Within the Wires - Transcripts

Catch up with the latest Night Vale books here Transcripts of the "Within the Wires" podcast, written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson, with music by Mary Epworth. Transcribed by the same person who transcribes Welcome to Night Vale at cecilspeaks.tumblr.com and Alice Isn't Dead at alicescripts.tumblr.com. Try Audible and Get Two Free Audiobooks Transcripts of the announcements and ads from each show will be found at   withinthecredits.tumblr.com. Quoting a transcript in your own post and wondering if you need to credit me as the source? The short answer is no, because they aren't my words. The long answer is here. This blog is not affiliated with Within the Wires, Night Vale Presents, or Commonplace Books. Their official site can be found here. Amazon.com - Read eBooks using the FREE Kindle Reading App on Most Devices

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(transcript) Season 3, Reel 4: February 15, 1954 | Within the Wires on Patreon

Official Post from Within the Wires: (written by Jeffrey Cranor & Janina Matthewson; posted: October 16, 2018)Amy I’ve broken my umbrella. It’s so windy today, and my umbrella is broken. I’ve had it for five years, which is a long time to have an umbrella, I supposed.Maybe you never really own an umbrella. The come into your life for a

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Announcement

It looks like WIW has decided to post transcripts on their Patreon, and non-patrons can read them too. This kind of makes this blog pointless, I guess. I’m tempted to continue anyway, because it’s only 7 more episodes and this blog will be incomplete without them. But it’s a pretty small time blog and it might make more sense that people use Patreon for this. 

What do you think, readers? 

Their Patreon is here.

[withinthescripts]

Season 3, Reel 3: November 26, 1953

[tape recorder turns on]

Amy, do you know anything about declawing cats? I know that a lot of people do it, but I don’t know if it’s, well, humane. Do you know if there have been studies of this kind of thing? Can you do some research and find out how this affects cats. I don’t know how people would even begin to understand whether and when cats are happy, apart from the purring and lap-cuddling, but can you see if they have… Can you see if they know whether declawing makes them unhappy? Obviously Vivi and I don’t wanna make a living creature that is in our care unhappy but, well, there’s been some damage to tapestry. To an antique tapestry that was rescued from Belgium during the Reckoning, when most works of art were lost. So… I don’t know that there is a good way to decide which is more important: a rare preserve of the world we lost or the happiness of a living creature that is in your care. Still, some studies would help. If you could look into studies on the well-being of declawed cats, Amy, that would be helpful.

[cut]

Goddammit, Amy, where have you put today’s papers? Papers first thing, god, and turn that fucking music off! [music stops]

[cut]

Letter from the office of Michael Witten on the 26th of November 1953 to Sarah Chisholm, Public Works Department, Philadelphia office.

Dear Sarah. I wanted to get in touch again about my plans regarding the currently abandoned government buildings in Washington. I have been consulting with contractors both local to me and to the buildings - as local as you can get, obviously, as regards the buildings – and pulled together some details and some quotes about what we can accomplish. It looks likely that some parts of the plan, and I’m sure you will be able to predict which, may have to be delayed for a while, but I think we can get going on the foundational things within the next few weeks. As we discussed when I first outlined it to you, I have not spoken to many people about this plan, nor have I obtained clearance from the s`Societal Council. The buildings we’re looking at altering, although they are abandoned and in some cases ruins, they’re still some of the most important buildings on this continent. While they no longer have any place in our society in the symbolic sense they once did, there’s still a great deal of emotional attachment to them, so we must be careful how we communicate our intentions for them. We’re not allowed to have national capitals anymore, so refashioning or restoring from our government buildings, particularly the White House and Capitol, touches some nerves. We will have to let people come to the correct conclusion, that is the conclusion we have both arrived at, that we mut override the nationalist importance of old buildings and remake them for new, practical uses today.

This is why the plans we developed focused entirely on public housing, doctors’ offices, artistic studeos, and store fronts. My wife Vivian suggested that we add theaters and dance bases as well. I can get rough sketches of those designs to you if you’re interested. I remain impressed with the work you’ve done in Philadelphia to maintain the Walnut Street theater. We must show the public as well as the Societal Council that there’s a way to both use such buildings for the good of our new society and remember them as the architectural triumphs they are from the past, while also erasing their patriotic significance.

It’s been suggested to me by my more artistically minded friends that the Capitol building is neo-classical regurgitation, that it has no architectural significance, but that’s not how history works, you can’t just erase it. You have to embrace it and learn from it, and know that what is unfashionable today will be fashionable again later. National patriotism is anathema to our rebuilding efforts, and we have to move beyond it, but we cannot deny the atrocities and the violence committed by our forbearers. Nor can we sterilize our past and keep it safely in a jar on a shelf. If we can reclaim that dome and those buttresses to mean something other than the quote “United States of America”, we can not only acknowledge our past, but reshape the future, it’s so poorly intended.

I don’t expect that this will be easy to sell, Sarah, which is why we should be careful about who we tell now. I’m all for acting now and untangling red tape later. But I believe we should think about how we can make announcements soon. Since the area around these buildings is unpopulated, we can begin work before we announce, I think. No one will be there to see it. But we don’t wanna leave it too long. We don’t want it to look like we’re keeping secrets.

I have to say, Sarah, after all this time talking and thinking, I’m excited to be getting close to the point of beginning. There are parts of this job that feel like mitigating or alleviating destruction but occasionally, something comes along that reminds you that it is really just creation. Creation borne out of destruction, yes, but creation nonetheless. I’m sorry for getting sentimental. It’s an emotional time.

I look forward to celebrating with you in person when you visit Chicago next month. Kind regards, Michael.

[cut]

Amy, never mind about the papers, I found them. They were under all this paperwork from doctor Woods’ office. Thanks for revising the pregnancy contracts, but always keep the newspapers on top.

[cut]

Shit! Shit, Amy!

[cut]

Amy, why didn’t you tell me about the papers as soon as I came in? I assume you saw them. I assume that, even though you covered them up with a bunch of hospital paperwork, as if that’s the most important thing. Fuck! Shit, Amy, I dunno what to do! How did they find out? Why did they write this up without asking me for comment? What is going.. Amy, don’t send that letter to Sarah obviously. I’ll have to write another one, or you will. Sorry, I recorded all things on the same reel, hope it didn’t take you too long. What the fuck am I going to say?

Also, did you know about these stories ahead of time? You didn’t, did you? Had you heard anything? You better not have heard anything and not brought it directly to my attention, Amy, I swear to God. From now on, read the papers first before you bring them to me. You’ll need to come in earlier for that.

[cut]

How did they find out? There’s only two people in our office and I sure as fuck didn’t say anything.

[tape recorder turns off] [ads] [tape recorder turns on]

Amy, deliver this memo immediately. From the office of Michael Witten on the 26th of November 1953, to Reina Bachelor, PR Department, Chicago office.

Dear Raina. There have been some stories printed in today’s papers - I’ve seem them in The Post and The Tribune, I’m not sure if they’re elsewhere as well - that concern this department. I’m hoping you can help me with them. The stories specifically mention this department and myself and discuss, with surprising detail, some undisclosed plans for renovations in Washington, or schemes as The Post put it. I was not contacted for comment by journalists, and many of the details have been misconstrued and in most cases reported incorrectly. It is crucial that we get on top of this story as soon as possible to correct the misinformation that is being spread. Please contact my secretary Amy Castillo to set up a management team meeting this week.

I know this will be difficult, lies run faster than the truth, and I would like you to devote as much effort and resource as you can spare in the attempt. Please prepare a statement for immediate release and advice me on your media strategy.

Kind regards, Michael.

If this gets in the way of things I just… [pause]

[cut]

OK, Amy. New letter from the office of Michael Witten on the 26th of November 1935 to Sarah Chisholm, Public Works Department, Philadelphia office.

Dear Sarah, I’m assuming you will have seen the stories in the papers recently. It seems someone found out about our plans and leaked them, or at least leaked some version of them to the press. They have almost everything wrong. The Chicago Tribune says we’re rebuilding a national capital in Washington, and the Washington Post claims that we will reinstate American agencies, and unlike The New York Times, they seem thrilled about it.

[long pause] But even if the headlines are completely misleading, the bulk of the facts are correct. There were a couple of government offices in these reconstruction plans, but they’re for administrative purposes. These buildings weren’t reviving the American capital, they’re for public good with just one or two small offices for minor paperwork and local management. You can’t have public housing and then place the agency in charge of it across town. It’s a few square feet in each building. It’s not a goddamn renaissance of American chauvinism. Don’t say goddamn. We are now being accused of both revitalizing nationalism and destroying cultural history, which would be laughable if these papers didn’t hold the power to derail all of our plans.

I’m consulting with our PR department, obviously, as I think it’s crucial that we change the narrative around this as soon as possible. It’s going to be so much harder now. Talk to your publicity team in Philadelphia. I think, no no, it is imperative we work together to snuff out this oversensitivity. The secrecy is obviously not an issue anymore.

My current plan is this. [sighs], Amy, what is my plan? I’m just reacting to all this, I don’t have a plan to deal with this. plan, my plan, uh…

We will have to explain why a public announcement was not made swiftly. I think we are best off saying that we decided to confirm all the details before we announced, rather than pester people with constant updates about something that to all intents and purposes wouldn’t affect them. Play it off as no big deal. I mean, we have the plans I sent you, there’s nothing to hide from. There will be more back and forth once the statement goes out, I’m sure, people appear to have a lot of thoughts and opinions about this. and while it is useless to try and assuage all doubts, I think we are honor bound to address at least some of the more common concerns as they arise.

In the long term, it is my opinion that we need to start planning a serious ongoing public awareness campaign, one that stretches even beyond our current plan to encompass an ideology around dealing with similar situations going forward. We can frame this as one in a long string of moments in which we, as a society, decide who we are and how we relate to the past. It will take some time and effort to convince people of the correctness of our plans for these buildings, and bringing them into the context of a wider idea for the world as a whole could help with that. We are gonna have to do a lot more work in the early stages than we had hoped. We’ll have to manage people’s expectations as well as manage the actual work.

I’m not sure who within our collective teams is completely behind this, but I will try to make inquiries, to rally support within the government. With our luck, the current outcry will only be a blip on the way to greater understanding of our goals.

Kind regards, Michael.

Fuck!

[cut]

Amy, I’m sure you’ve typed the memo up already, but forget it. Just get Raina on the phone for me. I want her ass in my office ASAP, I’ll just tell her this in person.

[cut]

I’m sorry I snapped a bit before. I wasn’t expecting this today, it threw me off balance a bit and I became slightly unreasonable. I want you to know that I appreciate your work and your discretion in this, as I do in all things. I’m sorry if I made you believe I doubted your loyalty even for a moment. I’m sure that made this day almost as stressful for you as it has been for me.

Amy, I need you to do a little investigating for me. If the public turns the Societal Counci in opposition to my plan for Washington, I’m hoping there will be people willing to stand beside me, uh besides Vishwati, and persuading them into agreement. Of course, we could go ahead with the plan without their blessing, but it would be unwise, I think. We are still living in unstable and unpredictable times, and peace must be maintained at all costs.

No, it would be dangerous to proceed if too many people do not approve. So it is very important I know how my colleagues feel about this and who I can rely on. If you can find out, probably just from the other secretaries, how I am regarded and whether the plan has support and from whom, I would appreciate that. It will be fine, of course. I shall speak to Vishwati, I’m sure she has seen the papers and is already eager to be of help. She’s the fixer. Even journalists are in awe of her. The hard part is telling her I’ve, we’ve, I’ve fucked up. But the newspapers solved that problem. I just need to tell her what I think needs to be done and she’ll do it. She’s always looking for solutions, not excuses. Solutions, yes.

Amy, contact Vishwati Ramadoss’ office and see when she will be free to take a call. It’ll have to be a rather long one, so make sure there’s no danger of her being called away to a meeting midway through.

[cut]

By the way, Amy, as well as declawing, are you able to look into the causes of hairballs in cats? Is there a way to discourage them happening at all? Something about how you feed the cat or maybe controlling how they clean themselves? I suspect it’s one of the things that you juts have to live with, isn’t it? Well, Vivi has fallen in love with the thing so there’s no hope for it, but one can only clean a rug so many times before it becomes quite a different rug.

[cut]

I need a drink. Amy, join me around 4. I’ve opened some bourbon. Knock first, though. [long silence]

[tape recorder turns off]

Within the Wires is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Michael Witten is Lee LeBreton. You can support our show and get exclusive episodes and other cool things at patreon.com/withinthewires.

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to head to happy hour after a long day of work at the [bird factory], to enjoy a pint of [bacon fat] with your friend [Benicio del Toro].

[withinthescripts]

Season 3, Reel 2: August 13, 1953

[tape recorder turns on]

Amy, call Dr. Jefferson and get me an appointment on Thursday or Friday early morning.

Vivi and I found an injured cat and we’d like to get it fixed. Fixed meaning “spayed”, but I suppose also meaning “repaired”. See if Dr. Jefferson can repair and spay our new cat.

Also, pick up a square fabric about 30 x 30 centimeters, something orange, preferably patterned, an argyle or stencil print, as well as some dark thread, maroon or violet. Once you did that, fold the square into a bandana and embroider the name “Constance” onto the back part of the bandana. We named the cat Constance. Also Amy, can you print that name in script? In cursive where each letter elegantly sweeps onto the next. Don’t fret if you can’t do that, just do it in print, I guess. Thanks.

Letter from the office of Michael Witten on the 13th of August, 1953 to Ursula Lindholm, Director of Communications, Department of Global Trade, European office. Dear Director Lindholm. Thank you for your reply to my question about personnel restructuring. Your concerns about my “poking around” are valid, but rest assured that this is not an inquisition or a judgment, simply curiosity. Amy, don’t write “poking around”, say uh, say “inquiries”. Always mean what you say, but rarely say what you mean.

It is a brave new and unincorporated world out there, and we’re all doing our best to set about a new, less destructive course while implementing an entirely novel set of rules. If you and your office are finding success in reorganization, I certainly wanna know about it. We are not business, Director Lindholm, we are government. We are a truism, a monolith, many roots of the same tree. This is not competition, but collaboration. That being said, I apologize if I pressed too hard into your business and the goings on of your new Regional Director of Trade, Karen Roberts. Karen and I know each other peripherally through Global Secretary of Trade, Vishwathi Ramadoss, my direct supervisor.

Karen, I believe, testified against Secretary Ramadoss during preliminary hearings about domestic espionage in Vancouver last year, even though there were no fucking documents to suggest any of the allegations were true, Ursula, and even if they were, the things Secretary Ramadoss could have revealed about Karen, if there were any domestic spying on businesses, would have destroyed her career. Secretary Ramadoss was using computational machines to record basic data on commerce. It’s just numbers to help with global trade, which is Vishwathi Ramadoss’ fucking job over the whole fucking planet. So yeah, I’m a bit goddamned concerned about Karen Roberts.

Amy, obviously delete all of that, just cut it after the part where I said that I knew Karen. But seriously, Vishwathi was organizing data into charts about a birthplace, age, gender and known health records. The Pacific Northwest pissed themselves that Vishwathi was keeping notes on parents’ names. Oh, what if the citizens find out and try to reconnect with their parents? We don’t allow parents anymore – spare me, she only wrote down the parents’ names in cases where people were direct descendants of the last generation, so they’d already know. It was everything over nothing!

By the way, were you not able to find any of the files from our work in Vancouver? Where was I?

If my tone was aggressive, then I apologize. Ursula, it was not my intent, I would never wanna make a colleague feel less than on equal ground. As I understand it, Karen Roberts relocated the entire Western European Labor Department into the Communications Office. Congratulations on the increased resources! I hope you got a raise.

I wish there were a way to suggest this a joke. Ursula doesn’t seem to have any sense of humor. Her letter was what, two sentences? I’m surprised she didn’t carve it directly into a block of ice.

Amy, can you just draw a smilie face after my last comment? I’m not kidding.

But most of my questions went unanswered. Perhaps you’re pressed for time and if so, please let me know my best approach to Karen Roberts herself. She hasn’t returned my calls or letters. First, what is to become of regulatory protections for workers? The North and Baltic Seas are filled with fishing ships, there are mines and textile factories all over the continent. Who is protecting workers from abuse if the entire region has no labor department? You can’t build a society without a well treated work force.

Second, Karen Roberts owned the largest construction firm along the Gulf of Mexico. Upon taking a government job, did she sell her interests in KR Development, Inc.? Calls to her Houston office suggest to me she has not. This is a violation of the new society ethics bylaws for bureaucrats. If she still owns any part of KR while administering all of Europe’s trade, then this is in direct conflict with our new society’s core values for governmental leadership. This is not a threat, but a fact. Also, it is a threat.

Don’t write that part. Uh, no, write it but then draw another smilie face. That was definitely a joke, no threats in letters Amy, you know that.

I especially encourage you to look into the matter of weapons development along the old Mexican border. Karen’s factories were former arms manufacturing sites. Of course, KR Development now makes its business dismantling war machines for use in new, non-military construction. They have their slogan “swords to ploughshares”, of course. But in my working with Karen on previous North American reconstruction projects, there were persistent rumours that southern militias were being armed by weapons still being manufactured by KR. I have no physical evidence of this and I would never share it publicly, but the European people will not be happy if some journalist finds this proof. My North American people will certainly not be happy, which will make me even more unhappy, and Global Secretary of Trade Vishwathi Ramadoss will be the least happy of us all.

Of course, my staff member Amy Castillo was not able to dig up anything about current weapons production, and if she cannot find anything then I’m sure no one can. You didn’t, right Amy?

So perhaps we have no worries at all. I merely encourage you to do your own research into your new head of trade. Please keep me informed on this matter.

Finally, I was told someone from your office has shut down the production of a play called “Last Night We Were the Wind” at the Olympia in Dublin. I don’t mean to suggest that you are practicing censorship, but the account I heard had to do with the playwright Neve Connolly’s open critique of the new society, that your office found the play, quote, “grotesquely retrospect”. I understand that art can be disruptive and provocative, and we are all trying to build public and global confidence in our new society, but this is why a department of labor or culture exists, to work with artist to find the right message. Amy, underline “right”.

It should be a friendly discourse between government and author, not an indifferent one, as is the way with the “last” generation, nor as in this alleged case, an authoritarian one. Plus we’re only one year removed from the Removal of Nations Act, which forced England to finally cede imperial claims over Ireland, so I’m not sure a London office shutting down a play in Dublin goes over too well. There may be no more borders, but there are a fucking lot of feelings. A-amy, streamline that. Perhaps there were other problems related to labor or finances I’m unaware of, but please do enlighten me on the reasons for silencing a young artist.

Thank you for your time and input. Despite my uh pointed questions, please know that I’m only interested in learning more about what has been effective for your region. Life is nothing if not for learning.

Sincerely, Michael Witten, Director of et cetera et cetera.

[tape recorder turns off] [ads] [tape recorder turns on]

Amy, on second thought, if you can’t embroider a nice cursive script, please just find a tailor or something to teach you. I dunno, figure it out. I’m positive you can figure it out. I think you said you were learning pottery or woodworking? I should remember these things. It was something crafty, so you’ll pick this up in no time.

I hope you realize how much I appreciate your work, Amy. I’m aware that I can be abrupt, and I probably don’t acknowledge your efforts enough, but believe me, they are appreciated. When I worked as Head of the Midwest Region before I took this job, I knew the location of every file, every book, every paperclip in my office. I had to, I had a secretary oh god, Kevin Prince. He was dreadful. I had to edit every letter he transcribed, double check his document organization. I even listened in on some of the phone calls I told him to make. I liked how confident I was in every detail of what I did, but I got home at nine or ten PM most nights. Vivian was not happy eating alone. I felt like I was stacking teacups, each a different size every day, one on top of the other, each one taking more time than the last. Carefully looking at direction, curve, weight, keeping the center vertical… I knew it wouldn’t take long for it all to collapse. But then by miracle, I was selected to take over this office, and here you were.

And you’re everything Kevin was not. Organized and detailed, on time. My first boss at the Textile Distribution Center in Sioux City gave me only one rule: “if you receive an order, ship it.” It’s a deceptively difficult rule. I know almost no one including myself who can follow this 100 per cent of the time. If you receive an order, ship it.

I know we don’t work in shipping and fulfilment here, Amy, but everything I ask of you, you do immediately and effectively. I don’t know where anything is or how you have it all filed, but I’m home by six every night. And when I ask you to dig up old records on some project or meeting, I’ve got a tidy stack on my desk at the end of the day. Except Vancouver. I’m assuming those were lost or we just never had them?

I used to think leadership was managing every aspect of an underling’s work, but I realize leadership is quietly accepting that people will do everything correctly and allowing them to figure out when they’re wrong. Or you’re just really remarkable. Either way, Vivian appreciates you more than you know. We should have you over for dinner some night. We’ve worked together for how many years now? Why hasn’t this happened? Let’s make this happen.

Letter from of the office of Michael Witten on the 18th of August 1953 to Bernice Jones, Minister for Culture, North American region.

Dear Bernice, it was fantastic having you and Miguel for dinner this weekend. I always enjoy your company and Vivi and I truly loved the wine you brought. We never had a marble wine before. So crisp and smooth, but with a sweet nose, like someone eating a passion fruit next to you while you touch cold marble swatches. And please thank Miguel for the wonderful gift of music. I’m listening to the record right now*, Vivi has turned me on to jazz. I don’t know if I enjoy it, but I uh appreciate it. It’s like music but with a puzzle in it. Apparently there are some jazz clubs right here in Chicago.

* there’s no music in the background

You mentioned your youth arts initiatives in Oaxaca and I was intrigued. While the Department of Global Trade does not directly oversee artistic funding, we certainly oversee global trade, whatever you think that last word means. Perhaps there’s room for a collaboration here between our offices. As you know, Vivi is an avid collector of modern art. You noted with a touch of awe the original Claudia Atieno in our den, and I’ve never seen Vivi light up quite like that. [chuckles] With all the accountants and lawyers who come through our doors, you can imagine how rare it is to find a dinner guest who can recognize the care and attention Vivi puts into her collection.

After your visit, Vivi and I discussed how we can do more to help young artists. Or forget young, artists in general. Why single out only the inexperienced? What of those in between training and fame who need our help most? Of course we donate and make purchases where we can, but money only goes so far.

You may need to burn this letter after I tell you this, but our department is swimming in money. I can’t put resources toward a North American gallery or opera or (-) [0:16:30], but I could certainly put money toward a global artistic exchange. Can you imagine teaching the Cahto language in (Canberra), or singing Mariachi in Marrakesh, or performing Neve Connolly in London? I think the people of London would adore such a dynamic new writer.

Connolly is controversial, yes, what with her depictions of traditional family roles and the challenge this presents the new generations of people raised to reject the tribalism of family. But she’s a brilliant young playwright. You know her work, she was brought to speak at Tulane last year through a grant from your office.

The Palladium in London is dark right now. The West End is starving for theatre. We could produce a Neve Connolly play there with a North American production team and Dublin actors. I’m not sure if you’ve read her play “The Topaz Window”, but it’s truly a masterpiece. It centers around an extraordinary painting of mysterious origin that begins to drive a wedge between a previously close family. I won’t spoil it, but the denouement is truly shocking.

Anyway, if someone were to stage that, I’m sure we could commission a well regarded artist to provide the painting in question, maybe even Claudia Atieno herself. I know an art collector named Archie McPherson who would get us in touch with her.

This is truly cultural and global trade, I’m positive our European offices will be pleased. No, make that “delighted”, Amy.

I’ll have my secretary Amy send you a full proposal and budget within a week. I look forward to discussing this with you soon, give my love to Miguel, all the best, Mikey.

[tape recorder turns on]

Amy, write a letter to Vishwathi. 20th August, 1953.

Dear Secretary Ramadoss, I’m pleased to hear you agree with me about the European trade offices. I, too, was alarmed to hear that Karen Roberts had disbanded her labor department, but not surprised. As you saw in my memorandum, she has a long history of disrespect towards workers, going back to her time in Houston. My contact, Ursula Lindholm in the Communications offices in Europe, is reluctant to share many details with me, so I’m hoping to make new connections with the European Trade Department employees. A former colleague of mine from my old job in St. Louis, Leena Mäkinen is living in Helsinki. She would be interested in a move to the Oslo offices. Would you be willing to write a recommendation for her? I think Leena could provide some information that Ursula is certainly unwilling to share. Not a spy, really but a um… You know, scratch that, let’s not be dramatic.

I know you do not know her, and I do not want to seem flippant about professional ethics, but as you once told me, act first, argue semantics later. The staff and I hope you can visit Chicago again soon. Fall is beautiful here, we’ll take you to the lake. Also the Field Museum finally reopened last month. They only recovered a quarter of their collection from the Great Reckoning, but many museums were far lass fortunate.

Amy, remove the paragraphs mentioning Leena Mäkinen from this letter. I think it’s better not to involve the secretary in this. Let’s go with this.

Perhaps you can use your influence to find out whether Karen has sold off her interest in KR development, and what they plan on doing to manage labor, now that they’ve gutted the department. Thank you again for your attention in this manner. Sincerely, Michael Witten, North America.

[tape recorder turns off]

Jeffrey Cranor: Within the Wires is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Michael Witten is Lee LeBreton. You can support our show and get exclusive episodes and other cool things at patreon.com/withinthewires.

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to head to happy hour after a long day of work at the [yoga tournament], to enjoy a pint of [tamarin sauce] with your friend [Jean Valjean].

[withinthescripts]

Season 3, Reel 1: July 3, 1953

[tape recorded turns on]

Amy, have you ever heard of espresso? It’s disgusting and I love it. Vivi introduced me to the stuff at this sort of place called Gianni’s on Holsted. It’s actually just a guy named Gianni who puts coffee grounds into a motorcycle engine and then gives you a spoon to concentrate and a cup the size of a cigarette lighter. The coffee you make is fine, but I want an espresso machine, Amy, is there room for one? Not urgent but uh, something to think on.

[music]

[tape recorder turns on]

Letter from the office of Michael Witten on the 3rd of July 1953. Is it the 3rd, Amy? Obviously confirm that when you type this up. To Doctor Sima Choudary. Dear Sima, no Doctor Choudary, no Sima, friendly, fuck it.

Dear Sima. I’m writing to you in answer to your request for feedback regarding the plans for the new childhood center to be constructed in Goa. I wanted first to thank you for providing such detailed… What’s the word I’m looking for here, Amy, schematics? Sounds so clinical. Drawings? Must be something in between schematics and drawings. Find that word, would you? … of the center. I realize this is the first building of this kind that you’ve been involved in, and I hope you will not mind if I point out some potential flaws. I have seen through the construction of four of these centers so far, and there are important factors I believe you need to take into account. Amy, do these in bullet points.

The most important is that there is no need to be so conservative with space. Space is one of the things we all have plenty of, an infinite fucking amount of it, Sima. Don’t write that, Amy. And we may as well make use of it. I see little use in having dormitories, really, at all. One room crammed full of bunk beds seems unnecessary. The children who live here will need time away from each other, and with a dormitory they won’t get that even in sleep. In addition, shared rooms may, no, will, will increase the chance of sickness spreading amongst the children. The children would be better off rooming in pairs, each room with two individual beds as well as some chairs and cushion for those when a child might want to retire from social interaction and read quietly in a space that belongs only to them. Well, to them and one other, but hopefully that other is someone they feel comfortable and safe with.

Amy, I know you’re gonna correct me on the who/whom thing. Honestly, I don’t care, but I know you do. Indeed, comfort and safety should be the specific goal in the assigning of the rooms, and there should be room to allow children to have some say in who they room with, if possible. Childhood centers place enough stress on a child’s body and mind without worrying about a shitty, eh, incompatible roommate. I noticed that while there is a lovely, vast park area included in your plan, Sima, there is no sign of any kind of playground. If you add a playground, uh no scratch that, I presume you are in early drafts still and that you just had not added a playground yet. When you do, be sure to include a range of equipment to suit the different ages you’ll be catering to. A big girl of 9 does not want to play in the gentle slide she loved at age 3, for example. By this point, she wants a little more excitement. Playgrounds have gone down exceptionally well in some of our other facilities. I’ll send you some examples of successful playground designs. Uh, they’re really variations on a theme: swings, climbing equipment, mazes, goat boxes, seesaws, that kind of thing. The playground here along Lake Michigan even has a sensory deprivation pool. Although between you and me, I’m not sure the kids really use it for its intended purpose. Honestly, Amy, I saw a kid use that thing because she couldn’t be bothered walking across the yard to the toilets.

Your kitchen also seems on the small side, which is a mistake I’ve seen made before and believe me, you wanna learn from the experience of others in this matter. Catering to this number of people, especially when they are children who are liable to be fussy and unpredictable, is an enormous task and requires a lot of work and planning. Be generous to your chefs here, make it as easy as possible for them.

Your class rooms are perfect and well situated. You’re wise to have windows that face away from the park, as children are easily distracted and while being able to look outside every once in a while to rest your mind is a good thing, looking out on other people playing is decidedly not.

The recreation room leaves a little to be desired. In short, it feels too similar to the classrooms. We must always be mindful of the fact that we are building not a school, but a home. A home that happens to contain a school within it, but still a home. You spent part of your childhood in a center, Sima. I believe they became mandatory when you were young. Think about your own experience there. Set the research aside for a moment and think about what it was like for you, training and learning and unlearning every day. The pills and the food and the… ah, I can’t remember shit. Skip that last sentence, Amy, go with – there’s so much fun and creativity, but it is regimented, like a job. And I know we have to avoid cultural trigger points that make (you) familial touchstones. But with a little bit of artistic inspiration, you can make neutral look sharp, rather than austere.

This recreation room will not serve the children. Areas of the center that aren’t dedicated to learning should be dedicated to warmth and comfort. They should be painted in welcoming colors with comfortable furniture and soft lighting.

I worry you have not allowed enough beds in the infirmary. Remember, sickness among children spreads quickly. If one child gets the flu, it’s likely they all will. You need to make sure you’re able to care for everyone, should they all get sick at once.

I am envious of the library you designed. I would only say to make sure that as well as the functional and capacious shelving you have planned, you include nooks where children can sit and read. Uh, be sure to include books that are outside of those directly required by the school curriculum.

I’m aware there’s still some uncertainty over which books are to continue being produced and which are to be withdrawn. But in my view, if you use your common sense and avoid overly nationalist or divisive themes, you should feel free to stock your library as you see fit.

In the event that you do include a book that is later deemed inappropriate, you will almost certainly not be held responsible for it. As far as I know, we have no plans of punishing people who fail to accurately depict our future cultural decisions.

Your plans also did not include staff quarters. Are you able to send these missing drawings - Amy, the word that’s better than drawings here again, please – to me as soon as possible. As with the children, the staff should be made to feel at home in the center, but you must make allowances for their need to sometimes be away from their charges. I’ve gone over the budget you’ve provided and included an annotated copy with this letter with my suggestions. Amy, erase my penciled notes on her budget and rewrite them in pen. You have much better handwriting.

End bullet points.

Sima, I have a small request to make of you, unrelated to the construction of the center. I’d appreciate if you’d keep this to yourself - goes for you too, Amy -as I’m not yet certain if my concerns are valid. I would hate to cause any kind of distress without reason. I have heard of developments within the European departments, some restructuring of personnel in their Oslo headquarters, I think, although I do not have this first hand, so am loathe to claim too many specifics.

It caught my attention because of the inclusion of a particular person I have come across in the past. I don’t know if you know her, one Karen Roberts. Without going into too much detail, I have reasons to be suspicious of her motives. She used to run a private corporation in Houston, but she seemed dedicated to obtaining a government position in South America. It strikes me as odd that she should now be maneuvering in what used to be Norway. I’m sure it’s nothing, I’m sure it’s juts a case of an overactive imagination, but I thought it might be worth making some careful inquiries about the changes taking place in that part of the world.

You have some connections to people who will be working with Karen in the western Europe Office for Global Trade. I believe you know Ursula Lindholm, and I wondered if you’d heard anything about why they are making these changes. If you know anything relevant, I would greatly appreciate anything you can tell me. And again, please be discreet. Yours, Michael Witten, Director of Development, Infrastructure and Commerce, Department of Global Trade, North American Office, (e-i-a-ya), you can fill in the rest of that, Amy.

[tape recorder turns off]

[ad break]

[tape recorder turns on]

[jazz music in the background]

Amy, thank you for your attention to detail during today’s meeting with the mayor and her staff. The conference room looked perfect and everyone was satisfied, even glowing, about the documents and notes you prepared. I know you and I have a comfortable, friendly relationship around the office, and I enjoy that. You tell great jokes and I love all the stories about your dog, Emma or Emmy or whatever. It’s just the two of us in here most days, and we can have a little more friendly, fun workplace. We’ve even got music playing right now. I like it. It’s jazz. Do you like jazz? Vivian is trying to get me to be more well-rounded artistically, so I’m listening to more jazz.

I’m fine with our casualness around the office, but when we have guests… You know what I do for a living, Amy? That’s the question. You know the importance of the people we meet? Also a question. We had the fucking mayor of Chicago in our office today, and you call me by my first name? Not even first name, Mike. “Sure thing, Mike,” that’s exactly what you said, out loud. From now on, it’s “Mr. Witten” or “Sir”, and “yes”, not “sure thing”. “Yes, Mr. Witten”. You understand me? That’s not a question. Thank you and, again, thank you for being so professional in all other aspects, I couldn’t find the door without your help. You are invaluable, Amy.

[music stops]

[tape recorder turns on]

Amy, take another letter from the office of Michael Witten, uh whatever day it is, to Doctor Helena Wood, Mercy Hospital. Dear Dr. Wood, I wanted to follow up after our meeting the other day with my wife, Vivian. I know you would probably expect to hear from the patient herself, but Vivi has a lot on her mind for obvious reasons. So we decided it would be easier if the logistics would be taken care of between you and me. This will help things go smoothly for everyone, organization is not Vivi’s strong suit. She and I have talked things over since we met with you last week, and as you requested, are confirming in writing that we – strike that, she – would like to proceed with fertilization. Uh, we are both aware that this will involve several weeks of treatment prior to the procedure and that we will be required to administer much of this at home. We are prepared for this. In addition, we understand that when she reaches the eighth month of her pregnancy, she will be required to leave home and become an inpatient for three months, until the baby is ready to be moved to a childhood center, at which time her commitment will come to an end.

Uh, who will be taking care of Vivi’s medical needs throughout the pregnancy? Will we be dealing with you for the duration, or will another doctor be taking over her care after insemination? I also request a full breakdown of how we should best be preparing for the pregnancy outside of the mandated treatment. What dietary or exercise tips will ensure us swift and easy fertilization? We can discuss payments schedule to Vivian for the service later. I’ll send back notes on the contract you mailed me.

Thank you again for your time and please do not hesitate to contact me if there is anything further we need to understand. My secretary’s contact details are at the top of this letter. Yours, Michael Witten.

Amy, send Vivi flowers this afternoon. You know the ones she likes, lilacs but the yellow ones that smell like burned butter and black pepper and molasses. Also include some books and magazines, she’ll be off work soon for some months and need to occupy her time. What was that book you were talking about the other day that everyone agrees is good? Something to do with birds. Get a copy for yourself as well, maybe we should all read it.

[tape recorder turns on]

Letter from the office of Michael Witten to Bernice Jones, Minister for Culture, North American Region. Dear Bernice. I wanted to drop you a note to tell you how much I enjoyed and appreciated the midsummer festival last month in Corpus Christi. The events that you put on where incredibly entertaining and displayed the richness of our uh, cultural history incredibly well. The opera - Amy, I forget the name of the opera, call and find out and insert it here - was masterful. I had never heard the Cahto language spoken, let alone so beautifully sung. I always think I know more than I do about our history. I should be prepared to that by now.

I understand that your department has received pushback on its spending as some members of the government believe cultural preservation and celebration should take a backseat to practical concerns. I wonder to reassure that there are plenty of us who will always support your efforts. As we become a more unified global community, it’s my opinion that we must be all the more careful to cherish those things about ourselves and about others that make us unique.

Unity does not have to mean nationalism, and we must be ready and willing to stand opposed to those who believe it does, as well as those who believe our cultural histories do not need our active and intentional support.

I hope you know you can come to me if you are ever in need of support in this matter. If there’s a question of funds or resources allocated, if there’s a debate on the importance of your role and your department, please be assured that you have my vote, and the votes of those who are loyal to me.

My wife Vivi and I would love to have you for dinner sometime, next time you are in Chicago. I believe there is much we have in common, and that a closer friendship would be of both personal and professional benefit to us both. Yours, Michael Witten.

[tape recorder turns on] [jazz music in the background]

Amy, if those journalists from Vancouver call again, tell them we have no comment at this time. Also uh uh, I don’t know your filing system. If you have any records on anything this office has to do with Vancouver, bring them to me.

[music stops]

[tape recorder turns off]

Jeffrey Cranor: Within the Wires is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Michael Witten is Lee LeBreton. You can support our show and get exclusive episodes and other cool things at patreon.com/withinthewires. Also, you can join us in London on September 13 for a rare Within the Wires live show. Tickets at withinthewires.com.

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to head off to happy hour after a long day of work at the [kitten factory], enjoy a pint of [tomato paste] with your friend, [Oscar de la Renta].

[withinthescripts]

Season 3, Trailer 3: “Dictation”

Jeffrey Cranor: Hey Jeffrey Cranor here, coming to you again from Edinburgh, Scotland. Here is our final trailer for season 3, which premieres next Tuesday, September 4. And if you were, say, a Patreon supporter of “Within the Wires”, you could be listening to the first full episode right now, a whole week before anyone else. Plus as a supporter, you’d get all kinds of behind the scenes stuff and even a whole other “Within the Wires” season called “Black Box”, available only to our supporters. That’s Patreon.com/withinthewires.

Also, hey London! Come see “Within the Wires” live on stage at the London Podcast Festival on September 13. Tickets are only 14,50 and you can get them at withinthewires.com.

[tape recorder turns on]

Amy, do you know anything about declawing cats? I know that a lot of people do it but I don’t know if it’s – well, humane. Do you know if there have been studies on this kind of thing? Can you do some research and find out how this affects cats, I don’t know how people would even begin to understand whether and when cats are happy, apart from the purring and lap cuddling, but can you see if they have… can you see if they know whether declawing makes them unhappy? Obviously Vivi and I don’t wanna make a living creature that is in our care unhappy, but well, there’s been some damage to a tapestry, to an antique tapestry that’s rescued from Belgium during the Reckoning, when most works of art were lost. So, I don’t know that there’s a good way to decide which is more important, a rare preserve of the world we lost or the happiness of a living creature that is in your care. Still, some studies would help. If you could look on the studies on the well-being of declawed cats, Amy, that would be helpful.

Goddammit, Amy, where have you put today’s papers? Papers first thing, god, and turn that fucking music off. [music turns off] Amy, nevermind about the papers, I found them. They were under all this paperwork from Dr. Wood’s office. Thanks for revising the pregnancy contracts, but always keep the newspapers on top.

Shit! Shit, Amy!

Amy, why didn’t you tell me about the papers as soon as I came in? I assume you saw them, I assume that even if you covered them up with a bunch of hospital paperwork, as if that’s the most important thing. Fuck! Shit, Amy, I dunno what to do! How did they find out? Why did they write this up without asking me for comment? What is going, Amy don’t send that letter to Sarah obviously, I’ll have to write another one. Or you will, sorry, I recorded this all in the same reel, hope it didn’t take you too long. What the fuck am I going to say?

Also, did you know about these stories ahead of time? You didn’t, did you? Had you heard anything? You better not have heard anything and not brought it directly to my attention, Amy I swear to God. From now on, read the papers first before you bring them to me. You’ll need to come in earlier for that.

How did they find out? There’s only two people in our office, and I sure as fuck didn’t say anything.

I need a drink. Amy, join me around 4. I’ve opened some bourbon. Knock first, though.

[tape recorder turns off]

Jeffrey Cranor: “Within the Wires” is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Michael Witten is Lee LeBreton. You can support our show and get exclusive episodes and other cool things at patreon.com/withinthewires. Also join us in London on September 13 for our live “Within the Wires” show. Tickets at withinthewires.com.

And hey, I love you.

[withinthescripts]

Season 3, Trailer 2: “Dictation”

Hey, Jeffrey Cranor here. Coming to you from Edinburgh, Scotland, where Janina and I just watched her brother Eli of the podcast “The Male Gayz”, perform standup and he was damned fantastic. So here are a few more sneak peek excerpts from season 3, which premieres September 4. And don’t forget our Patreon page. Support “Within the Wires” and you’ll get episode 1 of the new season a full week before anyone else. Plus all kinds of behind the scenes stuff and even a whole other “Within the Wires” season called “Black Box”, available only to our supporters. And if you’re near London, come see “Within the Wires” live on stage at the London Podcast Festival on September 13. Tickets are only 14,50 and you can get them at withinthewires.com.  

And hey, You’re cool.

[tape recorder turns on]

Amy, call Doctor Jefferson and get me an appointment for Thursday or Friday, early morning.

Vivi and I found an injured cat and we’d like to get it fixed. Fixed meaning spayed, but I suppose also meaning repaired. See if Doctor Jefferson can repair and spay our new cat.

Also, pick up a square of fabric about 30 by 30 centimeters, something orange, preferably patterned. An argyle or stencil print, as well as some dark thread, maroon or violet. Once you do that, fold the square into a bandana and embroider the name “Constance” onto the back part of the bandana. We named the cat Constance. Also Amy, can you print that name in script, in cursive where each letter elegantly sweeps into the next? Don’t fret if you can’t do that, just do it in print, I guess. Thanks.

[music]

[tape recorder turns on]

Letter from the office on the 13th of August, 1953 to Ursula Lindholm, Director of Communcations, Department of Global Trade, European office. Dear Director Lindholm. Thank you for your reply to my question about personnel restructuring. Your concerns about my poking around are valid, but rest assured that this is not an inquisition of a judgment, simply curiosity. Amy, don’t write “poking around”, say – say “inquiries”. Always mean what you say, but rarely say what you mean. If my tone was aggressive, then I apologize. Ursula, it was not my intent, I would never wanna make a colleague feel less than on equal ground. As I understand it, Karen Roberts relocated the entire Western European Labor Department into the Communications office. Congratulations on the increased resources! I hope you got a raise. I wish there a way to suggest this is a joke. Ursula doesn’t seem to have any sense of humor. Her letter was what, two sentences? I’m surprised she didn’t carve it directly into a block of ice. Amy, can you just draw a smiley face after my last comment? I’m not kidding. But most of my questions went unanswered. Perhaps you’re –pressed for time and if so, please let me know my best approach to Karen Roberts herself. She hasn’t returned my calls or letters. First, what is to become of regulatory protections for workers? The North and Baltic seas are filled with fishing ships, there are mines and textile factories all over the continent. Who is protecting workers from abuse if the entire region has no labor department? You can’t build a society without a well treated work force.

Second, Karen Roberts owned the largest construction firm along the Gulf of Mexico. Upon taking a government job, did she sell her interests in KR Development, Inc.? Calls to her Houston office suggest to me she has not. This is a violation of the new society ethics by-laws for bureaucrats. If she still owns any part of KR while administering all of Europe’s trade, then this is in direct conflict with our new society’s core values for governmental leadership. This is not a threat, but a fact. Also it is a threat. Don’t write that part. Uh, no write it, but then draw another smiley face. That was definitely a joke. No threats in letters, Amy, you know that.

Amy, on second thought, if you can’t embroider a nice cursive script, please just find a tailor or something to teach you. I dunno, figure it out. I’m positive you can figure it out.

[tape recorder turns off]

“Within the Wires” is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Michael Witten is Lee LeBreton. You can support our show and get exclusive episodes and other cool things at patreon.com/withinthewires. Also, join us in London on September 13 for our live “Within the Wires” show. Tickets at withinthewires.com.

And hey, I love you.

[withinthescripts]

Season 3, Trailer 1: “Dictation”

Jeffrey Cranor here. I’m really excited about our third season of “Within the Wires”. It’s a political thriller told entirely through dictation recordings from a bureaucrat, Michael Witten, to his secretary, Amy Costillo. And we’re thrilled to introduce you to this season’s narrator, Lee LeBreton. This is the first of three weekly teasers leading to the season premiere on September 4. But two quick things before we start. One: we have a Within the Wires Patreon where for us little as a dollar, you can join us for video chats. There are also Director’s Notes, ad-free episodes, even special ad-only episodes created just for you of these fake ads, and even an entire “Within the Wires” season exclusive to Patreon, told through an airplane’s black box recordings. And if you’re a Patreon supporter, you’ll get episode one of this new season an entire week early. So head over to patreon.com/withinthewires to support our creation of this show and get cool stuff in return. OK and two, if you’re near London, we have a rare “Witihn the Wires” live show just for you, on Thursday September 13 at 7 PM. Join us at the London Podcast Festival. This performance will be a story from season 1, relaxation cassettes, featuring live narration by Janina Matthewson and live music by Mary Epworth. Tickets are only 14,50 pounds. Get tickets at withinthewires.com. OK. I think you’re ready for this. I’m ready for this. Here’s the first sneak preview of season 3 of “Within the Wires”.

[tape recorder turns on]

Amy, have you ever heard of espresso? It’s disgusting, I love it. (-) introduced me to the stuff at this place called Gianni’s on Halstead. It’s actually just a guy named Gianni who puts coffee grounds into a motorcycle engine and then gives you a spoon of concentrate in a cup the size of a cigarette lighter. The coffee you make is fine, but I want an espresso machine, Amy, is there room for one? Not urgent, but something to think on.

[music]

Letter from the office of Michael Witten on the third of July, 1953 - is it the third, Amy? Obviously confirm that when you type this up - to Doctor (Sima Chowdry). Dear Sima, no Doctor Chowdry, no Sima, friendly, fuck it.

Amy, take another letter to Doctor Helena Wood, Mercy Hospital. Dear Dr. Wood, I wanted to follow up after our meeting the other day with my wife Vivian. She and I have talked things over since we met with you last week, and as you requested, are confirming in writing that we, uh, strike that, she would like to proceed with fertilization.

Letter from the office of Michael Witten to Bernice Jones, Minister for Culture, North American region. Dear Bernice, I wanted to reassure you that there are plenty of us who will always support your efforts. I hope you know you can come to me, if you are ever in need of support in this matter. If there’s a question of funds or resources allocated, if there’s a debate on the importance of your role and your department, please be assured that you have my vote, and the votes of those who are loyal to me. My life (Vivi and) I would love to have you for dinner sometime next time you’re in Chicago. I believe there is much we have in common, and that a closer friendship would be of both personal and professional benefit to us both. Yours, Michael Witten, Director of Development, Infrastructure and Commerce, Department of local trade, North American office, (--), you can fill the rest of that, Amy.

Amy, if those journalists from Vancouver call again, tell them we have no comment at this time. Also, I don’t know your filing system. If you have any records on anything this office has to do with Vancouver, bring them to me.

[music]

[recorder turns off]

“Within the Wires” is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Michael Witten is Lee LeBreton. You can support our show and get exclusive episodes and other cool things at patreon.com/withinthewires. Also, join us in London on September 13 for our live “Within the Wires” show. Tickets at withinthewires.com.

And hey, I love you. Jeffrey Cranor here. I’m really excited about our third season of “Within the Wires”. It’s a political thriller told entirely through dictation recordings from a bureaucrat, Michael Witten, to his secretary, Amy Costillo. And we’re thrilled to introduce you to this season’s narrator, Lee LeBreton. This is the first of three weekly teasers leading to the season premiere on September 4. But two quick things before we start. One: we have a Within the Wires Patreon where for us little as a dollar, you can join us for video chats. There are also Director’s Notes, ad-free episodes, even special ad-only episodes created just for you of these fake ads, and even an entire “Within the Wires” season exclusive to Patreon, told through an airplane’s black box recordings. And if you’re a Patreon supporter, you’ll get episode one of this new season an entire week early. So head over to patreon.com/withinthewires to support our creation of this show and get cool stuff in return. OK and two, if you’re near London, we have a rare “Witihn the Wires” live show just for you, on Thursday September 13 at 7 PM. Join us at the London Podcast Festival. This performance will be a story from season 1, relaxation cassettes, featuring live narration by Janina Matthewson and live music by Mary Epworth. Tickets are only 14,50 pounds. Get tickets at withinthewires.com. OK. I think you’re ready for this. I’m ready for this. Here’s the first sneak preview of season 3 of “Within the Wires”.

--

[tape recorder turns on]

Amy, have you ever heard of espresso? It’s disgusting, I love it. (-) introduced me to the stuff at this place called Gianni’s on Halstead. It’s actually just a guy named Gianni who puts coffee grounds into a motorcycle engine and then gives you a spoon of concentrate in a cup the size of a cigarette lighter. The coffee you make is fine, but I want an espresso machine, Amy, is there room for one? Not urgent, but something to think on.

[music]

Letter from the office of Michael Witten on the third of July, 1953 - is it the third, Amy? Obviously confirm that when you type this up - to Doctor (Sima Chowdry). Dear Sima, no Doctor Chowdry, no Sima, friendly, fuck it.

Amy, take another letter to Doctor Helena Wood, Mercy Hospital. Dear Dr. Wood, I wanted to follow up after our meeting the other day with my wife Vivian. She and I have talked things over since we met with you last week, and as you requested, are confirming in writing that we, uh, strike that, she would like to proceed with fertilization.

Letter from the office of Michael Witten to Bernice Jones, Minister for Culture, North American region. Dear Bernice, I wanted to reassure you that there are plenty of us who will always support your efforts. I hope you know you can come to me, if you are ever in need of support in this matter. If there’s a question of funds or resources allocated, if there’s a debate on the importance of your role and your department, please be assured that you have my vote, and the votes of those who are loyal to me. My wife Vivi and I would love to have you for dinner sometime next time you’re in Chicago. I believe there is much we have in common, and that a closer friendship would be of both personal and professional benefit to us both. Yours, Michael Witten, Director of Development, Infrastructure and Commerce, Department of local trade, North American office, (--), you can fill the rest of that, Amy.

Amy, if those journalists from Vancouver call again, tell them we have no comment at this time. Also, I don’t know your filing system. If you have any records on anything this office has to do with Vancouver, bring them to me.

[music]

[tape recorder turns off]

“Within the Wires” is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Michael Witten is Lee LeBreton. You can support our show and get exclusive episodes and other cool things at patreon.com/withinthewires. Also, join us in London on September 13 for our live “Within the Wires” show. Tickets at withinthewires.com.

And hey, I love you.

[withinthescripts]

Within the Wires live show in London (announcement)

Jeffrey Cranor: Y’all, y’all? Big news. 

Within the Wires will be performing live at the London Podcast Festival on September 13 at 7 PM. This performance will be a story based around season 1, relaxation cassettes, with some brand new and some familiar material. Of course, the show is starring Janina Matthewson with live music by Mary Epworth. I’ll be there too, but I’ll just be standing around mostly nodding and smiling, looking all nervous and hopefully saying “hi, hi, hello” to you, dear Within the Wires listener who lives near London and/or owns aa teleportation device. 

Tickets are less than 15 quid, I Just used the word “quid”, and you can get them now at withinthewires.com. And while you’re already coming to the podcast festival, maybe check out some of the other awesome shows, like Shmanners, The Illusionist, Hello from the Magic Tavern, Queery, Beautiful Anonymous, Wooden Overcoats, Mostly Lit, and many many more. We’re so honored to be part of this festival and part of these other amazing podcasts.

Again, Within the Wires live at London Podcast Festival on September 13. 

Also, that’s Mary Epworth’s birthday, so now you have to come. Get your tickets at withintehwires.com.

One last thing: if you’re already in the UK and can get to Edinburgh, come see Welcome to Night Vale’s brand new live show, “A Spy in the Desert” at the Fringe August 23-26. Tickets at welcometonightvale.com.

And hey,

love you. 

[withinthescripts]

Season 2, Cassette 10: The Karikari Contemporary Gallery (1986)

[tape recorder turns on]

Welcome to the Karikari Contemporary Gallery. I am Hester Wells, curator and director. We are proud to present the life and works of one of Aotearoa’s most notable artists and founder of this gallery, Roimata Mangakāhia. This exhibit focuses on the evolution of Mangakāhia’s works over the course of her long career, from her early landscapes and portraits, skilful but straightforward, to her more surreal and fantastical focus on smaller objects later in her career. While Mangakāhia did not get the recognition she deserved from art critics or the public, at least internationally speaking, she was well regarded by her peers and was part of a sprawling collection of artists. In particular, she formed a close relationship with Claudia Atieno, in a friendship that could perhaps be compared to that of Virginia Woolf and Katherine Mansfield.

This exhibit will address the inspiration the two artists took from each other’s works. Atieno was Mangakāhia’s passion. Her every work or gesture was received by Mangakāhia as either a favor or a threat. Perhaps they were.

Unlike Atieno, whose works dealt in wide statements, sweeping political views made clear in her re-imagining of famous works destroyed in the Great Reckoning, Mangakāhia reveled in the intimate depths of what makes us human. Her surreal twisting limbs and contorted faces showed the complexity of emotions within the body itself. Even her uninhabited landscapes enveloped the viewer, as if to place them into her world, forcing them to come to terms with the reality she was experiencing.

This exhibit is a survey of perhaps my favorite artist, a woman whose work should be celebrated more widely than it has been so far. Many art lovers, even those who live here in Aotearoa, never knew of Mangakāhia s work. We hope this exhibit will excite and enlighten you. To be frank, I’m almost jealous of those of you who will be experiencing Mangakāhia’s work for the first time.

Please begin your audio tour on the left as you enter and work clockwise around the room.

[bell chimes]

One. Early sketches, 1953 to 1958.

I’ve placed three early sketches by Roimata Mangakāhia in what I believe to be chronological order. The first on the far left is a charcoal drawing of a row boat at he end of a long dock. The boat is not moored to anything. It is near the dock, but disconnected from it. Mangakāhia faded the lines of the water gradually out into nothing, into the wide space of the page, and the ocean feels vast, far too vast for such a small vessel.

Inside the boat, she has drawn what looks to be a bag or satchel. I want you to look at the bag. Think about what she might have packed in this bag. Did she pack the bag herself, or was it someone else? Are they escaping with their remaining items?

I’m only guessing, but I believe Mangakāhia would have been about sixteen when she sketched this. She was born right at the end of the Great Reckoning, accords were being struck and weapons laid down. Mangakāhia was not yet born while refugees were desperately fleeing violence in boats too small for the journey ahead, but she may have heard stories about them. She may have taken inspiration from the decades before her birth. Or perhaps this is just a row boat, drawn by a Maori girl growing up in a coastal town.

The second charcoal drawing is of a damsel fly. These insects are common in Mangakāhia’s sketches, but I’ve never seen her include one in a fully realized painting. The damsel fly was also common in Claudia Atieno’s works, and I’m fairly positive the two things are connected. There is beauty in one artist in the Pacific and one in East Africa exploring the same motif.

Did you make that connection as well?

The third sketch is a pencil drawing of a young woman. I don’t know who she is, someone Mangakāhia knew as a teenager I suppose. Or someone she saw from afar. Do her dark eyes look familiar? Her smile, the way it turns up more on one side? The lines on her brow that suggest she may not want her likeness drawn, but is still happy to humor her friend, a young artist who hopes to immortalize a beautiful subject? Mangakāhia wants you to be attracted to this woman. She has drawn her in a way that suggests she was attracted to her.

I wonder what became of their relationship. I wonder if it’s important.

[bell chimes]

Two. “Providence”, 1964.

This painting is of the North American port city of Providence in the former United States. It seems that Mangakāhia must have visited it at some point in her life. She had traveled away from her home when she was in her twenties. At this point in history, after a couple of decades of recovery and restructure, art was flourishing in a way that had not been seen since the late 19th century. Mangakāhia wanted to study this new generation of artists, to write about them and to learn from them. This artistic period is known as the Modern Society Era.

This painting is fascinating, because it suggests Mangakāhia traveled by ship between North America and London, but there is no record of her ever having been aboard a cargo ship. All there is to suggest her voyage is one painting of a row of blue dock cranes and empty shipping containers. There’s not a single person or even boat visible here. It’s as if the city had been abandoned.

My best guess puts this painting in the early 1960’s, but I cannot be sure. I have spent some time in North America, but I have never been to Providence. I have been within a few hundred miles of it, I suppose. I have lived for a while within a few hundred miles of this shipyard.

My work in the former United States was neither safe nor enjoyable, but I’m happy I did it. I’m happier to be home.

[bell chimes]

Three. “Cornwall Cliffs”, 1972.

By the early 1970’s, Mangakāhia had found a home in Plymouth, in the former United Kingdom. While living there, she befriended her artistic hero Claudia Atieno, and began spending much of her time in Atieno’s home in Cornwall.

Atieno’s house sat on an island off the coast with cliffs that overlooked the juncture of the English Channel and the Celtic Sea. It was along those cliffs that Atieno lost her life. When Atieno went missing in 1972, many hoped she was simply keeping herself locked away while she worked on new paintings. But after several years, when most had given up hope, her body was finally found washed ashore not far from her home.

Mangakāhia made several paintings of the cliffs of Atieno’s island, a place where she loved to dive. Some scholars have written that both she and Atieno would spend warm summer afternoons diving together from cliffs behind the house into the rocky water below. I have heard accounts of this time in Mangakāhia’s life from some guided recordings she made for several museums. She frequently mentions diving at high tide. It seems unlikely that Atieno did, though.

I found documents that suggested Mangakāhia had recorded audio guides for 11 different museums, 9 of which are still running. I wrote to those 9 museums requesting copies of the cassettes. I received only 5 back, and according to 2 of those museums, they never distributed the recordings because they were not up to museum standards. I listened to the tapes. I would agree with that assessment. Particularly after Atieno’s body was discovered, Mangakāhia let her opinions and emotions overwhelm her enviable depth of knowledge.

This painting, “Cornwall Cliffs”, is reminiscent of the tragic comic scope of Pieter Bruegel’s “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus”. You can see in the lower right a crevice in the rocks. In that crevice, a whitecap. Is that upturned splash of water a wave on a stone? Or is it the aftermath of a diver completing her plunge?

In Bruegel’s wry satire, we see the farmers and workers carrying on about their day, despite the death of the fabled Greek hero. There are no humans visible in “Cornwall Cliffs”, but there are trees seen along the left-hand side and sheep along the shores in the distance. They too carry on about their days despite knowing nothing about this painting, diving, or Greek mythology.

Are you carrying on about your day? What are you doing later after you leave the gallery? Are you answering these questions aloud? Don’t do that.

[bell chimes]

Four. “Fingers Together”, 1973.

Following Atieno’s death in 1972, Mangakāhia’s paintings began to evolve from realist to surrealist. In “Fingers Together”, we see tendrils of bright colors seemingly bleeding down from the top of the canvas and fading into twisted points.

Notice the density of oils near the top, in thick repetitive strokes. There are nine different twisting lines here, so if we are to assume by the title that this is to represent fingers in two hands, there is one missing.

Where is the missing finger?

[bell chimes]

Five. “The Bodies”, 1972.

Here are two humanoid forms, one holding the other. On first glance, the erect figure in the background appears to be cradling the limp figure in the fore as if carrying a small child. But the more I look at this, the more I think the background figure is attempting to hide the other, as if sneaking a large flask into an inner coat pocket.

Look at their faces. Or at least the indentations that replicate human faces on each figure. The one being held has almost no countenance. Perhaps a shadow for eyes and a grayish blob to the left that could be a distorted mouth caught midway into a cry or a song.

The standing figure clearly has two wide eyes. See there, the white in the cacophonous cloud of red and brown. But her neck is askew as if she’s being caught up by whatever or whomever she is holding.

[bell chimes]

Six. “Self-portrait”, 1970.

Mangakāhia painted herself in the guest room of Atieno’s home in Cornwall. You can see her wardrobe and a coat rack over her shoulder, and beyond that a window, looking out over the cliffs where she often dove. I’m particularly struck by the slight mark atop the cliff. It is not a tree.

Look at the mark atop the cliff. It’s not a tree, is it? Is it a person? It is.

I think it is. I think it is Atieno. Based on the recordings I heard, it does not seem likely that Atieno ever liked diving, so it seems strange that she would be on the clifftop overlooking the sea.

Look at Mangakāhia’s face in this painting. Study her attitude, her expression. Study it with whatever consideration you can muster. Is that a smile, or a grimace, or a smirk? Does she know something you do not know? I think I know, but I’m wondering if you do.

Her eyes are not smiling, are they? Are you replicating her facial expression on your own face as you study the image? What is the shape of your body? How is your back? Are you breathing? You should remember to breathe.

[bell chimes] [tape recorders turns off] [ad for the Patreon, I transcribed it at the bottom of the transcript] [tape recorder turns on] [bell chimes]

Seven. “Claudia Atieno with Cat”, 1974.

This was painted two years after Atieno’s death, so I’m not sure if Mangakāhia started it earlier and did not finish until 1974, or if she painted it from memory. She began with the realistic portrait of Atieno’s head, hair, and face, her long braids and narrow lips. But as our eyes move down the canvas, we see a rather shapeless body wearing an almost iridescent blouse. The cat, per the title, looks more like a pile of candles melting down Atieno’s spiraling legs.

This painting is based on Atieno’s “Self-portrait with Cat”, which was unfinished at the time of her death. That painting was on display in the Ulster Museum in Belfast more than 10 years ago. A letter from Mary Breathnach at the museum suggests the painting was donated to them by the sculptor Pavel Zubov.

I met Mangakāhia once, in 1978. I was a student and I had the chance to interview her for a paper I was writing. I remember seeing this painting, “Claudia Atieno with Cat”, and I wanted to know about her relationship to the famous painter. Mangakāhia clearly did not want to talk about Atieno. I was made to understand that very quickly. I regretted asking her the moment I finished my question, but Mangakāhia sighed and said, “She denied ever painting that picture, so I just painted it myself. If she didn’t want to put it into existence, then I would put it into existence.” Mangakāhia added after a long pause: “She hated cats, and I hated her for it.”

Look at the semblance of a cat on the semblance of a lap in this painting, and tell yourself what it means to love something.

[bell chimes]

Eight. “Horopito Number 2”.

In 1980, Mangakāhia returned to Aotearoa from Plymouth. I was living in the former United States at the time. I had paused my career in art history to take a research and technical writing job in a secluded area along the Chesapeake Bay. I did not even know she had returned to her home.

It was in 1982 that I learned she was painting again, and knowing this made me want to resume my own studies. It took some effort, but after a couple of years, I found my way out of my contracted job. I had no money, but I met a cargo pilot in Philadelphia who was able to fly me home. It took a few stops over a few months, sneaking me into normally scheduled routes, but I made it back.

Mangakāhia had lived in a cottage near the sea not far from my own home. I was able to convince a neighbor to let me in, after I told her I was planning to reopen the Karikari Gallery. Every painting in her home, dozens of them, were of Horopito shrubs. Before I had left for America I had seen some of these in galleries, I even bought one.

Look hard at the leaves in “Horopito Number 2”. Just a simple bush growing at an angle from the side of a hill. Nothing else except a flinty sky and a splash of green grass clotted with mud. Two of the leaves, just left of the center, have perfect circles chewed from them by beetles, who seem to worship only hunger and geometry.

The Horopito is neither stunning nor unique. It is simple and ubiquitous, and here Mangakāhia has found true beauty in the mundane. Like Atieno’s 1968 “Stapler”, Mangakāhia captures near photographic realism in acrylics. And at first glance, the painting is dull and innocuous. But it is in the action of painting and the moment of viewing that the artist and the patron perfectly communicate.

Follow green lines as they thicken into violet, and then pink, then orange, then mauve. Feel your head tilt to the angle of the hill. Do you see any people in this painting? Do you feel any people in this painting?

What senses are you ignoring? Are you letting your eyes control you?

[bell chimes]

Nine. “Horopito Number 4”.

This is from my personal collection. It usually hangs across from my sofa. I will return it to my wall at the end of this month, when this exhibit closes.

We will drink tea together in my living room, she and I. We will look at the painting with its blues and teals and simple expendable plant life, as you look at it now.

Examine the missing patch of branches in the lower right, likely eaten away by an animal, or possibly never grown. Or perhaps just damaged in a flood. There are lots of reasons for visual imperfections.

What do you think happened to those branches? Ask yourself that. Just as I have many times. Just as my wife asked the first day we looked at this painting together. But never answer it, it is unimportant.

When this painting returns to my home, I will mostly not look at it. I will know it is there, every day and always, unlike an actual Horopito.

Go home. Have some tea if you have tea. Have it with someone you love, if you have someone you love. Live your life knowing it is there and does not need your eyes. It does not need your critique. It only needs to know it was seen by you.

A year from now, ten years from now, think about “Horopito Number 4” and try to remember its colors, blues and teals. A missing set of branches in the lower right.

Do you see? Touch your hand to your own hip and know that it is still there. Ball joints and ligaments and sinew and skin. How do you walk or dance, or stand, or sit? Ask yourself that. And breathe.

While I was in North America, I received a letter from a former professor, letting me know that Mangakāhia had passed away in her garden. She had become reclusive in her later years, and her body was not found until nature had reclaimed most of it. I viewed this letter as a call to escape, or rather, as confirmation that my plans to escape were correct. There is more talent than celebrity in the world, and many complex artists are left out of our narratives.

Her resentment of Atieno made Mangakāhia a better artist, but I think it prevented her from showing the charisma required for international recognition. I cannot make the world pay attention to her works, but maybe I can bring her the respect of her home land. Her paintings are still hers, but I will keep them safe in this gallery. They would not last in her house, as it has lately fallen into disrepair. My last visit there was a year ago. I found only a cat. I tried to feed it, but it drew blood and ran away.

[tape recorder turns off]

“Within the Wires” is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson and performed by Janina Matthewson, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com.

Don’t forget to check out our Patreon benefits, including that exclusive “Within the Wires” series only for supporters, as well as a bunch of other cool stuff. Go to patreon.com/withinthewires.

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to stop by the museum gift shop, grab yourself a souvenir book of paintings about [how capitalism is ruining visual art]. Pick up a poster featuring [you as a baby], and buy a commemorative vase made out of [Christmas cards you feel bad about throwing away].

Hey there, “Within the Wires” lovers. Season 3 isn’t coming til autumn 2018, but we have so many cool things to share with you between now and then. Including an exclusive Patreon-only “Within the Wires” series called “Black Box”, with new episodes quarterly beginning in March. Yup, we started a [bleep]ing Patreon page, and with as little as a dollar a month you could get bi-monthly video chats with me and Janina, director’s notes about each new episode, behind the scenes posts, that “Black Box” series I mentioned, and ad-free downloads of every single episode.

Wait, maybe you like the ads? Really? OK, well I’ll post just the ads for supporters as well. I’ll even record some new ones just for you, future Patreon member and ad lover, every couple of months about products that may not even exist. Maybe they will exist if the ad is good enough.

So listen, Mary, Janina and I spend a lot of time making this show because we love doing it. And we do wanna keep doing this for ourselves and for you and for the society, but that will take your support, so please help out any way you can. Benefits start as low as a dollar, just go to patreon.com/withinthewires. Thank you again for liking us. Thank you in advance for supporting our Patreon.

And don’t forget to breathe.

[withinthescripts]

Season 2, Cassette 9: Metropolitan Museum of Art (1981)

[tape recorder turns on]

Welcome to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and its new Harlem Island home. I am Elaine Hara, director of contemporary exhibitions. Thank you for attending “Claudia Atieno: in Memoriam”. This exhibition has been curated by Atieno’s friend and fellow artist, Roimata Mangakāhia, who spent two years with Atieno in her artist commune in Cornwall in the early 1970’s. The commune was deserted in 1972, when Atieno vanished. We know of course that she died, although there is much uncertainty and speculation as to how. We might expect that these paintings or Mangakāhia’s narration would address the rumors of foul play or open windows on Atieno’s story, but we feel there’s little to be gained here. Please instead enjoy this retrospective on Atieno’s known life and work, and join us in farewelling one of the 20th century’s greatest artists.

For membership to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, please see the kiosk located at the Hudson River ferry station at the Saint Nicholas Park dock.

[bell chimes]

I have thought long and carefully about what to include in this exhibition. I have thought about which works Claudia would want included, and what she would have left out. It is not easy to guess at a person’s opinions years after they have gone. It is hard to know if the impressions you hold of them are accurate, or if they’ve been colored and altered by the changes that have happened within yourself.

Perhaps it is for the best that she was unable to provide any input into this exhibition. Creative people are not always the best curators of their own work. When you have been so close to a piece for as long as it takes to conceive it, refine it, and in the end create it, it becomes difficult to see how it might fit into a wider picture.

When you are busy examining the flower in front of you, it is hard to see the mountains in the distance. I hope Claudia would approve of my choices. I wish I could share them with her. She is one of the finest artists I have ever known. And I would very much like to know her thoughts on how I’ve chosen to celebrate her work. [tearily] She’s one of the closest friends I’ve ever had, and I would very much like to again hear her feelings on the world, on art, and on ourselves.

I’ve selected a range of works from various points in her career, including the unfinished painting she left behind when she abandoned her home in Cornwall.

[bell chimes]

One. “House with Yellow Door”.

We’ll start one of my favorite of Claudia’s works. It has a playfulness to it that she rarely shows in her work, although it was pervasive in her life. There is a cliché that artists are moody and unfriendly, malcontents who pour so much of themselves into their work that they’ve got nothing left to the people around them. I’m not convinced that this cliché is very often true. It certainly wasn’t in Claudia’s case. She was warm and lively and welcoming. She liked to talk about anything except herself. She was exceptional at pulling people out of herself and loved to be surrounded by people as much as possible.

This painting, while simple, is imbued with that liveliness Claudia carried with her through her life more clearly than anything else she’s done.

Look at the house and its ordinariness. The ordinary street as well. What do you define as ordinary?

You expect to enter this home and be met with a warm meal and a generous glass of wine, which is exactly the kind of expression Claudia gives as well. No one walks away from her unfed, which is as admirable a quality as any I can think of.

What kind of food do you like? Do you need food to feel comfort?

The people standing outside the house are ordinary people. But they look like people who would care about how you are and offer you a place to stay if you needed one.

Do you need a place to stay? What does caring look like?

It is a portrait of Claudia’s past life, of her childhood, and there’s no way to know whether it’s accurate or not. It is a portrait of her house and her family before she was made to leave them. The house no longer exists, and the family are scattered to the winds.

The vision may be an idealized vision of a childhood that never happened in place of a more painful one, or at least a more imperfect one. Or it may be the reality, a snapshot of a life of bliss cut short by the rebuilding of society. It’s hard to say which idea is the more tragic. Perhaps there’s always loss and pain when we look back at a person’s childhood.

[bell chimes]

Two. “Woman in Bath”.

I have never allowed another artist to use me as a subject. Sitting for an artist is tedious at best and I’ve never had much patience. But Claudia was always persuasive, and every artist should know how the person under their brush feels. So here we are.

I lived with Claudia for a while on an island off the coast of Cornwall. The house had a few idiosyncracies. One of which was a bath tub just off the corner of the living room. It stood on its own clawed feet, not hooked up to any plumbing. Filling it took dozens of trips from the kitchen with pots and pans of water. Emptying it was complicated.

Portraits never show the full bredth of a person’s experience, even when that experience is just one moment captured.

What do you see in a portrait like this? The blackness of the woman’s hair, rising above the curved white edge of the bath tub. The curve of her fingers as they droop towards the floor. The steam rising from the water.

Do you see the conversations that happened between artist and subject? You do not. Can you hear what’s being said? You cannot. Can you hear what’s being left unsaid? What are you leaving unsaid? [chuckling] Why would you do that?

A portrait is always a picture of secrecy, no matter how open and honest your subject. No matter how skilled and perceptive the artist. A portrait always hides more than it tells.

So here is the only portrait ever painted of me by another artist, and you can barely see my face, with no hope at all of knowing what I’m thinking. But are you trying anyway? Please, do not.

[bell chimes] [tape recorder turns off] [ads] [tape recorder turns on] [bell chimes]

Three. “The Empty Pier”.

Claudia painted this long before we met. I don’t know where it is, I never asked and if I had, it’s likely she would have evaded the question, spun it around to ask something about me instead.

The beach is lonely and somehow feels like it’s been lonely for a long time. It is not the loneliness of a beach in winter, remembering the laughs and games of summer, feeling like they will never return, even though they come back every year like clockwork. No, this beach feels like it hasn’t seen a human being in years, maybe ever. It is bleak and quiet.

But for the pier, you would think no one had ever discovered it. The pier itself is weathered, but looks sturdy at first glance. It is not until you look closely that you see how rotten and perilous the struts supporting it are. Stretching, brittle, and weak into the sea below.

The sea also looks at first glance reliable and safe. But below the shimmering green of the surface, a darkness moves. It is a portrait of a storm about to strike, of a ground about to fall out under someone’s feet. It is a portrait of peace about to end.

[bell chimes]

Four. “Unfinished Work”.

I did not see this painting until I began planning this exhibition, although Claudia must have started it while we were both in Cornwall. It is a painting of the house, or of the island, or of neither and both those things.

You can see the northwest corner of the house and behind it, the sloping grass leading towards the sea and the sea fading off towards the south. At least you would have been able to see the sea, had she finished the painting. As it is, there’s simply a thin, pale wash waiting to be built upon.

At the southern edge of the island, there are a few sketched-out lines. They could be the beginnings of a tree, although I can’t remember that any tree stood on that part of the island. They could be a figure, standing at the cliff’s edge.

That spot was a favorite of mine while I lived there. At high tide, you could dive into the sea below and it was like – jumping into oblivion. Claudia often asked me how I was brave enough to do it, but it was perfectly safe at high tide. I encouraged her often to take the plunge. It would release her of every feeling, every weight, to fall so far, for so long. And at the moment you feel you cannot stand the sky any longer, the sea hits you, returns you to the cold shock of birth. Your mind clears, your skin aches, and you cannot climb back up quickly enough.

But as with my suggestions about her art, she did not take my suggestions. This was also the last spot I saw her before she went away. I’d been painting outside, taking my last few moments of the sun, (-) [0:14:22] about the horizon to finish a seascape I had been working on for some time. These were also my last few moments on the island before I would travel to Amsterdam.

It was low tide. The time for diving had passed. It was the only thing I wanted to do, besides leave Cornwall to get away from Claudia.

I passed Claudia on my way in to collect my things and head to the mainland, and we said our farewells. Neither of us has ever been sentimental and our farewells were brief. Plus we both assumed it wouldn’t be long til we saw each other again.

But she said: “Roimata,” and when I turned, she hesitated. She rarely hesitated in her words. “I’m… going to take the plunge,” she told me. I wanted this to be figurative and literal. But I understood she was ready to try diving. She did not understand the tides.  

The last reflection of the sun’s arc was below the water now. I think of this moment a lot. I play it over and over in my mind.

There was a moment, you see. There was a moment when I could have told her. I could have told her it was low tide.

Can you hear what’s being left unsaid?

That moment is frozen now, perhaps it always has been, I see it from outside my own body. I watch my face, trying to see there what I was thinking, trying to see myself making that decision. Or failing to make that decision. I can’t see it. My face is blank, impassive, pleasant.

I watch myself in the moment, where I didn’t tell Claudia Atieno not to cliff dive. The moment… where I didn’t tell her the tide was out and the water had given way - to sharp rocks.

This was the last time I saw her and honestly cannot tell you what she did, or or what happened to her a-after that moment. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see. I’d already packed and left for Amsterdam, I’d work at the…

I don’t know if she was brave enough to dive in the end, really. I hope she was. [chuckles] I hope she freed herself from the weight of an audience’s expectations. I hope she threw herself into a moment of brief bliss, but no thought as to how that moment might be perceived. I hope she felt the joy of falling into oblivion.

I hope she felt – reborn.

[tape recorder turns off]

Within the Wires is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson and performed by Rima Te Wiata, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com.

The voice of Elaine Hara was Leah Nanako Winkler.

Don’t forget to check out the amazing Within the Wires T-shirts and Claudia Atieno artprint at withinthewires.com.

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to stop by the museum giftshop, grab yourself a souvenir book of paintings about [my 17-year-old cat Simone]. Pick up a poster featuring [goats whispering to other goats]. And buy a commemorative vase made out of [Boston accents].

[withinthescripts]

Season 2, Cassette 8: Ohara Museum of Art (1980)

[tape recorder turns on]

Hello, I am curator Leah Akane, welcoming you to the Ohara Museum of Art, and our special exhibit of the work of the late Claudia Atieno. Toward the end of Atieno’s life, it was suggested by friends that she was walking toward more epic depictions. But as those works are unfinished, or perhaps not begun, we have but her more intimate concepts.

In this exhibit, we will see some of Atieno’s more political tributes to classic works, which were lost in the Great Reckoning. We also have the rarely displayed “Attentiveness”, which I feel has been an underrated part of Atieno’s catalogue.

Narrating your audio guide is journalist, artist, and dear friend of Atieno, Roimata Mangakāhia. We are (blessed) to have Mangakāhia’s knowledge not only of Atieno as an artist, but as a person. While not nearly as successful as her late friend, Mangakāhia has been an invaluable champion of Atieno’s work, perhaps as important to Atieno’s popularity as Atieno’s own talent.

We hope you find deeper understanding and appreciation for Atieno’s work, a life in art sadly cut short.

The exhibit begins in the main gallery. Artworks included in the audio guide are numbered. Enjoy your time at the Ohara Museum of Art.

[bell chimes]

One. “Stars”. Little remains of impressionist Vincent van Gogh’s work. There are a handful of photographs of “Starry Night”, and a portion of what remains in the paintings hangs in Manhattan’s Museum of Modern Art. Its new (Harmer Island) structure, a masterpiece of modern architecture.

Many works of the European masters were lost in the Great Reckoning. Many works by artists worldwide were lost, but at the center of Western art history were the impressionists. “Starry Night”, Manet’s “Olympia”, Cézanne’s “The Card Players”. These paintings are often recreated by artists in our new society. An exercise in cultural reclamation of course, an attempt to return to the knowledge and art and history that was lost after the war. But with “Stars”, Atieno took this replication trend in a new direction, a direction that rejected recreating what was lot. In fact, Atieno’s replicas were reappropriations of classic images. In her way, Atieno was rejecting a return to the past and embracing the society, albeit the society she wanted, not the society that was.

From the moment I first saw Claudia in 1970, she was obsessed with replications. In “Stars”, she takes the stylized swirls and moist, twinkling glimmer of twilight, and brings all of its vibrant motion to a halt. The irony of Atieno’s version of “Stars” is its complete lack of stars. The black sky looms above a charcoal city at night, mostly war-scarred and evacuated. Or worse, eradicated. The stars likely shine and soar behind the choking clouds, unaware and unobserved. What we see is merely a moon struggling to be seen in a humid black haze above the town.

Notice in the center of her painting the church spire, broken. The rising hills along the right, rocky and charred. The homes him and roofless. There are large spirals of smoke mirroring van Gogh’s inspired blue swirls, but in Atieno’s “Stars”, we see only variations of gray. The one contrast in her bleak landscape is the tall flames in the foreground on the left.

Did you ever go to church? What is a spire? Did God do this to us? If so, whose God?

Some critics refer to this as a fire representing the destruction of the Reckoning. But I believe that Atieno was attempting to evoke a bonfire, a possible celebration by the townspeople in the universe of her painting. A communal fire to burn old art, books, clothes and doctrines of the tribes which led the world to such destruction. The art of war, obviously, paintings and written accounts of war heroes, as we know now that war holds no place for heroes. All themes of national superiority were turned one by one to ash. Underneath the bleak sky, we have a fire of a new day, of a new people wishing to rid themselves of the package of their past, the treachery of nation states and family.

It’s a brilliant work and a perfect approach to artistic repurposing. It’s difficult to say when repurposing becomes just a copy or plagiarism, sometimes even the artist doesn’t know where to draw the line.

[bell chimes]

Two. “Attentiveness”.

Many critics claim Atieno’s “Attentiveness” is her most garish work, noting its bold, almost clumsy strokes and its unsubtle praise of her own fame and wealth. I don’t disagree with them, but I would hate to completely dismiss this work simply for its lack of tact and technique.

While Atieno never stated directly that it was a self portrait, it’s easy to place her as the woman central to this painting. Her narrow shoulders and short stature contrasted against the long, dark, braided hair.

The woman is exiting a luxury automobile, her head turned from the viewer, and a woman on the other side of the open car door, taking a camera from her bag.

Look at the photographer’s mouth agape, caught in a moment of surprise and awe at this chance encounter with a celebrity. Have you ever seen a celebrity? [chuckles] Were you this obvious about it? Are you impressed by luxury automobiles? Do you wear driving gloves?

While she often bemoaned the loss of her anonymity and by extension, a freedom of self, Atieno most certainly relished the attention her career provided her. She would shower, dress, put on makeup, take off makeup, undress, shower again and repeat the process for two hours before a gallery opening.

She always dressed fashionably, but at private parties or events, she carried herself casually and comfortably. She did not like photographs, only compliments. She grew bored with conversations that did not acknowledge her talents at least occasionally. I had many conversations with Claudia that acknowledged her talents, as I urged her to focus on larger projects, pieces that could continue to impact the art world, as she slipped further an further into lazy drawings of discarded papers and staplers and weak forgeries disguised as tributes. I told her about her incredible talents and she liked that part. I followed it up with a critique of her process, and that she liked less.

In “Attentiveness”, Atieno does not paint the face of the woman, only the face of the woman who sees her.

Look again into the photographer’s stunned face. Do you see awe, panic, adoration in a single oval (moor) into glistening eyes, and a hand frantically clutching a camera strap. Do you believe cartoons are art?

This painting is garish. It is clumsy. But it’s so revealing of Atieno herself. I do not feel we can devalue its worth simply because it does not seem to show any skill.

If Claudia were still alive and could hear what I am saying, she would never speak to me again. But she’s dead and cannot hear what I am saying and will still never speak to me again, so what are you going to do?

[bell chimes]

Three. “Sunglasses and Cigarettes”.

These are two men wearing sunglasses. They both hold cigarettes. Next to them is an unpleasant looking dog. The five-buttoned suit jackets these men are wearing are dissimilar to the conservative business fashion of council employees or the simple structure of police jackets.

These men look quite different from usual police, even undercover officers. Atieno has also spent quite a bit of time on their mouths and hands. Notice the texture of her lines in these areas of the picture. Much more detail on their tight countenances and the tense physical postures. Their hands are clenched, cigarettes poking out of stone fists. Their lips curled, not in anger but stern concentrations. And unlike agents from the Society Establishment, they do not attempt to hide their observations of Atieno and her private home.

Statespeople who appeared at Atieno’s home often tried to gather information, but in a sociable and subtle manner. These two men and their dog, a mixed breed similar looking to a Dobermann pinscher though, stand brazenly at the curb staring directly inside.

Given the rectangular framing around this sketch, I believe Atieno drew this from the front window of an apartment she lived in years before I met her. It suggests she did not go outside to greet or confront them. I believe she was perhaps frightened or at least dubious of these men and their dog.

Claudia socialized with many politicians of the new society, as well as other well known artists and business owners. She wanted to be as important as her art. But the edges of these circles (--) [0:12:19] roughly with insidious people, people who do not trust nor like those within.

These men and their unpleasant dog were from some place we should not want to know. [softly] Look at the way they stand and stare. Do you feel watched? What do you think they know about you?

Who do you think they report to? Do you believe in conspiracies? Claudia did.

I saw men like these once sitting at small tables on the footpath outside a small café in Cornwall. They watched me, smoking their cigarettes. I did not believe them to be anything other than well dressed men with a bad habit and an unpleasant dog. But Claudia was certain they were dangerous and covert operatives. I told Claudia if they were a threat we should lay low, have fewer parties and get togethers, but we did not. I don’t know how strongly Claudia believed in her own stories.

We had more parties with bigger, more important, more controversial people. Her then lover, Pavel Zubov, brought many friends who talked often of the new New Revolution. Nothing ever came of their bluster. But in an unstable new world, revolutions are not difficult. What happens after a revolution is another matter, of course.

[bell chimes] [tape recorder turns off] [ads] [tape recorder turns on] [bell chimes]

Four. “Lamp”. Oil on wood.

Of this particular era of Atieno’s life, during the height of her frame, this might be my favorite work, the type of work I encouraged in her. A piece which when she finished it, I applauded and opened a vintage Cabernet (--) [0:16:43] I’d been saving for such an occasion.

Most of her paintings from this time pander to a broader pseudo-intellectual audience, in search of strange moderately confrontational art, a story they can tell others, a debate they can have over art’s virtuosity and validity. They may say this is not art, but that argument is the art itself.

In “Lamp”, Claudia basically painted an inverted yellow V atop a brown circle on a flint background. It’s geometric to be sure, and part of a post-war revival of art deco, all of the evolutionary flourishes of art nouveau eradicated, however. Here we see only the effects of the lamp, an incandescent shine in the dark, but the actual architecture of the device is missing entirely.

I spent a full 20 minutes raving to Claudia about this work when she showed it to me in 1969. We had not known each other long, and our initial relationship was almost like a master and pupil. I could teach her nothing about the craft of visual arts. But we drank wine and talked late into the night. For all of her political and refined small talk at parties with celebrities and power brokers, I was – I flatter myself, one of the few people she could really talk to.

There was Pavel, but their relationship was purely one of mutual and tumultuous passion for each other’s bodies. Claudia’s and my relationship was one of passion for creation.

My praise of this painting, original in a way she had seemed incapable of, so bold but on the noise politically, went past her. I told her this, this is what she should be creating, not staplers or glorifications of celebrity, not copies of other works.

She put the painting away and later told me she’d destroyed it.

When the staff at the Ohara Museum told me they were showing this work, I flew to Japan just to see it again. I’m glad she did not destroy it.

[softly] Look at its architecture, its balance. How it’s teetering slightly. It’s not physically possible, this lamp, but every element is in harmony. Look at that shade of yellow closely. How can a human make that color? It almost makes me angry.

Which brush strokes in this painting do you resent? Are they the same strokes you admire?

I’d like to tell you that this is her finest work, but in the past few years, more tributes and derivatives of “Lamp” have multiplied throughout the modern society art movement. Her work seems to be a cheap replica of itself, rather than an original that inspired hundreds of copies. Perhaps this painting’s brilliance has been eclipsed by the works it instigated.

Or perhaps I’m the wrong person to be narrating your walk through this exhibit. There are several other paintings I could describe to you, but I think after just a few you’ve got the idea. These works are decades old, and you’ve seen countless tributes or copies of them. You don’t need me to tell you what a clear acrylic box full of acorns mean. It honestly doesn’t mean anything. Or rather it means Claudia Atieno recognized that quantity was greater than quality, that celebrity simply means that demand surpasses supply. If she could keep generating new work, she could keep putting on exhibits all over the world, filling the needs of art-hungry survivors of a terrible war and its apocalyptic aftermath.

[bell chimes]

Five. “Box of Acorns”. Acrylic box, acorns.

I already said you don’t need to hear about this work, but oh I don’t know. [sighs] Perhaps you need to hear about it.

There was an oak tree on the island of her home in Cornwall, and she collected the acorns, I watched her do it. She found this acrylic in a warehouse of post-war debris. I was with her that day and we marveled at the number of paintings and sculptures in that warehouse.

[crying] I really didn’t… [long silence, music]

[bell chimes] [silence]

[bell chimes]

I’ll stop beeping in your ears. No, I won’t.

[bell chimes]

Eleven. There’s not actually a painting 11, but I’ll just go on the idea you forgot to press stop or you’re curious to see how far I’ll take this.

[sadly] I will tell you though that investigators found parts of Atieno’s body two years ago. They weren’t certain they were hers at first. Pieces of bone and clothing washed up on a lonely beach on St Agnes island. Then this year they found teeth and most of a torso underneath several inches of mud along a rocky beach. The torso had pieces of clothing that matched the previous clothes. They knew from the torso that the body had fallen, been crushed by the hard slap of gravity.

And 8-year-old girl found the body. The girl’s attendant had to report the girl to retraining at the institute. A-a place dedicating to ensuring that society’s new precepts aren’t disrupted.

Not much is known about the institute, and what is rumored about them goes unproven but… there is reason to be suspicious. There is reason to be more than suspicious.

I’m positive that the scars of seeing human remains were less impactful than the scars of whatever… [sigh/weep] recalibrating they’re putting her through now. Or perhaps she didn’t know what she found, just a blue gray mound of – fetid biology, vaguely human-shaped, partially preserved in salt and mud.

Maybe the girl could make out the outline of a person in this rotten flesh lump? Somehow, that’s even more frightening. Something that looks human but is not. Is not anymore.

Crushed from a fall, they said. But it wasn’t the fall that killed her. [scoffs] She’d been falling for years. It was the rocks, or something that she hit, I shouldn’t just say “rocks” out loud.

I never forgave her for slighting her legacy in favor of fame, but maybe I’m the one who needed to be forgiven. For demanding too much of her, for resenting her. [sighs] For adoring her. For lots of things.

Teeth and a torso. [chuckles] Someone should paint that. Oh god, I’m sure you’re gonna want your money back from this audio tour. Tell the folks at the Ohara that the tape player seemed broken, or tell them that you didn’t end up enjoying it. don’t tell them what I said. Or do, I don’t care. I honestly don’t.

I loved Claudia! She was a gifted artist and giving friend. She had a period of work this museum seems to like, but which I find contemptible for its naked pandering.

Maybe I’m just sad. I can’t reconcile my feelings. [whispers] I can’t believe they found her body! [deep sigh]

I can’t believe I don’t get to tell anyone anymore that she’s still alive. I probably knew she wasn’t. but I could always tell myself she was.

Bone fragments on the beach, near a home for preteens. The first post-war generation to grow up without parents. The great experiment for a bright new world. [sighs] I don’t know.

[tape recorder turns off]

“Within the Wires” is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson and performed by Rima Te Wiata, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com.

The voice of Leah Akane was Julia Morisawa.

Don’t forget to check out the amazing “Within the Wires” T-shirts and Claudia Atieno art print at withinthewires.com.

OK. Our time is done, it’s you time now. Time to stop by the museum gift shop, grab yourself a souvenir book of paintings about [the sinus infection I have], pick up a poster featuring [me coughing] and buy a commemorative vase made out of [-].

[withinthescripts]

relaxation cassette #8, when Oleta talks to her sister, her name was transcribed as "a letter" :)

Oops, thanks for noticing! I’ve fixed it now.

[withinthescripts]

Season 2, Cassette 7: Sree Chitra Art Gallery (1979)

Jeffrey Cranor: Hey, the holidays are fast approaching, so maybe get your podcast-loving friends and/or family members some cool new Within the Wires shirts and a fabulous art print of Claudia Atieno’s “Child With Damsefly”, created by artist Jessica Hayworth. These are available at withinthewires.com. And now, an audio guide of the Sree Chitra Art Gallery, 1979.

[tape recorder turns on]

Hello and welcome to the Sree Chitra Art Gallery. I am the gallery director, Clarissa Nair. If you are listening to this audio guide, then you are currently experiencing our Reflections exhibition. We have dedicated ourselves to find a range of works by some of the world’s most highly regarded contemporary artists. With this exhibition, we aim to confront art’s role of a reflection of the society in which it is created, by featuring a series of works that depict a reflection themselves. If art is itself a mirror, what can we say about what we see contained within art? It is up to each of us to decide for ourselves. All of us at the Sree Chitra would like to welcome celebrated artist and scholar Roimata Mangakāhia to provide her insights on this audio guide. As this series includes two of her own works, we hope you will find a glimpse behind the process enlightening.

[bell chimes]

Humanity has always been obsessed with its reflection. The famed tale of Narcissus is remembered so well, in part because it is the tale of all of us. We look for reflections of humanity in the movements of the stars, in a tree that grows through a trick of chance to embrace another tree, in the cat that defies its stars to become best friends with a dog. We anthropomorphize wildly, perhaps from a desire to feel that we are not alone, that we are not the only thinking, feeling, planning beings in the universe. But because we look so hard for our own reflection, we can never really trust its view. Do otters hold hands when they sleep because of intimacy, or is it simply the instinctive awareness that if they lose each other in the moving waters, they will be more likely to die?

It is a question that doesn’t matter to the vast majority of the population, of course. Who would want an honest answer, when willful ignorance makes the world so much easier to deal with? But it is worth considering the fact that our view of ourselves as we see it reflected in the world around us is subject to the most determined of biases. 

It is not necessary that you consider these issues while viewing this exhibition. You are here to enjoy yourself, after all. And thoughts like this can lead to melancholy. They shouldn’t really when you think about it. The instinctual drive of animals doesn’t lessen the choices and feelings of people, but there are thoughts worth pondering at some point. So perhaps you will save them for some melancholy afternoon, when the sun is low and the air is still and the world demands nothing from you.

For now, let us consider the works on display.

[bell chimes]

One. “Women Alone” by Vanessa Wynn.

I have always believed that Vanessa Wynn has never had the kind of attention she deserves for her work. At the beginning of her career, one or two key critics described her work as derivative, and she became rather unfashionable. With the distance of time, however, and with a bit more information, we are perhaps better placed to question that assessment.

This particular painting features a group of three women. They are similar looking, perhaps sisters, grouped around a pool of water. Notice the bleak sky above them, and the skeletal trees. But the women themselves appear happy and comfortable, with their dark hair shining and their expressions peaceful. The woman in the center even has her eyes closed, not in sleep, but in bliss.

Their reflections in the pool, however, tell a different story. Look into the pool, deeply. All similarity between the three women is gone. The woman on the left has grown tall and imposing. Her hair has a vibrant silver, her face haggard and haughty, her eyes accusing as they gaze out at the viewer. What is she accusing you of? What have you done?

Opposite her, the woman on the left looks faded. Her entire being is cast over with a sheen of grey. There is an absence about her. She gazes out of the canvas, but not quite directly at the viewer. See how her gaze is unfocused. She is small and weighed down by hair that, rather than being the glossy black of her original is a muted, faded brown.

The woman in the middle, the one in sleepy bliss, has changed the least at first glance into this pool. You can see how her hair is still glossy, her arms are still plump, her body still seems relaxed. Her eyes, which are closed in reality, are open in the pool. In fact, they are widened. The irises are bright red and seem almost luminous. The widening of her eyes in a face that still seems calm lends a certain manic energy to the figure, don’t you think?

Look at her eyes. What can she see that you cannot? Do you wish you could see it too? Or is it better not to know?

Painted in wide strokes, the images in the painting seem almost to blend into each other. With a careless glance it’s easy to mistake the reflected image for the real. Look at the painting with great care.

The first time I saw this painting, I took it for the copy of one I’d seen many times before. But this was painted much too long ago for that to be possible.

[bell chimes]

Two. “Self-Portrait” by Roimata Mangakāhia.

It is never easy to discuss one’s won work. It is difficult enough to reduce the grand visions that flow through your head into oil and canvas. Trying to find words to talk about the oil and canvas of it reduces it further still. This is made all the harder naturally when the work in question is a self-portrait. A self-portrait is an inherently introspective work. It is an artist’s attempt to better understand themselves. It is not necessarily an attempt to explain. It is not necessarily an act of communication.

Nevertheless, I started this self-portrait when staying in my friend Claudia Atieno’s house off the coast of Cornwall. I was there for some time, and during that time, I became much better acquainted with the artists I talk about on this guide. The painting was done in my own room in the house, a small room on the top level, with a small mirror. The painting shows my face partially reflected in the mirror. I’m not looking at myself properly. It’s as if I’ve just glanced up and there it is, reflecting half my face back at me. I look casual, careless, as if I am moving swiftly through life. This is just an effect, of course, I studied my attitude and expression carefully as I made this painting.

Study. My. Attitude. My expression. Study it with whatever care you can muster.

Over my shoulder, you can see some of the room. A bed haphazardly made, a chair playing at being a coat rack. A window. It is a simple picture of a simple person in her simple room going about her simple life. But no life is really simple when you pay attention to the details.  

Look through the window and you can see grass leading to the edge of the island, with the sea beyond it. there are a few trees scattered around. At the very edge of the cliff. Slight and indistinct from this distance, just a dot in the middle of a reflection, there is a figure standing, waiting to jump.

[bell chimes] [tape recorder turns off] [ads] [tape recorder turns on] [bell chimes]

Three. “The Three Sisters” by Claudia Atieno.

“The Three Sisters” was one of Claudia’s most successful works in the middle of her career. It is presumed to be inspired by Shakespeare’s “Macbeth” and is certainly far from the only work depicting that particular play. The three women are placed around a low pool of water on a bleak moor. Their figures rendered in bold, wide brush strokes, and it’s difficult sometimes to see where one figure starts and one ends.

The women all look alike, comfortable and happy in their barren surroundings. Their hair is long and unbound, flowing in black waves over their shoulders. They smile softly, and the one in the middle has her eyes closed in something like bliss.

The women, or something like them, are reflected in the pool in front of them. Their reflections tell a different story, a story of three witches. One of the witches, as you can clearly see, has grown tall and gaunt, her reflected face distorted by the ripples of the water is full of malice and rage. Her iron colored hair is tangled, and her lips are curled in hate. Opposite her reflection is that of one of her sisters. She appears small and wizened, with a look of great cunning on her face, with a faded appearance. She gives the impression somehow that she is sneaking into the background of your life to wreak havoc without even being noticed. Her countenance is distorted and wry. She looks like a person who likes to hide in kitchen cupboards. You can see her. Do you agree?

The woman in the middle, the one with her eyes closed, is the only one reflected at all close to her original form. Her hair is still a gleaming black. Her face still smiles slightly, her body is still plump and relaxed. But her eyes are open, widened. Her eyes are a terrible blinding red.

Look at her red eyes. What does she see? Does she see her doppelgänger across the room? Is she confused as to who was born first? It is difficult to say what begets what.

Looking at the whole painting, this could be simply a trio of witches from a play. It could be about the inherent duplicitousness of human nature, the attract of serenity we show to the world and the turmoil we conceal. It could be about the risks of trusting anyone too much. Of the impossibility of guessing at someone’s true nature or motives.

What is trust? Can you find it in a painting?

You will think it odd perhaps to have two such similar paintings in one exhibition. “Three Sisters” is considered by many to be one of Atieno’s definitive works, so its presence here is hardly mysterious. As to Wynn’s piece that is on loan from my own private collection, I felt it was important for you to see it. Feel free to pause the cassette and go look at “Women Alone” again on the opposite wall. Or just wail til the audio guide is finished. It is almost finished.

It is an interesting thing to have loved and admired someone so much, to have stood in awe of their work, to have enjoyed their company, to have trusted their integrity. When you lose that feeling of admiration, it is as if you have lost the person themselves. The person you loved is gone, and in their place stands a stranger who wears their skin.

Is it only when someone has betrayed you personally that you are allowed to feel betrayed? If your affection and admiration for someone is bound up in an image of them that turns out to be false, are you not right to feel anger?

Vanessa’s career was ruined by the suspicion that she copied Atieno’s work, but it’s simply not what happened. I do not know when Atieno began work on “The Three Sisters”, but it did not premiere until 1967. “Women Alone” was being painted as early as 1963. I saw it unfinished at Vanessa’s studio in Cardiff. I remember this because Vanessa told me that Claudia Atieno had attended an exhibition of Vanessa’s work at a gallery in Munich. Vanessa and I were young artists, swayed by celebrity. We swooned and smiled about this fortuitous moment in Vanessa’s young career.

Claudia asked Vanessa what else she was creating. Vanessa told her about “Women Alone”. Claudia told her it was a brilliant concept, and that Vanessa was just the artist to pull it off. “But I do not like the title,” Claudia told her. “In art, framing is all.”

I’ll never forget that. Framing is all. I took it to mean that how you title your piece sets the tone for the viewer’s experience. But as I saw “The Three Sisters” go up at the grand opening of the Musem of Contemporary Art in Chicago, I knew she meant framing literally. Getting it on the wall. Get the idea into a frame and it is yours. Framing. Is. All.

Vanessa showed “Women Alone” at a private exhibit in London, and Alphra Bond of The Times ridiculed the young artist, calling her a plagiarist, stealing from an artist too famous to be copied without people noticing. Bond thought Vanessa should have at least taken an idea from a lesser known but more thought-provoking artist. Bond conceded she liked Vanessa’s version better, but the implications of thievery and the fact that Vanessa refused to admit anything, nor apologize, led to fewer and fewer showings of her work.

I bought “Women Alone” from her two years ago. I know its truth. I know what the reflected woman with the red eyes sees.

I’m sorry. This is perhaps a debate for a different medium. We are here to talk about art, after all. But then shouldn’t art concern itself with honesty? A discussion for another time, I suppose. Did you go back and look at “Women Alone” again? Well, do that now.

[tape recorder turns off]

“Within the Wires” is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson, and performed by Rima Te Wiata, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Clarissa Nair was Lily Papkin. [ads] And forget your holiday shopping for your podcast-loving friends and family by going to withinthewires.com and checking out our new T-shirts and Claudia Atieno artprint.

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to stop by the museum gift shop, grab yourself a souvenir book of paintings about [Hollandaise sauce]. Pick up a poster featuring [Elton John touching your face], and buy a commemorative vase made out of [your own butt].

[withinthescripts]

Season 2, Cassette 6: Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (1978)

[tape recorder turns on]

Hello, this is Zoe Tremblay, lead curator of the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. Bienvenue, welcome to our museum. This audio guide for the exhibit “Small Items, Big Picture” features assorted works by celebrated artist Claudia Atieno.

Shortly before this exhibit opened to the public, news broke that her body was found, confirming her death after five years missing. Across the art world, we are saddened to learn confirmation of Atieno’s death, but content in finally confirming what we had long suspected.

Before the news, we had invited artist, art historian and friend of Atieno, Roimata Mangakāhia, to orate this cassette. It would have been understandable in her grief for Mangakāhia to decline to record this audio guide after finding out the details of her colleague’s death, but Mangakāhia agreed to uphold her obligation. We are blessed and pleased she could do so.

The exhibit begins in the Desmarais Pavilion, second level.

[bell chimes]

Claudia Atieno was one of our New World’s most respected artists. Since the Great Reckoning, no one else combined skill, macroscopic vision, and subtle political rhetoric quite like Atieno.

I would like to start this audio guide by saying she will be missed. She has been missed for many years, really, but the pain is greater than before. It is real now. I didn’t think… [crying] I really didn’t think…

But this is not important, my feelings are not relevant to this audio guide. We’re here simply to contemplate Claudia’s work.

Painting 1. “Mantis on Branch”.

Look first at the branch. Atieno has used shades of lavender and green in the wood. Long, meandering lines of light colors contrasting the dark grays of the branch itself. These lines, like two pastel rivers…

I had hoped her disappearance six years ago was an attempt to revitalize her career with new ideas, greater ambitions, I was wrong. She just died. She’s just been dead all this time. We all just die, I suppose. Why expect more?

In her final years, Claudia had grown more artistically prolific. But as the quantity of her art increased, so did the quality for subject matter plummet.

I was with her often, in what turned out to be the final years of her life. Do I wish I had known they would be her final years? Would I have changed the way I spoke to her? Would I have broached different subjects? I suppose there’s no way to be sure. [sighs] I suppose it’s pointless to relive it, over and over.

I talk to her a lot. Our discussions about artistic evolution went from lively to combative in those years. She became obsessed with tiny objects and figures, finding microscopic details interesting. Searching for possible hidden meanings in the repetition and mundanity of everyday life.

With the exception of the parties and happenings which were plentiful, it was a life mostly spent alone in her home in Cornwall. Her lovers, including Pavel Zubov and Cassandra Reza, visited during times of celebration and merrymaking, they did not live with her. I lived with her during the other times.

I alone kept her from being alone.

Look at the mantis’ face in this painting. It is difficult to see it directly, as the insect is slightly turned away. I would like to tell you this is meaningful, and if you find meaning here, good for you. Most likely Atieno simply painted a still insect that she saw in the garden, because she was trying to keep busy. And rather than change her position and perspective, rather than attempt to seek out meaning elsewhere, she simply painted what was in front of her.

How many mantises have you seen before? What makes them interesting?

[bell chimes]

Painting two, “Rubbish Number 3”.

This is a wastebin with paper in it. With an impasto technique, it’s difficult to discern exactly what these papers are, but they appear to be standard and unbound A3 pages. We can assume they were old files or notes. A crumbled page lies behind the bin. Look closely at the crumpled paper. Can you read what it says? No. No. you can’t.

[bell chimes]

Painting three, “Rubbish Number 7”.

This is a banana peel. Looking at the Spanish floor tiles, I imagine this was painted in her kitchen. Atieno was, generally speaking, a tidy person. So I guess this is ironic?

Yep, it’s a banana peel. Hmm. I have little else to add here.

[bell chimes]

Painting four, “Rubbish Number 15”.

The final known painting in her rubbish collection, this is a wrapped stack of discarded newspapers along a street corner. It’s clear that these are the Western Europa Times, London Edition, but the text on the front page is not clear. All you can make out are the words “200 million” and “population”, which would suggest these were from October 1971.

Atieno talked often of the days before the Great Reckoning. She was an infant when our population was nearly eradicated by the new weapons of a great war, and by the toxic air, which took almost as many lives as the godlike explosions throughout the 1920’s. After the foundation of the society, those born prior to the Reckoning were not granted indirect contact with family, but punitive action was rarely sought in those cases.

Occasionally, she received letters and voice recordings from her grandmother, Renee. It’s not clear how Renee knew where her grand daughter lived, or if these letters were monitored for content. Renee was not allowed to communicate familial love or give any indication about Atieno’s family, dead or alive. So she simply told her grand daughter about what life was like before the reckoning. Foods they ate, like wild birds or boar. Detailed descriptions of robes and headdresses popular in the previous century, and even recitations of poetry she learned in school.

With the loss of so many libraries and information centers during the reckoning, Renee wanted to convey, if not love for her last remaining grandchild, a written and oral history of facts and tales that might otherwise be lost.

Look again at the painting of the stack of newspapers. Atieno was acknowledging the renewal of human life on Earth, and its new roles and rules. The new culture the society has brung and will continue to bring. The power of information and its manipulation.

You are one of 200 million in the world. Does that make you special, or insignificant? Is it possible to be both?

Atieno was always excited about the New Renaissance. After the Reckoning, new artist with little history to direct them had to find new methods, new narratives. Art had been stilted and interrupted for so long. It had felt like a luxury the world could ill afford.

But by the early 1970’s, Atieno seemed to have grown weary. In this oil painting of hopeful news, we see gray twine holding together gray pages on gray pavement.

Look at the painting for a hint of color. [whispers] Oh find some color, you really need to find colors!

[bell chimes]

Painting five, “Needlework”.

This is not a painting, clearly, but an actual piece of needlework, the only known example of this medium by Atieno.

When I lived with her, I used needle craft such as cross stitch and knitting to pass the time. I was never much of a reader, and painting for me was more draining than it was for Atieno. She could paint for hours without much of a break, whereas I often had to stop after 45 minutes or so to clear my head.

During afternoon high tide, I would go cliff diving to refresh my body, to energize myself for the more intellectual and minimally physical tasks of painting or drawing in my notebook. The shock of cold water slapping my skin woke me to a world with no thoughts, only instincts. My muscles tensed at every leap, calmed at every splash, and my mind was full not of thoughts or ideas, but feathers.

Atieno did not care for the thrill of a plunge into the sea. Her thrills came from challenging the rigid regulations of the society through her artwork. I suspect she often tried to keep in touch with her sister. I have no proof of this, other than the society secretary of trade, Vishwati Ramados saying this to me. Ramados once pointed out a childhood drawing of two girls in a garden, quietly talking. Claudia in the background watching. “That’s not Claudia’s school,” Ramados said, “she didn’t go there, see her sister clearly drawn?” [scoffs] “How would you know her sister?” I asked. Ramados cocked her head and smiled, as if I had complimented her hair.

Additionally, Atieno was paranoid that she was being watched closely by people. Obviously politicians like Ramados, but others too. She welcomed the stateswomen offices and agents into her home regularly, entertaining them with wine, food, music, dance and stories of her youthful debauchery often to the point of absurdity. Maintaining these amicable relationships alleviated any accusations cast on her of sedition or slander. Plus, as long as she kept her message abstracted in symbols and metaphor, Atieno could always claim that her painting was nothing more than a pig on a roast, or a vivisected mouse, rather than a direct poke at a specific security chief or geneticist. Indeed, she did claim this. even I cannot say for certain what her political views truly were.

Needlework was a pastime I never taught Atieno, she never asked. But she would on occasion walk past me in the parlor or outside in the garden, stitching phrases or flowers onto a linen circle. I had no idea, until the Montreal Museum showed me this piece, that Atieno ever took an interest in needlepoint. And I can only assume she taught herself the technique. She had no books on the subject, so it’s likely she found some of my needlepoint projects and watched my movement to learn how to do it herself. I’m not sure why she never asked me directly. I’m not sure why she felt the need to take this from me.

Of course, as this is Atieno, she was better than I was, taking my passive pastime and improving it to the level of fine art. In this piece, a simple arrangement of yellow carnations, she has clearly dyed segments of the thread to create a depth of color.

Pay careful attention to the simple dots and marks of blues and pinks and greens in the leaves. Not unlike some of the blots of color used by the impressionists.

Think of a time in your life when you were outdone.

[bell chimes] [tape recorder turns off] [ads] [tape recorder turns on]

[bell chimes]

Painting six, “Housefly”.

Flies were common at the Cornwall house in summer. They gathered on bookshelves and around edges of doors and windows. Atieno strictly kept food out of all rooms except the kitchen and parlor, which is where she entertained, but this is not where the flies gathered. Even with the tightly sealed windows and doors that remained shut, the flies found their way into the home and could not escape. Atieno would often return from her visits to Africa or South America to a Cornwall home lined with dead flies, like spilled raisins, who had attempted to escape along window sills.

This painting is of a living fly, along the top of a leather-bound copy of Alexander Dumas’ “The Count of Monte Cristo”. Atieno must have worked hard not to startle the fly away. There’s no existing photograph or sketch of this fly, so either she quietly and slowly painted, as a very patient fly quietly and slowly sat atop one of the few remaining copies of this French masterwork, or she painted the insect in great detail from memory.

[bell chimes]

Painting seven, “Darkened Room”.

This oil on canvas of an empty bedroom depicts a small unlit room the the very top of the house. When I lived with her, this was the room I slept in. I have a closer emotional tie to this painting than you could possibly have, dear listener. I can feel those cool cotton sheets, (--) [0:18:31] and billowy pillows under my head and across my body. Atieno tucked blankets tightly under mattresses, and the effect on the sleeping guest was not unlike a swaddled baby. Nights in Cornwall were cozy and nurturing, surrounded by ocean we could hear only cresting of the waves and the occasional birds and crickets through the cracked summer windows.

Daytimes could be different. While she adored throwing parties and filling the house with her eclectic collection of friends, Atieno sometimes grew tired of the guests with little warning. As I stayed with her for months at a time, I found I needed to escape her judgment and chiding some afternoons. She would want to work in the kitchen or on the patio or in the living room and my presence irritated her. She made this known with a curt “I need this area to work, find another place to do yours.” So I would paint in the bedroom, or sketch, or knit. Sometimes I would take the boat and head back to the mainland, go for walks in the rubble of nearby neighborhoods. Searching for old photographs of families, just to see what families used to look like. Wondering if my family was still alive and what it must have been like back in the times of fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters.

I know the final generation was full of violence and tribalism. A senseless conservatism of culture and values which led to war. But I still revel in how similar the awful purveyors of destruction looked just like us.

The few photos I found during my excursions into the rubble often showed two middle-aged humans with dead-eyed smiles and proper Sunday dress, standing behind two or three children, equally dressed and hiding their teeth behind stiff crescent lips. Sometimes the father would have his hand firmly on the oldest boy’s shoulders, holding him into place as if keeping a balloon from lifting out of gravity. The mother would sometimes have her hand on the daughter’s neck, as if she was holding a glass of water and not a small child. Sometimes in the ruins of these homes, I found pieces of ceramic lamps or shreds of sofa cushions. Sometimes I found saplings or vines growing through the twisted grids of stove top crates or out of bath pipes. It was not uncommon to find remnants of bodies too. Burned or brittle. And all but unrecognizable.

I suppose these findings would have made for good still life paintings, and with better foresight, I may have taken my brushes with me on these walks. But given the proliferation of destruction, still uncleaned by our tiny recovering population, I imagine every art student with an empty sketchbook has thought to capture the grisly aftermath of a global devastation. But art is often just record keeping, letting us know that an apple looked the same to Cézanne in 1895 as it does to a grocer in 1974. Or a dog in a 15th century tapestry has the same shape and size ratio to humans as one today, on St Catherine Street right here in Montreal.

When I did find photographs among the shells of former houses, I collected them in an album that I kept under Atieno’s guest bed, shown hre in this painting. Of course the guest room she has painted is uninhabited, ready for overnight guests. Even if its pristine neatness does not exactly welcome them.

In the open space next to the chest of drawers you see in her painting is where I set my easel. Mostly, my relationship with Claudia was positive, friendly. She was chatty during morning and afternoon tea and n the late evenings just before bed, but when she began to work, she disdained my presence. I have been critical of much of her work in this exhibit, and I hope the people of Montreal Museum of Fine Arts will not take offense. Claudia could create color and spectacle unlike anyone. Not only on the canvas but in social setting. She was not herself a rambunctious sort, but her demeanor brought out the wild side of so many. She quietly encouraged people to let go of inhibitions, while she displayed little of the same behavior. I always wanted more out of the work, and I hope you would have wanted the same.

We now know she’s dead, of course, so there’s not much that can be done at this point. Perhaps I should leave it be.

I loved her like a friend. Like a lover. Like a teacher. Like the sister the society won’t let me have.

The tide comes in and it goes out. You’re either there when you need to be or you’re not, time is impervious to critique. For all her supposed fighting against the new society, the society still is. Her most minor works hang on a wall in the former country of Canada- there should be more for her, for any of us.

[crying] I’m sorry. Montreal’s lovely. The Museum of Fine Arts is a real gem. Claudia… is lucky to have her work displayed. Let’s look at the final painting in this exhibit.

[bell chimes]

Painting eight, “Guests”.

Here Atieno depicts a party in the parlor. Look at the third guest from the right near the upper corner. That, I believe, is me. You can also see her former lovers, Pavel front and center and Chrisette just behind Pavel. Both are holding goblets of red wine and dancing, the wine spilling carelessly into the air, eternally aloft, never reaching the floor. [chuckles]

No musicians are shown here. Often guitarists and singers would perform next to the non-working fireplace and the piano. She rarely had anyone playing the piano, as if she felt it too stuffy. Also her record player was positioned on the bookshelf, but in this painting, its usual location is filled with books. She’s editing her life here, I believe, as in reality she had few books.

[scoffs] I’m not sure what the guests at this party are dancing to. Based on Pavel and Chrisette’s presence at the same party I was at, I place this painting as March 1972. Only days before the last time I saw her. This was the last moment any of these people would see Atieno.

Chrisette, Pavel. Deputy minister of culture, Sanjay Vishwanath. The woman who headed the childhood detachment and development program for the society. Those two men who claimed to be marketing manages for the World Bank, but were most definitely private investigators.

I was there, in Cornwall, on Claudia Atieno’s last day alive. [fights back tears] Last day seen alive. It was in March 31, 1972. I suppose there’s no way to know exactly when she died. I remember the evening clearly, I had returned from the cliff diving to return to a painting before the party. She was in the garden behind the house. Guests were just arriving. I don’t remember this party, I remember a-a-a quiet dinner.

The next day, or the day after, I can’t be sure… I, I left for Paris to visit friends or Amsterdam, was it? The Reichs Museum, I don’t know I can’t remember, it’s been so long. Oh, I really should know these things. It was Pavel who reported her missing to the police on April the 16, I don’t know why he came back to see her or why she let him. It’s strange to mourn someone who was never a regular presence in your life. My friendship ith Claudia was characterized by long absences. We were either together entirely, sharing food and shelter, work and leisure, sharing everything for months at a time, or we were wholly apart, with no contact a tall. Neither of us being much for letter-writing.

I’ve grown used to never seeing her these past few eyars, when there was still hope. So why now do I feel so broken? Why does it feel like she’s been pulled… so suddenly out of my life, when in reality she hasn’t been in it at all? [crying] I feel as bereft as I would if I’d been with her til yesterday. As if I would if she disappeared right from in front of me. Oh wait no, that’s not right, it was in autumn, she went missing in autumn. I’m sure of it.

[tape recorder turns off]

Within the Wires is written by Written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson and Performed by Rima Te Wiata, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Zoe Tremblay was Kate Leth. Don’t forget to go check out the amazing new Within the Wires T-shirts and Claudia Atieno artprint at withinthewires.com

Within the Wires is a production of Night Vale Presents. Another of our podcasts I think you’d love is Welcome to Night Vale. Perhaps you’re already familiar with the strange desert town of Night Vale and this is just a reminder that we have over 100 episodes for you to hear, for free, wherever you get your podcasts. And if you haven’t listened to Welcome to Night Vale, go listen to episode 1, or any episode really, you’ll be caught up in no time, and see what you think. Hear? Hear what you think?

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to stop by the museum gift shop, grab yourself a souvenir book of paintings about [ineffective (hotel) coffee makers], pick up a poster featuring [your high school sweetheart], and buy a commemorative vase made out of [whatever it is they make vases out of. Wet sand? IDK man.]

[withinthescripts]

Small announcement: I have somehow missed that it’s “Claudia Atieno”, not “Atiano”. I’ve fixed this in every transcript, I just wanted to make a post so people notice the change. 

[withinthescripts]

Season 2, Cassette 5: Van Gogh Museum (1977)

Hey there, lovers of wires and all things within. Jeffrey Cranor here with a really exciting thing to tell you. We have brand new Within the Wires shirts designed by the inimitable Rob Wilson in our Topatoco Store. And, I’m really excited for this too: an art print by Claudia Atieno, created by real life artist Jessica Hayworth. Even if you don’t wanna buy it, go to withinthewires.com and click on “shirts and posters” to see the breathtaking painting “Child with Damselfly by Claudia Atieno. Oh god, it’s so beautiful! Again, go to withinthewires.com and click on “shirts and posters.”

http://www.nightvalepresents.com/withinthewires#store

And now, an audio guide of the Van Gogh Museum, 1977.

[tape recorder turns on]

Welcome to the Van Gogh museum. I am Zoe Bakker, director of curation. Over the past two years, we have been exploring the early lives of some of the 20th century most influential artists. Our current exhibition shows the childhood paintings, sketches, and diaries of Claudia Atieno. As part of this ongoing series, we have often have the artist featured comment on their juvenile work, but in the case of Atieno, that is not possible. Atieno has not been seen now for some years, and while we may never know what happened to her, at this distance of time it seems unlikely that she is still living. The Van Gogh Museum, along with the wider artistic community, deeply mourns the loss of such an impactful and important voice. As we can’t get comment from the artist herself, we have approached her contemporary and close personal friend, Roimata Mangakāhia, to provide insights to the childhood work of Claudia Atieno. The exhibit is in the ground floor of the exhibition wing. Follow the numbered signs and press play whenever you see an audio guide placard, and pause after each tone you hear. We hope you enjoy your visit to the Van Gogh Museum.

[bell chimes]

It is always interesting to contemplate the art of a child who was destined to become truly vital. Surely there are key developmental differences between the great artist and the ordinary. Whether it be they’re drawing stick figures with arms coming out of their torsos or having the imagination to give their stick figures a pet elephant instead of a dog. However, it’s debatable how much we can really learn from this. We must always be aware that no amount of developmentally advanced childhood scribbles can truly take the place of the years of hard work and dedication it takes to develop true skill, and a genuine artistic voice. Brilliance is not innate, nor is it taught. Brilliance is rote, it is tedium, it is practice. You must enjoy what you do or at least tolerate it in order to become great.

Here we will examine Claudia Atieno’s childhood, and we may be impressed at her early skill. But it’s important to remember that many children show aptitudes that they do not develop further. Atieno’s childhood work may indeed be remarkable, but it’s likely remarkable for reasons other than artistic merit.

First, it’s remarkable that these sketchbooks and paintings survived at all. Born towards the end of the decades long Great Reckoning, Claudia grew up as the world around her was being completely reshaped. As more than a quarter of the world’s population was decimated through war, famine, and cataclysmic natural forces. She was of the last generation to be raised by her parents along with her siblings, and although a process was devised to separate this generation’s ideologies and prejudices from those of their parents, they were not made to forget them, as would be true of children later, such as me and likely you too.

Through these early works it’s possible to divine something of what it was like for these transitional generations, to have your existence change so dramatically. And to know that those who came after you would never experience a life like the one you had. Humanity’s survival is predicated on its self-governance, and the new society has protected us from even greater reckonings.

While we can learn and observe certain things about Claudia the child and Claudia the teenager and make guesses from them on Claudia as an adult, whether there is anything to learn about Claudia the artist is up for debate. And surely there’s little to gather about where she is today. Honestly, I fear the worst. Claudia’s mother kept much of her childhood work, everything from finger paintings done as an infant to the charcoal portraits of pre-adolescence, so we have a comprehensive view of how her art progressed up to age 12. Perhaps more comprehensive than we really need it to be. Work from Claudia’s adolescence, after she was moved to the New Society Programming Center, however, is more scarce. I would like to be able to tell you exactly why this is, but in truth I do not know. It’s possible Claudia simply drew and painted less after she left her family. It’s possible the Center was less committed to keeping the work of its wards, indeed with 30 or so children to care for it’s understandable if more childhood relics slipped through the cracks. It’s possible also that Claudia herself started discarding some of her own work. She was old enough by this point to be more discerning about what was worth keeping. But there’s little point in speculating other works we cannot see, while we have plenty to talk about before our eyes.

[bell chimes]

One. “Childhood Home”, 1935.

Look closely at the standard box structure of the home. Brown walls, windows, and a yellow front door. There is a chimney stuck on top and clouds above. If you have seen Atieno’s “House with Yellow Door” painted in her adulthood, you may recognize this picture. I might even consider this drawing an early study of the later masterwork. Represented here as a style of childhood drawing that is no longer commonly seen, but was once incredibly popular. The drawings, crudely done obviously by children of roughly five or six, would feature a simple house standing alone on a flat green line. There would be a door, couple of windows, a chimney often putting forth smoke, although invariably the scene depicted would be a nice day with the sun beaming from the sky, as shown by a single line of blue. Beside the house would stand several figures. Two taller and at least one, [chuckles] the artist, smaller. Children were drawing their families and would include however many siblings they happened to have. And any family pets. Nowadays, these once common drawings have been replaced. The houses by the larger more functional clinic buildings where children are raised and the families by teams of caretakers. Atieno herself painted and sketched several of these old-fashioned pictures as a child. There is much you can gleam from them yourself, of course, as they are displayed.

[softly] Look here. She drew the sky as blue and the ground as green. But the sky is not a simple line far above our heads, but rather an all-encompassing atmosphere. Notice where her simple crude pictures develops a horizon. Look at the family dog, standing in the lower right of this drawing. Notice she’s drawn two horizontal black lines for the dog’s eyes. Do dogs sleep while standing?

It’s tempting to look at these early drawings and paintings and see depth and skill that isn’t there. After all, we know what Claudia would go on to accomplish. But in truth, there’s not much to distinguish them from the work of any other child with a modicum of artistic talent. These are borderline finger paintings, there’s no fire or inspiration, or even an unusual amount of imagination. She drew her house, it’s historically interesting, that’s all. The same drawings have been made time and again by children across the globe. Knowing Claudia, she probably looked at what other kids are drawing and just drew that. But we must not judge too harshly. After all, she was only a child.

[bell chimes]

Two, “Childhood Home, Left”.

By the time Claudia was removed to the Programming Center, of course she was 13, so her style is more sophisticated, although she had yet to develop real skill. Still, the house in the painting is recognizable as the actual house that she had left behind.

[softly] Notice her use of watercolors, finding out how to layer paint to create wood-like texture on the ashen siding. The house is yellow as you can see, the woodwork is clear, the space around it is built with the swing set and bicycles we know the family had.

Pay attention. The absence of the family dog, where did it go? Where did you go? Are you no longer some place you once were? Can you notice a thing that is not there?

This painting would have been made about seven years after the previous, so it’s possible the dog died. But it’s also a significant reminder of the memories programmed out of children. It’s difficult to say whether the dog died or – just the memory of it.

The family themselves stands collected just outside the house. Claudia herself is absent, however. Perhaps this implies that it’s a picture of the house she (pictured) her home after she’d left it. It’s an inaccurate picture, of course, as her brothers and sisters were also removed, taken to other centers, and her father and mother were left there alone. So perhaps this is how she thought of her family, anachronistically reunited in her absence, together still in their happy life, with her alone removed from it.

[bell chimes] [tape recorder turns off] [ads] [tape recorder turns on] [bell chimes]

Three. “New Environment”.

This is a collection of 12 tiny drawings depicting areas of the Programming Center where Claudia spent her adolescence. There’s a theme of personal distance in much of the work Claudia created while she was at the center. She followed up her melancholic look back at the home that was once was hers with a closest thing to a home that she would have for some years.

Some of the pictures are outside the courtyards and gardens. Some in the dedicated recreation spaces. Some in the dining rooms, and a couple in the dormatories.

Each drawing shows a collection of children with caretakers hovering around them. Sometimes the children are playing a group game together. In one they seem to be chasing after a ball of some kind, in one they are skipping ropes. Sometimes they are working quietly. Sometimes they are eating. Et cetera.

Look at the 12 picture grid, starting on the top row, going from left to right. Think of these as a chronological order of a day. First, see the relaxation exercises in the garden. See the children, eyes closed and breathing, their hands on their knees. Look at the next two drawings of the dining hall as children eating breakfast, and then later, receive instructions over the loudspeakers. Look at the children’s rapt attention to the sound, look at their eyes. Are they attentive or distant?

[softly] Are you attentive? How do you know? How far away are you? Do you mean that figuratively?

In the next few pictures we see in order, classroom education and isolation room and physical education. The last one on the top row, look at the children running. It looks like two of them are holding hands. This is possibly just the angle of the drawing, but I believe Claudia was suggesting young romance, particularly in an environment that forbade it.

Along the bottom row, you will see a picture of lunch. Nothing exciting there. Then a picture of musical lessons. The children gathered around a piano, their eyes covered with towels as an instructor plays a tune.

The next two images are of tactile retraining. Notice the wires running up each child’s arm. You probably remember these from your own programming center. Even in Atieno’s time, tactile retraining was unpleasant, but probably the most valuable skills we learned.

And the last three images are simply children speaking to one another, during class breaks, in the garden.

[softly] Look at the way the children in the last picture are huddled close to one another. Notice the similarities in features between these two and the two running in the earlier drawing. Are they leaning into whispers and secrets, about themselves, about someone else? Are their knees touching? As an adolescent, did you ever let your knees touch another’s?

Each of these pictures include Atieno, but she’s never included in activity, she’s always off to the side. You can see her. [chuckles] Look for the long braids, the small figure and sharp shoulders. That girl could not easily be mistaken for anyone other than Claudia. She was – is- a distinct-looking woman, beautiful and robust. She drew herself well. Many people at this age either fantasize a greater or lesser version of themselves. Claudia always knew what she looked like.

Atieno’s absence from these images might suggest she never engaged much with the rest of the children, or perhaps this is an attempt to communicate how she felt, to show the world the loneliness no one seemed to see.

[soft, nearly whispering] And what of the two girls running together, holding hands? Speaking in covert breathlessness in the garden. One of the girls has similar hair to Claudia, but is larger in build. Who were these girls, friends? Perhaps girls Claudia wanted to be friends with? A jealousy? Or just more likely just a fascination in their gestures, the attractiveness of their form as they gossiped or jogged.

There is one of these pictures that is even more notable than the two girls. It’s on the second row, second from the right. Look at the garden with the main building behind and to the left. Children are running around, there’s a collection of hoops among them and they appear to be changing them but - in no particular direction. Claudia stands in the midst of the group, slightly to the right of the center. She’s in the middle of the action but somehow removed from it. Rather than watching the game, she stares out of the painting at the viewer. Her face is expressionless and her arms hang by her sides.

Do you see her? Does she see you?

You see the young artist grasp the concept of the viewer, the patron. She looks skeptical, distrustful. This picture isn’t about children playing hoops, it’s about your response to it.

Is she trying to intimidate us? Do you feel challenged to enjoy or critique this work? Do you feel your concept grasped by the artist? Do you have a response? It is this drawing that perhaps gives the first, and possibly the only, glimpse we get to the adolescent Claudia. And she would go on to be an important artist.

[bell chimes]

Four, “Self-Portrait, Sketchbook”.

This exhibition includes a sketchbook kept by Claudia during her final years at the center, before she went on to travel and study all over the world, all drawings done between the ages of 16 and 18. The sketches are varied and mostly unfinished. (--) [0:20:31] details done for practice, ideas marked out to be expanded elsewhere. There are disembodied eyes, armless hands, there are figures shot through with lines marking out proportions, there are themeless indistinct doodles. It is entirely a collection of self-portraits in different stages of completion, of scope, of examination.

Claudia did not do many self-portraits as an adult and a working artist, she did not care for them, and did not care to explain why. But it’s clear that as a teenager, her feelings were different. There are three self-portraits in this sketchbook that are worth considering. The first is on page 10, a simple plain pencil sketch. It’s accomplished and a good likeness. There is energy to her face although there is not a strong expression.

She told me once that she used to find moths and flies in the garden around the programming center. She would take those insects and pin them down and study them. She would look at them closely, studying their complex eyes, hairy twitching legs. She wouldn’t kill the damselflies, but she would tear their wings from them and set them back down, watching them crawl away. She would hold the wings like a microscopic stained glass window up to the sun and then blow them out to the wind, as if they were seed pods that could land upon a spot of fertile earth and grow again.

I asked her why children did such mean things, but she did not think it mean at all. “I still do it from time to time, Roimata,” she told me, and she had a disaffected half-grin as she said it. it was determined but completely without meaning. The face in this sketch, this was the face she made.

The second self-portrait is on page 13, done in pastels and much more fantastical. She has rendered her brown skin in reds and blues and gives her green irises a sheen of yellow. Her dark hair seems almost alive with color. It is a style she had (cripped) [0:22:47] from a children’s book called, [chuckles] that she had had since leaving her home. It is a strong imitation.

The third self-portrait is a pen and ink drawing on the back cover of the sketchbook, with black ink sinking into the pale green of the book’s cardboard cover. The portrait shows the left half of Claudia’s face, whole and impassive. But the right half has shattered away.

Notice how her right eye looks right at you, while the cheek below it is gone. See the jagged edge that cuts down from her right temple to her chin. Did you just touch your own cheek as you looked at this? Why?

Have you ever imitated an idea? Did you feel bad about it?

This portrait is strikingly similar to the self-portrait by (Amei Layeni), which currently hangs in LA County Museum in Los Angeles, North America. Layeni was of a larger build with a rounder face and no glasses. But her hair was similar to Atieno’s. Layeni’s portrait was unveiled when Claudia was in her early 20’s. The two were almost the same age. Once Claudia commented to me on how much she loved Layeni’s self-portrait, and how much she wanted to see Amei again. How she missed Amei.

I said, “I didn’t know you two knew each other.” I asked when was the last time she saw her, but Claudia replied: “I can’t say.” And I wasn’t sure if she meant she didn’t know, or wasn’t allowed to. She did not tell me of the sketch at the time, she did not mention which center she had grown up in, she did not tell me who else had been there.

[tape recorder turns off]

Within the Wires is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson and performed by Rima Te Wiata, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com.

The voice of Zoe Bakker was Lia Albers.

Within the Wires is a production of Night Vale Presents. Another of our podcasts I think you’d love is “I Only Listen to the Mountain Goats”. Welcome to Night Vale’s Joseph Fink talks with the Mountain Goats’ John Darnielle about music, art, politics and the responsibilities of being a creator. I know very little about the Mountain Goats or music in general, but this podcast is smart and funny and they made a reference to both Bertol Brecht and (--) [0:25:55] in the newest episode, and I actually did a happy little skip, in public. Go listen now to “I Only Listen to the Mountain Goats” at nightvalepresents.com.

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to stop by the museum gift shop, grab yourself a souvenir book of paintings about [Houston Astros – José Altuve], pick up a poster featuring [Houston Astros – José Altuve], and buy a commemorative vase made out of [iced tea].