Until It Shatters by Root Division

UNTIL IT SHATTERS

UNTIL IT

SHATTERS Organized By: Samantha Reynolds Until It Shatters exhibits work by 15 current and alumni Root Division Studio Artists. Both through the thematic content presented and the physical making processes, the exhibiting artists analyze what it means to break the mold and disrupt current systems in order to create alternative routes forward. Exhibition Dates: November 6-30, 2020

EXHIBITING ARTISTS

Greta Liz Anderson** Salome El* Guta Galli** Nimah Gobir** Kiana Honarmand* Kacy Jung* Rebecca Kaufman** dani lopez* Cathy Lu** Kija Lucas** ChiChai Mateo** Joyce Nojima** Dimitra Skandali** Indira Urrutia** Katherine Vetne** * Current Root Division Studio Artist **Root Division Studio Alum

TABLE OF CONTENTS 12

Notes from the Organizer: Samantha Reynolds

Guta Galli

Greta Liz Anderson

In Conversation: Greta Liz Anderson + Guta Galli

Kija Lucas

Salome El

In Conversation: Kija Lucas + Salome El

Nimah Gobir

Kiana Honarmand

In Conversation: Nimah Gobir + Kiana Honarmand

ChiChai Mateo

Joyce Nojima

In Conversation: Joyce Nojima + ChiChai Mateo

Indira Urrutia

Dimitra Skandali

In Conversation: Dimitra Skandali + Indira Urrutia

Katherine Vetne

Cathy Lu

Kacy Jung

In Conversation: Kacy Jung + Katherine Vetne + Cathy Lu

dani lopez

Rebecca Kaufman

In Conversation: dani lopez + Rebecca Kaufman

tell me that love isn’t true, 2019 (detail) Handwoven cotton, yarn, and novelty hand-cut fabrics 108 x 36 in.

“Now, I know we have still not shattered that highest and hardest glass ceiling, but someday, someone will.”

Hillary Clinton, Presidential Concession Speech, 2016

Samantha Reynolds Organizer, Until It Shatters

Until It Shatters has adapted and evolved since its original inception almost two years ago. In the wake of 2020, a more emergent model of collaborating and sharing among artists became vital in order to create space for new work, for shifts in process, and for exchanges to complicate the ideals of Feminism through an intersectional lens. Within these pages, you will find work by 15 womxn artists who are Root Division Studio Artists and Alums. The collection highlights Root Division’s role in supporting the development of emerging careers, as well as thematically emphasizes work that breaks molds and disrupts current structures to propose alternative systems. Presented in collaboration with the Feminist Art Coaltion and in tandem with the 100th Anniversary of the 19th Amendment, the exhibition’s title was the exhibition’s title was inspired by Hillary Clinton’s 2016 Presidential concession speech, and is fulfilled with the newly announced Vice President-Elect, Kamala Harris. During her Vice Presidential acceptance speech, Harris declared “I stand on their shoulders”—a poignant phrase that more closely aligns with the intent of this exhibition. Harris situated herself not as an individual, but as a product of the women who have come before and supported her: a collective triumph, a collective joy, a collective shattering.

Throughout the development of this exhibition—and specifically during quarantine—it became clear that a standard curatorial format would be misaligned with the goal of the exhibition’s title. The notion of “shattering” can only be achieved through collective force. This mentality, coupled with a deep need to connect and share community with other creatives, reshaped the framework of the project to be intentionally artist-driven. In terms of the format, the artists participated in virtual studio visits with 4–6 other exhibiting artists. Each gave a brief introduction of their work, proposed what they were considering for the exhibition, and received comments and feedback from the group. During these discussions, common themes emerged, including: the subjectivity of womanhood, environmentalism, the experience of motherhood, the importance of selfcare, the harmful effects of capitalism, and the inherent risks of inhabiting the womxn body of color—specifically black bodies. The importance of presenting a collection of work that emphasized an intersectional lens in which a diversity of perspectives were elevated became paramount. Following the group studio visits, artists then met in pairs and small groups to dive deeper into their individual practices, to discuss the effects of quarantine on their ability to create, to share how their work may or may not have shifted, and to ask questions that they each were recontextualizing. These insightful conversations are captured in an archive of interviews. Overall, we hope this catalog emphasizes the intangible quality this exhibition embodies—a feeling of shared community; a capturing of a (seemingly unending) moment in time when the world stopped and the creative process endured through individual artists’ resilience. These personal experiences are best articulated by the artists themselves in the interviews throughout this catalog. Thank you to each exhibiting artist for your openness and vulnerability throughout this process. I am forever grateful for the community and friendship you offer, and I remain in awe of your commitment to reimagining what a better future can, and will, entail.

“I’m thinking about her—my mother, Shyamala Gopalan Harris—and about the generations of women—Black Women, Asian, White, Latina, and Native American women throughout our nation’s history who have paved the way for this moment tonight. Women who fought and sacrificed so much for equality, liberty, and justice for all, including the Black women, who are too often overlooked, but so often prove that they are the backbone of our democracy. All the women who worked to secure and protect the right to vote for over a century: 100 years ago with the 19th Amendment, 55 years ago with the Voting Rights Act, and now, in 2020, with a new generation of women in our country who cast their ballots and continued the fight for their fundamental right to vote and be heard. Tonight, I reflect on their struggle, their determination and the strength of their vision—to see what can be unburdened by what has been—I stand on their shoulders.”

Kamala Harris, Vice President-Elect, Acceptance Speech, November 2020

GUTA GALLI

HYDRA, 2020 Stills from single channel HD video 1:40 minutes

SELFHUGGERS I, 2020 Activated by Leah Gonzales and Greta Liz Dye sublimation on metal 10 x 10 in. SELFHUGGERS II, 2020 Activated by Leah Gonzales and Greta Liz Dye sublimation on metal 10 x 10 in. SELFHUGGER III, 2020 Activated by Leah Gonzales Dye sublimation on metal 10 x 10 in.

GRETA LIZ ANDERSON

IN CONVERSATION GRETA LIZ ANDERSON + GUTA GALLI

GRETA

I’ve gotten the opportunity to witness many of your works and performances in person, which is very different from how we mostly get to experience art nowadays. As a Brazilian interdisciplinary conceptual artist working most often with live performance, how do you find yourself directing how the performance, its duration and essence are captured through video?

GUTA

The performances that I end up doing for the camera instead of a live audience change the piece completely. The fact that I direct the duration allows total control over the image, what allows deeper aesthetical explorations, and that surely means more control on the conceptual level. I believe this control changes the essence of the piece, making the performances precise images/ metaphors for what I want to say.

When there’s less control and an audience, there’s a lot of vulnerability in all possible ways, and this vulnerability not only brings my ‘true’ ephemeral presence, but it becomes the essence of the piece. The performances then are a tense hybrid between an imprecise representation in the conceptual and aesthetical level—with extra room for more enigmatic interpretations—and also a very concrete and raw statement that ‘really happens’ in the body, rather than a statement that only visually represents something.

GRETA

You were telling us about your pregnancy during part of the year, and as a performance artist you felt you needed to make work as you were growing life. How did this influence the work you are exhibiting for this exhibition?

GUTA

Completely. The combination of pregnancy and pandemic made a piece that otherwise would not be vulnerable at all for me into a depiction of a truly vulnerable state. And this vulnerable state became the piece and what it says.

In short, it does translate the vulnerability of our society and our planet in an inseparable way. My pregnancy in this case is simultaneously a metaphor and a concrete example of our critical situation. It carries not only a child, but a heavy question: Where are we heading to? How will the future be?

GRETA

How did this pandemic impact your work (if any)?

GUTA

I lost many live performances that were scheduled, in exciting places. That was very disappointing. But the new restrictions and tensions also allowed me to expand my creativity in unique, surprising and satisfying ways.

GRETA

With that, are there certain themes or modes of working that you are currently re-analyzing or reconsidering within your body of work?

GUTA

Yes. I feel that it is urgent to rethink intersectional feminism in a way that includes the Anthropocene and the crisis of care in all aspects of life (society, environment, culture, economics…) That we start with the gendered, racialized impact of COVID-19, but extending it to a much wider discourse that highlights the need to rethink our values, our habits and, more than anything, the weight of our choices when not taking into consideration the interconnected vulnerability that we all share.

In terms of modes of work, I am more than excited to experiment more with the challenge of making video performances at home.

GRETA

How has being a part of an artist community influenced your work during the last 6 months?

GUTA

It kept my head above the water. It stimulated me to keep my creative flow no matter what.

However, there were also times that I felt overwhelmed with the online hyperproductivity of many artists. It made me feel guilty when I could not create, or not fast enough. But looking back, it was very important to feel that because today I see hyperproductivity as another sick capitalist trap that brought us to the critical place we are.

How are self-love and feminism related in the piece you have chosen to present for Until it Shatters?

GRETA

These pieces are sort of a melting pot for a lot of issues regarding both topics. These wearables invite for conversations surrounding self-love and self-loathe, mental health, sexual traumas and restraints, autonomy, and self protection. They bring up the restraints within ourselves as well as creating self awareness and sovereignty over our feelings and emotions. It is only through self love that we can overcome such obstacles.

GUTA

How does your current wearable self-hug sculpture address mental health?

GRETA

During the pandemic issues of mental health such as depression and anxiety, self-care, isolation, and solitude became unavoidable, and so did the inescapable necessity of self-love. It is a response to the current state of affairs, as well as issues within our own autonomies, traumas, and social and cultural pressures.

GUTA

You are presenting this piece with photography documentation. How does this medium better (or worse) translate this specific work, and the

current times?

GRETA

The images that are being presented were taken during the pandemic as a narrative during the current times, mental health and well-being. It would not have been the same with an absence of the body, as the body represents the autonomy and activates the wearables. I wanted to capture the feeling of restraint not only within ourselves, but also when surrounded by people.

GUTA

How would a live performance change the piece?

GRETA

A live performance would add an ephemeral aspect to the piece. The two self-huggers presented in this exhibition are 2 out of 7. These seven wearables will be performed and activated in a live performance which will amplify the idea of being alone, dealing with our internal issues while externalizing ourselves in society. The pieces will change from narration to the experience that lives in an eternal moment of a photograph vs. the experience of the moment, the consciousness that raises by viewing the work activated and used.

GUTA

Would you wear it alone, or would other people wear it too? Why alone/ or not?

GRETA

A self-hugger is meant for single person use only. Many self-huggers can be worn simultaneously by various individuals, but a single selfhugger cannot be worn by multiple people at the same time. But that is actually a brilliant idea!

GUTA

How do fashion and art support each other or not?

GRETA

The connection between art and fashion for me is constantly intertwining, as the interaction with the fabric structures and the individuals are quite important and relevant in my work. These conceptual soft sculptures become garments to be worn, thus the

name “wearable.” But the construction process also highlights many aspects within traditional art-making techniques, as well as garment construction. My pattern design approach is inspired by the shadows and form of the female form, so anatomy illustration is a big influence on the process of making these conceptual wearables. There are many cultural and social issues that are addressed within my practice that can only exist in the form of a hybrid between fashion and art. Wearable art is my way to mix these two worlds in a contemporary context.

GUTA

How did the pandemic affect your art?

GRETA

The self-huggers were born during the pandemic. I found myself creating various acts of self-love, because I was lacking human contact, and was isolated in my studio for many months. I noticed the pandemic influenced me to find different ways to connect with other artists. It has enhanced the direction of my artwork, which went from interactive sculptures for the audience to wearables for the self.

Target Practice 2019 Oil and graphite on paper 34 x 42 in. 26

KIJA LUCAS

In Search of Home, Buxton 287, 2015/2019 Archival pigment print 40 x 30 in.

Where I Wanna Be, 2020 Stills from single channel HD video 3:02 minutes

SALOME EL

Where I Wanna Be, 2020 Woodland scene materials, paper, and plaster cloth (detail) 10 x 20 x 16 in. 29

IN CONVERSATION KIJA LUCAS + SALOME EL

What are ways you are finding care for yourself ?

KIJA

I feel like there have been several trials and errors with this. Isolation has been quite difficult. I say that as an introvert, but it sucks not to be able to be inside with my family and friends. Not being able to touch anyone is really hard. My gym opened an outdoor space, so I have been lifting weights, and that has helped a lot. I also adopted a dog a couple of months ago, and it is nice to have some company. We are still getting to know each other, but I am fully in love. I also like to watch my plants. I get very excited when they grow new leaves. I tend to rearrange my furniture to make sure they have the light they need.

SALOME

In the beginning of shelter-in-place, I found it hard to do just about anything and even harder when death from police brutality started popping up. As a black person, it’s hard to see someone who looks like you getting killed needlessly. I was in mourning for a long time and then at some point I kind of snapped out of it and started to create a routine. I realized my life needed some kind of structure to it, and so that’s how I picked myself up—making sure I rested, making sure I ate at least 3 times a day. I also started to dance as a form of exercise and as a means to be more at home with myself. Before all of this, that had stopped. So I started doing that again as part of a morning routine.

What is the last thing that made you laugh?

KIJA

It was either my friend Janelle—who is one of the funniest people I know—or a Naomi Ekperigin rant on IG about going to the grocery store. (She is the funniest person I don’t know).

SALOME

Haha my friend just sent me this meme that says, “When you sleep over at your friends house and they don’t give you a blanket” showing a person sandwiched between two couches.

Have you taken any new habits or ways of thinking that you are hoping to carry on post pandemic?

KIJA

I am trying to get better at naps, learning to set boundaries, and saying no to things so I can say yes to things.

SALOME

Taking time to sit and just be is something I didn’t take advantage of before, as I was always constantly working or doing just about anything—so taking time to rest when I can, travel when I can, exercise, go on more walks, and just doing things that make me happy.

How has shelter in place impacted how you not only create art but also think of it?

KIJA

I have been struggling a lot with making work. I had been highly dependent on deadlines for getting anything done. That being said, I have started a drawing practice, far outside the realm of my usual practice, more loose and fun, probably because I don’t feel like I know what I am doing. I have been mailing drawings and letters to friends. I began photographing sentimental objects again, from a physical distance, and that has been quite nice—a way to interact with others.

Thinking of art...that is funny. I think that as an artist, I am supposed to think, “art will get us through!” and perhaps for mental health purposes. But again, I am having trouble making. And I think major structural change is more likely to get us through (including in the art world). I have also been thinking about the ways that art and capital

are entwined. I have chosen to be part of this system, but I wish the hustle wasn’t so hard. I wish that I was able to relax. Don’t get me wrong, I can sit and stare at a wall with the best of them, but I feel hella guilty about it.

SALOME

For a while I spent time trying to finish a project that I had been working on since last year. I had all this time on my hands, why not try to finish it? After the last print was done I had nothing to do. It was such a weird time of, “well look at all this time you have, come on and make all those projects you’ve been thinking about,” but having little to no motivation to do anything. I work slow anyway. I spend the longest time on conceptualizing something, but when I’m done I can execute it quickly. But no ideas were coming.

In a lot of ways art is political. It can also be a reflection of the times. I wanted to make some protest art but it’s just not in me to make that kind of work. But because of who I am, my very existence can be thought of as a political statement. Black, non-binary, femme, queer—all pretty hated things. I chose acts of joy and rest as my way of protest and to not only allow myself to be soft, but to be softer with myself.

NIMAH GOBIR

(my life matters), 2020 Oil on canvas 72 x 60 in.

KIANA HONARMAND

Aab – ‫بآ‬, 2020 Stills from single channel HD video 5:42 minutes

IN CONVERSATION NIMAH GOBIR & KIANA HONARMAND

NIMAH

Have you noticed a change in your work since the start of the pandemic?

KIANA

Being at home away from the studio with much more limited space and facilities, it was a big shift to figure out. Okay, how do I work with just smaller things? I really needed to figure out what to do so it’s sustainable. I knew I wasn’t going to want to stop working. I haven’t done time-based work, and I think there’s a lot there to explore. How about you? Have you seen the pandemic has affected your work?

NIMAH

I think it took me a while to start working. After the Shelter-in-Place happened, I spent a month or two not working much at all. I have a freelance illustration practice, and so I was doing that a lot more … being on the screen a lot, but not really painting or sewing. Then I got a studio space and started working on a larger scale. The piece that I sent to you is five by six feet and that’s definitely bigger than how I usually work.

I started that piece during the pandemic. I think the incubation time has been really, really nice to spend time with the piece, work a little bit bigger. I’ve also been working on a lot of other really small canvases, stitching on the canvas and working with more patterns. So, I’ve been a little all over the place, but very exploratory in a way that I felt like I hadn’t been before. I think not having as many people see my work has been good for me, even though I don’t want it to be like that all the time.

KIANA

That’s a really interesting point, because I feel like at the beginning when all of the opportunities were canceled, with no studio visits or exhibitions, I also thought, okay, I guess I can experiment?

It’s great to see you are working on something like a huge painting, which is an ambitious project.

NIMAH

Thank you. Yeah, I’m grateful to have the space to process because I feel like that’s been a lot of what it is. It’s just processing and figuring it out and, luckily, having an outlet for that.

KIANA

What are the core questions that your work is grounded on and grounded in?

NIMAH

The question I ask myself the most is, how do I translate this memory? Or how do I communicate things that are seen, heard, and experienced in my body in a way that other people can also see, hear, and experience?

I work a lot with old photos. And then, I was also working a lot with found text and audio. I do that less now. I guess that’s another shift in the practice, since I’m outside less. Usually I would just overhear things and write them down. I am relying a lot more on photos and visuals, versus things that I’m hearing. In my most recent work, I’ve been trying to layer those things on top of each other. So having a lot of text and visuals and then sewing on top of that. And it ends up being kind of like a mishmash—like a tangible memory.

What are yours?

KIANA

A lot of my work is about my identity of being a Middle Eastern woman living in the U.S. I always ask myself, “How do I talk about these serious issues that I struggle with in a way that other people can relate to?”

For instance, this work in the show is about immigration. There’s such a stigma around immigration right now as “other” and rhetoric of villainizing immigrants. The video aims to relate people to something as basic as water, which is an element that exists in all of us, has been around forever, without being too direct. Another question that I ask myself is, “How do I address negative issues without exhausting the viewer, so I can keep their attention?”

NIMAH

That’s a great question. A reoccurring one, too: How much reality do you give people? I remember feeling when you were saying that water is like a tear from a child, or what was it like growing the first stalk of wheat—thinking about water as kind of an equalizer. And it’s been in all of us at some point. It’s been in machines and in the ocean and growing things, growing people. I thought that was really well done. Water as an immigrant.

KIANA

Can you talk more to the work you decided to exhibit?

NIMAH

It’s actually so funny because I never understood the theme of the show, even though Samantha sent really clear emails about the title Until It Shatters being from Hillary Clinton and her talking about losing the presidential race and someday shattering the glass ceiling. I vaguely knew that it was a feminist-focused exhibition. But I feel like in my head, I was thinking about it as an exhibition about, how are you continuing to do what you do in this time?

So, I chose the piece, (my life matters). I chose it because I started working on it during this time and finished it during this time. I feel like it’s an artifact of processing. And I want to show this versus something that I completed before the pandemic, because it feels more indicative of where I am now. And then, thinking about layering on the theme of the show, I do want to show an intersectional piece. They’re two women shown in this piece of two different races. When I hear Hillary Clinton and I hear feminism, I feel a little skeptical. And so I’m hoping to visually complicate what feminism looks like. I feel like it’s so often associated with being white and cis. I’d like for there to not be different kinds of feminism, but for it to be a more all-inclusive thing that we’re all a part of.

KIANA

Yes, that makes a lot of sense. I like how it is talking about intersectional feminism and how important it is. I think that’s actually a really good point, and I think it’s really important to have that kind of theme in the show. In the first roundtable with our small artist group, this came up as the theme in so many people’s work. I believe that’s really timely. The fact that with everything happening also and the pandemic, it’s actually really important to have a piece that represents a broader perspective. There’s just so much to talk about in the piece.

NIMAH

Yes, definitely. I think I had a lot of reservations around the theme, and then I was like, I do think this theme is important for this time. I’m excited to see everyone’s work.

KIANA

I also originally thought that this would be more of an electionthemed show. I was working on a separate project at the time that I thought would be a good fit because it’s been a really rough few years for immigrants, including the travel ban for Iranian people. This year alone, there’s been so many changes in laws—such as different updates to the H-1B visa or green card processes, and other issues like separation of families at borders. It feels like there is a new change every day which could turn one’s life upside down overnight.

When we originally met in smaller groups to talk about what we are planning to include in the show, intersectional feminism happened to be a common theme in our works. I thought it was important to talk about immigration, which is a big part of my experience and that of many others. I think this is a painful issue that needs to be addressed.

NIMAH

So true. I feel like that has been a constant thread through the past four years, and also such an intersectional issue. Immigration is really timely and something that’s hanging in the balance over this election, too.

KIANA

What has the impact of the last six months been on your work? Are there certain themes or modes of working that you’re currently reanalyzing or reconsidering?

NIMAH

The biggest impact has been not being around as many people, which I think has had a positive impact in some places, like not having to show work as often and being able to be alone with my work more. But then, I also think that my work has changed since I worked so much from what I was seeing outside and from what I was hearing outside. Now, I’m outside less because being outside makes me really anxious.

I didn’t even realize that I would take so many pictures of people on public transportation and even come up with ideas going from place to place. I think I’m still practicing. I don’t know if that’s the right word to use. I still feel like I’m in process. When the pandemic

first started I had to start thinking, what does this practice look like? So it still feels really exploratory. And now that I’m not necessarily supported by an organization, what does this practice look like? How do I sustain this practice? And the answer is, I don’t know. I’m slowly figuring out.

KIANA

Yes, very well said. I allowed myself to explore more. When I was originally faced with limitations and I couldn’t do the things that I was doing, I was trying to figure out how to continue making art. I believe that most of us don’t do art just because it’s our job. We do it because we need to do this. We have this need to express ourselves somehow. So I decided to allow myself to play, explore, and make mistakes.

I think sometimes we deal with this invisible pressure that everything we make needs to be a finished art piece, which in reality can limit how much we allow ourselves to experiment. I decided that I am going to be okay with making things that might not work out, and that was a freeing experience—to let myself experiment and make mistakes, but in the process come up with new processes. So even though it’s been a challenging process, I think in the end, it’s worth the frustrations.

I am just trying to learn every day. And yeah, that’s something that I also like having—like more alone time and not being able to spend time with people has given me a lot more time to just think about my work and myself. Forcing me to dig deeper, which is important because my work also deals with identity.

NIMAH

Do you think you’ve been more gentle with yourself during this time?

KIANA

That’s a good question. I think that I go back and forth. As you were saying during the beginning, I was not able to be productive. I was having the hardest time with anxiety and so many different things. And it was difficult to see many people on social media who were being very productive, which made the anxiety worse because I thought maybe there is something wrong with me for not handling this very well. During those times I was really harsh on myself, but then I decided that I needed to also take care of myself. So I decided to allow myself to take a break and take care of myself whenever I needed it. I realized it is as important to take my time to process the things that are happening, and everyone processes things in different ways.

How about you? Have you been harsh on yourself ?

NIMAH

Actually, I feel like I really resonate with what you were saying, especially about seeing people on social media, producing things in a way that seems really, really fast. I think that’s maybe one of the hard parts about an introverted practice, or like a more isolated practice— since you’re not seeing as many artists as often, you don’t get to see their process often either. And so you just see this work popping out of a vacuum without seeing any of the work that came before it. And so it’s hard to not compare yourself to the things that are coming out of the vacuum. That’s been really hard for me, too. I think I go back and forth. Some weeks will be better than others and some pieces will be better than others, and I’ll finish things and leave things and maybe come back to them.

KIANA

Yes, exactly. I guess that’s also a good segue to the next question, which is how has being a part of an artist community sustained your artistic practice?

NIMAH

It’s been good. I don’t know exactly how many artists are in my studio. I think it’s at least 10. There’s not a lot of people in there at once. I feel like usually the most I see are two other people. It’s been nice to see other people with my eyeballs and to see them working because I feel like being an artist is still kind of a weird thing. Especially because I have a full time job. Sometimes I’m like, am I an artist? I feel like just being part of the community keeps me working and keeps me seeing that doing artwork is normal. Even though it takes time out of the day and even though it’s you spending a lot of money on materials, that’s okay and good, and it’s important. So the community helps in that sense.

I also think competitiveness is helpful and tough at the same time, especially seeing other artists in the space and artists who aren’t even working in my same discipline. It makes me ask questions about my own practice, which, if they are the right questions, I think is a good thing.

I have a mentor who has just been really helpful, especially in this time where Black Lives Matter has had this huge surge. I feel like a lot of galleries have been trying to prove that they’re not racist by taking on all of these artists of color in a way that’s very predatory, and so having that guidance has been really, really helpful for me.

So my community has been a net positive.

KIANA

I agree! I’ve been in touch with the people from Root Division during our monthly meetings. It’s been nice because people have been sharing about different things they are going through, good and bad. It is helpful when people share what they go through and has made me realize that everyone is going through this and I am not alone, which has been very helpful.

One of my friends and I also started a critique group in which we visit a different artist every other week. It’s a very friendly group and it has been great to have a place to just talk about art for an hour. It has been amazing to be a part of a discussion about art in a time that most of us are removed from our communities, and a good way to stay connected with people.

Like Mother Earth, I’m Not Yours, 2020 Watercolor and acrylic on plywood 15 x 39 in.

CHICHAI MATEO

Dreaming in Color, 2019 Watercolor on paper 36 x 48 in.

JOYCE NOJIMA

IN CONVERSATION JOYCE NOJIMA + CHICHAI MATEO

JOYCE

I love your work and the mission of the work that you’re doing. The support, the impact that you’re having on the community with your artwork. I have some sub-questions because I was looking at some work from your website and noticing this weaving that you do with your artwork—kind of paintings and illustrations mixed in with photography and how it just...it’s like this beauty of bringing warmth to this reality that could be a bit cold, but you bring out the beauty and warmth of that moment.

It’s really very nice. It brings this warmth, inner warmth, this sense of community and also hope that’s especially nowadays so lacking. What are the core questions your work is ground in?

CHICHAI

I would say the core of it is ever evolving. When I really reached a point in which I felt as though I found my voice through my artwork, it was heavily stemmed from my Filipina-ness and being raised by very strong women and a single mother and coming from a family of matriarchs. That’s really where the core relied on, but as time went on, especially considering all that is going on—I thought of other things that struck on me.

I am tying in all these women figures with nature so how can I further embody that? So, there’s a huge environmental aspect to it as well as, you know, different social issues. In regards to social issues, I’m still trying to find ways to really put that into my work outside of the digital realm. I do a lot of that with graphic design and digital illustration but to really do that, have that interpreted into my paintings, for example, I would say even my work for Until it Shatters might be one of the first of a few where I really took a stab at that.

JOYCE

I’m very interested in seeing the work that you’re including in this show in particular and how you’re taking a stab at the beginnings of that work. Which would perfectly answer the next question, what work did you select for this exhibition? In a way, you answered why, but can you expand on that?

CHICHAI

I originally had planned to submit this enormous collage from different materials that I acquired from my own consumption— including things like Lay’s bags and mailing packaging. But I didn’t finish it on time because it was emotionally laborious. Anytime I worked on it, it became too heavy. I’m really thinking about how related the destruction and exploitation of women is to Earth herself. So, I had to pause. I can’t do this right now.

The piece that I did submit is a wood panel that still touches upon womanhood and earth, and giving and the beauty that comes with both givers and growers, but this time I strictly only painted her. I think not having to bring in this heavier load of more tangible things allowed me to release more freely without so much pressure, which is why I picked this piece. It’s called, “Like the Earth, I’m Not Yours.” It’s this woman whose hair embodies the ocean which is carrying different landscapes. I based every section of it on different places that are my favorite landscapes in California.

JOYCE

That’s really wonderful. It’s interesting that you touched upon a piece of work that is emotionally laborious and just this investment in tackling a core message that is affecting you emotionally. It’s draining right? I always ask that myself. I find that with my work I’m thinking of it in different ranges, I can’t help but put those hard moments in my work. It may not be obvious to the viewer but it’s like I’m doing it to myself and I often ponder with myself, “why am I doing this?” I feel like it’s absolutely necessary, although I may not be able to answer that question.

Why as artists—granted if there is a message, especially an important one like yours—why make work that really hurts yourself to a point that’s a complete struggle? But I do that because I find it completely necessary. It’s painful, but maybe it’s a healing thing to confront what is difficult. With some of the materials I use, like plastic bags, it is toxic and the work I do is burning and whatnot, but I find it very necessary for the process.

What is interesting is that you’re dealing with these materials that are both heavy in meaning and have all these connotations that you said you’re dealing with, like Lay’s bags. Is this something that you started largely focusing on with our six months of COVID quarantine? Is this something you did prior? Or to segue to the next question, what impact has this last six months had on your work?

CHICHAI

You know, although I admitted I needed a break on my lady over there (referring to the unfinished collage), the six months...especially... remember the beginning of SIP when the earth felt still? Time felt slowed down. Everything was cancelled and no one was adjusted yet, there weren’t any virtual events yet. So I remember in the beginning, when everything was slowed down.

JOYCE

Streets were even empty!

CHICHAI

Exactly! And because of that, I was finally...I guess you can say, time gave me the opportunity to face these ideas I’ve been wanting to do. For example, this collage piece, I’ve had her sketched out since the beginning of 2019.

JOYCE

Oh, so even before all this hit the fan?

CHICHAI

Yea! As well as some other smaller projects, but I never dedicated the time to do them nor felt the urgency to until this moment. One, first due to that eerie silence and stillness when SIP first happened, and then we hear about Amaud, we hear about Breonna, we hear about George...you know, all of a sudden this fire. I’ve been wanting to put more social justice being spoken into my work. The-world-can’t-waitanymore kind of feeling which pushed me to be like, “fuck it, go for it.”

I don’t want to say that it had a bad impact on my work. I definitely don’t think it was negative, but I can’t confidently say that it was fully positive either, you know. There was definitely motivation that I’m grateful for, there was more time, there was a push. I just wish it wasn’t these circumstances that called for it.

JOYCE

Of course, of course. So it’s like an urgency that you felt and inspiration and motivation to do your work—and granted, these things that sparked it weren’t positive but the work that you’re doing is a very positive thing and very important for people to see. And I see that with your work and how you beautifully weave in your paintings with photos and having that social message behind it? I think that’s very important. I want to reiterate that there’s warmth in that and that it’s very necessary to see that now.

I guess, community. I feel that in your work. And not only in this artwork, but you actually do extra beyond these framed pieces. You outreach to communities and are very much involved in your community, like the FilAm community and public school systems. Maybe you can share in this interview in-depth what you do for the community, and share how that not only sustains your art practice but vice versa? I feel like it’s a conduit.

CHICHAI

Thank you. You know, during this hellstorm, affirmations hit a lot deeper. So thank you. For those who need context, as Joyce said, I do hella. If you’re not from the Bay, that means a lot.

JOYCE

Yes! Hella—I’m from the Bay!

CHICHAI

I was just telling someone how nice it is to meet someone from the Bay in the Bay. We’re like becoming rare golden tickets.

So, I do different things. We’re all familiar with Root Division (RD). I am a staff member at RD, but I actually started off as the Filipinx Teaching Artist Fellow. I was the Fellow from 2018-2020 and outside of RD, I also teach fashion design for public high school students for Youth Art Exchange. And they are based in Outer Mission and Excelsior and then, it goes on! My mom is the founder of a nonprofit organization in the Philippines called Project PEARLS and we have a livelihood program called GROW in which the women community members create products and we market it, sell it for them. They get all the profits and I design the products. There’s more!

I have a streetwear brand called Empire in the Air, and I would say that the basis of being a Filipina-American and artivist is really embedded in my work in the brand because I use my brand to, not to quote my own brand, “uplift others in building their own empires.” We host open mics, art shows featuring BIPOC artists and those who just really don’t have representation in stores. Like we had a pop-up

shop and I’m proud to say that at least half of the people there have never had store representation. That is all I do.

JOYCE

I feel like I want to end it right here!

CHICHAI

No! I have so many questions for you! That are not on the list. There are more questions I want to bother you with. Are you going to see this show in person?

JOYCE

It’s a little hard. I take care of my parents and they’re in that vulnerable age group.

CHICHAI

Thank goodness for virtual at the least.

Before I ask the core question, I actually don’t know much about you other than that our staff jumped up and down because you’re coming back to teach. And I’m like, “Who is Joyce? Who is this girl!?”

I have seen your work and I have lots of questions about your work specifically too, but I kind of just want to get to know you a little bit more. I am also stalking your website. What led you to being a Studio Artist at Root Division?

JOYCE

What led me to RD...there were some friends that worked there and had been Studio Artists there. I’ve heard nothing but positive things about RD. I didn’t have a studio at the time and was going through a move. I felt very separated. I guess it kind of like answers that question, “How does being part of an artist community sustain your artistic practice?” Granted when talking to a past or present artist, your art practice is very much a solitude moment, something that you do alone, but I feel like it is so necessary to be part of a community.

For me, it is a very vital thing that pushes me alone. I do my work alone, but it’s so important, and I found that at RD it’s a family. There were so many times when I’m like, “What am I doing?” Or “ Why am I bothering with this?” A downward spiral that I tend to get myself caught up into but just being part of that family, and even if the work is completely different, there’s this energy that glows and inspires me to work harder.

Especially now—we’re distanced, teaching from a webcam, what have you—there’s still this sense of community that I’m grateful for. You know, with Michael reaching out or Samantha reaching out—we want to support each other to keep trucking.

CHICHAI

I know that you work with different media, but across the different media, your style is distinct for sure. From a viewer’s perspective, I imagine it to either be meditative, or as we were saying, “I gotta get through this pain because it is necessary.” I sense there is quite a balancing act of the motions going through in your different pieces. With that said, what are the core questions in your work?

JOYCE

Nice transition there! I love it.

My work is not that blatant in what’s behind it. What I say is not what you always see, but it’s what’s behind it. To boil it down and concentrate it, it’s really having to do with identity. Identity beyond what’s in your passport, your gender, your race, but asking, “Who am I?” Really core, “Who am I?” “What do I desire?” What I desire is to belong—the really core of wanting to belong, not wanting to be excluded, separated, or ostracized.

The inspirations that I pull from, the marks that I make a lot of—it is similar to murmuration, a swarm, a gathering. What I try to capture in my work and what I’m striving for is that moment of observing these marks and becoming lost in it. Shedding off the identity, shedding off and physically being in that moment of being lost in the looking, the feeling.

I guess that in the beginning stages of my work—like really, really beginning—I felt like with my own work I really struggled and blatantly would put in what it is to be Asian in the Bay Area. I was born in Santa Rosa and was raised there and I was basically the only minority. I was always an outsider. “Do you speak English?” was a constant thing. Even though I grew up here and was raised here, and loved reading as a kid, I was still getting pushed to go into ESL classes. I was even pulled out of class while reading! It was this constant struggle to be like, “Hey! I belong here.” It’s silly, but if you aren’t constantly faced with this barrier, this struggle...I think that’s what I wanted my work to be about.

I’m not sure if you face this too, but when I talk about my work, I don’t know why, but the origin story always comes up. Like, if you talk to any white male artist, they’re not talking about where they grew up and where their parents are from or what their struggles are. That’s constant. Why is there that when it comes to ethnic artists, your work is always like that.

CHICHAI

I want to go back to an earlier point in our conversation about how laborious our work comes for us. I truly wonder, how much more weight goes on for us as women of color creators? You know? Just like you said, they don’t have to explain their origin story because they never had to validate their existence.

JOYCE

Exactly! That is totally true. They don’t have to validate their existence. I like that.

That’s why, in the beginning, a lot of my work had “Untitled.” I had friends saying naming my work “Untitled” was so lazy, but I just wanted you to look at the work. Just look at the work and not judge it based off who you think I am. For example, I don’t want them to look at my work and see the last name and go, oh that’s an Asian last name, then have other assumptions about me. Stop. Can you be able to read a piece of work without me standing there? These are kind of my own experimentations. It’s contradictory. It’s the entirety of me but without the parts that people easily judge me for. I find it to be such a thin facade—judging a person based off of their ethnicity, right? Get to know me beyond that, please.

CHICHAI

I mean, that’s why you said you don’t want the message of identity to be blatant, right? You don’t want people to just be like, “Oh, of course she’s trying to defend who she is right now?”

JOYCE

Ironically, I am defending who I am.

CHICHAI

Yes, I understand, but that’s not the first thing they’ll think of. They have to go through a journey in viewing your work so you’re putting the viewers…they have to do some labor too!

JOYCE

That’s exactly it! When you get to know someone, that’s where I have a hard time. I want to get to know you. I want to know more. And, it’s like I go back to this one conversation. It was not so good. This guy is like “so what’s your name?” I told him then he goes, “so where are you from?” “Santa Rosa...an hour north from here.” “No no. Where are you really from?” “The Bay Area...” “No, no, where were you born?” “Here...” “How about your parents?” And I’m like, “Japan.” Then he goes “Oh okay, yea.”

It was this weird thing and before we could even have a further conversation of getting to know each other, he said this, “Oh I understand your story. I know it.” And he said this: “I have a Korean girlfriend, so I know.”

CHICHAI

No! You don’t say that! Ah!

JOYCE

I said, “Ah okay. Maybe I don’t want to get to know him. He’s not worth my time.”

CHICHAI

It’s just interesting because with your work, just because that conversation you’re putting out there is veiled, people have to get to know you without that bias. Man, I hate that, “Where are you from?” question.

JOYCE

Yes! Do you get that a lot too? The “No, no, no. Where are you originally from?”

CHICHAI

Yes! A white Australian guy said that to me and I tried to flip the switch. I asked him, “Where are you from?” and when he answered Australia, I said, “Oh, you don’t look Aboriginal to me?” He responded with, “Well my family is from Britain.” I said, “Okay, so you’re British,” which he completely ignores. Then he asks me “What islands do you hail from?” Oh my god. He didn’t understand that dialogue at all.

JOYCE

Oh no. You had a beautiful teaching moment and he just failed.

CHICHAI

I know with your work, you usually stick with more neutral colors or blacks, but I saw that your Until It Shatters piece is not. What’s going on?

JOYCE

That piece is called Dreaming in Color. It’s actually a piece that I titled. I wanted color. It’s something that I’m continuing to do now; it’s difficult for me to use. The piece that I’m exhibiting is in watercolor. I’m currently living in Rohnert Park, you know near the fires, and you know the air quality was so bad it went to San Francisco and even San Jose. It’s very difficult to do my usual practice.

I usually burn the pieces to get those marks, and with COVID, it’s so hard...this kind of goes into the next question of how this six months have been affecting my work...It is. It’s hard. I use a respirator filter to do my work because it’s toxic when dealing with so much work. For one, getting those filters right now are difficult these days and then with the air quality being so horrible, the last thing I wanted to do was to contribute to that and be in that moreso. Overall, it’s been so depressing.

The one thing that I really wanted to do was to have a piece that would heal, heal me. I wanted to see color. I wanted to see marks that would kind of give you a hug, a sense of warmth. Something a little brighter.

To be quite frank, it’s been incredibly hard to make work these days. I wish I was like yours in feeling the inspiration to work. For me, it was the Wander Woman show during the talk, like right after we were learning more about police brutality being blatantly right in our faces. We needed to act. And it was during that moment and I had such a hard time. I was even talking to Rea who curated Wander Woman that I didn’t know if I could even participate. I couldn’t look at my work, I can’t talk about my work. I can’t right now. I want my focus to be on what’s happening in the world. I couldn’t, with a smile on my face, be like “Hey! Look at my work right now.”

It was really fortunate, which kind of answers the next question, “How does the artist community sustain your practice?” Because of that group, if anything, that online talk became like a healing moment. An online hug almost. We were able to connect, communicate, heal, and acknowledge that this is a peak moment in which we need to support one another.

CHICHAI

It’s really powerful to be among these women creators who have similar stories. I definitely think our representation is up and coming but still very drastically needed.

JOYCE

It’s so good. It’s funny because (not in a ha-ha way), being in a show or group...it’s like what! There are other minorities in the group. There are other Asians. It felt good! There’ll be times you look around the group and you’re like, I’m a minority again. So it’s nice to be with other women of color. You don’t have to go in depth. You just understand. That part of “I get it” feels so good. You don’t have to explain yourself.

CHICHAI

Even seeing a Pinay curator like Rea. Ugh. She is so badass.

JOYCE

I love it. The art world is not all white.

CHICHAI

That’s why I’m so proud to be part of this show. Because you know, our work is very valuable. Our stories—this list of amazing artists—definitely need to be heard in this time.

Hasta El Final / Until The End, 2010 Photograph on aluminum 30 x 40 in. 60

INDIRA URRUTIA

DIMITRA SKANDALI

Until it Shatters, 2020 Stills from single channel HD video 00:30 minutes 63

IN CONVERSATION DIMITRA SKANDALI + INDIRA URRUTIA

DIMITRA

It is so good to reconnect with you! To dive right in, what are the core questions that your work is grounded in?

INDIRA

It is great to connect with you, especially both being artists across the ocean! As an artist and activist, communicating through my art is the core of my artistic practice. Some of my core questions include: Does it convey the message? How does the process of creating contribute to the work? How can beauty communicate something so tragic?

DIMITRA

Being process and material oriented, my work is labour intensive. Some core questions that can express my practice are: How do I take poetry out of my material? How does it convey a message? How does a piece of mine contribute to contemporary concerns? How does it reflect current issues? How does personal reflect universal? How is my practice connected with my roots and where I come from, while at the same time, willing to stay connected with a broader, contemporary artistic community? How do I create this community? How do I connect myself with nature, with other people, with my inner self ? How do I honour my roots while at the same time propose a new perspective or/and provoke new questions?

What work did you select to exhibit?

INDIRA

I selected a photograph I did in 2010 in the Bolivian highland because of the process, the time, the effort, and the resilience it took to arrive at the actual place where this photograph was taken.

DIMITRA

My piece presented for this exhibition is a video piece filmed in the Aegean Sea entitled Until It Shatters, after the title of the show. The video aims to be the metaphor of the force that every single one should be a part of in order to make any kind of change from both a personal and global level, even if it seems impossible to make any kind of change. To be persistent. Every little pebble counts to create this force. Every little wave. Every little breeze. Every voice.

Throughout making this video, I was honoring and thinking about the individuals, especially women, who have contributed to creating change throughout the years to write history. I selected this piece to help visualize the importance of every single voice, especially before the November election in the United States. Every vote counts to make history happen. Now more than ever, everyone, closer or further, needs to throw a little pebble and break the surface.

What has the impact of the last six months been on your work? Are there certain themes or modes of working that you are currently reanalyzing or reconsidering?

INDIRA

I was supposed to visit Mexico in mid-March to continue with the research about a weaving technique I have been doing for the last six years. All this had to be canceled—from that moment on and for the following three months, I did not do much artwork. I did some investigation from home and a lot of contemplation. Around July, I got back to the studio and have been working since then on different installations projects. I am still doing my weaving practice, but I have also gone back to photography, something I stopped for a number of years.

DIMITRA

During these weird times that we all experience, and being outside the United States in Paros, Greece with all my scheduled shows postponed, I felt very far away from everything that is happening in the art world internationally. I am trying to stay connected in whatever way I can. This show has been a perfect opportunity to be 65

able to reconnect with my Bay Area community, which I miss a lot. At the same time, I am now taking as much time as I can with my family, sometimes creating art pieces together or just hanging out with them. I am better appreciating the time I can spend with them.

Recently, I presented a site-specific, temporary outdoors installation during the Paros Festival, which offered me the opportunity to interact with the local community, even without an opening or another public event. This wouldn’t have happened in the past years as I am always in the US during the time that the Paros Festival usually takes place.

INDIRA

Oh you have been busy!

DIMITRA

Yes! During the last few months I have been working on new projects, using materials that I always wanted to use but never made the decision, because they are either heavy or expensive or difficult to carry or find elsewhere, except in Paros. For example, pieces inspired by the Parian marble and its history or installations made of steel.

Last but not least, staying on the island has also given me the opportunity to continue working more systematically on a life-time dream of mine—to create an artist residency centre in Alyki, my home village, a project that I started in 2015. Living and working on Paros has helped me to bring this artist residency program closer to what I have envisioned and with hopes to host the first artists in 2021.

How has being a part of an artist community sustained your artistic practice?

INDIRA

Having an artistic community in close contact has been so important for me during this time. The conversations, exchanges of visions, feelings, emotions have been central to the driving force of my present artistic practice.

DIMITRA

I feel weak and insecure about what I am doing if I am not connected with my artist community. For that reason, I try to sustain my relationships with my peers no matter where I am. Staying connected and using online resources has helped me to not feel alone and so far away. For that reason too, I want to bring the above community to the island, bringing my fellow artists or other creative minds from abroad, or other places in Greece, to Paros to be inspired with each other.

Objectify, 2019 Melted lead crystal vases, lead sulfide, and lacquer 10 x 15.5 in. 68 Courtesy of Catharine Clark Gallery Photographed by John Janca

KATHERINE VETNE

CATHY LU

artist, 2019 Porcelain 84 x 4 x 3 in.

Before It All Comes Crashing Down, 2020 Printable fabric and resin 26.4 x 13.4 x 7.4 in. each 72

KACY JUNG

Before It All Comes Crashing Down, 2020 Printable fabric and resin 26.4 x 13.4 x 7.4 in. each

IN CONVERSATION KACY JUNG + KATHERINE VETNE + CATHY LU

KACY

Let’s do a quick check in! It has been too long. I can go first!

I haven’t been able to access the studio at Root Division since March, so I moved everything back to my place, installed a ventilation system in this room, and turned it into a temporary home studio. Since everything is virtual now, we’re trying to figure out how to do everything for the Auction this Thursday—even the open studio— online. And it can be hard to know what to expect. The current economic situation and uncertainties also really worries me. I think everything will be okay. It just takes time to get used to it.

KATHERINE

On my end, I just moved to South San Francisco. The shift in my living space has been really nice—my partner Jonny and I were both crammed into a tiny 1-bedroom in the Sunset before. In terms of my art practice, I’m also feeling a little...disoriented. I’m just kind of figuring what to do next and taking it one day at a time. It’s nice to see shows starting to happen again—when Samantha contacted us about Until it Shatters, it was the first opportunity that came together for me after the Shelter-in-Place began. So I was really excited to get the ball rolling again!

KACY

You also just opened a school, right?

KATHERINE

Oh yeah, that’s the other thing—I decided to partner with a friend and open an Art School!

My friend Ileana and I have both worked at different arts education institutions over the years, and we both just felt burned out by our experiences of exploitative workplace conditions. Right now, it feels like the most important stakeholders of institutions—the artists, workers, and teachers who show up every day to contribute—aren’t being valued enough.

Art School began with the idea of running art classes for corporate and tech companies, and has also branched out to include more adult ed and youth programming. We’re also expanding into blog writing, and making art kits and other merchandise for people to buy online.

I guess recent events have led me to think about new ways of doing things, both in my arts practice and in terms of my other professional interests. How can we create new practices, structures, and systems in order to divest our dependence from toxic structures that do not function with the best interest of their stakeholders in mind? These are some questions I’ve been asking myself.

Do either of you feel like what is going on right now has sort of shaken up the way you look at your practice or your other work?

CATHY

When the pandemic first hit here, or when we started sheltering in place, I had just finished building out a studio in my backyard. So, I was very lucky to not have that be an issue. I had sort of been studio squatting prior to that, so I feel really grateful that the timing happened the way it did.

I think what’s cool about art people is that no matter the restrictions, we always sort of figure out how to make things happen. Katherine, I’m thinking how you basically created a school! When all the stores shut down, I realized I didn’t have any clay at home, so I just started to dig in the back yard for clay. I’m not sure I would have ever taken the time to do that otherwise.

I did some soil testing, and just played around and experimented with my soil. I also made my students test their soil for clay. I could get really nerdy about this, I guess. But clay particles are really tiny. So if you mix it with water in a container, you can shake it up and then just let it settle. You really see all the different layers settle, and clay will always remain at the top because the particles are so fine.

I think I’m also struggling with my art practice, or the way I’m thinking is changing for sure. The combination of the pandemic, and then also the racial reckoning we are 77

having, have made me think much more about how interconnected we are. I think I used to think about my art practice as being much more personal or individual, but now I’m thinking more about my role and my part in the community.

KACY

Since the Shelter-in-Place order, I actually focus better than before since there are fewer distractions. Although the news is devastating, seeing how the whole pandemic pushes the discrepancy even wider really makes me question humanity. But I tried to distance myself from all the social news on purpose. I feel bad about it because I think I didn’t try hard enough to fulfill my social responsibility. But I also know that I need to protect myself from going too far and being unable to do anything.

KATHERINE

That makes sense. I feel like not having some type of agreement with yourself about what you consume, and why you’re consuming it, could be really damaging. It might even prevent you from being a helpful member of society in a time when we need to be able to show up for each other. Everyone needs to figure out what these boundaries look like for them. But if you don’t spend a little time figuring this out, you might be in a bit of trouble.

I also feel really similar about some of the things you two were saying as well. In the beginning of this year and the pandemic, I was asking myself a lot of questions about if art matters, if the art world matters, and what value I contribute to the world as an artist. It’s not unusual for me to be considering these things, since I do that a lot anyway, but current events have caused many of these questions to resurface. I definitely have also noticed I’ve been having a bit of a harder time focusing on my work and on what I want to do with my practice.

Also, having things slow down in the first half of the year, and having opportunities be canceled or postponed led me to really examine what I want to do with my art practice and what I want to spend my time on. It brought a lot of what I knew already on some level to the forefront of my mind. I’ve been re-examining my priorities in my work and going through a bit of a transition period around what I want to make. It’s a bit of a hard place to be in creatively, though!

CATHY

I was listening to this talk by the poet, Ocean Vuong. He was talking about the idea of writer’s block and how he doesn’t believe in the concept of writer’s block, or this idea that you don’t have any ideas

or that you are not able to produce anything. He ties it to living in a capitalist society where we feel pressured to always produce, produce, produce. Instead, it’s okay and natural to have this transition or period of being fallow, and that it doesn’t make sense to see it as negative when it’s just part of the process.

KATHERINE

Yeah, you’re totally right. That transition period/ block period, it’s just part of the process and the life. It’s really useful even though it’s a bit hard. Often in that period, you’re really getting somewhere and learning, even though it doesn’t feel like it.

What work did you each pick for the show?

KACY

I made four crying grocery bags out of chiffon fabric, printable fabric, for this show. The title is Before it All Comes Crashing Down. So when Samantha invited me to the show, I immediately thought about what Judith Butler said in Gender Trouble that the performance of gender is a stylized repetition of acts, where one imitates or mimics the dominant gender conventions. Sexism and patriarchal gender stereotypes are detrimental to everyone. All these injustices and inequalities provoke indignation and retaliation. Also, there are false expectations and prejudicial notions that force people to behave in particular ways rather than explore their natural dispositions. As long as there is a glass ceiling that limits a woman’s potential or anyone’s potential, we shall all feel shattered.

As for the material, I started to really focus on this printable fabric last year. At the beginning, it was more about an aesthetic choice. I was drawn to its lightweight material, the confusion between visible and invisible, and how it responds to the air and light. But as my work evolved, the more I focused on how capitalism affects personal decision making and class consciousness, the more I felt that this material is essential to me because the way it resonates with the idea of social fabric. If you look closely enough, you can really see how these repeated threads, each carrying a slightly different pattern, stand right next to each other, and come together to create a larger image that makes sense.

CATHY

I selected an older work that I showed at Johansson Projects a couple of years ago, and it’s a grouping of ceramic figures of East Asian girls that are all hanging off of each other from the ceiling—kind of like that game, Barrel of Monkeys.

The girl figures come from drawings I used to do that were inspired by this traditional Chinese genre called ‘100 boys’ or ‘100 boys playing.’ Traditionally, it depicts many boys playing as a way to foreshadow future successes. So, it might show a little boy playing with a quill, and that means he will grow up and be a scholar, or if they’re playing with a sword or knife, they’re going to grow up and be great warriors. And this tradition typically excluded girls. I think about the Chinese perspective on the value of girls historically and how that still pervades the present. And of course, in the United States, we have different values for boys versus girls. It’s still a very binary and gendered society in that sense.

The figures are all positioned in ways they can just hang off each other, and it works because of gravity. I think it’s the interconnectedness and the precarity of it. I like that each girl matters, and if one of the girls were to break or fall, everyone below her would break and fall too. Each of them are pretty small, but when they’re all together they become a larger form. None of them can really ‘hang’ without the other.

KATHERINE It could just be because I’m looking at it on my screen, but I couldn’t tell if the figures were like, climbing up or down, or holding each other up, which is really interesting to think about in terms of the show. There’s this idea of the vertical nature of your piece and the idea of the vertical hierarchy of the glass ceiling.

It makes me think a bit about an older archetype, about womanhood in the workplace, where there was this idea that women might be in competition with each other for promotions or things like that, rather than being in support of each other. In other words, there is a familiar narrative out there about how there’s limited space for accomplishments by women, so if a woman wants to achieve something, she might need to hold someone else down in order to get it for herself. This piece in context with the show’s theme makes me think of that.

CATHY

Wow, I never thought of it that way. Actually, when I first made this, I really thought of them just like hanging off of each other, and then other people were like, “oh, they’re climbing on each other” or “they’re helping each other climb up.”

KATHERINE Yeah, that’s really interesting. I like that perspective on it.

CATHY

Thinking about it through a cultural lens, I feel like East Asians in the U.S. are usually portrayed as a collective, and there is this stereotype that we lack individuality. I like playing with that idea, that each of these girls are basically the same, they have the same expressions. But obviously, I made each of them individually and they are separate objects from each other.

KATHERINE I had a hard time figuring out what to put into the show. I decided to show a work called Objectify, which is made of two melted lead crystal vases that have been coated in lead particles. So in the past, I’ve done this process a lot with silver, and I just began using lead.

I was really torn between putting this work in the show, which is more in line with a lot of my work, or putting in something that was more of an outlier in my practice. I had this letterpress print I almost put in the show—my first print in several years—that was about selling off Dianne Feinstein’s San Francisco mansion. That also seemed really appropriate for the show’s theme, considering the title came from a Hillary Clinton quote.

For both pieces, I was thinking about the dualistic nature of occupying the identity of normative womanhood. Normative (or traditional, mainstream, etc.) womanhood is something that you can both benefit from and be harmed by. I’m really interested in the social position of this identity as it relates to different kinds of power, be it social, economic, political, etc.

But after obsessing over it for way too long, I ended up going with Objectify.

CATHY

Why did you begin using lead?

KATHERINE

I had my eye on the lead for a really long time. The lead has a much different feel than the silver, which is a lot brighter. It took me a while to take the plunge and try it, though. Sometimes it takes me a few years to act on an idea, I usually don’t just jump right into it.

CATHY

I was just thinking of your use of lead in your sculpture, and then you also have a drawing practice, which makes me think of pencils and pencil lead. And then lead is also poisonous, and so it feels more 81

ominous or off putting. It’s not luxurious in the same way as your previous sculptures in which you’ve used silver or gold. Yeah, it’s really weird, it’s really cool.

KATHERINE

Thanks, I like that! It is like poison on top of poison, because the crystal also has lead in it. The lead helps it refract light in a certain way, and also makes the crystal stronger and more clear.

CATHY

Actually, I was curious about the show’s title, Until it Shatters. And I think for me, I just think, “oh, gosh, like, is it gonna shatter?” Everything feels so slow, right? Progress just feels so slow. When I try to visualize it, it’s more like, okay, now we’re going to get to the glass, and it’s going to be like, tap, tap, tap—it’s going to be very difficult. And then maybe there will be a slight crack. And 100 years later, there’ll be like, another f*ing crack.

I’m curious to hear what y’all think about progress and the title. Maybe I’m just more pessimistic now or something. Originally, I always thought of this image of all this glass shattering like the whole ceiling just shatters. Very dramatic. But now, I feel like it’s not going to shatter. It’s such a hard thing for me to imagine now. I feel so disillusioned, and I feel like progress on gender equality and our understanding of gender has been so slow.

KACY

Yes I’m with you, and I recognize how slow our progress has been. I am very optimistic about how art can play a role here. It does provide a unique platform to help people re-examine the system and ways of thinking that we are used to. It can shift the culture by changing people from their hearts. We will get there one day if the direction is correct. I forget who said, “Fight for the things that you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you.” I am hoping the pieces I made for the show can provide some inclusive energy. Although I try to avoid talking about gender in most of my work, I feel I am not sensitive enough or knowledgeable enough about this topic, I still wish to have this piece in this show.

CATHY

That’s interesting. So when you make your work normally, it’s avoiding gender?

KACY

I think because a lot of my works are starting from my selfportraits—and I’m an Asian, a female, and that’s something I cannot change—it’s hard for my work not to be interpreted as a race or gender statement.

KATHERINE It’s interesting to think about who gets to benefit from not being projected on by society about an issue like gender or race. It’s an interesting problem to think about. On the one hand I think a work of art is completed in the viewer’s head; the fact that they bring themselves to the work is what makes something art, and what gives it meaning. On the other hand, I think—is a work of art really about other people’s issues? Even their issues around race, sexuality, class, or gender? I don’t know, but it’s an interesting riddle.

CATHY

Yes, it reminds me of those Youngman Hennessy videos by the artist Jayson Musson. There was one where he was talking about the interpretations of a painting of a flower—if you’re a woman painting a flower, then the flower is a vagina, and if you’re black and you’ve painted a flower, that flower is the flower La Amistad, it’s about slavery. He’s poking fun, but yeah, whose identity gets brought up? Or how to navigate your “identity” when it’s not what you want to talk about.

KACY

Yes, people can sort of bring their own thing to it and that’s really amazing. That’s how the art gets created. The art gets created in somebody’s head in a way, but there are actually other elements involved. After the torture of school, maybe we don’t have to accept everything that is in someone else’s head.

DANI LOPEZ

(left)

tell me that love isn’t true, 2019 Handwoven cotton, yarn, and novelty hand-cut fabrics 108 x 36 in.

a way in / a way out, 2018 Handwoven cotton and novelty hand-cut fabrics 68 x 37 x .5 in. 85

REBECCA KAUFMAN

Tunnel Visions III, 2020 Acrylic on canvas 36 x 36 in.

IN CONVERSATION DANI LOPEZ + REBECCA KAUFMAN

What are the core questions that your work is grounded in?

REBECCA

What is “seeing”? What does it mean to absorb light and images, process them with our brains, and experience them with our senses? What does it mean to see as it relates to paying attention, noticing, and appreciating the details of life? What does it mean to see for the first time a situation that your brain was not prepared to truly recall?

So, seeing as it relates to denial and avoidance, and seeing as it relates to being present. Seeing as it relates to the past and how that inhibits or informs our acceptance of the present. Looking back in order to look forward. Like when you’re swimming in the ocean and as soon as your gaze lingers too long on the beach, you’re pummeled with a wave, forcing you back into the present. What’s worth seeing? Is it dangerous to look back? Is it dangerous to look forward, future tripping about what may or may not happen, missing the present?

DANI

The core question is, if I could go back in time, what would I do differently? My work is about exploring regret and longing, and being very open about those things. I use time-intensive processes to create work that speaks to longing, heartbreak, desire, and loss. With the processes I use and the time I spend in the studio, in a sense, I’ve given myself the out, queer youth that I didn’t have. Most queer folks don’t have an adolescence until later in life, because of being closeted. Many queer folks don’t opt-in to a more traditional, “straight” adulthood that doesn’t fit their lives and experiences. Lately, my work and my outlook in the studio are trying to reconnect with the teenage

version of myself and asking her, “What would you do right now if you could? Who would you be?”

What work did you select to exhibit for this exhibition and why?

REBECCA

I selected Tunnel Visions III because it’s the most direct reference to American domestic idealism. From a distance, this painting appears to be nothing more than an orderly, familiar textile reference, but upon closer inspection inconsistencies, bleeds, undulations, and errors are revealed.

These moments of irreverence are a reflection of the unraveling of an ideal, polished exterior. The isolation involved in being trapped at home during this pandemic has brought up a lot of questions about the facade of safety that is romanticized as “home,” and the billions of adults and children navigating violent, abusive homes during this time.

The title, Tunnel Visions III, comes from “tunnel vision” which is an anxiety symptom of PTSD where one can only see what is directly in front of them and all peripheral vision falls away. I’ve been thinking of this a lot with regards to how trauma survivors are equipped with the tools of denial and avoidance in order to live through extremely difficult life events. This happens a lot when you grow up in a home where keeping up appearances is prioritized over love and acceptance.

DANI

The two weavings I selected for this exhibition (a way in/a way out and tell me that love isn’t true) are a series that isn’t quite finished. When I started these weavings, I wanted to know how much I could fuck with the structure of plain weave (a very basic but strong structure within weaving). I thought, “How can I disrupt this? How can I make it as unstable as possible, while not falling apart?” What I didn’t know at the time was that I was also thinking about the stability that humans have and how easy it is for us to fall apart, all while staying beautiful and strong. I look at these weavings and see different iterations of myself at different times of my life. One represents coming out and the other represents heartbreak and longing.

What has the impact of the last six months been on your work (if any)? With that, are there certain themes or modes of working that you are currently reanalyzing or reconsidering?

REBECCA

At first, I threw myself into painting and sewing compulsively in order to avoid reality, telling myself and others things like “I’m great at isolation—I’m an artist!” After May, I started to realize I had to pull my head out of the sand and take a long hard look at what was really going on in this country and how even my most mindless actions were perpetuating systemic racism. I’d been hiding under my own veil of denial about my “progressive” lifestyle and made some really necessary changes around my involvement in consumer capitalism.

As a result, my ideas surrounding the work I’d been making shifted and I realized I was also in some pretty deep denial around what I was actually processing through my work. Rather than admit my work was indeed personal, I found it easier and less risky to make it political and all about a critique of tech and it’s harmful bio-psychological consequences. While I’m still interested in this concept, it’s become clear to me that the work is more about my own personal experiences growing up with the rapid evolution of technology while also surviving an extremely chaotic childhood.

DANI

I think the past seven months have made me much more fearless in regards to my practice. I haven’t been making work, but not a day goes by that I’m not thinking about it. Now that the dust in my life has mostly settled, I’m eager to set up my home studio and get back to work. I want to start a body of work that includes costumes, wigs, props, and sets which will inevitably lead to performative video work. The past year has made me realize that there is literally no time like the present.

Rebecca, your work is grounded in questions surrounding the tech world and what can happen when you take a more human approach to op-art. Do patterns, textiles, and handwork play a role in your work?

REBECCA

Textiles and pattern play a massive role in my work. I am really interested in repetition as a form of meditation and healing, and replicating textile patterns through repetitive painting processes connects me with what it means to be socialized as a woman and raised in the South. My mother is an artist, my aunts are all artists, and my grandmothers and greatgrandmothers were all quilters in Kentucky and Tennessee, so my need to repeat runs deep. In the last year or so I have been taking a stab at quilting, and I’m both completely humbled and irritated by the process—but the experience has taught me a lot about generational coping mechanisms and why I’m drawn to textiles and pattern.

How did your grad school experience affect your practice?

REBECCA

Grad school was great for building community and having focused time and space to produce a lot of work, and for that I am forever grateful. However, I could have done without the abusive power dynamics in certain critique seminars and the almost militarized construction of the perfect MFA graduate. Tearing us down to build us up—this was not helpful for me and I am still in the process of unlearning these tactics that I catch myself repeating in my head. I did come out of the whole experience with some incredible mentors and a lot of technical experience I never would have arrived at on my own, though. I’m glad I went, but I don’t recommend it for everyone.

DANI

It completely shifted my entire practice, while also being a landmine of trauma for folks who aren’t white, straight, and middle/ upper class. The mentors I worked with, the lifelong friends I made, and the work I made are the most important parts of that experience for me. I feel like the body of work I started in grad school will be the seeds that I’ll be planting for years to come. The toxic positivity, oppression, racism, and sexism were hard to shake. I thought that coming from a small town in Oregon to the Bay Area, things would be radically different—but within institutions, things rarely change.

Do you see your practice as a form of an escape and if so, how?

REBECCA

In a lot of ways, yes, but I am also hyper focused when I am working so it’s hard to say. Time tends to melt away when I’m working repetitively, so perhaps that’s a form of escape. It’s funny because when I have nothing to do but paint, I avoid painting, but when I have a lot of other tasks to do, I use painting to avoid those tasks. I am still trying to understand myself and my habits around making work, but what I have learned is I am better off if I can just be kind to myself around it all.

DANI

It is 100% an escape. I would rather be anywhere than the current reality we all live in (even before the pandemic this was true). I’d rather be daydreaming about the future or reimagining the past—the present (to me) has always felt mediocre, boring, and something I have to suffer through in order to get to the good stuff (the future = good stuff). The time it takes to make the work is also a gift to me, it’s giving91

me back the time that my full-time job takes away, and it’s a gift of time when I think about the two generations of women in my family who had to tend to their families and jobs. I am the first woman in my family to have two college degrees and the ability to be “upwardly mobile,” which I think about a lot in the studio.

How has being an artist helped you through this pandemic (whether it’s art-making or in other ways)?

REBECCA

Being an artist has actually been great during this pandemic. My studio is in the cellar of an apartment building in Bayview, so I never lost access during the beginning of shutdown. I know a lot of people who were denied access to their spaces and routines—both artists and non-artists alike—so I feel incredibly fortunate to have an outlet and the space for making work.

DANI

It has definitely taught me a new level of survival and resilience, even if it meant that I was mostly reading and watching movies. I was furloughed for a few months, had serious housing issues, but now I’m on the other end of that. I’ve always known that I need to be stable in order to be making work, but this year was a very strong reminder of that. Reaching out and having conversations with grad school friends and mentors was a lifeline over the summer. It made me realize that this was temporary and that soon (eventually) I’d be making work again. This pandemic also made me realize what the end goal is for me when it comes to making work. I love making work for myself, but I also really want to be a part of a larger dialogue. Learning when that tide ebbs and flows for those opportunities has been a valuable lesson this year as well. Right now, it feels like the work needs to be made, while the art world figures itself out (in a multitude of ways).

ABOUT ROOT DIVISION

STAFF MICHELLE MANSOUR

Executive Director

RENÉE RHODES

Art Programs Manager

MICHAEL GABRIELLE

Education Programs Manager

Marketing & Design Manager

PHI TRAN

CARISSA DIAZ CHICHAI MATEO

Installations & Site Manager Development & Programs Assistant

CATALOG PRODUCTION PHI TRAN

Graphic Design

MIDO LEE

Exhibition Documentation

MISSION

Root Division is a visual arts non-profit in San Francisco that connects creativity and community through a dynamic ecosystem of arts education, exhibitions, and studios. Root Division’s mission is to empower artists, foster community service, inspire youth, and enrich the Bay Area through engagement in the visual arts. The organization is a launching pad for artists, a stepping-stone for educators and students, and a bridge for the general public to become involved in the arts.

1131 Mission Street, San Francisco, CA 94103 415.863.7668 / rootdivision.org

SUPPORTERS

Root Division is supported in part by a plethora of individual donors and by grants from The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, National Endowment for the Arts, California Arts Council, Grants for the Arts, San Francisco Arts Commission: Community Investments, Phyllis C. Wattis Foundation, Kimball Foundation, Walter & Elise Haas Fund, Fleishhacker Foundation, Zellerbach Family Foundation, Deutsche Bank Foundation, Wells Fargo Foundation, Violet World Foundation, and Bill Graham Memorial Fund.