What’s your artistic process like when deciding which medium to use? How do you know when to run with the ideas you have?

I try to be in conversation with myself as much as possible. Much of my work is self-referential and in conversation with some exterior. You may not get that [from one piece], but if you read this other thing, you’ll get it. The further into my work you get, [the more] able to see all these huge ass threads and larger arcs I cultivate over several works.

For the longest time my music and writing existed separately; two separate acts. And they were, but I saw it in a really different way. With my first book, writing was the only thing keeping me together. Once I left Boston and went to Detroit, I had all the time, was teaching my workshops online, and trying to not kill myself every day.

I was writing my second book about being exiled. [It’s] called The Black Condition ft. Narcissus and I was just mirroring in this character, story, life. I got accused of being narcissistic and it was used against me in that I was demanding too much.

In the [Greek] story, Narcissus is born a demi-god. His mother takes him to an oracle and he’s like, “Your kid’s gonna be the shit, but he can never see himself or it’s over.” He lives his whole life with people fawning over him and he never knows why. [Later], Narcissus catches a glimpse of himself then goes to the river to try and see what he saw. He dies there, trying to see himself.

When I got accused of being a narcissist, I had to unpack what that actually meant. I was writing the book, and then I was like, “I need to see this,” and made the film. Then I made a soundtrack for the film which ended up being a 14-track album. Needing to process the accusation turned into a book, film, and soundtrack which just told me I could do everything.

I understand from Duende you are in a state of transition. From having become sober to moving across the country to your physical body. How does that impact how you view your works past and present?

My work is one of the best ways to trace my transition—especially film. There’s a lot of boy footage. I can see, “You’re a boy,” and “Oh, no you’re a woman.” Even the parts where I’m nude—I can still tell. When I go back and see videos from college dances, I’m moving differently. My work informs how I’m able to see myself more than the other way around. I look to my work to see what was real then.

I separate my sobriety from my work completely because it’s for me and the only thing it’s made me do is live better. I remember I was scared to write sober. I wish I could say I’m writing better, but I don’t think I can say that! I wasn’t drinking to write. I was drinking to be alive. Being alive is sometimes harder being sober, but I I’m not sure how it’s affecting my art. It doesn’t seem to be hurting it, by any means.

How do you think Portland might inform your sense of community or your work?

I think I’m going to have better every days and much more collaborative art. But there’s a certain Portland “POC” community that I definitely do not want to be a part of in terms of art collaboration because of that language. Any intentional POC space that does not note Blackness as important, and Indigenousness, [is] not a place I can feel safe in.

I’m going to go wherever and be out and about, but the way that I’ve heard and have experienced POC in Portland has felt really anti-Black to me. Even when people of color come to my shows, the way they talk about my work erases its specific Blackness.

What I’m starting to learn about myself is that I’m going to build community outside of my art. Non-artists don’t hold me as an artist—they hold me as a person. Some artists can and that’s great and I have some of that, but a lot of my real friends are not artists. I also believe we all get community wrong and expect too much of others and too little of ourselves.