Sooner or later, the voice in your speech becomes watchful and you tread softly to avoid stirring the one-culture pot. With a thawing sharpness, you become that token brown person who is professional and diligent, accepting and forgiving.
READEditorial
What started with a few questions regarding the nature of the open call soon grew into a heated debate and triggered an opportunity for the exposure of several arguments and points of view in the form of a much-needed conversation.
READI can’t believe what you say, because I see what you do
Maybe I wanted to believe that deep inside, all humans are artists.
READA Midsummer Encounter
Dear Chris,
Consent is a narrow motorway and I’m walking on, half naked on the kerb, clutching my shoes, my books and her words like a schoolgirl at dawn, hoping I’ll be home.
READAbout my Mother: A Series of Open Letters to Chris Kraus — Part I
The elation of being able to travel, being able to see an art exhibition in the first place. I pranced around the space in wonder and confusion. Art objects are still being brought together in rooms. My body gets to be here and I don’t know exactly what to make of it.
READTo be a Verb sometimes, sometimes a Noun
I don’t believe in inspiration. I go to the studio all the time and I might sit there and read my phone if I don’t do anything, but I need to get there. Mostly even if you think nothing will happen there, you might just catch the most essential small idea that you start to develop.
READA Long Line of Characters: Getting to Know the Life and Work of Kirsti Tuokko
I guess this need for touch is so present now, It’s something I noticed not only in my work but all around. And when I’m producing [new work] I wanted to give this feeling of tangible fingers or tongues, this feeling of touch.
READFinding Forms to Recognise Warmth: a conversation with Bogna Luiza Wisniewska
She was a real author who had published real books and I was a fake author that only wrote books my mama and papa would buy. I beg to differ. My papa ravaged by dementia had lost his ability to read and my mama whose sole purpose in life now revolved around caring for him, or talking about caring for him, had lost the desire.
READDosai Aunty
What if nothing doesn’t actually ever get ruined? Or at least not that bad. Maybe it just finished completely different than you thought.
READMitäpä jos (What if)
It’s only April now. For me, this is often a time of introspection. My thoughts have revolved around softness and coldness, joy and fear, love and sorrow. Each year, Spring seems to invite me to shed another hard shell I’ve outgrown, remove a layer of protective wear, leave the old ideas of self I’ve confined myself in and make room for new growth….
READSpring Blues, Tenderly
