morning musings: new work for in bloom

image description: a dancer wearing navy cropped pants and a forest green shirt is in a white-walled studio sitting on her left thigh, with her hair, black with blonde tips, completely obscuring her face. Her left hand is pulling a bunch of strands of hair straight out in front of her. Her right knee is bent with her foot on the ground, making her knees form a “v” at a 45-degree angle. Her right arm is extended straight between her legs and her fingers are naturally curved.

I’ve been loosely working on a thing for In Bloom, a work-in-progress showing/gathering I’m performing in next week at The Center for Ballet Arts at NYU. My organization, Isogram Projects, is also co-producing with Sarah McCaffery/Gold Standard Arts Foundation. (I designed the flyer too!).

Until yesterday, I had been primarily brainstorming. Since the thing is just over a week away, I told myself I that I ABSOLUTELY had to make the entire thing on Monday (yesterday) so that I’d have time to rehearse it and make (hopefully) minor edits.

I thought I’d never make work about motherhood. The idea used to make me cringe, frankly. But now I’m feeling it. The thing I’m showing next week are sketches for a performance portrait of motherhood, ambition, and rage. So far, there is music (looped vocals and Push 3, featuring a drum rack I made with my piano) and dance. If I can get it together there may also be some kinetic drawing. We’ll see!

This is going to be an installment of my Test Sites series, short experiments in process that started in 2016. They aren’t meant to be precious, but I’ve felt so precious about them lately. I’ve made seven so far, and I’ve usually been happy with all of them, except for the most recent one.

I used to work with tight timelines frequently and have something finished by the end, I’m talking one or two weeks, and I’m finding that so hard to do these days. I used to be very confident about simply “fulfilling the task” and now my tasks tend to sprout other tasks and so on, so the thing keeps expanding, but I need to contain it and tell it to just wait till after the 28t so that I have something to show next week!

I made Test Site 7 four months after giving birth. It was rough. It’s the only one I haven’t posted on the Test Sites page. And frankly, this new one, Test Site 8, sort of feels like that again; I feel a familiar pressure. But I feel better about this one.

Tickets for the performance are here, and they’re free for artists and art workers. Get them soon! I imagine an event with free food will sell out fast.

mom voice

image description: a collage of a planner section with the words “work” in amorphous pink ovals in the right corner; below that, a a hand of a child’s fingers on the edge of a small notebook with a red ribbon bookmark; in the center, the back of a child and mother walking a few feet apart on a city sidewalk with a tree in the background and people dining outside to the left; on the right, a closeup of someone’s arm hand writing music with pencil, inside a piano, with a light pink snakeskin-printed shirt with light yellow-green lettuce edging and a brown sweater sleeve over it; at the botton, another planner page with the words “work” in black ink highlighted with brown marker and underlined with salmon ink

I’ve done my best to make the audio as gloriously shrill as possible ;)

I recently saw an open call for a residency that looks amazing, with beautiful facilities and a stipend. Two-week residencies were available, but only for college professors and former residents. I wondered if they’d consider offering two weeks for parent artists, considering our responsibilities for, you know, caring for another human. I mean, if they’d offer it to college professors who have access to university resources, such as space and equipment, why not parents?

So I wrote to them asking if they’d consider two-week residencies for parents, and that to be clear, I was not asking to bring family, and said that it is just hard to get away for too long.

Well. They must not have been able to hear over my “Mom Voice”—oh wait, this was a WRITTEN EMAIL, so I mean, somehow not able to read the words I actually wrote (perhaps the word “parent” triggered some weird reflex) and responded with a lengthy email about why they could not accommodate families.

I said out loud to myself, “Fucking idiots. That’s not what I asked.” So I wrote back again, clickety-clacking* loudly on my laptop:

Hi,

As I mentioned in my email, I'm not trying to bring any family. I personally do not like bringing my family to residencies. I tour without my family all the time. I'm asking about just *considering* having two-week options in the future for parents.  

Hope that's clearer for you.

And again! They wrote back a lengthy email, about an inch and a half of vertical text on my laptop screen, about how they are unable to host families. JFC! IS IT NOT POSSIBLE TO READ PROPERLY OVER MY “MOM WORDS?”

And finally, that was followed by a short email, perhaps after a more careful reading of my original three-sentence email, saying nope, no two-week residencies for artist parents in the near future.

//

Performing Test Site 5: Seedlings at Marble House Art Seed, 2019, next to a 30-foot drawing I made. Pretty sure this pic is by Melanie Greene. Image description below.

I started going to residencies in 2017, when I’d set out on my path as a generative artist after having been solely a pianist for about a decade. Each year until the Covid-19 pandemic, I’d be at a residency or two for a couple of weeks each year.

After I had a child in 2021, I stopped applying. My partner and I shared as many childcare responsibilities as we could, and I felt that my child needed me as much as possible at such a young age. And because I knew that the time would go by fast since children are only little for so long, I wanted to avoid being away for long periods of time, even though I craved it.

There was one residency where I brought my family. I’d gotten into Crosstown Arts in Memphis for a 2020 residency, pre-baby, and it was, of course, postponed. They started up again in 2022, and thanks to their family accommodation, I was able to go with my family.

That was nice, and I’m so thankful it exists, but it did make me realize that I’d personally much prefer to go by myself.

Now that my child is four, I’m starting to apply again. I just got into MacDowell and I requested dates that take place during the school year. They offer 2-8 weeks, and the longest I can go—like many parents, and in fact, like many people with regular bills and jobs, e.g., most artists—is two weeks.

Anything longer, for not just me, a parent, but again, for many of my fellow artists, would either be impossible, or take some virtuoso planning and life finagling: securing a subletter; making sure there’s still a job waiting for you when you’re back; and for parents, hiring babysitters, or if you’re lucky and have family nearby, getting additional help (if people are available).

Artist talk at Crosstown Arts, 2022. Image description below.

There seems to be a centuries-long allergy with no cure to the idea of artists having some life that coexists with our creativity. The archetypal artist is the lone wolf, set out on a singular path to greatness. Sure, we talk about the need for community and friends, but family? That’s just too bourgeois and traditional.

And as much as I don’t want to, a part of me believes it sometimes. It feels like I had to get the McGenius with a side of Gugg or some shit before I earned the right for this normie part of my life, having a family, to not be a taboo of basicness.

It’s taboo because artists are meant to be convention-fighting rebels…we’re asked the stupid question of how we take risks in our work, which is such a joke of a concept, risk in art, especially in NYC, considering what goes on in the rest of the world.

And this stigma primarily affects women, who, when married, are already seen as someone’s wife, a dependent person; motherhood whiffs of a woman who doesn’t take risks because our images of a mother (“soccer mom,” etc.) are narrow, singular, and monolithic.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s all in my head, these perceptions of how artist mothers are viewed by colleagues. But I know it’s not. Famous women artists have thrown us under the bus with their diatribes about how being a mother would have just gotten in the way (read: Abramović, Emin).

And yes, there have been wildly successful mother artists, but I also wonder if they’re the exceptions to the rule. And this book I’m reading shows examples of famous artist mothers whose personal lives were sort of a mess, so is that also a prerequisite to making a mark?!

Welcome to my rabbit hole.

I could simply make work about motherhood, and I will, but I also want to complain. I come from a culture where we’ve historically put our heads down and worked hard and achieved success that way, but I’m not going to put my head down. It’s popping up at intervals to say, learn how to read an email, right middle finger up, left palm holding my kid’s hand. All before drop-off, because I’ve gotta get to work, motherfucker.


*Yes, clickety-clack is a term I picked up from The Little Red Caboose. CLICKETY-CLACK, BITCHES!!!!

Image descriptions

1) Performing at Marble House Art Seed, 2019. An Asian woman with blonde tips and red lipstick, wearing a black dress, sits on a concrete floor in front of a graphite on paper work that is also on the floor. Her body is rotated towards the camera and her left palm, fingers straight and together, covers her eyes. Behind her audience sits in white chairs.

2) Artist talk at Crosstown Arts: An Asian woman with a ponytail with blond tips speaks at a mic stand on a low wooden stage. She is wearing a voluminous sheer sleeveless pink dress over a sleeveless gingham dress with white, low platform boat shoes. She looks over at a screen that displays two photos: one of herself and another Asian woman (Melinda Taylor) playing melodicas at a ¾ angle, and the second picture of herself playing the sarunay next to a red toy piano.

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!

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:

View this post on Instagram

CMA day 2/#caturday: 1) met Hugh (up for adoption!) 2) Attended a panel on equity with Aaron Flagg, Tania León, Tomeka Reid, and Jerry Medina. . I asked a question (which I am paraphrasing here) about how we go beyond talking about issues of inclusivity and tokenism and effect change when PoC are lacking on the leadership/curatorial levels. Right now it’s about correction, and it is challenging to do anything differently or better when teams lack a variety of people and perspectives. I mentioned that I’m tired of talking, sometimes I think, I just want to BRING IT and REPRESENT rather than having this same conversation over and over again, with the same sentiments being echoed repeatedly. (Which is why I still haven’t written my article on PoC perspectives on diversity initiatives...) Aaron said, “If you’re tired, I’m exhausted!” But he mentioned how access to power is important and can be useful (as in, knowing people who have power and seeing if they can help), how he stuck around on certain boards, how the process was at times frustrating but had he left, things may not have improved the way they did. And afterwards he said, write the article! And so did someone else who had been sitting next to me. . Also got slightly admonished for using the term “PoC,” because one of the panelists felt that labels are the problem, that people see us that way because we see ourselves that way. I can understand why they’d say that; it’s partly a generational thing, it’s partly a “well, things worked out for me doing it this way” thing. And I never referred to myself in that way, not because I didn’t think I wasn’t, but because yeah, didn’t like labels, after all we’re all just “people.” I wish life was actually that simplistic. The nuanced racial dynamics I’ve experienced prove otherwise. Anyway I have more thoughts on that but will save them for a proper blog post (that I may never write) . Well crap I guess I just wrote an article on this POST . 3) Meowmy dis IS tiring I’m tired . #brevity #composer #pianist #questions #artist #nyc #newyorker #cat #tortitude

A post shared by Sugar Vendil (@sugarvendil) on Jan 19, 2020 at 11:23am PST

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!

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!

A continuous line

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. 

I'll be eloquent another day

I’m currently doing research for a project that I’m going to start digging into later this summer. And I’m aiming to finish this blog post by 3:30 pm, which is in 15 minutes, when I have to head out the door.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve been reflecting deeply on race and gender. And not in the general sense, but specifically about being a woman of Asian descent, being Filipino, and a Filipino artist, in America. There are so many contradictions and I’ll be eloquent on another day, but now I’m down to 10 minutes. With the way I’ve been brought up, there’s a mixture of pride (lumpia is THE BEST type of eggroll, #sorrynotsorry; Pacquiao (as an athlete, not as a person!); Boracay is one of the most stunning beaches in the world) and self-loathing (stay out of the sun to avoid getting dark; use skin-bleaching soap; looking more Chinese=better). I’m proud to understand every word of Tagalog, although I do need to brush up on my speaking. I love so much about the country where my parents come from, but it can also be such a sad place. Last night I watched the movie Metro Manila and it pained me to see the slums of the Philippines that are all too real, and the way most of the world sees us.  

Us? I was born in the United States so I’m American...wtf am I even talking about? But as I’ve gotten older I’ve been drawn to investigating how my upbringing as a daughter of Filipino Immigrants have affected my worldview. It’s become undeniable, unavoidable. Being born female and having the natural inclination to prove I can do anything boys do definitely complicated things, as Filipinos still had a “traditional” view of women when I was growing up: I had to beg to play volleyball (luckily I did; I was good and played varsity for 3 years of high school…in fact, I often thought I’d pursue volleyball instead of piano) and when I wanted to skateboard, my dad was resistant and asked if I was a lesbian. (And of course I didn’t back down without a fight. And of course I won. For the record, my dad is actually a really nice, open-minded guy…he’s grown a lot, so please don’t hate on him! Plus I keep him in line. And I’m a shitty skateboarder.)   

I need to finish this up so long story long: I’m creating a piece that incorporates a Filipino dance called the Tinikling. I’ve found a lot of metaphors in the dance itself that I think I can really expand on. This week I've been reading through various texts and I thought I’d try writing this (very rushed) post as part of my process.

If you are also the child or descendant of immigrants and want to share anything related about your own experience, please feel free to comment!

Embracing Process for Progress

Yesterday's workshop session with Coco Karol

I was recently accepted into Target Margin Theater’s (TMT) Institute for Collaborative Theater Making, where artists are invited to challenge themselves, their practices, and engage in questioning and experimentation. Activities include intensives, focused experimentation, adventures, and breakfasts. I was so thrilled just to get the interview; I don’t have a theater background so I thought my chances of becoming a fellow were low. What appealed to me is the way the Institute seems to balance structure with artistic freedom and experimentation. There is no end goal or specific project to work towards. In both the application guidelines and in the interview, it was emphasized that we would need to set aside whatever we are working on for one big question mark; the Institute would be a place not to launch and execute projects, but to embrace the unknown. The Fellowship is already such a gift in and of itself, and beyond that TMT gives each fellow a $1,000 stipend as well as space.

Illustration by Jesse Hawley

I am beyond excited to take part in this, as I believe this is exactly what I need right now. I have been building my music ensemble, The Nouveau Classical Project, over the past seven years. Aside from working on the creative side of it, i.e., curating, performing, directing, there is an enormous amount of unsexy work that goes on behind the scenes to execute projects and maintain the organization: fundraising, marketing, operations (one of my least favorite words…what are we, a hotdog factory?), making face time at events, coffee meetings, etc. More often than not I’m going at breakneck speed, mostly driven by ambition, but also by necessity. I work hard to make sure things get done, are well done, and people get paid, which doesn’t always allow me a lot of time to let ideas germinate or reflect on what matters to me as an artist. I have no regrets, though; having the discipline to balance all of this with a consistent practice schedule has taught me how to manage my time and allowed me to build something that’s still going strong. 

Speaking of time, there’s a time and place for everything. This may not have been the right thing for me ten years ago, or perhaps I would not have understood its importance to my artistic growth and creative practice (I had piano tunnel vision; the only thing “practice” could mean to me at the time was hours on end at the instrument.) I’m a completely different person now and my priorities have changed significantly. I think now is the time where I need to engage in some much-needed experimentation, rethink my work, and immerse myself in a slow motion process propelled by questioning.

One of the projects I’m working on outside of the Fellowship is a multimedia piece with composer Trevor Gureckis and choreographer Coco Karol. It's going to involve music, movement, and projections. My stay at the A-Z West wagon station encampment in Joshua Tree was the impetus for the project so it will be incorporated into the piece. That's all I know right now. I’m purposely refraining from mapping it out too extensively at the beginning because I want to see how things unfold for a little while. Don’t get me wrong: it’ll get done and there will be a structure. After working the way I have for years this is inevitable. I just don’t know exactly what it is going to be at this moment in time, and for me, that means this project is off to a good start.