ça va.

spring//wood//blurring//movement (updated)

2010-06-27T05:48:00.000-07:00

I have updated my spring video--I have finished with the visuals and now am onto sound. I was trying several things last night and it seems to be somewhere between Philip Glass' piano étude no. 6 and the guitar I used in my hand video, but I think I'll be composing something of my own for this one, probably either piano or guitar (neither of which I play). There is always the possibility of wind sounds getting in there, too. I doubt there will be spoken words.

one month, spring (final visuals) from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

I also have video videos from a rope swing, the start of one of my stop motions with diagrams of body systems (for acupuncture), and one with a graveyard that starts really thinking about words and language. I have so many plans for language--using books to pull out words and string them together--I mean literally photographing the books and inserting the sequences throughout so that they are more footage. I just wish I had more time to be doing all of these things.

commu commi

2010-05-04T17:49:00.000-07:00

Slow-food, slow-fashion. Slow. Slow. The re-localization from globalization. Slow connects us to a local community.

commu.

It's this thing about communicating, and knowing what people want and working with them rather than just going off on our own tangential interests as though they were the only thing of importance, the end all and be all of the universe. Audience. We need to come back to a personal audience. To having personal connections to the public through art. Commissioned work just seems like such a necessary thing for this reason. You have to keep the communication open, which means that neither side dominates or asserts complete authority or superiority. Not that we should only make commissioned work, but what else is to tie us personally to the people whom we affect? How else are we to understand them better as well as ourselves, or even perhaps the most important thing, in relation to ourselves?

spring//wood//blurring//movement

2010-04-30T19:06:00.000-07:00

one month (incomplete) from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

hello again, after a several month absence. I have not been posting because I haven't known what to be writing or making for that matter, and I am finally working on editing a video that I would like to share. I have been taking photos//footage for the last few months but it has mostly been sitting on my hard drive as I collect and collect and collect images, not really knowing what they are for. Tonight I started making a video out of what I've taken in the last month here. I have been thinking a lot about blur--seeing and not seeing at the same time--and it is spring which is an apt time to be thinking about this, as wood energy rises and we all begin to move and vibrate after a long winter. It is a time for both blurring vision with such frenetic activity, as well as clearing vision as we birth and grow. There is a push and pull, a tension in the air, a vibrancy. Everything is pushing, pousser, growing out of its old self, birthing, always moving, even when we are still we are moving, moving.

In terms of how far along this video is, I would say, perhaps 35% overall. Visually, I would say it's 85% there, but I'm not exactly sure where it should end, whether here is far enough or if my most recent moon rising sequence and fully-leafed-out-silver-maple sequence should be in there, too. My most most recent things are not meant for this, they are something different, so it's a matter of sifting through, and trying a lot of options, per usual. Then there is sound, which is done in the same fashion--I am contemplating actually making some music by mixing and editing, and perhaps even covering some tracks I have been, admittedly, obsessively listening to lately (mostly from Trois Colours soundtracks, Rouge and Bleu, especially), because they are so full of the edginess that this time of year embodies. I expect it may end up being highly layered in parts and sparser in others--but these are just ideas.

My important questions right now are about how to end it visually. Do I leave things at a cusp, vibrating and then boom it's just over? Do I try to find rest, even a heightened energy state where it remains for a little bit?

intention statement

2009-12-08T04:15:00.000-08:00

for my lungs video:

In this video, I go between two segments of video taken through my lung x-ray. The first is taken at a window and the second is taken outside, and these are joined by scenes of rushing and flowing water. In the first, I bring the body into conversation with its surroundings by seeing the landscape outside my window through the lung x-ray. In the second, I interject my body into the exterior world by holding my lung x-ray in front of me. In both lung segments, I both mirror and conflate interior and exterior by aligning bodily forms with those of the trees and the sound of wind with that of my breath. I also aim to conflate a sense of moving, breathing life with a sense of decay, mortality, and death. Through my video, I consider issues of inclosure and exposure--safety and vulnerability--as well as feeling unsure whether I am really alive or dead. I spoke in a quiet voice and whispers, so that my words are only partly understood in places, and the phrases that come out such as, "honestly don't know" and "hidden, all this is hidden" point towards fear and feeling unable to speak or communicate.

The water sequences in between are connected audibly by the sound of breathing meeting the rushing water and vice versa. I had intended the branches without and then with leaves, and another later that is being tossed to and fro, to be metaphors for what was happening to the entity who is speaking--having a tumultuous experience or feeling a sense of growth.

I am interested in seeing what would happen if I really push this towards being a cyclic narrative of growth, decay, death, and rebirth, but I know that this is not how the video is functioning now. Right now, in it's most basic sense, the video is a meditation on the body joining and reflecting it's surroundings as they move and change and how we insert ourselves into a place.

A quick note to end on (and not so quick because it means reshooting a bunch):
I think I should try loosing the hand, too on the second section. The act of inserting myself creates division between interior and exterior, and also is distracting from what I really want people to focus on, which is the light and trees as seen through my air tract and heart.

And then that just gave me another idea. Insertion in a place. I might try using the footage with my hand in Berlin in another video.

2009-12-08T04:11:00.000-08:00

Oh no god damn. I missed the last tram.

final project (s?)

2009-12-07T15:09:00.000-08:00

follow // fallow (final version) from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

hidden // honestly don't know (another version) from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

wind trees from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

tree hands from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

The truth is, I don't know which of these videos is my final project for this class because I'm just making them. They all have to do with process.I don't know which I will talk about in our critiques tomorrow, or maybe I don't need to talk about one of them but all of them. I feel like they need to be seen in relation to one another in some sort of way whether in sequence or in tandem because it seems that they are parts of a greater whole (a narrative, even? could I be making a narrative?).

Anyhow, here is my statement.

I don’t know where my body stops and the earth begins. There is only a blur. My eyes move; the trees move. We grow, branch, crack, split, decay. We grow again. Pushed by the wind, we speak in whispers, afraid we might say too much, afraid no one will hear.

I forget my body and the earth sometimes. I forget that I need soil, air, rushing water and the afternoon sun. I need to remember that my body is falling apart and coming together, that we're all falling apart and coming together. I make my videos and paintings to help remember.

In using photography, which is mechanically mediated, as well as language, which is personally mediated, I aim to validate the empirically existent as well as the poetic and personal, as reality. The shifting quality of my stop-motion videos is a result of the inevitable movement of my body—and my camera with it—as my eyes move through a space. Moving up close to far away, my eyes never rest for long; forms blur and reiterate one another. I see them again and again, attempting to understand and translate their physicality, growth and decay as they change through time. As a body of work, these visual and verbal fragments come together to form an experience where motion and stability—the sure and unsure—are conflated.

today

2009-12-03T13:35:00.000-08:00

scary video. spooky. fear. I don't want to make people scared. but there is this thing. these things are here. the scary parts. I am finally going into the dark.

flat painting. it's just color. it's color.

right now.
it might change. things can change.

I am going down, going dark.

and I know it well.

(so the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.)

lost it

2009-12-02T15:15:00.000-08:00

why do we have to say things? I'm tired of saying things. Nothing has meaning. I can find no meaning. I am becoming numb. I am becoming dead.

she said because we want to make things that we enjoy. joy. joy. we make because it is enjoy joy joy.

joy joy joy enjoy joy joy.
I cannot enjoy joy joy. I do not want to speak. I am tired of speaking.

I don't want to not speak either.

I figured out how gerhard richter makes his abstract surfaces. mine is thin, big surprise; it could be thicker. back and forth. back and forth. it's all just back and forth. there is no meaning. I can find no meaning. I can find no meaning in leaves, branches, trees up close, far away. I can find no meaning in these because they're not real. None of this is real. In an instant, I have lost it all. I can find no meaning. There is no why. I am not those trees. I do know where I stop. I stop here.

go ahead. push paint back and forth. I'd like to go home now. I'd like to be quiet now. I'd like to not speak now. I want to go aware, go away.

why is it that I never can speak when I must? like now. I must do this. I must finish my videos. I must finish my paintings, push them. say them, make them. I don't know what I'm doing. Nothing has meaning. I can find no meaning. I honestly don't know.

she said this is the one thing that can save me. but I've lost it. I don't know where it went. it was there. in the water. I know where it was, but it's so far from here. I can't touch it. you can't touch it. I can't help you touch it. it's gone. I'm gone. I want to go aware, go away.

important words

2009-11-28T09:33:00.000-08:00

follow the body. trust in the body.

let, let leave. laisser.

and I know it well.
hidden, all this is hidden.

and we were falling, too.

why am I so afraid to tell the stories for why these are important? maybe it's not about my stories. maybe I want you to connect them to your stories. because these aren't just about one story, they're about many stories. (they're so personal--and I'm not saying why, not giving specifics--and so they are universal). or something. I honestly don't know. I don't know what you are supposed to get out of them. I know they're important because they are where the weight lies.

bowing red blood onto a wall, a chicken with a head. without a head. she wasn't telling stories, either. a mark, a silhouette. traces left.

these are the traces I hold onto. how to make them speak?

oh yeah.

2009-11-28T08:51:00.000-08:00

Oh yeah. blogging.

This is what I've been up to:

And this:

follow // fallow from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

And this:

await another voice from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

I took so much footage during and right after break, that I've just been hard at work on all of it as well as several paintings.

With videos, I have been grouping images into shots, then making those into small clips, and editing the clips together. Sound comes a little later, once I've seen the footage, but it takes a long time to work the two out together, and see where they go with each other. With some, like my first lung video, almost all of the footage goes in. With these two, perhaps between 30 and 50 percent went in. I had to re-record sound perhaps 12 times. It doesn't mean I won't use the rest of the images or sound, just not for these two videos.

As for sound, I realize that it's all voice over/whispers so far. I've been playing around with local sounds (wind, water, children playing from far away), but that's not quite right for these. I am getting a little concerned about not knowing how to make something different. While none of these are really the same--each is pushing in a different direction--they're certainly in a family of sorts. They're not sniffing slurping slugs. Yet, I need to remember what Sue told me last year--It would be nice to see you stick with something for a while. I have apparently found something I can stick with better, so that is not a bad thing, just something I'm not very familiar with.

I am afraid that with the whispers I am being too explicit, illustrating ideas and not inviting them. I heard in the last crit that what I said was definitely not too specific, but that was that and these are these. I am also unsure as to what to do for the show (this coming week). Do I re-record in French? Most of the audience will be French. I doubt my ability to whisper clearly in French. I can hardly speak clearly, so whispering might be impossible to understand. I at least intend to have a translation of the words to read. It's not the same, but having everything mispronounced and incomprehensible wouldn't be the same either.

Now I'm currently working on a travel video which has shots from trains/buses/airports, as well as another with footage from the river and woods here. And then there are two paintings to be finished this week in time to dry to be shipped home...

back to work.

final project proposal

2009-11-16T10:34:00.000-08:00

I have been continuing to take series of photographs of landscapes as well as my lung x-ray, which I intend to make into videos similar to the way in which I made my previous video honestly don’t know. They will be three separate works, between 2 and 4 minutes long. The subject of the first is my lung x-ray which I have been carrying with me the last few weeks and photographing it while holding it in front of the sun in different landscapes. In this video, I intend to make repetitive sequences of the light moving through my air-tract and heart. For the sound, I will use a more lengthy cut-up of writings that speaks about the relation of body to earth and will record my own voice speaking for this.

For the second video, I took many sequences of images as I traveled between countries over the break, and intend to work with these to create a video concerning stability and disorientation in moving through landscapes. This is related to the last video I am working on in which I have been returning to one spot in the woods for the last several weeks and taking series of photos as the woods have changed in color and quality of light with fall coming on here. In this video, I would like to cut between views of the same spot with and without leaves, showing the same place in different times, and showing the repetitive engagement with a single place I have had. For the sound, I will make voice recordings of thoughts I have been writing the last few weeks, concerning stillness and movement through time and life. For example, “where did we come from? where are we going?” I am also working on paintings of the trees in this spot, and would like to display the video and a painting in tandem together. The video will be projected on the wall next to the painting so that it is the same size, each measuring approximately 3’ x 4’ so that the viewer is able to enter the two views. This will most likely be the final project that I present to the class, though the other videos may help me clarify ideas for this work.

of interest

2009-11-15T04:36:00.000-08:00

traveling. two weeks. paris, berlin, the spanish pyranees, london. again a lot of art. with mountains and air in between.

of interest:

Paris
Women's art exhibition at the Pompidou. Jenny Holzer. (again.) She had printed some typed statements on neon paper and plastered a wall with them. six or so columns, each column a different color, a different statement. Statements of dominance, pleasure in oppressing another, playing messed-up mind games. pleasure in another's pain. the unspoken undercurrent of society. This made me think: what if we say things we don't mean, we don't feel? what if we say them, these things that are part of our experience, that drive a society's way of life, but are never spoken about? what if they're so awful we know that she's just pointing them out? and what if it still hurts?
we must confront pain. keeping words and attitudes hidden, unspoken, in the realm of silence just perpetuates silence, a blind eye. we can keep on being silent. at some point we must speak. we must confront even that which we do not like, what we do not want to believe in because it is there. neon. look at me look at me. drawing attention, making an announcement of what we dare not say.
we must confront pain.
Ana Mendieta. (again. and for the first time in person.) I stand with my arms raised in awe. I bow. a gesture of prayer, of gratitude, of submission (submission to what? to whom?) red draws down from her arms on the white canvas, a single motion of bringing togeher, bowing down. the red of body, pain, death, life. red of sacrifice, vulnerability. bow of sacrifice, vulnerability.
there is pain.
we cause eachother so much pain. we cause ourselves so much pain. in the end, what is left is not our body but a mark, a mere remnant of a gesture. her gesture moved through time to me.
there is pain.
we must sit with, stand with, hold our pain. embrace it. bow to it.
in another, she holds a chicken. she held that chicken. upside down, blood rushing to it's head, flapping, must get away. then the calm settles in (as it does). I have held a chicken like this. (is this my body?) it tried to get away. it didn't want to be held. with a head. then layed down, an axe. without a head. and she holds it again. flap flap. jerk. twist, coil, spasm. then the calm settles in. blood all in it's head. blood all out of it's head. blood all out of it's body. (is this my body?) and her there, holding it. she didn't do the chopping, but she initiated it's killing. and she held it. her naked, mourning. (is this my body?) holding it in it's pain. which was her pain. her body naked, vulnerable. no distance or shield between them. could she calm, could she settle? could she relax like the cicken? I didn't want to watch it. I knew it as it was happening, I knew what would happen. But to see it. to not shy away.
there is pain.
we might as well face it. embrace it. hold it. we do not want to cause it, but we do. (she didn't want to do that. but she did.) and she was with the bird as it died. she held it. she took that pain in. (I took that pain in. is this my body?) we know no boundaries. we know no bounds. we bind. we are bound.

there is pain.

(again.) because
Jenny Holzer is:
IT CAN BE STARTLING TO
SEE SOMEONE'S BREATH,
LET ALONE THE BREATHING OF A CROWD.
YOU USUALLY DON'T BELIEVE THAT
PEOPLE EXTEND THAT FAR.

Ana Mendieta is a silueta in the earth. the echo of a body. a body as affecting, a body as affected. a body with thin bounds. (peau si fine.)

honestly don't know (soundscape)

2009-10-27T04:45:00.000-07:00

honestly don't know from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

what did I do? what was I trying to do?

I listened to sounds. I noticed how I listen to sound, what I choose to listen to, when I want music, when I don't. I listened to songs on once repeat, which is normal. I listened to my breath, which is normal. I listened to cars from my studio, and cringed as they passed, which is normal.

I looked up roots of words, thought about The Spell of the Sensuous, thought about Leap, translated between french and english, found roots in both. I breathed, I listened. I took pictures of my lung x-ray. I looked at the sumac outside my window.

I cut up the words of Terry Tempest Williams, Nervous but Excited, T.S. Eliot, Patty Larkin, Allen Ginsberg and Mary Oliver into perhaps a thousand pieces, and pulled them one at a time out of a pile, stringing them back together. I saw what was there, and started to play with it. I moved things, cut it down, recorded myself speaking it.

I played on a guitar. I experienced making harmonics with strings for the first time. I listened to right after, my song I play on clarinet, on once repeat. I recorded some basic guitar.

I recorded my voice, my breath. I recorded my voice, my breath. I recorded my voice, my breath. I recorded Latin, French, English. I recorded my voice, my breath. I recorded my voice my breath. Irecordedmyvoicemybreath. I honestly don't know.

I came back to the cut up. I chose. I recorded my voice, my breath.

I put together a video of photographs of a sumac tree and an x-ray of my lungs, my window at home.

What did I want to do? I’m honestly not really sure. I suppose this is a meditation on death and life, and the ambiguity between those. Can we experience death in life? Can we experience life in death? Do we ever really know where we are? Do we ever really know whether we’re alive or dead?

I had to find the sound that was right for the video, to set the tone, guide the viewer's thoughts towards our bodies, impermanence, quietness, death//life, fractures, joy, shyness, hesitancy, being on a border, being the same as another and different from another, being in multiple places at once, and I'm not really sure what else. A huge long cut up was too much, instrumental music was too abstract, and going between breath to Latin to English to Latin to breath was too literal a progression and too abstract//conceptual. I wanted to push the viewer in some kind of direction with the words and my breath, and the quietness, but also leave room for openness.

Perhaps I’m not all that interested in making a piece about sound, but using it in tandem with my images. It's not about one or the other, both support each other. And now I just want to make more.

cut up

2009-10-24T14:13:00.000-07:00

I did a cut-up of a lot of different writings//lyrics I was reading and listening to this summer--all of them were incredibly resonant at the time, and still are. I then edited it down and recorded myself reading it. I'm not sure that I like it as a sound piece, perhaps because it's strange for me to listen to my own voice. So while there are some interesting themes running through it, and I really like the repetative, obsessive quality of it, I'm not sure that this is the best form for it. I've thought about putting parts of this to images in a video, but it seems like it might take away from the video footage, or be too explicit. It's not like the hair piece where the words came along with the images. And it's really long, too, so I don't know that anyone would make it all the way through since it's so free-flowing and there's hardly a place to grab on. I need to keep trying some other things with it, I guess.

I also did this recording of me fooling around on guitar, sort of similar to the song I wrote//have been continually improvising with on clarinet, but I don't actually know guitar, so this is a lot harder//more elementary and thus even more repetative. Again, it is obsessive.

One major thing is, I need to figure out what sound goes with my videos, if any. I feel like something should, but I don't know what. This is why I did these two experiments, but they're not right for the video, nor are they completed sound pieces in themselves.

I guess I have a lot of different ways that I appreciate sound, so this is a hard project for me to approach. I have played clarinet for 12 years, so have quite a bit of a formal//classical background in music. I love French music especially--Debussy, Saint-Saens, Poulenc, Jeanjean--pretty much anything rhapsodic, with a tendency towards slower and darker pieces.

In terms of listening to music, I tend to listen to songs obsessively, often preferring hearing a single song to hearing anything else for days, sometimes weeks. I don't know why this is, other than that I simply crave those sounds. And far more often than not, it is the sounds I crave--the harmony and the rhythm--rather than the lyrics. In the last year I have finally started to barely catch and sometimes listen to lyrics, but it is not what I hear first by any means.

In terms of sounds I make with my body, I like listening//feeling the sound of my heart and my breath. I like the rhythm of walking, and the feel, but sometimes don't notice the sound. I like humming and absolutely love reading aloud for the vibrations. I often read aloud to Emma and Jacob, the kids that I have babysat for about 8 years, for an hour or so at a time. I love being with them, and I love reading, and sharing an enjoyment of books with them, but there is also just something very calming and comforting to feel my own (or someone else's) voice run through my body, and to be sharing that with others. My mom read to us as kids, and I think my own satisfaction in this sense of vibration probably comes from that. In this way, recorded sound almost seems like a cop-out because your body isn't actually penetrated by the sound, so it is a strange experience. And yet recordings are the only thing that allow me to listen to the same song//sounds for literally days on end.

I also have an interest in harmonics (and dissonance) as related to quantum physics, schumann resonance, biological receptor molecules, and the fifth chakra//meditation, which all meet up in the back somewhere. I don't really want to make artwork about that. But let's just say, anything that deals with sound deals with all of them in some form or another.

If I were to share anything about sound, it would be the satisfaction of vibration. What about asking everyone to stand in a circle and hum with everyone's hand on the other's back? What about having the group read something? What about engaging a group with live ambient sounds rather than recorded sound? (Recorded sound is technically live, but resonates differently). If I were to use sound convey something, it would be to put to my videos that I'm working on, but I don't know what I want to do with that right now. I don't know what I need to say. I don't know if what I need to say is in words or in sounds or in music I play. I do know that I miss my clarinet, and that I need to go to bed.

the art of noise // Frank J. Oteri and Paul D. Miller interview

2009-10-19T08:47:00.000-07:00

These readings (for process and evidence) go right back to the idea of modernism//postmodernism for me.

In The Art of Noise, Russolo puts forward a futurist manifesto, promoting the acceptance of noise as music. I somewhat agree with him--we should be more engaged with the sounds we make--but don't really like his attitude so much, which is very insistent and focused on dominance and the "man-made" being better than the "natural". This is a very nice complement for the visual art that was going on at the time in terms of re-evaluating what art (painting, espeically) could and should be. Like art, noise is now accepted as music as with noise bands. In an epoch of post-modernism, anything is art (whether it be visual or aural).

I found it interesting in the interview that one of the people said that we are at a point today of "information overload." If anything can qualify as music (or art), then my response is:

we must choose. we must choose what information we put into the world. we must choose what images we put into the world. we must choose what sounds we put into the world. we must take responsibility for our effect on the world, which means we must choose.

I personally have a lot of trouble with choice--choosing sounds and images--because there are so many. Multiplicity is almost too easy to achieve now a days, but making meaning out of that multiplicity requires choice. I also don't have trouble choosing some things. Sometimes I'll listen to the same song for literally days or weeks. Sometimes I choose to not listen to any music for periods of time as well. I repeat words in my head that way. I crave visual images that way, too.

My own interests in sound run along lines of language (how different sounds convey different meanings, and how these are universally accepted across cultures in many cases), and ideas of resonance and string theory (harmonics and dissonance), which is related to how we make meaning out of sounds. I found it really interesting in the interview that one person said that noise is anything de-coherent, a signal that is decayed or something non-understandable. We do understand sound though in a physical and instinctual way, and language is based off of that. An unpleasant noise stems from it being related to a warning, of not joining with, of dissonance, of stay away from that. A pleasant noise stems from something being okay, of wanting to join with, of harmony, of being comfortable. We can train ourselves to be comfortable with anything, even dissonance, as Russolo has shown us.

post-bac critique thoughts

2009-10-19T06:31:00.000-07:00

rhythm. time. sense of movement. pattern.
the rhythm of an experience. how to communicate stability and movement (bound and flowing).

oriented//disoriented.

how do I ride the line of abstraction and representation? how do I ride the line of literal and metaphorical? how do I ride the line of illustrating and initiating ideas?

direct//removed or vicarious experiences. issues of translation. issues of boundaries.

when people can't understand the relationships between the subjects of a work, it becomes about the act and process of translation (my abstract paintings from the spring). I don't think this is about me processing things, though that's a totally valid thing. I do want to communicate something. (is it about artistic practice and thought, or is it actually about the subjects and their relationships?). though now that I write that, it is also about my processing. it isn't only about the woods and it isn't only about my thoughts, what I've read, the sounds that come back to me over and over. it's about both together. the process of experience and the environment. because they are dependent on eachother. they need eachother in order to exist at all. (and I'm back to phenomonology or buddhism or whatever you want to call it. I'm back to togetherness.)

acquisition (to take on, appropriate). I do this so easily with some things.
abnegative (to choose, to edit out, to manipulate). I have so much trouble with this.
purposive. (to have meaning, purpose. to have something that matters.) I want this but I doubt it.

My work is making meaning for me. my rain project especially. potentially my videos//paintings together. I hope it is making meaning for others. I can guess at how it might do that for you, but I can't really say what that is for you or anyone else. I can't really say what a chicken or a bee feels. I can guess. I can guess by my interactions with them, by my experience of a mutual relationship with them. I can guess a lot, but never really know. I can make an artwork and understand it to a certain degree, but never really know how it is communicating to others. this would be impossible. and terribly boring. terribly bound.

once again comes space. openness. room to move. (within the bounds of our experiences. within the bounds of my experiences.) an implicit body. a me//we.

accessiblility. this all deals with accessibility.

words

2009-10-13T14:15:00.000-07:00

capable--from capabilis (receptive) // capax (able to hold much) // capere (to take grasp, lay hold, catch, undertake, be large enough for, comprehend) // kap- (to grasp)

reciprocal--from reciprocus (returning the same way, alternating) // reco-proco- // recus- (backward) procus (forward)

reflection--from reflexionem (a reflection, a bending back) // reflex- // reflectere (back, to bend)

control--to check, verify, regulate; from contreroller (exert authority) // contrarotulus (a counter, register) // contra- (against) rotulus, rota (wheel, roll) from medieval method of checking accounts by duplicate register

should--from shall // sceal (I owe/he owes, will have to, ought to, must) // sculan // skal- or skul- (to owe, be under obligation) // scyld (guilt) // skeleti (to be guilty) // skilti (to get into debt)

passive--from passivus (capable of feeling or suffering) // pass- // pati (to suffer)

active--from act // actus (a doing) // acactum (a thing done) // agere (to do, set in motion, drive, urge, chase, stir up) // ag- (to drive, draw out or forth, move); ag-riculture

post-critique and post-dinner 'huh'

2009-10-13T12:23:00.000-07:00

I was going to just go straight home after dinner, but I needed to write some of this down first.

As for the critique, the question came up if I felt like I was finished with the mushrooms//spore prints. I said no, but in truth, I don't want to do more. I didn't even like doing them in the first place very much because I felt I was just messing with this beautiful and intricate thing that I have no right to mess with, that was more beautiful than any representation or manipulation of it could be. And worst, I was messing with it for no reason, and couldn't make anything happen.

In fact, I can't make anything do anything it seems. And now I'm remembering a comment of Liz's that my landscape paintings were feminine in their passivity as compared to plein air painters--can I make a masculine, active, dare I even speak the word--dominating--landscape? I don't think so. Manipulation does not come naturally to me, which is not to say it's not an important thing. Making active decisions to change something in a particular way is important, and I need to learn how to do it better. Choosing and acting are the problems I've been having in my artwork, and in my life lately. I can look at a landscape (or a slug) and put it back out, having mediated it in some small way, processed it somehow so that one part of it becomes more apparent, but hell if I can make mushrooms grow a certain way. I don't even want to try to do that. I felt ugly and mean doing what I did, but also a little curious, and that's what kept me going. If it hadn't been an assignment, I never would have done the spore prints, but might have done the slug video, or something like it. And that should tell me something...

At dinner, the conversation about farming and land use and how we make things work for us (biologically) and enslavement and veganism came up. Through farming, I have come to see our use of our surroundings differently. For a while, I couldn't stand the idea that I cause other things to suffer or manipulate them to benefit myself, and indeed, I realize that this is often subconsciously driving me to act as I do--extremely passively. For a while I couldn't stand harvesting because of the harm it caused to the plants, but farming is good for me because it has made me come to terms with doing things actively in order to nourish myself and others, but not without forgetting the plant or animal I am forming a relationship with. And it is that farming isn't just about that active manipulation, but about reciprocity--about forming a relationship of both give and take (and many other things) with the world.

Again comes that word relationship.

Something strange is going on here, though, because I feel like I just don't know how to act at all. I don't know how to communicate (an active thing). I find myself interruping others a lot, which I don't like. Why is what I want to say so important? I also can't seem to say important things, I find myself often babbling, and when I have something definite to say, I can't communicate it clearly in precise language. I am able to take in and process things, but my circuitry in terms of what comes back out is all messed up.

I am experiencing a major problem with mediation and also editing here.
What do I need to say? What don't I need to say?

'What is essential?'

This is the thought I had while reading Kuo Hsi's words on Chinese landscape painting, "an artist should concentrate his spirit upon the essential nature of his work. If he fails to get at the essential, he will fail to present the soul of his theme. Discipline should give his picture dignitiy. Without dignity, depth is impossible. Diligence and reverence will make his work complete."

If I babble, there is no reverence, no respect, nothing with which to form relationships, nothing with which to communicate. (If there's so much art, none of it makes meaning). If I'm silent, I deny my own existence, that I have thoughts that are meaningful and valid.

What I really need is some discipline. I need to find what is essential. For the sound project, I am thinking now that I may spend a day in silence and then a day only saying what I feel is essential. I don't know where the art object is in that, but it's something I need to do. I also want to see what meanings I can find using more cut-up method trials with passages of writing that mean a lot to me (that I have actively chosen, and passively processed), and (actively) editing them down. My next thought: I am going to see where it goes.

I am always seeing where it goes. That's not the hard part. The hard part is the structure, the deciding, the discipline. Okay, enough for tonight.

work in-progress

2009-10-13T03:34:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted anything this last week because I was working (instead of being on the internet), so here is an update, en masse.

soutenir, sentir, sembler
(explorations of meanings between french and english)

rain//hair project with translation into french and an in-between.
two beginnings of tree mandalas

and this. (biology?)

slugs

2009-10-13T01:26:00.000-07:00

slugs from Bonnie Veblen on Vimeo.

These are the slugs,

who liked the spore prints

of a mushroom from the woods.

(Kingdom: Fungus, Class: Basidiomycete, Order: Agricales; Genus: either Pluteus, Entolomas, or Clitocybe)

rain

2009-10-07T08:42:00.000-07:00

it rained. i got wet.
it made me think of dancing in the rain with you.
(we're always dancing in the rain together.)

feet wet, splash. splash. splash. drops on our tongues,
falling from the sky, landing on leaves,
on grass, on bodies and roads.
drops making rivers, drops growing plants
growing us. growing our feetonthesoil
onthepavement tap taptap taptap.

rain in my hair. on the palms of my hands.
rain between my toes. under my fingernails.
rain down my neck. alldownmyback.
rain in my mouth and through my heart.
rain in my eyes, seeping into my skin.

there is something to feeling the rain.
because we forget our skin is breathing. our skin is thin.
there is so little between us and the sky, the night air.

And then I think you laugh at me. I ought to grow up, forget my thin skin. No dignified adult dances in the rain. Perhaps I ought to roll up my pants, wait for a lull, and hurry home. Perhaps I ought not to laugh. Perhaps I ought to be quiet. Perhaps I ought to buy an umbrella. Perhaps I ought to forget the rain.
I remember a voice, when did we stop singing? when did we stop dancing?

Pense pense pense

2009-10-05T01:36:00.000-07:00

Je ne veux point penser. no more leaky holes in your brain and no false doubt.

holes and holes. your--no penser. more holes, false doubt. more point.

diversity//unity (making worlds, we're all making our own little worlds)

2009-10-04T07:48:00.000-07:00

Coming back to this:

To be surrounded by so much contemporary art at the Venice Biennale was an amazing experience, but it was also incredibly overwhelming and exhausting to look at so much.

After going to MACVAL gallery in Paris, and in Venice: the Guggenheim, two huge Biennale sites, Academia Museum, and the two sites for the Mapping the Studio contemporary art exhibition, then the Lyon Biennale on the way home to Pont-Aven, we all said that we couldn't look at any more art. We were totally exhausted. We all hit this point (or wall) repeatedly each day after several hours of being at galleries, which is a pretty normal art-viewing phenomenon, but it started to strike me that this is a pretty strange thing.

What really made me start thinking about this was the difference between my experiences at all the contemporary sites compared to that of Academia. After the Biennale, it was honestly a relief to go to Academia and be able to walk through rooms and not have to enter and entirely new world every two minutes. At Academia, it was a relief to be able to sit and look at a work for longer than a few minutes and to draw it, to spend time with it and come to really understand how just one image is working. It was a relief to see how many artists had gone about communicating their own views of the same subject matters--Madonna and Child, the Annunciation, Adam and Eve--and yet they had come up with works that spoke about these same things in very different ways. I was tired physically from drawing after going to Academia, but not nearly so mentally strung out. I could find some overall reason and meaning from what I'd seen. Call me traditional, or whatever you want, but Adam and Eve by Jacopo Robusti detto Tintoretto (c. 1500's) was one of my favorite things I saw in Venice, and Academia might have been my favorite place we went.

It's not that I don't like or appreciate contemporary art, I really enjoy making work about the things I'm interested in and finding artists who I like and relating to their work, but that's sort of just it, too. Today, we're all just finding the things we like, what we want, creating our little niche that's great for each of us, and then telling people about that. If we're all telling people about our own little world, what we say starts to lose meaning amidst all the people chattering. What I say or you say becomes insignificant. This experience of going to see artwork and trying to listen to so many disparate voices is, honestly, getting a little old. I'm always expecting something new and different within a gallery and it's tiring to have to experience so much plurality, so much so that seeing more of the same thing actually sounds really really good. A little more cohesion would be so wonderful.

At the Biennale, the works within each country were different enough from each other, you would think that at least people from the same culture might be speaking about similar things. But it seems we've lost our local cultures in favor of individual interests in x or y. Venice was like reading all of these chapters out of a the same book, but they don't make sense as a whole, there's no theme, nothing to keep them together other than that each chapter is it's own little world. I just realized that this is starting to sound like Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities (I posted on it a few weeks ago), yet his book was held together by being actual descriptions of physical worlds and their laws of being. At Venice, the theme was Making Worlds, and while some artists took that more literally than others, the works were so vastly diverse that if there was an overall interweaving I certainly couldn't make sense of it.

Isn't that a little sad? Isn't there something we can all start to gather around once more other than how great it is to be able to have our own individual interests? Not that we all should start painting again or making work about the Madonna and Child--that's not relevant anymore. The thing is, I don't know what is relevant to us all. Is there anything we can start to share and build more of a community around? What happens when culture and art loose all sense of cohesion? With having such a globalized world, is that at all possible? And does anyone else want more cohesion, or is it just me? Am I just the crazy one?

Venice Biennale (Valerio Berruti)

2009-10-04T07:47:00.000-07:00

Another video work I found very engaging was an animation installation entitled La Figlia di Isacco by Valerio Berruti. Here's a page from his website that shows some stills of his process. When I first came into the large room that held this among many other works, I was captivated by the music I heard and wanted to know which piece it "belonged" to. When I walked around the box, which was about ten or twelve feet high//wide, I enjoyed the drawings and knowing that the music was related to them, but when I turned the last corner and saw the animation going on inside, I stopped. I was simply mesmerized watching this little girl turn in her highchair, and couldn't help but identify with her, feel it was me turning in the chair. The experience immediately recalled memories of being a child and feeling a fear of being alone, as well as feelings of helplessness and dependence--what it felt like to be put somewhere and not be able to get down or move from it until someone comes to help you. I was struck by the feeling of smallness and vulnerability. I didn't understand the title when I was there, but it translates as The Daughter of Isaac. Because I have never known the bible very well, so when I came home I looked up the story of Isaac, who it turns out did not have a daughter. The fictional nature of this adds another layer to the piece because the girl becomes the one who was forgotten, who was never spoken of, not written about or remembered and this adds to her loneliness and sense of abandonment.

Formally, Berruti took a simple idea and carried it out with only a red crayon, white gesso, and the brown paper in just a few spare contours and painted white background to make what turns out to be a quite-complex animation of a little girl's movements. I found myself thinking of how many hundreds of drawings it must have taken to make this, which is even clearer from the stills on his website. The small shifts between his drawn frames contributes to the child-like quality, and the limited materials speak to many children's books (Harold and the Purple Crayon, Swimmy, or books by Eric Carl, for example). If this had just been a video of a girl moving around in a chair with the same music it would not have had the same effect. The translation into drawings is essential here because it focuses our attention on her movement, which Berruti captured with a lot of truth--they are the movements of any curious child who is sitting in one place for a while, generalizing her as "a girl" rather than being so specific as belonging only to the girl who he watched to do them. The animation would have also not been the same without the music behind it. The music is nostalgic, repetative, meditative, quiet, slow, and never quite feels complete, which brings on a sense that we must stay here until there is more resolution. The simplicity//complexity of the animation coupled with the repetitive, leading music just held me. Standing there, I realized that I didn't mind feeling small, that Berruti had made it okay to feel small and vulnerable. This is an amazing thing these days; very few artists seem to want to help their audiences be okay with their insecurities and smallness, but Berruti has done just that here. I could have stayed and watched forever, and I noticed that almost everyone who came around the corner had a similar reaction--we were simply captivated.

Venice Biennale (Fiona Tan)

2009-10-04T07:46:00.000-07:00

A few buildings over from Miquel Barcelò's work, I found an exhibition of videos entitled disorient by Fiona Tan, which I found very thoughtful and engaging. In the large room in the back was a video installation with one video of many fine traded goods from all over the world on shelves in a storeroom on one wall and on the opposite wall was a video of contemporary lives of people from the various countries being described by a narrator. It turns out the narration were of a man reading Marco Polo's writings from his journals while traveling. He speaks about all these luxurious goods and how wonderful they are, yet is very demeaning towards the people who make them, treating them as sub-human. The video of these people show the bad conditions in which they live and work, a lot of hardship, and through this juxtaposition of past and present, we understand that not much has changed since Marco Polo sailed the world in the 1200's. This piece deals a lot with natural history and exploration in terms of how we document societies and cultures, and plays on both objective and subjective realities. While this video was very socially oriented and related strongly to Venice's history (through Marco Polo), there were much more personal works of Tan's in the front spaces of the building.

There was a series of videos taken in a vertical format and in black and white (or limited color so it was nearly black and white), that had very slow motions of people, and with slow pans so that they looked more like photographs. I thought this created an interesting dialogue between the photographic and video in terms of what a motion-picture means and how motion in an image affects our understanding and later memory of a subject. That they were in black and white made further references to photography, and also changed my sense of time, though because they are videos, it is almost like they are stories of past and present. Old photographs are in black and white, yet so are newspapers, and these videos felt like they existed in black and white in order to be in that ambiguous space where we don't know whether we are in a time that has long passed or this present one.

There was one other work, which was projected onto two large vertical screens that were hanging next to one another. On the left screen came images of an elderly woman, and on the right screen came correspondant images of her younger self in similar situations. Sometimes the screens would both come to the same place and time, such as the old woman lying in bed, or a waterfall, and sometimes they would be aligned, but often they were temporally displaced by just a second or two. That there were two screens that showed different parts and that they were aligned vertically made the videos feel like fragements, which further emphasized that they were about memory and the act of remembering. The work was very quiet and contemplative, exploring how we come to know ourselves through time. I found the metaphors that she drew out between the women and movements of water--over a waterfall, the fall of rain, in the bath and shower--very compelling, and very much related to the idea of Tao. For a little while, we were awash with this woman in her thoughts and memories, growing and dying with her, falling right over the edge of rock and not knowing what we have forgotten. We were on her river, moving with her.

Venice Biennale (Miquel Barcelò)

2009-10-04T03:01:00.000-07:00

After a week's rest and distance, it's time to write a bit about our trip to Venice last week.

To be surrounded by so much contemporary art at the Venice Biennale was an amazing experience, but it was also incredibly overwhelming and exhausting to look at so much (I'll return to this topic later after I talk about some specific works that really resonated for me).

The first thing I saw here were paintings and sculptures by Miquel Barceló. I liked his paintings a lot--very large, nearly abstract canvases that were depictions of ocean waves and tides, a few of gorillas, and then some of seashells. They all had a certain physicality of the material, and in some the canvas was actually hairy, like fur, which was painted in layers to resemble waves. Barceló is clearly interested in having a conversation with the abstract expressionists regarding abstraction, representation, and flatness, and is making paintings that are very provocative in that sense because he's seeming to be of that tradition, but in fact is denying it. Yet while it seemed like he was really denying abstract expressionist values in terms of actual abstraction and flatness of the picture plane, I felt his relationship with the physical work and towards the feminine was very much of that era. There were a few sculptures shaped like very large clay pots in the first room of women's curved bodies but lacking any suggestion of their heads, being cut off at the shoulders and they were essentially menstruating as he painted dark stains coming from their crotches. They were beautiful forms, and many people didn't realize that they were depictions of women's bodies because they were so abstract. There were also pots that were simply ovular, but then were painted on, depicting women and donkeys//mules//asses, both of which shared nearly the same form. This was not okay with me--an essential equation of the woman being the mule as well as the headless muse who's only delight is the shape of her body. The seashell paintings definately shared formal characteristics with the vagina, which is something that is valid--the forms are very similar--but given the context of the sculptures present, I was a little revolted at the use of a vagina-seashell as a way to delight in the feminine form without acknowledgement of women as people who are more than just their mere bodies. We have minds and hearts and come in more shapes and sizes and have different interests, Barceló. We are humans, thank you, and far more complex than the image that you have given in your work. What disturbed me most was the video that he showed of himself and another man making a clay wall work--essentially tearing at it with their hands, gouging out holes with big shovel-like instruments, throwing mud at it. It looked a lot like the videos of men carving up and disemboweling whales in the early 1900's. The act was so violent and disrespectful, I felt sorry that the clay had to put up with that, and knowing about the violence of this process made me feel wary of the other clay pots, etc. in the exhibition just due to the material being the same. Moreso, his pots depict women, and if this is what he feels towards women's flesh, I'd like to get as far away from it as possible. This is sort of sad because these aspects of the work in a way prevent me from enjoying the conversation he's having with abstract expressionism on a formal level.

photos (of Venice and in general)

2009-10-03T10:08:00.000-07:00

In trying to sync my hard drive with my flash drive, I accidentally deleted all of my photos from Venice. Yes, every last one, plus the ones from earlier this week including a few of mosses that I took on a morning walk on Tuesday after we had returned home.

My initial response: I am dissapointed--I hadn't even looked at them again since the trip last week. And yet, my next response is that this is really funny. I had taken so many photos, had wanted to collect so many images to use as artwork material, as well as to show to friends, and now there's no way to get them back. There's no need to argue with it, the past is now the past. Ironically, this is how it would have been if I didn't have a camera at all in the first place, which puts all of this into an interesting perspective. In terms of deriving and just being a tourist in general, it is really a memory map that I have left now, with no "objective" traces to help me reconstruct my experiences.

This also makes me think about the act of taking pictures differently. I spent so much time collecting things I saw with a camera that I wonder whether my experience in Venice was more about experiencing Venice or about trying to remember it while I was still there. And that's just funny. It's something I was very aware of in, say, India, when I knew I didn't want to be behind a camera all the time, but Venice was a little different--it's almost as though it's so filled with tourists I didn't question taking photos at all. In a way, it makes me think, poor Venice. To be a city where people just come and take photos of your beautiful buildings and canals and light, then leave, not staying around to know you better, just get a dose of Venetian beauty, take it, collect it, preserve it so you can say "oh look at this beautiful canal, do you remember when we were in beautiful Venice?" and go--how it must feel to be stolen (in a sense) like that.

Now what I'm left with are my memories and drawings, which in a way feel more meaningful to me now. Pictures are nice, but they don't capture what happened on our derives, not really because what happened happened in me and between me and the other derivers and between us and the city. No photograph can capture what it felt like to weave in and out, follow the flow of the group (because we did flow, like a river, down the alleyways and then ebb when we had to choose a new direction, only to flow once more, mirroring a river's movements). After not looking at the photos for a week after the trip, I realize that I hardly remember what any of them were of, but I do remember a lot of what I saw, and whether the two would have matched up or not, I do not know. I do know that my memory would have been reshaped by the photos because they would remind me of things that I'm sure I have forgotten--be that a good or a bad thing, I don't really know. In a way, it is freeing to not have them anymore. I just don't have to worry about them. They're gone. Time to move on.

So. moving on.

mot du jour

2009-10-01T08:37:00.000-07:00

trefoil
-three-leaved as in gothic arches with the above forms, also pertaining to three-leaved plants such as clover and lotus.
it is a symbol of the balance between three (in the church: Father Son and Holy Spirit)

especially used in the contexts of botany and religion

tre//trois//three
foil//feuille//leaf

walking//mapping project

2009-09-29T09:07:00.000-07:00

This is the "map" for my process and evidence class. It's really just a start of something--I've done a lot but have a lot of directions I'd like to push this in further. I'll let you know again when I've updated it significantly.

mots du jour

2009-09-29T03:31:00.000-07:00

même

2009-09-29T03:06:00.001-07:00

I posted this as a response to one of Adam's posts regarding staking your territory and being different as an artist, but then realized it's something I've been thinking a lot about lately--especially after Venice--and wanted to expand on further.

do we really have to always be making something different?

do we have to try at all to make things different? aren't we all just saying the same things in different ways, passing them through our own internal strainers, filtering out what doesn't resonate, and passing on what does?

what would happen if we started trying to say the same thing as others instead of a different thing? why not try it and see what happens? could a community of differences be born from aiming for the same?

honestly, an experience where everything is different all the time is so tiring (take this last week visiting Biennales as an example). as a society, I think we could do with a little more of la même chose.

(même//same//meme//mime//even)

meme- (According to Wikipedia) A meme (pronounced /ˈmiːm/, rhyming with "cream"^[1]) is a postulated unit or element of cultural ideas, symbols or practices, and is transmitted from one mind to another through speech, gestures, rituals, or other imitable phenomena. (The etymology of the term relates to the Greek word mimema for "something imitated".)^[2] Supporters of the concept regard memes as cultural analogues to genes, in that they self-replicate and respond to selective pressures.^[3]More on how this relates to my biennale response later...

The Cut-Up Method of Brion Gysin (William S. Burroughs)

2009-09-26T11:30:00.000-07:00

Barry gave us this reading for our Process and Evidence class by William S. Burroughs who speaks about painter and writer, Brion Gyson's "Cut-Up Method" where you take a piece of writing you like and you cut it up (however you like, he suggests into four pieces) and then you pull words and arrange them at random to create a new piece of writing. Burroughs argues that "all writing is in fact cut-ups." He would probably laugh at me for using quotes. Ironically, this is sort of the point that I've gotten to, that I just want to be able to use someone else's words as my own, because I've begun to live them already (see my post on Terry Tempest Williams).

This method is a "surrealist" way to come up with new meanings out of the same material. I must agree with Burroughs and argue that it's not "surreal." It's simply what we do on a day-to day basis, only in doing physical cut-ups, we are doing it more directly.

Ironically, Terry Tempest Williams (the writer whose words I've begun to live in) quotes so many people, making their words her own, more or less, cutting their words into her writing. In our day and age, we must cite all these quotations, or else it is considered plagiarism, stealing, so that is what she does. But Burroughs is right, at what point do "someone else's words" become our own? At what point are we able to take that on as a part of ourselves?

Jay echos this mentality pretty clearly when he says that "great artists steal." And this is true, we are always learning from those we are influenced by--here I note that several of my last posts have been about artists whose work I like, from whom I'm "stealing" a visual language and ideas. I prefer to say that I'm relating my work to theirs or that their work resonates with me, but at what point is it relating or stealing?

In contemporary art there are individuals who have photographed others' photographs and called them their own work, arguing that the copying and difference in time and space and context changed the photograph's meaning. It is so easy today to reproduce another's work and so the copy has become the norm, but should homage be payed to those who gave us the idea or material to work from? To steal, word for word, someone else's writing or someone else's artwork, and not show thanks or gratitude for those thoughts, that is a wrong against that person. It's like gaining supernatural powers through ancestor worship, then claiming you have no ancestors. Or learning yoga and becoming a yogi then claiming that no one ever showed you a single pose or meditation practice. Not that you don't learn somethings by your own practice, but not honoring outside influence seems dishonest somehow.

I guess I'm wondering, how do I show those thanks? Do I make citations, like Terry Tempest Williams? Do I simply mention writers and artists in my statements? How do we mediate the line between stealing another's work and giving someone else all the credit for something we've added to? How do I make those connections known in a graceful yet unobtrusive way?

I don't really know the answers to these questions, but will continue to think about them and work them out within my work, of course. And for fun, here's my cut-up of Terry Tempest William's writings I quoted earlier:

(cut into eight)

Jump-started by beauty, rising and falling beauty, fallen trees. We too can dance on the floors of wide-open joy singing on the sage flats, faith of falcons, peregrine falcons appear indifference, the greatest sin is the sin of it can be hidden, all this is hidden, until the midair, drop and break through a haze of indifference, and I will balance this die on my head and say to Hell right here on earth and yes there are times you hear, I hear that fresh, fertile cadence. Dive past our sluggish hearts and we are our native pulse restored, coming out of the forest, dancing on trees, decaying wood. Can you hear, I hear, that meadow lark, meadow vole, hidden. The inquisitors, yes there are times I inhabit, I inhabit Heaven right here on earth. Can.

(cut into phrases and then edited to be made somewhat sensical.)

Why or whereabouts? No one would know the world where we are one. We are going. We come from the color of perhaps the most emotion inside.

I am certain, I do not I walk. My identity is afforded no movement. The buildings are grey. I honestly don't know is seeping Hell again. The sky is grey is the place if I were to die, I don't know how to percieve beauty. To feel the Great Forgetting where are can no longer meaning...attached to no one. outside.

Say to remember. Nothing makes motion.

Dissolve. El Bosco's Hell, the mood is grey.

Profound, what moves us: anonymous, faceless, misery boundaries. Retreat is grey. Nothing has meaning.

I honestly--
These streets. Teachings. We cast a shadow. I can find no barometer for beauty. Hell is dissolve--is when and where we did sense.

(cut into nine)

The ladder. I want out. I want down. Strangler, our own. I cannot breathe, noxious smells must surely--
they do. Hell, all of them in Hell, my mind is in go aware, go away.

Of strings, in my head I feel a tightening of strings, strings of a harp like a crucifix. I have to wait my turn. Turn. The millstone turns...The tightening there, a woman hangs from the Father forgive them for they do not know what--
Leave me in peace with my own contemplations. It is Hell to know the devil is the intimate family.

I do not know what to do.

They are standing in Hell, they are tromping all over this landscape of the dark near faraway stranger anxiety I embody when feats, feet, these--
There are others climbing, this is clear.

This nausea I am feeling is the I cannot breathe in this crowd of too many passing.

eva hesse and judy pfaff

2009-09-19T09:57:00.000-07:00

(Judy Pfaff, Round Hole Square Peg, 1997)

(Eva Hesse, Ohne Titel, 1966)

(Eva Hesse, Right After, 1969)

(Eva Hesse, No Title, 1970)

After hardly thinking of Eva Hesse or Judy Pfaff for about eight months, their work is once more resonating with me very strongly. (I'm just turning and turning in circles.)

The other night, my iPod changed at random to a clarinet duet I wrote in response to Hesse's Right After for a Music and Art class a few years ago. Though I listen to the recording fairly often, it struck me that this was a response to Hesse's work, and that I had just written about a gossamer web. I immediately remembered her No Title work that mirrors Right After but looks as though it is decaying, and realized that this is the duality that I want to create within the same work--light against dark, life against decay--and also the sense of relationship and reliance of the part on the whole. Looking up Hesse's work further I re-found her mandala series, which I've thought a lot about, but never really directly wanted to incorporate into my work until a the last couple weeks. Like Hesse, Judy Pfaff's room and print installations also use geometric mandala forms//structures cast against organic forms of plants and landscapes, and evoke both life and decay at once. Both artists are interested in immersing//engulfing the viewer in an experience, and this has been a goal of mine as well. I'm getting so excited because the installation work I'm starting to bring together seems to be a synthesis of all of these interests I've had for so long.

order//chaos
structure//deviation
singularity//multiplicity
universal//specific

HOLY COW VELLUM!!

2009-09-19T09:49:00.000-07:00

Yet again, I have found a highly applicable material for creating translucency (see photos in the corner between the wall and window). I really like that it provides another way to layer on top of photos//drawings and then draw more on top of them potentially. Also, I'm finding that going back and forth between a real installation and a computer is working well. I can't do it all in one go in either place, but working with them against each other helps me to get further along (thanks for the suggestion, Barry). (who would have thought, balancing material//immaterial, sensed//thought...)

word map

2009-09-19T00:30:00.000-07:00

1. Get a piece of paper, writing utensil, and french//english dictionary.
2. With your eyes closed open the dictionary to a random page and put your finger down.
3. Copy the word and it's translation onto the paper.
4. Continue choosing random pages and words until your paper is full enough.
5. Draw links between words that have related meanings.
6. Do whatever you like with it.

living in terry tempest williams' words

2009-09-17T08:43:00.000-07:00

I have been living in Terry Tempest Williams' words (Leap) for the last few days. no, few months. I breathe them, I think them, I hear them, I write them over and over so that I can see them, read them. They are in my steps, my downward-facing dog, my cooking, my heart, my mind. They are becoming my voice (for I have always had trouble with words of my own, but these words are becoming me, or I am becoming them. I am living them--I have always lived them--and so they are my voice. I am going to start to speak them now).

"I walk these streets of Madrid anonymous, faceless, attached to no one. I do not cast a shadow. If I were to die, no one would know my identity or whereabouts. The sky is grey. The buildings are grey. The mood is grey. The color of retreat is grey. Nothing has meaning. I can find no meaning...Boundaries dissolve. Teachings dissolve. Where did we come from? Why are we here? Where are we going? I honestly don't know. Say it again, I honestly don't know. Nothing makes sense. El Bosco's Hell is seeping into the world...Hell, I am certain, is the place wehre one is afforded no movement. Motion. Emotion. To remember what moves us, inside, outside. Perhaps the most profound barometer for misery is when we can no longer percieve beauty. To feel beauty. Hell is the Great Forgetting..."

The last several days have been embodied by this for me. The color of retreat is grey. I am grey. The sky is grey. We are all grey. We are all too mixed up. I am too mixed up. There is so much that it is all running together--all the colors and forms and ideas together come out as grey, a wall of grey. I am paralyzed. I am blocked, I am afforded no movement in all of this grey dissolution.

And then I was painting and found the deliciousness of paint, gobs of paint (I have never used gobs of paint), and then there was zinc white, oh it is too big for words. Things started to move again. It was like sunbeams and rainbows, (says Mr. Fox). It was the first time since April that painting has felt good, right. I could feel my lungs coming back to life. Just the first few breaths clearing out the old air, enough to unparalyze me, to be able to communicate something. Now I know that I need to get to this:

"There are others climbing the ladder. I want out. I want down. I have to wait my turn. Turn. The millstone turns...The tightening of strings, in my head I feel a tightening of strings. There, a woman hangs from the strings of a harp like a crucifix. Father forgive them for they do not know what they do. I do not know what to do...they are standing in Hell, all of them in Hell, my mind is in Hell, they are tromping all over this landscape, go aware, go away. Leave me in peace with my own contemplations of the Dark. It is Hell to know the Devil is the intimate near faraway stranger, strangler, our own family, this is clear, this nausea I am feeling is the anxiety I embody when I cannot breathe, I cannot breathe in this crowd of too many feats, feet, these noxious smells must surely pass."

I have not forgotten this, but I have forgotten how to express it. I have edited myself down to never speaking of the obsessive dark. I am afraid to speak of it. More than ever now, I must say it somehow. Because hell is next to the earthly delights. ("I will balance this die on my head and say to the inquisitors, yes there are times I inhabit Hell right here on earth and yes there are times I inhabit Heaven right here on earth. Can you hear, I hear that fresh, fertile cadence coming out of the forest, dancing on trees, fallen trees. We too can dance on the floors of decaying wood. Can you hear, I hear, that wide-open joy singing on the sage flats, meadow lark, meadow vole, hidden, it can be hidden, all this is hidden, until the faith of falcons, peregrine falcons appear midair, drop and break through a haze of indifference, the greatest sin is the sin of indifference, and dive past our sluggish hearts and we are jump-started by beauty, rising and falling beauty, our native pulse restored.")

HOLY COW ZINC WHITE!

2009-09-17T08:06:00.000-07:00

opposites

2009-09-16T12:35:00.001-07:00

I was looking up some artists that people have mentioned to me and was especially struck by Terry Winters' works where he juxtaposes bones with abstract forms. The abstract forms are very basal and remind me of artist-naturalist Ernst Haeckel's work with radiolarians. But if Haeckel's images are a meditation on the spiritual luminescence of tiny creatures from the dark, unknown waters of the sea, then Winters' forms are the opposite. They are more like voids or dark vacuums, far from being luminescent, they speak of death and an absence of light. This is a quality I have been missing in my work, and want to reconnect with. I'm interested in pushing the void and absence up against the life and luminescence, abstraction against representation, past against present and future. It's the pushing together of opposites that is so intriguing, (like Terry Tempest Williams' writing, too).

what happens when we mix abstraction with representation? when poetry and science come together? when the literal is joined with the metaphorical?

more importantly, why is this so satisfying to me?

drawing//derive

2009-09-16T11:41:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, I did a drawing exercise to loosen up. I've seemed to have gotten in a rut of being extremely careful with my drawings, and it's not that I don't appreciate their delicacy, but I wanted to get back to a more gestural mark. I drew for five and a half hours without stopping: an hour of one-minute drawings, an hour of three-minute drawings, six-minute, fifteen-minute, and finally finished one drawing for the last hour. It could be called a drawing derive because I didn't know where I was going, just drew whatever I saw or thought of or a random picture from my computer, and stopped and moved on when the bell rang every so often. It was a good exercise in scratching for a few subjects I've been thinking about lately and needed to draw more, such as moths and water, and also in re-finding some abstract forms.

I was totally strung out and loopy afterwards. As Jay said, "I'd worked myself through." Figuring this was an interesting mental state and feeling like I needed to get outside, I went on an "acutal" derive. I found a place where many of the little ferns I've seen were growing on the same wall, saw grasses blowing in the wind, and eventually came to my street in a round-about way. I honestly don't recall much else of the walk--it was hard for me to take anything in at that point--only that my lower body was at once very heavy and my torso and head were very light, like I was in a strung out mountain pose.

thoughts (towards a potential artist statement)..from Thursday or thereabout

2009-09-15T08:12:00.000-07:00

gather, gather. to bring together.

in my left hand I gather all the pieces, the fragments, remains of my past. I find the strands, invite them in, in, slide along one another, these spider’s web strands, the dew coming together, giving off momentary bursts of luminescence as the sun shines through, and all the liquid darkness of the sea as they are enveloped in shadow. in my left hand, in my left hand, I gather you here. in my right hand I gather all the could- and would-be’s of what is to come. I gather those strands, too. sliding them along eachother, a deep vaccum of possibilities, empty spaces of light and dark, filling and emptying one another, the tides shift in and out, in and out, all the breaths to come. in out, in you come. in my right hand, my right hand, I gather you here. I bring my hands together. I hold this gossamer web of light and shadow, my past and future, my mother’s past and future, my father’s, and mer’s knee, mary’s bright eyes, our home and my grandmother on the beach, a morning dove, mourning dove. a thousand moments forgotten unknown, all of time resting between my hands. I open my eyes. here. ça va. (it goes.)

enchantée. enchanted. I am chanted, chanter. sung. I am being sung, flowed along this river. a river is flowing me. a song is singing me.

sound, sound, resound. I am being sung by this harmony and dissonance. I am being sung by this I do not know where it is going what it is but it is breathing me and now I cannot help but follow, follow, I lie fallow, unable to sound, to speak, please please, let go of my throat, let me breathe my own breath that is your breath that is feeding me.

rural psychogeography//richard long

2009-09-15T07:44:00.000-07:00

Looking around for things on rural psychogeography, I found a blog entry on Richard Long (an artist who Barry mentioned in class). It actually didn't talk a whole lot about what has been done in terms of rural psychogeography, but gave a great description of Long's work, which is based around taking an extended walk outside and creating some sort of verbal, sculptural, or photographic work that relates his particular aim and/or response (here for Long's website).

The comments at the end of the blog are interesting, mostly related to how Long has done a couple walks where he drew a line across a map and then followed it. Many said that this is going against the notion of the derive, and I must say that these seem more like mental derives than physical ones, since the route is planned out before-hand. The purpose changes when the route is a regular or pre-determined thing (like my morning walks) because then it is about what you notice along the way. If the same walk is repeated over time the walk becomes about how your relationship to the same place and sequence of experience changes over time, how our minds connect with and beyond their regular environment. This is what I'm interested in--running our hands over and over the same ruts, but they are not the same, they're different because they are changing slowly and because our minds take them in differently.

blogging? what's that?

2009-09-15T07:41:00.000-07:00

It's not that I haven't been doing anything this last week, I'm just not used to posting it. And so the following posts are an update as to this last week.

invisible cities (italo calvino)

2009-09-11T10:04:00.000-07:00

I was taken by the metaphorical power of many of the cities that Italo Calvino describes. This is an excellent reading in order to see how you see because each world is a sort of archetype in and of itself, and though all of the stories were interesting, some resonated more than others. The thing about archetypes is that the ones that resonate more for each of us are closer to our experience of the world, and so can reflect back to us the way we see. Some ideas throughout that were interesting were: life//death as same, a lack of air//only earth, repetition, and mirrored actions. Below I'll go into more detail on two of the worlds that especially resonated with me.

The city of Olinda deserves special mention because it is how I experience time. In Olinda, there is a single point from which continually blossoms a new Olinda. In Olinda, birth is also death, and the present is a joining of past and future. In both these things there is balance. In fact, Olinda is all about experience as balance. I have this same need for balance, and a desire to join past with future in the present.

The story that resonated most for me was the second to last "Trading Cities: 4" on page 76, and I'll go into the most detail on it. It is about the region of Ersilia in which people constantly create a web of strings of relationship//connection between houses, but when there are too many strings, the city becomes unlivable//unmovable because there is no space, so the people must go somewhere else. This means the people of Ersilia are always on the move, and so they may never truly settle. The abandoned cities lose their form and become ruins where only the webs remain.

When I read this, I felt like Calvino was writing about me, about my world specifically. It is certainly akin to my art practice. I can't count the number of times I have abandoned a process when it got too full and figured out--when there was no space to move anymore--and moved onto something else, often completely different. This is very akin to the element of water, which, when it's container becomes full, must run elsewhere until it pools again in another basin, only to overflow that one as well (the Great Salt Lake and oceans being exceptions--only evaporation occurs there). The practice of forming webs is also what water does--it has extremely high cohesion and surface tension on micro-scale, so it can form webs that remain connected, which becomes important in it's web-forming abilities on an organismal-scale for example in the human body and in trees, and then rivers, estuaries, aquifers and oceans link all the bodies of water in the world creating macro-scale webs.

This city's life resonates because this is how I live--I am always forming webs of relationships within myself (see above: "This very akin to...") and sharing links with others when they're interested. This is also why I like Judy Pfaff--her work forms webs of interconnection through all the levels, joining them together.

What I wonder is: Wouldn't the strands finally start connecting between the ruined cities in Ersilia? If it is a region, it must have boundaries, and the webs must have points of overlap, so what happens when there is no more space but only web? Can this happen? Is it just the overall view--the ability to see micro, mid and macro levels at once? Is this what is happening for me now? Are my webs where physical cities once stood beginning to connect? For I have abandoned my last city, but it is still within me, all of them are still within me. And I can see how many of them meet up, where they slide along eachother and resonate, but I am not sure that I can quite see the whole.

psychogeography

2009-09-08T07:21:00.000-07:00

Why I have never come across anything on psychogeography before is beyond me. It seems like something that might have come up in The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-Than-Human-World (a book by David Abram on phenomonology--how our experiences are linked to our surroundings). Perhaps I wasn't quite ready to put it all together, but this definitely helps me do just that. For the longest time I've been interested in time and place and memory and our circuitous experiences, the webs of time and space that slide together and apart in each of us at every moment, inextricably linking our inner worlds to our surroundings. And landscape painting seemed the most natural place for me to start expressing my experiences, but it honestly never felt quite true enough because it was not wide enough in scope. My landscape paintings do not in and of themselves call up the links that go off in my mind--memories, intellectual knowledge--though they can communicate emotion and a sense of place. This is what I want to start communicating--these links, the webs that I am pulling together.

What floors me is that all of this is based on urban rather than rural explorations. I have a tendency to wander, but almost always in a rural place, and this brings up a fundamentally different experience. While a flaneur is able to claim anonymity, (and therefore a lack of responsibility for his actions) because of the mass of people within a city, wandering about the countryside is a very different experience. When in the woods or walking by fields, I am often the only one there, and therefore a degree of self-awareness is involved. There is nowhere to hide, and I become responsible for my actions. My actions have meaning for my surroundings whether I want them to or not. In terms of modernism//post-modernism this is an ironic division. The concept of the wandering flaneur who claimed anonymity became a popular thing to explore in a time when the avant garde was very important--when individuals were meant to make a difference and be overthrowing the norm. In my rural wanderings, I am exposed and aware of the effects of my actions--I cannot help but affect my surroundings--and this is in a time when anyone can say anything in art (and elsewhere, such as here on the internet), and so we have nearly lost our capacity to create meaning and affect anyone as a result.

Here are a few key quotes that resonated with me from Wikipedia's entry, "Psychogeography":

"The sectors of a city…are decipherable, but the personal meaning they have for us is incommunicable, as is the secrecy of private life in general, regarding which we possess nothing but pitiful documents". -Guy Debord, A Critique of Separation (1961)

Perhaps I'm interested in starting to document some of this web of experience in order to share the truths of what I have lived and am living.

"People can see nothing around them that is not their own image; everything speaks to them of themselves. Their very landscape is animated. Obstacles were everywhere. And they were all interrelated, maintaining a unified reign of poverty." -Marx, quoted by Guy Debord

A truth--that we can only experience life from within ourselves, and yet we are made up of everything that is outside of us. Time and space are singing us as much as we are singing them.

“In discovering a small world we discover the whole world.” -Bill Humber

macrocosm//microcosm
universal laws//personal narratives