Artist Series: Jenna Kunze
An interview, a conversation, an interrogation, a manifesto. This is the Lucky Rigatoni Artist Series. I value the searching, the longing, the process. These conversations are gently edited for clarity. Jenna and I spoke on FaceTime in the middle of a weekday morning in June. “I gotta go in 20 minutes,” I told her, because I had to take Fala to an interview for dog camp. We split the conversation into two parts. But in reality, this is a snippet of an ongoing conversation between two writers, two best friends.
Jenna Kunze is a New York-based journalist covering stories impacting Indigenous Peoples across the US and Canada. She also writes about her feelings.
Kelsey Swintek: Jenna is wearing a shirt that says Write On and Caro's pajama pants.
Jenna Kunze: What shirt is that?
KS: It's a Topshop tank top I bought with my dad on Princes Street in Edinburgh in 2014. Before I went to Vienna, I bought a bunch of summer clothes because I didn't have any in Scotland.
JK: Why have I never seen that before?
KS: Evie's had it since we moved out of our apartment, I guess. Or like since college. I don't know how long that she's had it. I gave it to her at some point. And she's like, do you want this back? And I was like, literally, yes.
Okay, let me pull up my questions.
I'm going to ask you a question about the questions. So I wanted to start this conversation by talking about "Burn Seasons," which is an essay published a year ago. From my perspective, I feel like writing and publishing that essay was a turning point for you as a creative writer. I wanted to ask you, like, what you think about that take? But also, what do you think about starting off this conversation with with "Burn Seasons?" Do you frame it that way? Or do you think, Hmm, that's interesting.
JK: I think both. It makes sense why you would frame it that way, through our relationship together as writers who share work with each other, and also as someone who was living in your house, [writing the essay], in my first memoir writing class a year and a half ago, two years ago? So I think it makes sense. The way that I see the timeline in my head is that by investing in my own writing practice, like taking specifically memoir writing classes with our girl Chloe Caldwell, shifted my focus as a writer. Whereas I've seen myself as a writer for a long time, but as someone that was publishing personal writings that just dealt more with, you know, my experiences. Like motorcycle rides through Nepal, and running a marathon on a southern island in South Korea; rather than taking an experience of my life and making it a story without as much plot. Less plot driven--and that's often what memoir is, right? And that's something that Chloe holds up as, like, I'm just holding a magnifying glass to my life and seeing what I can make of it. Publishing "Burn Seasons," having the confidence to write and publish a piece that was so personal, about a breakup relating to wildfires up and down the West Coast, and taking Chloe's generative writing classes and creating this body of work that that was more focused in the lines of memoir, I think, has shifted things as a creative writer for me.
KS: Yeah, cool. Okay. So it's not necessarily like "Burn Seasons" as the piece itself, but "Burn Seasons" as a product of your investment in these workshops.
JK: Yeah. And then, I think also a little bit as the piece itself. I think it's the most personal piece that I have published. Right, wouldn't you agree?
KS: Yeah, I would agree.
JK: So I think for that reason too.
KS: Okay, thank you. So you've already brought up memoir. In your bio, you list your professional journalism accolades, followed by I also write about my feelings. How do you balance your identity as a writer of news and a writer of self?
JK: I don't know. I don't know that I do balance it. I have this idea that I can't share too much of my personal self while I'm reporting without sacrificing my identity and credibility as a journalist. So increasingly, as my professional work gets recognized and readers seek me out on more personal platforms, i.e. Facebook, and really Instagram. I feel like I'm in this position now, where my online persona, which is definitely more personal and promotes my work as a creative writer (so again, more personal) is being asked to stand for my work as a journalist. That's confusing for me. Like, you're coming to my Instagram because you've found me through my reporting on Native communities, but now you're seeing photos I've posted of my boyfriend, and you'll find my essays where I write about that time my heart was shattered, or how I'm a clepto for my friends' clothing. Ahhh!!!
It's hard, it's especially convoluted and tangled, because for the past almost two years now, my beat has been exclusively focusing on a community that I'm not a part of: reporting on Indigenous Peoples. So it feels sometimes bizarre, sometimes maybe even incorrect to claim an identity--a reporter covering Indigenous Peoples--that includes a population I'm on the outside of.
On the other hand, some of my work I'm most proud of, for example, my Elle piece with Quannah Chasinghorse, I look at more holistically as "writing" rather than journalism, or creative writing. It feels more comfortable to lay that bare as Jenna Kunze, the writer who created this, instead of separating them out of like, which part of me created this? Which part will lay claim to it? Because at the core, I think that the skills required to be a writer and to be a journalist, there's a lot of overlap. And so yeah, I think that's that's how I'd break it down. Which isn't really an answer. I guess the answer really is that I'm not really sure.
KS: Well, you're kind of tiptoeing on my follow up question. So I'm kinda gonna ask you to expand on your last thought of like, how do you think that your pursuit of creative writing has informed your work as a journalist? Or even vice versa? And how and in what ways if you could give like specific examples if you have?
JK: Yes, I think, definitely. Wait, my work as a creative writer, informing my work as a journalist?
KS: Yeah. Or even just the pursuit of creative writing, like thinking of writing outside of journalism, has it informed your journalism? That question could also be flipped, of like, do you think that your journalism experience informs your creative writing? Yes, we're talking about writing as a collective because as you're saying, you don't necessarily siphon it out into these silos, but I'm curious where you find the overlaps or where you find yourself drawing lines, or reaching a wall, kind of thing?
JK: Yeah. Well, I think definitely the former, of creative writing informing my journalism just insofar as it has informed my career path. I was always a writer before I was a journalist. It was always something that I was recognized for, by my teachers. It's why I'm a journalist, you know? When people ask me, like hairdressers, have you always wanted to be a journalist? The story is that I've always been a strong writer, and I've always been curious, and I've always liked asking questions and engaging with people. Journalism made sense as a career path, therefore. Even before I was professionally a journalist, like when I was living in South Korea, I was writing. I always actually wanted to be a travel writer, and saw myself as a travel writer.
KS: Yeah! Yeah.
The story is that I've always been a strong writer, and I've always been curious, and I've always liked asking questions and engaging with people. Journalism made sense as a career path.
JK: I was doing a lot of that, and had a website that I refused to call a blog, where I was doing some mix of that as well. I also think that you can be a writer without being a journalist, obviously. But I don't necessarily think that you can be a good journalist without being a good writer. Some people are, you know, like, some people are journalists, and the writing is just very stripped down. There's some types of journalism that rely on that, I guess, but not the types that I prefer to consume or to produce. And I think--how have the skills informed one another?
I mean, it's about finding inroads to story. So, how you connect to a story, yourself. In some ways, it's harder to look at the story when it's yourself, you know, of like, how am I going to write this story about my breakup….my own breakup? But I think that the skills....I had reflected so much on this question, now, I can't think of a single skill that overlaps. Let me think for a second.
I think tenacity is a big one, like, so much of reporting is just finding a story yourself and pitching it, and having it accepted, and going the distance, you know, going to South Dakota and writing the story. And I think, and you know this, that is truly what [creative] writing is too. Like, just do it, you know? You want to be a writer? Then write. So I think that's a big one.
My first professional job at the Chillkat Valley News in Haines, Alaska, which you remember well, my editor Kyle--
KS: Shout out, Kyle!
JK: Kyle! After my first X amount of time there, I don't know how long it was, but I remember one night when one of the papers came out on Wednesday, it was a mad rush to get it out. At 10:00 pm, he finalized the setting to go to the printers, and he was like, "Congratulations. You came here a writer, and you're officially a journalist."
KS: Mmmm.
JK: He was teaching me the skills. Even though I studied journalism, I had a focus in journalism, yet I took like one journalism course. Isn't that insane? It doesn't say journalism degree, and that's why.
But to be able to simplify this material to like, the lowest denominator, the most simplistic form, (it’s like a math formula, almost,) is a real skill that I had to learn, and I still find myself learning. Like with this huge project that I'm working on now--it's like, there's so much information, how do I synthesize this? How do I make someone from another corner of the world that's never heard of this, understand? And I think that's true for writing, too, when you're writing from the inside of your personal experience growing up and watching Gilmore Girls. How can I explain this to someone in Pakistan who maybe has never heard of Gilmore Girls before? Thinking about it from the outside lens and simplifying your language and then vice versa. Getting at the core of the story. What's interesting about this to anyone? Why should anyone care? Making it universal. Yeah. There's probably more examples, but unfortunately--
KS: I really liked those questions though. I'm still thinking like, in my head is, why should anyone care? That can come off as so like, wHy ShOuLd aNyOnE cArE? But it's probably the most important question as a journalist, as a writer and as a creator of anything.
JK: Of anything.
KS: If you're going to put your work in front of someone and ask for their attention, that's a valuable commodity, because it's there's a fixed amount of it. So I think that's a really, really salient point.
JK: Yeah.
You want to be a writer? Then write.
KS: Do you want to talk about what your writing process looks like? You kind of talked about the whole synthesis thing, but you know, soup to nuts, if you have an idea, what does Jenna's writing process look like?
JK: Any writing process?
KS: Yeah. I said soup to nuts because I think that's funny, I never understood that.
JK: I never understood that either. What is that?
KS: Andrew said it before, and like, I don't know if I'm mis-saying it.
JK: No, I think you're saying it right.
KS: “Soup to nuts.”
JK: I'm Googling it. Oh, full course dinner?!
KS: Who has NUTS at the end of a meal? Like with cheese? I guess soup to cheese doesn't sound good?
JK: Or with ice cream?
KS: Yeah! Soup to ice cream. What is your process?
JK: Yeah. Okay, well, I think it's different for every process. Professionally, when I'm writing a story, it's a lot easier, the soup to nuts, because it happens on a lot quicker timescale.
KS: Right.
JK: So for example, with this Quannah Chasinghorse story, it was a story about a Tribeca short film that came out about this young model, who's also a climate activist. She's Alaska Native from northern Alaska, who has been an activist since she was about fourteen, and then rose to extreme fame in her modeling career; has been invited to the Met Gala twice, the first Indigenous woman to walk for Chanel, on the cover of many glossy magazines in just the past two years. This short film was coming out about her last Thursday. I pitched it, knowing that even just the fact that this person exists, and there's a short [film] about her, that is the story. That's what's interesting. And then going and doing the reporting, recording everything. You know, a lot of like, stars of *this is interesting, like, *this is the intro. No, this is the intro, this is a detail I want to capture. This is what her mother's wearing. This is a look, they exchange, like that type of thing. And then things just happening organically; like Somah Haaland, the Secretary of the Interior's daughter, was in the audience, and I thought, Oh, my God, this is unbelievable! What do they think about this? And then I asked them, how do you relate to this or not? The story changed in real time in that way. I go home, having these notes, having a rough idea of how it's gonna play out, writing it. In this specific instance, the major takeaway of the story was Quannah asking, is it worth it? Is it worth now living away from my homeland that's rapidly declining, because of the rapidly changing environment, to have this platform to advocate for my people in New York City, in Los Angeles, in the lower forty eight? I had sort of surmised that she was saying that it was worth it, or that she didn't know if it was worth it. And then seeing her again at another screening the next day, and I chased her to the bathroom and told here, Wait, like, this is what I'm gonna write, is this true? Because, you know, sometimes the job of a journalist is surmising but, you never want to put words in someone's mouth. But surmising in the sense of, this is what I'm getting. Is this what you're saying?
And then finishing it from there. So that's a pretty simplistic breakdown of it. But I think that's generally how it goes. For creative writing, my process, I don't know that I have one. I think the genesis of the body of work that I've published over the past year, or two years, has been all as a result of prompts given to me by Chloe. I think that says a lot about how I write, that I need to take another creative writing class when things slow down, and I think that I will. Some prompts I’ve written essays for: write a letter of recommendation, or write a braided essay (that's what Burn Seasons was) or write about something that you would never want to share. My writing process creatively is to give birth to this body of work, receive feedback on it, because in all of these instances, it's in a class setting. I'll have you read it and we'll talk through it, like with "Not Skinny, but Not Fat," needing to bounce ideas off of someone and ask myself, is this what I think? or like, let's tease out this idea. Usually, it works that something has sat for a period of time, then I go back, with fresh eyes and a new focus, and that's it.
KS: Yeah! No, I totally relate to that, too. I was talking to Catherine the other day, and she was asking me about my relationship with New York. She was talking about it through the frame of the writing I’ve had published. She brought up that exact point of like, well, actually, maybe it's because it's been the right amount of time that you can like process for yourself what you wanted to say in your writing. And so when you talk about, you use language like "giving birth" to these things, "these things" of art; that resonates with me. I find it very hard. I've never kept a diary. I don't find value in writing about what I'm living right now. Unless I know, or suspect, I'm going to need it later.
JK: But you do that in a different way, which is through texting.
KS: Oh, obviously, 1000 percent. Texting and the manic analog of photos on my phone. But I think because we have so many other ways to record our daily lives, I find writing to be a very sacred space where I can use the recordings from that present time, but also, like tease that out with my recollection of it, and then also, my friends recollections of it. Because usually, all three of those things are completely different.
JK: Yeah.
KS: And so I find that in the giving birth process, and in the feedback process, that's where I end up learning what the value is in the story I'm trying to tell. Otherwise I'm like, oh, this is just a story about my car. You know, like I don't actually know what that's about until I keep writing it.
JK: But seeing discrepancies in your own story, I think that's come up between you and me, where you're like, what?! You literally thought this, you said this. How are you not writing this? This fits exactly in your theme, you know? and me being like, oh, I forgot.
KS: I forgot! Laughter.
JK: I wish I could think of an example of that, but I can't.
KS: I remember very clearly; I was sitting on this windowsill when you called me, and you were in the middle of drafting Burn Seasons, and you're like, what what happened with the fire? There was something like, there was a fire? Like yeah, like you suffered from it for weeks. I'm laughing hysterically now, because it was like, so unclear to you and it was such an easy metaphor for what you're trying to write about. Like it's too close to me, it's too hot, it's too painful, I can't see it, and I was like you literally just said this to me, two hours ago; that the fire followed you up the coast when you're driving, and you were like, Oh, that is good. I totally relate to that feeling. And also when you started saying "bury me alive" and I was like, that is so funny! [“Kelsey, I started saying that because YOU said it the other day and we thought it was hysterical.”]
JK: Yes, exactly that. Exactly that. Is it true that you've now lived in Pittsburgh longer than you lived in New York?
KS: Wait I'm so happy you’re asking that question. Then I am gonna take Fala to her interview, but I, like, literally had to go on an online date calculator and type in the dates that I moved to each city. When I got the results back, and I've lived in Pittsburgh over a year longer than I've lived in New York. Like not even close!
JK: Wow.
KS: Catherine did say this as well: I didn't live in New York when I was growing up, but New York was like my North Star in a way. In the same way that Pittsburgh really was for Andrew. And so we have, like, fitting relationships with the two places that we've lived. Pittsburgh is where his family's from, New York is where my family's from. What does that inflection point look like for each of us? Andrews is going to be this July; he will have lived in Pittsburgh longer than he's lived in New York.
JK: Wait, is that even possible? Oh, cause he lived in New York for longer.
KS: I'm like, he didn't exist before I met him.
JK: So but it's interesting because Andrew does not talk about living in New York like that.
KS: Does he talk about anything?
JK: I guess he just doesn't really talk about New York.
KS: Yeah, I feel like when he tells stories, he talks about like his home.
JK: His home being what?
KS: Like, Latrobe (Lay-trobe). Pittsburgh, his family. He’ll be like, oh, remember that guy? And that time?
***
KS: So do you want to start with your process? Your soup to ice cream process? Writing process?
JK: Yeah, my soup to ice cream process.
KS: --or like, wherever you want to start. Because I know you have a lot of thinking right now.
JK: I don't really know. I feel like I need more parameters, almost. Okay, so I guess the way to start is by addressing the fact that talking about my creative writing process is not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of my writing process. I write everyday for work, and because of that, I'm more distanced, right now, from my creative writing, than I have been since I started publishing in recent years.
KS: Do you think that has to do with momentum? I know you and I have had conversations that have not been recorded about, you know, in the writing community, there's this mantra of like, write every day, and like, you're a writer, if you write, and how do you think about your creative writing process specifically? When you think about those kinds of expectations, and also the realities of your own professional work?
JK: I think about it, like almost seasonally, like I can only pick one thing to focus on in a period of time. Right now, and for the past, whatever months, it would be good if I had an exact time frame. I would say--when did I finish my Chloe class? When you finished with Courtney. Six months ago?
KS: A year ago.
JK: It ended in the summer?
KS: It was April into May. The last day of May was the last day.
JK: Okay, yeah, that's crazy. So I think of my creative writing as something that very much needs to be motivated. Like, I know what conditions I need to be under to produce. When I'm not under those conditions, I just simply won't [write]. I don't know if it's a psyching myself out thing, or an imposter syndrome thing, or if it's just a lack of time.
I mean, I always say, I had time when I made the time. I was working full time and doing my writing class, and publishing those writings when I was in the class. It's just about putting myself in the correct environment.
I think the expectation of writing creatively every day is unrealistic. And honestly, unwarranted. It's like what you were saying this morning, like, I don't want to just write a diary entry, you know, like, for the sake of writing. Sometimes that's how writing ideas come about. That's definitely been the case in Chloe's classes where she's given me a prompt, and then it's led to a real spark of imagination and I run with that. Like what Ann LaMott says in Bird by Bird, like, so much of writing, and so much of being an artist, is the practice of it, right? It's the repetition of it. And I find that when I'm in it, like, when I have a prompt that I'm excited about, when I'm having conversations that I'm excited about, when I'm thinking about a scene in my life that I'm excited about. But when I'm not, and when I'm away from that, it's just hard to motivate myself to even get into headspace where I'm like, Okay, I'm gonna write today, like about what? You know?
KS: Absolutely, absolutely.
JK: Like without the constraints of deadline, I just won't do it. I don't know if that will always be the case. Because that is very much the case for me, right now.
KS: Yeah. I mean, it's very much the case for me right now, too. It always has been the case for me.
JK: Always, always.
KS: You and I, at least, have tried in the past with some varying levels of success, to create those deadlines with each other. And I know that you participate in writing groups, that kind of helps, I guess.
JK: Yeah, it kind of helps. So I took these notes when I was thinking about it this morning. I think when I am in the practice of writing, my practice looks like this. This is true for my everyday writing, too. But on a lesser scale, because again, it's just, I do it because it's -- like if you have those deadlines, you have to meet those deadlines. There's no option of not to write. So it's just like, okay, how can I make this happen? How can I create the most ideal environment for me to write right now?
But when I'm in the process and feeling it, it's always about my immediate environment. So, I need to be high on caffeine. I need to have good lighting, and usually has to do with being early in the day, or at least earlier in the day. I think so much of my writing process is about researching and thinking about an idea. It's never just straight forward, right? It's never just about like, here's an experience that happened. It's like, okay, how can we pull in other resources to bolster that experience that's happened? For example, with the wildfires, even though that was something I knew about peripherally from reporting on it, it was like definitely something that I was reading articles and going down rabbit holes. Learning that Miley Cyrus and her husband rebuilt their house [in the same place] after it burnt down in a Malibu wildfire. And I was like, what the fuck? Like, why are people doing this? Why is this a trend? And so like, letting the research sort of guide my way of thinking there.
But I think also, when I'm In It, (like capital I, capital, I)—so much of it, too, is about spending time away from it. So, even in varying capacities, it could be a day and then I’m revisiting it. Or it could be weeks, or it could be months, which is the case with some of my writing right now. That coming back to my writing after time spent away, I have a different perspective, and I'm able to see the things that I really find true and relate to, and sort of shape other ideas.
KS: Definitely. Definitely. Um, do you want to say, I guess you kind of answered this already, because you said that you want to take a new course. But are you working on anything right now? That you want to share?
JK:"Working on" is a strong word. But there's two essays that I would like to foster their way to publication. One about my relationships to sex (gasp) through my upbringing, and through Gilmore Girls as almost a guide, or a misguided guide. The other is an essay about the perfect chip, Takis, that I've sort of been doodling out and researching. That essay's going to take a lot of research because there's so much I still need to learn about Takis.
KS: There's so much we could all learn about Takis.
JK: So much we could all learn about Takis.
KS: Awesome.
That coming back to my writing after time spent away, I have a different perspective, and I'm able to see the things that I really find true and relate to, and sort of shape other ideas.
JK: Yeah, yeah. Okay. But the last note on my phone here that I think it's important is that I always, always, always need to feel inspired, when I'm writing, by other people's writing. Reading writing that I know inspires me, like “The Crane Wife,” we know we love this essay, every time I revisit it, I'm like, damn, that's a powerful essay.
KS: That leads me to my next question! I completely agree with what you said. I'm always inspired when a free-write or workshop leads with either a poem or reading. I'm always like, ugh, such a waste of time. But then, immediately, I feel like a spark, you know?
JK: Oh, my God, yeah.
KS: It's crazy. And I think that's something I want to incorporate more in my own practice, because it also just signals like, okay, I'm sitting down to write now. I'm gonna read this one thing. And then I'm gonna go.
So I wrote my question: you're a voracious reader. Who are you reading right now? And do you feel that reading influences your writing at all?
JK: Yes, absolutely. It always has, and it always will. I think it does for every single person. I actually just finished Courtney Maum's memoir, Year of the Horses, which is her first book of personal writing, as I understand it. I didn't love it. I think she's interesting and I like her writing about writing, which is not what this was. I think I found this subject a little bit more unrelatable because it's about her overcoming depression and finding a way back to her husband and her daughter through horseback riding, a childhood passion of hers. I went to the library yesterday and I was told that my two books that I put on hold got sent back to the main branch, because I’d waited too long to pick them up, which has never happened to me.
KS: Oh my god, that's the worst feeling.
JK: I know! It sucks. But on my list is a work related book, about the American Indian Movement in the 70s called Custer Died for Your Sins, by Vine Deloria, Jr, and then another book that Kayla, the editor at Elle, sparked my interest in. She was talking about Ashley C. Ford, and I was just looking her up, she wrote a memoir, called Somebody's Daughter and that was on my list as well. When they come back to me from the main branch.
Also on my waiting list at library is the anthology on bodies. What's it called?
KS: The one that Melissa had an excerpt in? The sex one? Or the bodies one?
JK: Yeah, I think it's called Sex and the Modern Single Woman.
KS: Yeah, something like that. That sounds awesome.
JK: What are you reading?
KS: What am I reading? I'm reading Olive Kitteridge right now. Have you read it?
JK: I haven't.
KS: It was everywhere like ten years ago. It came out in 2008, won the Pulitzer. I think I read it, like, in high school, when I was a literal child. And I'm re-reading it now as someone who is a married person. It's gutting, let me tell you.
JK: Really?
KS: It is so beautifully written. The reason I picked it up is because I really loved Cara Blue Adams’ You Never Get It Back, and she listed Olive Kitteridge as one of her inspirations because it's a collection of short stories, but they're linked short stories. There's like not that many collections that are linked, and some people market them as "a novel in stories." Some market them as linked short fiction, whatever. But in Cara Blue Adams' book, every single story followed the same protagonist, and in Olive Kitteridge, it's a portrait of this place and all of these people and Olive shows up in all of the stories. In some of them, she's more central, and some of them she literally is just like sitting in a bar and then leaving, you know. I'm really enjoying it. That's like when I was texting Andrew like I want to be old with you.
JK: And he was like cool!
KS: Um, yeah, so that's what I'm reading. I also don't know if you want to speak to this. I feel this very specifically and I don't know if it necessarily translates to you, but I almost feel guilty when I’m reading sometimes. Because it's this, like, nag of like, I should be writing but I want to be reading. Today, I've been reading on the porch and I'm like, I should be writing. But I just, I want to finish this book, and I feel like that's okay? But also I have to have that conversation with myself.
JK: Yeah, I can understand that. I've built reading into my life as like, almost like a practice of self-care. It's a really important thing for me to make time to do, often I'll read first thing in the morning while I'm drinking my coffee. Setting a time for doing it and deeming it as an important and necessary way to like, wake up my brain, wake up my body, intellectually engage with literature, is important on all levels, you know? But I do understand that. Recently, Craig had me draw out a line of the self versus the obligation and like, where does reading fall in that? It's almost both. I almost make it an obligation, because I see it as critical to my practice as a professional, creative person.
KS: Yeah, I like thinking about it that way. Should we talk about your relationship with photography? Do you consider yourself a photographer?
JK: I do. It's kind of like the artist question, right? Like, I guess I do, by default? But I wouldn't be like, hey, I'm Jenna, and I'm a photographer. But I enjoy taking photos, and I think that it is perhaps even a huge part of my identity. Which is why it's weird that I've grown distant from photography, in a way that's been noticeable to other people, and not to myself in recent years.
Yesterday, I went to get new film. My film camera battery has died twice in the past six months, inexplicably, I'm like, am just like running through the battery? What's the deal? I was asking. And the woman who was helping me took three photos on my film! And I had to be like okay! uh! erm! can you just stop??!!
KS: That's insannnneeee!
JK: She's like, oh, it's film? Like, are you kidding me? Do you not work here?
Yeah I think my relationship with photography and with myself as a photographer has changed based on my environment. In a way that makes sense. I was, I think, at my peak photography-self when I was living in a really stimulating environment of people, in Nepal, in India. Just shooting street photography, using my 50mm portrait lens, just going out for the explicit purpose of taking photos of people. And also always having my camera on me. Then when I was in Alaska, it's like, landscape photography has never been my jam. I always liked people in my photos, so I just got distanced from it. In retrospect, there’s also this idea of shifting my creative hobbies, talents, into monetization, like into work. So when photography became photojournalism, and Kyle, my editor at Chillkat Valley News, didn't appreciate my form, or my artistic vision in photos. He was like that stuff, that doesn't follow journalistic principles, like photojournalism 101. I was like, fuck journalism principles. That just came up again, when I was reporting in the UN, my editor, Valerie, was like these photos, like, are you kidding? I was like, Are you?
KS: Like, you're kidding, right?
JK: And Evan was the one who said to me, like, I think you have a much more artistic read on photography, and like, they're looking for like a straight, you know, rule of thirds, eyes in this quadrant of composition photo. I'm doing a more artistic rendering with that and like, that's okay, but that's just not how my editors seeing it.
But I enjoy taking photos, and I think that it is perhaps even a huge part of my identity. Which is why it's weird that I've grown distant from photography, in a way that's been noticeable to other people, and not to myself in recent years.
KS: That is really interesting. I was thinking of like, it's hard because I've known you for 10 years. This is our 10 year anniversary this year.
JK: Happy anniversary.
KS: When you were in Florence, [when we met], you had your camera with you everywhere. When we traveled in the US, you always had your camera, but again, it's the same idea of like, it's stimulating and we are traveling, you know? So that's when you would have your camera.
But I also want to push you on the UN photography. Obviously you got that feedback from your editor, but then it almost came and did a 180 where other people who were covering the conference wanted to use your photos, right? Or am I making that up out of my own memory?
JK: Yeah no, you're right. Although I don't know if they wanted to use my photos because they were the best photos, or because I was there, simply because I had the photos, you know?
KS: The glass is half full, Jenna.
JK: Yeah, no, I am flattered by it, in the end. Also, I think like, it would be interesting to learn photojournalism. My editor offered to set me up with a photojournalist she knows in New York to teach me some basic principles.
KS: That would be really cool.
JK: Yeah, I think it would be cool to actually study the trade of it, rather than just be like, this is what moves me.
KS: I'm thinking about like, as a creative writer, if someone came in and wrote like a lyric essay about, like, a conference, you know? That isn't journalism.
JK: Yes tooooootally. Exactly that.
KS: I think that's really interesting how you fall on both sides of that creative spectrum, with your writing and your photography.
JK: And the feedback I just got from Steve just now, like, I was like, how can I be a better journalist? He told me, you could be more concise. And I was like, okay. True. Fair. I think that I'm very verbose. I think that I always have been.
KS: My next question is, do you consider yourself an artist? And what does "an artist" mean to you? How would you describe the identity of an artist today? You can kind of run with that wherever, whatever.
JK: Did you add that last point on?
KS: Nooooo.
JK: (mumbles) How would I describe the identity of an artist today? Like the photography thing, I'm hesitant to claim myself as an artist, to label myself as an artist, but if pressed, like on what I'm producing, I think it is art. I think I'm practicing several different types of art forms. "Practicing" sort of being the operative word there, you know, like learning how to better myself, getting feedback in all arenas of that, even the photography one. So yeah, I think I would. I think the word artist is maybe a little bit fraught.
When I think of artists, I think of a specific medium of art, which is really more a fine artist, like a painter. Someone like the starving artists. I think of a starving artist, but somehow has a massive SoHo studio apartment, great lighting, wearing clothes splattered in paint.
KS: Hahahah
JK: I think that I am an artist. I wonder why I'm hesitant to claim it though.
I don't think of it necessarily as gendered. I can imagine a female artist in the exact same scenario. I know a female artist in the exact same scenario.
I'm a lot more comfortable claiming the words that are just closer to my lexicon, my everyday; which is writer, and even photographer, but I'm a lot more comfortable with those words, journalists rather than artists.
KS: Yeah.
JK: In some ways too, it just feel pretentious to me, like to be an artist. And maybe that's my issue.
KS: I think it begs an interesting question about like, who in your head like is able to create or claim that label?
JK: Yeah.
KS: But I mean, it's my own thing to look at too. I created this, I called it an “Artist” Series. I definitely see you as an artist and I think I don't mean, the word "artist," like in the idea of what I've decided an artist is, but more just someone who creates art is how I am trying to frame myself in thinking about it.
JK: Yeah.
KS: So yeah, if that means you're a writer, if it means you're a photographer, if it means you're an actor, like, those are all artists to me. What's interesting is like, when does someone become like a writer and an artist?
JK: Yeah, and I don't know. Do they?
KS: I don't know. Or like, when is someone a writer and not an artist? These are just questions I have, they're not really meant to be answered.
JK: I'm trying to think of like, Joy Harjo, for example, the Poet Laureate that I recently interviewed. She calls herself a poet.
KS: Yep. Poets! There are sooooo the best. Should I start saying I'm an essayist?
JK: Maybe? She also claims specific identities when she fits into multiple identities. So an artist not being one of them, Joy Harjo claims poet and she also claims musician. So like, maybe because I claim writer and I claim journalist, so when I hear artist, like, I want to be more specific than that, you know?
But I also think, it does say something about our society that even when I think of art, I think of literally, a palette, like a painter's palette.
KS: Yeah, yeah.
JK: When I think of art, I think of high school art classes, which are very focused on specific mediums of painting and drawing. like, Sara Gilanchi, to me, is an artist.
KS: Totally.
JK: But, I can see, obviously, I think that musical theater is art, and other music is art, writing is art, but I'm less likely to be like to point at it and be like, "that's art," rather than like the painting framed on the wall, you know? That's kind of just like a boring limitation that I'm letting language allow for.
KS: I'm trying to think of the ways that it comes up in terms of how I process other forms of art, if I'm not thinking of them as "art." Or people whose work I engage with. It's like, I almost am looking for some sort of, like allowance or permission, like to be named an artist.
JK: Chelsea Martin!
KS: Yeah, Tell Me I’m an Artist! Um, yeah, I think that's a great book title, because it really speaks to the same insecurity that I've had, like, my whole life. Especially in my professional life as a writer. So I guess, to circle back, you do consider yourself an artist, but you just wouldn't necessarily call yourself an artist.
JK: Well, I guess I consider my work.....works of art. (Bursts into laughter.) I do, I consider my writing art.
KS: They are! Yeah.
It's taking an experience, putting it under harsh scrutiny and different forms of harsh lighting, and making something else out of it that didn't exist.
JK: That's what that is. It's nothing else. It's taking an experience, putting it under harsh scrutiny and different forms of harsh lighting, and making something else out of it that didn't exist. Like it's changing the chemistry of something, just like mixing paint colors would be, you know? That's probably a lame comparison, but just trying to like make comparisons to how I normally think of art. So much of this has to do with asking permission to do something. Because I think that in practice, like anyone that does these things, is an artist, right?
KS: Yeah.
JK: If you write regularly, I would consider someone that writes on a semi-regular basis, and is published, a writer. You know? I'd consider someone that paints, a painter; someone that is in plays, an actor or an actress or an artist in that way. So it's like, why are we asking for permission for these words that we call ourselves?