Taja Cheek is an extraordinary talent whose work— both personally and professionally —exhibits a high degree of integrity, curiosity, and empathy. She walked-out on her original major in school and into college radio, and from there built on her family’s creative entrepreneurial roots, getting involved with Creative Time, basement shows, The High Line, MoMA, and unnamable lofts. We originally spoke in late April of 2020. Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, job situations, family needs, etc this whole project got put on hold for a while. While it’s now October, most of what we spoke about still rings true.Ben: What's up? How are you doing?
Taja: It changes moment to moment. Finding ways to process all of this [Covid-19] has been tough, but talking to people who are particularly inspiring, people who are finding moments of joy despite the horrible conditions, has been encouraging. I have my health, so I can't complain.
Ben: You’re from Crown Heights, what was it like growing up?
Taja: It’s also where I currently live, about 15 minutes away from the house I was born in. Crown Heights was very Caribbean and very Jewish. I'm neither, but lived my formative years in close proximity to those communities in the neighborhood. That shaped me in interesting ways, some that are very noticeable and some that less tangible. I can spot every flag in the Caribbean from going to the parades, and there are bits of Yiddish that have seeped into my vocabulary, like most New Yorkers. I grew up in the house that my dad's dad also lived in so, there's a lot of history.
“Basically, I had a basement in my apartment and wanted to share it with other people.”
Ben: Your grandfather ran a jazz bar, right? Were you ever able to go?
Taja: Yeah, he was essentially a serial entrepreneur and had a jazz club not far from where I live now called The Continental. I recently learned he owned another bar in Bed-Stuy that still exists, and it's actually still a bar. He had lots of different businesses, a hotel, a bunch of jukeboxes and things like that. The Continental had been long gone by the time I was born, but The Weeksville Heritage Center has a collection of materials around jazz in this area and I've heard they’ve archived some ephemera re are materials from my grandpa's club.
Ben: Where’d you go to school? Were you up to any public programming through student groups or clubs?
Taja: I went to Yale thinking that I was going to study music, and then I didn't. The program was super German and romantic, which I'm down with but I wanted something more diverse. A lot of the students were stubborn. I remember one class where someone raised their hand and they're like, “I'm sorry, I just think all African drumming is shit.” I just walked out of the class and dropped the major with one class left. I ended up studying American Studies with a concentration in audio, visual, literary and performance cultures, which is essentially just performance. I worked at the school of music, the recording studio, and was a music director at the radio station. I’m still involved actually, on their board.
Ben: Was the radio station your first experience programming for the general public? How did you approach it?
Danny Krivit at MoMA PS1 in 2016. Photo provided by Taja Cheek.
Taja: Yes, It was. Yale radio [WYBC] is very interesting because it's a student-run station that’s kind of only connected to the school in name because students from Yale are members there. It's also a terrestrial radio station. You get a wide range of professional experience running a station. I ended up founding this concert series called Anti-Fling, which was kind of a jab at the more mainstream concerts thrown on campus. It's still happening to this day, which is really nice. But we would throw shows and events in the church on campus, and kind of had to lie and not tell them what we were doing.
Ben: What was the lie? Or, what did you tell them you were doing?
Taja: Well maybe not a lie. But we were carefully choosing our words. They didn't really want people to dance in there and they definitely didn't want people to drink. They just kind of gave us the keys and we threw shows. There were only a couple of people throwing shows in town and they were really important to my college experience; there was a very cool house show scene happening, but it was all very limited.
Ben: What were some of the bands coming through?
Taja: Oh God. I'm trying to remember, like Das Racist, Screaming Females, bands from New York we thought were cool.
Ben: So let’s circle back a sec to the Weeksville center because I’d read you did work for them after college. Do I have that right?
Taja: I worked with Creative Time on a project called Funk, God, Jazz, and Medicine, a collaboration with the center, which is a cultural arts institution. Weeksville is a site of one of the first free black communities in the U S., and it’s basically defined by a perimeter of four blocks in Bed-Stuy. There were four different sites, an installation by Xenobia Bailey, one by Bradford Young, a women's clinic run by Simone Leigh, and then I ran a radio station housed in the back of a cut-open pink Cadillac conceived by Otabenga Jones and Associates. Right on the street. We had to put it away and bring it back out every day and got power and materials from the bodega. It was very New York.
“Being responsive and flexible is the most valuable trait that you can have working in this field.”
Ben: What was the reaction of people walking by?
Taja: Delight and confusion. It's not what you would expect to see, a radio station or the pink Cadillac that's cut in half. But our guests were really incredible. Saul Williams showed up one day, as well as Matana Roberts, and Kyp Malone, and a few community figures too. It was an amazing project for a lot of reasons.
Ben: Because you just mentioned Kyp...I’m thinking of 49 Shade because he’s one of the folks who played there. And this was or, maybe still is your basement venue?
Taja: Basically, I had a basement in my apartment and wanted to share it with other people. A good friend of mine is a musician and professor Max Alper. He’s deeply involved in the noise scene in New York and he really convinced me to do it. My friends Dann Lawrence and Matteo Liberatore and I, we wanted another space for experimental musicians we knew to play and find community. A lot of times there would be people rehearsing or playing in my basement when I wasn't even there. Less so now as life keeps evolving, but I still think about ways of engaging that community.
Ben: So it was more of a friends and family hang? Or were you doing donations at the door and all that?
Taja: Both, depending on the night. We’d have all of our listings up on Oh My Rockness, so there were a bunch of strangers that I would meet in my basement, too. But that all kind of stopped after Ghost Ship. All these crackdowns were happening and it was becoming unsafe, not because of the crowds, but under threat of police shut down. So we kind of changed the way that we did things; it became more word of mouth.
Ben: So while the basement shows were happening you were also involved with The High Line? Or Creative Time? Or...
Taja: Creative Time came first, I worked there off and on for a while. I was a part of a fellowship program after college and then worked on some special projects like Funk, God, Jazz, and Medicine. It turned out to be a very formative first art world experience, I feel like I'm constantly running into people who at some point in their life worked with or at Creative Time.
Taja performing as L’Rain. Photo provided by Taja Cheek.
Ben: Can you talk a bit more about that fellowship program? What the goals were or, what you understood them to be?
Taja: I was working in development at that time, which in hindsight, was kind of a best-case scenario. It afforded me the freedom to understand the landscape of contemporary art, who the players are, and to practice grant writing. Creative Time is a small nonprofit, so there were moments where it was all hands on deck and it seemed like everyone in the organization had a hammer. For Funk, God, Jazz, and Medicine, I think my technical title was Site Manager. On that project, because Otabenga Jones and Associates always envisioned the project would be given over to the community, we adapted their framework and started working with other project partners and community members, and also engaging our own networks to figure out who the guests would be. Looking back, it was a turning point in my life when I switched over to slightly more curatorial work in the art world, which I was really only doing in the music world up until then.
Ben: More recently, you did a Creative Time project with a local producer, Morgan Wiley. I’m not going to dip into L’Rain and your music too much here but I gotta ask as a fan: It’s a cover of Your Love, and I think you did a great job of honoring a classic while making it your own. What was that process like?
Taja: Thanks, Ben. We spent some time understanding where we each were musically, and I think we had a lot of common ground. I always had a vision for a saxophone on the track, but I don’t play. My very close collaborator Ben Katz does and also programs synths and I knew he’d have to be involved in some way...we kind of just started from there. Morgan already had a lot of ideas for the song’s framework, for how he wanted to approach the song, and then we just kinda met in the middle. Also Morgan’s normal studio...it's just an incredible resource of gear. Synths and toys, it was a musician's dream. I could have spent my whole life there.
“…that’s the beauty of time-based art. For people that enjoy it, consume it, or produce it or get involved in the process at all...you just don't know exactly what’s going to happen.”
Ben: Okay cool. So back on track. How did you end up at The High Line and what were you doing there?
Taja: I’d been mostly working on a project by project basis up until that point, freelancing. I had been working at Doris Duke for a while and was co-running a venue in Chelsea, too. Sort of learning how parties work.
Ben: Wait, what was the venue in Chelsea?
Taja: I'm not gonna mention it by name, but it was a yoga studio by day and a music venue by night. I ended up doing some programming and thinking through how the calendar would work. The yoga studio was kind of sleek: it had wood floors and a chandelier. e would throw these crazy parties and shows there. Then, you know, stay there until three or four in the morning cleaning up. It was kind of a crazy moment. A lot of amazing people performed there. I learned about Moor Mother there, as well as Vagabon, and I organized the first few iterations of Femmepremacy, a party that centers queer fems. It was special.
Ben: Three AM cleanup is my jam. It’s the best time. Well, maybe before being a dad...now it’s more all-the-time cleanup. Okay, back to the High Line.
Taja: The High Line. So I was a curatorial assistant to Cecilia Alemani who was on maternity leave and they needed more support in the curatorial department. I was working with Melanie [Kress] and the production team there, planning for the fall exhibition and programs with works by Susan Philipsz and Nari Ward. I also worked with Kevin Beasley and Creative Time, coincidentally. It was awesome. I got to walk the park, check on all the artwork and flag any issues for the park rangers. The volume of people that were coming triggered a lot for me, just in terms of thinking about how to produce public work in general.
Ben: What were some of the biggest takeaways?
Taja: That's a good question. I remember learning a lot about trees, flora and fauna, and wildlife. Nari’s project was essentially a car with an apple tree growing through and around it, and we had to figure out what’s safe for the tree, what’s safe for other plants and animals around it.
49 Shade. Photo provided by Taja Cheek.
Ben: I would imagine with The High Line there's a tight balance where you're trying to present people, many of whom are general tourists, with work that is engaging but also doesn't detract from the nature and design aspects?
Taja: Yeah, that's true. That’s tricky, but I think their program is really robust. They have a video program, performances, and many public programs. It really is an integral part of the experience of being on the High Line. So much so that the park rangers seem to know a lot about the artwork. It's cool that, even for people whose primary job wasn’t art-focused, the artwork still became an integral part of their job.
Ben: It sounds like a cool job, why’d you split?
Taja: Cecila was back from maternity leave; my time with The High Line was always kind of a limited engagement. The MoMA PS1 position happened to be open just then and the stars just aligned for me.
Ben: PS1’s got a wide range of programs, what are you focused on?
Taja: I’m involved with a lot but mainly Warm Up and Sunday Sessions, and I’d say the main difference between the two is in how each responds to their specific sites. They both happen in the courtyard, but the projects in the dome for Sunday Sessions are very necessarily site-specific. But actually, I guess Warm Up, is also site-specific in a sense. By its very nature...you know, it’s daytime and outdoors, it places certain other limitations on artists but also creates possibilities. For example projections wont work, so musicians have to find other ways to engage an audience visually. I’m not sure if that answers your question?
Ben: Yeah, but maybe a follow up would be to ask what’s a live day like for you?
Taja: It really depends, and that’s the beauty of time-based art. For people that enjoy it, consume it, or produce it or get involved in the process at all...you just don't know exactly what’s going to happen. You can plan as much as you want, but you really have no idea what's going to happen. A lot of the day is just being responsive when things go wrong technically or otherwise; I can think of a million examples. I have one memory of waiting outside for Pop Smoke while he was trying to parallel park...it took him 4 minutes and fifty seconds and we needed him on stage in 5 minutes.
Ben: You need to be patient with the 'Rari.
Taja: [Laughs] Yeah. It can be literally anything, and that's one of the reasons I love my job. Being responsive and flexible is the most valuable trait that you can have working in this field.
Ben: What’s a Warm Up highlight for you?
Taja: The first Warm Up I ever worked on is a real highlight for me; it was a big deal to be working on a program that I used to attend. I realized just how much hard work it was. My mom had just passed away, too. Many things were happening in my life, and it was really one of the most intense times I’ve ever experienced. Being able to finally go through one full event and have things go well was really important and filled me with hope at a time where I was unsure of a lot of things.
Ben: Who was headlining or on the bill that day.
Taja: So 2016. That would have been June 11th. Okay, that was DJ Premier, Deantoni Parks, BEARCAT and others.
Ben: Not a bad first day. So when you're performing as L’Rain or with other projects, do you separate from your work-self or do you let the worlds coexist? Are you always sort of “on” as a curator, too?
Taja: I’ve tried to keep them separate with some degree of success. But someone once asked me to perform as L’Rain as part of the Printed Matter Art Book Fair once, for example, not knowing that it was me that would have to review the list of proposed artists. It’s difficult because I do firmly believe that artists tend to know best and know first and I learn so much from the community I'm in and around. And that information from the communities I’m a part of is often pertinent to my job. But I really do try to keep them as separate as humanly possible.
Ben: Do you have curatorial idols? People, venues or groups you look to for inspiration and direction?
The High Line in New York. Photo via Wikipedia. Contributed by Dansnguyen, CC0 (2012)
Taja: You can learn as much about what to program from the things you really enjoy and admire as you can from things you don’t really respond to. In that way, everything ends up being really valuable information. I am a curator at PS1, but I am also a curator for PS1. Ideas are coming through my own perspective, but I'm also programming work that I feel makes sense in this particular context. For that reason, it’s helpful to try to stay open to as much work as possible. In thinking about other festivals and such though, there are so so so many. The first that comes to mind is Big Ears.
Ben: Going back a couple of years, there’s a project that you were starting up with an artist named Caroline Sinders called Databases Full of Women. That’s all I know about it.
Taja: We were specifically referring to Mitt Romney of course, and thinking of scenarios where people hope to hire women and people of color to make their panels or events more diverse but don’t know where to look. The project was going to be a way of pointing to that absurd issue, providing opportunities for our community, and kind of shaming people that somehow only know cis white men. I played a very small part in this project, and I believe Caroline ended up taking the project further and developing it. But in short it seemed we were filling a void or at least contributing to a landscape of similar projects that were popping up around that time. I hadn't thought about this particular project in a while, but Caroline is brilliant and amazing and makes a lot of important and relevant work.
“There will always be so much to think about and navigate, but you just have to keep your head down and do the work…”
Ben: I remember, maybe it was around that same time, someone from DISCWOMAN [I think] put out a really good list of female-identifying DJs and were just like, “We’re tired of everyone asking us. Do your own homework.”
Taja: It’s a gift and a curse, when you’re made out to be the spokesperson. I've had a lot of frustrating conversations with people who say things like, “Oh, we need a woman. Let's just call Discwoman.” With a group like DISCWOMAN, you know, they represent so many different kinds of artists, and a lot of people can’t care to even look into their work and determine what sort of artist they’re looking for or are interested in. It becomes really weird, really fast.
Ben: This brings up something you've spoken about with regards to the music community, a condition of simultaneously feeling invisible and tokenized. Is that also present in your daytime, curatorial roles?
Taja: Museums are complicated places and are usually overwhelmingly white. I don’t like it, and I actively try to change it in the ways that I can, but right now, that’s honestly the reality. I'm lucky to work at a museum that’s generally supportive of my work and my priorities. A lot of us are familiar with institutional critique in some way, and it’s an environment that's receptive to that conversation. But you know, to what degree am I complicit? It's complicated. I try to challenge myself to answer that question fairly regularly— to check in with myself. The best advice that I ever got was from Jenny Schlenzka, my boss when I first started at PS1.
Part of Otabenga Jones and Associates' work Funk, God, Jazz, and Medicine for Creative Time. Photo via the Creative Time website.
Taja: She just told me to always remember why I wanted this job in the first place, because it will always be complicated and tough, especially as a Black Woman. There will always be so much to think about and navigate, but I try to keep your head down and do work I feel proud of. Jenny wasn’t saying that I should deny your emotional wellbeing or anything like that. Just to find the strength within myself to keep doing the things that are important to me regardless of the bureaucracy and restrictive structures of institutions. That still really sticks with me to this day.
Ben: The other day I was talking to DJ Tara, I don’t know if you know her but pro tip: she’s great! We were talking about the repeal of the Cabaret law which lead to my finding an article you wrote for Artforum. In it, you mentioned the “white elephant of white supremacy” and I was wondering…are there are particular artists or orgs who you feel are doing a particularly good job of addressing systemic racism within the arts?
Taja: That is a good question. There is an organization called For the Gworls that's really great. It's a peer to peer donation model that aims to raise money for black trans folks that in need: namely money for rent, or money for affirmative surgeries. People write to them, FtG posts about it along with peoples’ Venmo info. It's very simple, and I've followed them as their profile continues to grow and help so many people. They're really incredible.
There’s another organization focused on the issue of COVID-19 in prisons right now, COVID Bail Out New York City and also Emergency Release Fund which focuses on LGBTQIA+ and medically high-risk people. I also really love C’mon Everybody. It’s a venue that's been really important to me personally. The owners are supportive of so many people; I’ve seen them pay out of pocket to make sure artists were compensated for their work.
Ben: Switching gears a bit—how about a time things just got fucked up during a live production? Bonus points here if it was your fault and you come clean here!
Taja: I remember it was my birthday and I found out that ASAP Ferg wanted to change the original date we’d booked him for Warm Up. Klaus came into my office because all of my colleagues had been planning this birthday celebration for me, and I was stuck on the phone trying to sort everything out. My face must have looked completely insane because Klaus came up to me with a cupcake and was smiling really wide and then looked at my face and all of a sudden his expression just kind of went grey.
Ben: What was the fix?
Taja: We were able to make another date work, and it ended up being even more epic because he performed on the same day as Cardi B. It was completely insane for everyone and ended up being one of the most memorable work days I've ever had, for sure. Ferg became a friend of the program since then and he's come back since just to attend.
Ben: I asked about a nightmare situation though, this sounds more like a pretty cool rebooking. C’mon. You must have something else..
Taja: Completely. I have stories about things completely falling apart. Like in the early days where, you know...like my colleague...no wait. I’m sorry but there are some stories I just can’t tell.
Ben: Okay okay, fair enough. Last question or, maybe more of a request. Pretend COVID-19’s not happening. What’s a place in the city you’d love to curate an event in or for?
Taja: I’ve been thinking about pools a lot. Not like emptied pools, but actual swimming pools. I can't swim so I don’t go to them a lot, but they’re political sites in a lot of ways. I’m thinking about how pools have been largely unavailable to black people, and thinking about water in general. Maybe it’s because I’m a water sign? I’m thinking about water as both healing and traumatizing. I don’t know...I’ve just been thinking a lot about pools...