Interview | Sad Mag

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Jacob Wren is a writer and performance artist whose work often theorizes about the state of contemporary art. He is the co-artistic director of the interdisciplinary art group PME-ART, the members of which sometimes “believe in being naive on purpose.” He has been blogging for ten years at A Radical Cut in the Texture of Reality and his book, Polyamorous Love Song, was listed as one of The Globe and Mail’s top 100 books of 2014. In the final essay of his newest book, a hybrid of non- and short-fiction called If our wealth is criminal then let’s live with the criminal joy of pirates (BookThug, 2015), Wren writes: “Like many of us, I am in crisis (with one possible difference being that I have a compulsion to announce my sense of crisis as often as possible). I am in crisis about art and also about everything else.”

SAD Mag’s Shannon Tien interviewed Wren to discuss this crisis of artistic ambition, naïve activism, hope, cynicism, and animism, among other meaty ideas.

Shannon Tien: What are you doing in Calgary right now?

Jacob Wren: I’m co-leading a project organized by the New Gallery that’s an art writing residency. There’s me and Jean Randolph co-leading it. We have a few participants that we’re working with for one month in person and then another four months long distance around questions of art writing.

ST: Cool. So let’s start the official interview. In your essay “Like a Priest Who Has Lost Faith” from your most recent book, you write about artworks having their own agency to get us to think in ways we might not have previously considered. Are there any artworks that have made you feel this way in particular?

JW: There probably are. We were talking the other day about this well-known artwork, the name of which I don’t know, by General Idea, where they took the famous “LOVE” graphic and replaced it with the word “AIDS” and that image, I think it was called “The Image Virus”, and that work traveled an enormous degree on its own through various media and became one of the many iconic images in the AIDS movement. I think that’s an example of a work that traveled a great deal on its own.

cms142img2 — Image Virus (1987) by General Idea

Maybe that’s a very literal idea of an artwork having agency. I could also use a cliché historical example: the Goethe novel The Sorrows of Young Werther. A young man kills himself for unrequited love, and then there was a rash of suicides in Germany by young romantic men who read this and imitated it, which was not Goethe’s intention.

But I also think there are less literal examples. In a way all artworks that have any impact on us or enter into our lives make us do things that we don’t know are coming from that artwork. Things we might not have done had we not encountered that project. They might change our thinking or actions or raise questions about our lives that we might not have had otherwise. And I feel with these things, there are no guarantees. Like, maybe you did something because of the artwork, but maybe there were a number of factors that influenced how you thought and acted.

ST: And what is the consequence of assigning the agency to the artwork instead of the artist or the viewer?

JW: I mean, there’s multiple agencies acting on any decision or thought or action. There’s never only one factor as to why something happens. So of course the artist has agency, the viewer has agency, the artwork has agency, and when the different agencies come together, maybe something happens? Or maybe nothing happens?

As a writer, one thing that becomes very clear is that people read your work in ways you never intended or never thought of and also that this is a beautiful and positive thing. And that as a writer, trying to control your work’s public reception is a recipe for insanity and also probably a recipe for very mediocre work. Knowing that you’re making something that has a life outside of you and changes in its interaction with different people and different contexts–I think that’s an essential thing for making anything.

ST: Was there a moment in your writing career when you realized this? That the work had a life of its own? Did it change things?

JW: I don’t remember a specific moment, but I feel like it happens all the time in little ways. For me I might be a control freak, but I’m definitely not a control freak in that way. So I’ve never had any problem letting go. I feel like when it’s ready, people can do with it what they will.

ST: What is art writing? Is this how you would describe the genre that your book falls into?

JW: Well, it’s two short stories and an essay. So, it’s a hybrid book that brings together fiction and non-fiction. And I think one of the reasons we wanted to do this was because for me–and Malcolm Sutton who was the editor–we would like there to be more back-and-forth, more fluidity between fiction and nonfiction. And we don’t see a strong boundary between them.

ST: Yeah I like that idea. In your other book, Polyamorous Love Song, I felt like the short stories presented a lot of nonfiction theoretical ideas, kind of.

JW: Yes, I mean, you know, my fiction is always a fiction of ideas, and ideas are often presented in a…well I try to present the ideas in a clear, non-fiction way. And, for me novels are essays and essays are novels. It’s all in the same swirl of writing and thinking and presenting.

ST: I noticed on your blog, A Radical Cut in the Texture of Reality, that you were celebrating your blog’s 10-year anniversary. How does blogging influence your art and writing?

JW: Doing A Radical Cut has an enormously positive effect on my writing in that it’s allowed me to share short paragraphs or short excerpts as I work on them and get some response–put them out there in the world before they’re finished. It’s kept me writing, in a way. Often it could take me four years to write a novel and it’s kind of a secretive, lonely time. Having this way to share little bits and pieces as I go has really given me the energy to continue at many different points.

Also, it goes without saying that we live in the age of the internet. In general, how I’ve shared my work on the internet, mixing things I’ve written with quotes from other people, with songs and videos and having it all mixed together in a kind of giant internet pastiche has very much changed how I see writing and how I see art.

As you probably know, though, this little book was done as a special edition for Author for Indies Day. This was like a desire to have something for independent bookstores similar to Record Store Day–where there’s special editions and special records you can only get on that day–to try and create some excitement about small bookstores in the same way Record Store Day created some excitement around record stores. And I was really unsure that it would work. I was curious. But when I showed up at Type Books at Authors for Indies Day, there was a line up of people wanting to get in to get the special editions. So that gave me a really strange and excited feeling, that people would line up in the morning at an independent bookstore to get these things. I think it gives me a bit of hope.

For more on Jacob Wren, follow him on Twitter, Tumblr, or his blog.

Faced with the pile of submissions for this year’s Vancouver Queer Film Festival, Director of Festival ProgrammingShana Myara had her work cut out for her. “The struggle of curating the festival is really when to stop,” she told SAD Mag in a recent phone interview, “We only have ten days!”

Myara’s work has paid off, however; with over 70 films from 21 countries included in the final bill, and themes ranging from transgender athletes to gay camboys to bearded ladies, the 27th VQFF promises to wow audiences with a seriously stacked international lineup. Throw in a handful of Q&A’s with visiting filmmakers, a series of free workshops, and three special galas, and you have the creative smorgasborg that is this year’s festival. Film fans, mark your calendars: August 13 to 23 is going to be a busy–and eclectic–ten days.

It’s this eclecticism, Myara believes, that sets the festival apart. “We see so much of the samey-same out there that individuality is really quite a strength,” she explains. “That’s what Queer film festivals are all about.” Instead of selecting films by theme, Myara selects them by quality, and only later organizes them into categories.

The categories or “spotlights” that emerged this year are Canadian queer films, DIY Gender, queer youth culture and queer films from Latin America. Among the festival highlights are: a showing of Cannes-award-winning Korean filmmaker July Jung’sA Girl at My Door(and accompanying Q&A with the artist, Aug 19); a tailor-made archival program, Still Not Over It: 70 Years of Queer Canadian Film(Aug 18);and an 87 minute collection of shorts–made entirely by youth, for youth–called Bright Eyes, Queer Hearts(Aug 18).

The transformative power of film is one reason Myara likes to keep the bill so diverse. “Film really has the power to help us change our worldviews–to experience a life in another way,” she says. “At VQFF, we’re really mindful of those intersectional stories that speak to life told from the margins–stories that have the potential to make you feel more accepting, rather than close-minded–stories that don’t necessarily have all the right answers, but ask the right questions.”

VQFF takes their mission out of the cinema and into the classroom with the Out in Schools program, run through Out on Screen. The program brings age-appropriate queer films to schools, using film as a “springboard for a discussion around acceptance and understanding.” By helping to create an accepting learning environment through film, Out in Schools hopes to prevent bullying, exclusion, and violence.

In a city that’s been called the gay-bashing capital of Canada, it’s easy to see why these discussions are so important. “Unfortunately violence against the community is a very real part of our history and our present,” Myara sighs. “But I often look at violence as having a rebound effect; violence against a few creates a feeling of solidarity in a community.” And community, she continues, is what VQFF is all about. “From the beginning it’s been very open-armed; everyone who wants to come is welcome.”

“It’s a really exceptional feeling to feel welcomed when you arrive somewhere,” Myara observes, and her smile is almost audible over the phone. “The festival, first and foremost, brings people together.”

The Vancouver Queer Film Festival runs from August 13 – 23. For showtimes and locations, visit the festival website.

Imagine this: you’re a Vancouver comic—and dang! You’re pretty good. In fact, you were recently a Yuk Yuks fast tracker (a program where Vancouver’s finest up and comers are hand-picked to work consistent nights, among other perks). Night after night you’re getting out around town and killing it.

The catch? You also get up in the morning and go to your nine to five job. What I’m saying is, in this particular scenario, you may be funny but you put your pants on one leg at time like anyone else and you know it. In real life, this mix of talent and humility combines to make one Stuart Jones.

This month I got to chat with Stuart, a real life nice guy (please refer to his joke about why this may mean you’re not sleeping with him) who loves food but sensibly draws the line at dog. That part actually didn’t make the interview cut, but trust me, it’s true.

Stuart Jones: I’m just gonna’ grab a coffee.

Kristine Sostar McLellan: You drink coffee this late?

SJ: Well, not regularly. [Dramatic pause] But on a Friday?

KSM: Cut loose!

SJ: I’ve been pretty wiped. Waking up early and then being on shows at night.

KSM: How often a week do you go up?

SJ: Two or three times a week. On a regular week. On a good week, four or five.

KSM: And you’ve been doing this with a full time job for how long?

SJ: Almost a year.

KSM: Do you remember your first set?

SJ: I was talked into it by some people at work. This was in Kelowna and a colleague was going to try. I thought, I’ll give it a shot. I had a few topics written down, but some people are just natural performers.

KSM: Are you?

SJ: Half and half. I think of all these people who are way more charismatic on stage.

KSM: Your material is probably funnier the way you deliver it.

SJ: There’s a way to perform it… But I’ve also found that it seems like a cheap trick if you put too much energy into it. Because a lot of the time it seems funnier if someone is screaming.

KSM: Totally. Okay, back to the beginning. Was this something you thought about before?

SJ: Sort of. I had a few premises, but it was pretty nerve-wracking the first time. I had six or seven people there for support, and the other comics were supportive.

KSM: I think that comics are generally supportive to first timers here in Vancouver, too.

SJ: Depends on your material.

KSM: How?

SJ: Well, there’s quite a few newbies and all their jokes are just shock. It’s like, this is what you find funny? Can’t you find humour in something else? If someone’s like that, or extremely arrogant, they aren’t going to get much support.

KSM: How soon did you do it again?

SJ: The week after. It was a cool show hosted and run by Tim Nutt who’s an awesome comedian in Kelowna. I remember watching him on the Comedy Network in middle school, so it was really cool that he was there. And he’s got a great laugh. If you can make him laugh, it’s awesome.

KSM: Who are your other favourites?

SJ: I like Doug Stanhope. Bill Burr. I like Brian Regan. He’s like as far as you get here, and Stanhope’s way over there [motions a spectrum]. Regan is totally squeaky clean. That’s his great appeal.

KSM: What do you think you are?

SJ: I never found dirty stuff to be too funny.

KSM: Do you ever enjoy that kind of comedy?

SJ: It has to be clever. A lot of comics have great admiration for someone who can be so funny, and be completely clean.

KSM: There’s an interesting fixation on that. Like how Jerry Seinfeld feels he’s let himself down if he swears because there was another, better solution. But sometimes it just feels good, and it’s funny, and whatever! [Laughs] So what if audiences laugh when you yell or swear? What’s so wrong with that?

SJ: Well that’s the argument. Your goal is to make people laugh.

KSM: I think that anything, if it’s funny, is kind of worth it.

SJ: My friend Amy has this great bit. Both of her parents are clowns, so she’s got this bit about the first time her parents had a safe sex talk to her. It ends with her pulling out a balloon animal balloon and going, ‘so they gave me one of these and said to be safe. I had some fucked up expectations.’ She thought it was kind of cheap to use a prop, but I think it was necessary for the joke. It’s not cheap.

KSM: It’s funny because you’re supposed to be fearless and able to tackle anything. Then there are these weird, arbitrary lines about what is and isn’t okay. Is it more about worrying what other comics think?

SJ: I don’t know. You don’t want to deface the profession of comedian.

KSM: Yes.

SJ: If you’ve been on stage ten times and you’re doing just this horrible stuff. [mocking voice] Oh freedom of speech! Don’t call yourself a comedian. It’s the same reason I can’t go to a music open mic, strum a guitar not knowing what I’m playing, then smash it on the stage after and be like, I’m basically The Who.

KSM: Tell me about your worst show.

SJ: Hmmm. I have a temper.

KSM: Do you? I didn’t know that!

SJ: I’ve gotten very angry on stage before.

KSM: Tell me about that reaction.

SJ: I can tell you what my worst heckle was. It wasn’t even like a true heckle.

KSM: But it rattled you.

SJ: It was a fundraiser in Kelowna. I was doing a joke and a woman in the front row turns to her friend and goes, so am I driving you home? Like, they’re already planning how they can get out of there. It was, ohhhhh, awful.

KSM: I was about to say I love that… [Laughs] But I’m sorry that happened.

SJ: No, it’s funny in retrospect.

KSM: It’s funny because it’s totally different things than people expect that leave you feel feeling gutted.

SJ: Other heckles, like, you suck! They’re like, whatever. Or, you’re not funny! It’s like, well, some people think I am. So there.

KSM: What’s the best way that you’ve dealt with it?

SJ: One time I asked this person who making a lot of noise if they were a smoker and they said yes. So I went, well, why don’t you go for a smoke?

KSM: That’s good! Most people don’t realize that heckling isn’t usually insults. It’s mostly people trying to be helpful. Like, I love that too! And you’re like, shhhhhh, you ruined my punchline.

SJ: And sometimes there are jokes where the entire premise, entire bits, can be thwarted by a quick, simple fact. The whole premise of the joke is wrong to begin with. And then I can’t enjoy the rest of the joke because it’s based on this false premise.

KSM: So you overthink things.

SJ: I find continuity errors.

KSM: But when it’s going fast, the audience doesn’t care. People seem to have an inherent interest in comedy. Actually, the question that I get asked most often is why I do it. What do you say to that?

SJ: I say it’s fun. It’s awesome. It’s a good creative outlet. You have to be creative somehow.

KSM: So what’s your end game?

SJ: I mean, I’m kind of a realistic person.

KSM: I can believe that…

SJ: Yeah. [Laughs] I don’t expect myself to get super famous. That’d be great, but, at this point I would just I would like to be able to live comfortably in Vancouver.

KSM: Off comedy?

SJ: I mean, if I could, and not be broke all the time. I just started a TFSA. [Laughs] I’m trying to play it smart. As a realistic goal, I would like to be able to keep my job and just do shows around BC. Get to Just For Laughs. That would be great.

KSM: I think that’s more than realistic. You will do that. So what, if anything, is off limits in comedy for you?

SJ: I don’t think anything is off limits. But I do think there has to be a joke, or something clever, or a point about it. It just has to be clever. Cause, if you’re doing something that is very edgy or controversial and you’re not making a good point, then you just look dumb.

KSM: I hear two things. It has to be funny and it has to make a good point.

SJ: Ideally. But that’s just my sense of humour. That’s just what I find funny. Some sort of opinion.

KSM: And continuity.

SJ: Yeah.

KSM: Okay, what’s one thing that you think people don’t know about standup.

SJ: I don’t want to say that it’s more rehearsed than people think, but to some people it looks like they’re making it up on the spot.

KSM: If you’re good, yeah, it looks like that. And what’s one thing that people don’t know about you.

SJ: I’m not a very interesting person. Hmmm, let’s see. I could list off a bunch of things. I’ve got really bad eyesight. I could burn things with my glasses. They’re like magnifying glasses. I’m a nerd, most people know that…

KSM: Something we don’t know, please.

SJ: I play magic cards. And I love pizza. Well, everyone knows that.

If you liked Stuart Jones as much as he loves pizza, you can catch him at Yuk Yuks where he will be advancing to the second round of the Yuk Yuk’s Comedy Competition in August.

Anders Nilsen is the Minneapolis-based cartoonist responsible for publishing a universally adored series of mini comics called Big Questions that features tiny birds with really deep thoughts on life. His newest book, Poetry is Useless, is a collection of images and doodles from the last several years of his personal sketchbooks. There are no birds in Poetry is Useless, but there are a lot of big questions—about art, why we make art, how we value it, and what it means to be an artist. Marc Bell is a Canadian cartoonist and fine artist who is perhaps most well-known for blurring the line between fine art and doodling. After four years of working in the art world, he’s made what everyone (who knows anything) is calling a “triumphant” return to the world of graphic narrative by publishing Stroppy—a madcap adventure tale about a song writing contest gone wrong. Stroppy also has thoughts on poetry.

BELLMselfportrait — Marc Bell by Marc Bell, Courtesy of Marc Bell

Nilsen and Bell are at Lucky’s Comics in Vancouver on July 17th at 7:00 pm to launch their respective books. Shannon Tien from Sad Mag had the chance to talk to them about authenticity, capitalism, and self-help for writers, among other things. The best of their lengthy phone call is what follows:

Shannon Tien: Something that I think ties both of your books together is thinking about the process of creating art, or poetry specifically. How do your philosophies cross over or differ on this subject?

Anders Nilsen: Boy, that’s a tough one.

ST: It’s a heavy question to start with. I’m sorry.

AN: [laughing] I don’t know if I could do a capsule description of Marc’s philosophy. What do you think Marc?

Marc Bell: Well we made our books independently, but somehow they both ended up referencing poetry.

AN: That’s true.

MB: We did a tour together a few years ago so this is like a reunion tour…I don’t know how to answer that question either [laughing].

AN: I mean I think we both have a little off-the-cuff playfulness in our work. And probably a little—I don’t know how to put this—a little snottiness or something?

MB: Yeah we’re both sarcastic when we reference poetry.

I like writing poetry if I know it doesn’t have to be good. So for example I wrote Clancy the Poet’s poetry and that was super fun because I could do whatever I wanted and I didn’t have to worry if it was good or not. I could write reams and reams of Clancy’s poetry.

ST: But I love Clancy’s poetry!

MB: Right? It’s pretty good, in it’s way.

AN: I think it’s actually extremely deep.

But I think we’re both artists and we’ve both planted ourselves in that existence, but we’re both a little sceptical and like to make fun of ourselves…and the potential for being pretentious.

MB: Yeah and then I can’t exactly knock poetry so much because I do all these drawings and they have random text in them. They’re sort of poetry. Like my stuff is not that far from poetry really.

AN: Yeah, so I think we’re both sort of making fun of the thing we’re also actually doing.

MB: [laughing] Yeah, you got it.

AN: I actually sort of think of my book as my poetry collection, if there is such a thing, you know, making comics.

STROPPY_pg28 — Clancy Recites a Poem from Stroppy by Marc Bell

ST: Ok. I guess I was thinking that Clancy, he’s a poet, and all his poetry ends up doing for him is…

MB: He’s sort of co-opted by the Schnauzers.

ST: Right. So it’s like the opposite of the idea that poetry can save you.

MB: He was against the song contest idea. He was against all of it. But I don’t want to ruin the end! There’s a twist to the story.

AN: Basically, poetry is a tool of the oppressor and we’re both in revolutionary mode against the aggressor. Right Marc?

MB: That’s it, exactly.

AN: Capitalism.

MB: Society!

Refer to Clancy’s poem called “Society”.

ST: Okay so this is more a question for Anders, but your book is fragments of your old sketchbooks. What ties the fragments together?

AN: Really the only thing that ties the fragments together is the fact that they all were in my sketchbooks. They were all just things that either kind of happened or ideas I had that were worth putting down but not worth turning into an actual book.

POETRY_37 — Poetry is Useless by Anders Nilsen

ST: And how many years back does it stretch?

AN: I think the oldest pieces in the book are probably from 2008. There are 22 or 24 books. There’s a funny thing about sketchbook collections because you know that they’re sort of bullshit a little. You know the artist is editing a little and not showing you the really crappy pages, which I’m not showing you either. So each of those notebooks, there’s maybe 6, 7, 8, or maybe 10 pages from each of them.

MB: We did a couple crappy pages in one of them.

AN: Yeah last time we went on tour together we made some crappy pages together and I didn’t show those. We promise to be better on this tour.

ST: Speaking of editing, what’s the point of leaving your editorial marks in the published version of your sketchbook?

AN: I try to maintain readability. So if there’s so much crossing out that it feels like it’s going to make it hard for the reader to understand what I’m writing, then I clean it up a little with Photoshop. But in general, it is my sketchbook so part of what may be appealing about it is the fact that it’s a record of me kind of thinking out loud, on the page. So the mistakes are an important part of that.

Also, part of that work is me responding to my own process. So as I’m doing a drawing and then it turns to shit, I sort of have this idea that I want to still turn that page into an interesting page if I can. So if it goes in a weird direction, I want to try to work within the stakes of those unexpected failures.

ST: One of your stick figures in the book asks how to maintain authenticity after the death of the author. Does this sketchbook have anything to do with that question?

AN: [laughing] Ah, you’re probably calling me out for not being as smart as I pretend to be.

POETRY_12 — Poetry is Useless by Anders Nilsen

ST: But it’s a good thing to think about.

AN: I mean, I sort of don’t believe in authenticity and, you know, the sketchbook has a sort of fake authenticity, as I was saying…you always wonder what’s getting edited out and you’re always getting this sort of idealized view of the artist’s supposed candid moments, which is partly why I’m showing the whole spread of the sketchbook, to show that I’m not picking and choosing the little bits, but the truth is I am. I am not showing the crappy pages. It is work for a finished book. So yeah I think authenticity is highly overrated.

ST: What gave you the idea to draw the back of people’s heads for their portraits? Are they people you know?

AN: Some of them are people I know, but a lot of times when I’m in an audience, like at a poetry reading [laughing], or other events with live speakers, I just want something for my eyes and my hands to do, so I’m drawing them. And also when I’m in public, I don’t always want people to notice, so it’s easier if they’re turned away from me a little bit. I guess I’m a little bit of a coward.

MB: A poet and a coward.

AN: All poets are cowards.

It’s sort of funny. People’s hairdos are really fascinating to draw, as are ears.

ST: I think because you can’t look at the back of your own head, it’s like the most vulnerable part of your appearance.

AN: Yeah sure. That’s a nice idea.

ST: So if poetry is dead, comics are…

AN: Um…stupid?

Actually comics are fucking awesome.

ST: What would you say Marc?

MB: STUPID!

ST: How was the transition moving back to narrative, Marc, after working in the art world for a while?

MB: It was difficult. I’ve mentioned this in a few interviews I think, but I was kind of scared and I started reading self-help books. The equivalent of a writer’s self-help, or if someone wants to get into the film or TV industry, this is the equivalent of self-help books, like books about writing screenplays. They sort of helped, I think.

ST: Do you mind me asking which ones?

MB: I wish I could remember the titles. One I looked at, it was very basic. It was just about the 20 different kinds of stories people tell.

AN: Which number is Stroppy?

MB: Oh man. I don’t even know if Stroppy…

AN: Maybe it’s 22.

MB: Maybe it’s 23. I made a new form of story for Stroppy.

AN: By the way my new graphic novel is going to be number 16, so…

ST: Oh yeah? Is this book called STORY? Because I feel like I was reading the exact same book earlier this year when I was trying to write a novel.

MB: That could be it. Was it an orange book?

AN: Marc doesn’t care about titles. He only remembers the colours of books.

MB: Not interested in titles!

ST: No, mine was purple.

MB: Maybe it was a different edition! They were like the orange one didn’t sell so let’s throw purple on there. People LOVE purple.

Did it help you with your novel?

ST: No, not really.

MB: Well I actually wanted to try and find a formula to follow, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to do that.

AN: I’m trying to find a formula too. And I was thinking of inserting one of Hans Christen Andersen’s tales into my new graphic novel.

ST: Oh yeah! That would be great. He’s a weirdo. So the formula didn’t work out for you Marc. Did any other self-help books help you with building narrative?

MB: Oh no. There was one I was supposed to read…

AN: The Bible?

MB: [laughing] No. I never got around to reading the one I was supposed to read. I just started.

ST: Well, I think it turned out well. I like Stroppy.

MB: Thank you!

This interview has been edited and condensed.

Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber are the creative brains behind Pendula, an interactive art installation that uses the movement of swings to create music and projections, which premiered at Vancouver’s 2015 Jazz Festival. Nancy, the swing set builder, is a VJ, filmmaker and new media artist. Kiran, the music programmer, is a composer and performer whose artistic interests lay at the intersection of technology and music. Below, Sad Mag’s Shannon Tien talks to the duo about agency in art, teamwork, and the community value of swing sets.

Pendula2 — Still from Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber

Shannon Tien: Tell me about Pendula.

Nancy Lee: Pendula is a multimedia, audio-visual, interactive installation. We use both hardware and software to take the swinging motion and turn them into audio or visual parameters, which means their effects that can be seen and heard during our installation. Using swing sets.

ST: How did this idea come together? What was the inspiration behind it?

NL: I started building outdoor swing sets as a public interactive installation piece. And then I did an event where I installed 8 swing sets indoors during an electronic music night that I organized. And there I met Kiran for the first time–Kiran was there swinging on the swings. And at that time she thought, “Hey, maybe we could make this swing into an interactive piece.” I’d also had projections installed. At that time it wasn’t an interactive piece, I just had projections over the swing area.

And then we later met again at New Forms festival working as production assistant volunteers. And that’s when we had time to sit down and talk about the project and our vision for it. The swing set I had at the event wasn’t my full vision that I had for it in my mind. I wanted the projections to reflect the social interactions that happened within the swinging area.

Kiran Bhumber: Having seen the swings at Nancy’s party, not interactive, I was very inspired by the idea of making the visuals interactive and also adding audio elements [and a] musical performance element, which was amalgamated into the installation at Jazz Fest. We had a musical performance at the top of every hour where I played clarinet and we had a cellist and I programmed the swings to be an actual instrument and act as an effects pedal. We had the swings changing the sounds of these acoustic instruments.

Pendula4 — Still from Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber

ST: What was the timeline for this project to come to total fruition?

NL: About 8 months on and off.

ST: Can you tell me about the experience of performing it at Jazz Fest? Was anyone allowed to go in and swing?

NL: Yeah, after every performance, we invited people to come use the swing sets. And it was interesting, during the performance, because I’m playing the swings, it was interesting to see people’s facial expressions, how they reacted to the piece. You could see their “aha!” moments when they figured out what the swings were actually doing. I enjoyed seeing that moment.

ST: And how did you start working with swings? I’m just wondering because there used to be a public installation by my bus stop in Montreal where swings played different musical tones.

NL: Oh yeah I’ve heard of that! I started working with swings because I like climbing trees and I like building things out doors. Swings are kind of an easy thing to build. You just need rope. And I was dumpster diving and salvaging construction wood that I would use for swing seats. It costs very little to build a swing and the kind of return you get for the community or user is so much greater than the financial cost of building it. It is a really great investment for the community to build swing sets. You generate so much joy from it.

Usually we’re used to art installations being behind glass or a “do not touch area”. There’s a very definitive boundary between the observer and the art piece. And with this swing set, people do come up to us and ask, “Are we allowed to touch it?” But when people can play on the swing set they kind of become the piece. And some of the people who were using the swing sets, they kind of understood that, you know, “I’m becoming a part of the installation.”

KB: And also the addition of individuals on each swing. The piece is going to be different depending how many people are on the swings. So, the social adaptation and amalgamation of their swinging motion to create more aspects of the piece.

NL: We have three swing sets, so they’re kind of a three-piece ensemble. And [the people] all play the swings in a different way so the collective audio-visual output is different every single time.

ST: Did anybody get really into it at Jazz Fest?

NL: I think at the Jazz Fest, because of the setting, people were into figuring out the swings. People tested out different things. I think with public art installations, people are still pretty shy. People were more into figuring out how it worked than playing it as an instrument.

Pendula1 — Still from Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber

ST: Is this the first time you’ve set this piece up?

NL: It’s the first time that we’ve done the three swing sets with the audio and visual.

KB: It’s been challenging incorporating the audio into a space that will allow it. So there’s no sound bleed. That’s an issue we had with Jazz Fest as well. The previous installs have been just visual because of that.

ST: How did you overcome that challenge at Jazz Fest?

KB: We got bigger speakers.
ST: Have you two collaborated before?

NL: This is our first collaboration together, but this is just the beginning of something. We plan to do more interactive musical pieces and performance pieces as well. We have so many ideas in our head that we would definitely like to explore in the future.

ST: Do you have any upcoming events?

KB: I just had my upcoming event today actually. I curated a show for Jazz Fest that was all based on interactive works. So technology and music. But at this moment Nancy and I are going to Kamploops in a couple days to start working on a new project. It’s kind of more vague now. We’re just going to check out the site.

NL: It’ll also be interactive, but more on the exhibition side of things, rather than a performance.

Watch: Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bumber

Pendula was on exhibition in Vancouver June 20 and 21st as a part of the Vancouver Jazz Festival. Visit www.swingwithpendula.com for further information on the Pendula Exhibit, and www.coastaljazz.ca for more information on the festival.

This interview has been edited and condensed. Thank you to Jelissa at Classics Agency.

Talking Heads is an interview column devoted to contemporary arts and culture in Vancouver. Once a month, Sad Mag‘s Helen Wong sits down with a couple of interesting, unique individuals to discuss a topic of her choosing. This month’s topic? The prevalent and renowned artist Paul Wong and the ubiquity of his mediums of choice.

Walking into Paul Wong’s studio is like walking into another, way cooler, dimension. Filled with an archive of televisions, recorders, monitors, and cameras; it’s every media artist’s dream. I got the chance to interview Paul about his latest projects for ISEA 2015 and Le Mois de la Photo in Montreal. It’s always interesting to hear the perspectives of other individuals, because although technology is something I do not have an affinity for, it’s a necessity for the expression of the self for Paul. He creates a notion of a new, cyber-connected, self-aware other that constitutes a way in which we can all participate in our world today.

SAD Paul Wong Rainbow Swirl — Still, Rainbow Swirl by Paul Wong

Helen Wong: You primarily practice with digital media and video. How do you choose what to focus on when there are so many stimuli going off at one moment, in tandem with this being magnified by our society today?

Paul Wong: You have to make choices all the time; you are always subconsciously making a choice on what to see and focus on. You’re constantly filtering. What have I done today? Recently I’ve been playing with Generate, an app developed by Hybridity Media here in Vancouver. It allows artists to mix live and recorded visuals and sound. A significant event on social media today was the legalization of gay marriage in America. That’s a huge victory, especially at time of year, when the world celebrates Pride based on the Stonewall Riots that took place in June 1969 in NYC; the LGBT community fought back against the homophobic and discriminatory actions and raids at the Stonewall Bar. These are considered as landmark events for the gay rights movement. With this topic in mind, I took an image of the rainbow flag that MOMA posted and applied my favourite ‘swirl’ filter and mixed it with Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing’. By doing this, I’m riffing on social media and it subsequently becomes today’s response to a significant moment. This also extends to my practice as I’m constantly thinking about colour, such as RGB and the colour bar. I’m working on a major public art commission, a neon that incorporates every possible colour available in hue form; every argon gas and every neon colour in direct reference to the idea of how the rainbow is a symbol for inclusion, diversity, and peace. This is how I incorporate the everyday into my work.

HW: In our society, there seems to be an incessant need to document and capture everything. Do you think this causes us to construct our own realities rather than live presently? How does this notion apply to your artistic practice?

PW: As an artist, I am conscious of the democratization of media; I’m given the tools to turn my eye/ camera away from the mainstream doctrine. Instead, I actively choose to turn the camera towards myself and my community in order to tell my own story and to share our thoughts and images. This has always been my politic. In this way, we are constructing ourselves as our own realities. It’s turned things upside down for mainstream media because we now have a multimillion-channel universe and we are no longer subjected to only 13 broadcast channels. Suddenly, whatever platform I decide to use becomes my own network to share, to take, to make, or inhale or exhale. In this regard, we’ve come a long way from Narcissus on his knees looking at his own reflection. What we see, what we get to make, and ways of looking and seeing are radically different than what it was in the past. We are no longer being fed information and images because the control on what we can or cannot see, what is true or untrue – this monopoly on cultural history – has radically shifted. It takes a lot more work but we are creating this new other.

HW: In this thread, you play on the idea of Bressai, a surrealist, who stated that the world of the real is continuously making art and that we become quiet observers. Do you view yourself shifting into this role as social media dominates?

PW: My practice is really based on observations and stories from everyday life: things that are immediately around me. What I find constantly around me includes the Internet. Looking Looping and Listening, Flash Memory, Year of GIF, and Solstice are four works that are covering shooting everyday stuff over the span of 6 years, its part of a larger body of work called the Multiverse.

HW: Video gives the notion of immediacy; do you feel hindered by how fast technology is changing? How do you continually adapt to new forms and modes?

PW: I don’t think technology is changing too fast at all, in fact I think technology is still very primitive. The fact that your phone wasn’t working the way it did an hour ago, theres no wifi in places, the wifi isn’t strong enough, you’re running out of memory, you have low battery, or the camera isn’t good enough, are evidence that it’s still primitive. Technology is not there; I’ve been waiting for the promise of technology for 40 years. The promise has been dangling in front of me for my entire life and career, to the point where it’s still a promise. The amount of time and money I spend on staff and resources, troubleshooting, rebuying, downloading, uploading, reconfiguring, upgrading, and updating on a weekly basis is insane. But on the other hand, the post photographic condition has been making the evolution from the analogue world to the promise of digital a possibility.

9 Full Moon Drawings, Paul Wong — 9 Full Moon Drawings by Paul Wong

HW: You’re presenting work at the ISEA 2015 (International Symposium of Electronic Art, August 14 to 19) are you able to tell me a little bit about your work? Or at least provide a little spoiler?

PW: We’re debuting a project we’ve been working on for a couple of years called the MIMMiC Mobile Interactive Modular Multiscreen iPad Canvas. Patrick Daggitt and I wanted to create a work for multiscreen, to synchronize and de-synchronize 9 iPads so that they can talk to each other using gestures in order to create something very interactive. The iPad hit the market in 2010 and the iPhone hit the market in 2007, so suddenly touchscreens have become our main form of interaction. We’ve gone from flipping pages to scrubbing, stroking, and feeling a screen. I was doing an interview via Skype on my iPad with this lovely young man and I realized after 45 minutes I was cradling and holding him as I was moving around my studio; it was a very beautiful, intimate experience that made me realize the possibilities of gesture. For the MIMMiC Project we are creating a work that allows one big image, 9 images or 9 parts to be manipulated by colour, timing, and sound, so that the viewer can construct their own work within the boundaries we set up. The first work ‘Westcoast Wave Cycle’ was shot in Tofino. We will be premiering this at ISEA along with demonstrations of three artists we have commissioned: Sammy Chien, who will be doing a sound based live performance; Evann Seibens, who is developing a work using the hand gestures of herself, her mother, and daughter; and Adam Myhiil with Christine Wallace, a cinematographer and a body builder, who will explore ideas of sculptural genderbending between form and content.

HW: The post photographic condition is the theme for Le Mois de la Photo [The International Biennial of the Contemporary Image in Montreal]; what do you think this condition is? Photography always has a hint of loss and death, so post photography is seemingly an attempt to reestablish the link between history and the present.

PW: With the recent improvements to the iPhone 6, its improved video and photo quality, along with the fact that I have 128MB, it has become my primary creative tool. I shoot all my video and photographs and edit them on my phone. The post photographic condition is letting go of the fact that photos need to be shot in high resolution, or with 300dpi for editorial; letting go of the fetishization of the big format photo which was never my thing anyway. Conventional print media of magazines and books are disappearing, not entirely, but there is huge distribution on the net and other media where you only need 72dpi. The post photographic condition is letting go of all those previous expectations of the former realms of analogue photographic practices. Instagram is a great platform; more people can see what I do than ever before and I can see their stuff too and I can do all this without leaving the bathroom or the bed!

HW: As a Chinese Canadian, I often find myself between two sets of identities, almost in a constant state of dislocation. Does this idea pertain to you? How do you remedy this?

PW: In reference to the letters, I find myself literally in between two languages! That is cultural difference. In 2014 I made a neon piece titled #hashtagplus. I put the symbol of the hashtag on a metal box in the shape of a plus sign. In this way I’m taking the current use of a hashtag and its initial use as a pound sign and paired it with the plus sign, which looks like a geometric piece of art, but can also look like a Chinese character. I took a successful symbol and addressed its different applications in its form and language and presented what it was and what it has become. It’s a comment on how you can make an art object out of an ephemeral stroke on your keyboard; to amplify it’s meaning was a very successful pop art thing to do.

SAD Paul Wong Hashtag Plus 2 — #hashtagplus by Paul Wong

HW: You are known as one of the Main Street artists, how do you actively try to incorporate your Chinese heritage and Vancouver roots into your work?

PW: At the moment, I have someone who reads and writes Chinese organizing and translating 700 letters written to my mother over the last 50 years. There are over 100 writers in these letters so it becomes an interesting narrative between my mother in Vancouver and her relatives and friends in China. It’s a portrait of my mother and her generation woven around the absence of her direct voice; it’s a story of an extraordinary half century 1950-2000. I’m trying to navigate through all the interesting history, timelines and perspectives

I can’t read or write Chinese, and it gets tricky because I only understand a very specific regional dialect of Cantonese. I need a translator who can read and write to tell me what’s in these letters. The translator I have speaks Mandarin from Taiwan, and I also need a trilingual translator from Toisan. There is this concept where we communicate through common language, but the loss of language and what is further lost through translating illegible calligraphy makes it even more challenging and interesting.

I like the ambiguity.

HW: Seeing as summer solstice just occured, talk about your work Solstice in which you condense 24 hours into 24 minutes. How does the ability to manipulate time and cycles in such a way speak to the integration between technology and life?

PW: Solstice was a work based on the summer solstice a couple years ago; it was a camera recording out of the 4^th floor building at Hastings and Main. It’s an observation of 24 hours. The camera took one frame every 10 seconds creating a series of still photos. I used an Aftereffects filter to fill in the missing information that happened in-between the 10 seconds. In this way, I’m using digital means to generate data to artificially fill in the gap between two real moments.

I find the human condition and the planet endlessly fascinating. We’re always trying to figure out who we are and our place in relationship to everything else. History, science, medicine, and capitalism all try to lay it out in a linear understandable fashion; however, it’s really such an abstract notion. So the fact that I can create moments of how I can look at you in another way is kind of cool. I can slow something down, I can alter the framing, I can position things in different contexts, and all these contribute to a reawakening of a whole other way of looking, listening and feeling.

In the end I am drawing with light, because that’s what I’m interested in: light.

Find more of Paul’s work on his Facebook, his Instagram, and on his website. You can see more of #hashtagplus and Solstice here and here.

Sean Parsons grew up in Fort McMurray, where he started performing in community theatre musicals at the age of nine. When he was nineteen, Sean left home to attend (and promptly drop out of) college for musical theatre, then briefly taught English in China before moving to Vancouver, where he got a Musical Theatre diploma from Capilano University. Now Sean performs regularly in Vancouver as a bearded drag queen—Beardoncé. Every Sunday, Beardoncé hosts a show called Sanctuary at 1181 on Davie Street.

Sean Parsons, photo courtesy of Matthew Burditt

Sad Mag: What was it like growing up in Fort McMurray, and doing theatre there?

Sean Parsons: It’s a weird oil sands industry town. People know what it’s all about, it’s not a cultural hub by any means, but my whole life—and longer than my whole life—they’ve had the Keyano Theatre. Each year they do a four-show season and at least two of the shows are musicals. All the community theatre I did growing up was at the Keyano. My first role was as one of the children’s ensemble in Oliver.

SM: Why do you think it is that theatre survives there?

SP: There’s nothing else to do; people are thirsty for something creative. And there’s such a community built around going to the theatre. Live performance is something that will always withstand the test of time.

SM: Why did you decide to perform drag with a beard?

SP: When I started it was a personal choice because I like having a beard myself. I knew that if I shaved my beard I would be more accepted, I wouldn’t have that “thing” against me, but I’m a very hairy person. To quote Gaston: “Every last inch of me’s covered in hair”—and if I shaved my face I’d have to shave my chest and arms and legs. A lot of Queens do that, and I give them props, but it wasn’t something I was willing to do.

SM: What training has influenced you most as a performer?

SP: The Canadian Improv Games. You have no idea what is going to happen, you try your best to prepare, rehearse in whatever way you can. I did three years of college for singing and dancing and acting but the reality of live performance is that it isn’t always going to go as planned.

While performing I have never felt like I was fucked. At this point just going with what’s happening and making it work is built into me. Often in improv you get a suggestion and you’re like “that is the worst suggestion I’ve ever received,” and you wonder how you’re going to incorporate that into the scene and then the next moment the scene is over, and you move on. It’s the same with drag, it sucks and you feel embarrassed when it doesn’t go as you had hoped, but improv teaches you to let it go. I credit that experience for so much of the foundation of who I am as drag performer.

SM: What sort of numbers do you like to perform as Beardoncé?

SP: I lean towards dark and dramatic numbers. I want to do stuff that has more impact and makes people think, rather than just be funny and sexy. But I obviously do those things as well.

My intention is to hopefully expand the perception of drag as fluffy and campy. Often, drag falls into a few stereotypes of being either super girly, bubble-gum pop, or raunchy sexy. I respect queens who attempt to elevate drag to a more artistic platform. I think drag should always be fun, and somewhat subversive, but I also believe it is an art form, and art should make people think critically about what they’re seeing.

Sean Parsons, photo courtesy of Victor Bearpark

SM: What are the things you want your performances to prompt people to think about?

SP: Well, definitely gender. Because I perform with a beard the odds are against me. A lot of drag is built around creating the illusion of gender, being “passable.” It’s an attempt to transform your masculine features away and create something super feminine. For me there’s no illusion. With the beard it’s like instantly taking that element away. But I’m also not creating something revolutionary; it’s been done before. There was this group called The Cockettes, based in San Francisco, and they performed bearded. They were these beautiful bearded hippies, in full drag face, with elaborate headpieces, covered in glitter, and often naked otherwise. I’d like to say they were inspirational when I entered the drag world, but I only recently found out about them.

SM: How do you see the drag world as it is now?

SP: There’s a big influx. RuPaul’s Drag Race has made it accessible; if you’re mildly interested you can access it. The volume of people doing drag has cracked open the preconceived notions of what drag is. There’s more room for people to play with being gory, hairy, or anything really. It used to be that unless you were a tiny little boy who had no eyebrows you weren’t doing drag. The whole definition of the art itself is changing right now. I just feel excited to be a part of that change.

SM: What do you think people see when you perform?

SP: My performance style is feminine. I’ve obsessed over pop-culture women my whole life—Janet Jackson and the litany of them, Whitney, Britney, Beyoncé—I try to play up a hyper-feminine movement style, and I always wear a corset and giant heels. So my performance encompasses all these preconceived notions of what it means to be a woman. But people are instantly taken off-guard, because they think “he’s beautiful and feminine, but this female presentation is on a very, very hairy man.”

SM: What has changed for you in the year you’ve been performing?

SP: The biggest thing that has changed is I don’t spend a month preparing every number like I used to do. I’ve come to realize I really have to pick and choose my battles. I don’t always have time to choreograph every minute of a performance, so though I still take it seriously I have become less precious with it.

SM: Do you ever feel vulnerable or nervous when you perform?

SP: I am a confident person when I get on stage, partly because I’ve been doing it for so long. I think any performer would be lying to say they don’t get nervous but I would say that once I’m on stage I’m confident. There are numbers where I feel more vulnerable than others but I’m never nervous until it’s fifteen minutes before my performance.

With the BEARDONCÉ gallery show I organized at East Van Studios this past February I did feel more vulnerable. I stacked the deck with songs that weren’t necessarily upbeat. It was music that Sean listens to rather than what Beardoncé performs. I let the recognizability go and chose stuff that resonated with me.

SM: What do you hope to leave your audience with?

SP: I want to captivate my audience and tell a story; I want them to walk away with the same buzz you get when you see a brilliant piece of live theatre, or a spectacular concert, like you were a part of something special. It’s a difficult task considering most drag shows happen on tiny stages in loud bars and your audience could care less about the show, as long as they’re consuming copious amounts of alcohol, but I like a challenge.
Beardoncé will be performing in Queer as Funk! on July 31 at the Imperial will be performing. For future events, follow Beardoncé Facebook or Twitter.

Cynara Geissler is a triple threat: a pioneer of the fat-fashion blogging scene, an accomplished author and speaker, and a kick-ass cat mom. She also has an impressive collection of feline-adorned apparel (and her darling feline, Autumn, sports an anthropomorphic bowtie). Having recently given a talk at the local launch for the essay collection Women in Clothes, Geissler was the perfect person to converse with about the wonders of felines and femininity and what it means to combine those two elements in apparel.

Megan Jenkins: Hey! Let’s talk a bit about your history in fashion blogging.

Cynara Geissler: Well I started posting outfits of the day in a LiveJournal community called Fatshionista, and it was exclusively about fat people finding fashion. There’s also a Flickr group called Wardrobe Remix, where people post their street style—that inspired me. It was great, because it was people from all over the world, people of all different races, creeds, and financial backgrounds. I was always sort of interested in fashion as a community because you’re inspired by other people around you and your style evolves because you’re pushing yourself. I was never really an individual style blogger for that reason, I prefer to be a part of collective groups, because I see it as sort of an artistic endeavour.

MJ: Could you tell me a bit about your work with Women in Clothes, and other projects that you’re involved in right now?

CG: I’m not actually in the book—which is funny, people just assume I’m in the book—but they invited me to come and just give a talk. So I gave a talk on something that I call “Toddler-Grandma Style.” It’s basically just about how toddlers and grandmas in society are the least viewed through the male gaze; they’re not considered sexy. There’s an episode of Glee where Kurt says, “She manages to dress like a toddler and a grandma simultaneously,” and that’s like, the ultimate insult, right? Because she doesn’t know how to sex herself up for a man, or how to be desirable. So in my talk I said that I think more people should adopt this way of dressing, because we all have these weird internalized rules that I think are mostly about dressing for the male gaze. And I think that when you start dressing outside of that, you just start to have way more fun. People would always say to me, “You can pull that off,” and it would leave me thinking, “Well no, I don’t have a VIP pass or something that allows me to do it. I just do it.”

[I also] just sort of encouraged people to wear a million brooches, or wear more than one print at a time—you don’t always have to be wearing a beige suit. That’s apparently what adult women are supposed to be wearing to be taken seriously.

And the thing about patriarchy is that you’ll never be taken seriously. It’s kind of a loser’s game. There’s this idea that if you’re close to desirable, there’s more to lose, or something like that, but the fact is that there’s always going to be people that will ignore you because you’re a woman. So you might as well dress for yourself, and dress for joy and have fun.

I’m also guest editing the Culture issue of [local magazine] Poetry is Dead, so that’s coming up.

MJ: Would you say that there’s been a rise in popularity of cat apparel and related items that correlates with the influx of YouTube videos?

CG: Yeah definitely, I think the advent of Lolcats especially is tied into the popularity of cat-printed items. It’s great for me, because it used to be hard to source really zany cat prints. I think we’re definitely in a boom for cat clothes, like with laser cats, Keyboard Cat . . . We’ve got a lot of high- powered cats now. Nyan cat, and of course Grumpy Cat, Lil’ Bub. I think it used to be like, Garfield, instead of generic cat prints. I remember there being cats on stuff but it was mostly cartoons, it was not this idea of wearing a realistic cat, which I think was really connected to spinsters. I actually just read an article on how cat imagery was used for suffragettes in Britain, around first wave feminism. Men would compare women to cats to try to infantilize them. So it’s like the existence of cat memorabilia could be found in these little pockets, but now it’s reached critical mass.

I think it could be the tools we have at our disposal now—it’s much easier to take photos, and to circulate them, and at the end of the day, cats are funny, and warm, and they do dumb stuff and try to fit in really small boxes. When I was growing up, I’d never have known about Maru, in Japan, but now we get to enjoy the circulation of images and videos from all over the world.

MJ: Do you think that the cat lady image has been reclaimed?

CG: I do, actually. I think the whole cat image is that you’re supposed to be like a sex kitten, which of course is fine to adopt if you so choose, but then if you’re not a cute cat, you’re a weird cat spinster lady. Like from The Simpsons.

I think Taylor Swift and her kitten Olivia Benson kind of signals a young, cool cat lady and there’s no longer this automatic association with spinsterhood. Now I think we can all sort of joke about it, whereas a few years ago you might have been hesitant to be associated with that at all, at the risk of your dating prospects, you know?

But I don’t think it’s just women who enjoy cat-printed items either now, like Urban Outfitters has put out cat-printed ties and button-ups [for men], so that makes me think that the image is sort of crossing gender lines too. I do think that for a really long time cats were associated with domesticity, and were feminized, while men would go out hunting with their cool hunting dogs. It’s funny to consider how cats have shifted culturally. I think they’re semiotically slippery. Like you have Hemingway Cats, which are associated with masculinity, because Ernest Hemingway had a bunch.

MJ: Is there solidarity in being a cat lady?

CG: Yeah, I think so! Spinsterhood has more pride associated with it now—obviously it comes from a very antiquated, patriarchal idea that if a woman is not married by the age of 22, she’ll just be a burden to her family for the rest of her life. But we’re maybe shifting away from thinking of women as being most valuable when they’re connected to a man, so I think there’s a bit of subversion in the cat lady idea. We’re supposed to feel sorry for the cat lady, but I think that we’ve now accepted that it’s better to be happy, and single, and living as a lone woman than just settling for a crappy dude. Pet love feels very unconditional and uncomplicated in a way that trying to be with a significant other sometimes isn’t.

There’s a reason Swift is sticking with Olivia Benson, just making music and joking about being a man-eater. It’s pretty great. I’m happy if she’s the new poster girl for being a cat lady. I hope that it represents the sort of refusal to settle for a crappy guy just so that you can feel secure or feel bolstered by male approval. I think we all still sort of seek that validation—I think sometimes you’ll appreciate it more when a man compliments you rather than a woman, which shouldn’t be the case. In being a good cat lady then, I think you just have to care more when a cat compliments you. That’s worth way more.

You can follow Cynara’s general bad-assery on her twitter account.

For the full article (and many more fabulous, feline-focused reads), pick up a copy of The Cat Issue (Issue 18), in stores now at participating locations. Sad Mag subscriptions and back issues are also available through our website. This interview has been condensed and edited.

Talking Heads is an interview column devoted to contemporary arts and culture in Vancouver. Once a month, Sad Mag’s Helen Wong sits down with a couple of interesting, unique individuals to discuss a topic of her choosing. This month’s topic? The vibrant and un-politically-minded talent of Vancouver’s own Andy Dixon.

I recently had the opportunity to interview the multitalented musician, designer, painter, and creator Andy Dixon. We discuss some of the themes in his artistic practice as well as some of his influences and past experiences. Andy’s show ‘Canadiana’ just wrapped up at Initial Gallery where he played on themes and tropes prevalent in the works of the Group of Seven. Andy’s signature style brings out a subversive take on traditional readings of cultural texts, and more of his work can be found and fawned over on his website.

Helen Wong: Tell me about yourself. How did you first get involved with the arts?

Andy Dixon: I’ve always been drawn to visual art, honestly. Some of my earliest memories are of drawing and making comics. For a large portion of my life, my interests swerved towards music, but I continued to always do a little bit of drawing and painting when I could. During my time in bands, I was often the member elected to make album covers, t-shirts, etc so that kept the flame going.

HW: Who are some of the biggest influences in your art?

AD: It’s hard to know where to begin! David Hockney, Matisse, Jonas Wood, Cy Twombly, Nolan Hendrickson, Jean Dubuffet, Manet, Caravaggio…

HW: How did your initial role in album design spiral into painting?

AD: I actually think it’s not quite true to call album design an initial role. At a certain age and era of my life many things were working in tandem with one another. While I was designing album covers, I was simultaneously showing work at places like Misanthropy Gallery and Grace Gallery. I guess, as is common with the natural flow of life, design tapered off and painting gained momentum – it’s most likely my penchant for complete creative freedom that propelled me in that direction.

HW: How do you incorporate your graphic design background in your paintings?

AD: I think my background in design helped inform my compositional skills and, maybe more importantly, my sense of colour. I think that, after an almost decade of designing, I had a strong personal pallet that I continue to use today.

HW: In an interview with Huffington Post you state your work in “Canadiana” propagates a “great conversation”. Can you expand on this notion?

AD: Yes, it’s not just the Canadiana series that I’ve mentioned The Great Conversation. It’s been a part of my work for many years prior and continues to be a strong theme today. It’s the idea that everything we do is an allusion to our predecessors whether we like it or not. I was, at one time, an arrogant punk kid that thought that what I did creatively was completely removed from historical contexts but, as I got older, and realized that culture doesn’t exist in a vacuum (I only thought it did because I hadn’t experienced enough of it yet to make certain connections), I understood the absurdity of such an idea.

Now I use fine art tropes as a vehicle for my work much like modern music producers sample recognizable bits of music (recognizable as a specific riff or melody, or merely the suggestion of something we are familiar with – a certain guitar tone, or a symphonic string swell) to simultaneously join in on the Great Conversation but also to play with the intentions of the initial artist.

Canadiana at FIELD Gallery by Andy Dixon — Canadiana at FIELD Contemporary by Andy Dixon

HW: How do you play around with Canadian symbols and icons? Do you think you are propelling notions of nationalism?

AD: There’s definitely nothing nationalistic in the Canadiana series, but there’s nothing anti-nationalistic in there, either, just as Jay-Z’s Hard Knock Life, which samples Annie, isn’t pro or anti broadway musical. The point of my work isn’t to bolster up or pull down any of the subjects. Instead, it’s to play with pop culture’s expectations using tropes as a way to draw out the viewers own beliefs and judgements.

HW: I believe a lot of the art made famous by the Group of Seven effaces issues of First Native land claims in their portrayal of untouched and barren land ready to be colonized. Do you think your work serves to subvert these issues especially with your artistic style?

AD: The subversive quality in my work is generally only in regards to the artist’s original intentions, or it’s place in pop culture, as opposed to political theories imposed on the work by others. The only political message in my work exists in the fact that there is no political message in my work.

HW: In the [same] Huffington Post interview, I like that you compared your use of house paint to a bad amplifier. Are there other ways in which music and art intersect in your work?

AD: Definitely. Everything I do has an undeniable shadow of the things I learned in the punk scene. I think the most important theme is that, in punk music, academically defined technical prowess isn’t often a goal. The punk music I made wasn’t about impressing an audience with raging guitar solos – it was about tapping into a certain energy and portraying certain emotions. Anyone can lock themselves in their room for years and learn how to play their guitar faster and tighter, but it doesn’t mean that he or she will make good music – music that can make someone feel something. I learned at an early age that technical doesn’t mean good, and I have been on a quest to define that magical thing that makes art actually good ever since.

HW: I think back to the composer Arnold Schoenberg and the influence his atonal music had for Kandinsky. In a sense, I feel that you act as your own Schoenberg and Kandinsky with your use of dissonant noises and off key notes during your time at d.b.s. and as a DJ. Do you think this idea applies to your practice?

AD: It’s possible, yes, that I have a certain penchant for dissonance which translates visually as well, but I also think that a lot of the music I’ve made in the past is actually quite melodic. I do agree with you, though, that I am both musician and artist, playing off one another, in a way.

HW: What’s next for Andy Dixon?

AD: I’ve just relocated to New York for an undetermined amount of time. I have a solo exhibit here in November and have begun working on it. Other than that, my plan is to paint every day and continue exploring the themes currently present in my work.

33,900,000 videos of cats eating watermelon, falling off chairs, and having adorably miserable kitten nightmares.

Only after I’d peeled my eyes away from my third musical “sushi cat” video did I recognize the magnitude of what I’d just discovered: 33.9 million cat videos? To put this number into perspective, searching “Canada news” barely hits 4,760,000. Even searching for “Canada” can’t compete with the cat craze; at only 13,500,000 videos, our home and native land produces less than half the YouTube frenzy that our feline friends do.

How—how?—did sushi cats gain a larger media presence than our entire nation? Not sure whether to be awestruck, shocked, or disgusted, I turned to three experts—a media studies professor, a renowned cat researcher and a short-film director—for the scoop on society’s cat video obsession.

Dr. Christopher Schneider, photo by Paul Marck

DR. CHRISTOPHER J. SCHNEIDER
Associate Professor, Wilfrid Laurier University

Sad Mag: In your book, The Public Sociology Debate, you reference this interesting quote by Burroway: the “privatization of everything.” You suggest that the opposite might be happening: everything is becoming public. YouTube is just one platform we use to “publicize” life. Where do you think this obsession comes from? Why are we so obsessed with publishing our own lives? And why are we so interested in the (often banal) things others publish about theirs?

Chris Schneider: We all want to feel important; we all want our individual selves to be recognized. Publishing, posting, and circulating the relatively mundane details of our lives accomplishes that task.

On the other hand, when other people are doing similar things, it really shows a relatability between ourselves and other people; it contributes to our feeling of normalcy. Watching cat videos, or other mundane details of our daily lives, is kind of boring. So it normalizes the boredom, and in some ways makes people feel less guilty about wasting their time watching cat videos.

SM: Many researchers believe this reliance on short-form media could shrink the viewer’s attention span. That we are so constantly bombarded with information, but have so little time to reflect on what’s going on that we don’t actually consume any of it. Do you think this is true?

CS: I think so, sure. It’s in some ways kind of like drinking from a fire hose: its not easy to do. That’s the metaphor for the information coming into our eyeballs and trying to process it; it becomes increasingly difficult for people to make sense of all of it—which of it’s good, which of it isn’t—to critically process all of these materials. One of the outlets, I think, is distraction: ‘I’m gonna look at this cat video’, or ‘I’m gonna tweet about eating this hamburger’ Rather that trying to really focus and concentrate and pay attention to what people are saying, and where this information is coming from. It’s a basic form of escapism. Daily life—sure its mundane, sure its boring—but it’s also difficult for a lot of people….We can unplug from the difficulties of our daily lives and plug into the relatively mundane details of cat videos or other people’s lives to forget, to relax.

SM: And how about you? Do you have a favorite cat video?

CS: ‘Play em off, keyboard cat‘ is my favorite.

Dr. Dennis C. Turner with a therapy cat in Japan, photo by Junko Akiyama

DR. DENNIS C. TURNER
Director, Institute for applied Ethology and Animal Psychology (I.E.A.P/I.E.T.)

SM: You’ve been conducting research on the cat-human relationship for over 30 years; your book, The Domestic Cat, is now recognized in the field as the “Bible for cat researchers.” Why do you think cat videos have become so popular?

DT: One of the reasons I think cats are on the increase is because of what I like to call the emancipation of men; nowadays, men can express their feelings. 20, 40, or 50 years ago it wasn’t very manly to express your feelings. Cats are very emotional animals. I think men today are allowed to say they love cats.

SM: Do you agree with Dr. Schneider that cats might be one way in which we “unplug” from stress or challenges? How do cats affect our emotions?

DT: We have many studies showing that cats are relaxing; they make people more calm, generally in a better mood; [they create] a more natural environment [in which people] lose their fears. We’ve found that cats are capable of reducing negative moods—making negative moods better—especially depression, fear, introvertedness.

SM: When you want to feel better, what do you watch? What’s your favorite cat video?

DT: Definitely the Simon the Cat series: the one where the cat tries to wake up its owner.

Nicholas Humphries, photo by Tom Belding

NICHOLAS HUMPHRIES
Film Director & Vancouver Film School Instructor

SM: You’ve done very well with some of your short films—winning prizes at the Screamfest, the NSI Film Exchange and British Horror Film Festivals, to name a few. What, in your opinion, do viewers like best about short films?

Nick Humphries: Short content is extremely consumable. You can experience a story in a compressed amount of time. Those viral videos you’re talking about, like 6 seconds of a dramatic hamster, get play because they are short and on a very accessible platform and are therefore consumable, re-playable and shareable through social media.

SM: So why do you think YouTubers have become so interested in short, brainless cat videos? Is there something special about cats? Or is it the “consumable” nature of the medium itself?

NH: It’s because cats are awesome.

SM: Most important question: What’s your favorite cat video?

NH: There’s one of a kitten having a nightmare and then the mamma cat gives it a big hug. All while sleeping. It’s pretty much the best thing on the Internet.

The Sad Mag Archives

Q & A // Jacob Wren

Interview // Shana Myara

Interview // Stuart Jones

Interview // Anders Nilsen and Marc Bell

Interview // Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber

Talking Heads // Paul Wong

Q&A // Sean Parsons (aka Beardoncé)

CAT ISSUE SNEAK PEEK // FELINE FEMININITY

Talking Heads // Andy Dixon

Cat Issue Sneak Peek // MewTube