The Mill opens tomorrow...

Some pre-postpartum laments about making things and doing The Work

I’m thinking about when my friend Mia, in anticipation of her first book being published, said she felt like Chappell Roan: on display, open to judgement, prone to letting anyone and everyone down. In the past week, I’ve experienced all kinds of nerves, and an unfortunate bout of sleeplessness that I only managed to fix with a perfectly timed night of benadryl-sleep. Now, one day out, I’m calm. The work has been made, and I’m excited to share it.

The lifecycle of an art show is, of course, different from that of a book. This one is open for ten days. The work goes up and then it comes down. Maybe some of it will find a new home, maybe it’ll all come back to my studio. Either way, I’m grateful to have worked on this project with Miguel, Taylor and Laura Lee in a way that has been entirely for pleasure, even when moments weren’t entirely pleasurable. It’s given me a chance to reframe my relationship to Work as a concept in my life.

All four of us work day jobs that allow us to sustain creative lives on the side. And a project as big as this one has felt like an additional job. There’s so much minutiae that goes into producing a gallery show, and the All Street team graced us with so much control and flexibility. We’ve been driving this bus the whole time. Everything you see in this show comes from our minds and bodies—the press release, the prices, the artwork itself, the cheese we’re serving at the opening.

I’m a chronic show-rewatcher, especially when it comes to sitcoms. In these weeks leading up to the opening, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Parks n’ Recreation quote where Leslie Knope says: “Teddy Roosevelt once said, ‘Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is a chance to work hard at work worth doing.’ And I would add that what makes work worth doing is getting to do it with people that you love.”

In moments where I’ve hunched over my computer for hours on end, furiously editing an indesign file, after having already spent hours hunched over my computer for my day job, I’ve had to remind myself that this is work worth doing. Capitalism is a cruel and draining force in all of our lives. I am not financially solvent enough to get to abstain from its most demanding aspects. But making art is something I’m not willing to give up. The current US administration wants to absolve proof of life from othered spaces because the reminder that we’re all different, yet capable of empathizing with one another, would likely lead us to realize that we shouldn’t have war. We have to keep making and supporting the work that continues this way of thinking. If only for our own liberation.

I’m so moved by the Mill because in its history I see an expanded network of human stories. I feel hope for a free Palestine. I see a world where trans people are respected as leaders. The chance to slow down for four days and make art with people I love dearly is my own way of returning to the methods of care that allow me to show up for the world as a better rested, more hopeful, energized person.

In one of Dr. Mindy Nettifee’s recent substack posts, she quotes a teaching from the Talmud that reads: Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.

What is my life’s work going to be? What will yours be? Yes, I clock into my day job every weekday morning at 10, but I also go to my studio and paint once I’m off at 6, and I’m there on the weekends, and I visit gallery shows to see work that inspires and moves me, and I read a lot, and I work hard to spend time with my friends and family. All of this is adding up to the work of my life. In the depths of capitalism’s clutches, the best way I can spend my time is by working hard at work worth doing: finding ways to show up for myself, and then for others. So when people at parties ask me what I do, I don’t have an easy answer. I’m glad to be an amalgam of all the different things I choose to make and love.

My friends keep saying they’re excited to see the show. I am too. We haven’t seen the show as one complete piece yet either; we all still stand to be amazed. If you’re planning on coming, thank you. If you’re only able to look at the work on the internet, thank you as well. This body of work is special to us, and now it’s yours, too. I hope to see you there.

Xo,

Naava