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Studio visit

WMN Studio visit with Milena Díaz Rojas

Quito, Ecuador

In this WMN Studio visit we talk with with Ecuadorian poet Milena Díaz Rojas (She/ her – they/them). Her poem “Serranía/Mountainous” was featured in issue 4 When We Leave. Each studio visit highlights one of WMN contributors in the space where they make their art and poetry, as a way to get to know all of the amazing talent that contribute to the zines.

Háblanos un poco de dónde vives y en dónde trabajas

Ahora mismo estoy en Quito, en un barrio en la periferia norte de Quito, llamado Carapungo, aquí, aunque la mayoría de calles están pavimentadas, el polvo baila en el aire. 

Al momento no dispongo de un estudio, me atrevería a decir que la mayor parte del tiempo trabajo en mi habitación y en la terraza, porque son los espacios en donde me siento más confortable. Pero, como la poesía para mí acontece en cualquier lugar y en cualquier momento, me atrevería a decir, que incluso e escrito largo en algún trayecto en el transporte público.

Tell us a bit about where you are based, and where you work.

Right now I am in Quito, located in a peripheral neighborhood of the North. This place is called Carapungo, although most of the streets are paved there is a lot of dust dancing in the air. 

At the moment I don’t have a studio, I would dare to say that most of the time I work in my room and at the terrace, because those are the spaces where I feel most comfortable. But, as poetry for me happens anywhere and at any time, I would dare to say, that I have even written long on some public transport journey.

Cuéntanos sobre tu formación y cómo y cuando empezaste tu práctica creativa

Mi acercamiento a la práctica artística se dio primero por el teatro y por la danza -clásica y contemporánea-. En un tiempo sufrí una lesión bastante fuerte en el tendón inferior de la pierna izquierda, lo que me impidió continuar bailando como único medio de expresión, y sobre todo supervivencia. En ese tiempo, comencé a escribir y retomé lecturas que habían sido sustituidas por contenido meramente de artes escénicas. Recordé que había aprendido a leer a los tres años de edad, y que amaba escribir cuentos cuando era niña. Apliqué a varias convocatorias, que me hicieron sentir/ver que había encontrado, por fin otro medio que hacía que la vida tuviese sentido. 

En cuanto a la performance, nace de la imposibilidad del movimiento corporal, es decir, por ejemplo, la performance, a diferencia de la danza, permite que todos los cuerpos expresen, sin importar las limitaciones (pensando en que la hegemonía e hiperfuncionalidad en los cuerpos es algo que está presente en la danza – clásica y contemporánea-). La performance me permite, entonces alargar mi trabajo y posturas políticas a un plano sensorial. 

Tell us a bit about your background and how and when you started your creative practice

My approach to artistic practice was first through theater and dance -ballet and contemporary-. At one time I suffered a fairly severe injury to the lower tendon of my left leg, which prevented me from continuing to dance as the only means of expression, and above all survival. At that time, I began to write and took up readings that had been replaced by merely performing arts content. I remembered that I had learned to read when I was three years old, and that I loved writing stories as a child. I applied to several calls, which made me feel/see that I had finally found another medium that made life make sense.

As for performance, it is born from the impossibility of body movement, that is, for example, performance, unlike dance, allows all bodies to express themselves, regardless of limitations (thinking that hegemony and hyperfunctionality in bodies is something that is present in dance – ballet and contemporary-). The performance allows me, then, to extend my work and political positions to a sensory plane.

¿Cómo y en qué momento desarrollas tu trabajo?

Depende, generalmente, si se trata de poesía, sucede de forma random, una idea transcurrida por una emoción o sentimiento viene a mi mente, hay algo que detona que eso llegue a mi mente. A partir de ahí, lo escribo en lo que tenga a mano, prefiero que sea en un cuaderno, pero si no, lo hago en las notas del celular, después, me toma días seguidos editarlo literariamente hasta que tenga sentido.  Aunque también me ha pasado que un poema me agrada a la primera. 

En la performance, en cambio, puedo llevar meses con una idea en la cabeza, retroceder-avanzar. Hasta que finalmente sé cómo llevarla a práctica. 

When and how do you make your work?

It depends, generally, if it is poetry, it happens randomly, an idea passed by an emotion or feeling comes to my mind, there is something that triggers that comes to my mind. From there, I write it in whatever I have on hand, I prefer it to be in a notebook, but if not, I do it in the notes of the cell phone, then it takes me days in a row to edit it literally until it makes sense. Although it has also happened to me that a poem pleases me at first.

In performance, on the other hand, I can carry out months with an idea in my head, go back-forward. Until I finally know how to put it into practice.

Compártenos sobre algún proyecto actual o algún proyecto que hayas finalizado recientemente.

Estoy trabajando en dos libros, el primero es de poesía. En él quiero hablar sobre relaciones familiar, lo territorial, y mi identidad lésbica. En el segundo que es narrativo, estoy hablando sobre mi identidad racial “chola”. 

En performance, estoy aprendiendo de memoria un texto larguísimo de una escritora que admiro un montón, Yuliana Ortiz Ruano. Haré una video-performance con su texto. Y también, como homenaje al paro en Ecuador de junio de 2022, haré una performance en conmemoración, irrumpiendo en el palacio de Carondelet.

Share a bit about a current project you are working on or something you just finished?

I am working on two books, the first is poetry. In it I want to talk about family relationships, territoriality, and my lesbian identity. In the second one, which is narrative, I am talking about my “chola” racial identity.

In performance, I’m memorizing a very long text by a writer I admire a lot, Yuliana Ortiz Ruano. I will make a video-performance with her text. And also, as a tribute to the strike in Ecuador in June 2022, I will do a performance in commemoration, breaking into the Carondelet palace. 

¿Ha afectado de algún modo ser Lesbiana en tu trabajo? Y si es así ¿De qué manera?

En poesía es en donde más influye, ahí escribo muchas cosas que son evidentes aún sin ser explicitas. Siento también que cada identidad que atraviesa el cuerpo, irremediablemente traspasa todos los ámbitos. No es necesario que una persona trabaje en torno a sus identidades, es una elección. Pero, aunque no lo estés haciendo enfocada en cierto tema, tu trabajo siempre estará salpicado de tu identidad, lugar de enunciación, y posturas políticas. 

Does being a Lesbian/Dyke inform your work? If so, how?

In poetry is where it influences the most, there I write many things that are evident even without being explicit. I also feel that each identity that crosses the body inevitably crosses all areas. It is not necessary for a person to work around their identities, it is a choice. But, even if you are not doing it focused on a certain topic, your work will always be dotted with your identity, place of enunciation, and political positions.

Basada en tu experiencia como artista y poeta lesbiana ¿Qué consejo le darías a otras artists lesbianas?

Creo que es importante nuestro trabajo, aún vivimos en un mundo lleno de lesbo-fobia, lo cual hace que nuestra existencia aún sea considerada “peligrosa” para ciertos círculos. Tengo la impresión de que en el 2022 todavía estamos construyendo/abriendo camino para las siguientes generaciones lésbicas (y aunque a mí no me interese la maternidad biológica), me hace ilusión que las nuevas infancias puedan vivir en una sociedad más justa en cuanto a identidades sexo-genéricas. 

Based on your experience as a lesbian/dyke artist and writer, what advice do you have for other lesbian/dyke artists?

I think our work is important, we still live in a world full of lesbo-phobia, which means that our existence is still considered “dangerous” by certain circles. I have the impression that in 2022 we are still building/paving the way for the following lesbian generations (and although I am not interested in biological motherhood), I am excited that new childhoods can live in a fairer society in terms of sex-generic identities.


Quito, 1999. 

Milena, mula se mueve en la excolonia de lo que hoy es Quito. Explora la escritura, el performance y las artes visuales, con el fin de pasar del cuerpo al papel y del cuerpo/cuero a lo material. 

Investiga y experimenta en torno al antirracismo, disidencias sexo-genéricas, decolonialidad, e identidad chola. 

Quito, 1999.

Milena, a mule (a stubborn woman, a woman who’s always does what she wants, even when the worlds tells her that she can’t) moves in the former colony of what is now Quito, exploring writing, performance and the visual arts, moving from the body to paper and from the body to matter.

Through her work she investigates and experiments with anti-racism, sex-gender dissidence, decolonialism and the chola identity.

You can follow her at @mulamid

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Studio visit

WMN Studio visit with Carson Wolfe

Manchester, England

In this Studio visit WMN meets with Mancunian poet Carson Wolfe (they/them) who just published the chapbook Boy(ish) Vest. Their poem “It’s not a ‘Support Bubble’. Bitch. It’s a Coven” was featured in issue 3 Taking Space. Each studio visit highlights one of WMN contributors in the space where they make their art and poetry, as a way to get to know all of the amazing talent that contribute to the zines. 

Carson by their computer, as they say “The photo of me is how I am usually slumped around the house on my laptop. I have some work to do in the ergonomic area lol. “

Tell us a bit about where you are based, and where you work.

I am based in Stretford – a shit Manchester suburb in the midst of gentrification. I always say you can’t polish a turd, but the espresso machines popping up on every corner are proving me wrong. I was raised here, travelled a lot, and now live on the same street I grew up on—two doors away from my mum. I share a desk in a studio for artists, but I often write from my bed or the floor with one of those TV dinner trays. I have a wife, three children, and a cat at home, which means I’m lucky if I get five minutes with Google Docs on the toilet, the only door with a lock.

Tell us a bit about your background and how and when you started your creative practice?

I have been writing for as long as I can remember, but I only started editing in 2020, which is the same time I began my publishing career as a poet. Before that, I worked as a freelance portrait artist selling very kinky artwork on the side. I stopped painting to write poetry, which is mostly unpaid at this point, but I don’t mind. I was lucky to land a very flexible job to subsidise my income.

When and how do you make your work?

I work in random spurts and at the absolute whim of my ADHD brain. However, when my life looks more orderly, my best time to write is after the kids have gone to school. I don’t eat, I just drink coffee and write from 9am until 1ish. By then I’ve worked up an appetite and usually stop for the day. Sometimes I carry on into the night and become a ghost to my family, but that’s been harder to do since my wife and I welcomed baby Sojourner, who is now eight months old. Those chubby little cheeks are a major distraction.

Share a bit about a current project you are working on or something you just finished?

I just published Boy(ish) Vest – a chapbook of my best published work mixed with exclusive new poems. This was published in Autumn of 2022 by Hidden Voice Publishing (a local publishing house run by a lesbian/gay dreamteam). Further to this, I am working on my debut collection of poetry which has been twice a finalist for a book deal with Write Bloody UK (and I am twice the sore loser). This project explores a lot of the travelling I spoke of earlier. I left two abusive relationships, and then England altogether to live in a hippy commune in Spain with my three year old daughter. Since then, we have had a lot of adventures. One summer I bummed around twenty odd states with my small child and girlfriend/not-girlfriend (the label depends on who is telling the story, haha). We lived VERY wild, VERY free, and a lot of these moments are working their way into my manuscript. I’m obsessed with subverting the American travelling hobo ideal. IE. Jack Kerouac and his pals. I want to show people that women can be hedonistic arseholes too. Lol. Feminism.

Basically, I am rewriting the classic road trip story from the perspective of me, a dyke mother confused by my own tits, and a femme lesbian who⁠—and I don’t mean to stereotype—can’t live without red lipstick.

Does being a Lesbian/Dyke inform your work? If so, how?

I write about my family, gender, sex, and dildos. Therefore, my queerness is usually always in conversation with the poems I write. There are themes I explore that aren’t explicitly queer, but that leads to a big question. What makes a poem queer? Is it queer in the subject matter, or is it queer because I wrote it?

Based on your experience as a lesbian/dyke artist and writer, what advice do you have for other lesbian/dyke artists?

Never stop writing about your period or fisting. No matter what anyone says, the world has not heard enough.

“I took a photo of the fire escape because I love the birds singing out there”


Carson Wolfe is an award winning Mancunian poet. Their work is forthcoming with Rattle, and has appeared with Button, Fourteen Poems, and The Penn Review, among others. They currently serve as a teaching assistant to Megan Falley on her renowned writing workshop Poems That Don’t Suck. You can follow them at @vincentvanbutch and https://linktr.ee/carsonwolfepoet

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Studio visit

WMN Studio visit with kevanté ac cash

Nassau, the Bahamas

In this inaugural WMN Studio visit, meet literary artist and experimental filmmaker kevanté ac cash (they/she), their poems “that night” and “views from ella’s old room” were featured in issue 4 When We Leave. Each studio visit highlights one of WMN contributors in the space where they make their art and poetry, as a way to get to know all of the amazing talent that contribute to the zines. 

Wide shot of kevanté sitting on the floor handwriting in their sketch pad

Tell us a bit about where you are based (which city and neighborhood), and where you work (in a separate studio, in your bedroom, in the kitchen, everywhere?).

I’m based in Nassau, New Providence, which is the capital of The Bahamas. In being based here, I acknowledge my privilege in having access to more resources that allows my practice to fully exist, in comparison to other artists based on our Family Islands who may not have similar access. As a literary artist and experimental filmmaker, I work primarily from my living room space (literally sitting on the floor, drafting texts in my sketch pad, then typing them up on my laptop); a local coffee shop; or in my friend’s press shop library space.

Tell us a bit about your background and how and when you started your creative practice?

I think I was about 7 or 8 when I first started writing. I didn’t know how to express my feelings verbally at the time, so I used letters to communicate to my parents and friends what was going on internally. I’d write love letters and apology letters and design little elements like colorful hearts, and glittery flowers, to make them more personable and visually appealing. Then, in third grade, I joined a creative writing after-school club that pushed me to write more prolifically, and tap into my imagination to produce stories that at the time, I considered were pretty cool and imaginative. I think I’d credit my third grade teacher Ms. Johnson for making me believe writing creatively could be something I can pursue long-term. 

Fast forward to a year after undergraduate studies in 2018, and I found myself needing to express my internal world in a way my BA in journalism could not afford me; so I began writing prose poetry, because I couldn’t quite understand how poetic form worked just yet. I joined a writers’ circle called Big Poets! at home, that included, and still include, some of the most amazing Bahamian women writers I’ve ever known, and have the privilege of reading. It was through their encouragement that I felt I could take creative writing seriously, and even pursue it at a graduate level, to continue my development. A year after obtaining my MA, and a few publications later, here we are lol.

When and how do you make your work? 

I think I make work when I get random spurts of inspiration via reading, or watching a show or film, or after a good conversation with a friend or family member, or an upsetting conversation with a friend or family member, or while people-watching at the beach. I get inspired to make work prolifically, then I have moments of down time where I go weeks without making work, and I’m just in the editing phase – like where I’m at, at the moment. 

Close-up shot of working space in kevanté’s living room. Items in image: Audre Lorde’s The Black Unicorn, Nita Tyndell’s Who I Was With Her, two notebooks – one for poetry, one journaling, and laptop.

Share a bit about a current project you are working on or something you just finished?

Currently I’m working on producing a photographic and poetic exhibition that discusses the impact of colorism on the mental health of queer Afro-Bahamian people, as well as my first pamphlet exploring themes of queer self-love.  

Does being a Lesbian/Dyke inform your work? If so, how?

Most definitely. I’ve been openly queer for five years now, but have just adopted the label of lesbian in the last year. (So I’m a baby lez lol). But I think because a lot of my work is introspective, the work I’m making now especially has been informed by my lesbian identity. Recognizing and claiming this identity has helped me to pick apart and interrogate the many false versions of myself, and write about them with radical honesty and self-forgiveness. I truly do love who I’ve become, and am continuing to shape into.

Based on your experience as a lesbian/dyke artist and writer, what advice do you have for other lesbian/dyke artists?

As a baby lesbian artist, I’d say to other baby lesbian artists, to not be afraid to fully embrace who you are, and share that within your work in ways that are obvious or coded – whichever feels right for you. I find there is a healing element in showing up to your practice as all of who you are, celebrating the beautiful parts, and holding tender space for the parts not so beautiful. Just be you. 


kevanté ac cash is a Nassau-Bahamian literary artist who sometimes experiments with scratch film. Their practice explores the emotional landscapes of living with mental illness and a queer Afro-Caribbean identity. This manifests as poetry and poetic films, creative nonfiction, and personal essays. They make work to keep a record of their existence. 

With a BA in Media Journalism and MA in Creative Writing, kevanté has been published across the Caribbean, US and UK. you can follow them at @alexia_chatelle and https://linktr.ee/alexia_chatelle