An Hour with Kathy McTavish

Kathy McTavish and her art installation in Kathryn A. Martin Library. Photo by Seth Roeser

Though my meeting with artist Kathy McTavish was quite a bit ago, I find myself often reflecting on those moments we shared together. The way that she speaks, the way that she creates a space so wholly open and safe is something that will be with me forever. Her presence is enchanting, creating a little pocket of clarity in a world that is so focused on movement.

Kathy uses a combination of coding, music, art, and ecology to create art that exists only in the digital realm. The flickering colors and angular shapes exist in a space between physical and time-based art. During our conversation, she discussed the “computability of life:” the way that machines and data have taken over every aspect of our day to day; the way that our lives and decisions are no longer our own but predetermined by the powers that be. The computability of our decisions eliminates the need for mess. The algorithmic nature of technology predicts what we want and what we’ll say before we can. But Kathy emphasizes that this mess is what makes us so wonderfully and beautifully human.  

While messes are entirely human, artificial intelligence can only assume. It can only take the instructions given and conglomerate the data into an assumption of what is wanted. Artificial intelligence is a reflection of the society that humans have created; our bodies are tools to excel within the status quo. But Kathy speaks of “the infinite between,” the space that she exists outside of these predetermined assumptions and data compiled to make us more efficiently marketable. 

“Queer space is disruptive … to exist is a problem,” she says, bringing in her experience outside of the binary. The queer experience is messy, it does not exist within the confines of what is expected of humans day in and day out.  “I can’t accept the narrative that’s being handed to me,” Kathy explained, “because that’s existential and I should just not exist.” Queerness is the opposite of the assumptions.

This “infinite between,” this disruptive queer space that Kathy so lovingly talks about, applies to libraries as well. Libraries do not fit inside of the capitalistic society that has been created. There is knowledge for free, resources to help everyone succeed, and a whole mess of badass librarians who do not accept the status quo. Inside the Kathryn A. Martin Library is where Kathy is completing her year-long residency. She talks about how capitalism requires everyone to be used. And while Kathy accepts that this is how the world works around her, she will not be used in this way. She will exist in a digital realm, creating and being and loving everything about libraries.

While this was to be an interview about digital media following a groundbreaking artist in the field, I found myself instead drawn to the world that Kathy was painting in front of me. She told me about her poet partner, her qualms with writing, and her preference for coding. She helped me to create a plan to ditch my car and move to the woods with a bike. She told me to do more things for free and to show up in my community. She told me about growing up as a visibly queer individual. And in creating this space that was so safe and open, and yet so radical, Kathy was the first person I uttered the words, “I am a lesbian,” to. Though this was knowledge I had held in my heart for many years, the word itself held a lot of hurt. But Kathy’s “dyke” wisdom from generations past made me remember that in this hateful world, there is so much joy. In reminding me how important queer elders are, Kathy helped to heal something in myself that I did not know was hurting.

I am reminded of a poem I wrote after meeting someone as magical as Kathy. And while I do not have any poems about her (yet), I know this hour of wisdom was sent to me to steady myself, especially at this volta in my life. I leave you with this poem and the knowledge that Kathy McTavish is who I will strive to be like for the rest of my life.  

…

god in the art room

there will come a day,

she said,

that you can cycle back in.

i’ve lived many generations

of pain and goodness

first laughters and last cries.

but right now, you are living

and breathing

and enjoying your life 

simply how it is.

life comes in cycles,

just like breathing.

just breathe in and out the sunlight.

in and out.

i adore you.