Humdrum Artist Series: Zoe Alameda

‘Humdrum’ is a series of profiles on twelve of Los Angeles’ finest up and coming multimedia artists, reflecting the roster of the group art show of the same name opening at des pair books in Echo Park on September 16th.

I don’t know if it needs to be said, but I’ll say it anyway: you should be at that opening. Not only because the art is good and worth finding parking, but because print is important, physical space for a community to grow and thrive is important, and supporting artists is important, and by attending, you knock out all three.

Zoe Alameda, a featured artist in the show, is unabashed. Her work is simultaneously tactile and technological, and stirs in a viewer the kind of cynically hopeful grit and humor that a young generation of artists has developed over a lifetime of post-9/11 global havoc and tech fallibility. Rigid, sharp, and wooing, see some of Zoe’s work at des pair next month.

How did you get started as an artist & how has your practice evolved to where you are now?

I’m an artist through and through, and always knew I would pursue something creative. DIY is everything. The fondest moments of the beginning of my journey are from vending at SoCal punk shows and zine fests. Over the years, making clothes and tattooing helped me feel some sort of release outside of the pressures of formal art spaces. Studying fine art in college gave me the language and structure to both experiment and formalize my practice. It sharpened my understanding of the work I want to make and pushed me to explore mediums beyond the traditional. Even now, expansion and experimentation remain central to my process. The goal at this moment is to combine every technique learned so far, crossing between mediums in new works.

How does your creative process usually start? Does a vision or motive come first or do you find the meaning/end point as you work?

There’s this constant shift between control and release when I create. Some works are heavily guided by a feeling, whereas others are more visually or materially driven, and meaning reveals itself at the end. My work can start as text in my notes app, as a collection of screenshots or random photos from my camera roll, or as a pile of trash sitting in my studio for months on end just waiting to be sifted through.

I’ve been trying to be more observant lately. Of my surroundings, my feelings, my relationships, of strangers. I’m trying to look closer at the things I collect, like flattened bottlecaps or tossed-out Little Trees. Anything in front of you can be artful, just as any fleeting thought or conversation or diary entry. Anything is meaningful if you frame it right.

Have there been any significant feelings, experiences, or themes that have influenced your work?

Longing. Heartbreak. Change. Transformation. Anxiety. Distraction. Disconnection.

I see my work as an extension of my mind and body. It’s a mirror I try to hold up to myself. A place to look inward, to sift through all that is uncomfortable. A place to point out contradictions. I’ve been feeling pretty disconnected with myself lately, so admittingly, artmaking has been kind of a scary place for me to approach. My process demands honesty, and that's been hard to access.

As of now, I’m trying to lean more into the feeling of release with artmaking. Not as calculated, less rigid. To make work that breathes. It isn’t easy, but I’m learning to trust that the messiness—the tension between clarity and confusion—is part of my practice, too.

Los Angeles is a particularly intense and often uncomfortable place to be operating in. Do you feel like this pressure of perception and competition has affected your work or identity as an artist?

I’ve been posting my work online since I was fifteen. I guess I’ve operated under the guise of being seen for a while now, which has both benefits and limits. It’s a double edged sword where I flip between feeling motivated and drained. Strangely enough, I think I thrive from the pressure.

What do you feel is lacking in the modern art scene and why?

More risks. Making just to make, not to be seen or sold.

What role does technology play in your practice and how might that change over time?

My camera roll and social media are central to my practice. I’ve never detoxed my socials or set any limits to my screen time. I hope I never have to, although admittingly I’m addicted and can’t imagine my life without my iphone.

I get a lot of work done on my phone. Lately, sitting at the computer has felt too intimidating. The immediacy of jotting something down or doing research in the palm of my hand has felt much more comforting. Acceptance and balance is key.

Do you believe your work belongs to you or the viewer?

I make work, and now it’s here. I want to believe the work I make is mine. Each new piece is like an invitation to read my journal. It just exists.

At what point do you believe a piece of work is ‘finished’?

It kind of just happens. After I seal it with goo.