By: Nazbanoo Pahlavi

It can't be avoided. It's on every network, on every cable news station, in every newspaper. The map. Red states versus blue states. Conservatives against liberals. George W. Bush may have won the presidency, defeating his opponent, John Kerry, but to Fritz Haeg it felt like everyone lost—and not because of which candidate won. His malaise went well beyond politics. He would articulate it three years later in the preface to a project that unknowingly to him began to germinate on November 2, 2004.

We watched as the media informed us that the United States had just split into red and blue. I was devastated by the results of the election, but I was also alarmed by the popular story that our country was cleft in two, with supposedly irreconcilable opposing points of view. For us or against us; it seemed like the lines had been drawn and you were meant to take a side.

It's often said by artists—writers, musicians, painters, actors—that to gain perspective of your country, you have to leave it. Not long after the 2004 presidential election, Haeg left the United States for a six-week residency in Australia.

I wanted to use this break as an opportunity to consider the direction of my work.

Haeg's work wasn't easy to define. He was schooled as an architect, earning his degree from Carnegie Mellon in 1992. But during his collegiate days, it became evident that he wouldn't end up in an office of some skyscraper. In his final year, having fulfilled his requirements, he mostly enrolled in art classes.

The course selection didn't mean he abandoned his future as an architect. The profession had been his life's ambition since he was a youngster going to middle school in Minneapolis where, for fun, he studied copies of Architectural Record at the local public library. His dad noticed his son's interest and took him to meet an architect working downtown. Haeg remembers it distinctly, "the endless grid of fluorescent lights and little desks and drafting tables." And he remembers thinking, even then, that wasn't exactly what he wanted.

In search for what he was looking for after graduating from Carnegie Mellon, he worked and taught for a number of years in Connecticut, New York, California. Along the way, he became difficult to label professionally—architect, environmental designer, artist, teacher. Not long after settling in Los Angeles in 1999, he initiated Sundown Salons, which were a series of community gatherings for knitting, reading, dancing, drawing, performing, and conversing. At the University of Southern California, he taught "Workshop in Architecture" for non-majors and an interdisciplinary course, "Manifesto," at the Art Center College of Design, where the class "read the writings and manifestos of 20th-century artists and designers" culminating in the class having to "orally present our own manifesto on the final day of class."

Haeg was a man who had more depth than simply being classified as someone blue or red. Yet, as he left for Australia, the country was defining itself by only those colors. He recalled his misgivings, politically and culturally, before embarking on his trip of introspection:

In spite of my migrations, I realized how limited my experience of my own country was. I was also beginning to feel uneasy with the insular, self-referential, and hermetic nature of the contemporary art and architecture community, of which I consider myself a part. Are we elitist, separatist, or just disinterested? Today's media climate allows you to filter your news and stories to only those with which you agree. Have we given up on any sort of real dialogue and returned to our corners to talk among ourselves? What is the appropriate response to the current state of the world, its politics, climate, and economics? What should I do next?

(Continued …)

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