Questions & Answers
2001— New York City
Influences & Renaming
What artists did you know and admire in this new scene? Who influenced you in those years?
I sought out Nayland Blake, who I’d known through the San Francisco bear scene; he was very sweet with getting me oriented my first year there, and his gallery work was a revelation both aesthetically and practically: “he gets $15,000 for a fursuit stuffed with buckshot, and I have barked up the wrong tree of this gig for too damn long.” Nothing against Nayland, just wishing I’d been a bit more alert more early about what makes money in this business. Nayland did a joint show with the photographer Nan Goldin, whose work led me to other ultra-realist urban scene photographers and documentarians.
My interest in Japan and Japanese art and aesthetic goes back to 1985 and a university kabuki adaptation of Rashomon, and my tattooist Steven Huie (now owner of Flyrite Tattoo of Brooklyn first worked with him at Rising Dragon, Chelsea, NYC in 1998 – there’s a hell of a story there and what led to nearly 40 hours of full-color Japanese tattooing on my body, my trip to Tokyo with Huie, and how I view tattooing and being tattooed as an ongoing form of my creative expression) introduced me to Hiroshige and Hokusai from the Ukiyo-e period. The erotic art of Sadao Hasegawa and Go Mishima made an impression and continues to be an imagistic influence – especially the tradition of a drop of blood in Japanese erotic art. I like that touch of scarlet.
I was also influenced by my affinity for and proximity to architecture on the heroic scale, the impossibly large and ascendant and ambitious and audacious, and there was no shortage of it in Manhattan. I worked in Midtown and Lower Manhattan highrises, the eaves and innards of the Plaza Hotel and ducked gunfire from a jewelry store heist in the Empire State Building concourse during a job interview ... engaging and interacting with these structures set off cascades of harmonics in my mind’s ear, as the stately procession of buildings marched down Broadway and up Park Avenue like the hidden cathedrals of Ralph Vaughan Williams’ pastoral British woods in his youth, their inherent musicality resonating in our compositional spirits, compelling us to render them in our own language, challenging us to recreate the majesty we feel in the ear of the listener and thus into their heart.
More than by any particular artist, I think that my art was most influenced and transformed by living in Lower Manhattan, in the oldest part of the city, where I could in an hour’s time on foot trace the shape of the island from my front door on John Street down Water Street from the Fulton Fish Market round the tip of Manhattan, the Staten Island Ferry terminal, Bowling Green, the Battery, and up West Street and Hudson River Park up to World Trade, cutting back across the plaza, smoking sweet kind bud as I traversed the short cuts, back down John Street and up to the 10th floor where I found sanctuary from the imposing geography and New York Harbor, the Atlantic Ocean chest-high as it pounded the piers, wondering what storm would come and wash me away – living in this monstrous, massive environment, the embarkation point of the world, inculcated in me a taste for the grand scale, the towering ambition, the resolve to “make no small plans” in art and life.
I noticed that you were still using Animal J. Smith on your dispatched web-blog in 2001/2002, but when I spoke with Drew (Bourn) and he talked about bumping into you once in the subway in NYC (year unclear to Drew) he said that he was no longer using Sabrina and that you preferred Joe at that point. Was there a distinct moment for you in choosing not to use Animal any longer?
I vaguely remember that conversation, and I think this encounter may have been post-9/11, when no one who had known me as “Animal” was in my life anymore and I was just plain old Joe Smith, homeless drug addict with AIDS, forgotten 9/11 casualty.
In 2004, I married the wrong man, and was held prisoner for three years in a physically and emotionally abusive situation in New York and New England. This was my “rescue” from the HIV shelter/crack hotel at 96th and Broadway in Manhattan, after I got run out of San Francisco under cover of night in June 2003 by a psycho roommate and an Internet smear thatstrangely ended up with me marrying Lincoln Anderson 20 years later and the former psycho roommate now a longtime and valued friend. Go figure.
Those years from 2002-2007 were sheer hell, and although I continued to play music and gig around as much as I could, thrashing around for floes of ice to cling to for survival, my art impetus took a back seat to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: food, shelter, and what were the others? Food and shelter, and then protection from my “rescuer” husband, were the primary drivers of my life those years, and although I was gigging up till 2004, “Animal” was banished by that man, and I was only able to reclaim my identity after he abandoned me in 2007 (the only decent thing he ever did).
I guess you could say I went into a kind of protective hibernation after 2004 and our move from homelessness in New York to a series of years of crises in Southern New England. I recall writing to a friend in late 2004, “I don’t have much of an art agenda or reason to make work, and even if I did, who would I be performing to, or for?” It was a low and depressing time in our culture: W Bush was cruising to re-election, anti-gay marriage forces ruled the land, there was a shit ton of free-floating
anger post-9/11 that was palpable – and the Goddamned truthers started gaining traction as well. I was truly beat down, scrambling to stay alive, abandoned by family and everyone who had known me as Animal before the blast.
September 11th became the dividing line between the life I knew and the hell I’d been thrust into. It seemed as if I’d been singled out for casual cruelty, severely abused by AIDS practitioners and researchers (three different individuals, in one case sexually – there’s a lot that goes on in clinical research circles and the pressure to stay silent is enormous), and of course the PTSD that was finally officially diagnosed in 2018, always present, just like the images of the flaming Towers that were (and are) used so casually, the scene of a gruesome mass slaughter the size of Srebrenica replayed over and over and over, the gift that keeps on giving – floods, tsunamis, wildfires, all life-changing disasters, but only ours keeps getting replayed, remembered annually, new generations challenging whether the Towers ever existed, grandchild truthers, all throwing it up in our faces, some outright blaming us, telling us we deserved to be bombed out, injured, rendered homeless refugees ... I despair of ever being able to pour enough truth on these lies and liars to ever make a lasting difference, but I still get off in taking these bastards down one by one. Survivors have long and vivid memories, and we are not quick to forgive.
I find this quote interesting about finding inspiration in where you chose to live in NYC:
“My choice to live in the heart of the skyscrapers was a deliberate one, one made with love for the big city and for what I know is the peculiar energy of financial districts after hours and on weekends – the sense of great power dormant for the moment, the streets empty, restaurants, banks and stores closed awaiting the grand rush on Monday. I find inspiration there, and contentment.”
Do you think that your neighbourhood affected your artistic work during these years?
See above. Absolutely. It was hugely inspiring and remains so in memory.
Did it help? Did the work change because of this form of inspiration?
Again, see above. It changed and grew for the better. I just want to live long enough to make the products of that inspiration become real.
Did losing this neighbourhood when you left NYC again complicate where you could find that feeling of inspiration?
Well, I lost the neighborhood I knew in about 100 minutesthe morning of September 11th, so by the time I ended up back in NYC in 2003 I had already cauterized the wound, imperfectly, but enough so that I could endure the loss. The flavor of that place at that time was and remains singular, incomparable, redolent in spots, and although I go in and out in my ability to conjure it, it’s always within reach for me should I choose to bring it forward. Each place I’ve been that lingers in my creative spirit has its own signature, unique in time, so the only complication for me was whether I would ever want or be able to return to my life in music and art, and after the decision was made to return, how the hell am I gonna pull this one off. Complications are not necessarily obstacles, I’m finding; sometimes a return to the oven once or twice makes a better prep for the crucible.
“But I assure you, I have no stomach for San Francisco for the long term. This town is full of assholes, and I liked New York a helluva lot better than this.”
How did you feel about the prospect of returning to San Francisco?
In the immediate aftermath, I accepted it, I wasn’t happy about it, and was (like the entire survivo cohort) in a state of shock and concussion that would linger, and had no home to go back to in New York – although the building stood, and people were (jesus how could they) already moving in to the multitude of apartments that had been abandoned, I didn’t want to be there, at all, one little bit, but even my doctor in New York recommended that I not return to the city for a while; there was still sickness in the air, people were frazzled, and there was already a mayoral campaign underway (the election had been postponed) thatseemed to be disorienting people more. If I’d had anyplace to go or anyone that would/could have shared their place for a while, my recovery might have taken a different trajectory, and I would have been able to rebound in New York more quickly with more resources at hand – but I was thoroughly on my own, and all I wanted was to find a place to sleep that wouldn’t be taken away from me. I was trapped in SF for 21 months and hated every minute; it was the beginning of a long and desolate slog, and even now I marvel that everything inside of me wasn’t extinguished.
“I hope to return there (NYC) to live when the time is right.”
For how long did you still wish to return to living in NYC? Do you still?
I made a gesture towardsit in 2021 after cannabis was legalized, but didn’t go: injuries and a lawsuit here in San Francisco delayed my efforts, and circumstances in New York have changed dramatically since then – a disastrous, corrupt mayor; a severe housing shortage with record rents; no more work there than there is here, which has been zero for almost two years; and my husband’s 2022 bout with cancer, which has changed our outlook dramatically – and is leading me to take the family to Europe when feasible (planning is proceeding apace).
I don’t rule out New York in my/our future in art and tech, possibly for an extended residency or commission of some sort, but I don’t see myself living there again full-time in the foreseeable future. Part of it is that my health and medical needs are not well served by the NY city and state regulatory framework, and I’m not eager to return to the ever-warmer summer climate there. I hate the heat, and yes I know Germany has a four-season climate, but part of the reason I’m in San Francisco is because it’s the coolest summer weather in America, so I know that wherever I go I’m going to need reliable air conditioning. I’m in my 60’s now, and I don’t want to spend every June through October of the rest of my life unfunctional in the heat, so I sacrifice a few points of rugged manhood reputation for the comfort of a deep freeze in August.
And of course, like San Francisco, London, Berlin, and Timbuc Too, New York isn’t going anywhere soon, and if I find myself there in the future, I’m sure we’ll get on just fine.
I sought out Nayland Blake, who I’d known through the San Francisco bear scene; he was very sweet with getting me oriented my first year there, and his gallery work was a revelation both aesthetically and practically: “he gets $15,000 for a fursuit stuffed with buckshot, and I have barked up the wrong tree of this gig for too damn long.” Nothing against Nayland, just wishing I’d been a bit more alert more early about what makes money in this business. Nayland did a joint show with the photographer Nan Goldin, whose work led me to other ultra-realist urban scene photographers and documentarians.
My interest in Japan and Japanese art and aesthetic goes back to 1985 and a university kabuki adaptation of Rashomon, and my tattooist Steven Huie (now owner of Flyrite Tattoo of Brooklyn first worked with him at Rising Dragon, Chelsea, NYC in 1998 – there’s a hell of a story there and what led to nearly 40 hours of full-color Japanese tattooing on my body, my trip to Tokyo with Huie, and how I view tattooing and being tattooed as an ongoing form of my creative expression) introduced me to Hiroshige and Hokusai from the Ukiyo-e period. The erotic art of Sadao Hasegawa and Go Mishima made an impression and continues to be an imagistic influence – especially the tradition of a drop of blood in Japanese erotic art. I like that touch of scarlet.
I was also influenced by my affinity for and proximity to architecture on the heroic scale, the impossibly large and ascendant and ambitious and audacious, and there was no shortage of it in Manhattan. I worked in Midtown and Lower Manhattan highrises, the eaves and innards of the Plaza Hotel and ducked gunfire from a jewelry store heist in the Empire State Building concourse during a job interview ... engaging and interacting with these structures set off cascades of harmonics in my mind’s ear, as the stately procession of buildings marched down Broadway and up Park Avenue like the hidden cathedrals of Ralph Vaughan Williams’ pastoral British woods in his youth, their inherent musicality resonating in our compositional spirits, compelling us to render them in our own language, challenging us to recreate the majesty we feel in the ear of the listener and thus into their heart.
More than by any particular artist, I think that my art was most influenced and transformed by living in Lower Manhattan, in the oldest part of the city, where I could in an hour’s time on foot trace the shape of the island from my front door on John Street down Water Street from the Fulton Fish Market round the tip of Manhattan, the Staten Island Ferry terminal, Bowling Green, the Battery, and up West Street and Hudson River Park up to World Trade, cutting back across the plaza, smoking sweet kind bud as I traversed the short cuts, back down John Street and up to the 10th floor where I found sanctuary from the imposing geography and New York Harbor, the Atlantic Ocean chest-high as it pounded the piers, wondering what storm would come and wash me away – living in this monstrous, massive environment, the embarkation point of the world, inculcated in me a taste for the grand scale, the towering ambition, the resolve to “make no small plans” in art and life.
I noticed that you were still using Animal J. Smith on your dispatched web-blog in 2001/2002, but when I spoke with Drew (Bourn) and he talked about bumping into you once in the subway in NYC (year unclear to Drew) he said that he was no longer using Sabrina and that you preferred Joe at that point. Was there a distinct moment for you in choosing not to use Animal any longer?
I vaguely remember that conversation, and I think this encounter may have been post-9/11, when no one who had known me as “Animal” was in my life anymore and I was just plain old Joe Smith, homeless drug addict with AIDS, forgotten 9/11 casualty.
In 2004, I married the wrong man, and was held prisoner for three years in a physically and emotionally abusive situation in New York and New England. This was my “rescue” from the HIV shelter/crack hotel at 96th and Broadway in Manhattan, after I got run out of San Francisco under cover of night in June 2003 by a psycho roommate and an Internet smear thatstrangely ended up with me marrying Lincoln Anderson 20 years later and the former psycho roommate now a longtime and valued friend. Go figure.
Those years from 2002-2007 were sheer hell, and although I continued to play music and gig around as much as I could, thrashing around for floes of ice to cling to for survival, my art impetus took a back seat to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: food, shelter, and what were the others? Food and shelter, and then protection from my “rescuer” husband, were the primary drivers of my life those years, and although I was gigging up till 2004, “Animal” was banished by that man, and I was only able to reclaim my identity after he abandoned me in 2007 (the only decent thing he ever did).
I guess you could say I went into a kind of protective hibernation after 2004 and our move from homelessness in New York to a series of years of crises in Southern New England. I recall writing to a friend in late 2004, “I don’t have much of an art agenda or reason to make work, and even if I did, who would I be performing to, or for?” It was a low and depressing time in our culture: W Bush was cruising to re-election, anti-gay marriage forces ruled the land, there was a shit ton of free-floating
anger post-9/11 that was palpable – and the Goddamned truthers started gaining traction as well. I was truly beat down, scrambling to stay alive, abandoned by family and everyone who had known me as Animal before the blast.
September 11th became the dividing line between the life I knew and the hell I’d been thrust into. It seemed as if I’d been singled out for casual cruelty, severely abused by AIDS practitioners and researchers (three different individuals, in one case sexually – there’s a lot that goes on in clinical research circles and the pressure to stay silent is enormous), and of course the PTSD that was finally officially diagnosed in 2018, always present, just like the images of the flaming Towers that were (and are) used so casually, the scene of a gruesome mass slaughter the size of Srebrenica replayed over and over and over, the gift that keeps on giving – floods, tsunamis, wildfires, all life-changing disasters, but only ours keeps getting replayed, remembered annually, new generations challenging whether the Towers ever existed, grandchild truthers, all throwing it up in our faces, some outright blaming us, telling us we deserved to be bombed out, injured, rendered homeless refugees ... I despair of ever being able to pour enough truth on these lies and liars to ever make a lasting difference, but I still get off in taking these bastards down one by one. Survivors have long and vivid memories, and we are not quick to forgive.
I find this quote interesting about finding inspiration in where you chose to live in NYC:
“My choice to live in the heart of the skyscrapers was a deliberate one, one made with love for the big city and for what I know is the peculiar energy of financial districts after hours and on weekends – the sense of great power dormant for the moment, the streets empty, restaurants, banks and stores closed awaiting the grand rush on Monday. I find inspiration there, and contentment.”
Do you think that your neighbourhood affected your artistic work during these years?
See above. Absolutely. It was hugely inspiring and remains so in memory.
Did it help? Did the work change because of this form of inspiration?
Again, see above. It changed and grew for the better. I just want to live long enough to make the products of that inspiration become real.
Did losing this neighbourhood when you left NYC again complicate where you could find that feeling of inspiration?
Well, I lost the neighborhood I knew in about 100 minutesthe morning of September 11th, so by the time I ended up back in NYC in 2003 I had already cauterized the wound, imperfectly, but enough so that I could endure the loss. The flavor of that place at that time was and remains singular, incomparable, redolent in spots, and although I go in and out in my ability to conjure it, it’s always within reach for me should I choose to bring it forward. Each place I’ve been that lingers in my creative spirit has its own signature, unique in time, so the only complication for me was whether I would ever want or be able to return to my life in music and art, and after the decision was made to return, how the hell am I gonna pull this one off. Complications are not necessarily obstacles, I’m finding; sometimes a return to the oven once or twice makes a better prep for the crucible.
“But I assure you, I have no stomach for San Francisco for the long term. This town is full of assholes, and I liked New York a helluva lot better than this.”
How did you feel about the prospect of returning to San Francisco?
In the immediate aftermath, I accepted it, I wasn’t happy about it, and was (like the entire survivo cohort) in a state of shock and concussion that would linger, and had no home to go back to in New York – although the building stood, and people were (jesus how could they) already moving in to the multitude of apartments that had been abandoned, I didn’t want to be there, at all, one little bit, but even my doctor in New York recommended that I not return to the city for a while; there was still sickness in the air, people were frazzled, and there was already a mayoral campaign underway (the election had been postponed) thatseemed to be disorienting people more. If I’d had anyplace to go or anyone that would/could have shared their place for a while, my recovery might have taken a different trajectory, and I would have been able to rebound in New York more quickly with more resources at hand – but I was thoroughly on my own, and all I wanted was to find a place to sleep that wouldn’t be taken away from me. I was trapped in SF for 21 months and hated every minute; it was the beginning of a long and desolate slog, and even now I marvel that everything inside of me wasn’t extinguished.
“I hope to return there (NYC) to live when the time is right.”
For how long did you still wish to return to living in NYC? Do you still?
I made a gesture towardsit in 2021 after cannabis was legalized, but didn’t go: injuries and a lawsuit here in San Francisco delayed my efforts, and circumstances in New York have changed dramatically since then – a disastrous, corrupt mayor; a severe housing shortage with record rents; no more work there than there is here, which has been zero for almost two years; and my husband’s 2022 bout with cancer, which has changed our outlook dramatically – and is leading me to take the family to Europe when feasible (planning is proceeding apace).
I don’t rule out New York in my/our future in art and tech, possibly for an extended residency or commission of some sort, but I don’t see myself living there again full-time in the foreseeable future. Part of it is that my health and medical needs are not well served by the NY city and state regulatory framework, and I’m not eager to return to the ever-warmer summer climate there. I hate the heat, and yes I know Germany has a four-season climate, but part of the reason I’m in San Francisco is because it’s the coolest summer weather in America, so I know that wherever I go I’m going to need reliable air conditioning. I’m in my 60’s now, and I don’t want to spend every June through October of the rest of my life unfunctional in the heat, so I sacrifice a few points of rugged manhood reputation for the comfort of a deep freeze in August.
And of course, like San Francisco, London, Berlin, and Timbuc Too, New York isn’t going anywhere soon, and if I find myself there in the future, I’m sure we’ll get on just fine.