Seeing and Being: Kiam Marcelo Junio on Filipino Kitchen

In the last week of November, Sector 2337 is posting interviews and articles with artists who are contributing to our Dec 2nd fundraiser, New Age Now. Chicago-based writer, Kathleen Rooney will contribute to the curated, artist-made menu of transcendental delights with their “Vegan caramels with mango, coconut, and sea salt”  and ” Tea in 3 Ways, satchels for people to take home and use as desired, whether as a tea, a ritual bath, or offerings on their altar which includes: Himalayan pink salt, Sri Lankan cinnamon, star anise, Ultra Blue lavender, Chinese ginger, hyssop, green cardamom, and Sevilla orange.” Last year, Junio created a cookbook that was discussed at length, along with its intersection in their artistic practice, on the Filipino Kitchen. An excerpt from that article is below.


The headline of an April 21, 2015, Washington Post article by Tim Carman declared, “At long last, Filipino food arrives.”

And yet, haven’t Filipinos been here in the US all along? Since the 1760s, yes, we have.

While defining “existence” can be a game of perspective or semantics, existing in the recognized public, in the cultural, political and social arenas, and in commercial and business worlds also connotes visibility and hence legitimacy. Filipino food may not have existed for some audiences in the US because there were no recognized Filipino restaurants. Across our wide experience, Filipinos live with, negotiate and transcend such invisibilities.

With their genderqueer performance persona Jerry Blossom, Chicago-based multidisciplinary artist Kiam Marcelo Junio addresses visibility and presence in “Filipino Fusions,” a six-part online cooking show and cookbook.


In 2013, Kiam was approached by Inside the Artists’ Kitchen, a food and arts journal that chronicles an artist’s practice through a conversation at their home while cooking and sharing a meal. Kiam pitched the idea to create a cooking show with Filipino food hosted by their performance persona. (Author’s note: Kiam’s prefered gender prounouns are ‘they’ and ‘their.’)

“I decided to approach it through a queer lens by using my alter ego, Jerry Blossom, who I had performed for several years, in semi-drag,” said Kiam.

They developed Jerry Blossom, initially, for burlesque—an orientalism subversion and empowered pseudonym—but it quickly became a way for Kiam to explore and express queerness and femininity.

“All of these things that I had [been] told not to be, growing up in a Catholic household, and then going into the Navy—into this super-hyper-masculine environment. I needed a way to let out who I was, and all of the parts of me that I had been hiding.”

Along their artistic career, Kiam has used Jerry Blossom in performance to claim spaces for queer expression. As the alter ego in Filipino Fusions, Jerry’s confluence of various identities and experiences converge—a queer one, a vegetarian one and a Filipino one simultaneously. This confluence of identity is where the name, “Filipino Fusions,” comes from, not the inauthentic, anachronistic manner that most food historians understand the same term, according to this February 2014 article in the Wall Street Journal, “Don’t Call It Fusion.”

Before this project, Kiam had not used cooking or food in their artistic practice, though it was an idea that intrigued them for a long time. Kiam recounted why they wanted to do a cooking show. “[I told them,] I really want to delve more into Filipino food and Filipino cuisine, and reconnect to that culture because I feel like I’ve kind of been taken away from it—some of it by choice, some of it by circumstances,” Kiam remembered.

Filipino Fusions can be seen as a result of Kiam’s desire to reconnect to their roots and to publicly represent their intersections of identity and culinary heritage amongst the resurgence of popular food culture in the US.

Read the rest of this article here.


Temporary Psychic Respite: An Interview with Matt Sage

For the next month, The Green Lantern Press is publishing interviews and articles with artists who have donated work for the 2016 fundraiser, New Age Now. What follows is an interview with Matt Sage from Patient Sounds. Matthew Sage is an interdisciplinary artist, educator, writer, and publisher/editor living in Chicago. He is interested in creating works that negotiate and trouble the liminal territories between physical bodies/spaces and their digital counterparts. Sage owns and operates Patient Sounds, a private press record label and book publisher established in 2009 and has performed or installed works at SAIC Sullivan Galleries, Sector 2337, Public Access (Chicago), and MOMA PS1 (NYC). Currently, Sage is an adjunct professor at Wilbur Wright College, where he teaches composition and critical reading with a focus on science fiction and technopolitics, ethics and aesthetics in the Anthropocene, and digital/classical media analysis.

Patient Sounds will perform at the fundraiser on Friday December 2, from 10PM – Midnight.

Lara Schoorl: What is Patient Sounds?

Matthew Sage: Patient Sounds is a private press record label and book publisher currently based in Chicago, though originally founded in Northern Colorado. The label started on a very small scale in 2009 as an avenue for a small circle of like-minded individuals looking to publish our work on a small scale. It has since expanded to include artists from all over the world. We create cassette tapes, vinyl records, chapbooks, and other publications and forms of data that propagate considered artworks.

Caroline Picard: What is it about cassette tapes that interests you?

MS: The cassette is interesting to me for three primary reasons. First: they are cheap, and can be quickly reproduced; compared to vinyl or CDs, the production turnaround is much easier. They are also more affordable to consumers for this reason. Second: I appreciate them for being a watershed technology. Consumer music technology moves very quickly and left a rather fetching mode for listening to music to become obsolete. I am glad to say counter culture has helped rescue the cassette from obsolescence. Third: I love the aesthetics of the tape. The packaging and design possibilities offer many opportunities for unique design. I mean to say, they are highly designable, but also incredibly utilitarian. These qualities give them a verisimilitude; they are handsome but they are also very affordable consumer objects. This is why they interest me.

LS: What do you have planned for the performance at the Green Lantern Press fundraiser?

MS: The performance will be durational, lasting roughly two hours, and will balance a chance operation computer-driven sound engine with live improvisation and instrumental incantation. Consider this somewhere between a Cageian chance operation performance and a low-level spiritual free jazz blow out. We hope not to be the focal point, but instead, to create an atmosphere for beings in the gallery to dwell in.

LS: That sounds otherworldly in an android-feeling way. I also heard something about psychedelic minstrels?

MS: You heard correctly. Also, there may be druids involved. Also, synthesizers.

LS: Ha, that is amazing. Who do you make art/music for?

MS: Instead of a (who), as a label, we tend to consider it more a (when) or (where). The work we make and publish on Patient Sounds is generally engineered or curated with the creation of an environment in mind. We aim to provide sound/language/images, in whatever mode, that can be used by any listener to evoke lucid environments, and create considered spaces for thought. This is more generally speaking, because that may seem to be very generically narrow; Patient Sounds does not focus on one particular genre or style of music, but instead, champions those making work on their own terms with what tools they have available to them. In turn, we also strive to include any and all listeners, readers, viewers, to explore the spaces/times we have provided.

LS: Yes, it is really nice how the music and/or writing that you publish transgresses the borders of writing, for examples, cassettes become chapbooks. How has Chicago and/or community influenced your work? 

MS: The openness of both artists and audience in this city have made working in Chicago thrilling. The influence of having this sort of openness has pushed us collectively to take more risks, and with risks come failure, and with failure comes learning, and with learning comes the reward of expanding definitions for what success can look or sound like. It has influenced the label, and myself as an artist, immensely, and I am incredibly grateful for the arts community in this city.

CP: What does the premise of “New Age” mean to you today? How did you connect with it when organizing your performance?

MS: Though I am not a New Age scholar, as a fan of music, I have enjoyed many a Shadowfax and George Winston LPs sprung from record store dollar bins. That was my New Age initiation. Much of ambient or minimal home recording being produced now owes enormously to the 60s-90s New Age canon. So, when approaching this performance, I wanted to integrate the elemental awareness I see in this sort of New Age music.  How can we bring water or fire or wind or earth into the sounds? Winston’s works based on the seasons were fundamental to my approach.

I am also very interested, especially given the current political climate, in making healing music: not music that itself heals, but rather music that offers listeners an environment wherein they can contemplate and find healing within themselves. I don’t know if music itself can heal, but I feel offering listeners a place to enjoy either communal or isolated tranquility – not as escapism, but as temporary psychic respite – is affording them a chance to return to the world outside of that music, reenergized, full of love, and prepared to stand against hate.



How Does When: An Interview with Heather Mekkelson


For a long time, Heather Mekkelson produced elaborate installations, combining found and fabricated materials to stage disaster’s aftermath—plane crashes or floods, for instance. I wrote about one such installation at a former apartment gallery. In the last few years, however, Mekkelson had a profound shift—moving away from disaster source material in favor of more abstract assemblages that reflect upon astronomy, astrophysics, and the task of human consciousness to locate itself. Mekkelson is a multidisciplinary artist working primarily in sculpture and installation. Born in New York, raised in dozens of East Coast, Mid-Atlantic, and Midwestern locations, she is currently based in Chicago. Her work has been exhibited in group shows in galleries and institutions nationally since 2001; it has been featured in Art Journal, Art21 Magazine,, Artnet, Flavorpill, Hyperallergic, Newcity, and Time Out Chicago. She has been the recipient of several fellowships and grants including the 2012 Artadia Award. Mekkelson is represented by 65GRAND. This interview was conducted as part of a month-long series of posts, featuring artists who are contributing to The Green Lantern Press’ 2016 fundraiser, New Age Now.

Caroline Picard: Do you see a difference between fabricating objects and finding objects? 

Heather Mekkelson: I give the same amount of working-through to the found components as to the fabricated. In this way, I don’t place a difference between the two as I’m making a piece. The platform I build from is a neutral, non-hierarchical ground. Everything is equally material. When a found object is incorporated, the residual “thingness” it imparts to the final piece is a purposeful index—I welcome it. In those instances, where a found object isn’t everything I’m looking for, I will fabricate a component that resembles the original but improves upon it. It’s a very fluid categorization for me.

CP: I want to say that the disaster-oriented work inspired an almost implosive feeling, whereas your work now feels very expansive. Does that make any sense to you?

HM: Yes, in two ways. First, it resonates when I think about the sources of these two bodies of work. Consider the force of destruction in a disaster event. The natural energy that creates that moment builds by looping in on itself, focusing all of its effort on a localized area, leaving in its wake a specific field of fragments. My current body of work departs from that past, localized energy and turns our attention to a potential, expansive one. Envisioning the what-could-be is almost like its psychological countering effect…To go from staring at the tangible on the ground, to lifting your head up to the sky.

Second, in terms of time. Time depicted in the disaster work was like a temporal hiccup. The installations were frozen snap-shots of one precise moment in linear time. In the current work, I question time in and of itself—if it even exists. If it does, it reaches everywhere, simultaneously and in more dimensions than we can measure. So instead of the question, when did this event happen, the question is, does “when” even exist?

CP: How do you question time in sculpture? Is it a matter of changeless-ness? In Northwest Africa Via Mercury, for instance, there are multiple temporal registers—the salad bowl has one lifetime, the rock another, the tape, and then the paint evokes star time, but I feel like the intersection of those registers might be what you’re getting at…?

HM: That is the question!—maybe an impossible one for me to answer, but nevertheless, the one that challenges me. It does have to do with a certain “changeless-ness” in that sculpture is stubbornly based in form. Using a medium that results in a blatantly physical, obdurate thing seems antithetical to expressing a formless concept such as time. It’s a wonderfully daunting task. I have noticed, using assemblage in particular, that each component does a lot of the temporal work on its own. Whether the object is recognizable or not, it carries its own potential, its own history. Then my associations come into play. Likewise, with symbolism and metaphor. It could be the fusion of these that allows the sculpture to dance on multiple registers at once.

CP: What role does intuition have in your work now? And has that changed over the years?

HM: I view intuition as a separate source of insight, rather than something that is driven from experience. Like an internal oracle providing guidance beyond discursive or immediate knowledge. In most of my previous work, matters of source material, justification, and rationalization mediated the role of intuition. With my work now, I have even more research going into it, but intuition has become the paramount rationale for exploring theories about the universe and the unseen, sometimes incomprehensible forces in our universe. Giving it free rein, intuition is the tool that allows me to simultaneously bypass and encapsulate plain intelligence to target the essence of a thing.

CP: What is the relationship between one’s intuition and one’s aesthetic?

HM: I think aesthetics are derived from instinct—very different from intuition. Instinct exists in reaction to the external world whereas intuition is a force emanating from within. To expand on that; if intuition comes from unconscious/subconscious/preconscious knowledge crystallized into a thought, instinct (and in this case aesthetics) comes from previous experiences and tangible, sensorial impressions. This isn’t to say that my aesthetic choices don’t surprise me! Only that I trust those decisions come from the accumulated physical intelligence of working in sculpture for this long.



With a Bite: An Interview with Sofia Leiby

For the next few weeks, The Green Lantern Press is publishing interviews and articles with artists who have donated work for the 2016 fundraiser, New Age Now. In the following conversation, Sofia Leiby reflects on the myth of genius and mark making within her own painting practice. Leiby is an artist based in New York. Solo exhibitions include The Making of a Beyonder at Kimmerich (Berlin); Thinking Creatively With Pictures at Clifton Benevento (NYC); and abcdefghijklmnop at Michael Jon & Alan (Miami). Her work has been featured in Artforum, Modern Painters, PAPER and Her writing has been published in BOMB Magazine.

Caroline Picard: Can you talk a little bit about how you play with what an “authentic” mark of a painter is?

Sofia Leiby: I came to painting with such suspicion of it, that it carried this idea that there was some singular genius making the paintings, driving its appeal. Maybe I felt like I could never have that, or in my field of experience that kind of work was being done by men. I envied it, I was jealous of their easy confidence with mark-making. I feel like because of my own internalized misogyny I didn’t look at female heroes the same way. So I moved away from looking at so much Abstract Expressionism for inspiration and methodology and I started looking at drawings my little brother made in middle school and doodles on envelopes from my grandfather, as well as people whose work I incidentally saw on Instagram. I gathered up the material and photographed, copy and pasted, traced, collaged, drew and re-drew, until it became some kind of a soupy mix, converging with my own hand. This pursuit of the mix is what drives the work. I try to not just direct the needle towards ‘self taught’ artists or whatever, but instead try to focus on how standards of value regarding the mark are elastic.

CP:  Do you think of your approach as one of appropriation? Or quotation?

SL: Primarily it is a painterly approach that involves quotation.

CP: You mentioned that this paintingMyrtle Av #2 (2015) pulls marks made at the Blick store by (probably) Pratt students — what happens when you excavate those marks into a supposedly high art/finished art context? I almost want to pull in someone like Keith Haring as a point of reference…

SL: Keith Haring is interesting because his work pulled from street art contexts. I am thinking about the chance painterly mark, made by people who might be distracted or using a marking tool in a utilitarian way, like testing out a marker at the art supply store. To me the marker testing is a nuanced mark-making gesture, no matter who its author is. Often it is collaborative, with people unconsciously or consciously conversing using text and image with other people who have tested out pens. One time I found a friend’s full name and address in her handwriting on a Blick pad and she didn’t remember writing it.

CP: I’m also interested in this translation from the digital space of instagram into painting– 

SL: I do post my work on Instagram, and I had to get used to people looking at paintings at a two by two inch square size. You couldn’t even zoom in until recently. My focus is on works that are best experienced in person, but I’m sure having the app influences how I make work as it does every other artist who doesn’t have enough self control to keep their work off Instagram. At the risk of sounding cynical, IMHO, this is part of the reason why you see so many colorful and iconographic artworks and airbrush paintings with brushless strokes and tiny errors that evaporate in a photograph in shows and major collections right now, because they translate seamlessly from a large scale to a tiny scale and back again.

CP:  I’m also thinking about this because I listened to a recording you made for Lise Haller Baggesen’s recent Threewalls exhibition, Hatorade Retrograde,  where you read a self-composed text describing what it was like to be an older, gender-conscious painter. That text describes some of the difficulties of being a female painter. Do you feel like there is a connection between the “mark” of a painter and her body? 

SL: Yes. My bodied and lived experience is of course filtered through color and mark, choice of imagery, collage, ideas I choose to pursue, etc. I paint differently when I’m getting laid or not, freelancing, sleeping too much, sleeping too little, working a 9-5 job, living in NYC, living in Chicago, etc. Once, I made a blue and brown painting that accidentally ended up the exact two shades of a light blue bag with a brown coffee stain on it that had been hanging on the clothing rack across from my bed for months.  I like the idea of things filtering through some odd unintentional form of osmosis.

An artist told me once that he could “always tell when a woman had made a painting.” That made me seethe with anger but I also realized my anger conflicted with my own ideas about my gender and my work. I am trying to shrug off my distrust of the idea of each person having a personalized mark, because it is quite hard to make paintings whilst having this feeling—this divorcing of subjectivity from art making. I like silkscreen because it distances my hand from the canvas. I don’t have an answer or resolution here, besides I do not usually address my gender in my work; although I would say I would like it to operate in a feminist way, with a bite, because that is where my personal politics lie, and my work is an extension of me.


Alchemical Processes: An Interview with Aay Preston-Myint

For the next few weeks, The Green Lantern Press is publishing interviews with artists who have donated work for our 2016 fundraiser, New Age Now. The following excerpted article was originally published in Bad at Sports in 2011.

Caroline Picard: You’ve been in Chicago for a number of years and have continued to work with different organizations I was thinking as far back as Diamonds/Texas Ballroom for instance, No Coast of course and many others I was wondering if you could talk about your participation in those different organizations; how your role has varied? Do you feel like your participation in different communal structures has impacted your visual work?

Aay Preston-Myint: Well, Diamonds and Texas were two iterations/sections of the same artists collective in warehouse space in Bridgeport, back in the day. We all did our share of programming and running events, mostly art shows and music, and let’s not forget parties. No Coast was a similar collective/consensus structure but centered around the concept and physical space of a bookstore, shared studio space, in addition to an open community workshop. When I look at these and other organizations I’ve been involved with (the online curatorial project Monsters and Dust, the experimental cultural center Mess Hall, and the microgrant/queer dance party called Chances), the difference is not so much in work or ‘roles,’ but the content of each project itself. These are ventures that have all been run by consensus to serve a specific audience or community. As such, roles can shift depending on interest, ability, and the needs of our contingents. I think the impact on my own work has been that I have a desire to engage, entertain, and encourage dialogue through my practice. I enjoy using color, a richness in materials, humor, mystery/seduction, and participation to engage the viewer. Creating a gravitational pull, drawing people into an active space that’s what all the organizations I work with have done.

CP: Do you categorize different aspects of your art practice?

APM: In a way those divisions (solo work, collaborations, and design/commissions) are often a matter of convenience an easy way of categorizing, but the nature of the work is different too. I think my solo work has more of a clear narrative, using conceptual, material, and stylistic threads that weave in and out of the work. Collaborations of course deal with similar concepts and interests. However that work tends to take on forms, processes, or issues that I don’t always deal with on my own because of the influence of my partners each collaboration tends to stand apart. The design work, while perhaps more aesthetically my own, is a whole other beast, often because it’s not used in an art context, and also because the content is decided by the client and maybe even pushed to the background. I think each category exhibits a different kind of development over time, and it can be interesting to compare how they are disparate but also influence one another. From the subject matter of my solo work, to the clients I choose to design for: there are connections that become apparent when you zoom out.

“Untitled (Habitat) rope, neon lights, oak, enamel and latex paint, satin, sports mesh, thread, flies, shellac, wig-infused rum 10′ x 14′ x 5′

CP: Will you talk a little bit about your relationship to materials?

APM: Responding to materials have always been a key part of my work. For a while, when I drew it was almost like I had an issue with attention span; I needed something to respond or anchor myself to, a fabric, wallpaper, a photograph I disliked drawing on a blank surfaces. Now it’s more about responding to the social, historical, or affective associations with an object or material rope, a flag, hair, light, even scent. I think in a body of work like mine which is so about embodiment the choice of materials is really key when interpreting form.

CP: I’m also really curious about your Hybrid Moments Project can you talk about that a little?

APM: Hmm, yes as you can tell from the text banner series that I made a couple years ago, I like to use pop songs as titles and content sometimes. After I made the first series of screenprints, Hybrid Moments seemed to be the right phrase to contain my work at the time I think of the title more as a container than the name of a single “project.” I think it still works for the prints and maybe some of the discrete/smaller sculptures, but not so much for the larger sculptures anymore. But in general, it’s the body of work I’m engaged with now. The works make propositions of what mutating, unpredictable forms that community, identity, and the environment both built and natural may take on in an unspecified future moment all through the lens of a critical queerness.

CP: Do you have a static, projected future point that your work is speaking to? Or does that future-vision shift, depending on what your working on?

APM: The future I depict is definitely mutable and unpredictable, that’s kind of the crux of my whole viewpoint. I think part of the criticality of my work is that our projections of the future never match up to what we imagine I use mutation as a metaphor or allegory for that unpredictability. As soon as one struggle is overcome, new power relations form in place of old ones. Often abuses and rivalries emerge instead of coalitions. The future I imagine is always out of reach.

“It Gets Worse,” open edition of digital/offset prints dimensions variable 2011-ongoing

CP: It makes me want to ask the same question about your lens. Is your lens of critical queerness also static? Do you apply that lens to the present as well? Or is it solely intended as a future-looking tool?

APM: Going off my last answer, the lens definitely applies to the present. Our current struggles are direct results of what we desire or imagine our future to be. I think the It Gets Worse series points to those connections/disconnections. Is marriage a queer issue? Or are supermax prisons and police states a queer issue? Both? Is one more urgent than the other? Why? The national discourse is really far behind with regard to what’s actually being said, thought, and done in queer communities across class, race, and trans/gender lines. How can we make the definition of queer issues and following that, queer identity more fluid and open in order to more successfully meet the challenges of the future?


Read the rest of this interview here.