Episode 7: Anna Fusco

I started watercolors with a desire to spotlight how surfing, design, and branding are populated by a lot of the same creative people. All of the previous watercolor interviewees could be labeled as artists who use their instinctual creativity to pay the bills by occasionally working with and for others. Anna Fusco is the first in the series to strictly live off her art.

Anna, also known as Lord Cowboy, contacted me after reading the first watercolors interview. She said, “I am doing this thing where I reach out when I feel connected to something — so hi!” Candid and kind was her note and after spending an hour on the phone with her, candid and kind is exactly how I’d describe Anna. I’d also add piercing and headstrong.

Our conversation went something like this: surfing, how hard it is to be alive, how great it is to be alive. It was how all meaningful conversations evolve from specific topics to total abstractions. Please read and enjoy.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Let’s start at the beginning. How did you start surfing?

I’ve really not been surfing for very long. I think it’s only been maybe three and a half years. And so, the first year was being on a foamy and just understanding what I was doing. This is coming from someone who had no water sports or board sports history at all. I might as well have never been in the ocean before. That’s how I felt.

So a true beginner?

Yeah. My ex shaped me this sort of baby log. It’s an 8’6” single fin. I love it. I love it so much that I haven’t really outgrown it. I mean, there have definitely been days where I’ve wanted to have something else. I have a mid-length, a 7’6” single fin made by this guy Larry Mabile. He’s an old San Diego shaper. I got that at a board swap in Brooklyn. That was really fun to take out on super pitchy days at Rockaway.

Is that where you learned to surf?

I learned to surf in Rockaway, yeah. It is really funny to me now, having surfed other places. It’s just the most thankless, pretty terrible wave, although I’ve had some wonderful days there.

I have memories of some of the best days I’ve ever had in the water there. So, it’s a really strange dichotomy because it’s generally terrible yet I’ve had days where it was unbelievably good.

Do you think it was the swell, atmosphere, or your headspace at the time?

I’ve thought about this and I think it was the swell. There were days where it stayed open and was perfect for logging — getting more than a three second ride. So, yeah, the swell and conditions lining up perfectly.

As someone who is fairly green to the sport, how do you feel about being in a community that has a lot of jaded old timers?

It totally depends where I am. I think I’ve surfed places and been like, “I have no interest in ever coming back here again.” I don’t like surfing that much to experience the cockiness and hostility that I have felt at some breaks.

I find life hard enough just being human. Surfing is such a beautiful experience and to get out there and have everyone’s egos still attached — no thanks. Whereas, I’ve surfed other places and felt more at ease. So, I think it really depends where you are. It’s kind of like swell chasing.

My favorite days are always the days when everyone’s like, “Eh, it’s not that good.” The expectations, I think, are really low. Maybe it’s going to be less crowded too. It used to happen in Rockaway a lot, because it’s so rarely good that when it is good, everybody loses their minds. People are fighting, it’s a kook fest. Injuries, fighting. Watching from the shore was pure comedy.

Being new to the sport, I feel kind of neutral in a sense, or a little detached. Like I just want to have fun. Like, I’ve gone my whole life without this, so it’s not a big deal.

Well, looking at your art and writing, I feel like your surfing is tied to mental health in a way. Not strictly athleticism.

Yeah, absolutely. I mean, it’s so cliché, or it feels cliché rather, because I’m not the only person I’ve heard say this kind of thing but it really changed my life. It was something I always really wanted to do. Even as a kid, I felt called to it. But, I think based on where I was living as a child, which was many places, and mostly urban, it was not available to me. And had I really fought for it in some way, I’m sure I could’ve made something happen earlier than it did.

But at that point, I was scared. I had really low self-esteem in general. And so for me to think I could handle my own in some extreme sport was a hard no. I had completely resigned to the fact that it would be something I’d never do. I don’t really know what I was afraid of though. I think fear of what people would think about me, fear of being bad at something, fear of having to learn something.

The thing that’s hard for people, and for myself, about surfing is that there’s not really a lot of room for beginners in the culture. In order to start doing it, especially later in life, you have to not care a lot. You have to hold your own and tell yourself that it’s the ocean and everyone can go in. It doesn’t matter at the end of the day, no one cares. Just do what you want to do. When there’s such a mostly white male culture dominated environment, that’s a gauntlet to walk through.

I think the mental health aspect is not really about surfing. It’s about trying something new and being okay with that. It’s about giving yourself grace with sucking at it. Being okay with sucking and embracing it, and keeping a good perspective.

You’ve taken us to another element of your art that I wanted to touch on — your use of the word “we”. It feels like compassion for a shared trauma or something, like it’s okay to experience certain things. And a lot of your art seems to use maxims that allow people to feel the way they feel. Did that come from surfing?

Yeah I think surfing came first, honestly. I feel like a different person and the people in my life already noticed the shift. They noticed it and they’re curious. They’ve said things like, “Wait, you surf now?” and “You’re changing your life around for an activity like this?” and “You’re moving to Mexico to surf? What? Who is this person?” So, it’s been tectonic enough to evoke these conversations in my life.

I think we have a lot of roadblocks and barriers inside of us. Whether it’s money, or time, or self-worth, or competence, or permission, all the things I’ve kind of been touching on, we stand in our own way. So, the thing that really gets me going is the idea that people start giving themselves permission or asking for help to get easier access to the thing they really want to try — the thing they feel really called to do.

I believe there’s something about self-actualization that brings me, at least, closer to being content and grateful for my life, and being in the present moment. The more people like that, the better it’s going to be here. That’s what I think.

You said that surfing came first and this new ideology came second, which is now coming through in your art. Was that intentional?

No. It was sort of having these thoughts like, “Holy crap, I can’t believe I withheld this from myself for so long. This is messed up.” First of all, why did I think I was scared of the ocean my whole life? I love the ocean. If I die in the ocean, that’s a good day. That’s the way I want to go basically. That’s dramatic, but it’s the truth. And there was so much in my head and I didn’t know how it got there. It’s just a story. It was just a story that had built up over time.

What started coming out, I guess, was this real stoke for charging, seizing. This message of “it’s going to be okay”. I also thought about it like this: If there’s something on earth that I really want to try, but I’m not letting myself, then what other things am I not giving myself permission to try or say or do? Because it’s not going to ever be limited to one thing.

I think we have a tendency to shrink down, which was definitely my history. To be very small, stay in my lane, don’t try crazy things, don’t take risks, especially nonphysical ones. That was my whole philosophy my whole life. So starting surfing, the door burst open and I thought, “Wait a minute, I can do this? What else is there?” And I’m sure it gave me the confidence to share my work. I think that’s the key. To me it’s less about what I’m saying. I know that a lot of people resonate with my words, so I’m not trying to undermine them, but I think it’s less about what I am saying and more about the fact that I’m saying something so often.

And that I’m sure is a direct link to busting the door open on my own. Shining a spotlight on my confidence, and how much I wanted to build it.

Well, you said that your audience does resonate with your words. What part do words play in your art because a lot of it is fairly text heavy? And do you consider yourself an artist or a writer or a poet?

At this point I think when people ask, “What do you do?” I say, “I’m an artist and a writer.” I’ve been seeing how that lands. Writing has always been part of my practice, and the strongest way I’ve expressed myself. But I love visual art. I love making drawings and I love color and I love putting things to page and people being able to see it in a different way. Not having to sit down and read a book, and not being in that realm of academia. So, I sort of feel like I’ve made my own hybrid form of self-expression.

Yeah, I like this idea of an undefined form of self-expression. As humans we like to be able to label things and put them in nice little compartments. It makes us feel comfortable. And it makes us feel certain about what those things are; they’re not going to surprise us if they change.

Totally. And it’s like you find something and you get kind of good at it, and you may even get recognized for it or a following for it. That’s really seductive because at that point you’re no longer new at it or trying something, and maybe kind of sucking at it again. Or shooting from the hip. You’re not saying publicly: “I don’t know.” So I think that’s why people put themselves in boxes as well as the audience. An audience likes to say, “Oh, she makes drawings and that’s what she does, and that’s what we expect from her.” And same from a gallery. They say, “Can you just do what you did last year? That was great for us.”

But, we do it to ourselves because we’re afraid to try new things. New things are more uncertain, require trial and error, and require much more time editing. If I wanted to make large-scale drawings exclusively, I’m sure they would continue to get better and better and better. And I’d find a market, and I’d probably sell them eventually quite regularly. There’s a formula to consistency, that it works.

But I’m always trying to do the most genuine thing for me. And that has so far meant trying whatever I’m being called to try, and not keeping myself in a box, not keeping myself limited to one medium, or one way of sharing my word, or drawings. Does that make sense?

It does. I’m interested to hear more about what you meant by seductive. Do you mean when you gain recognition for something, it seduces you to keep doing it and define yourself as that?

I’m sure, yeah. That’s probably very common. I think that’s what I mean. I’m thinking more about, say I make and digitally share something that’s exciting for people, I’m getting a lot of validation and feedback. I could see myself getting seduced by the activity of trying to re-create a situation like that in order to receive more validation, attention, and money. Even if it’s not genuine, even if it’s not really what I’m being inspired to do right now, even if it was a one time thing.

And what role does social media play in that? Someone can get a lot of validation quickly through social media which is a double-edged sword.

Can it start to invade the way you approach your life and your practice and what you were doing before social media? Yeah, of course. I feel like we’re all just high schoolers who want to sit at the cool kids table of life. And I feel like anyone who says, “Oh, I don’t care” is lying.

I completely agree.

So, I think social media really plays on that and that part in all of us. Sometimes when I log on, I feel like I’m in the cafeteria and we’re all trying to figure out where we sit. But, it doesn’t feel good to start changing yourself for other people, even if you’re being received.

To me, it would be like if a bunch of people said, “Oh, you look really good in that outfit. You should only wear that outfit for the rest of your life.” I’d think, “Okay, that’s kind of weird though. What if I want to try something else and not really base it on how it’s going to be received or your opinion?” So maybe you’re going to get all this validation on social media for doing something and we’re going to see: do you take the bait or keep doing what you’re doing?

Do you find that desire to change for others to be a part of your personality? Are you susceptible to changing to fit other people’s definition?

In real life, I think yes. I find that I can be equally influenced and swayed. I’m a loving person and I want to connect. So, I do feel like in real life sometimes I wake up and I’m like, “Oops it happened again.” But in a weird way I’ve always known that social media had this really insidious ability to seep into my psyche and my practice, and my self-worth.

I’ve approached it for years now with kind of a bulldoggedness. I think to myself, “I’m going to use you [Instagram] to the best of my ability. You’re a tool.” If this is going to be the way that I’m going to be able to make a living full-time as an artist right now, then I’ll do it and I’m not going to fight it. But, I’m going to be really protective of myself while using it.

My friend gave me really good advice years ago and I hear it in my head a lot. He said, “Just keep doing what you’re doing. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Don’t change anything about yourself based on what’s happening around you. Just do what comes naturally.

That’s great. It requires a lot of trust.

Yeah exactly. Getting back to: do I feel like I’m catering to an audience or changing what I’m doing based on the audience? I see how useless of an activity that is for me spiritually and mentally. I know that I will never be able to please everyone so it’s not worth my time to try and find an avenue that might provide me with that momentarily or for a couple weeks or until the shoe drops or something. I cannot control how other people receive me and/or my work.

Sounds like you’re saying it’s okay to be misunderstood, which, probably, is a good thing.

Yeah and it’s okay to make other people mad or whatever. It doesn’t have to become your life’s work to undo that emotion.

And if everyone in the room thinks I’m just sweet as pie and has no issues with me whatsoever, that’s cool. That sounds really cool. But on the scale that we’re talking about, which is now thousands of people taking in my work, I’m of the belief that you have to play pretty small and neutral in order to get the approval of everyone. I don’t think that’s interesting.

I do want to step back for a second and lob you a softball question. You said that stuff [social media] takes you away from creating and focusing on art. Can you describe your creative process a little bit?

Sure. When I’m making drawings, I’ll devote a lot of time — and it sounds weird as I’m about to say it — listening to a lot of podcasts. I’ll find topics that are really singing to my soul, and I dive in. As I’m listening I usually take notes. I’m not making art at this point, I’m just on walks, or driving, or honestly sitting and listening. Or cooking. I’m loving the ideas and conversations. There’s tons of note taking.

And then I sort of step back from it and synthesize. I start to pull imagery from my own photos, and a lot of landscape photos that I did not take, and being in real life, and looking around the world. Sourcing images, honestly. The last body of work I made I was looking at a lot of old comics, vintage Western comics.

Sounds like you spend a lot of time being receptive to everything.

Yes, completely. I feel like I have to spend some time being a sponge and take things in. Last year it was comics, this year I’ve been obsessed with signage. I have this whole folder on my phone of random signage. The world is the most beautiful art gallery.

I feel like I take time and take in the world. There’s also so much nature. I’m always trying to be in the water or in the forest. Then it amalgamates to be like, “What if I was going to make a drawing now?” It’s almost like I get a homework assignment. Like someone says to me, “Okay, the last few weeks you’ve been a steward of the world in the most strange and digital and natural ways. Now your job is to make a drawing that you can put yourself in completely. There’s no other task. It has no point. It’s totally fine, just do it. See what happens.” And yeah, so it comes out. It feels good.

That’s awesome. I think people will be interested to hear that.

Yeah?

Yeah, I think so. A lot of times people don’t even know where to begin. I think there are way more people who would love to try to make a piece of art and have no idea how to do it, and feel so self-conscious or stuck or blind to the path ahead of them. So hearing someone talk about it is really helpful.

Yeah, I do get messages that really speak to this. I would say it’s my most common request, or DM, which is: “I really want to try what you’re trying, making a drawing or writing. And I’m just scared, or I feel blocked, or I don’t know where to start.” I do think that we have an epidemic of a question mark, an arrestedness of not knowing. But I’m kind of like, “Life is short. I don’t know, who cares? Just sit down and do it. See what happens.”

When people come to me and say, “Where should I start?” I’m like, “Dip down for 30 minutes a day, doing nothing.” Because you’ll get some visual downloads, you’ll hear some words, you’ll have some thoughts. Some of them will be annoying. Some of them will be funny. Whatever. Just sit. And when that becomes a habit, it’s like a muscle, it gets stronger, and it starts to happen fast.

When we first got on the phone, I asked why you came back from Mexico, and you said because you got lonely. I’m wondering, is the cowboy life lonely?

[Laughing] Well, I think about this a lot too. What is lonely? It’s like, “Am I lonely or am I bored? Am I avoiding myself? Are we ever really lonely?” Then I think, you can definitely be lonely because we’re wired for connections. The truth is, I found it harder to live somewhere I knew I was transient for more than six months to a year.

I didn’t feel like I could fully settle and relax into my work the way that I have felt in the States. But I think I kind of hit my window or my limit in this period of wanting to be floating around, and really want some roots.

So, now you’re on the central coast [of California]. What happens after that?

You know, I’m good at not planning far ahead. I try not to live more than three months out because I can kind of do what I’m doing from anywhere now, as long as there’s a roof over my head and I can sleep well. And have Wi-Fi, I do need the Internet to do what I usually do.

I am living on this big ranch with seven other people and three dogs, and it’s really special. To really answer your question, I came back because I couldn’t really find anyone else to live with down in Mexico who was like-minded and would’ve been a good match for me. And I don’t want to live alone anymore.

Interesting. Why?

I really like people. I like being in connection with people. And I think that because I love adventure and flying by the seat of my pants, and being on the wind, I think I’ve catered to that side of myself way more and for much longer. And it’s been really cool, but also comes at a cost. Because, especially having a writing and drawing practice, which are extremely solitary activities, and quiet, the work I do is already alone.

So then, to emerge from, say, a six hour period in the studio or on my laptop, and be alone in my house, and have to then push myself out the door to socialize, which generally means consuming, spending money, and drinking. But, surfing can be lonely too, if you don’t have anyone to go with.

Sure, I meet people in the lineup. But are we going to have a picnic the next day? Probably not. I’m kind of realizing that for me, a huge part of my practice is making sure that I’m in an environment where I can isolate myself in work, but not be isolated. So here, I work for however many hours, and then I come out and there’s someone playing guitar in the field and someone is putting together a little dinner in the kitchen and someone is working on a surfboard. There’s energy around me. And I don’t feel like I have to go to the ends of the earth to engage with people.

Learn more about Anna at lordcowboy.com, Instagram, and Substack.