Lexis Rangell-Onwuegbuzia

Interview by Hanna Andrews

Photos by Emma Snoddy on Facetime

Introduce yourself.

My name is Lexis, I’m a junior in CC, I use they/them/theirs pronouns, I’m a Sagittarius, and I’m currently living in Long Beach, CA. 

Did you grow up in California?

Yeah, all around Southern California… I’ve moved like thirteen times, but it’s always been Southern California. 

How did you get into costume design, digital design and other art disciplines?

I had been interested in fashion design since I was in third grade. Middle school was an awful experience, I had no friends… I decided in high school to put myself out there… some friends I made during my freshmen orientation did choir and dance and some theater, so I was like, oh, let me try theater, that's what all my friends are doing. So at first I was really into acting... I didn't really get cast frequently; part of it was I wasn't experienced, the other part was typical nepotism bullshit, and there was also definitely some anti-Blackness there that I haven't fully unpacked, so I was often backstage instead. Because I was into fashion design when I was trying to figure out what to do with theater since I couldn't act, that's how I discovered costume design.

Image from Midsummer

So I’m completely self-taught; freshman year [of high school] I worked on Lord of the Flies so I got to just tear up some school uniforms and stuff, which was super cathartic especially because some were from my old middle school... it was great. After doing that, I was like, oh costume design is really cool...By junior year I was designing for most of the shows, and I sort of became the resident costume designer and it blossomed into a passion. 

I still felt like acting was what I wanted to do primarily, but then my first year of college I acted in a Barnard Department show which was super exciting, because I didn't even think I would get cast in anything, but that was kind of the last nail on the head when I realized I didn't like acting anymore. Especially since my sister acts, I realized that the work it takes to do it well is not something I feel like putting in, but the work it takes to do costume design well, is what I can put in. And so now it’s sort of my favorite thing to do.

In terms of graphic design, that was a little different. During my freshman year [of high school], we had a required arts extracurricular class that we had to pick, so I decided to do the design class, and I knew it wasn't fashion design, and it taught like Photoshop and Illustrator, but I thought, oh it could be convenient, and an important skill to have. But then I just completely fell in love with it… it was just really cool to have that outlet that had nothing to do with theater but was still creative and was for me, and non-competitive, because I think acting and theater was really competitive. With graphic design, it was just my outlet, it was my thing, and just what I wanted to do, and I got to work with a teacher I really adored. 

I would say those are the two main artistic mediums that I do, I’m into poetry but I’m not that good at it, because I did a poetry recitation competition all through high school and I got to know poetry a little bit better and appreciate it more. It’s something I try to incorporate in my graphic designs sometimes. I guess that's my path from multiple angles.

You mentioned writing poetry and you also experiment with video; how do these disciplines map onto your other work and art making disciplines?

From my experience, everything sort of maps from theater onto everything else. They say live theatre is dying, but it’s still my favorite discipline because it's the peak of multimedia, inter-disciplinary community, so I think questions of motion, color, and texture really map out well onto theater and onto everything else I do. Especially with video, I think having to learn about bodily motion through acting experience but also through costuming for musicals and things in which motion is extremely important, I think that just changes the way I look at things. Color is a big thing for me too, especially when I do costume design; I see worlds inside of it, like worlds of meaning inside the color green—why would someone want to wear it and where would they wear it? 

That influences my graphic design a lot. I tend to do neon, very harsh-looking pieces, turning colors on their head. Colorful doesn't always have to be gentle, it can be harsh sometimes. I think when it comes to poetry, that's what I try to capture most. I have a very hard time with creative writing, I think I'm a good essay writer but a very challenged creative writer. I think it has a lot to do with my impulse to explain and put things into boxes, which is probably related to my OCD, so it's interesting then, that I'm most interested in creative disciplines that kind of force me to be more abstract, where not everything can fit into a box, myself included. So that's kind of an interesting back and forth that I feel I have going on all the time.

So on your personal style in costume making—you’ve mentioned your use of neon colors, sometimes loud or sharp color expression; do you gravitate toward specific silhouettes, textures, colors in your costume making? This could apply to your graphic design as well.

I think that it really depends on the project. A big influence would come from the Stanislavski style of acting, the idea that everything is driven by objective, and all people are driven by objectives and things like that. I try to take that into different pieces and consider how someone thinks of themselves, how they want people to think about them, and then how do those two things combine into how they dress? I don't always remember people’s names but I remember what they were wearing, and that's how I remember most things. It probably has something to do with me being trans in retrospect, but I've always had a fixation on what people wear and the silhouettes of their bodies, and I think that kind of maps out into detailed focus onto small accessories to large costume pieces. I definitely tend to mix patterns and loud colors, and I notice that gets mapped out onto my design, but I also on occasion have to reel it back depending on what the piece requires, especially if its naturalistic, but I tend to work on shows that are very fantastical or otherworldly, so I get a lot more room to experiment. 

One of the latest things I’ve worked on, The Bachhae 2.1 with the King’s Crown Shakespeare Troupe (KCST), was inherently all over the place, queer and dramatic, and there was poetry in there, there were selections from different pieces and a sort of patchwork, in a very loud and clashing kind of queer and trans style, sort of encapuslating the different worlds going on. I think lately it's been interesting how my need to categorize maps out onto different designs, thinking of The Bacchae, and A Midsummer Night's Dream, it sort of became this two-world dynamic, creating the aesthetics of one world and the aesthetics of another world and how they collide. That’s been exciting and interesting, and I find there's always one or two transient characters who sort of embody more than one world, and I think perhaps that's sort of myself inserted, for better or for worse. 

I like working with media that aren't traditional; when I worked on A Midsummer Night's Dream, our concept of bioluminescence was our one word to capture the forest. I’m Puerto Rican, and I've been to Puerto Rico twice now, and the first time I went, we went to one of the bioluminescent bays, and I saw it up close, you drag your finger through it and it lights up, and it was amazing. So I had a very clear picture in my mind of what bioluminescence was and what it meant to me, so I had the idea to put lights inside of the costumes and react to the world around them in that way. I had no idea how I was going to do it…. a good friend of mine Zena, who had designed costumes with me before on a different show, is this amazing seamstress, and at the time was studying civil engineering, so knew shit about engineering, and I asked her to work on it with me, and I was lucky enough for her to say yes. It was so cool to sew lights into costumes and use different embroidery tactics to transform costumes altogether, and we even 3-D printed butterfly wings to mask battery boxes for the lights. We worked with a set designer, Kristian, he’s incredible, and he had this awesome idea to play with black lights and UV paint, so when the fairies walked the world lit up with them, and it was just amazing. I like to be very interdisciplinary, I never want it to just be about the clothes; I want to see how I can interact with lights and sets to really transform the show.

I was going to ask you, does your major (East Asian Languages and Cultures) at all influence your work, or anything relevant to theater?

I feel like yes, in very indirect ways. It doesn't come to my mind as an influence, but when I reflect, the influence is definitely there. I was originally going to be a theater major, but after my first experience with the department, I realized there was just a lot of anti-Blackness that I had no interest in dealing with, and then the design aspect didn't really suit what I wanted. I was just taking Japanese as my language requirement, and took one of the department’s required classes, just to see what it was like, and absolutely fell in love with it. And then I took my first film class, a Japanese contemporary cinema class, and loved the professor and the material. I was like, movies for homework, this is awesome...I think those classes specifically have really influenced how I think about art, how I write about it, and how theory interacts with my art...it certainly has me more excited about film, and making costumes for film. I think my major gives me an increased appreciation for doing theater, I think if [theater] was my major I would just be burned out by now, and be sick of theater and the theater community, but because I have something to go to that also extremely interests me, it's not a burden to do theater; it still gets to remain fun. 

Working on film projects now, what major differences exist between preparing for a new project for a film versus a stage production, and the research; how does that differ in creating a specific universe around a cast in a film versus a stage production? 

For me the main difference is that with theater I have to have all the costumes figured out early on; with film, especially with the documentary I worked on, because we had different subjects each week, it was like a week-by-week process of coming up with that and creating it. With film, I think it's a much faster process; I’ll usually have a minimum of 5 weeks with a play, and with film time is even more compressed. 

I will say, with costuming, it's a pretty standard practice so things are pretty similar. You have to make sure people’s sizes are correct, you’re purchasing different clothes and thrifting. I do closet visits often, which is essentially either over Facetime or in person. I take a look at a person’s clothes and figure out what of theirs I can use to costume them. I've done that for both film and theater; I slightly prefer film, and what's different about it is that the details are noticed by people other than the actors. For example, with The Bacchae, one of the main characters was meant to embody American patriarchy, nationalism, and conservatism, so he had a tiny lapel pin that was an eagle, and it was also a script reference. No one in the audience would ever notice it probably, but it was really for me and the actor to make the costume more authentic. The best compliment I can ever receive is that the actor really felt like the character for the first time or transformed into the character through their costume. 

When I worked on Soorim’s film, all of the characters worked in a movie theater, so they got to wear pins on their name tag; We were very intentional about having the pins we picked match the character’s personality, and that enough is contentment for me, because the actor transformed into the character, but it's also cool that the audience can see that too. 

I'm interested in this transformative quality you’ve talked about; what other thoughts do you have on the second life of a garment when it lives on another person’s body, in a performative way or otherwise?

It’s my favorite part of the process. I think because I used to act, I know what it takes to create that character in your head, so I try to work very closely with the actors and ask them questions that seem very unrelated to their clothes. Just the other day, I did a virtual closet visit with someone I’m doing a Zoom show with, and it was really fun because I got to ask how the character feels about this other X character, and all of these more psychological questions that on the surface have nothing to do with the clothes, but really informed the world of how I would make somebody dress. I think that detail allows people to give back a response as a different person and they feel very connected.

I think there's a way that your body changes depending on the clothes you wear that makes you feel like a different person, whether its a tailored garment or a custom fit, or the softness or roughness, or how flashy something is, it just brings out something in people that they didn't know was there before, like seeing some of the nicest people in the world turn into real villains when wearing the right costumes. It's exciting to bring out the best and sometimes even the darkest parts of people just through what they wear. I think it's really important to me being trans; I know how much different clothes I wear will help me recognize my sense of identity and it's something I don't take lightly, a power I don’t underestimate. 

Watching cosplayers at conventions, seeing them turn into a character I've known my whole life, it emphasizes that power for me. In high school I never really had a budget, it was always use and reuse and shit like that, so now at Columbia it's crazy to have budgets in the hundreds of dollars. One time for [KCST’s] Spring Show, I had a budget of like $3,000 and I was floored; I had never seen that much money! So now I’ve become a somewhat expensive designer, but I do like borrowing clothes when I can. 

For The Bacchae I tried to have people borrow each others clothes, because it was sort of this commune of womxn and non-binary folks kind of living in the forest and doing their thing, and I feel like there’s a sense of community that’s inherent when you borrow people’s clothes and see someone else wearing what you own; there’s sort of a sense of togetherness that’s created, and I think it really enhanced the dynamic of those five characters as one body. I think clothes have a transformative quality, and even if I'm having a bad day, if I wear clothes that make me feel like a badass that will help me get through.

You’re self-taught and you've talked about creating your own network at Columbia and your high school to help train new costume designers and meet new collaborators. Are there any influences or mentors that you channel in your designs? Maybe this extends to cosplayers, the queering of worlds in “The Bacchae,” or just certain themes you go after?

I was trying to think about this, and I don't think I have particular influences, but if I were to point to a figure, Stanislavski would be an influence, because motivation, internal dialogue, and concepts on method all go into how I think about costuming. For “The Bacchae” I looked at Pose especially, and Dirty Computer by Janelle Monáe, the “emotion picture,” because I liked the way each crossed boundaries and created these distinct characters out of clothes. For “Midsummer,” one concept was bioluminescence, and the other was this geometric, un-abstract, patriarchal black and white aesthetic, retro-futurism is what I went on; for bioluminescence, thinking of different ways to imagine a fairy besides the typical, like what could that be? So I tried to avoid folklore, and instead turned to cartoons. Cartoons, anime, any kind of animation is very important to me; I looked up Steven Universe, a little bit of She-Ra, and picked up on those colorful, soft aesthetics, and this one anime called Princess Jellyfish, thinking about how to take silhouettes of bioluminescent creatures like jellyfish and transpose them, so a lot of animal work; I looked at animals a lot. 

For period pieces, right now I’m working on a hybrid, contemporary period piece. I like to use The Met, their Costume Institute is amazing and they have a lot of selections on their website, so I look at that to see what people would have worn back then, limited to certain social classes to be fair, and then I sort of adapt that, especially Steampunk stuff, I love Steampunk stuff, I like to work it into everything I do, and it doesn't always work but I try. I think there's various aesthetics I'm into, but I don't think I can point to one designer as an influence, which is how I want it to be since I tailor it to each show. I would say Moschino is a very important designer to me, I like the very loud, Harajuku-type patterns, I like the weird, out-there shit. As far as an aesthetic that I prefer to work with, I would say it's The Bacchae, like Pose, Dirty Computer, Harajuku, all-over-the-place, aesthetic.

I love that. This next question is kind of specific-- I read in a Spectator article featuring your process for conceptualizing costumes for KCST’s “The Tempest,” you discussed a mindfulness in avoiding “the stereotype of associating indigenous people with nature” in your costume designs when incorporating flowy, organic designs. Could you share your thoughts on authenticity and breaking stereotypes in representing characters or groups in your costume designs? 

I think it's something that's extremely important to me as a Black person, a Latinx person, and a trans person, those are the most salient identities I think that come into play with things like that. During my freshmen spring, I worked on a play called “The Hungry Woman,” which in retrospect was very problematic in and of itself, and it was supposed to be an all Hispanic and Latinx cast, and it was, but I think some people thought that superposed itself on the fact that the entire cast were either white or white-passing except for one or two people. It was a very strange dynamic, and very problematic… but I tried to do my due diligence and follow through on committing to the project. Four of the characters were Aztec gods, and one person out of those four was Navajo, a friend of mine, Shaun, and we were trying to design headdresses for the characters, and it was a futuristic show so I tried to design junk scrap headdresses, nothing that could be connected to a pre-existing culture but was sort of emulative of that idea, because the script called for them. So I was trying to think how to best adapt that, and then Shaun approached me saying he wanted to be involved with that process. First, he didn't want people to be wearing traditional headdresses when it was inappropriate, but second, although he's Indigenous, he's not of Azetc heritage at all, he’s Navajo, so he didn't feel comfortable wearing someone else's traditional clothing in that way, which totally made sense to me. So I had him involved from start to finish and it was something we were very mindful of from that point on, and he was really who brought it to my mind. It's a process I think about a lot because I learned a lot, and it wasn't his place to teach me, and I also don't know where else I would go to learn, so it pointed to a lot of traps for me. From then on, it influenced how I think about identity in the different shows I work on.

With “The Tempest,” it was something I was very aware of from the start, and the show itself includes a lot of nature imagery, like wind gods, and sea gods, and things like that, so I tried to play with creatures from each domain. But then, one of the dramaturges who is Indigenous pointed out to me that we should be wary of that; I had a raw, initial idea, and had to then apply a lens to it where I’m aware of like, I’m coming from that idea because there's nature imagery in the play, but how else will other people interpret it regardless of where I’m coming from?

I'm involved in a lot of conversations on campus about diversity in theater, inclusivity in theater, and creating those safe spaces, and something I bring up frequently, especially in casting, is that no matter what someone’s identity is on paper (and I find this the most with Latinx folks, because we are all kind of born with that identity crisis) it’s ultimately a visual medium, so an entire cast could identify as Latinx or Hispanic, but if they all look white, what's the point, basically? When it comes to costumes I try to be aware of that too. Some of it is just basic shit, like being aware of people’s skin tone to see what makes them look best because white designers just have a history of not doing that, but then also things like, what do the villains look like? What color are the villains, what color are the protagonists? How do my costumes either enhance or mitigate that? I try to breach basic tropes like, oh, all the bad guys are going to wear all black and things like that. Recently, I like to put the antagonist in all white and just play with that, and it creates such an interesting dynamic and avoids those tropes that have been used to death. 

That's my biggest thing, I’m very hard-stanced against the idea of colorblind casting, and in fact I think it's one of the biggest problems that theaters deal with, and thus I try to be very color conscious when I'm engaged with casting, when I'm engaged with costumes, and any kind of design. I’m very hyper-aware, at the very least visually, of this idea of color, of this idea of race, especially because I think theater has a colorism problem. When Black folks, especially Black women are cast, they are usually light-skinned, so it’s like, in what roles are we casting different people? It's very complicated I think, and I think it's something I think about often.

With that show, the idea was to reclaim. Reclamation was a big part of it because it was a very colonial piece to begin with, the colonizer’s mark is all over it, so I think I was hyper aware from the beginning as opposed to “The Hungry Woman,” in which case I was an adamant freshman who just didn't know what to be thinking about and it was sort of something that had to be brought to my attention.

Costume Design: Tyrone, Fame

Costume Design: Carmen, Fame

Costume Design: Carmen, Fame

Also, being a trans designer is a big thing for me, even just with knowing what to ask. When I worked on Soorim’s film, one of the reasons she brought me on is because one of the actors is trans-masc, and I worked with her before with the trans actor, and she had never heard of a binder or what that meant with being trans or things like that, and I was able to be a resource for that actor who's also a friend of mine. I think I bring that perspective, I know what questions to ask, like do you bind, do you pack, do you tape, things like that, and I also emotionally know what it's like to be put in something uncomfortable, not just physically but emotionally, so I think I feel very hyper-aware of these things when I do design. I think thats why its important to have non-cis-, non-white designers who just think of questions like that and take non-cis- and non-white actors seriously. 

You mentioned earlier you’re doing a Zoom show this semester, what is the status of your work in COVID-19?

Right now I’m working on a play for NOMADS… I adore the playright, I adore the show, it’s fucking awesome, it’s gay, it takes place in the 1990s and the 1890s in Half Moon Bay, California, and it’s so fucking cool. I’m so obsessed with this show and I’m also on the [NOMADS] board so it was so easy to volunteer myself. I'm working on that right now and it goes up the weekend of December 14th, so that's happening, and then I'll probably do more Zoom designing next semester because I'm realizing I really like it. I've done remote designing before with Soorim’s film so it’s not totally out of the water with me, although there are definitely some challenges. 

Where can people find your work?

My portfolio is probably the best place because a lot of the shows I've worked on have not been recorded. I have a costume design portfolio and a graphic design portfolio. I don't have any public work for my poetry because it's very much for myself, but with NOMADS, the upcoming show, Lily Kepler and the Graveyard Shift, is going on Zoom live on the weekend of the 14th, so that's where you can see that. Honestly, to see my work you usually have to come see it live, so I like it, it's ephemeral, it doesn't last. 

sam choi

In conversation with Sophie Paquette

Photographs by Caitlyn Stachura

On your website, I noticed that you had your work divided into three primary groups. I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about these disparate projects: how you group them, and where they diverge or overlap for you?

So, the three groups are Realitas, Phantasia, and Macabre. I’ll start with the first, Realitas. Those are simply my reality. They are mostly 35 mm film prints or photos, or candids I guess. I took Photo I almost four years ago, and that was the class that made me really want to be a visual arts major. Most of the things that I would shoot, before I had any concrete direction with film photography or studio photography and makeup, were candids, or I would say maybe commercial work—you know, photoshoots or Columbia runway shows. Most of the things that I would document were my life. When I was taking them, they were just like snapshots, you know, something for the Gram. I categorized them later. 

In 2017, when I left school, and left all my friends and my life in New York, I had to go back to Korea, to the most toxic environment—the most machismo, culturally hierarchical, suppressive environment—one that I escaped and then was forced to go back to. I was looking back to a lot of my older works, and to my life in general. I have probably 70 rolls of film that I shot and a lot of them are shit, especially my first few months, completely exposed the wrong way—but the ones that I do have, and a lot of them, they’re just a great reminder of a life that’s not about death, and disease, sick people, stress, and cultural anxiety. I was working as a paramedic—EMT, very loosely—and in my district, unfortunately, we had a lot of suicides, a lot of sick people, and a lot of income inequality. You’d see some people with barely any housing, with alcoholism, and we’d have to transport them, or you’d see people with insane amounts of wealth who call 911 in Korea because they hurt their pinky. So I was just trying to get away from that by going through and documenting all of my old previous work and my life. That was my little escape, my little nostalgic moment that I documented on my website. That was Realitas. 

Then Phantasia was actually the category that I made because I had already made the Macabre category, so the ones in Phantasia don’t really fit the same vibe. Under Phantasia, a lot of them are experiments as well, because I just recently got a home studio connected to my apartment back in Korea. I would get a backdrop, and I would get the soft boxes and cellophane and make colored lights, and I would do all of these works at like 2 am on a Friday, or on the weekends when I had the days off back home. Phantasia is more about me experimenting with makeup. Lavinia, Uranus… these were heavily inspired by this artist, @isshehungry on Instagram, who did Björk’s makeup for the recent tours with James T. Merry, creative director and headpiece designer. I was really obsessed with her new album and her shows—I mean, it’s Björk, come on, she’s amazing—recently with this new visual, virtual reality thing that she’s really pushing through, and this kind of environmentalism that she’s incorporating into her work, that really inspired me. It blew me away. 

So I was researching, like, who is doing this insane makeup. And I found on Instagram @ishehungry, this German artist. I’m a firm believer that imitation is the highest form of flattery. To learn anything, you really have to. Trying to be original off the bat is so difficult. If it’s not something you’re proudly releasing to the world as your own, I feel like it’s okay to copy, and to try to do it. I adapted some of my looks from Hungry’s looks, and I really experimented with that. I realized I was more extra terrestrial, kind of out there, on a lighter note. Phantasia’s mostly about that: experimenting with colors and lights, and just having fun.

Macabre: they’re the things that are slightly more unsettling, discomforting, almost even grotesque. In my new work, too, the barrier between reality and unreality is lessened. I’ve always been interested in the horror genre, horror films, especially the 70’s Italian Giallo films, like Suspiria and Dario Argento’s other films. Those very campy, slightly creepy things I’ve always been obsessed with. So Macabre, I wanted something that’s not too campy, something that’s not too overt or direct. I didn’t want to be too obvious. One of the series, the ones in German, these are the ones that came almost out of a mental breakdown. Most of the work, especially in the Macabre series, are not from a great time in my life—I was missing Columbia, missing my friends. I was more upset by the fact that when I would come back after my service all of my friends would have graduated because I left sophomore year and it’s a 2-year service. 

I got this lace front wig online. I played with it for a long time—it was blonde, it was Cali, valley girl blonde, it basically became so fried that I couldn’t really make it look good on its own. Because it was a cheap lace front, right, synthetic, not like human hair. I was thinking, “How can I dye it to a darker color and stick it so it doesn’t wash away immediately?” I used sumi ink and poured it in a basin, dunked the wig overnight, let it dry, did shampoo and conditioner, and it turned out this beautiful, ashy gray color. That basically set the tone for my project. I went down to my studio, sewed in some black extensions as well to give it some length, some volume, a little wild something. 

So I had that wig on. I basically just got my dirty brushes, I don’t think I even used any actual products, I just rubbed dirty brushes all over my face and eyes. I got that dirty, grungy, lived-in, almost a mask-like look. I had taken like 700 photos for 4 photos that I uploaded. But that was basically the way I could deal with the life I was living, doing something so creative, and engaging with and exploring my creative side. I was very suppressed when I was working in the emergency medical field. I didn’t want to let go of the momentum I had when I was in my sophomore year, when I picked up photography and did a lot of my makeup work, like individual studio sessions and photoshoots with Columbia students as models, and Kevin Chiu, the infamous Kevin Chiu, the amazing Kevin Chiu, class of 2017, who would take the photographs, and my best friend, Kosta Karakashyan, class of 2019, he was a stylist. Us three, we’d book the Wallach lounge from like 7 am to noon and have students as models, and we would make beautiful photos, and I would experiment and really practice mastering my makeup skills. 

The Macabre, it is my favorite category of the three—well, I’d be lying if I said it all came from a dark, depressing place. A lot of these works are just exploring my old love for the horror genre, you know, the monsters, the creature features, the supernatural kind of shit. One of my favorites, Markos, was from before I had a proper DSLR, I only had my iPhone 7 in Portrait Mode. I had a studio setup, but I was mostly doing iPhone photography, and film occasionally. This one was when I got some black body paint and some acrylic sticker nails, you know, the ones they sell in Duane Reade, and I stacked them—three, because I couldn’t find the super long ones—and it kind of looks like an insect, more offsetting. I had two sets of contact lenses on one eye to intensify the color, so I got that milky but also really intense light look, because I have really dark eyes. This red, magenta, blue lighting, it’s directly stolen from the original Suspiria film by Dario Argento. 

I was definitely curious about the process of photographing these pieces. To me, I imagined it must be kind of like documenting a sculpture--trying to find an angle that successfully flattens this dynamic piece into this more stagnant, permanent form; also maintaining that plasticity while creating this new product, the photo, which exists as its own piece separate from the body in life. 

I say that I’m a photographer as well, but really I just stick to my guns. If I’m doing photographic work or shooting for my own purposes, I usually stick to 35 mm film, 50 mm lens, and my Nikon FE camera. The camera that I used for these is actually my sister’s. My sister lent me her camera for the photoshoots in my studio back home. I had no idea. I’m a luddite at heart, I’m so overwhelmed by all these buttons and options and settings. Luckily, I was able to get to know the basics—how to turn it on, how to use a remote control, and to play with the settings until I find something that works. Then I got an Adobe Cloud subscription for Lightroom and Photoshop. Photographing has always been a struggle, especially with digitals. I would take like 800 or 900 photos of one look, and it would take hours and hours. For each frame I would take the shot, scurry back to the camera, look, and then reference it—you know, I’m a little bit too close to the edge of the frame, or I should turn, orm that’s not a flattering angle. Also, I’m blind without my glasses, and in none of the work am I wearing glasses. 

I actually think of it as kind of taking a photograph of a sculpture. The actual work is a sculpture itself but you’re just seeing a representation, a portrayal. But with sculpture you can have it moved, taken around, exhibited. Makeup is such a temporal medium. If I take it off, or if it smudges a little, it’s completely different. So the photograph automatically has such a huge importance to me. They have to be right. The photographs, the makeup, the styling, they all have equal importance to me because if one fails, then all of it crumbles. 

Could you talk a bit more about stylistic decisions you make when photographing, such as the extra-media elements added that might not be in the body’s immediate space—for example, the smoke shrouding the figure in “Typhoon Soulik,” or the yarn in “Lavinia”?

“Lavinia” is based on the Shakespeare play “Titus Andronicus”, which was a book I read at Columbia. I took a course called “Tragic Bodies,” it was a Barnard course, my first ever college class, and it was amazing. We were talking about the physical body, and the demise of the body, the hero’s demise in terms of the physical body, and other bodies—queer bodies, trans bodies, sick bodies. With that foundation, and working in a field where you are hands on with the physical body, I feel like it was just a natural progression that I would have an obsession with the physical form. “Lavinia” was during my peak experimental phase, with makeup and everything. I got those really black contact lenses, I was really feeling myself. I was still very inspired by Hungry’s Björk look and her personal work as well, but I wanted to do something a bit different, and I wanted to utilize some props I had lying around my house. 

So the yarn, they are tiny little ropes. I had them lying around for about a month, and I was in my studio and I wanted to do something, so I decided I was gonna cut these up and glue them on my mouth. It was some strong glue that took me hours to delicately rip out. I would get pleasantly drunk in my studio, because it’s my studio, and I could just do whatever I want. So that look actually came from that specific prop. Because often, you know a certain makeup inspires the look, or a certain eye look, or a mouth, a wig, something. A lot of my works come from a beginning point. So I looked at it, I decided I wanted it on my mouth: it kinda looks like blood, and in a theater, in a play, when you can’t have spraying blood they use red fabric or yarn to flow around, so it’s like a fluid, red motion. The eye look was completely separate. I had the wig on. And it was just the shirt that I was wearing, but that whole mouth piece really solidified my intention. I immediately thought of Lavinia, who is the daughter of the general Titus—she was assaulted and dismembered by the two sons of Titus’ enemy. 

With “Typhoon Soulik,” that one’s a little on the nose because around two years ago, East Asia had a really bad typhoon. This was shot the night before it was supposed to hit Korea. It was rainy, it was a very depressing day. I wanted something to fit the general mood of the entire East Asian side of the continent. I’m obsessed with storms, there’s something so primordial and raw about them, a break from manmade society. So I went down to my studio on that rainy night, probably 1 am, put some blue cellophane on my studio lights, and created this bluey, emerald eye. Just playing around, using the stuff I had out from my kit. Then I decided to get a spray bottle and wet myself, you know, because it’s the storm. I underestimated how much water I needed, so I ended up basically pouring the whole thing on my head. And this is just me being playful, experimenting, but I wanted something a little more misty, something of the elements. I was like, that’s basically vape! So I just *mimes vaping* and clicked. That took, like, I don’t know how many shots to get one good photo. But it’s also me trying to go along with the mood, to be inspired and go with the flow. But yeah, having fun. That’s my motto. Living life through the prism of pleasure.

With the idea of fun, I noticed you had a statement on your website about taking the work at “face value,” and you talked about working mostly with people you know, people you’re close to. I guess this applies to working with yourself too, but do you think that there’s something that layer of intimacy and familiarity adds to your work and the process? 

Yeah, like I said, all of the things I do are personal. That’s why I don’t really like street photography or taking random photos of people. Because, a) I have really bad social anxiety in uncomfortable or awkward situations, like sometimes I can’t even order my own shit from McDonald’s, I have to have a friend do it for me because it’s so bad. People think otherwise, because I’m loud and boisterous, but outside in the streets, I can’t fucking do that. Also, unless I get their permission and consent to photograph them, when you’re on the go you have to ask permission later. But I can’t do that, because ethically it’s just kind of off. You end up with a very uncomfortable situation, so I don’t like that. All of the models and the subjects are all my friends. It’s also an event, it’s not just the art form or the practice itself. You know, I’m hanging out with my friends, and I want to document this great time. It doesn’t have to be amazing magazine-style portraits or spreads, it can just be them, you know, squinting their eyes at the camera, or hugging each other. 

It doesn’t have to be so serious all the time. It helps if you’re familiar and have an intimate relationship with the subjects, that’s when that kind of true happiness emerges. That’s why I say always take it at face value, don’t think too deep. That’s my thing with art: just fucking enjoy it. Look at it, and if it sparks joy, then it sparks joy, if it doesn’t, just move on. Especially because I’m now taking a lot more art classes, things get highly academic when you’re talking about art. The context—the social, cultural, political context—behind your art can become so convoluted and complex that it becomes inaccessible, I think.

So, you mentioned this a little bit, but I wanted to ask about your upcoming project. Specifically, you said it was based on both Suspiria movies, and then the original prose piece they are based on. I was wondering for you as an artist, what that process of translation is like? So, getting something that was once text, and then lived through bodies in one film, and then another film, and where do you plan to go with that? Where do you see yourself in this lineage of translation, and how does that inform your work?

The thing with Suspiria is that it’s an unhealthy obsession. I was a huge fan of the 1977 film because it’s a cult classic, any horror buff will be like, “Oh yeah, Suspiria, classic!” But as a horror film, it’s not that “horror,” it’s very campy. The visuals are stunning, and that’s where they take the gold prize. But it was always kind of lacking in the story telling and plot to me. I was always curious, why call it Suspiria, because they never mention the word suspiria—it’s a movie about witches but what the hell does that mean? Later I found out there’s a source material, it’s actually not about witches and the director adapted that material into this universe of witches. But that was never really expanded in his later work. And then in 2018 or something, I learned that Luca Guadagnino, one of my favorite directors, was directing the remake. I kid you not, I almost shit my pants. Two of my babies, Suspiria and Luca Guadagnino, were being involved. And then I realized Tilda Swinton is in it, who’s like my mother. She’s an artist I love, and adore, and admire. 

I saw the trailer when it came out and my mind was fucking blown, because it’s so different from the original. When I watched the new one, I was obsessed. The remake is about a coven of witches in a dance company, it’s modern dance, and it’s choreographed by Damien Jalet, who’s an amazing choreographer that I’ve been obsessed with lately as well. So much intention is in the body, and the spells, and the structural hierarchy of the witches, which I could relate to, having worked in that kind of Korean environment. So that seed was planted in my head the moment I knew about the first film, and I did a lot more research about the original source material, the original storyline. 

So, I read the source material, and I didn’t realize how rich it was. Thomas de Quincey writes about how, as there are three muses, three inspirations, there are three ladies of sorrow. So there are three mothers, Mother Suspiriorum, Mother Tenebraum, and Mother Lachrymarum, mother of size, darkness, and tears. The prose goes on to explain in detail about each of these mother figures—their domain, what kind of sorrow they bring, what kind of chaos and havoc they bring as well. That fit so much with my vibe, my direction, I could really explore the depths of sorrow. When I started to work on this project, it was an insanely emotional, chaotic, stressful time. I needed this. Because the cinematic universe of Suspiria had such an important place in my heart, I didn’t want to half ass this. That’s why it’s still an ongoing project, I’m constantly introducing—not just with makeup and photography, but now with modern dance inspired by the choreography in the remake.

tess majors

Tess Majors was a Ratrock featured artist for the month of December 2019. We are all grateful to have helped document her passion for music and thoughts as an artist. It was truly a privilege to feature Tess and her work, and we hope that this interview serves as a meaningful testament to her art and her spirit.

——

Interview by Yao Lin

Photographs by Gillian Rae Cohen

Tessa Majors is a grunge-rock musician from Charlottesville, Virginia.

Introduce yourself.

My name is Tessa Majors. I usually go by Tess, though. I am a first-year at Barnard, and I’m from Charlottesville, Virginia. 

Did you grow up in the big city, or did you grow up in a more rural area of the town?

I grew up in more of a suburban area than an urban one. I spent most of my time in a town right outside of Charlottesville—about 20, 30 minutes away, called Waynesboro. It was kinda in between suburban and rural, like a small town. And then I moved to Charlottesville at the start of high school, and that was a bit more urban. But it was still nothing in comparison to the scale of New York City.

Tell me a little about [your band], Patient 0. Why the name Patient 0?

I honestly don’t have a lot of significance behind the name. We mostly just thought it sounded cool. Patient 0 is like, when someone is the first person to get a certain disease in an area. So I guess we’re like the Patient 0 for our music, and then it spreads out from us. I thought it kinda went with our edgy, punk music image.

How did the band come together?

I went to a new school in seventh grade, and one of the first people I met there was a girl named Hannah Fowler. She had just started playing guitar when I met her. I was already a musician—I played the piano at the time—and we started doing music together. The two of us worked together on music stuff for like, years, starting in seventh all the way through the end of high school. So Patient 0 is basically our project. We had a couple different drummers play for us. It was what we arrived at, after we played for a ton of different bands together. That was like the final resting place for us.

How would you describe the friendship between you and Hannah?

Our musical relationship has always been good. Our friendship’s kind of up and down, but I feel like—I mean, the past year has been pretty good. But I feel like the ups-and-downs of our friendship are pretty typical of musicians who work together. If you hear about, I don’t know, famous duos—they always have their arguments and they don’t always get along. I think that’s pretty normal. But we’ve always written together, and played together, even when we weren’t getting along super well in our friendship. And she’s still one of my best friends, to this day. She’s going to Smith College now. And we have a show planned for our winter break—but I’m not sure what the future of the band is, since we’re going to different schools.

Describe your writing process in terms of musical scores and lyrics. Are they simultaneous? Or do you produce the lyrics first, then the music to accompany it?

That’s a good question. My music writing process doesn’t happen in any particular order. It’s kinda just what comes to me first. Sometimes I’ll get an idea for a score progression and melody line—so I’ll roll with that, and come up with lyrics later. Or on the flip side, I’ll come up with some lyrics, and then I’ll come up with something to accompany those lyrics later. Sometimes I will have lyrics and music, and I realize they actually go together, so I combine them—like two separate entities. Hannah and I, for our album, wrote probably five out of nine songs together. Two of the rest were mine, and two of them were hers, so it was an even split in terms of writing. But I also have a lot of songs that are mine that haven’t been recorded yet, or put out anywhere.

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What is your favorite song you have ever written, and what is the story behind it?

My favorite song I have ever written is “Prom Queen,” which is on our album Girl Problems. It’s the last song on the album, and it’s been the most popular one recently—it’s been doing pretty well on Spotify. That song was really personal to me, and almost hard to put out because I wrote it about one of my friends.  I had to get this one person’s consent before I recorded it and put it out, because it was a personal song about this individual. It’s kinda just about—you get this idea of someone in your head, and you kinda idolize them and build them up to a certain thing. And you realize at the end of the day they’re just a person. And the song starts out—or the first line is, ‘Remember the night she rose from the sea.’ And that’s me painting this person as an Aphrodite-like figure, coming out of the sea. It’s just my realization that I’ve built up this whole narrative in my head of what I think is going on, and this person doesn’t feel the same way about me at all. It’s me coming to that realization, and [being] really crushed by it. I guess it makes it more complicated that it was one of my female friends, who I realized I had feelings for. I kinda had to grapple with that, and grapple with what exactly that meant for my identity, you know? It was a whole mess. But luckily I’m still really good friends with the person, and we got our stuff sorted out. She actually likes the song, so it didn’t end up being a big deal at the end of the day. But that was definitely my way of dealing with the situation and processing it, so I understood it a little bit better.

So you mentioned the idealized view of your friend in “Prom Queen,” and you also mentioned stereotypes—the simplified ideals people hold for others. What were the stereotypes when you were growing up in Charlottesville, and do you feel like you are a departure from them? 

Luckily, Charlottesville is a pretty diverse community—I definitely struggled less when I moved there, because I found lots of people who were like me. The music scene is really great and really welcoming. But I will say the main stereotype that I depart from—the stereotypes for all women, particularly so in the South—is that you have to be nice, and be complacent, because you don’t want to start any conflicts. And that was never my personality. I would get into a lot of verbal arguments in high school with people, because they would say things that I didn’t agree with, or that I felt demeaned by. Instead of just sitting there and taking it, I would say something about it. And that wasn’t always received super well, and I guess that was the way I was a bit different from other people. And I am sure that other girls wanted to do the same thing—I’m not blaming them or faulting them for not standing up for themselves. But we’ve just been so conditioned as women to behave a certain way, that it’s really hard to do that.

That reminds me of the Riot Grrrl scene of the 90s. Back then, punk rock was a very misogynistic industry. The male bands were using very misogynistic names—but on the other hand, there were a bunch of female bands coming out and writing these rebellious songs. Do you feel that there is still misogyny in today’s music scene? 

I think there’s definitely still misogyny within the scene. I find that to be the case sometimes when I’m trying to get my music out there, and I feel like people don’t want to hear me as much because I am a woman. But luckily I think that that’s changing. I think the trend overall is changing, because there are so many incredible women in the rock genre right now. And not just the rock genre! There are so many women in hip hop right now as well, which is traditionally a male-dominated genre. So the fact that there is a female presence in these historically male-dominated fields—it gives me hope for the future.

How did you discover punk rock, and how has punk rock influenced you?

I grew up with punk rock. My parents both put me onto a lot of older music. I remember my dad playing 90s bands, like Pixies, when I was younger. And my mom played me Hole and Nirvana. So a lot of it was my parents’ music taste, for sure. And it’s definitely influenced me in pretty much every aspect of my life. Once I started listening to all of these amazing female punk rock singers—like Joan Jett, or Courtney Love, or more modern people like Courtney Barnett—I realized that I didn’t have to sit there and take anything from anyone. I had a voice and I had power and autonomy. I think it’s definitely changed the way I carry myself; music overall gave me a lot of confidence.

Do you think the writing process, for you, is a process of figuring yourself out?

For sure! Every song I write usually starts out as an unresolved question I have—something that’s lingering in my mind, that’s bothering me, usually. And these songs become a way for me to answer those questions. I gave the example of “Prom Queen” earlier, but another one is my song “Not the First One,” which is on the album. I wrote it after I got out of a brief romantic fling with someone, and they kinda thought they could walk all over me. I had this question in my head like, “What made this person think that they could do that?” And the whole premise is that, “You’re not special, you’re not the first one to walk all over me, and so go fuck off!” Essentially.

So you mentioned earlier that you’ve been on gigs with Hannah, or with your band. How does it feel to have connections with your audience through music? 

See, I love Charlottesville—and I love the spaces that they have for musicians to perform. I wish there were more, but the ones that they have are pretty good. I got to gig a lot when I was in high school, and I played shows pretty frequently. My friends would show up to them in pretty big numbers, just to have a great time and dance. It was so fun to see people connecting with my music, and it’s just a very powerful experience to see that other people relate to what you’re saying. Towards the end, people actually started knowing the words to songs, and singing along, which is also really fun. It was the same friends who came to see me for three years—so they know my songs by heart, which I think is really special. 

Have you ever played any covers at your gigs?

Yeah! That’s how I started out gigging, I only did covers. I played in a lot of bands in middle school that were just cover bands. We would cover Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, Foo Fighters—all that classic stuff. And gradually, we were just kinda incorporating more and more original music into the set. By the time I was a sophomore in high school, it was half covers and half originals. And by the time I made it to the end of senior year, it was all originals. 

What’s your favorite instrument?

My favorite instrument to play is for sure the bass. I play piano, guitar, and bass—but bass is my favorite because I like how it’s at the intersection between melody and rhythm. This makes it really fun, because bass drives songs a lot of times. When you want to dance, it’s usually the bass that makes you want to dance. I also really like being a bassist because there aren’t too many people who are bassists and singers, so that makes me kinda unique in terms of bands—because it’s just not as common as being a guitarist and a singer. 

How would you describe your particular bass sound?

I would say I definitely base my bass sound off a lot of 90s bands, like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and definitely Sonic Youth. But I also like a lot of the modern R&B bass lines. Recently I learned the bass line of “Pink + White” by Frank Ocean, and that’s so fun to play. I think R&B has a very special way of articulating the bass, and it’s just—I connect to that.

Where do you see yourself in five years as a musician?

I hope that I’m touring. Music is what I love and what I’m passionate about, so I really want to do something with it. So ideally, in five years, I would have a steady band, and be in the studio and touring—making a career out of music. It’s hard to do, but I think I can do it.

What about ten years? Still touring?

That is an interesting question, because I actually want to get into some of the audio engineering business. I think after a while—I mean, great music is great music, but there’s something to be said for being young and more marketable. It would be nice to have a plan that’s more long-term, because you can’t tour forever. It’s tiring, it’s exhausting. So I would ideally get involved with producing somehow—mixing, mastering, all that happens in the studio. That will be really helpful for my own music too, because then I wouldn’t have to pay someone else to do it. I could just do it myself. I was actually going to try to learn how to do that at CU Records sometime this semester, because they have classes that teach you how to use the software. 

What about your parents? You mentioned earlier that they are strong influences.

My parents are incredibly supportive, and I’m so grateful for them. I’m pretty sure that they’re cool with me doing whatever I want, as long as I’m happy. And they know that music is what makes me happy. My dad is actually a writer, so he knows what it’s like being in the arts field and trying to make a career out of what you love. So I think that he’s supportive, but at the same time he’s also like, “Be aware, it’s a hard field to go into.” He wants to be supportive, but he also wants to warn me of how difficult it can be. My parents are great. I have a younger brother who is also great.

What is your favorite band?

That’s a really hard question. I have a couple. But none of them are bands, they’re all solo performers. I will say my three favorite artists are Courtney Barnett, David Bowie, and Frank Ocean. Which is kind of an eclectic mix—but I think that David Bowie definitely influenced Frank Ocean, and, I mean, everyone. He’s incredibly iconic. In terms of fashion sense too, I really love David Bowie. One thing I’ve been trying to do in my shows is to always have a really fun outfit— and I think that is definitely because I grew up listening to and watching David Bowie. It’s not just about the music, it’s about the overall image.

Bowie has gone through a series of changes throughout his career. His music is a reflection of his life, and I can definitely see that in you too. Do you see yourself switching from punk rock to another genre in the future?

For sure! I never want to limit myself in terms of genre. And in terms of listening, I listen to everything. My music taste is really expansive, so if I feel compelled to make music that is in a different genre, I’ll just go with it. But I think that what my music is always going to be—even if not stylistically punk—it’ll be influenced by the punk attitude and the punk spirit.

How would you describe the punk attitude and the punk spirit? 

Don’t let other people’s opinions of you influence your opinions of yourself. Dress and act in a way that makes you feel good about yourself, even if it’s outside of the societal norm. Don’t blindly trust authority figures. Always ask [hard] questions, no matter what—even to people you love, you should ask questions. I think questioning is a big part of the punk mentality—not just accepting stuff but thinking deeply about it, which is so often overlooked because punk is so simplistic. But when you think about it, [punk] can be really intellectual in that way, because it’s constantly asking the big questions about what’s important. And I will say, in terms of advocacy—and I think that’s also an important part of the punk movement—I really care a lot about the environment. I feel like my music has gotten increasingly anti-consumerist. Music, it’s about your emotions, but it can also be used to spread a message. And the message I want to spread is that something has to change about the system that we’re in right now. It’s just not sustainable.

Are you involved in any other social movements? Do those also influence you?

I’m involved with some environmental advocacy groups, and I’m signed up for a bunch of social justice related email lists. I’m just trying to stay updated by watching the news and stuff like that. And I think it’s so important to be informed.

How would you describe your music?

My music is a pretty true depiction of teenage life, because it’s an equal mix of sincere emotions and sarcasm and snarkiness—which I think is pretty typical of the teenage mentality, because you kind of switch between being super mad, super sad, super happy. Feeling these strong emotions, to just being super disenchanted by everything, like, “Nah, this is stupid.” It’s a contradiction, but it’s a contradiction a lot of people live with, especially teenagers.

Is there anything else that you want to add?

I guess it makes sense to talk about what I’ve been doing since I got up here. I played one show for Snock at Columbia, which hosts shows—all student bands, pretty much. I had a friend of mine, J.C., playing guitar for me. He goes to Columbia. And I had my friend Chris, who goes to NYU, playing drums. And we did some of my new songs, and that was fun. I’ve written like three or four songs since I’ve come up here. So for the future, I’m just trying to get a steady group up here. I think that will be really helpful because I want to start playing shows again. Over winter break, I’m going to try to go home and record an EP. I’m not sure if that’s gonna be by myself, with Patient 0, or with another group—but I have a lot of songs of mine that are written and just haven’t been recorded yet, so I want to get those out. I feel like there is this need as a musician to be constantly producing new content—which can be really hard. But if you want to keep your band and your audience engaged, you have to put new stuff out there.

What’s a favorite song of yours?

I want to shout out my friend Chris Murphy, because he played drums for me for my Snock show, and he’s been one of my long-time inspirations, competitors, collaborators. We went to school together in Charlottesville. He goes to NYU. He has an album out that’s really great, and I’ll shout out his song called “Can’t Fight.” He wrote it when he was gonna be opening for me for a show, and he realized none of his songs were punk rock enough. He wrote it specifically for the show—which I think it’s just hilarious, and demonstrates how we push each other as musicians. 

You mentioned new songs. What are those about?

My new songs, they’ve kinda been tackling similar [issues] as my old songs. Relationships, and just general emotions about the world. But I feel like my lyricism has gotten more nuanced. Like, I’m getting much better at saying exactly what I want to say, because that has been a problem for me in the past—deciding what exactly I want to say. So I think I’ve gotten better at doing that.

Interesting! So you think that it’s a growing process to be constantly producing music. The more you do it, the more mature you become.

For sure. 

Any parting words for our readers?

High school sucks. Don’t judge the rest of your life based off how high school is. And—listen to my album! [laughs]

aaron jackson

In conversation with Isabella Rafky

Photographed by Annie Millman

Tell me a little bit about yourself. 

Okay, so I’m Aaron, I’m a sophomore in Columbia College. I do digital art. I’m from Harlem, but I’m also not really from Harlem; I migrated in 2014 from the Caribbean. So I formerly lived on an island called St. Kitts. From there to Harlem and now here, still in Harlem. And yeah, I don’t know what I have to say about myself. 

What inspired you to create digital art?

Like my initial inspiration—I feel like that’s digital artists, self-trained digital artists. A lot of them were inspired by anime initially, which is also a category I fall into. That whole late 2000’s subculture of DeviantArt, Tumblr, OCs and shit, fanfiction, that was me. Through drawing I got involved in the artistic community, when I was eleven, online, and just drawing shit. First it was on paper, and then I would see people doing digital art I was like, “Oh how do you do that?” And I got pirated software to do it, but I also did not have a drawing tablet at the time. I would make all this shit purely by mouse, which is difficult and looked bad, but y’know I couldn’t afford a drawing tablet, I’m sorry. [laughs] Once I got into different drawing communities like Tumblr I was like, “Oh these are people who do this as a job, these people have gone to art school and shit. They’re not just drawing their anime graphics or whatever.” I was like, “Oh, I wanna be like them, I wanna draw, actually draw shit.” And so that’s when I think I tried to make the break from just drawing anime to getting my own unique style and actually putting artistic, creative effort into it, so just illustrating if that makes any sense. At that point, I got a drawing tablet to actually practice and do shit with all the software. So yeah, and I don’t think there have been any changes since then, so that’s pretty much been my artistic journey of sorts.

What makes your style unique?

I don’t really know; I mean going based off of what people have told me I guess colors maybe? People seem to like the colors, so I’m gonna say the colors. My style is really developing; like I said before, I was just drawing anime and I was like—hmm, I need to break away from doing this. It wasn’t really successful because people still look at my shit and are like, “Oh, this is very anime influenced,”—at one point it used to annoy me, I’d be like, “Please don’t say that.” You know what, it’s true, that’s the reason I started drawing in the first place, if it’s anime-influenced then who cares? It is. So, final rundown I guess, tldr, colors, and kinda anime-inspired, yeah.  

In terms of your pastel palette, what draws you to those colors? Would you ever think about expanding past that? 

I just like what they look like. I just feel they work together. I’m trying to think of when I started using them and why I started using them. I mean at one point during my whole Tumblr phase I was obsessed with pastels. When I would draw people would be like, “oh they use pastels,” or whatever the fuck. It’s just that I think they’re really neat. I like them. I remember at one point they [my colors] were very saturated and borderline neon. So I took a break from digital art to do some traditional shit. I actually had to put effort into making colors pigmented which affected my color palette and how I went about using it. If you want neon or saturated watercolors you have to be there layering shit for a while. So me being lazy, I’m just not gonna do that. I definitely feel after doing that I’ve been impressed by the colors I wanted to put down in my work and how they work together.

How long have you been doing it for and how have you seen it change over the years?

Okay, so drawing drawing, just on paper—I’ve liked drawing since Kindergarten, doodling. But when I got to high school in St. Kitts, which is equivalent to seventh grade, sixth grade here, I was already drawing, and my shit was not ugly, but it also was not artistically good in any way or form or shape. So I would just create these cute doodles and I thought I was doing something [laughs]. And then I showed it to one of my friends and they were like, “Oh this is cute, when you get better show me something.” What do you mean when I get better [laughs]! I was like, “How could I get better than this?” [laughs] So, I was like okay, at this time I'm gonna actually start taking it seriously and stop making little doodles and learn anatomy and shit, color theory, which I still don’t know [laughs], but I am gonna attempt to know. From there, I was, what? Eleven, twelve? I was like, okay, I’m going to actually take this shit seriously now, learn and grow. I mean all this shit evolved from, again, seeing artists I really admire. Like hmm—I want to just secretly steal this component of your style [laughs] and incorporate it into mine. Hope no one notices, so yeah.

All art is just borrowing style. 

It is!

Do you have any artists that you specifically look up to or you take inspiration from?

Okay, I’m gonna sound really stupid cause I’m just gonna say various Instagram names and Tumblr names. First, this artist I really really really like is @mookie000 on Tumblr. Do you know—okay, I’m not sure how knowledgeable about anime you are. Do you like Haikyuu!!?

I don’t know, I am not super knowledgeable personally. 

Okay, so there was a really popular sports anime called, I still don’t know how to pronounce it— “hike-you”—and they [fans] would draw this really good fanart of it. I was like, the colors are amazing and the anatomy is amazing, this shit looks very pretty. I’m trying to base everything I do after you. Then, eventually I was like—I don’t want to do this anymore. That was on Tumblr, and I was like hmm… I’m tired of digital, so I took a break and just did traditional for a year, got a bunch of watercolors and copic markers—not even copic because I couldn’t afford them. I used the cheap AliExpress shit. I got those one dollar markers from AliExpress, but y’know what– they worked [laughs]. By the time I started to do digital again it was also on Instagram. Looking at that community there, there’s a really good artist called @jellyflavor. They probably had the most impact on me. It’s also crazy, she’s just a year older than me and her stuff is amazing. I’m just like, how? [laughs]

How would you put your work in context with fanart?

So, a lot of the stuff I got inspired by was fanart, like @jellyflavor. They make original pieces, as well as fanart. @mookie000 was primarily fanart. I was also not interested in making fanart myself—I don’t know, I was just interested in drawing my own shit. The thing was, if you wanted to get popular, or in these artistic circles, or get notes on Tumblr whatever, you would draw fanart. That’s the shit that people search for. They aren’t only searching for original illustrations, they are searching for art of the characters they like. Yeah, it’s been a thing. I don’t know, I have just never been into actually drawing fanart, even though a lot of the artists I like, that’s what they do. I draw it here and there, but I don’t think I have ever been attached enough to a form of media that I would make fanart of it consistently. I mean not to say I haven’t done it, but it certainly has not been consistent in any way. All the times I’ve done it I was just trying to get people to reblog my art. 

Do you have a favorite subject (person, thing, etc.) to portray?

I mean, in terms of subjects, I think I just like drawing black people and portraying them really softly. I haven’t even figured out for myself if it’s possible to display a black person non-politically because to exist as a black person is to be a political being and exist politically. In a lot of the art I see drawn by non-black people that draw black people, there’s always I feel an agenda for what they’re trying to say about themselves for including this black person in their illustrations. That’s just also very tiring for me. So that’s also why. I also just like drawing black people and darker skin tones. I just think it’s neat. Yeah, there’s not any major reason. I’m just saying I’m black and I like black people, so why wouldn’t I want to draw black people. 

Where is your favorite place to create art (on or off campus)?

I mean anywhere to an extent. Being in Columbia I don’t really have time to draw in my free time. I joined some organizations on campus that I have to illustrate for. If it feels mandated, or that I have to do it or else—I don’t think they’d kick me out and I don’t think somebody would hate me, but I don’t know, they’d dislike me extremely—then ok, I have to get it done. So it’s kinda up on par with my homework. I have to do my calculus homework but I also have to do this. I'm not just drawing for the sake of drawing, I’m drawing as an extracurricular. To put out my resume. To build my portfolio. So at that point I just started drawing anywhere. But it’s also not really anywhere. Because again, I’m doing this shit on a computer. If this shit breaks I can’t get another one. So I’m pretty choosy where I bring my supplies—libraries, anywhere there’s a very clean, hard surface that I can put my computer down on and draw on. When it’s not a part of any organization on campus I just draw in my dorm. Pretty exclusively.

What organizations on campus are you involved in?

Oh I’m in Spec, the Blue and White magazine, and Rare Candy—It’s the music magazine, the DIY music magazine on campus— it’s really cool. I haven’t illustrated anything for them yet but we’re working on it. 

How do you decide what is a gif and what is not? What is the process to make an image move and turn into a gif?

A lot of it is preemptive. Because I feel a lot of the things don’t work in gif form. If I make it a fully rendered piece I don’t have any intention to make it a gif. I think if you’re playing a video game, but the art style is fully rendered complete paintings—personally I feel that’s real jarring. So usually I do a simplified style [for gifs]. Not fully rendered. And you know like, make some shit move! Again, a lot of it is preemptive and i’m more interested in adding shit to add it. Just illustrating visuals over anything. If you look at any of my gifs and you’re like, “oh this is interesting, what is it about,” I could not tell you because it’s just I made it to make it. It’s very much style over substance. I have no political, deep, extra spiritual reason, I just thought it would look cool. It’s preemptive. I’m like, “I’m gonna make the edges hard, or use these colors, or make this shit fold or whatever. And you know it’ll look cute, don’t ask me about it.” And that’s it. If I’m gonna fully render something then there you go. People don’t give visuals enough credit. Because that shit makes you feel something. You look at something visually and you don’t understand what it means, but you notice the way this person is looking or that accessory they have in their hair that’s glistening—I don’t fucking know, it’s like all this shit looks cool and I think it looks cool or sad or whatever the fuck. I think that’s so underestimated, not given enough credit. Because again, I think that’s maybe me being a being a Libra, being ruled by Venus, but I think just give the source the credit that they’re due. A lot of the shit I grew up with and get inspiration from, I just have no idea what the fuck it means but it sounds or looks very cool, so I’m going try to immitate that. Imitate that feeling that I got from a visual. It could also be a Tumblr person. Random pictures can just show up on your dashboard, and I have no idea what the fuck meaning it has or the context of this, but I think it looks pretty cool. And so that’s pretty much my philosophy for drawing.

If your work had a thesis, what would it be? 

I just like drawing cute shit. Just cute and cool. Those are the only two things I focus on. That’s it. If the thing I draw is cool, and/or cute, then I’ve accomplished something. 

Do you have any plugs?

I’m pretty proud of my Tumblr account but that shit will never be leaked to be public! [laughs] But I still use it. My art Instagram is @54aaron and my personal Instagram is @holoangels.

marisa murillo

In conversation with Lorenzo Barajas

Photographed by Lola Lafia

Could you tell me a little bit about yourself?

I’m Mari, or Marisa. I am a junior in SEAS studying mechanical engineering. This past year I served as publicity director for WKCR-FM New York, and co-captain of Columbia Women’s Water Polo. I’m also involved in Columbia BlueShift, which is our undergraduate astrophysics society. I am a member of the Barnard Clay Collective, and I’m a tour guide with the Undergraduate Recruitment Committee. I’m a proud Mexican-American from Houston, Texas—and I am super excited to be a featured artist!

Could you describe your work’s aesthetic in five words?

I thought about this a little bit. I think it’s kinda hard to do, but I guess I can narrow it down to five words. And that would be noisy, vibrant, dynamic, coalescent, and playful.

Sick! So going back to your background in STEM—as a mechanical engineering student and an astrophysics researcher—how did you find art? How did your relationship with art begin?

I always kid of liked doing things with my hands. Being creative, things like that. One of my earliest memories of being super excited about something I made was when I was designing and making jewelry with my mom. I made this necklace when I was five, and I still wear it sometimes—I just love it so much. And I always sort of liked working with my hands and thinking, what if. And then trying to see if I could do it. At the same time, I was always really fascinated by science. In school, I just had this burning, undying curiosity. My very first science teacher, Ms. Kiley, told me that we’re all scientists— because we all ask questions. And I thought, well, I can’t stop asking questions. I guess that makes me a great scientist! I think now I’m really fascinated by the intersection of science and art, which I sort of see in engineering. I am really interested in finding creative solutions—to build the tools we need to answer all of these questions that we have. And that’s something that I’m super excited to be able to do in my research right now.

Yeah, I think a lot of people do sort of claim that there is an art to science. Do you think that there’s a reverse? Do you see a science in art form?

I would say yes, definitely. So speaking about the first relationship, the art that is in science—I do see that every day when I’m choosing how to visualize my data in a way that is aesthetically pleasing, but at the same time, communicates the results that I want people to understand from my work. And, you know, there’s an art in the technical, hands-on part of research. Whether that’s putting together the hardware assemblies, or pipetting, or whatever it is you’re doing that’s technical with your hands in your research. 

At the same time, I think in engineering especially, I tend to associate the most elegant solution with simplicity. And I think that’s something that’s completely opposite from my art. I think minimalism in engineering is something that I value, but it’s something that I don’t necessarily see in my art. So in the reverse, with the science in art, I see it especially in two media that I use—I see it in ceramics and I see it in textile arts. In ceramics, especially when I’m working on the wheel, I’m sort of thinking about forces on a rotating object. I’m thinking about cross-sections of a rotated solid, just like [what] I think about in calculus. When I’m hand-building, I’m thinking about structural integrity and support, and whether what I’m doing is able to hold its own weight.  I was recently talking with my friend Rachel, who’s a professional fiber artist, about the similarities between computer programming and fiber arts— especially knitting. I taught myself to knit when I was seven years old, and ever since I’ve been able to use different knitting techniques to do things other than just a straight knit stitch. I’ve been writing patterns—cable patterns and fair isle patterns and other things like that. And I see it as a form of object-oriented programming, where you see these objects and instance variables. It reads like a bunch of for loops. A lot of the first computer programs were actually written for weaving machines, so there is, I think, a very strong connection between the arts and sciences—and there is a presence of science in art.

Do you feel your art is working toward making science more accessible and palatable to people who maybe aren’t familiar with science? Or non-majors in general? 

I would hope so. A lot of the work I’ve done is for BlueShift’s Arts & Astro Festival, which is this annual event that we put on to explore the beauty that there is in science. And I think there is great beauty in unveiling the secrets of the universe, and answering our most burning questions. I think especially in astronomy, a lot of what we see can be super visually appealing—but it gets clouded and buried under these differential equations and things like that. I like to bring science into my art just to remind myself that there’s a reason I’m asking these questions. Because I have a personal interest in knowing these things—because they’re so captivating, they’re so beautiful.

So, getting into how exactly you’re mixing science and art, I wanted to talk about one of your pieces, Screaming Interference, in particular. 

Yeah, I had a lot of fun making this piece. It was also for Arts & Astro. I’ve been really interested in the idea of gravitational waves, and the way that the detection works. I wanted to make a piece that shows one small aspect of gravitational wave detection—and [those were] the first gravitational wave signatures that were picked up by the LIGO Livingston and Hanford observatories. So I’ve worked a lot with electroluminescent wire in the past, and I wanted to incorporate that into my work. I essentially took the gravitational wave signals and sculpted them in a slightly abstracted form in the electroluminescent wire. [I used] two different colors—one for Livingston and one for Hanford. And I sort of overlaid them in the same way that the gravitational wave signatures were overlaid, to confirm that it was a gravitational wave event and not just some sort of weird background noise that was happening at one observatory. I also wanted to play with reflection and dimension and color, so I sort of set it up as a tunnel with a mirror at the back end, and a sheet of tinted acrylic at the front end. I had these alternating electroluminescent wires going on and off. You could also look deep into one end of the tunnel and see their reflections—but in a different color, because of the tinted acrylic on the front. 

It seems like distortion is a big aspect of your process. Is this distortion more tactile or digital? 

I think a great deal of it starts with the physical, tactile distortion. I think it’s really cool that whatever physical process you do to the film that you’re shooting on is an irremovable part of the image that you’re capturing. And I think that’s really interesting. When I distort the film, I sometimes shoot on expired film, and I soak it in various household acids. Sometimes, for example, it’s an old disposable camera and the battery will have leaked into it already. Maybe I’ll add soap or lemon juice or something like that, and just see what that does to it. I’m not looking for any sort of effect in particular, I’m just sort of asking, “What happens if I do this?” From there, I let the results of that image sort of guide the rest of the process—which tends to be mostly collage, some physical cutting and pasting, and also some digital stuff. I like to mix a lot of my photos with some data visualization in Python that I think might be kind of fun to go with them.

Cool. So many of your photos tend to mix analog and digital technology. Do you feel that analog has a nostalgic value to you? Or do you feel that it evokes a different emotion than digital?

Yeah, I think so. Like I touched on a little bit before, I think the scratches and the wear and tear on the analog media we use is super fascinating. It just becomes a part of the piece. It’s kind of like rereading your own copy of your favorite book. The more you read it, the more it just sort of wears out—and you can see the love that’s gone into handling it. At the same time, I do think it’s really interesting to combine digital with analog. I almost feel like I’m making little cyborgs when I make art in this way.

You also work with mixtapes. Would you like to speak on those? What sort of sounds are you interested in?

Yeah. So I did mention I’m from Houston, Texas, and a favorite local legend of ours is DJ Screw. He is known for the development of his technique of playing with the speeds of different records when he sampled various, mostly local artists on his mixtapes—and created the ‘Chopped and Screwed’ style of mixing and cutting and pasting, and using different bits of sound and slowing them down. So I take a lot of inspiration from that. While some of my mixtapes are pretty traditional—in the way that you think of a mixtape on cassette—a lot of them experiment with the same kinds of things that DJ Screw did. So I like to sample things from underground 1990’s and 2000’s artists, especially from Houston. And just put things together in ways that I haven’t really seen before. But also, being at WKCR has exposed me to a lot of different ways that music can be put together. I wasn't familiar with New Music as a genre before I started WKCR, but now I think it’s interesting, especially the history of its technology. Some of my mixtapes take samples and inspiration from New Music, especially Computer Music from the 1970’s, and also samples from old nostalgic digital sounds. Even the sound of dial-up Internet, for example. I’m also building a synthesizer as my final project for a class I’m taking on sound, and I’d like to incorporate it on my mixtapes. 

So going into your inspiration, is there any artist specifically—a musician, filmmaker, or someone who produces media of any kind—that you feel inspired by?

I think right now one of my biggest artistic inspirations is Susan Kare. She’s the graphic designer who worked on creating the original user interface for Apple computers. So she made the command symbol, and the smiling Mac, and the bomb, and the click symbol, and all of that. I just think it’s so interesting how she was able to take a 64x64 pixel grid of yes and no, on and off, black and white—and actually communicate, symbolically, what was going on inside a complex machine. And I think that she really did a good job of doing what I would like to do, which is to use my art to communicate scientific information. 

I think going into communication leads to your poetry. In what ways does coding interact with your poetry?

I’d never written poetry before this poetry collection. I have a really good relationship with my University Writing professor from freshman year, and she’s always sort of pushing me to pursue writing on a deeper level, and keep expanding the bounds of my comfort zone in writing. So she encouraged me to take on the project of a poetry series. I thought it would be fun to challenge myself to write poems using a skill set that had, to this point, only been familiar to me in an academic or technical context. And to use it for something creative and expressive in its own way. When I was starting out on this project, I didn’t know if I would actually be able to do it—if I would be able to write poetry in Java that made sense, and was able to stand on its own. But at the same time, be syntactically correct so that once I pushed run and compile, I would get an output that was a poem in plain English. 

With your poetry, I’m wondering if there’s any sort of narrative you’re trying to tell. Or is it completely abstracted? 

So each of the poems is based on a different experience that I’ve lived and have not immediately been able to make sense of. And I think I’m sort of using the poems as a way to display a sort of thought process. So, you know, I’m structuring it on the input side, and trying to logically organize and make sense of these thoughts that are going through my head—and ending up with an output which is sort of a deliberate thing that I’ve put together. I think it’s especially important to note what stays on the input side, and doesn’t make it over into the output. There are some things that just stay as thoughts and don’t really end up becoming conclusions, or being super vocalized or anything like that. So I think it’s important to notice what goes into one side might not necessarily come out the other side.

Is it a therapeutic experience for you to write poetry, or is it just sort of documenting the experience? Is there any sort of reflection that’s happening?

Yeah! I think it’s super reflective, especially having to think within the context of [making] your actual poem compile and run in the computer. And, I think, it’s something of a tool—a way to document how my thoughts are shaping as I’m trying to make sense of things. It’s also a different way to think about these things that are going on, and to look at problems in this analytical but at the same time creative lens. 

I was really fascinated by one of your poems in Input-Output, and the ending of it, where it trails off in a series of curly brackets. Would you like to talk a little bit on the ending of that poem?

Sure. So all of the characters that aren’t white space that you see in my poetry are actually part of Java syntax. I chose Java over any other programming language for this series, just because it feels comfortable to me. And, I really like the aesthetic of the syntax and the structure of it. So, for every curly bracket at the bottom, there’s a corresponding curly bracket at the top. Everything is sort of sandwiched in and fits securely into the program. So it’s actually just sort of built into the syntax of the program. But at the same time I did appreciate the aesthetic of the Java syntax over other languages. It’s the first programming language that I learned, and it just felt the most natural and the most like my own voice. 

Is there any advice you’d give to someone who would like to be involved in the sciences, but doesn’t have the experience? Or is interested in incorporating sciences into their art?

I guess the first thing I would say is to just get in there, and get started and try. Don’t let the math scare you away. If I let the math scare me away I don’t think I’d be an engineer. I think it’s important to go into [science] with a mindset of just doing it for fun with no expectations—and seeing what you can end up with. I do think that, because there is a highly technical aspect to art, that the sciences already are pretty accessible to artists. My high school physics teacher told me [that] we all already know the laws of physics. They’re sort of ingrained in the ways we interact with the world and live our lives. We just have to stop and think about why we know what the consequences of a physical action are going to be. So, I think it’s all really there—you just have to tap into it. I think learning to program is sort of an organized way of thinking about things. If you are a super detail-oriented person, which is a trait that I see in a lot of artists, I think programming is definitely accessible to you. Because it's all about putting in the details to get the big picture. 

You talk about being detail-oriented. Do you see any of your other qualities coming into your work? What aspect of your personality is reflected throughout your process?

I think that when I started out wanting to be an engineer, I didn’t see a lot of examples of what it was to be a woman in STEM. And I thought the only way to be a woman in STEM was to try to resemble a man in STEM. So I just sort of tried to be super serious, and never really show emotion or anything. For school events where we had to travel, I always tried to pack the smallest bag to avoid stereotypes and things like that. I never showed emotion, even when I had to call out things that just weren’t right or fair. And I think now I’ve gotten to a point where I realize I don’t need to try to be someone else to be taken seriously, or respected in my field. It’s very important to be authentic when you’re trying to do what you love. I’m unapologetic about being lots of different things. I don’t like to label myself as any just one, or even multiple things. I think it’s important, if you have an interest in something, to pursue it and not let labels stop you—[to] not let people tell you, because you are this one thing, you can’t do something else. 

Speaking of labels, do you see yourself as an artist, or as a scientist, or a mix of both? 

I’d say probably a mix of both. I think it’s an important part of my identity to be lots of different things at once. I really see these different parts of my identity come together and work as one, even though they seem really separate. I think that they’re all me. They’re all who I am. 

amber chong

Interviewed by Yosan Alemu 

Photographs by Caitlyn Stachura

Amber Chong is a junior at Barnard College studying sociology and education in the Urban Teaching Program.

What is the ceramic process like? What's your favorite part of the process, if you do have one? 

What is the process like? Well, I usually start out by sketching the general shape that I want to make, and then you decide how much clay you need for that. You wedge it—the clay—and get all the air bubbles out of it. And I make a lot of stuff on the wheel. So I'll smush the clay onto the wheel and get it centered. See, you want [the clay] at the very center of the wheel so that your piece will be symmetrical. This part usually takes the most time to learn, and the most time to get it actually there on the center. After, you sort of just pull the clay around into the shape you want while still being mindful of the center. Also, a lot of my pieces have hand-built attachments, so I build those separately and kind of pop them onto the piece. Then the piece goes through the bisque kiln. It gets fired until the clay hardens, and then I glaze it! I really like the glazing process, because there's a little bit of unpredictability with it—and I make a lot of the glazes because I work at the studio, and part of the job is to mix [them]. It's become really exciting now that I understand the chemistry behind it. So after I glaze it, I put it into the glaze fire and just kind of hope for the best!

Can you explain the relationship between your hands and the clay? Compared to other mediums—like photo or like painting—there's obviously involvement with your body and your work. 

I think your hands, in a lot of ways, are like the most powerful [part] of this medium. When you're throwing, when you're at the wheel, it's nice that it requires your absolute focus. It's nice that it makes you really present. You know, if your hands slip, the whole thing can flop over or get smushed. So you have to be very conscious about every microscopic hand movement, because the tiniest little bit of pressure could change the entire shape. It makes you really self-aware of your body in relation to the clay, and in relation to everything around you. 

I really do like the idea of noticing, with absolute focus, your body, your hands, in relation to the clay and piece at work. When you're making your pieces, what do you have in mind in terms of style and inspiration? 

Working in ceramics brings out this childlike energy in me. It reminds me of days way back in art class—of just messing around but then creating something out of this frenzy. And I like to bring that childlike energy into the work. I like big, friendly looking forms, and a lot of really bright colors. A lot of vibrant glazes. When I'm making pieces, I like to think about what's going to make me happy, and what's going to make others happy. Whether it be sitting around the room, or used for meals—I really want to be able to use my pieces and to share them with others. For instance, I have an elephant teapot with flower designs that I love and use practically everyday.

What are you trying to convey to yourself and to those looking or using your work? Is there a story behind each piece? 

 A lot of the pieces I've been making lately—because I'm working at this studio near campus, where I also teach—have been made as examples or to show someone how to do something. So that's kind of exciting to me. I really enjoy working alongside people and using pieces as a tool for teaching. That's one of my favorite parts about the ceramics I'm doing right now, especially because I'm studying education. I like to use my art and the process as a way to possibly unlock new teaching methods, or to think more about hands-on learning. As for the story behind each piece, I think each piece just reminds me of the meticulous work that went [into it]. You can look at some of the handled pieces and you can see every carve, every line on the leaves—like on the teapot that I made. Or even think back to every single chemical you had to mix to get the right glaze mixture. It's just cool to look at a piece for which you have been so involved in the process. Everything from the glaze to the firing technique requires careful work. For example, some of the pieces that I do are roku, which means you take the piece out of the kiln when it's at the peak temperature, 1700 degrees. And the glaze is still molten. Then you put it in this trash can full of combustibles like leaves and newspapers, and you put your piece in the can and watch it burst into flames. When you take your piece out, it's got all of these weird markings from being exposed to the fire. So yes, I tend to look at my pieces and see the work, awareness, and the care that went into its making.

What's your favorite piece? 

That's a good question. I have this one mug where the glaze just came out really unexpectedly. The interesting thing is when you combine glazes, you could have like a yellow and blue—and when you layer them together, instead of making green, the colors can make red just because the chemicals interact weirdly. That's one of the best parts for me, when you get this super random, unintentional color. On my mug I had a deep green, and this kind of reddish glaze over it. Where they met, there was this really bright turquoise color. So, it's just this mug with a huge turquoise spot at the bottom. And that's what I drink my coffee and tea out of every morning. That's my favorite—my green, red, turquoise spotted mug. 

How has pottery and ceramics influenced your life? Everyday experiences? 

 I've been working with pottery and ceramics since high school. It's opened up a lot of job opportunities for me. Like this summer, I was teaching pottery in Washington State, and now I'm working at a studio. I would say these opportunities have really allowed me to see how my artistic interests and my education interests collide and collaborate with one another. More recently, they have really begun to inform each other. I feel like I'm learning a lot about teaching pottery that can be applied to other forms of teaching.

Absolutely! It's really interesting to see that translation. Could you give an example of where your art and teaching interact?

I teach the kids class at the studio, and some of them are very young. I'm learning that when you put this piece of clay in front of a child, they're not going to listen to anything that you have to say. All they're going to want to do is play [with] and squish the clay, and you really can't blame them. But that's part of the magic about the clay, you know? It's exciting to see sheer joy just because of a tiny piece of clay. I guess channeling that excitement about the task and clay at hand is something I feel like can apply to any arena of education, because you’re working with children and are helping them create something by the end of the class. And as I said earlier, creating a pottery piece is difficult, and requires careful attention to the work. It's amazing to see how the children's excitement for the clay is transformed to this sort of eager attention and focus. 

This idea of intimacy, whether it be your own work or teaching children, is integral to your process. Like you said, every step is important and has to be dealt with with awareness and attention. Could you elaborate more on the intimacy aspect? 

Yes! Every step and every curve, every color that comes out in the blaze, every task you perform, every bit of work you put into your piece and its process, is an intimate kind of work. So at the end, I feel as if I become really tied to these pieces. Like it holds some part of myself. And especially in my case, I love using my pieces for the everyday. Being able to use and be in contact with your work further shows this intimacy. My pieces become part of my life. Intimacy lies there. 

What was your favorite art class at Barnard or Columbia? 

I've only taken one, actually, but I took Sculpture I freshman year with Kambui Olujimi and he was a really wonderful professor. I initially thought that we were going to be making little things out of clay, and that the class would be a sort of de-stressor. And it wasn't! It was one of the most stressful classes I've ever taken. We weren’t working with clay, we were working with metal. I literally learned how to weld! 

Really? Oh my god! 

Yes, really! On the top floor of Prentis, they have these metal shops. You get these sheets of steel, your big mask, your plasma cutter, and you're just welding! Once for the class, I made this metal wall that had all of these windows that opened up. [For] some of the windows you'd be able to see through to the other side, while others had mirrors. If you saw one on the opposite side, it was like you were playing hide-and-seek, but sometimes you were only finding yourself. The assignment was to make a mask, and that wall was my mask. That class was so much more work than I thought it was going to be, but it was really worth it. It was fun and inspiring being surrounded by people that were also invested in making these really crazy structures and sculptures. Also, working with a professor who is doing art in the real world was amazing. It was such a fascinating class. I would take it again and again and again. To be completely honest, I think I spent more time working for that class than I have for any class since then. 

What would be your ideal, dream piece? What would you make? 

My ceramics teacher in high school, Bob, who wore Crocs and a kimono to class all of the time, always talked about this friend he had in Oregon who threw ceramic hot tubs that were completely massive. He said that his friend kept breaking his wrist—because when you're throwing that much clay, if you have your hand slightly at the wrong angle, it'll literally just snap. Which is crazy. Sometimes I dream about throwing or creating a piece that massive. Maybe I'll make a fountain, or just grand monuments, and place them in random locations. That would be a dream piece. A massive structure placed—gently, of course—in random places everywhere I go. 

olivia treynor

In conversation with Elizabeth Meyer

Photographs by Ellis Sandro Shapiro-Barnum

Could you start by telling me a little bit about yourself, whatever that means to you?

My name is Olivia, I’m from California. My biggest identities [that] influence my art are being a young person, being a girl, and being queer. I don’t monopolize identities, but I feel part of these communities based on those [identities], and they definitely kind of influence how I perceive things, and think about things, and interact with things.

Is photography your main medium?

Yes. I started doing photography and filmmaking in high school. I wasn’t introduced to photography in a clinical art school way, I was introduced to it as something my peers were doing and that girls that felt like my peers were doing. I grew up with Rookie magazine and that was this great equalizer [to me]. [It] really emphasized young queer voices and female voices and non male voices. To me, it felt like “Of course I could take pictures!” It felt like there were so many people that were doing [it] and they were doing it so well and so beautifully and so powerfully. I just understood things as yes, the female gaze is something that of course I am going to try to reclaim and explore what that means

I [also] took an art class [in high school] where you had to put together a portfolio with all different mediums, so I put together a sewing project, which was out of my element. I’ve done some drawing and other things  But mainly photography and filmmaking are my big artistic practices. I’ve been doing creative writing more recently, but I’m still feeling that one out.

What is your definition of perception, and how does that fit into creation—especially through photography?

I think that photography is a medium about looking. Photography is so rooted in reality and observing reality, that there is less freedom inherent in the medium to make it about inner emotional content. To some extent, photography is always documentary because you have to work with what exists in the real, tangible world—and then distort that in some way to create an artistic statement. I think [in] the way photography is thought of, we imagine that the camera is your eye, and that's what’s dominant. The most important part of taking a photo is thinking about how the camera views something and, to me, that feels distant from what I think good photography is. I hope to use my photography as an empathetic, bodily observation rather than an objectifying tool. I’m trying to reframe ideas that the camera is the most important tool. [When taking photos of someone] I think about how I would naturally perceive and interact with them. The camera comes ranked lower in importance than my personal, empathetic, human gaze.

How do you take your photos?

I’m not thinking [about doing] something that’s never been done before or what the queer/female way of looking at [a subject is]. I retrospectively look back at things and be like “Oh, I looked at that thing in a way that is different from how another person would look at it,” but I don't think that’s an active goal of mine, to counter some sort of hegemony in the photo world. I’m just like “What makes sense in this [photo]?”, and then I can write an artist’s statement that applies that [sense] onto [the photo]. 

[In photography], I really believe that bodily intuition is much more important than being a rational thinker. That may just be an art thing but, to me, feeling comes over technical competence or objective analysis or trying to do something the “best” way. Being the “best” at something is so emphasized [in our society], and I think you can technically be the “best,” but that doesn't necessarily give you the skill to create an empathetic photo which, to me, is the most important part of photography. The best picture is the one that is most empathetic. So I'm cognizant of trying to look at things in a way that is bodily first and technical second. Photography, in a lot of ways, is dominated by the male gaze because its been appropriated as a tool for the male gaze but i don't think it has to be like that but I think the goal of a female photographer or anyone who is trying to conceive a photograph that exists outside of the male gaze has to think about it as an empathetic tool rather than an objectifying tool.

How do you form an empathetic connection with a subject when photographing individuals whose identities differ from your own? 

I think that empathy is not bound by identities. I think that I need to acknowledge that there are narratives that I won’t necessarily perceive that the person I’m photographing perceives because of their role or how they exist in society. As empowering as it is to be a young, queer woman, it means that I have not existed in a lot of different identities. I think acknowledging that, and believing that the photographer is not the most important person when taking a photo, is crucial. Like, [when I’m taking pictures], I feel like I’m a medium somehow, or messenger. The act [of photography] is of an interaction. I try to take photos that feel like they are an exchange rather than something that’s imposing on someone or taking from someone. doesn’t have to be about giving or receiving. It can be something mutual, not a give or take exchange. 

viola hibbett

In conversation with Uma Halsted

Photographs by Zita Surprenant

Introduce yourself.

I’m Viola. I’m a junior at Barnard, doing a philosophy major. I’m from Central Massachusetts—part rural, part suburban.

Describe your work in three words. Describe yourself in three words.

My work: Irrelevant Ransom Note. Me: Short Imposter Ginger. 

Do you have any favorite artists that inspire you?

For animation, Terry Gilliam, the “Monty Python” animator.

When did you start making art, conscious of it being a product?

Probably not until the end of freshman year here. Before, I was indoctrinated into the STEM world. I came in as a physics major, switched to math at the end of my freshman year, and then to philosophy at the end of my sophomore year. 

Did you notice any shifts in what you were interested in artistically as your academic focus changed?

When I was doing a physics track, anything that wasn’t [physics] felt like a side project. Whereas, once I started doing more non-STEM things, I was like, “Oh, this can actually be a thing that I can think about, and put work and time into.”

Do you find that holding onto, and relinquishing, control comes into play in that kind of creative process?

When you try to hold onto the idea of something turning out the way it should in your mind, it always ends up winding up a little off. And then that ‘being off’ seems disnoble—[it] turns into feeling worthless. But then you realize that chain of reasoning doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter whether one little thing’s at an angle or not.

Do you have a first memory of creating when you were young?

Honestly, not so much. I do have some memories of making weird drinks to consume as a kid, with a bunch of lemon juice and vanilla extract—with kids putting all of [the] other spices into a liquid and then being like, “Let’s drink it!” So that was probably my entry into creating.

When you are physically making the work, do you feel like you snap into the experience of being removed from reality? Or are you usually quite grounded in reality, and just recalling past experiences and ideas?

I’m not super floaty or whatever. I’m definitely there. I do tend to get super drawn into it though, as in I forget about other things. 

You talk about detaching from reality and from the need to make a ‘good’ product. And then having the space to be silly and fun, and not take yourself too seriously. I am wondering what that looks like when you’re making your art. What does that look and feel like for you as the creator?

We’re all raised in the capitalist world, and so we’re all taught that your value is tied to you producing things—producing things which are good and can be marketed, or which serve some sort of purpose in that world. Once you realize that that’s nonsense, it opens things up a lot more.

Do you feel like you can ever fully detach yourself from that world?

No… I don’t know. I’ve had some times where I’ve legitimately detached from reality, and my brain’s doing interesting kinds of moves. In those times… yeah. I can [detach] and I have. There are other things that you don’t want to detach from. But at the same time, when you’re in that kind of space—thinking about production and making things that are good, and would have a high monetary value—is just so ridiculous and out there that it seems entirely foreign.

What did you end up doing in that space? Was there any connection to making art?

Try to be calm and wait until eventually things settle down. And then they did. Since then, I’ve done some artwork in which part of what I’m thinking about are those experiences I’ve had. I did one where I was trying to capture the feeling of being in one of those photo stand-ins, with the cut-out faces. It’s like that, but the whole world is just that board. And then it’s just your eyes looking out.

Who or what are you making your art for? And because of that, how does your process change?

When I’m making things, I like to be having fun with it, and let things be silly. Then when I have something that’s done and I’m going to give it to someone, it’s almost more like comics—like, “Here’s something that will make you laugh.” If I stay in a fun mindset, then hopefully [my work] winds up more light than if not. 

Why do you want your art to be light?

Not everything that I’ve made is intended to be light. But I feel like everything is so meaningless, or crap like that. So why not have things that are fun and light?

lorenzo barajas

Photographs by Maya Hertz

Interviewed by Isabella Rafky

Tell me a little bit about yourself. 

This was definitely the hardest question for me to answer, because I am interested in so many different things. I’m an art history and english major, and other than that I just recently finished up work as a florist and vendor in Abingdon Square, which was a really fun job for me. Previously, I’ve been a bagel store employee — you know, just getting it done. Other than that, it's really hard to say. I feel like I’m coming to grips with the fact that I’m a quiet, but dramatic person. Kind of an oddball; I like going to really weird events, like Pickle Day. I’m from San Diego. I’m a poet and a visual artist. 

What motivates you to write poetry and create visual art? Are they different forces of motivation?

They are definitely very different forces for each genre. Visual art, to me, is more performative. I’m really kind of a show-off with my visual art: I’ll put it on my walls, I’ll give it as gifts to friends, I’ll do anything with it. Whereas my poetry, or any of my writing, is definitely more guarded. I’m working on a poetry anthology right now that I’m trying to submit to the APR’s First Book contest — so I’m trying to crank out a piece [each] day.

Where do you get your inspiration from? (i.e., Magic 8 Ball Python coding)

All of my work is just an amalgamation of everything that I’m interested in. Everything that I’ve read — poets like Anne Carson, [writers like] Cormac McCarthy. Movies like “The Matrix” — so many different things. I think mainly what I feel is that everyone in all of these works is trying to get at what forces govern a person’s life — what kind of biological, or technological, or celestial forces? And I am really interested in getting at what those could be.

What celestial forces do you feel get at you?

I don’t know! It’s really hard to say (laughs). I definitely am interested in so many different aspects of different religions and incorporating that into my work — like the idea of reincarnation. I come from a Catholic background, so that does come into my work a bit.

If your final actions were to be a “Choose Your Own Adventure,” like in “Oat Milk Forever,” what would they be?

These are all very hard questions (laughs). I feel that life is essentially like a “Choose Your Own Adventure.” Everything that we do is so dictated by choices, and those choices are influenced by different things. But at the end, it’s your own decision. But if it was like, a final decision, I guess maybe I would publish my work — because I feel like it is really representational of who I am as a person, and it would be a good way to memorialize myself.

How do you best express fragmentation? Do you treat each fragment as a whole, or do the fragments form a whole themselves? 

I feel that [fragmentation] is mostly expressed through surrealism as a genre in my writing — because at the root of it, I think feeling disoriented and misrepresented is really reflective of my experience as a minority of any sort. I’m just trying to represent that experience through surrealism as a genre. And to the second question, I feel like each fragment is a whole. I feel that there is a finality to every piece, and it’s hard to put them next to each other if they each have their own circularity to them.

Talk to me more about your surrealism. How did you come to it? Have you always been a surrealist poet? How do you see surrealism in your own work?

I definitely did not start out as a surrealist poet. I started doing open mics in high school, and that sort of work was very activism-based. It was very, like — I don't know what the right word is — but it was very set in stone, very... rebellious. I don’t know if that’s the right word (laughs) but it definitely didn’t have a genre that I can ascribe to it other than performative. And then after that, I started to get into different poets that had worked within surrealism, and I just became completely obsessed with how that genre operated — especially like Césaire. I just found it strangely beautiful, almost like a fever dream. I’m really interested in how [surrealism] works, and how it’s such a unique genre of poetry. I feel like surrealism in art just operates differently than it does in writing. I don’t know if there is anything in particular that caught my eye to it, I just really love it.

Besides fragmentation, what are other themes you touch on in your work, and why? Why does fragmentation call to you?

I think within my work, I’m still trying to figure out a genre that works for me, and I switch very often between different modes, different perspectives — just trying to parse out exactly what I want to do with my work, and where it’s going. That has definitely lent itself to the fragmentation, just due to the experience of writing itself. I think it’s also reflective of where I am as a person right now. I’m on the cusp of being 20; I’m just trying to figure out exactly what I want to do, and I want my work to reflect where I am as a person as well as what I’m interested in thematically. As for different themes, I feel that my work is definitely trying to resist being themed. I don’t know how well it’s doing that — but fragmentation is obviously something that is very identifiable. I’m just trying to create something that anyone can draw out of, whatever they want. There’s this quote by a famous artist that I really like, Fred Tomaselli: “I’m not trying to be anyone’s cop for my artwork.” 

I just want my audience to get out of my work what they want to get out of it and if it is like therapy for them to read my work and relate to something that's great! If it’s just reading something that’s aesthetically pleasing that’s also great. I’m not trying to create a universal truth in my work. 

Are there any spaces on campus that you go to find inspiration or to be creative?

That’s a hard question, because I run in so many different circles. Freshman year I offhandedly decided to join the marching band, so there’s this kinda offbeat circle I’m a part of—just like, community and friends coming together and making music. I play cowbell. But it’s still just [about] relating to other people. Other than that, I’ve been really trying to figure out where those spaces are. Artistically, I’m not really involved very much in any kind of scene. So I often end up wandering with my friends through galleries. There isn’t a cohesive space that I go to to find community. I just end up taking a lot of different classes—I took a class over the summer at the Muji Pottery Studio. I don’t think there’s one thing that’s home to me. I do definitely have a lot of different writing spots that are conducive to getting things out. I end up going to any place that has any natural element, like the park by Saint John’s Cathedral. I don’t know exactly what it is, but the fountain is an area that I just like. I go there and I’m able to write and write for hours. 

How do you think San Diego has affected your writing or your person? 

I think just the experience of being in San Diego is so vastly different from being here—it for sure has affected my personhood. Growing up there, I was really close to the border, which was really interesting being half-Mexican and half-American. I was able to relate so much to my surroundings, but still felt kind of distant from my Mexican identity—which is something I found in both [Mexico and America]. I don’t really feel that here, because [New York City] is so far from Mexico. I ended up learning Spanish, but that's still a big difference from having a native language as a solid part of your identity. I definitely do miss [San Diego]. To me, it’s so much more relaxed. Going back home is like a palate cleanser. Whereas [in New York], I was just exposed to so many different things. And it definitely helped to shape who I am as a person, because when you're exposed to so many different things you end up drawing what you will from them. 

xixi wang

Photographs by Margaret Maguire

In Conversation with Morgan Becker

Could you introduce yourself? 

My name is Xixi Wang, I’m a sophomore at Barnard College. I do acrylic paintings and graphite drawings on the side sometimes. I was raised in Vancouver, Canada, and for the majority of my life I was really focused on music. I was a competitive pianist for a really long time, so when I moved to New York five years ago, that was when I really started honing in on my artwork. I always loved drawing—painting not so much (laughs). But when I got to New York, that’s when I really found my love for it and put my music to the side. During the era of Instagram, my friends started suggesting that I post my stuff online. That’s where my art career began—I just drew whatever I wanted. I mainly started off with, like, celebrity portraits and Disney caricatures, and I would just post everything that I drew on Instagram. And slowly, my following started to build. Here we are today. 

Would you say that your music has an influence on the work that you do? Or was a clean break from one form of art to the other? 

I felt like it was more of a break-off. Because music was really something that my parents pushed me to pursue, and art was more of a side thing. I really liked art classes at school, but other than that, it was music all the time. People at school knew me as the musician, the pianist, who spends all her time doing that. And then when I moved to New York—it was also at a point where I couldn’t really do anything else with music. I could pursue it professionally, or not. So I kind of just dropped it—or it at least became a less important part of my life. I still love music to this day.

Did music ever feel creative to you? 

I don’t think so. No, because I was so classically trained. A lot of it was, like, taking examinations—in Canada, you have Royal Conservatory examinations. So a lot of it was taking exams until you reach a certain level. I did take composition classes and music history classes, but it never got to a point at which I felt like I had creative freedom over my music. 

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From what I see from your work, you do a lot of painting of bodies—literally and figuratively. Where does the fascination come from? 

This is a fascination that has evolved very recently. As I mentioned before, my past artwork was a lot of pop-culture stuff. That was when I mostly considered myself a ‘drawer.’ When I dove into painting, that’s when I created my own sense of style as an artist. I just kind of paint subject matter that I gravitate toward. I never force myself to branch out, or paint something that I don’t speak with. So, why bodies? Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t really know why. For a long time I loved painting pieces that made you think, and that made you feel something. A lot of the issues that I’m passionate about concern gender, or sexuality. I think that I reflect that through the work I create. 

In what ways do you think femininity is shown through the body? 

I mean, there are ways that we dress ourselves—but that’s unrelated to the pieces that I create. I do more bare bodies, and minimalistic stuff. So in terms of my pieces specifically, I try to strip away gender. My models are usually female. I haven’t really painted male bodies or faces. But I feel like my style is very feminine, if that makes sense? A lot of the colors that I use are pastel, and the way that I work my paint—there’s an elegant texture to it, but it’s also a bit rough. I don’t know, I feel like the feminine aspect for me is more the style of the work, rather than the body being portrayed on the canvas. 

I notice that a lot of the work is also segmented. You never paint a full portrait. Is there a reason for that? 

I love zooming in, close-ups in general. It’s a very intimate way to showcase a woman’s body. And it also provides mystery, and gives me more of a sense of creative freedom. I paint however I want to paint, if that makes sense? If you’re painting a model, their entire body, proportions are really important. Making it look like the actual figure is really important. Which is kind of why I stray from portraits. It gets too much into, ‘Oh, who are you painting?’ ‘Why did you choose this model?’ et cetera. So I tend to zoom into parts of the body where you don’t necessarily know who the person is, and you don’t have that necessity to compare. 

What does touch mean to you? 

Exploring touch has been a fairly recent thing of mine, but I love painting hands. It’s something that I’ve had an obsession with for a long time. I know for many artists, it’s a pain in the ass. But it’s actually one of my favorite things to paint. And through all of the pieces of hands that I’ve created, I feel like there’s a similar theme centered around human relationships. Touch has a lot to do with that. I mentioned this in my artist bio, but I think that touch—out of all the five senses—is the most interesting. It has the most layers to it. It’s so complex. But overall, the main reason why—this is going to sound cheesy, but it connects the mind and the heart in a way that sounds, or smells, can’t do. There’s a very emotional side to touch, as well as physical. It’s a fundamental sense that connects us together as human beings. Imagine never hugging someone, and losing that sense of comfort. I think touch encompasses so many emotions that I like to reflect through painting. At the end of the day, my painting aren’t just hands. They reflect a deeper sense of emotional value and make you think about what the hands are doing, and how they’re interacting with each other to make you feel a certain way. 

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Do you think touch is inherently intimate? 

I think there’s definitely an intimate aspect to it. I don’t think it’s inherent—it’s intimate if you want it to be intimate. But in my pieces specifically, I try to find that intimate level. Like, I really do want that intimacy between the viewer and the painting itself. 

Do you tend to base those painting off your own relationships? Models? What do you use for reference? 

I do some of both. A lot of it is Google searching, and finding non-copyrighted material. A lot of it uses my own body as a reference. Especially for hands, that’s definitely easier. I’ll just take photos of them from different angles, changing the lighting as I go. Also, there is an app where you can take a hand model and basically rotate it however you want, but it isn’t the most realistic. So I just tend to take my own reference images—if for some reason I can’t, I’ll just go off of Google. 

Tell me about your work with temporary tattoos, and how it came about. 

So I work with this company called Inkbox, and they do semi-permanent tattoos. They last from eight to eighteen day. They’re from a fruit-based ink, very similar to henna but completely different ingredients. I design a lot of the tattoos on their website, and I also do freehand, which is where you work with a bottle of ink and apply the tattoo similarly to henna. Wherever you’re getting the tattoo, it’ll take 24 hours to fully develop, and it’ll stay for roughly two to three weeks. 

How I got into it is kind of a long story. Ever since I was a teenager I was really into tattooing—not getting tattoos myself, but the industry in general, and tattooing as an art form. Tattoo artists are so talented, to be able to create these gorgeous pieces of artwork on someone’s body, using the human as a canvas. Having their art carried around forever. So I’d always told myself that I wanted to learn how to tattoo. Someday! But that hasn’t happened yet. I’m still crossing my fingers. I found out about Inkbox roughly three years ago. They had just launched a kickstarter and completely blew up. I started as one of their purchasers, just trying their products. I thought they were really cool as a company, and as a general concept. And then, maybe a year into it, they were looking for artists to design tattoos. I applied, got the position, and ever since then I’ve been in contact with their team. They know that I live in New York, so whenever they have pop-up events they’ll shoot me a text and ask if I can work for them. 

It’s interesting that you said tattoos are a form of art that are carried around forever. I get that they’re permanent—but people are typically less permanent than say an actual painting on the wall. What are you thoughts on that? 

I get that. Wow, never really thought about that. I guess when you create a tattoo, it’s personalized. The tattooists that I follow, who are artistically very good—their work is really personalized toward the person getting the piece, either based on a story that they want to tell, or something that has deep emotional meaning to it. Sometimes, it can just be aesthetically nice to look at, but it always connects with the person. In terms of permanence, tattoos don’t last as long as, say, a painting on a canvas. But it’s completely different, because it’s connected—the person who’s wearing that tattoo gives it meaning. Whereas the canvas can’t really give the paint meaning. 

So the person adds something. I wonder then, when you create a tattoo, is it your work? Or does it belong to the person who has it on their body? Do you share it? 

I do think you share it. First of all, if you’re a good tattoo artist, you’re not copying work from anybody else. You’re creating your own stuff. The best clients know to give their tattoo artists creative freedom, to take the idea however they want, to showcase their creativity through this art form. It’s a collaboration, because someone could also come in knowing what they want. The artist kind of builds that up and creates an end result. 

You said that you post a lot of your art online. Do you also gain inspiration from social media? 

So when I started posting work, I found a community of artists who I was able to share my passions with, who I could throw ideas around with, and I could see the pieces that they were creating. Through that, I was introduced to the hub of art in social media. But I do think that the art I see on social media isn’t the most perfect representation of contemporary art in general. Obviously I believe that seeing a work online is so different from seeing it in person. In terms of finding inspiration, my first source is going to museums and physically seeing art. Or just walking around, looking at architecture, that kind of stuff. When I go onto social media, I look at artists who I already know—who I’ve learned about by going to the MoMA, or taking a class. So a lot of the artists I follow I haven’t found solely through social media. Instagram though, has really become the space for artists who want to become professional. If you want to be a professional artist, you’ve got to post your stuff on Instagram. It has now literally become a portfolio for us. So I think that it’s a useful place to find inspiration—but it’s not my sole space. 

What’s the last exhibition you saw? 

The Whitney Biennial, over the summer. I actually haven’t been to anything really recently, but I was taking a class at Sotheby's about the market of contemporary art. We were talking about big events like EXPO Chicago and the Vienna Biennial. I wasn’t that amazed—nothing at the Biennial really stood out to me. I was really just going because I’m an artist and I like contemporary art. I felt like I needed to go see it. It’s only here once every two years. 

What are you working on now? 

So over the summer, I really wanted to rethink my overall artist statement. About my overall aesthetic. That’s how I started exploring touch, bare bodies, sexuality, femininity. And so most recently, I’m working on a series of hands holding sex toys, which I’m completely in love with. It’s a ten-piece series, and I don’t really know where the inspiration came from. It kind of just hit me—I want to incorporate hands. I want to touch on female sexual empowerment. I want to talk about self-love. So I did a series on dildos, vibrators, and it evolved. The majority of the hands are my own, and I’ve taken reference images of different types of sex toys from Google. I jokingly say that I want to be in that income bracket where I can comfortably afford to buy all of my props and take the photos myself—but I’m not at that point yet. It’s still in the works. Four of the ten are completely done. The other six are on canvases but not finished, and I’m working on them all at the same time. It’s been really fun, really educational, and everyone has been responding so well—better than I thought. People have been DMing me, saying how they love the concept, that they love my work. The series is about female self-empowerment, and exploring your own sexuality. And I know the privileges of going to Barnard and being in a very liberal space. Since we’re a woman-heavy environment, my friends have been so encouraging. At the same time, it’s a subject matter that can be very taboo, very touchy for some people. I want the work itself to make people feel uncomfortable—if it’s a subject matter that you would be uncomfortable with otherwise. At the end of the day—although they’re very aesthetically pleasing—I also want there to be conversation around it. My parents know that I’m painting, and they have very different views than I do, so it sparks some conversation. 

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Have you heard of Helen Beard? She does pornographic art, often involving sex toys. It reminds me of your work, but much more sexually graphic. I guess my question is, why still the hands? Of course they have a lot to do with sex—but when it comes down to it, so do many other parts of the body. 

Yes, I’ve seen that! First take, I love painting hands and I’m good at painting hands. That came first, and then I got down to the other reasons behind why I chose them. In a way, having it be just the hand isn’t as sexualized as depicting the genitals. It’s almost more powerful to just see the hand holding this toy—if that makes sense—against a white backdrop. It’s very in-your-face. There's nothing else to focus on. There’s no other skin; it’s removed from relationship with the body, and really is just about the toy itself. The hand is raising it up, as if showing the product. The series itself almost looks like promotional work for like, Adam & Eve. In a way, I wanted it to be more about the taboo behind using sex toys, especially in relation to women. All the toys that I chose were mainly catered toward females. The reason why I chose to use the hand is because it strips the toy away from the body while keeping that human touch.

I can see how these subjects, imposed on a stark-white background, would be evocative. Especially because they aren’t hyperrealistic, per se. How are they colored? 

So, all of my hands are painted with the same colors. The toys themselves are vibrant, saturated, in-your-face. Some of them I even used gold, silver, metallic colors. I don’t think that there’s a ‘better’ way—images being very graphic or less-so—neither of those methods of painting stands out over the other. They’re just completely different ways of addressing sexuality. Both have their merits, both are very powerful. 

And I guess that once they’re on the Internet, it’s very easy to start comparing people directly. Whereas you wouldn’t necessarily go to two different rooms of a museum and say ‘This person did the female figure better.’ Do you feel competition, putting yourself online and kind of quantifying your art? 

I definitely did, before. I grew up being on Instagram, like 24/7. I loved that I was able to find a place to share what I like to do, and find a community of people who supported me. But it turned into me asking my followers what they wanted to see instead of asking myself what I wanted to make. It got to a point where I was like, ‘I need to have x-amount of followers by this point, it needs to increase at x-rate.’ I was comparing myself to artists who were at my same age, and doing similar types of work. I used those numbers to qualify how good my art was, when in reality it meant absolutely nothing. Some really brilliant artists right now have under 100,000 followers on Instagram right now. Some of my favorites have only like, 20,000. So numbers, at the end of the day, don’t mean much. It does create more of an outreach, and the likelihood of selling a piece becomes higher. That also goes along with galleries that might want to represent your work, or curators who are looking for artists. [Numbers] can then show that you have an established audience and that you’re pretty reputable. I’d like to believe that it should be more about content and meaning. 

Closing remarks? 

You can find me on Instagram @xixiwangartist, or on Facebook. My website—which I just launched this summer—is xixiwangartist.com. You can see all the stuff that I’ve created over the past three years. 

charlie blodnieks

Photographs by Eliza Jouin 

In conversation with Yosan Alemu

Charlie Blodnieks is a Junior at Columbia College studying English. They are also on the Columbia/Barnard slam poetry team, the Editor in Chief of Quarto Magazine, and they really love the Bee Movie. 

What is your writing process like and how does it differ from other creative mediums, especially in relation to your visual work? So how is writing visual? 

Those are good questions. I think my writing process is sporadic. Before I became more developed as a poet, I used to just write out all of my feelings, sort of like a frantic emotional process without really editing or tending to the pieces beyond that point. And it’s not to say that’s necessarily a bad thing, but I’m glad I’m moving towards really defining and refining my craft in terms of careful editing. 

And when I’m editing, I think about the audience, about the performance of the piece—if there will be one—and I want to always be mindful about my work, for me and for the reader. I want to be responsible, and make poetry that is responsible. Being on the slam poetry team and editing for Quarto, a literature magazine, has really helped me in terms of reading, and looking at the ways in which the reading process of both author and reader is just as crucial as the writing process itself. I've been writing a lot recently on mental health and particularly writing about sexual violence and survivorship. And I am always thinking about the way those works need to be written and read about in responsible ways. I want to use writing as an artistic space for healing, but also for advocacy, and the practice of poetry and editing is one way to do this. 

How do you think writing can be visual? 

Poetry is visual! Especially in my written poetry, I care a lot about spacing and how the words look a certain way on a blank piece of paper. I want to take up space purposefully, and I want the spaces to be created in meaningful ways.

Do you edit your visual work? 

I actually don’t edit my visual work. I usually upload a visual piece to photoshop once I’ve physically made it, and I literally splice the image and rearrange it. If you consider that editing, I guess it is! The piece I submitted to Ratrock is super rearranged, and it’s sourced from three pages of random sketchbook lines. In terms of actual visual work, I care more about how I am feeling and [how I] use the visual medium as an outlet. It’s more fun. I think I take my poetry more seriously and that is why I’m editing a piece for months at a time, while my visual pieces can be completed quickly. 

Reading over the work you submitted to Ratrock, I really loved your “Psalm For God's Mother” piece [originally published in Muzzle magazine]. If you would like to share, what inspired you to write it? How did you write it? Why?

The poem was actually my individual CUPSI poem from last year. So CUPSI is the College Union's Poetry Slam Invitational that the Barnard/Columbia slam team goes to every year. That poem was initially three minutes, and I performed it with other members on the team. My best friend Taylor Thompson was singing Moses Sumney’s “Plastic” while I performed the piece. I think that poem has a lot to do with the specific moments of my transition last year, which was around this exact time actually. I had just come out to my family as trans, and I just started requesting people use my correct pronouns. That was really, for me, coming into my own moment, my own self. I was thinking a lot about space, and how to request and demand space for yourself. A large part of the poem also got me attached to Icarus imagery, of flying too close to the sun, especially in terms of space and proximity. I’m always really anxious about taking up too much space, and I felt very uncomfortable with asserting my gender identity and my transness—I had a lot of complicated feelings about it. I still do. The poem also dealt with my relationship with my family, and me announcing to them and the world that I can do these things on my own, I can transition on my own, I can do it myself. Even though there is a lot of sadness to it, there is also some power hidden within it. It might be quiet, but still deeply comforting.

When you were talking about Icarus and flying too close to the sun, that reminded me of your other visual works that depicted flight and movement in the form of birds. Could you explain that a little more? 

I actually haven't thought deeply about the question of “Why birds?” It does come up a lot, and I do think it has to do with flight and escaping, of freely moving and not wanting to be bound by fear and by the world at large. 

You also have mentioned the slam poetry team a few times. How is that like? 

Slam poetry. Oh boy. I love the slam poetry team. That is where I met the bulk of my friends, and that is also where I met my partner. It is definitely the most loving space I have ever been in on campus, and the team means so much to me. So, so much. The team has been so formative in part for my writing but also about collaborating together as a team. I think this is the first place that I've really learned how to have loving friendships and to have loving work within those friendships. Thinking about the power of caring and caring about other people, and what that can do for us, I have found everyone on the team to be that caring and careful, of always helping and wanting the best for each other, and always deeply loving one another. 

When you’re performing a piece for the slam poetry team, how do aspects of body-ship and space production factor into the performance? 

In one of the pieces that we are performing for, it deals a lot with the body and of taking up space, of moving in and out of frames. The goal of the poem is to reckon with the fact that despite how much I want to obscure my body and imaging all I want, I am a person in a body. And then at the end of the piece, I thank all of the people who have impacted my life and my perception of life. I thank Taylor, and Asha, and others, and I feel like the end of the piece really  is rooted in this collective power of being held, and of holding others.

ivanna rodriguez-rojas

Photographs by Morgana Van Peebles

Interview by Isabella Rafky

Ivanna C. Rodríguez is a Mexican-Cuban artist that was born in Montreal, Canada and raised in Mexico City and Miami. She is a Barnard Sophomore majoring in Art History and is a poet, photographer, fiction writer, and founder of the South Florida Arts Collective. The collective is a safe space for Floridian artists of all mediums to be featured and build community.

What is your relationship with art? Any artists, spaces etc you look up to, engage with?

I consider myself very close to art since my childhood because I have two uncles and one aunt who are working artists in Mexico. Since I was a child I had the luck to be in constant contact to museums and exhibitions in many places in the world, so I feel like I'm very familiar with art. When it comes to artists, I find a lot of inspiration in photographers like Graciela Iturbide who is this Mexican photographer and is known to take a lot of street photography, specifically of mestizx and indigenous peoples-and that really influences me. As I said before, my uncles Felix Ayurnamat, Juan Barron, and my aunt Ines Barron are all sources of inspiration for me as well.

Apart from that, I look up to a lot of my friends who are all wonderful artists. I believe that people shy away from choosing colleagues as inspiration. I don't know if there’s this culture built around not uplifting fellow artists, or not admitting that you get inspired by people our age, but I feel like I am most inspired by young people. On top of that, I love Frida Kahlo, so much, she has shaped the way I view myself. From selfies to self-portraits or any kind of self analysis, I definitely look at it through that type of abstract lens, but I also love Bosch because he was insanely Avant-Garde for a Renaissance artist. In terms of spaces, I really enjoy visiting museums. Any museum, you can catch me there and if they’re free.. even better.

What’s your artistic process like?

My artistic process can be either spontaneous or planned– it varies usually, so I never know what to expect. Honestly, it really depends on my mood, but it usually starts with restlessness. I always write when I'm restless. I’m a very busy person so, in general, I don't have time nowadays to produce art but maybe in the past, I could actually decide to make something from my imagination. If I see something in the street that I really like I will jot it down on my phone [in] a couple of notes and then I will compose a poem. I also try to carry either one of my two cameras around whenever I go out because New York is such a powerful place for photography. But if I am not able to, I have an iPhone and even though the quality that is pretty mediocre I capture anything that catches my eye.

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Are you spiritual? How has spirituality and language affected you and your writing?

I think that’s actually a really funny question because in my poetry seminar last week I just submitted a poem about my relationship to five different religions that have been close to me in my life through[out] different moments, but also continuously. I have finally come to the realization that while I am not a religious person, I’m a person full of faith. I have so much faith, and I would never consider myself an atheist. I do notice a pattern of spirituality and faith in a lot of my work whether it's photography or writing. I was raised Catholic from my mother’s side and through my father’s side, the Cuban side, some family practice Santería. As you can see, right now, I'm wearing a gold cross and a Yemaya ilde on my wrist. I don’t go to church often, but I do pray sometimes or light my candles to Yemaya and La Virgen de Guadalupe. I think there’s this powerful hybrid of religious identity within me, just as many of my other identities are hybrid, but I definitely am very spiritual. I think I just have an appreciation for faith; it’s very beautiful, and I think it’s something very powerful in art and life in general.

Which languages do you speak? What about language intrigues you? What do you associate with each language?

I speak English, hablo Español, et je parle français. I think that this year, I am able to finally say that I'm trilingual, but prior to that, I was most fluent in English and Spanish. I think what intrigues me about language is how you can convey the same things so differently, and I think a lot about how words vary from region to region - even Spanish varies so much! My Mexican Spanish is nothing like my Cuban Spanish. It’s really beautiful. I am interested in dialects, accents, colloquialisms, and any other particularities of language. My mom learned French in Canada, I always understood that type of French, but when studying French at Columbia, I was taught French from France, which is entirely different.

I feel the same way about English. English from the south is so different than English in New York. I associate languages with people and places. Spanish feels like home to me because most of my family speaks it. French feels like this powerful yet foreign thing to me. That, since I was born in Canada, from the destiny and fate of my parents’ lives, happens to be as much mine as any other language. English is just very easy to navigate and comfortable for me to communicate with in this school. Recently, I started using my photography and putting bits of my poems on top of it. I want to keep exploring that because I want to see what I link my words to visually.

Tell me about the arts collective you founded.

With the help of two of my friends– last September, we realized that not a lot was being done for artists that have not yet been established: so, young artists, artists with marginalized identity, or artists with low budgets, etc. in Miami but also in the greater south Florida area. While I'm not too fond of the name, and I might want to explore the possibility of changing it later, we realized that in order to get ourselves out there and be accessible,we had to come up with something pragmatic. We titled it South Florida Art Collective, SFAC for short. It’s easy, it's precise, and it does its job. There’s an application process to be featured, and while we accept everyone, we like to have a more business-like manner in which artists can submit a portfolio because we want to treat them as professional artists. We have over thirty five different artists on our page right now, and I am on a little hiatus with it right now because I am busy with work, my own art, and school in general. But I definitely want it to continue and for it to grow. We are about to hit two hundred followers, which is honestly more than I thought it would ever get. There's a lot of enthusiasm from friends and strangers, alike. I even received a submission from someone in Orlando, which is totally not south Florida. I think it just goes to show [that] artists from Florida, or people from the south, yearn to have a platform to show their work and meet other people. They deserve the world.

What are the distinctions between South Florida and Miami? Why do you feel like South Florida needed a space art-wise?

Miami is this very huge bubble that has more exposure to the rest of the world artistically and culturally than the rest of South Florida does. For instance Ft. Lauderdale, Palm Beach, Pompano, etc. are really big cities in the state of Florida, and they have a huge population but compared to Miami in terms of global access and recognition, they don’t have as much. It would be very selfish of me to exclude artists from Broward County, which is right next to Dade county, when the artists are just as capable and talented to be showcased. On top of that there is this mini-rivalry between the counties, and I just wanted to do something where we can all feel like we are part of this community. We are not Broward vs. Dade, we are just this huge part of the whole state of Florida that are getting together to promote each other, network with each other, and do something for the greater good of the state.

¿Cuánto afecta Miami a tu arte? ¿Cuánto extrañas a Miami?

Yo extraño a Miami con todo mi ser, es mi hogar––y pienso sobre él diariamente. No creo que mis padres entienden lo cuanto que amo a Miami! En términos de mi poesia y fotografia, pienso que aunque no todo lo que produzco está directamente vinculado con mi ciudad, de alguna manera refleja alguna parte de mi personalidad. Llevo casi catorce años viviendo en la Florida, así que aunque no quiera hacerlo intencionalmente, me influencia muchísimo. Miami, tal como yo es un lugar cálido, colorido, y lleno de vida––espero que mi arte también tenga el poder de evocar estos sentimientos tropicales y únicos de mi amada península.

Did where you grow up influence your artistic practice? How so?

Yeah, definitely. I really take into account the fact that I spent the first six and a half years of my life in Mexico City because that really influences my artistic practice and foundation. For the other thirteen to fourteen years of my life, growing up in Miami definitely made my art more... tropical isn’t the right word, but my art is very warm; I tend to lean to a warm color palette in photography. A lot of the images in my poetry are soaked with sun, and you can just feel this vibrancy that really resonates with Miami even if I’m not talking about Miami. I feel like the places I grew up in, made me be the type of person I am and that translates into all of the work I am making, whether I want it to or not.

How would you describe your poetry?

I have actually been writing poetry probably longer than I have been doing any other medium of art. I’ve kept a journal since literally the eighth grade. It is full of poems, not many of them are good, a lot of them are very angsty. Around ninth grade was when I started acknowledging that what I was doing was definitely poetry, and I started taking it more seriously. I feel like I have since departed from love poetry and more dramatic things and [started to] focus more on my identity and how I navigate spaces as the person I am, or how I view the world because of the way that I am. But I have been trying to play around with different themes that I am not super comfortable with. I just wrote a piece on religion, and I wrote a poem on my tattoos yesterday-it’s something that’s superficial. I like to reflect more in my poetry but now I'm just starting to allow myself to write about everyday things because they are just as valid. I don’t think I have a favorite poem, but I definitely am proud of the ones that I have gotten published; they are my babies. Like “La Sagrada Familia”, featured in my Ratrock portfolio, but I hope to get more of it out there.

What’s your series “La Sagrada Familia” about?

The title comes from, well “La Sagrada Familia,” the Spanish term for Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. I am obviously not Jesus, but that’s a family of three and I [was like] ‘hey, I have a family of three!’ La Sagrada Familia is also this huge basilica in Barcelona that’s unfinished. The fact that it’s unfinished is so striking to me; I have been lucky to be there before, and it’s so magnificent that I was inspired.

My poem has nothing to do with the architecture, but it gave me the title. It’s a three-part poem. The first part is “El Padre,” which talks about my relationship to Mexico where my mother was born. Since my mother is Mexican, Mexico is my father in that sense. The second part [is] “La Madre,” which is about Cuba since my father is Cuban. Cuba is my mother, and it just talks about my relationship to the island and how I have only been able to be there once in my life - despite it being a forty-five minute flight from Miami. Due to government issues and my dad having to pay to renew his passport to go... it’s just an issue. I am hoping to go there soon though.

The last part, “La Hija” is about Montreal, I am the daughter. I feel like it was probably the hardest piece to write because when I wrote it I had only been to Montreal once since my parents were deported in 1999. I still resented Montreal. I fell in love with the city– it’s a gorgeous place– but I was so mad because I felt robbed that I didn't get to grow up there. I felt the need to write about my relationship it. Since then I was able to go again. I spent my twentieth birthday there and I realized that I don't feel so angry at it anymore. So maybe I will write a part two, but who knows. It definitely is a heartfelt poem and shows how much I love my three nationalities differently, but tremendously.

How did you get started with photography? What do you prefer photographing?

I got into photography from as young as I could remember, just because my mom has always been so passionate about it. I don't know anyone else on this earth [who] has more albums of baby pictures than I do; my family loves recording our history through images. We still have all of my mom’s film negatives and there are probably five different cameras lying around in my house. I was gifted my first camera when I was ten. It was this tiny Fujifilm. It wasn’t until I got to college [that] I started to take it more seriously as an art form. One of my dearest friends loaned me their spare Sony A7 when I mentioned I wanted to improve my skills, so I shoot with that camera now. Just recently I got a film camera of my own, and I love it so much. I like capturing organic moments and candids in the street. I feel like that really immortalizes personalities and moments, and it can make even strangers feel intimate. A more constructed or curated shoot is just as fun to come up with, but is definitely more orchestrated. Telling a model how to pose doesn't feel fake at all, but I do enjoy capturing a natural moment vs a posed moment.

How has your identity influenced your artistic practice? What motivates you to keep going?

I am latinx. I feel that it’s very uplifting to get so much attention, love, and great feedback for my art because I feel like in a white-dominated space I would just be shrugged off and ignored or considered sub-par. I do feel that specifically, while I am Latinx, I am also mestizx. I am not Afro-Latinx, I am not indigenous. I feel like that specific identity branch that I belong to is also...misinterpreted, and misrepresented. A mestizx is the result of colonization and intermixing with indigenous peoples. Latin America is a massive agglomeration of different identities. While latinidad itself is not monolithic, many people wrongly interpret it as such. Accepting my ethnic/racial identity has been a long process, but now I know my place and what I am able to say and what I am not. And that has definitely facilitated my artistic practice and the thematics of my practice. My own happiness and my parents’ happiness [motivates me to keep going]. It is just so satisfying, like when my mom read my published poem she was like ‘this is really good’ (and my mom is that type of person who does not give compliments out for free). When I got into Barnard she was like, ‘okay good, now where’s the financial aid?’ and that was her response . I think that that [it] is very motivating that I can make work that will make my family proud and make me happy; it's really all I need.

How do you want your work to be shown or experienced?

Well, it really depends on the space [the work] would be featured [in]. I like showing my photography in print, rather than it being digital, just because I encourage people to feel the texture of the photo paper I use. I get really nervous reading my poetry out loud to this day. Today, I had to read my poem out loud in class, and I was shaking the whole time. I don't know why I shake because I know nobody's ever gonna tell me something bad or make fun of me, but I think that I have been exploring [doing a] pre-recording of me reading my work and just implementing it on top of video, so that people can experience my true voice. I love when people read my work in general, but I do want people to hear my voice: it's more powerful that way.

Do you see yourself as an artist? Do you imagine working professionally as an artist?

I finally have come to accept that I am an artist and that I am going to take up all the space I want, as an artist. I am an art history major, and I have been planning on being an Art History major for a couple of years before I got to Barnard. I feel like I always shied away from labeling myself as an artist just because I didn't really have a solid portfolio. Now that I do, it’s good to feel like you are an artist and that you have been accepted among a community of artists. I don't know if I would imagine myself just being an artist, I do want to be a teaching artist, which is why I'm minoring in education. I hope to work in the education department at a museum, so I can teach while implementing my craft and pedagogy. I would also love to continue freelancing and creating on the low. I would just love to keep creating and selling prints if possible and make a little side money off of it– it would be very gratifying.

Why did you submit to Ratrock?

I submitted to Ratrock because Isabella Rafky told me to submit to Ratrock. No, truly it’s why I did. I went to the Ratrock site and was like wait ‘this is so cool; all these people are so cool.’ I definitely felt like I was not deserving of sharing such a cool space with such talented people, but I'm glad Ms. Isabella Rafky told me to submit because now I'm here.

luis collado

Interview by Zöe Sottile

Photos by Pedro Damasceno

Luis Collado is a junior from Chicago studying Electrical Engineering in SEAS. He’s also the technical director for WBAR, an engineer at CU Records, and plays guitar, drums, and bass. His music mixes elements of rock, garage, punk, and psychedelic styles to engage with questions of desire and attainment.

When did you start making music?

I started by making beats around freshman year, after eighth grade. I got my first Ableton software the summer after eighth grade. I was really into dubstep [laughs]. So I entered a remix competition for a Lollapalooza artist with my friend Noah. And I had a general idea of resonance and frequency and filter control to make things sound dubstep-y. I bought Ableton for that, and I ended up forgetting about it. And then I plugged my guitar straight into my computer and started making really, really bad sounding, slimey, loose, glassy, recordings of me playing guitar over programmed drum tracks that were more like tests. And then I played in a couple bands that were very bad and classic rock-oriented. But I started getting a feel for recording and what sounded good where.

I tabled that for a bit and then I brought my interface to Columbia. I would make songs when I didn’t have anything to do at night, and I got a little better, but I still wasn’t getting the whole idea. And then I started doing CU Records, and started realizing okay, the recording experience that I have lines up with what I’ve been learning in my classes, but I’m still not really good at mixing. I downloaded a couple plug-ins and figured out how multi-band compression works, and then mixed FRET BUZZ’s album. And then I just started recording things of various levels of shittiness and hi-fi-ness and just messing around with techniques to try to make them sound better. And now I try to make at least one song a month if not more.

When did that goal start?

At the beginning of this semester. I was having a conversation with my friend Leo, and he [asked] ‘can you just make songs,’ and I was like yeah, and he said, ‘if I was you I would be nonstop making songs.’ And so I [realized] I should probably do that. I have all this time and all these people to collaborate with, so there’s no reason not to take advantage of that. Mostly because I derive a lot more purpose and happiness from producing things rather than chilling or going out. Don’t get me wrong, I love chilling and going out. But I think it’s much more lasting to make something that remains.

Do you usually make music regularly or does inspiration come spontaneously?

I get inspired and then I take it too far. I’ll sit down for a bit and really want to record something and then I’ll probably record three songs. Maybe one I’ll mix while I’m recording it; but for the most part, I’ll just be recording things and be like, ‘oh I’ll mix it later.’ And then if I’m bored doing homework I’ll be like ‘alright, study break’ and pull up the files from whenever and mix them. I’ll end up spending an hour or an hour and a half on that study break. I don’t do it like homework - it definitely ends up being spontaneous. It’s a pain in the ass to get everything set up; but once everything’s set up, I try to just get all the ideas [out]. I keep a ton of Voice Memos and all of them are waiting to be turned into a song. It’s just a question of the time.

Tell me about your involvement with CU Records.

I got involved with CU records because it was adjacent to Rare Candy, and then it really became different. I feel like people try to talk a big game about recording being difficult. Expensive recording is expensive, but that’s it. If you know your way around a limiter and reverb and compressor, then you can make something that doesn’t sound that bad. I’ve been trying to impart that framework towards recording onto other people. The [message of the] place is like: there’s mics here, record it no matter how bad it sounds. And maybe that makes you trust your band more when you have a physical product of your own demo.

How does your schoolwork intersect with your music?

There are a ton of intersections, at least with recording and mixing. You learn how to make amplifiers in the classes that I’m taking now. If I were to go to grad school, I would learn to make digital-to-analog converters and analog-to-digital converters. It really demystifies [recording] - it’s really why I treat a lot of things with disrespect, because they’re not very blackboxed. I’m like, ‘oh this thing is actually kind of cheap, it just looks big and fancy.’

The reason that I’m an engineer is that academically I like questions that are puzzles, rather than things that you yourself are trying to work through [like] an essay. Part of me being able to do things for WBAR and do things for CU Records and record stuff is directly related to the intuition built through Electrical Engineering in particular.

What was it like to transition from mostly making music alone to performing for an audience?

Dude, it’s so hard to sing and play guitar at the same time. That shit is impossible. I tried to sing a song for my girlfriend in high school, and it was so difficult to just say anything while playing the guitar. It was like walking and chewing gum at the same time. I also didn’t know how important it was to be able to hear yourself while you sang. There’s a video of me at Snock just not hitting the right notes. And everyone was very supportive, but I was really screwing up. It was tough to do the singing thing, and it was tough to be yourself on stage, because a lot of the time stage fright makes you avoid doing things that are wacky or funny or otherwise in character in favor of not messing up. So you can seem closed off and stressed out on stage. And then letting go - knowing that you’re yelling and not feeling weird about it. Those were all tough, but it’s super fun and everyone is super supportive. Once you do it once, you [see] alright cool, I can do it again.

Do you like performing now?

Yeah. I was super stressed about it in the beginning, I would tremble. Now I still kind of tremble, but I’m a little better. It’s no longer my first rodeo.

You mentioned the importance of knowing what you sound like. Can you expand on that?  

The expression that you’re doing, playing the notes, is so different from the expression that everybody else is picking up from the amplified sound. I wish I could clone myself at events, so I could have me doing whatever instrument I’m doing, and then one of me front row, and then one at the back of the room, and have their input. I have a certain idea in mind, and I’ve become nitpicky about it by running sound at so many events. I want to play the bass, but I also want to know how the bass sounds. You need to reconcile the two. Ultimately, what it comes down to is having a sound person as part of your band, which is difficult.

Tell me about how your EP, FRET BUZZ, came to be.

I met Ryan [Render], the drummer, at a party, and he had just gotten out of a psych[edelic rock] band. I thought that was so cool. For him it was old news, but for me it was new news. And then I ran into him at a CU Records meeting. We got assigned to be engineers together. Our first recording session together, we laid down the first track, and we kept coming back with Voice Memos. Then his roommate [Luke Kowalczyk] joined in on bass and Charlotte Force joined in on vocals. We recorded the EP over spring break [of sophomore year]. How strong we vibed ended up being the root of a lot of the songs. It was the first thing I really put out. I’m pretty proud of it. Once I had that out, I was like, ‘now I can do anything.’

Genre?

What’s cool about Spotify now is artists’ playlists, because you can see the ways ideas behind the music are related across certain genres. Genre is useful, but I think understanding what the band is going for is also critical, or understanding the goals that they have: what they were trying to communicate and not just sound like. Making things just about genre can be reductive. When I try to use well-defined genres to describe the mix that I like to go for, I end up naming seven genres, none of which I incorporate strongly enough to be visible. Which is why I end up going for moods. I’ll be like ‘this song is sunglasses, foggy night.’

Tell me about your new band, Working Out.

I made solo music all of fall semester. Spring semester, I was like, ‘okay, new band time.’ I met Maddy [Tipp] freshman year, and she was super dope from the get-go because she’d already been in bands for a bit. I forget who contacted who, but Maddy and I decided to make music together and then I met Joey Recker. We had the first practice, and it was cool that we all vibed with each other; we understood the music but also got along. And then since I was so excited to expand on these ideas I just blurted out a ton of things. I gave them like fifty five percent and they filled in the rest, and Joey brought in songs. We tweaked the half-baked ideas and practiced, practiced, practiced. Now I’m pretty excited for this blend of [music that is] danceable but says something new and also [is] contemporary, in that it converses with current music. There’s high energy songs and lower energy songs. And it’s cool because I can say we’re “Working Out.”

Luis curated a playlist of his major musical inspirations just for Ratrock. Check it out below.

A collection of songs that I find myself drawing from a lot when I make music!

jazmin maco

Personal Statement by Jazmin Maco

My work is a negotiation of self - my past self, my present self, my future self. In my poems, I reflect on my experiences and put pen to paper about them. My identity as a black queer woman informs my poetry. My Caribbean heritage is also integral to my work because of the specific tension that I feel between cultures, between places, between selves. Even though I was born in America, I have never identified as African-American because I was raised, surrounded by and steeped in Jamaican culture. My poetry presents a negotiation between what is home, and between what is mine to claim and what isn’t. I use my poems as a way to work through these multiplicities and give myself the space to hear my own voice.

The selection of poems on my Ratrock featured artist page is a collection that I compiled over winter break.  I have been writing poetry almost all of my life, but after high school I took a break from writing. I think I was  stuck. I kept looking at my past work and doubting myself, reluctant to return to something that had meant so much to me without the support of my high school English teachers or the structure of a class setting. But this past summer, I was living in the city with a lot of time to myself to grow and think and become an independent being. I intentionally kept a little notebook with me, in which I would write down whatever thoughts came to me as I walked through the city. I continued this pattern on my trip back to Jamaica with my family, where I also took a lot of the photos you see on my artist page. This past break, I decided that I wanted to push myself to put my work out there and engage in the creative scene on campus, so I returned to that notebook and used the fragmented  thoughts and half poems inside as inspiration to write this new collection. These poems have been born and born again - first, when they were conceived during walks through Central Park, then, when I pieced them together to create full poems, when I sat with them and tweaked lines or scrapped them completely and started anew, and finally, when I shared them with the world.

Though I haven’t given this collection a name, it does have a specific order in which it is meant to be read:

1. In the Cite of the Body

2. Witness

3. Lesson in Living

4. Frida’s Footprints: Burning

5. CRACK

6. Aching by god

7. What the Women Know

8. Frieda

9. The Red Dirt in Our Lungs

10. Jam-ai-ca

Through these poems, I incorporate various themes that are born out of my identities and experiences. If read in the intended order, you will move from ideas of introspection to memory to trauma to the body to blackness to womanhood to history to death to adolescence to family to home to space and place.

In writing about myself and my past, I make a concerted effort to bear witness to my many selves. As you read my poems, I hope that you can feel my words, that you can feel what I have felt, and that you can be a part of this visceral experience. Beyond this invitation, my poems are very distinctly for me. I am talking to and about myself and my life. By directing the conversation within myself, I am able to own my narrative and access traumatic experiences without feeling like I am on display for everyone. My poems are not for anyone else. They are about me, from me, and I am the one who has the power to invite you to be a part of them. I am proud of this collection because it has taken me a long time to get to a place where I could confront my past traumas within myself, let alone write about them. Through my poems, I see myself and I give myself the space to truly feel and heal. By allowing myself to hear my own voice, I affirm that I am still able to move forward.

My poetry is an exploration of and conversation with my past and present selves. Through my poems, I give myself the space to openly and loudly express the emotions and experiences that typify my everyday. I find influence and inspiration to explore personal conversations of identity, trauma, resilience, and sense of place in the books I read, in the conversations I have with the women in my life, in the places I call home, and in the moments I spend in communion with myself. For me, learning to love, accept, and hold myself has been a journey - a long and hard journey, a journey for which I am forever grateful, a journey without which my poems would not and could not exist. My work is a representation of myself in all of my multiplicities.

OPEN LETTER: ON THE INTERVIEW OF JAZMIN MACO

tuesday smith

Photographs by Emily Sures

Interview by Louise Sandback

Tuesday Smith is a sophomore at Barnard College from Seattle, Washington, studying Chemistry and Art History. In addition to her own art practice of drawing and painting, Tuesday is interested in art conservation and works as a scientific research assistant at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

What has been your experience with art conservation thus far?

I’m working at the Met this year as a scientific research assistant in their conservation lab. We have been working with polyurethane samples from American fabrics collections from the nineteen sixties to eighties. So anything that’s a plasticy fabric—faux leather, for example. Since polyurethane is relatively new (compared to a lot of other materials) in the collection, they’ve only recently started to degrade and no one knows how to prevent that. So I’m working with those and figuring out how we might conserve them.

Has the opportunity to do that, and your work in art conservation, informed your artwork at all?

It hasn’t so much yet. I’ve found myself incorporating geometric shapes and doing more drawings of things reflecting because I have to do that for chemistry. I’ve gotten more interested in using those kinds of ideas in my art, but I haven’t had much time to make art recently. I’m hoping to make my own paint this summer. I love oil paints but I’m hesitant of the cost and time commitment, so I think making my own would be really fun and would motivate me to actually use the paints because it’s easy to just leave paints in the corner and not break them out and annoy your roommate.

Do you identify as an artist? If so, when did you first begin to?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, because I don’t know if I ever really thought of myself as an artist. I always thought of myself as being artistic but artist felt too professional, and like I had to do that for a living. I also just didn’t feel intentioned enough because artmaking is kind of more spontaneous for me and I kind of doing it just to process things happening around me. So I never really felt like an artist even though that’s what an artist is. I didn’t think of myself as one until I stopped drawing last year which made me realize that making art is a huge part of my identity.

What has been your process of self-teaching?

When I was really little I was obsessed with drawing books like ‘How to draw cats in three steps.’ I’d just be like ‘okay!’ and I’d just practice that and draw the same thing over, and over, and over again. It was all about realism when I was younger. So I eventually got good at that. Then I got really into cartoons, so I started copying from graphic novels like “Coraline” and, “Smile” by Raina Telgemeier. As a kid I just made copies of work by other artists. That’s kind of where I got started drawing and ever since then I haven’t really stopped.

What purpose does your artwork serve for you personally?

I think since coming to college most of my art has been tied to journaling, so it’s all very personal. It’s like self-therapy. When you journal with writing it makes you think about different things in your life and realize what’s bothering you and what’s making you feel off at certain times. So that’s kind of what art does for me. A lot of my art I can’t share because it’s just, like, personal ramblings. It also helps me because chemistry can be very analytical, and I’m now taking a lot of quantitative classes which is not how my brain works usually. So it makes me loosen up a little bit and feel like myself again.

Can you describe your artistic process?

I didn’t know how I’d describe this, so I got my friends to give me some words: spontaneous and melty were two. I’m also methodical once I get started because I get kind of consumed by [my art]. It takes me awhile to get started, but once I do everything falls into place. I like melty because I don’t use erasers and work in pen so every mistake gets incorporated. That’s why I make so many distorted faces. It’s part style part laziness.

What would you say is your main medium?

I use brush pens the most. I’ve been using paper more—just collaging a little bit. My favorite mediums are probably pastels or drypoint etchings—I really like drypoint etchings, but I don’t have the materials for that. I want to get more into printmaking more.

What do you find yourself representing the most?

I think I usually represent people and bodies. In high school I did a lot with public transportation and how people relate in public spaces. Thinking about times when you’re alone but [are] still around other people, and how that changes how you position yourself in space. I’ve always thought [a lot] about touch without touching.

Do you do your preliminary sketches while you’re on public transportation?

I still do that sometimes because I think it’s fun, but I think it’s a little more obvious when you’re sketching people on the subways so it can get weird fast. So I take a lot of photos—not of people, but of angles and objects. I have a lot of photos in my phone that I like to go back to and mush together.

I like drawing in parks too. If you go to those rocks in Central Park, those big ones you can sit down on, I like drawing from there a lot.

Do you ever think of yourself and how you relate in those spaces?

I think about it a little bit. I like watching how other people interact more, especially in a city like New York where so many people are packed into such a small place. I mostly think about how other people are interacting. When I draw in public I think more about who I am inside and how that differs from the person I am presenting.

How would you describe your artistic practice in one sentence?

I feel like ‘spacey with a purpose’ is pretty good. I don’t really know how to describe my art because it varies so much. That’s something I’m insecure about in my art—just that I’m all over the place and I don’t really have a set style or a set medium because I’m just making it for whatever I have going on in my life right then and with whatever materials I have. I don’t really feel that it’s very focused ever, so it’s kind of hard to describe in a sentence.

What’s one work that you’re particularly proud of or particularly enjoyed the process of making?

I made a piece called “Green Arrow” during my junior year of high school. It focused on public transportation, and it’s of some people getting onto a bus and paying their fares and then starting to walk back. It was such an exciting piece for me because I just got really in the zone when making it; I was listening to new music, and I was using a new medium—well it was color pencil, so it wasn’t a new medium, but it was on black paper. I didn’t really do a preliminary sketch for it, which is something I don’t do anymore at all, but I used to do it a lot back then. That was also the first time I stopped making myself do preliminary sketches and just let myself go. I entered the piece into the Congressional Art Competition ended up going to DC as the winner for my district in Seattle. So it was a big turning point for my art in so many ways.

Have you been involved in the Columbia arts community at all?

Not really. I feel like I haven’t been involved in it at all which is kind of why I wanted to apply to Ratrock. I like going to galleries and museums in my free time, so I feel like I’m more involved with the art scene outside of Columbia.

That’s actually what I hear from a lot of people. Would you say that your being a STEM major has contributed to this?

Yeah, it’s kind of heartbreaking. I feel like—as you said, a lot of [STEM majors] have that same struggle, but there’s not really a way to connect people unless you go out of your way to try to get involved. I have my art account on instagram, and I posted on my story one day that I want to talk to other people who are STEM majors and doing art. I got so many responses from STEM majors [who] felt isolated in a similar way from this part of their identity, and it made me more committed to finding a better way to find a balance between the two and a support system for people who are confused about where they stand between them.

Art and science are not mutually exclusive and even at a liberal arts college I feel like they’re treated as such. I think you suffer if you neglect either side of that divide and I’m really interested in talking to more people about this and organizing ways to allow for better interaction between different disciplines here.

Are there any other significant sources of inspiration for you?

Yes, Alice Neel. I really like how she represents people in their interactions with each other because it’s like that distance but closeness at the same time. So they’re both so distorted that they could kind of be in their own world, and I really enjoy that about it, and it’s something that I like to represent in my own work too.

Have you done any other design/illustration work?

[I made] a few little things [for] a gallery I interned at in Seattle over the summer. Other than that, illustrating for newspapers—like my high school newspaper and ones here. I designed a couple tattoos. That was fun. I did one for my mom’s friend but don’t know if they ever used it, and then small things for other friends.

You do tattoos? Just having looked at your art—they would make sick tattoos.

You want a tattoo?

I would literally commission a tattoo.

I would love to do more tattoos. That could be really fun.

I feel like you could have a real audience for that here. It would be a good dorm hustle.

Yeah. I could dye hair, learn to do stick-and-pokes. My parents are going to love this.

If you could only artistically represent one subject for the rest of your life what would it be?

I think it would be touch. I feel like that’s broad enough that I wouldn’t get bored. Because that could be—I don’t know... I feel like [for] a lot of [humans] navigating public transportation is [about] trying not to touch, or moments before touch, or rebounding when you’re forced into it. I think that art that overlays images of movement is really interesting, like Jenny Saville. She’s like a big inspiration, and her’s are all about motherhood, femininity, bodies, and gender and a lot of things about touch and relationships. I think that’s something that I really enjoy representing and I enjoy looking at. Just people. And distortion.

naomi

Photographs by Margaret Maguire

Interview by Morgan Becker

Introduce yourself and your art.

I’m Naomi, I’m an artist working in 2D and digital media like drawing, painting, and photo/collage; I also like to build sculptures and ceramic objects. I’m a sophomore at Barnard, majoring in art history with a concentration in visual arts.

In my work, I explore how artifacts, images, symbols and the body can be vehicles for expressing and exploring aspects and levels of identity. I also think about things like the nature of physical, mental, spiritual and divine energy and how they function eternally, and in our own experiences of [an] inner and [an] outer universe. That stuff is pretty incomprehensible, but it keeps me grounded to explore questions I have about it through art.

Tell me about the bigger components of your identity. Where did you grow up? Who are the most important people in your life?

I was born in New York and my family moved to London when I was in primary school, and then to New Haven, Connecticut, which has been home for me since high school. Throughout growing up, moving around, and finding my place and sense of identity as a first-generation American, I’ve always been able to come back to my family. The cultures of my South Korean mother and Jamaican father ground and support me in a sense of community and belonging. I’m so grateful for my family, both gifted and chosen, especially the powerful and nurturing female and femme forces that inspire me and guide me. It’s like a tribe—that’s been really important to me.

You talk about art’s ability to heal—has it always been a restorative practice for you, or did you come to realize those effects as time has progressed?

Art has been something that has been really helpful for me to come back to, and use as a healing practice, to deal with mental, emotional, and spiritual issues in my life. I’ve been realizing that a lot of the questions or hurt I might encounter when dealing with those things comes in cycles. My relationship with art has evolved with me and continued to teach me throughout those cycles, so I know that this practice will be part of my life for a while. Often I’ll return to a piece after making it and learn things about myself and parts of my mind that I wasn’t consciously exploring while making it.

For me, creating art and building things helps me to make sense of this current experience I’m having—existing in this body, in this life, I mean. It helps me to recognize, appreciate, and understand the encounters, desires, fears, and traumas that make me who I am, and cause me to feel and act a certain way. It’s really interesting to me to recognize patterns of symbols and ideas that sneak out of my subconscious and manifest in my work. I’m realizing how effective the visual language that I’m developing is as a means of expressing my ideas about the world, and existence as a whole—as well as my personal place in the context of everything.

In your artist statement, you bring up dreams as an influence in your work. It seems like you also draw from the natural world and its tangible, living aspects. Do you feel like there’s a tension to navigate between the subconscious and reality?

The process of making art, for me, is similar to dreaming because I’m taking elements of my experience in real life—interactions with the natural, physical world, and with people around me—and repurposing them. A lot of the time, going into creating work, I’m not really thinking about what I want to do specifically. Sometimes different symbols or scenes will come to mind, and I’ll arrange them in a way that makes sense to me. Or I’ll base the way that those elements interact on my observations of how things work in real life, if that makes sense. I feel like that is a similar process to how my dreams take shape. So the process of making art isn’t really a conscious thing for me. I can see and understand how my mind works after I’ve made something, go back to it, and try to make sense of it.

Is it difficult for you to do commissioned work then, when someone already has an idea of what they want you to create?

It’s definitely a different experience, making my own work and doing commissioned work, because my art deals with very personal themes. With commissions, I focus more on making work that is appropriate for the context of the space and the goals of who I’m making the work for.

Recently, I did a commissioned piece for an office space in San Diego, and I definitely needed to alter my style. With that project I had a lot of creative freedom, and that was awesome, but it didn’t mean I was going to, like, paint a giant mural of a naked earth lady on their wall, because that might have been confusing to have in a professional office space—even though I would have loved to do that.

For that piece, I ended up doing something on the surface of three canvases using textured acrylic paint, paper, and fabric. I included elements of my personal collage style to make three separate pieces that can stand alone but work and move together in a way that is characteristic of my style. I really enjoyed working on it, and I think that I made something that makes sense for the space and speaks to everyone.

Do you still feel the same connection to those pieces?

Yes, even in exploring techniques or content that I don’t usually work with in order to create something that other people can appreciate in their own personal way, I don’t feel like I’m going against my style. It’s a fun challenge to push a style that I might not usually use, and I’m always learning more through practice. I connect with myself and my work through the process of creating and building things, even if the content of a piece doesn’t explicitly communicate something that is very personal.

Is color important to you, and to your work?

Different colors, symbols, textures and forms hold different vibrations. In different contexts and states of interaction with each other, this vibration or energy that they hold can communicate so much meaning and emotion, at least to me. These things are central to the visual language that I’m trying to build in order to express myself, and emotions that might be hard to deal with or communicate in words or in other ways.

Do different colors have different set associations for you?

Yes, I think so. I know that there are some colors that I identify with more—maybe they’re part of my aura. I haven’t had my aura read like in a photo or anything, but for some reason I identify quite deeply with deep purples and indigos, and orange as well. Or indigo-y purple and golden-yellow, because they’re complimentary. It’s really nice and calming for me to explore the balance between different colors to create a harmony. And then lately, especially in my ‘snake-nom’ self portraits, it really only made sense for me to use a lot of green. Maybe that’s because, when reflecting on those pieces, they speak to me about nurturing energy and emotional self-preservation—and those things are connected to the some shades of green. To me, green communicates growth and health, and I associate it with the heart.

How does your work grapple with femininity? Sexuality? Spirituality? Do you associate certain colors with these abstract terms?

When I depict or talk about things like femininity, spirituality, or sexuality in my work, it’s a personal exploration of my experience with those things. I’m not trying to universally define what it means to be feminine, or how to practice spirituality and sexuality, or how to deal with trauma. A lot of the time, my art is just an inward exploration of what different things I encounter in my experience of life mean to me. I do associate different colors with, like, different energy centers in the body—as well as themes in my mind. So that [association] is useful in helping me to figure out where I need to direct my focus and energy in order to learn and to heal. But that is more of a personal device than something I’m trying to use formally in my art.

Specifically, how does your interpretation of the female form manifest in your 2D work?

I really enjoy creating wonky proportions and mangled looking positions in the bodies that I draw. I see it as a way of trying to break out of some kind of box, or challenge a set of ideas about what bodies are supposed to look like and how they are supposed to function. Identity is a super expansive concept that goes past our physical vessels, and even manifestations of our personal expression of gender. I think it’s interesting to push what that means visually.

Rather than interpreting the female form specifically, I’m exploring the function of bodies as containers for our spiritual selves and how they can feel confining at times. I draw female forms often [because] I think that they are very beautiful—and also, a body’s potential to support and birth a whole person is so incredible. Thinking about that helps me to comprehend how we are all connected at some level as parts of one constantly and eternally-evolving organism that we probably won’t ever understand.

A lot of your 3D art incorporates different textiles and textures. What’s the value in creating an object that appeals to touch, over, say, a flat drawing or photograph?

I definitely want people to interact with and respond to my work in ways that feel right for them. I’m okay with people touching things; and if you feel like a piece is asking you to explore it through touch, then I’m cool with that as long as you ask.

In ceramics, it’s really interesting to experiment with texture because it’s an index of movement, like a trace of a physical thing being there and imprinting itself in the clay with the force of the energy it was holding at the time. And then once that piece is fired, that index is there forever-  or for a really long time, and can be returned to in different contexts, like a memory.

When did you start working with digital art? How has it changed your perspective or practice?

I started working with Photoshop a while ago, and it was awesome to learn how to use all of the tools to make things look [as] wild as I wanted. But I think I actually learned the most when my computer crashed, and I lost all of those programs that I used to make digital work. Because instead of re-downloading the programs again immediately, I took a little time to try and recreate certain effects through physical media. When I started exploring the how different materials could be utilized and manipulated in order to make an image to look like it had been Photoshopped, I discovered so many [material] techniques that I use all the time now.

You work within so many different mediums. What makes you decide to photograph something, rather than incorporate it into painting or ceramics? Or vice versa.

Sometimes I start with inspiration to make or communicate something specific, and if I have different options for the medium, it's about deciding which would be most effective in making that happen. But sometimes I just start with a certain material, and through working with it and exploring its visual and tactile qualities, and the different ways that it can function and speak... that’s how some things end up being produced. It really just depends, and it’s nice to not tie myself down to one technique or material. I would be pretty sad if I had to do that.

Is art more about self-expression or invoking something within the viewer?

I really love when people resonate with my art and respond to it. I make art as part of my own personal journey of self-exploration, and it’s so nice to know that others can also feel something when they experience it. It reminds me that although our experiences and ways of dealing with life are different, there is so much room for—and benefit from—us connecting with and learning from each other, our surroundings, and the universe.

How do you see your artistic style developing from where you are now?

I’m not sure, but I’m excited to see where it goes! I definitely want to work with sculpture more as well as wearable things that can be used in performance. I interested in creating work that is an immersive experience, that engages different senses as well.

Closing remarks?

I’m showing work in a group show in May, more information about that will be out later. It’s in Greenpoint on May 3rd. I post updates and things on Instagram, so people can follow if they are interested. Also, if anyone wants buy original work or commission something, they can find my portfolio and information on how to get in touch with me on either Instagram or my website. And thanks to Ratrock for giving me the space to show and talk about my art!

taelor scott

Taelor Scott in conversation with Yosan Alemu

Photographs by Cameron Downey

Taelor Scott is a senior at Barnard College, studying anthropology. Her artistic focus centers on photography, film, and visual arts more generally as they relate to culture and its respective production.

YA: What is your photo making process like? What feelings do you get when looking at an image?

TS: That's [a] good one. I think that I started making photos, or rather, the reason why I wanted to start making photos is because I would see images and would think to myself, “This needs to be captured.” But also, I would see these same images, and felt as if something was missing, as if other images and stories were missing. There are a lot of people who I live around who I didn’t see represented in photography that I admired. And it occurred to me, that if I wasn’t going to see these images created by others, I would have to start making photos myself. What else was I to do?

I started by taking obnoxious pictures of my family all of the time—taking and taking and taking pictures. In retrospect, despite my early picture-taking habits being fairly annoying and in-your-face, taking pictures of people I cared about, like my family, helped me develop a sense of caring and intimacy when taking pictures of strangers, or people I have hardly talked to. It’s really quite hard to take a picture of someone [you don’t know] and portray it as if they are someone you deeply care about; and capturing that sweet spot of care, of loving someone without knowing them, has become so integral to my work now. Every time I take a picture I want [to] also create a story for that subject in the frame.

YA: Combing back to your last note on creating a story for every subject you capture; what is the narrative you are trying to tell? Is it a humanizing process?

TS: Storytelling has been one of my biggest interests since I was very small, and I found that I could combine my passions with visual art, like drawing (but it didn’t take me long to figure out that I could not draw for the life of me). With photo work, the camera, for me, helped me capture and create images that were always stuck in my head. Using the camera has been an ongoing learning process, and I really admire the discipline that comes with it. There is always so much more to learn. I don’t know everything there is to know about digital photography, or analog, or large format. I rather enjoy my position as a student of photography, because I always get to be learning, improving, and changing.

YA: Student of photography, rather than photographer—I like that. And so, when you create images, how do you want people to feel or react when viewing them? Is there an affective response to your work that you're trying to capture? Are you trying to create a dialogue with your visual work?

TS: When I’m taking a picture of someone, it usually involves a sort of conversation between me and them, because in that conversation I’m trying to find a little piece of them that I can capture within the inner workings of the image. In taking a good image of someone, you do end up capturing a little piece of them. And even if you’re taking pictures that don’t involve people, you still have to work to create or find that moment that makes the image feel special, makes the photographer, subject, and viewer feel close and connected.

For me, when I’m sitting down, selecting and editing my shots, I am always consciously choosing the photos that display the humanity of the people within them. So that, even if I don’t necessarily know the person in the photo, I still feel like I do know them, am connected to them by this simple photograph.

YA: Do you ever create images that will intentionally make the viewer feel uneasy or uncomfortable?

TS: You know, I’ve actually been thinking a lot about uneasiness and of the different registers of response that are created in an image. I always try to keep the audience in mind when I’m making photos, but I think my next project will solely be about the audience. How can I make them feel certain things, react in a certain way?

Right now, the project I’m working on deals with me finding all of the boys I’ve had crushes on since I was four years old. Basically, I find them, and we tell each other our experiences of love and infatuation. So with this project, I’m not concerned with the audience, but rather, I’m concerned with myself and the subjects. In a way, this project is asking myself and the subject to get uncomfortable and uneasy. I really do think there is something amazing in trying to understand someone’s discomfort, and trying to capture those moments. It’s like being disoriented from yourself in order to really understand or comprehend the image or moment at all.

YA: You’ve mentioned finding instances that matter to you most, or instances that can be developed to have meaning. Who are your biggest inspirations when it comes to photography and what are you inspired by?

TS: My Biggest inspiration—so much packed in that. Helen Levitt, Gordon Parks, Roy DeCarava. Oh god, DeCarava. There was this copy of “the sweet flypaper of life” that I first saw in a bookstore, and I was completely speechless. I also feel as if the youth art community here in New York can be very exclusive at times, and I’m really appreciative that I’ve been able to find some older mentors who have taught me quite literally everything I know, especially artistic integrity.

For instance, Patrice Helmer graduated from the MFA program here, in photography, and she has taught me so much. Knowing people like you, or are around your age in close proximity is so meaningful when it comes to tending to your craft. And even more so, knowing and being influenced by people that are close to you, in my opinion, makes making art all the better.

Like right now, I’m really interested by the notion of girlhood, of my own girlhood, and of others around me. Flushing out this interest has brought be back to my days as a sixteen and seventeen year old where everything around me felt impossible and possible all at once—typical teen angst. But I so clearly remember being that anxious and awkward teenager, and having the camera be a direct extension of how I could see and make sense of the world.

I’m also working with the Black Motherhood Project, and in our work, I’ve really been confronted by the idea that as black girls you are either being looked at, or you are being ignored, [or] made to be invisible. And for me, when I’m shooting, I am always trying to find the moments where I can make these black girls feel seen, not necessarily being looked at, but seen.

YA: This is a great segway into the next question. I’ve noticed that a lot of your work deals with moments of intimacy and care, of liminality, space and instances of waiting. What do they mean to you? Why are they important to you and your work?

TS: I actually have a good answer for this one. The spaces of liminality and waiting are two concepts that have become very important to me, because I used to see them as somewhere I was trying to get to. I didn’t like being in moments of waiting or spaces of insecurity and unknowing, of things not being at the right time. But the spaces of liminality and waiting is where the living and the inspiration for living comes from. That when you’re at an impasse: you really have to appreciate being stuck; or maybe not appreciate, but come to terms with that stuckness as a means of understanding and living through being stuck.

YA: So perhaps in the acknowledging of being stuck and in impasse, that can create for the potentiality to move, to escape?

TS: Maybe. But also, I think that even when you are in an impasse, you are still moving. That your thinking and imagining can become a form of movement. It might be slow, but you’re still moving!

YA: Still moving while being stuck reminds me of Lauren Berlant’s understanding of the precarious present, and her own theorizations of impasse. Does your academic background in anthropology influence your work? Do you think of photography and imaging as an academic practice?

TS: I’ve actually written my thesis about a combination of photography and anthropology, and I think the starting point for my interest in taking pictures is related to my interest in the ethnographic, in that I talk to my subjects a lot even when I don’t know them very well. To me, when I’m taking someone’s picture, it’s like creating a mini ethnography.

And I do think I look at photographs somewhat academically because academics has really influenced my desire to be hyper-ethical in the work that I produce; because at the end of the day, if you’re only making images that benefit you at the expense of someone or something, that is simply wrong, and very cheap. Also, the idea of radical sameness is very important to me and my photographs, of trying to capture the moments that are universal.

YA: Radical sameness as opposed to radical difference?

TS: Yes. Radical sameness in that I’m always trying to capture moments that are universal, where people can connect to my images, even if they do not know who I am, or who the subject is.

YA: So you’re graduating! How was the Columbia/Barnard art scene experience? Would you change anything, would you have wanted things to be different?

TS: So Controversial! Well, I do have a lot of thoughts. I would say I am grateful for Columbia’s darkroom—it’s incredible. I’m also grateful for learning and refining my photography practice at Columbia. I’m very much convinced every sixth grader should learn how to process and make photos, because it requires so much patience. When you’re in the darkroom developing your images, any small mishap and an image can totally be ruined, so patience and care are essential to the work being done. And at the end, the image, and all of the labor that was done in achieving it, becomes so meaningful.

YA: Every sixth grader! Okay, last question. Give me three words you want for the future, or the world, or even new worlds to look like. Just three words.

TS: Contextualized, illuminated, and responsible.

nathan farrell

Photographs by Sabine Jean-Baptiste

Interview by Noa Levy-Baron

Nathan Farrell is a sophomore at CC, singer-songwriter and saxophone player. He is thinking about majoring in Public Health and Economics. Nathan primarily defines himself as a jazz musician, but other genres constantly inform and influence his work in his bands Farrose and Glass Room and as solo artist.  

Favorite artist currently.

Right now I would say my favorite artist is probably H.E.R. She is fantastic! I really appreciate the music that she makes because usually, in a lot of mainstream pop, artists are reduced to a crafted image they are projecting on themselves. With H.E.R, it just feels very genuine. I also really like the fact that she writes most of her music is also a musician: she sings and she plays guitar, bass and piano. The writing is also very soulful, very raw. I've been really enjoying her these last two months. I’m listening to her albums on repeat.

Favorite song currently.

A song that I've been listening to a lot and that I really like is actually Yo No Se Mañana by Luis Enrique. It’s latin pop and has a little salsa to it. I like to think a lot about versatility within music. For example, right now my favorite artist is very different from my favorite song. I think it is really important to keep an open mind with music taste because that also makes you more versatile with the music you are creating.

How did music first enter your life? How has your relationship to it evolved since then?

I think my first real experience with music was because I really enjoyed Spongebob as kid and as I watched Squidward playing the clarinet I always thought I could do better than this! So I picked up clarinet and then I moved to flute and saxophone. As I started to move through woodwinds instruments I also figured out that I could kind of sing too. So I trained in different instruments and that gave me a basis in a lot of the music theory and the basic knowledge in music to then be able to create with. From there I let my own personal tastes and preferences dictate where I wanted to take the music that I make specifically.

I am a jazz musician. I play saxophone, and I try to incorporate that into my music a lot. But I would not say my primary musical pursuits are specifically within jazz. I like the liberties I can take in how I am creating in not restraining myself to one genre. Being able to craft  your own thing completely is something [that] is very important, and to do that, it can be beneficial to set aside conventions that bind you to specific genres.

Do you collaborate often with other musicians or do you often work alone? Can you tell me about your band Farrose?

Lately I've been focusing a lot on the collaborative aspect because, I mean, it's fun! Farrose is a band that I had in High School. We still play together sometimes, but it's only when we get back on breaks as the members are all in different parts of the country right now. It was a project we started because a friend wanted to dabble in production; eventually we began getting together to jam and write songs every week.

That experience was really important for me to grow as an individual artist. I then brought what I learnt to other musical groups that I am a part of. I have another band right now with college friends and some of my High School friends who go to Julliard, which is in the city as well. We get together once a week, and we try to perform, write songs and do gigs. Right now, our name is Glass Room. It's really hard to find a name for a band because it has to fit so perfectly, but I’m quite comfortable with this one.

Is there a difference between your solo work and work with Farrose and Glass Room? Is there any crossover?

Definitely! And I think it’s because when you are just coming together and making music with other people, you have everyone's voices coming into play even if they are not writing it. If I am bringing a song that I wrote by myself completely, fully charted, and I give it to all of the musicians; it is going to sound completely different depending on the band or even the musician I’m giving it to. This is not the case in every way, but there will be nuances and I really like that. I think with a band, you'll definitely hear more voices coming through. I try to keep that in mind while I write  for specific cases: I would probably not write the same things for Midnight Blue than for Farrose or for just myself.

I have always been fascinated by the way musicians combine lyrics and melodies and create something very pleasant and enjoyable to listen to. How would you describe your creative process? Which part do you start with? Are you first composing the melody, creating the lyrics or focusing on the instrumental part?

I am also super fascinated by that, and I'm still obviously trying to figure everything out and get better in all those things. I think what has been more successful for me though is to build everything “down-up.” It's quite intuitive, but it is not always clear what part of it is the down and what part is the up. For me at least, the “up” tends to be the lyrics, because this is what you see on the surface at first - especially for someone who is not necessarily as well versed in musical intricacies or in the theory working behind all the chords. So usually, lyrics will be the last thing I do.

I like to start with chord progressions and see what it is evoking in me. Then I'll play with the melody and when I find something catchy, I record that melody and I listen to it again and think about what could the song be about. Then, I'll come up with a lyric to match it. It usually functions that way, and it is what I find I consistently do most, but it is not set and stone. I've done it the opposite way, I've also done mixes. Sometimes I want to write specifically about something, I'll have one lyric in mind, I'll put it on the table and think about a chord progression.

When, where and how do you prefer to listen to music?

I definitely prefer to listen to music while I'm chilling, especially in my bed. For me, listening to music is almost like reading a book. I'm not necessarily doing an analysis; but I'm usually trying to figure out how all of the pieces are coming together, where the artists are coming from and what they are trying to convey. I break apart the melody, the lyrics, the chorus and that is really interesting and fun to do. This is hard if you are not sitting, chilling out in a space where you are comfortable and just listening.

Would you describe yourself as a performer? What do you feel like when you perform?

I would definitely describe myself as a performer because that is most often the medium in which I will be relaying my art. I think music composition and performance are two distinct art forms. A lot of performing is learning to be you in the most authentic way. It is about putting it all out there and that is something that I do a lot in general. So for me, performing is something that I have a little bit of an inclination for, but it's also something that I am still developing when I perform on or off campus.

I found that I'm best at performing when I don't really view it as being on a stage, on an elevated platform. I perform better when I am literally not on a stage because it's almost as if I was talking to others in a different way. I think it is very hard to perform on huge stages, like stadiums, in a way that a lot of very big stars will do because you cannot connect to your audience as well.

It is interesting what you describe about authenticity because when we think about people on stage, we often think of them as playing a role, as being something else other than themselves…

That's also a part of it because sometimes your performance does not have to necessarily correspond to how you feel in the moment. If I am feeling sad one day, I don't necessarily want to be performing something sad and make everyone sad. A performance can be performative. If I'm sad and performing at a party, I have to draw on other feelings. But, even if it's performative, I think there is always something genuine about it because to successfully do it, you have to draw on a genuine part of you. There is a little bit of a tension there, but I think it is still ultimately authentic.

Are there music genres you are particularly attached to ?

I'm definitely very attached to Jazz and R&B, and I think this is mostly out of personal preferences. But, ultimately it's all the same. You're putting a combination of sound and silence together, and you're saying something on top of it. I know this view is not popular, but I wish more people did see it that way because it would make for a lot more collaboration, a lot more open-mindedness and community in the music community itself.

I think I view it that way because of my experience in many different pools: I'm a trained Jazz musician, I also like to do R&B, I used to play classical, and I have a lot of friends that are really into Indie/Rock - so I have a little experience in everything. I realized that ultimately all music genres are the same thing. It's the same foundation of chords; you're putting a melody over it, and sometimes you're putting words over it. Sometimes I'll find in Jazz the baseline of chord progressions that might have a bit more harmonic and melodic complexity, but you could bring that anywhere. There are a lot of different pop songs that have a lot of different chords moving, especially musicians like Stevie Wonder. This is also why a lot of Jazz musicians will say they like Stevie Wonder even if they don't like pop, but Stevie Wonder is a pop musician, he is funk, R&B, soul but also pop ultimately.

Do you have any people, musicians or artists who particularly inspire you?

I don't like to idolize specific artists. To me, the most important things that musicians can pick up come from more than just listening to recorded music- interacting with peers, and people who aren’t so much like you at all, is a defining aspect of the musical experience too. For inspiration I look more at people that I've met and interacted with musically, notably because I’ve had a lot of musical mentors. A big influence for me was my saxophone teacher because he really taught me to put forward the voice and the sound that was true to me. And this is something that I've not just carried with me in music but in my everyday interactions. So the most influential sources of inspiration are truly people that I know and meet.

Is there another medium of art you work in?

I wouldn't say that I am actively working on it; but - as I'm half Puerto Rican - salsa and latin music has been a huge part of my life. Unfortunately, I can't really dance that well, but I took Afro-Cuban dance here for my PE requirement. So I got to hone a lot of those skills and make my family proud. In that [class] I learned that dance is also sort of structured similarly, with foundation and aspects of a solo or group voice. The foundation is still the chord and the rhythm, but rather than a melody it's the technique that you employ or where you're gonna move. And then rather than the lyrics, it's how you're gonna move. So I just find it's just essentially the same: you're putting different combinations of different things on top of each other in order to express something that is true to you. So that's a fun thing that I've learned also through getting a little bit of dancing experience in there. And that also informed the way I think of other arts too. I don't think it is different for painting for instance.

What words would you use to describe yourself and your work?

I would only give one word, which is really important to me: open-mindedness. It's everything that I am approaching everything with. You can't dismiss something because you don't have experience with it or because you have bad experiences with it; it’s always going to be more complex than that. This is how I approach the music that I make, the music that I listen to, and how I perform.

How does your art relate to your identity? How has your life influenced your work?

I am from New Jersey and growing up with New York City as something that was there for me to use as a resource to see music, learn about music, and become a better musician definitely had an impact. I think it is impossible to separate your work from who you are, even if you try really hard because ultimately, it's your voice. It's still hard for me to fully answer that question though because I still feel I'm in that big-artist-development ramp that I have to get over to really establish myself.  

On another note, has making music changed anything in your life? If so what?

Music has definitely made me reflect on a lot of things because it provided me with a different perspective. In the same way that you talk to your friend about your issues: when you hear it coming out of your mouth and when you hear them trying to conceptualize what is going on, you sometimes will think about it differently than you do in you. I think it is really important. In the same that going to therapy is really important Having another way to see what you are feeling and experiencing is very important for your own development because when you are just in your head, it is a lot. So if I'm just writing a song about it or drawing a certain experience or emotion in a song, I think that can definitely provide another perspective to what is going on. It can give you a broader lens to what you are actually feeling and experiencing.

Do you view yourself as a musician? Has making music changed the way you relate to or see yourself?

It's also a hard question. I mean, of course I am thinking of myself as a musician, but then I am thinking about how do you define a musician?! I personally think anyone can be a musician at any point. There are definitely varying levels of skill within being a musician, but perfectly mastering the technique is not absolutely essential. A lot of people will feel pretentious about being a musician because it becomes a huge part of their lives. They want to to take ownership over this because they feel it belongs to them. But it also belongs to everyone else!

Being a musician has been a huge thing socially, I've met some of my closest friends through music. I find that over time friendships shift and change,. But even if externally the friendships I have within music change, I always feel a connection to the musicians I worked with. It is a kind of vulnerability and connection that doesn't just go away. In making music together, you're really seeing another aspect of others and their stories. I almost think of it as a different social currency. My friendships might change with other musicians externally, but I'll ultimately feel close to them just because of the music we made together. The music is still there. It still exists, we could reproduce it if we wanted to. Music [has] definitely informed the way I socially interact all the time.

Has being at Columbia changed anything in the way you create and feature your work?

Columbia has definitely changed it. College in general is a very introspective experience where you are meeting people from a lot of different experiences and backgrounds, and you are learning the things that you value and why you value them. I also think Columbia is very good with the Core [Curriculum]. I know this is going to sound so “Columbia cliché,” but I do think that it brings light to your inner tensions. My toolbox of how I want to express myself and the ways that I understand the world have gotten better, I feel that my art has also gone up.

Specifically, not that where I grew up wasn't a diverse place; but as someone who is mixed-race, it was not something that was really prevalent where I am from. There were a lot of white and black people; but as I am asian and latino, they were not many of those communities where I was from growing up. I saw diversity but not necessarily me and that was something that was hard. Coming to Columbia definitely allowed me to better consolidate my identity and that also informed the way that I make music because it is about bringing your story [and putting it] out there.

Nathan - "Can't" Released June 9th, 2017 Follow Nathan - instagram: www.instagram.com/nathan0014/ soundcloud: @nathanfarrose writing: @coltranetunes, alex rosen production: @coltranetunes vocals: nathan farrell guitar: alex rosen

Are you working on anything currently? Do you have plans for future projects?

Yes! Here we go. I'm really trying to get a solo release under my own name out there. I've got to a point where I definitely consolidated my identity and the message and story I want to tell. I got more comfortable in my own skin, navigating the world. I'd like to have a place where I can have a "progress report." I am currently trying to get by the end of the semester, a concrete release of a song that is mine. Hopefully before may.

Are there any lyrics from one of your song particularly meaningful to you that you would like to share as a conclusion?

Actually, I wrote a line last night: "All I need is to see that view, and I'm on my feet, I hope tonight brings something new." I feel it embodies the experience of putting things into perspective: “all I need is to see the view,”' to broaden my perspective. And that is what I do with music; all I need is to see the bigger picture. I think we all need to take a step back when we get into trouble in order to decide what to do next. I’m glad I wrote that because I think it encompasses that experience well, and it’s also about Manhattan, where you can always find opportunities to broaden your point of view.

Anything else?

Be ready because more is always coming!

calvin liang

Photographs by Santiago Peuser

Interview by Morgan Becker

Introduce yourself, and your art.

My name is Calvin Liang. I am a senior in Columbia College, majoring in architecture, also studying sustainable development and civil engineering. Most of my art is architectural photography and some portraiture photography, which is done both digitally and on thirty-five millimeter film. I also do sculptural work and casting, which is tied into the architectural work that I do.

Are there specific facets of your identity that you consider essential, or particularly influential, in your work?

In terms of my family, I was always kind of the oddball in the sense that I was doing my own thing, and they had a very different mentality. I’ve always looked at things differently than a lot of my peers growing up. I’m from Arizona, from a pretty conservative high school and town. I think that growing up with that kind of cookie-cutter community, and my weekly routine being so mundane, I tried to find some way to let my inner expression speak for itself.

Tell me about some of your inspirations. Who introduced you to art, and who pushes you to continue today?

My family background is not so artistic. My parents both work in very much the STEM, science fields, but from a very early age I had a creative side. Whether that was in a school art class or music class, I always tried to find a way to have some form of self-expression, that was never really within the stereotypically ‘academic’ fields. So I was always kind of looking for ways to express myself. And that is kind of what’s continued to inspire me till now: is finding an outlet for creativity outside of my academic responsibilities.

Photograph by Calvin Liang

What has influenced your gravitation toward architecture as an art form?

My inspiration for architecture actually came from a lot of traveling that I did. I’m a fencer, and I fence for Columbia. But before college, I was competing for the US team, and it took me to a lot of interesting places around the world; going to Asia, South America, and Europe, and seeing all these different buildings and different ways of living that were so foreign to me—both in a literal sense and a metaphorical sense. Seeing how those communities operated, how those cultures operated, was the first push for me to think about expressing my artistic tastes in this kind of practical construction that is architecture. And the dialogue between art and architecture is something that I’m always working with in my artistic and academic work.

Would you say there’s one place that has influenced you most in terms of architecture?

I think Japan was the big place [of influence] for me. I have family there, but I never really thought about Japanese architecture until I started studying it as a discipline. I ended up working in Japan last summer at an architectural firm and realized that its architecture manifests itself in so many different ways. It literally has completely re-informed how their social lives work, and how they operate, both on an infrastructure level and on a socio-familial level. You see Japanese architects kind of going in the same direction of taking architecture, not necessarily as an academic discipline, but as more of an artistic discipline—expressing artistic moves or going for radical interpretations of what space can be.

What’s your creative process like? Do you know what a piece might end up looking like before you begin?

Whenever I do architecture photography, I’m always thinking about detail. It’s not too often that I try to take a picture of the whole building on its own, or a whole scene on its own. A lot of times the focus is on either some material detail, or lighting detail, or architectural form that I find in a structure or building that makes you think. And that always is something that I strive to do. I want people to really think about the spaces that we occupy. Similar to sculptural work and casting where I don’t necessarily have a direction, it’s a lot about trying to create new language with materials, for example. Whether that means making something solid, like concrete, or wood, look fluid; or making something fluid, like water, feel solid. But I never have like, a hard idea in my mind.

How much planning goes into the architectural projects that require more technical attention?

In that ‘academic’ work, there’s a very formal process that always ends up happening. Whether that’s going through actual structural diagramming, or thinking about basic logistics that are fundamental to any architectural project. A lot of times, especially in more conceptual architectural work, you don’t actually have to think too much about that structural detailing. It’s actually more about your creative expression and developing your concept. And that closely ties into what we call ‘visual arts,’ where it’s a lot more self-expression, or trying to express some kind of idea through form. Those questions of technicality get answered later on [in the process].

Do you have an audience in mind when you work? If yes, does it ever change?

In architecture, there’s always an audience, whether it’s a client or someone else I’m designing for. In terms of photography or sculpture, my content is for everyone. It’s a lot about showing people a side of architecture, or a side of their daily lives even, that they may not notice at first glance—or making them think about the relationships that exist in our daily lives that we take for granted.

Photograph by Calvin Liang

You say you want to make people think in new ways. Do you have an example of a piece you’ve done that embodies that desire?

A lot of the photography that I’ve done, particularly in Japan and the West Coast of the United States, was about discovering the substitutions for things that occur in nature with [a] man-made structure. Whether hills were being replaced by circular buildings, or in the case of a place I visited in San Francisco, where the beach was replaced by this sloped concrete sidewalk that sloped into the water [with] the waves crashing on it; I took a picture of it, just to take a picture of the wave. But when I looked back at it later, it became a picture of a beach, the sand replaced by concrete. These relationships between man made materials and natural materials were some things that I tried to highlight when I went back to the West Coast over the last two breaks.

Do you find yourself working with certain materials more than others? Are there any that you see a big future with in architecture?

Throughout all my work, wood has been the most pervasive. And that’s just because, over generations and cultures, everyone has used wood as a form of housing or as a form of construction. I think there is a reason for that. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that it comes from the Earth and that it can go back into the Earth; whereas, with concrete or metal, there isn’t that same longevity. It doesn’t have a positive impact on the environment. Now I think people are trying to find ways that we can push the use of wood. In the artistic sense, thinking about how we can express something like a wooden house in a way that is inspiring, that isn’t boring—that’s the challenge that we’re faced with now.

What are the merits of sculpture and architecture over two-dimensional arts, like photography or drawing? Or vice-versa.

Architecture, for me, is art that’s trying to solve a problem. With other [artistic] mediums, I don’t believe that problem-solving is necessarily the goal. I can posit questions, or bring attention to details, but I don’t necessarily have to have a solution. I think the beauty of art is that you get people to think about issues, or even just things that exist in their natural state. Different issues and different problems have different mediums. I don’t necessarily have a bias over material or representation. It does come kind of case-by-case for me, really. My sculptures are mostly castings, or types of ‘outside-of-a-scale’ studies of construction. So the result of that is they answer very abstract thoughts, or attempt to resolve very abstract notions or concepts. And so I don’t see myself ever really working with a sculpture that would just be the ‘solution.’ For me, that would be kind of antithetical to my thought process.

Would you consider architecture to be representative sculpture?

You’ve hit it on the head. Architecture is the final product—the final model that’s a cumulation of these sculptures and castings and material studies and fabrications that you do. It's the summation of all those questions you’ve asked. Architecture is always toeing the line of art and science, academic and artistic, and that’s what I think is really beautiful about incorporating art into the process.

What constitutes a successful photograph?

A successful photograph isn’t just taking a photo of an object. I think there should always be something that you’re trying to bring attention to that takes more that, maybe, a quick glance. That might mean that you have to circle back to the photo in a week, or a day, even. What I want a photograph to do is bring attention—or even evoke a feeling. That doesn’t have to be super serious, but even just getting people to be like, “Oh, that’s really cool.” Bringing [up] an emotion, basically, should be the goal of a photograph.

When you say ‘circle back,’ do you mean that you can come back to a photo and realize that it evokes something? Or do you know prior to taking it that it’s going to have a desired effect?

I think the former is what I was going for. That’s a very technical thing that I’m not the authority to speak on; but for me, what’s great about photographs is that you have a slice of time that you’ve frozen there. And you might be able to circle back and say, “On this day, the light that filtered through this window was super beautiful;” but when you took it, maybe you weren’t focused on that, maybe you were focused on something completely different. And what’s nice about photographs is that you get to look back on moments and really think about what that day was like. It’s a lot of reflection, and I think that is the beauty of it.

Outside of the visual arts community, what are some of your biggest influences?

In general, having a separate space within architecture has been really interesting and eye-opening for me, to think about what kinds of questions I ask. That mainly stems from first coming here, and not really knowing what I was going to do and doing photography and sculptural art without really any direction. The great thing about Barnard’s architecture department is that all the other students are also working in other disciplines. The richness of that is you get to draw from their walks of life, and see how they’ve interpreted types of architecture. From that, you can circle back to other constructs and notions. That’s definitely a community that I treasure a lot. Also, music has always played a role in terms of evoking a feeling that I want to emulate in my work. Figuring out where the music starts in something visual or tangible is a fun thing to play around with.

Are you working on anything currently?

Currently, I am working on a small, independent architectural project [in] which my friends and I have decided to let loose of the reigns of convention. We’re designing houses for extreme situations, like, what does a house for just two cats look like? Or, how do we fit three generations of family in a forty foot by twenty foot New York apartment? It’s just pushing the extreme questions of architecture [so] that people would be like, “Oh, that’ll never happen.” But the reality is that sometimes these are cases that exist. It’s this exquisite corpse of absurd questions that people don’t think about when we think about the space that we live in. That’s kind of the move that I’m always trying to go for.

Photograph by Calvin Liang

Anything else that you’d like to add? Closing remarks?

If students are interested in submitting architectural work, or commentary on architecture, the Columbia Barnard Architecture Society does do a publication at the end of the year that they can submit to. And that’s at bcarchitecturesociety@gmail.com. Other than that, people can find me on Instagram.

Sarah Courville

Photographs by Pedro Damasceno

Interview by Uma Halsted

Introduce yourself.

I'm Sarah. I grew up in South Carolina. I study urban studies and public health as a senior at Barnard. I have a big family. I have a pet python -- not here, unfortunately. I love to bake, and I like mid-twentieth century country music, like anything from Hank Williams to Patsy Cline to Kitty Wells. I do a 30s and 40s country music show for WKCR. And I make collages.

What are you a part of on campus and in New York?

I'm really not a part of many things on campus per se. I've been programming for WKCR since my first year, and that’s been consistent, but I like to get away from the bubble of Morningside Heights. I'm a bit separated from campus, I left for my whole junior year to study at Freie Universität Berlin and came back this year.

Outside of campus, I'm involved in the harm reduction community of New York. I work at the Lower East Side Harm Reduction Center, which is a needle exchange downtown in the Lower East Side/Chinatown. Same with Berlin, I was working in a needle exchange van there, with this group Fixpunkt, so I would say that larger sphere of harm reduction is what I'm a part of.

How did your time in Berlin shape your art?

I really didn't start collaging until I got to Germany. I guess the winter came, and I had to figure out a coping mechanism or a way to kind of track my mental, physical, and emotional health, channel it into something. And in Germany in the winter, the sun sets at like 3:45 pm, so everyone lives mostly in darkness, indoors.

 My collaging was totally shaped by being in Berlin. There are lots of these secondhand bookstores in the city that sell old magazines, books, newspapers, and the like. I picked up a couple things at one of these shops, just because I like images and old things. Then I began thinking about the images and texts through a different lens and found that it was a good channel to develop my creative thoughts.

Berlin for me was extremely conducive to creating. The cost of living there is relatively low, compared to New York, so the quality of life is has the potential to be higher. And the stress culture is different. There’s no living on campus; everyone commutes. University is not your entire life. So I had a lot of time to work on my art. Outside my windows was a Friedhof, a little forest-y park/ graveyard. Just having windows not blocked by other buildings and actual nature sounds, it's very conducive to understanding oneself and one’s creative process. So I think it entirely shaped the way I create.

I was also surrounded by other artists and creative people constantly. There’s this amazing queer haircutting project called Butch Cut, run by Hank Bobbitt, who does donation-based haircuts for queers in Berlin. I was baking for their events while living in Germany and participating in the larger community of queer artists and performers who flocked to Butch Cut. And I worked at a record store/ cafe/ performance space called Rita Records, where I was also a baker, and constantly meeting exceptional people who inspired my work.

Describe an early moment of creating when you were young. What did you produce?

The earliest one that I can remember is from my house in Florida. I was born in Florida, but I always say I grew up in South Carolina because I moved there when I was six. I don't necessarily remember Florida all that much. But one of my first memories of creating is from there.

My parents' house was this small, one-story house. It was basically just a big square, and the rooms were reflected in that as well. And one side of the house had all of these sliding glass doors, because the house used to be an indoor pool. And so we would paint on the sliding glass doors and wash them off when we were done. Thinking about it now, it's very interesting because I love transparent things and negative space and light.

Have any specific life experiences shaped your personal view of or the way you want to create your work?

I try to channel my disability and queerness through my art, and I guess it's been interesting to think about because it was never my initial intention to focus on the body. But it subconsciously becomes nearly every single piece of art that I create.

As someone who's chronically ill, it feels like my body is violating me constantly. I've had chronic intractable migraine for a decade now, and that's the way I know how to function. I realize that it's this constant process of feeling like I'm not in control of my body, but there's a way to sort of channel that through ascribing these futures to the body and projecting myself onto the work that I'm doing. This violation has forced me to think about flesh in other ways and investigate the body as a site of potentiality.

And also with queerness. Growing up in the South as a queer person was not the most comfortable, so that also created a feeling for a long time of another violation of the self. And so I sort of subconsciously try to channel those things. I think it's just that the images that I end of creating are focused on the body. But being chronically ill and queer have shaped sort of how I create, definitely.

Do you think that exploring the body in your work is an act of giving yourself back control of the body?

Totally. It’s the same reason I like having tattoos on my body. When you exist in a body that you can't control -- and me it's like ninety percent of the time I can't control it -- you are forced to seek agency in other ways. And I'm attracted to images of the body. So a lot of the magazines and things that I've collected over years have to do with the body in some way. I have old Playboy magazines, and I have amazing German magazines on Freikörperkultur [free body culture], books on body language, anatomy.

Are you drawn to other subjects?

Besides bodies I'm drawn to shapes and architecture. The other thing I have a lot of is old German architecture magazines from the 60s. There's this sort of order and disorder playing with each other in my work, and it's a way of being able to give myself calculated control and calculated loss of control in some way.

When I'm doing a piece, it's not really planned out. I'm like a collector of images. I have these clippings all over, hundreds of hundreds of things. I have an entire miniature bookshelf of magazines I use. There's just images everywhere. And if I see something that I like, whether it's the texture of it or the color of it or the image itself or a shape or angle, then I'll kind of put it on my desk. And I go through this process of reacquainting myself with all of the images that I have. So it's kind of this puzzle. And as my week or my month goes on, and I think more about the images subconsciously.

With this work of mine, I had these two images, these two eyes, for a really long time. And they were sitting on my desk, and I had no idea what to do with them. And I had this other large piece from Life Magazine 1940 with these people building a house that I wanted to do something with. I hadn't looked at the Life Magazine one for a really long time, and I kept looking at those eyes. I had a piece of cardboard, and then it just kind of came together.

I was actually really sick when I was doing the piece of work. When I'm really sick, because my body is not functional, I feel like maybe my vision will be functional, or I can do something that can translate like my bodily feeling onto a piece of art. And that actually is a big part of the process, being able to dissociate from the images that I've been looking at for a long time. So it's disconnecting myself from the image and then being able to reconstruct it in some way.

 Why collage? What is the power of repurposing text and image in the work you create?

That's a good question. We consume images constantly; that's what human beings do. I have a lot of anxiety around over-stimulation, especially in this city, and I think that translates into my work. I want to be stimulated in a way that's somewhat controlled but still allows me to give myself up to a something. I can construct something that is supported by the existence of another image, shape, or color. I do other things; I do a little bit of sculpture and stonework. But I think collaging, it's an expression either an emotion or bodily feeling. But it kind of seems like the easiest way for me to control what I'm seeing and have it make sense to me.

Your also taking from and reusing images that originally had different intentions attached to them. Do you think that gives you more agency?

Yes. The ability to pair images with other images to reconstruct meaning or reconstruct how something looks is powerful--being able to look at something and pair it with all of these other shapes and angles and texts and different geometry and things that can come together to mean something totally different.

Can you elaborate on your use of negative space in your artwork, as you discussed in your artist's statement?

In a lot of collaging, you use negative space to play on existing forms. It's a way to layer images and be able to have space between them. One of my pieces, it's this piece that's sewn together with bookbinding wax thread, and it's a bunch of these little pieces of paper, and it's sort of collapsable in your hand.

The interplay of spaces is really thrilling, and also something that I was doing a lot of in Germany. Because they have have amazing print shops there that are very cheap, and there're tons of artists, I was printing a lot of my collages on transparent paper. I gave them all away, because it was mostly just an experiment to start. But that added another element of negative space, as being able to look at something with the background of whatever's in front of you - and also how it plays with light and movement. I like to make hanging things and things that move, like this piece used to be up on my wall near my window in my bedroom in Germany. And it would just sort of sway constantly.

What space do words hold in your collages?

Less now, but when I was living in Germany, words played a huge role in my work because my life was in this constant state of translation and moving between languages. I was studying at the university solely in German, working solely in German. But then I would come home to my partner, who I was speaking English with, and with some of my German friends or friends who spoke German, we would speak what they call “Denglisch,” this mixture of English and German.

In German the nouns are really amazing, and in English, you have better adjectives. Certain German words would stick out to me when I was there. You ascribe meaning to words when you're learning a language or getting better at communicating in a language. I went to Germany already speaking a good amount of German, but never having lived in a German-speaking country for more than a month. So I didn't know how to function in German yet.

Also a lot of the collaging materials I was getting were in German. One of the first pieces that I did there- it was this really small little piece with a woman in two planes, and it said "isoliert" (isolated), and it had an exclamation point, and it was from some advertisement. But I really liked the text.

Language occurs in this weird kind of liminal space, when you're living somewhere that people aren't speaking your native language, and you're communicating sort of half of your life in German and half in English. It kind of lends itself to language being important. I probably used about half and half English words and German words in my art. In the beginning, I wasn't sure if I wanted to incorporate words or if I felt that need to at all. But there were so many interesting words in German that I had some attachment to, or that I or people around me would use frequently. So it kind of lent itself to this interesting combination. The pieces I produce now tend to have less words.

Which artists are you most inspired by?

One of my favorite artists is an Austrian artist whose name is Valie Export. She's in her seventies now, but she was big in this movement called Viennese Actionism. She makes these amazing films where it's like constant image manipulation. She has this one, and I think the English title of it is "Invisible Adversaries." It's similar to Sci-Fi; it's very experimental. But I just love consuming her images.

There's this collective in Berlin that I'm very inspired by called the Objects of Desire Collective. It's a sex worker-led collective, and I became really close with the curators of this big project, when I was baking for Butch Cut. They're putting on a really big show at the Schwules Museum in Berlin, which is the first gay museum in the world . They collect objects from sex workers and stories from sex workers themselves, so it's like archival work and narrative work, and it's really powerful.

Some of my other favorite artists are David Henry Nobody Jr., Emma Kohlmann, Milf City (formerly Lance Romance), and dollargenderstore.

What's the last song you listened to?

I actually listened to a great song this morning. It's called "Marry the State" by this Berlin band called Gesture. And it's a really amazing synth-punk song. Super good.

Do you have a favorite movie or book?

That changes all the time. I do have a favorite book; it's Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector. She's maybe my favorite author. My favorite film changes constantly. But one that's stayed pretty consistent is by this artist Valie Export. Invisible Adversaries is the film.

Describe yourself in three words. Describe your work in three words.

Empathetic, deliberate, unstructured.  Bodily, communicative, reflective.