Making cloth is such a beautiful and humble practice. I am obsessed, especially because so much time and labor are involved in weaving. Within a rapidly changing world which prioritizes tech, my discipline and motivation to produce meaningful thought provoking work remains the same. I am invested in processes that are not digital, or adapted from technology, but human driven. Slow and simple traditional methods which continue to be reliable, with the use of hands instead of computers. In a capitalist world where commerce overtakes creativity for the sake of profit, my only investment is to hand produce work with commentary on what I deem neglected and important. I don’t really care about selling the clothes from my runway shows, or producing seasonal garments; my runway shows are there to tell stories, and my work is there to whisper my obsessive ideas, opinions (and sometimes secrets) to the mass public. 

A Bloodline And Their Rituals.

Growing up in East Los Angeles, we get our nutrients from the corners. East Los Angeles is where my unnamed neighbors sit next to me on the public buses and crowded mercados. It’s where artisan hand painted eyebrows became a fad and rosaries dangle from our throats. Where frightening gunshots get mistaken for fluorescent firecrackers, and add warmth to our atmosphere. Where we spill our teeth over our subhuman occupations during the heat of the summer.

The concrete is meticulously tattooed with graffiti, so pure, however its expression is often misunderstood. Our blood; it gets misplaced with a type of sticky tar. Our skin sizzles in the summer as we congregate under the sun in fields or in manufacturing factories scattered across this country. Our sweat drips and pools around our ankles, as our labor becomes someone else’s commodity. The community I was raised in, it places me under its tongue, and I’m absorbed into its gums. It’s dangerous. 

I come to realize how my Chicano identity and Latino background has become the originating genes to my body of art work and craft. The working class struggling family and community I was born into aided my drive for innovation, and a lust for “honest art” which to me, is realistic, relatable commentary on underprivileged lives. I come from a culture of people you never see featured in popular magazines or media. Our lifestyle is evident and purely valid, however I continue to find narratives of our existence to be misconstrued. I want to showcase truth and honesty. This is the significance and integrity I wish to provide through destacarse. My apparel work and runway collections have always been really personal and intimate. 

Experience From Losing Teeth

One of my first professional runway showcases featured my Fall Winter 2015 collection titled “The Boy Who Dreamt Of Losing Teeth”. This collection was inspired by my discharge from a psychiatric mental hospital. The collection focused around recovery and phototaxis organisms. The color pallet for the clothing juxtaposed dark colors such as navy blue and black, but with neon orange and faded blues. Some garments also had dead moths sewn into the linings or behind clear plastic. The models graced the stages with bloody noses and bruises (makeup, of course) and I hand constructed metal face masks that also had moths and butterflies clustered onto them. I was twenty two years old. 

Another significant collection was my Spring Summer 2017 collection titled, “Sinnerman”. This collection was really a menswear collection but had very feminine details such as hand pleated tulle ruffles and lace. Some of the male models walked down the runway in knit dresses. This collection was inspired by gender and binary oppositions regarding human sexuality My models also had their arms dyed in Japanese ink to physically represent the “illness” of being queer onto the body. This period of my life allowed the DNA for this collection to unfold willingly. 

The next collection which I feel pushed me to extend beyond personal realities and enter into political commentary was my Spring Summer 2018 collection, “Travieso”. This collection was born in the era where children were being contained at borders in cages and unmentioned presidents were specifically targeting brown immigrants. “Travieso” was a collection that drew inspiration from both the Bracero Program in the 1940’s but also the Zoot Suit Riots. I think American society heavily (and secretly) relies on immigrants for staple industries such as the garment manufacturing industry and agricultural industry. Around this time, I had gotten fired from my job for whistleblowing cruel mistreatment towards the undocumented immigrants in the company. “Travieso ” showcased garments that had hand sketched, tattoo inspired cultural imagery screen printed onto select pieces. 

The layout of this show forced the audience members to be separated by a chain link fence that ran along the runway. Audience members were seated on both sides of the fence, looking at the clothes on the models and the audience on the opposing side of the fence, as a border. This emphasis of separation was crucial to my strategy presenting a blatant division of people that I wanted to provide commentary on. It was obvious and it was cold. Lastly, the model who opened the show was wearing a hand draped chunk of metal chain link fence. This wearable piece was inspired by the reality that immigrants in America always carry the weight of the border on their shoulders.  Intersectionality is a very fascinating format, and with my work, I want to introduce narratives that allow my audience to resonate and understand immigrants, and the underprivileged. I hand construct every garment in my collections, and am hoping to showcase a new collection after I graduate from RISD. This collection will be  titled, “Dolores”, which means Pains in Spanish. My fingers are crossed. 

Left Image: From “Travieso.” Right Image from New Collection, “Dolores.”

Weaving Possibilities

I am currently developing woven textile work and learning how to weave while earning an MFA in Textiles at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD). I got accepted into RISD with no prior weaving knowledge, and so here is where I am completing my full circle of garment development. I feel like I have enough knowledge and experience on how to produce a garment; the final link that was missing from my skill set was the ability to produce the textile for the garments. Now I am learning how to weave both by hand and machine to produce the woven structures for my garment. I learned how to use an eight shaft floor loom, and soon I will learn how to weave using a Dobby loom and industrial Jacquard loom. Making cloth is such a beautiful and humble practice. I am obsessed, especially because so much time and labor are involved in weaving. 

  My label, destacarse., was formed originally to showcase abstract garments. Since then I have been transitioning my brand to highlight Chicano culture and what I deem as “East Los Angeles realism”. Now, I am in the early stages of investigating how my brand can really produce nearly 100% hand made and housemade goods and artwork without outsourcing. I know after I graduate, I will expand my work and products on a somewhat larger scale. Slow fashion is the way to go, and I am even considering how to find a way to produce all the textiles for my garments as well. 

  I value handmade work. Where there is technology, there is ease and a lack of trial. The trial for error is supremely human. Technology and its abilities are a major crutch on civilization. We no longer solve math problems in our head or on paper, we use the calculator app on our iphones. We have no need to write grant proposals for non profit organizations, we now use AI. Chronic convenience suffocates human motivation. All these shortcuts diminish our ability to think creatively and independently. However, as we, a society continue to use technology to solve all our problems for us, at the same time this is happening, we are beginning to undervalue the ability of craft and handmade. There is a tremendous amount of trade and skill that goes into constructing a garment, so why are seamstresses getting paid subhuman wages? Why are there declining artisans worldwide who specialize in shoes, apparel, handbags etc. Why are there no longer special members in each family who sew clothes for the family and mend on a domestic level? I think one answer lies in the creation of the assembly line, pushed by the industrial revolution. The disassemblage of craftsmanship was caused by the expansive mass producing assembly line; where employees are forced to remove themselves from a “start to finish” process, and only perform a one step task repeated in a production line. Hand making, the skill to be able to build and make something on your own, is a weapon against capitalism and in some ways can be the most political step away from government, because you no longer require monopolizing companies to sell you goods and services. In my opinion, we have to relearn these archaic ways of life. 

 I still find myself unsatisfied by all these absurd systems. At the moment, I find myself caught in the jaw of an art school. My past and future are flashing before my eyes like a fire alarm signaled during a therapy session. I come from a community where art is labeled as “Folk Art”, instead of “Fine Art”. Beyond all this I have realized that my integrity and dedication to my craft has gotten me to where I am today. Since high school, I am doing exactly what I set out to do to my surprise. I still have so much more to learn and experience. I still want to study textiles and denim manufacturing in Okayama Japan, too. Dedicating my life and labor to design and craft has been challenging, but I have a feeling that things will eventually work out. I feel like I am in my own little golden age. 

The post Dissecting Destacarse appeared first on The New Absurdist.

Can you tell me anything about the name MAROU?

You know what, when I was younger I would always hear these names like Selena Gomez, Taylor Swift, and be like that’s a great name. These people were just born with these names? Well then they were destined to do this. Angela Peters? I can’t really see that on a marquee or anything, “Now Starring Tonight Angela Peters!” It just didn’t have that feel to it. So I was talking to my sister one day, and I thought if I really want to do this music thing I want a name. Then I can be whoever I want. I can have this new persona, I don’t have to be this shy Ang who’s too scared to even sing in her room. 

But I love that it’s not like you’ve created a persona, it’s simply that you’ve grown into who you truly are, through doing this. And it’s genuinely you, which is lovely.

Yes! So my sister was just like, “alright let’s think of a name.” And I kind of wanted it to be just one name, one word. We were at Whole Foods one day and my sister was like “what about Marou?” And I was like, “huh that kind of slaps. How’d you just think of Marou like that?” We’re in line just buying kombucha or something. And she’s like, “oh look at that chocolate bar over there, it just says Marou.” I saw it and I was just repeating the word in my head over and over like, yeah, that works. Later I was fooling around with the font and stuff, like do I want uppercase first letter, all lowercase? I figured no, I want it all caps, just MAROU. So it hits you. 

A statement.

This is MAROU. I started signing my name as that at open mics and I love it. It fits. At first it felt like this person I would step into, but now, hi what’s up I’m MAROU. I’ve really grown into it.

Before you were MAROU, do you remember what first got you into music? 

You know, I was thinking about it yesterday, it’s crazy because I remember this vivid memory of me being in first grade (laughs) and we were doing this thing of like “oh what do you want to be when you grow up?” And I was really into American Idol. I would watch it all the time with my mom, like Simon Cowel, I think it was Paula Abdul, and Randy Jackson, and I told my teacher, “I want to be a singer!” and she was like “What? No!” and I was like “Okay.. I want to be a vet”. Which is weird, because I never really had any interest in singing back then, but I was like “oh that’s cool”, you know. It wasn’t until middle school, when my brother went to the Cayman Islands, and brought me back a ukulele that I started getting serious about an instrument. But then I was like “okay I can’t just play it, I have to sing too”. 

It just felt like that was a natural combination. 

Exactly, and I think even before that I always liked singing, but I was never confident in myself, because I was like, a kid. I remember when Adele was really hitting it big, I was singing her in first grade. I did a talent show and I think I sang Rolling in the Deep. (laughs) I had no reason to be singing that song when I was that young. And oh my god there was a talent show in fourth grade, where I hula hooped for one half, and the other half I sang Who Says, by Selena Gomez. 

A classic. 

I mean it was bad, it was really bad I will admit. So then I played saxophone for a few years in school. So I had little bits and pieces growing up. But I wouldn’t say I really started getting into music until my brother bought me that ukulele when I was 12. I learned Riptide, of course. I was really into Leon Bridges, so I started singing him. And then that’s when I made a youtube channel, and was like “I want to be youtube famous, I want Ellen Degeneres to discover me”. So yeah I was really into Leon Bridges,  I played some Ariana Grande. But the thing is I was just not confident in my singing abilities. 

I would tell my mom, “Hey mom I’m going to go upstairs and record a youtube video, please stay downstairs until I come get you” And she was so cool she was like, “okay do your thing”. And sometimes it would be hours. I was too hard on myself I think, because if I messed up just even a little bit, which no one could hear but myself, I’d be like no I need to start over again. And the videos never took off or anything, but it was fun. I’d come home from school and be so excited to learn a new song.

When did you get your first guitar?

My dad had one, so I always had one in my room. I always looked at it, but I never picked it up, I was too into ukulele to try anything else. But then, the pandemic hit and I remember I was just so bored. I remember getting tired of the ukulele, at least the standard one, because it was so high pitched and it didn’t really fit my voice. I bought a baritone ukulele, and that sounded more like a guitar. So when the pandemic hit I was like, why don’t I just learn guitar, because I’m already kind of playing it. 

It was April 2020, and I told myself I was going to learn the hardest song for my level, then everything else will be easy after that. I tried learning Blackbird by The Beatles. I never finished it, because I was like nah this is too hard for me right now (laughs). I also really loved writing, and I was really impatient with trying to learn chords on the guitar. I had so many songs but I didn’t know which chords to match my lyrics up to. So I would just make up chords, and be like “yeah that sounds good, let me just go with that.” That’s what I was doing for a while, I wasn’t really learning guitar, I was just doing my own thing. But it was fun. 

Do you think the pandemic and all that time spent at home encouraged you?

Yeah definitely. I was a senior in highschool, so I’d have online classes in the morning, and then my sister and I would go on our daily run. Then I’d have the rest of the day to myself, so music is what I filled my time with, which was really nice. 

You mentioned Leon Bridges, do you want to talk a little more about your influences? 

Leon Bridges definitely influenced me. I think I liked his soulful singing. It was more of the style I wanted to get into. He was the gateway into what I later listened to, like the musicians and music I love now. My sister also influenced a lot of my music tastes. 

Hmm I also remember I listened to one song by Big Thief…

Oh, okay, actually this is about to get deep.

It was the summer after my freshman year of college and I was home. I was studying animal science so I figured I had to get an internship related to that. I started working at this wildlife refuge, like 2 hours away from my home, it was insane. I’m from Jersey, and Jersey is pretty big, and this place was on the border of Pennsylvania. I was an unpaid intern…and I was working there like six days a week, and it sucked. Anyways, I had, or have, really bad OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, where you have intrusive thoughts and then compulsions. 

My brain will be like “oh I need you to touch this” or “turn off this light switch five times or else this is gonna happen.” And the “or else” part was always a fear of mine. 

So that was just really bad for a while. 

I’d wake up and it’d be like, “Don’t get in the car today or else, you’re gonna die on your way to work.” I would be so scared on this long drive in the morning because of that. Even though I knew nothing was going to happen, that’s just the disorder I guess. So the two hours in the car to the animal refuge and back was just horrible. The whole way I was driving was just, “Don’t switch lanes or you’re going to get hit by a car”, or “Don’t do this or this will happen.”

So I was having a miserable time, and I remember Mythological Beauty by Big Thief came on. And there was something about it, because I just relaxed and I wasn’t thinking about any of the bad things that might happen. So from then on, I listened to Big Thief for the entirety of my car ride, and that just became my routine. I’d wake up and immediately start listening to them, because I was like as long as I’m listening to this, my mind isn’t thinking about anything else. That’s initially how I got into them. Adrianne Lenker’s voice was so soothing and I was starting to relate to the lyrics. I remember they were my top Spotify artist for the year because you know, two hours there, two hours back really started to add up. 

Now I would say they’re really an influence because of their writing style.

Back then I depended on their music, because it shut my brain off, but now that I’m past that stage in my life, I can appreciate them more as a band and less as a…

A lifeline? 

Yeah, yeah exactly (laughs).  

Inspiration

I wanted to talk about your writing process. Before you started playing music, was writing something that you did often? 

Well when I was playing ukulele, I wasn’t really too big into writing, I don’t think I had anything to write about honestly. I do have one embarrassing story though. I was in second grade and had a crush on a guy at my school, and I wrote a little song about him. And for some reason, I don’t know why I did this, but I set the song about my love for him as the background of the family computer! I was so embarrassed because my sister saw it and was like “what is this!!” and everyone was just laughing at me, which I probably deserved (laughs). 

How old were you? 

I was in second grade! I think that incident probably discouraged me without me knowing. When I started playing the ukulele I didn’t really write too much, it really began when I picked up the guitar.

A lot of the songs you write are about relationships right?

Yeah! (Laughs)

What kind of relationships are you often thinking about when you write, or create? 

I’d say 95 percent of my songs are about romantic relationships, about guys I’ve dated. And it always used to be about the same kind of guy. About me getting myself into these situations where I know I shouldn’t, but I do anyway.  Just things that don’t really work out, or I’m in it, and as I’m in it I know this isn’t going to work out but I stay anyways. I know I shouldn’t but I do. 

So it’s more singing about yourself, rather than these people. 

Yeah, it’s me singing about how I know I deserved better, and the ways I grew from those things. Like I’ve experienced going through all that, and yet here I am. 

I sing a lot about my relationship with myself too. The OCD, how that was tiring and lonely, and I felt like I was going insane. And then my sister, I have a song called Sister…about my sister.  Because she’s really been my best friend and has influenced a lot of the music I listen to now. She would always share her music with me. I have some lyrics, Sister, why don’t you come back home / Sister, why don’t you pick up the phone. We’re eight years apart, so she’d be in college and I’d be home, wishing I had her to talk to. So this song is just about, being the youngest sister and needing my best friend to help me through high school and stuff. Another lyric is, am I gonna be like you? Because I’ve always looked up to her. 

She went to grad school for photography, and I think if it wasn’t for her taking that path, I probably wouldn’t be as confident as I am now following my own path. Because my brother is a big science guy and pursued aerospace engineering, and when it was my sister’s turn she went to art school, and my parents were like woah. She kind of broke the ice ya know, so now with me doing music I think I’m able to just do it. Like, okay my sister did it so now I can do it. I’ve always looked up to her for that, I just think she’s the coolest person ever. 

So yeah, I tend to write songs about my romantic relationships, my sister, and myself. 

On that concise note, if you had to choose three words to describe your genre, style, content, what would they be? 

Hmm, okay you know what, I started writing my spotify bio recently and I actually really liked what I wrote there. Okay, I would say… (laughs) but I don’t want to sound like, full of myself. 

Disclaimer everyone, she’s not trying to sound full of herself!

I mean, probably haunting, introspective (laughs) wow this is good, and vulnerable I guess. 

Don’t you have a song called Haunted? 

Yeah I do! I like storytelling through my songs. I try to get people to feel like they can see what’s going on. That’s why I would say vulnerable and introspective. 

Getting Started

What has performing live been like for you so far? 

Well I knew once I went to college I was going to have to get over my fear of performing. I knew it was going to suck, but I was ready for it. I was working at this coffee shop, and everyone was just the sweetest. One of the managers was in a band and he invited me to open for them at their house show! I had never sung in front of anyone before. He was like “yeah this could be your big debut, open for us at our house show! It’ll be chill, we’ll have our friends over” and I was like “what!” And I knew I HAD to do this, this would be the start. 

So I did it. I remember I was so nervous and my voice was quaking, but I got through it! The next year I started playing at the open mics the cafe would have every week. I was getting good feedback which I really needed to boost my confidence. At one point I was like okay, I’m ready to move on to bigger open mics.

I was living down in Kingston RI, and I guess the big city was Providence. I called up this place Askew, which was the first open mic I went to here. It was January 2022, and there weren’t a lot of people there which was nice. I got some great feedback from a guy called Jake, I remember I saw him walking and he had on cowboy boots, cowboy hat. I was at the bar getting a water and he came up to me, and was like “that was awesome”. He was up next and his voice just blew me away, so I thought “well if this guy thinks I’m good I gotta keep doing this.” 

After that, any free time I had I would just practice for the open mic. Like practice, practice, practice. And every Monday night I would go back to Askew. That was definitely when I got my foot in the door. The next year I switched majors, which then took up a lot more of my time and I wasn’t able to do music as much. That destroyed me. So I was like alright, during the summer, I’m just gonna take a break from everything academia, and I was determined to move to Providence and do what makes me happy for three months. I wanted to immerse myself in music and work a job that allows me to do that and see what happens. 

So that brings us to this past summer. 

Yes! (drums on table) 2023 baby! 

MAROU takes off!

(Laughs) Thank you. Yeah, I mean I told my parents I wasn’t going to do an internship, and they’ve always been supportive. So I moved to Providence, and lo and behold, typed in “coffee shop jobs providence”,  cause that was the only thing I could think of. Pretty soon I started working as a barista which was great because I had my evenings free for music and performing. I was doing Monday nights at Askew, Wednesday nights at the Parlor, and then in between trying to book shows. Wherever I could, whenever I could. And that’s the happiest I’ve ever been, it’s been awesome. 

I remember one day sitting in my bed being like damn, if high school me could see me now, she’d be so surprised. 

And proud!

And proud! It just felt so right, everytime I stepped on stage. 

When I was 12, my sister took me to see Matt Corby, this indie singer from Australia. We were front row, and I remember standing there and his voice was so deep and rich. It stirred something inside of me, and I was like I don’t know what this feeling is, but I want to feel this all the time. I don’t know how, but I need this. I don’t know if I’ll be behind the stage or in the audience, but I know I have to be in this music thing somehow. 

So when I started doing these shows, I felt that again, which was really cool and very reassuring. Like here is that feeling I’ve been trying to figure out, this is what it’s been trying to tell me. The moment I felt that again I was like holy shit! I solved it! I solved the puzzle! It was my first show of the summer at AS220, and I went home after and just cried because I was so happy. 

Do you have any pre-show rituals?

Normally I call my mom and dad (laughs). I’ll be like “heyy I’m bouta perform.” Because they’ve always been supportive of me, so I like to let them know I’m doing this, not only because of me but because of them too, like “thanks guys, talk to you after!” So I do that. 

How has collaborating with local musicians in Providence been for you?

I will say, this guy Daniel Pond, who is part of Scaffolding, has definitely been a musical guide of sorts around here. He knows almost every musician in Providence. He was my go to this past summer. If I needed musicians for a gig, or recommendations for a  new amp, he would be my guy. Or if I was like “hey how do I go about playing a show at Red Ink” he’d be like “I’ve got a show lined up for you.” He’s been so awesome. 

The Making of an Album

Last year you released your EP There’s Time for Me, and there are some really special songs on there. 

Let’s see, all of the songs I’ve written, I’ve written after a mental breakdown. That’s the only way I’ve written songs up until now. I would try and sit down if I had extra time and write stuff but I just couldn’t. Nothing creative would come out. It would only happen after I got so worked up, I would be in my room between 11pm-2am and just start crying. Then I’d get mad at myself for it and want to channel that into something else. So I’d pick up my guitar. Sometimes I’d just strum a chord and instantly words would come out and it would work. 

One of my songs I really like, Midday Mourning, was written about my ferret Mimi. My freshman year of college I was really missing her.  One night I was crying and I told myself “I’m tired of crying, it feels like, not useless, but what am I crying for” you know? So I picked up my guitar to see if writing a song would give me something to put all that emotion into. I strummed two chords and the words came out, without writing anything down. But now I’m in a place where I haven’t had a mental breakdown in a while, cause I’m actually genuinely happy. So I’m kind of in a rut now honestly (laughs). That’s the only way I’ve known how to write songs so now I’m like “what do I do!” Which is great because I’m happy, but music-wise I don’t know what to do. 

You also released a music video alongside the EP for your song What If.  

So a year prior to making that video, I had expressed on my instagram that I was interested in recording my music but didn’t know where to start. So my friend was like hey I have all the equipment, come to my house with like five songs ready and we’ll record an EP. And I was like HUH? REAllY? So yeah, we did that. Later that year there was some delay with the release, and I was itching to keep creating and to get something done, so I was like what if I made a music video to release with the song! I had all this creative energy I wanted to do something with. I picked the song that meant the most to me, What If,  and I went looking for someone who could help me put all these ideas together.

How was the process of creating the video, and seeing one of your songs come to life in a visual sense? 

My friend Hayden Carr-Loize is a film guy in addition to being a musician, and he was super interested in the idea. We met up one day to brainstorm, and I knew how I wanted certain pieces of the video to go but not everything. A week later he sent me a storyboard and a full script. He was on that shit. I remember reading it and thinking, this is fucking perfect, I love this. So everyone got together and we recorded in New Jersey. We didn’t have specific places in mind, we sort of wandered around and certain things worked out.  At first I thought it was going to be really nerve wracking, but like I said it just felt so natural. Then we headed back to the city and ended up on Roosevelt Island.

 Oh! And there was a dance scene! This was one part that I knew I wanted in it. I wanted to choreograph a dance scene at the end. I love dancing, I won’t say I’m a great dancer but I love it. So yeah I choreographed it and I’m so proud of it. I knew I wanted it to be the ending of the video, I knew I wanted it to be sunset and I’d be doing this dance. So we’re on the island, up on a hill. I lay out this blanket and I just go for it. Again, I thought I would be nervous because I’ve never danced in front of anyone. Singing is vulnerable and dancing is a whole other thing. It felt so great.  Not the whole thing made it into the original video, but they did record a clip of the whole dance, which I actually just released as an alternative music video!

It was a very important music video, because it was about OCD. I wanted to encapsulate everything I’ve been through with it, and the video ended up doing exactly what I wanted it to. The dance scene was me releasing a lot of those feelings, and starting new. 

By the time the music was ready to be released I was going through a really hard time, I was going through a break up, and I really needed a win. This video definitely felt like it. 

This reminds me of something we were talking about earlier; the idea that art is not only what you do, it’s who you are. 

That’s exactly what I sing about. Like the OCD. That has had such a hold on my life for so long, and that’s why I sing about it. It’s who I was. These relationships too, I put them into song because they’ve had some kind of role in who I am today, they have shaped me. The music is a product of what I go through in life. Art is not only what you do, it’s also who you are. It manifests into what you create.

Reassurance

Could you tell me what you’re most proud of, music or otherwise?

I think number one, it would be that I’ve gotten myself to this place where if you told me to sing right now I’d be like “yeah alright get me by guitar and I’ll go right now.” If you asked me that back in high school, I would just freeze, and the fact that I can just do it now is pretty great. 

Okay wait actually, you know the thing I’m most proud of right now is my Red Door show I did this past summer! The Sharon Van Etten cover band that I put together. Let’s see, the venue was putting on a benefit show for Sojourner House, and it was a woman-led cover band event. There were a bunch of bands playing – they were doing Taylor Swift covers, Alanis Morrissette covers, and Blondie covers. There was an extra spot for a band and I was so fortunate enough to snag it last minute.

I had one week to put a band together. And this was going to be the biggest event I had done yet, like the streets were going to be closed off, there was going to be a stage, it was outside, insane. Sometimes the way I prepare for these things is I don’t really think too much about it until the day of, or else I freak myself out. So I was like, okay I know I need to get this done, I know I need to put a band together. I gotta practice, but I’m not gonna think about it otherwise. 

I was texting people I knew who were musicians, I needed a guitarist, bassist, drummer, maybe a keyboardist and then I’m good. I got all that together, and it was so great. I love being part of a music community where I can just be like hey, anyone want to play this gig with me? And a bunch of people are just like “Yeah totally!” So we met up to practice just three days before the show.

 Lets see, Keith Haupt was on drums, Niels Versavel on bass, and Ethan Dowding on guitar. We ran through like five Sharon Van Etten songs, and they had never really listened to her, so they were like we’ll just follow you, which was sick. And it went great! 

We ran through it again on Friday and then we just went for it! Saturday it was go time, and I remember being on stage and realizing this was the first time I had performed with a band, especially in such a large setting. I was also performing songs that weren’t my own. It was exhilarating. It was so fun, and I want to do this all the time. I thought singing by myself was great but no, I need a band! Having the crowd clap and cheer, it was just even more reassuring. 

Was it one of the larger crowds you’ve had? 

Oh yeah, it was the biggest crowd I’ve had yet. I know they didn’t just show up for me specifically, but even still being in front of that many people was great. 

So you mostly perform your own songs?

I mean at open mics I’ll do a few covers here and there, but if I’m doing shows I’ll do my own music. This was the first time I sang all covers. Not only was I playing somebody else’s songs, it was a cover band, so I was also trying to give off her energy on stage. And it just worked out, it felt so natural.

The next day I posted the performance and Sharon Van Etten saw it! And she reposted it! And she said was so honored. The fact that my idol said she was honored I sang her songs, was even more of a – I’m gonna say it again – reassurance. 

That you’re on the right path.

Exactly, that I gotta keep doing this, I gotta keep going.

Keep up with MAROU on Instagram, YouTube & Spotify

The post MAROU appeared first on The New Absurdist.

Community Programming (For Our Neighbors)

If I had to have a Mission Statement as an artist, it would be to bring joy and thoughtfulness to society as a whole. To do this, I believe it’s important to make sure the art projects I create can also reach those who may not frequent the theater space. In March of 2023, the Asian American Arts Alliance selected my Polaroid Photo Booth project as the recipient of their microgrant. The What Can We Do initiative was born in response to the rise of anti-Asian hate crimes during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic and is ongoing still. The call to action was simple: to give community care for the Chinatown or Flushing community. 

In May, I carried out the project with the help of The Table Church, located in Chinatown, and we set up a station outside Hamilton-Madison House, a non-profit settlement that focuses on the well-being of vulnerable populations. That afternoon, we handed out 80 polaroids to passerbys of all different ages and cultural backgrounds. I also put out a Sign-In book for anyone to write a message to the community, replete with stickers, markers, and stamps. We got many messages of support in different languages, and even received a doodle of a cat!

It was inspiring to see the community come and partake in such a serendipitous activity– to snap a photo on the corner of the street, and take home a memento of the here and now. It gives good reason to smile on any day. The instantaneous nature of the project and the permanence of its value is something I treasure a lot. Whether that polaroid gets stuck behind a magnet on the fridge or lives in between stamp cards in a loved one’s wallet, it’s a simple tactile reminder of spreading joy.

A month later in June, I got the chance to share my project with the other WCWD grant recipients, and decided to continue planning pop-up polaroid booths around Manhattan. In August, we did a reprisal at Playground One, with lots of kids visiting to take photos! While it was rewarding to chat with the kids and strike poses with bright yellow boas and sequined top hats, I kept shifting focus to their parents and grandparents standing off to one side, looking fondly at the scene. When did the older adults in our lives step off the stage, and why did they feel necessary to make room for their kids?

Recent Performance

As a performer, I love working on both classical Shakespeare shows as well as developing experimental performance pieces– always looking for ways the two can converge and intersect. Most recently, I played Tamora in Shakespeare’s most bloody and gruesome tragedy, “Titus Andronicus”, directed by Harris Singer (founder of The Fool Volk theater collective). This playful rendition was pickled with puppets, masks, a 2-minute dance break, nudity, and a live tattoo operation– culminating in a fantastically creative marinade. Taking place in the East Village, the La MaMa Experimental Theater studios welcomed our Hallow’s Eve show, replete with a whipped cream pie to the face, signifying the characters’ final death (spoiler: almost everyone dies).

The form really is the content when playing with traditional theater structure, and through the devised nature of this piece, we were able to excavate the essence of Titus (revenge, desperation, cunning, and absurdity) into an experiential spectacle. Like much of the theater I’m passionate about, this project and the risks it takes– of both deviating from classical theater and on a corporeal level– opens up the performing arts to new and inclusive possibilities.

I’m always looking for the palpable feeling of urgency in theater. In the Titus experiment, the tickle attacks, pie in the face, and of course, the tattoo of the titular character’s name were all instances of performative reality etching itself into permanence. All at once, curtain slack is cut, and the audience is looking at a scene without the suspension of disbelief. A great inspiration in my work revolves around the circus arts (though I’m not physically built for it). The contemporary circus is the height of storytelling for me– not only how performers mobilize their bodies for entertainment, but to see the human body in all its limitless possibilities. The gravity-defying acts instill a sense of awe for humanity, but the danger reminds us of our fleeting morality. Good theater always makes me feel closer to humanity.

Devised Work

I firmly believe in the transformative power of participation when it comes to the performer-spectator relationship. Last spring, I devised a piece with my collaborators derived from Brecht’s “Baden-Baden Letter on Consent”. The story looked into shedding and transforming oneself so completely that an ordinary man would be “de-arranged” into a clownish body. Based on this description, my idea was to transform the script into an aerobics class, where the audience could participate in the workout exercise and repeat after the instructor’s empowerment spiel. When the audience arrived at the theater space, they were asked to give up a personal belonging for the admission price (to be later retrieved after the show). This could’ve been a hair tie, hat, or if they really trusted us, their keys and wallet. This was the introduction in shedding your old self– and all your burdens– to step into the new. How to Achieve Your Ideal Being 101.

Entering into the open space, the audience saw 8 instructors dressed in workout wear and took their seats on the floor in traditional spectatorship arrangement. What they would soon realize was that there were also performers spread out in the audience seating area as well, who were to be examples of “good audience members” by participating in the chants and routines. Much like Simon Says, I wanted to explore the participation dynamic of challenge, obedience, and play. When would they stop? Would they question what they were being asked to do? How might they see labor and work dynamics through the lens of recreational workout classes?

In a skull-grating and teeth-clenching jubilee, upbeat hyperpop 80s music started blasting as the instructors skipped onstage. The instructors took on the severity of drill sergeants, asking the unsuspecting audience members, “What are you paying with today? What are you worth, you good-for-nothing?!!!!” This was followed by “LETS GO HIGH KNEES EVERYONE”. The removal of personal burdens and the shedding of weight from extreme workout classes take on the same urgency in this participation parody. The frantic instructor script goes on for 10 more minutes, all the while the planted performers in the audience start dropping to the floor in exhaustion. Despite probably knowing they were planted, I relied on the audience’s suspension of disbelief beyond the 4th wall. How would the audience members react to their neighbors getting “overworked”? By the end of the workout, the instructors on stage also lay prostrate on the ground, with a morse code translator beeping out like a heartbeat monitor: “You’re in my control now”. This morse code section lasted almost 1 minute, which felt like eternity with stillness filling out the room. 

The script acts as an informal skeleton for the physical experimentation of the piece, where collaborators added on to the existing text I wrote. Without much reliance on the dialogue, the performers are able to respond freely to the audience and the interactions in the show.

I wanted to draw attention to the cult of self-idealization– that there’s an ideal self to work towards, which promises sunshine and lollipops and an exclusive invite to join hands and sing Kumbaya with the rest of those who’ve achieved their perfect potential. Self-idealizing isn’t making New Year goals. It convinces us that we can only live a good life by being someone better than who we are, thus robbing us of the present. Chasing after this personal mythology takes away from the here and now, which I believe theater is able to bridge and hold still.

When we’re young, we’re often told that in our hearts are gifts worth gold, and no matter where life takes us, at whatever age or stage in life,  I firmly believe that twinkle is still there: precious as the day that hope was instilled in us as a child. Through notes of whimsy, hope, and the absurdity in life, I want to reignite that magic in both theater-turn spaces and in the streets we live in, as a light trickle or a torrential storm.

Community Programming (For Fellow Artists)

When I’m not demonstrating burpee jumps and shouting insults at the audience, I’m the co-founder and co-producer of an international, women-founded artistic collective called Lighthouse Ladies. As a theater maker, I love creating accessible opportunities for emerging theatermakers to stage their work. Our most recent performance showcase took place in August of 2023 called “A Night of Unstageable Works”. Like the name suggested, we called on artists to create a text or piece of art that wasn’t intended to be staged, and to experiment to do just that. From slapstick scenes based on real court transcripts, to an interactive makeup tutorial derived from a dream journal entry, it was so nourishing to see the breadth of creativity from these new artists. We welcomed over 70 audience members with free of charge tickets, and provided stipends for artists to actualize their creative vision.

Starting out as a young artist can feel like a Sisyphean obstacle course, and our art collective hopes to take away some of the difficulty when it comes to finding performance spaces, connecting with like-minded collaborators, and of course, opportunities to get paid for your art. If that twinkles your toes even just a little, we’re looking to put up our second rendition of the showcase in March/April of 2024. The theme in mind is Found Objects/Family Heirlooms, and we’re welcoming any performance ideas drawn from that. Feel free to join our database to stay updated on all future casting calls and collaboration opportunities!

Incubatory Projects 

Growing up with my immigrant mom and bearing witness to stories of parental sacrifice, it seemed apparent they gave up much of their youth so that I would have the liberty to write my own. However, it didn’t make sense that their “prime” was done and over– the bows and standing ovations collected and framed to hang. It didn’t make sense to see my mom shy away from candid photographs in public when she belts out private living room concerts of nostalgic classics from Teresa Teng and Faye Wong. There will always be an effervescent twinkle in her eye as she sings and performs for me, and yet, society seems to turn the spotlight off of women past the age of 35, and catch the next doe-eyed teenager about to enter her “prime”. I hated this idea that was so embedded in our cultural fabric. If I wanted to bring community care, that would also mean uplifting the seniors in our society and empowering them to take their encore with pride.

During the past two polaroid booths, I noticed a certain shyness and hesitation when it came to older folks coming up to us for photos. In my third installment of the project, I want to add in a storytelling element to the polaroid portraits, and invite the participants to collaborate in an 80’s/90’s glamor-style shoot. Much like the community Sign-In book in the previous two runs, the narrative element here would be an invitation to say anything to the younger generations, but also what they would like to share with peers the same age. It can be words of advice or a moment to reminisce. Hopefully, whatever it may be, the stories will draw us closer to one another and provide healing for all involved.

I chose Glamor Shots because these opulent and hazy photos were the ones my mom liked to boast the most. I would too if it were my photos– naturally wavy hair fluffed up and reflecting the studio lights, and a confidently held gaze filled with the carte blanche of time. She always said how being young was a beautiful time, and I saw the earnesty in the far-off glimmer in her eyes. Except I didn’t feel that spark had faded. Through re-centering the lens on our community elders, I hope to rekindle the carefree joy of posing for the camera and feeling beautiful about oneself. What I’d like most is to give the opportunity for those who’ve never had their professional picture taken to feel what it’s like to be celebrated in and of itself. This is important to me because within our community, there are parents and grandparents who’ve had to give up their dreams due to socio-economic circumstances and hardships. I’d like for participants to talk about those dreams, to believe in those dreams, and perhaps even empower them to achieve it.

The post Of Overtures and Encores appeared first on The New Absurdist.

I kept to myself for so much of my life, I had to — for safety. When I introduced myself to others, I was a citizen, a citizen of Los Angeles, California, where I grew up. But at home and my close friends, they knew I was undocumented. Even though I explicitly talked about being undocumented throughout high school but that would change coming to college, I knew I had to keep it a secret. I didn’t know anyone on the East Coast, but soon I would find a community that understood where I came from and welcomed me with open arms. 

In my paintings, I explore the in-betweens of my past and present and how these temporalities affect the future I want to create. I build this future in my art using symbols that I find in my memories.

Process

My application of paint has changed throughout the years. I started with more expressive techniques, where I would swirl acrylic paint with different brushes. The clash of colors produced a sense of motion.

In I Gave my Rose to Gemini, the textural quality of the paint in the rapid brushstrokes allows the moon, sun, vines, roses, tunnels, and hourglass to intertwine with one another. To the right of the canvas, the birds are frozen in a moment just before contact with a swing and blooming roses. The application of the paint and the use of the brush becomes smoother, and the imagery more linear as the viewer looks towards this direction.

The symbols used, like the moon, vines, and flowers, center my story. They gave me a temporary place because they were around me. I focus on the memory, I write down what happened, what things I saw, how it made me feel, and what tangible objects I could paint. And from that, I started imagining a setting, a place where these symbols could live.

I wanted to create a world in my paintings where realism could co-exist with the emotions I put into my symbolic objects. This incentivized me to include realism alongside expressive brush strokes in my technique and is what I started exploring in my following work.

In 18 Cents, viewers see a telephone stand surrounded by heavy brush strokes. The painting uses color to emphasize a sense of reflection and abstracted form existing together with a real object.

Every object I depict in my paintings holds my memories and lived experiences. Growing up as an undocumented migrant, these objects contained my future as well. I use these symbols to tell my stories, stories that I didn’t see growing up. 

In Deconstruction of My Salvadoran Identity, I build on the rearrangement of the Salvadoran flag through various symbols and techniques related to my own experiences. Growing up, I could never represent my flag pridefully, hiding my identity to protect myself from people knowing I was undocumented. As a result, I had to navigate my identities in private, only disclosing when it was safe for me to do so. Although coming to college, I couldn’t explicitly speak publicly due to a fear that I had lived. 

The deconstruction and repetitive usage of colors from the coat of arms in the Salvadoran flag allowed me to rearrange the symbols and envision a future where documentation is not needed for my existence to be valid—bridging where I was born and where I grew up, always living in between.

I explore these uncertainties in the smaller series of flags that break from the rectangular format into smaller rectangular pieces connecting with one another. They coexist with the larger inkjet print—mediums in collage, seeing how my past intertwines with my present. Though my status changed in 2021, my future is uncertain — but I will forever be a dreamer, creating and living

Any stories that I did see in the media focused on the trauma of crossing the border, but not our dreams. With art, I could focus on certain aspects of my migration, the overlooked stories that only those who have undergone my experiences can see themselves in. That is how I could control the narrative and how I would tell these stories. 

Symbols

Sunflowers

Growing up Salvadoran and gay, there weren’t many people to whom I could reach out. It wasn’t until someone described me as his sunflower that I could see myself outside of my political body; many folks would think that I shouldn’t even be here in the US. It was a soft and gentle gesture of care, and I took this gesture and this sunflower and made it my symbol of hope, joy, love, and community. Sunflowers hold a special place in my art.  

My painting “Gansito, you made me realize that I’m not an alien, and for that, I became your sunflower. Thank you, for I have found my sun”  shows many of my life stories through symbols. I speak about migrating at the age of five with the phrase “No Soy Un Alien.” Below that, I wrote “5 y/o,” which speaks to how I continue incorporating little symbols and phrases into my paintings.

Nature

I’m invested in the connection of the body and nature and what this relationship means to create futures of belonging in my work. For me, Nature holds spaces for warmth and nurture. In Mangos Verdes con alguashte y marañones (Translation: Green mangos with ground pumpkin seeds and cashew apples), I captured a moment of longing, reflecting on a state of dreaming and how my memories of El Salvador have influenced those dreams. 

Eating little green mangos with grounded pumpkin seeds and some marañones (cashew fruit), I look up at them as if they were just within reach, growing from the fruit trees I would eat them off from. They stay just out of my reach and serve as a reminder of how El Salvador is. 

How far and how long since I’ve tasted marañones, and what that feeling would be if today I had those fruits in my hand!

I continue this theme of the intertwining of body and nature in my painting El Salvador, te digo adios, por ahora, y Los Angeles, hola, por favor tratame bien (Translation: El Salvador, I say to you goodbye, for now, and Los Angeles, hi, please treat me well).

This painting lives in my past, at the moment I left El Salvador at the age of 5. I walked and ran through unknown lands, and now that journey seems so far from reach. 

In my art, I relive those memories. I feel my body travel through those same lands of Guatemala, Mexico, and California that once were unknown to me.

How I wish I could, for one last time, say goodbye to El Salvador, goodbye to my childhood friends and family. Those goodbyes are attached to me; I pull and pull, becoming one with the ground. The roots are deep. 

My mom tells me her stories, and I narrate the memories in these portraits and landscapes. These stories, and her, are what I have. I didn’t need to say goodbye to her. 

Los Angeles became a new home. At first, it wasn’t kind to me, but I learned to keep to myself and dream between my past and future. I knew I belonged somewhere in the in-betweens, never only in one place or the other. This diptych painting tells my story of El Salvador, where I was born. 

Having the possibility to say goodbye to my friends and family, but those goodbyes would have to wait for now. Reconnecting those ties and adapting to a California that didn’t want me and didn’t value my humanity, but I kept going. 

My paintings don’t always refer to my future. I create surreal states using lush and dense environments in my paintings. The space is activated by the in-between of past and present and the stories that go with them.

In “Scars on my Memories,” the body in the lower portion of the painting represents my queer and migrant body, intertwining with nature. Banana leaves and various plants reflect an environment of wonder, mystery, and self-reflection. These small moments are seamlessly integrated into the visual representation of those events by the different plants I saw in my neighborhood. The hand coming out of the plants captures a moment of intimacy with the banana plant and how nature can represent those feelings. 

As I keep developing my visual language, I purposely bring in elements of my previous paintings and techniques. Some of my current works in progress resonate with my earlier paintings. Texture can evoke a sense of memory, creating surfaces of emotions. By layering paint and creating thickness, I can change how clear and realistic I want a symbol to be. I think that is the beauty of art; you are able to control your narrative. I can continue on this journey, expanding on the world I create in my paintings, a future of wonder. 

The post Yoba appeared first on The New Absurdist.

Quinn (they/he):

To start, can we just go around and Introduce ourselves, our names, pronouns and artistic and creative practices and projects?

Jason (they/he):

Sure. I use they/he pronouns. I am a senior, at Tisch Drama at NYU and I am a playwright, I’m an actor, voice actor and creative leader of interactive, immersive and experimental projects, video games too.

Anisha (she/her):

I figured. Awesome.

Sally (they/she/he):

My name’s Sally. I use they/she/he pronouns in that order of preference. I mainly illustrate and write poetry, but I also dabble in sculpture work and animation. I mostly make work about identity, home nostalgia, intimacy, and fantasy. And I’m a senior at Parsons School of Design, majoring in illustration and minoring in psychology.

Anisha (she/her):

Oh my God. I was a psych major. Awesome. Thank you guys so much. To kick it off, well, we just kicked it off, but to kick it off again, we just want to know, how did you guys meet, how did you guys start collaborating and what were your various roles in making untitled gamer play? We can break that up since I know it’s a loaded question and I always forget part twos!

Jason (they/he):

Sally how did we meet?

Sally (they/she/he):

We met in our high school Japanese class and in junior year when we got assigned to be partners, we also became best friends and started dating. We started collaborating because we had to at first, because of Japanese projects and stuff like that…but you put two artists together and you constantly want to keep working on things together or be each other’s partner in crime or whatever. And I always joke that they’ve been my muse for like five years now. My role in untitled gamer play or UGP (however you want to say it) was at first just as a cover artist/event artist, but then after I finished my thesis, Jason reached out to me again and was like, “I heard you have free time. Do you want to be my codesigner?” That’s what I helped do co-set designer and co-set paint.

Anisha (she/her):

Nice. Nice. The sets were beautiful. Just throw that out there. I saw a clip of the video. It was really good.

Jason (they/he):

I wouldn’t call Japanese exercises collaboration, but I think we started … Wait. It is. we started collaborating in a real collaborator sense, I guess a little bit later when I decided to pursue art going into my second year of college diving right in there. And it’s just like whenever a project would pop up, for example, like rank choice dating popped up last September and it would be like an opportune time to bring Sally on. I brought Sally on about it and of course the muse part is definitely true for both of us of a lot of the art we make, I guess, is inspired by each other’s lives and the lives in our community and can’t wait to chat more on that. I am the writer of untitled gamer play and I’ve been, I guess I started writing this in my first year at NYU, which is like two and a half years ago. I wrote like a 10 page version of this as well as several other like 10 page plays that eventually …

The first version of this was just about “Oh, Gamer’s toxic.” And it was just a bunch of gamers in a room bantering and the one eager in their group that they were trying to woo, which did not end well. And then it eventually turned into this after many, many, many, many different drafts and iterations of this. And that’s where it went up.

Anisha (she/her):

That’s amazing. That is major props. Quinn, sorry. Did you have anything to say?

Quinn (they/he):

No, same. Just the script was a really amazing read. I had a great time and I had a great time watching what I could of the video that was sent too. And I also wanted to say that the set design was so beautiful and so good job both of you. I guess for the next questions, like for those who are listening and aren’t familiar with the play, can we just get a quick synopsis and also a little bit about Albert and what his character is indicative of?

Jason (they/he):

Untitled gamer play. It’s this play that revolves around Albert. He’s this 17 year old Chinese American kid who’s closeted and he’s sad and lonely. He plays video games all day to the extent that he’s paying this kid with the same first and last name as him to go to school for him and get good grades for him so he can impress his mom while also just playing video games. And he does that alongside his best friend Kevin who’s this like two or three years older, just big brother figure to him who hypes him up, cheers him along. And they go along this big adventure where Albert overcomes his fear of risks and tries to become a professional video gamer. And he does make this choice where he can’t go back by cutting ties with the guy that’s been going like ransom … Now at this point, like blackmailing him. If you don’t pay me, I won’t go to school for you and I’ll tell on you.

And he gives that up fully commits and then don’t want to spoil anything, but that choice changes how he views himself, how he views his mom and Kevin and at its core, this play is about saviors and what we do when people go out of their way to help us and we have no choice in the matter as so many of our parents do, immigrant parents do. And I wouldn’t say Albert’s character is indicative of anything. When I write, I normally just like to think of these people as real people and how would they want to their stories to be serviced and told, and reach as many people as possible.

But I think the best way I can answer this question is Albert is this amalgamation of gamers that I have met online and in-person and grown up with much, much more on that later. The naturalistic dialogue to him came really, really easy to me when he was just this huge conglomerate of just these voices that I’ve grown up with. And I hope that I’m able to service those stories and those memories of what was once just this massive part still is of my childhood.

Anisha (she/her):

Well, honestly I loved everything you said, it was very inspirational because I think I’m very big on storytelling as we all are especially at The New Absurdist and as creatives. I really just appreciate the thought and effort that you put into building out this character and really just not being like, this person symbolizes this one thing, but if it just comes to that, then that’s kind of what happens, but just letting the person be authentically.

And you touched on this a little bit so feel free to elaborate more or if you feel you answered it already. But you touched a little bit on this. Can you tell us a little bit about the process of writing this character? I know you said you pulled from some of your experience and the play in general. How did that look for you?

Jason (they/he):

Yeah. I think the process of writing this character is definitely tied in with the writing the play. This play revolves around Albert and well, it does revolve around Albert although every single character I hope has a really emotionally fulfilling arc. And I would say Albert started off as this idea of when I was in my first year playwriting class, I went like, “I have this massive part of my life that I’ve shut down in order to be here.” And whenever I look back on that gaming life, it’s like these people said slurs, these people hacked and bullied others, was there any good to these 10 years of my life that I spent online or was there anything good I could pull from that? And of course there’s a lot of bad and I had to really, really search for the humanity.

And I’m so glad that I found it because it made me be a little bit more compassionate to myself. These gamers are just really lonely kids for a lot of … And one place where this play did come out of is all the media especially in plays right now or historically is rarely about people of color with some exceptions chat out to black feminist video game. But it’s like the gaming and like D&D like table tabletop RPG setting in playwriting is dominated by white men. And no one’s really talking about how Asian games are. There are so many Asian gamers, there’s so many Asian kids and friend groups that live in these little channels on discord. And that’s how they grow up because they all want some kind of escape from their really, really tough lives.

And that escape is much, much different for them. Because they’re escaping a lot of expectations and a lot of rigorous classwork, stuff like that. And sometimes it feels like their entire family’s dreams are on their shoulders. And so when they escape that to play video games, they feel guilty. And there’s just so many parts of this that I was so grateful to find. And so the process of writing this was started out as this little exploration and then I explored many, many things about what this play could be. I think there was like a 120 page version at the beginning of last year. 1.5 years ago of where it was like this play was structured around money and enterprise of this professional league of legends esports system, where it was so much more focused on that.

Because if you think about it, esports is a cult. esports is like professional video gaming and it’s biggest in league of legends, which is where my background. League of legends is like the world’s most popular game, I guess. Don’t fact check me. It’s the most popular esport and the cults following. And there’s a lot of those professional gamers happen to be Asian. And no one really talks about that. I think where that draft started from is, oh, these gamers are Asian. Where do they come from? How do they end up here? Are they just heroes of their hometown? Do they have like these dreams? A lot of these gamers are coming from low income backgrounds and using these games that they love to support their families as opposed to all the other players who are just doing it for fun and they had their luxury for doing it for fun. And that was a whole exploration of that because in the end everyone’s competing for the white man’s dollar.

But then I circled back, found out, really explored the emotional lives of each character and ended up here much more to come many, many more edits to come. But I’m really glad that I took a step back rooted this in the people that I cared about because it was getting a really hectic and hard to control. And I think I made something really great.

Anisha (she/her):

You did. You did. I will attest to that…I second that.

Quinn (they/he):

I agree. And I also really liked finding the humanity in the gaming world. From what I understand, when you’re gaming, other people are just little voices and characters. And so extrapolating the human out of that is just so cool. For the next question, we’re wondering how..And you already touched on this too, but how Albert is relating to and exemplifying changes or lack of changes within the gaming community?

Jason (they/he):

There’s this really, really great article by my friends that I want to plug. They wrote a paper about Albert as a character. And in relation to being a gamer and the multiple identities he holds as an assignment for class. Her name is AJ, we have a playwriting class together. I think at its core, the gaming community in [untitled gamer play] is incredibly homophobic. And I think the sentence in this paper that hits me the most is…let me find it.

“Albert’s fundamental existence as a gay gamer is that his passion lives in an environment that is inherently unwelcoming to him.” This article beautifully explains that this community is degenerated and I often say gamers are the worst of people. They throw these slurs around, they have no fear of consequences because they’re often very self indulged in the fact that they’re trying to escape. For that reason, they get away with a lot. Albert is just this little kid trying to exist in this hard world that is unwelcoming to him. This play in particular, I think does capture a lot of humanity and goodness in video gaming community and it does definitely give a little bit of light, a tiny little bit of light to the bad I would say.

I think what I explored in terms of like Albert being a character and homophobia in this play was that like the bro-gamer and bro culture is often like, “Yeah, yeah bro.” How is this not gay? How has no one ever talked about this? Like being remotely suggestive of these gamers being gay. So Kevin will go off and do these really obscene things and bait Albert and lead Albert on in these sexual crude acts of humor as well as their online connection, they’ve never seen each other and yet they have this brotherhood and the way that both of their masculinities benefit from this relationship and just those two things I think are very, very key parts of this gaming community. Men will get really, really close and they will be very strangely straight. Let’s talk about that. Very long tangent feel free to cut.

Anisha (she/her):

No, no, I loved it. I loved it. I don’t know if you saw because Zoom’s a little hard, but I was getting a little emotional as you were talking about humanizing people. I think that’s so important. And honestly I’m going to be completely transparent. Prior to reading your play, I’ve had friends growing up who are very much in the gaming world and they would tell me so much about the toxicity. It was honestly really refreshing to read your play.

I was like, whoa, this is a whole other side to this world that I’m not in, but I can almost empathize with. It was just really a little jarring, but in the best way possible. And also I love the threads of homophobia that you touched on throughout the play, I think was very seamless. Thank you for that. It was very refreshing on my part, very enlightening for me as a person. And also along the lines of integrating homophobia, you also spoke about immigration and really touched on the life of immigrants. I was wondering, was there any particular reason why you chose to incorporate this? How does it relate to gaming and how does it relate to the gaming world in general? I know that’s a loaded question-

Jason (they/he):

Definitely.

Anisha (she/her):

-so take it in parts if you have to.

Jason (they/he):

I have many answers. Don’t worry.

Anisha (she/her):

Excited.

Jason (they/he):

This definitely came, like I said, came from like the fact that so many of these professional gamers are Asian gamers and children of immigrants. For part of my visual research I took these pictures of pro gamers when they entered the scene, like in 2013-2014. They have bull cuts, they have glasses, they’re fucking ugly. But then give them five or six, seven years as they come into massive amounts of wealth and they support their families and they completely change.

There’s this story of one of one very controversial gaming in figure. But I do look up to him. His name is Doublelift in the League of Legends Community. He entered this scene really early, in 2012, he was really, really poor and he was playing this game to support his family to which he had a very strange relationship with. His mother gave him up because he was playing video games and he had to live in this journalist friend’s apartment for many, many years because his parents kicked him out, but he still had this dream.

He still plays this game. He’s very controversial because he is toxic, but he still plays this game a lot. And in, I believe that around 2017, 2018, his mom died. His mom was murdered by his brother. That was heartbreaking because we followed his life and he’s talked about his family. Around that time he reconnected with his mom and was starting to heal their relationship, but she died before they were able to fully do that. And the thing is, he went through that. Two weeks after that happened were the regional finals in North America and he played through it. And like, God, I was watching this stream choking up. Right before that game, right after that game, you can just hear the entire crowd in that stadium, just shout, “Doublelift. Doublelift.” And it was just like, wow. That’s that.

I think there’s this huge part of…all the Asian video gamers have this relationship with their mom. I’ll say that. Like I will be on call, I will hear my friend’s mom literally say something like, “Don’t call me bro.” You could ask east Asian men if they’ve played league of legends and most of them will say yes. I think every single one of them who has this relationship with gaming and their mom play this game to fit in and find community. They actually find a lot of other Asian kids who are doing the same thing. Playing this game is an escape like I said before, from like the strict expectations of their parents.

And their parents desperately want to stop. And there’s this constant tug of war of, “Stop, stop, stop, stop.” And they go like, “I’m doing fine. I’m doing fine. I’m doing fine.” There’s also these more intricate interactions. One friend, Yusuf, talked about me about how lots immigrant kids to try to confuse their moms with technology and say something like, “Oh our grades are on the student portal, go check it,” That’s the only thing that they can leverage against their very smart, very cunning parents. They have this knowledge of the online world and they can use it to confuse. There are just so many parts of this, but I think I foiund a synthesizing thought.

Anisha (she/her):

Go off if you have to.

Jason (they/he):

I guess at its core, when it comes to gaming and immigration, you play this game to escape your parents because they want the world out of you. Sometimes you just want to go into something where you can feel like you’re progressing, you can feel like you’re powerful, you can feel like you have friends, because you definitely don’t in school if all you’re doing is doing tests. There’s just so many things that help this online world, both in terms of a social world and in terms of immersion and escape, make you powerful in a sense. There’s so many things that make the online and gaming world attractive to children of immigrants. And there are so many children of immigrants that play. And I will say immigrants too. It’s just alluring, it’s new, and it makes you feel like a person when the world doesn’t.

Anisha (she/her):

Well said. Well said. And also thank you for making me cry at nine o’clock in the morning-

Jason (they/he):

This is normal for me.

Anisha (she/her):

That was very touching. Thank you so much for sharing.

Quinn (they/he):

I can totally understand why your friend wrote an essay tracking Albert’s experience as a gay gamer. You could write so many essays about what you just said and about the play as a whole. I really appreciate everything you just said and also for the very emotional gaming background too. I guess the next question is for both of you. I was just interested, what was it like to see your play move into a physical space. What was that process as a writer and then also as a set designer?

Sally (they/she/he):

Well, for me, Jason sent me like… 50 different versions of this play  in the past two years that they’ve been writing it. Reading through all the different versions, I think the one thing that I kept thinking about was projections, really fun lighting, and this idea of solitude. I kept thinking about that. When I saw that they were thinking about a modular set design, especially with cardboard and stuff like that, I had this idea that the cardboard boxes were a bit like pixels. They would move and shift with every iteration. For me, even though I thought of it as such a high budget play being portrayed with such low tech, it was still really endearing when you think about the meeting of cardboard boxes and play. In both the digital and real worlds, we play into ideas of what our parents want and also play into ideas of how we should behave in school and to our friends and stuff like that. It made a lot of sense. Seeing this play move from just words that…I still cry when I think about it. The visuals…and everyone coming together I thought was really heartwarming.

Jason (they/he):

It was very, very heartwarming. I think the main thing tying together this experience for me is the amount of respect other people have shown in bringing this work to life. Not to discredit the many, many, people that have feedback for my play and who have given me such amazing affirmations throughout these years, but I’ve always felt that my work has not been respected, especially at NYU. I will be in a playwriting class and when I present my work, the white people in the room will turn their cameras off on Zoom because they don’t know how to interact with it. Or  people will not know how to approach this work because it just like belongs to a culture other than theirs. For the longest time, I’ve just felt so undervalued and that no one would pay attention to me.

I started to have this bitterness, I had to fight for everything…I have to make people turn their heads. So I was getting really bitter and, in a really unhealthy way, just feeling that I have to fight for my voice to be heard in every single kind of space. I have this baseline expectation that no one will listen to me because of how this curriculum is structured and because all the playwriting teachers are white, but then to have my work…

I was so pessimistic going into this that the Asian people would not be there, that noone would want to work on this. But then to be met with an amazingly large and diverse team and for my work to be handled like that, with an insane amount of respect, it’s just like, wow, that was … Throughout those years, I guess I was getting something done. I was heading in a right direction. I was doing something right. It’s very, very affirming. Shout out to all those collaborators and to the level of communication on this project because people were so invested, facilitated by our amazing stage manager Tatiana. We had so many amazing artistic conversations that really just showed how much people cared to me. I think like one really, really big thing coming out of this project is a newfound confidence in myself. Also shout out to director Jonathan.

Sally (they/she/he).:

Literally the entire cast and crew felt like family and it was so … I just felt like even if I worked on it in-person for maybe a week or two, I felt so connected to everyone, they were so sweet. Everyone was so dedicated.

Anisha (she/her).:

Oh my God. That’s so heartwarming. I feel like when I hear stories about spaces where there isn’t a strong sense of like community, it’s usually the opposite where it’s like, “I felt very left out. I was running and putting things together, but I didn’t really talk to anyone.”  So I am relieved. You guys actually built a little community so, shout out to you two.

Honestly, shout out to you guys for like really carving out spaces for others…because especially as people of color, just navigating the space as belonging to a marginalized community, it can be so, so difficult. I’m also getting emotional again, so don’t mind me if I start crying. But that’s something that hits home to me, but it’s just so inspiring to see you guys. Really just carry on as a force to be reckoned with in this space. You guys are really making movements and it’s just really amazing to see. Applause to you guys. I think that’s amazing.

Jason (they/he):

In many ways, this thing went so fluently. I have had many bad collaboration scares and that just made this one so good. In many ways, I feel like we proved a lot of people wrong and we subverted a lot of expectations going into this. Now people know what we can do. People are treating us differently and it’s a big culture shock. I’m really, really proud of this. My ego is not normally this high, but we really subverted every narrative about us.

People are coming into this process with really similar stories to mine, about never feeling seen or appreciated for their talents in their cohorts throughout their arts education. Then this happens and they get to see just how wonderful their community (and themselves) can be when they are supported. And they have the support that has been denied to them for so many years.

Anisha (she/her):

Obviously I wasn’t there when you guys were doing this, but just hearing about it, you can see the love and appreciation you have for the project and the rest of the team as well. It’s really a shining through. I think that’s really important to build a community within a community sometimes because it can be so isolating. It can be very much  like… you think you might have to diverge past a little bit. You’re like, “Maybe this isn’t the right field for me.” I don’t know if you guys ever thought that, but I did at some point.

And so when you see that community come together, you’re like, “Oh wait, no. I got this, we got this.” It’s very inspiring. Thank you both for being very vulnerable and sharing those parts. I definitely really appreciate it and we really appreciate it in general. We touched on the art and all this stuff. Sally, you also touched on this. We both really enjoyed your art and I really love the idea of the whole like pixels moving.

It’s so crazy because like, I don’t know, Quinn if you also have this thought, but I had the thought. I was like, “Oh this reminds me of something, but I can’t quite put the puzzle pieces together,” and then you said “ it’s like how pixels movie.” And, that’s exactly what I was thinking I just literally could not find the words to describe it. It’s really cool. We both really enjoyed your art and we would love to hear about what it is like for you in terms of intersecting, like that storytelling aspect with the visual, narratives and how that all comes together. Also I think you mentioned, if I’m not mistaken, you worked in different mediums of art as well, but how does that also relate to the whole experience? And once again, loads of questions so we can take that in parts.

Sally (they/she/he):

I’ve always been drawn to visual art and storytelling because growing up, I was the youngest child, and youngest daughter of a family of immigrants. My brothers are 4-5 years older than me, and they’d be gaming together, going to school together, doing big things and I’d be stuck in this gender role of, “Oh, you’re not allowed to do those things. You can’t get addicted to games like they are, and you can just read books and watch cartoons.” For the limited amount of time that I was able to game with them or watch cartoons with them, especially with things like in the more sort of like Asian, especially east Asian sense of anime and manga, I was able to see more stories like mine with people that looked like me like Crayon Shin-chan and Chibi Maruko-chan. 

Growing up with those was really important especially because I wasn’t allowed much screen time. Reading a lot, getting immersed into those worlds through children’s books especially because it was the first time that I really encountered stories that were meant to uplift me even if the characters didn’t look like me yet. Shout out to Eyes that Kiss in the Corners Oh my gosh…

Coming from that perspective of being really inspired by children’s books and wanting to get into them since I was literally five and since I figured out how to draw, because I only thought writing was an option, I guess it was always my preferred medium and storytelling and adding words to that really came naturally. So sorry, what was the rest of the question?

Anisha (she/her).:

Totally good. The intersection between storytelling and visual narratives and different mediums and stuff like that.

Sally (they/she/he):

I guess I always stuck to almost the cheapest materials I could find because growing up in an immigrant family, there wasn’t really much, and art materials were so expensive. At the time, I didn’t feel like my art was worth investing so much into especially as I was still a kid and I was still practicing and we couldn’t afford any art classes. I treated it as a hobby and I just practiced and poured my soul into it, even if it was just pencil and paper.

And then when I was 14, my brothers chipped to buy me a Wacum tablet that I’ve been using ever since. I asked for that specifically because digital art is so much more accessible than other mediums in a way that you don’t have to keep paying for paints and brushes and things that break down, like a canvas, you could just keep using the same tablet as you were seven years ago.

All the colors are there, really everything is there. That’s all you really need. That’s what I’ve been using since really. And as for other mediums, I do ceramics, I do soft sculpture, I do animation stuff like that. All that has been as I’ve grown more confident in storytelling and my skills, technical skills as an artist where I’m more willing to invest in it especially as I…Well that confidence only really came to be as I started applying to art schools and college. I really hadn’t invested a whole lot before then, but I do think that everything comes down to storytelling. It doesn’t really matter if it’s visual or just writing, I think that stories are just really important.

Quinn (they/he):

I wanted to just say, both Anisha and I looking forward to what’s next and definitely looking forward the eventual Broadway production. But I also just wanted to say, I feel like I’m a big believer in art as a space where power and hierarchy can be subverted and where community and lifting each other up is really important. So I just wanted to echo what Anisha said earlier, thank you for being so vulnerable about talking about this process and everything. But anyways, I have another two- part question for you, Sally. I know that you talked about your thesis earlier, I’d love to hear some about that and just that process of working on a long term project and how that has been for you?

Sally (they/she/he).:

My thesis is titled One Day the Sun Won’t Be Wounded and it’s a growing collection of originally written and illustrated poems of about Chinese mythologies, dieties, spiritualism, family history, queerness, transness, and myself. Showing up for thesis, we started like five years in, no, my gosh, five weeks into our first semester, at the time I was incredibly burnt out. I had this whole grand plan of last year thinking about like, “Oh, I’m going to make this super cool, illustrated chapbook” and also I was thinking of an accordion book and that it would be huge and at least 30 pages or something like that. I thought I planned out all the subject matter that I was going to tackle. But when it came down to it, that first semester I was so burnt out that I couldn’t get anything out of me really other than one piece, the first one.

And I guess it was mostly a process of trying to find compassion for yourself, especially in a world that’s so capitalistic and it’s so driven by productivity. I was punishing myself every single time. I couldn’t start every week where it was like, “Come on, just write some things,” or like, “Just like dress sketch. It’s not that hard. You could do it if you like.” You felt the pressure too and yet nothing was coming out. And because of that cycle of like, “Oh, you have to do something.” And yet, I’m not allowing myself to do anything enjoyable until I start and being paralyzed. And that was difficult to get out of, but then when winter break came and January came, I was able to let go of that a little bit and also be more motivated by seeing what other people were creating in class and being able to let go and play Stardew Valley for a while was exactly what I needed and so I just started thinking of like, “Who cares, it’s thesis, not like it’s the last project that I’m ever going to do.”

And that was what my professor said too. Like, don’t take yourself too seriously. It’s not your last thing. Sure, it’s bigger than any other project that you’ve done, but that’s not the end all of your career. I just took it step by step and drew out. I saw it as a work in progress and something that I’m proud of rather than something that is more of a punishment in trying to prove myself to people that aren’t particularly my audience.

Quinn (they/he):

I’ve been working on my thesis too for the past year and so I get the struggle. I guess that’s something that has to come out of me at some point. For the last question, we’d like to open it up to both of you again, and we were wondering, what advice would you give to aspiring artists and playwrights and what would you have liked to hear when you started working on untitled gamer play? I’m sure it’s a lot.

Jason (they/he):

Do you have an answer Sally?

Sally (they/she/he):

You can start.

Jason (they/he):

I got it. I would say at the beginning of this process, I wish I knew that my problems were big. For example, we Asian artists have executive dysfunction as evidenced by everything I just said. We have a very poor relationship with our work, especially creative work because of the anxieties passed down to us. And I think I belittled myself a lot for not being able to write. I wish I had more compassion for myself and knowledge that the artists that are able to work through this create even stronger art stronger, what does that mean? 

Our executive dysfunction problems are big, treat them like big problems and when you get to overcome them, give yourself a bigger reward. What I like to say to people is: you’re up against a final boss, not just another slime. And a word of advice would be on that related note, you need a hype squad if you are a writer from a marginalized background, and people will be like, “Ah, you don’t need validation.” But you need validation, it’s human, it’s one of your needs. Belittling that need is belittling yourself. Yes. Many people will make you feel like you’re nothing. Especially for Asian artists, they will reduce you to being proficient or uncommunicative or rude. And a lot of things will eat away at you and you deserve having a community that will vocally support you often to just keep you afloat and keep you writing.

Sally (they/she/he).:

I totally agree with that. I would say trust in yourself and also trust in your community and rely on community, support your community because they’re the ones who are always going to be there for you too. Especially with illustration and writing, of course, these are usually really solitary acts and you usually do them alone. It’s like, oftentimes you really don’t feel that support unless it’s right in front of you and you’re going after it to talk to people and hear each other’s voices, sometimes you really don’t feel like that support is real. It’s just like, again, like pixels on a screen doesn’t really mean anything to you, does it have any value? But working on things like untitled gamer play and being in a team environment, you really can see how the emotions that you put into the play reflect through how everyone else is experiencing it and the care that they have for you and your work is also the same care that you offer to other people.

And that’s what really keeps everyone creating things and building things and trying to make a better future for everyone I think. That’s the big goal, I guess. We’ve all started writing stories based and we wanted to hear ourselves and see ourselves in our communities represented. And so I feel like supporting each other is just one other aspect of being an artist.

Anisha (she/her):

Oh my God. I love. Sorry. I think you were going to say something. I just …

Quinn (they/he):

No, I was just going to say the same exact thing. Thank you so much you guys. This has been so wonderful and I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to us and-

Jason (they/he):

I found out a future project.

Quinn (they/he):

Yes, please.

Anisha (she/her):

Oh my God.

Jason (they/he):

On June 11th, 2022, I will be performing and Sally will be costume designing for untitled waifu play. It is directed by Jonathan and the playwright is Char Nakashima-Conway, who I love with my entire heart and who inspired this playwriting journey in me of writing for small groups of people that have never been seen before. Come see it, it’s about incels who materialize their anime wife into real life and try to go on dates with them and we’ll see how that goes. 

Anisha (she/her):

That’s so interesting. Oh my God. Well, thank you for that. If I can make it, I probably will. Try to start my schedule out. But no, that sounds amazing. I see the gaming thread there, which is also really just enlightening, like I’ve said a million times, but that’s honestly how I’ve been feeling. But thank you guys so much. It has been such a pleasure, like Quinn said, just to have this conversation. Thank you for being so open and vulnerable with the entire process and also being very transparent because I think that a lot of times people, especially when they come on platforms, they’re like, “Yeah, it was a wonderful ride.” And you’re like, “Okay, it was, but let’s be real. It was a struggle to get to this point.”

Really appreciate your transparency and your honesty throughout the entire thing. You guys did a phenomenal job with the play and bringing it to life. It was really, really eye opening. And I think that these stories, like you said, they need to be materialized a lot more and just brought to a lot of different audiences. Really appreciate you guys bringing it to the New Absurdist audience as well. Really look forward to sharing your stories. We’ll be in contact about the whole process of things like that and once it gets posted and all that stuff, but honestly, thank you guys so, so much. I know it’s bright and early on this gloomy morning, so really appreciate you guys plowing through and being the resilient people that you guys are. Really appreciate more power to you and honestly look forward to seeing the amazing work that you guys continue to put out.

Jason (they/he):

Thank you both.

Sally (they/she):

Thank you so much for your time.

Anisha (she/her):

No, of course. Thank you guys.

The post A Look at “Untitled Gamer Play” appeared first on The New Absurdist.

It’s contradictory, though, because the highest positions as a journalist – editors, columnists, or even just long-form reporters – have job descriptions that are essentially the opposite. Instead of avoiding opinions and angles and experimental styles, these upper-level professionals make their names from these things, pushing boundaries and staying dynamic. These jobs are what everyone in the industry aspire to, but landing one is impossible without some connections, skill, and goodwill – all of which require ‘playing ball.’ Its stupid, then. If every journalist aspires to be a creative columnist, then why do we spend so much of our careers working on precisely the opposite?

That, essentially, is the idea behind Realpolitik, a zine (self-published, cheaply reproduced magazine) that a few friends and I spent our winter semester putting together. Any budding journalist has dozens of opportunities for surface-level reporting work, at school newspapers, internships, or on blogs. My idea, at least at its beginnings, was to create a space for the typically excluded young and outspoken voices to share more complex pieces of writing, like personal essays and op-eds, specifically in the always-tumultuous field of politics.

Our zine has no theme besides the loose definition of what is political, and as we worked on the first issue, both print and digitally, a whole lot of ideas about structure and design were changed on the fly. Zines are a medium firmly planted in the 20^th century, with roots in punk-rock fandoms and feminist/LGBT advocacy groups. It’s a medium I’ve always been interested in since stumbling upon some old comic zines, and one that I think captured the same energy I wanted to channel in my zine. The zine culture is a really cool legacy to be a part of, and my intention with Realpolitik was take their unique aesthetic and remix it for a post-internet, specifically political perspective.

I’m a writer, first and foremost, and 100% did not realize what I’d be getting into when I settled on producing a 48-page print magazine. While I had tons of friends and friends of friends each chip in with some writing of their own or some accompanying art pieces, assembling the zine, something I had hardly given any thought in the planning-stages of this whole crazy thing, ended up being far and away the hardest part of the project. I suffered a rude awakening at my less-than-adequate Photoshop skills, and realizations as simple as having to make a writing piece fit a whole page, or that the pages of a printed book have to be a multiple of four ended up being big headaches in terms of redesigning entire sections. Still, all my collaborators were so cool about irritating logistics like those mentioned and were more than happy to help in any way they could. To say it was a relief when I finally held a printed proof in my hands – without any major errors – would be an understatement.

Making a zine was a ton of work, way more than I anticipated at least, and the majority of which was spent not working on our initial mission statement, that of hosting a platform for young, student, and alternative op-eds. But still, I think the process of taking this project from idea to printed matter taught me a lot, in terms of writing, editing, publishing, marketing, and even in terms of the actual content we published. I got a bunch of really smart people to contribute columns on stuff that I barely know anything about, and I think this huge variety of voices, tones, and topics is what made our first issue a success like it was. Even something as simple and supposedly-expected as having people react strongly to essays in the zine – both positive and negative – has been a really cool experience. More than one conversation (or argument) has been started in-person or over Instagram DM with people reacting to an essay in Realpolitik. That, I think, more than anything, shows that our original intent, to make this space for essays and for debate, was a good idea. It makes me more excited, even more than before, to publish again, and build this little zine into something a little less little.

The post Why We Made Realpolitik appeared first on The New Absurdist.

Over the seasons, like a lot of people, agitation over the virus and the lockdowns made me want to embark on some ambitious project. Everyone’s quarantine pet project is different. For some people it’s baking, watching old movies, making a career change, or just trying to survive. Just be glad mine wasn’t a mixtape. It was Paintings for the Planet, a non-for-profit website where I sell prints, mugs, and greeting cards featuring my paintings of natural scenery to raise funds for environmental organizations. 

The idea came to me because I realized the intentions of a painter and an environmentalist are pretty similar. Both aim to preserve the landscapes they love. Their branches are different but their roots burrow through common ground: a vision for a peaceful relationship between humans and the forests, mountains, and rivers that sustain them. (They’re also both prone to self-righteous moralizing, but let’s overlook that one.)

A Big Challenge

As an amateur artist and college student with very little grasp of technical composition, sales, or social media marketing, starting this endeavor was an uphill battle. But I had a neurotic determination and would force it to work if I had to. First, I had to find the right materials, printing company, e-commerce platform, charities, postal service, and attitude. I’ll spare the bureaucratic details but it was a tiring, months-long preparation process.

And when I thought I was dotting every i and crossing every t, it turned out I was accidentally dotting my t’s and crossing my i’s and my other 24 letters were imploding. Every step forward came with two steps back and I was always discovering some new flaw in my plan, whether it was a typo in a bank routing number or a glitch that made all the text on my website invisible or an achingly awkward phone call with a customer support agent from a ceramics customization company. I dreaded accusations of eco-hypocrisy so I started making all my boxes out of upcycled consumer packaging. This development sounds chic until you picture me, eyes bloodshot, feverishly dissecting an empty Cheez-It box with an X-Acto Knife at three in the morning.

After a breaking point I realized I had to just launch the website before it was perfect, because it would never be perfect. I could either work out the hiccups as the business grew, or I could let the hiccups consume me and never advance. I just wanted to share my art with other people in a way that could help other people. It was a broad goal, but it was the narrow things that were blocking me from reaching it.

So I launched it, starting out with four prints then adding about two dozen more products over the course of three months. 

How It Changed Me

I practiced and got better at painting. Yes, I watched Bob Ross videos, but also about a million other YouTube tutorials about blending, lighting, and the uses for different brushes. In school I admired (and envied) my friend Anshul for being able to craft beautiful things in her art classes. I never thought I had the discipline to do it myself. I still find it challenging, but now I enjoy the calculation a landscape painting demands. It feels like a reconnection with the arts and crafts we love to do as kids, but with the patience that comes with being a few years older.

And I started seeing things. I’ve lived in my hometown for 20 years but I never understood it until now. I was a recluse growing up and mostly saw these streets through school bus windows and closed screen doors. But now I go for walks in the nature trails here for painting inspiration, and I make a trip to the post office twice or thrice a week. I walk past the gray and white houses, the Dunkin’ Donuts, the masked and unmasked pedestrians. I see the shadows of branches on the forest floor. The reflections of clouds on lakes. The way we never really see landscapes for what they are — we only make impressions of what we think they look like and fill in the distant details subconsciously. 

And when I was sending out some packages one day, I saw an old lady thanking a post office worker for his service. I saw more children riding bikes than ever before. I saw pools of rain, blades of grass, and leaves starting to creep up the wooden frame of the gazebo across from the town hall. I saw an evening fog that made the whole world look like watercolors.

People I hadn’t talked to in years placed orders and sent messages and spread the word about what I was doing. My favorite teachers from high school, my relatives, close friends and faraway ones, and complete strangers all contributed to support the conservation of New York’s natural resources. Their generosity was like a glistening woodland waterfall that never stopped cascading.  A rude voice in my mind says that they all contributed out of pity, that I was only even doing this project for clout, and that my impact was too small to ever matter. But I don’t let those thoughts linger. I’m proud of what I’m doing and I encourage you to think about what calling you have, or could hone, to find your own spark! 

Maybe you can even turn it into a cloying, self-congratulatory thinkpiece.

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