The Full Non-Interview

Who are you? I am a human. What kind of human? The spiritual being having a human experience at this moment in time. I am a person who's learning to co-create with the universe. A male Chinese Canadian living in California. Former pastor. Artist, struggling artist. Someone who has courage and anxiety. Someone who's just been through a familial gauntlet. Someone who has a lot of life left, and at the core of me, I am love.

Why? Because. 

What lesson has your work taught you? Give up control. Stop judging. 

Tell me something you've created that you love. Two young human men. Love. Our current life in Los Angeles. I don't know if I love any of my art yet. 

Have you experienced any miracles, and if so, explain. I've experienced two miracles of life—my boys, miracles of love—you, and miracles of dying to oneself and being reborn. The miracle of that cactus garden at the botanical garden in Pasadena. I flew to Australia—it seems pretty miraculous. My father went his entire life without having a conversation with me, that also seems kind of miraculous. I don't know… we have an orange tree, pretty miraculous. Skunks and hummingbirds. Sun comes out every day. Lots of miracles. 

What makes life worth living? Discovery of life. What the fuck is this all for? And then: can I participate? Love. Being loved. Art. Martinis.

All right, one more question.

An incredible bookstore? Yvon Lambert, Arcana, Hauser & Wirth—those are my favorites.

The Full Non-Interview

Who are you? Jeremy Tucker.

What makes life worth living? Fluidity. 

How do you define success? I mean, I usually don't. I don't think it's definable. But I guess if the question is, how do I, Jeremy, define success for me? I'm so conscious of my hand making art right now. I'm not looking, but I'm cognizant of it. Success would be, oh gosh, letting go. 

What lesson has your work taught you? It's all going to be OK. I'm feeling weirdly empowered to be incredibly short and simple. I don't know why. I'm typically not. So that's a learning. That's an observation. 

What question do you like asking people? What are you most excited about? 

What are you most excited about? Building work things. 

If you were a color? Black. 

A quality you admire. Confidence. 

What do you collect? Money. 

A moment that moved you deeply. Coming out of the sewer tube in Shawshank redemption. 

A favorite childhood memory. Taking my brand new BMX bike into the park. 

What do you know now that you did not know? That I know very little. 

What do you miss most? There's a child having tantrums and that's what I miss the most. The freedom to just express all of my emotions and then go home, get fed by my mother, and go to sleep, and wake up. 

Why? Why my answer to that last question? Or why? Why is the universe? And you're if it's purely up to me I'd say why is the universe? And the answer is there is no reason. There is no why. 

An incredible bookstore. Oh the place you showed me—that's still my favorite in New York…I just forget what it's called. McNally at the sea port? McNally. Yep. 

Three words to describe what ‘very you’ is like. Tall. Dramatic. Rational. 

Something you've created that you love. This business. 

Your biggest influence. Fear. 

Why? There is no why. 

Why? That's awesome. That's so funny. There is no why. I'm sticking to it. There is no why.

Think of foundational strategy as a design brief for your interior design business.

A good brief is the blueprint for a successful project. It defines the objectives, the aesthetic and/or feel, the process and the timelines. It gets everyone on the same page to move forward with confidence. It’s the centerpiece of the design process.

A good foundational strategy does the same thing: it defines your business goals and the milestones along the way, clarifies the look and feel of your business and brand, and outlines the value you bring to your clients.

Your foundations are a collection of elements that become the central source of decision-making for everything your business does, from your marketing strategy to your team culture. Ultimately, your foundations will be unique to your company but in general they spell out the ‘why, how, and what’ of your design shop.

And while it shouldn’t be written in stone (things evolve), it does need to be written somewhere.

“Follow your independent thought processes, creativity, voice, vision—whatever the word you want to use. Right now, that’s actually the toughest thing to do because we’re bombarded. But being true to who you are without being too influenced by the noise is crucial to success. Also, being able to look back and think, Yeah, that was me. I did that, and that felt right and true, is so rewarding.”
—Faye Toogood, Architectural Digest

Foundations clarify focus.

As idea-people in a high-input world, it’s easy to get distracted. Should you hire another designer? Why does this unexpected opportunity feel ‘right’? Why this project over the one?

Foundations get specific about the future vision of your business so you can form confident decisions about how to spend your very precious time. For teams, it’s especially empowering have shared goals so you can work both independently and collaboratively toward them.

Foundations center what you’re best at and allow you to evolve.

Your voice, philosophy, or approach: these outline the most intrinsic aspects of your practice to build on and deepen over time. Humans need words to discuss, sort out, get to the core of an idea, and create together: this becomes your vocabulary for growth.

“Light, air and comfort—these three things I must always have in a room.”
“I believe in optimism & plenty of white paint.”
“The cardinal virtue of all beauty is restraint.” 
―Elsie de Wolfe  

Make it a studio practice to discuss your foundational beliefs and design approach. Take time to articulate ‘why’ you’ve made certain decisions. Put words around the deeper reasons as well as the aesthetics. The practice gives you and your team the conviction to make decisions independently and sell your work to clients.

“I have always had a passion for what some people consider clashing colours. I call them vibrating colours—for instance, vermilion, shocking pink, puce, salmon pink and blue pink. I like them with aubergine. All reds go together, and I include both pink and orange in the red family.”
—David Hicks

Foundations attract your best people.

Like attracts like. In politics and echo chambers this concept is dicey, but for finding aligned collaborators, it’s a mutual win. Whether they’re new employees, future partners, or your best clients, a solid strategic foundation clarifies who you are aligned with so you can attract people who will help you to grow, and vice versa.

Even now I see patterns in my design that I didn’t see five years ago. My style and my voice are continuing to evolve, and my clients and projects help to shape that.” —Kelly Wearstler

Foundations create efficiency.

Establishing your foundational strategy is very much summed up in the 10/90 rule in smart goal-setting. It says that the first 10% of the time that you spend developing absolute clarity about what is to be done, you’ll save 90% of the time in execution. It can also save you 90% of the mistakes, the costs, and the time of other people involved.

If your design process isn’t defined, or if you haven’t checked in with it in a few years, it’s a good idea to put some attention there. You’ll thank yourself in the end.

Foundations inspire motivation.

Your foundations should speak in some way to the reason you started designing in the first place. If you ground your work in something personal, it will carry you through the challenge and hard times. What brings you joy? Are you fighting against an injustice? Do you believe in a better way to live in the world?

If you’re emotional, have emotion in your foundations. If you’re pragmatic, go with a mission statement. I’m a poet, so my foundations sound a bit like a poem.

Find ways to embed genuine meaning in your work and watch where it takes you.

“What is the goal? A house that is like the life that goes with it, a house that gives us beauty as we understand it—and beauty of a nobler kind that we may grow to understand.” 
—Elsie de Wolfe

“Design is coming to grips with one’s real lifestyle, one’s real place in the world. Rooms should not be put together for show but to nourish one’s wellbeing.”
—Albert Hadley

“Our philosophy is a belief that a home should be a personal expression of your soul. It should represent the way you want to live, the ideas that define your tastes, perspectives, and connections to the world.”
—Axel Vervoordt

Foundations are the core of a strong brand.

If it’s not already clear, I’m a word person—I think seriously about how words can shape and manipulate our understanding of reality.

And, I’m adamantly opposed to using the word ‘brand’ to refer a group of creative professionals. It rubs me the wrong way. Here’s how I see it: A ‘brand’ is how a business is experienced from the outside, ie: your audience experiences your brand. But you run a business. And at the core of that business are human people.
(Stay with me…)

The issue with calling a company a ‘brand’ is that it puts more emphasis on how they’re perceived than how they work together as a group of individuals.

What is important is the quality and impact of what you create. What’s important is your team’s shared love for design, and finding ways to grow and challenge each other in a meaningful way. What’s important is the authenticity of the relationships you build with your clients and partners. That is the actual heart of your business: your people and the culture you create within your four walls. NOT your brand.

And with this important strategic foundation in place, your brand can become something truly special: a way to invite people in who will fall in love with everything you create as a team, supporting you as you evolve, even when you make mistakes and hard decisions along the way.

Learn more about my consulting

The (very rough, very general) idea is that you don’t think, at least not consciously, and you just let the drawing or writing happen, opening up access to the unconscious mind… “releasing the unbridled imagination of the subconscious.”

The Art World term is ‘Automatism’, which is a word taken from physiology to describe unconscious bodily movements, like breathing or sleepwalking. 

Drawing as simply as breathing. Writing as simply as breathing. Creating as simply as breathing. It’s an easy idea to be enamored with.

Automatism was (ironically, very consciously) cemented into the process of making art by André Breton via the Surrealism around the 20’s. No less, in the form of a Manifesto (the most conscious expression of beliefs next to the Bible? But let’s put that aside; the world is full of contradictions… as is covered in the Dada manifesto that precedes it, but I digress.)

It’s creativity that is specifically NOT guided by a moral lesson (like the ceiling of the Vatican) or societal influence (like instaaaa?). In general it’s a break from the concept of tradition. It allows you to be free and see what surfaces. It’s the practice of being a kid again, uninhibited by all the arbitrary constructs we’ve built around ourselves as the weirdo human beings we are. 

The Non-Interview Setup

In Automatic Non-Interviews, I draw on a magic potion of chance, free association, and distraction to essentially play with the non-interviewee. There are two outputs: something verbal and something visual. 

The verbal is roughly a series of questions and answers. I have a bunch of questions related loosely to ‘creative voice’ crumpled on pieces of paper in a bowl. I’ll pull as many as we want—the non-interviewee says when to stop. I ask the question out loud and the non-interviewee replies. Not necessarily an answer—an automatic reply. Just going with whatever feels natural.

As a distraction AND a separate but related output, the non-interviewee is drawing throughout the whole event, but not looking down. They can either introduce an additional element of chance by asking unrelated people to provide the substrate and drawing tool, or they can choose it themselves with tons of thought behind it. Also, they can put a barrier between the drawing and their eyes, or choose to leave it open. It’s all up to them -ish.

What will happen?!?

I have no idea what will come out of these interactions, and that’s the fun part. But I do have a hope that at least for one short moment in the week we get to stop trying so hard and are able to connect with something we can’t quite put a finger on. 

Ro-se is an artist-book-slash-exhibition-catalogue (Sternberg Press) from Nathalie Du Pasquier’s solo show at MACRO, Museum of Contemporary Art of Rome, a show of over one-hundred paintings, sculptures, drawings, prints, and cabins, from the early 1980s to present day.

Both the exhibition and book play with the idea of ‘exhibition as a medium,’ welcoming the countless associations and combinations you get from a stroll through something as multi-faceted as this:

Walls painted as immense canvases, ceramics and paintings toying with the relationship between object and environment—du Pasquier considers everything she has done as raw material for future projects, giving the exhibition an extraordinary tension. The book, in the same breath, pushes the idea one step further.

at La Muralla Roja

I believe it would be best perused at this beachside fortress by Ricardo Bofill on the eastern coast of Spain.

Maybe it’s the geometric shapes, maybe it’s the labyrinthine intersections, maybe it’s just the fact that I wanna be next to that pool, but flipping through Ro-sé with an ocean breeze sounds like my kind of maximalist balance of inspiration and relaxation. Ps: it’s on airbnb.

with a goblet of vin rosé.

A gulp, a goblet—either way a dose of casual simplicity to help the creativity go down.

And while it’s not quite vin, this wild, Greek, juicy-and-dry rosé should accompany the setting nicely.

Answers @cklittle

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Despite being someone who gets paid to help people verbalize their dream companies, life visions, and creative principles, it’s a seemingly impossible thing to do for oneself. Anyone who’s done their own branding or designed their own home can attest. The process itself is never linear but instead a somewhat meandering jaunt through thoughts and ideas, big and small, important and pointless, and best done by someone outside of your own brain, able to see the forest for the trees.

That being said, taking the time to think through and communicate deeply considered ideas at the core of a body of work or company is literally the most important aspect of creating beautiful things that last (in my humble opinion of course.) It creates richer work in and of itself, and builds a scaffolding to grow on. And it sends an invitation to connect.

So many of the creative humans I learn about have had a practice of sketching, writing, and otherwise formalizing their ideas. Ilse Crawford said, “I write to understand my thoughts.” Agnes Martin hand-wrote her lectures, Louis Kahn constantly explored ideas in his sketchbooks, Donald Judd had a critical writing practice. (All of which I’ll get to soon!) But outside of educational environments, it’s not something we’re expected, encouraged, or even given space to do, especially in the context of our work.

Building work with this depth of connectivity is central to my strategy practice, and I hope sharing my stories behind it encourages you to connect with your own point of view and brings you a bit closer into my little creative world.

At it’s center, it’s a poem.

I first read Jack Gilbert’s work back in 2003, as a poetry major. What an insanely beautiful sentiment:

The line has stayed with me, and the phrase ‘Lost Vocabularies’ centers me when I say it out loud. Pretty perfect material for a newsletter name, and the conceptual guide for my strategy practice.

The act of creative expression.

I’ve written about it before, but I find few things more delightful than the act of creativity or experiencing other people and ideas through their creations. When I feel inspired or tired of working, I thumb through photos from a museum visit or pick up an artists’ book and am immediately transported back to the point of it all—why I do what I do. This became a statement that I call my ‘Motivation.’

As I explored my ideas around design, creativity, and consciousness itself, there were recurring themes of ineffable beauty, growth, collective creation, and a relationship with nature. I surfaced a series of declarative statements that feel deeply true, but of course, nothing is as simple as it seems—I’m constantly questioning what I hold to be ‘true’. Crafting a manifesto or belief statements felt off.

So instead, I shaped a series of Proposals, supported by Prompts & Inquiries, designed as a practice of sorts. A framework to hold my ideas, so I can dig in more deeply over time and hopefully elicit conversations and creative expressions of my own.

I envision these coming to life as a sketch book or series of cards. Illustrations are already building in my mind. Creative play is also central to my work, somehow these proposals will speak to that.

And that’s that. Hours of going inward, sketching thoughts and ideas over coffee, writing, erasing, trashing, and refining, I have a collection of elements that through the act of developing has so clearly defined why I do this work and the essence of how I do it. These are ideas I will build on over time, incorporate into consulting and workshops, and use as guideposts when working through projects.

But most importantly, they’re ideas I connect with deeply, and if any of it resonates with you, or even sounds like a load of hooey, by all means, I’d love to talk.

— Christie

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In honor of a friend heading there this week, here are my top five things (in no particular order) you absolutely must do (plus some bonuses) when visiting the ole London towne.

Artswords Bookshop.

A deeply impressive curation of books and magazines on contemporary visual culture. Located on Broadway Market in Hackney, an adorable street in an adorable borough with loads to see.

Leroy Bistro.

Simple, thoughtful food. Excellent wine list. Go for the pink neon signage. Stay for the vinyl tunes and shoestring fries. Located in Shoreditch.

Tate Modern.

It’s probably already on your list, but I’m doubling down right, now. Tate Modern is the most joyful and well-run museum I’ve ever visited, and if I lived there, I would visit every possible day. *Bonus: swing by Origin coffee first for some caffeine and a v memorable roasted tomato pastry.

Jasper Morrison Shop.

Ok, maybe I’m a bit of a Jasper Morrison groupie. And maybe the shop is actually quite slim. And maybe it’s a tad inaccessible being that you have to ring the buzzer to get through the gate. And maybe whoever answers might seem a little perturbed they have to let you in. But it’s also their office, so I guess it makes sense. In any case, go, embrace the world of JM, and bring home a few of best everyday-wine-glasses around.

Museum of the Home.

Dream come true? Yes. Yes it is. It’s a small, strange, and wonderful museum dedicated to all things domestic. Is it trying too hard to incorporate to much? Yes. Will your head be spinning when you leave? Maybe. But go with time to kill and a small bottle of disinfectant so you can sit in the fake living room a la 1992 and play Super Mario Kart, and I think you’ll find it was delightful.

Bonus!
Places I Didn’t Go But Really Really Wanted To…

BDDW Showroom (the first London outpost of the awe-inspiring Tyler Hays), and Straw London - a mecca for fellow basket lovers.

Our journey begins at Mouthwash Studio, a strategy and design shop based in LA. I’m legit shocked I didn’t know of them before and have gone deep on all their work. They’ve done a SLEW of cool projects with smaller creative companies making cool shit. Some favorites:

• Woset - who ‘makes creative tools for endless imagination’ primarily for children but I’d roll out a set of these building blocks, wine in hand, any night. Their website is sure to bring joy to your heart. / Incidentally, the blocks were designed by Waka Waka, yet another v skilled maker whose site was designed by Mouthwash, which probably deserves a whole-ish post but in the meantime, look at this chair. PS: The toys are made from scrap wood from their furniture production. (face melting emoji)

• The Museum of Peace and Quiet - ‘a contemporary fashion label committed to a clear state-of-mind, enabling you to focus on what matters by designing simplistic objects and apparel for every day use’. The genius here lies in their name, and furthermore, the museum page on the site, which at first I thought was incomplete, and then I realized was the most perfect concept ever.

  

• Ombia Studio - a ‘handbuilt sculptural ceramics and design studio’ with one of the more beautiful and engaging home pages I’ve seen in a bit… a perfect intro to her deeply creative objects (see gorge table and lamp).

• The—Brand Identity: A site I often visit but hadn’t bothered to check on who designed it. A tangent-maker in its own right, but my segue to their book, Interviews Volumes one and two, where they chat with designers and more, which I really really want, but will wait to buy till I’ve read one I already have of the same vein.

• And finally, I low-key stalked (aka: researched) my way to Mouthwash co-founder’s newsletter: Common Discourse, which I now excitedly follow, and you should too.

  

This is where I will end my tangent, because Common Discourse has a WEALTH of links to click, all weekend long, like this design manifesto by Sister Corita Kent or this oldie-but-goodie by the De Stijl group. to go with your Saturday morning coffee. Afterward, follow their mouth-watering find and peruse the Judd Library sans the drive to Marfa. And may I suggest a final weekend treat: get yourself over to your favorite local bookstore, where IRL links abound.

Have a lovely one,

xx- Christie

Lost Vocabularies is a weekly-ish newsletter dedicated to the pursuit of creativity. It’s pretty much free, but your support is, of course, always appreciated.

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At the core of Ilse’s practice sits a deceptively simple concept: as humans, our senses are how we connect to the world and to our primal selves.

Our sensory experiences of a space become deeply felt modes of communication—like how furniture or sidewalks subconsciously define a pathway, how a soft material encourages us to get cozy, how tall ceilings and natural light open up our gaze, or a low ceiling in a dark room leads us to quiet.

Being conscious and intentional about what our spaces communicate can literally shape the way we live. We can nudge ourselves toward healthier, more fulfilling, or more responsible behaviors.

As Ilse so simply says, “design is a tool to enhance our humanity.”

And it’s a tool she’s honed relentlessly. Ilse Crawford is so eloquently versed in the language of form and material that her spaces feel like poetry. The meanings and messages she embeds translate to a uniquely matter-of-fact compassion for the human experience. As Mark Smith says in his article in The Gentlewoman, “it is Ilse’s unapologetic, unassailable common sense that really distinguishes her.” And I think it comes through not only in her being, but in her work. It doesn’t feel over-the-top; it just feels right.

I first learned about Ilse through a good friend who was studying interior design back in college. Katie (an amazing designer in her own right) let me borrow home is where the heart is, Ilse’s second book, of three. Both a designer and a strategist by nature, I felt a kindred spirit in her process of using writing to examine and give shape to her ideas and approach.

“The world we make is always an expression of our values,” she says. So she’s put language around those of Studioilse:

And she applies the same rigor with her clients. Regarding her work with Ett Hem, a boutique hotel in Stockholm:

“Ilse works with core values, discussing every little detail before even considering design decisions or looking at mood boards,” Mix (the founder) says. “She made a truly exceptional effort in getting to know me and remains by my side together and forever.” - the gentlewoman

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Especially with the multitude of moving parts in interior design, putting in the work up front to deeply understand the vision is essential for a coherent, much less remarkable, result.

“Design is the easy bit,” she says. “What you want is for someone suddenly to get excited and look at the same horizon as you, so that they feel genuinely thrilled by the process. That way you end up learning from each other.” - the gentlewoman

Her message is simple: if there is no kitchen table, there’s no place to share a meal. If the sheets are uncomfortable, cozying up in bed for a day of rest simply won’t happen. Only having bright overhead lighting means we won’t linger and lounge in the living room well into the evening. If these things are important, put care toward them.

What I’ve learned from Ilse is not that our environment can nudge behavior, but that it does, whether it’s considered or not.

So why not embrace it? I certainly do, and I’m grateful of the energy she’s spent putting her deeply-held beliefs in words and images that I’ve been able to make my own.

If you’re interested in learning more about Ilse Crawford and her work, I highly recommend any one of her three books, her episode on Abstract, this article on her time with Elle Decor, and her website.

Friends! My aim with this newsletter is to introduce compelling moments of joy and creativity. If you feel like this did the trick, please click like, forward to a friend, and/or share your thoughts in the comments!

xx- Christie

*All images link to their original source.

Growing up, my mother always made our houses feel like home. She has the touch, for sure. Some years we moved quite frequently, and still I remember feeling cozy and cared for. For my first apartment in college, we made a mirror mosaic together, with a red stained glass motif running through. We hung it on the back wall of my living room; I was so proud to be able to care for my own place, finally. And since then, it’s never stopped: no matter how tired I am, or how long I’ll be there, I’m grateful to care for the places I inhabit.

Returning to our home, to our furniture, our objects, our insanely comfortable mattress, makes it all the more clear how significantly the design of our spaces impact our well-being, our happiness, our ability to breath, reflect, and create. And it’s deepened my confidence in how important and challenging of a task it can be. Truly the options and levels of detail are endless.

I remember being touched by a conversation with a dear friend over wine one southern night in her backyard. The group was discussing purpose-driven work, changing food systems, personal health. There was a hesitance in her voice, as she questioned if her work, designing interiors, held the same weight. It’s surfaced in my mind so many times since that conversation.

Without a home that allows me to be my best self, it’s nearly impossible for me to bring value to others. These are the places that nourish, ground, and inspire us. Her work—and the work of all the other designers, makers, and craftspeople who contribute to our soul-filling spaces—make the world a better place in a very personal way.

So, for the next few weeks, I’m going to share some of the spaces we drifted through across the past few months and what makes them special, a selection of my most coveted interiors books, a significant amount of research on kitchen design I randomly did during lockdown, and a few of my favorite designers. Can’t wait to hear what you think.

Talk soon
xx
christie

places to gather social life on the streets, spilling out of coffee shops, markets, bookstores, and restaurants. lively conversations, laptop mini-offices, cigarettes, card games, and pots of chinese tea. neighborhoods: wan chai, sheung wan, tai hang

chinese calligraphy the act of writing beautifully. motion + emotion. symbol + gesture. cultivation of character + skill. language imbued with personal expression. store: man luen choon

the incredible richness of ink art east and west. past and present. calligraphy and abstraction. worldwide influence. M+ museum collection. new ink movement. artists for images below: Leung Kui Ting, James Lee Byars, Anwar Jalal Shemza, Chuang Che, Ni Haifeng

layers and layers and layers milk tea, Queen’s Road, and double decker trams. layered history. layered structures. layered materials and textures. peeling signage. peeling paint. old and new fighting for attention. concrete and nature. survival.

Photography: Gideon Tsang

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I heard Amy Sillman speak about her work before I ever saw her work, via the podcast A Brush with… and I’ve thought about her almost daily since then. Not just because of the paintings she’s renowned for, but also through her writing, her zines, her curation, and for the way she redefines the concept of inspiration for me, for the relationship she creates with the artists she admires and has learned from. 

Discovering Amy’s work was like discovering a gargantuan portal and several tiny little black holes into her messy, awkward, dichotic inner world. She lets you see, and in return, I felt seen.

Working across traditional and non traditional mediums, her process is embedded in the exploration of the unknown. For Sillman, the process of making art is the process of moving into knowing through mental, physical, and emotional effort. Laboring. And by sharing her approach, she invites us to get messy too. To embrace the doubt and struggle inherent in bringing something new into this world. 

“I work on the floor when I start so that there is no up and down so I don't even know what orientation I'm dealing with right then because I'm working horizontally and I'm also working on oftentimes bigger canvases that I can't … even reach as far on, so I have to spill it or pour it or stretch myself or use like a paper towel to get the paint to move over to the left because I can't reach that far, or tip it or something like that, so I start from blindness in a sense and then something develops. And then that thing gets in trouble and becomes complicated and difficult and then I turn it and get into a kind of fight with it. and then at some point eventually I resolve it. But it can take a really really long time because I kind of like the idea of working with one hand behind my back in a way, to sort of make myself not know or not be good at it or not quite understand, to disorient myself while I'm working is kind of a system in a sense because I'm trying to keep the part where I don't really know what's going to develop going as long as I possibly can.” 

Ultimately, her process is pursuit of a metamorphosis, of creating through being and being through creating.

Guests on A Brush with… often have a hard time pinpointing their top-tier influences, but I felt something in my body when Sillman sprinted through her list. 

“I always turned to artists who in a sense make their work change into another thing, just by the way they approach it. By which process they enchant, mesmerize, and make you wonder, make you not be able to say what something is. I think that's at the core of the whole thing for me—it's about this kind of transformative, alchemical magic. That's the reason that I think I even look at art: to not know.”

She cites influences as diverse as Philip Guston, John Borofsky, Joan Jonas, Prunella Clough, Howard Hodgkin, Russian cubo-futurists, Gertrude Stein, and Judson Dance Theater. All of them artists who work within this “space of a thing and a thing becoming.” 

Towards the end of the conversation, she lands on Alice Neel, Louise Bourgeois, and Maria Lassnig as “gateway drugs to one another” and “a triumvirate that is most important to me in art history” through “talking about drawing as painting and talking about personal life as public life.”

Amy ingests her inspiration. She makes it part of her own flesh in the process of creating something new, something entirely her own—I find this so liberating. My own tendency to fear being over-inspired, to worry about “copying” gets pushed aside to make way for a sort of communion with those I admire. 

Amy is, no surprise, also an educator. In her talk for Cooper Union, following her position with the Alex Katz fellowship in 2021, she tells her students, “thank you to the bottom of my heart to my class who has literally filled me with joy and interestingness, conversation and amazing exchanges, during this time we’re living through.” Again, she assumes the role of cultivator, drawing lines between the greats and the new.

After which, she goes on to recite her principles of work, which to me sound like her own version of a Gertrude Stein poem. Fragments that are volumes, in and of themselves.

I have a vision of Amy Sillman as a layer of paint within her own work. Scraped down in areas, built up in others. Rich and deep in pigment and minerals. Sandwiched between the hues and opacities of those around her, outstanding yet indiscernible, singular and multiplicitous, a small bright moment of light, and for this, I’m grateful to be able to look to her.

Wednesdays were ‘Wonder Why’ days.

Glorious respite from my very unhappy third grade teacher, when I went instead one hallway down and an entire world away.

Mrs. Dalme’s room felt more like an art studio than a classroom—a retreat for exploring my imagination, for fearlessly pushing boundaries, for asking ‘why’ one more time, and for bringing into the world what I felt and saw inside. 

Being creative, the act of creating, has always been where I feel most alive, most grateful. 

The poet Jack Gilbert wrote, “I dream of lost vocabularies that might express some of what we no longer can.” The line has always resonated deeply with me: lost vocabularies… what a mysterious and beautiful concept. As it’s stayed with me over the years, I’ve realized, there are not only collections of words, but marks and symbols, sounds and shapes, meals, objects, buildings: the most expressive vocabularies everywhere around me, if I just open my eyes to them. Gardens, galleries, playgrounds, cities—there’s no limit to our ability to express ourselves.

Lost Vocabularies, this little corner of the internet, is dedicated to what I wish for everyone: the space to peer inward at what’s possible, to dream of new expressions, to create words and worlds alike where we’re able to truly be with ourselves and each other. It’s dedicated to the Mrs. Dalme’s of the world, empowering others to flourish in their creativity. And it’s dedicated to the artists and artisans who daily choose the joyful and challenging task of creating with intention and fearlessness, who walk their own path while clearing the way for others. 

Cheers!
Christie

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[the first stop of a year of world travel. hugging friends and filling with familiar before setting off. one week. windy, cold, crisp.]

Cervo’s: smokey and seafoody, intimate and playful. bring a close friend or sit alone at the bar and listen to the lower east side rise and fall.

Metropolitan Museum of Art: Edouard Vuillard. “Best known for his small, poetic, and dimly lit intimiste interiors of the 1890’s.” a feeling of being there, quietly, within the paintings.

BDDW: if a marionette and Miró had a baby. perusing the imagination of a master craftsman.

Lodi: a five-course martini. the most painterly salads. my favorite chef.

Raoul’s: another of Manhattan’s best martinis. in winter, happy hour is dark outside. half a dozen oysters, an order of fries, and heavy eavesdropping.

MOMA: Architecture Now - New York, New Publics. “Considering the city as an ecosystem, these inventive approaches (to public-facing spaces) envision a future in which architecture creates more accessible, sustainable, and equitable cities.”

MOMA: Ellsworth Kelly’s Sketchbooks. “In automatic drawings he let his pencil flow freely. In multicolor grids he similarly harnessed the possibilities of chance while arranging squares of paper. And in collages of flat color, he chose shapes that he adopted from “out there in the world”—transforming passing impressions into an art of ideals.”

MOMA: Calligraphic Abstraction. “The works assembled here exemplify different calligraphic modes and systems of writing in mid-century modernism. From graceful experiments with Arabic scripts, decorative patterns formed by words, and rearranged or illegible texts and letters, to abstract strokes and spontaneous movements, they demonstrate the unrestrained vigor and communicative gestures of calligraphic abstraction.”

MOMA: This piece by Judit Reigl. “The canvas was initially part of an entirely different series of paintings but was rejected by the artist and consequently used as a drop cloth, absorbing splatters of paint and getting creased and stained from movement. Reig later rediscovered and renamed it Guano-Round; this new work had a new, all-over composition formed partially by chance, a technique that had fascinated her in earlier experiments with automatic painting and writing, creative activities that tap into the unconscious mind.”

Miguel Abreu Gallery - François-Marie Banier: talk to me. tell me your secrets.

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The Crossing

 Because metal can move that fast,
we ask it of our flesh.

The sun, our blood, how we’re pulled to our feet;
it all acts differently now. 

Take a walk, slowly.
Relearn the movement of your legs, joints, toes. 

Feel your body in this new place. 
Settle into the air against your skin.

Ask nothing of your mind.

Look for crickets, their spots, the height of their jumping, the speed of their legs.

Sense how the pitch of a din of voices moves toward your ear. 

The wash of a hue between your eyes and the sun is where you are now. 

Put your hand to your chest.
Thank this movable body
and all that it still contains. 

cklittle

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Emptied. Lightened. Because it’s the truth of it. 

We carry nothing with us but what we choose. 

We hold our worries in the pockets of our bodies, and only we can say 'no. thank you.'

Only we can look up from our pages and glance toward the sky and breathe and sink and expand outward into the space we hold. 

Only we can move through life with open hearts and open hips and notice the scent of rain or the smooth indentations of a brass door knob. 

Only we can choose to fill the page with moments witnessed in the morning light, our toes still cool from waking. 

Only we can choose to hop around with these legs, to gratefully utilize our hands, our soul, speaking through them the infinite universe. 

Only we can find the words, the clay, the ash, the ink to share our vessels, silent without shape. 

Only we hold the universe inside of us. 

Only me, you, they, the tiniest budding leaf, the elephant taking one gray step across the sandy soil. 

Only you, only me, only we can let go of what does not serve us and open ourselves to this one, single moment.