FEMINIST ART COLLECTIVE

Given your employment of movement based performance in your practice, can you speak to the strength of using the immediacy and intangibility of this medium in response to violence happening here, in Kashmir, and in other places that have meaning for you?

I like working with movement-based storytelling because of the capacity for presence-in-a-moment coexisting with out-of-timeness. Movement is immediate, yes, but also echoes into the past and future, which is a lot like violence --- we come up against the ripples of it well outside of the physical bounds and moment of the experiences themselves.

I’ve spent a lot of time and energy thinking about capitalism, racism and patriarchy, and all of the bodily genius we develop because of the intricate violences of these systems. Movement and soundscape creation are, for me, the most natural forms of expression in these explorations. This has been the case in looking at my own relationship to violence, or in moving through spaces in Toronto’s Gay Village where people have gone missing, or in being with the realities of occupation and displacement in Kashmir.

Collaborative movement seems to be prevalent in your practice. Is this a demonstration of organized collectivism, or communal introspection? Could it be both?

Moving in relationship to others is one of the only ways that I feel the realities of interconnectedness. While in theory I’m really into the Buddhist principle of the inseparability of all beings, that we are all made from the same stuff and that I am this tree and you are this grain of sand, I only ever feel a fragment of this when I’m sweating my face off at a dance party, surrounded by other bodies moving fast and slow, also sweating their faces off. I never feel more alive than when I leave this brain behind to fully land in my body, and when I can feel those around me doing the same.

With the Switch Collective, which is an interdisciplinary political street performance collective I’m a part of in Toronto, we use roaming street performance as a way of inviting audience into a story journey, where we do some naming, some dreaming, definitely some plotting, and even moments of celebration. I like imagining what goes on for participants in these performance experiments, individually and collectively. It honestly feels like the closest thing I know to co-creating ideal futures, even in minute and momentary ways, and I think that collaborative movement and embodiment have a lot to do with that.

How do you draw parallels from your research/writing phase and the corporeal realities of  “writing” (so to speak) choreography?

My go-to process for developing new work is to listen to a wide variety of music really loud and let myself flop around, cry, stretch, shake, and move however I want to for at least the first two or three sessions. Then I do some writing after that because usually, this body-based practice tells me something important. Sometimes I create soundscapes that echo what comes out of the movement and writing exercises, and then I feedback-loop through this process until I have something to work with that I can really feel in my body. It’s the most embarrassing process for anyone to be privy to, which is probably why I couldn’t bring myself to do that during this residency.

This time, I started with a visual that has been living in me for a couple of years, and then did as much reading, writing, listening, talking, watching, and tactile experiences related to that visual as I could. I had a bunch of sound recordings from my recent four months spent in India, which I listened to intermittently, while also taking the time to hear and record the birds, the machine outside AGP pumping the water out during the flood, the waves, wind and ferry, and many other sounds on the island. For me, the writing this time was in the sound recordings, and the movement and gestures came from impulses leading out of the visuals, sound, and thinking through the concepts. I hope to always be mixing up how I “write” the work, because straight-up choreography has never really worked for me (so far).

What led you to fuse your love for food and your feminist practices? At what point did you draw or create the connection between the two? Many years ago, I connected with my love of crafting—I learned to knit and sew, I started a container garden, I began to make collages. I always enjoyed cooking and started exploring that more, trying different ingredients and buying second-hand cookbooks. At the same time, I was writing on gender issues and volunteering with feminist organizations. Before I started grad school, I took a course in environmental justice and ended up researching food deserts. Everything came together for me then. Women—especially women who face intersecting forms of marginalization—are more vulnerable to food insecurity. They also take on more care work, including food shopping, menu planning, and meal preparation. I also knew that women were doing amazing food justice activism. There was just so much there: the commodification of food and food work, the hunger of the material body and the social body, and the nourishment in feminist theory and resistance.

You have stated that you study food because you are a feminist. What does this mean to you?

I am not only interested in theory, but also, I see lived experience as critical to understanding our history, culture and politics. Food really connects these things in a very obvious, immediate way. Something Sara Ahmed wrote in Willful Subjects has really stuck with me: when governments introduce cuts to public spending, they often justify it by saying “we must all ‘tighten our belts’”. Those who resist are “deemed as self-willed, or even as selfish, as putting themselves (or perhaps even their own stomachs) over and above the general interest, as compromising the very capacity of the nation to survive, or flourish”.

What juxtaposition are you hoping to achieve in your collages between your poetry (words) and images?

I’m really trying to be open to whatever happens when I get out the scissors and glue. I’ve been experimenting with collage and painting and needlework. I applied to this residency because I crave dedicated time and space to expand my artistic practice. I’ve been a writer of non-fiction for many years. Now, I now want to develop other methods that I can incorporate into my criticism, to evoke a response in myself and others. Collage has kind of been over here, and poetry over here, and policy research over here. I’m looking forward to bringing them together.

How do you intend to move forward in your field of education with the topic of feminism? I am constantly trying to seek out new forms of media and listen to the views of different people. I hope I can help amplify the voices of equity seeking people. I hope that my life includes constant learning.

Crip Care Card: Rainbow Vomit

Being sicks sucks, this card acknowledges sometimes the only thing you can do is laugh. Inspired by the rainbow vomit Snapchat filter. In this project, as an intersectional feminist artist, I knew that representation was crucial. The skin tone on this card can be interpreted in many ways and reflects an alternative to traditional greeting cards which perpetuate white supremacy by excluding people of colour.

What does affirmation mean to you (in reference to your intended project, a card deck of affirmations)?

I am not sure if I am doing this project anymore. I am thinking of writing a disability justice children's book, which will include affirmations! I think affirmations are the things we all need to hear to validate our own unique experiences.

Crip Care Card: Self-Care and Resilience

Self-Care is not self-indulgent or selfish, it’s about the day to day things we must do in order to survive life. The way we manage our health, our bodies, our spirits. This card is a reminder that we need to be gentle with ourselves especially when it’s easy to blame our bodies and circumstances for how badly we may feel.

What do you find therapeutic about crafting? What do you hope to achieve with your own crafts of the facilitation of sessions?

I love playing and learning new things. I love trying and failing and trying again. I think crafting can teach us that failure can be positive and help us move forward, especially in this society that is so high pressure. Crafting allows failure in a safe environment.

Crip Care Card: Congratulations!

Finally getting a diagnosis is often cause for celebration, finally having a name for all the misery is a possible way forward. Having a diagnostic name can be a start to finding community and support. Getting a name can take forever and may bring a lot of mixed feelings but it’s important to celebrate what we can.

How important is the concept of memory to your work, of creating a record?

I’m pretty obsessed with memory, honestly. Not my own memories per se, but psych theories about human memory and its anomalies. I find it fascinating that we ever trust our own recollection of things. Our memories are so porous, they are decaying and getting distorted or corrupted all the time. The things we remember help shape how we perceive the present, but our memories are only interpretations, not fact, and chances are we aren’t even really remembering it correctly.

Because I have this obsession, I love when books/movies/TV shows use imaginative and unexpected techniques to tell stories concerning memories. In my own work I’m nodding to this often, sometimes subtly and other times more overtly. In a piece I exhibited a couple years ago I used social media to crowd-source quotes and locations from current and former residents of a certain area of Hamilton. The memories people sent me were then re-created/re-constructed by hand using found images and an overhead projector and then filmed, mimicking my understanding of how our brains actually rebuild from scratch each memory we have. My project Hot Air involved gathering headlines and audio from various news sources around the world to demonstrate how the media talks about women. I felt like this was an issue that deserved to be recorded in the public consciousness. The current project I’m working on is inspired by the theory of ‘transactive memory’ – wherein groups collectively encode, store, and retrieve knowledge, creating fuller memories than any individual remembers on their own.

Memory is key, Vanessa Crosbie Ramsay, 2017

You are often collaborating with others on projects. Has this helped you grow as an artist? How?

I went to school for film/media and then spent several years working as an editor in television post-production. In that realm, you’re always collaborating with other people as part of a larger team and it’s everyone’s job to bring the final vision to life. Directors, Producers, and Network Executives all weigh in and help shape the final product. As a result, collaboration is sort of default mode for me. Working in post got me used to different people offering their perspectives on my work, and I learned to really appreciate that their suggestions could make something better (I mean if three people are saying the same thing to you, it helps if you can leave your ego behind and acknowledge they might be onto something, right?).

 In the work I do now, I’m lucky to have a community of people around me who I can call on for help or advice or to troubleshoot issues. There can be a certain vulnerability in asking people for critiques of your work, but ultimately, I want to be open to other voices, to new ideas, to improvement. I also work with a couple different collectives – HAVN (Hamilton Audio Visual Node), a DIY gallery, event, and community space, as well as the DAV(e) Collective which I co-founded in 2016 with two other multi- disciplinary artists, Dima Matar and Amy McIntosh. I love working with these women, and I trust and respect their opinions. There’s an age range between us (20s to 40s), and naturally lots of divergence in our strengths and interests, which exposes all of us to things we might not otherwise be aware of.

We’re working on a short film right now and are inspiring and challenging each other to layer together sound and images in interesting, unconventional ways. It’s taken us a long time, but the experience and experimentation has stretched my brain out in a lovely way.

Hot Air, Vanessa Crosbie Ramsay, 2017 

How has your feminism evolved, specifically as a multi-disciplinary artist?

Growing up I definitely had encouraging women around me, but no one ever called themselves feminist. So, as a younger person I didn’t identify with the larger movement, despite always having an interest in social justice issues and equality. I later met some brilliant women who helped me see that many of the things I believed in already were what feminism was all about. I definitely don’t shy away from that label anymore, and my partner and I have raised two sons who easily identify themselves as feminists. 

Ongoing learning about systemic issues ingrained in our patriarchal society and intersectionality have informed my understanding of what it means to be feminist as well. When I shifted away from working in TV and started focusing on art full time, a big part of that was wanting to work more experimentally and wanting to spend my time exploring issues I find important. Video and installation are my primary mediums, and I find ways to put my opinions about issues into my work using various materials, found video and audio, and other non-traditional storytelling techniques. Many of the women artists I’m drawn to, (such as Judy Chicago, Jenny Holzer, Barbara Kruger, The Guerrilla Girls) incorporate feminism and activism into their art, and I’ve certainly drawn inspiration from them. Over the past few years I’ve created work focused on all kinds of feminist issues, from women’s representation in the media, to domestic and sexual violence, and the inequalities facing women in certain professional fields that are dominated by men.

My interest in feminism and a love of learning lead to me researching grad school opportunities and luckily, I found a great option close to home. I have recently been accepted and will be starting a Master of Arts program in Gender Studies & Feminist Research at McMaster University this fall. Exciting stuff ahead!

Allusion, Vanessa Crosbie Ramsay, 2013

Can you discuss the importance of community and collaboration in your work?

When I think about the collaborative aspects of  the works I have been making, I think about my immediate family, followed by my hometown of Añasco by maintaining active collaborations with my family and re-enforcing our focus in Añascos historical presence. With thesis active prescinde we are able to cover more on what are the complications of identity focused work and work on the representation of such.

I've come to understand that our use of political identity and approaches are not individualized and every sense of activism, even in the smallest gesture becomes communal.

As someone who has resided in several places over the years, how has this helped you grow as an artist?

I have only Lived in Puerto Rico and in the United States (various states). By leaving Puerto Rico I have been dealing with what feels like an ongoing identity crisis. It’s hard to explain but many times I feel like I’m familiar with spaces yet at the same time should not be in those spaces. So I feel foreign to a lot of the land in the United States.

By living in the United States I’d had a lot of experiences that I didn’t really ever think I would have, some good and some not great. But, I’ve learned a lot about myself by being here. I have been exposed to groups of people who I admire and all of them are so different I think that has helped me as an artist and in general as a human. I do always gravitate to focusing on my land and my hometown, there is nothing better in comparison to me and I feel like I will be focusing on the complexities of Puerto Rico for as long as I make work.

Last year you participated in Nuit Rose here in Toronto. Can you share your experience?

I consider Nuit Rose my first international experience on a community engaged project where I was able not just to participate as a featured artist, but a viewer  in a physical form. By traveling to Toronto to be a part of Nuit Rose I felt unsure I didn’t know what to expect and honestly wondered if my work would engage with the community as a wished, specifically in a brand new place. While the festival was ongoing I met and interacted with various groups of people who were really grateful for the festival and the city in itself. I connected to people and felt an I an immense sense of relief because I understood how their feelings of inclusive alternative spaces and works were important to how they felt as individuals and visibility in and outside their own communities. I was and am extremely grateful for the opportunity Nuit Rose provided me, for the University of South Florida and how they have always supported the work I produce and the decisions I make when sharing the work outside of the institution. 

What is important to you about exploring or being a proponent of "off-page" modes of engagement in your work?

Black women artists employ text in a variety of modes including photography, installation, performance and visual arts - I think of Adrian Pyper, Carrie Mae Weems, Lorna Simpson, Okwuii Okpokwasili, Sable Elyse Smith, Renee Gladman and Kameelah Janaan Rasheed. I chose an MFA in Writing at an art school over a traditional graduate program in order to experiment with what text can accomplish outside of a book and it's single reader. What is text on a stage, in sound or occupying public space? What can it do outside of the confines of a page. In my studies, I've worked with sound, video, print, performance, object and installation. In one instance a piece of writing on the Walls of Benin, operated as ceramic objects, handmade paper, performance and installation. In another instance, I unpack the problem of speaking as a black woman into soundscape, video projection and object. I want for my work to lead itself, often the writing is the seed that blooms into whatever mode - each iteration has its own value, all relate back to the urge that led me to write. I think what is important to me is that each message have as many outputs as it likes, that each relays different and therein interpollate viewers differently. I'm interested in multiplicity; working across modes is my way of affecting a myriad - the myriad that is me. 

“How High”, projection with sound altar, jamilah malika abu-bukare 

Language is a strong aspect of your work - written, spoken, and replayed. Do you find it challenging to mediate what you want to say versus what you think needs to be heard, especially concerning the often coded, hidden, or suppressed voices of the black womxn or black individual?

Yes, I find mediating hard period - I had plans to say what I wanted to say at art school then felt, in part, derailed by making/writing the work I felt needed to be heard. I say in part because I'm interested in the work I made as a result of feeling forced or restrained - it is good and important. But there is a freedom I think white cis etc artists have to make whatever they want as they represent no one, they are the thing we all have to speak to as black, queer etc. There are always layers to the work that only some folks understand because of shared experience and I'm becoming more and more relaxed about how people relate or don't without needing them to see/hear/feel what i see/hear/feel. I heard Saidiya Hartman speak recently and she talked about black artists speaking in three ways: (i) inside to outside (ii) outside to outside (iii) inside to inside. I think sometimes my work is doind all of these things, the artist in relationship to how they identify and with the viewer (and how they identify) but mostly i strive towards the latter - as a black femme i am talking to/for/with black femmes, that is my goal. In the realm of arts/media, we need more of that. 

As a polygot, do you include languages other than English into your work? If so, what is the significance and intention of this?

I do, to date, not enough. Not just other languages formally but also dialects and patois. I'd like to do more in future. As a Trinidadian there's a ton of french and spanish influence in our nation-building that keeps shifting and waning - there is a story there. I don't tend to translate when I stray from the queens' english, in that vein of code, knowing that not doing so connotes for whom i am writing - if you know, you know. English dominates galleries the way that black women artists do not. I'm interested work that reveals and/or destabilizes these hierarchies. The inclusion of the periphery in the center is what may save us all. Writers like bell hooks, Dionne Brand, Michelle Cliff and M. Nourbese Philips talk about the work of writing in a language that is not ours, that is a part of the colonisation - the right to make malleable the brick of it, the walls. Taking English and doing what we may with it; the will and agency of the colonized people exerted upon that which we are meant to conform to is an act of radical self-reclamation. 

As an activist and historian, what are the most prominent themes and concerns involving contemporary feminist issues and how do you translate that into your work as an artist?

In my studio practice, I strive to be aware of my socio-political surroundings and approach feminism with empathy and passion. Furthermore, as an artist I aim to position my work as a form of activism. Intersectionality, a concept which was absent from much of 20th century feminism, has since become a major aspect within contemporary feminism and undeniably remains a prominent priority which I work to emulate in all aspects of my practice. However, I believe that the most prominent concerns involving contemporary feminist issues vary greatly depending on the artist. And that’s what makes contemporary feminist art so intriguing and unique; the dialogue of a feminist is just as diverse as the people who make up the feminist community. In the past I have explored issues surrounding body image, identity, gender roles and the sexualization and objectification of women’s bodies through a satirical, creative outlet. Always aligning with current social and political conversation, these themes that I have explored were most pertinent depending on where I was in my own life. This is because these concepts are inspired from my own life experiences which I work to make relevant for a broad and inclusive audience.

However, as an art historian, I am not as invested in exploring contemporary issues. Rather, as an art historian I task myself with developing an in depth understanding of historical issues, topics, conversations and values within feminist art. It is important to recognize that feminism and feminist art did not always successfully align with 21st century values and aesthetics. With the development of 2nd wave feminism, emerged several issues that present day artists and historians seek to address and critique. I strongly believe that the history of feminism and feminist art says a lot about where we are within a contemporary context. Some of the most prominent themes and concerns involving contemporary feminist issues have thus emerged out of the trials and tribulations and the progress and successes of feminists before us. And that is where I situate my work as an art historian.

I just recently participated in a conference at Queen’s University and when I finished presenting my paper, I received a question I was in no way prepared for. They wanted to know how my research into feminist art history influenced my practice as a feminist artist. This was something I had never really considered in much detail; I had always tried to separate these two worlds that I exist in because I didn’t want to recreate or retell what has already been done as an artist. However, I came to recognize that I had a unique opportunity here. Currently it is my pursuit to merge my work as an art historian with my work as an artist and cultivate a dialogue which speaks to themes and concerns involving contemporary feminist issues through an art historical lens. By juxtaposing the contemporary with the historical, my two worlds will collide, and I hope to not only educate the public on the complicated history of feminist art but also address prominent socio-political topics that are relevant and recognizable for viewers to connect with today.   

“Laundry Day”, Jessa Laframboise

Textiles have been re-emerging in the light of a new discourse, one that you are involved in. What has your experience been in utilizing a medium and techniques with such a highly socio-political history and feminist roots?

It wasn’t until my third year of university that I really took to art history. And more specifically, it wasn’t until my professor dedicated an entire class to solely discussing the role of women in art history that I became truly invested. Quite honestly, this was the first time I had the ability to fully immerse myself into women’s role in art history. We spent the 3-hour class looking at women artists from the 19th century and discussing decorative arts within the western canon of art history. I came to learn the troubling history associated with decorative arts – or “women’s work” as it has been referred to – and it fueled a fire inside of me that has yet to be extinguished. I was not about to accept the negative perceptions that had been historically connected with craft associated art and women artists. And so, in my third year of my BFA at Nipissing University I taught myself how to sew. This was a personal pursuit of mine, but its socio-political relevance was equally present in my mind as a I began my journey with textile art. I was taking a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and I was determined to make a prominent critique about “women’s work”, agitating the prevalent hierarchy of fine arts which I was taking part in by incorporating decorative arts into the realm which had historically maintained its explicit absence. And isn’t that what feminist art is all about…making explicit absences present and visible? My first textile project was a tapestry I entitled, Sew High Art and I simultaneously wrote a paper for my art history class called Breaking the Canon: An Examination of Textile Art, and from that moment on I was hooked on textiles and the history of women in art. I started out with absolutely no skill and many of my first sewing projects have since fallen apart. Yet I continued to persist; I continued to sew and learn new skills because I loved the process… I loved how calming yet stimulating it could be, how frustrating yet rewarding it could be.

I remember finding such solace and excitement in fabric stores; rooting through bolts of cloth became my favorite activity. I once went to the fabric store with my mom in the early days of my textile practice and I was complaining about how raw my fingers were. I had been up until 3 in the morning a few nights before sewing a pillow for a class assignment and my fingers were in so much pain that they had even bled; parts of my project is still stained with blood, adding a whole other element that I have come to appreciate rather than try to cover up. My mom suggested I buy a thimble. “A thimble?” I replied extremely confused at what this thing was that she had just mentioned. She proceeded to explain to me the purpose of this illusive thimble. I recall being completely dumbfounded in the middle of the fabric store – and a little embarrassed that I had no clue what it was – and needless to say the thimble changed the sewing game for me. This is because I don’t use a sewing machine. So many people ask me why I chose to hand sew all my projects when a sewing machine would be so much faster. I have tried a sewing machine a few times, but it didn’t give me the same satisfaction and stimulation that hand sewing provided for me. There is nothing better then curling up with a needle and thread and sewing the night away: getting lost in the repetitive movement and feeling truly accomplished every time you pull that thread through the fabric creating a new and unique stitch.

“Confessions of a pocketed pussy”, Jessa Laframboise

How do you celebrate femininity? What are the artistic aesthetics from the 20th feminist movement that inspires you?

My research as a historian is primarily focused on art from the 1960s and 70s and ultimately that is where I get a lot of my inspiration from in my studio practice. I recognize the many theoretical issues that arose out of feminist art during this period, however, aesthetically speaking this was a period in feminist art history filled with vibrancy, colour, satire, kitsch and bold moves. Similarly, textile art began to re-emerge through feminism in an empowering light. Satire and parody specifically within feminist art have their roots in 20th century, 2nd wave feminism as artists used these devices to reveal and critique social constructs in society. I work with satire and parody in a similar, yet contemporary manner. Thus, as an artist, I work to prioritize 4th wave feminist values and themes while maintaining these 2nd wave feminist aesthetics. Its so intriguing how these artists used expressive colour and kitsch as a method of exploring serious and often difficult topics. I similarly want people to be shocked and amused by my approach to feminist art, but then be able to progress through my work, critically and sincerely reflecting on the ideas about society that I have presented.

           Aside from my inspiration from feminist art history, one of the first artists I was ever really drawn to was pop artist, Andy Warhol. Pop art became one of my favorite periods of art and Warhol’s silk screen prints became my obsession. Of course, much of the values and themes that I uphold as a feminist was not reflected in the pop art that I was inspired by. However, I was determined to combine these two conflicting movements and find similarities within them. I have since strived to create a body of work that echo’s pop art aesthetics through a feminist lens that is both subversive and empowering. Utilizing prominent elements of pop art including silk screen printing, colour, text, recognizable objects and commercialization seemed like a great starting point. In mixing pop art aesthetics with 20th century feminist art aesthetics I discuss, critique and portray themes and concerns of contemporary feminism. It should be mentioned that while the themes explored in pop art were often anchored in sexism and misogyny, silk screen print has had a complicated relationship within the western canon of art and has historically been associated with mass production, advertisement and commercial art. Similar to textile art in this sense, printmaking has been an underappreciated form of art that has not always existed within the realm of “fine arts”. This has further perpetuated pop art as a major inspiration for my work and has allowed me to uncover and build connections between pop and feminist art.

           Utilizing these two very different artistic movements and developing a series of work that pulls various aesthetic from pop art and feminist art, I aim to always celebrate femininity as I perceive it to be; femininity is going to be different for everyone, its going to be expressed differently, portrayed differently and understood differently. But for me, the best way to explore and celebrate it is to create work that exists in the intersections between feminine and hyper-feminine. My practice then becomes a sliding scale that I vacillate back and forth on depending on the day, depending on the project. I do not shy away from playing with stereotypes in a subversive way because it allows me to approach femininity as I see it and simultaneously critique the ways femininity has been negatively or stereotypically perceived.  

“Dress up with Miss. Ogny”, Jessa Laframboise

What drew you to using materials outside visual and audio in your installations? What methods do you plan on using to create tactile, olfactory, and physic responses to your work? What artists are you turning to for inspiration or research?

While making the past few installations, I noticed I was trying to re-create scenarios where the audience could live the story themselves. It’s like the old adage, to walk a mile in someone’s shoes, I was attempting to call the audience in to engage and develop more empathetic responses to the narratives of experienced racism by making sensory engaging installations. I want to further the immersive storytelling experience by playing around with the other senses that normally don’t get a chance to be entertained when witnessing an art piece, that would be your sense of smell, taste, and touch. Things like olfactory elements permeate space, boundaries, bodies, and consciousness and would make a resilient impression that might recall memories or feelings associated with it. Perhaps I want to stir and feed senses a little more aggressively and see what responses will be evoked by it.

The things that will offer a tactile, olfactory or physical response will be subtle and innate of the objects that will be in the installation. Something like a rug that could change the feeling of one’s footsteps to be softer, quieter, and homelier. There are many ways I could introduce smells, from objects that are already meant to fragrance a space like candles, to having items in the space that will give off a smell like herbs drying. There can be many barriers that make it possible for certain sensory elements to be in traditional exhibition spaces. However, it will be very interesting to see how the barriers are challenged and how the barriers challenge the piece in return.

Some artist that I’ve been looking to are Alison S. M. Kobayashi for the characters she builds from found objects. Art duo Janet Cardiff & George Bures Miller who make theatrical installations with a lot of audio components and automation. Jennifer Akkermans who makes sculptures of tiny houses some with media components. These are some artists whose work bring me a sense of curiosity in themes of the home, characters, and story, and I’d like to be able to bring that same tone to my work.

“Therapy Chair (Green Chair)”, “Integrated Media - Great Hall Exhibition” at OCADu, 2015

How does your identity as an Asian-Canadian woman impact your practice and your interactions in the art world?

I have to keep in check with my position as an Asian-Canadian woman when it comes to making work that talks about race or discrimination. I have to remember the lens I look through and my biases. I can only speak upon my own unique experiences and be aware of the spaces that I or my work will take up because I do have some privileges over other people of colour.

One of the things I worried about with my work on race, was my work being received as invalid and “whiny” by the public. What I learned I was actually worried about is how my work about race issues was to be perceived by the white audiences, those who have been the predominate group who run our art spaces, who are our critics and are our audience.

“Hello, how may I take your order?”, Interactive Media Installation, Audio Loop: 1 minute and 17 seconds, 2016

Does mental health play a role in your process of creating installation works? Do you see appealing to the senses as a form of self-care in creating spaces?

It seems pretty innate for my mental health to be projected through my work or in my process. When I step back and take a look at the bigger picture of what I’ve made it’s like looking at a mirror of my mind and its struggles. Like my more recent installations that have been specific to themes of racism. I was becoming frustrated with the number of racist micro-aggressions not being recognized as an issue, let alone have much of my own agency in addressing the problem myself with the given environment. By turning the experience into an immersive installation, I was able to bring the situation to light and had audience members express relatability towards what I had to say.

These were reflective pieces on negative experiences, and as much as it is a very import part of starting a conversation on an issue, it was quite exhausting to be spending a significant amount of time building a piece that was about identifying a social issue and to constantly be in a state of confrontation. I do want to be creating new work that is more celebratory and healing because it is just as important as the work that calls in and confronts.

And yes, I do see that appealing to the senses as a form of self-care in creating spaces. I feel that when creating a space, I’m searching to see what elements could be added in to change the way the room feels from the rest of the environment. Whether good sensations or bad, stimulating our senses is to tap into our bodies and ask it what it needs can be mindful and therapeutic.

"Living in the Third Space”, Mixed-media installation with lighting, audio, text, bedroom furniture, and domestic items, Duration: 9-minute loop, 2016/17

Can you expand on your relationships between people and places and how that factors into your writing?

I’m someone who roots deeply in people and places. I need to identify the setting for each one of my poems in order to write it; whether that setting is a physical location or a person, I only know how to understand myself through my engagement with people and places. Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about how my relationships to land and desire play with one another, and how they fall on the spectrum between scarcity and abundance. How I yearn for land that feels like home. How, as a settler, my access and privilege are built on a history of stolen land and extraction. How, as a disabled and queer person, I’ve internalized that I am too much, that any desire of mine would be too much. How I’ve learned to find home in people instead of in places, and how scary that is, the idea of losing them.

”letter for my future daughters”, Jody Chan

Can you unpack what you mean by “sick/disabled queer joy and collective care” and how it directly relates to your practice?

Many of my earlier poems explore grief, loss, and trauma; often related to disability and queerness. Writing these poems granted me catharsis and clarity — but also sometimes left me feeling triggered and re-traumatized. I reached a point of burnout where I realized that I needed my writing process to be good for me if I wanted to keep making work. I was also thinking about the impact my words might have on other sick/disabled queer folks, who are the people I think of when I think about my poetry and how I want it to live in the world. I made a conscious choice to stop writing only about trauma and pain, and to write also about joy. As a disabled queer and genderqueer person, I lacked possibility models; I craved just knowing that there was anyone like me who was living and okay, let alone living a life full of love and care. Through writing into my own joy, I more deeply allow myself to feel the grief that is also, always, present. The stakes are higher. And I think this is more honest. We are whole people, and our writing deserves to embody a full range of emotion. Collective care is an idea that comes from queer people of colour disability justice organizers like Mia Mingus, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, Stacey Milbern, and others. Collective care asks how access can go beyond logistics, to being about building interdependence and solidarity and real relationship. Last summer, I was lucky enough to be a student of CAConrad’s, and to learn about their somatic poetry rituals. Since then, I have been building rituals in my own life — like cooking meals and sharing food with chosen family — that actively make space for more joy and care in my life, and that lead directly to notes for poems.

How important is collaboration in your work? Do you find you create differently between your collaborative and individual practices?

I don’t write anything without chosen family and queer community in my mind and body — even though the act of writing itself is often solitary. The person I am, which is the person that all my poems get filtered through, is the product of all my relationships — and in that sense, all my work is collaborative. My experience as an apprentice drumming with RAW (Raging Asian Women Taiko Drummers) has also been one of deep collaboration; of trying to hold the balance between being a member of a group with a single shared heartbeat, and being seen as an individual.

”hungry ghost”, Jody Chan

Can you speak about integrating Cantonese into your poems? How did that start?

Cantonese shows up in my poems when it’s necessary for the poem’s syntax. Many of my poems address family members. Cantonese is necessary for these poems to work because it’s how I would actually speak to the person that poem is addressing. There are sayings I know only in Cantonese. I count in Cantonese, never in English. And, at the same time, my Cantonese vocabulary feels utterly inadequate in comparison to my English when it comes to my values and my politics and the ways I want to describe the people I love. What is expressible for me in each language? And what does that mean for my internal language when I’m thinking about themes like family, home, and loss? I wanted these poems to reflect that internal language as closely as possible.

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Can you expand on the concept of “voluntary isolation”? What does that mean to you in terms of your autobiography and how do you see it impacting other artists or people in your community?

I started to explore voluntary isolation in late 2015 as a result of experiencing a sense of loss of privacy, having become a parent. Which is not uncommon for new parents. I became obsessed with artists who explored voluntary isolation, nomadism and self-sufficiency such as the Israeli-French artist Absalon and the American artist Andrea Zittel. Inspired by their self-containing minimalist structures, I built a series of works I could inhabit and enact a sense of ‘escapism’.  I cannot easily shake off the village.-Thoreau (2016), Self-Care (2017), Tent (2017) were the resulting works.

In my twenties, I spent several summers working for a reforestation company in Canada as a tree planter and later, as a head cook. Depending on the contract, we would travel to remote areas across Northern Ontario and Northern Alberta. We would set up camp and live in tents for up to six weeks. I always liked to travel and I loved the nomadic lifestyle of the job. The travel bug stuck with me. In my late twenties, I went back to university to study nursing and a year after I graduated, I decided to move to Australia to work as a nurse.

I believe that in order to feel happy about oneself and ultimately with others, we all need some time alone to reflect and to recentre. I realized it is not necessary to extract yourself from your immediate environment to achieve this. You can still disconnect/recenter while being in a public place. As much as aloneness is important, so is feeling connected with others. Becoming a parent can be extremely isolating and very intense. For me, a lot had to do also with a sense of loss of control. Furthermore, becoming a mother has been confronting for the major shift in roles and responsibilities and overall identity. There is a pressure exerted by Western culture to be a certain way as a mother which undermines a mother’s needs and desires. I believe motherhood still remains marginalized and undervalued in the eyes of patriarchy. In view of challenging how motherhood is perceived in our society, I used the voluntary isolation strategies of Absalon to highlight the invisibility of motherhood.

My body of work on voluntary isolation was acknowledging how common life-changing experiences such as motherhood can be isolating and how the social constructs surrounding motherhood can be unrealistic and potentially detrimental to the ones subjected to it.

“I cannot easily shake off the village” Performance Still, Thoreau, 2016

In terms of your social practice, do you find it creates lasting communities or it ephemeral? Is community building important to your workshops?

Since having become a single mother of two young children, I moved my practice from individualistic to a more socially engaged one. I wanted to reach out to other artists/parents in order to share and compare ways to maintain an art practice as an artist/parent. Voluntary isolation became less of a priority for me to explore out of necessity to survive and thrive.

There are lots of artists/parents who experience undesired isolation and who would benefit from being part of a community. In building a community would raise awareness on the recognition and validation of the artists’ other roles and responsibilities in our society and how those ultimately contribute to contemporary art.

I found that the projects that involved interacting with an audience had a lasting impact. I hosted two sun printing workshops where artists, who were also parents, were invited to attend with their children. Artists/parents not only bonded with their children while making art but also had the opportunity to make new connections with other like-minded individuals. During one sun printing workshop entitled How do we do it?, I orchestrated a roundtable discussion where the participants were invited to write a letter to oneself or to another artist/parent that could include tips, reflections, and/or words of encouragement on how they maintained their art practice while raising children.  These handwritten notes were then printed on light-sensitive paper.

Through such participatory events, I am interested in developing a network of artists/parents who can support and empower each other in their everyday lives as artists/parents. Until one artist/parent finds their new rhythm navigating their roles and responsibilities as artist and parent, there will be multiple occasions where one will feel defeated, frustrated, and doubtful about maintaining their art practice while raising children.

Another event I have been organizing involves hosting a dinner where a small group of artists/parents would be invited to attend with their children if desired. I would cook and serve a meal, and then facilitate a discussion following these questions: How do you maintain your art and parenting practices? What have you found to be helpful or not helpful in doing so? This event would run like a performance similar to the dinners hosted by the international artist Rirkit Tiranavija in the 1990s in New York.

“Self-Care”, Preformance Still, 2017

What artists or authors are you looking at in terms of research into the patriarchal idea of motherhood? Are there any artists also working to deconstruct motherhood that inspire you?

In my research, I discovered Andrea O’Reilly, Professor in the School of Gender, Sexuality and Women’s Studies at York University. She is also the founder and director of the Motherhood Initiative for Research and Community. She coined the term “matricentric feminism” which is defined as mother-centred feminism which views motherhood to be socially and historically constructed. It challenges the assumption that maternity is natural to all women and that the work of mothering comes from instinct rather than intelligence and skills.

My ongoing research is framed by matricentric feminism. I view mothering as a discipline just as my art practice is; both disciplines involve work and thinking and are not mutually exclusive. Each role informs the other.

In terms of artists who have inspired me, the multidisciplinary artist Lise Haller Baggesen has been a great discovery in my practice after reading her book Mothernism.  Part-fictional part-critical writing in the form of letters, various issues are explored surrounding motherhood, art, and politics which are all interconnected with disco trivia. I have been greatly inspired by this artist’s original approach in asserting the presence of the mother in the contemporary art world through her writing.

As I incorporated elements of trans/performance into my practice, I wanted to develop creative strategies to bridge the ‘private’ associated with motherhood into the public sphere.  The multidisciplinary Canadian artist Laura Endecott is an artist whose work I found valuable in terms of performing motherhood using trans/performance.  In her essay, Performing the Maternal in Public Space, she speaks about the idea of transference as key to her public performances as it enables discourse surrounding the invisibility of motherhood. Like Endecott, the American Mierle Laderman Ukeles is also concerned with overlooked tasks of motherhood‘s contribution to society. Ukeles’ seminal performance work Maintenance Art Works 1969-1980 achieved to shed some light on these concerns.

There are more artists who have successfully managed to explore motherhood beyond the private space and hopefully, more will follow.

“Tent” Performance Still, 2017

From the “Multiple Exposure” series

Your series "Multiple Exposures" explores the concept of the many parts of one person. How have your experiences informed your approach to this? Do you experience dualism in your own identity as an immigrant?

On day I woke up numb and realized that I didn’t know who I was. I had become a people-pleaser and had lost touch with what made me truly me. I was wearing masks that were expected of me, but I forgot who I was under them.

In my life there have been so many times when I experienced dualism. I was raised as a girl in Romania, where women are supposed to be helpful, nice and happy, not angry, rebellious tomboys. I came to Canada when I was a teenager and I tried to become as Canadian as possible to fit in. I stayed closeted for years about being queer and my partner transitioning, because my family comes from a very traditional culture.

All those experiences left me fragmented. I started working to heal and to reclaim myself – the thread that is common between my multiple masks. Through art I am trying to reach back in time and find the pieces of myself that I lost along the way.

What is your process for choosing and creating these "multiple exposures"? For a given subject, how do you decide on what parts to reveal, and what parts to keep concealed?

I try to find pieces that are very different from one another. I try to show contrast to capture our inner tension and how we can exist in contradictions. We can be vulnerable and powerful in the same time. Afraid of the future and assured of our direction. Much of my work has come from myself trying to solve my inner conflict, so I am drawn to tension in others. I try to keep nothing concealed, and instead show the raw sides that truly define a person in their idiosyncrasies.

As a volunteer for CAMH, Smile Kids Japan, and SKETCH, what do you think is the influence of art on the youth identity - particularly disenfranchised youth? How have you facilitated that?

Art can help youth find their voices, and express things that they are not ready to put into words. It also has the power to amplify their messages, because people will sometimes react to art in more open minded ways than when they hear youth speak.

My experience was really humbling. Disenfranchised youth needed to be listened to, and encouraged to trust their voices and their visions, which are so often denied and discredited.  

“Stand into your power”, Andra Ragusila, 2018

Can you speak to the confrontational power of your proposed project to those who still refuse to #SayHerName?

To be honest, I don’t see this work as confrontational. This work is informed by and emerges from places where social, cultural and political experience intersect and gives voices to Black women who are often erased or overlooked. Black people, especially women and trans people, are more likely to be unarmed when harassed or killed by police. In many cases involving state violence and Black people, even women and girls, there is the use of excessive force.

Much of my content is American based and many Canadians see it as an American issue. My work focuses highly on U.S. violence because there is more transparency and basic information about state violence and it is immediately made available to the public. This information is not released publicly in Canada and the lack of detailed reporting makes it difficult to know the circumstances of police violence.

Not included in this work is the case of police killing is that of Chevranna Abdi, a Black transgender woman who was murdered by police under suspicious circumstances in 2003. Abdi was handcuffed and dragged, face down, down seven flights of stairs by Canadian law enforcement. By the time the police reached the lobby, Abdi had died. I was unable to locate a photograph of Abdi to include in this project.

As a Black feminist artist and activist from a marginalized community who has faced anti-Black racism and police harassment here in Canada, it is important that I address the history of police violence and it’s prolongation against Black women who aren’t alive to speak for themselves. I see state violence and the deaths  ― of Black women and trans people  ― at the hands of police in North America as a continuation of colonial violence. The police institution started as slave patrols with the sole purpose of policing Black people.

Narratives about racial profiling, also known as carding, rarely mention the experiences of Black women or trans people. By focusing only on the ways Black men experience racism from law enforcement across North America remains one-dimensional. By minimizing Black women’s experiences of state violence, we risk forgetting about these stories. I am determined to create work that honours the neglected and unknown victims of state violence with hopes of bringing awareness and opening conversations to address this issue.

In what ways does portraiture allow for a more affecting and visceral understanding of the victims of state violence?

The images, in this project, recognizes the humanity of the victims and facilitate conversations that drive home the message that Black women and trans people’s lives matter. I highlight gender-specific ways in which Black women are disproportionately affected by police brutality. In cases of Black people killed by police, portraiture can be reminders of the continuous oppression and violence.

While deaths of Black men, killed by police, outrage people on social media platforms and in the streets, these portraits ask why is that amount of attention not given to the deaths of Black women? I have to say there remains the problem of accountability in police violence against racialized and trans people.

State violence against Black women and trans people and use of lethal force still receive too little attention and the public is left in the dark about many relevant details. As well basic information about victims (age, ethnicity, etc.) are often unreported and portraiture have the power to change public perception.

In what ways are the representations of racialized and trans people politicized even in death?

This is such a profound question. While state violence against racialized and trans people don’t seem to be dominating any political platforms, movements like Black Lives Matter (BLM), #SayHerName and Transgender Day of Remembrance have become vocal and visible, demanding that the government and communities acknowledge the current epidemic of state violence.

Protests and riots led to political movements by drawing attention to aggressive and police violence in marginalized communities to create public awareness and encourage politicians and community leaders to seek change. As a strong supporter of BLM and my own work with #SayHerName, I have taken part in public ceremonies of mourning and occupation of public spaces in a stand against systemic racism and state violence aimed at Black people and trans people.

Why are police quick to shoot Black people, including women, and why aren’t police adequately trained to work with people suffering from severe mental illness? I really hope this work inspires people to acknowledge the existence of anti-Black racist behavior in policing, and create change to laws, policies and policing.

You say your practice attempts to “humanize” the innocent civilian casualties of war. How would you describe the abstracted acknowledgment of these casualties as they’re typically represented?

Statistics of war casualties are often presented as numeric data sets. Sometimes those sets are translated into visual information as a form of chart or graph, but still in a way that removes any sort of human element from the numbers. When I say that I attempt to “humanize” the statistics, I do that through the use of material common in everyday American life. For instance, in the piece titled Burn, I count burned matches that eventually accumulate in a large landscape-like pile. Through their familiarity, matches evoke not simply a cognitive recognition but also a bodily understanding of their feel, smell, texture, temperature, etc. Through a bodily recognition of the material, it is my assertion that we are then connected to those statistics in a way that numbers aren’t able to trigger. Furthermore, the number of matches corresponds to the total number of civilians killed, rendering a large abstract number into a visible mass of individual parts.

How do you mediate the visceral impact of your subject matter, given the somewhat abstract detachment many North Americans might have towards the realities of war?

In my experience in America, conversations about war are often framed in partisan political terms and rarely in ways that are genuinely concerned with the people directly harmed by war. While I understand war as a highly politically charged topic, I’d like the work itself to exist outside of the predictable self-serving liberal/conservative loop and function as an entry point into a more sincere reflection on the number of people killed by war. The visceral quality of the work presents the statistics in a way that reminds us of our own fragile bodies, and by extension the same vulnerability of others.

In the deepening political schism occurring in North American politics, what might “gestures of empathy and vulnerability” look like day to day?

While I consider my works to be memorials, I am consciously presenting them in ways contrary to the large outdoor public sculptures often associated with monuments. While large monuments can serve as loud declarations of cultural values, they almost entirely exist in public spaces, and therefore not in our private spaces. Ironically, in their permanence, over time monuments often lose their original power and resonance as contemporary life continues around them. In much of my work, I include references to domestic spaces: book shelves, concrete blocks, stud walls, picture frames, etc. The materials I use are of the domestic realm, and the installations themselves are delicate and require considerable labor to install each time. Ultimately, these memorials metaphorically exist in our most private and intimate spaces, and require ongoing nurturing and care. If monuments do serve as representations of cultural values, my works imagine a collective commitment to empathy and making space in private for the pain of others to reside. 

A lot of the political discourse between the left and right centres around not validating the opinions of the other side (re: subtle male disparagement of some feminist discourse). What is the subversive value of performatively adopting the perspective of an ideology that you oppose, and/or that poses danger to you?

While certainly you're right about the divide between left & right, we are interested in a less divisive reading of “men" and "women”. We aren’t interested in being subversive (Is it subversive to point out violence against women? I hope not). I think we’re more interested in reclaiming the negativity put towards female-identifying folx. We’re interested in asking difficult questions and to cut through the bullshit. There’s lots of artists who have use reclamation to reframe a conversation, to speak to their oppression in powerful ways. I think your question is a reworking of Audre Lorde’s suggestion that, “The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House;” — can we use the words used against us to reframe and perform our strength? I don’t know. Understanding that maybe we can’t do that — that maybe there is no value in performatively adopting "the ideology [I] oppose" — understanding and embracing that possibility will be part of the journey of building this piece. I think ultimately, your question is central to the drive, excitement, fear, worry, failure, and success of this piece. Your question is our question; maybe we'll have an answer by the end of the piece. Maybe we won't.

You’ve cited that while violence of such opinions continually “[takes] from women”, there is a legitimacy to male struggle. Can you speak to the oppressive methodologies that the patriarchy could rightfully take the credit for, over scapegoated feminism, in the eyes of men defaulting to alt-right or incel forums?

Briefly, we imagine we'll discover the answer to this as we do our interviews with the men in question. There are a lot of "oppressive methodologies" within patriarchy, many (all?) of which speak to male experience and the disenfranchisement of today’s men.  That is what this project hopes to unpack: the nuance of the male struggle that creates cycles of abuse, that in turn, are played out on women. Examples of male struggle include: stereotypes of masculinity that reject male tenderness, fragility, or care; a sex-obsessed capitalist system that frames “success” in terms of sexual conquest; oppressive standards of male “beauty” and “strength” that are just as limiting as standards of beauty for women.

Yes, there is a legitimacy to male struggle. But does it have to be either or? Does talking about female struggle negate male struggle? Can we avoid a hierarchy of struggle? Yes, men have suffered. This project is focusing on how women have suffered. We are choosing to focus our conversation on women as a way in; unfortunately, we can’t address the entire patriarchy in our project. We are interested in understanding why so many men hate women — we’ve chosen to focus on this because it speaks to our interests and experience.

What is the powerful potential of engaging in discourse with those you disagree with when formulating your own beliefs and understanding?

Discourse literally means coming into to the conversation assuming you might be wrong. There are very few true discourses happening online, and in Men’s Rights communities. Because they often come into the conversation assuming they are right. We are coming into this conversation curious. I don’t think we’re engaging with people we disagree with; I think that’s a reductive reading of the men we are interviewing. Some of these men are the people we grew up with. Some of them are our family members. Imagining that the people who express anti-feminist sentiments are not in our backyard, and deeply (albeit sometimes invisibly) entrenched in our community is short sighted. We're interested in the nuance of hateful thinking. Not (only) the aggressive and hateful acts, but also the micro-aggressions. The stuff your uncle says at the dinner table. We're doing this to have a better understanding about how they have formulated their own beliefs. And in turn, understand how women have formulated their own self hatred. We’re still in the very early stages of development; we don’t know what this will look like. While this will certainly help me unpack my personal understanding, but I don’t know — yet — what my personal understanding has to do with this project. I don't know how I feel about it — that's why I want to make a play about it. As creators of this piece, we aren’t coming in with an agenda or an argument. We are coming in trying to understand the nuance, pain, and struggle behind violent opinions. I’m very wary of setting this up as an argument, discourse, or conversation with people I disagree with. There is something more difficult going on here. Am I even speaking the same language as those I interview, for instance? If we're not speaking the same language, how do we begin to learn how to communicate?

Thea Fitz-James:

theafitzjames.com @theafitz on IG

Today was the last full day we spent together on the island. A beautiful sunny morning. Artists trickled into the kitchen in small waves for breakfast. Everyone was meeting for group critiques at 10:30.

Artists filled out a critique sheet to use as reference when speaking about their own work or the work of their peers. A few questions:

For yourself

1.    What three things would you like feedback on?

2.    What symbols or images communicate the message of your work most effectively?

For other artists

1.    What feminist or societal narrative does this work evoke?

2.    How do symbols help communicate the story the work is telling?

3.    What aspects are successfully executed?

4.    Suggestions for developing the work

5.    How will this work inform your own feminist art practice?

We met in the Fireplace Room and split up into two groups. FAC Committee member Maureen Da Silva joined as a facilitator. Critiques would last ten minutes with a brief introduction by each artist followed by feedback and suggestions.

Deborah Eddy

Kat Singer

Adrienne Matheuszik

D. Del Reverda-Jennings, aka Miss D

Anahita Jamali Rad

Marlene Pfau

Emma Reasoner

Groups wrapped up around 2:30pm. At 3:00pm, Mich invited folks to attend a live taping of her confession to Hannah within her handmade, craft-based installation, Our Ladies of Atonement. Mich’s confession was deeply personal and it moved some of the congregants in the room to tears.

Mich Dulce

A gentle reprieve followed with an invitation to Happy Hour courtesy of Manuel, lifetime Islander and character supreme. Lively conversation ensued in the repurposed school bus. 

Among many roles, Manuel is the custodian of the lighthouse and he explained the origin of the ghostly folklore about the original caretaker, J.P. Rademuller.

In the early evening, we started a fire. Katie brought pieces of her non-functional feminist furniture to the pyre and tossed them in, much to the chagrin of the group. Sometimes you can’t take it with you.

Inside, feast preparation! Artists laid out their leftover food—there was a lot!—and a small contingent worked hard to assemble a meal. 

We had green salad, egg salad, curry, perogies, mac & cheese, chicken, hot dogs, vegetables, chips and dip. Something for everyone!

Into the night, we sat around the fire and pretended very hard that this wasn’t the end. Artists made their way to bed but not before long embraces and professions of love and friendship.

“People will forget the things you do, and people will forget the things you say. But people will never forget how you made them feel.”

-Source: Many

Artists woke up early to eat breakfast, make plans for the exhibition, and greet the beautiful morning sun. Some artists finished their work early and helped set up for the Open Studio in the evening while others worked down to the wire, crafting, detailing, installing and hanging.

By 6pm, we were ready.

Despite the long lines at the ferry dock due to long weekend festivities and the Electric Island concert, we had a steady flow of people visit the exhibition. 

Friends of FAC, family members and walk-ins enjoyed the complex, challenging and provocative work created at this year’s residency.

Mich Dulce, Our Ladies of Atonement

Miss D discusses her provocative work with an attentive group

Visitors get up close to Jen McKinley’s piece, My Mother’s Ghost

Anahita Jamali Rad reads her poetry

Regan Henley performs her spoken word piece

Katie Ott and Deborah Eddy, wall of collaboration

How has your feminism evolved over time? How has this affected your artistic expression?

I was in my early teens and then early 20's during 2nd wave feminism. However, I was totally unaware of this as I married very young and immediately had my first child. Feminism was not something that seemed to touch the average Australian woman. At least not anyone I knew. I was aware of how unequal treatment of women in the workforce was though. I remember working in a bookshop in Sydney in my first trimester when pregnant with my first child. I had to leave that job as soon as it was evident that I was pregnant. Back then it was considered an affront to the customers. As I became older I was  aware of the discrimination of women, particularly in the work force, but I seemed powerless to do anything about it. It was not until I commenced my undergrad four years ago that I came to realise just how poorly women have and are still being treated. By my second undergrad year I had started to make feminist work and I became more and more convinced that there is a lot still to be said. I had always thought I would be a painting major, however, it became clear to me that sculpture was going to enable me to speak about the feminist issues that interest me.

In your artist statement, you say that you "occupy an intersectional space where the issues affecting young women feminists collide with those affecting aging women". Can you explain what you mean by this?

Young feminists have gained traction, and rightly so, as it appears that many issues post feminists thought were sorted out are still very present. Issues of gender inequality in wages and work opportunities, lack of safety (domestic violence, attacks on women in public places) and a sense that a woman is imperfect and must do all she can to ensure her looks are acceptable to ... men! These issues do not go away as a woman ages. We have a new wave of feminism that is occupied by young women and we have older women with many of the same issues as young women. The only problem is that older women are largely invisible and it appears we are meant to fade quietly into the background. I contest that our issues intersect with those of young women, many are the same, however, there are other problems, for example; aging women who either divorced or widowed are in danger of becoming homeless, cruelty which ranges from derision to violence and on top of that we are exhorted to deny aging at all costs. This denies our rich histories and wisdom. Our problems intersect with young feminists, however, we each also have age specific issues.

Can you speak to the invisibility of aging women and the "grab bag of isms" affecting women? How do you explore this in your art?

There is a plethora of news items, blogs and such written by older women who all complain they have become invisible. This is a form of ageism and  discrimination and sexism (older men appear to gain traction not loose it). Our invisibility can be simply that we are not served in a store, we are walked into, not listened to, we do not see ourselves represented truthfully in the media and the list goes on. I chose to explore this in my art by using a fluorescent palette. This is currently most known for its use in safety wear and building supplies, at least in Australia. I have co-opted this palette and the use of the building supplies to give women visibility and by feminising these materials, this becomes a metaphor for subsuming male dominance. Additionally, when making my work I use sewing, knitting and weaving to further disrupt the materiality of these products.