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Editors:
Anna Knoebel
Tess Knoebel
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Non-Contributor Interviews: Stephen Wong
August 20, 2009
What is the last book you finished and what did you enjoy about it?
Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch by Henry Miller. Do you remember those "Calgon Take Me Away" commercials when we were growing up? Well, this book was like that for me. Every time I opened it and started to read, no matter how stressful things were, it helped me escape and clear my head. I'm actually reading it a second time. Maybe I should mix things up and read it while sitting in a tub of Calgon.
What lyric or stanza have you memorized? Please recite it.
"I wish I was special. You're so fucking special."
What's your answer when people ask, "What do you do?" Does it vary from person to person?
Along with "What do you do?", people here in New York also tend to ask "Where do you live?" I guess my typical response would be that I'm a designer and live in Chinatown. I try to avoid getting into work conversation when talking to complete strangers and to keep things, you know, on the lighter side. Work can be stressful and the last thing you want to do is find yourself venting your problems to a complete stranger. That's just awkward.
What did you do when you first came to New York? Where did you come from?
I was born in Georgetown and raised in the suburbs outside of Washington, D.C. It was your typical suburban childhood I suppose. I arrived in New York in '95 to attend University. I knew pretty early on what I wanted to do and before graduation I started working at Helmut Lang. I was Art Director there until '05 and then served the same role at his studio until '08 It was a great experience and I learned a lot during my time there. I had the idea for Wong Wong around 2007 and dedicated myself full time to the company at the end of 2008.
How do you feel about entrepreneurship during the worst economic crisis since the Depression?
"Prosperity has always returned and will again." - John D. Rockefeller
Tell us about Wong Wong. Tell us about soccer and scarves!
I began following soccer about 10 years ago after visiting family in the South of France. One of my cousins was a huge Arsenal supporter, a club team in London, and he got me hooked. I started to follow soccer pretty fanatically after that, playing it here in the city, going to Europe and the UK to catch it live, watching it on TV, following the papers, etc. Eventually I started to have ideas about my own collection that would take its inspiration from soccer culture and in 2007 I started Wong Wong. I always loved the way soccer scarves looked when worn -- very colorful and very graphic. So I produced my own collection in 100% cashmere, in colors that referenced the biggest club teams in Europe and UK, and incorporated soccer terminology that matched each club's brand of soccer. For instance, Arsenal play an attacking style of soccer, so I paired them with "Penetration". I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out.
Explain the cross-culture of fashion/art/design in New York.
They're all in bed together.
On a scale of one to 10, how lucky are you and why?
7, because that's my lucky number.
Vacuum or mop?
Dustbuster.
Why is art/writing important?
It provides a window into a specific place and time thru the eyes of the artist/writer.
Stephen Wong is a designer and the founder of Wong Wong. You can purchase his Footie_First Leg cashmere scarves at Colette, Shop BTF, W Hotels, and online.
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Stephen Wong
Interviews conducted by Anna Knoebel
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Non-Contributor Interviews: Mark Dery
July 30, 2009
What is the last book you finished and what did you enjoy about it?
H. P. Lovecraft: Tales (Library of America). The unequaled master of slithery weirdness, Lovecraft rose up out of the miasma of his own gothic racism and the eugenic nightmares of his historical moment to create pulp-horror masterworks whose purple prose, like William Shatner's tic-ridden monologues, attain an awful grandeur. I'd avoided him for years, but finally succumbed. Now I'm a convert. What I hadn't anticipated was his fascination with landscapes and architecture. He's really a landscape painter, albeit a painter of psychologized landscapes, like Edvard Munch or Arnold Boecklin or Albert Pinkham Ryder. In his best stories, desolate, grotesque landscapes simply reek of evil; the brackish ponds and stands of gnarled trees and abandoned, tumbledown farmhouses shimmer with malice in the noonday sun. Just thinking about it makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
What lyric or stanza have you memorized? Please recite it.
Jesus, I am overjoyed to meet you face to face.
You've been getting quite a name all around the place.
Healing cripples, raising from the dead.
And now I understand you're God,
At least, that's what you've said.
So, you are the Christ, you're the great Jesus Christ.
Prove to me that you're divine; change my water into wine.
That's all you need do, then I'll know it's all true.
Come on, King of the Jews.
"King Herod's Song," from the otherwise sachrymose Andrew Lloyd Weber's masterpiece of countercultural kitsch-cool, Jesus Christ Superstar. A formative influence during the '70s, when I flirted (briefly) with the Jesus Freak movement. The movie is beyond awesome, from its hey-kids-let's-put-on-a-Living Theater-show-in-the-middle-of-the-dead-sea plot vehicle---the whole film is, like, Aaron Spelling's idea of tearing down the fourth wall, with its metanarrative of a bunch of hippie thespians staging a passion play in some Israeli wasteland---to the Son of Shaft wah-wah guitar to Ted Neeley's angsty messiah to the Bronze-Age Syd & Marty Krofft vibe of the costumes (I want one of those high priest hats, the ones that look like Sacher-Masoch's idea of chef's toques). It's a genre of one: Christploitation. And "King Herod's Song" is a made-to-order battle hymn for the New Atheists (Dawkins, Harris, Hitchens)---or would be, if they had a sense of humor.
How do you feel about citizen journalism?
The same way I feel about "the wisdom of crowds." Journalism, at its best, is a skill, like any other. How many citizen journalists can field-strip a FOIA request in the dark? How many citizen journalists have exposed a major act of corporate wrongdoing or political malfeasance? Granting the point that precious little mainstream journalism amounts to anything more than toadying up to power or shilling for corporate sponsors, the best investigative reporters and political attack dogs, like Matt Taibbi, remind us that working the paper trail and hammering an interview and reporting the hell out of story is brutal scutwork. Who in the citizen-journalism world is their equal? Some guy in Iran who snaps a cellphone photo of a dying protester? Jeff Jarvis likes to maunder on about how "anyone can commit an act of journalism." Trouble is, the best journalism isn't an opportune act, it's a long, punishing slog through an eye-glazing infinity of dead ends until you, and you alone, connect the dots of something big, something monstrous. I have huge respect for reporters who can do that. Walter Pincus, Sy Hirsch, the Knight-Ridder people who kept telling us WoMD was just a neocon wet dream. Show me the "citizen journalist" who's their equal. Does this figment of the academic imagination even exist?
On a scale of one to 10, how lucky are you and why?
Since I don't believe in luck, I can't quantify my luck or lack of it.
Why does Ray Johnson's work appeal over other forms of mail art?
Judging from the movie, he seemed to have a joiner's sense of jigsawing images together, a pitch-perfect sense of visual music, of what went with what. Like Max Ernst, in his collage works, or Joseph Cornell.
Why did your flaming punk-rock days end?
The peanut-crunching masses stubbornly withheld their adulation, and refused to underwrite my dreams of Patti Smith rock godhood.
Explain the culture of performance art in New York City.
I haven't the faintest idea.
Why do you enjoy being a professor at NYU?
Since leaving NYU this spring, I've enjoyed it immensely.
How do you characterize your brand of logorrhea?
Torrid.
Why is art/writing important?
Is it?
Mark Dery is a cultural critic who writes books and freelance journalism. His most recent book is The Pyrotechnic Insanitarium: American Culture on the Brink. He blogs at www.markdery.com.
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Mark Dery
(Frontiers of Contemporary Thought, Porto Alegre, Brazil; all rights reserved.)
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Contributor Interviews: Melanie Flood
July 7, 2009
What is the last book you finished and what did you enjoy about it?
Are you asking this because you know that I don't read books normally? I can only answer because I actually did read and finish a book on my recent solo trip to India: Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi written by Geoff Dyer. I began reading it on a train ride from Varanasi to Kolkata.
The first portion of the book is about Jeff visiting Venice during the Biennale. It's an accurate portrayal of art fairs/art shows, and he pinpoints the irritating winding streets of Venice. Romantic as they are when you walk down them with a new lover, maddening when you walk them alone, with a broken heart.
The second part of the novel takes place in Varanasi, India's holy city on the Ganga River. All I can say is the sentence where he describes a man who's pushing his own enormous balls around in a wheelbarrow is enough to love this book. If you've been to Varanasi, you understand how non-far-fetched this scene actually is.
What lyric or stanza have you memorized? Please recite it.
". . .it was a-hotter than a crotch." Tough Mama, Bob Dylan
Where are you from? Why was it nice to grow up there?
Until about 1993, I thought I was born in Manhattan, but my Mother was actually saying Manhasset. I lived in Queens until 1986, then moved forty miles north of Manhattan to a suburb called Pomona until 1999. I loved growing up in New York. It's the most amazing state in the country. There's nothing like having a Korean best friend who lives in a candy store, then an Indian best friend whose mother rids your life of evil sprits, then a sophisticated half German/Swedish best friend who teaches you about sex and fashion all by the age of ten.
No other state encompasses New York's cultural insanity. I don't think I'd be the open minded, adventurous, loud mouthed, opinionated woman I am today had I been born any place else.
Why is it important to get out of the city, or even move away for good?
Ever since I was born, I've felt this need to go go go go. Create. Be someone. Climb that ladder. Questioning where I am on the food chain. What am I accomplishing? Who am I? Who appreciates what I'm doing? Who will come to my funeral?
I'm not sure if this comes with the territory of being from New York, or if this is me inherently, but sometimes the constant going is akin to multiple personality disorder. I've only learned recently how great it is to leave, to breathe. Being in New York is like being pampered all day. Like having a full time staff, a butler, anything you want, you got it. We're spoiled! You have to leave the city to appreciate how good we have it here. Try getting a loaf of semolina in Alabama. It's impossible for me to move away -- even if I were to never step foot in this city again. New York is in my blood.
How did you first become interested in photography?
In 1989 I received a Le Clic camera from my Uncle Ronnie as a Christmas gift. I photographed the entire holiday, all of our family, gifts, and decorations. The photos of people were at a really funny angle since I was only 9 years old. That same evening my grandmother had a heart attack, she died a few weeks later. Not to be disgustingly sentimental, but I learned the magic of recording history, recording memories at a young age. Those photos I took are the last of our entire family together. It was never the same after that day.
On a scale of one to 10, how lucky are you and why?
Obviously an 11. I think you know why.
Why is the Internet instrumental to an artist's success?
Exposure.
Where do you find new photographers to show at Melanie Flood Projects?
Submissions. Friends. Word of mouth. Sometimes I stay up late and look at a zillion websites. I contact artists and hope they don't think I'm lame and that they'll say yes to do a show. No one has declined thus far.
Why do some galleries succeed while others fail?
I'm not sure how to classify failing or succeeding.
But, if I had to in the traditional sense, I am technically failing because I make zero money at Melanie Flood Projects. However, I succeed because I am being myself, and there's nothing that makes me happier than not having to try to be some "gallerist" or pretend I know what the hell is going on.
Why is art/writing important?
". . . the artist's business is to practice art, and not to talk about it."
C.J. Ducasse, The Philosophy of Art, 1929
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Melanie Flood
(photo by Noah Kalina)
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Contributor Interviews: Hyla Skopitz
June 20, 2009
What is the last book you finished and what did you enjoy about it?
I was going through boxes of books, helping my mom clear out her apartment. I came across a beat up copy of In Cold Blood that had been scotch-taped together multiple times but was still falling apart. Inscribed in pen on the inside front cover is, "Mrs. B.J. Leclair, 117 Laughton Ave, Toronto, Ont. Please if this book is lost, please after you have read it, return to me."
It must be very difficult to figure how to tell a good story when everyone already knows how it ends, and especially to tell it in a way that is restrained and doesn't resort to sensationalism. I am also drawn to the fluid shifts of perspective from character to character. If you ever read it, you know there are two very short chapters in particular that stick out, one right after the other. The two murderers, just having crossed the border into Mexico, have a conversation about their recent crime.
What lyric or stanza have you memorized? Please recite it.
I often walk around silently singing Wake Up. The phrase, "If the children don't grow up, our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up . . ." gets me every time. I listen to that Arcade Fire Album over and over.
Another quote that sticks with me is something that Don Delillo said in an interview about White Noise: "I tried to find a kind of radiance in dailiness. Sometimes this radiance can be almost frightening. Other times it can be almost holy or sacred."
Where are you from? Why did you move to New York?
I am from Rochester, NY where the winters are long and there are weeks without sun, so I've been trying to get somewhere with better weather for a while now. I lived for many years in the Hudson Valley before I came to New York City. I moved here in 2006 to begin the MFA program at ICP-Bard. I specifically did not want to live in New York City, but applied to the program because I had gone to Bard College for my undergrad; it was supposed to be my "safety school". When I came for the interview there was a guy spitting on the sidewalk and everything around me felt rude, loud, and coated in grime. I thought, "There is just no way I am going to live here." But then I met Nayland Blake, the chair of the program, and knew it was the right place for me. And it is.
If you're interest in documentation and memory led you to photography, why photography and video over writing?
Actually, my interest in photography came first. In high school, I was intimidated by art classes that required one to draw or paint realistically, though in a sculpture class I did manage to create a clay bust that looks a lot like me (it can now be seen among the tulips and daffodils in a friend's garden if you don't believe me). Photography circumvented this problem. Cameras are machines rooted in reality, though they can be easily tricked. I use photography to find things in a way that is not possible with writing, literally and emotionally. I have always been a writer too, but I am very shy about it. There are some things that I am just not able to put into words and I kind of like it that way.
What are your interests outside of your work?
Oh the usual stuff: film, books, trees, yoga, cooking, riding my bike around town. I wish I was a rock climber/surfer girl/musical genius. I'm working on it.
On a scale of one to 10, how lucky are you and why?
10 for sure. I was born with opportunity, choice, and good parents. I feel lucky to be a woman, to have the opportunity to have a living thing grow inside of me one day.
Do you follow the work of other contemporary photographers? Whose and why?
I had a writing professor once call me a promiscuous reader. I would say the same about my consumption of art, especially photography, so I don't necessarily follow the work of any one photographer in particular. In the past year, my favorite show was Jan Mancuska at Andrew Kreps in January. Check him out.
What's it like day to day, working at the MET?
Every morning I walk through the maze of basement corridors past large crates stamped by museums all over the world, wondering what masterpieces they might contain. I walk by walls lined with black and white photographs from the MET archives dating back to the late 1800s. There is a man hand-painting an exhibition sign, students dressed in Victorian clothing, and things like that. I make it a point to pass through the Great Hall on the main floor. Mondays are my favorite because that is when they change the enormous flower arrangements. I spend most of my time in the Photography Studio where I am working on a collection of approximately 300 very large Islamic tapestries and carpets that had to be photographed in multiple sections using a custom designed rig made of industrial steel beams and pulleys. My job is to do all the Photoshop finagling. I walk by mummies to go to lunch and am constantly amazed at the amount of art inside that building. I am relatively new to the MET and get lost all the time, there is always something new to find. I sometimes work late. It is the best time to see the art when everything is hushed and still. The notion of roaming the halls of the Met after hours is very romantic, don't you think?
Explain the culture of photography exhibitions in New York and why it appeals to you.
I get really frustrated with a lot of the photography I see. I am usually much more interested in looking at installation and video. Maybe it is because I have been looking at and studying photography for so long that it is beginning to feel like it is rare to see innovative, striking images. Not to say that I am not often amazed. In addition, the idea of working within the confines of a neat, tidy project is something that has never really appealed to me, so I don't often enjoy walking into photography galleries that present bodies of work in that way. The beauty of New York City is that there are always new things to uncover or places to discover. I love being pleasantly surprised when I stumble upon a random exhibit or open studios and fall in love with something I see or someone I meet.
Why is art/writing important?
When I make photographs or videos, I often work somewhat instinctually. I like it when my process gets a little out of control, so that I don't know where exactly I am going to end up and what exactly it will be. I use writing later on to help me make sense of it all. It is like therapy except that I'm talking to myself, tweaking my thoughts here and there.
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Hyla Skopitz
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Contributor Interviews: Brandon Johnson
June 11, 2009
What is the last book you finished and what did you enjoy about it?
Kill Me Please: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk by Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain. I like that the book is composed only of direct quotes. The narrative is formed by multiple voices, making it more of a conversation. Everything is directly from the horse's mouth, whether it's Bowie, David Johanson, or Lou Reed. It was great that they contradict each other, approaching incidents from all sides. Pure, verbal language. Plus, all the ridiculous stories about Iggy. I can't believe that guy isn't dead yet.
What lyric or stanza have you memorized? Please recite it.
Speaking of Iggy: "I'm a street-walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm / I'm a runaway son of the nuclear A-bomb". I used to remember the entirety of this little Robert Creeley poem, but at the risk of error, I won't try to repeat it in full, just this line: "Pain is a flower like that one / Like this one like that one like this one". I learned it for a class in college. Obviously, not well enough. I think it's great to memorize writing. Also, to transcribe it. Direct mimicry is really the best way to learn. Good poets borrow, great poets steal.
Where are you from? Why did you move to New York?
I am from Chicagoland. New York was my destiny. America is the only country that went from barbarism to decadence without civilization in between. Oscar Wilde said that. I think Oscar Wilde is right about that and a lot of other things.
How did you first become interested in writing?
Reading Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du Mal at my local Downers Grove Public Library. His words had this stark resonance that I felt really meant something. Also, reading Celine, Rimbaud, Whitman, Ginsberg, Burroughs, etc. Basically, the French and the Beats. I was at the tender age of 16, entering this secret world of wild individuals. I would hide in the corner and eat it up. To see how differently people can think and live was so exciting for me. Obviously, I wrote a lot of horrible poetry when I was younger, reading Baudelaire and being so emo. It wasn't until college at the University of Denver that I was really exposed to the practice of writing. Eric Olsen, a PhD student who taught my intro to creative writing course, opened my eyes to 20th century experimental writing. After that, Laird Hunt, Eleni Sikelianos, and Bin Ramke all provided valuable information and support for me to bide my time in the corner of the University of Denver's 1970s orange-walled and -carpeted library, cutting my teeth and eating it up. Now, here I am.
What are your interests outside of writing?
Contemporary art, cycling, and absurd verbal wordplay with my friends and acquaintances. Also, going to Rockaway Beach now that it's summer.
On a scale of one to 10, how lucky are you and why?
According Devon [Dikeou, editor/publisher of zingmagazine], I'm the luckiest guy around. But I don't really think so. So, I'm going to say 7.
Why do you prefer experimental poetry to traditional poetry?
Because it's more exciting. Reactionary writing is so droll.
Where do you read work by the best current poets?
The Internet and small press publications nationwide. Dick Pig Review/Red China Magazine/Black Maze Books, Pax Americana, The Sensational FOOD I CORP ENTERPRISE, Octopus. Uh, there's a bunch I'm forgetting, but you get my drift. I don't have subscriptions, but occasionally buy things if I have some x-tra $$$. Nobody makes money off these things anyway. They're all labors of love. That's one of the best parts about writing. There's no money in it.
Explain the culture of poetry readings in New York and why it appeals to you.
In terms of the literary scene I know, everybody is really pushing each other and feeding off one another. Readings are small communities of people coming together for the right reasons. Many of these people know each other and the occasions are mostly festive. I'm speaking of readings I attend in Brooklyn. Not all readings are good. Some are very boring. These do not appeal to me. It depends on who is reading. However, like many things in New York, you have to sift through the crap to find the diamonds.
Why is art/writing important?
Who could live without it? I think at some point you don't have a choice but to have it be a permanent part of you. You're in it for life. Like a gang. Blood in, blood out.
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Brandon Johnson
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