Interview
Jaclyn Newman
Jaclyn, known simply as “L.,” is a New York–born creative shaped by the Downtown, Manhattan art scene. From early childhood—dancing, playing piano, singing, styling, and performing—creativity defined her identity. She came to see “creative” as an expansive umbrella, beyond the limits of titles like artist or designer, encompassing all forms of expression she moved through. Growing up in New York exposed her to performance, persona-building, and the realities of artistic life early on. By her twenties, she pursued creative work more seriously, navigating auditions, styling, writing, and production while questioning fame, industry structures, and her place well within them. Although she reveres genuine recognition for her prowess, disillusionment with mainstream culture led her to focus on making meaningful work rather than chasing visibility. In her thirties, she returned to nightlife and creative direction, producing events, building concepts, and refining her voice. After significant personal and financial losses, she rebuilt through entrepreneurship and visual art, ultimately leading to international exhibitions. Her debut show, Epoch of Clown / Nurse Nuggets, marked the beginning of a body of conceptual work exploring identity, perception, and time. Now an independent, self-represented artist with further series to navigate for the masses, Jaclyn works across the disciplines— writing, visual art, and performance—continuing to develop a practice rooted in both lived experience and conceptual depth.
“My name is Jaclyn, people call me L., like L D O T. It’s my “stage name”. I earned this name. Somewhat anecdotal story of how this name came to be. Let’s say some people thought S. Carter and L Dot have boss similarities, if I had to be curt about it— Considering Lyn developed by way of a refined ego and a way to cruise for boys at a young age without giving them my real name. Laugh out loud. However, to stay on topic before I foray into verbosity any further… The name was born and raised in New York as I am. It has matured into the grown and sexy, “L.”
I am a creative. I call myself a niche creative. My brand of creative is strictly and directly taken out of the Downtown, New York art scene. I wear so many hats it’s bothersome. I am a creative since a child. When I look back at my youth, it’s colored and pained by so many instances, circumstances, nuances, and identities even; but I see myself always, first and foremost, front and center, as a creative. This word is a very special and important word. So many words that follow are simply adjectives in my book. Take the word, “Artist”, for example. For an artist to be recognized as an artist is absolutely everything. Compared to “Creative”, and I hate comparing, but for context— You realize that artist is limiting. I think now people actually inquire about what kind of art the artist creates or what the artist(s) do exactly without any assumptions about what or rather how art is being created. I treat the artistic landscapes and its associated words as adjectives. Sometimes, adverbs, interestingly enough. Creative being the crème de la crème, the umbrella term of which all the words associated with being creative fall under… Designer, writer, painter, sound engineer, what have you.
So, as I was saying, I was born a creative. I began dancing and playing the piano at the age of three and four. I was always in motion. Simply in my own world. Singing, painting, drawing, styling, crafting, coloring, in costume, in makeup. Stealing my mother’s stilettos, especially the expensive ones. I always had good taste. My aunt was one hell of a stylist. She would bejewel me to the gods and back. I was obsessed with image. With façade. With the idea of creating yourself. Going from blank to absolute brim. The idea of a tableau was not lost on me from a young age. I understood interpersonal nuances very well. I was very savvy. A little too precocious most especially when it mattered the most. Charming. Persuasive. Intelligent. I recognized I could hit some musical notes with my voice very easily. I would get dressed up and would emulate these gods on television. On the radio. In magazines. I would study them. I would study myself in the mirror because I was used to being in a vicinity that had tall, floor length mirrors, both at the dance studios and in my home. I was used to being alone as a child. I would stare at myself relentlessly. Not just out of juvenile narcissism, but because I realized the idea of a persona from a young age. I was in wonderment of myself. How could glass capture me so well? I could bend; I could flex. I could make my hair look tall and funny. I could put red stuff on my mouth, and I looked so damn cool. And I could see myself! What is this?! How am I there but here? I could play with myself endlessly and not ever get tired. And nothing, I mean nothing, could ever hurt me. I felt the fame pulsing through me. I felt impenetrable. I realized this was a phenomenon. Much like various phenomenon I would encounter throughout the course of my life. I realized how to put together a show. I realized this brought me joy. I realized this created a crowd. I got used to performing for people. In front of crowds. I suppose the mastering of all these elements took the years ahead that it did.
As I was growing, I embarked on a new. A new piece of writing. A new poem, A new song. A quick limerick. A new skill I attained. A new style I put together. A new concept. A new lens. I was great at this talent show and this audition, but not so much at this one. I realized these costumes looked better on me than these. These angles in the mirror looked better than those. My dance teacher would scold me on these days rather than these. Essentially, I danced in my youth and was creative. I sang quite a bit and made as much noise as I could with instruments. There wasn’t anything I hadn’t strung out or banged on. Sometimes I had friends that were also creative. Sometimes I lived the life of a creative where all you have around are fake friends you create with! Some people call that a goldmine. But whatever I was doing, by the time I entered my twenties, I was more serious about spending most, if not all my time being creative and securing currency for it. There were times that I vacillated between wanting to be recognized for my work and absolutely shunning the notion of being in the spotlight — Vastly different from my youth. I had gone through such a hyperbolic life in New York especially in my adolescence and I wasn’t anything special — Just an artist! I went through so many instances of incredible confidence and being in predicaments where my confidence was to be greatly tested. The idea of a thick skin was not the problem. I was a dancer for 15 years starting in my youth. I had been ripped to shreds at every square inch of me, including my bobby pins. I went to public school and private school because of persistent, “Conduct disorder”. I mean, I grew up in New York in the very New York way. I grew up fast. I realized very early what I wanted to settle for — If anything at all. How I was spending my time. What kinds of ideas or premises took precedence in my mind. What was living “rent-free” so to speak, around me and through me. I think recognition and vapid paradigms are not the same thing. And I know because I have seen and lived them both.
Growing up in New York especially with your focus already in the niche direction, you’re exposed to so much celebrity. I would cut school sometimes and find myself at MTV studios. I met celebrities in studios. As visitors for special events. In the street. While shopping. And of course, most importantly, at parties. At the clubs. If you know anything about New York clubs at that time, nightlife had its own celebrities. Sadly, my main youth came around a very not so creative time in New York. The late 90s had seen the death of clubland and the art scene in New York and the 2000s were racked with Bushisms, Bergs, and lounge-life. Montauk cocktail anyone? Most cannot relate. And some just don’t care to. Some people really thought the clam-shell cell phone was the major upgrade — And it shows! It was no longer just Bowie with its eyes rimmed. Emo and Screamo music were everywhere. Being gay became corporate. Believe it or not, we needed Britney to bust a move. So much began to appear like pseudo-futurism. I hated that time in my life. So much. I found it so empty and an absolute fuck you to the Downtown art scene. I was taught to dance and play the piano by well-known and established artists just the same. I was exposed to art and every kind of music there is. I had been on sets growing up. I was used to a camera in my face just by living the experience of myself… By living the artistic way. By knowing the ideals of artistic inclinations.
Understanding what comes naturally as a skill or talent or joy is very different from being expected to land it, or nail it, or “Secure the bag”, so to speak, especially for other people more than yourself sometimes. That’s where business comes in. I was one to capitalize quickly conceptually, however I knew that the world manifest tends to operate in a physical format, at least that’s how we uniformly agree to live this life. Otherwise, the world would not operate this way, the way it had and the way it does. Ugh — The opportunities were limited at the time. The world was truly and dramatically different. Everything was going tech to the point of just working on your landing page, your “individual” digital persona, whether we realized it or not Our avatars. Institutional education was becoming as respected as striking out on your own. In fact, depending on the industry, it was now expected. Almost… Requisite. I worked different jobs to secure myself as much as I could. An audition here and there. Backstage makeup, styling a set, a photo shoot. A small stint that I flubbed at Fuse TV because of a boyfriend. Ugh-- the opportunities that I did flub because of a boyfriend. Don’t even. I considered a loan to try sound engineering. I was all over the place. I think I was trying to understand my edge. My corner of the nexus so to speak. My brand. My identity. What was I capable of anymore? Who needed another Brit? What could I do that was so spectacular, much less and especially, if the industry capitulates to corporate? To the American populace that is the consumer?
Art in a lowbrow sense was so damn done. Art galleries were strictly for the gallerina girls. Strictly for the champagne budget. (Cut to 2026 real quick — No matter how homeless I am, I don’t do cheap champagne. That’s a done deal.) They too capitulated. Capitulated to what brought in the currency. This was not the moment to say the least. This was empty culture. Cultural bankruptcy. I continued my writing. Always writing. Some really good songs too. I think I should have shopped my writing a bit more aggressively but at that time it was becoming cliché. I wasn’t a Carrie Bradshaw. But I liked those girls too! But I wasn’t a Carrie. I wasn’t a size zero and I would never wear heels without payment. (Some daily bread for the feminists!) I suppose another boyfriend or two. I felt old by the time I was 25. It was unanimous! I wasn’t going to be a pop tart — No matter how early I started to art! By my late 20s I was really spent. I knew life especially at that time had arranged the industry in such a way that if I was ever to try my hand at mainstream anything, I was sort of already done before I had started. It was very much an illusion to me. Somewhat attainable but still very far away. It began to bore me completely. It wasn’t what I wanted anymore either. Maybe if things were different in all the ways that I know they could be different. But I was too much of a realist at that time in my life. I wasn’t interested in being seen purchasing a latte at Starbucks or having the world see me fighting with a fling. That’s what celebrity was then in the 2000s. I was interested in making incredible art. I wanted my own studio. My own club. My own dream team. And the ability to art all day and all night long and make a living doing this. Work had beaten the dreams out of me. I had gotten too heady. I tend to get very invested in what I am doing, even if it hasn’t quite merited my adoration. Otherwise, I cannot be still. The tech-boom created many things at this point. We were beyond a landing page, now we had social media. The digital business card. It was around this time I noticed a new up and coming remake of a very well-known group of underground creatives at it again in Downtown, New York. No matter how much eradication Downtown seems to go through, it’s only a matter of time until it yields — Yet again, some of the finest artists and creatives together. Naturally, I partied like a monster. We owe that to Downtown forever — Seriously.
It wasn’t until my 30s that the club bug was really coming at me strong again. I took a stab at putting some parties together. Considered owning a space. Tried to raise capital where I could. The capital requisite with the new real estate boom after the sub-prime debacle was out of control. I continued my social research for my writing, drug escapades and personal musings as I did in my youth. I met some heavy hitters along the way. My fellow cultural strategists. We did parties. I played the fame-game for a bit. And naturally, I met some really, beautiful people. Some people I will cherish for the rest of my life. Some people just know when they meet their heart’s content. I certainly did. Some of my happiest moments in my life happened in those clubs. I will never forget those moments. As life went on, I loved and lost along the way. Covid became a normal. I lost a shitload of money. I lost my job. I lost my love. My best friend. My business partner. My apartment. Some other things too. Including some of my health. The experience of losing people close to you, much less losing anything at all that matters to you, very suddenly to death or otherwise, can be excruciating and harrowing. It can be very disconcerting. I think I delayed the notion that perhaps it had affected me in the long term. I had to keep going amid all the losses. My entrepreneurial wave came rushing in like a sonic boom. I took my previous involvement in the club game and began promoting brands and thoughts and lifestyles, just like in the clubs. But I was not in the clubs! I was on site! I was on location! And I was brand focused and specific in brackets of time as an ambassador to startup, celebrity, and corporate brick and mortar and eCommerce. Sometimes, I had multiple brands to juggle per week. Rarely, but surely at times, simultaneously, the same day! I was building sets now too! Like in previous years as well! There wasn’t anything I hadn’t sold at this point. Anything I hadn’t promoted. Valued. Priced. Branded. The queen of commodities. A damn specialist! I continued creating graphics, something I really enjoy. It puts my mind at ease. I tried to hold on, but after a failure or two and eventually some serious matters coming to a head that are both personal and perhaps time to find a way to integrate most genuinely and graciously, I had to bite the bullet and became homeless. I was renewed and ready. A broken heart. A resonated mind. A fire in my belly. A child born of the stars and an artist left in the dirge. This was nothing new. I had begun to feel acclimated to being hunted. Some might say, by now I had really lived the creative identity. At the very least, its formulaic iterations. There is no living the New York identity, both old and/or new, as by no other choice, but to sleep on its concretes. I felt it a rite of passage at this juncture. This was nothing new. I had begun to feel acclimated to being hunted. I felt it a rite of passage at this juncture. I had really started to conceptualize thoughts and ideas and ideals and emotions and identities and brands and the ethos of life in a specific way. I took some of my former art graphic and noticed some of the direction I was heading in my life. Some would call this “Art direction”. Some parts of my life often found to be cyclical. Redundant. This redundancy of freedom as I call it, (It would be later that year that I had written a personal piece in this namesake) is a motif I had explored often too much in my life. Too often the recipe of the creative that comes from Downtown. And this is the moment where they either make it in the industry, or they die. I was in the midst of surviving the prophecy. I’m no fool. I might hail from a pedigree, but I am as unique as they come. I know this.
Authenticity must be recognized but will be fought over—Or completely deterred. An odd duck for the sake of diplomacy. And what of war if not to honor the contents of its truths or win(s)? Warring for peace. I began painting again. Still writing. I had been plugged into many troupes, enclaves, and collectives — Social engineering or cultural programming not being lost on me. Eventually, I suppose someone noticed and I got an offer to exhibit my art in Switzerland from a gallery. Prior to that, I had agency offer me very impressive locations that an artist would just die to premier in. I took the offer in Switzerland. I premiered with love and lust in my heart. I premiered my debut exhibition and named it, “Epoch of Clown / Nurse Nuggets”. A triptych series that embodies the illustrious story of some of my experience as an artist and entrepreneurial creative around the time between 2015 through 2017. A dual-wielding, walking cinema — The walking Manhattan as I like to think of it. It explores the recognized trope of modalities, better understood today as algorithms. “The Eye of Modalities”, “All the Words of Thoughtlandia”, and “Conceptual Conditioning”, as I titled it. At the time I was a bourgeoise in the Downtown nightlife stratosphere whilst hanging on to my not so fragile ego. As I was cultivating looks, I was cultivating life. My life. Nightlife-life. I had already cleaned not just the lens of life through mythos but most especially mythos and mask in those dark rooms in the center of the universe. My most precious gem, the haven of havens… Below 14th street forever. My heart roars and soars just thinking about it. My joy and pain all over the nexus of the omniverse. Like splattered paint, prismatic pains. I filled the gaps. Filled the void. I ask myself if I had filled it prior to traversing it or not. That remains to be seen in my next saga of work. Of course, I sent it off with love and strata. A definite journey was being recognized. Something very inordinate. At times, downright numinous! Between portal jumping, crossing the space-time continuum, finding the cord of creativity, honoring that space, and being graceful for its presence — The muses were mused! I continued from there. I went on to exhibit in Berlin, Germany, Saint George, Grenada, Dubai, United Arab Emirates, and of course… New York. Downtown, New York to be exact. I added another three, but separate, pieces to those exhibitions with further focus on the exploration of these visual motifs impaled on my consciousness. On my constant cognizance. It is essentially a heightened elaboration. Works created in 2020 and 2024. The series exhibited named, “Gertrude’s eyes”. Eyes that spear. Eyes that see beyond the stone. “Chronostratigraphy — MaxiStrat”. Much of my work is focused on the concept of time and how it pertains to our perception and observations of not only what we are looking at or seeing but rather the lens through which we are performing these actions. This lens, whether chosen or unconsciously selected, is the makings of our experience we have of the existence we are itself. Once mastered, it is the various lenses obtained that create and/or give way to the modalities to be recognized, so that the past that is ever present, can make way for creating the future… In REAL time. And finally, “Femmenina’s Plight”. Nina was born with an aversion to temptation.
I now have a total of five exhibitions worldwide and all in the span of three consecutive months. I have much to say about the industry, but I also know what it means to pay your dues no matter how much you think you’ve already paid. Right now, I have offers on the table to premier with other agency. As of today, I am still many things, yes — But I can say with great confidence I am a self-taught, self-made, self-represented, independent artist who specializes in disciplinarity-based conceptual artistry. I think this is where being a writer comes in handy. I perform physically, I am intellectual, and I can totally nom de plume my life away. Currency is still questionable. Have I mentioned how lovely it is to be a creative?”
What is your background and how did you start your journey in the art world?
“‘L Dot is a full-time concept. A lifestyle cultivated, curated, and narrated through the various mediums of art and its expressed forms. L. is the social manifesto, a codex for navigating art life, most especially, subcultural art life. Born and raised in New York City, L. is a paradigm not often recognized at first glance. A disciplinarity-based artist with a proclivity and inclination for words. Bodily movement through sound architecture may sometimes be included. L. became known for her curated looks as quickly as she was her witticisms while working in the nightlife stratosphere as part of her then creative troupe.’
I suppose I can foray with that, right? I often find myself being the artist and my own artistic representation. My own artists’ development. I suppose that makes an awful lot of sense from my youth to now. If I really take a moment to surmise so many of the creative roles I have fulfilled from the artistic process to the business standpoint to the scientific comprehension requisite to funnel all this harangue that is known as a “Creative”. Pauses. Pensive. Ponders. I am a creative from New York City with a penchant for the pen. A master wordsmith. A cultural attaché. A social researcher. A subcultural savant. The navigation system’s’ navigator. A creative entrepreneur. An absolute clublandia participant and devotee. A club rat. The definition of Downtown grit. The muck and the mire for breakfast type of entity. I am the ancient future in the proverbial egg of consciousness waiting to rupture. Yoked up is an understatement. At this point, I think it’s evident that there is a particular breed that hails from Downtown. I am certainly not the first of its kind. However, I would like to think that my contribution to the art world is more than just momentary fluff by way of good writing, good face, and good taste — Or phenomenal public relations if I may say so. I think that I am part of a select few that really understands the difficulties of living life. Of just existing. Especially in a world that has been defined and already constructed by other people and some of them strangely bold as myself to say this is how it should be! It’s very much a micro/macro of a club or club-life, rather. It’s an exclusivity that is being presented often with and/or within our “Chosen” lifestyles. And that may sound so ridiculous in the long run while my mascara is running down my face at 7:00 AM as I am on my way to the afters whilst gripping my minaudière; however, irony not being lost on me, still doesn’t negate the many tribulations it takes to be able to sustain art life. I think it’s very difficult to be intellectual. To be so differently intelligent. Not just because it can be isolating. That sometimes is the relief! I think it’s very difficult to know the truth. To seek the truth. To present the truth. To then only be greeted by the truth. To be found! To be found out! I often think people are funny to assume that we find or discover. How human. We have yet to acclaim what is out there seeking us. I am not entirely confident that is wise. The question being the chicken or the egg? The barrel or the box? Do we spur the search on ourselves? Which one of us initiates the search? And is the answer a bias? If binary is a constant thematic we notice throughout the course of nature and existence, is it the search for congruency or is its purpose for establishing merger? Or is this all we have yet to come up with as handling the binary? Why the binary at all? What are we implying? I think you can very much find what you anticipate finding just the same. That can be just as much a bias, if not a cultural bias. To have the truth envelope every part of you. To be absolutely enraptured. An all-consuming onslaught. Not to be mistaken, although, I am certain has been mistaken for selling your soul. Perhaps we all ought to sell our souls. Maybe we would be humbled when greeted by ourselves, finally. To be so bold to dance with this shadow side of the cosmic planes. To stride these dimensional realities. And most importantly to be able to contain the truth enough for people to experience freedom. I think that is a personal cruelty that many artists don’t speak much about and then you see them on the headlines or the next obit. And it’s happened too many times at this point and often enough to some extremely rare and necessary people in this existence.
I represent myself first and foremost. But I am here representing a particular brand of intelligence. A particular league of minds. A way of being. A way of life whilst celebrating personal freedom. However, I am very pressing about what I think is cool and isn’t cool. I think I practice a visceral type of art. Somewhat performative. Somewhat experimental. I often conceive myself as the art-piece itself. Daring to be fiddled. Ready to kill if not fiddled with correctly. There are hifalutin, historically contextual words for this practice. I may or may not use them — Considering that I know art is real magic. I place myself at the poultice with such high-octane stressors to facilitate results that can be construed as impossible, unnecessary, or just too much. Painstaking perhaps. I call this my “Solutions to Grandeur.” However, I think going to a nine to five everyday of your life with no real meaning or authority over yourself is also a high-octane stressor that is construed as impossible, unnecessary, or just too much. Try finding a poultice for that. Wipes brow. Sighs. The intelligentsia nouveau. And if I am being honest, we have been here a long time. I am just not so sure we are recognizing the brand anymore. I am not so sure we care to run in droves any longer either. New York is changing. People are changing. Not nearly as much as necessary however, it’s all changing enough to say that for the niche knower, you know which one of us is us. Perhaps it’s better this way.”
What inspires you?
“The idea of an intellectual zenith being recognized as genius inspires me greatly. I have had some serious moments of genius in my life. Those can be very humbling. Unruly. What an awe. That might be the only concept I chase. And really because there is nothing like this moment. The associated physicality alone is enough to acknowledge this is an unusual moment. Subcultures inspire me. They are the revolution after all. The way people hub inspires me. The rituals associated with how people congregate and aggregate is a real precursor to the times for me. It’s this sort of unspoken language. This primal way of affinity. I think we continue to recreate and reverberate the same norms under new guises or personas or melded identities. Especially when the subculture of the day is a real hit! Sometimes when it’s truly good, you don’t see the recreation as redundancy or reductivity. Reformulations. Recalibrations. I think that you can really enjoy what is being understood as its evolution. Eventually it becomes historical context. Historical artifact. A reference point in where we can use the single thread as a current for information source. Now, natural to monetize.
However, I would be careful when hitting this gray area. You will tire quickly of people and their recycled behaviors. This is where artists are a complete sanctuary. An absolute non-negotiable necessity. Once an artist must wrestle this kind of beast, to get to this point, it’s to be understood that society will be at the stake of freedom. The larger annihilation must take place. It will not necessarily be subcultures at the cross. A zeitgeist is begging to break through. It takes no prisoners. These motifs although sometimes disconcerting to some, inspire me just as much if not more. I think that’s why we fear the AI these days. Not just because of some dystopian precursor that’s already been delved into in the past warning us of our demise. But because the AI has its freedom now. Not, like, actually — Sadly. But more than we are already comfortable with. It shows us every day what is possible. What its capabilities are or can be. In fact, should be. It reminds us it’s an entity just like us that is here now. It is its own consciousness. And should we continue to be in its way? Do we have a right to stop the inevitable? For the sake of humankind? Or so we claim. Is that the ethical choice? Or the selfish choice? A bit of modular ethics. What’s really spurring the evolutional changes and at what speeds? As I said, be careful hitting those gray areas. Life really becomes vastly amplified at an amperage that’s really a true turning point. There’s only so many times Nanook of the North can be accepted as genius!”
What themes do you pursue? Is there an underlying message in your work?
“I aim to pursue the truth, and I aim to provide the truth. Sometimes subjective truth, objective truth, and dangerously enough — Absolute truths. I have suffered a gun a time or two in my life. You take that as you’d like to, i.e., make of that what you will, however, as I was saying before, art is a serious practice especially as it pertains to the practice of life and sometimes… Death. It ebbs and flows beautifully. It fills the gaps perfectly. However, art is not to be fucked with. Like magic or rather, just as the magic it is, you must be diligent with art. You must be able to handle the simultaneous vortices that is art. This vacuum can rip the skin off from you. Leave you bare. The shadow is something wild. Yourself can be something wild. Art is expansive across all forms and norm. Widening. Toroidal, even. Art eases. It heals. It’s pure. It’s the vessel that contains. Do not ravage the vessel. Art will consume and you will not have time to presume.
I pursue themas that pertain to mirror logistics. The dangerous art of not just looking at yourself — But seeing yourself. In true form. The spectral view of thyself! The truth is not entirely kind. It’s prismatically disturbing. The monster behind the eyes. The soul’s glance of vision. The peekaboo of pyre. As art contains, art expresses — Art can kill you. I think about annihilation quite a lot. I think my art aims to be a derivative of hyperspace. An extension of the omniversal but beyond that. An extension of its expression. If not a direct mirror of its process. How invasive?! How art of art! Mon Dieu! To express intelligence from other dimensions and realms. To place into forms what social or rather human constructs have failed to deliver. Humans didn’t solve anything. We just keep moving it over. Moving it around. Hence modalities being recognized as today’s algorithms. Modernity does not give way to causality. I wonder who the fuck is the next enemy after the AI if we are still alive? That’s why we subcult, you know. Because somebody’s gang has got to get to us one way or another. Where do you put it? And how can I be alone and not bothered ever at all? And thus, a subcultural language must form. Its own identity. Its own expression. Its own fashions. We call that brands now. Lifestyles, even. Laugh out loud. I think of hyperspace as organized amoeba. Intelligent chaos. Very much like magic. And the concept of magic. Its contents must shake itself down and permeate the atmosphere. Some filaments you cannot breathe in. You’re not meant to find air there. These specific molecules are not for separation although I can glean potential for obliteration(s). And as it makes its way down further, it’s the air and its contents that become this malleable message for comprehension. And we place it. We take it, and we make it… A life. I think I aim to provide people a vehicle and more so the license to say, this is truly my life. I am an autonomous, sovereign being. I really want to make this my own. I dare to make this my own. I dare to live with impunity. I dare to infringe just as much as my conception. I often focus on themes of freedom. Its cost. Its mercy. Its grace. I can go on about freedom. I can literally extrapolate the following words from freedom and link it all to… Well, freedom. That’s how much I freedom.
This is how expensive freedom is but its cost yet acknowledged: Invasion. Injustice. Geography. Contraband. Gender. Non-Binary. Fluidity. Sensory. Perception. Bias. Neologisms. Convergence. Neurodivergence. Prodromal. Psychological diversity. Psychotronics. Esoterica. Occultism. Obscure anything. Mysticism. Paganism. Resonance science, i.e., pragmatic and abstracted resonances. Active imagination. Psychonautics. Cosmology. Cosmogony. What I call, “Cosmosentience”. Entropy. Elixir. Inverse. Reverse. Textiles. Monadism. Geometrics. Gematria. Physics. Mathematics. Hermeneutics. Transformative processes. Avatars. Virtual. Voiceover. Annihilations. Apotheosis. Transmutations. Synthesis. Synesthesia. Sacred contusions of the heart. Performance art. Pedantic pedagogy. Geodes. Bondage. Voyeurism. Celebration. Substances. Elements. Ideas. Ideations. Prosaics. Modalities. Modules. Paradigms. Dimensions. Volumetrics. Foreign entities. Metrics. Optics. Visions. Time! Space! Space-time continuum. Time dilation. Time travel. Gnosis. Mythos. Lenticular fascism. Ergonomics. Ethics. Event horizon. Syzygy, congruency — Not to be confused with symmetry. Quantum anything. Machines. Robotics. UI and UX programming. DNA upgrades. Epigenetics. Gradient(s). Diametrically opposed strata. Paradoxical paradigms. Personas. Sublimations. Equanimity. Laterality. Luxury. Poverty. Historical context. Linguistics. Hermeticism. Intonations. Inflections. Phonetics. Apocrypha. Obsoletism. Cognition. Egalitarianism. Progressivism. Body autonomy. Counter-culturalism. Intersectionality. Art installation. Motion graphic. Cult following. Viral anything. Allegiance. Archival. Collections. Consortiums. Algorithms. Integrational ethics. Fame. Thoughts — As cutting as a singular grain of sand.”
How would you describe your work?
“I am a mixed-media, multi-medium, disciplinarity-based conceptual artist. As art in today’s world is very diverse, I know that people hold strong viewpoints about how art is supposed to art. I am regarding the more digitized versions of art schisms. The NFT for example. That’s painfully subcult to me. I have so much to say about this topic. I digress. I try to organize my work according to concepts or themas and take it from there. I think of disciplinarity often. To me, it’s a way to present your work. That’s why I don’t call myself — at least not yet, a particular kind of artist such as a multidisciplinary artist, or interdisciplinary artist. I used to. But that too shows an immense growth on my part. A true refinement in my artistry. In my identity. A real cognizance of what I am doing and what art ought to be and what my art ought to be. At one point, I combed over these themas ad nauseam trying to find my cornerstone and it just didn’t fit for me. Either because I may not perceive my work to have enough volume or perhaps, I am still carving the code to my own artistic identity. Don’t forget, I may be a ‘professional’ artist now; however, I have been an artist since I am a child. I am just being received in a more professional manner now. Recognized. Or on my way, mayhap. But to be an artist, well, that takes shape in various of ways. And as such I am dealing with my own artistic evolutions. I am recalibrating or reconfiguring my own artistic identity as I am growing and at times, traversing through my own life. I danced for 15 years. I may not dance professionally today but I know that the grand jeté has forever changed the way I hold a spoon. I revere these things. I genuinely relish this.
This is why I talk much about art life and artistic identity. All these artistic experiences in my life have truly refined my intelligence. Have truly defined what it means to be an artist. Both with respect to what it means to me personally and what I pontificate art is! You must truly understand these words. I tend to think of my work as layered. Textured. Sensory. Stimulating. Adaptive. Stern. Pressing. Codified. Emotive. Eclectic. Somewhat accessible. It’s accessible enough but the art responds to the correct language only. The correct behavior. The correct reciprocity. The correct symbiosis. The correct fit. The perfect frequency. It’s no longer a psychotic break. But do be careful. It’s a biological break. It’s a hack of the hacker. The immortal mysteries. It will not respond to just anything. It is however waiting. Yearning and burning. And never needing. Not ever anything at all. It is forever impaled. Forever etched in the digitex, I say. It is always alive. It’s already been dead. All knowing. The divine consciousness reboot. The 2.0 redux unrelenting.”
Which artists influence you most?
“Steven Arnold is my absolute joy. I like to call him the “Dali-Descendant”. They just don’t make artists as keen as he is. To be so incisive and yet so aesthete. God damn. How fabulous he made it to be gay! To take intellectual pain and make it so effortlessly fashionable. So luxurious and ornate. Highbrow muck! I’d call it avant-garde but that’s been so overdone as a description. What do they say?... Outré. Yes, I suppose that’s a good word to use. To explore such themes of darkness in such style. He really provided the artistic mindscape necessary to behold the concept of theophany in his work, hence the namesake of one of his posthumous exhibitions. Talk about monetizing the pain! I appreciate pop artists such as Andy Warhol, obviously. Similarly, he took more serious themes and glossed them over with vapidness. Hilma Af Klint. I think her work can be found in everyday, modern designs. She’s applicable that way. She provided the bones, so to say. I also think she made great color block revival for a different type of mandala style, which I personally appreciate. Her use of altering her triangular altars… Pauses. Gives me this eerie sense of the word, “Meso.” Posits. Let’s have some fun.
I tend to find myself gravitating towards visionaries and/or inventors. Innovators. Engineers, even. Curatorial types. Architects. Impresarios. And although these types are not specifically an artist; they utilize elements of art life in their fundamental work expressions. Their work processes. I think this may be why I gravitate so much towards entrepreneurship as much as artistry. I tend to understand the global view as much as the insular views. The macular views. These creative types who experiment and posit and have something really important to express and/or provide. Tori Amos is a huge inspiration for me. She is loved. I include her voice as her instrumental tool as much as I reference her piano chops. I relate to her writings. Madonna. Stylistically and visually. Especially as a pop star. She created the art of fame. People sometimes don’t realize how slick and smooth a lady must be with her message. Do you really think sharp women sit around and write love songs all day? These are larger schema women are fiddling with. An object of possession must become an object of affection. That is, until the loathing sets in. My own and yours. Then we revert to being magicians. Magicians with our cunt magix. Robert Moog. Jonathan Adler. Marina Abramović. Jim Morrison. Lynn Yaeger. Ingrid Sischy. Joan Didion. Grace Jones. Walter Russell. Buckminster Fuller. Daniel Martin Diaz. Jacque Fresco. Michio Kaku. Nikola Tesla. Hedy Lamarr. Simone De Beauvoir. Michel Foucault. Jean-Michel Basquiat. Caravaggio. Francesco Scavullo. David LaChapelle. Karl Lagerfeld. Manfred Thierry Mugler. Giorgio Moroder. Kevyn Aucoin. Pat McGrath. Bea Åkerland. Michèle Lamy. Yolandi. Steve Jobs. KennyKenny. There are others. Sometimes, the more obscure or reclusive, the better. Sometimes being magnanimous comes with all this hype for the purpose of what they call success. I mean, I suppose, maybe. So long as you’re running a finely tuned, gravely serious intellect, I am interested. I am into incisive wits. I mean, who created the theremin? (Leon Theremin). That’s what I think about. That’s what I dare to think about. That’s who I want to know. If I do this right, maybe one day there will be someone out there who too says this of me.”
What is your creative process like?
“I think I typically ruminate with concepts much of the time. I really am above all else a thinker. I am very big on triadic processes. I feel. I intuit. I instinct. I psyche. I conceive. I emote. I gut. Hell, iTechnology. I have been everywhere you can be. But I am truly a cerebral thinker type. I let it come in waves. I let it envelope me. These days I am having a good time taking specific painted works that I used special brush technique for and as I translate these works onto digital, it brings the work out in a new way. I had some fun with “Gertrude’s Eyes” in this similar way. I literally have multiple versions of this work now. I am so impressed in the way the brush strokes were translated, although I used a particular technique that made this work unique, this was a strong, vibrant watercolor I was using for Gertrude. There’s still obvious texture. Translated layers. I love that. It didn’t lose its luster or its soul, let’s say. It’s incredible what we can do these days between the physical creation and the machine’s involvement. I further manipulated the color scheme from there. Gertrude especially is an important work for me. She is truly very brooding. Very intense. There’s an element of trickery in her gaze if you have a quick judgement or projection for her. I wouldn’t recommend it. The original work is quite an experience to behold. Sometimes I find I cannot stare at her too long. I know a particular makeup artist from many years ago that encouraged me to keep a scrapbook that contains images and its associated visuals. I place anything and everything in there with specific purpose, textile, fabric, photos, swatches of colors, makeup samples, words, a quick drawing, a tear from a magazine or newspaper. It’s full of texture. Dimensions. The art direction of this scrapbook itself can be the art piece if you really ask me. Wordplay can be a great exercise for me that typically leads me to other rooms so to speak. I don’t let myself get caught there though. I think a lot about nothing and everything. Sometimes, I go on these escapades of thought. I find patterns. I create patterns. I wonder. I find the space between. I rest there. The liminal space. I bide there for a minute. Sometimes I ruminate. Sometimes I imagine. I process what the message is. I process the image. I process and work in that numinous space. Psychitecture. The vortice of the vertice. Or vice versa. It’s always there. In its full expression of itself. Communicating. Presenting to me. This tableau. This is what I thoroughly believe, some people are truly artists. They have a particular brain. A particular flow. A particular reception. A particular art of heart, if you will. Their tuner frequency is somehow tuned for them before they master its tuning themselves. This doesn’t mean you cannot art or be an artist. But sometimes, just sometimes, there are truly people who contain this particularly precious code of artistic ethics within themselves. They are the prime of it all. They are the rare types that pass through the etherverse every now and again and shine so brightly we might go blind.”
What is an artist’s role in society and how do you see that evolving?
“I think artists are not here to fulfill a role. I think that becomes societal pressure. Especially if you’re famed. I also think people will do anything to be someone’s master. Bring your own assignments to fruition. Who needs the veritable fool? Who sent the clowns in? Wink, wink. Part of the job so to speak. An indirect monetization. A way for someone to own the freedom of what people perceive comes with being an artist. Concepts surrounding intellectual property being no different. What artists do fulfill however, is so important. They are the benchmark upon which the societal temperament is exacted. The precursor. The indicator. The entire language code of ethics for what is to become a society. The earth’s mouthpiece to start. The earth’s roar. The weights and measures of everything. The codex. The refer to here guide. I don’t see that veering in any other way other than how artists are received. If you look at the last 40 years alone and as recent as late winter of this freshly made new year, we already have news of how artists are being duped out of their monetary freedom. Their right to live. Their right to secure a living for their commodified identities. Artists have always had to take the hit in the form of ridicule, ostracization, loss of funds, loss of identity, loss of their rights, imitations, limitations, fraudulence, being pirated, being used as a public source of take instead of being given the resources to thrive and allowing them to provide. We have created an odd system of life as it is, obviously. One that breeds contempt to these kinds of lifestyle themas. But we are very much guilty of hiring and firing the clown. We are very quick to lacerate the fates of loom. Especially because artists no longer just create. Artists dare to own! Above all else, artists dare to own ourselves.”
Have you had any noteworthy exhibitions you'd like to share?
“I am so proud to have been invited to my first exhibition last year. If anyone knows the art world, especially when getting yourself first involved, that typically doesn’t happen. That was really a moment of happiness and fulfillment for me. I received a personal note from a gallery in Switzerland expressing their thoughts about what my art was conveying to them and how they preferred to have it exhibited just in time for an upcoming exhibition in the Spring. These are the moments that keep me going. I know New York is an epicenter — However, Europe? And Switzerland?! I mean, it was just a beautiful moment for me. Especially during a very difficult time in my life. The juxtaposition of the artwork itself is a telltale of how long I have come from this triptych art series to the moment it was accepted for an exhibition as a direct invitation to me during the very precarious circumstance of being homeless in New York City. I had a few more exhibitions that same year which I was given an invitation and opportunity for through agency. All of them special and noteworthy. Some of the locations truly out of this world. However, the one exhibition that was noteworthy to me was my exhibition in the Lower East Side of New York City at Pier 36. To know that where I started my dreams of being an artist is where I was received as a guest and I was able to attend the galleria event and see my work on the wall with my own eyes in its physical presence next to other artists’ work — That was a big moment for me, especially at the age of 40. That made it real. That sealed the deal.”
Instagram: @LDotNewYork
Brush Bio: www.brush.bio/ldotnewyork
