One time in grad school I was sitting in on a review/critique of work in the sculpture department. We were reviewing an installation that was situated in the sunroom of a private dwelling space on campus. The installation was made so that what appeared to be sections of the wood floor had been raised into the space upon curved steel rods/supports. In undergrad I had studied both art and architecture, though most of my time and effort was directed toward the architecture work. My friends, colleagues, and teachers in the art department there generally related to me as a non-artist (not always of course) and I always wished I could have been more a part of the world/scene/culture in the art department. I chose to attend Cranbrook for grad school because I was given the impression that the architecture department was essentially a sculpture department and my work could be whatever I wanted, and for that time I would emerge with an MArch degree which would help towards my goal of getting a teaching job. I was excited to connect with the artists in other departments, especially sculpture, and being able to sit in on their reviews felt like a privilege and something I had been really looking forward to, like a place were I could feel more “myself” perhaps. During the part of the session in which the discussion had been open for comments from anyone, I commented that it seemed like the wood was being lifted up towards the sun (the roof was a pitched window-wall/skylight like you would expect in a greenhouse) for some reason, and the form of the supports suggested some kind of plant-like root system that was emerging from the ground, seeking light. The professor/department head leading the critique, who seemed to be highly respected and loved by her students, followed up my comment with something to the effect of “uhhh.. ok let’s stick with what’s actually happening here”. It was delivered in a tone that was slightly mocking or questioning my experience of the work as fantastical, silly, weird, crazy, etc. I remember noticing other students looking at me to see how I would react to her comment, with looks of concern. As far as I knew, no guidelines for comments or ground rules for the critiques had been given that would have made my comment out of bounds. I turned red and felt like an idiot, an outsider, an impostor, inept. I didn’t speak in any of the sculpture department reviews after that, and for years questioned my abilities to understand art, or that maybe I wasn’t experiencing it in the correct way. When im invited to speak about others’ work as maybe a guest critic, advisor, mentor, etc. I have to put aside a great deal of anxiety, impostor syndrome, and self doubt, but afterwards it all comes back and I question wether everything I said made any sense, was helpful, insightful, etc. I absolutely love discussions about art, design, and the nature of everything, but they also feel like a trap.
My first time at Haystack was in 2015 and I was fortunate to be leading a basketry workshop there. During the same session there was a visiting artist who was a renowned and beloved illustrator, though I was unfortunately only slightly familiar with her work before that time. Leading up to the session many colleagues had expressed envy that I’d get to meet this artist, that she was one of their heroes, etc., which made me feel like it was indeed a privilege. Sometime toward the middle of the session she hosted a brief drawing workshop on the deck of her cabin at haystack. I was excited at the opportunity to attend, and it felt like it would be a special highlight of my time there. During the session we did some drawing, doodling, or sketching exercises from prompts given to us by the artist. If I remember correctly we were prompted to draw a floor plan of our childhood room, and then write about a significant experience/memory of our childhood room. For me one memory from my childhood that I think about often is a thought-game/fantasy I used to have in which I imagined that I was locked in my room and being watched via camera looking through the AC vent in the ceiling, which broadcast my every move to some authoritarian or deity-like figures somewhere else. In order to be let out of the room I had to arrange every object in the room in a very specific position, which was never revealed to me. It could be that I had to place my toy race car on top of a pair of shorts (which had to be folded or crumpled in a very specific way), which would be positioned on the left edge of my dresser, which had to be angled out from my wall at a specific distance and degree, which was a right angle to my pillow, which was leaning up against the bed with a variety of other object placed around it, etc. etc etc. essentially it was an impossible, never-ending guessing game, but there was a sense that there was a specific way things had to be, which others knew but which I did not know, and that my ability to escape the situation would only come about through accurately intuiting or figuring out this infinite guessing game. This fantasy game led me to create all kinds of interesting installations and object arrangements in my room, spending many many hours doing so, fantasizing if they were “correct”. Sometimes, after hours of arranging, I would go open the door (there was no lock of any kind on the door) and find it would open freely and I would either be reminded that it was just a game, there was no one watching me, or I’d pretend that I had finally won. In both instances, I felt free and stepping out of my room felt like a captive animal being set free, back into the wild. I would take a big breathe of fresh air and appreciate everything around me, my freedom, my expanded environment, much more deeply. For the exercise at haystack, drawing the floor plan reminded me how the placement all the furniture and objects had such a significant importance for me because of this game. I wrote briefly about the game next to my plan drawing. Afterwards we were asked to share about our drawing/writing. I shared mine briefly, and the artist made a comment suggesting that I was crazy, sort of a “you need to get your head checked” type of comment. It wasn’t delivered in a teasing, light hearted, or joking way, but rather with a kind of surprise, concern, there’s-something-wrong-with-you kind of way. She quickly moved on to the next person. I turned red and felt embarrassed, like a weirdo, and questioned if maybe I really was mentally “not well” somehow. I tried to brush it off and continued with the workshop exercises quietly. I tried to not do anything too personal or revealing or unusual after that.
Sketching and delving into the fantasy spaces of my mind for a long time after that felt questionable and I wondered what would be a “normal” or better way to sketch or draw. That started to bleed into other areas of my work in some ways. I didn’t have resentment towards the artists for their comments, but instead I still held them in high regard. They were older, vastly more accomplished, well known, experienced, and celebrated than I ever will be, so I took their reactions/comments as meaningful. They must have been right, and there must have been something wrong with me.
These are just two instances that stand out in my memory, and they popped into my head today after reading something David Berman wrote about his childhood nature that resonated with me. I guess I’ve always placed a lot of weight on what others say, think, or communicate, to a level that affects me in profound and often unhealthy ways. Coming from artists with such shining reputations, these kind of experiences, wether my experience or memory of them is accurate or not, have shaped me in cumulatively and have enveloped the sharing my work and thoughts with a huge amount of anxiety. Of course, there are so many other factors that have also contributed to this and im not singling these out as “the” causes. A few months ago I was evaluated and formally diagnosed with ADHD and I’ve since come to understand that a big part of this anxiety, feelings of being weird/other, inept, or inescapably “different” are common for those with ADHD or other neurodivergent minds. It’s apparently very common for people with ADHD to gravitate towards more creative careers. I’m not writing this about ADHD, but my new knowledge about how my brain works has me reviewing these types of experiences I’ve had and is helping me to experience them in new/different ways. I guess those two experiences stand out in my life as offering numerous insights into my experience of the world, the complexities of social interaction/structure, human behavior and creative output. I’m working to be more accepting of myself and my brain, and not so affected by the views of others; and im wanting to use this space as another channel in which I can expose myself rather than hide in fear.
Earlier this week marked 19 years of vegetarianism for me. The last meal in which I intentionally ate meat was at a small Mexican restaurant in Peoria, Illinois in 2002. I was with my friends Dustin and Vanessa. We had driven from Tulsa, Oklahoma (our hometown) to Milwaukee to see a bunch of hard air and screams bands play at “level plane fest”. Level Plane Records was perhaps my favorite record label at the time, and most of our favorite bands of the moment were playing so we hit the road. It was a very very long drive. I can’t remember if we went non-stop of what. Dustin would remember. Anyway, over the 2-3 years leading up to that point There we’re more and more vegans in my life and my understanding of the relationship between humans and the rest of the world was evolving in a way that saw humans as highly destructive. That hasn’t changed much, but it has evolved further to a more nuanced thinking… I’ll write about that more at some point too.
Anyway, in Milwaukee we hung out with a bunch of these big bearded and tattooed hardcore dudes. A lot of of them were vegan and just absolutely loved food. I saw how being vegan wasn’t a sacrifice for them, but actually an Avenue to appreciate food more. They celebrated their food so much and seemed to enjoy it more because it wasn’t harming other animals. I should say that I 100% think of humans as animals all the time, and this way of thinking is part of why I wanted to stop eating meat. Yes there are differences between us and other animals, and one of the main differences is our relationship to food and technology. We have reached a point in our history, technology, culture, or maybe even evolution, in which we could exist almost entirely without consuming animal products. We have excellent alternatives for just about every use of animal, and I felt like I wanted less of my money going to support the wholesale slaughter of millions of animals, and less of my money supporting the treatment of animals as instruments of capitalism in which their genetics are bred to maximize profits, etc.
I say less of my money because I have never found that going fully vegan is easily sustainable in my life… at least yet. I actually think I could probably be vegan now more easily than ever, especially in New York City, but I’ve developed a balance or level of harm-reduction that I am comfortable with, proud of, and that works for me in many ways. I have never wanted to play “end game” with my reduction of animal harm because I honestly don’t think it’s possible to follow that logic to an end that doesn’t involve suicide. Even vegans know this, but unfortunately some do fall for the trap of all-or-nothing thinking. I think especially when you are young peer pressure, and social and ideological fervor tend to overcome thinking and acting in moderation. It’s really all about finding the level that you are comfortable with, and that sense to you. I think I knew this for years, but sort of subconsciously I felt that my approach was the most sensible for everyone. I didn’t understand pescatarians, flexitarians, freegans, or meatless Mondays. Nowadays I think these are wonderful and amazing.
I also didn’t initially switch to this diet for environmental reasons. It is now well know that factory farming of meat (especially beef) and the various fishing industries have caused and are causing catastrophic environmental and ecological damage, some of which may be impossible to heal. But in 2002 I didn’t know about those factors. All I knew was when I ate fried chicken, I absolutely loved it, but if I saw some veins and tendons near the bones I would start to feel nauseous. I could not get past feeling like a cannibal, or that this life was slaughtered without consequence just so I could have a greasy salty meaty meal. I wasn’t the type of person to see a chicken and think is was adorable and want to hug it. I have also been a long time critic of aesthetic value, at least in my head, especially when it is applied to humans, animals, or plants. Just because something is cute doesn’t mean we should put more effort into saving it, or value ugly beings less. This is adjacent to ableist, eugenicist, or racist thinking and I always felt suspicious of it, but only in recent years have I started to become able to verbalize my feelings around that. So yes, my vegetarianism intersects with my aesthetic sensibilities. How could it not?
Since I have been vegetarian more and more research has been published that has made my choice feel more “right” for me - in that the research shows how a vegetarian diet aligns with my view of how humans can better exist as part of the earth. It has also gained a lot of popularity which is wonderful in many ways. Meeting other vegans and vegetarians is more common and less novel now. I won’t get into all the ridiculous comments and questions I’ve heard over the years, often times meant to be insulting or somehow make fun of my diet choice. Those comments happen with much less frequency now, if at all, which feels like evidence of a major cultural shift. I do eat dairy and eggs, technically making me an ovo-lacto-vegetarian. I love ice cream and cheese and eggs dearly and eat them often. I make an effort to buy eggs from free-roaming pasture raised eggs as much as I am able. I buy and drink mostly soymilk. If I buy dairy I try to buy “organic”, but honestly I am more lenient with dairy. A lot of cheese is made with animal rennet, which is an enzyme from the stomach of certain animals. If a vegetarian dairy cheese (one made with rennet from microbial enzymes) is available I will usually get that instead, but not always. I sometimes eat things made with gelatin, which is a byproduct of meat production and is essentially a kind of meat product itself. I sometimes eat Thai curry or Korean kimchi, or Japanese sauces or soups that I know probably have fish or shrimp sauce in them. For the most part I try not to. Those exceptions drive a lot of people crazy, especially meat eaters it seems. They seem to think that I have “rules” and that if I break those rules somehow it disqualifies, discredits, or undermines my vegetarianism. For me is more of a big-picture reduction. If over the course of a few months I feel like I’ve made too many exceptions to my boundaries, then I’ll tighten up a bit. Over the course of 19 years this has helped me to reduce my environmental impact and harm to non-human animal life by a massive amount.
I’ve been considering starting to eat some fish or maybe certain other animal products next year after the 20-year mark. I’d like to explore sustainable fish or meat and see what health impacts it has if I eat it maybe 2 or 3 times a month. The easy b12 and omega3 source is the main thing I’d like to figure out. Plus it’s easier to find and afford sustainable fish and meat now. I just don’t know how I’ll feel about eating other animals so directly and intentionally. That might keep me vegetarian for many years to come. That, and impossible burgers. Yum.
Today I had a great final mentorship meeting with Elaine Shen, (https://www.elaineshenstudio.com/ ) who is one of the current artists in residence at the Textile Arts Center. I was asked to participate as a mentor in the program and was paired with Elaine as she has been developing a multi-facets practice that includes art, design, and commerce, all of which are largely informed by her interest in textile processes. It has been a really enjoyable and rewarding process for me, and I hope that it has for her as well.
Taking on a role as mentor brought with it some serious impostor syndrome for me, but I did my best to listen, and share my experiences and viewpoints, trying to trust that there may some bits of value in there. Elaine’s work and approach to the residency stood out in a number of ways from the other residents, which is admirable and inspiring. She was exploring ideas, processes, and materials that were nebulous in nature. At the beginning I was excited but also nervous that I’d have trouble giving helpful feedback. It wasn’t super clear where it was all heading. Today looking back on how much her work has progressed, and the very broad scope of exploration she tackled, it was so wonderful to see it coalescing into a visual and material language that is vibrant, complex, and engaging. She has developed a way of exploring and digging into her curiosities and interests that she can apply over and over in the future, and in a way that will inform and complement the other sides of her practice in interesting ways.
In two weeks the residents will have their final critique, and then they will have until September to complete their work for a brief exhibition at TAC. I’m really looking forward to seeing all the work. It’s a really outstanding group of artists and It will be great to following each of their practices in the years ahead. Thank you to TAC for inviting me to a part of the program. Thank you so much to Elaine for sharing your time and efforts with me. It was truly a pleasure to think about, discuss, be with, and grow from your work.
Not a lot of thoughts to share today. Was kind of a rough day.
I made a simple dinner for Tomoe and I. Gnocchi, sautéed radishes, toast. The black and white bowl was made by our friend Debbie Carlos and we love it. The other large bowl was made by our friend Helen Levi and we love it, too. So wonderful to live with things made by friends.
May 31, 2021
Tulsa on my mind all day today. I grew up there, and my family on both sides goes back several generations to pre-statehood (1907). I’ve been thinking about the possibility that some of my family could have been participants in the race massacre on this day 100 years ago. I’ll never really know. But as a white Tulsan descended from white Tulsans of that time, I am connected to that history and have directly benefitted from whatever wealth my ancestors had at the time.
I intended to get a lot of work done in the studio today. Instead I found myself reading every news article about the massacre centennial. I messaged several close friends in Tulsa, asking them about what the situation is there today, what’s the mood/atmosphere, etc. I messaged my immediately family that all now live in Texas and we discussed the massacre briefly, as well as some experiences with racism and anti-racism that we had as a family. It was good to have these conversations and I will continue to have them.
One friend confided in me that his family had known participants in the massacre, and that his mom made it part of the family conversation growing up as an effort to not let the history get erased. She had decided that the family’s past racism would not continue through her or her children. My friend has made an effort to donate significant money (relative to his modest income as an artist) to reconciliation and reparation efforts in recent years.
I wonder how many other white families have known perpetrators:participants of the massacre in the history, and how that history is regarded within the family. There are clearly many other Tulsa families in which white supremacist values were proudly carried through to today.
I moved away from Tulsa in 2005, at the age of 26. Tulsa and I have both changed quite bit since then, but my connection with the place and it’s history somehow continues to deepen and become more complex.
Here is a photo (by artist Addoley Dzegede) of a billboard in Tulsa, very near Greenwood, that was made by artist Jessica Harvey.
There are many, many articles, videos, reports, and books about the tulsa race massacre of 1921. Please read some of them.
Zombies
Today I had a thought that perhaps I will resurrect this space, or at least use if for putting thoughts out into the world. Instagram and Facebook have become places where I don’t want to share much. But drifting through the past few years, especially the pandemic, I went through a lot of internal shifts and something was lost or atrophied along the way. I have a private journal that I occasionally write in, but social media has become less personal, or the way it is personal isn’t what I’m needing right now. Though, I’m not sure if the point of this is to reconnect socially. Perhaps it’s more like going back onto the ice rink. To start I need to figure out this app a bit.
We will see how this goes. I have a lot I can write about. As I get older, half of me feels more free and gives less shits, while the other half hides more. I’d like to feed the former half by revealing some of the latter half. I might regret it. It might not last long. I’d rather not get any comments or reposts. If you know me or meet me IRL and you’d like to discuss, I’d enjoy that.
Ana Teresa Barboza Canastas unidas 3 atados de junco de Huacho tejido en 30 días 300 x 310 cm 2017
Source: anateresabarboza.blogspot.com