in the weeds
Roman Susan at 1224 W Loyola Ave, Chicago IL
October 15 - October 17, 2021
What was in the weeds?
in the weeds was made during the pandemic. I was stuck in Canada doing my PhD there and the border to the U.S. was closed. I was thinking, reflecting a lot on memory and references. As someone who's an immigrant to Chicago, I came there when I was 8, and had these primal memories of childhood migration.
I was reflecting on those memories, and I was thinking a lot about politics globally, especially borders and controlled borders. I was stuck in Canada at that time, the border from the U.S. to Canada was closed. Being stuck indoors, I reflect a lot on the built environment. I was in close quarters with my then-spouse unable to leave the apartment except for short bouts by going walking. I was researching a lot, as our environments, natural and built, have a big impact on our psyche and sense of self and community. The concept of In the weeds comes from this phrase within American English, “I was in the weeds” meaning getting stuck in the micro, the minutiae and being unable to figure out one’s place. I was thinking a lot about that, and this constellation of thought around how in mainstream thought weeds are seen as unwanted. For example, typically we think of dandelions as weeds, but they are a medicine that Indigenous people use. I think a lot about how all of these plants within a colonial context, you would think of them as not supposed to be there – “Misbehaving.” But actually, they're meant to be there.
That constellation led me to an interview about this idea of “mowing the lawn.” A term used to describe killing Palestinians. I was connecting these social and political ideas around built environments and people, who or what features are seen as so-called normative, orderly and what isn't. What is seen out of place or exactly where they should be?
I use 3D animation to think through those things and this idea of “fresh cut grass” as this larger metaphor around manicuring and violence from the symbolic to the physical.
Why does the project open with, “the smell of America is fresh cut grass”?
I'm a multi-generational immigrant. When I migrated to the US as a kid, I remember walking to school as a kid in Chicago, in Albany Park, and I would smell this grass. As a child, I was very confused by the smell. Not because I hadn't seen grass before, but it never smelled this intense. It was mowed every month or so by the local municipalities.
I would smell grass in the morning, and it was such an intense smell. It woke me up and made an intense smell-memory in my mind as a kid because when you're new to a place, you're like trying to understand its politics and how this place “works.” What are unspoken, assumed and invisible rules of the land, its people and this place? What is everyone here already socialized to know and expect? What do I need to learn quickly as someone who is new here?
As a kid, my reference for built space and environment was in parts of the Global South. I say I'm a double migrant because I was born in Pakistan but I have heritage and ancestry that links me to the Arabian peninsula, East Africa and other parts of South Asia as well.
In many parts of the Global South, this kind of manicuring is really associated with the West or with a certain kind of upward mobility. There are other forms of manicuring nature in the Global South that are more in line with spiritual, medicinal or ornamental purposes associated with the way the plants grow and live within a shared environment. I found the mowing of grass alienating. That highly sort of structured manicuring of topiary edges that is predominant in the West.
What kind of choices are behind creating moving images?
One thing I did was lots of 3D camera panning with a meta-use of an image within an image within an image. The layered of picture-within-picture refers to the way a memory is made psychologically and its recall. This kind of editorial style of moving images with 3D animation related to the concept of this grass, this political idea mentioned by Gabor Mate of “mowing the lawn.” Politics, not only of plants, but also of what’s happening in Palestine that we've seen that's been heightened since that time.
This concept of “mowing the lawn” is illustrative of violence that extends from land, to people and through mechanization.
I'll use the idea of layering as well when it comes to the video. You'll see like the background's grass, but then the floor is grass. The lawnmower might be still, but you're hearing it. I was trying to create these like sonic references embedded in the moving image because violence is not only genocide, mass killing, it comes in layers through different forms -- sonic, procedural, erasure of memory, connection, taste and scent.
That scent of grass being cut, no matter where I am in the world, anytime I smell that smell, I'm brought back to being 8 years old. The question became for me, how do I mimic this scent memory I have that's so visceral that it transforms me back in time? How do I mimic that through moving images by layering and by sound design?
That became an interesting question for me to explore. You know, if I just cut some grass and put it in the gallery, it might bring that association up for me. But it will not necessarily have that association for others. It became an interesting challenge for me to think through moving imagery, sound, installation and through the idea of layers both sonically and visually. I ended up installing at as a video installation with a projection and audio on speakers with turf laid out to frame the projection.
The video places the term, Mowing the Lawn, with Israel’s terrorism in Palestine. Do you have any reflections on how the work has aged in these 4 years?
I'm a professor and I was talking about this with a friend the other day about academia at large. I'll just speak in generalities because it's not just a U.S.-related thing. It's a similar phenomenon in a lot of places. There's been an intense silencing of this issue, top down and also bottom up, because people are now self-surveilling and self-policing. In this environment, teaching in itself, learning in itself, has become a challenge.
I recall when I was a kid, because I had been in places where knowledge of oppression and violence had been more openly shared, I knew what was happening and I would try to educate my peers, other kids, around this issue when they would bring it up. I was very globally aware as a child, so I would tell others, and they would be they would not believe me.
I'm well into my late 30s now, and the world has completely shifted around this issue. It has been really powerful to see. And also, at the same time, very devastating. I was just talking with a friend earlier about how teaching young minds, while seeing these atrocities on your phone that are unconscionable, is really challenging.
There's this overt and covert gag order to not speak of this. To pretend as if it's not happening. It really changes the way you see the world, and it makes your demand and need for a better world more deeply rooted.
The question becomes, what kind of world have we built if we're supposed to be highly productive while we're seeing this haunting and despicable imagery on our phones?
It has been a strengthening for me personally, my larger goal of a more loving world where things like this will not happen to anyone. That's been the message.
Where does this project sit within your art practice at large?
One thing since this project is that, being in the art world, digital art world, the academic world, is that now that I've been here for such a long time, I’ve seen these different movements come, ascend and descend. I've been able to claim my area, you know, or my particular sort of interest.
Since then, I've coined a term called “digital somatics” which means to connect the body through technology in ways that are healing and slow down time. Now you might say, why slow down time? Well, technology connects us, right? You're in Chicago, I'm in India. We're here at the same time, relatively.
Technology also makes things go faster than what they really are. For example, you get an email; you feel like you need to respond to it immediately. In the way we use technology now, it shortens time in ways that help us be more productive. It really does a number on our minds and our bodies. You might get an email or message, you feel anxious or you might feel happy. The digital and physical are deeply connected in more ways than one. Since that time, I've coined this term, “digital somatics” and I have started making installations and workshops about this term, how to connect the body through technology by more meaningful meditative exchanges.
Recently, I was part of an exhibition at the New Museum in New York as part of Year 11 NEW IN cohort in Art & Code where I exhibited Watering the somatic oasis installation at DEMO Festival, I also conducted an artist talk there. As people put on a VR headset, I created a virtual experience of their breath. How deeply they breathe controls the various objects in their VR headset. So we're using technology, slow down time, and reconnect to the body in that way through their breath.
In the past, more recently, last year, I had a solo exhibition, Lullabies for the stars in our eyes at Women and Their Work, which is a gallery in Austin, Texas, and I created an immersive space, including virtual reality, and I created bukhoor, a custom scent.
As people breathe in the custom scene with a VR headset on, my avatar, a 3D star, guides them through a meditative process. So it's like, how can I use somatics: Smell, touch, taste, all of those things and more, to use technology and ways to reconnect the body. Because we often think about these two things as separate, mutually exclusive, but actually, they were a lot more entangled than they may seem.
With exploring digital memory, bodily experience and scent, I've created spaces with virtual reality that include scent and somatic practices that ground and reconnect the body and mind.
What was it like being an artist in Chicago?
Oh, I only recall Chicago with like extreme nostalgia and joy. I was lucky to have been raised there and really blossomed and gained power in my 20s there. I was lucky enough to be part of the queer house scene in my 20s. I think Berlin recently closed down, but there are a bunch of other clubs too. I was part of that generation of artists in our 20s. Yeah, I only recall Chicago with extreme nostalgia.
I went to SAIC in my undergrad, got two degrees there, my BFA and BA. Then I went off to 26, went to Texas to get my master's. And then after that, I went to Canada, got my PhD from Canada, and then moved to Oregon to be a professor of digital art.
What is your relationship to Roman Susan?
I remember when I was in my 20s, I would go there for openings. They would be like first Fridays. Many galleries would hold openings at the same time and I’d walk around the area. I always saw Roman Susan as a great community space, for people to make life long connections and opportunities to forge connections and get involved. I was part of Streetlight, an inventive screening that occurred by projecting videos from the window out to the street, which had a way of making the space visible and inviting curiosity, then I was part of another screening around re-envisioning Chicago historical architecture. For my solo exhibition, In the weeds, we were part of the Chicago Architecture Biennial, which was a treat and I had a great time working to install my solo show. I remember when I had my opening, there were parents, there were kids, my friends were there. We need more space like that, multigenerational, diverse and inviting. It was lovely. So yeah, it's a shame that the space was not being held in that respect by Loyola, and I hope that there are other manifestations of it. Especially in this time, where community art spaces and places that galvanize these really important discourses are very much needed.
What do you have going on now, and what do you have going on in the future?
Right now, I'm on a creative arts fellowship in India awarded by the American Institute of Indian Studies. I've been here for about 6 months. I'm going on another fellowship in Stuttgart, Germany called Schloss Solitude and conducting another one in Riyadh soon.
Other artist histories: Tallulah Cartalucca // Julietta Cheung // Kandis Friesen // Steven Husby // Juan Molina Hernández // Kevin Norris // Ruby Que // Olive Stefanski // Chiffon Thomas // Gwyneth Zeleny Anderson