letter writing
Letter writing is something I loved to do as a child: for a five-or-six-year period, I wrote to my Kuya who lived in the Philippines, every single week, sometimes twice in one day. I also had a pen pal in the Philippines with whom I maintained correspondence for a good couple of years before I got too busy with volleyball and gained a little more of a social life as a teeny bopper. Around the same time, I also stopped writing to my Kuya.
Each letter to him started:
Dear Kuya,
I love and miss you.
And often ended the same way as well:
When you’re done reading this, please put this letter back in the envelope and save it.
Love,
Sugar
I treasured my Sanrio stationery, back when it was still made in Japan and sold in its own boutiques. (It wasn’t licensed to discount department stores until the aughts.) The thought of the pretty, matching paper and envelopes getting tossed in the trash just felt wrong. I saved some from my favorite sets that I had decided would never get used, the word “archive” still unknown to me at the time. Supposedly, my Kuya has two backpacks’ worth of letters that I wrote to him from the age of six to eleven.
The physical act of writing made me feel less lonely as an outlet for self-expression. I was often bored at my parents’ real estate office (which inspired this movement of Antonym) where there was an abundance of office supplies. I even had my own desk and name plate!
I kept copious notes on clipboards for clubs I was starting, e.g., The Christ Club, and The Unicorn Club like in Sweet Valley Twins, wrote in several diaries secured with tiny padlocks, and made my own greeting cards. I often kept the cards because I was so proud of them.
I realize that at a young age, writing was something I did for my own satisfaction, not trying to achieve anything beyond whatever I ended up with. And penning an idea, a desire, increased its potential for reality.
Pen and paper still make me feel a sense of safety and control. I have three planners that serve different functions, start all my scores by hand, dedicate a notebook to each individual project, and begin and end the day by transcribing my thoughts.
Journaling is the most consistent form of writing I do now. In the morning, I write at least one page in an A5 notebook, and in the evening, I jot a couple lines in my five-year diary, a practice I’ve maintained since 2009. While journaling is not a letter in its literal sense, I feel as if I’m writing to myself at various points in time: when I write about yesterday, I am analyzing what’s happened; when I list my hopes, dreams, and fears, I peek into tomorrow. It’s a form of time travel, with origins in the present, windows into the past, and messages to the future.
making music for 3.1 Phillip Lim's INTERSECTIONS
photo by Trevor Gureckis
When I was asked to work on INTERSECTIONS, I was thrilled to make music for a fashion designer whose work I love, and to share a collaborative space with incredible artists. INTERSECTIONS aligns with my creative interests and explorations as a composer and interdisciplinary artist, as I often draw inspiration from the quotidian. The composition consists of my own improvisations on synths, my own sarunay samples, midi instruments, which I played as I meditated on the themes of live/love/work/play, and reflected on the imagery and text. I incorporated some field recordings of NYC and wrote a melody for alto sax, which features my friend, the talented musician Aakash Mittal.
Collaborating with 3.1 Phillip Lim was a wonderful and harmonious (no pun intended!) experience. I really felt that they trusted me as an artist while providing excellent direction that made the work as great as it could be.
Along with my music, INTERSECTIONS features the works of Dong Ping Wong and his team at Food Architects; photographer Jiro Konami; graphic design studio Social Species, and original poems by Fatima Ahman, Jessica Kim, Vanessa Niu and Serena Yang.
Good news: the installation is open to the public on February 10th and 11th from 12pm-4pm at 408 Broadway, NYC.
photo by Trevor Gureckis
bts: reimagining carnival of the animals
In March, Sozo Artists brought me in to compose a piece for violin, cello, two pianos, and electronics for a collaboration with poet Marc Bamuthi Joseph, choreographer Francesca Harper, and dancer Wendy Whelan. It’s a reimagining of Saint-Säens’ Carnival of the Animals and it is an intentional response to the January 6 insurrection.
While I was making this, I needed to keep several things in mind: how to have my own voice pierce through a widely-known classical work; how to make something simultaneously original and familiar; supporting the text and choreography; making something for musicians I don't know and am not going to meet in person; writing an electronics part that works without click.
Left to right: Pauline Kim Harris, Walter Aparicio, Thea Mesirow
Marc would make audio recordings in addition to the text doc, and I’d listen to it over and over again. And again. Due to the project involving spoken word, where timing may not be rigidly measured, I allowed for space and flexibility in my score. There are also a couple of movements where the musicians are specifically directed to follow Marc’s verbal text rather than a set tempo, and I indicate this with performance notes and arrows pointing to words. In one movement, the ensemble doesn’t even need to stay together, but rather chase the text. I also really do not like click track, and again, I gathered this wasn’t going to be rigid or metronomic, so each cue is signaled by Piano 1, and I indicated this with a cute little hand symbol.
Vicky Chow and Walter Aparicio
I workshopped with violinist Pauline Kim Harris, cellist Thea Mesirow, and pianists Walter Aparicio and Vicky Chow. I’m so fortunate to be able to hear my music with live musicians rather than rely on shrieky midi, and to be in a process with colleagues I trust and feel comfortable with. There will be a preview performance on August 18 presented by La Jolla Music Society. (And I will finish the last movement this week!) :-D
after theresa hak kyung cha
Sharing some work inspired by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha. I’ve had the idea brewing of an opera inspired by DICTEE, a triple-pronged story. I hope to get started on that in the next year or two. In the meantime, here are pieces inspired by Audience Distant Relative and Diseuse from DICTEE.
Inside is the pain was started in 2021 for an opera inspired by DICTEE. I created a solo version for my voice and electronics.
<VIDEO HERE>
aw dee nuh das ta ra da dev was composed for Duo Chux, soprano Amanda Zory and Walter Aparicio
Seeking AAPI singers for art installation performance
UPDATE: all singers have been booked. Thank you!
Seeking singers for performances
I'm seeking singers of any voice range for a performance at an outdoor art installation at major venue on the Upper West Side (venue and further details will be shared via email).
This new work is a semi-improvised piece for Filipinx sarunay, Tibetan singing bowl, eight voices, and electronics. Each sculpture has a corresponding vocal cell inspired by its shape and meaning. The encompassing sound will evoke a sacred space. Vocal lines are at first individualistic and eventually converge, in duets, trios, then all together, as the artist leads participants in a Thai healing ritual.
Interested artists can get in touch with me at: http://sugarvendil.com/contact
Please briefly tell me a little bit about yourself and artistic interests, your interest in the project, and link to audio or video of a performance or recording (feel free to include a cue point). Feel free to get in touch with any questions.
REHEARSALS - $25/hr
Tuesday, 5/3 @ my studio in Fort Greene– 10 am-4pm – this is a workshop; come for any two hours, let me know what time
Tuesday, 5/17 @ JACK Arts 20 Putnam Ave, Brooklyn – 11am-2 pm
Friday 6/3 at 2-4pm (location TBD, likely Fort Greene)
PERFORMANCES- $200/show
Thursday May 19
3-5pm tech
5pm break
5:30 places
6pm-6:45pm Ritual
Saturday May 28
1-3pm tech
3pm break
3:30 pm places
4-4:45 pm Ritual
Sunday June 5
9-11am tech
11 am break
11:30 am places
12-12:45pm Ritual
###
What to Do?
Writing this (what will soon be sloppy) essay was not on (see, sloppy already!) on my To Do list but I just felt like I had to. Many, if not most, of us artists, are feeling unmotivated, anxious, stressed out about money. It’s hard to make things right now.
On top of worrying about the virus, I’m worried about getting attacked by racists once we’re all allowed out again. But that’s for another essay.
This week I started gaining some semblance of a routine, believing that there will be, I don’t know, a time that is not now when people will get to see our work non-virtually, IRL. But before that I could not really compose or even brainstorm for any of my projects. It’s hard to dream things up when you cannot imaging a time for them to take place. This was especially devastating for me because for me because I imagine the future all the time. I felt stunted.
People have been posting things like, “You don’t have to be productive right now,” which I appreciate. But this wasn’t just about losing productivity for me; I was losing a sense of myself. I’m guessing many of us are. “Do I even actually like composing?” I’d ask myself. All I could do was play classical rep.
As soon as I started sheltering in place, of course I still tried to be productive. What I found to be helpful was making ridiculously manageable tasks. Things like:
- cut things out of a magazine
- play piano (anything counted…scales, whatever)
- make 30 seconds of anything (anything! and not to share or have a finished thing. Just the action of making anything)
I also enjoy making my lists because of [my] typewriter. But anyway, for some of us, not being productive is more stressful than not trying to be productive, if that makes sense. Maybe what I really mean by “productive” right now, at least for me, is owning this time, claiming it. I hesitate to use the word “control” but that too, a sense of control.
There’s something about writing [tasks] down on a To Do list that feels empowering (ugh I’m so over that word but it fits best here). Even if your list says:
- sing 5 notes
- Hold a note for 10 seconds
- watch “Kim’s Convenience” all the live long day
- sit on sofa
it will feel more intentional because by writing it down, you’re choosing.
I’m making such a point right now to try to feel like this time is my own, rather than something that is being taken away from me, because I think about other sad times when I regretted letting myself stay stuck in stasis for too long. The article in Harvard Business Review, “That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief,” was exceptionally enlightening as well.
Please feel free to share anything helpful that is getting you through this. Stay safe and healthy, and seek joy as much as you can at this moment!
Composer-Performer Interview Series: Dr. Alan Thiesen
This is the second in a series of short interviews with composer colleagues on balancing composing and performing. I’ve found it particularly challenging lately, with commission deadlines and also wanting to direct more focus into my solo practice, so I decided so ask for a little help from my friends!
Composer-Performer Interview Series: Caroline Shaw
This is the first in a series of short interviews with composer colleagues on balancing composing and performing. I’ve found it particularly challenging lately, with commission deadlines and also wanting to direct more focus into my solo practice, so I decided so ask for a little help from my friends!
January 2020 News/Rambling: awards, rejection, and getting work out there
2019 closed with some awesome things happening. I was awarded an ACF Create commission to write a piece for Boston-based duo Box Not Found, a 2020 National Arts Club Fellowship, and was invited to perform at Re:Sound in Cleveland and one of my dream venues, La MaMa. A lot can happen in two years...in 2017 I was hesitant to call myself a composer and got rejected from every residency I applied to.
As artists, we all get rejected more often than not (I applied to ACF the year before, and I just got a rejection the day before yesterday), so it feels great to not get rejected. It’s also important to remember that these competitions do not valuate our work. I honestly see applications as cheap PR (especially compared to actual PR), a way to get work in front of as many people as possible.
Of course, all this supposed validation is followed by the immediate feeling that I’m a hack and got lucky somehow. Can’t stay in that mindset for too long though—I’ve got work to do!
Last weekend, I attended the Chamber Music America conference, a forum in which to get work in front of presenters and learn through panels and talks, as well as see showcases. CMA’s theme was “Music, Equity, and Our Future,” and it is clear that they have true conviction in this idea. Case in point: they are not afraid of tough conversations, as demonstrated in their panel “The Artist’s Perspective,” featuring Aaron Flagg, Tania León, Jerry Medina, and Tomeka Reid. I wrote more about it on an Instagram post:
And back again to the topic of getting work out there: I got to do a pitch session since someone didn’t show up, where artists practice pitching and then presenters give feedback. It was very helpful, and 2/3 presenters were friendly except for the last one, who had an all-too-familiar look on her face of being pissed at me for existing. She softened towards the end after I explained the collaborative fashion concept behind my ensemble, The Nouveau Classical Project.
I’m generally not great at pitching and I find it challenging to balance making the work and putting the work out there, or to put it crudely, selling the work. I’ve been able to get opportunities organically by talking to people in random social settings, or making in-person connections by seeing a show at a venue or meeting people at events.
Anyway! That’s been my January so far. Feel free to share any thoughts or ask questions in the comments.
Interdisciplinary Process at HCL
The week of October 21st, I was in Chicago for my residency at High Concept Labs (HCL), housed inside Mana Contemporary, to develop Antonym. Antonym investigates residue of childhood memories and incorporates field recordings of New York City seasons. I had seven hours each day to work inside HCL’s glass studio, the first thing one sees when the door of the manually operated freight elevators opens on the 4th floor. I arrived on a Monday, and my performers and creative collaborators, flutist Laura Cocks and violinist Natalie Calma, joined me later.
I was nervous going into this, because we had limited time and had to use it efficiently: Laura and Natalie arrived on Wednesday to workshop through Friday, and Saturday we were to show what we made during the week. This was my choice: we aren’t required to show, but I wanted to share my work with a new audience in a new city. Before I go any further, I want to thank Laura and Natalie from the bottom of my heart for being part of this! They were essential in the creative process.
The focus of this residency was the “Spring” movement. I had composed an initial draft in May, and continued forming it in July at Marble House Project. At MHP I ended up creating a solo, Test Site 5: Seedlings that helped me flesh out some of my ideas, and returned to the project again about two weeks before going to HCL. I had a draft of the score finished a little over a week before the residency.
My interdisciplinary scores are always ready to change: when incorporating both voice and movement in addition to instrumental performance, things are not always timed exactly as imagined, and voices and bodies sound and move differently than mine. I choreograph movement (I am ambivalent about writing “choreograph,” since I feel it is too formal for whatever the hell it is I do) and when I workshop with my musicians, together we structure and shape the piece.
The performers involved in my pieces are truly creative contributors, as their perspectives enrich and inform the process. I typically begin alone first, and aim to have a basic structure and some choreographic ideas before getting in the studio with my musicians. For “Spring,” I had music, the idea of using movement to draw on a giant piece of paper, tearing up paper, and other random movement phrases and performance ideas. Laura and Natalie weighed in on a variety of elements, from the music, to the arc, to staging, and also contributed beautiful movement ideas. We all move in our own ways, everyday, whether running, slouching, or even turning our heads to look, and I truly believe that you don’t have to be a professional dancer to create or find movement that is meaningful. This is an underlying idea I explore in my interdisciplinary practice. I do want to note that there is still discipline involved and it takes a lot of searching, trial and error.
One of my ongoing major concerns is (unintentional) cheesiness. When you begin creating, however, you have to let things go there at first rather than being immediately dismissive, or else you’ll start from a place of inhibition and fear. Aiming for perfection from the start is something that I had to unlearn when I started making my own work.
Cheesiness is, of course, subjective. Having two other artists in the room who I trust is important. At HCL, I could not have asked for a better team than Laura and Natalie, who were fully present and all around wonderful musicians. I’m constantly asking questions, such as, “How does this feel?”; “Is anything cheesy?”; “Does this make any sense?” It’s important to me that not only I, but also my collaborators feel conviction in what we’re doing, which is impossible when you’re thinking, “Ugh this shit’s cheesy” or “What is the point of this.” It’s one thing to get a score you don’t like very much and have to perform it well—we all can do that, and have had to do that on numerous occasions (even so, we sometimes can’t feign enthusiasm)—but imagine having to move your body in performance and moving in a way you feel is awkward: you will probably perform timidly.
Thoughts that crossed my mind at the beginning of the week: This is hard; This shit is so cheesy; wtf am I doing; I don’t think I’m going to do interdisciplinary work anymore, I don’t think this functions well as a genre, especially with instrumentalists. But I was there to work, I had to show on Saturday, the clock was ticking, and so I did not have time to dwell on those thoughts, or to wonder if what I was doing was good or bad. And by Friday, we were running “Spring” in addition to “Winter,” which had been made earlier this year, and showed both movements.
While “Spring” will still be edited further, I was happy with what we made and with the experience over all. We had fun, we still liked each other after spending seven hours a day together, and I received thoughtful feedback at my showing. Having uninterrupted time with Laura and Natalie, who are generous, open-minded, intelligent, and creative musicians, is exactly what I needed, especially after having had a couple of panic attacks in previous weeks as well as delusional thoughts about my career being over (and more!). Those thoughts visit often. For the moment, I’m focusing on what’s next for the development of Antonym. Videos will be posted soon!
Auto-bio, or how I got over my fear of composing
Watercoloring, my new hobby
During school, I was focused on building classical repertoire. I started The Nouveau Classical Project around the same time I began my master’s program with $175 and luckily, musicians who were willing to volunteer to play for free for our very first benefit. The economy was ROUGH!
NCP started off very classical it has changed with me. After finishing my master’s, I became more interested in new music. I had also wanted compose but stopped whenever I tried to start: I respected composers and their craft so much that I thought I had no right to do it. Along with that, I was worried that I would not be good or successful at it since I did not start at four, like I did with piano. So I immediately walked away from the idea.
As NCP grew, we commissioned composers and I, along with some members of my ensemble, would think of collaborative possibilities. This was the extent of my making activities. In retrospect, I wanted to be actually making things and not just assembling pieces, and that frustration would come out in weird ways.*
After primarily pursuing a career in performance and being solely a pianist for several years, I felt not just a desire, but a burning need to express and share my experiences and perspectives as a Filipinx American woman. It crossed my mind that I would have started doing this sooner if I saw more Filipinxes doing this.** Part of my motivation was just showing up, being a representative or an example for my people, but maybe that rationale was also a way to make it less personal and therefore less terrifying.*** I hit a turning point, where I decided I would make an attempt at this strong but long-feared desire to compose music.
A couple of things happened one year that pushed this decision. I was a Fellow in the Target Margin Institute for Collaborative Theater Making, which was not about theater, but about questioning one’s practice. This fellowship was a year long, and at some point during that year, two friends from high school around my age passed away. They were too young to die, and I realized that life is simply too short to not try to do something you want to do, regardless of whether or not you achieve conventional success. One other thing happened that I would rather not detail here. But just mentioning it so you know there was one other thing.
For the fellowship, I was meant to explore how to play the piano in unconventional ways, but as the fellowship went on, the TMT mentors (David Herskovits and Moe Yousuf) noticed that I often kept talking about how I wished I could compose. So they made my final investigation about finding ways to compose rather than about making a “good” composition, which further encouraged me to give myself permission to just try. Moe even said that my investigation should be trying to make a “bad” piece of music. It was hard to break out of my shell, so a lot of my practice has had to do with dismantling the perfectionist mentality.
I have always been a late bloomer so I suppose starting late makes sense. It is still often scary, and it is not easy, but I love what I do and I am grateful to be able to do it!
*This can be a whole other essay.
** Yes, there are many Asians, but we all are so different, so no, when I see another Asian I do not necessarily see someone who represents me.
***I wonder if this is part of the thought behind the zeitgiest of identity-focused art? By making it about ourselves but related to a broader identity it’s theoretically bigger than ourselves and feels altruistic? Anyway check out my piece Islander, which explores the residue colonialism has left behind and the resulting fragmentation of identity! :-D
My Worst Nightmare (Not Really)
Last night I had a stress dream about my new piece. I was workshopping with Laura and Hajnal, who are in my piece in real life. Laura is on her side, playing flute and trying things out. Then Hajnal’s husband, Dorian, comes to rehearsal too with small percussion equipment so I think, All right, guess I’m writing for that too. More people appear, because it turns out that Hajnal thought it they’d dig what we’re doing and would possibly take part.
Then I see tables set up for brunch, staff bustling around in my periphery, a dance floor, some guests cheering, some dancing. I assume Hajnal had planned this as well. It turns out to be a wedding reception. I do not see a bride and groom; it simply becomes fact. We are standing next to each other, looking at the scene, and she says something that implies she is as surprised as I am. I say, You didn’t plan this? And it turns out she did not.
I start to panic because I REALLY need to work. My friend Jay appears with an envelope that looks like one of the bank statements I actually receive in the mail and says he will go downstairs to the admin office to sort it out, since he needs to drop off a payment (which is in that envelope). Luckily, time moves by extremely slowly. I look at my phone and what was ten minutes normally was only three minutes. I don’t know how; I just know it was true in this dream. So I think, Okay cool, I have time.
Hajnal and I are talking (where the hell did Laura go?) and I tell her that some bratty girl we know, who does not exist in real life, I think her name was CJ, got put in her place.
Right before this dream was another dream, that there was an Urban Outfitters closeout sale at the top of a mountain. This is really random, because I have not shopped there in several years. The company was bussing people back and forth at regular intervals and CJ was a diva and asking to be picked up at a specific time. She was told no (this was apparently her being put in her place). At some point, my cousin and I are on the bus but we had not gotten off, so we were going back up the mountain.
There’s a little more, but I’ll stop there. To anyone who knows what my day was like yesterday, or knows me extremely well, this would make almost perfect sense. Psychologists theorize that dreams serve a role in memory processing, and this was absolutely a bizarre culmination of my Friday. Although it was cut short by an invasive wedding reception, I did receive one creative idea during my dream workshop.
I have felt stuck this month, but yesterday, I was able to sketch two tiny ideas. It did not make me feel like I had any more momentum, but perhaps just starting at least sparked a little bit of imagination that was able to manifest itself during sleep. Taking something from concept to creation sometimes seems nearly impossible: having to manifest all my research, personal stories, and the ways I think about life into a piece feels like trying to create a meal where nearly all of it is made from secret ingredients and no one in the world knows what they are.
I guess I should end with something cheesy like, perhaps the secret ingredients of my creativity will reveal themselves in my deepest dreams or some shit like that. I am not a writer and I need to start composing today. I just really want to make something good.
Grace Face
This is not my cat Coco; it’s a pillow
I just got back to New York a couple of days ago from Singapore, a clean, safe city where I had zero unpleasant interactions with strangers on the gum-free sidewalks…although I did encounter a rude saleswoman at the Far East Shopping Centre (I guess that’s the deal behind “it” bags? $1500 on a wallet/phone receptacle to earn some basic-ass respect?!). My favorite parts were the Singapore Zoo, which is massive and animals roam free in their natural habitats, Haji Lane, and most of all, spending time with friends I’ve known for nearly the amount of time I’ve lived in New York. Speaking of which, I sorely missed the city and my tortie, Coco. Believe it or not, I even missed the strangers—high-strung, sometimes friendly, often on edge—fellow New Yorkers that pass by in a blur on a daily basis. In fact, I often do miss them when I leave.
My city welcomed me with bagels, strong coffee, cold weather (missed that too because it only makes the spring even better), and I was extra welcomed by an asshole on the train who called me a cunt. Here’s what went down…
Someone touches my arm, placing it in such a way that makes me think I am about to run into a friend saying hello. Instead, it is some guy offering a seat on an uncrowded train to me, a woman carrying only a handbag, and I say, “No thanks.” Then he asks me if I am a skater. I make a confused, quite annoyed face, because clearly he is trying to talk more, and say, “No,” because I do not want to have a conversation. I, like many, if not most women, have been in this situation enough times where a man tries to speak to you when you just want to…not talk to him.
He does not go away. He asks why I have to say it like that, why do I have to come at him. I say I’m not “coming at him.” And he tells me I should be nice, and I assertively say, “What?” And he asks why I have to talk like that, it’s as if I want bad things “said again” to me and that I should be nice. I tell him he is not entitled to my niceness. He says, “You’re a cunt.” I put my hand under my chin (aka “Grace Face”) and I say, “Thanks…[I’m] proud.” And he says it again and I go, “Yeah!” Then I take a picture of him. As he walks away, I walk after him and admittedly, my voice shakes a little from the adrenaline as I say, “You fucked with the wrong person!”
As in, me: a New Yorker of 17+ years. Happy to be home!
Rambling 122718
I wasn’t going to post this because the writing is not great, but I just really need to get this thing started. Besides, is this really any worse than posting a selfie or a food photo? Perhaps…YOU be the judge!
Delayed Budding
I'm sitting at the Chicago O'Hare airport trying to write this quickly before my complimentary 30 minutes of wifi run out (I think I have 20 left). If I finish quickly enough this post may even include an image!
Lately I've been working on a new multidisciplinary project where I'm writing the music, scoring movement, and examining my identity in a more intense way than I ever have. I've said it enough and I think this will be the last time I say it because I have already acknowledged it enough and it will not help: this is all a bit scary. New territory. And not while I'm fresh out of school; I'm a full-fledged adult! A youthful, fun adult, nonetheless, but a real adult that does not feel like time is on their side.
As a late bloomer (or a fashionably late flower?), I either feel like I don't give a fuck hell yeah life is too short to care I'm doing this! or a bit on edge about getting a late start and begin the what-iffing: What if I had become a generative artist at a younger age and how different (better???) would my work be? What if my brain is done shaping itself and I'm not developing anymore OMG. I think I'm inherently an optimist even though I'm also a cynic and I'm continually balancing the tension of those two things. The cynic in me says, "I'm just keeping it real," while the (somewhat bitchy?) optimist in me says, "Got it. Now shut the fuck up and let's move on."
Arts Letters & Numbers & Keyboards
I just got back from a productive and inspiring week with fellow pianists and composers, Melinda Faylor and Mary Prescott. We visited a residency upstate called Arts Letters & Numbers where we were graciously taken care of by Frida Foberg and Rikke Jørgenson. Rikke picked us up from the bus station and took us to the grocery store. In addition to Frida and Rikke, there was a lovely community of friends surrounding the residency: a ping-pong group that consistently meets once a week, and regular ALN folks Farmer Adam (moniker courtesy of mua) and John, who were great company, not to mention they generously gave us rides to the store and bus station.
Every day we hit the studio to work on a new multidisciplinary piece. Not going to say too much about that since it's very early in the process, but I will say that Mary and Melinda rock. Our work was intense, we were physically sore every day from all our moving around, and it was fun. We danced, sang rounds, played little pianos that were not of the grand variety. When we weren't working, we were either eating, practicing on the 9-foot Baldwin (however, after a couple of days I simply didn't feel like touching the piano), talking a walk, or relaxing. We all forgot to bring a nail clipper, so being the pianists we are, we were sad to leave but eager to get home to trim our nails. I'll remember to do so at our next intensive week, which I am already very much looking forward to.
Melinda, me, and Mary at the House on the Hill
Love this vegetarian chili recipe I found on epicurious. Leftovers for days!
Inside the Mill
I wore this exact same outfit EVERY SINGLE DAY minus the additional sweatshirt around the waist
I liked working on the large surface area of the kitchen island
Can you remember who's who? The answers are above! :-P
Thumb piano; a Casio tone from the 80s we nicknamed "Gene," as in Gene Belcher; melodica; Melinda's accordion; and some cow bells that were hanging out at the mill
Ping-Pong set up
Our new buddy, Gary, who brought some delicious posole
Outside the Mill. Can you tell we really loved the Mill?
Steps from the Hill to the Mill
Mary called me "Kenny G"
Working on movement
Working on the porch because the weather was beautiful
Leaf imprint in the snow
Mary was stoked for the moss on this leaf
We're starting a Go-go's cover band called S & M's.
I wish I swung more on the swing
Working
5 seconds later
View from the house
Sculpture in the house
Heading back
Women's March on NYC
There was so much positive energy at the Women's March on NYC. People were friendly and courteous even though it was crowded. When we started marching it got really tight, but no one got physically agressive; we just moved slowly and huddled together like penguins keeping each other warm (although thanks to global warming, it wasn't very cold). There was one dude who was smoking a cigarette in the middle of the march, which those of us around him thought was très rude (PSA: please do not smoke a cigarette at a march) but that was the only small annoyance of the day and was ultimately NBD, as it was immensely inspiring to see so many people rally for equality and human rights. Anyway...photos!
A continuous line
Another year, another set of failed resolutions. If I forgot about them and didn’t make a sincere attempt, that means I didn’t really fail at them, right?!
Clockwise from top left: my final Target Margin Institute investigation; backstage with Trevor and Barbie at Periapsis Open Series at GK Arts; Target Margin Intensive, March 2016; at the Museum of Art and Design (MAD) Harry Bertoia exhibit; Coco; at the Met Museum with Target Margin; MAD Bertoia exhibit with Hajnal; work process photos of Test Site 1; a selfie.
Another year, another set of failed resolutions. If I forgot about them and didn’t make a sincere attempt, that means I didn’t really fail at them, right?!
The election and dead celebrities aside, 2016 has been a year of artistic and creative realizations for me. The Target Margin Institute was a major contributing force. I was surrounded by open, intelligent, and creative cohorts, guided by the amazing David Herskovits, and supported by fantastic artists Sarah Hughes and Moe Yousuf. I learned so much about leading and taking part in a process, saw amazing plays, and had the chance to meet and listen to Richard Foreman speak in an intimate setting.
That happened the day after the election. I wasn't planning on really writing about the election here, but in a somewhat circuitous way, it was another factor for the creative changes I decided to make. Like many of my friends and colleagues, I am working towards taking a more active role in important issues, but relating back to artistic awakenings: it emphasized that the voices of women need to be loud and amplified further and further until we are heard. I became extremely aware of how many things I had always wanted to do but did not (which I will specify as I do them over time), due to my lack of confidence as a woman in a male-dominated field, and then I thought: Screw it. No time for hesitation. For me, this creative hesitation is a microcosm of all the hesitations we execute because we only see people like us hindered, or don’t see them, rather, as they are instead rendered invisible: don’t apply for that opportunity; stay in your lane; a woman can’t possibly be president.
Also, two friends my age died. These shocking events not just reminded me, but screamed in my ear, that life is too short not to make things I want to make.
Although another year is ending, I would rather think of tomorrow as a continuation of a line rather than a newly drawn beginning. Calendars have the psychological effect of making us think of a new year this way; in fact, I still imagine each day and week as a box I’m inside of, the last day of the year the bottom of a page. But it is not the beginning for me; I’m adding on to what I’ve started.
#popthebubble
This post is imageless, due to the fact that all public domain bubble images are cheesy and I can't find the photo of me with my bubble gun that makes giant bubbles the size of my head.
I'm going to start this post with an excerpt of the post-election e-mail I sent out yesterday:
I hope everyone is doing ok. There's not much to say that hasn't already been said. I'm completely shocked. I went to bed at around 2 am, and although things were already looking bleak and it was apparent that Hillary was going to lose, I still held out the tiniest iota of hope that when I woke up, just maybe things would have turned around...because it ain't over till it's over, right?
After hitting snooze several times and finally getting up at 7:25am, I looked at my phone and just broke into tears. I'm taking this loss personally, as I'm sure many of you are. I could elaborate on my thoughts, but I've been posing status updates throughout the day, and I'm sure you're all seeing messages similar to one another come up on your feeds as well, so I won't go on.
...
The one glimmer of happiness today was spending the morning with my Target Margin fellows in SoHo, where we vented our frustrations, supported one another, and had a discussion with Richard Foreman. We asked him questions about his work, but of course, we could not avoid talking about last night's election, which led to us asking whether or not art has the power to change people.
Richard said no, and I don't blame him. Right now I don't know.
I still don't know. I just interrupted my practicing to write this because I guess I want to try and see if it's possible to effect change. And I really need to get back to practicing because I have a recital this Saturday and I still need to get Mary's piece up to tempo (getting there!) so this is going to be quick, I'm going to be thinking out loud on (digital) paper, and possibly be a little sloppy. I feel an urgent need for us to come together as artists and figure out how we can engage with people outside of our collective city bubbles. I, for one, live in a city that nurtures outsider art and embraces PoC and LGBTQ folks. But this isn't the case everywhere, and if we're making pieces about race and gender equality, perhaps we should reach those not in the proverbial choir.
Why can't art just be a job like everything else? Art is about engaging with people for many of us. And this election, which has illustrated both the explicit and complicit racism of this country affects all of us. PEOPLE. "...the government of the people, by the people, for the people" is going to be led by a megalomaniac that according to the popular vote, most of us don't want to be our president.
Something I know I'm capable of doing is organizing the shit out of anything and making things happen. There's strength in numbers and I want to hear from my fellow artists about what we can do to #popthebubble and reach people outside of our current spheres through art.
Or we can just keep making art apart from this, and keep donating, signing petitions, etc....ain't nothing wrong with that. But we need to try. I feel a responsibility as an artist to just step the hell up already. Stay tuned for a meeting in the coming weeks (no more than two because I hate when things lost momentum). In the meantime, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments!