On taking care of yourself

What is something that you wish someone had told you when you started making art?

I didn’t think it was going to be easy per se, but since the art and creativity part comes somewhat naturally, I didn’t really study. I wasn’t a musician that was like, “Oh, I’m going to learn piano…” What I wish someone would’ve told me to do was to manage my energy a little bit. How to manage your output, how to manage you being a human outside of being an artist. I think that’s the part that I struggled with a bit—in terms of just remembering to eat, remembering to drink water, remembering to take time for yourself, remembering that you have a life that exists outside of the things that you do and make. I think that one is still a very difficult one. When the creative intuition is flowing, you’re just flowing in that. But you have to come back down to earth at some point. It’s like, “Do you have vitamins, girl? Did you take care of yourself at all?”

In your music, you’ve discussed needing resets from the digital world and its constant flow of information. What are some of the challenges the digital world presents for you and how do you deal with them?

I think some of the challenges for me, at least as it relates to being a music artist, is that there’s this constant need for content. I don’t think the time we live in really allows for much time for reflection about life between projects. A project can come out every five years; you can still do that. But every time you do that, you’re fighting against this uphill battle—now you have to bring all your numbers back up, bring all of the eyes back onto you… People’s attention spans can be quite short. I think dealing with that is a negotiation. Sure, you can constantly be in public and you can constantly be creating, doing, and making. But what are you sacrificing in terms of reflection? What are you sacrificing in terms of your personal life? What are you sacrificing in terms of how you want to spend your energy?

For me, I haven’t solved that yet. I’ve just been playing with different ways of being and exploring. I think it’s a balance. You have to do a little bit of both. I’ve discovered that I’d much rather spend my time in the bubble of the work that I’m making, and maybe outsource some other things that are not as interesting to me. A big one was touring. That’s a huge part of being an artist for a lot of artists. So when I first started to not be on the road constantly, constantly, constantly… you give up some things. But then you gain other skills. I much prefer to spend my time doing design work and building out the world a little bit differently, spending my time and energy in the creative space versus in the presentation space. I think everybody has their little balances that they do.

Why do you think it’s uniquely difficult to set boundaries with creative work? You were talking about how hard it can be to stop when you’re in a creative flow and return to self-care. What are some of the demands on you personally? Why do you find it so difficult to break away from the creative flow?

I like to honor that time because it doesn’t come every single day. It’s one of those things that’s like a train: you just have to catch it, and I don’t want to miss my train. I’m a creator that works in bursts, whereas some people have a discipline of a daily practice. That’s not how I work because I do a bunch of different things, so I’m always jumping between, “Okay, we’re doing our show. Now we’re doing music. Now I’m doing video work.” So I have to kind of catch the wave when I can. It’s hard for me to step away from that sometimes, because you don’t know when you’ll get that next big, big spark or that idea.

How do you keep yourself inspired when you’re not getting that big spark?

I do a lot of different kinds of projects, which keeps me inspired. I’m not always inspired to make music. I’m not always inspired to do design work. I’m not always inspired to do performances. But when I’m not inspired to do those, I have other things to fall back on that can reinvigorate me in other ways. Eventually I’ll get bored and then I just move over to the next one. That’s how I’ve figured it out. Or just spending time in nature, actually taking a break, traveling, doing things that create possibility in the mind is something that I enjoy.

What does a healthy relationship to your work look like for you in your ideal world?

I think it’s separating it from who I am as a person. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t want my work represent my entire identity or how I feel about myself—who I am, whether I matter, or whether I’m good. I think in the arts, we sometimes tie our [self worth] to our work because it’s such an expression of who you are, so how can you not link it with your identity? I’m trying to get to a place where I’m free of that. I don’t know if that’s possible to do, but I’m trying to get to that place where it’s like, I am myself and these are the projects that I’ve made, but I have a healthy distance.

Right now I’m practicing that. Even with this rollout and this release, I don’t have this weight attached to it that I used to have for past releases, where I’m just sitting there seeing if people are going to receive it or not. It’s this weird delicate balance because I’m like, “Am I giving my all?” I am. But taking a little bit of a step back makes me feel this twinge of guilt that maybe I’m not giving my all or my best. But actually, I’m giving my best to myself. I’m remembering what I need [in order] to be a functioning person who is able to do this again without crashing out.

What do you think has led to you being able to create distance between your self worth and the work? Anything in particular, or just time?

I guess a little bit of the futility of the system itself. I think just through trial and error. Through pain, through heartbreak, through failure—all of those things made me question things. Or doing a lot of stuff and being like, “Why did I just have to do that?” Things that labels will be like, “Oh my god, this would be such a good thing for you to do.” You’re like, “Okay, I’ll do it.” Then you do it and then you’re like, “Did that even have a point?” Then after hundreds of those kinds of things, or putting all of your money or your savings into a project, you’re like, “Oh, that didn’t return the way that I wanted it to.” You have successes and failures. That’s just life. When you tally it all up, you’re like, “If I have one life to live and I want to make art forever, how do I manage these things?”

What has this latest project taught you about being an artist?

It’s taught me that within my own practice, I love to build a world, and that just gets more and more clear. The fun parts of the project for me are the music, of course, but then it’s all of the other things, like the design work, the visuals, the writing. All of that helps me to understand myself, understand my world. It’s taught me to process where I want to go next.

As opposed to looking for a specific return or result in terms of the public, I’ve started to use projects as a way to guide my life on a more personal level. Where do I see myself? What do I like about what I’m doing now? What do I think I don’t need anymore? That’s what this project’s taught me. It’s always been there. But American Gurl was about systems that can be imposed on you, and I feel like Negotiations is a continuation of that, but from a more internal landscape. It’s similar to Reflections in Real Time, where I was just in my own head and being super heavy about things. Negotiations is a similar project to that. It’s taught me also to revisit concepts. I think now I’m just getting at enough years where I’m able to do that. I’m like, “Oh, this is similar to something I made 10 years ago…” So coming back to concepts and ideas and building upon them.

What do you mean when you say “where you want to be next”? Is that in terms of your identity and your personal life?

In terms of where you want to go creatively, where you want to go personally. Just everything. I think there’s no limits. Especially with creative work, you can build your own future. You’re literally the person that’s coming up with the ideas and putting them into action. I’m in the driver’s seat. You can truly go anywhere, so it’s a question of what do you actually want? I think that’s an ever-evolving kind of question.

What is the most meaningful part of being an artist to you?

I think it’s the communication with god, and I think the communication with the ether. It’s pulling down ideas and having this internal dialogue with yourself that you’re then able to share with others, that prompts their own internal dialogues with themselves. Just the act of reflection and reflexive living, almost, where you’re living and you’re experiencing things, but you’re taking the time to truly reflect on them. It’s happening simultaneously and you’re able to open up these portals for other people to do the same. I think that’s a beautiful thing about making art.