HERON PRESTON

 

Portraits: ADARSHA BENJAMIN

 

HANS ULRICH OBRIST You have many dimensions to your work: you’re an artist, a creative director, a designer, a DJ. What was the first of all these many roles you started?

HERON PRESTON I guess it started in school—it’s skateboarding, it’s music, it’s all of these different avenues of culture that I was embracing. I would start to make friends with kids who were listening to the same things as me or skateboarding. I started doing projects with friends, and one of those projects turned out to be the very first time I started to place my name on garments: Heron Preston. It was a t-shirt, and this was back when I had just graduated high school in 2001. I wanted the brand to sound prestigious because I was elevating t-shirts into a more premium space. My name is Heron Johnson, but my middle name is Preston, and that sounded so fancy to me. The first logo that I had developed was in cursive, and it had two cherubs with wings. My grandfather is a preacher and an artist; he would paint scriptures on canvas. I would see a lot of imagery of angels and cherubs in my house. My slogan was “Live Above Mediocrity,” which I got tattooed. It was my first tattoo because I heard a preacher say that. Then I had discovered a screenprinter in San Francisco that was printing all of the merchandise for skateboard brands, and in the corner they had a four color press that was all manual. They gave me my first opportunity to screenprint.

HUO I have had many conversations with Virgil [Abloh] in the last couple of years, and he said everything started with t-shirts—in a very DIY way. It’s exactly the same for you.

HP Yeah, it was exactly the same for me. That was the very beginning of all of this. San Francisco was very DIY, and I was learning as I went. I was working at a retail shop. It was kind of like the Colette of San Francisco at its time, and it was a very tiny boutique. But then, I moved to New York. I got accepted into Parsons. I thought that since I was making t-shirts, I should then go and study fashion design. As a core fashion designer, I felt like I had ideas, and I really wanted to figure out ways to bring those to life through any type of medium. It didn’t really have to be restricted to fashion, so I didn’t do fashion design at Parsons. I studied design and management, and graduated with a business degree from an art school.  

HUO Who are some other people who inspired you? Alexis Pauline Gumbs’ stance is very interesting in terms of thinking with Sylvia Wynter. We can think with other people in our work. So, the question is less by who are you influenced, but with whom have you been thinking?

HP It was a man by the name of Darrel Rhea. He was introduced at a talk as a futurist and an innovator. This was a talk about design, and the best design according to him was design that was meaningful. He wrote a book called Making Meaning. According to him, the best design is understanding the desires of human beings and that’s how you make meaning. He was redesigning Australia’s tax system at the time, and that had totally changed my entire outlook on what design was. I thought design was just fashion design, or interior design, or graphic design. I thought it was only playing with color, or materials, but I learned from him that design was also a form of organization. After I heard him speak, I emailed him, and was like, “Hey, I want to learn from you. I want you to be my mentor.” As I grew into my career in New York City, we always stayed in touch.

Working at Nike, I just didn’t feel like I was growing. So I wrote to Darrel, and I asked him what I should do next. He asked me, “Are you interested in continuing to apply your design and innovation only to art and fashion, or are you interested in applying your design and innovation to a wicked issue?” At the time he was working in the healthcare industry, which needed a lot of help in redesigning the way medical records are shared amongst doctors. He called that a wicked issue. He challenged me, “Do you want to continue applying this to art and fashion, or would you like to design with purpose?” After a year of really thinking about what the answer would be, I stumbled on this beach in Ibiza. I went swimming and this plastic bag was floating in the ocean toward me. I thought it was a jellyfish at first. But once it got closer, I realized it was garbage. All of a sudden the stars aligned, and the answer struck: holy shit, the environment is the wicked issue. I really love nature. I grew up in San Francisco—going on camping trips in Muir Woods, Marin Headlands, and Squaw Valley in Tahoe. So, when I saw litter within a natural environment, I was like, man, I want to start to clean up beaches. I want to start to clean up my own city. And as a designer, I also really love workwear, I love uniforms, and so it all started to hit me: the environment, work uniforms, and then I immediately thought about, as a design project, approaching the Department of Sanitation in New York City to do a collaboration to help clean up the environment.

HUO That must’ve been a major revelation in your life because everything unfolded from that. Before you started your own brand, UNIFORM, Kanye West also played a role. I’m always fascinated because in every art movement there are these offices of professionals who sort of become a school. Not only a school—Andy Warhol had the Factory. I was also trying to find out what it is about Kanye that makes him so inspiring for the people who work with him.  

HP When I left Nike, I started working for Kanye. I was a creative director on his internal team called Donda for two years. That’s also where Virgil worked. What’s fascinating about working with Kanye is that he is able to really harness the purity of youth. He’s able to really harness the purity of that point of creation—you embrace risk-taking, you really love to push boundaries, and you love to be playful with your ideas. Working at Nike and other corporations was very safe. But with Kanye, anything is possible. He really empowers everyone around him. I think when you get thrown into the fire like that, you automatically start to grow this second skin or this superpower of learning faster than if you had to teach yourself. 

HUO When I did this conversation with Kanye and Jacques Herzog, what I was so excited by is this idea of eternal learning, of eternal curiosity. That’s something I always believed in, which is why I do these interviews. We can always learn so many things.

HP Curiosity has always guided my process. I remember the first day on the job at Nike, I left my desk, and when I came back there was a printout that said: “Once you lose your curiosity, it’s over.” At that moment, I realized why they really wanted me within my role as the marketing strategist. That’s always driven how I make design decisions, and I think that’s also how I’ve been as a little kid with friendships. I was on the chess team, I was the class president, but then I was also an athlete. I think it’s because I was the only child that wanted to make friends with people and discover different cultures. Curiosity is a huge aspect of the qualities that Ye has, that I have, that really guide our creativity and interests.

HUO All these experiences coalesce into these collections you launch. You launched UNIFORM in New York and then a year later you went to Moscow with it, then to Paris. Can you tell me a little bit about these collections and how different they were, and also it’s a very unexpected context to connect fashion, ecology, zero waste, upcycling, recycling with the Department of Sanitation. Fifteen years ago in Zurich there was a sanitation museum, and I curated a show there called Cloaca Maxima about art and sanitation, and I always thought it was so great because whenever an artist, or visitor arrived, they would send someone from the staff in a sanitation uniform to pick the people up.

HP Uniforms have always been a big inspiration of mine. I was really fascinated with the Department Of Sanitation. I felt like everything at the time was so predictable. I was also really inspired by Matthew Barney and his River of Fundament in Detroit. It was a whole day of performances. First, we were escorted down to the theater at the Detroit Museum to watch the film—a car crashes into the river, and then the film abruptly stops. Then, we’re all escorted into a tour bus and driven through downtown Detroit, then we’re escorted into a glue factory where this woman performs, and then we’re escorted into a barge on the river where we’re watching this performance, and then we’re escorted into a car factory, and then there’s this big explosion and the show finishes.

This was an entire performance where he took over Detroit and he coordinated with the police department, he coordinated with the mayor’s office, he coordinated with all the city agencies, and I thought that was just so powerful. I wanted to do my own version of a city takeover. I thought that if I put my uniforms on the back of nine thousand sanitation workers around New York City, I would have that same impact that Matthew Barney had on me. That’s why I really wanted to work with the Department of Sanitation as well, to show the crossover between art and government—shining a positive light on sanitation workers. So, it was these tones of humanitarianism, social structures, and the environment. It was my first time even learning about upcycling. I wanted to just do a project using secondhand t-shirts that would become uniforms for all of the workers. It was all about recovering waste and giving it a second life; this secondhand first philosophy. I really took my creativity and my design to new levels through this project.

HUO An artist Mierle Laderman Ukeles, who is now in her eighties.. 

HP I had no idea about her! I started researching the Department of Sanitation, and I saw there was a talk happening at the New York City Museum. It was being hosted by a woman named Robin Nagle who is the in-house anthropologist for the Department of Sanitation. She wrote a book called Picking Up: [On the Streets and Behind the Trucks with the Sanitation Workers of New York City] where she basically took the test to become a sanitation worker just so she could study them. She had a talk and told the story of New York City’s relationship with waste management. The city’s waste management agency goes back to the 1800s. There was a prominent figure who was a doctor, and he made the connection between cleanliness and health. He said that if we clean up the city, and we start an agency, we will save more lives. That’s why the Department of Sanitation’s logo is a caduceus, which is that cross that has the snake going around it. When we got to the 1980s in the book, Mierle [Laderman] comes along in her story. Mierle shook the hands of every worker in New York City. It took her one year, and as she did, she said, “Thank you for keeping the city alive.”

HUO It’s called Touch Sanitation. And she shook 8,500 employees' hands.

HP When I learned about this work, I was like, Oh my god! They have an artist there? I need to meet her! She’s going to be the one to understand what I would like to do. I reached out to Robin to introduce me to Mierle. She told me no because she didn’t know who I was. She was very protective of Mierle. So, a couple years later at NADA, I stumbled on another talk. When I look at the projector, I see a photo of Mierle and her Touch Sanitation project. The woman who was presenting Mierle’s work was named Diya Vij who works in the Public Arts in Residence in New York City, called PAIR. I walked up to Diya after her talk and said, “Hey, the woman that you’re talking about, Mierle, I need to meet her. I have a big idea that I would love to present to her. Can you introduce me?” They called me in for a meeting and I presented this idea of recovering waste and doing a secondhand uniform project to raise money for the city. There was this charity component as well because city budgets always get cut. So, if there was a way for the city to raise money, they might approve the project. Funny enough, the DSNY had always wanted to do a fashion show because out of all the agencies within New York City, like the Fire Department, the Police Department, New Yorkers always talk shit about sanitation workers. They hate when a garbage truck is blocking traffic, but imagine what would happen if no one picked up your trash. 

HUO The city would collapse.

HP Because of that, the DSNY has always been the coolest agency. They were like, “Hey, would you like to do a fashion show together?” And I was like, “Of course! That’s what I’ve been wanting to do with you guys.” I really wanted this to be a performance like Mierle’s. Through this project, I was able to invite New Yorkers into restricted city access zones like the Salt Shed, which is where we had the performance. That Salt Shed houses nine thousand tons of salt for the winter season and is only accessed during the winter. I also brought out Mierle’s truck—it was in the 1983 New York Art Fair Parade. That truck was all about the reflection of New Yorkers, so she outfitted the truck with mirrors. The whole idea was to see yourself in the garbage truck, and the whole meaning was that we’re all in this together. When you throw your trash away, it doesn’t just end there. So I put her work in my show, I put recycled electronic waste in my show, I worked with different city agencies, I brought bales of old clothes from the Goodwill, I worked with Housing Works to bring in electronic waste, I worked with Sims, which is North America's largest recycling facility and is based here in Brooklyn in Sunset Park, so it was a really big citywide initiative. At the event, you had models and cool people like Virgil, but then you had sanitation workers, and you would never see that at a fashion event. Ever. It was so cool to see my friends mingling with city workers.  

HUO The question now is of scale, and in terms of your most frequently quoted quote: “Harness the power of fashion to design a better future.” That leaves us the question: what can then really change mainstream fashion brands? And that brings me to a recent collaboration you’re doing with Calvin Klein. How can you add sustainability to such a large brand? I read that they use raw denim, which uses less water, but there must be more to it, no?

HP It was a really small team. The rest of the company didn’t even know that we were working on this project, so we were able to identify new factories that were vetted, carve out our own supply chain, and activate those factories, and that supply chain. I like to call it our value chain. The very first day that I got in, I started looking at their packaging and it’s all plastic. We then changed all of the plastic packaging into recyclable and biodegradable materials. Then looking at the materials: I decided to do raw denim to save us water, but it also allows the wearer to personalize it. Also, not using too many logos, so that you can make it yours. I’m really big with authenticity and responding to the desires of the community. It’s not that typical approach to picking models or faces. I have people who are known for breaking boundaries, rising stars in culture, and fresh faces. I could’ve done a sanitation-worker-inspired collection and wouldn’t have even had to work with the Department of Sanitation, but would it have been authentic? That was the same with Calvin Klein. What is the core of Calvin Klein? It’s the underwear—a three-pack of white t-shirts—so I started to build it from there in respect of the brand, but in respect of the environment as well.

HUO The architect Peter Smithson always said there is a kind of thing and it’s found. That seems to be a part of your work—you find stuff. I’ve been wearing your coat with the safety belt a lot. What’s the ready-made dimension of the work?

HP I think it’s shining a light on the overlooked and recontextualizing it. It’s about the curiosity of pointing my finger at things I find fascinating, and bringing my friends or my community along the way. It’s about designing or creating these worlds and inviting someone into this world. To experience a kind of a world I would love to live in.  

HUO On Instagram, you are often referencing health and culture, animals, and of course seeing these animals in the work, the heron, your namesake, makes us think about extinction because we are living in an age of climate emergency, but actually it’s a mass extinction. And you work with the Audubon [Society], so I want to hear more about that, and your work with animals, and animals through these manifesto type of t-shirts.  

HP My father, who is a retired San Francisco police officer, started a program called Operation Dream, which was a program with the SFPD that would give young kids from public housing the opportunity to go and explore their surroundings. They would take kids on camping trips, skiing trips, and white water rafting trips. Or they would take them to woodworking classes, and arts and crafts. My dad was always bringing me on those trips. When I think of growing up in San Francisco, we were surrounded by beautiful parks. Golden Gate Park is in the heart of San Francisco, and I was always visiting these parks. I grew up with a fascination with nature. I’d be volunteering at the Discovery Museum in San Francisco. I remember seeing a great blue heron in Marin when I was about twelve years old, and I took a photo on my disposable camera. I always loved that I had the same name as this bird. I really wanted to put this Audubon painting on the collection as this introduction to the meaning of my name, and my love of nature. It brings some balance into the fashion imagery within streetwear, where you see a lot of graffiti, and you see a lot of references to the streets, but I wasn’t necessarily finding any connections to nature in a cool way. I wanted to do it through the context of a skater.

HUO Orange is the color of your brand, the labels are in orange. I was kind of wondering because I always see orange as a DIY color, but I was wondering what orange means for you.

HP Orange is a very powerful color. It’s super powerful. You don’t need to use a lot for someone to notice it. The season one collection, I was putting orange on everything, then I would step back, and I would see too much orange. Over the seasons, you see me using less and less, and almost reducing it only to the label. On the heron bird, you see a little bit of orange within their beaks. So, there’s that connection to nature. A lot of workwear agencies use orange labels. The DSNY had orange labels as well. It’s the color of safety and PPE, and you see that color orange being used for street signs, or orange cones. It’s this notice-me color. On the Calvin Klein collection, you’ll get these little hints of orange, and it worked because in paparazzi photos, celebrities wearing the collection, with these long lenses, you can still see that little, tiny bit of orange from like a million miles away, and you know that it’s my collection without even seeing the Calvin Klein logo.

HUO Rainer Maria Rilke wrote this book called Letters to a Young Poet. I’m sure a lot of young designers and students will read this interview—what would you advise them?  

HP Protect yourself. Have people around you who can protect you, and never give up. Remain curious, challenge yourself, and have fun along the way. And innovate. Look to do something new. I love that Miles Davis quote: “Play what’s not being played.” 

HUO We always know about architects’ unrealized projects because they publish them, and very little fashion design or visual artists’, musicians’, composers’, poets’ unrealized projects are published. Do you have any dreams or projects you haven’t been able to do yet that you want to realize in the future?

HP Right now, I’m looking to develop new materials. I really want to be a source for young designers material-wise. Looking at circularity in fashion and design. I want to position myself as that voice, so beyond just selling fashion, can I sell materials? Can I develop my own materials? When you look at materials, you have Gore-Tex, and then you have Zebrum and other materials you don’t really know about. So, looking at developing my own materials but then inviting other brands and other designers to use Heron Preston materials. I have something I’m developing now. I would love to have my own garden one day, my own type of park, for example.

HUO What would your garden look like?

HP My garden would have a lot of trees, and bushes, and flowers, and it would feel like an enchanted forest. A lot of overhanging trees, and branches, and benches to sit, and maybe a pond. I would have amazing birds that would live there. I really wanted to start a farm as well, where I could then start to grow my own cotton, or my own hemp, and develop my own bed and breakfast. Over the pandemic, I was wanting to be out as far away from the coronavirus as possible. I was fascinated with farms because they’re very resourceful and self-sufficient: you have your own food, you have your own resources, and then you have nature. One of my unrealized projects is to start a farm, and then a sculpture garden where I can invite my friends outside of New York City to come and escape. I think it’s all about having an escape within nature.

HANS ULRICH OBRIST You . have many dimensions to your work: you’re an artist, a creative director, a designer, a DJ. What was the first of all these many roles you started?

HERON PRESTON I guess it started in school—it’s skateboarding, it’s music, it’s all of these different avenues of culture that I was embracing. I would start to make friends with kids who were listening to the same things as me or skateboarding. I started doing projects with friends, and one of those projects turned out to be the very first time I started to place my name on garments: Heron Preston. It was a t-shirt, and this was back when I had just graduated high school in 2001. I wanted the brand to sound prestigious because I was elevating t-shirts into a more premium space. My name is Heron Johnson, but my middle name is Preston, and that sounded so fancy to me. The first logo that I had developed was in cursive, and it had two cherubs with wings. My grandfather is a preacher and an artist; he would paint scriptures on canvas. I would see a lot of imagery of angels and cherubs in my house. My slogan was “Live Above Mediocrity,” which I got tattooed. It was my first tattoo because I heard a preacher say that. Then I had discovered a screenprinter in San Francisco that was printing all of the merchandise for skateboard brands, and in the corner they had a four color press that was all manual. They gave me my first opportunity to screenprint.

HUO I have had many conversations with Virgil [Abloh] in the last couple of years, and he said everything started with t-shirts—in a very DIY way. It’s exactly the same for you.

HP Yeah, it was exactly the same for me. That was the very beginning of all of this. San Francisco was very DIY, and I was learning as I went. I was working at a retail shop. It was kind of like the Colette of San Francisco at its time, and it was a very tiny boutique. But then, I moved to New York. I got accepted into Parsons. I thought that since I was making t-shirts, I should then go and study fashion design. As a core fashion designer, I felt like I had ideas, and I really wanted to figure out ways to bring those to life through any type of medium. It didn’t really have to be restricted to fashion, so I didn’t do fashion design at Parsons. I studied design and management, and graduated with a business degree from an art school.

HUO Who are some other people who inspired you? Alexis Pauline Gumbs’ stance is very interesting in terms of thinking with Sylvia Wynter. We can think with other people in our work. So, the question is less by who are you influenced, but with whom have you been thinking?  

HP It was a man by the name of Darrel Rhea. He was introduced at a talk as a futurist and an innovator. This was a talk about design, and the best design according to him was design that was meaningful. He wrote a book called Making Meaning. According to him, the best design is understanding the desires of human beings and that’s how you make meaning. He was redesigning Australia’s tax system at the time, and that had totally changed my entire outlook on what design was. I thought design was just fashion design, or interior design, or graphic design. I thought it was only playing with color, or materials, but I learned from him that design was also a form of organization. After I heard him speak, I emailed him, and was like, “Hey, I want to learn from you. I want you to be my mentor.” As I grew into my career in New York City, we always stayed in touch.

Working at Nike, I just didn’t feel like I was growing. So I wrote to Darrel, and I asked him what I should do next. He asked me, “Are you interested in continuing to apply your design and innovation only to art and fashion, or are you interested in applying your design and innovation to a wicked issue?” At the time he was working in the healthcare industry, which needed a lot of help in redesigning the way medical records are shared amongst doctors. He called that a wicked issue. He challenged me, “Do you want to continue applying this to art and fashion, or would you like to design with purpose?” After a year of really thinking about what the answer would be, I stumbled on this beach in Ibiza. I went swimming and this plastic bag was floating in the ocean toward me. I thought it was a jellyfish at first. But once it got closer, I realized it was garbage. All of a sudden the stars aligned, and the answer struck: holy shit, the environment is the wicked issue. I really love nature. I grew up in San Francisco—going on camping trips in Muir Woods, Marin Headlands, and Squaw Valley in Tahoe. So, when I saw litter within a natural environment, I was like, man, I want to start to clean up beaches. I want to start to clean up my own city. And as a designer, I also really love workwear, I love uniforms, and so it all started to hit me: the environment, work uniforms, and then I immediately thought about, as a design project, approaching the Department of Sanitation in New York City to do a collaboration to help clean up the environment.

HUO That must’ve been a major revelation in your life because everything unfolded from that. Before you started your own brand, UNIFORM, Kanye West also played a role. I’m always fascinated because in every art movement there are these offices of professionals who sort of become a school. Not only a school—Andy Warhol had the Factory. I was also trying to find out what it is about Kanye that makes him so inspiring for the people who work with him.  

HP When I left Nike, I started working for Kanye. I was a creative director on his internal team called Donda for two years. That’s also where Virgil worked. What’s fascinating about working with Kanye is that he is able to really harness the purity of youth. He’s able to really harness the purity of that point of creation—you embrace risk-taking, you really love to push boundaries, and you love to be playful with your ideas. Working at Nike and other corporations was very safe. But with Kanye, anything is possible. He really empowers everyone around him. I think when you get thrown into the fire like that, you automatically start to grow this second skin or this superpower of learning faster than if you had to teach yourself.   

HUO When I did this conversation with Kanye and Jacques Herzog, what I was so excited by is this idea of eternal learning, of eternal curiosity. That’s something I always believed in, which is why I do these interviews. We can always learn so many things.

HP Curiosity has always guided my process. I remember the first day on the job at Nike, I left my desk, and when I came back there was a printout that said: “Once you lose your curiosity, it’s over.” At that moment, I realized why they really wanted me within my role as the marketing strategist. That’s always driven how I make design decisions, and I think that’s also how I’ve been as a little kid with friendships. I was on the chess team, I was the class president, but then I was also an athlete. I think it’s because I was the only child that wanted to make friends with people and discover different cultures. Curiosity is a huge aspect of the qualities that Ye has, that I have, that really guide our creativity and interests.

HUO All these experiences coalesce into these collections you launch. You launched UNIFORM in New York and then a year later you went to Moscow with it, then to Paris. Can you tell me a little bit about these collections and how different they were, and also it’s a very unexpected context to connect fashion, ecology, zero waste, upcycling, recycling with the Department of Sanitation. Fifteen years ago in Zurich there was a sanitation museum, and I curated a show there called Cloaca Maxima about art and sanitation, and I always thought it was so great because whenever an artist, or visitor arrived, they would send someone from the staff in a sanitation uniform to pick the people up.

HP Uniforms have always been a big inspiration of mine. I was really fascinated with the Department Of Sanitation. I felt like everything at the time was so predictable. I was also really inspired by Matthew Barney and his River of Fundament in Detroit. It was a whole day of performances. First, we were escorted down to the theater at the Detroit Museum to watch the film—a car crashes into the river, and then the film abruptly stops. Then, we’re all escorted into a tour bus and driven through downtown Detroit, then we’re escorted into a glue factory where this woman performs, and then we’re escorted into a barge on the river where we’re watching this performance, and then we’re escorted into a car factory, and then there’s this big explosion and the show finishes. 

This was an entire performance where he took over Detroit and he coordinated with the police department, he coordinated with the mayor’s office, he coordinated with all the city agencies, and I thought that was just so powerful. I wanted to do my own version of a city takeover. I thought that if I put my uniforms on the back of nine thousand sanitation workers around New York City, I would have that same impact that Matthew Barney had on me. That’s why I really wanted to work with the Department of Sanitation as well, to show the crossover between art and government—shining a positive light on sanitation workers. So, it was these tones of humanitarianism, social structures, and the environment. It was my first time even learning about upcycling. I wanted to just do a project using secondhand t-shirts that would become uniforms for all of the workers. It was all about recovering waste and giving it a second life; this secondhand first philosophy. I really took my creativity and my design to new levels through this project.

HUO An artist Mierle Laderman Ukeles, who is now in her eighties...

HP I had no idea about her! I started researching the Department of Sanitation, and I saw there was a talk happening at the New York City Museum. It was being hosted by a woman named Robin Nagle who is the in-house anthropologist for the Department of Sanitation. She wrote a book called Picking Up: [On the Streets and Behind the Trucks with the Sanitation Workers of New York City] where she basically took the test to become a sanitation worker just so she could study them. She had a talk and told the story of New York City’s relationship with waste management. The city’s waste management agency goes back to the 1800s. There was a prominent figure who was a doctor, and he made the connection between cleanliness and health. He said that if we clean up the city, and we start an agency, we will save more lives. That’s why the Department of Sanitation’s logo is a caduceus, which is that cross that has the snake going around it. When we got to the 1980s in the book, Mierle [Laderman] comes along in her story. Mierle shook the hands of every worker in New York City. It took her one year, and as she did, she said, “Thank you for keeping the city alive.”

HUO It’s called Touch Sanitation. And she shook 8,500 employees' hands.

HP When I learned about this work, I was like, Oh my god! They have an artist there? I need to meet her! She’s going to be the one to understand what I would like to do. I reached out to Robin to introduce me to Mierle. She told me no because she didn’t know who I was. She was very protective of Mierle. So, a couple years later at NADA, I stumbled on another talk. When I look at the projector, I see a photo of Mierle and her Touch Sanitation project. The woman who was presenting Mierle’s work was named Diya Vij who works in the Public Arts in Residence in New York City, called PAIR. I walked up to Diya after her talk and said, “Hey, the woman that you’re talking about, Mierle, I need to meet her. I have a big idea that I would love to present to her. Can you introduce me?” They called me in for a meeting and I presented this idea of recovering waste and doing a secondhand uniform project to raise money for the city. There was this charity component as well because city budgets always get cut. So, if there was a way for the city to raise money, they might approve the project. Funny enough, the DSNY had always wanted to do a fashion show because out of all the agencies within New York City, like the Fire Department, the Police Department, New Yorkers always talk shit about sanitation workers. They hate when a garbage truck is blocking traffic, but imagine what would happen if no one picked up your trash. 

HUO The city would collapse.

HP Because of that, the DSNY has always been the coolest agency. They were like, “Hey, would you like to do a fashion show together?” And I was like, “Of course! That’s what I’ve been wanting to do with you guys.” I really wanted this to be a performance like Mierle’s. Through this project, I was able to invite New Yorkers into restricted city access zones like the Salt Shed, which is where we had the performance. That Salt Shed houses nine thousand tons of salt for the winter season and is only accessed during the winter. I also brought out Mierle’s truck—it was in the 1983 New York Art Fair Parade. That truck was all about the reflection of New Yorkers, so she outfitted the truck with mirrors. The whole idea was to see yourself in the garbage truck, and the whole meaning was that we’re all in this together. When you throw your trash away, it doesn’t just end there. So I put her work in my show, I put recycled electronic waste in my show, I worked with different city agencies, I brought bales of old clothes from the Goodwill, I worked with Housing Works to bring in electronic waste, I worked with Sims, which is North America's largest recycling facility and is based here in Brooklyn in Sunset Park, so it was a really big citywide initiative. At the event, you had models and cool people like Virgil, but then you had sanitation workers, and you would never see that at a fashion event. Ever. It was so cool to see my friends mingling with city workers.

HUO The question now is of scale, and in terms of your most frequently quoted quote: “Harness the power of fashion to design a better future.” That leaves us the question: what can then really change mainstream fashion brands? And that brings me to a recent collaboration you’re doing with Calvin Klein. How can you add sustainability to such a large brand? I read that they use raw denim, which uses less water, but there must be more to it, no? 

HP It was a really small team. The rest of the company didn’t even know that we were working on this project, so we were able to identify new factories that were vetted, carve out our own supply chain, and activate those factories, and that supply chain. I like to call it our value chain. The very first day that I got in, I started looking at their packaging and it’s all plastic. We then changed all of the plastic packaging into recyclable and biodegradable materials. Then looking at the materials: I decided to do raw denim to save us water, but it also allows the wearer to personalize it. Also, not using too many logos, so that you can make it yours. I’m really big with authenticity and responding to the desires of the community. It’s not that typical approach to picking models or faces. I have people who are known for breaking boundaries, rising stars in culture, and fresh faces. I could’ve done a sanitation-worker-inspired collection and wouldn’t have even had to work with the Department of Sanitation, but would it have been authentic? That was the same with Calvin Klein. What is the core of Calvin Klein? It’s the underwear—a three-pack of white t-shirts—so I started to build it from there in respect of the brand, but in respect of the environment as well.

HUO The architect Peter Smithson always said there is a kind of thing and it’s found. That seems to be a part of your work—you find stuff. I’ve been wearing your coat with the safety belt a lot. What’s the ready-made dimension of the work?

HP I think it’s shining a light on the overlooked and recontextualizing it. It’s about the curiosity of pointing my finger at things I find fascinating, and bringing my friends or my community along the way. It’s about designing or creating these worlds and inviting someone into this world. To experience a kind of a world I would love to live in.

HUO On Instagram, you are often referencing health and culture, animals, and of course seeing these animals in the work, the heron, your namesake, makes us think about extinction because we are living in an age of climate emergency, but actually it’s a mass extinction. And you work with the Audubon [Society], so I want to hear more about that, and your work with animals, and animals through these manifesto type of t-shirts.

HP My father, who is a retired San Francisco police officer, started a program called Operation Dream, which was a program with the SFPD that would give young kids from public housing the opportunity to go and explore their surroundings. They would take kids on camping trips, skiing trips, and white water rafting trips. Or they would take them to woodworking classes, and arts and crafts. My dad was always bringing me on those trips. When I think of growing up in San Francisco, we were surrounded by beautiful parks. Golden Gate Park is in the heart of San Francisco, and I was always visiting these parks. I grew up with a fascination with nature. I’d be volunteering at the Discovery Museum in San Francisco. I remember seeing a great blue heron in Marin when I was about twelve years old, and I took a photo on my disposable camera. I always loved that I had the same name as this bird. I really wanted to put this Audubon painting on the collection as this introduction to the meaning of my name, and my love of nature. It brings some balance into the fashion imagery within streetwear, where you see a lot of graffiti, and you see a lot of references to the streets, but I wasn’t necessarily finding any connections to nature in a cool way. I wanted to do it through the context of a skater. 

HUO Orange is the color of your brand, the labels are in orange. I was kind of wondering because I always see orange as a DIY color, but I was wondering what orange means for you.

HP Orange is a very powerful color. It’s super powerful. You don’t need to use a lot for someone to notice it. The season one collection, I was putting orange on everything, then I would step back, and I would see too much orange. Over the seasons, you see me using less and less, and almost reducing it only to the label. On the heron bird, you see a little bit of orange within their beaks. So, there’s that connection to nature. A lot of workwear agencies use orange labels. The DSNY had orange labels as well. It’s the color of safety and PPE, and you see that color orange being used for street signs, or orange cones. It’s this notice-me color. On the Calvin Klein collection, you’ll get these little hints of orange, and it worked because in paparazzi photos, celebrities wearing the collection, with these long lenses, you can still see that little, tiny bit of orange from like a million miles away, and you know that it’s my collection without even seeing the Calvin Klein logo.  

HUO Rainer Maria Rilke wrote this book called Letters to a Young Poet. I’m sure a lot of young designers and students will read this interview—what would you advise them?

HP Protect yourself. Have people around you who can protect you, and never give up. Remain curious, challenge yourself, and have fun along the way. And innovate. Look to do something new. I love that Miles Davis quote: “Play what’s not being played.” 

HUO We always know about architects’ unrealized projects because they publish them, and very little fashion design or visual artists’, musicians’, composers’, poets’ unrealized projects are published. Do you have any dreams or projects you haven’t been able to do yet that you want to realize in the future? 

HP Right now, I’m looking to develop new materials. I really want to be a source for young designers material-wise. Looking at circularity in fashion and design. I want to position myself as that voice, so beyond just selling fashion, can I sell materials? Can I develop my own materials? When you look at materials, you have Gore-Tex, and then you have Zebrum and other materials you don’t really know about. So, looking at developing my own materials but then inviting other brands and other designers to use Heron Preston materials. I have something I’m developing now. I would love to have my own garden one day, my own type of park, for example.

HUO What would your garden look like?

HP My garden would have a lot of trees, and bushes, and flowers, and it would feel like an enchanted forest. A lot of overhanging trees, and branches, and benches to sit, and maybe a pond. I would have amazing birds that would live there. I really wanted to start a farm as well, where I could then start to grow my own cotton, or my own hemp, and develop my own bed and breakfast. Over the pandemic, I was wanting to be out as far away from the coronavirus as possible. I was fascinated with farms because they’re very resourceful and self-sufficient: you have your own food, you have your own resources, and then you have nature. One of my unrealized projects is to start a farm, and then a sculpture garden where I can invite my friends outside of New York City to come and escape. I think it’s all about having an escape within nature.

Dozie Kanu: The Worldbuilding Tools

 
 

text by Oliver Kupper
portraits by
Parker Woods 


Dozie Kanu’s practice is a conceptual exploration of colonial and hegemonic politics, architecture, spatial narratives, and so much more. Born in Houston, Texas in 1993, and now based in Santarém, Portugal, Kanu’s investigation of cultural artifacts belies an America still grappling with not only its troubled past, but also its troubled present. Razor-sharp, anti-climb, raptor spikes, a visual and physical deterrent for vandals and undesirables, find their way onto one of his sculptures modeled as a baby crib, an emblematic nod to the countless divisions that are psychologically embedded at birth. There is something alchemical about Kanu’s reimagined objects of our urban visual landscape, like an ATM blasted with a thick layer of black epoxy sculpting clay, or a poured concrete chair in “crack rock beige” that sits on a spoked tire rim, that gives Kanu’s work a kind of authentic reclamation of power in a grief-stricken zeitgeist. We caught up with Kanu on a rare visit to Los Angeles, before the opening of his exhibition, to prop and ignore, at Manual Arts, to discuss tools for building a more socially equitable world. 

OLIVER KUPPER A lot of this issue that we’re doing is about biodiversity, but it’s also about offering new tools for existing in the world, which can be utilitarian, but also conceptual. Can you describe the tools you think can be used to navigate our post-pandemic future? 

DOZIE KANU Anything that can be used to contribute towards getting to a desired end result or sense of understanding is what I would consider a tool. When I think about the world post-pandemic, or what post-pandemic even means, I’m thinking about the issues that were already present, but just became more apparent to a wider audience. We all learned during this pandemic, how fragile and skewed the economic structure of society is and also how the system of objects that we interact with every day have made it difficult for people to differentiate between what’s necessary and what’s desired in their lives. It was disappointing to see how our government handled the distribution of stimulus, but it was also disappointing to feel the desperation from people who needed it. Particularly when I think about Black people, the idea of relying on aid in times of crisis from a government that failed to acknowledge you as being human from its inception—it just felt like being in the same boat. So, when I think about what tools I’m using to continue life post-pandemic, I’m thinking about self-governance a lot, and I’m thinking about a scaled back way of living that prioritizes stability and sustainability. 

 

Healthy Minds Must Grow, Watch From The Bleachers, 2020
found ox-drawn plough, pine wood, steel, found Dries van Noten hoodie and colour pencil
Courtesy the artist and Project Native Informant, London

 

KUPPER Like community governance. 

KANU Yeah, but that community can actually exist online. I’m talking more about trying to have much more control of your own living situation—stripping things down. I’m thinking about Andrea Zittel’s set up in Joshua Tree. Or like my warehouse situation in Portugal. Everything’s local. The market where I get food comes from farmers in the area, and it’s fairly low cost. Everything feels homegrown. I’m learning a little about agriculture. We got solar panels. I know it’s not true, but it often feels as though I live separate from any kind of government intervention. I guess I was chasing that feeling. That’s not to say people should give up trying to save the burning empire, but I just think maybe they should prioritize restructuring their relationship to that empire. The famous Samuel Johnson quote that always comes back to me: “Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel”, which has been interpreted in many ways, but I take it as a refusal to expect your government to represent you better than you can represent yourself. Like, people really be pledging allegiance to a flag. 

KUPPER Your work often exists in this realm between functional object and sculpture. And that’s really changed and evolved in the last few years. How would you describe the evolution of your work? 

KANU When I first started making objects, I was definitely more apprehensive to thinking about them in a sculptural sense. I guess I didn’t have the language to fully see it that way. My parents are also immigrants, so there was always this kind of practicality in everything that we did that was instilled in me. I was making design objects essentially, but a lot of the ideas that I was trying to infuse into these works were being pulled from far outside of just the simple function of the object. 

Mainly chairs, tables, stools, shelves—things like that, but with a heavy poetic and conceptual discipline about them. Sometimes the gallery that I was working with would come to me and ask me if I could make a custom edition of one of my works for a client—make this in a different color or make this in a different size to fit in this client’s foyer. It was feeling like people weren’t looking at the work. As time went on, I stopped being a little bitch about it and was just like, Nah—I understand that in order for this work to be seen in its entirety, it needs to exist within the context of art in some way. I had to give myself permission to create a different context. My recent work has become even less preoccupied with designating a specific function but I think even with my more “design object” type work, I feel it still requires the same lens or sensibilities that are applied when looking at sculpture—trying to obscure the hierarchies but not just for the sake of obscuring hierarchies, which is what I see a lot in contemporary design right now. 

KUPPER Can you talk about the deeper significance in regard to race and class when sourcing found material and the histories of the materials that you use in your work? 

KANU I would say that the found elements in my work give each piece a sense of place for me. The country, the city, the region—it brings a sense of geography to the work. It implements the stories of the people from that geography. It’s a way to elevate the labor of others and point to specific industries. I naturally gravitate toward symbols of past memories or ways of communicating something that maybe I don’t have the words for. Whether it be the composition of the object, or the shapes that are present on it, it’s trying to get closer to the complexity of where I’m at. 

Bhad (Their Newborn’s Crib), 2019
steel pipes, anti-climb scaling spikes
114 × 58 × 99 cm
Courtesy the artist and 180 The Strand, London

KUPPER Sort of like an untranslatable language. 

KANU Yes, I would say so. Soul spillage. A lot just comes very intuitively. It’s like second nature to reference things that I saw and experienced growing up. In Houston, when you would see 84s or 83s on a slab, there was an understanding that whoever was driving that car was expressing a kind of push back against the authorities and trying to assert value in themselves. It wasn’t always the case, but I usually assume most of them wasn’t working 9 to 5 jobs. As a kid it definitely influences you to want to live freely like that. The Bench on 84s work from 2017 is emblematic of that energy. And I sort of pushed back against the grain in a different way—in a way that was even further outside of what was expected of me. 

 

Chair [ iii ] (Crack Rock Beige), 2018
poured concrete, steel, rims
94 × 48 × 42 cm
Courtesy the artist

 

KUPPER It seems like that piece set a template. 

KANU Yes. For me it was communicating correctly. It could exist in a lot of different conversations, which I still feel strongly about. 

KUPPER I read that you spent most of your childhood trying to ignore your Nigerian roots. And you finally visited. What did you learn about your practice after you visited Nigeria? 

KANU I learned that I'm an Igbo soul through and through. As much as I tried to bury it, it’s fully in there. When I look at the work that I’m making now, then I think about what I was seeing in Nigeria, the culture has definitely influenced me. It’s the way I was raised—finding resources and trying to maximize everything that you have readily available to you. I feel more connected to my parents, my roots, and I want to continue pulling from that, making that a richer aspect of who I am. 

KUPPER Your parents never took you to Nigeria growing up? 

KANU Nah, I had never been. I guess it just never aligned with their work schedule, or they didn’t have the financial means to take me and my brothers home. They called it ‘home’, which I found kind of funny when I was younger. In my mind I’m like, I’m already home! But to them Nigeria was home and they wanted me to see it that way too. But I started making a little money a couple years ago and I just took the initiative to go ahead and see what it’s like. I took my mom with me. 

KUPPER That must’ve been amazing. 

KANU Yes, and it was necessary. It was great timing also because I had just moved to Portugal and I was about to really embrace the idea of living in isolation. I needed to visit Nigeria to give myself that extra layer of understanding my background. I needed to see my people up close. I needed to walk those streets. 

 
 

KUPPER Did you see family? 

KANU Yeah, it was weird. Relatives that I had never met before recognized me. My parents both grew up in small villages and it’s not very common for people to migrate to America. My mom made it out of her village and my dad made it out of his village and so they’re kind of seen and talked about as the blessed ones that were able to find a way out. That’s what most people in these villages aspire towards. So, people recognized who I was just based on them knowing everything about the ones that found a way out. 

KUPPER You were talking before about how the pandemic has really cracked open these sorts of divides in the wealth gap and made the economic disparity a lot more visible. How do you think your current work or the work you’ve been making during the pandemic is reflecting this need for change? 

KANU I don’t think it’s affected my work so much. I have always tried to keep a democratic spirit in the work—understanding that the art world is inherently elitist. But during the pandemic I settled on the idea that I was addressing myself with each work. I’m speaking directly to myself—past, present and future—with heavy emphasis on my adolescent self. Moving forward, I think knowing this will keep me grounded so I don’t stray too far away from the emancipatory qualities that I hope can be located in the work. I’m basically just trying to have more potent, more complicated, more authentic conversations with myself in hopes that it resonates elsewhere and contributes to a much larger conversation. 

 

At The Moment, 2021
Found ATM machine, epoxy sculpting clay, steel, MDF
56 x 46 x 22 inches
Courtesy the artist and Manual Arts

 

KUPPER I think your commitment to authenticity demonstrates a certain level of hope. 

KANU Word, I think hope is one of the most important elements of what artists provide. You’re supposed to provide pathways for others to walk towards being more honest with themselves. All of my favorite artists are people that create the tools for me to truly be myself and to see myself. 

 

Originally published as a cover story in Autre’s Biodiversity Issue, FW 2021

 

FOOD For Thought: Gordon Matta-Clark’s Restaurant For Artists Changed the Culinary Discourse

In 1971, artists Gordon Matta-Clark, Carol Goodden, and Tina Girouard opened FOOD, a landmark New York restaurant on the corner of Prince and Wooster Streets in SoHo. In the urban wilds of a not-yet-fully developed or gentrified Lower Manhattan of the early ‘70s, FOOD was a revolutionary laboratory for fresh sustainable cooking and unusual culinary collaborations. Artists like Robert Rauschenberg and John Cage created meals at FOOD. Although never realized, Mark di Suvero had plans to serve dishes through the windows via a crane—he would then instruct diners to eat with tools such as hammers and screwdrivers. As a hub for young artists in the nascency of their careers, the menu was affordable and simple, which created a unique atmosphere of camaraderie and community. Although FOOD, in its original incarnation, only lasted three years, the restaurant became a fabled institution and paradigmatic lesson for the possibility of food at the intersection of art.

Originally published in Autre’s Biodiversity Issue, FW 2021

Dan Colen's Sky High Farms: The Avoidance of Perfection

 
 


interview by Gideon Jacobs 
photographs by David Brandon Geeting
  

 

Many urbanites dream about farm life. They sit in front of their screens, filling out expense reports or arguing with coworkers on Slack, the blue light slowly irradiating whatever constitutes their unique human spirit, and they imagine that digging their hands into soil and pulling out some kind of root vegetable might cure what ails them. That wasn’t Dan Colen. Colen, an artist who is very much a product of New York City, with a name synonymous with the downtown Manhattan art scene of the aughts, didn’t end up owning and operating Sky High Farm out of manifested romantic notions about the rural, agrarian lifestyle. In fact, as I learned over the course of this interview, when he purchased the forty-acre chunk of Hudson Valley land, farming wasn’t even part of the plan. Like much of his art, he allowed form to develop on its own, following some combination of instinct and medium until he ended up with his biggest project yet. Since its first growing season, Sky High has donated 90,000 pounds of produce and 20,000 pounds of protein to help fight food insecurity in New York State, and they are currently working on developing an agricultural training program to support self-empowerment among those affected by the carceral system. The farm is a nonprofit, a complex machine that straddles the complex ecosystems of upstate New York agriculture, food justice, the art world, and more. That Colen ended up here at this stage in his career, devoting his life to this mission, might come as a surprise to many, maybe even to Colen himself. But in a way, that’s what makes the whole endeavor somehow unsurprising. That’s what makes it make sense.   

 
 

GIDEON JACOBS My first question is, what would be the ideal outcome for you from something like this? When a magazine approaches you and is like, “Can we talk to you.” What do you hope to get out of that sort of thing? 

DAN COLEN Well, it's a layered question in the context of the farm. I try to keep the mission of the farm first; it comes before my general art practice. Because the interviews can sometimes feel redundant. The mission here is to act as a representative of the organization. The farm grows produce and raises pasture-based livestock exclusively for donation. We work in marginalized communities within New York City and New York State. More and more people have a pretty clear understanding that food insecurity is a big issue now—more so than ever. But, the way we are trying to address food insecurity is really unique: through sustainable agriculture, and by producing the highest quality food for distribution. When we think of people going hungry, we think of food drives and a certain type of food that is really second rate. Even if it's fresh, it's usually banged up, or past the expiration date, or it's packaged, processed, and generally not that nutritionally dense, and that's really not a solution to food insecurity. I came to doing this work without that much intention, honestly, it was part of a pretty natural process. My only reference point to this process is my creative practice. And there's certain interviews that only like one way of talking about this project, and others that open up a dialogue that's more exploratory. I know that this would have never come to be without my creative practice, so it's tethered to that and all the best artworks I've made come out of that reluctance to call the thing that I'm doing art. Some of the best art is hard to get behind and offers something unfamiliar or maybe that even directly pushes against the preconceptions we have of what an artwork is. That's why I can naturally see this as a part of my creative process, but I do think it's important to talk about that side of the project. I really do think it's a very unique mission and one that's vital. What's important to me in the context of this interview—and it's really changed since the farm has become a part of my life—is being able to save some space to speak very plainly about the work the farm does, but at the same time, totally throw a wrench in it by considering the ways in which it's a part of my art practice. 

 
 

 JACOBS So, the ideal interview for you is one that would give exposure to the mission of the farm and call attention to it, but also, incorporate the wrench of getting it into the context of your overall career as a contemporary artist.   

COLEN Yeah, and on top of that, speaking to the unique type of organization that Sky High is as a product of a creative practice, even though it takes the structure of a 501c3. So, there's many other organizations that do what we do and this one came to be through this searching process. And most public benefit organizations don't come out of that kind of searching. They're set up in a very deliberate and structured way. 

 JACOBS Before I ask about the specifics of the farm and how it fits within the context of your career, I want to ask you if you enjoy talking about your work and the farm? Do you feel like you learn something in interviews or are they sort of like a perfunctory means to an end at this point? 

COLEN Depending on the day, I feel really differently, but I see a lot of artists having a very different kind of relationship to it. Interviews are a very natural part of their process. And then you see artists that just refuse to do them, or other artists that are really meticulous about how they do them, or are very formal. I have a lot of ambivalence about it and I have a lot of skepticism around it, but I can enjoy doing it. I think we have less and less time to kind of sit down and have meaningful conversations, you know? But at the same time, I think with art, there's this basic idea of the work speaking for itself, the process speaking for itself, and I do believe deeply in that. Interviews really put the focus on the things that are easier to unpack. The most powerful are the things that are impossible to talk about. I love artists that really refuse to do it. I have great admiration for them. For some reason I kinda just like to be more chill and have a conversation. I try to operate without a kind of preciousness around my own being and around my own ideas. I try to keep them accessible and inclusive. 

 
 

JACOBS I think talking about work makes it more accessible, generally. So, let's talk about the farm a little bit, because the theme of this issue is biodiversity. In order for this to be the perfect Dan Colen interview for both of us, we have to approach the farm. I've read a little bit about what prompted the purchase of the land, but can you explain the shift that occurred in your mind, and the desires and goals that led to what is not only a big artistic or business decision, but also an enormous lifestyle change? 

COLEN When I imagined moving upstate, I imagined the Catskills as a kind of stand in for all of upstate. I did start looking there, but couldn't find what I was looking for. So, I slowly drifted east. I ended up on the other side of the river and really connected to the landscape, but didn't acknowledge the major difference. Instead of the mountains and the forest, it’s all really farmland and pasture. And so, without being too conscious of this, I was imagining I would be communing with the mountains, but I ended up on a farm, and the way to connect with a farm is to cultivate it. 

JACOBS But you didn't know you were gonna run the farm when you purchased the land? 

COLEN I had no clue. I had no intention of that. I've never even had any vague, passing desire to have any relationship to agriculture prior to this thing that developed inside of me in a very unconscious way. I just moved in and I was like, it's not hitting how I want it to hit. It was just very clear that I was on a property, which had already been altered in order to be cultivated. 

JACOBS Would you say you’ve had a relationship with nature throughout your life? 

COLEN I think I was so obsessed, and in love with the city. I had some very distant romance about nature, and the reason I moved upstate is I had two experiences that came out of these moments where I was struggling to finish a body of work for a show. One time was in 2003 for my first show. And then, another time in 2010 for my first big show with Gagosian. I ended up leaving the city and going to an old friend’s house in the Catskills both times to finish these shows. And the first time, I really needed to leave the city because it was both something which fueled me, but also something which shackled me, or I can have a self-destructive relationship to it. I distinctly remember feeling like I needed to get out of the studio and walking through the forest and just being like, “This is bullshit. What is this? This is supposed to heal me?” I remember being disgruntled that it didn't work like an injection, or a pill. But, the second time, when I went back up. I ended up really interacting with the landscape in a very direct way, and I created a body of work using the landscape. But I didn't go up there with too much intention to do that. In my twenties, I did a lot of driving around America and Mexico, and landscape painting became very important for me. The Hudson River School in particular, but also French, Italian, Dutch, and German—all sorts of  landscape artists. I looked at a lot of that at a time when I wasn't looking to connect to the landscape itself, per se, I was looking to go on a road trip and meet people. But my relationship to it, since I've been up here, has really evolved and it's really important to me at this point. 

 
 

JACOBS How has working on the farm—having your hands and feet in nature—affected your everyday psychology? 

COLEN Being in the mountains and the forest is something that's become very important to me. The experience that is helping me to evolve in a way is a mix between the time that I spend in the mountains and the time that I spend on the farm. To build a farm and help it operate and flourish is an amazing and radical experience. Farmers are some of the wildest people, the strangest people—definitely different than the people that I have been able to meet in the art world and in downtown New York. I really have gotten so much out of those relationships and, to cultivate the land, to grow food is unique because growing this food for other people is just profound. As I became more aware of how important it was to grow highly nutritious food for communities that don’t have access to it, it really brought me back to my creative practice, which is all about creating things for other people to experience. And the art world has a lot of great experiences to offer, but it's flawed in so many ways too. These things that artists create can get obscured by the industry and institutions of art, and it's hard for it to hold its initial intention as it goes through the layers of the art world. So it’s about coming back to a different type of production, which is based on the act of sharing. I grew up thinking that art offered a sustenance or some sort of vital human experience. I think that potential exists, but do all good artworks do that in the world? 

JACOBS I think the answer's no. 

COLEN No, they're not, but just seeing these things that were being produced on the farm in relation to artwork, not as the same, but as a foil to think about what it means to create, and what it means to share. I see that is a very important part of how my practice is developing currently with both of those experiences in mind, and trying to move them forward in a way that they can both have greater impact. 

JACOBS I was just doing a quick Google of how many New Yorkers are currently experiencing food insecurity through the pandemic, and the numbers have skyrocketed. I'm wondering if you are able to feel proud of doing your part, or if you ever get into the zone of feeling like it's a drop in the bucket. 

COLEN The work is very fulfilling, and in a way that is comparable to my studio practice. I can get lost on either side of that, because the art is meant to have no purpose. Its radicality is in the fact that prior to its making, nobody needed it and nobody was asking for it. Sometimes, as an artist, I feel like doing something as basic as growing food to feed people in need is almost not what I'm meant to be doing. But other times, I ask myself the opposite, like why can't art serve a function? Who's to say it can't be more radical actually serving a function and offering people something that they desperately need? I never think about it like a drop in the bucket, but I get that mentality. When I was initially creating the farm, wondering whether or not there was a point, I had this glimmer of optimism that I hadn't had previously, which really allowed me to see that. I can only do what I can do, and all of us on our own can more or less do an equal amount of things. 

JACOBS That's beautiful. Do you identify as an optimist? Do you have hope for this pandemic-ridden, quickly heating, dysfunctional world of ours? 

COLEN  Listen, I'm just trying to be in the moment. I'm an optimist only in the Zen, like, I'm going to try to make the most of this moment. I don't know if it's going to get better or worse. I’m just trying to be sensitive to my surroundings, which is really what the farm is all about. With the better art that I've made, there's no intentionality also—it's just being sensitive to my surroundings and letting things develop and being in the process. And so I can be optimistic that I'm about to discover the next thing and I'm surrounded by things that will allow me to move forward. 

JACOBS I want to ask you whether you believe in perfection.  

COLEN Of course, I can catch myself in a struggle towards it sometimes. But, when I can step back in a moment like this, I have no faith in perfection as a point on the continuum, or the destination, but I also have no interest in it and no appreciation for it. I mean, it's not real, but if it were, I would try to avoid it at all costs. 

A Forsaken Place

Andrea Zittel’s A-Z West Is A Laboratory For The Future 

Andrea Zittel
A-Z Wagon Station customized by Giovanni Jance
2003
Powder-coated steel, MDF, aluminum, Lexan, cushions, iPod Nano, headphones, solar iPod chargers
91 x 82 x 57 inches
© Andrea Zittel, Courtesy the artist and Regen Projects, Los Angeles

 

text by Oliver Kupper 

The desert is an unforgiving, but magnetic landscape. Agnes Pelton, Georgia O'Keeffe, Walter De Maria, Michael Heizer, Robert Smithson, Nancy Holt, and many more artists have all been drawn to the desert of the American West. Its barrenness, its potential, its raw heat, its solitude, and liquid mirages all provide a contemplative and hot combination of all the right ecosystemic ingredients for artists to experiment and conceive of cosmic ideas. Even the word desert is alluring: it comes from the ecclesiastical Latin root desertum, which means a “forsaken” or “abandoned” place. Lately, though, the desert has become less a quirk of America’s multifold topography and more a frightening, but beautiful prelude to an arid, lifeless future on Earth. 

Andrea Zittel fits into the historical canon of artists lured to these forsaken and abandoned landscapes—abandoned by time and most botanic nature—but she isn’t so much a land artist as she is an artist of the land. Like the late artist and sculptor Noah Purifoy before her, Zittel is not a visitor—she is a guardian of the desert’s inexplicable potential as a testing ground for future civilizations who might live in a world that is going through a rapid process of what geologists call desertification.  According to scientists, over a third of the world is going through this process, and every year 120,000 square kilometers of land turns into an actual desert. Studies show that if global carbon emissions aren’t curbed, much of the Earth will become a desert by 2050. 

Andrea Zittel
Prototype for A-Z Warm Chamber & Prototype for A-Z Cooling Chamber
1993
Wood, steel, paint, heater and light
Each 84 x 32 x 50 inches
© Andrea Zittel, Courtesy the artist and Regen Projects, Los Angeles

Since the year 2000, Zittel’s A-Z West—an artwork and testing site spanning seventy acres in the California high desert on the edge of Joshua Tree National Park—has become a template for day-to-day life on a scorched planet. Tucked into the alluvial floodplains of an ancient shallow sea that is now the dust-colored panorama of the Mojave Desert, A-Z West is a new frontier—a homestead—and an “Institute of Investigative Living.” Textiles, home furniture, clothing, food and art-making materials are all made on site. A regenerating field, consisting of numerous steel panels “harvest” recycled paper to pulp to be used for fabrication techniques in the harsh climate. Zittel also lives and works on A-Z.   

Tucked against the rocky bajadas and billion-year-old metamorphic boulders dotted with creosote bush and greasewood, Zittel’s instantly recognizable and portable A-Z Wagon Stations become architecture for future moveable lifestyles. In thirty years, climate refugees (people displaced by natural disasters, droughts, and water shortages) could reach into the billions. These wagons could be the answer to overcrowded refugee camps and allow for more dignified and aesthetically amplified transient domesticity. Plus, their compact size allows these structures to bypass building codes, and they are easy to collapse and transport to the next impermanent residence. 

 The architecture feels utopian, but practical and reminiscent of Jean Prouvé's famous 1944 demountable houses, which were a direct response to Europe’s bomb-battered cities during the Second World War. The need to move quickly, efficiently, and affordably was tantamount to survival. In our human-altered, anthropogenic age, the bomb can come from anywhere and without even a warning or a whistle. Packing up and heading to higher ground may be our only chance. While sequestering yourself in the desert may seem counterintuitive in a warming world, it is in this counterintuitive thinking that makes A-Z West such a brilliant experiment in living off the grid. In the high desert, there are no rising tides or swollen tributaries. In fact, an interesting geomorphic idiosyncrasy of this part of this desert is that the basins have no outlets, so any rainfall collected quickly evaporates in a symbolic disappearing act. 

In some ways, the ground beneath A-Z Test Sites could be called a thirty-million-year-old experiment in extreme topography as a result of intensifying fluctuations in global climates, volcanic activity, and tectonic shifting within what is called The Basin and Range Province. This physiographic region covers much of the inland Western United States, and explains the strange landscapes of these high desert terrains. And deep within the subterrestial geography of the Mojave Desert is a foreshadowing of what may happen to our own living world. Fossils of prehistoric Paleozoic sea life are still trapped in the dolomite and limestone buried beneath the dust. When the oceans receded and eventually vanished completely, elements like manganese and iron were oxidized by bacteria over thousands of years and created something called desert varnish, which coats many of the rocks and boulders in brilliant hues of brown and black.  

Andrea Zittel
A-Z Regenerating Field
2002
Galvanized steel frame, galvanized steel post, vacuum formed styrene trays
Dimensions variable
© Andrea Zittel, Courtesy the artist and Regen Projects, Los Angeles

The desert is unforgiving, but Zittel has learned that it is not so much a physical place, as it is a psychological place—a philosophic place. Her Planar Pavilions are an ode and monument to place-based thinking: ten black-painted bricks in various formations, like dancer’s poses, become metaphysical meeting points of the mind. Evocative of the late-aughts housing crash, these planar creations appear upon first impression almost like unfinished foundations to some forgotten suburban housing development lost in late-capitalism’s rapacious daydreams. No stranger than the landscape, these sculptures do not interrupt, nor do they hamper the beauty of the vistas—they serve as friendly borders to A-Z’s experimental community. 

Andrea Zittel
How to live?
2013
Polyacrylic on marine grade plywood panel with steel frame
93 1/4 x 180 inches
© Andrea Zittel, Courtesy the artist and Regen Projects, Los Angeles

 One of Zittel’s oft-asked questions, “How To Live?,” is answered with A-Z West, especially if we’re imagining a world past the ecological thresholds that scientists have put in place for our natural world. A species that created fire who is now burning the world to the ground must now live with its self-made consequences, and Andrea Zittel has created a radical reimagining of how to live, work, play, regenerate—and repeat—in our collapsing biosphere. This is the beauty of human originality, modernism, and innovation. If you can survive here, you can survive anywhere.