Q&A | Sad Mag

We've got it all right here, folks! Everything that's ever been written up, photographed, and discussed on the Sad Mag website. Enjoy browsing our archives!

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.

You’re not the first to complain that Vancouver is no fun. You don’t like stretch pants. You don’t like gluten-free liars. You don’t like little dogs (you’re a sicko). That said, it’s true, there are some limitations to our fair city. We can’t drink outside. And we can’t bring dogs to the pub. You’re thinking of London, England. Sorry, but I’ve never seen a British comedy that I “got.”

Yet, every night of the week in Vancouver there is a room full of amazing comics baring their hilarious souls for you. Bet you didn’t know that. Every single night, all over the city.

You may not have known it before, but Vancouver is teeming with talented comedians you are going to wish you swiped right for once they get famous. And just like when you find out your cousin’s boyfriend’s brother’s friend does comedy, we’re going to ask them why they do what they do.

This month I sit down with comic Mark Hughes, and we talk about getting on stage for the first time, and the world of dark and dirty niche comedy.

Kristine Sostar McLellan: What’s the first thing people ask you when they find out you’re a comic?

Mark Hughes: Oh, where do you perform? And I go, all over the place. Oh really? Where? Have you ever been to that one on Burrard, Yuk Yuks? Then I go, that’s actually not Yuk Yuks. So I just say, you name it, I’ve done it.

KSM: There is that much comedy in Vancouver.

MH: Yeah, there’s dozens of shows a week. We have tons of shows, tons of comedy, but it’s like, the audience doesn’t know. I think they would come if they knew.

KSM: What I get asked most is why I do it.

MH: Why not? It’s fun. I started doing comedy a little over two years ago. I had been told for years that I should do it, because I used to write jokes on Facebook. One day someone said that I need a creative outlet, and I went, oh, okay. I think they meant pottery or oil painting or something like that.

KSM: And how did you start?

MH: Let’s take a couple steps back. I saw a comedian in 2012 named Jason Rouse do comedy… Keep in mind, I wasn’t like, a comedy guy. Unlike most comedians, who know all this comedians, I only knew the big names. That’s about it.

It was the first show I had ever been to and he did a bunch of comedy that I felt was really funny, it’s sort of offensive… I didn’t think you could do comedy like that. I thought it was too offensive and no one would… Even though I thought it was funny I didn’t know enough people would.

KSM: So you didn’t know there was niche comedy?

MH: Exactly. And this was at the Rio. Each of us paid ten bucks to be here. That thought just simmered. And the next year I tried standup.

KSM: That is a different story from most, who tend to grow up idolizing comics.

MH: It just had never been on my radar, I hadn’t been exposed to it. It’s funny… a lot of people I know, and noticed since I started doing comedy, have only seen the “big ones” too. Most people I know have never been to a comedy show. But I do think comedy is on an uprise. I think because of Netflix it will make a resurgence. More people will start trying it too.

KSM: So tell me about your first experience.

MH: I took a class, that’s how I did it. The classes are somewhat controversial. I’m glad I did it because it gave me… I paid $200 to get on stage. If I didn’t do that, I never would have gotten up. The class at least taught me, yeah, you gotta keep doing it, move the mic stand out of the way. I had a good time, I thought, I wanna keep on doing this.

KSM: And you’ve continued for more than two years… So I know you’ve had a bad experience by now. What was one of your worst?

MH: The most uncomfortable set I ever had was when, just as the MC was introducing me, half the room got up to smoke. Nothing to do with me, they just needed to smoke. The dynamic was just gone. And, I do the material and some of it’s a big edgy and there’s no annonymity in the audience, it feels like, like people aren’t allowed to laugh at it.

A girl even said to me “hey! That’s not funny” – and not in a bantery way. It was like, ugggggh. [motions a knife in the heart] I felt it in my soul. I wasn’t skilled enough to deal with that yet.

KSM: And now? How do you deal with hecklers now?

MH: I think I’m just more confident, so I’m better able to deal with it now. If shit like that comes up I can get into it with people. I’m not as scared about it.

KSM: Your comedy touches on a lot of personal stuff, but you really seem comfortable in your own skin and have a strong identity. Do you think that helps?

MH: Considering the way my life has been, it’s always weird to hear something like that. But it resonates with part of me, too. I think comics can talk about whatever they want as long as its funny.

Where I’m a bit different from maybe some of the comics we know is I’ve had a personal experience with every single dark subject I talk about. Friends dying of aids. Sexual abuse. Prostitution. Drug abuse. Overdose. Addiction. Kids being apprehended. My whole life for a long time was all that stuff.

KSM: So on the topic of dark comedy, let’s talk about the show you produce.

MH: I do a show called Comedy Shocker at the Rickshaw. It’s a dark and dirty comedy show, the only recurring one in Vancouver. On July 4th the headliner is Kathleen McGee. We have a lot of other people on it, too.

KSM: What drove you to create a show like this?

MH: My friend Jason [Kryska] and I started it because we got tired of hearing from people “oooooh, you can’t say that. You can’t say that. People don’t find that funny.” I know that there are people who find this funny. I wanted to make a show that is a safe zone for this kind of humor. No one is walking in, and not knowing what it is. If you’re someone who gets offended by x-y-z, then… We want everyone to have a good time… It really is like, a free speech room and if you don’t like it, then please don’t come.

KSM: You’d really rather not sell the ticket?

MH: I don’t want people who might get offended there, because no one is having fun then.

So, if you’re the kind of person who can handle it, don’t miss The Comedy Shocker Presents: Downward Spiral at the Rickshaw Theatre.

I meet with Vancouver-based artist, consultant and event planner Jamie Smith at her sunny Main Street studio above Gene cafe. Glancing out her window, I count six toques, two Hershel backpacks, and one beautiful, black fixed gear. Yep, I smile, turning back to my host, we’re definitely in Mount Pleasant.

People-watching aside, I’m here to interview Smith about ROVE, the community art walk she’s planning for May 22. From 6 – 10 pm this Friday, seven local galleries will open their doors to the public. Armed with ROVE maps—complete with instructions for finding the closest breweries, of course—ROVE-ers can gallery hop to their hearts’ content, mingling with artists, curators and other artsy folk. The best part? The entire event is 100% free.

SM: So tell me about ROVE. How did you get involved in the project?

JS: I made it up! It started when I went to Portland in the fall of last year. Every first Thursday of the month, they do an art night. There’s a map, and you walk around—it’s called the Pearl District—and it’s all really close together. That’s what I liked about it; it was going to galleries, but all in one area.

Some cities have these art walks every month. I think that’s a very exciting thing, because it becomes a part of people’s month; they have something to look forward to and they see a lot of different work. I thought that would be very cool for Vancouver.

At first, I was like, “Every first Thursday: ROVE!” but it’s so much work. So I’m doing as many as I can. They keep getting easier and easier, and hopefully, at the end, it will just keep going.

Rebecca Chaperon (on display at Gene Studios, 2412 Main Street)

SM: Can you tell me a little about the event? The venues look amazing.

JS: I’m definitely excited about the venues; they’re great. There are people in Mount Pleasant always doing openings, always doing things. But something like this—like ROVE—really brings it all together. Hopefully we get a lot of people out who normally wouldn’t come to just one art opening.

SM: How do you choose the venues?

JS: It’s kind of been developing over time. The first time I did it, I just went to people that I knew were doing things in the area and tried to find places around here. And then throughout this time, people have actually come to me, which has been really nice. I’ve started going to openings at BAF (Burrard Arts Foundation) and Field Contemporary, so I just approached them and said, “This is what I do.” This is the first time I’ll be working with some of these galleries, but I think it will go well.

SM: Is there an overarching theme to the evening?

JS: The way ROVE works is that these spaces are doing their own thing all the time, so when I say I’m going to do a ROVE, it’s what they’re displaying at that time. It’s actually kind of nice because Kafka’s and Make both have photography showing, Field and BAF are all painters, in here (Gene Studios) we’re all painters, and then there’s Lawrence Yuxweluptun and Graeme Berglund. Lawrence is one of the most famous painters in Canada—a First Nations artist—so it’s a real treat that they’re going to be around. Actually grunt is doing a show of First Nations art as well. So there’s actually some really lovely cross-overs, but that was just luck. I’m really excited about it.

SM: What are you most excited about for this upcoming ROVE?

JS: What’s really cool is this time around, is that if you’re roving around and you have your map, you can go into Brassneck or 33 Acres and get a drink special. And then there’s the after party at 10 pm at the Projection Room, above the Fox.

People just need to go on the website and pick where they want to start. I think you should start at Gene Studios (2414 Main Street), because it’s central.It is an unique experience to see artist’s studios where the work is actually made. The other locations are galleries which is a more traditional way of viewing artwork.

Steven Hubert (on display at Field Contemporary, 17 West Broadway)

SM: Do you have any other advice for first-time ROVE-ers?

JS: The event is from 6-10 pm, and you can definitely do it in that time. It’s fun if you start at the beginning, because then you have the full four hours. The breweries are going to get really busy, because it’s Friday night, so I’m encouraging people to actually get out here at 6 and start at Brassneck, even. Most locations are going to have some wine that you can buy. It’s seven galleries, so you can do it all in one night, and you shouldn’t be rushed. And it’s Friday night, which is fun!

SM: Why do you ROVE?

JS: What I like about ROVE are the conversations that happen, because instead of going to one show and seeing that work in one way, you’re going from location to location. It’s really interesting to have a comparative, where you can go and see photography and think, “Why did they take these photos?” and then you can go see a painter. They’re both artists, but why do they work so differently? I’ve heard lots of different things, like, “I really didn’t like that show,” and that’s good to hear, or “That was the best.” I think it’s interesting as artists that we can hear the feedback from people attending—especially from people who don’t always come out. The art scene, especially for opening nights, is a lot of the same people. I like ROVE because it’s a totally different crowd. You get a lot of different people who aren’t necessarily here because of art, but it can often become that. I’ve had people show up to [later] openings because they were there for the first time at ROVE, which is really amazing. We just want more people to come out.

SM: Will all the artists be attending on Friday?

JS: They should be. Definitely at the studios, and then the galleries have asked the artists to come. You’ll [also] meet the gallery owners and curators.

Mira Song (on display at Gene Studios 2412 Main Street)

SM: What do you look for when you view art yourself?

JS: When viewing art, I think it’s looking at it really open-mindedly and taking it for what it is. But when it’s buying art, it’s just, you see it, and then you just feel something, and that’s really exciting. And I don’t think it matters who it’s by or why it’s there. It’s just those feelings.

I think buying original art is a very important thing for humans. Especially locally, if it inspires you and it’s a special night, I always encourage people to actually—actually—buy it! Because these are the stories you tell people when they come over for dinner, not the ones about the Ikea print.

SM: So all the art will be for sale?

JS: Yeah, it will be, but ROVE is definitely a community event. The hope would be that people would have this experience and want to purchase something, do, because supporting the artists just keeps these things going. But it’s really just about coming out and enjoying. Sales definitely happen, but it’s not the focus.

SM: What would you like to see more of in Vancouver’s art scene?

JS: The galleries here are doing a great job, and they’re showing really quality work, but I’d like to see more events like this that bring people out. I’d like to see an enlivened art scene, not just for people who feel really comfortable in it and go every week. I would just hope that events like ROVE make this possible.

This interview has been edited and condensed.
ROVE takes place May 22 from 6-10 pm in Mount Pleasant. For more information, visit ROVE’s website.

Do you remember being a sweaty kid, sitting around your basement with other sweaty kids watching WWF (Now WWE), trying out sleeper holds on each other until your parents forced you all home? No? Doesn’t matter. That nostalgia will hit you like an elbow drop to the gut when you attend Ring-A-Ding-Dong-Dandy. Comics Graham Clark and Ryan Beil host Ring-A-Ding-Dong-Dandy at the Little Mountain Gallery, just off of Main Street: a show that can only be described as a couple of grown-up kids joking over the weirdest wrestling clips pulled from the internet. After attending a few of these nights, Sad Mag caught up with the hosts to find out more about the event.

Sad Mag: If someone was to attend Ring-A-Ding-Dong-Dandy, what could they expect from the evening?

Ryan Beil: A collection of dynamite wrestling clips (curated by Graham Clark) projected on the medium screen with comedic comments sprinkled throughout.

Graham Clark: You can expect to laugh, first and foremost. You can also expect to learn at least one thing about wrestling. It’s Ryan and I providing a running commentary over classic wrestling clips. It’s a gas.

SM: When and why did you two start up this event?

RB: I don’t remember when but I remember why: because it made so much sense.

GC: We started the show a few years ago because both Ryan and I love wrestling. I kind of moved away from watching wrestling, and then when I started again, I realized how much I missed it. Also, after meeting some wrestlers, what stood out to me was how much the wrestling mirrored the comedy world: tough road gigs, little pay, and filled with people who can’t think of a better way to spend their time. The one difference is that these wrestlers live the road life but still have to be in shape. It’s insanity.

SM: Who is your favourite pro wrestler?

RB: Ultimate Warrior cause he’s the Ultimate. RIP.

GC: Oh man, this is a real Sophie’s choice. Hulk Hogan and Bret Hart brought me to wrestling, so they will always have a special place in my heart. As far as gimmicks go, Ravishing Rick Rude was my favourite. He would kiss a special lady he selected from the audience and then she would pass out. He also wore tights with his own face on them. As far as the best when it came to promos, I love me some Jake the Snake.

SM: In a wrestling match against each other, who would win?

RB: Graham. Cause he’d tickle. And he’s stronger.

GC: I would, because I would cheat. I would blind the ref then I would cheat.

Ring-A-Ding-Dong-Dandy is coming up on Wednesday, May 13, 8:30pm at Little Mountain Gallery (195 East 26th Ave). You can follow @_LittleMountain on Twitter to keep up with their events. Or you can catch Graham Clark at the Laugh Gallery, every Monday at Havana’s Theatre on Commercial Drive.

Vivek Shraya is a musician, writer, artist, and performer based in Toronto. His books and music have influenced the queer community and continue to provide an accessible outlet for youth around the country. Sad Mag’s Helen Wong interviewed Shraya about his music, writing and creative process.

Helen Wong: How do you transition between songwriting and writing for literature? Do you see these as entirely separate media or as extensions of one another?

Vivek Shraya: I tend to view them as separate formats. Songwriting has many limitations that writing for literature doesn’t have. In a pop song format, for instance, there is generally only three to four minutes to convey a feeling or idea. Writing involves an empty screen where anything and everything is possible. This is intimidating. However, they align in how they both involve hunting for the right words to express a specific sentiment.

HW: There is a certain poetry and lyricism present in your prose. Do you treat your books like songs?

VS: One of my editors for God Loves Hair told me that the first draft lacked the musicality inherent in my songwriting. This feedback has stayed with me and since then, (and without contradicting my last answer) I try to pull from my entire writing toolkit, including songwriting techniques, in any kind of writing.

When I wrote She of the Mountains, I would often hum out phrases, which would help me construct sentences or ideas.

HW: In an interview that you did with Scott Dagostino, he stated that ‘if you don’t see the book you need, write it!’ Does this carry weight for you?

VS: Absolutely. All three of my books have been ultimately motivated by wanting to write the kinds of books that would have made a difference and made me feel less alone in my youth.

HW: Is it hard to be self-reflexive? How has Leslie Feinberg’s books influenced you and your choice to write semi-autobiographical novels?

VS: During the creative process, being self-reflexive is what comes naturally to me. I pull from my own experiences. Where self-reflexivity becomes challenging is when the art itself is released, when people know (or think they know) aspects of yourself that I didn’t directly communicate to them. I also worry that self-reflexivity has become a bit of a crutch for me, because I am so comfortable with it. This is why I am excited about pushing outside this comfort zone and exploring fiction further.

Stone Butch Blues was the first LGBT book I read and it impressed upon me the power of personal narrative. I connected to so many of the experiences in the book and simultaneously thought about the differences between my experiences and that of the protagonist. What could a book that detailed those differences—having immigrant parents and growing up in a Hindu household—look like? The only way I could answer this question was to write God Loves Hair.

HW: There is a theme of “queering,” of creating strange normative ways of being, that I find present in She of the Mountains, especially in the sentence structure, formation of sentences, the fusion of language and image and the placement of words within the pages. All these aspects serve to deconstruct normative perceptions and patterns of what a book should be. Does your book act as a microcosm for a larger platform? How do these ideas relate to your work on a larger scale?

VS: Earlier in my career, I always played by the rules. I didn’t call myself a musician because I didn’t play instruments. I often heard I over-sang, and so I explored restraint in my songwriting. As I have grown, it’s been upsetting to realize how many of these rules are racialized.

Who has defined this idea that a real musician is someone who plays instruments, versus someone who makes music? Was I truly over-singing or was it that my style didn’t conform to Western expectations? Many of the reviews of She of the Mountains have referred to it as “experimental.” Who defines what a traditional novel should look like?

While I wouldn’t say the book is a microcosm for a larger platform (outside of wanting to challenge biphobia), I am in a place in my art practice where I am committed to exploring what feels instinctual to me instead of conforming to what has been prescribed.

HW: In a book review by Quill and Quire, they state that ‘what [Vivek] achieves with She of the Mountains is so new, we don’t have the proper words to articulate its success’. How do you express an idea or emotion that exists outside the construct of language? What do you do to carve out your own place within these systems?

VS: The truth is, I was terrified that no one would connect to She of the Mountains, especially after receiving feedback that the book was alienating. Also, when you observe what is popular or what connects, the message is seldom that difference is valued.

Thankfully, the response has been very positive and this has been a crucial reminder to not underestimate readers and to always stay true. The latter hasn’t always translated to success for me, but it has meant that I always have the knowledge that I was honest.

Carving space is a work in progress. My immigrant parents have been often told to make nice, be grateful, don’t push and be quiet. These ideas were then imposed upon me but the hope is that with each piece of art I produce, I am pushing back.

HW: In an interview with Mote Magazine you state that you conceive your music starting with a visual idea or abstracted image. How do you make these abstracted visual images concrete? Do you feel constricted by language?

VS: Writing is an abstract process that I would describe as churning out formless ideas into the physical realm. For example when I was working on She of the Mountains, I thought I had finished the mythology section, but I kept imagining Ganesh in a forest. I even heard the words: “Go into the forest.” All I can do as a writer is listen. I ended up writing a section that begins with Ganesh being haunted by an image of the forest, as a way to realize the idea, and in the end, this section became a significant part of the story.

Language, particularly English, does feel constrictive. I grew up singing Hindu prayers where each word invoked so much emotion. This is likely part of why I am an interdisciplinary artist, to have room to express myself outside just words.

HW: How do you link all your practices in media from music, film, literature, and art? How do you propel this interdisciplinary dialogue?

VS: The desire to link practices comes from wanting to challenge myself and to see how an idea can be further developed outside the central medium I have chosen for it. I also have a short attention span and am often trying to think about how to capture an audience. So, in book readings, I incorporate projected images, movement and song, and for a recent installation, Your Cloud, I released a cover of the Tori Amos song the project was named after.

I also propel this interdisciplinary dialogue by collaborating with other artists, to see how they too might be able to develop an idea. The illustrations that Juliana Neufeld (God Loves Hair) and Raymond Biesinger (She of the Mountains) came up with not only enhance the text, but also provide alternate perspectives and entry points for the reader.

HW: I like the idea of recontextualizing tradition, it is present in your novels and music. How do you manage to merge your background with the various art practices you partake in? Does it influence your sound?

My background is present at all times. I can’t separate it and I’m not actively working to separate. Earlier in my career I attempted to separate my background—my Indianness, my queerness, my femmeness—from my work, especially in my music. But this process was exhausting and ultimately dishonest. I am who I am at all times, and perhaps even more so when I am creating. Art is constantly pushing me to be my truest self, and this often means me pushing against traditional formats, to see what else might be possible.

David Balzer’s thought-provoking new book, Curationism: How Curating Took Over the Art World and Everything Else (Coach House Press/Pluto Press), explores what it means for the verb “curate” to be adopted by popular culture. Whether liking a friend’s post on Facebook, purchasing a cookbook on Amazon, or interacting with one of Subway’s “sandwich artists,” we’ve all become “curators” of our own identities. And with the advent of the Internet, it seems like we have more power over the choices we make than ever before. But is that really the case? And if everyone is a curator, then what is art? Is there any room left for spontaneous experience?

Balzer tackles these massive existential queries in the pages of his book, and will be exploring them during a talk at Vancouver’s Contemporary Art Gallery on April 10. Sad Mag’s Shannon Tien sat down with Balzer for a sneak peak of Friday’s event.

Shannon Tien: Can you explain how the term “curate” has changed over time?

David Balzer: So there’s the traditional curator who studies art history, gets their PhD, does a museum studies certificate, and then they work in the back rooms of museums with restorers and they’re kind of custodians of art historical works. That isn’t really what I’m interested in.

I’m interested in the contemporary curator. That idea can be traced back all the way to the Roman Empire. The Latin root of “curator” means to care for something. So the curators in the Roman Empire were basically caretakers.

The curator has never been easy to define; it’s only nowadays that we think of the curator as a “real” job. So I argue that the curator becomes super contemporary when the curator’s asked not just to care for things, but to give value to them. That happens in the early to mid-20^th Century. Then the real birth of the curator in terms of how we understand it happens in the conceptual art movement of the 1960s and 1970s. And at this point, curators are not just giving value to objects, but they’re also performing the value of art. That aspect of performance in curating is the thing I think is kind of key in understanding how curating transitioned from the art world to popular culture.

Basically, using “curate” as a verb—saying that you’re going to “curate” something, or that “I curated a collection of hats”—the Oxford English Dictionary traces that usage back only to the early 1980s. And the usage that they find for their draft edition is from the world of performance art, which I think is really telling. It’s a dance performance at this New York avant-garde space called The Kitchen being written about by The New York Times. From that point on you see the word “to curate” or “curated by” used in the context of dance or music festivals and then by the 1990s, when the contemporary curator becomes a really important part of the institution, that word is used more and more and then the Internet happens and everyone sort of appropriates its use.

ST: When exactly did our own cultural consumption become a curatorial act?

DB: You know the saying in retail, “The customer’s always right”? I think that it’s changed to, “The customer must always feel as if they’re choosing.” When you “curate” something you’re “choosing,” and businesses have really latched onto this as a means of superficially empowering consumers. I think we can pinpoint it in the late 1990s going past Y2K, when all of a sudden we were made to choose a lot as consumers. There’s deep sociological and demographic research that needs to back it up, but generally the Internet has become a fact of life for a lot of people. At the same time there’s a crisis in terms of cultural consumption. In the art world, art institutions are not being funded the way they like, and in other spheres such as book buying, for instance, you’ve got these huge chains emerging in the ‘90s like Borders and Chapters and they just swallow up the little brick and mortar stores. So culture’s getting really homogenized at the same time that everyone’s going online and wondering who they are and interacting with people in a more active and global way than ever before. But whenever I’m talking about “choosing” I’m being a little ironic because I think that the idea of cultural curating is not necessarily the most empowering thing in terms of giving us choice. It kind of provides us with this illusion of choice.

ST: Can you talk about the rise of “normcore,” or the idea that taste is irrelevant because the Internet makes everything available to everyone?

DB: I don’t think the idea of curating would ever become completely obsolete. But what I do argue—and these ideas are present in the work of K-HOLE, the group that birthed the term “normcore,” and they’re present in post-Marxist Italian theory—this idea that we’re online and we’re asked to perform what we like and what our taste is. But people who are thinking about it, who are aware of possibly inhabiting the Matrix or whatever, can easily sense that what we’re doing online is prompted by similar algorithms, and what we like is highly influenced by what other people like. In fact we’re encouraged to like what other people like. When we buy something on Amazon, Amazon tells us what other people bought in addition to what we’re buying as a prompt to see if we might want to buy that too. It’s a bit of disingenuous uniqueness that online curating promotes. And if you think of it for five seconds, you realize that the sorts of choices you’re being asked to make as a social media user are pretty flattening.

ST: Are algorithms robot curators? Are they the future of curating?

DB: Well in a way I think that the algorithm is curatorial but also anti-curatorial. If you program something that can do the choosing for you in a semi-cognisant way, this choosing is only based on what’s been chosen before. But I like the idea that a program can show us that curating is not the most unique or difficult thing that one can engage with. I think that it can really call into serious question our precious notions of what it means to curate. But I also think that a good thing to come out of it would be to bring us back to a more thoughtful meditation on what it actually means to curate or choose. It’s maybe the end point of this discussion where curating has reached such an accelerated moment that now we’re getting computers and software to do it for us.

ST: How has this book affected your own “curationism”?

DB: I think that as someone who as been a critic for a long time, who’s a voracious consumer of film, art, music, literature, and talks about it all the time, I’ve sort of reached a moment, and it was when I was writing the book—and maybe it had to do with a personal element of this [which] was that I just exited a very long term relationship that was very much built around the expression of taste—where I thought, “Why is taste so important? And why am I always trying to perform what I like for everybody? Why does it matter? Isn’t there a better way to engage with culture and show how much it means to me?” So this book maybe represents that existential crisis.

This interview has been condensed and edited. Catch David Balzer at Vancouver’s Contemporary Art Gallery on April 10 at 7 p.m.

Finger guns are a key aspect of Kim's creative process. — Finger guns are a key aspect of Kim’s creative process.

So you want to live a more passion-filled, purposeful and creative life . . . riiiight after you watch that Seinfeld re-run, organize your Tupperware drawer, talk to your cat Professor Snuggles, and water your cactus plant. Sound familiar? The anxiety over starting a creative project and making it perfect can be so overwhelming at times that we’d rather do almost anything else. Solution? Do it—and make it ugly. In fact, Make it Mighty Ugly says Kim Piper Werker, the author behind the motivating handbook for vanquishing creative demons.

Sad Mag: Tell us a little bit about yourself:

Kim Piper Werker: I’m a writer and editor in Vancouver. I’ve worked for the last decade in the crafts industry, editing magazines and writing books. In 2010, I started a project to address some of the issues I kept bumping into personally and professionally—it involves making something ugly. On purpose. Personally, this addressed a nagging habit I had of feeling very concerned that people would discover I wasn’t actually very crafty. I was so plagued by this feeling that I’d often sabotage my own projects. If something was going really well, I’d sort of intentionally mess it up, to save myself from feeling the pressure to keep it going well. Nuts, I know. But that self-doubt (or, maybe, that certainty that I wasn’t talented or creative or skilled enough to make something great), fear of failure and perfectionism are pretty much universal – everyone feels some of all of that at some point or another (or all the time). Anyway, the ugly thing really stuck with me, and it’s been my primary focus for the last few years.

More personally, I was born in Brooklyn, New York, and moved to Vancouver twelve years ago. I love to read books, chill with my family, and I’ve gotten a little obsessed lately with making soap.

SM: I admit that I’m a little envious of your New York roots. What was growing up in Brooklyn like? What drew you to Vancouver?

KPW: I grew up in a lower-middle-class neighbourhood of Brooklyn called Canarsie—probably one you haven’t heard of, eh? My family lived on the top floor of a post-war three-story walk-up, and I really and truly had that childhood where I played in the street with the neighbour’s kids and my mom would yell out the window for me to come inside for lunch. I walked to school by myself from the time I was six, and I was heartbroken when my family moved to a suburb of another city in New York State when I was ten. I was a city kid, man. The suburbs seemed like another planet to me.

At the same time, I really loved the open space of living closer to the country, and because I spent my summers in day camps or overnight camps way out in the middle of nowhere, that love of nature created some confusion for me and my simultaneous love of the city. So when I was in university, I decided, without ever having been there, that San Francisco was my obvious goal. I’d move there and have both city and a slower pace and some nearby open spaces.

Then, when I was in grad school when I was twenty-three, I met a guy I ended up marrying, and he had grown up in Vancouver. He’s the only person I’d ever known who couldn’t wait to move back to his hometown, and when he brought me to Vancouver for the first time to visit, I discovered that it had everything I’d wanted out of the mythical San Francisco, and I fell in love with Canada, too. So after we got married, we moved here, and though I find the city a little slow for my taste sometimes, and a little lacking of the gruffness and openness of urban life I really value as a New Yorker, I love it here.

SM: What inspired you to write Make it Mighty Ugly?

KPW: I’d been doing Mighty Ugly workshops for a couple of years when I had the idea of writing a book inspired by it. In my workshops, I walk people through making an ugly creature that’s intentionally hideous. It’s a great challenge for a lot of people, and very liberating for others. Every time I’d lead a workshop, I’d have at least one utterly fascinating conversation with someone about the exercise. One day I decided I wanted to explore the idea in-depth—how and why it’s important to me, how and why I think it can help people address their own creative demons, etc.

SM: Why make something “mighty ugly?” How does this process liberate the artist within?

KPW: It’s just something we’re never, ever asked to do. Which makes it a very different sort of exercise, and difference – and the discomfort that comes with it – can be tremendously liberating. Making something ugly on purpose forces us to be aware of how we consider beauty/aesthetics/marketability/appeal in ways we usually just take for granted when we make things. And for people who don’t consider themselves creative, who may not focus on beauty/aesthetics/marketability/appeal in the course of their daily lives, making something ugly on purpose removes the pressure they feel (for surely they feel it, whether they realize it or not) to make something that possesses those qualities, something they’re inclined to say off the bat that they can’t do.

SM: Why do you suppose fear of failure is the ultimate enemy of creativity?

KPW: That assertion was pretty much marketing copy. I think perfectionism is no less powerful an enemy of creativity. But fear of failing is a fabulous excuse to give up on an idea before you even try it out. So I suppose maybe it really is the ultimate enemy of creativity, because we use that fear as a reason not to even try.

SM: How do you make time for creative projects? Do you follow a schedule or are you more spontaneous?

KPW: No schedule for me. I’m doing a project this year called #yearofmaking, for which I’ve committed to making something—anything—every day. Sometimes it’s spaghetti and sauce from a jar for dinner. Sometimes it’s starting an art journal or knitting a few rows on a scarf. Sometimes it’s making a batch of cold-process soap. So for at least a few minutes every day, I make something.

SM: How do you set the mood for creativity?

KPW: I don’t. I just make stuff or write stuff. If I get really into it, I allow myself to push other things aside so I can follow it through, but I don’t think creativity is some divine sort of thing that requires a particular mood. As author/artist Austin Kleon wisely says, creativity is a tool. I make sure I use it frequently.

SM: What music are you listening to right now? What book is by your bed?

KPW: I’m not! I have a timer ticking in the background to help me focus (go Pomodoro Technique!), and my dog’s barking at someone walking by outside. The book by my bed is The Faraway Nearby, by Rebecca Solnit.

SM: What advice do you give aspiring creatives?

KPW: Stop aspiring, start creating.

Kim will be joining two authors, Leanne Prain (author of Strange Material: Storytelling through Textile) and Betsy Greer (author of Craftivism) – on a book tour in October. Details can be found online.

Also, check out her blog, and the Mighty Ugly website (with a book-group guide and more info about the book, etc.). Other online stuff: kpwerker on Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest.

The Sad Mag Archives

Talking Heads // Paul Wong

Q&A // Sean Parsons (aka Beardoncé)

CAT ISSUE SNEAK PEEK // FELINE FEMININITY

Talking Heads // Andy Dixon

Interview // Mark Hughes

ROVE // Free Mount Pleasant Art Walk

Ring-A-Ding-Dong-Dandy / Q&A with Graham Clark and Ryan Beil

Q&A / Vivek Shraya

Interview / David Balzer, author of Curationism

Vancouver Notables / Kim Piper Werker