ARTIST CODY HUDSON DRAWS FROM THIRTY YEARS OF MAKING. HIS WORK CARRIES A QUIET ACCUMULATION, BUILDING A WORLD WHERE INSTEAD OF TENSION SUBCULTURE AND FINE ART EXIST IN A CONSTANT CONVERSATION.

Mathew Swenson: Your path into graphic design seems to begin less through design school and more through various scenes — raves, music, flyers, underground networks. Did design initially feel like a profession or just participation in these cultures?

Cody Hudson: When I started doing stuff that I guess would be considered graphic design, I didn't know it was graphic design. We were making skate zines, making stickers, cutting up grip tape and putting it on a skateboard. I didn't even really think any of this stuff was art or design, it was kind of just what we were doing. I later learned the term when I was working at this animation house, painting animation cells on the weekends. I showed the person there some stuff I did, and they said, oh, you know what, this is a thing called graphic design. So I researched it a bit and ended up going to a technical college, took "commercial art classes" is what they were called. This is all pre-computer. As soon as I started doing it, I thought, I like this better than working at Piggly Wiggly.

Mathew: The first time you did a rave flyer... was that a turning point?

Cody: The first time I ever did one was because I was throwing a party with Drop Base Network out of Milwaukee. My pitch to them was, you could save like $75 if I just do the flyer. They said yes, and then I foolishly had to go get a loan, buy a computer, and quickly learn how to use it to make a rave flyer before the party. It came out pretty bad, but traditional rave flyer-looking, so.

Cody: Pretty quickly I realized I was way more into the design aspect of it than I was throwing parties. So I stopped throwing parties and went headfirst into doing as many rave flyers as I could.

Mathew: Did you think about them as promotional items, or more like experiments?

Cody: I was pretty practical about it in the beginning. Just copying and being influenced by what was out there...fractals look cool, I'll put a fractal on here, this trippy type looks good. This is like '93, pretty early Midwest rave stuff. Then eventually I started to think about it through the lens of, oh, this is something I can do to push an aesthetic that I'm interested in forward a little bit. That's when the flyers became ones I still actually like. I started experimenting with uncoated paper, using gold ink or silver ink, doing stuff that wasn't traditional CMYK die-cut stuff. People actually liked that more than the ravey stuff, and I just kept pushing in that direction.

Michael Cina: That's when I noticed Cody's work I think it was the Easy Writer flyer. I had been following your stuff because you were doing work for Woody McBride in that whole era, and it was around that Easy Writer era that I really started taking note of what you were doing, because it was so different.

Cody: Thanks. That stuff was really fun, and it made me learn new things, made me push in different directions. I think it was maybe the first time I realized you could put more of your own personality into it. I went to technical school... you didn't really learn about theories behind design or anything so a lot of the early career was just mimicking what was out there, not realizing, oh, if I go more internal on this and put more of my personal thoughts into this, I can make it into something that is more a part of me.

Mathew: Did the flyers feel disposable at the time, or were you building a visual language?

Cody: It was both. The flyer in general is always pretty disposable. You leave a party and there's 10 people trying to give you as many as you can before you leave, or you see them in a stack at Gramophone, just a pile on the ground. But the thought behind them, the style of it, started to slowly work into the current work I'm doing. Those flyers don't really look like work I do now, but it was the starting point to get there.

"I hate to say it, but there was a point where I was probably trying to distance myself from it. Thinking, oh, I'm not just this rave flyer dude, I can do all these other things. Now, with time, I'm looking back at it and actually appreciating the work more." — Cody Hudson

Mathew: Was there freedom in that underground world, or did the freedom come later?

Cody: It was both. Certain promoters were down for whatever, others were very specific... oh, this is the theme of the party, it should be this. I worked with really good promoters... Woody McBride in Minneapolis, Kurt from Drop Base in Milwaukee. Both of them really appreciated my aesthetic and were willing to push things. Over time I just kind of stopped doing the stuff that didn't feel right to me, and focused more on the work that made sense. The people I was working with, I got their vision, and maybe they got mine, and we could make a better thing together, as opposed to it being very work-for-hire style.

Mathew: You've moved through a lot of places, but Chicago keeps reappearing. What has the city given you creatively?

Cody: Chicago will always be home for me. Even though I was born in Kenosha, Wisconsin. It's an hour north, right between Milwaukee and Chicago, and it was an interesting place to grow up. I had access to Milwaukee, where there'd be a hardcore show or a punk show, and I could come down to Chicago and it'd be a warehouse party or a rave. So I was getting an introduction to a lot of different scenes. I moved around six or seven times in like ten years, but always in between those jobs I'd come back to Chicago and give it another shot. It's a Midwestern city, but big enough that it has all the stuff you need. There's maybe an honesty to it. A warmth to it, in a sense.

Mathew: Michael and I spend a lot of time thinking about the Midwest not just as a region but as a point of view. Does distance from the coasts do anything for your work?

Cody: I don't think so. I feel like I'd be making similar work no matter where I lived. Although...if I did live in New York, maybe something would completely change. The nature would be removed from my work, and something else would come in based on what I'm seeing every day.

Mathew: With so much proximity to design in a place like NYC...everyone's on top of each other, it's hard not to influence one another. Space creates a buffer.

Cody: I could see that. The older I get, I'm out less. I'm by myself in the studio pretty much every day. Where my studio is now, there are tons of studios around me. I've just never seen anyone in the hallway. There's probably a really good designer upstairs — I just realized there was one the other day and I'd never seen him. So I'm around all these people, I just come here, work all day, and leave.

Mathew: Both of you do commercial work and have your own practice. How do you separate those identities, or is the work just an ecosystem that can be lent to different things?

Cody: I try not to separate anymore. I spent many years really trying to keep things separate. I wanted the paintings to feel like a painter made them, and the design to feel like graphic design. These were self-imposed rules. One day I made this post design and thought, this would look great as a painting. But I told myself, I can't be a graphic design painter, I want to be a painter. Until I actually made that first one. I was like, this is the painting I've been trying to make... I was just trying to make it a different way because I felt they needed to be separate. The more I only put out work that looked like I did it, the less people came to me for work that didn't look like I did it. It kind of fulfilled itself.

Cody: I don't think I've had any stylistic breakthroughs that I really appreciated come to me through a graphic design project. They always came from a painting I was working on, or a loose graphic that had no end result. When I'm working on paintings or sculptures, it's completely free. A completely loose process with no real end goal in mind, so kind of anything can happen. That's where the experimentation happens that maybe a year later works its way into a design. When it's loose and it's open, more exciting things happen. And then I can bring them back to the work.

Cody: I was never worried about protecting it either. I mean... Michael, with your work the styles can vary so greatly. The Herb Sundays mixes are so varied. How do you see that, where my style is going in one specific direction, but yours can vary so greatly while I can still tell you did it. I see the threads in there.

Michael: For me, what I try to do in the design process is push things as much as I can, like I do with art, so I get it from both directions. I don't feel like I have a distinct style I like to explore. For the longest time, when I was painting, I kept art and design separate. And you said the work suffered when you did that, and I would agree... by trying to keep them separate, it feels like you're almost battling yourself more than just letting things flow. That really stood out to me. I do think design feels more digital while art feels more handmade. But I love it when they come together. The last Italo thing I did, I drew out digitally but then also drew it out by hand, and that makes it feel better. It's still a battle, even to this day.

Mathew: Do you feel like what you're doing is world-building? From a zipper pull to a large sculpture?

Cody: I enjoy the process so much more than seeing it out in the world, even. So much of what I enjoy is coming in here, cutting paper pieces and moving them around, trying to figure out where this connects. That's the most exciting thing for me, the non-commercial stuff.

Michael: I think that's what's always struck me about knowing you and your work. You're part of the community around you. When you talk about your metalwork, you were walking past a metalsmith and then started doing sculptures around that. It seems like what surrounds you helps shape the work.

Cody: Yeah. Everything around me is going to influence me whether I want it to or not. My studio was next to a metal shop. I'd walk by the loading dock and see them working, became friends. Pretty quickly I went in and said, hey, can you cut some shapes out for me? They're building stairs and railings, and I'm like, I'm cutting these things out of wood right now... it would be so much cooler to see these things made out of steel. If I hadn't been next to them, I don't know if I would have ever thought to make sculpture out of steel. We've been making those for like 15 years now. It maybe wouldn't have happened if I hadn't walked by or met Colin and Bill.

Mathew: Not everyone can buy a big sculpture. But there's a version of your world that more people can reach... a print, a jacket, a running hat. Does that interest you?

Cody: No, I like all that stuff. I come through a design lens, so I was always doing collaborations with brands, doing sneaker designs. Years ago the art world was kind of looking down on that, and now it's completely changed. Since I didn't go through the academic system, I didn't have those rules in place. I was like, I'm going to do whatever seems interesting or like a good idea. I get messages randomly about the Nike running collection... people like, oh, I just wore my hat yesterday, I went out running. That's much more interesting to me than only waiting for four people a year to buy a painting and hang it in their really fancy house and look at it once.

Mathew: It got me thinking of Dieter Rams and all his design for Braun... like, my grandma had a bunch of those products and didn't know she'd bought a Dieter Rams anything. It was just in the kitchen.

Cody: Yeah. My kids will be at school and come up to some kid and be like, my dad designed that shirt. And the kid's like, no. And they're like, he really did. And the kid didn't buy it because he liked Cody Hudson... he bought it because it was a Bulls jersey with some cool graphics on it. So it both works.

Mathew: Have you done a good job of archiving your work?

Cody: More recently I've been more worried about it. I've had a pretty clean archive going. Try to keep two to three of every print, a bunch of tubs, specific samples of projects that really worked out. It is nice to be able to go find a skateboard deck I made ten years ago. Some of the stuff I originally thought I was archiving on Zip disks... none of those even work anymore. Half the CD-ROMs I had didn't work either. So much of what I thought I was digitally archiving I can't even access. At least a tub of shoes and hats... the format's not going to disappear. That's actually why I update my website constantly, even though everyone's like, no one looks at websites. I probably do it more for myself than anything. Once this stuff's up there, I can always find it again.

Michael: And what's nice is you're showing the work. People are able to see what you're up to. I don't show probably 95% of the work I do. Archiving is always a struggle. Going back and doing it after the fact is a more monumental task.

Cody: That's always a lot, that's why I try to do it somewhat in the moment. Although I also think it's overkill sometimes. Do I need 500 projects on a website? I put some up and hide them... they're up there basically for me, not even visible. I just need somewhere to put this where I know where it is.

Mathew: What do you think actually endures? Images circulate endlessly and disappear just as fast.

Cody: Instagram could just go away. I don't know who buys it next, who just pushes the button and closes it down. I think of platforms I used to use Flickr, or Blog Spot . I don't even have those passwords anymore. When I moved last time (I was there for 12 years) I threw out like a whole dumpster's worth of stuff. I probably threw out maybe 50 paintings. Hit them with an ax or cut them apart so someone couldn't find them and do something with them. And afterward there were a couple moments where I thought, maybe I shouldn't have done that. But so much of it I was like, that was just so nice. I don't have to ever worry about that painting again.