Death To The Ego

January 23, 2020

Emotionally honest, magnetically relatable and straight up real, Fariha Róisín isn’t afraid to be herself—or to take the long, demanding journey to figure out who “herself” is.

It’s somewhat intimidating, I’m not going to lie. And as someone who is only beginning the healing process, the familiar nagging of my cynical self began to rise up in response to her unwavering faith. But before it could even scratch the surface, Róisín exudes the sort of energy that pierced through me and forced me to be better than my insecurities—and if you read her work, you’d feel the same way.

But don’t get it twisted, she isn’t here for your ego; and she’s not necessarily here to be your leader, although she may just unanimously wind up at the helm regardless. Róisín is here to inspire change—global, social, emotional, soul-defining change. “We are evolving as a species and the world is falling apart, it’s burning, and everything is happening, but I am so invested in our future,” she says. “We need to start shifting and we need to keep changing.”

Interview by Caroline Brown
Photos by Jill Schweber
Styling by Mia Fiddis
Hair + Makeup by Disco

Perhaps best known for her book of poetry How To Cure A Ghost, Róisín is currently preparing to publish her novel titled Like A Bird. Making the clear transition from writer to multidisciplinary artist, she intends to release a variety of medium-defying work in the near future. office sat down to talk with the artist on everything from writing and healing to Kendall Jenner.

Tell me a bit about yourself.

I think for a very long time, I would have described myself as a writer. But recently, I started describing myself as a multidisciplinary artist. This year I’m merging and making more visual art, and I decided to make performance art. I’m working on two shows that I just have this vision for, and I’m doing it. I’d also call myself someone who is really invested in healing.

What is the transition from written work to physical?

Writing is a very interesting tool, I’m sure you know. There are many dimensions to writing, and I feel like I was exploring all of them. I’m screenwriting right now, and I’m releasing a novel this year. I just wrote a book of poetry, and I work as a journalist. So clearly, I’m navigating all of these facets, but it didn't feel as if it was the totality of my experiences as a person and artist—and maybe I kind of resent wanting to be distilled down to one thing.

Frankly, I’m so out of the microcosm of the writing world, although I exist in it. I don’t feel community there, and so I think the lack of community has really made me question where I do want to find community. All of the artists that I look up to are multidisciplinary to some degree, and that’s something that really excites me. So the transition has been cool, because I feel like I get to have this visual and more abstract component to this body of work that I’m writing. It’s really fun to be like, “Oh, this is the other facet to my being!” I’m not one thing, I’m many.

Left - Dress by NANUSHKA, jacket by NOMIA NYC, necklaces by PAMELA LOVE + LADY GREY, all other jewelry by LADY GREY

Right - Dress by GANNI, hat by CLYDE, jewelry by LADY GREY, belt stylist's own

You touch on lack of community, and in my opinion, you are a community leader in the writing world. Do you recognize yourself as one of the leaders of a community that might just be growing, because you are speaking out?

I see that question in two parts. I absolutely feel and think it’s necessary to be apart of the community in a way where there is no division, because we are all in this together. I’m genuinely such a corny person. Yesterday I was talking to my landlord, and I was like, “We’re in the midst of a revolution.” We are evolving as a species, and the world is falling apart. It’s burning, and everything is happening, but I am so invested in our future.

We need to start shifting, and we need to keep changing. That means that ego needs to be worked on, and we need to start creating spaces where we are invested in care. There’s not a lot of care in general, so I think I see myself as a beacon for that. I don’t want to just talk my politics on Instagram—I’m actually going to become what I’m saying. I want people to look at me and be like, “Oh shit, that’s what it looks like to have integrity.” I’m opposed to the idea of leadership, but at the same time I know I’m a leader. I really do. Every tarrot reading, every workshop, I fucking get, “You are a leader; you are a healer.” It’s a push and pull.

For anyone in that position I imagine it comes with a lot of rewards, but also frustration. What do you think the connection is between intention and reception?

I think it’s tiresome to see so much dishonesty, and frankly there’s not a lot of dedication beyond an aesthetic or beyond being like, “I’m going to say this on Instagram and be a healer. Love and crystals.” I know I say that in a mocking tone, and I do believe that. But we can’t be doing that anymore. We are really facing an apocalypse. We need to ask how we can shift. There’s a difference between what people think and what they’re willing to do.

The best way that I’ve seen people act is through conflict. How to build a community is through conflict. That’s when you really see if they will stand up for you and say what they think. As a queer brown person, are they going to protect my body? That’s a really moving and interesting way to see how artists in particular really stand by their art. I think that art is a tool to create revolution. So for the people who aren’t doing the work... we can’t be doing that anymore. That’s where the tension lies for me. Why are we all fronting so much? We have to evolve. I think this will be the thing I keep beating over people’s heads.

How can healing and educational tools come together for those who are inspired by the work that I do? Because this is not about me, this is about the work.

Dress by NANUSHKA, jacket by NOMIA NYC, necklaces by PAMELA LOVE + LADY GREY, all other jewelry by LADY GREY

I completely understand where you’re coming from, and I feel like a lot of people can’t get to this point of themselves, because they don’t actively heal. You’ve been very open about confronting your past and healing. What’s one childhood memory that has always stood out to you as a defining moment of this awareness?

A lot of my childhood was like that. I have a very domineering mother. She’s extremely abusive. From a very young age, I realized that no one was looking out for me. And it’s not like I didn’t yearn for that—I really wanted that, and I’m still really emotional. But there’s also the Capricorn side that’s very focused and committed, and that was my whole life, I was really committed to survival.

Last year, I remembered my mother molesting me. So that was a huge shift in my life—beginning to work through that trauma. I started seeing a trauma therapist last summer, and I’m a deep practitioner now of Ayahuasca, and doing the work of "facing yourself" in that sense is so difficult. Both these practices prompt to you go to your inner child and go to this place—kind of what you’re saying—this memory and giving that memory love. That is a great way to begin healing and self-parenting. For me, I have this distinct memory of playing blocks, and I'm maybe about three. I’ve got my back to the adult me, and I’ve just been going up to her and saying, “I love you, and it’s going to be okay.” That, to me, is time travel. What is time travel? Maybe it’s this ability to know you're going to be okay, and that’s amazing. Time travelling is really interesting particularly in the spectrum of trauma, because I think surviving is believing in your future.

If you can go back, can you also go forward and manifest?

Absolutely. [Laughs]

Left - Dress by NOMIA NYC, shirt by NANUSHKA, jewelry by LADY GREY, hat by CLYDE

Right - Dress by GANNI, jewelry by LADY GREY, hat by CLYDE, belt stylist's own

What have you manifested for yourself in 2020?

I mean [Laughs], oh my god, this year? Well, my book that comes out September 18, 2020 is called Like A Bird. It’s a novel that I started writing when I was 12 years old; I’ve been writing it for 18 years. I am really really hyper honest, because it’s a way of showing people that you can do that, and you can be yourself. There’s no distinction between who I am online and who I am in real life. It’s something that I’ve been very particular about, because I think that there’s a lot of dishonesty. But at the same time, all of us are just seeking truth. With my novel, I always had dreams of it being a bestseller and all of that corny shit. When I sold it, it was such a sad day. My agent was like, “It’s not a lot of money, but it’s such a good offer.” I was just like, “Okay, sure.” And it was, like, no money. I had dinner with my friend Kimberly Drew that night, and I was just crying to her. I felt like such a disappointment, and I was so embarrassed at the fact that I had made no money. And she was just like, “But you wrote a book, and you know it’s going to be good.” I looked at it again and was like, “Holy shit.” I wrote it for 18 years, but also I am really proud of it beyond the years. It’s about a girl who gets gang raped and survives. I have a lot of admiration for myself. Besides all of the things I’ve been through in my life and all of the intense barriers to my own survival, I just knew it would eventually pay off. The manifestation that I have is that it resonates beyond what I thought was possible. I really want my book to move people, and I think it has the potential to do that.

Also, just to make the art I want to make without the fear of money. I grew up poor, you know, and now I have a great apartment, but there’s always a fear of it all being taken away from me. So I’m doing my spiritual work to ensure and accept that I’m good, but then also to work and make foundations of where I am and building something greater and beyond me. So I’m thinking, what does a cultural institute look like? How can healing and educational tools come together for those who are inspired by the work that I do? Because this is not about me—this is about the work.

It’s amazing to have that vision, not only for yourself, but for others as well and knowing that the message only works if it has a ripple effect. I want to go back to you saying that you’re just as real online as you are in person, because I had a feeling. So I went through your Twitter, and I want to go through a topic you brought up, because it’s too fucking real. Kendall Jenner Instagrammed your book, and you retweeted it saying, “If the means of production is clout, working artists and writers do not own it, and they can rarely obtain it without help from the powerful. The myth that clout is available to anyone is the new American dream.” Can you explain?

That’s such a tricky bind. Do I care that Kendall Jenner is reading my book? No. Do I benefit off if it? Yes. And do I like that I benefit off of it? Yes. I’m not going to sit here and be like, “Fuck capitalism!” and pretend like I don’t benefit off of capitalism. I don’t have a safety net, so I need benefactors like Kendall Jenner to make Instagram stories.

The other difficult side of it is if she’s reading it and not understanding it. I remember when I first read Barth’s Death of the Author. I was like, “If I put my stuff out there, I can’t control how it’s taken?” I’ve seen that time and time again, because people read something and are like, “Fuck you.” It’s unnecessary, some of the hate that people have thrown, but at the same time, it’s their prerogative. I don’t know how to handle it.

I can’t pretend that I don’t want money, and I definitely struggled with that as a kid of a Marxist who was really insane about his beliefs, my father. I’ve seesawed between having a good life and what that looks like. I think that when you are an artist and making work during the time of capitalism, you need to ask yourself: How much money is too much money? At what point do you start giving the money back? A lot of really rich artists may justify their money, but I hope that’s where I can start paying it forward. I’m super invested in other artists. I buy their stuff all the time and make sure I support them. Those things are important to make sure that you’re creating this community. Knowing that the bigger you get, the more you give back is vital. I haven’t yet been able to give back immensely, but I look forward to the time when I can.

Left - Dress by GANNI, jewelry by LADY GREY, hat by CLYDE, belt stylist's own

Right - Dress by NANUSHKA, jacket by NOMIA NYC, necklaces by PAMELA LOVE + LADY GREY, all other jewelry by LADY GREY

How does it feel to have people who have lived vastly different lives than you connect with your work? Is it strange or upsetting?

No, I think it’s beautiful. When you bring it back to human connection, you can remove all of the ego. All of us have hurt. I just came out of a seven-day trauma retreat in the jungles of Mexico using Aya, and it was fucking insane. Maybe Kendall Jenner does fucking understand, I don’t know her life like that. I don’t think I have the right to say I’m better than anyone else. We’re all figuring it out. We don’t need hierarchy. I don’t need to feel better than anyone else. That’s not my jam.

You lead in a way that gives life advice, whether you’re aware of it or not. What’s one piece of advice that you’ve chosen to actively take?

I used to work at a magazine many years ago, and I wasn’t getting paid. Keep in mind, I’m really sensitive, and I’m genuinely shocked when someone hurts me. And my really good friend told me, “You have to remember that they don’t care about you.” I didn’t understand that people were like that. And still when people are bad and mean, I don’t get it. I really used to resent my innocence and naivety surrounding other people. I’ve gotten confirmation from my ex who's still a really good friend, and he told me, “I never really believed you were this innocent.” I think people are shocked when someone has truth, and that’s another thing I want to show.

I don’t want to be the person who doesn’t care about anybody. I want to be the person who cares about everybody. For so long, we’ve prioritized being mean, especially in the writing world. People would be mean to me, and then I would get insecure and be mean to them. It’s this cycle of people’s insecurities. My friend’s advice was helpful, because it made me see what other people were working with, but it also made me see that I never want to be this femme who is mean and industrious. That’s not impressive to me. I want to be kind and caring and full of life. That can be annoying and corny to people, and I know it’s triggering. People will try to belittle you and make fun of you. I just work on my ego and try not to take it personally, because not everyone can meet you there.

Art

Pamela Sneed’s Speaking Tongue opens at Dashwood Projects

November 15, 2024

Pamela Sneed’s latest exhibition, Speaking Tongue, will be on view at Dashwood Projects from November 20 to December 21. The show features twenty watercolor and ink paintings inspired by her recent trip to Kenya, where she was deeply moved by the elegance of giraffes, the landscapes, and the energy of Nairobi.

Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

This exhibition marks Sneed’s first solo show with Dashwood Projects and will be accompanied by a new book, also titled Speaking Tongue, to be released in December.

By Enzo Holdt
Artworks by Pamela Sneed

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Tiebreaker - Alvin Armstrong

November 15, 2024

There is a moment of silence right before the play. Just before the racket strikes the ball as it hangs weightless in the air, breathless and charged. It’s the fleeting yet decisive instant that can alter the course of the match, determining who wins and who loses.

Alvin Armstrong depicts this crucial moment in his new exhibition Tiebreaker, symbolizing the risks and rewards of competition. It’s an implication of something else at stake, where athletes push not only their bodies, but their spirits to the absolute limit.

The dynamic figures embody the strength, grace, and agility juxtaposed by the vibrant color palette evoking not just the joy of competition but the charged energy of the court.

Tiebreaker is opening Thursday, November 16th at Anna Zorina Gallery.

By Rea Brayshaw
Artworks by Alvin Armstrong

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The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.