Tiffany Lin In Conversation With Vi Khi Nao

TIFFANY LIN IN CONVERSATION WITH VI KHI NAO

VI KHI NAO: In your video presentation, you said at 3:33 that “as artists you have to come from an authentic place.” How do you define authentic here, Tiffany? And, what is an example of inauthenticity in an artist? When I think of authentic, I think of sincerity, meaning it arrives or derived from the heart.

TIFFANY LIN: I define authentic as something derived from a lived experience. Every creative endeavor should be produced from a place of honesty. Creating any type of cultural artifact should be done in earnest. The world is already too cluttered with lies manufactured by disingenuous and profit-driven motivations. Keeping your creative space true is an exercise in freedom.

Photo by Jeff Barnett-Winsby

In this particular video, the question was asked specifically in reference to the Illustration courses I am teaching this semester. Illustration is often spoken about as an entirely separate discipline from contemporary art. Maybe this happens because it’s perceived as being too commercial or a willing player in the capitalist machine. Or perhaps its subject matter deemed too trivial and visual execution frivolous and decorative. But if that is what speaks to the artist in question, and it offers an avenue for creative release, my role as an educator is to support and steer them through that independent journey. When I say inauthentic, a broad example is a creative brief from an art director that deadens your soul. It is something to be executed - a means to an end - and serves the client, but may not necessarily challenge the artist or consumer. There are those who are content with this relationship, but it does not align with my personal ideas of what it means to be an artist. In successful commercial projects, the artist has found positive symbiosis with the larger vision that matches their visual language.

On a personal note, I’ve taken on a few projects I didn’t care about or were misaligned with my moral values; it was very apparent in the outcome. I’m now in a position where I have more agency in the projects I choose to take on. And I understand that in itself is a type of privilege, to be able to perform outwardly in an “authentic” fashion as opposed to taking on a voice that is not my own.

(I don’t know if that made any sense).

VKN: (It does make sense) What were those projects, Tiffany? Could you describe them? What have you learned from that misalignment? And, could it have been prevented? If one were to arrive from a place devoid of necessary privilege? Could you foresee an artist be both capitalistic and authentic? Or are they paradoxical and oxymoronic?

TL: I worked on a few fashion-related projects where I was told to respond to explicit “target audiences” / “demographics” that were determined by the art director. Everything was based on market trends. At one point, I was told I drew “too much like a man” and that this would not do well in women’s apparel. I found this creative direction troubling as it suggested that women had a “natural” tendency toward a particular aesthetic, one of frills, curves, and maximalism. I find this view repulsive. Common sense should lead us to conclude that none of this is innate or specific to gender, rather companies have found ways to profit off of antiquated views of gender with bogus “for her” branding. Have you ever been frustrated by gendered marketing “for her,” where functional objects are embellished with extraneous accents because they think they’ll sell better? And that a young woman, seeing the male-counterpart-item, streamlined and plain, comes to understand her place in the world as an accessory. I take no issue with people who prefer this, but it should not be bound to gender.

This attitude can be prevented if we have art directors and creative people who can push beyond gender normativity and dare to think beyond profit margins. Yes, I think an artist can be both capitalistic and authentic, though I probably would probably keep them at arm’s length. Artists face the most difficult Faustian bargains. For some it does not sit well and completely disrupts their creative process. For others, the financial success outweighs the optics of “selling-out” and from a practical level, may allow them to live more comfortably and provide form themselves/their progeny in a better way. For others, fame, glory, and attainment of wealth is all they ever wanted.

VKN: In your bio, it’s written that “through drawing, writing, and performance, her [Tiffany Lin] work investigates the nebulous distinction between want, need, and desire in context of political and capitalist spectacles. What have you discovered, so far, about want, need, and desire? Has your investigation surprised you? Redefine your aesthetics? Or has it ever misguided you? What kind of growth do you imagine for a consumer of your work to experience through your investigation? Do you wish that they de-consume? Or overconsume?

TL: I’ve discovered that one of the unifying themes between want, need, and desire is hurt. Or a sense of loss, emptiness. Whether it is for want of food, water, shelter to the more surface desires such as luxury goods, there is a sense that without said object that the subject is lacking and incomplete. I specify political/capitalist spectacle because I think it’s important to contextualize my practice in the 21st century where the amount of advertising we consume is unfathomable. Codes are created to predict our behavior. The market wants to be our psychiatrist. They know are deepest insecurities and a greatest wish; if they don’t, they’ll try to manufacture it in the deepest recesses of your mind. These psychological operations are not new, but they have reached new levels of saturation with advances in technology and communication.

My investigation has surprised me but not in ways I anticipated. Many of my works are derived from formal/informal interviews with leading questions, and the impact of Donald Trump’s election in 2016 was palpable in people’s responses to what they “wanted” out of a President, or what they “needed” to happen to fulfill their lives. These conversations often turned ugly because there is a thread within the American psyche that suggests all good things come to those who work for it. Though that dream has proven to be a fallacy over and over again, I find that the working class (like my parents, who fully believe in the Dream) do not ever discredit the state or larger systems. An easier psychological solution to pivot their anger and resentment toward their fellow man. My initial response was to balk and grow angry, but I learned from this logic that our narratives of want are rooted in so much more than consumer goods and quality of life, but rather notions of agency that allows the ideal “American citizen” to fully self actualize. What is a citizen anyway?

I have been misguided for sure, mostly in that the conversations were almost always emotional in having to contend with heavy realities - drug addiction, food and housing insecurity - what could an artist truly offer to resolve these problems? Can a work of art feed the hungry? There are days where I think art is useless. Other days I think it is the only thing that will save and outlive us.

My hope is that people view my artwork and feel greater empathy toward others. That somehow, through the reinterpretation of public vs. private sector vernacular, people question their relationship to consumerism and nation. Yes, generic beauty pageant response but I believe in WORLD PEACE. Once people develop more genuine connections with one another they may ultimately “de-consume” material objects as interpersonal relations take priority, but that is not my explicit goal.

VKN: Your visually performative, “patriotic” chaplet “A Manual by Codes” is both tender and technical, visually ascetic and sharp, didactic and irreverent, and exhibits many shades of political and personal inquiries and it (possibly rhetorically) asks, “tell me, my sons and daughters what is it you hold dear? So if I may ask the book to ask you: tell me, Tiffany Lin, what is it you hold dear?”

TL: I hold dear the elements to which I belong. I like to remember we’re carbon made - my found family, blood family, strangers. When making the chaplet, I wanted to rethink justifications surrounding war and violence. When is sacrifice acceptable? What loss hurts the most and why? The book is a reminder that at the end of the day, you, like me, like her, like him, like they, like it - shit, piss, bleed, and will die. Mortality anchors the work.

VKN: Can you talk about this illustration? Can you talk to us about your process of creativity? From the seed of conception to its end product? What is the one thing that you have learned from the process? Or what would empower you to refrain? Or do you tackle all of your visual works with some impulsion and immediacy?

TL: This editorial work was created as a response to a Lifestyle Illustration assignment in graduate school. I chose to work with Hermes’ Resort 2017 line (here). Each work (illustration, performance, writing) starts with drawing as a meditative and experimental practice. In this case, since I was responding to a prompt, I was more cognizant of color palettes and visual ambiance that would not distract from the clothing and elevate it in a playful and appetizing way.

I first work in analogue media and scan each component for more creative flexibility when I transfer it to a digital platform. Especially when working with a client that may change their mind quickly about placement, colors, or nitpick angles and stray hairs, it’s nice to be able to edit the piece quickly without tearing your hair out about having to redo an entire painting from scratch.

Impulse and immediacy are words that resonate with me. There is something critical in that first mark - conviction and confidence become lost the more you belabor the form. My media of choice is ink, crayon, charcoal, and gouache. Textures are often done by hand and retain a feeling of a living, breathing image to an otherwise dead mark rendered soulless by digital software. However, integrating digital tools into illustration has allowed me to continue working in this manner while still being efficient in the way things are moved around. Think of it as constant digital collage.

VKN: You work in a variety of mediums (lithography, drawing, painting, performance, a census collector), which one could you live without? Meaning, which medium or medium of expression would make the engine of existence worthy of adding more fuel, spare parts, or appetite for posterity. I used to think art is dead, but when I sit with your work, I have arrived to a small conclusion that art doesn’t always have to be overarching or dramatic - that it could speak or excel in the language of subtlety. An excellent example of this is your chaplet/chapbook titled “BECOMING, a letter” - it’s very poetic, compassionate with an element of un-enslaved detachment, and massively encouraging in the sense, place, and its time of acceptance. Can you talk about this book? Can you talk about the design of the cover? Two circles in ochre(?) and two smaller circles connected by one line? Does it reflect or is it in conversation with this linguistic line, “Two necessary shifts in orbit.” And, could you talk more about the significance of this tenderness, “Darling, There are no lies between us, only nervous hesitation toward an awakening.”

TL: I can’t live without drawing - it is the foundation of everything I do. I’m a big fan of sketchbook experimentation. It is how I think out loud.

In terms of what is more has fallen out of use, I have not worked as a true printmaker (as in working collaboratively with another artist) in a few years. I realize I am better suited to executing my own projects. However, lithography taught me important life lessons about patience, process, consistency, and the art of failure.

The book is probably my most emotional and intimate work to date. I wrote the initial text in 2015 when my partner (at the time) was at a major psychological low in grappling with his gender dysphoria. I wrote the essay as a way to acknowledge his desire to transition from female to male, to live his life as a man. I remember him telling me that transitioning is an imperfect solution to one’s material reality.

The cover is a diagram of binary stars, meaning two stars that orbit around a central mass. Our universe is dominated by multiple star systems, meaning the stars are bound together by gravitational force, even after they die. From our vantage point, they appear as one star but are actually two (or more) in constant rotation. I think it is an apt metaphor for me and my ex-partner’s relationship. We still remain very close to this day.

It’s a relationship I have difficulty defining, especially in conventional (see: BASIC) predominantly heterosexual/straight spaces. How to describe a love that is so completely and utterly unconditional? To me it speaks of the power of queer love that transcends bodily reality. Yes, the diagram is in conversation with that line as the orbits never truly “shift” but they may grow further apart or closer together over time, sometimes transferring mass to the other.

That last line is about intuition and knowing. We separated in Philadelphia in the summer of 2016 and he left behind a letter apologizing for “lying” to me about his desire to transition. But I do not see it as a lie. I see him for who he is, who he desires to be. We both knew something was amiss but neither of us had the language or resources at the time to articulate what he needed to “awaken” and arrive at his true expression of self. We grew up together. He is my best friend. He is a much more joyous person following his transition and that has been an amazing experience to see.

VKN: If I may extract some practical wisdom from you, what is the best way to deal with economic hardship, Tiffany? If you could advise from an artist to another?

TL: I don’t have a good answer to this one. The best thing I can advise is to stay honest with yourself, surround yourself with good people (and I mean ACTUALLY GOOD PEOPLE - it will take time to intuit), keep creating work and follow what feels right. Your confidence will waver from time to time, that’s ok. Acknowledge that the path of an artist is difficult; it is not linear and therefore infinite in possibility. It is possibly the most overwhelming industry to be in. Yes, you’ll have to hustle. Know that some days you will have to compromise but always take care of yourself. Too much top ramen will destroy you. Couch surfing will eventually wear you down. When I was working five (stupid) jobs in San Francisco, a mentor kept telling me that “The sword is forged in the fire.” If I were to get really nitty gritty, I would say find a job that can get you by but never lose focus. Wait tables, gut the gig economy for whatever it's worth, pawn your jewelry, roll the dice - but remember to nourish and feed your creative process. Persist!!

VKN: If Andy Warhol kept your most brilliant art piece and then informed you later that he lost it when in fact he didn’t, would you shoot him with a pistol like Valerie Solanas? What would you do to him for betraying you or leading you on? In other words, what is the best enactment of (nonchalant) revenge on another? Another artist? If there is such a thing as a casual, nonchalant venom.

TL: Yes, I would shoot him. But maybe that would be too easy.

Perhaps it would be more poetic to concoct a more elaborate plot, a long term defamation campaign.

But in more seriousness, I’d probably let it go. Revenge and bitterness take up too much mental energy. I’d rather redirect my energy into happier things. But therein lies the nonchalant revenge you speak of - achieving success despite the setbacks and thievery!

VKN: Which one would you choose? A door a window? In other words, what is your ideal romantic love? TL: Door. Clear entrance and exit strategy.

Two people coming together and understanding the terms of engagement.

Secure infrastructure.

VKN: Do you don’t think the window has the same clear exit strategy?

TL: It involves too much glass shattering.

VKN: What is your favorite kind of sofa? Or what is the sexist art object you have ever laid eyes on? In your eyes, what is the best Asian artist working on any medium today? This is non-sequitur, but I was preparing for this interview and I accidentally studied this other woman’s art/design (http://www.tiflindesign.com) who shared the same first and last name with you (lol), and I did wonder for a second if you have ever reached out to other Tiffany Lins in the world and ask if they are willing to collaborate with you on an artistic feat/project?

TL: [ UPDATE! ] Since conducting this interview, I caved and bought a sofa off of craigslist. It’s very modern and has shaker furniture elements. It is not very practical for sleeping on but is firm and keeps me alert while I read.

Sexist art object… is everywhere… I can’t decide. Am I supposed to sit on it?

Haha, yes, down the line I would like to create a video series around “common” names, mostly among 1st and 2nd generation Americans - popular combinations like Tiffany Lin or Christine Lee, Grace Kim, Maria Rodriguez, Andrea Gutierrez, etc. I would have them face the camera and say “My name is [INSERT NAME HERE] and I am a public menace.” My twin is named Tiffany Lin, she is 5 days older than me and grew up in the same neighborhood. She currently works as a nurse. Our parents are derived from the same practical Taiwanese stock, giving us names that were easy to pronounce and would allow us to assimilate more easily into American society.

Best Asian artist… Mel Chin is a pretty cool dude.

---

Tiffany Lin is an interdisciplinary artist, educator, and wordsmith. Her projects investigate nebulous distinctions between want, need, and desire in context of capitalist spectacle and corporeal intimacy. She holds an MFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art in Illustration Practice and a BA in Gender & Women’s Studies and Psychology from the University of California, Berkeley. Lin currently lives and works in Las Vegas, NV where she joins the Department of Art at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas.

VI KHI NAO is the author of Sheep Machine (Black Sun Lit, 2018) and Umbilical Hospital (Press 1913, 2017), and of the short stories collection, A Brief Alphabet of Torture, which won FC2’s Ronald Sukenick Innovative Fiction Prize in 2016, the novel, Fish in Exile (Coffee House Press, 2016), and the poetry collection, The Old Philosopher, which won the Nightboat Books Prize for Poetry in 2014.  Her work includes poetry, fiction, film and cross-genre collaboration. Her stories, poems, and drawings have appeared in NOON, Ploughshares, Black Warrior Review and BOMB, among others. She holds an MFA in fiction from Brown University, where she received the John Hawkes and Feldman Prizes in fiction and the Kim Ann Arstark Memorial Award in poetry. 

The Astrolushes Podcast: Skeptics, Cosmic Lessons, & Authenticity

Astrolushes is a podcast at the intersection of astrology and literature, ritual, wellness, pop culture, creativity — and, of course, wine. Expect guests, giveaways, & games — and get ready to go deep with us.

The water-sign hosts are Andi Talarico, poet, book reviewer and Strega (@anditalarico) & Lisa Marie Basile, poet, author of Light Magic for Dark Times, & editor of Luna Luna Magazine (@lisamariebasile + @lunalunamag). You can the astrolushes on Twitter, too, here.

LISA MARIE BASILE: Let’s chat about the birth of AstroLushes! I think it sort of started on a drive we took to Salem, MA, where we witched out for a weekend and visited HausWitch for my Light Magic for Dark Times writing workshop. In the car, I threw celebrity and literary names at you and had you guess their big 3 signs. You were amazingly on point! I'm wondering, besides having fun with it, what do you personally think the 'use' or 'reason' for this astro-knowledge is? I think people are generally fascinated, but we both know there's more to it.

ANDI TALARICO: That road trip and our time in Salem definitely feels like the genesis of this show! It started with us guessing celebrity's charts and now it's just a part of all of our conversations. I feel like now we're constantly wondering about writers and actors and philosophers through the lens of their astrological placements. It's a fun game but I think it also allows for a possibly deeper understanding of the art and culture that we engage with.

And engagement was how I came to astrology. My mother always read our horoscopes from the paper when I was growing up; she's a mystical Pisces who has visited psychics, believes in prophetic dreams, and finds herself fascinated by the moon. I inherited a lot of my curiosity from her. But by age 12 our household had changed considerably and it became a harder place to exist and grow in. So it's no surprise to me, looking back, why that was the time I started studying astrology.

It was a way of making sense of the world. It also gave me an opportunity to talk to people about themselves (and to keep the focus off of myself.) It made me feel like I had some sort of agency, a voice, a new authority. Now, the language of astrology, to me, is less about telling people about themselves and actually, much like my tarot practice, using the themes and ideas as lessons that we can use to fully become our best, most authentic selves. That's where it crosses over into self-care as well.

How do you feel about people who think astrology is bogus, Lisa?

Astrology…much like tarot practice, uses the themes and ideas as lessons that we can use to fully become our best, most authentic selves. That's where it crosses over into self-care as well. — Andi Talarico

LISA MARIE BASILE: I love that you say it's an engagement with everything around us. And that, as a child, it helped you navigate a very difficult world. It truly is a language we learn and then we speak, and that can bring people together in an instant. And it can help us focus on the many characteristics of ourselves. In my life, processing the trauma I've experienced through the filter of the Scorpio has been amazingly beneficial; I now look on it all as transformative, rather than destructive. 

It's also really interesting to give a name to the various inclinations and motivations for people's art or behaviors. Especially when you look at creative people, or really evil people, and you start seeing how many of them fit into a certain astrological sign, or element. It may not be scientifically proven, but that’s the sort of mystery and liminality that we derive meaning from.

I am a scientific person. I believe that reason, empirical evidence, and research is important. I live with a chronic illness, and I'm a health writer as a day job. It's important to me that information is disseminated accurately, or, say, that the injections I take have been proven both effective and safe, and that sometimes, you need medication over meditation, in order to heal.

At the same time — people need to know there’s more to health and wellness than big pharma. And there’s more to this world than what we can see. I think the zodiac allows us to approach the liminal, the intuitive, the subterranean. It does exist outside of 'objective science' and that's okay. It allows us to dive headfirst into the shadows of this world and our lives, and I think that's the key to the feeling whole — straddling both sides. Science has a place, but so does the esoteric. You can't prove love, but we all feel it. So, it's the same thing. Some things we just explore knowing that it may be obscure. I am grateful to be able to take part in the world from both stances. 

What do you think about how people can use the zodiac as a healing tool, or in daily ritual?

There more to this world than what we can see. I think the zodiac allows us to approach the liminal, the intuitive, the subterranean. It exists outside of 'objective science' and that's okay. It allows us to dive headfirst into the shadows of this world and our lives, and I think that's the key to the feeling whole — straddling both sides. Science has a place, but so does the esoteric. You can't prove love, but we all feel it. — LISA MARIE BASILE

View this post on Instagram

Sunday afternoons at home. 📸 by @michaelsterling

A post shared by Andi Talarico (@anditalarico) on Apr 7, 2019 at 10:18am PDT

ANDI TALARICO: I definitely look through several horoscopes during the morning to see what my day/week might bring me. I mean, the basis of horoscopes are transits, what the movement of the current celestial journey means in my zodiac placements, and I love that about horoscopes — how it's a constant reminder that everything changes, nothing stays still, and how cyclical life can be, for good or bad.

I like to look to the planets/celestial bodies and their assigned western astrological associations for greater personal meeting. Like, what does it mean to be represented, as I am, by the Moon? The Moon shines because it reflects the light that is given to it. I feel the same way, again, for good and bad. I also shine brightest when I'm basking in the the light of stimulating conversation and affection. I turn inward and dark when I'm not given light to work with.

Also, since the Moon transits more often than other bodies, since it's constantly waxing or waning, it serves as a beautiful remind to keep pushing forward, that this moment isn't forever, to enjoy the view and perspective before it changes yet again. It's why I have a little crescent moon tattooed on my finger — my constant reminder that the only constant is change.

How do you feel connected or represented by Pluto, Lisa? Pluto is such a symbolically important planet of creative destruction, I'd love to hear your thoughts on that!

What does it mean to be represented, as I am, by the Moon? The Moon shines because it reflects the light that is given to it. I feel the same way, again, for good and bad. I also shine brightest when I'm basking in the the light of stimulating conversation and affection. I turn inward and dark when I'm not given light to work with. — ANDI TALARICO

LISA MARIE BASILE: Oh, that’s so beautiful! When you say, “I turn inward and dark when I'm not given light to work with,” I feel that in my core! I love the idea of this cosmic duality, how it represents the shadowy quietude and the display of light. It reminds me that we are all just star stuff. It’s why I started Luna Luna! 

It’s funny you mention the tattoo, because I have one that also reminds me that things change; it’s an ampersand. Maybe that’s why you and I are so drawn astrology? That it provides a foundation we can find stability in but the fluidity we need to always be growing.

I think the fact that Pluto has been considered a planet, a not-planet, an exoplanet and whatever else, is very beautiful—a perfect and living representation of Pluto as a symbol: it dies and is reborn, and yet it remains this beautiful archetype of transformation, weathering the storms of idea and rule and order. Could literally anything be more perfect? 

Pluto is my beautiful ruler, and I am indebted to its reminders. I have always been able to die and rise. I lean into the dark and then I die. I go into dark periods of change and emerge. I almost need it more than the light. But I suppose, that is my language. The darkness becomes a kind of light that makes sense. 

I think that’s the beauty of this cosmic story. No matter what you believe or feel skeptical about, astrology’s narrative, symbolism and reminder to explore the grandness of human emotion and circumstance is all splayed out up there. We just need to look up. 

What do you think about people who say they they believe in astrology and make Huge Life Decisions around it? Do you think it’s important to figure astrology into your day to day? Jobs? Dates? Etc? Or do you think it serves its best purpose as a tool for introspection, rather than a rulebook?

No matter what you believe or feel skeptical about, astrology’s narrative, symbolism and reminder to explore the grandness of human emotion and circumstance is all splayed out up there. We just need to look up. — LISA MARIE BASILE

ANDI TALARICO: LOVE this: "...Pluto as a symbol: it dies and is reborn, and yet it remains this beautiful archetype of transformation, weathering the storms of idea and rule and order. "

View this post on Instagram

wandering the streets, finding magic in Spanish taverns and wooden bars and long conversations and hanging flowers 💐 camera 📷 by either @lifestudies or @anditalarico

A post shared by lisa marie basile (@lisamariebasile) on Apr 15, 2019 at 8:50am PDT

As for me, I don't make huge life decisions based on astrology in the sense, that, say, I won't work with people of certain signs or judge them based on their natal chart. The idea of not dating this sign or that sign is a prejudice to me, and unfair. Even knowing someone's chart information is an act of intimacy — that's private knowledge — and to use it against someone or to think you know everything about a person based on it...hell no. Absolutely not.

Can it help you locate potential challenges? Yes, I believe that. Is is exciting when your synastry is in alignment and looks positive? Of course. But we're all much more than our natal charts. We're our upbringing, we're our ancestors, we're survivors, we're our good days and bad days, we're what we've been allowed to be and what we've rebelled against. Our zodiac signs matter but they don't make or break us.

I WILL make decisions based on transits and the moon's phases, though. Like, new beginnings during the new moon — that just makes sense to my entire being, both my physical and spiritual self. I definitely believe in harnessing the new energy at the start of a new zodiac phase — focus on good communication at the start of Gemini season! Make those spreadsheets in honor of Virgos everywhere! Get real sexy at Scorpio time!

But, would I, say, not send an important email when Mercury's in Retrograde? No, I try not to rely THAT heavily on astrology. I try to use it more as a guide and tool for learning than a strict rulebook. But...I also hate rules and authority in general. I naturally bristle against those who think they have the exact answers, at least in areas that don't involve exactitude and true yes or no areas. I'm a skeptical human, in many ways.

Is is exciting when your synastry is in alignment and looks positive? Of course. But we're all much more than our natal charts. We're our upbringing, we're our ancestors, we're survivors, we're our good days and bad days, we're what we've been allowed to be and what we've rebelled against. Our zodiac signs matter but they don't make or break us. — ANDI TALARICO

FANCY THE COSMOS, WINE, AND A COZY CONVERSATION BETWEEN FRIENDS? LISTEN TO THE ASTROLUSHES PODCAST HERE

---

Christine Shan Shan Hou In Conversation With Vi Khi Nao

BY VI KHI NAO
in conversation with CHRISTINE SHAN SHAN HOU

VI KHI NAO: How would you describe your poetry and your art (collage)? Do they seem similar to you? How close do you feel to Dadaism? Is there a particular literary movement or artistic movement you wish had been invented? 

CHRISTINE SHAN SHAN HOU: I look at both my poems and my collages like miniature worlds—each filled with their own characters, tastes, textures, and elements of strangeness and love. However, I actually feel like my poetry and collage are quite different from one another; my poetry—specifically the process of writing poetry—feels heavier, darker, whereas my collages feel lighter and more directly pleasurable. Writing poetry is hard. Collaging is fun. I don’t feel particularly close to Dadaism. I remember studying them in college and being very excited at first, but now I look at them and think: Look at all those old white men! Now that we’ve seen the first image of the black hole, I wonder: What would movement look like in a black hole?

VKN: Your collection, Community Garden For Lonely Girls, shows that you have a natural linguistic impulse to produce words/thoughts that mirror each other—as if you were trying to use the rhetoric of repetition to create content by allowing it to erase itself through doubling. For example, lines such as “my ancestors’ ghosts have ghosts” (p.3), “my split ends have split ends” (p. 4), “If I lay here, how long will I lay here?” (p. 18), “Act without acting out” (p.54), etc. Do you prefer sentences/lines that never look at each other or always look at each other? 

When you write these lines, I think that your poetry uses symmetry as a way to acknowledge the lexical self they haven’t been able to access; when a particular word repeats itself in the same context, it brings something out. What do you hope to bring out? In each other, meaning poetry and yourself. 

CSSH: I love this question, this image, of two sentences/lines looking at each other. It brings to mind an artwork by the Korean artist, Koo Jeong A. She made this one piece called Ousss Sister (2010) where two projections of the full moon are facing each other within a very narrow space. It is so bewildering, this concept of a self without eyes looking at one’s self. Is this still considered “looking” if one can’t see? Does one have to have eyes in order to have a face? I prefer sentences that look at each other, even though my sentences don’t always have eyes. Meaning arises from the act of looking. Repetition ensures its existence. Where there is existence, there is possibility bubbling beneath the surface. When I repeat words within sentence structures I am suggesting a possibility. A possibility for what? I don’t know.

When people read my poetry their hair grows a little longer. 

VKN: That is a mesmerizing image from Koo Jeong A. It reminds me of a pair of lungs. If your collages and your poems were to arm-wrestle each other and the yoga instructor/practitioner in you was forced to be the ultimate referee, who would win that tournament? And, ideally, which two aesthetic competitors would you like to see compete with each other in a match? Would you prefer to be the cheerleader or the umpire? If the winner between the two mentioned competitors (collages & poems) is the one who is able to break a reader/viewer’s aesthetic heart the fastest, which one would it be? 

CSSH: My collages would definitely win! My visual art feels lighter and not so bogged down by my past, by my thoughts, or by the heaviness of the language in the air! When I make collages, I am often listening to a podcast, or music, or have a tv show on in the background, all of which feels good for my brain, whereas when I am writing poetry, I can’t have any other distractions. I have to be very in it. One could argue that this extreme awareness of the present when writing poetry seems more mindful than the multitasking of collaging, but ultimately for me, the collage process is much more enjoyable, and the yoga instructor in me will lean towards the direction of joy. I think my collages would break the reader/viewer’s aesthetic heart the fastest. 

I would love to see film go head-to-head with any form of live art. 

VKN: Why do you want your readers’ hair to grow a little longer? I would hope it would grow shorter, to defy the law of gravity or the law of expansion. 

CSSH: Honestly, I don’t know why! It was just an image that floated into my head. I think it’s because I equate growing hair to growing older, which also means growing calmer. 

VKN: You are currently a poetry professor at Columbia. Do you enjoy teaching? Would you ever play a prank on your students? If so, what would be one prank that would bring out your impishness? What collage of yours or poem of yours would be a great example of a prank? What poem or collage of yours (or someone else’s) would be equivalent to this prank? And, what is the best way for a student of the arts or in general to express rebellion?    

CSSH: I do enjoy teaching. It is very invigorating to be in a room with young people who are as excited by poetry as me! However, to be honest, I prefer teaching yoga over teaching poetry. I’m not much of a prankster, but the poem that is closest to a prank is “Masculinity and the Imperative to Prove it” in Community Garden For Lonely Girls

That prank is very funny, but also mean. I think I’m too sensitive for pranks. I realize that makes me sound a little bit like a wet blanket, but I am ok with that. I think the best way for a student of the arts to express rebellion is to pursue the practice outside of the academic institution and at one’s own pace, whether that pace is a sprint or a crawl. 

VKN: I view pranks as one way or a tool an artist can use to express him or herself creatively in a comedic fashion. My brother sent me that prank at a sad point in my life, and it cheered me up and made me feel closer to him. I do not view it as a gesture of meanness, as in: shampoo is just shampoo and irritation is irritation and water running down one’s face excessively once every millennium is a divine act of profound charity. 

Speaking of visual or kinetic creativity, one can view your visual works on your Instagram: hypothetical arrangement. Can you talk about the piece below? Can you walk us through the process of how you created it? From seed of conception to final product? 

How often do you make your collages? I know you have one daughter, but in terms of sibling rivalry (how many of you are there, btw?), has poetry ever fought with you for creative space because you devote more time to one discipline or art form rather than another? You must understand scissors and surgical knives very well. Do you ever feel like you are a surgeon? Have you ever created a collage where you feel like you are performing a heart surgery and the life of this art piece heavily depends on how well you incise? Have you ever cut through the artery of an image and felt lost or lonely or regretful or sorrowful or overjoyed? 

CSSH: This collage is called “Self-actualization (in recline).” When I make collages I go through old magazines and start cutting out images that speak to me. I have several categories for images and three of them are: food, women, and seascape/landscape. I don’t remember how I arrived at this final image, but I remember liking the way the red flowers contrasted with the dreary, soft slices of bread and then the ease of the woman’s posture. I like her shimmering periwinkle outfit and her pet bird in the background.

I try to make at least one collage a week, but that doesn’t always happen. I tend to make many collages in a short period of time, or even in one sitting, and then occasionally mess with them for a few minutes every few days, until I feel satisfied with them. 

I am one out of four siblings. However I do not see any “sibling rivalry” between poetry and my yoga and/or collage practice. I think they all work in harmony with one another and give each other the time and space to breathe.

Yes! I definitely feel like a surgeon when I am making collages. I use an x-acto knife so I can really get into the details. And there are so many pieces I’ve considered “ruined” or “dead” because I was too impatient with the cutting of a very precise detail. But then I immediately let it go. I try not to get too precious about paper arteries. 

VKN: Will you break down the poem “A History of Detainment” (p. 72) or (“Masculinity and the Imperative to Prove it,” or why this poem may feel pranky to you) from your collection, Community Garden For Lonely Girls, for us, Christine? Can you talk about the process of writing that poem? Do you recall writing it? What was it like? Where were you emotionally? Intellectually? Were you preparing a meal? On a train? Or what piece of writing/art inspired it? Did it take you long? And, could you talk to us about this line: “While navigating the meadow of hypotheticals, I tripped and broke my arm” (p.72). If you broke your arm, what one line from a canonized poet would you want to scribble on your cast? 

CSSH: “A History of Detainment” is so long and heavy and my brain is so tired after a full day of running around with my kid. But I can say a little bit about “Masculinity and the Imperative to Prove It”: When I was a child, my grandparents owned a Chinese restaurant called Oriental Court inside of a New Jersey shopping mall. Every Saturday night my entire paternal family—grandparents, all of their children and all of their children's children—would eat dinner after the mall's closing hours. After the meal, me, my siblings, and my cousins would run around like crazed little people in the empty mall and play all sorts of games including: "Red Light Green Light," "Red Rover," "What Time is it Mr. Fox?" and "Mother May I."

However, the golden rule was that we had to wait at least thirty minutes after eating before engaging in any physical activity, or you would get sick. When I was a young girl, I was often ashamed of my body. I used to wish that I were white so that I could fit in with the popular crowd; I would make myself throw up because I thought I was fat; and because I was sick a lot as a child, I would view my medical issues as a reflection of moral shortcomings. In other words, I was a very sad child. But at the end of the poem, the sad child is actually a fish. And we all know that a salad can be both a curse and a blessing. 

VKN: That’s a very beautiful story, Christine. I understand your tiredness. Perhaps this last question then: What do you think is the best way for one poet to feel at home in a poetry collection by another poet?

CSSH: Poetry collections are like homes unto themselves. I think the best way for a poet to feel at home in someone else’s poetry collection is by taking their time while reading it and listening closely, attentively, to what it is trying to say.

---

Christine Shan Shan Hou is a poet and visual artist based in Brooklyn, NY. Publications include Community Garden for Lonely Girls (Gramma Poetry 2017),“I'm Sunlight” (The Song Cave 2016), and C O N C R E T E  S O U N D (2011) a collaborative artists’ book with Audra Wolowiec. She currently teaches yoga in Brooklyn and poetry at Columbia University. christinehou.com

VI KHI NAO is the author of Sheep Machine (Black Sun Lit, 2018) and Umbilical Hospital (Press 1913, 2017), and of the short stories collection, A Brief Alphabet of Torture, which won FC2’s Ronald Sukenick Innovative Fiction Prize in 2016, the novel, Fish in Exile (Coffee House Press, 2016), and the poetry collection, The Old Philosopher, which won the Nightboat Books Prize for Poetry in 2014.  Her work includes poetry, fiction, film and cross-genre collaboration. Her stories, poems, and drawings have appeared in NOON, Ploughshares, Black Warrior Review and BOMB, among others. She holds an MFA in fiction from Brown University.