Islands Within: The Multiplicity of Kilo Kish

With her latest EP, Negotiations, Kilo Kish confronts the emotional toll of digital culture and reclaims space for nuance, rest, and plurality in response to an industry built on speed.

 
 

interview by Summer Bowie
portraits by
Dana Boulos

Despite the ever-shifting expectations of digital culture, American artist of sound and screen Kilo Kish continues to carve out a space entirely her own—one that defies genre, challenges structure, and insists on emotional honesty. With her latest EP Negotiations, Kish turns her gaze inward and outward, interrogating the increasingly blurred boundaries between human and machine, performance and authenticity, burnout and resilience. Through textured soundscapes, fragmented narratives, and a visual aesthetic that’s both nostalgic and hypothetical, she invites us into a world where self-care is a form of resistance.

How do we nourish the spirit while navigating systems that rarely pause for breath? Kish speaks candidly about the emotional labor behind her output, the philosophies that anchor her worldview, and the freedom she’s found in embracing multiplicity—of identity, of media, and of meaning. What emerges is a portrait of an artist in motion: reflective, adaptive, and uncompromising in her pursuit of truth through art.

SUMMER BOWIE: Your new EP, Negotiations, is all about the slippery contemporary landscape of rapidly evolving technology, emotional instability and the struggle to escape our algorithmic silos. Are there any specific life experiences that inspired its conception?

KILO KISH: This EP is focused more on the music industry and the social expectations of artists in 2025 and how they can lead to burnout without proper self-care and protections. With this one, I thought a lot about these creative systems imposed and the internal creative systems in the body, heart, mind, and spirit that require the same nourishment to perform. Just wondering to myself, where is the nourishment going to come from in the future? How do we build ourselves strong to survive and thrive creatively? In thinking of stamina and productivity, what first came to mind was robots, autonomous factories and storefronts, and systems that don’t require rest. So, the visual and creative world was built from that. 

BOWIE: Your visuals—album covers, fashion, and videos—often evoke a futuristic yet nostalgic feel. How do you develop the visual language for each project, and what role does mood or time period play in your aesthetic decisions?

KISH: I didn’t want the impression to be so futuristic or on the nose, I always love bringing in the conversation about technology or the present in settings that don’t necessarily evoke it, so we chose this ’90s office building. I build the world first and then the music, so I’m always clear that the mood of the music and the visual world will be harmonious. When making films that go with the music, I’m already really clear on the characters and ideas that I want to employ, so then it’s just finding collaborators and explaining the world to them. 

BOWIE: What does a typical creative cycle look like for you—from idea germination to completion? Is your process more intuitive and chaotic, or do you map things out structurally from the start?

KISH: It’s very intuitive. My approach to storytelling is purely an internal dialogue and a spiritual practice of just listening. I only really make work when I know I am supposed to make it and that comes from hearing from god or my own questions about my path. The first step is just listening— I’m always living and listening to what is next and where I should go. Journaling helps. But I’m always working on multiple projects, so while I am doing one I may get a clue for something else. Write it down. I’m always gathering references, so when things pop up that may work for the new project I build out digital spaces for that. Folders or files, start a chain in notes on my phone. Over time as I finish one project, I eventually have all the clues I need to begin the next one. That usually consists of rough ideas, questions, visual references, art direction, rough treatments—but a sense of the world is built internally, and I have direction. Once I know the world, I start the production process of actually making. So I’m always making at least five to ten projects but in various stages of completion. But a lot of it is just listening, getting quiet enough to have enough alone time or internal practice to feel what wants to come forth next. I’m often wrong about order or timing, but it always works itself out. 

BOWIE: You've seamlessly blended music, visual art, and fashion in your career. Do you see these disciplines as separate expressions, or are they different languages telling the same story? How do you navigate where one ends and the other begins?

KISH: I think it depends on the project. They work in tandem to create a more expressive world or story, to me it’s all intuitive and they’re all important to sharing ideas. It all feels very natural to me to play in these different spaces, in expressing this nature to others over the years there were always outside requests to slim down, or streamline who you are, now it's a bit more accepted which is great. But before, so much of my time was spent trying to explain how or where things began and ended, which was the “focus,” and I just confused myself ultimately. I saw a coach who helped me to detangle it and I see these extensions now as islands, all of them exist as parts of me and my way of telling stories, and there are bridges between them at times, and these configurations can change and change but they are all me, and all existing in me always. There are islands I haven’t discovered yet. I’ve grown more comfortable holding this version of myself as truth. I really like this song by Empress Of called “What Type of Girl Am I?” It’s a question I’ve asked myself tons of times too. 

BOWIE: In addition to your 2021 video and track “American Gurl,” you also curated an exhibition of short films of the same name with co-curator Zehra Ahmed, first at Hauser + Wirth and most recently at MOCA in Los Angeles. Can you talk about the genesis of that project?

KISH: Zehra had featured some of my video work in her womxn in windows shows previously. We first worked together more closely when I did the Midnight Moment with Times Square Arts. The concepts from American Gurl felt so expansive and like there was a lot more to explore so Zehra proposed creating a film exhibition together, kind of blending what we both already do, and so we started working on bringing that to MOCA some years ago. The Hauser show and the Gantt Center show were pleasant surprises in between that initial idea. We have an upcoming guest curation at the Academy Museum this summer as well! Zehra and I gel well creatively, and we’ve found a beautiful niche that’s been really rewarding to bring to the public. 

BOWIE: In works like American Gurl, there’s a conversation around digital identity and the hyperreality of modern life. What’s your perspective on how technology affects our sense of self—and how do you channel that in your art?

KISH: There’s this constant questioning of the self against other things, and these other entities: people, systems, spaces, etc, are constantly in our view and held against our bodies. At this point, detachment from that source of information, inspiration, or entertainment is difficult for lots of us. Although, when explored with purpose it can be very rewarding, I love scrolling through pages and pages of reference or researching things that pop into my mind. But the thing is, you never really know what you will come across or how it might affect you, so I try to give myself breaks or grace around processing time online. In my art, I love to explore the contradictions or conflicts within myself around it. I think I aim for freedom and this attitude of being above it all or unaffected, but in our industry, perception is important and it exists whether you choose to commune with it or not. 

BOWIE: Your music often challenges traditional pop structures, mixing spoken word, noise, and ambient textures. What draws you to sonic experimentation, and how do you balance abstraction with accessibility?

KISH: I guess I just want everything, all the time. It’s part of the “problem" of my work and what makes it unique. I love to balance or try to balance things that can sometimes seem to be in opposition, or find the threads that connect. I think boredom with who I've been before is a huge motivator for me, I like evolution and watching ideas change over time. But really, I’ve always just identified with otherness, like, “we could do that, but what about this, we don’t know what happens if we do this.” I just love being an explorer, of our blip in time, of the inside, and the outside.  

BOWIE: Much of your work explores identity, consumerism, and modern alienation—often with philosophical or existential undertones. Are there particular thinkers, books, or theories that have significantly shaped your worldview and creative output?

KISH: I’ve always been a very spiritual and purpose driven person, so years and years of meditating on god have informed this approach to life that says, we all have a purpose and we’re meant to explore, give, and live as humble and as noble as possible, sharing the truth and gifts of our spirit with the world, seeing the body as a channel for ideas to come forth. Like in another life, I could have definitely been a nun, I like the idea of being in service to all but yourself. But too much of this, this martyrdom of the artist part that's always in the background, was responsible for much of the burnout I touch on in Negotiations. At the same time, I am a product of my environment and my world that says, “Grab up as much as you can for yourself and become the biggest version of yourself you can be.” I’ve read so many self-help, productivity, meditation, stoicism, healthy living, spiritual texts, etc. I have this fixation on what it means to live a good life. I think learning to balance these elements and giving grace for what is left unknown is what I’ve been focused on recently. I really enjoy and constantly return to the Denial of Death (1973) by Ernest Becker and Concerning the Spiritual in Art (1911) by [Wassily] Kandinsky. But much of my practice is intuitive and listening to myself and what comes forth. 

BOWIE: Many of your lyrics feel like internal monologues, offering listeners a peek into your thought process. How do you decide what emotional truths to share, and do you ever feel the need to protect parts of yourself from the wider public?

KISH: I do, but not so much in the art itself. Music to me doesn’t always have to be about the songwriter, so you can hide a little in that space if absolutely necessary. There is this reality and  fiction existing at the same time and we expect that too. I think I definitely protect myself elsewhere, in my personal life, or even meeting people in public, even if I just performed for tons of people, I can be really shy afterwards. Also online, I’d rather just present the work than present myself to camera daily. 

BOWIE: As someone who often moves outside of genre norms and mainstream expectations, how do you maintain your creative independence in an industry that can reward predictability? Have there been moments where you had to fight to stay true to your vision?

KISH: To me nothing really feels like a fight. It either just has to happen or not, and you’re on board, or you’re not, and I’m just following that flow in the dark a lot of the time. It can be stressful at times, though, waiting for things to unfold completely, but I know the decisions I need to make to serve the purpose of the project. I think there are many ways to win or do well, there are so many paths, some just require you to carve them out. Everything I have set out to do I have done bit by bit, and if I haven’t, I’m not done yet. It can be daunting and demoralizing for sure, because repeating yourself or your angle time and time again begins to change the meanings behind the words. There is this interview with Venus and Serena Willams’ dad where an interviewer keeps questioning them about a statement one of them made in confidence, eventually their dad stops the reporter, reminding him that the more times you question someone on something they hold true, they begin to lose confidence around that idea. Believe them the first time. I think this business can do that, wear you down, or make you feel small for wanting a different option or another path, or confuse your value or worth with that of numbers. Imposter syndrome is real and definitely plays a role, but I’ve learned to accept perfectionism is ingrained but unattainable, and give myself grace in that when I remember that everyone is grading by different measures. 

BOWIE: Looking ahead, what kind of artistic legacy do you want to leave behind? Are there unexplored mediums or themes you're still yearning to dive into that might surprise your current audience?

KISH: I just want to continue to build worlds that people can live and explore themselves in—sonic, video, written, visual, performance. Creatively, I just want a lush, rich, expansive life that pulls from all elements. I would like to be prolific in that sense, not overthinking things, just exploring and doing. I’d like to direct a bit more, short narrative, or maybe make a play or opera. I would love to make more performances that involve music and dance. This year, I’ve done more creative work for others and that's been rewarding. I designed a book called City of Angels for my good friend Jasmine Benjamin, about LA style. I want to play with nature, make physical spaces, grow food, and build landscapes. There’s still so much left to do. 

Art Of The Divine: A Conversation Between Rikkí Wright & Kilo Kish

Film still from A Song About Love by Rikkí Wright

Film still from A Song About Love by Rikkí Wright

Rikkí Wright and Kilo Kish are two of the eight artists exhibiting in this year’s edition of Womxn in Windows, a socially distant group show that clearly presaged the conditions of our current moment in its first edition last year. Visitors are invited to walk along the storefronts of Chung King Road in Chinatown and watch short films through each window with scores that can be accessed via QR code. Founded and curated by Zehra Ahmed, this year’s artists were invited to exhibit work that examines the intertwined relationships between culture, religion, and society. These films remind us how womxn have relied on faith and on each other as well as on a desire for equality, understanding, and the power to make the right choices for ourselves. In both Wright and Kish’s films one observes an intimate relationship with the spiritual, however from highly contrasting perspectives and with completely unique aesthetics. Wright is a photographer who makes films and ceramics, and whose practice includes explorations of gender and faith in the Black community. Her film, A Song About Love is a spiritual reckoning on the different forms of love in this world, from human to divine. It is a moving collage that combines interviews of Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou and bell hooks with the soul and gospel stylings of D.J. Rogers and more. Most notable is the way that she delicately stitches these intellectual and emotional anchors with a personal thread of vulnerable, self love that manifests directly in the undressed body of the artist as it moves languidly to the music. Kish is a singer-songwriter and visual artist who makes films and music videos. Her film, Blessed Assurance: a dream that I had, is presented as a multi-room installation that takes on a new life as six individual visual pieces, each framed in their own windows. It’s a captivating mix of recorded video overlaid with punchy, low-fi graphics, and an animated church reminiscent of a two-bit video game that transports the viewer to their own physical and spiritual dimension, somewhere between the space Kish imagines and the sky above. These varied approaches to understanding the relationship between art and the divine are reflective of their very different backgrounds and core disciplines. The following conversation is an in-depth look at the role of the body in self-portraiture, the effects of the pandemic, uprisings and election that have dominated this year, and the value of tapping into your intuition.

KILO KISH: Do you think it’s possible to fully find yourself as an artist, or is it an ever-fleeting thing? 

RIKKI WRIGHT: I think the latter. I came to photography initially, and then filmmaking. It was kind of by way of exploring and trying to understand who I am and where I came from. My mother passed away when I was two years old, and I didn’t grow up having that figure in my life. I think that once I got to a certain age, I was trying to find parts of my feminine self or the parts of womanhood that a mother gives to her child that I was lacking. But, in the midst of trying to look for photos of my mom and my childhood home, I wasn’t able to find a lot because I think the mother is the person that keeps all of these heirlooms together. That’s what brought me to wanting to create images and knowing how to make tangible evidence of something that happened in a way that just proves that that time existed. So, my work really revolves around trying to fill in that gap, around my family, and the Black family, and there are so many conversations and things that I’m trying to understand in my work constantly. It’s just ever-flowing. 

KISH: Yeah. I kind of felt that after watching your piece. It had that nostalgic quality of opening up a scrapbook, like an old scrapbook at your grandma’s house and being like, “Oh, this is Uncle Joe!” And I agree; I don’t know if you ever fully find yourself as an artist, and if you do, you just kind of move on to the next thing that’s exciting for you. If you do find something–and I attribute this more to making albums–it’s like you’re asking questions and trying to find parts of yourself that you want to explore further, and by the time you actually put the album out, you’re already onto the next thing. 

WRIGHT: That’s what’s so amazing about being an artist and having the ability to express yourself in however you do that—being able to have these conversations through your work, or just working through and processing the questions that you have. Toni Morrison talks about that a lot. All of her books start with a question, and she’s pretty much trying to answer that for herself, and strongly going, I make this work for myself first, and whoever comes to it to connect with it and is able to explore that question within the work, that’s an amazing added bonus

KISH: Totally. I was thinking about that a lot recently, because I was nervous in general about social media—it just doesn’t leave that space for questions. You’re presenting yourself in a way that is who this person is, but sometimes that’s tough because we are portraying, and we’re using our bodies, and we’re using figures of ourselves to play a role or explore ideas that we don’t know the answer to yet, and I think a lot of times artists get stuck in this spot where they’re like, that’s who you are! No, I was just using my body in a space. 

WRIGHT: Yeah, yeah, I mean that’s my approach in the self portraiture within my work, and also in the film, I present it as: that body is my body, but not me. It’s a form for all of the Black women who are experiencing, or have experienced this stuff with their sexuality or their spirituality, the suppression or oppression of it. So, I’m using my body to speak on behalf of others sometimes, or to create a character that represents something I’m trying to express. Maybe not even an actual person, just a being.  

KISH: Or even an idea, or a question. 

WRIGHT: Yeah, that is interesting. And also with being on Instagram and social media and having to present yourself as an artist. I started out as a photographer. I always see myself as a storyteller, a visual storyteller. I’m a visual learner. I grew up in a very religious household, so most of the music I know that’s not Catholic music is from watching films. That’s when I realized I want to say more with the images that I’m making. I feel like the moving image could add to what I’m actually trying to say, and I tried not to transition into filmmaker. I feel like there was also a resistance in conversations I was having with people trying to hire me for jobs. They were asking, “So, are you a photographer, or are you a filmmaker?” I do a lot of pottery as well, ceramics, so I’m trying to figure out how to merge all selves as an artist. I feel like sometimes, social media doesn’t allow you to do that. 

KISH: I agree. It’s a very daunting space because it’s centered around branding. What do you do? What is your thing? If you find your thing and just keep doing more of that thing, people will like it and share it, and I think when you’re exploring, it’s difficult. You’re like this is my music, but we’re also having this art show that’s going on right now. Do my fans of my music care about my art show? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m sure someone does, but is that this audience? Having gone to art school, and then jumping into the music industry, it’s such a difference. We’re selling a product in the music industry; we’re not ​selling​ art. As much as you want to think about it like, oh this is my art, the people in charge of it do not think of it that way. They’re thinking, okay, there’s nothing fine about this. We’re selling songs, let them be catchy, and that’s that. That’s not my doctrine at all, so it’s very difficult to try and merge the different parts of yourself, and I think now, after doing it for nine or ten years, just making art and trying to support myself off of the things that I make, I learned that I have to accept the output and stop trying to make myself fit into what people expect. 

WRIGHT: I’ve been reading this book by Saidiya Hartman, called ​Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments,​ and it’s about Black women right after the Reconstruction period. Black women moving over from the South to New York and trying to break out of this role of servitude that’s put forth, like Black women can’t do anything but be in the kitchen. But I think it speaks to the fear and anxiety of trying to do all of these things, or trying to incorporate different mediums into my practice, because I’m trying to tell the same message. I just know that I have different modes, or my body wants to do this instead of take a photo, so I feel like that has really empowered me. People are receptive; there’s an audience for each thing that you do. 

KISH: Yeah, totally. How do you know what to work on from day to day? Do you just feel it? 

WRIGHT: In the past eight months–how long have we been in quarantine? I feel like I was trying to stay on this roll of I need to be doing this, or I need to be doing that. Recently, I’ve been shooting a lot more, feeling inspired to connect with other people and shoot, but I also feel like I’ve just been sitting. I’ve been reading a lot. I’ve been trying to wrap my ideas around the one project that I do want to finish. It’s a documentary I’ve been shooting for the past two years with my grandmother in Alabama, telling the story of the American food race and how certain foods came here. It’s about memory as well. My grandmother is going through the early stages of dementia and what we shared growing up was being in the kitchen together. I could call her, and she could tell me a recipe on the drop of a dime, but that is diminishing slowly, and I’m feeling compelled to document this and to have conversations about intergenerational relationships. In the midst of me prepping for that, I’ve been working on so much self work, so much work within my family, having more open conversations, and relationship growth. I’ve been nurturing the relationships I do have. It’s been beautiful that my work brings me to that type of place because it’s all self work as well. I’m going home to Alabama for a month in December, and I’ll be finishing filming with my grandmother and staying on the farm out there. That work feels good, especially for the moment. It’s me connecting with my family, and that’s so important right now during this pandemic. Things are so unknown–the future, this election coming up. 

 
Self-portrait by Rikkí Wright

Self-portrait by Rikkí Wright

 

KISH: Yeah, I just want to get through this election, and I’ve been having similar things, just working on my relationships here and figuring out where I’m at creatively because this is the longest I’ve sat in one spot, but I’d been burnt out and it feels good to be able to slow down and just be like, so why am I doing this again? I feel like it’s so easy to get in those patterns of getting things done, and you’re working on autopilot, and then you’re like, do I actually feel for this work right now? Is this still a question for me? Because sometimes life just answers questions when you’re in the middle of a work process. That whole problem was just answered by me sitting down for two months. I was working on an album, and it was about American themes, and I got bogged down with this entire quarantine. It was so intense, and I was just like, I don’t know if I really want to...I’m already over it. 

WRIGHT: The priorities shifted as well. There’s an importance for certain work to be out right now and to be seen, and certain conversations to be had. Sometimes it’s time to put that on pause and have it for a different space. I’ve really enjoyed connecting with my family because they’ve shifted into a wider awareness—a wider political awareness as well. Connecting more with the stories and lives of people in my family, it’s like, oh, this is happening because of this larger systemic thing that’s going on. That’s why I love experimental filmmaking: because it allows the freedom to be as open as possible and just put whatever you’re feeling out there. I feel like right now, I’m really into having conversations with people in my life and sitting with that idea of reimagining what our future can look like if we look at what’s been going on. 

KISH: I feel like it would need to be an entire reimagining of the United States, just an entire reimagining of the whole way that it runs. The whole quarantine has helped to reconnect me with a lot of social issues and things that are going on within our community. I tend to isolate in general. I stay home, I do a lot of things alone, I like to live in my own world. I don’t watch that much. If everyone’s in love with a show, I generally don’t watch it. Being forced through a really fucked up thing and then jumping into life with everyone else again, it felt crazy in that moment when we were doing all the protests, and volunteering, and doing petitions, and doing all this work. In a way, I felt more connected to people than I have in a really, really long time. 

WRIGHT: For sure, because there was a collective consciousness, and I feel a shift in the strength that it had. I feel like right now, everything has been put out in the open, so people are more receptive to actually having the conversation. Because actually turning away from things is so frowned upon in this moment, and hopefully forever. I’ve been having conversations with some of my very close friends that I’ve never had before, and I’m just like, wow, very interesting to know this is your experience. That also informs the type of work I want to create. Experimental film is not commercial or high commodity, but I feel like that’s resistance as well. I feel connected to the work that has always been fighting for change. That’s why Toni Morrison, bell hooks, Maya Angelou are people that appear in my piece. They have been guides. It’s very important to make sure that I’m addressing that in the things that I create. Not that it’s my responsibility, because it’s been addressed many times over.

KISH: I agree. Just being able to see all the different industries and all these different Black artists saying how they’ve been affected. In your own self-centered version of your life, you feel like you’re the only one that these things are happening to, and I think that’s part of the divisiveness of the whole thing. You’re supposed to feel like you’re alone in it. Having seen everybody with their different versions of the same story, which was really depressing, I was able to realize that everybody has the same idea of what I’m making—not that it’s necessarily my responsibility, but I feel the need to share these different views and perspectives of what Blackness can be, and about what family can be, or what these different parts of connectedness are. I’ve been doing that, but I didn’t realize I was doing it until this whole thing happened. I feel like there’s all kinds of Black girls, and I want to make alternative music, so I’m just going to do that the whole time. When people were like, “You should only make rap music, always”, I was like, “No, I’m going to keep doing this other stuff.” So, I think there’s always been that rebelliousness when people try to put you in a box of what you’re able to achieve. It also comes down to what you were saying before with wanting to do experimental filmmaking, whereas someone might tell you that you should just direct music videos, or something. 

 
Kilo Kish. Photo courtesy of Andrew Arthur

Kilo Kish. Photo courtesy of Andrew Arthur

 

WRIGHT: Exactly. Yeah. And starting in this space of experimental filmmaking, when I am approached for any type of job, people are open and knowing this is what they could possibly get from me based on what they’ve seen, and usually people are only coming to me if they’re open to being on the same page as me, which I’m really grateful for. 

KISH: It’s nice to be strong enough to–and I think it does take mental fortitude and grit to be that vulnerable with the different practices, because your film from the show was super vulnerable. It’s very powerful in that the body itself is so powerful. What you’re willing to share is a statement in itself. I was going to ask you: how do you not talk yourself out of doing things that you know might be scary for you creatively? 

WRIGHT: The way that I grew up, I always had this need to protect myself. I was just out in the world. Whoever could watch me and my sister would, or we were bounced around from different family members, and so there were a lot of different opinions. I was just like, I’m going to go crazy if I have to adhere or just be what you want me to be. I’m just going to do me, and don’t ask permission, ask forgiveness, and do it. I think I kind of lived by that, and it inevitably is a part of the way I come to art. You have that fear, but in my experience, even having that one person, a friend, or somebody from your family give a critique, that helps me in a way. It was worth it for me to just do it. 

KISH: I feel the same way. I feel like the curiosity of what could happen outweighs the fear that you might have about it. I just want to see what happens, even if it doesn’t do well by other people’s standards. What is the role that spirituality plays with you now because you said that you had a very spiritual upbringing, but I wonder, now, after having grown up in the Church and all that, how do you feel about it? 

WRIGHT: Organized religion is not necessarily where I think I can connect spiritually. I have the experience of losing my mother at the age of two, and in 2017 my father passed away on my birthday, so the people who brought me into this physical life are both in a spiritual realm, and I’ve just felt a spiritual connection, a motherly connection, since I was a child. I have always felt like there’s guardian angels, or I definitely feel connected to my ancestors. That’s just something that’s not even by choice. I know that even in some of the work that I create, it feels like somebody needed that to be done. I don’t know if it was my grandma, or who. So, in that sense, I really am big on remembering our ancestors and making sure that I have altars on my mom’s birthday. Images are also huge for me. Sometimes I can just be transformed or taken back to a place, and that feels almost spiritual as well. There’s a scripture, Do this in remembrance of me (1 Corinthians 11:24), and I think about that often. We’d do communion every first Sunday where everybody drinks the wine and takes a little piece of the cracker in remembrance of Christ’s blood and body. It’s kind of intense actually, but we do it so casually. It’s a very honoring ceremony, remembering Christ’s sacrifice, and I think that’s how I approach remembering my ancestors, and remembering the fight of just being here in this country, or just making it; our survival. 

KISH: Yeah, wow. It’s like a weaving of your experiences and your life, and all the little bits that inform your life. I had a strange upbringing where I was the only Black person in my whole school and I was in a gifted program. I was this little Black girl who was moved around all these different classes, and if I think of my younger self, it definitely informs the way that I approach work now. It’s very in my own world, and it’s in my own space. I have friends in fashion, but I’m not a fashion girl. I do music, but I’m not a music girl. I do art, but I’m not an art girl. I’m always this separate thing that’s in the Venn diagram overlapping everything else. I think everybody’s experiences create how they make work, and I guess spiritually, I believe similarly to what you said–there are things guiding and protecting and moving you in the right path, and if you’re able to tap into intuition, or whatever you want to call it, you kind of know: that doesn’t really feel right for me, I don’t know why, but I’m going to sidestep. I always feel that with all the projects that I do, and I think during COVID, I’ve just not really heard that voice as much. I’ve kind of just been sitting down. 

WRIGHT: I think that the uncertainty of the world has an effect where you feel like you don’t have much control, and that’s why sometimes I’m like I have to stop. I have to get off social media, I have to sit with myself and listen to my own thoughts. There’s so much being thrown at us all day long. It’s really a lot, and I really do think that affects being able to hear yourself. I haven’t done this yet, but a lot of my friends have taken social media breaks for a couple of months during the pandemic and are just working on their own thing, and it’s been great. 

Kilo Kish. Photo courtesy of Andrew Arthur

Kilo Kish. Photo courtesy of Andrew Arthur


This year’s exhibition of Womxn in Windows is on view through November 15 in Chinatown Los Angeles on Chung King Road, as well as New York in partnership with the Wallplay Network - 321 Canal Street, Chinatown London in partnership with Protein Studios - 31 New Inn Yard, and Hackney Shanghai in partnership with Bitter - Jing’an District. Additional films can be viewed by Christine Yuan, Everlane Moraes, Ja’Tovia Gary, Kya Lou, Rémie Akl, and Sylvie Weber—artists whose backgrounds span the United States, Brazil, Lebanon, Taiwan, the Dominican Republic and Germany. Follow @womxninwindows, @rikkwright and @kilokish on instagram.