Mindless Ones

Writer/art-witch, Macbeth (2023), Sycamore (2024), Triskelion (2018). Their New Chapter Tarot is spectacular – creators are struggling to get money from Liminal 11, but you can find readings and more on Briggs’ Patreon!

What power do you find in old stories and archetypes?

Mystery. The power of possibility and unknowability. I find comfort in old stories that were written before things like capitalism took hold of culture. There’s something about an archetype that came about in a world I have no context for, but somehow still speaks to me as a human having a human experience. And thru the process of retelling old stories, the teller leaves a mark; they are shored up by thousands of mends and alterations.

How do you determine what shape your work should take?

Prepare for the most Art School answer possible. I’m making art in collaboration with the materials themselves. This is why I prefer analog methods; absolutely no shade to digital art, it’s just not my cup of tea. The found collage materials, shitty quality markers, bits of detritus I found on my desk all contribute something I can’t control to the work. Which I love. The other thing I think about is “what is this piece really about?” There’s what is said or intellectualized, and then what is felt. The form of the work is trying to express what is felt.

You’ve talked about how you cast yourself in the “best part” for your adaptation of Macbeth. What was the most enjoyable part of that performance, and was there any aspect of it that was daunting?

Honestly, the Self-Indulgent Time was great. When I started adapting Macbeth I didn’t have a publisher and there was no guarantee I’d land one. So why not be Lady Macbeth and fulfill a teenage daydream? Why not pack the pages full of references to my favorite medieval art?

And then the most daunting challenge: the Self-Indulgent Time. A comic creator, self inserting into their comic; groundbreaking. I’d oscillate between “I’m having so much fun!” and “I’m so cringe!”. With some distance, I can accept both as true.

Can you see yourself adding more autobiographical stories to Sycamore in the future?

Yes! I’m doing it now, actually. After a long period of creative burnout I’m making short auto-bio comics again.

What helps keep you going in a world that won’t stop piling EVENTS on EVENTS?

SO MANY EVENTS. After the last US election I decided to focus on building community, and I’m so glad I did. Making meaningful connections with folks in my local community has kept the horrors at bay and given me concrete actions to take. There’s a dash of “fuck you, I’m surviving this” in the mix, as well.

Finally, and most importantly, what’s the best thing about cats?

Their WHIMS. You know a cat trusts you when they start making weird little demands of you. My cat Malkina needs ice in the water fountain, to be praised for being excellent at business while walking all over my partner’s desk, and is inconsolable when I can’t make the squirrels appear outside her favorite window. I love how you can see them crunching the numbers in their little walnuts about how to communicate to me, a sub-par cat, their latest whim.

A video triptych by Finnish artist Salla Tykkä, The Palace comprises of three short films – Victoria, Airs Above the Ground, and Giant – that de-naturalise their subjects in a series of increasingly overwhelming ways. The contrasts upon which these pieces have been built risk obviousness, but if the slow, immersive quality of Tykkä’s visuals doesn’t quite break down this objection on its own, the steady accumulation and alteration of meaning that accrues through the progression from subject to subject ensures that this is not merely a prolonged statement of the obvious.

An Amazonian plant transported to England and named in honour a British monarch, the Victoria lily is for Tykkä a symbol of the spoiler of colonialism and Empire.  Despite textual cues to this extent, Victoria is the most traditionally beautiful of the pieces in The Palace.  Perhaps this is intentional – it is, after all, the entrance to this piece.

For the duration of this video, we watch the lily writhe through a time-lapse ballet of its life cycle, all to the strains of suitably “stirring” classical music.  Does the ghostly choreography of the lily’s movements, its abundant grace emphasised by the editing, cause us to question the sequence of events that has brought this beauty to our attention?  Perhaps, but as the lily’s colour shifts from white to pink its status as a “natural” spectacle is also subtly reinforced by the piece, the viewer reassured that they are watching something do what it was always meant to do.

From its opening minute onward, Airs Above the Ground is clearly anything but a natural spectacle