You Don’t Always Know Why, with Kathy Fernandez Blunt

Above: Photo of Kathy on a trip to Bermuda

Kathy Fernandez Blunt (Kathy) knows how to live life. She’s a beloved regular at Myrtle who loves to shares stories about her years as an Emmy-nominated news producer, touring tennis player, mother, and of travels around the world. Born in North Carolina, Kathy spend her teen years in NYC before following love to East Providence. Once in the Ocean State, she studied at Bryant and Brown, taking up admin jobs at school and Trinity Rep. Kathy’s a naturally curious “in the mix” type person; that energy got her looped in with WSBE-TV as a producer and panelist for a public affairs show which in turn, lead to further education at the Northeast School of Broadcasting in Boston. During that same period she’d started a gig at WJAR Radio (NBC), proved her chops, and became the first Black woman there to hold the position of Weekend News Reporter.

Family connections then brought Kathy to D.C. where she served as host, producer, and writer for a number of critically acclaimed programs including Eye on Washington (WDCA) and Black Reflections. In addition, Kathy’s found time to raise a family, own multiple video rental stores, support organizations like Black Miss America and the United Negro College Fund, and sneak in a little mountain climbing, too. We recently visited Kathy’s home in East Providence, turned a recorder on, and asked her to share whatever she felt like sharing. What follows are excerpts from that conversation, edited down for this format. Kathy’s currently at work on her full life story.

The Well (TW): Kathy where do you want to sit?

Kathy Fernandez Blunt (Kathy): I'm cooking Portuguese meal, Cachupa. It’s like the Cape Verdean Munchupa. Would you like a glass of wine or something?

TW: Yeah, sure. Sure, thank you. 

Kathy: You saw the pictures of my daughter, Pam? She looks very much like her mama, I mean her daddy. [Showing photos] This is my husband at a play at Trinity Rep. It was a Shakespearean play. You know I started in Trinity?

TW: Tell me about that.

Kathy: Well first I was a file clerk at Admiral TV. Somebody told me to check out Brown—it was Christine Hathaway, who was Secretary to the Librarian—she told me take a couple of courses there at night and blah, blah, blah. Someone spotted me somewhere and whatever I was doing, they thought I should go to Trinity. This is when they were in the Trinity Church. I started out as an assistant. What do you call it? 

TW: A stage manager? 

Kathy: No, no. It was…Executive Assistant. I was also in charge at times...at night, you know when the play is playing. Adrian Hall was the artistic director, and he wanted to know if I wanted to be his and Marion Simon’s assistant. I knew all the actors. So when we went to Edinburgh, I had to get all their birth certificates so I could get them their passports. I don't know if you remember the actor Richard Kneeland? He said, “Kathy, if you tell my age, I’ll have to kill you.” Everybody wanted to play young roles. I said, “Richard, please, I've kept all the secrets.”

TW: Where are you at in life right now? There’s a lot of boxes around here.

Kathy: Well, I'm very befuddled. Is that a word, still? Yeah, my grandma used to use that word. [Someday] this house will be sold. I have my name in at a couple of really nice senior living places. I have property in North Carolina but I don't want to move there. I’ve been away from there since I was 12; I had moved to NYC after my mother passed.

Above: Kathy getting reading to head out to work at WJAR in 1973

TW: So, just no connection there anymore.

Kathy: Yes, all my doctors and other people are in Rhode Island. I go to visit but wouldn’t want to stay. You know, my niece was killed in the World Trade Center and she was a wonderful, gorgeous child who was living with my brother in both NYC and North Carolina.

TW: On 9/11?

Kathy: Second building. I was at the foot doctors when the first [plane] hit Building One. Everybody was like, “What?” They were telling the people in Building Two, which was where my niece was, “Oh, stay put, it's an accident.” Well, then they said, “You've got to get out,” but it was too late. They couldn't use the elevator and they all burned up. I was living in Maryland at the time and I went to be with my brother in Brooklyn, which is where they all lived, and we had to go and bring identification and stuff. Ten years later they found her torso and they shipped it to our home at our church in North Carolina. So I mean, I don't want to go back there. I love it there when I visit, but I don't think I can live there. 

[A beeping sound is heard from the kitchen]

Kathy: That's my pot. I don't wanna burn it... We have to cook it in different parts, because you've got pig feet, which are very tough to cook, so you cook that all by itself. And then we've got spare ribs and and then it's beans, all kinds of different beans and kale.

TW:  How long have you been in this house? And how’d you end up here? 

Kathy: Well, I only lived in this house since 2003. [Years before,] I met a guy in New York and we got married, and so I had to come up to East Providence, which was like…I couldn't just like, walk down the street and go to Broadway anymore. I couldn’t just take a bus or you know, but I got used to it. He’s Spanish and Native, but had been adopted by a Cape Verdean family. My grandmother’s Native, too. So anyway, he passed away and that's a long story. I remarried about five years later. I had bought a house on Lancaster Street in Providence. Do you know Lancaster Street? Yeah, Raymond Patriarca.

Above: Kathy at WDCA in Washtington, DC.

TW:  The mob boss?

Kathy: Nice man, my height. Had a black poodle. When he walked the dog there was a goon on each end of the street just in case somebody wanted to pop. I did the story when I was at WJAR.

TW: You did a story when he died, or something else?

Kathy: When Bobo Marrapese supposedly killed Dickie Callei. The story was that Raymond had it done by Bobo when Raymond was away in jail, but there was never any proof of it. You know that scene in the Godfather, in the restaurant?

TW: I’ve actually never seen The Godfather.

Kathy: That's a scene that they supposedly stole from us. One version of the story was that in Johnston, Bobo and Raymond had told everybody to go to the restaurant. That was when the telephones were around from the bar. They were all sitting there drinking and the bartender said, “Dickie, you have a phone call.” So Dickie gets up, goes around the corner and a couple of guys went with him to the phone...when the guys were all gone Dickie was there with 37 stab wounds or something crazy like that. I'm working on this story, I'm new! I’d just graduated from Northeast School of Broadcasting. 

TW: How did it get assigned to you? I feels like an intense gig. 

Kathy: I had never covered anything like this. The station said, “Kathy, you've got to go.” Knowing what had happened and being new to the industry, it was very intimidating. So my first, my first real gig for TV, yeah. I was the Weekend Reporter.

I had to talk to the cops. The police called and told us where the killers had dumped Callie's body, it was in the Rehoboth area. The police took the body to the morgue, whatever the cops did. I was asking my bosses, “Well, what are we going to do? Take pictures of it?” He said, “Yeah, because you're going to see blood everywhere.” So I said, “Ooh, this is exciting.” It was during the time when we had one color camera and one black and white, and if you wanted to see red blood...use the color camera! The cameraman was a sweetheart. So we were going. A cop said “It's down there, it's a one-way road on the left-hand side.”

Above: Kathy’s press pass from the mid 1970s.

TW: This is not sounding particularly safe.

Kathy: It's one way in and one way out. We're driving along and I'm like, “Oh, my god, we're not alone.” We see this car following us, a yellow Volkswagen, unmarked, and we have the WJAR News Watch 10 logo on our car...everybody knew who we were. So I'm thinking, and the car is coming behind us, and I said to my driver, “You know, I think we should just pull over and let them get ahead of us. Either that or they're going to kill us.” They pulled up next to us and it turned out they were from the Taunton Gazette. 

TW: They scooped you on the story?

Kathy: I don’t know, since they were from a different station. But they’d gone ahead and said they couldn't find it. We drove maybe a quarter of a mile further and there it was. We got out and took pictures and it looked to me, it looked like they buried him in his car. I mean, this was a huge spot that they put him in. So we got back and we did the story and you know, I couldn't tell all that. I just said, “Blah, blah, blah...the police called and said yada, yada had been killed.” There was no clue that it was Raymond Patriarca doing until later—I knew some of the gangsters; I was all over Federal Hill so I knew everybody there. 

TW: You knew them through reporting or socially. 

Kathy: Socially, yeah. Mostly reporting, though, and the thing about it...on the news, you only got a minute and a half tops. Most of the time it's a half, but this was a minute. I managed to get through it and I ended with you know, “Call the police,” and I gave the police number if you want to know more.

Above: Kathy at the Washington Emmy Awards

TW: I think I have this right, you were the first Black female news reporter at WJAR?

Kathy: They had a couple of Black people working as photographers. I forget, but yeah. I'm in contact with them now—they just had their 75th anniversary about four months ago and they omitted me. I have a lot of pictures, but the people there now, I think the only one that's there now that was there during my time is Barbara Morse Silva. The guy that has a Sunday show said to me, “Kathy, you need to call her,” so I called, and she hasn't called me back. It's been four months. I don't want anything, but I want to know why they left me out. 

TW: It's a fairly important distinction.

Kathy: Yeah, absolutely, and you'd think they would be proud of having the first woman of color as a local news reporter.

TW: Well, maybe someone will read this and reach out! What are some other memorable stories that you covered? 

Speaker: Okay, we got a call from the police, who said a woman had been murdered by her husband in front of the Kentucky Fried Chicken in Johnston. So the news desk said, “Kathy, you're going to have to go to Kentucky Fried and interview the people there, because somebody was murdered.” 

So I got there and I saw Donald, my friend who owned it, and he felt really bad. He said couple had separated—the husband and wife, and he didn't want to let her go. She worked there and he drove up in the parking lot...as she was getting out the door, her husband went over and said, “Come with me,” and this is what they all told me. She said no, so he put her in the car, drove about a quarter of a mile. 

I got all these pictures, beautiful pictures from Kentucky Fried. He shot her first, in the car, and then he shot himself. His car veered off the road into somebody's property with trees. When I got there, the cops came over and said “You don't want to take any pictures of the interior of that car,” and I was like, “Why?” He said we could go up there and take pictures outside the car, but nothing inside, out of respect for her, and him too I guess. That was pretty sad. I mean, the Bobo story was scary, but this was sad. To know that could happen to somebody. 

TW: I would describe you as an upbeat person, and I'm curious how you compartmentalize seeing things like that—does it get to you?

Kathy: I'm not sure. It was very sad, and the policeman told me not to look inside. But you know, here I am being a nosy new reporter, whatever. I wished I hadn't, but it's in my mind. Compartmentalizing something like that, I don't know how I did it—just being a new reporter and getting out of broadcasting school...trying to show that I learned something and putting it in the right place. The who, what, when, where, whatever. You don't always know why.

Above: Kathy’s graduation photo, Washington Irving High School, NYC, 1954.

TW: What your overall sense of Rhode Island was during your time as a reporter. Like a big picture understanding of the state, maybe?

Kathy: Yeah. Well, my brother had come up from New York to visit and he said, “Oh wow, look at this little place. I saw a sign that said Welcome to Rhode Island and a block later it said Come Back Again! God, he was so funny! But my feelings...I just had no intention of doing anything except maybe getting a job, because my daughter was born when....Oh, okay, before. That was when I did the Emmett Till story. [content warning: graphic images of violence].

TW: Actually let’s maybe switch and follow that—you started talking about it the first time we met.

Kathy: Emmett was killed in 1955. We, I mean, my husband was Roland Fernandez, we were traveling from New York all across the country selling magazines like Look, Life, and Readers’ Digest. We’d been to New Orleans during Mardi Gras and there was a famous restaurant at the time called Buster Holmes in New Orleans that said they had the best ribs in the South. 

TW: I think every place in the South makes that claim.

Kathy: It's true! I make my own barbecue sauce. I learned from my grandpa. So we were doing this in 1956 and got to Money, Mississippi. And so my husband, a big tall white guy and me, a cute little brown girl or whatever, had to stop in Money, Mississippi, which we didn't know, we just were stopping along the way. We stayed in every white hotel because they couldn't turn down this white man. [The staff would think] “She looks like she could be Puerto Rican, or Mexican. At least she's not a nigger.”

So we stopped to get a Coke or something and walked in the door and we just looked around, there's nobody there except two guys against the wall on the right, and then the guy behind the counter. And so he looked at us, like I guess they never saw a biracial couple before. We went up to the counter and the guys were still staring, these two guys. The reason we went there is because the sign said “Bryant Convenience” and well, Bryant is my family name.

Now, we didn't have a camera, we never took pictures of anything. I would be filthy rich if I had done that. Whatever. So the guy at the counter said, “I'm going to wait on you kids, but you've got to leave as soon as you can,” and my husband's like, “Why? This is America.” And he says, “See those two guys against the wall? That's Roy Bryant and his brother.” We knew about Emmett Till, how he had been killed by them. 

TW: They were just hanging out? 

Kathy: Did they ever serve any time in jail? I don't think they served any time. Bryan’ts wife had told her husband that these young black boys—I'm sure she said the N-word—came into the store and they were flirting with her. That's what she told her husband. And her husband got furious. So they went a couple of days later into this boy's Uncle Moses' house. He was visiting from Chicago. So Mr. Roy and his brother knocked on Uncle Moses' door and said, “Where's the boy from Chicago? We need him.” This is what was reported to us later by the person that was there. They pushed Uncle Moses out of the way, went and grabbed Emmett out of bed, broke every bone in his body and dropped him into the Tallahatchie River or whatever it is down there in Mississippi. Later when the undertaker was going to seal the casket his mother said, “Oh, no, no, no, no, no! Leave my boy just the way he is. I want the world to see this.” They had a picture of him in the casket in Jet magazine and it showed him in the casket. It was really sad, she was leaning over him kind of, and so the world saw. 

TW: When you were in the store, you didn’t recognize them initially? 

Kathy: No, okay. No, no, I didn't. I only knew their names. I don't think they had pictures out at the time. His wife only recently died and she said she lied, trying to make her husband jealous. They found papers in the sheriff's office downstairs saying that she should have been put in jail. But anyway, we got through that. I mean, we drove on and we stopped in New Orleans, we stopped in Texas, we stopped everywhere, from New York to Rhode Island. 

TW: In that climate, going door to as a biracial couple…that’s very high risk.

Kathy: I was such a cute, adorable thing. I had long, beautiful hair and a cute little brown color, and my husband was white. He was so handsome. So when I rang the doorbell, if an older man answered….they saw me like, “Da-da-da-Da!” I was in. I mean, we were the best sellers.

Above: Clipping from TV and Entertainment Magazine, November 1978.

TW: Let’s leave Rhode Island for now and go on to your next chapter.

Kathy: Yeah. Get out of here, get out of here. My husband at the time, his brother was Roger Blunt. He's still alive in D.C., and that's how we went to D.C. in the first place. He offered my husband a nice job in landscaping. We got down there and found a beautiful apartment and I had to make sure the kids got to school, pick them up. All that. My former boss from WJAR, Arthur Alpert, he caught up with me and said, “You want a job?” I said, “Doing what?” He said you know, reporting and whatever at Channel 5, which is now Fox, but at that time it was something else. I forget what..I don't know, but now, it's Fox. Hmmm. Metromedia. My boss there, Hal Levinson said, “I'm going to have you produce Black News,” which was before...what's it called now? BET? Black Entertainment Television or whatever. 

TW: What was Black News like and what else was going on at the station?

Kathy: I worked with Maury Povich, his show Panorama was the noon talk show. One of the first in the country, I believe. Delores Handy was my main reporter (at Black Reflections) and she was something else. I had to write the stories for the teleprompter so that my anchors, Delores Handy and James Adams...you know teleprompters work. She never liked the way I wrote stories, so we were always at odds. Oh and Al Roker, remember him? Al came from um, Washington State or maybe up there, Portland Oregon—one of those places way up there. He was funny, he was hilarious! Al was very kind, he had a big party at his house in VA when he was picked for the job of weatherman in NYC.

Speaker: It’s a really specific skill, speech writing. How do you make it feel natural, or how do you work with the anchors’ own personalities?

Kathy: Oh, we were like oil and water. The producer is in charge, but Delores was the big-time anchor somewhere in the south. Beautiful girl and very smart. Very, very smart, and she thinks I'm “merely the producer.” Well what do we do as producers? We research, we read every newspaper, we decide what's important in our area. Delores once said to me, “You're not smart enough to write for me,” and all the newsroom heard it—all the reporters and the boss, Hal, came out asking what was going on. I just said, “Dolores, f-you!” because I don’t cuss, and figured maybe she would understand. The whole newsroom started laughing.

The thing was, I was not really clever enough to deal with these people. You know, I was happy to do my job and try to do the best I could and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. We later renamed Black News to Black Reflections, and Washington DC is three-quarters black. So I had no problem finding stories. I was able to do my job and ignore all the extra crap.

Speaker: You have this really linear and logical way of working. Very head-down.

Kathy: I had no choice. I had to separate the crap. And I was never in fear of anything because I knew I could go to my news director. I would pick what was important and what I thought the viewer thought was important. You were really the eyes of the viewer when you're doing television, writing for television. I was very friendly and very nice, always smiling, and I remember whenever I went to interview people, they were very happy to see me because they were like, “Oh, she's going to tell the story correctly.” You know when I graduated broadcasting school in Boston there were thirty-three men and just two of us girls. Two. You had to prove yourself.

Above: Kathy’s winning doubles team from 1994. Note, this photo was edited to remove a sticker.

Speaker: Would you describe yourself as a competitive person?

Kathy: Oh no, no, no. Just driven. In tennis, for example, very few people are negative in tennis. I've got pictures of us in D.C., Houston, LA. We played in Boston. 

TW: Who is the us/we here?

Kathy: The USTA Intersectional. We were the Mid-Atlantic team which included D.C., Maryland, and Virginia. Okay, it's not like Serena and Chrissy Evert, they're like 6 and up, their rankings. The Intersectionals were mostly ranked 2–5, and in the 40s, 50s, and 60s. That's the age group. We had the number one player. Her name was Margaret Russo, number one player in DC, in the mid-Atlantic. She was Australian and played when she was younger—against Martina Navratilova, with Chrissy Evert...all the big, big biggies and she won quite a few matches. Her husband was a big tennis teacher at the Fairfax Racquet Club. He was the best teacher.

TW: So you got into this in D.C.? 

Kathy: Nope, I got into it in Rhode Island when I was married to Gerald (Blunt), because he was a big athlete. He was the Big Guy from East Providence High and wherever. When we got down to Washington a friend said, “Kathy, you want to go and play some tennis?” I ended up playing the Turkey Thicket. It was where everybody played after work. They had tennis clubs all over the place. So everybody took an interest in me because I was so nice to get along with. I didn't talk about anybody, I didn't, you know—nothing. So one of the guys, his name was Ted Utkins, and he used to love to play with me when we played mixed doubles. I was not good, but he knew I could learn. So he said to me, “Kathy, there's a tennis club in Bethesda, Maryland. It's an indoor club. It's two courts. It’s $10 an hour.” I had my little Thunderbird so I was free, could drive everywhere.

So once a week I went. I learned how to serve, I learned how to drop shot, I learned how to lob, I learned how to volley, and I got pretty good. That's when I started doing tournaments I played the first tournament against the number one seed and she beat me so bad. I was embarrassed. I went back to my practice.

At the time, Pauline Betz Addie was a big star down in the Mid-Atlantic. She played Wimbledon, she played all over and she used to practice with us. Pauline taught us how to drop shot and lob and we used to get frustrated because she would drop shot you, lob over your head...you have run back, run, run. And when we got that, she was very proud of us. We traveled as the senior league. We met people all over the place and everybody was so friendly. That’s when I had my video stores, so I could take a week every month and travel to play, no matter where I was. New Orleans, wherever...my husband, also. We had two stores. I ran one and he ran the other. The video stores were in D.C. Yeah, in Silver Spring and Rockville, Maryland.

TW: Any particular matches that stand out?

Kathy: So we were in Boston and Margaret [Russo] lost a match. I was playing doubles at that time. Never did she lose a match, no matter where we were. She's walking off the court and doesn't look right. And I said, “Margaret, what can I do for you, darling? You want some water?” She said she wanted to go and lay down. She went to bed and we all went downstairs, had a good time in the hotel, blah, blah, blah. This was the night before we were to leave and come to Philly, I guess, and same thing in Philly. She wasn't feeling well; lost her match. She was our number one player. We got to D.C. and she didn't play...she was taken to the hospital and she was diagnosed with whatever that thing is that you die and there's no return. What was it? It wasn't a heart attack, but it's kind of like that. 

Speaker: A stroke?

Kathy: It wasn't a stroke...whatever it was. But she had that, and she died. I mean everybody was so sad, and her husband...Her husband was Gene Russo, a great tennis teacher at Fairfax Racquet Club there in VA.

Above: A photo of Kathy at one of her video stores in Maryland.

TW: So what got you into video store ownership? 

Kathy: What got me into it? Let me think...one was being sold, in Silver Spring. The guy who owned it gave us such an unbelievable price because he wanted it to stay there. Then we bought one in Rockville the same way. Then Blockbuster came along and ruined everybody. So then we had to end up selling ours. There was a young boy who worked for me. Freddy Tello. You can look that up, I'm sure you'll find him. T-e-l-l-o. He was from Nicaragua. I think it was Nicaragua. Nice, sweet boy. 

TW: What made you think of Freddy? 

Kathy: He became friends with two really bad boys. They were all rich in this little town. Every once in a while we would see these boys come to pick up Freddy at the store. They were his best friends, good friends. I got the article somewhere, they of course interviewed me because he worked for me. I forget what the headline was, but the headline was like “Spanish,” or wherever he was from, “Boy Killed in Rockville.” Right near where the store was. They lived in this particular little area and a woman saw two boys driving a wheelbarrow with a hump in it, and that was Freddy. 

They decapitated him. What happened was, supposedly, he was flirting with one of their girlfriends—plus being a Spanish kid and not being big time in Rockville—so they killed him. They took him to one of those vacant houses and they had a saw [content warning: graphic descriptions of violence] and they decapitated him, cut off his arms and legs, head, whatever, and I mean I was almost vomiting thinking about it. You know, I wasn't working for TV, I had my video stores and that was it… 

[Kathy gets a text message]

Kathy: …and so...Oh. Somebody's asking me to marry him. 

TW: You’re getting proposals texts? 

Kathy: Just one! Yes, so...that story. I've got all those articles upstairs, I'm packing stuff away and I don't know where anything is. But that was the most traumatic thing I remember down there. And then finally we got divorced and sold the house.

Above: Kathy posing with her bicycle, 1983.

TW: Well that brings us back to East Providence, to your home just down the block from Myrtle. We don't always ask people specifically about the bar, but you are a beloved regular... What does the spot mean to you?

Kathy: They had their anniversary just over a month ago. I mean, there's other taverns and bars but it's a unique kind of place. There’s Robbie, and Melissa who works there. I mean, I walk in and it's like I'm in Hollywood—I'm a movie star! And I come up with stuff that's interesting that Natalie [Myrtle’s co-owner] likes. I feel like I’ve talked so much about myself here, but I do really want to say how wonderful and exciting Myrtle has been; what a nice addition to the neighborhood it is. The beautiful atmosphere, all the different music, everyone there is terrific.

[Kathy is now looking through a box of papers] 

When my daughter was in town, we did a review. My daughter Pam’s a singer, she lives in Chicago and I’m a poet. I thought, what if we do a thingy with her, me doing poems and her singing, you know? Natalie said, “You know what? That would be great and I can play the piano to your poems.” It was so much fun. She's such a good piano player, Natalie. Such a good piano player. When I was being dramatic, she'd do the piano all dramatic. Why can't I find it? The one I wanted to show you? Oh, here it is. Yeah, this is what I came up with. 

TW: Were you doing poetry from a young age? 

Kathy: No, no. Most of these poems are written from familiarity with people that I met in life. Like when my good friend passed away, I wrote a poem. He was head of the NAACP in East Providence and we became real friends, I mean good, good friends. What was his name? George Lima. And this [holding a paper] is the one that Natalie fell in love with. I was just sitting around thinking, you know, I needed to start writing some stuff.

TW: Could I ask you to read it? 

Kathy: You want me to read it? Yeah, okay, my eyes are terrible. Oh, you know, Natalie is one of my favorite people. She's just a fabulous person. Isn't that weird, because I've only known her for a year? Okay, you want me to read this yeah?


What do you think?

When you hear a baby cry
When you see a bird fly

Do you get a tear in your eye?

Or…

Do you wish you could cry like a baby?
Do you wish you could fly like a bird?

Or…

Do you just wake up!

Bonus Documents

When asked for photos to go along with this interview, Kathy gave us a neon green shopping bag full of treasures. Below are some of our favorite finds; you can click them to enlarge.

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Marketing Agency, with Sheida Soleimani

Portrait by Shana Trajanoska

Sheida Soleimani (شیدا سلیمانی) is an Iranian-American artist, educator, and activist, as well as a federally licensed wildlife rehabilitator. Born in Indianapolis, she grew up in the 90s, raised as a Marxist atheist in the Bible Belt. Her parents arrived as Persian political refugees, having escaped oppression related to their pro-democratic activism during the ’79 Iranian Revolution. Since then, Sheida has become a widely respected artist and community organizer; she recently participated in a talk right here in East Providence, at Odd-Kin as part of the FABRIC Arts Festival. We talked about art, birds, and life.

The Well (TW): Hello! You got any wild stories?

Sheida Solemani (SS): Lots.

TW: Hah, okay. We’ll start with the basics and see where this goes. What was growing up in the Midwest like?

SS: It was wild. It's a beautiful place to grow up, but being a Middle Eastern kid post-9/11 made it really difficult. By virtue of refusing to make nice with their neighbors—think of being the only people of color in a midwest farm town filled with corn and soybean fields—and in many ways refusing to assimilate, my parents introduced me to principles and beliefs that I aspire to in my life and my work: speaking frankly to power, rallying around difference, and confronting ignorance and misrecognition. 

TW: Can you give a specific example or two?

SS: One Halloween during the Iraq War, my dad briefly became notorious for constructing a scene involving George W. Bush in a casket. Another memorable moment from childhood was when Touchdown Jesus—a really large foam sculpture of Jesus with his arms out in front of him, built in front of a mega-church—got struck by lightning and caught fire. My baba saw it on the local news right after it happened, and we drove to go see its burning remains. My baba has a booming laugh and cackle; I can hear him laughing with joy to this day in my memory, as we all watched Jesus burn. A few years later, he was 'resurrected' and rebuilt again, much to our dismay.

TW: Very goth! Your family’s been involved in your art practice recently, we’re thinking of the Ghostwriter work.

SS: Working with my parents is amazing. We're all really close, and so much of who I am is informed by them and all of the stories they have told me. When we work together, we bounce ideas off of one another. My maman will help pose my baba, or help me build the backdrops. My baba will always question my maman and I about our 'intention' and if it is coming across in what we are making. I feel really lucky that they are so supportive and so into being a part of the process. 

Above: Young Sheida with a baby raccoon. “This is what rehabbing in the 90's looked like. This photo is an example of what not to do. Please do not attempt to cuddle wild animals or allow your children to do so ;) ”

TW: That’s great, it sounds like a real point of pride. 

SS: [I am] really proud of the work I have been making with my parents. Also really proud and excited to be building my passion and work as a wildlife rehabilitator into a full blown organization. I feel the most proud when I can release a bird that I treated back into the wild where it belongs.

TW: What’s your official title when it comes to bird work?

SS: I am the Executive Director of Congress of the Birds, the state's only wild bird rehabilitation clinic and release center. We just got our non-profit status this year, and are gearing up to build a bunch of enclosures on 42 acres of land that were just donated to us. Last year, we took in over 1,500 birds, and this year I think we'll have over 2,000.

TW: What’s the process of getting a Federal Migratory Bird Rehabilitation Permit?

SS: Long! And really intense! I've been a rehabber my whole life, but I've been state permitted in RI since 2015. The federal permit is a really intense application that requires a lot of prior certifications and permits, as well as letters of support from rehabbers and vets in the field. It was not an easy permit to get!

TW: And where’d you get the 42 acres? 

SS: We were really lucky to get a private donation from someone who is passionate about the work we are doing with rehabilitating the birds. It came as a total surprise! I was completely shocked when the donor approached us about it, but am so grateful to be given the space to release the birds we rehabilitate.

TW: Before the birds are in your care…where are you finding them?

SS: My phone number is public, so when someone finds an injured bird, they can easily find my info online and call me. I give them instructions on how and where to drop off the bird to our clinic for care. I'm getting around 50 calls or so a day at this point!

A lot of my getting to know Rhode Island's every single little corner has been through bird rescues. Notable bird rescues in EP include an adult Osprey that was in an industrial park on the water, a Double Crested Cormorant near the Henderson Bridge, and a Common Grackle with a broken wing hiding under a car off of Anthony Street.

Above: Dissident from Ghostwriter

TW: How do you think about these two practices—art making and wildlife rehabilitation—in relation to one another?

SS:  I think all three facets of my practices are part of my world that I have built for myself—I don't differentiate being an artist or rehabber or professor from other things in my life/world. Foraging and cooking, making dumb stuff out of clay, collecting records, hoarding plants. Those are all just extensions of my base interests. I guess one thing many people don't know is that I am a classically trained violinist who left the conservatory because it had too many rules.

TW: What about early on in life...when did you start making things you understood to be art?

SS: I remember thinking I was making “art” when I was taking my first film photography class in high school. At the time, I was super obsessed with the concept of memento mori and time. I wanted to tell a story, which I never had really thought about doing visually before, and I made a tableau photograph of a wall clock that I placed a large dead moth on. The shadow of the moth was covering some of the clock, obstructing most of the numbers—it was very angsty, but I had this whole 'time is running out' thing going on at the time. It was exciting to feel like art could tell a story.

TW: Storytelling is still very central to your practice—even when abstracted, it’s rich in narratives. This is a big question for limited space but, what are you primarily concerned with conveying?

SS: Finding clever ways of seducing viewers to engage with a work is something I think is especially important in the art world, which is so profit-driven and so prone to turning a blind eye to entrenched inequality. In sweeping away the West’s blinkered, Orientalist view of the Middle East and centering the spectator’s gaze on actual ongoing drivers of injustice and inequality, I seek to put in the aesthetic hot seat those who continually evade the scales of justice. At the same time—and this is getting back to repair and care—I am just as concerned with giving the marginalized (including the non-human) visibility and agency within my work.

TW: When you’re creating a series like Medium of Exchange, do you start with pure research (OPEC email leaks, international press), or by playing with images and finding stories as you go?

SS: I always start with research before coming up with an idea. All of my images are inspired by specific events—historical, political, familial—and those events are always the jump off point. I then get to learn more about those events through different forms of research- whether those be visiting archives, reading documents, or transcribing and translating oral histories. From there, I start creating sketches and think about what objects and images can be put together to tell the story I am trying to portray. Once I build up my tableaus (days to months depending on the composition), I photograph everything, and the photograph serves as the final piece.

Above: From Medium of Exchange. Photo: GDP, Angola

TW: We like to ask artists how they’re getting by financially—is that cool?

SS: I've always had to work to make a living, and have had some really rough times in my life. One year while teaching adjunct, I was buying expired medical equipment on eBay—I'm type one diabetic. [Today] I'm lucky to have a solid job, and just got tenure at Brandeis University where I am an Associate Professor. My art pays some bills for sure, but I can never rely on it as a steady income as someone with a chronic illness, so I'll be teaching for the rest of my life. Thankfully, I also love teaching, so that helps. Basically, a stable job with university health insurance is much better than expired meds on eBay.

TW: What’s something you’ve learned by teaching, or from students?

SS: When I started teaching at age 25, I was really young. I made friends with many of my students, and while I value those friendships immensely now, I realize that distance is needed to be a good and fair educator, and one that can create distance between work and life.

TW: Teachers always have great reading lists—give us some assignments!

SS: 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The Blind Owl by Sadegh Hedayat, and The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov.

TW: Has any of your work in education, art, or with birds led to travel? Any notable trips that made an impact?

SS: I travel often, and to many different 'far away places.' I'll go with the most remote. Visiting the Lofoten Islands in Norway was one of the most remote places I have ever been, and we visited during the winter months for my birthday. I was hoping to see the aurora, and on the last night, I got to see the green and orange lights 'dancing' in the sky during a solar storm.

TW: What’s something you’re currently aspiring to? 

SS: Maybe one day I'll learn how to leave time for self care. Until then, I rule my life by my baba's motto, “Comfort = death.”

---

TW: Readers, now for something a bit different. 

Sheida has a GoFundMe page up to support her effort to build an avian release center for Congress of the Birds. Below, we’ve excerpted some info from that page.

Help Build an Avian Release Center for Congress of the Birds

Above: Getting ready to examine an injured Great Horned Owl, photo by Jessica Rinaldi for The Boston Globe, via GoFundMe

Congress of the Birds has expanded rapidly in the past year, becoming a 501(c), training over 50 volunteers, receiving over 2,000 avian patients and getting 42 acres of secluded woodlands in Chepachet. Their organization runs 24/7; they never turn away an injured or orphaned bird, and volunteers pick up birds from around the state. Now, they need your help!

A release center means that rehabilitated patients will have the best chance of success once released into the wild. To create a center, the Congress needs to build aviaries and flight enclosures that help birds build up their pectoral flight muscles—without proper conditioning, a bird may not be able to survive if it’s “hard-released” into the wild. In other words, they get to practice flying and acclimate to their habitat before going out on their own.

The Congress is not state funded and has no institutional or corporate donors. This project is relying exclusively on donations from the community and, this is big: every dollar donated is being 100% matched by a private donor. Read on and consider chipping in to help this project—and its patients—take flight.

Place Setting, with Kara Stokowski

Kara Stokowski is queer feminist artist and educator whose practice involves DJing, event production, music video creation, collage, and more. A passionate and radical youth arts educator, her work has inspired countless kids at The Beam Center’s camp in New Hampshire and the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. You’ve perhaps caught her playing tracks in Providence at Dyke Night, at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, and right here at Myrtle. Kara approaches fun and joy with a level of dedication matched only by like, Robert Caro’s interest in bureaucracy. We chatted via emails in early October.

TW: Hey Kara. We’re going to start by asking about a track you produced in 2009, The Glow Instrumental. It’s like, grime, 8-bit/glitch, hyperpop and a touch of Wrong Way Up, maybe? What were you listening to in 2009?

KS: Wow thanks! I probably made that in Tony’s [Antony Flackett] Beat Research class at MassArt. I was listening to a lot of video game music and sound effects and was enamored with analog synthesizers. 

TW: Up at MassArt, you co-produced a year for Eventworks. You had Future Islands play?

KS: I jumped into Eventworks because I was completely in awe of what the previous students had done in 2008. The Baltimore Round Robin show totally melted and reformed my brain. I wanted all of our events to feel like the floor fell out and the ceiling was coming down. I wanted everything we did to last all night long. I was often disappointed, even though we pulled off some monumental shows including Future Islands, Dan Deacon and this crazy VJ festival. There were so many forces pulling me in different directions at that time and I didn’t always have the clearest vision or intention. It’s really easy to be taken advantage of in that situation. I just went back to MassArt in September for the opening of Displacement at the MassArt Art Museum. I checked in with the SIM major studio, second class of the year! Eventworks had just put on a rave, there are lots of DJs in the studio right now, very deeply and rightfully skeptical of me, a 30-something lady playing records in the white cube space at school. 

TW: When we think of you as a DJ, Pink Noise comes to mind. Tell us about that.

KS: I love to throw a party. I wanted there to be a space for women who were DJs or made electronic music to be able to DJ for other women, at a party that felt fun and safe and queer. I wanted Pink Noise to be a place where people could try out DJing for the first time and feel supported. I also was really turned off by the darkness and self seriousness of the dance music scene in Boston at that time and really wanted to add some play and radical joy. Reflecting back on it now, I think I had a lot to prove: I was coming out of a deep grief, I put a lot of pressure on myself. Pink Noise was a way to focus some nervous manic energy. I learned so much! It was a real relief to wrap it up in 2016 and give space for someone else to create something special. 

Above: Kara DJing at the Institute for Contemporary Art, Boston

TW: Actually, let’s go back a sec. How did you end up at Mass Art, and in the event production world to start?

KS: I’ve been a theater kid, a ska fiend in high school, a bit of a computer nerd. I went to ska shows every weekend when I was in high school at the Flywheel in Easthampton. I went to community college in Greenfield and then MassArt to make more art with computers and tech. I’ve been a childcare provider, an educator. I’ve been a union organizer, a striking worker. I love a spectacle, I love producing events, I love gathering the masses for any kind of ritual or celebration. 

TW: Is this the world you met your partner, a local clammer and sax legend?

KS: I met my partner Joe DeGeorge on the beach 9 years ago. I love how we support each other. 

TW: And you moved here, to Providence, a few years after?

KS: I had been visiting friends and lovers in Providence since 2013, and finally made the move in 2018. It’s a perfect distance from all the places in New England that I visit frequently. I love the big city/small state vibes. 

TW: What’s in Kara’s Guide to New England?

KS: These are mostly from this summer’s travels: 

1. Beede Falls, Sandwich NH - fave waterfall and day off spot when I’m at camp

2. Look Park, Florence MA - My hometown park

3. Coney Island Hot Dogs, Worcester MA

4. Provincelands, Ptown MA 

5. Dinosaur Footprints, Holyoke MA

6. East Bay Bike Path, RI 

TW: Another reason you travel around is your work as a wedding DJ. It’s quite different from club DJ world…how have you approached it?

KS: I did a few weddings in 2019 and then, everything that was on my calendar for 2020 got rebooked to 2021. By that time I had gone from dipping my toe in, to diving into the deep end with a full calendar of clients. Wedding world is crazy. Wedding DJs (especially) have this notorious reputation for being the worst—weird dude energy, wrestling announcer vibes, pretentious and snobby with lots of “gotcha” moments. I just don’t believe that you need any of that to have an amazing wedding with a killer dance party.

Above: Kara in her MassArt Eventworks days.

I work with clients who are passionate about music, so that’s what we focus on. I feel very lucky to work with queer folks and creative people who give me a lot of trust and it’s such a joy to see them let loose and go crazy on a day that can be so stressful. Joe and I did a 80’s theme gig over the summer where he played live sax solos on some iconic 80s tracks and we’ve got a couple weddings booked with a live sax add on next year, very excited for this. 

TW: After those gigs, what’s on the drive home playlist? 

KS: I listen to the radio alot in my car. We love playing “name that composer” to classical music if we’re on a trip. I listen to jazz when it’s late at night near Boston. If I’m getting drowsy, it’s time to put on showtunes. I’m currently in this Patti Lupone phase thanks to this video of her on Joan Rivers. 

TW: What’s your favorite medium to play out on—records, midi controllers, etc?

KS: I love it all! I think I really like the limitations that a crate of records brings. You only have what you have to work with, and it’s all gotta work! 

TW: Since your weekends are usually booked with weddings, what do you do around here on a weekday? What’s poppin’ on Tuesday night?

KS: Well on Wednesday nights I’m usually at Hot Club. They have Name That Tune, and I am very, very good at Name That Tune. I welcome any challengers to name more tunes than me on a Wednesday night at Hot Club. Shout out to Kelsea, our incredible host who comes up with unique playlists every week. 

TW: No challengers here. Do you have visual art practices, also?

KS: I make a collage every day in November. I love taking the winter to work on visual practices. It’s meditative, it’s processing big feelings. I also love making music videos.

TW: Do tell.

KS: I had to rewatch some of these to remember them just because I made them like 5 years ago. The stranglehold that Deee-Lite had on my entire vibe is obvious, lol. You ever see the Groove is in the Heart video and decided to base your entire personality on it? For this Gauche video (below) I wanted the video to clash a bit with the downer lyrics. We repeat these things so much in capitalist culture: we’re running out of options, we’re tired, what is the point? It becomes goofy! And so the video is kind of this exaggerated exasperation of toys and neon and colors and trash and landfills and oil spills.

For this La Neve video, I just wanted it to be really cunty. The comments are SENDING ME. Wow, bless. I used this colorful big oil propaganda vid from the 50s for some of the green screen background to insert this idea about an energy source that seems so stable, but is actually pretty fragile. I like contrasting that with the stability of our natural world, the challenge we often present to it to keep on living and the many ways that it does despite everything. Sometimes just living is the best revenge. 

TW: This isn’t a great transition but, just remembered your bios often mention a gold prosthetic on your leg. We’ve known you a bit but don't know the story there.

KS: Oh, I wear a prosthetic on my right leg. I was born missing a bone in my lower leg, so I had an amputation when I was 9 months old. I’ve worn a prosthetic ever since. All bodies are absolutely amazing and mine is no different. 

TW: Agree! Heading into fall and winter here—as a nod to the disappearing warm weather, what’s a great beach book? 

KS: Okay. If you really want to know what my summer beach read was, it’s this book, Life in a Medieval Village. It’s not cool, not very sexy—but I loved it!  Peasants: they’re just like us! This really gets into some of the pettiness and small acts of rebellion that people who have very little power can get up to. I also read The Hotel New Hampshire this year and it’s so weird and beautiful. I also really like Britney Spears’ memoir. I’ll read just about any memoir. 

Above: Out, into the night! Kara around age 6.

TW: What’s the next chapter of your own memoir? What’s coming up? 

KS: November and December are for rest and recovery from the wedding season. I’m always down to DJ for a cause and I’ll be spinning at the Sojourner House Masquerade Ball at the Graduate in Providence on Friday Nov. 22nd. I might be at the Dirt Palace holiday sale selling polymer clay jewelry in December, and then on January 3rd, I’ll be back at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston for First Fridays from 6-9pm. Members can reserve free tickets and it’s a fun time with some old art. I’m really into the Italian renaissance wing right now, especially this painting. And I’m definitely more open to collaborations and DJing around town in February and March, before weddings pick back up again in April. 

TW: Thanks Kara, you’re the best!

*

Readers, below is a selection of collages Kara’s made over the years. If you’re looking for collage source materials, The Well suggests the upcoming Rochambeau Library Fall Book Sale, October 30–Nov 2.

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Pressing On, with Lois Harada

Lois Harada. Photo by Rue Sakayama.

Earlier this week, we were visiting the Providence Public Library and stumbled upon a new show by artist Lois Harada. Pied Type: Letterpress Printing in Providence, 1762–Today explores the history of commercial printing in Rhode Island, and will be on view through January 11, 2025. Locally known for starting the #RENAMEVISTORYDAY project, Harada’s larger practice references a range of histories, aesthetics, and ideas, from WPA Posters to Sci-Fi authors Butler and Bradbury. Works address topics like language, non-verbal communication, xenophobia, and Brett Kavanaugh head on. Great stuff!

TW: Hello, Lois Harada. Who are you?

LH: I am an artist based in North Providence, RI. Much of my work is based on my family's history of Japanese American incarceration.

TW: Could you elaborate on that? 

LH: My paternal grandmother and her family were forcibly removed from their home outside San Diego to an incarceration site in Poston, Arizona from 1942-1945. They settled in Salt Lake City afterwards where she met my grandfather—also Japanese American, but excluded from incarceration due to being from Salt Lake City and not a coastal area. This history really was not talked about in our family. My dad learned about it in his tenth grade history class and proceeded to ask my grandmother about it when he returned home. She said something like, ‘Yes, it was a terrible thing,’ and then moved on. I started to make work around incarceration the year after she passed away but my family has had more conversations about it now and are helping me research.

TW: In 2019, you made a poster related to this that simply read #RENAMEVICTORYDAY, which led to a good bit of press, and a petition from Amanda Woodward. Tell us about that.

LH: Since 2019, I've been making work to encourage RI residents to rethink the naming of Victory Day—the official title on the books, but most residents call the day VJ Day or Victory Over Japan Day. I do not want to take the holiday away or take recognition from veterans who served in World War II but do want to think of a more inclusive name to the day. Asian Americans often feel isolated or singled out on this day and most residents use it as a day at the beach. Legislation has been slow—veterans lobbying groups have a lot of sway in the state.

TW: You brought the message right to the people, at the beach.

LH: In 2020, I hired a banner towing plane to carry #RENAMEVICTORYDAY across beaches in RI on Victory Day. It was a big project for me in scale and in cost and I raised money from supporters via social media to help fund the project. The plane made several loops over beaches and it was fun to hear reports of boos or cheers from the beaches.

Above: #RENAMEVICTORYDAY plane. Photo by Rue Sakayama.

TW: Was this method of message delivery more about like, hijacking a common beach advertising thing, or a nod to the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki? 

LH: I didn’t realize that as part of the initial project, but it’s hard to separate it from the history. I knew that most residents used it as a beach holiday so wanted to take the project directly to them. I’m not sure if anyone at the beach interpreted it that way on the day of. I am also very interested in thinking about spinning common advertising forms and these planes often carry insurance or beverage ads. 

TW: You mention legislation here’s been slow, in part due to veterans’ lobbying. What do you think the pushback’s all about? We want to be respectful, and assume it’s rooted in deep trauma but, we also can’t ignore outright racism. There’s also Rhode Islanders being a bit resistant to change about anything, really.

LH: I can’t quite figure out what the pushback is—it seems like there is this golden idea of World War II that people are quick to defend, including veterans from other conflicts and family members. I was encouraged by the vote removing ‘Providence Plantations’ from the state name but that seems to have bolstered many people against changing Victory Day since it’s a ‘woke’ issue. It’s difficult to have conversations with people with this viewpoint too as there is nowhere to engage. We do have some veterans supporting our bill but those in opposition tend to outnumber them. I once got advice to just wait till everyone from that conflict had passed away but I’d like to change the bill while there are still survivors of Japanese American incarceration surviving too.  

TW: So you have a new show up at the Providence Public Library, Pied Type: Letterpress Printing in Providence, 1762—Today. Like #RENAMEVISTORYDAY, it’s rooted in history and research but now, looking at the physical history of your practice. How’d it all come together?

LH: I applied for a Rhode Island Humanities grant last fall and was awarded the grant near the end of the year. I worked with Dirt Palace Public Projects as my fiscal sponsor and got the project up and running in March or April of this year. I spent a lot of time visiting Special Collections at Providence Public Library with the Director, Jordan Goffin. It was very hard to winnow down materials—I could have spent a year just looking at everything. I knew we had a certain number of cases to choose from and the exhibition started to take shape by slowly identifying what fit together in each case and the overall ‘story’ of the exhibition. I realized we had some holes in material and reached out to some partner organizations who were very generous in loaning materials. Jordan was crucial in those connections as he was known in the archive and museum community. 

Above: Installation detail of Pied Type. Photo courtesy of the artist.

Writing labels and the catalog did take a good amount of time too especially since I wanted to control the design and most of the printing. The experience was a great opportunity to try curating on a larger scale—I’ve done some small group exhibitions in the past, but it’s a totally different set of muscles than making art and putting it in a gallery. 

TW: You’ve been doing print work at DWRI Letterpress for many years; how’d you end up there and what’s the shop meant to you?

LH: I met [shop founder] Dan Wood as a RISD student in 2009—he had just started teaching the letterpress printing workshop in the Printmaking Department. I was so keen to learn the medium that I took a class at AS220 the year before so I was excited to build on those skills. I started working part time for Dan about a year or so later and have seen the shop move and grow in terms of employees and the type of projects that we work on. Dan is always very supportive of other printers and is very generous with his own work (if you’ve seen him right after printing an edition, he’ll usually hand you a print!).

TW: For those who have never seen a Linotype machine, a press, etc in person, could you give a quick overview of your favorite few pieces of in-shop machinery? And outside the shop—walk us through the process of how one makes a custom souvenir-coin vending machine.

LH: I love printing on the Windmill at the shop. It’s a great commercial press that you can print around 1,000 prints in an hour…if everything is running well. I printed the show postcards on a Windmill. I am sadly mostly on the computer at the shop so this was also a great excuse for me to get on press and out of design or client management for a bit.

LH: The penny press was also grant-funded and I had some fun conversations with the grant officer about telling the story of that piece in the budget (i.e. maybe it doesn’t take the majority of the budget!). My sister is great at the internet so she helped me sleuth out the best place to order. I have a used machine; new machines were about four times the cost. They are usually rented too and not purchased outright. 

TW: Grant writing is a whole unique skill set. From the time you began applying for grants to present day, what are some pro tips and lessons-learned you can share here with first timers?

LH: It can be super easy to be discouraged by the grant writing process—I’m not telling you about the tens or hundreds of things I apply to and don’t get, you’re just hearing about the things I get! I try to think about always of simplifying my writing and getting out of the mode of ‘art talk’. Could my non-art parents understand my grant? Have I very clearly laid out how I will accomplish a project; even small things can help here. Budgets are also a great place to tell more of the story and show that you know how to get things done. I often ask for a reader, too. If the grant needs a letter of reference, I usually write a letter to 80% completion that I can share with a recommender so that they have all the stuff that I’m working on right now that should be mentioned for the particular application. Sme grants don’t allow this but I find that most people being asked for a letter find this helpful. I’m happy to read your grant or have coffee, email me! 

Above: Villa Adriana aquatint, from Harada's time in Rome.

TW: A lot of the work we’ve been discussing is Rhode Island-specific; you ever get out of here?

LH: I took a semester abroad in Rome while I was at RISD; the school had this amazing campus in Rome for many years. It started as a year long program then switched to a semester when I went. They just ‘sunsetted’ it and turned over the lease on the building that housed students and studios. I went with about twenty other RISD students in different departments. While there was a print shop there, I spent a good amount of time cutting paper into sketches of different sites that I was seeing on a daily basis. 

It was the longest I had been away from home and though scary, felt like a real chance to get to know a new place in a way that shorter trips couldn't accomplish. Grocery stores and markets became a favorite there and are still my favorite spot to check out on any trip.

TW: What’s your favorite local grocery shop? Other favorite local things, too if you’d like.

LH: East Providence is home to my favorite grocery store, Asiana. Sun and Moon across the way is also a favorite. I've celebrated several birthdays and sunny days at The East Providence Yacht Club. Odd-Kin is one of my favorite contemporary art spaces around right now too!

TW: It’s someone’s first time at Asiana—what are some must-try items, brands?

LH: They have a great selection of Korean and Japanese grocery items so I always shop there to fill up my pantry with rice and other staples, including instant miso soup or ramen or the ban chan from the fridge (the tasty side dishes served with a meal in a Korean restaurant). Freezer dumplings too!

TW: Back to Odd-Kin...we interviewed Kate a bit back and know you worked with her on the My HomeCourt project. Can you walk us through the process of initially visiting Davis Park, researching, and working with community stakeholders—and what you hoped to achieve with that project?

LH: Kate McNamara, who runs Odd-Kin, is the Executive and Creative Director of My HomeCourt and I worked closely with her and Jamilee Lacy (the former director) on this project. Davis Park was close to my old apartment in Mount Pleasant and is used by the neighboring middle school, VA, community garden as well as residents from around Providence. I spent some time visiting the park and My HomeCourt helped to gather community feedback and surveys. The park has an overlap with many languages, and I wanted to reflect that in the design through words that you might hear on a basketball court (play, together, run etc.). The letterforms were mostly printed in wood type and then scanned with the exception of the Khmer which I stitched together from other letters. I am happy with the result and love seeing people interact with it on a daily basis. 

Above: Davis Park Mural, 2022. Photo by Off the Ground Drone Services (FB)

TW: Way before you were doing murals on basketball courts and flying planes over beaches—what do you remember making as a kid? Like what’s the first ‘ah-ha!’ moment with the arts?

LH: My mom is a very crafty person (she's a quilter and avid puzzler too) and she always had fun activities for my birthday parties. One year we made plaster of Paris magnets from little molds and I remember being so entranced by the ability to make a multiple. I've been a printmaker since then!

TW: What was growing up like?

LH: My earliest memories are of family. My mom is one of ten and there were always dinners and events full of cousins and aunts and uncles. My dad and I were big fans of the drive-in theater and saw several Fast and Furious movies there. He is also an avid fly fisher and spends hours crafting flies. [Well’s addition: a great story about fishing flies]

My high school art teacher had an MFA in Printmaking and set up a studio in our classroom. I was lucky to have etching and lithography available during class and he encouraged me to apply to school at RISD.

TW: Are there other artists working with the idea of multiples / editions you’ve found inspiration in? 

LH: There’s a Sol LeWitt series of etchings that are these really rich black fields with small white shapes. I’m checking if I can find them, I saw them at a print fair in New York when I was a student. There was something super striking about seeing a wall of similar, or the same print repeated over and over that’s always stuck with me which I think informed that piece. 

Above: Young Lois, excited to be hiking. "I do not support the Dodgers, I don't know where that hat is from."

TW: As an artist who works so heavily with text, we have to ask you about other texts. Are there books, poems, etc that mean a lot to you?

LH: Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler. I read this for the first time in 2020 and think about it often. Also, Ubik by Philip K. Dick—I'm a big lover of sci-fi!

TW: Parable is highly quotable. “Embrace diversity. Or be destroyed.” What would you pull out as a favorite?

LH: The whole thing is so moving—I couldn’t put it down. It had so many parallels to the election and quotes felt like they could have come directly out of the news. It doesn’t seem like we’re that far away from the world depicted in the book too. I’m realizing now that the quote that sticks with me is from Parable of the Talents: 

Choose your leaders
with wisdom and forethought.
To be led by a coward
is to be controlled
by all that the coward fears.
To be led by a fool
is to be led
by the opportunists
who control the fool.
To be led by a thief
is to offer up
your most precious treasures
to be stolen.
To be led by a liar
is to ask
to be told lies.
To be led by a tyrant
is to sell yourself
and those you love
into slavery.

TW: Yow! Less than a month out from the election, that one really hits. Thanks for sharing it. So, what’s coming up? Where can people find you?

LH: We have a panel of letterpress printers on 11/12/24 from 5:30 to 7pm at PPL. Jacques Bidon, Andre Lee Bassuet, Dan Wood, and I will be talking about how we're using letterpress techniques in our practice (the first three have work in the 'contemporary' case of the exhibition!). The panel will be moderated by Director of Special Collections at PPL, Jordan Goffin. He and I will also host a hands-on print workshop on the last day of the exhibition on January 11th from 10-12pm.

And Social Justice for All, with Sussy Santana

Photo by Giovanni Savino

Poetry is Sussy Santana’s main medium for creative expression. She makes "llamados," or "calls" to community members and artists collaborators to participate in collective performance. Santana is Project Manager for the Providence chapter of Arts for Everybody, author of Pelo Bueno y otros poemas (2010), RADIO ESL, a poetry cd (2012), and the chapbook Poemas Domésticos (2018) and in 2015, was the first Latina writer to win the MacColl Johnson Fellowship. You can catch her as a special guest this October 19th at Grant Jam ‘24, a free panel talk night at AS220 hosted by the Myrtle-supported Awesome Foundation Rhode Island.

TW: Who was your first audience?  

SS: Rocks. I vividly remember being little, maybe five or six, and picking up rocks in my neighborhood to bring them on the bus with us when we went out. My mom just asked me the other day, if I remember doing that! We didn't have a car so we took public transportation wherever we went. I would pick up tiny rocks and tell them they were going to visit their cousins in another town. I had a whole little ceremony with them about how they had to say goodbye to everyone and go on a new adventure, visiting their other rock relatives. I would get emotional when it was time to part ways, but off they went to rock on.

TW: What does East Providence, land of sandstone and shale, mean to you?

SS: Providence is my home, at this point in my life I have lived in the United States longer than I lived in my birth country, and a lot of that time has been spent in Providence. While I go back to the Dominican Republic almost every year, when I think of "mi casa," I'm thinking PVD. When I think of East Providence, I think of how many hours I spent in the parking lot of the Philharmonic building, waiting for my oldest daughter to get out of her RI Children Chorus rehearsals. Rhode Island is where my affections are contained, it has a special place in my heart.

Above: Santana doing a pop-up performance at a local market

TW: What was childhood in the DR like? 

SS: In the Dominican Republic, I lived with my mom and my sister. We moved around a lot because my mom was a teacher and every year she went to teach at a new school, which also meant we had to switch schools. It sucked to move around so much back then, but it taught us to be comfortable with change.

TW: How old were you when you came to the USA? How was the adjustment?

SS: We moved to the Bronx the Summer I turned 14. It was a time of discoveries, learning a new language, getting on the subway for the first time, and listening to Metallica! I always thought the United States was like the movies, I was thinking Times Square and the Empire State. It was more like bodegas and Spanglish, Puerto Rican flags everywhere! We were embraced by a Latin American community of hard working people, my mom included, who came to this country to do their best, and they did, and they did it while listening to loud salsa and merengue.

TW: The Bronx and Washington Heights are major hubs for Dominican Americans, yeah? What inspired the move?

SS: You remember right, Washington Heights (Manhattan) is a hub for Dominican Americans, and where my mom had her business, a botánica, for 30 years. I lived there my last years in NY; before that I lived in the Bronx. Mine is the classic immigrant story. Mom lost her job in DR, came to the US for a better life, brought us here. The end. Of course, this omits the constitutions of a “better life” because that is always under construction, especially as we incorporate new understandings and experiences. 

Above: Goya and gold. Santana in Providence. Photo by Jenny Polanco.

TW: You seemed to be enthusiastic about Metallica...

SS: I absolutely love Metallica. I just went to see them last month at Gillette; took my girls and husband with me. It was a family affair. Metallica was my first live concert (in English) in the United States. I worked a whole weekend—doing inventory at a pharmacy in the Bronx—to pay for my ticket. Faith No More and Guns n Roses were also playing that night. Giant Stadium, New Jersey, I think it was 1992. Metal was a huge part of my teenage years. It allowed me to release some of the frustration I felt about moving to a new place. I bonded with people in my high school over music, which really allowed me to practice my English. I could scream the words and nobody would know if I was pronouncing it right or not. It was great! Highly recommended for anyone looking to learn English!

TW: Metal knows no borders! Related to language learning, we’re curious about your international travels and projects. What stands out?

SS: I went to Italy a while back where I learned I can eat all day and walk more than I thought possible. I also went on a creative trip to Chile, where I met brilliant women, many who were artists. Together with artists Ela Alpi and Shey Rivera Rios, we created a performance called Próceres and intervened monuments in the city of Santiago to address the lack of representation of women in historical monuments that are housed in public spaces. It was a meaningful action to all of us, as we tried to visualize the contributions of women in our society. It's not that men haven’t done things worth celebrating, it's that in the process of honoring those achievements, we forget the contributions of other people. But don't worry, we are here to remind you! From that experience, I learned from the wisdom of so many women, young and old. I learned to also value the wisdom that I carry. It's important to honor both.

TW: Before international residencies and being a published poet...can you think back to any early lessons learned? Like when you were coming into your own.

SS: I was so nervous during my first job interview that I mispronounced my own name. When the lady introduced herself, I was like: "Hi, my name is Sushi Santana." We just couldn't stop laughing, I still got the job, but I was mortified. I learned the importance of not taking yourself too seriously!

TW: Your work with the Creative Community Health Worker Fellowship...where do the arts and public health intersect?

SS: Artists are always contributing to public health, art is a healing practice, I’m intentional about engaging people in the creative process because I know from my own experience that it makes you feel better. It works. I’m interested in a culture that allows people to feel, communicate emotions, embrace their own creativity, and art does all of that.

Above: Documentation of an intervention on Broad Street. Video still by Cormac Crump.

TW: We read somewhere this kind of runs in your family?

SS: My mom has a spiritual healing practice; she had a show on cable (NY) about ancestral wisdom. The concept of healing through ritual, in my case, the ritual of writing and performance is a very comfortable place. I grew up around that. My paternal grandfather, Anselmo, was a medicine man. He was love personified; his presence was healing to everyone around him. He taught us the value of love, the importance of feeling loved. I think people who participate in the creative process are engaging in that type of kindness, even if for a brief moment, you are using the best of you to create something. I work to hold that space because it creates a healthier community, it’s public health.

TW: Going back...you mentioned the artist Ela Alpi and for a second we thought you said El Alfa. Quite different but, here’s another music question. Was/is dembow a big thing for you? What were you listening to as a teen back in the DR?

SS: Dembow as we know it now, wasn’t really big when I was a teenager in DR. What was popular was El General, a Panamanian artist who started a whole movement that eventually progressed into everything that is known now in the realm of Dembow and reggaeton. Obviously, Jamaican Dancehall music and reggae influenced the work of El General, but he was one of the first to do it in Spanish.

I went back to live in DR when I turned seventeen until I was twenty. My influences came from my sister who was really into Rock en Español and I listened to whatever she was playing. I think that first contact opened the doors to other bands and I eventually started listening to Spanish rock stations in DR who also played songs in English. She also loved Bob Marley and we used to listen to him all the time. We partied all the time, I don’t ever remember anyone checking my ID, we used to go bars and clubs with a bunch of friends. It was fun.

TW: Do you play or sing yourself?

SS: I'm interested in music, all different genres, languages. Live music always energizes me, it makes me want to create and explore. I don't play any instruments or sing, but I'm inspired by the experience of live music, theater, movies, etc. I love going to fall festivals, it's my favorite time of year, nature is so magnificent, fall landscapes inform my practice in many subtle ways.

TW: Scrolling through your blog now…there’s documentation of a few events described as being Fluxus-based. What’s your relationship to the movement?

SS: I love that it [Fluxus] is all about process; it doesn't have to be the totality of anything. It allows for a glimpse which is very much what we get in any given interaction.

Above: Outside Gillette Stadium, ready for metal.

TW: We’re close to wrapping up here...before we go, what are a few books everyone should read?

SS: La loca de la casa, by Rosa Montero and Dominicanish by Josefina Báez

TW: Let’s end with this: What are you doing tomorrow?

SS: I'm currently doing a poetry tour of small businesses in Providence. I've stopped at bodegas, supermarkets, and barbershops on Broad Street. Pop-up style. No announced days, I just go and walk in somewhere. This is ongoing work...

*

You can follow Sussy on instagram at @lapoetera, and via her website.

Reconditioning Fitness, with Muscle Brunch

Penina Gal (they/them) and J.R. Uretsky (they/them) traveled from New York and California to find each other in Providence, RI. Across the past decade here, they’ve worked in cartooning, illustration, music, performance art, education, and on curatorial practices—and have been active in spots like Binch Press / Queer Archive Work and the Dirt Palace. During the pandemic, a small home gym sparked a big idea, and now the duo’s putting their experience and energy into developing a queer/community gym called Muscle Brunch. 

The Well (TW): In our first round of questions, you teased a story about a lost bet, and the resulting acquisition of Bob Barker’s leg hair. We’ll get to Muscle Brunch, but this must be addressed.

J.R. Uretsky (JRU): Lol. My buddy Annabel and I went to Bible College in Los Angeles. Our dorms would go to TV tapings, and we had plans to be in the audience of The Price is Right. Annabel and I grew up together; she was always too nice, and kids in high school would take advantage of that. I once caught our friend Justin, who had been in and out of cancer remission his whole life, attempting to obtain Annabel’s lunch money, claiming that she should just give it to him because he had cancer. I called him out on it, and he apologized and granted us one free use of his “cancer card.” Annabel kept her lunch money, and we forgot about the whole interaction until a few years later when Annabel approached me with a problem, a lost bet. We had to get this lock of hair. We knew it was time to use the “cancer card,” and called Justin to get his blessing and set off to the set of The Price is Right. 

Bob, a true performer, would do audience work during the commercial breaks. He was answering audience questions when Annabel and I rose from our seats, demanding Bob’s attention. We told him about our friend Justin, his cancer journey, his bravery, and his one wish to have a lock of Bob Barker’s hair. Bob didn’t hesitate to respond, “Well, girls, I don’t have much left on my head, but I got plenty of leg hair!” Annabel rushed the stage with scissors she had snuck past security as Bob calmly began to cuff a pant leg. Before I knew it, she was shearing his shin. When she finished, she kissed him on the cheek, hopped off stage, and dumped a bunch of gray hair into my hands. We framed it, and it hung in our dorm room. 

TW: What a legend! So how’d you both grow up?

Penina Gal (PG): I was a nerdy kid in NYC, really into reading, drawing, and basketball. I was what was then just called “a tomboy,” since we didn’t have the acknowledgement or terminology for queer kids that we do now. I made a comic about it, Baller Baby.

JRU: I grew up on the California coast in the 1990s, which basically means that I call everyone "dude" and will never fully grasp how to dress for different kinds of weather. I played in a ska band in high school and was super into Jesus, so I assume I was pretty annoying. I moved to Los Angeles at seventeen to attend Bible College and become a youth pastor. In my second year at school, I realized I didn't like Jesus or youths and focused my energy on making art.

Above: "This is from our first public program, Art/PE, hosted by the Dirt Palace and featuring trainers Penina Gal and Dulari Tahbildar" —MB

TW: Penina, in Baller Baby, you recall fantasizing about someday owning a pair of Nike Air Penny 2's. So that's like 1996-7? What are your all time favorite pieces of footwear?

PG: Yeah exactly. Those are still my favorite from a purely nostalgic perspective. My aesthetic favorite is probably the Jordan 3 in simple and clean colorways–I have them in “Muslin” and wore them to a wedding. I like classic Vans, too; can’t go wrong with black canvas and a gum sole.

TW: Providence has always been a DIY comics hotbed—who are some of your favs? 

PG: Every single cartoonist in Providence is amazing. There are a handful of us at Binch, look all those folks up! My BFF Betsey Swardlick is not very online but is my favorite storyteller. Ariel Bordeaux, James Kuo, Leela Corman, Tom Hart, AK Summers, the list goes on. Ryan Alves recently handed me one of the funniest things I’ve read in a while. I’ll probably think of like twelve more people after this and feel bad for not listing them.

TW: And J.R., did your ska band have a pun name? The Skapostles? Skadam and Eve? Also, serious Q, what’s your take on the lasting importance of teenage ska bands?

JRU: I wish our name was Skadam and Eve or, more apropos of now Skadom and Skamorrah. The bands I was into as a teen represented a kind of male energy that I related to, but growing up female, I wasn’t allowed to access or show it. A very dumb ska band that has directly influenced my current practice is The Aquabats (more vibe than music). Like DEVO, they are very interested in building a community around their music or a myth about the band. There is something lovely and so stupid about that. 

TW: Do you think the initial desire to be a pastor was more about wanting simply to perform? What’s the relationship there?

JRU: Totally. My work is basically satirizing Western Evangelical worship practices and rituals because they are powerful. Singing together is healing. I believe the Church uses this power to manipulate people, and I am horrified by that. In my performance, I create affective experiences akin to the church, sans a god or a religion. It’s just us singing songs about queer experiences, heartbreak, and going to therapy.

Above: "A picture of my high school Christian ska band, Kick Me Jimmy. I am wearing the “Satan is a nerd” t-shirt, and Annabel, our lead singer and Barker hair conspirator, is to my left." -JRU

TW: Were you focused mainly on music as a kid? Or up to other art projects?

JRU: When I was a kid, I created a room-cleaning robot using cardboard. I attached a piece of cardboard to my closet door frame and drew a robot with a massive mouth on it. The mouth was a big hole in the cardboard. I used it to put all my dirty clothes and toys inside until my room was clean, or rather until all my belongings were stuffed inside the closet. The closet robot was my solution to cleaning my room and best illustrates “my thing,” which is stupid creative problem-solving–like creative problem solving however, not for the most efficient or best solution but rather the stupidest, weirdest, or funniest solution to a problem.

TW: How did you two meet and form this collaborative practice?

PG: We vaguely met through both being around the Providence art world, and I thought J.R. was cute and booked their band to play a show that ended up being moved to the grossest, moldiest punk house basement I’ve ever been in. At least the bands were good. We’re married now, and we have pretty different art practices, but we both got really burned out by jobs and decided to chase this gym idea as I got more into perfecting our home gym and started casually training some friends. It just sort of developed as the only thing we could think of to do that maybe would pay us while also feeling good and benefiting our direct community.

TW: Let’s get to the gym idea then...what’s the quick pitch?  

MB: Muscle Brunch is rooted in actively undoing the damage the fitness industry has done to women and queer people. We are not into exploiting people’s body insecurities and shame for profit. When the pandemic began and Penina built a home gym, friends would come over and say things like, “I don’t like going to gyms, but I’d come to *this* one!” This got us thinking about how Rhode Island doesn’t have a gym that specifically offers a welcoming and safe environment for its queer and female residents.

Above: "Our basement gym, with our dog Bobby." —MB

TW: How is Muscle Brunch different, in practice? What’s been the strategy to tackle these issues?

MB: We sent out a survey through local listservs and social media, and out of 114 responses, 83% of the individuals polled said they would be interested in joining a gym like Muscle Brunch. We asked how and why these demographics would use an inclusive gym, and learned a few things:

1. Women and queer people often feel uncomfortable or unwelcome in gyms due to potential discrimination, judgment, or harassment.

2. Our customer base requested a gym that centers queer, trans, and female bodies of all sizes and abilities.

3. Women and queer people often make less money than cisgender men, making it challenging to afford gym memberships. Gyms in the greater Providence area cost about $60+ per month. In our poll, we found that only 18% of respondents could afford that. 

4. Most gyms focus on weight loss, which can be harmful for people who have been socialized to believe that thinness is the ultimate fitness goal. This is what drives JR to want to start a gym that welcomes all levels and bodies. From a young age, JR was told that their body was wrong, which repelled them from fitness spaces. At Muscle Brunch, we aren’t working out to get thin, because health shouldn’t be measured by size. Health looks different on every person, and we want to celebrate that.

5. It is a struggle to find a gym that fosters a sense of belonging and support. Our customers may feel isolated or disconnected in fitness communities and with trainers that don’t understand what queer bodies go through. Our poll results showed that our customers are looking for bodywork professionals who understand queer needs, along with infrastructure like gender-neutral bathrooms and changing spaces.

TW: What's the process for getting involved and, is this a local only thing or is there a growth plan? 

PG: Scaling is the goal of our vision. Right now, we’re running a few workshops for artists, and we’re getting our home gym ready to start offering personal and semi-personal training for 1-3 people at a time. We’ll link a sign-up form via our mailing list and instagram when that’s ready. The big picture dream is to offer a full gym with memberships. We’ll be looking for investors to make that happen! For now, folks who are interested can join our mailing list and follow us on Instagram.

TW: This feels like a huge project; lots of hours and focus. Where are you both at now in terms of balance...between work, studio practices, the gym, etc? Any healthy habits that you rely on? 

JRU: I'm currently focusing on my recovery from being a full-blown workaholic, so I'm not putting too much pressure on myself to maintain healthy habits. I'm a bit skeptical of healthy habits because, for me, they have been more about "being productive" than "self-care." This is a product of living under capitalism and years of overachieving without ever asking myself what felt good. I'm working on my motivation around habits to avoid destructive thoughts like "If I start a workout routine, I will lose weight" and instead focus on "I swim four times a week because it feels good."

Above: Teenage Penina

PG: Capitalism and the medical industrial complex [are] messed up. I tried so hard to build an art practice and career with an undiagnosed sleep disorder that, among other things, has the same symptoms as pretty intense ADHD. I spent so many years thinking I was just lazy and bad and not understanding why it was hard for me to do things that I wanted to do. I’ve had to adjust my expectations and the pressures I put on myself to make art feel like something I enjoy again.

MB: Decolonizing Fitness has been an excellent resource for us as we think about creating a welcoming environment that is the antithesis of a toxic fitness culture.

TW: Outside of Muscle Brunch, you’ve been involved with Binch Press and Dirt Palace—what have these spaces meant to you and your practices?

PG: I can easily be a hermit and stay home and not talk to anyone for days. Binch has been a great way to stay connected to fellow artists and friends. Having access to such a great resource makes me want to print stuff more.

JRU: The Dirt Palace (DP) was how I made friends in Providence. It was also where I met other women(ish) people like me: buff, self-sufficient female-identified artists who loved music and art and could build things. I learned a lot from being a part of the DP community. The DP has had to adapt over the years. As an aspiring business owner and community builder, it has been helpful to watch how they have navigated adapting. 

TW: Well, thanks so much for taking the time to speak with us, and best of luck with Muscle Brunch! If you have anything else upcoming you want to shout out, the mic’s yours.

PG: Honestly, I’m so proud of my gym. I put a lot of work into building a sick gym in our basement on no budget, and now I get to train people out of it. It feels like an art installation that gets fully realized when people use it! We’re almost ready to start running strength training services, and I’m working on a new zine about the pretty weird treatment I’m undergoing for my sleep disorder.

JRU: I’m really proud of my bands, Còmo Què Wao and J.R. and the Worship Band. I wish my entire life revolved around making music with my friends (and pushing paperwork for Muscle Brunch)!

Rock N' Roll Fun, with Ella Boissonnault

Above: Ella at Myrtle's opening night. Photo: Melody Matters

Ella Boissonnault is a guitarist and songwriter whose current project, Lady Pills, has performed just about everywhere—from DIY basement shows to SXSW; from Boston’s (soon returning!) Great Scott to Lollapalooza. Boissonnault’s songs—packed with fuzzy guitars, catchy hooks, and a kind of Butchies-era vibe—explore grief and loss as a means to foster strength and acceptance. Lady Pills’ upcoming LP, Renowned in the Roaring Twenties, won’t be out until spring 2025, but you can preview the album’s intro track BN2B, which recently dropped on Bandcamp.

TW: Hello, Ella! You got any good road stories?

EB: One time on tour we crashed with some dude we met at a show in the Midwest. We drove out into the middle of nowhere to get to his house and it turned out he collected bones, and built skeletons with said bones that were on display all over his house. He was reading to us from his books about bones and we didn't have cell service…the vibe was super wonky. We slept in shifts to make sure nothing weird happened! Thankfully, it didn't! Objectively, that could be a cool hobby, but I definitely made some ridiculous choices—like staying there—when I was younger that I would never make now.

TW: Searching for a Bone Iver joke here but failing…let’s just move on to the new record.

EB: My new record is my best work. I cannot fucking wait for this thing to be out in the world. I challenged myself on this album and grew so much both musically, lyrically, production wise etc. I am really proud of myself for not compromising or taking shortcuts and now this one has turned out exactly the way I envisioned it. It feels like I cleared a plot of land and built myself a shed from scratch or something.

TW: Very cool! And how’d you link up with Babe City records a while back, when Despite came out? We assumed it would have been on a Boston label.

EB: I grew up in DC! So we played a basement show with this great band Den-Mate and got to chatting with them and I think by the end of the night we had verbally agreed to the release. 

Above: Artwork for the new Lady Pills' record, Renowned in the Roaring Twenties. Photo credit: Sophie Adams.

TW: Many artists we’ve spoken to here cite how expensive rent, gear, touring, etc are these days. How are you affording a life in which music and touring get prioritized?

EB: Struggling! I don't make shit from my music but I am lucky that it manages to sustain itself in tiny ways. I haven't had to pay out of pocket for recording but I squirrel away everything we make from shows. Since I moved to PVD I've been working multiple jobs and taking on odd gigs wherever I can. Right now I am actually starting grad school in September and I am so excited. I'm studying acupuncture and I have this dream of opening an affordable sliding-scale traveling clinic to treat artists, musicians, and dancers because so many of us have tons of overuse injuries and no health insurance. So I'm about to go into a stupid amount of debt but I feel really stoked to be learning again and doing something I am really enthusiastic about.

TW: You’re liking Providence so far?

EB: I moved a little over two years ago and had always thought of Providence as an amazing, creative hub and a magical food city. Both have turned out to be even more true than I expected.

Above: Ella's dad, crushing it.

TW: Do you have other practices around health and well being that relate back to music making?

EB: I think cooking is a big one. I love to cook for anyone who will let me! It is so fun to assemble colors, textures and flavors in a creative way. It's pretty similar to music production I think. You shove all of these separate things together and it creates one enjoyable experience. Exercise is big, too. I love doing slow movements with weights. It totally clears my head and gets me into my body. 

I also love my app-blocker. I try to spend lots of time away from my phone, especially if it's songwriting time so that I don't get distracted. But the biggest one is sleep. I love my sleep. It's a whole routine now to go to bed and I have gotten kind of obsessive about getting the best sleep I can so I can wake up early and be productive.

TW: Do you write in your sleep?

EB: Not in my sleep, but definitely when I'm trying to go to sleep. I hear music being composed or played in my head when I'm trying to fall asleep. I have a ridiculous folder of voice memos on my phone of me whisper-singing melodies and lyrics.

TW: How’s it working for you in the studio?

EB: I am lucky to be able to have the process that I do. I have a really close working relationship with Sean McLaughlin (37' productions) where we work a lot of shit out just the two of us. Some songs I have a fully produced version of in my head, but others take a long time. We usually have sessions once or twice a month, so there is a ton of space to process and reflect on what's been done. It's like watering a plant and seeing it slowly come to life and bloom into what it is supposed to be. 

TW: There’s this WBUR article...the photos have a kind of Kate Bush energy. And the My Weight video has playful, choreographed dancing. Could you speak a bit about the visual / imaged side of your work?

EB: Dancing is just a fun hobby for me. I grew up in the ballet world; there were many holiday seasons where I was Clara in The Nutcracker and it was something I seriously wanted to pursue as a career before I pivoted to music. In terms of image, I know it has fluctuated a ton as I have gotten older. It's a really tricky thing to navigate; we all know that the algorithm will pick up a face but not a show flyer. I have a really difficult relationship to all of it because lots of it is furthering misogyny, appeal, branding etc. but I have to engage with it to some extent. So I just try to do it in a way that feels like me. I think about all the ways that social media fucked me up when I was younger relating to body image, so I try to represent myself, my personality and what is real, even if that's a morning I haven't brushed my teeth or gotten dressed yet.

Above: Ella with Robbie Wulfsohn (of the band Ripe) in front of the console at 37'.

TW: Sort of related—while DC and Boston are places with thriving, progressive DIY scenes, this interviewer recalls there being a lot of misogyny. Not just in the capital I Industry, but smaller clubs, basement shows…Is that a dated view now? What’s your experience been?

EB: It was very much that way when I was in college and living there. Lots of shitty remarks, expecting I don't know my gear or I don't play an instrument, intimidation, reduction, etc. I don't think that's a dated view. I think there is a lot more dialogue around these subjects, but the behaviors have not gone away. There's just a bigger chance that people will believe you, listen to you, and give a shit in some places. I think it's dangerous to say that things are better just because there’s more rhetoric. But I'm not shitting on the Bostonians, here...I was one for a long time and have a soft spot in my heart for New England culture. Misogyny is an issue everywhere.

TW: Your DC years...what was growing up like?

EB: I think growing up is weird for everyone! I have always been really close with my family and I have very creative people for parents. My dad was in a band through college so he taught me to play guitar and I definitely aspired to be cool like that as a kid. My mom does human rights and environmental work so there was always a sense of social responsibility and knowing that you are part of a bigger picture in my household. My brain had a hard time giving a shit about the mundane day-to-day like school drama. Normal teen stuff, I think. I was definitely an outlier throughout school and I had a hard time connecting with other kids because they were talking about fashion trends and I was freaking out about pollution. I also didn't really know anyone who was interested in music the way I was until I found a community outside of my high school. Lots of open mics, learning about DIY gigging, and just being around other creative people helped a lot and I found my footing.

TW: The early gigs you played...what were the spots? 

EB: Nova/DC area. The Lab, Epicure Cafe, Busboys and Poets. Some house shows in DC and also out in the burbs like Springfield, VA. 

TW: Across your touring career, or just generally, what’s the most distant land you’ve traveled to?

EB: Probably Kazakhstan. My mom traveled a lot for work and would take me with her to various places in Central Asia if I wasn't in school. I want to say I was five, and we stayed there for a little over a month. My strongest memory was the community. Everything was very tight-knit and everyone pitched in to make shit work. It is very opposite from individualism in US culture. People relate to their neighbors, their land, their food and their environment so differently than most people do here and that was a pretty powerful thing to participate in as a kid.

Above: Ella with her mom in St. Petersberg, Russia. Circa 2007.

TW: Between that and touring, it sounds like you’re pretty solid with a map.

EB: I've really worked on my sense of direction! I'm kind of infamous for insisting on taking detours either via car or foot; insisting that I know where we are going and that I'm not lost. I have definitely been late to shows because I brought everyone on a quick little eight-mile hike in the wrong direction...and now we are lost...and don't have service...and have to wait until we run into someone else who hopefully knows where the fuck we are!

TW: Is that a metaphorical hike or, you’re into nature?

EB: Big time. I grew up backpacking with my parents a lot. Hiking, nature, and the outdoors are huge places of grounding for me. I crave them if I don't fit it in enough. The White Mountains are my go-to! It is a magical terrain up there, especially if you're able to stay in one of the huts.

TW: Your dad taught you guitar...when did you first write something on your own?

EB: The first song I vividly remember writing was when I was 15. I had my first heavy experience with grief around this time. I understood things and people were finite, but I didn't understand what it meant to process loss. I had been playing guitar, learning covers and dabbling with songwriting for years, but for some reason this one is my strongest memory. I wrote a song called ghosts. I think it was the first song I wrote that wasn't about having a crush or playing in the sunshine—those big pre-teen thoughts that are still so relevant lol—and I think I realized how powerful music could be. I wasn't writing for anyone or with the intention of performing, but I learned how to lean on art to process shit and to make sense of things. I think it was the first time music really registered as an outlet. Once I had that in my tool belt, it kind of took over and I got super into lyric-writing. I always loved reading and playing with language, so songwriting went pretty hand-in-hand with that.

Above: Ella. Photo by Sophie Adams

TW: And now that you are writing for others, with audience in mind, how has that impacted your process?

EB: I think a lot of my songs speak to people and their experiences in a way that I hope brings visibility and provides support. There are definitely universal themes in my work. I've gotten a lot of DMs from people who are a lot younger expressing that they now know it is okay to be angry about shit, to be loud about shit, to be yourself, take up space, etc. and that they really relate to the stuff I'm singing, writing, and yelling about. It makes me happy that my songs can give that support and assurance. I learned a lot about who I am and what I stand for through the art and music I was exposed to when I was younger, so I'm stoked to be a part of that tapestry for someone else.

TW: Thinking about grief and loss—are there any works you’ve found particularly meaningful? 

EB: The Many Daughters of Afong Moy by Jamie Ford. My friend Maya lent me this book. It's about generational trauma and healing. It is absolutely gorgeous! I don't think a book has ever made me cry so hard—tears of both sadness and joy—in my life. I think it should be required reading for everyone. 

I have been on a huge Louise Erdrich kick. My grandmother gifted me her entire collection and I've slowly been making my way through. Everything she writes is amazing, but I would start with The Sentence.

TW: Thanks for this chat, Ella. Any parting thoughts?

EB: Keep an eye out for the record! Singles are dropping! Shit is happening!

Come Away, with Sweeping Promises

Photo: Shawn Brackbill

Lira Mondal and Caufield Schnug met in the Arkansas music scene of the late 2000s, quickly becoming friends and writing partners. Caufield was 19; Lira was 20. A decade later, a jam session in Boston gave birth to their current project, Sweeping Promises. Their 2020 release, Hunger for a Way Out, earned praise from Brooklyn Vegan and NME and others, eventually leading to a sophomore effort on Sub Pop and Ohio’s Feel It Records—2023’s Good Living Is Coming for You. Named one of NPR’s 50 Best Albums of the year, the Good Living cemented the duo’s place in a long line of post-punk greats—they’d fit right in on a bill with Kleenex/LiLiPUT, Suburban Lawns, or Boston’s own short-lived early 2000s trio, Squids. You can catch them live on tour with Bikini Kill through September or, get your minimal, angular dance on this Saturday with an intimate gig right here at Myrtle. 

The Well (TW): Sweeping Promises, welcome back to town! What does Rhode Island mean to you? 

Sweeping Promises (SP): We spent about a decade in the East Coast (Boston) music scene before moving to Kansas; we'd play Providence every now and then in our many previous bands: Mini Dresses, Dee-Parts, Blau Blau, Splitting Image, Silkies, the list goes on! We see Rhode Island as an important and inspirational node in the East Coast underground music matrix!

TW: Thanks for including us! Who were you as kids, long before all the bands?

SP: In broad strokes, Lira and Caufield grew up in the South as weirdo nerds, music obsessives, academically-inclined, and eventually Arkansas-bound. Caufield started music young, began playing shows in punk bands when he was 13 years old in Austin. Subculture saved his life. Lira was in youth choir programs and would sing every chance she could get growing up, secretly wanting to be in bands but not sure how to enact that fantasy in her small town.

Above: Artwork for Pain Without a Touch (Sub Pop, 2021)

TW: We’re always curious to learn how artists are supporting themselves; what’s making it work for you?

SP: Tour is the main income. Caufield works on about 40 albums a year in some engineering capacity to supplement that. We live ascetically in Kansas, and it took us 15 years to acquire our own gear and self-recording skills, without which we would not be able to exist now. Caufield's dad is a luthier and helps with gear and van repairs. Our network of friends and fans help us immeasurably on the road. The music industry has been captured almost entirely by robber barons who will not stick around once the other shoe drops. At least it feels like the rampant exploitation in this industry is becoming more widely acknowledged.

TW: Got a favorite stop on tour?

SP: One remote region we enjoy is Marfa, Texas! We try to travel there on tour when possible, and once we went there for a week to attempt music-writing. The semi-alien landscape there is like a hormone for the imagination. We wrote some songs from Good Living Is Coming for You  there.

Above: Live at Boston Fuzzstival, 2021. Filmed by Al Slounge.

TW: Can you give us a little look behind the curtain—your recording process, influences, or ideas about who you’re writing for?

SP: We are interested in finding non-standard recording and performance techniques, which port radical political ideas/sentiments into defamiliarizing yet rigorously-arrayed sound ideas. We are cinephiles; Caufield even pursued a PhD in film studies! We often write and mix our music with films in mind. Sometimes we project films silently while we make music. We [also] support charitable causes and creative community work in our hometown, offering affordable recording rates to new bands, etc. 

TW: Cool stuff! We know you’re super busy with tour right now, so we’ll keep this one short. Before we split though—got any books or texts that feel important to your life and practice?

SP: In Praise of Shadows by Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, Purity and Danger by Mary Douglas, and Air and Dreams by Gaston Bachelard.

TW: Thanks! We’ll see you (and our readers) Saturday night, September 7, 2024.

Gather in Peace, with Sidy Maïga

From The Rail Band’s heyday in the 1970s to Ali Farka Touré’s posthumous release Savane in the 2000s, the music of Mali has brought joy and delight to listeners worldwide. If you haven’t already, take 45 minutes out of your day to enjoy Africa Express’ cover of Terry Riley's In C. As such, we’re big fans of local master djembe player, composer and producer Sidy Maïga, who celebrates the cultures of West Africa in schools and on stages across the Ocean State. Maïga’s projects, like the upcoming Afrika Nyaga at PVD Fest 2024, spread messages of hope, unity, and community.

The Well (TW): Hey Sidy. You’re a busy guy. How would you describe your involvement with the local cultural community, broadly speaking?

Sidy Maïga (SM): For the past 18 years, I have been involved in the Rhode Island community through teaching drumming, African culture, and music to dozens of schools and institutions. Currently, I conduct several healing arts classes at Bradly and Hasbro Hospitals, and produce the annual drum and dance festival Afrika Nyaga—this will be its 12th year running. We [the musicians involved] all live in Rhode Island; the cornerstone of my work has always been to bring people together because diversity brings more positivity to the world and contributes to the wellbeing of both the state and country. I’m raising my family in Rhode Island so, of course I also want a better future for my children. I strive to do things that improve Rhode Island.

TW: We love your involvement with youth—do you have a memory of a stand out gig or musical moment from your younger years?

SM: Yes, the first time our own group got our first “grown up” gig, and we were invited to travel for the first time outside of the city. We traveled to Kati, a city about 30 minutes Northwest of Bamako. We created our own songs in addition to playing traditional songs and the audience was so enchanted that I wanted to see myself on bigger stages.

TW: And you’re from Bamako, right? What was growing up there like?

SM: It was a community-oriented environment where doors were always open, and everyone in the neighborhood was like family. We lived as a close-knit community, where it was common to eat, sleep, or hang out in any house at any time. Music began, for me, with the rhythms of life in my neighborhood. The sound of women grinding millet in a mortar and pestle. The rhythm of the call to prayer five times a day. The music of celebrations, social events, and even funerals. Music and rhythm permeated every facet of day-to-day life. It created a musical structure upon which life happened. 

Music was also a communal experience. Even if you had your own musical group, other musicians could join in whenever they wanted, and it was always a pleasure to welcome them. This environment made it easy to immerse deeply in music, learning from everyone I encountered, in addition to my formal teachers.

This is how I became interested in music, especially because going to school was not easy for me. In my early teens, my friends and I got together and created our own drumming group and started performing for people our age and eventually, I got to apprentice with two master drummers. After my training, I ended up playing with the Drum and Dance Troupe of Bamako, which is the capital of Mali. I was working every day at the Troupe, and performing at weddings every Thursday and Sunday.

TW: Have you found that kind of integration here, too—music being a facet of everyday life?

SM: I have found similar patterns here, but it took time and effort. Over the years, I’ve created my own community within the larger community—one that supports and cherishes what I do. This community has become a space where music and culture are deeply intertwined, much like what I experienced growing up. It’s been incredibly rewarding to see how this shared passion for music has brought people together and created a sense of rhythm and connection in our lives here as well.

TW: What was it initially like when you came to the US? How did you find your way here?

SM: I moved from Mali to New York in February 2006. The transition was a cultural shock. When I arrived, I found it challenging to adapt to the more individualistic culture, where doors were always locked, eye contact was avoided, and greetings were often met with confusion. However, I am someone who adapts to any scenario. I began seeking out drum circles in New York, attending open mics, and introducing myself to other artists after their shows. It was easier to connect with people in New York than when I moved to Rhode Island in September 2006 because my ex-wife was accepted into the Trinity Rep Master’s program for acting. Rhode Island was smaller and culturally different from New York.

Fortunately, a friend introduced me to the Providence Black Repertory Company, where I became the resident drummer. I also started working with Michelle Bach and Seydou Coulibaly at Brown University. Gradually, I got to know the city and built connections with more people. I began building my own drumming class, where I met many amazing people, including Rachel Nguyen, who became my manager and started helping me push my career forward. As I became more known in the community, I began visiting schools, hospitals, and other establishments. Finally, in 2009, I was able to start my own festival, Afrika Nyaga. The first festival was held at Le Foyer in Pawtucket, and later, I brought it to Providence.

Above: Sidy leading a performance

TW: You mentioned that school wasn’t an easy experience; did you pursue any kind of formal education at later points?

SM: I dropped out of school because with classrooms that were 150 students in one class, I was getting more out of my musical practices than going to school. This caused a big problem between my family and I. Even though I knew school was important, I was drawn to music. But getting an education was what my family really wanted for me and so after 15 years living in the US, I wildly decided to apply for the Berklee College of Music and I didn’t know what my chances were—I didn’t have an official musical theory background. To my surprise, I got in with scholarships and grants which ended up allowing me to go to Berklee on a full ride!

TW: Full ride! That is awesome. So let’s talk about Afrika Nyaga. How’d it start? 

SM: For the first time, I’m going to share the true reason behind the start of Afrika Nyaga publicly. In 2008, I began wondering why I wasn’t seeing Malian performers coming together here in Rhode Island to create the kind of music and community we have back home. So, I decided to invite other drummers for a small, informal ceremony at Le Foyer in Pawtucket. We did it for free, and about 50 to 70 people showed up to dance and sing together. It was an intimate gathering, and we had an incredible time. People kept asking me to do it again because it felt so authentic and connected.

After that event, someone approached me with a lot of ideas about how we could turn it into a big production and make money. But for me, the goal was never about making money; it was about bringing the community together. I was already earning a living through gigs, and I felt that what I needed more was the sense of community, not profit. Eventually, that person decided to host their own event at her house, even scheduling it on the same night as my next show, charging people $15 to attend. Despite that, the event turned out to be one of the best I’ve ever organized. That success inspired me to take Afrika Nyaga further.

I started applying for grants from RISCA, seeking sponsors, and eventually began collaborating with organizations like the Department of Art, Culture, and Tourism, under the leadership of Lynne McCormack and later, Lizzie Araujo. I’ve also formed partnerships with FirstWorks, The Providence Foundation, and the City of Providence. This will be the fourth year that Afrika Nyaga is part of PVDFest.

TW: Could you talk a bit about the differences in style between music from Mali and say, Senegalese, Congolese styles? 

SM: In Senegal, Mbalax is a dominant musical style—perhaps 80% or more of the musical identity. Mbalax is rooted in a percussion instrument called the Sabar drum, which is deeply traditional and the most popular in Senegal. The entire essence of Mbalax comes from the rhythms of the Sabar drum, with some influence from the talking drum (tama). While modern Mbalax incorporates other instruments like keyboards, guitars, and more, there is no Mbalax without the Sabar drums at its core.

When you think of Congolese music, soukous is the genre that stands out most prominently. It features a heavy drum set rhythm, guitar, keyboards, and other modern instruments, and is a dance music style with roots in Congolese rhumba.

In contrast, Malian music is incredibly diverse, with each region having its own traditional instruments. For example, the blues from northern Mali typically does not use the djembe or talking drum. The Wassoulou region features instruments like the ngoni and balafon, which are unique to that area. In the Kayes region, you’ll find the djeli dundun and djeli balafon, which are distinct from the balafon used in Wassoulou. This regional diversity makes Malian music very different from other countries.

This is why Malian music stands out—each region contributes its own unique sounds and styles, unlike the more unified styles found in places like Senegal and the Congo.

Above: Ira, Sidy's son, gets in on the beat

TW: Who are some artists you look to for inspiration, collaboration, etc?

SM: One of my favorite artists in Mali is Salif Keita. His voice is extraordinary, but what truly sets him apart is his versatility. He doesn't confine himself to a single style; instead, he explores every corner of music, from deep traditional Malian sounds to reggae, salsa, and beyond. Growing up listening to him was truly inspirational. I believe we all gravitate toward different genres of music based on our mood, feelings at the time, and the circumstances we find ourselves in. Salif Keita’s ability to connect with such a wide range of emotions and experiences through his music has had a profound impact on me and many others. 

Oumou Sangaré is another musical genius who could work and sing in any environment or condition, even though she has crafted her own unique identity with her magical voice. Her ability to convey powerful emotions and messages through her music has made her a significant influence in my life.

TW: Going back a bit, we’re curious to learn how you first begin drumming in hospitals, and what has that experience meant for you, personally?

SM: Playing and teaching at hospitals like Bradley and Hasbro didn’t come as a surprise to me, because in Mali, music is used for many different purposes—fun, weddings, naming ceremonies, and even healing. The djembe in particular, is often used as a therapeutic tool back home. I’m sure hospitals have done their research and recognized the importance of music for healing purposes. From my own experience, I’ve seen many positive outcomes when teaching and performing around the world. I can also speak from personal experience: even when I’m going through hardships, playing the drum transforms me completely. Many people have shared similar experiences with me from all over the world.

TW: You toured with groups like Troupe Artistique de Bamako and the Fakoli Percussion Troupe—what’s your favorite memory from that era?

SM: One of the most memorable moments for me with the Fakoli Percussion Troupe was when we performed at the Festival International of Percussion (FESTIP) in Mali. This festival brought together the best percussionists from all over the country—every top player in Mali participated. We won second place, and that achievement will stay with me forever. It was an incredible experience to be surrounded by so much talent, and the energy of the festival was just amazing. 

TW: We’ve been seeing your son up on stage with you. What do you learn about music and performance through playing together? 

SM: I see a lot of myself in my son, even though I didn’t get to play with my father because he wasn’t a musician—in fact, he didn’t want me to become one. But, like my son, I was passionate about music from a very young age. I used to get in trouble for banging on tomato cans, boxes, or even my chest, making noise wherever I could. Watching my son’s enthusiasm for music, I realize how much I wish I had the same opportunities he has now. Through playing together, I’m learning that if I had been allowed to follow my passion freely from the start, I might have progressed even further. But I’m still grateful for the journey that has brought me to where I am today.

TW: What’s something coming up in the next 2-3 months you’d like to have on peoples’ radars?

SM: My 12th annual festival, Afrika Nyaga, is returning to PVDFest on September 7th at 4:30 PM in front of the Providence City Hall. I’m also working on my next album which I’m very excited about so stay tuned!

Sideboy Chit Chat, with Matthew Lawrence and Jason Tranchida

Photo: Nelson Villarreal

Matthew Lawrence and Jason Tranchida are an artist / curator duo who publish the journal Headmaster, your go-to print magazine for sophisticated takes on art, culture, and man-loving. Born a decade apart and hailing from different parts of the country, they’ve come together to build an incredible creative partnership; their most recent work is the hybrid documentary, musical, and video installation Scandalous Conduct: A Fairy Extravaganza.

The Well (TW): Hey guys. Thanks for taking the time here. We want to start off with you Matt, being that you’re from the area. What do you know about East Providence? 

Matthew Lawrence (ML): Coming from afar (Cranston), East Providence was always where people’s Vovó and Vovô lived, but I really never went there until I started shopping at Savers as a teen. Honestly, I still get turned around all the time. The part on the map that looks like a bowtie will never not confuse me. What’s also confusing to me is that people—gay men, specifically—don’t make a bigger to-do about the fact that there's a landmark called Spooky Bottom.

Jason Tranchida (JT): I, on the other hand, as a non-native RI-er, pride myself on being able to navigate EP. Pawtucket, not so much.

TW: Spooky Bottom is a dock, too! What’s your relationship with the wider area today? 

ML: Living where you grew up is super crazy. I see people from high school everywhere. One of them wordlessly high-fived me on the street the other day and just kept walking without saying hello. While recording our musical, one of our musicians mentioned a brother and it triggered a memory of someone I went to elementary school with who had the same last name. I quickly Googled him and it turns out he became a professional poker player?! I won’t say too much more than that because once Scandalous Conduct is finished, my next project is going to be a novel about my childhood, which—because Cranston was wild in the 80s/90s—involves both satanic panic, child murders, and a drive-thru condom store.

Above: Scandalous Conduct. Photo: John Hesselbarth.

TW: Wild. Times may have changed but, we did once see a 15 year old at Garden City who was wearing a Burzum shirt while outside the Gap with his mom so—maybe still a weird energy there? Jason how about you—what’s your story?

JT: I was born in Detroit, but I grew up in the suburbs and then Ann Arbor for college years. I used any opportunity to get out of the suburbs and into the city when I lived there, mostly for the music, culture, and architecture, not to mention some awesome people. The Detroit Institute of Arts was a bit of a safe haven for me growing up—it was a place where I felt I fit in. It’s still one of my favorite places in the world. It was the same for the music scene. I’m totally dating myself, but I grew up in the height of the Detroit Techno scene. While I wouldn’t call myself a club kid (now or then, lol), I did sneak into plenty of them! It was a great scene and the dancing was incredible. While I knew it was something super special, it wasn’t until I left Michigan that I realized how influential Detroit Techno was on a global scale. After college I headed east and ended up in Brooklyn for grad school. I took a little break from New York in 1999, landed in Providence, and forgot to go back.

TW: Matt, one of your projects Rhode Islanders may be familiar with was Law and Order Party. Can you speak on that a bit?

ML: Sure, I started Law and Order Party in 2015 because there was nowhere to find out what was happening culturally in town without doing a ton of leg work. Since I was doing that legwork for myself anyway, I thought I’d start a newsletter. There was one out of New York called Gayletter that sent out five recommendations each week, one per night, and it was on my radar because they wrote about Headmaster parties a few times. There’s obviously less happening in Rhode Island than in New York, but I thought that idea was scalable. I reviewed art exhibits, plays and movies, previewed concerts and readings, and left space to cover performance work and other miscellaneous things. After five years of weekly newsletters and getting slightly burnt out, I relaunched it to write more in-depth pieces. Unfortunately that was early March 2020. I wrote about an exhibition of Warhol polaroids at RIC and then interviewed author Joanne McNeil, and then everything shut down and I floundered for a few months before retiring the project.

TW: And Jason, we know a bit less about your solo work. What are you up to outside the collaborations with Matt?

JT: As far as my creative practice goes, folks seem to know me, or my work, in very compartmentalized ways, which makes sense in that I’m seemingly all over the place. I studied architecture, then got an MFA in sculpture, became a graphic designer/creative director, worked in events and theater design, planned two weddings, and now I’m making a movie / documentary / installation / musical thing. So people are always surprised when they find out I do something other than the single thing they know me for. I also love gardening.

Above: From Headmaster No. 10, The Huxleys

TW: From working across so many fields...any core lessons learned?

JT: One (of many) professional fails was on one of the first photo shoots I ever directed. I was going for ethereal, but the products were pretty much rendered invisible. Lesson learned: trust your photographer and your clients.

TW: Are you “Never leave Rhode Island” types? Any memorable trips?

ML: In November of 2021, we went to Bilbao together for an art fair—two artists from Headmaster No. 9 lived there and their gallery got us set up with a booth. The artists, los picoletos (ig), were incredibly hospitable and even made us a whole Thanksgiving dinner because they knew it was Thanksgiving in the US that day. Bilbao is not the easiest city to love, maybe because I’m a vegetarian, but it does have some amazing punk bars.

I also very, very randomly went to Laos in 2013 on a family vacation with a family that was not mine. Aside from a high school trip to Paris it was my first venture outside of North America and I actually loved it. Because of its messy history, Vientiane, the capital, is a fascinating mix of Southeast Asian, French colonial, and Soviet architecture. I signed up for a trip to Phnom Penh, a city I’ve always wanted to visit (Cranston is very Cambodian!) and I got bait and switched not too long before we left. But I’m happy things worked out the way they did.

TW: Since we’ve mentioned it a few times now, can you give us a rundown on Headmaster?

JT: Headmaster is a vehicle to showcase the artwork and careers of queer artists, and we always include at least one RI artist in each issue. When deciding which artists to work with, we are very conscious to include a range of voices and ages for example. We often also include assignments that are based on hidden/forgotten fragments of queer history. This is actually where the germ of an idea for Scandalous Conduct came from.

Above: Matthew, age 5.

TW: You mentioned los picoletos from Bilbao; Headmaster’s also featured Slava Mogutin (NYC), House of Rice (Vancouver), and Barry Marré  who is, or at least was, out of Rotterdam. How do you get tapped into a global community and what's the process like for curating people and stories?

ML: The world is pretty small, it turns out. Smaller than we even realized when we started the magazine. We've worked with artists from…fourteen countries? I think? I never know whether to go by where people are from or where they live now. I’m counting quickly here—we've gotten to meet sixty of our contributors in person which is always exciting. I’m glad you mentioned Barry because we really like his work and haven’t really stayed in touch with him. 

By the second or third issue of Headmaster we were featuring a mix of people that we already knew, people that contacted us themselves, and people that were referred to us by friends and colleagues. In the early years of the magazine we were helped immensely by platforms like Tumblr, which were popular with visual artists and especially with the sexy queer ones. Honestly I have no idea where people go for that kind of visual community now. 

TW: And on to Scandalous Conduct, a project that feels very wide in scope. What’s the elevator pitch?

ML: Scandalous Conduct is a project about the year 1919, but its themes are super relevant today: surveillance of queer sexual spaces, the role of drag in the United States military, and so on. After close to five years, we are actually very proud to be finishing. Our public presentations began in May 2020 with a virtual talk about John Rathom, the enigmatic Australian rapscallion who was editor of the Providence Journal in 1919. This was early enough in Zoom Times that everyone kept their camera on and also stayed while we talked for over 90 minutes. The 2024 version of the project is much tighter. 

JT: Our collaborative practice has traditionally been centered around curating and publishing, so Scandalous Conduct is the biggest thing we’ve ever worked on together in terms of art “making.” It’s been a long process and I think we still like each other!

TW: The role of drag in the military...can you elaborate on that?

JT/ML: We started the research for Scandalous Conduct a few years before the recent brouhahas about drag and pride events on military bases. Last year the Pentagon declared that drag shows are “inconsistent with Defense Department spending regulations”, with the Biden administration caving to Republicans who were in a tizzy about drag story hours. Times change, of course, and the older I get the more I realize that things usually get worse even as they’re getting better. Shows with drag elements were big during World War II, and even in World War I drag wasn’t such a big deal. 

In 1919, the Newport Naval Station produced a musical version of Jack and the Beanstalk, touring it around New England to show young men how much fun military service could be. In this version of the story Jack has a love interest, Princess Mary, and the Navy capitalized on this in its marketing. A three-star admiral was quoted in newspapers as declaring Princess Mary “the daintiest little thing I ever laid eyes on”. An ad we found in the Providence Journal led with the boast that “Princess Mary will be prettier than ever before.” 

Above: Jason, age 25.

TW: A three-star review...not bad! Publishing a magazine and projects as wide in scope as Scandalous Conduct are resource intensive—how are you getting by and pulling these things off?

ML: This is a great question. Grants and crowdfunding donations are currently paying for Scandalous Conduct and subscriptions are sort of paying for Headmaster but certainly neither of those is paying the bills. Jason has a successful design practice and I am always doing my best to cobble together a semblance of a day job. Right now I am working as a contract archivist though August, and also doing PR/marketing work for a few local nonprofits. There are pluses and minuses to this setup—it allows me to take weeks off to work on filming a musical, for instance—but overall it’s less than ideal.

TW: With it being less than ideal for now, where do you find balance or comfort?

ML: We try to keep a balance of healthy habits and wild stories when we’re not working around the clock. In the first year of the pandemic, I discovered that the best path mentally was to not pick up my phone for the first hour that I’m awake and to not look at my phone for the last hour before bed. I’ve backslid considerably but still aspire to that two-hour daily information cleanse. I have an elderly aunt that won’t watch depressing world news on TV before bed because it will give her bad dreams. I aspire to that level of self-control.

TW: In one of the earlier presentations for Scandalous Conduct—your zoom talk for the PPL in May of 2020—you give the audience a heads up that the project's current status is in-progress; to expect lower image quality, etc. You presented again in June of 2021 at the Newport Art Museum...it's been ongoing. We're wondering how you think about project evolution—how to make early-phase presentations; present incomplete ideas, and how scope / scale changes over time.

JT: Both Matthew and I have creative practices that are project-driven. Unlike the development of a lot of our work, this project in particular evolved in a very public way. We spent a long time in the research phase of Scandalous Conduct, and we really dug into it. It actually  took a long time to decide what form would be best for the way we wanted to tell this story. A puppet show and opera were both seriously considered for a minute...Several of our in-process presentations were requirements of grants we received, but we always used them as an opportunity to push the project into a next phase. Creatively, it was great for me to have these iterations. There were so many twists and turns and rabbit holes that we went down, presenting these stories publicly really forced me to keep everything organized in my head.

Above: Matthew and Jason at a workshop. Photo: Nick Dentamaro. 

TW: Any particular books, archives, etc that have helped inform this, and other projects? Places we can learn more?

ML/JT: Well, everyone ought to read Lawrence R. Murphy’s Perverts by Official Order: The Campaign Against Homosexuals by the United States Navy. It’s a dense history but it’s also the only full-length book to date about the 1919 Newport Sex Scandal. 

Aside from that, this seems like a good moment to plug the weirdly large number of non-fiction titles released by our friends this spring. There’s Kate Schapira’s Lessons from the Climate Anxiety Counseling Booth, Phil Eil’s Prescription for Pain: How a Once-Promising Doctor Became the 'Pill Mill Killer’, Michael Andor Brodeur's Swole: The Making of Men and the Meaning of Muscle, R. Tripp Evans’s The Importance of Being Furnished: Four Bachelors at Home, and Linda Kushner’s The Fight That Saved the Libraries: A True Rhode Island Story. 

TW: Love us some Broduer. Two decades ago his indie pop band, Certainly, Sir was a Boston favorite, and the House stuff he’s done as New Dad is outstanding, too. [Side Note, the New Dad tape was release by Dan Boucher, who The Well interviewed over here]

What role has/does music play in your lives? At home, in clubs, etc?

ML: Great question, and also a funny question because we are currently editing a musical and so we’re listening to the same handful of songs over and over and over again. To be honest, though, one thing we learned is that we don't particularly love music from 1919. There are some good songs, including the ones in our video, but the rest of that era is just a minefield of racism, cringe patriotism, and sounds that haven’t aged well. When we’re not working on this project, generally we always have something playing over the speakers at the studio. Our go-tos are Italian internet radio, Montreal disco playlists, the Wheeler radio station that plays 90s alternative music all day for seemingly no reason, and at home we play a fair amount of vinyl.

TW: Guys, thanks so much. Going to end this with a promo moment—what’s coming up? 

ML/JT: Our magazine Headmaster will have a table at this year’s Queer/Trans Zine Fest (QTZFest) at The Steel Yard, which we’re excited about because it’s the first year we’ve been able to even apply to the fest and it’s also the last year that it’s happening. So the stars aligned for once!

Aside from the Scandalous Conduct exhibit, which runs September 12 – October 6, we’re doing a Haus of Codec market with our magazine Headmaster at the end of October. We’re also probably planning a holiday event although we tend to plan those at the last minute. Last year we threw our party at Myrtle and it happened to be like two days after the bridge shutdown and we had a fantastic time even though we were afraid no one would show up, so maybe we’ll see about doing that again?

Chaotic Good, with neal t. walsh

neal t. walsh is a painter, activist, and collector of things who serves as Gallery Director at AS220. This Thursday, August 15, 2024, neal has a solo show, Our Days are Weatherworn, on view at Galerie le Domaine, which is a quick hop over the Henderson bridge. In advance, we had a chat with neal about his life and practice. Photo by Violetta DiChiera-Walsh.

The Well (TW): Hey neal. On the invite for your upcoming show, your full name is in lowercase. Is that a show-specific design choice, or a kind of bell hooks thing? 

ntw: Yes, that is inspired by my reading of bell hooks; wanting to background the individual in order to focus on what is being created. Also, I think of my paintings as fragments of a larger form that is never fully revealed. The titles of my paintings are often all lowercase because they are phrases from a longer story still being told. I think that, as people, we go through the same process; always changing throughout our lives, always becoming new, and are never fully formed into a single identity.

TW: How would you describe your identity, today?.

ntw: I’m a bricoleur, bibliophile, and a brambler. A slow walker with pockets full of stones, shells, and knickknacks, worrying away at thoughts and ideas like the sea against the shore. I was born and raised in Rhode island, spent over 20 years living in Providence, and now live in rural R.I.

TW: You have some fairly minimal works that call to mind like Agnes Martin, Robert Ryman...then others that are much more distressed or, "burned...with a torch, and then chipped, scratched, and cut at the surface" (Greg Cook, Phoenix, 2008). Are these all coming from the same place? What are the key themes you're exploring? 

ntw: I have always been fascinated by minimalist works. I would add to the list early Brice Marden and Blinky Palermo. But minimalism as a whole, as an art movement, always felt a bit too cold. I want my paintings to be poetic and emotionally evocative. I am also a ham-fisted materialist, piling on layers of paint, gesso, dry pigment, graphite, ash, collaging bits of paper, canvas, scraps of detritus onto my paintings to see what emerges. Sometimes that means minimal, subtle layering of paints and sometimes a much more layered visceral approach. Sometimes a painting can embody both of those things at the same time.

Above: walsh’s 2008 painting, Greenheart, oil on canvas, 84” x 60”

TW: Your materialism…there’s some Anselm Kiefer in there.

ntw: Anselm Kiefer was a revelation to me as a young artist when I was developing my own aesthetic. The very first art books I bought were with my last bit of money on the last day of a trip to London. They were large monographs on Anslem Kiefer and Frank Auerbach. Kiefer’s use of diverse materials, his approach to difficult historical topics, a touch of mysticism, and lines of poetry embedded in the paintings, inspired all the different threads that I began exploring in my paintings. His enormous lead books and vitrines of objects still hold me in awe. I made a lot of early works imitating his style and techniques: experimenting with rolls of flashing lead, photo transfers, tar, ash, and using blow torches and dirt. Most of these early works were failures, but I continue to incorporate many of those elements into my evolving practice.

TW: How about things other than paintings—recent books, texts?

ntw: Solenoid by Mircea Cărtărescu (NYT), Selected Poems 1975-2021 by Don Domanski, and The Annual Banquet of the Gravediggers' Guild Mathias Énard. Also, The 95 Theses on Painting by Mary Zuckerman-Hartung.

TW: Your earlier works feel a bit more monumental, but it looks like the current batch is around 8” x 10” or smaller. How do you think about scale when working?

ntw: I used to make really large paintings: 6’ x 6’, 5’ x 7’, 4’ x 4’. At that time I had a bigger studio space and was grappling with the legacy of abstract expressionist painters I admired and the desire to create works that had a physical presence. Now I am a bit more practical. Large paintings are hard to move and sell. My current studio is in my house and the ceiling is low, so I have scaled the work to fit the space. The transition was hard at first, but now I enjoy being able to hold a painting in my hand and manipulate it as I apply paint to the surface. Sometimes I like to make paintings that fit in my pocket. So, many new possibilities opened up. Now I am thinking about applying what I have learned about working small and scaling that back into larger paintings.

TW: While it’s pretty abstract, your work has a documentary feel to it; recording textures and process. Is there anything to that?

ntw: One of my earliest memories, as a toddler, is playing on the carpet in my grandparents living room with the morning sunbeams streaming in from the dining room and watching all these motes of dust floating and swirling through the light and being mesmerized by how beautiful it seemed. I think that sense of awe, vastness, simplicity, and warmth is what I am still seeking in my creative work.

Above: young neal t. walsh ponders his relationship to spacetime

TW: Have you explored light as a medium?

ntw: I have not experimented with light as a medium beyond making cyanotypes. I live in a rural area and love using the sun to expose images onto various surfaces. Light is so ephemeral, we can experience a particular slant of sunlight only once. I think the light I am chasing is not a physical light, but rather the essence and feeling of light—of that experience.

TW: This kid who was watching dust dance; tell us a bit more about them. About growing up. 

ntw: I grew up in suburban Cranston in the 70's & 80's surrounded by a close extended catholic family. The rhythm of the year was governed by the public school calendar and the Church calendar. Hanging out at the mall and roller rink, long summer days at the beach until lobster red, cold war anxiety, Boy Scout camping adventures that always seemed to fall on weekends with rain or arctic temperatures, unsupervised wanderings in suburbia exploring building sites, creeks, and other feral in-between spaces slowing becoming paved and built over.

TW: You’re now yourself the parent of a teen. How’s that impacted your work?

ntw: Having a child changes your life in ways that are unpredictable and unexpected; there is no denying that my daughter’s birth impacted my studio practice. When my daughter was born, we still lived in Providence and my studio was in the garage behind our house. She would come out and visit with my wife but at the time, it was not very clean or safe for a small child. I developed safer practices when we moved into the house. She grew up coming to the studio and we would often paint together or talk about art and what I was making. Violetta is 16 now and has her own interests but she still loves spending time in the studio and talking about the paintings I am working on, or artists and museums that we have recently visited or read about.

I also recently got back involved in a childhood hobby, Dungeons & Dragons. I started running a game for my daughter and her friends during covid. I then fell into the DIY / indy role playing game scene and it is very similar to indy art & music scene, even overlapping in some ways particularly in regards to the creative and collaborative world building that happens. How it will inform my studio practice is yet to be seen.

TW: As someone who has the day-job of curating and installing art shows, you’re being a Dungeon Master (DM) feels pretty on brand. 

ntw: I was the DM for the The Wandering Wafflers; my daughter & her friends adventuring group, for about a year and half. They all used to go to school together but then some moved, some switched schools, interests changed and everyone's schedule became full and hard to coordinate times to play. I recently ran a session of Cairn, a rules light and easy game, in person with a former Waffler, my daughter, and a friend. It was everyone's first time playing and we had a great time!

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Above: Two more recent works by walsh. Left: moss glow, 2021, oil on canvas on found wood, 7.5” x 4.25” x 1.75. Right: sinecure, 20222, oil, gold leaf, graphite, cut canvas, on wood, 5.25” x 9”

TW: D&D involves imagined travel but, what about real life travel? Any memorable trips that have meant something to you?

ntw: I have traveled to Europe twice: London and Paris in 1998, and Italy in 2015. London and Paris was a beautiful and melancholic trip, the last kiss of a long romance coming to an end. I returned and vowed to focus on painting and committing to being an artist. The trip to Italy was a family affair. My father-in-law, at 80, retired from running the opera company he founded, Michigan Opera Theater in Detroit, (now Detroit Opera) and decided on a family trip to Rome and his parent's birthplace in Calabria. The trip was all planned and arranged for and I just surrendered to the sights, sounds, and sensation of Italy. Italy taught me how to embrace a certain slowness and pleasure in small moments, taking time to enjoy small daily routines.

TW: What are your small moments and routines?

ntw: I do yoga at home 4-5 times a week when I can. I walk a lot with the dog. Eat mostly vegetarian. Try to go hiking as often as I can. I used to have a membership to the Eastside YMCA, mostly because they have a pool, and I really want to become a better swimmer. I am thinking about getting that going again in the fall. I have the vague aspiration to hike the length of Vermont's Long Trail in the Green Mountains, in stages.

TW: Cool trail! This reminds us that up top, you mentioned having moved to rural R.I. Where is rural and, give us a sense of life there.

ntw: In 2013 my family and I moved out to Foster, Rhode Island to live a bit closer to nature. I began what was dubbed by my skeptical wife, "the neal t walsh memorial natural history collection" and began dragging home all sorts of bones, mosses, stones, feathers, and bark samples. At some point some wasps had built a nest on the side of our house. One rainy, blustery, cold day in the late autumn/ early winter I climbed out on the roof to carefully remove the wasp nest and add to my collection. 

TW: This doesn’t sound like it’s going to end well.

ntw: As I was pulling and prying on the wasp nest I realized that it was very warm to the touch, warmer than a miserable cold wet day. I thought that was odd, but the nest pulled away and I had the sudden flash insight that the bit of research I read that wasp abandon their nests in winter, was in fact not true. As the nest came free into my hands, I immediately tossed it to the ground below and climbed back through the window. I grabbed a garbage bag and went out and tentatively approached the nest, no wasps had emerged as far as I could see, so I quickly scooped it up and put it into the garbage bag. I then proceeded to bring the garbage bag with the wasp nest into the house and placed it into the freezer and placed a warning sign on the refrigerator to not open the freezer.

Above: Selections from the neal t walsh memorial natural history collection

TW: And you just left it there?

ntw: A few months go by and spring has begun. I removed the wasp nest in the garbage from the freezer and moved it into my closet in my studio. My sister-in-law and nephew were visiting for my daughter's birthday in April. The winter was very long with a couple of March snow storms and the spring was slow to emerge. April was still wet and chilly but warming. At one point during the visit I was in my studio and noticed a wasp crawling around on the floor. And another. And another. Further examination revealed that there were quite a few wasps crawling out under the closet door. Where the wasp nest was. I open the windows in the studio. I close the door to the studio and make sure there is no gap at the bottom of the door and wait. After a couple of days of checking in and shooing out wasps, (on another day no one is home), I open the closet door and gingerly pick up the garbage bag with the wasp nest still inside and take it out and leave it behind the potting shed. I later in the summer recovered the remains of the nest and still have bits of it.

TW: neal, you really know how to live. In the “neal t walsh memorial natural history collection,” what are your favorite objects? 

ntw: This summer I recovered the skull of the old snapping turtle that lived in the pond across the road from our house. The snapping turtle had died at the very edge of a weedy area of the pond, mostly submerged with its neck fully extended. I would check in on the process of decay, and it was fascinating to watch. The shell flaked apart and all sorts of pond creatures feasted on the flesh until mostly bones remained. I’d like to think the turtle died of old age. It is important to note that the neal t walsh memorial natural history collection is ever fluctuating. After a brief stay in the collection, many organic objects are released back into their natural environment to carry on with their natural life cycle.

TW: We also heard you’re a master gardener? 

ntw: Garlic. I grow garlic.

TW: Hah. Well, besides the garlic work, you’ve been an active member of the art scene here for over two decades. In a city with an up-and-down economy, how have you made it work?

ntw: My creative practice does not pay the bills. I have been working at an arts nonprofit [AS220] for the last 20+ years and it provides some stability and family health insurance. We have been privileged to have family support and left with a modest inheritance that gives us a cushion of support and the possibility of a future retirement.

TW: AS220 has always aspired to be a place that platforms radical and progressive ideas. It sometimes lives up to that, sometimes exceeds expectations and, maybe sometimes falls short. But we’re curious about how these ideas show up in your own work—if at all?

ntw: While my studio practice is not directly linked to activism or social causes, activism is very much a part of my life. I have been involved in a number of projects over the years, including an anarchist collective working on legal fee fundraising and anti-globalization protests that turned to anti -war protests in the post 9/11 world. I was an early member /volunteer at Urban Greens when it was just a buying club working out of White Electric coffee shop, then the Dirt Palace, and then the WBNA. I co-founded Recycle-A-Bike with Mary Blue in 2001, and I served on the American Friends Service Committee in Southern New England. During most of this time I worked at AS220 as the Gallery Director, providing resources and opportunities to RI artists. I think it is a radical act to make art, to live a creative life, and imagine new relationships and ways of being. I am humbled by the amount of amazing and creative people I meet in Rhode Island and it reaffirms my belief that every person should have the chance to pursue a creative life.

Above: walsh’s studio, January 17, 2015

TW: Before AS220 you were involved with another curatorial project, Apt. 3. This was the early 2000s? What was that all about? 

ntw: Apt. 3 was a collaborative pop-up exhibition space in an unfinished 3rd floor apartment in the West End of Providence. Our first show was The Drawing Show, and we had an open call, inviting everyone we knew to submit work. We essentially wallpapered the entire apartment with drawings. The opening had a huge turnout and most amazing was watching people slowly take their time to look through every room and at every drawing. People were excited to share and see artwork by their peers and neighbors. Similar to today, there were so few gallery spaces or exhibition opportunities in Providence and people were eager to see new work. Apt. 3 only lasted a summer. We went on to do a couple more exhibits, but a disagreement with the landlord led to us losing access to the space. 

TW: Classic. We highly recommend the “Apartment Show” model to all aspiring curators. Looking back across this near 25-year career, what do you think your best work’s been? 

ntw: hmmm. Not sure but, I was invited to join the board of the Providence Biennial for Contemporary Art in January of 2023 and was involved in the launch of their curatorial mentoring program that culminated in the large scale exhibition Curating Commemoration: Poiesis / Remedy at WaterFire Arts Center. I had the opportunity to work with rising curators Melaine Ferdinand-King and Joel Rosario Tapia to realize their unique curatorial visions into a singular exhibit featuring over 50 artists and collectives. The exhibition was a great success and the opening a joyful celebration. This was the largest exhibition I had ever worked on with lots of logistics and challenges. I learned a great deal from the experience, expanded my knowledge of the local art community, and am feeling more grounded in the work I do at AS220 and as an artist.

TW: What’s coming up?

ntw: Other than constantly fretting about my daughter spending four months studying in France, this Spring and Summer I’m going to try to do some pop-up or, long weekend art shows out in Foster.

TW: What do you hope for Providence? 

ntw: I would like to see Providence, and the state of Rhode Island, invest more in public schools, civic infrastructure, art & culture, and affordable housing. The city prides itself on being a creative destination and place to live, but to keep Providence’s unique, vibrant, cultural mosaic requires real sustainable investments in communities, neighborhoods, and institutions. These investments must be guided and informed by the people that live here.

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neal t. walsh’s Our Days are Weatherworn opens at Galerie le Domaine this Thursday, August 15, 2024. The reception is from 5:30–7:00 PM.