In case you’re unfamiliar, the work of artist Zachary Tye Richardson is all about physical investigations: from movement, to voice, theatre, and fashion. Creating works that double as personal offerings to LGBTQIA-POC communities, Richardson is intrigued with somatic relations and how they associate with emotional connectivity.
Then there’s Kennedy Yanko: a sculptor, installation artist and frequent collaborator of Richardson whose work explores the limitations of optic vision, underlining the opportunities we miss when looking with eyes alone. Her methods reflect a dual abstract expressionist-surrealist approach that centers the seen and unseen factors that affect, contribute to, and moderate human experience.
Together, these two are creating experimental work that challenges identity– Richardson recounts womxn as superheroes in their discovery of their identity as Yanko digs deeper into this reflection through ancestry. As part of our ongoing portfolio review series, we had both sit down to reflect on their childhood fantasies, surrealism, and fashion experimentation.
Check out the full interview below.
Kennedy Yanko: So when you saw the new sculptures in my studio and we talked about surrealism, perception, and expression, what was alluring to you about these pieces and their connection to this story?
Zachary Tye Richardson: I’m drawn to your work because a lot of them feel larger than life. Your pieces are whimsical and remind me of the endless possibilities I clung to as a child. Growing up, I don’t really remember having a consistent home. We moved frequently and so there was a lot of change in my life. Through that change, I met so many different people. The time that stood out the most was at the age of four, living in the projects. My imagination was running wild with these neighbors and experiences in this particular environment. I was an impressionable child and the people seemed to be quite fanciful around me. So with telling this story, it was important to find artists who are clearly in touch with an optimistic perception of the world. So I connected with artist Barrington Smith, who created a haven inspired by my childhood with fashions by designer DJ Chappel from Duality Junkie, and of course your sculptures.
K: Hmm your imagination was running wild… Was it running wild because you were interested in these people or because it was more of a coping mechanism?
Z: I think a little bit of both, I was definitely interested in their tenacity and looked up to that. It was probably a coping mechanism as well, because I viewed the womxn in my childhood as superheroes saving me from the constant threat of toxic masculinity. Everyone seemed to notice this queer spirit that I embodied. I was always dancing, singing, and gesturing flamboyantly. I remember feeling a sense of protection from most of the womxn during this time and the very opposite from the men. There was a lot of calling me out for my feminine behavior that still cuts deep and affects my relationships with men to this day. The womxn advocated for the space to let me grow into my own person and I can recall some of them giving excuses for me like, “he’ll grow out of it” to the men.
K: What is the action of calling out this queer spirit that you carried? What did that look like?
Z: There are many homophobic gestures and sayings in the Black community, especially in the South where I am from. I work through some of them in my practice. One phrase being, “he got a little sugar in his tank”. Meaning the person is sweet/delicate or referencing that the individual is not acting in accordance with a masculine standard. There are hand gestures used to communicate that someone is suspected of being queer too like letting your wrist drop limp or shaking the hand horizontally with the palm facing down. I began picking up on these acts fairly quickly in my adolescence and they still haunt me. But as a child, I started acquiring a tunnel vision when in public spaces as a way of protecting myself. I still find myself tuning out the public’s stares and smirks just to get from point A to point B safely.
K: That’s definitely something I can relate to with being forced to have horse blinders on just to spare my self esteem. Staring is such a real thing and to be someone who is already hyper aware and having to negotiate that awareness but still have it is such an ephemeral thing, right? I don’t even know how to name it. I’m really interested to know how hyper awareness and gesture influence your choreography?
Z: I’ve definitely internalized these memories. So yeah, some of the gestures find their way in my practice. Not so literally, but I guess the energy of them has festered and is revealed through the manifestations. But there are more practical tasks like using the voice that find its way in my work as well. As a child, I was androgynous especially before hitting puberty. And to top it all off, I had long hair to the middle of my back. I can recall several adults and other kids my age, asking me if I was a boy or a girl as early as seven years old. I can distinctly remember someone asking me that in front of my father for the first time and him having a visceral response. Before this incident, I enjoyed this inquiry, which I realize now was a self affirmation of my transness. But after this, I was embarrassed and felt like I was a disappointment to my father. He used to coach me on what to say when asked this again and how assertive to be. It was here when I realized who my father expected me to be versus the reality of what I subconsciously knew would never come to pass. These types of conversations/voice inflections are slowly becoming staples in the development of my work which aid to the continuation of my healing.
K: One thing that I understand is a very strange experience is when people have an idea of what you are or want to figure out what you are and that very thing is changing all the time. And you feel great until the rest of the world is involved. It’s such a strange thing and then having to define that for them when they don’t understand anyway. Where it’s like, “I’m good until you guys come around”. Right?
Z: Exactly.
K: I’m interested in knowing more about how these movements and memories are actualized from the inside out. It seems like you are constantly between states of hyper awareness and meditation in your work. When I think about some of your performances, there’s a certain tightness to them, precision in your execution, and I guess a protective element to your movement quality. Can you talk more about that?
Z: Most of the time it feels like I am working through an internalized rage. There’s a constant effort to reach a climax in these offerings. The accumulation of material invites the viewer on a journey of the hardest and softest parts of myself. The goal is to become softer. Softer in presence, the eyes, and my relationship with the kinetic dialogue. During this exploration, I give into people’s expectations of my body and then attempt to juxtapose that with my own level of proficiency. With that being said, I’m constantly searching for more ways of being outside the physicality of the body. This usually leads me to find tasks that require endurance and forces the body and mind to release control. I’m definitely in the early stages of figuring this shit out but the ride seems to be worth riding. I am currently working on a project with artist Wardell Milan and Billy Ray Morgan that is premiering this summer at the Bronx Museum entitled, 5 Indices on a Tortured Body. The performance series is centered around 5 tortured bodies: the Black male body, female body, trans body, migrant body, and quarantine body. This process has really expanded my practice since I am working with many collaborators. I am learning to share space and time with these people in a vulnerable way and it’s been very rewarding.
K: That’s exciting! It’s so interesting that we’ve had so many overlaps. But I’ve never identified as non binary or gender non conforming. I am what I am, I’ve always been a womxn. I’ve always been a womxn who’s sensuous and all of these things. So for me, it’s more just like, what is it about this flesh bag I’m stuck in that you need to understand? There’s always been a lot of discomfort in the looking and being the subject. I think that’s a very new conversation for me. When I make my work, it’s not necessarily what I’m thinking about. It’s something that’s coming out and through me. There’s this energetic transmutation of whatever suppression, whatever expression, and that’s what it looks like. That movement is what it looks like, this metal is what it looks like, or this paint skin is what it looks like. So I think having to define something is partially unfair, right? It’s unfair because if one can fall into that space of ambiguity, there’s a whole ‘nother language of experience that we don’t even have words for yet. And that practice is such a somatic, non cerebral thing.
Z: Yeah, I feel like artists are constantly being pushed to prove the intent of their work. I strongly feel the pressure to communicate that when it comes to performance or any type of embodied practice. People want to define, reason, and see if their own perspective is lived up to. I am still trying to get in touch with that. The most you can give people is honesty and trust that will be received. The reason I even started working in this type of practice was to simply have a therapeutic way of understanding myself.
K: I think about how my process is really similar to yours in the way that it’s more about the process than the movement. It’s the information that comes from the body. As I engage with the material, there’s a mutation that happens with the information the material is giving me through the laborious, constant, and repetitive movement. There’s answers there.
Z: Right.
K: There’s a part of me that feels like that’s being taken away from me as an artist, in me over intellectualizing my interests. I’m currently preparing for a show at Tilton Gallery and so much of my process of getting ready for a show is in the physical making of the work. As I’m making the work, I’m reading and looking at the world around me. I’m engaging with my friends and seeing what’s happening. Somehow the work starts to look like my intellectual interests, and vice versa. But I’m finding that it’s starting to become a bit forced. The work is becoming more sophisticated than I am because I’m trying to put it into a language for other people to understand and that’s frustrating. I’ve turned so much of the language that I use in my work as an opportunity to teach people how to tap into that other part of themselves. How to see things through a lens of abstraction, feeling, and emotion. It’s hard talking to an audience that isn’t yours. Have you experienced that in the way you write about your performances or create them?
Z: For sure. It can be tedious because I too work in a fairly abstract world. But I always ask myself why do I feel the need to prove anyway when the work should be speaking for itself. Some of the opportunities that I’ve been presented with involve applications. So it’s really a time to have a self evaluation with my work. I appreciate having the opportunity to keep writing about my practice. But writing about my practice is totally different than trying to prove that this is valuable. That is the exhausting part.
K: Yeah I think even within my work, or the dialogue of my work, I’m still pushing for people to wake up, and to be able to see beyond their eyes. I think, to see, is to see with a full experience of the senses and intuition. To see something and understand it in a deeply intrinsic way. It doesn’t come from identifying it, it comes from feeling it in your cellular state. So I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to let that go. But I have to. Because it’s just paralyzing. You know?
Z: I feel you and I’ve also been working on letting more things go. Reminding myself that I am not responsible for people’s lack of understanding. I can only consistently walk in my truth everyday and let that be enough. This is definitely easier said than done but it’s a daily commitment that I try to honor even when put in uncomfortable situations. There’ve been several instances where I felt like certain family members were attempting to censor who I am, over concern about how I would affect their personal reputation. It’s moments like these that test my ability to double down on my expression but I choose to remain unwavering even if these family relationships suffer. I am actively putting myself first.
K: One of the things that’s so powerful about ownership of an individual’s desire is that it almost becomes a filter in a way right? It starts to filter out truth and untruth in your life. I think about what happens when we break that and how often I break that on a day to day basis. There’s a deeper trust in yourself that starts to develop. One thing that’s interesting for me as someone who’s new to the LGBTQIA+ community, is that integrity is permeated throughout it. There’s such a persistent knowingness of oneself, and having to fight for that regularly. So there’s a certain kind of liberation in the conversations and application of lifestyle. Being in this community is really the first time that I feel at home because as artists we are trying to create that sense of audacity, courageousness, and space for others to do so.
Z: So special, thank you for sharing that. I’m so proud of my community and how we are continuously showing up for each other. There’s definitely a sense of family and nurturing that I have found here in New York. I think the integrity stems from us just trying to survive. So many of us are still screaming Trans Lives Matter to no end but it has not slowed the number of fatalities. With trans people becoming more visible, it’s actually doing the opposite. But I love the fact that we are unapologetic and fervent in our mission to authentically live in our truth. Thank you for talking with me today. I truly believe this is one of the easiest ways of finding relatability. We have to come together more and have intellectual conversations about our trauma to heal from them, flourish, and gain more feelings of empathy.
K: This has been so nice with you. When we collaborated on OUR VALENCE, we didn’t really get into too many conversations outside the work of that installation. But I think we were the most synchronized in some ways. So it’s been rewarding to get to know how we align in different ways. I’ve learned a lot about myself through you and my work through your eyes. So thank you. I just want to support you in any way that I can.
Z: So sweet. That is definitely received and I hope to do the same in return. Thank you.
Photographer: Savion “Bones” Spellman
MUA: Zachary Tye Richardson
Styling & Creative Direction: Barrington Smith
Wardrobe: Duality Junkie and Bobby Day
Sculptures: Kennedy Yanko
Videography: Chris Turiello
Hair: Sean Bennett
Lighting: Kwame Agyapon
Set Design: Barrington Smith & Kwame Agyapon
Production Assist.: Queena Yan, Torino Washington, Jamelle Tucker, DJ Chappel, & Kwame Agyapon
See the full behind-the-scenes video of the collaboration below!
Videography by Chris Turiello. Music by Barrington Smith.
Production Supr Sprt. Engineer Quiz. Mix by Vally.
