I met Lisa at the Banff Centre in early January 2020, where she was at an artist residency led by Bridget Moser and I was on a curatorial fellowship. I saw her toqued head bobbing around the backdrop of the snow-covered mountains on campus, her figure cloaked in a long coat: beige with an all-over pattern of terracotta crescents, best described as Marine Serre-esque.

Who’s that girl?

Once the first-day-of-school vibes wore off, I came to know Lisa through her work, as a ceramist as we fumbled our way with clay in a raku workshop, and then through her dead-pan, always spot-on performances. From this time, I will never look at a pink Porter tumbler and bowl the same way ever again (see Aliya Pabani’s text from C146 that accompanies Lisa’s work from this residency, called Say "Hi"). When I ask Lisa later to verify the details about this portable dishware for the purposes of the current text, she tells me, “It leaks, like the top doesn’t securely close so it’s not travel friendly.” I note her inherent disappointment with the veneer, the mirage of the bougie life and how it fails to deliver.

Back in Toronto, Lisa and I work together on an augmented-reality project for Jeremy Bailey’s The Museum for You. But it’s not until the spring of 2023 when we really hit our stride. I get a foretelling message from Co–Star, an AI-led astrology app that says I will write a scathing review of Lisa’s work, and that she will read it aloud. I text it to Lisa, and through numerous coincidences throughout the summer—like running into one another in Dundas West subway station after Lisa tries to sell her childhood stamp collection, the same day this writing project you are reading gets a green light—and further astrological happenstance and consultations with musician and astrologer Vic Cheong, we arrive here. Vic reads our birth charts to determine what the synastry for our friendship might be.

Lisa is a Scorpio sun and moon, Aries ascendant. I am a Virgo sun with Libra ascendant and moon. We both have our Venus in Libra.

From looking at our synastry chart, Vic tells us that my Venus is trine Lisa’s Saturn, and my Saturn is conjunct Lisa’s Venus. She tells us that what is shared:

…bodes well for a solid connection with mutual respect, shared responsibilities, endurance, solid working partnership. it’s a nice aspect and says something about your connection but doesn’t feel that juicy to me…

She’s right and it sounds downright boring, but as a Virgo sun, I appreciate a solid working relationship. So, maybe our astrological connection isn’t that juicy, but back to that Co–Star pronouncement…

What follows is my fake review of Grafter (2022)—a previously unseen video—that I’ve had to reverse-engineer in part because I liked it too much to be able to roast the work. It pains me to write this (it must be my Libra stellium) and I am psychically unable to trash the work. At the end of this, I still want Lisa to be my friend.

...

Grafter — Lisa Smolkin

What’s in a name? Today, a “grafter” is known as someone who works hard, though the word has a root in thievery and illegal gain. It also refers to someone who surgically implants living tissue. In her video of the same name, I think artist Lisa Smolkin is going for the first definition, but by the end of it, I’m not so sure.

Coming in at under 20 minutes, Grafter (2022) begins with what looks like the results of Smolkin’s window-shopping on the SSENSE website, her flat voice-over asking, “Did you know they make designer clothing for children and babies?” It’s all downhill after that as we follow her on a deeply narcissistic, psychoanalytic journey, a time-travelling therapy session in moving-image form. We see the artist revisiting her childhood home in Victoria, BC, a GoPro strapped to her head, bringing the viewers on a walk around her hometown. Every now and again, a Lisa Smolkin guardian angel pops up on-screen like a desktop tour guide. The footage is bumpy. I ate too much for dinner and feel I might barf watching this. A driving soundtrack composed by the musician New Chance accompanies her as she walks down a path in the direction of her elementary school, and then toward her childhood best friend’s house. She recounts running away from home to her grandmother’s house, stopping outside the building.

Is Smolkin simultaneously her child self, current self, and higher self? And why should we care? She attempts to fill the void of real human connection with superfood trends and befriending an AI-powered robot for children named Miko 2, asking it “What’s art?” to which Miko 2 responds, “Sometimes the definition of art depends on the artist. Other times it depends on the critic.” Which is to say, it’s a jumble of references that don’t really mean anything. I’m at a total loss.

Smolkin’s empathy burn-out is so real that it is transmitted right out of the screen; I feel I might also be at risk. I’ve travelled interdimensionally and intergenerationally with her but feel empty inside. Grafter seems to be more about a sorry excuse for outfit changes, wellness trends, and therapy-speak than actual content; but is that Smolkin’s fault or the current culture’s? That is, is the work a product of jacked-up capitalism and therefore an accurate picture of the now?

I don’t know. But I think I’ve been grafted.

...

And there it is.

I keep bristling as I re-read the above review. It feels too real now that I have typed these words on a page that take up space. I feel very badly and want to delete all numbers of harsh adjectives. My guilt might never be assuaged.

Lisa, will you still be my friend? No worries if not.