City Heights resident uses found objects in her exploration of the human body and its commodification
Tarrah Aroonsakool is really into trash.
Halfway through our conversation at her City Heights home she admits that she’s had to limit herself to how many times she goes to swap meets because she knows she’ll end up coming back with all sorts of knick-knacks, curiosities and ephemera.
“I’m definitely a collector of things,” says Aroonsakool, pointing to a wall-sized Vietnamese food menu, complete with pictures of the dishes, that she found after a nearby restaurant closed. “I know that I’m eventually going to do something with it.”
She even has something of an inside joke among friends that the art store she most frequently visits is right outside her door.
“My first studio, you could enter it through an alleyway, so I always joked that going through the alley was, for me, like going through an arts supply store,” she says, laughing. “I’m just shopping behind people’s trash cans in the alleyway.”
So as to not give the wrong impression, Aroonsakool is by no means a hoarder. Rather, she is attracted to the concept of what she calls the “lesser than.”
Whether it’s the discarded or unwanted materials she uses within her sculptural and painted works, or the thematic elements within those pieces, the clearest throughline within her work is the exploration of beauty and commodification. Whether it’s body parts rendered to look like chicken wings or a tissue paper sculpture resembling a butchered pig carcass, she admits her work is both enticing and disturbing, accessible but crass.
By incorporating everyday objects, even things many people consider to be trash, she says the viewer is able to find the value in these objects even if what they’re viewing can be initially bewildering.
“In a way, it makes people feel more comfortable, more open and receptive to the ideas presented in the work,” Aroonsakool explains. “My stuff can be on the gruesome side. Even with my watercolor paintings, I paint portraits of queer bodies, people that aren’t seen, by Western ideas, as what is beautiful.”
This exploration of “exaggerated bodily elements” and the “capitalist-promoted fetishistic gaze,” as she puts it, is something Aroonsakool has deftly explored since moving back to San Diego five years ago. Born and raised in the South Bay, growing up in National City and Bonita, she was often drawn to outsider art and ceramics. It’s likely what led her to eventually move to New Orleans, where she lived for six years. At the time, she says she had a very narrow outlook on the San Diego art scene.
“When I left San Diego I was like, ‘I don’t want to do beach art. I don’t want to paint dolphins. I don’t want my art in La Jolla,’” Aroonsakool says, laughing. “It was always like, ‘where’s the space for me?’”
Still, once she was living on her own for the first time in New Orleans, she began gravitating toward creating art using found materials not out of an overt desire, but rather out of necessity. Without a reliable kiln to fire and produce her ceramics, Aroonsakool says she began to create art using materials that were readily available.
“I found some cardboard boxes and started to paint on them. I ended up really liking the oil stains that would be on there,” says Aroonsakool, adding that it made her think “inside the box.”
“Pun intended,” she laughs. “I would incorporate things like the stains and the markings on the cardboard into the work. I realized that I really do love trash. In a sense, you’re limited by what you find, but it makes you think differently.”
She eventually moved back to San Diego to work at an art licensing company, moonlighting in the DIY art scene with organizations like Weird Hues, a Chula Vista warehouse space known for showcasing young and experimental local artists. Aroonsakool had a solo exhibition of her work at the space in March 2019.
“It was weird being back at first, like a tourist in your own hometown,” Aroonsakool says, adding that becoming involved with Weird Hues helped “kickstart” not only new work, but also the idea that it was possible to stay creative in a city that is often viewed as not valuing homegrown artists. “It showed me that I could make art in San Diego versus New Orleans.”
She’s kept that mindset since, incorporating everyday objects, found materials and household items into her work.
Aroonsakool admits that her work, including her paintings, can sometimes have color tones and even textures that are “meaty” and “nasty.” Tones of red and purple and pink abound and her new work incorporates papier-mâché and found materials to create disconcerting sculptural works that hang in her studio like a meat market.
She credits a 2021 group exhibition in City Heights (“Characters”) for reigniting her interest in sculptural works. And whereas her previous works were much more blatant (for example, a 2020 work featured a body on a plastic meat tray), her new work is more abstract in nature.
“Yes, bodies in general are a throughline, but I gravitate towards what I call ‘lesser than’ people,” Aroonsakool says. “When it comes to the current work, it has to do with the commodification of bodies — slicing and dissecting parts of us that are deemed as less, or cutting off the best parts of us and putting that on display.”
These days, she produces most of this work in a City Heights space she shares with the owners of Teros Gallery and Burn All Books, both of whom lost their previous brick and mortar locations during the COVID-19 pandemic. There is a palpable energy within the studio, emblematic of the DIY hustle of local creatives; that is, that in a city where being an artist is not commensurate with the cost of living, collaboration and communal mindsets are downright imperative.
“Being part of the community is really important,” says Aroonsakool who has also volunteered and done mentorships at a number of community organizations and nonprofits. “Whether it’s a friendship that might end up influencing my work or it might lead to me finding new materials, I just generally want to connect with my surroundings.”
Aroonsakool has recently been hosting open studio events to get feedback on her new work, which she will eventually showcase at a solo installation at Hill Street Country Club in Oceanside in June. She’s also planning a new large-scale sculptural work which will be installed at the corner of El Cajon Boulevard and Euclid Avenue.
She mentions she quit her job to devote herself full-time to her practice. One gets the sense she’s on a bit of a roll, having finally found, in digging through the literal and metaphorical debris of life, the art and the community she’s always desired.
“I do see what all of us see; what it was and what it could be,” Aroonsakool says. “And so I do think that a lot of us are trying to create that atmosphere that we want to see.”
“It’s a community,” Aroonsakool adds. “If one of us succeeds, we all succeed. And that’s something I’m seeing throughout San Diego.”
Combs is a freelance writer.
Tarrah Aroonsakool
Age: 28
Born: San Diego
Fun Fact: Aroonsakool created one of her new sculptural works, “Rib Special,” using newsprint papier-mâché, cardboard and, of all things, paper toilet seat covers.