LIVE WIRE, LIFEBLOOD: RADIO JOURNALIST TANIA KETENJIAN ENLIGHTENS AND NOURISHES, ONE INTERVIEW AT A TIME
By Lucine Kasbarian

originally published in Hairenik / Armenian Weekly
Art Threat Magazine, Canada

June 13 2007

A financier is provoked to discover himself, his life, and the world
anew when he awakes one morning lost, bewildered and alone, having
contracted retrograde amnesia through the night.

A photo assistant scribbles his phone number on a chalkboard prop
photographed for a "Crate & Barrel" catalog, only to receive 15,000
phone calls from around the country. He organizes a "National Dinner
Tour" to interview his newfound friends and make art from these
encounters.

An "accent elimination course" spurs a New York woman to produce a
sound-art pastiche and social commentary about cultural preservation
and assimilation by trying to acquire her Lebanese-Armenian father’s
and Finnish-Swedish mother’s foreign accents, while they unsuccessfully
try to lose theirs.

In response to rampant shoplifting and gross consumerism, an artist
collective leaves behind hand-crafted objects on grocery shelves
to make political statements known as "shop dropping" and "culture
jamming."

These are some of the eclectic, eccentric, and enigmatic stories heard
on Tania Ketenjian’s provocative programs airing on radio stations
around the country and the globe. Many of her storylines emerge from
the depths of creative expression-from the lives of visual artists,
actors, writers or musicians. Other interviewees are not artists
at all. The common thread throughout is that the voices, ideas
and emotions brought to the airwaves-and facilitated by Tania’s
own discernment, aptitude and finesse-serve to tell stories that
often are not, and to spotlight or question prevailing standards,
preconceptions and realities held and presented in our increasingly
pre-packaged and sanitized world. [More…]

Raised in San Francisco by Lebanese-Armenian parents, Tania’s entry
into radio was not immediate. She moved east to study poetry and
creative writing at Bard College in New York, and later moved to New
York City, where she lived for five years, first designing and editing
for Seven Stories Press-a radical and independent book publisher. Her
genuine interest in people and inherent curiosity about the world
led her to interview authors and artists for City in Exile-a local
arts program on listener-sponsored WBAI Radio in NYC.

Working at WBAI cemented her appetite for radio. And yet, with such
deep ties to family, Tania heeded her mother’s call to return home to
San Francisco, where Tania now lives with her husband Philip Wood, a
British furniture designer and curator and manufacturer of conceptual
art and design objects.

Today, Tania’s radio work takes many forms: As an independent
journalist and producer, her segments can be heard on "Studio 360,"
a quirky arts program nationally syndicated through Public Radio
International; on the popular and nationally syndicated "Weekend
America" on American Public Media; and on National Public Radio’s
"Day to Day." Tania also hosts and produces a weekly arts program
called "Sight Unseen" that airs on KALX in Berkeley, California, and
on Resonance FM in London, England. The program asks interviewees
and listeners to consider how the ideas put forth affect the way
we view the world and ourselves. In addition, she is the West Coast
Correspondent for "WPS1 Art Radio"-established by the Museum of Modern
Art in New York and the world’s first Internet art station.

Her programs also air on stations abroad such as ABC in Australia,
BBC in England, and CBC in Canada.

If this were not enough, Tania is also the co-executive producer
of Thin Air Media, an independently run company producing audio
documentaries. Yet still, Tania teaches audio production at the
California College of the Arts, and also participates in a San
Francisco-based artist’s collective called Quorum. Much like French
journalist Bernard Pivot’s Proustian "Ten Questions," Tania asks us
to consider questions about our common existence-as a participatory
exercise, a starting point of unity, and a springboard for dialogue.

Most recently at an open studios event in which her studio
participated, she asked those gathered to discuss their first encounter
with art.

Though Tania does not consider herself a sound artist, her work
defines her as a portraitist of a different sort. Tania once produced a
program about the love affair between visionary opposites, portrait and
landscape photographer Edward Weston and radical activist-photographer
Tina Modotti. Tania’s own contributions to radio and society seem to
embody both aspects of their natures.

On one hand and like the aesthetically inclined Weston, Tania
explores what life, beauty and essence means to herself and to others
through the subjects she spotlights. On the other hand, and like the
politically motivated Modotti, Tania’s work causes us to think about
how art manifests in social movements, compels us to question and find
meaning in everything, and then act upon those impulses. Perhaps the
most compelling and precise of all descriptions of Tania came from
her former employer, Dan Simon, publisher of Seven Stories Press,
when he called her "hemoglobin," the protein in the human body that
transports oxygen from the lungs to the tissues, and carbon dioxide
from the tissues to the lungs. What hemoglobin does for oxygen and
those who subsist by it is what Tania does for (radio) air and those
who are nourished by it. Indeed, Tania the conduit is as vital a
substance as the life-giving content she transports.

Most recently, Tania and radio partner Ahri Golden, both executive
producers of Thin Air Media, completed a documentary called BIRTH,
a one-hour public radio and audio journey through the practices and
perceptions of birth in this country. BIRTH’s intention is to ask,
"What is the birth experience in America today, and how does it
reflect on our culture?" A companion project in progress, called THE
BIRTH TOUR, is a series of national events that gather people to talk
about birth. Could it be any more fitting that the woman described as
a life-sustaining agent should labor to produce a documentary about
the life-giving process itself?

In a telephone interview, Tania Ketenjian discussed her work, her
ideas, and her Armenian identity.

Lucine Kasbarian: It is an honor to speak with you, Tania. Thank
you for doing what you do, and in the way that you do it. Would you
explain why you do what you do, and how you feel it affects the world
around you?

Tania Ketenjian: Thank you for asking me these questions. I’m so
used to being the questioner, it’s exciting to be on the receiving
end and think about and discuss these things. As a journalist, I
seek to shed light on the fundamental truths of human experience. To
do this, I most often choose to feature art-makers as a force for
change because the creation of art is such a private process, and
yet it is something that is publicly displayed. This contradiction
is fascinating, and I enjoy the intersection of the two. What I
love about art is that something so personal is left to the eyes
and perceptions of the outside world. With the people I interview,
I try to dig deeper, beyond the art, and try to see what their work
reflects about human nature, tendencies, needs, fears. How are these
artists challenged by their work and changed by it? How are they
finding and expressing love or politics through it? Life can be
difficult and being a professional artist is a huge challenge. One
must be so committed to become an artist, and unfortunately it’s rare
to come across people who are passionate about what they do. In this
way, I can come across those people every day. This work inspires me
because I get to be around those who are inspired, who are committed
to doing what they believe in and who want to make some sort of change,
a shift in people’s awareness, an interrupt. Seeing them makes me want
to do the same. And I love people. Just hearing their words and their
insights confirms my belief in the magic of life. I feel blessed and
privileged to have the opportunity to do this. I couldn’t without the
support of my extended family and the opportunities they’ve given me
in life. They sacrificed so that I could have a chance. I also do this
because I feel a lot of people don’t get heard. I try to interview
those who aren’t normally brought on the air. These are people with
beautiful, interesting, powerful things to say. Paradoxical as it may
sound, radio interviews give them the opportunity to be "seen"-and
appreciated for what they do.

If I didn’t become a radio journalist, I think I would have become a
therapist. It’s amazing how much can happen when you are silent. My
Grandpa used to always encourage me to do this, to truly listen. When
someone is being listened to, it’s amazing what will come out of him
or her. In that process, the interviewees have a chance to learn about
themselves, their work, and the change they make in their communities
and environment.

LK: How have your personal politics and views of the world influenced
the stories you’ve sought to cover? You feature Armenian artists now
and then, and the ones you choose appear to be fully in line with your
work, which highlights the seemingly offbeat things that marginalized
people can do. How does your Armenianness affect the stories you cover,
and under what circumstances do you feature Armenians on the air?

TK: It’s inevitable that one interjects his or her views, interests,
and personal experiences into what they’re attracted to-consciously
or unconsciously. The issues that appeal to me often revolve around a
sense of place. I have interviewed a variety of artists that deal with
this-the filmmaker Wim Wenders, Atom Egoyan, artists living in Cuba,
and of course lesser-known names. Sometimes the names we haven’t heard
as often are more original. They aren’t used to being interviewed,
so their answers are unique. Perhaps I gravitate to these people
because of my own background and culture, as well as my own nature. I
have great reverence for family and people that came here not knowing
anything about the culture or language, and yet integrated in a way
that allowed them to be prosperous. The struggle of being an outsider
and yet integrating the self with a new identity and how these lines
cross interests me. I can’t deny my respect for family, familial
closeness, and the collective Armenian sense of determination. We
Armenians are a passionate people. This respect carries over into an
interest I have for all sorts of cultures.

Though I was not forced out of my native land as others were, Atom
Egoyan, in his films Ararat and Calendar, discusses what people adopt,
even if they didn’t experience certain things personally.

Understanding a sense of place allows one to gain a better
understanding of themselves and why they make certain choices, and
hopefully sets the groundwork for a clearer future. This idea is
particularly strong with the Armenians, especially in our Diasporan
culture. These aspects, and a natural curiosity, are all parts of
being a journalist. This is how my Armenian identity shows itself in my
work. And inevitably, my Armenianness does affect the stories I choose
to cover because it’s part of who I am. I am interested in language and
history, in obligation and choice, in conforming and not conforming,
and so much of this comes up in Armenian culture. Because Armenians
have had to remain united, they have had to stick to traditions. It’s
important to question those traditions, and artists are often doing
that. They are in a constant process of questioning.

It’s that process that is of value, not so much the answers you come
up with. I recently became a reporter for "The Armenian Reporter"
newspaper, and I am now immersed in the ways Armenians are exploring
identity and history. This gives me yet another avenue in which to
express what I encounter among the Armenians.

LK: What is it about the Armenian culture that makes you feel you
grew up with a strong Armenian identity?

TK: First and foremost, the language. And it’s not just the spoken
word and how that is different from English, but its intonations
and even idiomatic phrases that have affected me. I become another
person when I speak a different language, at least another part of
who I am already. I think that’s very true about those who speak
several languages, it calls upon a different voice, way of thinking,
connection. There are so many small things that are reminders-it’s
all-pervasive in a strangely innocuous way. Phone calls from Lebanon
were a staple as I was growing up. Picking up my grandparents from the
international arrivals section of the airport was always an interesting
experience. Smells, food, and of course, certain codes of manners and
politeness we practiced, right down to how we’d stand by the curb when
company drove away, or how my Mom opened her eyes wide when I’d say
something inappropriate. But having said all this, I didn’t grow up
going to church or belonging to Armenian organizations. I can’t make
sweeping generalizations, but Armenians can have a particular way of
viewing the world and notions about how one should be. It’s like I was
saying before, it’s one of the perils of tradition. We are expected to
choose practical professions and remain bonded to family and sometimes
this can be difficult for Armenians, and for Armenian creatives, in
particular. I find that a lot of Armenians can feel alienated because
of the choices they’ve made in their lives. There’s a warmth and a
joviality that I find in Armenian culture and at the same time there’s
a slight rigidity and that can easily be eradicated. It’s about sharing
ideas and coming together in an authentic way that simultaneously
speaks to both one’s Armenian identity and personal endeavor. My
Armenianess is a contradiction, I hold true to certain values but
in some ways I have picked an unconventional profession. However,
the values that I have make that profession possible. I think that’s
often overlooked in Armenian culture, image becomes more important
than intention. That’s something that I think we can be more aware of.

LK: Regarding how Armenian creatives can feel like outsiders or
outcasts within our Diasporan communities for holding unconventional
views or lifestyles, how might the Armenian community better embrace
or welcome Armenian creatives? Is there a way for such marginalization
to be turned into an asset?

TK: Firstly, most people in the world feel marginalized. They do not
feel connected or represented, and that’s why people join groups or
create clear identities for themselves, so that they can feel less
alone. The good thing about being slightly alienated is that it offers
you a chance to observe and expose things in a way that you couldn’t
if you were on the inside. Marginalization allows you to see in a
deeper way. You are already marginalized, so what have you got to
lose? Artists are often marginalized so through their work they can
be blunt and take risks. Hopefully a marginalized person’s attitudes,
views and beliefs will resonate with others, and then like-minded
people can meet, join in, create community and grow together. Also,
when you are marginalized, you have to understand yourself better
because the environment that you exist in does not reflect back to
you who you are. That level of self-awareness will hopefully increase
the value of what you are putting out into the world in a conscious
way. And being marginalized goes hand in hand with taking risks. And
risk is a great way to accomplish your dreams.

Filmmaker Atom Egoyan holds values that may be considered traditionally
Armenian and yet, in his work, he doesn’t hide the darker side of the
human experience, whether it is about love, loss, passion, identity,
falsehoods or truths. That’s risky and it’s real.

The whole point of journalism is to communicate, connect, to talk
about the things that most people don’t (even if they think it),
and then to grow. That’s why communication is so important; it’s
the greatest stepping-stone to change. These are some of the
assets of marginalization but I think it can be very difficult
for Armenian creatives. There are many misconceptions out there:
[that] creatives are non-traditionals, not hard working, and maybe
even not very moral, and all of these are inaccurate. What would be
ideal would be for there to be a place or more places for Armenian
creativity to shine, for Armenian creatives to come together, whether
they are visual artists, musicians or filmmakers. They are out there,
making documentaries, music, books, expressing themselves through and
through. If these communities came together across America and the
world for that matter, they could be stronger as one group and they
could feel recognized and they could be heard. It is the change that
happens when someone expresses what they believe in and then follows
it through that is profound. Some of the most important people in
history who have instigated change worked against the grain and it
is those whom we remember now. So it’s important to value difference
and to bring that to the surface so that we can learn from it.

LK: Why haven’t these sorts of groups formed, in your opinion?

TK: I think we often hope someone else will do it! And Armenians
aren’t the only ones who have this tendency. Life gets busy.

Organizing is time-consuming. Sometimes we doubt ourselves and we
think, who will care. This sort of work and commitment needs to be
a priority in life, and that’s an enormous investment. Armenians
are inherently welcoming people and as a community, we want what’s
best for our people. I think such artist cells or organizations,
once formed, would thrive amongst our own.

LK: Speaking of journalists talking about elephants in the room,
how serious are competitive jealousies among Armenians and Armenian
creatives, and how can Armenians-creatives or not-cope with this?

TK: Competition is such an unhealthy characteristic, in my opinion,
and I say this as a very competitive backgammon player! Sharing
and learning, on the other hand, is a community act. It is better
to learn from each other and help one another than to compete. I’ve
learned a lot from my mother’s example on this point. She’s a strong
Armenian woman, a lawyer, a professor, a writer, a broker and she’s
not competitive at all! She has modeled for me that you can move
forward in life and pursue your dreams from a place of passion and
belief. She has shown me that accomplishment and competitiveness
don’t have to go hand in hand. Her life has been about doing what’s
better for someone else. Ultimately, we want to be inspired by the
people around us. We all have something that we do better than others,
just as others possess something they can do better than we do. In my
opinion, the cure for competition is solidarity. We are all in this
together. It’s not about each one for him- or herself. It’s about
everything for the betterment of all-whether we’re talking family,
community, or the world-at-large.

LK: Your website describes how institutions and individuals can
purchase the "BIRTH" documentary and "BIRTH in the classroom," a
companion program that introduces students to the birthing process-from
conception all the way to delivery. How can the Armenian community
support you?

TK: Supporting "BIRTH in the Classroom" would be extraordinary. It’s
unconventional, and I’d be curious to see how the Armenian community
reacts to it. However, the kind of support from Armenians that I’d
welcome would be their belief in me…that I could help represent
them in a way that would make a positive impact in their lives and
the lives of others. I would be nourished and touched by that. At
the end of my career, I would be gratified if interviewees felt that
their stories were told in a way they would want them to be told.

When all is said and done, we journalists enter people’s homes and talk
of things that have great meaning for them. I’m honored that these
people place their trust in me and believe that their words won’t be
manipulated. Journalism is a lot like psychology. We ask questions,
we do lots of listening, we learn a lot about the personal lives
of others. Time and again, the interviews strengthen my belief in
humanity and that there are people out there supporting each other
and hoping to make a change in their environment. So to support me,
I’d say, "Approach me with your stories." The best I can do is give
people the opportunity to express themselves and to be a conduit for
their stories to be told.

LK: How do you think art can be "political?"

TK: Art is an exchange between viewer and creator. Its effect is in
that communication, and that communication is constantly evolving. So
firstly, art can only be political when the observer is willing
to look at a piece through that lens. Contemporary art has a huge
political bent, almost at the risk of abnegating beauty. There can be
value in this because it increases awareness, engages discussion and
has the ultimate affect of changing perspective. At the same time,
I find that work such as landscapes or fiction, seemingly more
traditional work that doesn’t have an overt political statement,
is sometimes the most political. It offers a moment of reflection,
of quiet, of solitary experience between a work of art and yourself.

That can be very political. It also depends on the definition of
political and what political means for you. Art is a private expression
in a very public sphere and that in and of itself is political. The
most important thing however is to be authentic–regardless of your
views and the exact way you choose to express them. As long as you’re
true to what you believe, then some message will come across.

LK: What would your dream assignment be?

TK: I could say interviewing the leading artists of the world,
or being sent to an exotic location to cover a story, but that’s
not the case. The quirky stories are my bread and butter, but the
stories that touch on universal themes are my dream assignments. When
I returned to California from New York, I took a three-month-long road
trip and interviewed people along the way. At the time, there were
lots of people complaining about not being happy, and psychoactive
pharmaceutical drugs seemed to be manufacturing happiness in America.

In light of this, I wanted to ask everyday people what the pursuit
of happiness was all about. Was it about chasing a dream? Did they
already have it? I asked people to name five things that made them
happy, and what their definition of happiness was. I hoped this segment
would allow interviewees and listeners to think about the question and
their own notions of happiness. One woman said, "To see, hear, taste,
smell, and touch." As it turned out, this woman was expected to die
of a fatal illness six months prior, but miraculously didn’t. Since
then, every day for her has been a gift. Her outlook and reply put
so much into perspective. But ultimately, it’s very difficult to
say what a dream assignment would be. I don’t think I’ll recognize
a dream assignment until it’s right in front of me.

Sometimes you’re shooting for one story and some other magical thing
happens from it. I have interviewed famous people, which would seem
like a dream, and have been disappointed and then I have spoken to
lay people who changed my way of seeing. Much like life, you never
know what you’re going to find. So I could try and say what my dream
assignment would be, but it is most likely inaccurate. Every assignment
has the potential to be a dream assignment. It all depends on what
you make of it.

LK: What are your plans for the future?

TK: There are lots of projects coming up in the future, but there’s
one that I am really excited about. I just received a grant from an
arts organization to produce an "audio quilt" that gathers stories
about the Armenian Genocide. I encourage Armenians, whether they
are genocide survivors or descendants, to contact me with their
narratives. I would like to capture this fading history and explore
the ways in which it affects where we are today.

To learn more about Tania Ketenjian and her work, visit
and

Tania Ketenjian may be contacted at Tania At radiotania.org

Lucine Kasbarian is an Armenian-American writer, editor, political
cartoonist, and author of "Armenia: A Rugged Land, an Enduring People"
(Simon & Schuster). She is also a contributor to "The Armenian Weekly"
newspaper (), where this article first appeared.