ANOHNI and you both started your careers in the 1980’s death rock and punk scene in California. How did you first meet?
‘We met in California when we were around seventeen and we were both very much in the counterculture queer scene. I saw her on a bus. We were both quite extreme in our appearance. I was so intrigued by her presence that I followed her off the bus and up a hill. When she asked me "Why are you following me?" I answered: “We are going to be best friends!” We started doing things together as teenagers and continued to do so when we both moved to New York.’
In what ways were you so extreme?
‘I was a very political punk, and my looks were very off-putting: aggressive, unpalatable. I would wear leather and metal, and wire things I found on to my body. Her looks were as extreme, but in the opposite way. She had a very soft look with pastels, mohair and long flowing hair. When we met, she was already making music and I was collecting music and DJ-ing. We would argue about emotional states: I would rather control and suppress my feelings. She would tell me it’s okay to have them. Her softness brought out emotion in me, and I think my aggression was equally liberating for her. Though I will say, we were equally “hard boiled”.’
Can you describe your early work together?
‘She started writing and organizing plays, first in California, in Santa Cruz, later in New York with a group we began to build, called Blacklips. These were massive plays and musicals lasting up to two hours. As teens, we had watched John Waters movies – we thought, "we have lots of weird friends, we could do that too!" This turned out to be our testing area, our experimental groundwork for later was fashioned here. I didn’t go to theatre school and I was not very popular amongst the teachers of the free dance classes I took – they thought I was not taking it seriously because of my appearance. Performing at the Pyramid club in New York is how I started developing my style.’
What themes were those plays and performances about?
‘The themes that were most important to us at that time, were directly related to the oppression we were under in the 80’s. Anyone outside of “traditional family values” was an outcast. Queer kids were literally being electrocuted: they were being “treated” with electrotherapy for being gay. Not only were we freaked out about the government, there was also the nuclear terror, and Aids was unfolding. At college we took a class led by the activist Vito Russo, and we learned about the real situation our community was in with HIV and Aids. It felt like a war for survival, just being who we were at that time.’
How did your feminism emerge?
‘I remember looking at images of women in the 80’s, not wanting to be like any of them. I couldn’t see a future I could aspire to, until I found Grace Jones. She was the role model I latched onto. She was an unassailable pillar of strength. I started lifting weights immediately, which was very useful in the unforgiving climate of my very conservative town. I got in to the Californian Punk scene at the age of twelve. This was a very feminist group. The punks I knew wouldn’t ever date each other, as we didn’t want to sexualize each other. I did not expect to be seen, or listened to by the powers that were, but at the same time I felt that what we did was important. We were pushed out of society when I felt we should be at the heart of it.
That’s why I was so driven. My feminist anger flowed into my work. By the time I was performing at the Pyramid club, it felt like a very big accomplishment.’
Would you say that your attitude towards feminism has changed much?
‘A lot of feminism starts from anger, but I have found the way it is manifested changes over the years. I had a conversation about this with Inna Shevchenko (from feminist group Femen, ed.), I said: “Isn’t it strange how I started out spray-painting police stations, and you started out chain sawing orthodox crosses, and now we sit in circles and hold hands, for the exact same reasons?” She replied: “But it still burns the same, doesn’t it?” Essentially our work hasn’t changed.
My attitude certainly has changed. After many years I got to a place where I can look at the world for what it is, and let more of it in. Within feminism there are many different levels of need, coming from different people, different areas of societies, different situations in every country... Now I talk to anyone and look at where they are at; I believe we are all one force. We are fighting on different fronts of the same war. With Future Feminism we wanted to create the broadest possible statement. A place where any person, on any part of the human spectrum can have a conversation. We are particularly linking feminism and environmentalism, because they are both beset by the same poisonous systems of subjugation and aggression.’
This is not a vision shared by everyone...
‘There is a lot of pain in doing feminist work. So many people are affected on different levels and there is so much history. Many people feel silenced. When we started Future Feminism as a small group of friends, we even felt awkward talking about it amongst ourselves. We got a lot of grief speaking up in the first show in New York. People asked us what gave us, in particular, the right to talk about it. I say: it’s not just a subject for historians and scientists, we should all be talking about it. You don’t have to know everything that’s wrong, to know what’s right.
Everyone should be able to talk about feminism and how it’s affecting them, including men. I see often how hard it is for feminist men to participate. They get slammed for expressing an opinion, even when it’s supportive. And they get hurt because there is a lot of critique towards “male” systems. The word “male” is used so much in negative context. Some very feminist men feel that they are being handed a giant shit sandwich every time you try to talk about it just because of the necessary language. I have talked to groups of just men about how this feeling can be mitigated. With Future Feminism we strive to be universally inclusive; this of course includes men!’
What do the 13 Tenets of Future Feminism mean to you?
‘The tenets themselves are an art piece. They create the space for the conversations where Future Feminism is like a moderator. People of all ages and backgrounds can speak their full thought cycle, instead of defending or fighting for space. I am very thankful to be able to do another Future Feminism project now that we are at that point in time where the wrecking ball is swinging back through all of the work that has been done in this recent and very active period in Feminism. I am talking about attacks on women’s rights. And from the same aggressors, trans and gay rights are also under severe attack again. It doesn’t mean that everyone's earlier work was for nothing. It just means it is time to fight again. The hate is not new. There will always be people that want to hold down women. There will always be people wanting to eradicate and erase others. There is a hard approach to this: we need to claw our rights and safety back. And at the same time there is a soft approach that asks for us to talk to these people and be visible as human beings.’
Can you tell about the ceremony for the stones, with the 13 tenets carved in them, that you will perform together with Sierra Casady (from CocoRosie)?
‘When we did a benefit for the Future Feminism program in New York, I performed with CocoRosie: I danced while Sierra sang God has a voice, she speaks through me. We wanted to perform again together with the stones. We think a ceremony is a nice way to welcome people into the area where the stones are exhibited.’
What can you tell about the choreography that you’re making, Tenebris Suspiria Naturae?
‘It’s about the fight to survive in an uncertain environment. Central in all of my dance pieces is an anamorphic or human entity that pushes against environmental oppression. I use a lot of make-up and body transformation. My dance is often compared to the Butoh style. When I was in Japan, Yoshito Ohno (a son of founder Kazuo Ohno and the current head of the school, ed.) told me he sees my dance as Butoh. Though it is traditionally Japanese, he said he wanted the style to mutate and spread around the world. I feel honored to step into that history and litany of this style of dance.
This is the first time I’ve composed a piece involving other dancers. Two of my favorite artists from London will be joining me on stage: Parma Ham and Leo Monira, both non-binary. This is so exciting to me. It will be beautiful.’
What can you say about the music?
‘I often create my music myself, or I choreograph to specific songs, such as the ambient electronic music of William Basinski. I also leave a lot of room for silence in my work. One of the main music pieces for Tenebris Suspiria Naturae is rhythmic noise by a band called S.K.E.T.. I find a lot of noise music is very orchestral and emotional. Combining it with the vulnerability of live dance really brings out those qualities to me.’
What would you like for your audience to experience?
‘My work may be perceived as dark, I use a lot of images that some people find violent and disturbing, but I see it as transformative and hopeful. It’s not a naïve “everything will be ok” type of hope; more the idea that even if everything comes to nothing, some part of us will survive. A lot of my friends think humankind should just dissolve to dust: that there is no use for us anymore. But I still see beauty and value in humanity. I choose to believe in the struggle instead of giving up. I would like to think that the audience will come to their own thoughts. I want to leave enough stillness for the audience to have their own emotions. I hope it can be enjoyed and felt by anyone, whether they are eight or eighty, male, female or non-binary, each in their own way.’