Ross Klavan is a writer based in New York. His work, both in narrative and image has been lauded for its rich and unique mix of humanity, grit, cutting humor and a touch of the absurd. He has penned one of the most provocative and critically acclaimed movies of the last ten years. His work has spanned movies, television, radio, fiction, live performance, conceptual art and cartoons both in the US and Europe.
Where do you live and what is your background?
I’ve been in New York City since the age of one. At NYU, I studied film and journalism and then spent a brief, unheroic time in the army, supported my writing with work as a newspaper and radio journalist in NYC and London (England), did some acting and voice-over work, a lot of performance and some fine art, then sold a number of screenplays. My screenplay for the film Tigerland was nominated for an Independent Spirit Award and my comic novel “Schmuck” came out in 2014 to excellent reviews.
What medium do you work in and why?
This is a tough question to answer because I’m not primarily a fine artist. I usually work in images, words and sounds which are either written or performed or both.
Does your work explore any particular themes or fascinations?
Very dark comedy often about men at the end of their tether. Guys in trouble who can’t quite see a way out. Guys who trip themselves up and know they’re doing it but can’t stop. I like to work with stories that are sort of absurdly laughing at the edge of the irrational. Or something.
Talk us through your practice and process.
My process involves stewing, worrying, pacing, staring, lots of anxiety and fear and moments of absurd joy while letting images, sounds and ideas float around until something (hopefully) starts to weave together. Sometimes it works and sometimes there are bad dreams and sleepless nights.
If we were to walk into your studio what would we find?
Papers strewn all over. Books on shelves and in piles on the floor. A desktop computer, a laptop and a huge glass desk which is supported by these two curling ram’s heads. And possibly me, on the couch, with a magazine over my face.