Film
Kunsthalle and Kunstmuseum Bremerhaven
Video

19.01.2023

Candid Real Life Spaces

An interview with Stanya Kahn

As part of the film program Detouring with Traction, which was realized within the event and research and exhibition series Periphery by Kunsthalle and Kunstmuseum Bremerhaven, Stanya Kahn’s works Sandra (2009), Stand in the Stream (2017) and No Go Backs (2020) were screened at the MuseumsKino of Historisches Museum Bremerhaven, Germany. This conversation is a transcript of an online talk between Stanya Kahn and Kathrin Wojtowicz that took place in January 2023.

© Stanya Kahn

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
For each of your films that have been shown in the program you seem to have developed a new form, while the works also consistently elude the assignment to a genre. That is very impressive. The three pieces differ and overlap in the use of camera formats, the selection of the material, the structure, the narrative, and also the protagonists. I would like to start with a question about your approach to the development: Are the decisions made in a process or do you know from the beginning how you want to work? 

Stanya Kahn:
The process is different for each project. Sometimes I have a vision in my head already, sometimes there is a lot of writing and note-taking and thoughts happening in the lead-up to the making. Sometimes it changes its form as I am making it, as I realize what it needs to be or what it needs to do. For instance, with Sandra, she had asked me to videotape her talking about her burial plans so that we wouldn’t mess it up. In the course of videotaping her burial instructions, I just kept the camera rolling… I suppose to me the camera was a mediating device and it freed up the relationship between mother and daughter which can get so fraught and intense. I could listen to her differently and maybe it freed her up to speak in a different way. So that project evolved organically that way. Simultaneously (this was before I started working on Stand in the Stream), I was already beginning this process of having a camera with me a lot and had also started filming my best friend (Kathy, 2009). That film is not on the internet publicly, so not that many people have seen it. Mainly because she has been shy about it but it’s a companion piece to Sandra and the video It’s Cool, I’m Good (2010). These three went together and basically in the same period of time that I was filming my mom, I also was filming my best friend. There was this process of being in intimate relationships and intimate space. I was particularly interested in how both of them talk about trauma, about difficult situations with a lot of humor. And of course, sometimes this humor is happening because of the intimacy of our relationship, where a gallows humor is possible because of the comfort and trust level. But also in that space I became aware of the fact that there are only certain kinds of material you can capture if you have this intimacy. And so, I wanted those videos to be about that. About how we speak, how certain contexts allow us to be candid in a way that we might not be in any other form. Could I make a piece that was full of the language that’s generated in a “safe space,” but also whatever the dynamics of family are, which are sometimes not safe. They weren’t meant to be “portraits” of people per se. It was more about the language that is created in that space, and especially with my eye on the relationship between trauma and humor. In Sandra, she is funny, but she is also talking about heavy things and difficult things. In that period of time, I was making work about that.

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
I recognized that you integrated parts of Sandra into Stand in the Stream, I remember seeing a sequence in which Sandra speaks about her time as a worker in the shipyards of the San Francisco Bay Area, at Hunter’s Point Drydocks. You show the actual recording of the sequence in the camera and also the editing of it on your screen again in Stand in the Stream.

Stanya Kahn:
With Stand in the Stream, some of the filming in “candid real life spaces” was continuing and carrying over, but initially with Stand in the Stream I had set out to try to make a film about the internet. I was working with initial questions about whether the internet was in fact a space in which real connection and community-building could happen, or if it was, as a corporate space, impossible for it to really be a free space. And of course, the answer is both. In the process of making it I got so saturated, was spending all this time in chat rooms and all different kinds of spaces on the internet and soon realized that maybe my questions weren’t that interesting. I thought, oh well, it’s just this tool that we use, it’s a problematic tool, just like our phones, just like so many other tools that we use that are inherently linked to capital. So, I paused and made a whole other feature film called Don’t Go Back to Sleep (2014) with real people. I had gotten so tired of the internet and was longing to just work with humans, in real space, in real time. But I was still intrigued by particular live streams—chat rooms and live streams. I was really interested in the live spaces online, whether that was like amateur porn sites where people are just setting up a web cam in their living room and letting it run, waiting for people to come on and then, “oh there are people there, hey now I’ll do something sexy.” Or activists live streaming their participation in protests and then the running columns of commentary from all over the world fascinated me too. I was thinking about the ways in which intimate space gets created between strangers. But all the material I had was just screens… screens, screens, screens, screens. And it was feeling odd, I was disconnected. Ironically, I was looking for connective space on the internet and feeling like all the footage in the end was going to feel very disconnected to a viewer, because they are looking at it second hand. It is no longer live. Meanwhile, I continued carrying cameras on me—sometimes just a shitty cellphone, sometimes little point-and-shoots, whatever I could carry with me—but continuing to film in public spaces, in my home, wherever I was. Turning the camera on when I saw something compelling or might be compelling to someone else. For instance there is an animal that is almost dead, but not dead yet in the public park. OK, I’m filming this, because that carries some allegorical weight. Then I am compiling, soon I have files and files full of dead animals, live animals, people in trains and busses, people on the streets, fixing things in my house. I started to realize, oh my god, I am always fixing things, everything is constantly breaking and having to be repaired. I used a GoPro. Here is this POV (point of view) camera meant for extreme sports, but I am going to wear it when I am doing dishes, making the kid his snack, repairing the broken cabinets or whatever it was. So there was this collecting, cataloguing a kind of a library of footage. When I finished making that Don’t Go Back to Sleep, which had funding support (which enabled me to work with other humans), I was just left with my hard drives, thinking ok, I have no money for making another film with people, so I’ll continue working with this footage I have stored. I kept editing and still it was alienating. This is now going on for years, the collecting of the footage, the editing, shooting and editing, making sound. I started making Stand in the Stream in 2011 and I finished it in 2017. It was a project that I could just keep working on when I was broke and also I really wanted to figure it out. I kept on editing, making sound, and then my mom got sick and I kept trying to shoot throughout that process and then she died and again I was shooting, not knowing exactly what the footage would do, but continuing this practice of collecting footage for a possible film that might have something of everything in it. And it wasn’t until about a year after her death, struggling with the editing and I thought, oh it needs a human at its center, it needs a person, that is what it is missing. I think that’s where the other kinds of filming I had done in the past, whether it was the work I was doing with Harry Dodge or It’s Cool, I’m Good, my performative video work, or my work filming Sandra and Kathy, started to come back in. I thought oh right, what I know how to do is place a human at the center of things. The core way that I had been connecting (hopefully) with viewers, was through a person talking or being. So I started editing in that footage of my mom being as the thread that could hold all of this other material together. My interest is not autobiography, my interest is not, “oh here, this is about my life or me.” I’m just interested in what happens in intimate spaces and I like to lend that to the work. And I’m interested in what’s happening in the world. And hopefully the combination allows viewers to feel that their humanity can be present. If that is happening then maybe they can think about themselves in the world. Sorry, that was a really long answer.

Sandra by Stanya Kahn, ©2009, Courtesy of the artist and Vielmetter Los Angeles

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
Thank you for sharing all the details, and giving insight into the process on how things come together. In addition to working with people who are close to you, you also integrate references to or directly work with your environment, landscapes, and topics that seem to be related to you as a person. And there is this openness about how your work can be read, maybe due to the form that is using fragments, playing with formats of genres, working with hints of information that are not visible at first sight. I perceived the attitude of not providing all information, not telling everything also as wariness about a too simple completeness of narration. How do you relate to this reducing or abstracting?

Stanya Kahn:
I am always trying to figure out how can I give enough that people feel invited in, but not give everything. People can do a lot of the work on their own, and I feel like the art that is most exciting for me as a viewer, is work that allows me to do some of that. That is what I am really hoping to do. And maybe that is also why things take different forms for me. In part, I think that is because I grow and change as an artist, hopefully. And I don’t really like to repeat things. I tend to feel OK, I explored it that way, now I am going to explore it this way. After I made No Go Backs, or in the process of making it, I thought, “This is like a sequel to Stand in the Stream.” It wasn’t intended to be, but it became that in a certain way. Like the way that Stand in the Stream features my family—my child as a baby all the way until he is twelve years old, and my mom, alive then getting sick and dying. No Go Backs is obviously so different because it’s slow, it’s quiet, it’s shot on actual film, while Stand in the Stream is fast and chaotic, noisy and shot on multiple different digital formats. It couldn’t be more different, but there is a thread of real life and real relationships grounding the ideas. No Go Backs features my son Lenny and his best friend (they grew up next door to each other) so this way it is also a through line. These could be sequels though they look completely different, it’s sort of just another form. And I think for me, letting the form be whatever it needs to be for the material seems to be my style of working.

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
For No Go Backs, you worked with Super 16 for the first time. How did this decision for analogue material come about and how is it related to the content? Can you share some thoughts on that?

Stanya Kahn:
Partly how it came about was, I knew that I wanted to shoot along that corridor of the eastern Sierra in California, and when I thought about that land, I wanted our looking to be slower. It had to do with my sense of the pace of viewing, even viewing through a camera. You have to be a lot slower with the setup for film. And then when we worked without a monitor, we couldn’t see what we were shooting! We were filming with this beautiful old camera that was loaned to me from Wexner Center which was supporting the project. One of the things that affects my process and the forms that I work in is whether there is funding or not. That’s real. And I think young makers should know that. You know, that’s like when I didn’t have any money, what materials can I work with? I can work with the footage I have on my hard drives, or shooting on my shitty cameras by myself. And when there is an institution saying, hey we would like to support a film project, then I can be like a kid in a candy shop haha. I always wanted to shoot on Super 16mm, always. It’s the most beautiful format to me, but I couldn’t ever afford it. I had support and people at The Wexner said, we can borrow this camera for you.
The other thing I was thinking about was this kind of analogue looking. I don’t want this to sound like overly romantic, because I don’t have a romantic relationship with film per se, I love the way that Super 16mm looks and the way photography on film looks, but I also love digital things and formats too. This is going to sound romantic no matter how I say it, fine—I wanted this physical imprint, like a material recording of this land. In part because how the land is changing and certain aspects of it are disappearing through climate collapse, and in part because I love the physicality of images through film. It’s like painting or sculpture, with light and celluloid. And you can’t just delete and shoot it again. Not the way we were working. It was a lot like painting. Or live performance.  

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
Time seems to turn out as a very important aspect of your work. As you said, there is a fast pace in Stand in the Stream and a slower one in No Go Backs, and in No Go Backs we also don’t know in what time the teens are, if it is the future or the past or none of that, and for how long they are on their trip. And referring to climate collapse, the seasons and weather conditions seem to be out of balance. In a way, I had perceived this as an alternative to something like chrononormative time relations, a position against regulated time structures. I was wondering, how you decide which expressions of time you integrate or what interests you in how time is produced or reproduced?

Stanya Kahn:
Can you say again what you said about time in relation to capital?

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
It was thinking of this term chrononormativity, which is connected to capitalist time structures, a regulation of time that pretends to be natural and is not only present in individual lives. For instance, it is referring to the invention of the time zones in the 19th century and the experiences that changed with it, a technique declaring everything that exists outside of the world of wristwatches, calendars and timetables is not worth existing. Everybody who is not connected to this normative time structure is outside of the benefits of the capitalist system and there it quickly becomes precarious. (1)

Stanya Kahn:
Oh, that’s really nice. I really like that reference and way of thinking. Yes, clocks and calendars and the regulation of time serves capitalist production. Well, two things about that: early, I think in all the videos, and one thing that is consistent in probably most of the video work that I have made, is a play with time. It came in part from thinking about literature, a space of reading in the narrative where if you introduce certain ideas in the beginning of a thing you can hold back other pieces of the story and give them later. I have always been thinking of how time and timing in story and performance are crucial to how information is received and its effect. Because I came from live performance it’s very much in my body, this experience of timing. Like when you withhold a word and then you… say it! And people laugh. There is a timing in delivery, a timing in comedy, a timing in storytelling, when are you going to reveal the thing. And sometimes it’s exactly about upending expectations, undoing regulated time. A lot of that came with me when I started working with moving pictures. And I realized early on, oh, the beginning doesn’t have to be at the beginning, the beginning can come later, in the end. We can start right in the middle, we can start wherever it is exciting to start. As a performer you learn really quickly how bad it feels when you can’t connect with the audience. Sometimes you need to just come in, right in the middle so that people are like, oh, we are in the middle of the thing, we’re here with you, what’s going on, and they’re intrigued and they want to know. And then you are going to take them on this journey and then maybe you can give them the crucial information they needed later and they go, oh, now it makes sense. So, it just feels more exciting to me, narratively sometimes to play with the order of how things unpack.
Editing is the hugest part of what I do, that’s where everything happens, in the editing and sound design. And that space, when you are editing, that’s where the writing is really happening. Editing for me is like almost performing live. It’s where you are making choices of what’s the charisma of time, carving it up to create an affect, to create anticipation, to create feelings or excitement, basically to mimic human experience, or disorient it, I think. I am trying to recreate what it feels like to be alive, but also create a new experience, something uncanny hopefully.
With No Go Backs there was always trying to feel out how long could we linger. How long can we stay looking, and when do we move? That one was tricky, and different, because I also was NOT trying to recreate the teens’ experience or their point of view. I explicitly wanted them to retain their autonomy and I didn’t want to try to assume that I could understand their point of view. Like maybe we can’t know what this next generation is seeing or feeling or thinking. And so, I didn’t want to get into their space too much with the camera. I shot from a distance with a long lens and tried to be there with them, but at the same time, somehow retain a sense of “we can’t get in.” I want the film to remind us to give autonomous space to people, any person or group that may be “other than”, right? To allow difference, to allow a not-knowing. So, I was hoping to incorporate that in the structure of it.

No Go Backs by Stanya Kahn ©2020, Courtesy of the artist and Vielmetter Los Angeles

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
This is a beautiful thought about the perspective of seeing and being seen. As you were speaking of structure and editing, I would like to ask about the sound design. For Stand in the Stream and No Go Backs you have worked with Alexia Riner. Could you talk about the process of developing a form, a rhythm for a piece and about working in cooperation?

Stanya Kahn:
Yeah, it worked differently for both pieces. I love working with Alexia. There is this back-and-forth where I would come up with a melody or sonic idea on the piano or computer and bring it to her like a skeleton and ask her to help fill it out or make it be more in this genre or this one. Then she would work with it and we would edit and streamline. She is really generous in that process of allowing me to pull it back apart. She would make something with the skeleton but also send me the stems, which in sound recording are basically tracks. I could take the stems, break them apart and put them in different orders or use maybe just one or two of them and put those together and then I would make another piece of music with that. It was a very cool collaborative kind of stitching and un-stitching, like making a quilt with someone.

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
Are there any references you’ve worked with?

Stanya Kahn:
For me part of the narrative and a lot of the effect is happening in the sound. Sometimes, we’re going to make those sounds, but there are borrowed sounds and sounds that are markers, sounds that are signifiers, culturally. So that becomes important, too. In No Go Backs there are riffs from songs that were really popular with the kids of the film at that time. And those were specifically meant to be signifiers that probably only people of a certain age would even hear and recognize. They might hear a sound and it will remind them of a specific Uzi Vert or ASAP Rocky song. A lot of that ethos was guiding the sound design for No Go Backs. Also of course the two Brian Eno songs from Another Green World became cornerstones as well. Maybe as a call-back to an earlier time, and also just because that album in particular transported me when I was a teenager. The music on that record always felt like it was traveling, opening portals and moving through unknown spaces. So I latched on to Somber Reptiles and In Dark Trees and did a similar ghosting of similar sounds throughout so by the time you hear the actual song you realize you’ve been floating on pieces of it the whole time. And we had a really lovely encounter around the use of a Lil Peep song, a young Soundcloud emo rapper who died tragically young of a drug overdose. He was really popular with the kids at the time and I ended up emailing with his mom. She was really kind and supportive of the film and helped secure the rights to an actual riff from one of his songs. It’s just a few seconds of it, but it’s recognizable to kids of that generation. And since the film is about moving on, in a sense, the sounds were like remnants of a very near past already fading.

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
You’ve talked about performance, sound and narration to moving image. Your practice includes drawing, painting, sculpture/installation, and writing. To me this diverse way of working is very exciting and I am curious about the connections, how would you describe the relationship to your cinematic practice?

Stanya Kahn:
You know it’s funny. I think for me it’s all the same. Like I’ve been making ceramics for the past seven years and someone recently said, that’s so different from film, what’s the relation?  And I was like, oh no it’s the same. You’re taking time to move this thing around, and you’re reshaping it and then it’s going to change again, you are firing it and it’s going to change again. It’s a lot like writing, it’s like story making, you are trying to think what does that shape mean, what does it make people think about, what’s then the carving on the surface of it, what does that mean, etc. You are still trying to put together meaning, in layers (like image and sound and edits) and think about how direct you want to be or not, how much are you withholding or giving, whether it’s didactic or not. I am not saying that I know how to do all these things. I don’t have prowess in all of these things, or mastery, in any of them, really—but they are so related. I think across all of the mediums, I am trying to tell a story on some level without telling a story, trying to create an experience in which people could have feelings and also thoughts. That sounds so simplistic, but… all of it is struggling with how to signify, how to connect, how to maybe make new meaning or hopefully create experiences in which people could rethink things, in particular. Always staying present in the reality that we are endlessly navigating power, agency and distress, with little moments hopefully of pleasure, joy, and connection. It’s all happening at once though.
Sometimes the forms shift because I am excited to try something new or because I don’t have money to work in one form.
During the pandemic it was really hard to make film and also, I couldn’t think straight in lockdown. Honestly, I wasn’t having clear thoughts. I was just staring at Twitter all day long trying to figure out what’s happening in the world. Trying to help my kid get through high school. And then we were in the streets, being part of one of the biggest uprisings of the century (against the police as an inherently racist, violent institution). Drawing and painting were very immediate. I didn’t need any kind of infrastructure and they are related to writing in a way, but pictorial. Sometimes I think maybe I am just scared to do the hard work of getting really good at one thing haha, but at this point I try not to interrogate it too much. Mainly I just get excited about new ways of making. If I get bored of one thing or if I am not thinking in that format, I change mediums. For instance during the pandemic, during the uprisings there was so much information that I was taking in. I wasn’t trying to generate information in the same format, in language, in video. My impulse was not to re-saturate in that form, my impulse was to find other ways to express things. And under duress, I find tactility and immediacy to alleviate depression. That’s real. Maybe there will be a return to language for me and moving pictures soon. It’s weird to be an interdisciplinary artist working in this flexible way, it’s definitely not amenable to markets or institutions, whatever.  

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
For me, it is an important position not to insist on mastery.

Stanya Kahn:
Phew! Haha. The other thing is that I am making everything myself. It’s like Santa’s fucking workshop, I don’t even have assistants. So it’s always been about crafting in a sense, even with film, doing most of the shooting, editing, sound, music etc. It’s coming from my body. I like to be a maker. This just happens to be how I make. Maybe it has to do with coming from a completely chaotic childhood. Who knows. Restlessness. Or an anxiety in repetition that drives me toward new things. Even the films don’t repeat forms. If I tried it, it’s done. That’s how performance was too. Each piece was thoroughly worked (written, rehearsed, designed, honed, edited, etc.). Not slapdash. But once a style or approach had been explored, I didn’t feel a need to repeat it. Now that’s happening with mediums as well. But it happens organically, out of necessity (financial constraint) or curiosity, or alleviation of depression, impulsivity, pleasure, or concept.

Stand in the Stream by Stanya Kahn ©2011–17, Courtesy of the artist and Vielmetter Los Angeles

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
It makes me think about the relation between work and labor while you are saying this. In the three films access to questions of labor is provided. Sandra is speaking about her job in a shipyard as a female worker in the seventies. In Stand in the Stream we see you repairing things, like your car, doing daily labor, parents’ labor etc., in No Go Backs the Teenagers need to care about each other, they need to organize their living, care for food. I wonder if you have ever thought about doing a piece about art labor or certain structures in the “art world”, would it be interesting for you at all?

Stanya Kahn:
You mean like art labor?

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
Yes, art labor and the difference and relation between making a work and labor.

Stanya Kahn:
Not really. Not because it’s not there, I think maybe just it’s too close. I have not so far been interested in making art about art, I guess. Someone should, right? Because there is so much labor that goes into making shows happen, making screenings happen, all of these things engaging an entire economy from top to bottom replete with power and inequity. In order to show what we make we must engage entire systems that have nothing to do with art itself. And that is full of problematics that are important to address.

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
The question about labor in the films is also connected to community. Taking into account the digital changes and how communities are built in the digital world, how has community changed for you, and what aspects of community are you mostly or in particular concerned with?

Stanya Kahn:
It keeps changing over the years for me. When I was a teenager, community was huge and important. Being part of the punk scene, being part of the subcultures that reflected back the insanity I was feeling inside of me. That kind of community was crucial in survival and in my development as a free-thinking person, as an artist. In my early twenties being involved with activists was critical as a way to navigate, again, all of the thoughts and ideas that I was having about the problems in the world and how to make change. You do that in a community, you do that with other people, you can’t do that alone and you can’t think it alone. Not one person can make those ideas, you have to make them in community and in real life, in collectivity and in action. The internet is a useful but also very noisy and dangerous hub that incubates connection but also traffics illusions of community often rooted in some monetized scheme that doesn’t translate to real-world support. I worry for kids alone in their rooms staring at their phones but not touching people, not knowing the patience and mutual respect that consensus requires, for example. For me, over so many decades now as an artist, community has been so vital in terms of conversation, criticality, developing perspectives. I always have friends or people coming to the studio to look at either work in progress or to get feedback. Not working in isolation is important. And as an un-partnered parent, I needed community and wanted my kid to have a broader sense of family and support. So, there were always other parents and children around. And it’s funny, because now that I am in midlife and going through menopause, I am like, go away everybody, I just want to be alone. Which is a kind of joke, obviously, because community is always important. If you don’t have it, the statistics show that you will get dementia a lot sooner if you are isolated, if you’re alone and you’ll die sooner too.

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
I didn’t know that.

Stanya Kahn:
Yeah, and of course, I am totally worried that I will get my mom’s disease so I call my friends, “We have to have dinner, so I don’t get dementia.” I am trying to not be alone, but the truth is that at this time in my life I really enjoy a tone of solitude. I like to be in the studio alone, working all the time. And my kid has just turned eighteen. In the end of No Go Backs—a perfect example, where I put the beginning at the end—we finally see all the kids flowing out of the city along the same routes. The idea is that they are going to run into each other, they’re going to find community and they will need each other.

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
Which also shows the potential of this community.

Stanya Kahn:
Yeah, that was on purpose. It’s such an ongoing question. And everything in our society at this point, especially the way in which capital now really operates in our individual personal spaces, especially since the pandemic as well, and the way that we are consuming information alone, on our phones… entire economies were built around isolation. We know that to change anything, we have to actually come together in person and work with each other. It’s become a concerted effort and a battle to maintain in-person community. That will keep being important, no matter how much the culture says here, put on these VR goggles and disappear by yourself into an imaginary world, we know that that’s not going to be sustainable.

Kathrin Wojtowicz:
A last question, since we are now talking about community, the people who appear in your films come from your environment, you are involved with them, and they perform in front of the camera, but they are not actors. How did you come to this particular way of working, can you say something about your approach, how did you find, for example, the kids who play in No Go Backs?

Stanya Kahn:
It kind of relates to almost that same kind of ethos that I was talking about, working with what you have. You don’t have to reach far, they’re right here. I told my son, call your friends, whoever wants to be in this film. We need some more kids, so these were all his friends. Many of them were kids that I knew, who were hanging around the house. With a lot of the films, I have worked that way. In part, I like working with non-actors, because I think that what people are doing as people is really interesting and what people are saying as people is really interesting. So, I rarely write scripts for people, sometimes I make up a line, but mostly I think people are so charismatic and amazing and interesting on their own. I also like to have this element of the “real”, that I mentioned before. Since I know that I am presenting a quasi-fictional situation, I like grounding it in the real. Then it becomes this other thing, it’s a hybrid, it’s something else, I don’t even know what to call it. They are not documentaries, they are not fiction, I don’t know what they are, it’s not easy to describe. For instance, a lot of times, and I’ve said this before about No Go Backs, we would just tell the kids we were still setting up, but we were already filming. So that they were just doing whatever they were doing without direction, because I wanted that realness. That is important to me in the work somehow, I think that’s beautiful and exciting. Real life.

(1) Elizabeth Freeman has developed the term chrononormativity in relation to Pierre Bourdieu’s term habitus in Time Binds: Queer Temporalities, Queer Histories (Duke Press 2010).


Stanya Kahn lives and works in Los Angeles. Her works have been presented at, among others, the Institute for Contemporary Art/Los Angeles, the Wexner Center for the Arts/Ohio, the MoMA/PS1/New York, the New Museum/New York, the British Film Institute/London, the Rotterdam International Film Festival, the Walker Art Center/Minneapolis, the Hammer Museum/Los Angeles, the Astrup Fearnly Museum/Oslo, and Susanne Vielmetter Los Angeles Projects. Her work created with Harry Dodge were on view at the Whitney Biennale/New York, the Sundance Film Festival, the MOCA/Los Angeles, the ZKM/Karlsruhe, and the MoMA/New York. Kahn was the co-author and performer of the feature film By Hook or By Crook (2001), her writings and drawings have been published by LTTR, MIT Press, UC Press, and 2nd Cannons.

Kathrin Wojtowicz is an artist based in Vienna. She works with sculpture, image and text and is interested in the relationships between social conditions, body politics and media. Her works have been shown at Halle für Kunst Lüneburg, Galerie der Stadt Schwaz/Tyrol, Sala Terrena/Heiligenkreuzerhof and in the exhibition space Schleuse/Vienna. She currently teaches at the University of Arts Linz.

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