One of the master artists of our time, Richard Tuttle joins to talk about his 60+ year career that has revolutionized the landscape of temporary art.
Saleem Reshamwala:
Hi, I’m Saleem Reshamwala, host of a podcast called Far Flung, from TED. In each episode, I’ll take you to a new place across the globe to get lost in a new vibe and tap into surprising ideas, from tiny suspension bridges in the mountains of Nepal, to journalists who’ve taken the city buses to deliver the news in Caracas. Let’s tap into what the world is thinking on Far Flung. Stay tuned after this episode to hear the trailer.
Richard Tuttle:
Every artist wants more than anything else to be recognized. But once it’s recognized, you go so quickly into the fathead syndrome.
Speaker 3:
From the TED Audio Collective, this is Design Matters with Debbie Millman. For 18 years, Debbie Millman has been talking with designers and other creative people about what they do, how they got to be who they are, and what they’re thinking about and working on. On this episode, artist Richard Tuttle talks about what he’s up to as he enters his ninth decade.
Richard Tuttle:
Life is its own reward. But how do you live successfully your entire life?
Youngme Moon:
Hi. I’m Youngme Moon.
Mihir Desai:
I’m Mihir desai.
Felix Oberholzer-Gee:
And I’m Felix Oberholzer-Gee.
Youngme Moon:
And together, we host After Hours, a podcast from the TED Audio Collective.
Mihir Desai:
We’re friends and colleagues at Harvard. And on the show, we discuss news at the crossroads of business, society, and culture.
Felix Oberholzer-Gee:
Join us each week as we catch up after work and see what’s trending, share our thoughts, and disagree with each other. Sometimes a lot.
Youngme Moon:
Is Apple losing its mojo?
Mihir Desai:
What’s behind the industry behind the chip shortages we’re all struggling with?
Felix Oberholzer-Gee:
Who’s winning the streaming wars, and should you fear inflation?
Youngme Moon:
So check out After Hours, wherever you listen to podcasts.
Debbie Millman:
Richard Tuttle is one of the master artists of our time. His work has revolutionized the landscape of contemporary art, and includes painting, drawing, sculpture, bookmaking, printmaking, installation, and poetry. Over the course of his 60-plus-year career, he has constantly challenged the constraints of material, medium, and method. He draws beauty out of humble materials and creates art that simultaneously exists in the present moment, reflects the fragility of the world, and allows for individual experiences of perception.
His work has been exhibited in hundreds of galleries and museums all over the world, and is included in important collections everywhere. He is represented by Pace Gallery, and an exhibit of his objects is currently on display at the Bard Graduate Center in New York City. He’s been called a conceptual artist and a post-minimalist artist, but the labels aren’t nearly as interesting as the art itself. Often minimal, innately witty, rigorously intelligent, and always deeply moving. Richard Tuttle, welcome to Design Matters. This is an absolute honor to be talking with you today.
Richard Tuttle:
Thank you, Debbie. Thank you. Thank you. You lift my spirits.
Debbie Millman:
Thank you. You lift mine. Richard, is it true that you believe that there are only two kinds of artists in the world, those that can use the color green and those who can’t?
Richard Tuttle:
Oh, that’s fun. I guess we should start with a base where you could speak about a New York artist. There has been a strong drift, anti-nature, which speaks about life in New York. When it rains, we go out. We show up. When it snows, we don’t play around with nature. We’re all out to defeat nature.
Artists who make art along those lines would never be able to use green, because green, it suggests. I once asked my great friend and mentor, Agnes Martin, why she didn’t use green, ever use green in her painting. And her response was, “Because it would remind people of nature.”
Debbie Millman:
Interesting. I have a whole slew of questions for you about Agnes, but I want to get to your fringing a little bit first and then talk about your friendship with her and her influence. You were born in Rahway, New Jersey. You were raised in Rosselle.
Richard Tuttle:
Yes.
Debbie Millman:
Your dad was an electrical engineer and your mom had hoped to go to art school, but she didn’t. Why wasn’t she able to go?
Richard Tuttle:
Depression. Great depression.
Debbie Millman:
Your mom seems to have lived a life full of art, nevertheless. I read about how you had a long kitchen with a rather long kitchen table. And on one end she might be cooking, but on the other end, there was always some sort of project she was working on with paper mache or puppets, or any number of things. Would you say that she’s the first person that introduced you to art?
Richard Tuttle:
I think it’s one of these cases of getting it together or connecting some dots. Because when I was very young, I was the type of person who probably is just born with a philosophical turn of mind. I asked, as many of that type do, where they must say, well, what is this all about? Why am I here? What’s good, what’s bad? What’s the whole thing?
Probably that those questions gained intensity with the fact that there was a war going on. I think we can’t underestimate how important our earliest experiences are in this world. I didn’t know what art was or what it meant to be an artist. There was no real art in our home.
Debbie Millman:
Your mom had been an only child and had suffered quite a lot of boredom as she grew up. And you’ve talked about how she vowed that her kids would never be bored in the same way, which is why she had all these projects in the house. But you’ve talked about how you overheard someone when you were a young man in school, saying that they were bored and went home to ask her what the word meant, as you had never heard it before. She must have been a really fun person to be around.
Richard Tuttle:
Yes. Also, complex. One of my issues at the moment is how we sustain these unsustainable opposites. I think that’s in my work. It’s always been about the intense interest in a stoppage, in the fact that we know nothing stops. We don’t stop and the world doesn’t stop. You turn your back and the plant has grown another leaf. There are just so many questions that come when you deal with stop, where motion is an expression. It’s a form in movies and videos and so on where we can express this constant motion we have. It can be very necessary, but it still doesn’t to me, interest me as much as the mystery of the stop. Does water ever stop?
Debbie Millman:
Part of the interest that I have in your work is my fascination with things that start. The origins of creativity, the origins of consciousness, of ingenuity, of obstacles, those are the things that I tend to be really endlessly fascinated with. Which is why my podcast is so much about how somebody begins the journey of their life and how that ends up influencing how they become who they become.
Richard Tuttle:
Yeah. In my pantheon of touchpoints, the color orange represents a beginning. And whenever I do a work of orange, it informs me that this is a beginning, like a new chapter or a new work, or a new direction. If you begin, there has to be an origin. I don’t like to be held to one side or the other in that question, and so It’s a bittersweet thing. But again, art can handle that type of thing, and I don’t know much else can.
Debbie Millman:
You’ve been an artist for your entire life. There are really very few people that could say that that’s all they’ve ever done is make art. And you’ve made art in so many different genres, so many different categories. Do you remember that first experience of being creative? Do you have any sense of when you realized that your role on this earth was to make art?
Richard Tuttle:
Yes. Because of COVID rehab, I’ve taken up singing. It’s been about two years and I had an excellent, excellent teacher who brought me to the point where I could do a recital.
Debbie Millman:
Wow, I should have asked you to sing. I didn’t know any of this.
Richard Tuttle:
I know. You can have it. I’ll do anything. Yeah. As you very well pointed out, this focus has been on visual arts, the visual side of things. But in doing this recital, I actually went on stage identifying myself as an artist of song. I, in my younger days, would’ve not given so much credit to songwriting and singing of songs, performances and so on, because I just didn’t think it was up to the level of the visual arts.
But when I gave this recital, in the middle of my song, my right arm began shaking. I didn’t know if people in the audience could see it or not, but as an artist, performer, I knew that sort of instinct where you can just turn that into emotion for sake of the audience. It’s all for the sake of the audience.
It proved to me that these questions of what is an artist, who is an artist, how are these things known, that doesn’t matter how many shows you make or how much success, or how many museum collections you’re in. It doesn’t ever come to the answer of what it is. It’s something about the head and the body relation that as a singer, I completely learned myself as an artist in my body and the way the song can be remembered, in front of an audience, for example.
That’s not in your head. I can’t possibly do that in my head. But if it’s coming from my body, I can, and I love it. And it’s like a release. It’s a kind of freedom that I never got out of my head.
Debbie Millman:
In the way that you are now, approaching learning how to sing, it seems like a very different approach than the way you learned how to make art.
Richard Tuttle:
Uh-huh.
Debbie Millman:
Can you talk a little bit about how you began to understand what you wanted to do when you were making art? You didn’t go to school for art. You did have an art education at Trinity, but it wasn’t an art school.
Richard Tuttle:
No.
Debbie Millman:
And you created your own art education while you were at Trinity. After you graduated Trinity, I understand you were still hoping to go to art school, and also didn’t want to get drafted. So you applied to the University of Chicago. You got in and your dad helped you get a job as a bellhop at the Drake, one of the biggest hotels in Chicago at the time.
You were all ready to go, as you put it, to put on your little bellhop cap and work for tips. But you ended up also getting in at The Cooper Union and going there. I understand that the euphoria of going there lasted about a week, and then you decided that you were going to leave. Talk about that time and what that was like for you.
Richard Tuttle:
This was the Camelot period and things were moving very fast. Suddenly, the world became youthful and it needed expression. When I was at Trinity, I did a yearbook. And in those days, we pasted up each page and we used a high enamel gloss paper for that, because it photographed well and so on. When I got to New York, I still had some of that paper. I’ve kept it. And then I began making these three-inch paper cubes, which I felt were my first real beginning of my work. They were of interest because they took the cube and penetrated it in different ways. So each work was a unique and different penetration of the cube and any others. They were very lightweight. You could hold them in your hand.
But this notion of when you begin your art or how that happens, for example, Velázquez was already painting great work when he was 16. I think those juices, those forces in us can begin in teenage years. Those cubes, when I say that was the beginning of my work, going back to the idea, I’m a New York artist, that was the beginning of the New York work that is still and quite mysteriously so, part of my ongoing work. When you emerge and, it’s a kind of almost primitive ritualistic thing, you emerge, that point stays part of you for as long as you continue. My emergence point happened to be, I think a part of it, of an archaic expression.
Through the cycles of time and so on, the archaic will come back in different guises, but it was very important in my work that I saw or felt that the historic cycle ended with minimal art. And that was this part of my side to start a new cycle. One of the reasons I like going on with creative work is because as a genre, we know so little about it. What it is, how it works. What happens? How does an individual relate to it? Is it part of them or part of some parallel existence? I don’t know. I don’t know any of it, but those things can only be known through having a body of work as data. I don’t know. Part of my service is to create that quality of data.
Debbie Millman:
From what I understand, I think you met Agnes Martin by just calling her on the telephone, and you became lifelong friends.
Richard Tuttle:
Yeah. I think I do perhaps have a privileged understanding of her work, which most people don’t. So if I’m invited to an interview or to a symposium or something, and I will go there and try to say what I feel remains to be said about, or hasn’t been said before about Agnes’s work. Because to me, it keeps developing too.
I’m always learning more about it. I’m currently involved in doing a show of Alexander Calder for Los Angeles. It’s the same where I feel his work has not been shown with the understanding I think it should be shown with. With contemporary art, you have to be ahead of the times. That’s the rule.
By the time you’re dead, there are lots of your ideas that you can’t manage and process to the public benefit. Somebody else has to do it. Because you might think then it would be like an artist historian or so, but artist historians have a completely different road than an artist would.
Debbie Millman:
Why do you think that Calder’s work isn’t as appreciated as it should be now?
Richard Tuttle:
He was a kind of artist who was motivated by a need to speak. He had something he really wanted to say, and of course, it was about him himself. The work came out in ways where it could be charming and dazzling, or easy to access in terms of its motion and so on. But in terms of what he was saying about himself and the world, and art and all these topics, he hasn’t been successful in that sense.
I think he himself is a fascinating creative talent, because he did go to the end of the branch. He really did go to the end, like van Gogh or Pollock, or some of these people, who you don’t get back, who can’t find their way back. But he did, could find his way back. But the sacrifice was that somehow the world doesn’t know what he was saying or.
Also, the importance of his influence, the kind of spaces that he achieved in sculpture went into the abstract expressionist and painted spaces. If you realize that each one is better for understanding that, and how art passes the boundary of … For example, my work, if it’s sometimes painting, sculpture, drawing, it’s really about the passages, what happens between drawing. When drawing becomes painting, or painting becomes drawing, or painting becomes sculpture. That’s what’s exciting.
Debbie Millman:
What do you think happens in those experiences, in those moments?
Richard Tuttle:
Our spirits can rest. I think, in our lives, the civilization that we’ve built, which is great, but we haven’t figured out how our spirits can have rest. What’s the longevity of our civilization if we don’t provide the spirits who are intrinsically, they are that civilization and they can’t rest? I see that on the street. I see that on people’s faces and so on. To me, part of contemporary art is choosing the subject matter, what it is you’re going to do.
And that in contemporary art, it almost matters more ever than in history, because there are so many possibilities. I feel naturally aligned in terms of my choice of subject matter, with Calder’s choice of subject matter. And there’s how many generations between this one, but really looking forward to the show. Just offering an entrance to these analogous expressions fulfilled through need of just two artists. Any two artists, it doesn’t matter who.
Debbie Millman:
Agnes Martin helped you get a job at Betty Parson’s gallery, which ultimately gave you your first show, but you also met a lot of the New York artists at that time. You met Ad Reinhardt. You met Mark Rothko. Talk about the influence that Ad Reinhardt had on you. I know that you’ve said that if Agnes Martin was the mother of your work, Ad Reinhardt was the father.
Richard Tuttle:
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. My position, as I see it, is probably concocted. Because when I started my work, I felt the great achievement in American art and recent art was the abstract expressionist. And that part of my work, as I saw that, was to show my respect for that art. Because other forms of isms had come along by that point, and I was not so interested in them as I was in the ism abstract expressionism. The way I handled that was I felt that I couldn’t … What is it?
It’s almost like maybe the image comes from a marathon race or something like that, or a horse race, where you can’t really get your stride until you move in front of the pack. Something like that. What I had to do was make something, achieve something that was equal to what they achieved as that group. I think at that point, let’s say the critics and the art historians were not as close to the jugular as an artist had to be, because talking about them as a group had to be supported for many reasons.
But what I saw was that all of them were involved in using time in their art, the same way you would use a piece of steel in a sculpture, the same way you would use the color red in a painting. That, physically. Whether it was Pollock, he recorded time with all these strips. Or Mark Rothko. You look at a Rothko, each time you focus on one of the colors, it’s a time and the overall painting is this particular relation in time. He was the last one to fulfill that work.
The black painting, which was the initial experience where you see black, that’s A. And then the time it takes you for the painting to show that it’s actually color is red, blue, green is the art of the painting. And that the B, you experience it as space in a sort of emotional way. But in a measured, physical way, you experience this as time. The achievement in terms of art? Yes. Is that a special definition of art? Probably so.
But there have been very few times in the history of the world where people have cared enough to create a conception of art in the first place, and then project a goal out of that. And then achieve that goal on top of it. My God, this is amazing. I felt I had to equal all of that in my own work. I think in the cloth orthogonals, which they have no top, no bottom, no front, no back, they can be on the floor, they can be on the wall, each one is a specific statement. It’s something I created to answer my needs to express myself.
Debbie Millman:
Well, what I’m so struck by, especially in your early work, was how much criticism you got.
Richard Tuttle:
Oh, yeah.
Debbie Millman:
Betty Parsons often said that she’d never dream of giving an artist who was younger than 35 a show, but she gave you one at 24. You were then included in a survey show in the Whitney in 1975, that provoked such dramatic reactions from observers and critics that it ultimately cost the curator, Marsha Tucker, her job for including you.
One of the critics, Hilton Kramer, of The New York Times, he eviscerated your work in a scathing column in The New York Times. And he stated, “Ludwig Mies van der Rohe’s dictum, ‘less is more’, in Mr. Tuttle’s work, less is unmistakably less. One is tempted to say where art is concerned, less has been never as less than this.” First of all, all great work provokes some type of uncertainty and vulnerability and fear. But what was so controversial about the work that resulted in Kramer’s disdain, utter disdain?
Richard Tuttle:
Yeah. Well, I’ve actually wondered that a lot myself, because I can see that my work is for everyone. But clearly it isn’t.
Debbie Millman:
Well, it wasn’t at that point.
Richard Tuttle:
Whatever the romance of the life of the artist, it’s real.
Debbie Millman:
Yeah.
Richard Tuttle:
It’s a life and death thing.
Debbie Millman:
Now, all these years later, all these decades later, The Wall Street Journal has stated you are the most influential and the most misunderstood contemporary artist in the time since that faithful Whitney show, the curator, Marsha Tucker went on to create the new museum in New York City.
Since then, the LA Times art critic, Christopher Knight, said this about the same art that Kramer crucified. “The work collectively ranks as Richard Tuttle’s most distinctive contribution to art history.” How do you make sense of reviews? How do you make sense of criticism? How do you keep yourself both separated from it, but also cognizant of it?
Richard Tuttle:
Well, this is part of why it’s such an extraordinary field. Because every artist wants more than anything else to be recognized. But once it’s recognized, you go so quickly into the fathead syndrome. That kills the work, because if you don’t do the work, the Fathead cannot do the kind of work that is worthy of recognition there.
And yet, it’s also yes, to be aggressive, to matter, to have a profile that means something to the world, on the one hand. On the other hand, none of that matters at all. The work is the only thing that matters. People have criticized me, I think, correctly for being too intense, to turn it up to a point, an intensity level that can’t be followed.
Debbie Millman:
Why?
Richard Tuttle:
Well, for me, one of the definitions of art that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is that it’s that thing which you can care so much about. Whatever you can care to your maximum possibility, that’s what art is. What can we do, or what is given life and the magnificent, the wonders of life? What can you say? What can you do? What can you think? Also, emotions. You can only process them. They could happen to you 50 years ago, but you can process them. What do you do in the meantime?
I’ve said this, that life is its own reward. But how do you live successfully your entire life? I find Asian wisdom shows that life is developmental, that you first have to learn life, whatever it is for you know, and then you have to stand out and you have to think for yourself. You have to, in a way, cancel what we learned. And then when that’s done, then you have to make a world for yourself. That’s the stage I’m in at the moment.
So many people will pass away because retirement is boring, but retirement, it can be also for some people, the best time of life. To have a life that equals life in a way, you have to succeed in each phase of life. And that requires reversing gears and sending the course in the opposite direction and so on.
All that to me is analogous to art strategies. That to live the kind of life, what I find equals life is to make the kind of art is the same as making the kind of art that I think equals art. Thank you, Mr. Kramer, for pointing that out.
Debbie Millman:
You’ve talked about how you feel like our culture today is very anti-hand, that people think it’s better to work with the head. Everybody’s aspiring to go to college so they don’t have to work with their hands. Yet, hands are a real source of intelligence, and you divorce yourself from a part of your intelligence without them.
Richard Tuttle:
I find many people need a mirror to the world. We’re living in this thing, and things change. There’s a current that blows through humanity one day to the next. And then the color green looks good this day, and the color purple looks good this day. We’re part of this fluidity and I think that’s part of my enjoyment of life is to sense these flows, these changes that take place. The index finger has, you could say, replaced the hand.
Debbie Millman:
Hmm. I love that. I love that.
Richard Tuttle:
It’s funny, but when I look at my index finger, anybody, you look at your index finger, you see how much it’s used. But it is the finger we point with. Your interest in the beginning, for example, beginning is rich because it’s that place from which we point. The potential in art is to bring things from the darkest side and from our doubts and from utter chaos. I’ve actually identified the most frightening thing for human beings is the absolute absence of light. And that, because even some people say our bodies produce cells, there are cells in our bodies that produce light, the same thing as light.
And so absolute no light means those cells cannot produce light either. That is true horror for us. In order to find rest for the spirit, those fears, those enormous fears have to be placated. Again, I think that for me, the role of the great artist is to placate those fears and give us, our spirits rest, and life. Hats off to anyone willing to contribute. Thank you, Debbie, for what you’re doing, because it gets out there. I can’t get it out there like you can.
Debbie Millman:
Well, thank you. Before I let you go, I do want to ask you about your current show. You just closed a show, a beautiful show of sculptures at Pace. Absolutely stunning. You have a show up now at Bard Graduate Center and it’s titled What Is The object? And the show features never-before-exhibited work, a personal collection of what might seem to be ordinary objects.
Furniture that you’ve designed to best display the objects. Some of these objects include duck decoys, a fragment of a Dutch ceramic, various bowls, various cloths and textiles, coins. What you refer to as the most beautiful camera, a Prussian cast iron urn, a set of plastic copies of flatware from MOS, from the 1980s, which man, I’d love to get my hands on, which you annotate as great design.
A policeman summer motorcycle hat, said to be from Chicago, in which you find the bulge of the head extraordinary to look at when fitted to a hat like this. As well as glassware, plastic ware, folk art, cookie cutters and more. It’s a beautiful show. What was the motivation of doing a show about specific things you collect?
Richard Tuttle:
Wow. That is an excellent question. I really would love to help people viscerally feel what it is to be alive in our culture, to be here and in this place. Because I think it’s beautiful in the first place. But also because of the singing, my singing, I’ve gotten into Stephen Foster, who people say is the father of American pop music. I’ve been reading a biography of him.
When he was a boy, almost every song that was written … Because in America, it was the first great cultural export of America was this new pop music, and certainly before painting or sculpture. Almost every song of that period had the word old, O-L-D in it.
Debbie Millman:
Oh, wow.
Richard Tuttle:
Yeah. If you go through a newspaper today with the ads and all that, the word that comes up most on the list is the word new.
Debbie Millman:
Huh. I would’ve thought love.
Richard Tuttle:
Well, I would’ve hoped love. Don’t you find that juxtaposition is so … The relation of old and new. The Bard show, curiously enough, I think one of the motivations behind that was that when I make the furniture, and it’s freshly painted and it’s sparkling white and all that, and it’s all in a pastels colors. And then my object collection tends to be brown. It’s dark brown. It’s like Baroque colors.
In our culture, American culture experience, we have the old, the thing that fascinates us by the old, because we’re not old. We’re really not old. And we love the new as well. In the show, which sits there, well, now it’s maybe two-and-a-half months, another month ago, but people go in there and they’ll respond to the furniture, which is like the way they would respond to the new. And other people go in there and respond to the objects, which brings the old.
Debbie Millman:
I thought you’d enjoy, I’m sure you know this, but in the review of your recent show at Bard, in The New York Times, the writer, Will Heinrich said this about interacting with the objects in your show. He says, “I’d become so used to meeting art through my eyes alone that I’d forgotten what an impoverished way that is to experience the world.”
Richard Tuttle:
Oh, yeah. Yeah.
Debbie Millman:
I thought that would make you happy.
Richard Tuttle:
Right.
Debbie Millman:
It made me happy.
Richard Tuttle:
No. The Bard show, it does try to get into one of the other senses; outside the visual, into the tactile. There’s no stopping there, because you can listen to it and you can smell the objects. I would have no problem if somebody tried to taste them either.
Debbie Millman:
Richard Tuttle, thank you so much for making such profound work that matters. And thank you for joining me today on Design Matters.
Richard Tuttle:
Very welcome. Yeah. I’ve enjoyed this, a lot.
Debbie Millman:
Richard Tuttle’s work can be seen at the Pace Galleries in cities, including New York and London, and currently at the Bard Graduate Center in New York City. The book about his collection is called Richard Tuttle: What Is the Object? This is the 18th year we’ve been podcasting Design Matters and I’d like to thank you for listening. And remember, we can talk about making a difference, we can make a difference, or we can do both. I’m Debbie Millman, and I look forward to talking with you again, soon.
Speaker 3:
Design Matters is produced for the TED Audio Collective by Curtis Fox Productions. The interviews are usually recorded at the School of Visual Arts in New York City, the first and longest running branding program in the world. The Editor-in-Chief of Design Matters Media is Emily Wiland.
Saleem Reshamwala:
Woo. What is happening in my mouth? My tongue is fizzing. It feels like pop rocks and lemonade. And now it’s salty. And now it feels like I’m eating meat. Now I’m tasting cheese. I have no idea what’s going on in my mouth.
I’m Saleem Reshamwala, and coming in June are 10 new episodes of Far Flung. Over the past few years, not many of us have been able to really travel and explore. One of the things that starts to happen is you can lose touch with that weird but wonderful feeling of being changed by new people and cultures. On Far Flung, we recapture some of that vibe.
This season, we collaborate with local producers in 10 more locations around the world, to understand ideas that flow from those places. You’ll journey to very tiny suspension bridges 400 feet up in the air, uniting people living in the mountains of Nepal.
Speaker 8:
It’s one thing to see it in papers, read about it, see videos, but it’s completely different thing to be there. It just goes on and on, and on, and on. And it becomes smaller and smaller, and almost disappears in the horizon, the other side.
Saleem Reshamwala:
You’ll hear tapes of Somali music that were hidden away, buried underground for years, in an attempt to make sure that they are never forgotten. (Singing) Meet journalists who’ve taken the city buses to deliver the news behind a cardboard cutout of a television set.
Speaker 9:
[foreign language 00:40:45].
Saleem Reshamwala:
And learn about how Iceland is struggling to strike a balance between keeping its language alive while still staying actively engaged with our constantly changing global culture.
Speaker 10:
Sometimes it just comes out like a blur, because I’m thinking in one language and speaking in another. It gets confusing sometimes.
Saleem Reshamwala:
Come with us and see what the world is dreaming up as we all try to get that feeling of traveling and getting hit by a new idea at the same time. That’s all part of a new season of Far Flung with me, Saleem Reshamwala. Coming June 9th on Apple Podcasts, and June 16th everywhere.