5 Questions with Okkoota ಒಕ್ಕೂಟ
Okkoota ಒಕ್ಕೂಟ is part of Arts House’s Equity-Builder where an artist-curator from a marginalised community is handed over the keys, spaces and resources for a curatorial project across two years in an effort to renew the relationship between the institution and independents.
We spoke to artists Kirtika Kain, Moonis Ahmad
and Shareeka Helaluddin for this interview.
Other participating artists include: Eddie Abd, Eugenia Lim, Lara Chamas, Nancy Yu, Nikhil Nagaraj, Phuong Ngo, Nancy Yu, Rahee Punyashloka and Subash Thebe.
VENUE: ARTS HOUSE,
NORTH MELBOURNE TOWN HALL
521 QUEENSBERRY ST,
NORTH MELBOURNE
TUES 11 APR – SUN 23 APR
No.1
Let’s begin by asking how you each got to be involved in OKKOOTA. Was this relationship [with curator Vishal Kumaraswamy] built over time? What kind(s) of artwork have you chosen to show there?
Kirtika Kain (KK): I was introduced to Vishal by [co-Artistic Director of Arts House] Nithya Nagarajan. I set up a meeting with Vishal and spoke at length about his ideas for the show, the Dalit literature we were reading, our respective practices and the role of museums and institutions. My mind was abuzz afterwards and I was so excited to meet a fellow Dalit creative who approaches many of the same questions I tend to consider, but from a different and unique practice. I feel OKKOOTA is the beginning of our collaboration. I have chosen to show two artworks from a series of paintings I’m currently working on in Sydney, titled Blue Bloods. These works are interested in the joy, celebration and nuance of Dalit history and culture, the myriad of shades to our story that are often overlooked or not represented.
Moonis Shah (MS): Vishal got in touch with me through Nithya, who is a mutual friend. We shared our work and ideas with each other and they really resonated with us, partly because there were many common ideas and questions we were addressing and partly because we were approaching similar ideas in radically different directions. That is how I got involved in OKKOOTA—through a conjunction while talking about disjunctions. I have a kinetic sculptural installation as well as a work which is print on paper. Both address notions of gathering, voids and invisibilities at marginal territories.
Almost Entirely Sisyphus comprises a re-engineered typewriter presented on a red velvet shelf. A total of 29 servo motors connect separately to each key of the typewriter using nylon wire, [which] transforms the typewriter into an autonomous machine. The typewriter autonomously types out the names of people who have disappeared in various conflicts from various times and territories across the world but with no [resulting] paper to record and register them. The absence of paper transforms the names into abstract gestures and unregistered marks, problematising the impossibility of registering disappearance and its historical commemoration. By overturning the historical use of the typewriter as the bureaucratic object of recording and registering, the work evokes the disappeared and gathers them across various histories, languages, territories and times signifying an inter-referentiality between the invisible.
The print on paper work is called Failed 3D Prints and Drawings of Discarded Psychiatric Instruments from Kashmir and Melbourne. It consists of drawings and 3D resin prints extracted from 3D scans of discarded psychiatric instruments from Kashmir and Melbourne. Tracing the ghostly remnants of such discarded instruments of care, the work presents them as objects that transition between the dichotomies of invisibility and reproducibility. This disjunction addresses the state of psychiatric care at the margins, which, rather than enabling, constantly transforms into disabling care. However, when these instruments of care are discarded, they are no longer just instruments of power but abstract marks of life disabled and life that persists.
Shareeka Hellaludin (SH): Vishal had initially reached out just wanting to chat, and I remember what stood out for me was how he prioritised building relationships before any work and the importance of learning and unwavering anti-caste politics. I was intrigued even before the show was proposed.
[For this exhibition], I have a site-specific sound work located in the Arts House clock tower titled portability of ritual ii. This draws on the notion in Islam that allows for worship and holiness to take place anywhere, expanding our idea of what exactly we mean by space and time as both an experiential reality and as cultural constructs. I’m thinking through Islamic Astropolitik, relationships and resonances in Islamic Anarchism, attempting to find divinity through radical connection but away from dogmatism. This is not a religious work, but is seated in my connection to spirituality as something that offers respite from the demand of colonialist, capitalist values. In many ways I've experienced the magic of collectivist and spiritual spaces but have [simultaneously] been disillusioned by various co-optations and lateral violences, and to be honest, the overwhelm of ‘noise’. So often I wonder where we'd be if we had the ability to access more stillness and silence to deeply process.
portability of ritual ii. is a series of sustained, idiosyncratic, sonic works that will resonate through the Arts House clock tower, using sound as a means to que(e)ry the rigidity of colonial time, power and individualism. Conjured at random iterations throughout the day, the work prioritises the sonic compositions, as well as the ingresses of silence. It seeks to be part of a broader query: what it is that brings us together, who and what we choose to listen to, and the alchemy that occurs when deeper intention and reciprocity is part of social change. Visitors are invited to stay in the space for long, meditative periods of time, or to experience it as a fleeting echo alongside the other artists’ work.
No.2
In the press release, it’s stated that ‘the history of curation has long depended on a top-down model, and Dalit artist-curator Vishal Kumaraswamy has never held to that’. Of course, this is an impressive initiative and collaboration between Vishal and Arts House, especially since visual art often relies on a hierarchical logic, and as a result ends up ceding to institutional recognition in order to be regarded as legitimate or valuable.
I wonder if each of you can speak more to this: what have your respective experiences with institutions been like, how have they shaped your practices, and how have you sought to reject it while existing within it?
KK: I really enjoy this question because it’s something I think about often. I don’t have a neat answer because I’m aware of the tension of showing work in institutional spaces—unfortunately the public legitimacy that institutional recognition offers has not existed for Dalit voices in contemporary art. I have also discussed with peers how the institutional experience can be inauthentic and tokenistic for our respective communities. It is something I am learning to navigate. I do feel however that the greatest way to reject it is within the studio because this is where there is no space for institutional power—it is only the artist. Once the work is out of the studio, it is suspended in this hierarchical ecosystem, but within the studio, and through the process, there is powerful communion with one’s community, [and] there is celebration. I am learning a lot from the force that is the studio space.
MS: Yes, visual arts have a very strong connection to the hierarchical structures of the state. Not only the (geo)political state, but cultural and epistemological states as well. Visual arts can be used as some sort of a trojan horse to advocate change and so on. But I am sceptical of such arguments and lean more towards the idea that whenever any art legitimises itself as a voice, it has become part of the state. Art, in my opinion and at least theoretically, should invest in articulating voids, and the excesses of a state. As long as it is doing that, it will always be marginalised. Once it manages to break through into a voice, it should move on towards articulating other voids and invisibilities.
SH: I sit outside of this as I’m a sound artist and community-worker and have spent most of my time in DIY spaces. My foray into institutions as an artist is recent and has been haphazard; it’s not a world I exist in often, which means I move between feeling quite grounded or totally anxious in these spaces.
I have noticed there are often many dynamics of power at play, where violences can be intricate and sophisticated, especially in progressive spaces. A straightforward example is when people obscure their class privilege and their access to time and money, but these power dynamics also show themselves wherein a claim is made to form community but really it’s about a scene or to obtain social clout; when institutions claim to meaningfully build relationships with marginalised communities but remain extractive; when people become satiated merely by working within institutions without wanting to rupture oppressive forms and conventions. This has made me weary of the spaces I step into, and I always ask about the intentions of curation—who are the people who are invited in (or not), and how and why decisions are made.
That said, over the last year I’ve been so blessed to have been part of projects that have dreamt up alternatives to this, with a rigour and care that is deep and oft-unnoticed. I’m grateful for people like Vishal, Riana Head-Toussaint, TextaQueen, Party Office, the Capture All collective, the Race Matters team and the practitioners in my queer mental health job. Through those experiences I’ve learnt there can be ways to harness the resources and infrastructures of these sites and make strategic decisions to re-distribute material resources, to fuck up, ask questions and not fall from grace, and to galvanise others with alternative visions of this world. Basically to co-opt [institutional] infrastructures and skill to make our own subversive connections, and prioritising how we can build trust and safety when working together. My friend Fjorn says to always enter spaces with a sense of dialogue, which feels very DIY and something I often return to.
No.3
How do you think your work will speak to each other, and to the other artists’ work in OKKOOTA, in this non-hierarchical, collectivist setting?
KK: I look forward to finding out! So much of this exhibition has been organised over zoom calls and distance; I have not shown [work] with the other artists previously or visited the space. I think the intention that forms the building blocks for this show resonates powerfully with each of us and is captured in the title OKKOOTA, which means to gather or assemble. I am excited to see how we do so!
MS: I think the works do not only correspond to each other but also to the architecture of Arts House and the place itself. What I feel it does brilliantly is gather various understandings of time/s from various geographies, gathering them to create a sonic presence. This sonic-ness is luminescent but its afterglow especially is what I feel works best. Here, individual works possibly matter less, compared to the gathering itself and its sonic imprint.
SH: I think the physicality of the space that Vishal has mapped out will allow everyone’s work to ‘breathe’. That spaciousness is an interesting way of loosely holding such disparate artists but ensuring that we have this tensegrity either through Vishal or OKKOOTA’s proposal itself.
Being a site-specific response, my work is possibly the last room that people would encounter. I was thinking through the idea of ‘time’ in many ways, including the time of the workers at Arts House, the artists and visitors and what it would mean to have my work in relation to all of them. It’s a big program, and a lot to take in. I wanted to relinquish the idea that people ‘have to’ engage with my work, especially reflecting on my positionality as a diasporic Tamil-Bengali artist, and the responsibility I have towards listening and not just being content with ‘taking up space’. It’s deliberately fleeting and people can either choose to stay in it and wait in silence for the next piece, or be prompted back down to the other works. I hope my work offers an extension of all that I’ve been thinking through conceptually, but also just a moment of respite, quietness, tension and beauty.
No.4
Will you all talk about the community-based projects you’ve done in the past, and how you’ve created opportunities for yourselves and others?
KK: This question of creating opportunities for others in my community is the biggest one that drives me. It makes sense for me to take the time to understand my community and the experiences within it, [especially] because the experience of being in the Dalit diaspora is so fragmented, as is often our connection to community.
I think the most recent and exciting project I have done with members of my community was Wake up calls for my Ancestors, in which three scholars and three artists were invited by Berlin-based artist Sajan Mani to respond to colonial-era photographs taken of South Indian Dalit and Adivasi groups [that are displayed] in the Ethnological Museum Berlin. We created a panel discussion and exhibition to critically challenge the colonial gaze and visual representations of the Dalit body in these ethnographic collections. It was a powerful project to be involved in because the sort of conversations we were having and the nature of collaboration was one of the first for Dalit artists and scholars. I was moved by the fervour and courage of [critical caste studies scholars] Dr. Gajendran Ayyathurai and Dr. Sanal Mohan. We asked ourselves collectively how we can continue and grow this space and how we can connect and expand this work for more Dalit creatives.
MS: My work has speculated what it means to be invisible as a community in a larger setting, i.e. the nation-state. These projects have sometimes found support through friends and sometimes through strangers. As much support as I have gotten, I feel sometimes, I must be doing something wrong.
SH: It feels dissonant to quantify this as I think the most meaningful work is iterative and invisible. I’ve begun to describe my practice as ‘bringing together disparate people and ideas, hoping to move towards connection and social change’. Sometimes that’s through making radio on Race Matters, through queer mental health facilitation/suicide prevention, my sound practice or just being with people I love. For most of my adult life I’ve been contributing outwardly to anti-racist work through direct actions, reading groups, publications, DIY music events and club nights. I also co-created discrete and exploratory queer groups within social services, and co-created spaces for people to revel and connect often at the intersection of queerness, spirituality and being racially marginalised. Honestly, I have felt propelled by rage for a long time, which is an important albeit finite resource; I have watched people I care about burn out or become socially isolated. I also know that I have a lot to learn, and have been trying to ensure I’m listening, deferring skills and space to others if I’m in the position to do so.
I’ve realised that the continuation of what I care about has to be rooted in healing, deepening connections and to really be guided by what bell hooks and Audre Lorde teach us about loving action. I have begun my studies in therapy, and feel vested in story-telling, collectivity and sharing as part of healing justice, which I try to bring into my art practice.
No.5
What would you say are each of your preoccupations—that is, themes you find yourself returning to again and again—in your practice?
KK: Along with certain materials, I find myself returning to the sense of ancestral legacy in my work. As mentioned earlier, the experience of being a Dalit living in the diaspora is one of fragmentation, yet I feel a strong and striking sense of that legacy, especially through the way my parents have kept memory and language alive. I find myself returning to the enormity of Dalit literature that has documented and celebrated our history. I am obsessed with the resilience and stories of Dalit women and their role in safeguarding Dr. Ambedkar’s vision and intuitively unravelling my connection to this history.
MS: I find myself returning to the idea or provocation of gatherings a lot. Gathering to create a riot, gathering for the sake of gathering and articulating what has been made invisible. It is an important ontological event whenever it happens. This pushes me into investigating notions of time, militancy and ecology as well. I address or toy with such ideas in my work in different contexts.
SH: Grief, memory, Sheila Chandra, trying to understand deep listening and the politics of listening, silence, dreaming as a survival, water, unlearning, humming, affective labour, hope as a discipline, the ecstasy of the unknown, the poetics of being incomprehensible, echoes, connectivity as the antithesis to capitalism, intuition as ancestral wisdom.
Kirtika Kain
Moonis Shah
Shareeka Hellaludin
A staggering roster of local and international artists draw on a huge range of artforms and activities to imagine what an institution of historical significance can offer its community in the contemporary present.
The history of curation has long depended on a top-down model, but Dalit artist-curator Vishal Kumaraswamy has never held to that. Here he has brought together some of the most critical artistic voices in the subcontinent and the diaspora to flip the North Melbourne Town Hall on its head.
Across the venue—from the main hall to its studios to the many spaces in between—these artists will re-vision what the collective voice of artistic communities and practices can do for a civic site. From sonic works connecting disparate spaces to practices that evolve as they are exposed to their audiences, these subversive, deeply responsive experiments will offer a holistic and critical experience of contemporary art.
Indulge the senses through film, performance, sound, installations, text and participatory art, then dive further into Okkoota through a range of complementary activities—from communal meals to tech literacy workshops, a repair cafe to digital discussions.
From Bangalore in India, Vishal Kumaraswamy brings together a stunning ensemble of artists to create a project that draws from the anti-caste movement—its histories and organising principles—and contends with the ever-present remnants of colony, the violence of assimilation and seeking belonging in the face of overwhelming threats of erasure.