Let Us Not Become Weary In Doing Good

April 23, 2022

Ron Finley’s practice—and I call it that because the man is as much an artist as he is an activist, a gardener, or what he calls an “ecolutionary”—began in South Central, LA. Finley’s focus is on freedom through gardening, food and community building. And though this message has traveled the globe by way of his viral TED Talk and top-ranked MasterClass, the self-proclaimed ‘Gangsta Gardener’ hasn’t strayed from the neighborhood where it all began. I met Finley there on a sunny afternoon in late January, on his tropical fruit tree-framed plot off South Central’s noisy parkway.

Beside the brightly painted empty swimming pool filled with succulents, fruits, vegetables and towering sunflowers, it was hard not to be immediately intimidated, both by the beauty and bounty of the life around me, and by Finley himself, sitting across from me at a picnic table. Inside this urban Eden he has created, it became clear his work isn’t really about gardening at all, though it started there. South Central is a food desert, an area populated by “liquor stores, fast food, and vacant lots,” Finley says, where “drive-throughs are killing more people than drive- bys.”

Interview by Anna Zanes
Photos by Jesper D. Lund

Seeking solutions for the lack of access to fresh food, Finley started a garden in the very parkway next to us. The small plot—an approximately 10 by 150 foot strip—is owned by the city, though by law, the maintenance of that strip is delegated to Finley, the resident. The city came after Finley for breaking municipal codes with the tall, flourishing plants he’s grown, but he fought back, loudly... And won. From there, the project grew rapidly, as did his realization that more could, and had to, be done. His message had to be spread, gardens needed to be grown, and fresh food distributed. Now, The Ron Finley Project is as much about plants as it is about political awakening, demanding independence, access, freedom and fresh air for not just his community, but people around the world.

ANNA ZANES—With your work and beyond, what have you been focused on lately?

RON FINLEY—Waking up in the morning and not getting caught the fuck up.

AZ—How do you do that?

RF—Don't get caught the fuck up! Wake up. Sit up. Look up. Stand up. Rise up. Don't get caught the fuck up. Real simple. I do that every day. This to me, is ground level. How do you get grounded? You touch the ground.

AZ—Did you do much of that growing up? Gardening, connecting with the earth?

RF—I did, but not like this. One of my first jobs was when I was a kid—I don't know, 11, 12 or something—I used to mow lawns and clean flower beds in the neighborhood. That's how we'd get a dollar, maybe $1.50 sometimes. That was a lot of money in the 1800s when I was a kid [Laughs]. But it wasn't like it is now. Again, I didn't see the value. And I think if a kid sees the value, if they see this tiny ass fucking seed that would turn into a tree, you would look at everything different. You can't call that shit nothing but magic.

AZ—It's so much about the tactile and visual experience of it all. I grew up in a city and I didn't really see that, or experience it, or even comprehend the impact it could have on humans. RF—I mean, you just get a whole other value system over what truly has value. And you might think that even I have value, instead of things having value. That's what this shit's about. Don't tell nobody though.

AZ—I’m big on routine. Do you have any routines or rituals that you practice?

RF—I breathe.

AZ—Yeah, that's important.

RF—Tell me about it. I'm a professional breather. Air is the single most important thing to your life. Period. Not money. Not water. Not food. Try doing it without air—air don't set you up. Air don't care what color you are, your pronouns, or prefixes or what so-called nationality you are. I don't think we give air enough credit—and you can't see it. Imagine that! How's the single most important thing to your life going to be something you don't see?

AZ—I guess that’s what makes it easy to neglect thinking about or crediting. It’s not a material object, slapping us in the face selling us on its necessity.

RF—One of the reasons. One of the other reasons is because you are taught to pledge allegiance to other shit. Shit that's not going to sustain or give you life, you know? Just imagine if you grew up knowing that you could heal yourself.

AZ—At what point did you learn that? What changed?

RF—A lot changed in my twenties. Just woke up like, Wow. And there was this realization of having been bamboozled.

AZ—In what way?

RF—Everything I learned. I mean, what did you learn that was important? What did you learn that would really take you forward? Did you learn that nothing is more expen- sive, nothing's more beautiful, nothing's more worthy than you? Did anybody teach you that in school? No?

AZ—No, I was groomed by a material-based value system.

RF—There you go.

AZ—I’m only aware of it now because of the pain it’s caused me, and I’m still working on dismantling it.

RF—That's what this is about. That's what I'm doing. This isn't about food—this is about freedom.

AZ—Can you explain that? How?

RF—Well, you just said it in different terms, but we've been trained to be greedy in an oppressive society. And going back to, why are underserved neighborhoods underserved? It's because you don't serve them. That's the only reason. It's that simple. If you wanted something there, you would put it there. When your mind is open, you would change your thoughts, and the way you grow through life. And with that, that's freedom. Instead of your brain being shackled to the beliefs of your employer, period. You're a minority. Where? Where am I a minority? Why? What makes me a minority? That’s a racist-ass term. Oh, you're a minority. It's like, ‘No, actually, you're the minority in the world.’ But now you got people coming into the door saying, ‘I'm less than you. I'm weaker. Basically, I'm insignificant.’ It's a beautiful tactic. Beautiful...

AZ—You’ve been in this area a while, to say the least...

RF—Yeah, it used to be called South Central. I don't know what the fuck they call it now—they tried to rename it South LA. They changed the name, but didn't change nothing else. I think it was a Jedi mind trick.

AZ—It’s an obvious point to make, but important nonetheless—I'm sure you've seen it be affected majorly by gentrification.

RF—Period. That's what's happening, and not just here but around the world. Other people come to your so-called ‘underserved neighborhood,’ ‘unrepresented neighborhood,’ and then they're like, Ooh, we like this. I want this. It's mine.

AZ—From what I've seen and read about your work, this reminds me of the power changing vernacular—redefin- ing words, restructuring inherent meaning.

RF—You change the way somebody thinks and feels about themselves, and you teach kids that you are the most valuable, worthy thing on this planet. That's dangerous for this society because now, they won't value the dumb shit. You would be able to look at another human being and see the value in this life, in this person, because this person is neat. God, I'm breathing the same air as them, you know? You're not taught that school. And words matter to me. I think if you frame them where we change this shit, people will think differently. And that's what this is about—just to change your vision of what's been shown. Because so much of it doesn't work for us. Like something simple, I'll talk at an architects' group. ‘What are cities designed for?’ And you know, they get the... ‘No, what are cities designed for? You're in an architects' group.’ This one school, the professor goes, ‘People.’ I'm like, ‘Eh, wrong. She's going to teach you that cities are designed for people. I'm sorry, cities are not designed for people. Cities are designed for one thing: commerce.’ And I said, ‘You can change that. You can design cities that are designed for people that are more humanistic.’

AZ—And that goes back to your purpose with the garden from the beginning, no?

RF—That's it. Cars, everything has more leeway and everything than us. Moving shit. Then we're living on top of each other and all this. I mean, even something as simple as the Parkway where you see mine—I got fruit trees and all kinds of shit when you're supposed to have grass. Why? Why am I supposed to have grass here when you have all this beautiful space that I can adapt to different kinds of food? A big part of my philosophy is not getting caught up in the bullshit.

AZ—You also worked in fashion and design previously, yeah?

RF—I still work in fashion. Where does color come from? Where does fabric come from?

AZ—I was just going to ask how your work in fashion might have lead to your art and activist work.

RF—Everything is connected. People ask me, ‘How do you go from fashion to gardening, farming?’ Well, there's no difference. Imagine, like, if somebody gives you a teeny little seed and you put it in the ground and you get to watch it grow. And then that one seed will give you a plant, but that plant will have hundreds of seeds because it'll give you fruit. And all those fruits or all those vegeta- bles will have seeds in them. When you think, it's really like some infinity shit.

AZ—I subscribe to that. You touched on some of these ideas in your TED Talk, which went viral. Is there anything else you wished you'd said in it?

RF—A lot, especially now. I mean, I'm older. But I don't know what I would've said back then. I can only look at right now. And they only gave me like six, seven minutes!

AZ—Speaking of right now... What would you say your mission statement is? What are you trying to do now?

RF—To wake up in the morning. If I don't wake up in the morning, who gives a fuck? Next. My mission statement is that line—there’s a sign on the green bench, I don't know if you saw it, soon as you walk in the gate. It says, ‘Operate From Happy.’

AZ—What about the future? What’s the plan moving forward?

RF—People have nonprofits and shit for forever. Why? It shouldn't be. Fix something and then go on and fix some- thing else. That's what I want to do. I want to fix some- thing, have a hell of a hell of a feast, laugh, have fun, and then be like, Okay, what are we fixing now?

AZ—It’s an action initiative, which ironically isn’t really the non-profit route in our for-profit world.

RF—Literally. A lot of the foundations, they want you to be this single vision of one thing—‘We change sprockets in bikes and that's all we do. We don't care nothing else about the rest of the bike.’ And for me, all this shit works together. You can't fix one and then the other shit's still broke. Because then that's going to be broke. I do what needs to be done.

AZ—Have you gotten more help, or seen more of a change, as your work has gotten more visible?

RF—I mean, I'm glad that's happened with what I've done—I had one of the biggest MasterClasses in the world—and with that, I had correspondence from countries that I never knew existed. I get these testimonies that I want people to continue it. Yeah, I want to do the work here and I want this to get bigger. And yeah, I mean, funding would be a beautiful thing and make it a lot easier to put together a hell of a team and be able to compensate people. You shouldn't have to almost eat, just because you're doing good shit. That's how they have people thinking—that if you're doing good, if you have a nonprofit, you should be damn near starving. My thing is, if you do good, you should do good, too.

AZ—What's the best way that the general public can help? Whether it’s within their own communities doing the same work, or directly helping your foundation?

RF—All of that. And send me all their extra money! Just send all of it. All the money! The money their rich aunt left them, the inheritance, the house—all that. [Laughs].

Culture

Mowalola x Miss Sixty Launch with H. Lorenzo

I swing my legs over the ropes that guard the VIP entrance. Always over (I’m 5’10), never under. I’m late to the H. Lorenzo x Mowalola event, and the line is wrapped around the block. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I hate waiting in lines; it just ruins everything.

“Hey, my friend is DJing right now. My name should be down,” I say.

The youngish security guard looks me up and down. I have made an adventurous choice for this type of crowd. Neon pink hoodie, bright orange vest, my Raimundo jeans, and Jeremy Scott animal print sneakers. I let him take me in and look over his shoulder. Hmmm… I will be swathed in darkness when he lets me in. Dark night, dark clothes, dark makeup, furs, hoods, leather accessories, and sunglasses. I don’t recognize anyone, but it’s hard to tell who anyone is because I can’t see after 8 pm without my glasses. Night blindness. I can still catch a vibe though.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Mr. Guard says, interrupting my squinting.

“Who?,” I ask.

“The woman in charge of the list.”

That’s a drag. I want to dance. Lately, I am going out in the name of music.

“So…can I go in?” I ask.

“Just wait for her to get back.”

That sounded fine. I wait. The outdoor smoking area is packed. I imagine the inside to be a mirror of this, hopefully with people dancing instead of blowing smoke in each other’s eyes.

“You got instagram?” The guard asks me after about ten minutes of flirting.

“Can I go in?” I said.

He laughs. He lets me in the event without a wristband.

Inside, I understand why the other guard was gone for so long. I made a mental note to not drink too much liquid, the bathroom line is almost as long as the line outside. The party is popping, far from a flop.

I push through the crowd solo, following the speakers to the DJ booth. The immersive visuals provided me with enough light to make out Mowalola in a gold bikini and her low rise denim. My pulse races like the horse printed on the front of her coochie. That’s the point of the collection, obviously.

My hips swing around before I head towards the open bar. I smile to myself, noting that it’s a mezcal forward menu. I see a drink that disgusts me so I order it without hesitation. It’s a mezcal coffee concoction. My heart ’s ran through already, why not go all in? I head back to dance when I hear Shigecki’s set start. I’m jumping around, sweating, and when I pause for a beat I let out a yelp. There are strippers working poles opposite and behind the DJ booth. Good. Events should be sexy.

I end the night smoking my friend’s Korean strawberry cigarettes taking in the air of cool- when a man comes up to me wild-eyed exclaiming that we look just like one another. I look at him- no, not at all. I turn slowly, remembering what I should be doing: listening to DJ G2G’s set. Back inside, she is playing reggaeton type beats with lasers beaming out of her headphones (I want these). A rave in it of herself.

Too bad all the events end at 2 am in LA.

Culture

Vans Pipe Masters 2024

On the first night, Steve Van Doren and the Vans team hosted the heat draw for the competitors at a casual backyard barbecue. The son of Vans’ co-founder Paul Van Doren, Steve has worked in the family business for decades, and is now known as the Ambassador of Fun. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cowboy hat made out of old shoes, he was definitely dressed for the part. The surfers, along with family and friends gathered in a relaxed setting as 40 men’s and 20 women’s names were drawn from a shoebox. The competition would run in 3 rounds, the top 4 men and 4 women with the highest scores moving onto the finals. When asked about their strategies, most gave answers along the lines of “get waves.” Refreshingly simple.

After waiting a few days for favorable conditions, the first day of competition kicked off with Women’s Round 1. It was finally time to see Pipeline in action. Banzai Pipeline is known as one of the most dangerous places to surf due to the powerful waves breaking over shallow and sharp reefs. With the potential to crash into the rocky edges or have leashes caught in caves, it takes a ton of skill–-and even more courage–to surf here. No stranger to these risks, the first heat included favorites Caity Simmers and “Queen of Pipeline” Moana Jones Wong, who showed off exactly why they’d been successful here in the past. Midway through the heats, Mother Nature decided to throw in another element as a light drizzle turned into a proper downpour. Rain or shine, the athletes went out unfazed, focused on getting their first points on the board.

After another short day’s break, the competition continued with the women’s second round and the men’s first. The beach was filled with spectators, locals and tourists alike, as the competition was free for all to attend. While fans rooted equally for the women and men, the most popular were the local Hawaiian athletes, which made up about half the competition. The women started off the day again, hyping up the crowd with incredible rides. One ride by Bettylou Sakura Johnson earned the first Bag of Cash of the day– a cash prize (of undisclosed amount) awarded in a brown paper bag to any surfer that pulls off a wow moment, excites the crowd, and pulls off something spectacular regardless of what the conditions might look like.

Winds picked up as the men’s competition began and two strategies quickly emerged: an aggressive approach, targeting any decent waves to build small scores; and a patient approach, waiting for the perfect wave to chase a high single score. Even the waves that were unrideable were a spectacle in itself. The sheer size, illustrated by the length of surfboards riding up and over, and the following crash of white water spray was hypnotizing. Then imagining having to experience it out on the water, duck diving under or being lifted over, brought a renewed respect for the surfers.

After watching these early rounds, it was time for office to head back to the cold. With the competition officially spanning from December 8-20, it seemed the forecast was gearing up for some massive waves— and it didn’t disappoint. Following from afar through Vans’ Instagram and live updates, we saw the full extent of what it means to surf at Pipeline. After a series of electrifying and daring surfs, the 2024 winners were crowned: Erin Brooks and Nathan Florence.

The thrill of watching top athletes compete at the highest level of their sport, even remotely, never fails to inspire. Few sports surrender so completely to the forces of nature as surfing does. And at its core, surfing is all about having a deep respect for the ocean—its unpredictable whims, its immense power, and its ever-changing moods.

Culture

The Cost of Queendom

December 17, 2024

One summer afternoon in New York, a few days after their New York premiere of the acclaimed documentary Queendom, office met up with documentary filmmaker Agniia Galdanova and producer Igor Myakotin at a tattoo parlor on the west side of Manhattan. While Agniia received a tattoo of the portmanteau “DOCU CUNT” across her fists, she — unfazed by the needle on her knuckles — answered our questions alongside Igor about the making of the stirring story that has traveled around the world.

One of the opening scenes of Queendom depicts a ritual many of us are all too familiar with in the 21st century. Jenna Marvin, the documentary film’s central subject, takes her friend along with her to take photos for Instagram. When she finds a suitable backdrop, she poses, poses, poses, and then reviews the photos. Dissatisfied, she gives her notes, and then returns to pose, pose, pose again.

By Brook Aster
Photos by Liv Solomon

The ritual may be familiar, but nothing else about the scene — from its setting to its stakes — is ordinary. The backdrop behind Jenna is a sweeping expanse of ice and snow in a small Russian port town called Magadan. Jenna is dressed in drag, but not drag of the Rupaul’s Drag Race variety; her drag has been referred to as “creature drag.” Her signature white face paint, platform heels and surrealist costumes, with their exaggerated sculptural proportions and use of duct tape and repurposed items, catches the ire of her neighbors and the love of online admirers alike. Jenna eventually accrued a following on social media for her public and technically illegal drag performances, which often involved little more than her walking or being in public spaces but nevertheless were often met with abuse and threats of imprisonment.

But when Agniia first encountered Jenna, she hadn’t yet reached the level of virality that would eventually come in the years to follow. The filmmaker was researching different drag performers in Russia for her sophomore project, which she thought would be a docuseries, when she heard from a friend about a young drag queen from Magadan. “I was like, this is impossible. I have to meet this person,” Agniia remembers. “And I could not actually go meet her because I was in Moscow and she was in Saint Petersburg, so I sent a friend of mine with whom I’d been studying with in film school, and she went and filmed the sample.” The simple video, showing Jenna and her friend getting dressed up for a party, struck something in Agniia. The drag was an earlier, more prototypical version of the style Jenna is now known for; less duct tape and ornamentation, but still that signature striking makeup. “Something sparked. I knew I just had to stick to this feeling,” Agniia says. She decided to turn the docuseries into a documentary solely focused on Jenna.

Around that time, the entire world came to a grinding halt: the onset of COVID-19 pandemic had just led to lockdowns around the globe. With only a couple thousand followers on social media at that point in time, Jenna had tried to branch out and connect with other drag artists in Moscow and Saint Petersburg, but faced rejection; her drag was extremely unconventional, and not even other drag artists quite understood it. “I think we found each other at the right moment, because nobody knew what to do, how to cope with all this,” Agniia says. “Jenna was saying that she was lost, and she also didn't know how to develop her art next.”

Unlike some of the other artists Agniia had initially researched, Jenna didn’t need much convincing to allow the camera into her life. “[Especially] after COVID came, there wasn't really [any] drag in my life,” Jenna recounts when I speak to her later over Zoom. “I realized that what drag is for me is not just a costume, a dress, something that you leave, that you take off and then in the dead of the night you put back on. Later, I understood that this is who I am, that I am art and I am drag, and that this is way bigger and more important than just clothing or costume.”

[LEFT TO RIGHT: Agniia Galdanova, Jenna Marvin, Igor Myakotin]

When it came time to move into production stages, Agniia sent a clip to Igor, who had been referred to her by a past colleague. When Igor saw the footage, he was similarly struck by Jenna — and even more struck to find out she shared his small hometown of Magadan. “It was just so fateful to know that I also come from this town, and I've never seen it through this cinematic lens, through the vision that Agniia has,” he says. “I was mesmerized by the footage, mesmerized by Jenna. I thought to myself, I have to do everything I can [for us] to work together, whatever the collaboration is gonna be.”

The two followed Jenna for over three years; Agniia first relocated to St. Petersburg, where Jenna had taken up residence after leaving her grandparents’ home in Magadan, and later Jenna moved in with Agniia in her home in Moscow. All the while, Igor and his team worked remotely from the United States to meet Agniia’s production needs. Inevitably, with all their time spent together, Agniia and Jenna became close.

“There is an unspoken rule in documentary filmmaking that you have to keep this line, and you can’t overcome certain boundaries,” Agniia explains. “In my first film, it was not an easy subject [to do this with] as well. I was following a family for seven months, and [we became] close, but I always was trying to keep my distance, and was constantly thinking about it. How much should I say? How much should I give?” But as she got to know Jenna, it became clear that this time, that distance wouldn’t be possible. “With Jenna almost from the very beginning, I was like, fuck it. That’s not going to work with this one. I'm going to break this rule 100%. I never regretted it, because that's actually what built up the trust that is there.”

As Jenna's public performances continued and began to garner more public attention, her online audience multiplied. Among her virtual admirers was French fashion maven Michèle Lamy, who would eventually sign onto Queendom as an executive producer. Lamy's discovery of Jenna led to an invitation to walk in the Rick Owens show in Paris — her first time modeling, and her first time leaving Russia in her life. Of course, Agniia and her camera followed. But most of their excursions were not so glamorous; many of Jenna's performances shown in the documentary were undertaken at a real risk to her physical safety, and by extension, to the safety of Agniia. But neither of them were daunted.

I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.

After all, Jenna was used to both taking risks and documenting them well before she was the subject of a film; she and her friends long filmed the often impassioned, sometimes violent reactions of strangers and policemen to their mere existence in public spaces in drag. And after a protest performance in which she wrapped herself in the Russian flag, Jenna was kicked out of beauty school, her last attempt at a practical route before pursuing her drag as a full time venture.

The only time Agniia tried to dissuade her was on Paratrooper’s Day, a Russian military holiday often characterized by the drunk soldiers roaming the streets. The risk for violence was especially high. “On Paratroopers Day, people say you can't come out in skinny jeans or with nail polish,” Jenna describes. “[I think] you should do the opposite. You should really make a statement and come out wearing what you want to wear. I think that clothes, what we wear, is really at some point beyond our psyche, our mind, our understanding. It is as if it's a certain kind of spice that is enticing you and you follow the scent of that spice and you don't see anything else except that scent and you follow it. That's how I see it.”

“I was like, ‘girl, maybe we should not do that,’” Agniia says. “Igor was stressing out and she told us, ‘well, you don't need to follow me. I'm gonna go and do it. I don't care if you're coming or not.’” In the end, Jenna ventured out for her performance anyway, protesting the then-recent invasion of Ukraine. Agniia followed. Not shown in the film is that the two were arrested, and managed to talk the police out of their arrest.

Not too long after, she would have to leave Russia again, this time moving for Paris for good; the film follows her struggles to get a visa in time to leave the country after the onset of the war. “It's already been three years that I've been in France, and it is important for me to understand and remember who I am, and to remember that pain, those moments when we were back in Russia doing drag, fighting with the police and law enforcement,” Jenna says. “It is important that this resistance continues and that those voices are not being silenced. Yes, here there’s much more freedom, there are pride parades and queer people can get married, but this is an illusion because there are also places where you cannot get married and you cannot enjoy the same freedoms. I cling to who I am, who I was from the very beginning. I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.”

“Meeting Jenna gave me hope for the future of the country, because governments come and go, people in power come and go, but the generations change at the same time,” Igor says. “So it warms my heart to see that someone like her came from somewhere like that. If I saw her back then at a similar age, it would be even more personal. I think I would’ve accepted myself as gay quicker, and I wouldn't be nervous or closed and not open to the world or myself… Working with this project also meant that we were amplifying the voices of many, many people who couldn't speak like Jenna could.”

For Agniia, the honor of telling Jenna's story is only paralleled by the honor of having her in her life. “We found each other,” Agniia says. “And what I learned from Jenna is so precious; about life, about art, about surviving. And I appreciate it a lot. This film grew so much larger than just a documentary, because I have a family now, a working family.”

Queendom is now available to stream on Apple TV.