of a critic talking about your show. It’s more the wider population having access to the work itself. It’s a neat workaround.
K: It’s a relatively recent change.
A: Right?
K: How do you relate to that, or how does that inform the way that you go about your work, if it does at all?
A: I’ve enjoyed painting with an audience at live events, or parties. Whether it’s me painting a still life that I set up, a room full of people, or setting up a chair for people to sit for speed portraits. I engage with them the whole time to capture their personality through these micro snapshots that happen from beginning to end in the painting, rather than having someone sit still with deadpan expressions. You don’t get the nuance of the personality, or the way they smile when talking about a particular thing. That’s my favorite way, in portraiture, to express the person’s personality, but also the conversation in that moment. I don’t know if that answers your question, but something like it. There’s that live element to it, where people can stand behind and watch me when it’s a more public event. Which is what gave me this comfortability to practice my work, and not worry about every moment, or brushstroke, being entertaining or looking beautiful. A painting goes through a period of ugliness before it reaches its end. There’s always some time where someone has a grimace on their face because the painting isn’t beautiful from beginning to end, and that’s the wrong way to look at it. You get a vision into the process. And I think that makes it more of a participatory experience for an audience in a way I really like.
K: Getting to see the stages.
A: And to interact throughout. That brings that fantasy into a sort of reality. It’s beginning to happen in my painting career in the way I envisioned as a kid. Kind of cool.
K: That’s so interesting. Before I ask my next question let’s make a move.
A: I moved my bishop here.
K: Oh you did! Shoot, I’m the one holding us up.
A: It’s okay. It’s just a game.. Of war.
K: There’s gonna be a real fight after.
A: Yep.
K: You did that so stealthily, I didn’t even notice. Well, I think as a non-artist…as a general public consumer of art, I only ever see the finished product. I really like the idea of transformation that you describe, that there’s this ugly phase in the middle where you’re not quite sure if it will become beautiful or finished. I don’t really have a question, I kind of just really like the idea of that being an obligatory phase to getting somewhere that’s cool.
A: It’s like life, man.
K: Sure. I guess I have one other kind of more general question I’m curious to hear you answer to. Describe a teacher that has influenced you in a meaningful or significant way. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a person or mentor, I’m thinking of “teacher” in very broad terms, so, it can also be an experience or even a piece of literature. And this doesn’t have to be about being a painter, it can be about any aspect of your life.
A: I think I grew up as a sort of nonconformist with this baked into my personality, being a Jehovah’s Witness. I had this experience of the world where I was a kid in public school who really sees things from an outside perspective, even though I’m there with everyone else who is experiencing the same thing around me at the same time. I think that made me a little more comfortable with being an outsider or an outcast. That’s been my life’s story. What’s allowed me to take bigger risks, as far as what the outcome might be for making these decisions, like being a painter. I’m a little less affected by a sort of competitive nature that I see people experiencing and living throughout society. That competition drives a lot of people, whereas I think I just want to understand people and interact with them in a way that’s less about dominance, and more about an exchange. That's sort of an early influencer in how I interact with society. So it’s been a sort of comfortable place to be an outsider and to challenge more popular ideas, and ideologies. To kind of allow myself the opportunity and that space to question what I’m told is right.
K: So outsider, observer sort of, but would you describe that role also as a critical one? Do you feel like part of what you do as an outsider is critique?
A: Yeah, I have to be very careful not to be too judgemental because of that perspective. I can categorize people a little too quickly. If I see familiar behaviors in someone that I experienced with someone in the past I recognize patterns that sometimes might not even be there. But just because it’s so familiar, and I’ve observed it in a way that allowed me to be critical in a moment, but it’s not always applicable. That’s not to say that nothing learned from behaviors or patterns is useful, but that’s just a natural part of growing, and learning to understand people in the world. But judgement would be the most difficult challenge that presents.
K: The thing that you rein in? I guess I see your work as very observational, but not super critical. It’s like this place where you kind of work that out. Cull it out.
A: That makes sense.
K: I want to ask a bit more about this competitive societal atmosphere you touched on...When I think of being an artist, or surviving in the art world I think of that as being highly competitive, so I guess how do you negotiate being a non-competitive observer type with all of that cutthroat stuff?
A: I think I honestly want to see everyone succeed. I don’t want to see someone else fail. It doesn’t bring me pleasure to see someone else fail. Even if they’ve “wronged” me, I’d rather see people lifted up. People from the past who’ve slighted me, I don’t want to see them fail. If competition is gonna stand between a sale of a painting of mine or someone else’s...I’ll face it with a realistic approach. I want my work to be appreciated and to sell. I don’t think I’ve figured that out yet. How to realistically be competitive in that aspect. You learn to be competitive as a person who exists in a society. Being able to reconcile if you're going to be too kind or generous you’re actually doing it to your own detriment. So there’s a space there that’s kind of gray for me. It’s case by case if I’m going to assert my will to further my end goal or not. But I play games like chess to kill and to win. This is the definition of competitive.
K: Is this? Are we playing in kill mode right now?
A: Oh, 100%. No mercy.
K: I think it’s your turn then. Has this been undergirding our friendship all these years? Okay, we’re at the stage in this game now where I feel I have to start thinking about my moves. First couple moves were no big deal.
So, one of my favorite popular interviewers is Tim Ferriss. I like a question he often asks, where he asks someone to talk us through a typical morning in their lives. What are the things you do every day that make you ready to make?
A: I think I’m most productive when I’m waking up at a set time. If I’m waking up at 8:30 I’m good to do things that strengthen the rest of the day. That would be showering, breakfast, and getting to the studio at 10am, or before. I like to write 3 pages in a stream of consciousness. It’s helpful for me to clear out the negative thoughts that might affect the day, and cause me to be more distractible. In a good week I’m writing what I’m aiming to do. From there I make a list, if I didn’t already have one from the previous day. I’ll have lunch around 1pm, then work some more until dinner at 7 or 8. I’m usually home around 10.
K: That’s amazing that you write that much. What happens to that writing? Do you ever go back and read it?
A: I think one day I’ll want to. Sort of at low points, like if I can’t figure out what I should be doing I’m more self-reflective. I might go back and look at something. I annotate the entries, whether I think something I said was profound, or find something I want to think about later. I didn’t start annotating until about a year and a half ago. I’ve been keeping these regular journals for about 14 years. I have a big rubbermaid container of full notebooks. Because of that it’s not a memoir. I wouldn’t want to release that for strangers to read about me, ever, because it’s not meant for that. When you betray that trust of it being confidential, you start writing more with an audience in mind, and it’s less about emptying your head, or allowing yourself the freedom to exist without the stressors.
K: Is that a worry that you have? I feel like when artists pass away there are these huge exhibits of everything they’ve ever made in their lives. Including letters to students, journal entries...
A: So embarrassing. Yeah. That’s a stress to think about. If that were to get into anyone’s hands...My family or anyone. They should never know what goes on in the privacy of my own head. It’s not a space for anyone but me. That’s the point of it. It’s the only safe thing I allow myself in that way. It’s not a thing to violate. It’s like a therapist who I just empty the negativity into. When I’m writing 5 to 7 days a week I stop writing about anything negative. I start writing about the future and creative ideas. How I can execute a painting better. I’ll write more about the work, and less about social interactions that make me unhappy. So when I’m writing more sparsely i”m complaining more often. It’s someone to inexhaustibly complain to.
K: So there’s a threshold there. When you write a lot you get past the negativity and there’s a turning point?
A: It’s been a huge aid for my mental health. Those are the times where I’m writing religiously.
K: It’s interesting that you describe it as the one safe space. To some extent do you feel that every other aspect of life has some kind of an audience to it?
A: Not really, but the opportunity to be open. I’ll talk about anything that goes on in the studio when I’m the only one here. What I do here is observed by other people, whether I’m working or not, or whether I’ve cleaned the studio. I still don’t have that privacy that’s in the journal. It’s not that all aspects of life are performative. When I’m not writing as often there’s a sort of dread of the public sphere. I know it’s not real.
K: There was a question that I wanted to ask. When you review your journals, is there anything that really surprised you about yourself? It doesn’t have to be positive.
A: I think it’s literally been years since I’ve looked back. I started rating the entries a couple years ago. If it’s really heartfelt I use up to 3 hearts, and if it’s just a good entry I use up to 3 stars. I know when I’m phoning it in, and do that after finishing. That would make it easy for someone else to find more useful information.
K: God. 14 years. That’s so much writing. I want to circle back to something we touched on earlier. You’re an artist. Art is at the center of this discussion. You talked about experimenting with more practical applications of the skills, and then ultimately decided to do the thing you’ve always wanted to do. Was there a turning point, or kind of an aha moment? What made you take the leap into just being a painter?
A: I think there was a breaking point in my depression, because of how unhappy I was in not doing what I wanted to do, and was seeking approval from others. In LA when you add partying and drug use into that mix it’s a mess of a life. It didn’t make sense to keep living that way, so I moved back to Chicago. That’s where my support base was, that's been there all along. That was it. I decided at that point that I would buckle down and work to build closer relationships to the people who I admired that were already in that profession. My painter friend Ryan Shultz had an open room in his apartment so I moved in right away. I started painting more, and pursued showing my work. Then the opportunity came up to study painting in North Carolina with another painter who I had met in San Francisco, David Molesky. The show he was preparing a new body of work for was to be a group show with former pupils of Odd Nerdrum, who had become my favorite living painter. After studying with David, he was able to be a strong reference to show I was dedicated enough to the craft, even though I didn’t have a large body of work behind me and I was 30 years old. That string of events was what made it realistic to actualize this thing that I’ve wanted to do. Without those specific experiences I wouldn’t have been able to do what I have. It’s interesting that things happened that way, after the breaking point. It was this dark place of depression where it was clearly time to turn my life around, because that life sucks. I was turning 30, and I wasn’t old yet. So that would be the moment.
K: It’s kind of rare to meet someone who's always known what they want to do. What underpins that? What motivates that? How have you always known unquestioningly what you wanted to do?
A: It’s just a culmination of behaviors that got me the love I needed as a kid. You know? A quiet kid, who’s shy, an outsider, and a voyeur, who can only participate by silently commenting on what they see and then getting accolades for it. Being the youngest in the family with 4 siblings...This is just what I was made into. Nature made things happen this way. I was lucky to have some people who nurtured me early on - not as a creative expression, that was more a side effect - but more so with entertainment forms like comic books, cartoons...things that required hand drawing art and making them. It wasn’t like I was seeing baroque master paintings and going to the museums. It was comic books and illustrations from religious literature. That was the closest place to this thing that evolved into a more matured vision.
K: You mentioned that one of the painters you studied with, Odd Nerdrum, is your favorite living painter. What is it about his work that moves you so much or is so exceptional to you?
A: I think it’s bold. His approach is bold. His subject matter is bold. He’s removed from his time in a way that I sympathize with. So I think when I got there and saw the way he physically painted I appreciated him even more. He paints like a barbarian or animal. I want to say he does each painting differently, but he has some formulas. He was in his early 70’s at the time I was there, so he has had some time to develop habits. To me, coming into his world, it appears he approaches them all differently. The way he approaches some is more planned than others. Some began as a nondescript portrait that evolved through conversations around the studio, or life events, which turn into bigger narratives. There’s always narrative - a story being told. They’re not just about how great of a painter he is. There is an intentional dialogue with the viewer that’s designed with them in mind. It’s not an expression of pure ego, though there’s an element of ego in all things that are performative. Its intent is to make the viewer better. To inspire a catharsis in them. For them to go through something and to come out the other side having learned something. It’s the most pleasurable way to experience them, according to the Aristotlean philosophy of aesthetics, which he follows to a T. He’s very intentional with his philosophy, the work, the mastery of form, and the communication of this language. He’s not invisible, in that you can see this individual has made this painting. All of the things I learned from him completely shifted me into this adult brain, where this doesn’t have to be about “thanks for telling me how great I am”. It’s not about the confirmation, or accolades that I would get in my original design as an ego based artist. “Look what I can do”. It’s more of an intentional thing about life. That’s something to remind myself of.
K: I guess following that, you talked about the shift into a mature painter brain. What I infer from that is that that experience forced you to really invest in filling out what your own philosophy as a painter is about. What is that philosophy? What is your objective impact? What do you hope your viewer goes through, or gains from experiencing something you make?
A: I think when I was there I made some note about love. Falling in love with the painting. How do you manufacture love within the design and composition of a painting? How can you do that? Elevate the viewer’s consciousness in a way that is compassionate with them and their experience as a human being? The visual language being a universally understood one is gonna be the best way to connect in a way that can elevate the viewer’s life. So it shouldn’t have anything to do with me, at the same time. Even though I’ve tried to manufacture this experience. Something that I see as my connection to the divine, being a sort of mystery around observed coincidences that we call god. I’m going to the extreme with what I’m saying for impact. I want the viewer to have an experience that they feel there’s some mystery and curiosity that’s satisfied when they observe closer. When they discover something within the work that allows them to feel that coincidence is satisfied. There’s a sort of goal, not just to express myself, but to contribute something positive that’s beyond the status symbol that buying a fine art painting automatically is. I don’t think that’s too cryptic...
K: No. I think capturing the experience of coincidence as a universal tenet is an interesting part of your process. I think I see that as part of the timeless quality you also try to achieve. Timelessness with a little bit of oddness.
A: To share what I experience as a day to day god. The coincidence and mystery of life is the divine to me. The awe it inspires in the eureka moment would be a successful painting for me. I don’t know that I’ve reached it, but it would be my goal. I think targeted advertising is tapping into that same concept, in a more dubious way.
K: Is there something you've made that’s close to that?
A: Something I made when I was in Norway. It was where I made a lot of discoveries. I found something that I believe to be true about observation of design. There’s a way to manufacture discovery through coincidence, but I did it in a heavy handed way so it wasn’t successful in my mind today. What I learned on it was huge, and life changing. I stood in front of the painting when I realized it and cried as I saw it happening. That was a moment where I thought “I can’t turn back, now that I know this” and that was a cool moment. Being too conscious of that phenomenon in the creation of the paintings can destroy them. Making them formulaic and mathematical by putting too much importance on specific things.
K: Because you have to be strategic when you make something, right? But it also can’t feel too planned.
A: Otherwise it’s just an easily observable mathematical pattern. You need to have flexibility.
K: It feels uncomfortable, but not bad.
A: So also not too dark. I was going too dark when I first discovered that, and only wanted to paint tragic scenes. That wasn’t necessary to convey that. It was just my expression of my sorrow over whatever.
K: I remember you showing me some of the things you painted while you were there some years ago. They were definitely dark. The work you’ve been making recently has depth and oddness, but feels a lot more lighthearted.
A: There’s a sort of idea I’ve always clung to. I like to say I was brought up in artificial light. When I left my family and home I sought out the darkest places because I thought “this can’t be what light is. It doesn’t feel real or right. So the darkest places must be where the light is.” That string of discoveries from the tragedies and dramas that ensued from that lifestyle showed me the natural light, and what that is. That’s the goal. That’s where the vision should be. Not on the saccharine - the struggle for ownership of “the truth”. More so in the sunlight than lamplight. It’s a nice metaphor that I like to think of to justify a lot of things.
K: I really like that metaphor - artificial light versus sunlight. We’ve covered a lot of ground as far as what’s brought you here. Dreaming about the future a bit, what’s your vision for yourself? It could be a month from now, or a year from now. No time limit.
A: I’d like to make paintings that I believe in. To thrive off of that and have a waiting list of collectors who want to be the one to buy my next painting. I will paint whatever is best for the rest of my life. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that for me. Everything else is between, or around that. It’s the largest means to the end of happiness and success for me in my vision of what I want. That would be the vessel to me.
K: That’s a pretty clear vision. Have you always had that vision, or has it changed over the years?
A: I’m not doing this to create a commodity. I’m trying to understand something about life and communication that’s bigger than an expression of ego. Some projects repurpose my skillset to accomplish something someone else thought of, or a memory that someone else wants to run through my filter. I don’t hate those projects, and they keep me alive and able to do this. I’d love to phase those into the distant background, but I’m sure that kind of stuff will always have to happen.
K: A couple more fun questions: One thing I’m always curious to know about people...There are books and movies that I return to when I need help feeling a certain way, or needing to feel inspired. What’s one work of literature, or other kind of related medium, that you return to over the years, and what purpose does it serve for you?
A: Superheroes and comic book stuff. It was the first influence to my vision. I’m sure it’s a link to childhood, or something deeper than the surface if you wanted to look into that. I don’t read comic books, but the movies. I know how stupid they are, and I intentionally forget the characters’ names, but the consumption of them is sort of like taking drugs. It’s dangerous to do that too much.
K: You’ve got to taper off the Ant-Man sometimes. I feel like I’m learning so much about you in this interview. There’s this Jungian idea I’ve been thinking about recently, of holding the tension of the opposites - that the tension space between two poles is a third space. Not needing to choose one pole or the other, but holding both/and in the middle space where tension is as a place where we can live and grow. That was a theme I’ve felt came up a number of times during this interview. There are all these different tensions you have to negotiate all the time, including inside the space within which you create. I guess I don’t really have a question here, just a reflection on our discussion so far. Okay, fun question now. Maybe. We’ll see how you answer it - you never know. I think this is a famous Barbara Walters interview question, but I could also be making that up. What is something that if people knew about you would surprise them?
A: I didn’t learn to whistle until 2 or 3 years ago.
K: You can learn to do that? I thought it was a genetic thing. I’ve never been able to.
A: I wasn’t either. I taught myself when I was with Nerdrum. His son Ode would whistle classical music and I thought, Jesus, how is he that good? That was the impetus to try when I was alone in the studio. I began it there, but it wasn’t until I came back home and tried harder in my studio that I learned. Now I do when I’m in the car or alone to feel instantly happy.
K: Will you whistle something right now?
A: No. It’s like singing. I wrote and recorded songs with my cousin that I just won’t show anyone.
K: Maybe at a karaoke bar?
A: I feel like I’m in Hell if I have to do karaoke. If I’m in a car, or any time I get to drive alone in that space I sing. It’s a private part of my creative self expression I don’t share with anyone.
K: Is it fun that you have a sort of secret like that?
A: More now than in the past. It started as a kind of fear.
K: If you had to sing a song in karaoke what would it be?
A: Probably Leonard Cohen, or Johnny cash. Something where I didn’t have to exert or embarrass myself too much (Tells story about singing karaoke of a Kanye West song and having the microphone taken away by a black man after a comedy show).
K: Just to start wrapping things up - I always like to open and close with more general or open-ended questions. Recently you told me about a new painter’s podcast project you’re planning to launch soon. Describe it to me. What’s your vision for this podcast project and what makes it the natural next step in your evolution as an artist?
A: So I have this vision of a podcast, or conversation, where I have the freedom to talk with anyone who I find interesting while I paint their portrait. When I look at classical artists, and some of the people who I appreciate most throughout history, I don’t see them only painting wealthy patrons or influential public figures. I also see them painting drunks in a tavern, or peasants on the street. Pastoral scenes with a shepherd or someone farming their land. It’s just more interesting for me to be able to see more perspectives than the traditional beach babe, or muscle man physique that can sell more easily. Don’t get me wrong. They make for a really enriching academic study. That doesn’t fulfil a higher motivation to understand human life. Not to democratize my vision too much.. I’m thinking more about what has gotten people to the place they’re currently at, rather than how useful they might be to me. I’ve always enjoyed meeting people, no matter how brief the interaction. What I want to do with this podcast idea is to explore where that takes me and to see where that conversation leads. Also I’ll come out the other side with a portrait of each person. Now I’m workshopping how to make the conversation more of an audience participatory experience, but that will develop as the project naturally evolves.
K: Great, well thank you again so much Adam for speaking with me today. It’s been a real treat.
(interview tapers into casual conversation - listener never to know the outcome of the chess game)