Justice...as I contemplated this word (or supposed virtue) this week... it felt like a rock hanging over my head. A rock ready to fall out of the sky onto my chicken little. I am but a little chicken after all (but, have been swinging my sword for some time to cut off its head).
Justice...a concept I thought I might consider a virtue within myself and found lacking the ability to express any meaning other than a swollen symbol inside the representation of myself getting ready to burst.
Justice... blinded with two hands busy with dichotomies, slashing and selling off what has been measured, clad as a woman, what madness is this?
Women have no understanding of justice other than that, which is manufactured for them, bearing their resemblance to draw in their sword and scales in occupied hands. Weighing up measures of sins whilst they sit blind folded by the system that created such a word.
I have had a hard time with justice as you can see, but then I can’t see that for myself... I am blind folded.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Tobacco Roads Meets Industry Sincerely
My Brother John arrived on time to help rebuild Christchurch, but industry had a go at him in the airport as he came through customs from America to New Zealand (via Austrailia for economy). After waiting for him at the security gates for thirty minutes I began to wonder why he was being held up. Turns out, it was a modern day ‘hold up’ to be sure. A security person came out and asked me who I was waiting for. I said, my Brother John and she said, ‘we have him for too much tobacco’, and then she vanished.
So, what does industry have to do with it?
Well, since my brother is going to be in New Zealand for three months and had heard how expensive tobacco was here he decided to buy a three months’ supply. That supply cost him $60.00 for three bags of pipe tobacco in Oklahoma. Brother John rolls his own cigarettes and has a really clever roller with the empty cigarette tubes with attached filters. This way, they look just like what Kiwi’s call ‘tailor-mades’...instead of lopsided looking cigarettes that look like joints. It's always a pain to get busted for smoking tobacco.
New Zealand customs took great care to weigh out exactly how much tobacco he was allowed to bring in and confiscated the rest, but with the understanding that he could buy it back from them for $641.00. Pretty industrious, aye? The Customs officers gave Brother John a receipt that says he has a month and a half to return to the airport and buy back tobacco that he already paid $60.00 for in America for $641.00 or they will burn it (does anyone really believe they do this?).
Brother John said, ‘let it burn’.
Now, I am two days late on discussing the next virtue for this week, sincerity. I sincerely see something wrong with using any industrial act to create the above scenario. But then, no one’s been asking me for most of my life, for you see, I’m just a woman who is through pumping out and raising four children all over the age of eighteen and promptly cast aside by the chaos that surrounds the patriarchal order and left for dead, but I’m not. How sincere is that?
I tend to say, ‘let it all burn down and start over’. Yep, a flaming feminist.
I think Brother John and I are going to be some kind of dangerous together, sincerely, I do.
Meanwhile, yesterday, they let me back into university again a month from the day of the last earthquake on February 22 that caused my Brother John enough concern to come visit us for three months and see what he can do to help rebuild this, that or any other thing. Brother John is a mason, a stone mason, a laid back, ‘happy as’ soul who’s lifetime motto has been ‘don’t worry, be happy’ and ‘it don’t matter to me, I’m just here to help’.
Help is what we all need in a world where industry has gone absolutely mad, not to mention what ‘ole mother [sic] nature' is up to! Sincerely.
So, what does industry have to do with it?
Well, since my brother is going to be in New Zealand for three months and had heard how expensive tobacco was here he decided to buy a three months’ supply. That supply cost him $60.00 for three bags of pipe tobacco in Oklahoma. Brother John rolls his own cigarettes and has a really clever roller with the empty cigarette tubes with attached filters. This way, they look just like what Kiwi’s call ‘tailor-mades’...instead of lopsided looking cigarettes that look like joints. It's always a pain to get busted for smoking tobacco.
New Zealand customs took great care to weigh out exactly how much tobacco he was allowed to bring in and confiscated the rest, but with the understanding that he could buy it back from them for $641.00. Pretty industrious, aye? The Customs officers gave Brother John a receipt that says he has a month and a half to return to the airport and buy back tobacco that he already paid $60.00 for in America for $641.00 or they will burn it (does anyone really believe they do this?).
Brother John said, ‘let it burn’.
Now, I am two days late on discussing the next virtue for this week, sincerity. I sincerely see something wrong with using any industrial act to create the above scenario. But then, no one’s been asking me for most of my life, for you see, I’m just a woman who is through pumping out and raising four children all over the age of eighteen and promptly cast aside by the chaos that surrounds the patriarchal order and left for dead, but I’m not. How sincere is that?
I tend to say, ‘let it all burn down and start over’. Yep, a flaming feminist.
I think Brother John and I are going to be some kind of dangerous together, sincerely, I do.
Meanwhile, yesterday, they let me back into university again a month from the day of the last earthquake on February 22 that caused my Brother John enough concern to come visit us for three months and see what he can do to help rebuild this, that or any other thing. Brother John is a mason, a stone mason, a laid back, ‘happy as’ soul who’s lifetime motto has been ‘don’t worry, be happy’ and ‘it don’t matter to me, I’m just here to help’.
Help is what we all need in a world where industry has gone absolutely mad, not to mention what ‘ole mother [sic] nature' is up to! Sincerely.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Industrious Needs Its' Tummy Flap Lifted
Industriousness looks different to me now. I begin to watch for signs of it while I get up from bed every day and head straight for my desk where I might write down what comes to mind after being shut down and then restarted. (Two cities come to mind by comparison, Christchurch and Sendai, I live in one and consumed the other)
Today, I stood in front of the mirror naked...
...while lifting the flap of my tummy off the caesarean scar from giving birth to my second to last daughter, whose name appropriates all that I am ever contemplating as I go along in my own industrious ways. There is an underlying pattern I seek inside, not to classify, but to bring light to the darkness. Air under the tummy flap, to make things heal, is my destiny.
My daughter’s name is Destiny. Destiny Rose, in case Destiny is not enough. I never meant for it to be the flower, but the act of rising, like the energy that needs addressing, too long repressed, under oceans and inside hearts. I long for us all to be in touch with our destinies.
That destiny is to love no matter what, alongside our natural tendency to slaughter and be condemned to a death of some kind, which always follows birth by moments or many years, the difference is only important to the survivors, who cloud the issues of what life has left for any of us on the backside of too many earthquakes and one hell of a tsunami. All with feminine characteristics no doubt and very cranky tummy flaps.
With my own words I desire to make less of a mess of the space I occupy. I long for a landscape of peaceful composition fully rendered with potential approval by everyone. Ahhh, a dreamer you say, there is no way to do that. But nevertheless, how might I do that is what occupies my mind every minute of every hour, every day of every year, every year I have been here. Not because the ‘I of me’ needs it to be expressed by me for others, but because the ‘I of me’ requires that that one possible language to be strong enough inside myself to create an over-riding pattern of reality to offset the slaughter.
To deny my own sense of slaughter is insane and not very intelligent, for intelligence renders one thing to all, we know nothing, and we are more often merely responders than meaning makers, not one of us makes any lasting meaning for anyone besides ourselves to the point of intention that I seek inside myself, which is every one’s right that cannot be breached, except...some do try. I rub my finger across my scar and remember my own efforts to control anything, the futility smells upon my fingertips.
Then some are the collective parts of ourselves left to go fly into the universe without editing, like say the media...showing tsunamis, earthquakes, nuclear explosions over and over again with the still pictures heaped with visual remnants of past industriousness torn asunder. What think ye of industry today my friend, Ben? I think he might agree with me on this...there is nothing to be gained by watching it over and over and everything to be gained by turning it off collectively and saying, excuse me, I need time to think this thing through, there is much to do here, but it needs to be from the part of the ‘I of me’ of all of us after we become intimate with our own destinies and lift up our tummy flaps and allow a little air in.
While many are performing rescue, I sit here and contemplate...what we do next certainly needs to be extremely different from what we have done before...and...
It occurs to me that the only reason we need armies is for the purpose of saving those who are lying in the rubble of Christchurch and Sendai, this is an army’s true destiny, to rise up their numbers for these acts of love and not those that contribute to the slaughter. An army has the force that could put love back on the map of our world, to counter balance what is the natural tendency of all organic matter, to slaughter, decompose and/or simply die.
Imaginary boundaries need to come down, property rights rethought, positions of power destabilized need rethinking in egalitarian ways utilizing all our natural and material resources collectively to bring love equal to slaughter. There is no one on this planet unaffected by these events now thanks to technology, it is our best friend and our worst nightmare and it has brought to every one’s table this reality:
We are all on this planet together, and this planet is undergoing a very strong pattern of repositioning itself, not because of some angry god, gods, or external mad-hatter, but simply because it can and does over and over, no matter what. We all need each other to collectively create a world where everyone can be as safe as possible, while always understanding that there is not anything we can build, plan for, or dictate, that cannot be pulled apart, drowned and destroyed in the blink of an eye, or nearly as quickly, and this pattern will never stop.
The only thing we as human animals can truly do is to be constantly industriously cultivating our abilities to love differently than the way we have in the past. We need to language things differently, rebuild differently and that will never be possible as long as we look at the mediated spaces for our language keys...turn the television sets off...and think what destiny might rise up inside the 'I of you' that is important for now, we need one another to all be doing just that...NOW, not later.
Today, I stood in front of the mirror naked...
...while lifting the flap of my tummy off the caesarean scar from giving birth to my second to last daughter, whose name appropriates all that I am ever contemplating as I go along in my own industrious ways. There is an underlying pattern I seek inside, not to classify, but to bring light to the darkness. Air under the tummy flap, to make things heal, is my destiny.
My daughter’s name is Destiny. Destiny Rose, in case Destiny is not enough. I never meant for it to be the flower, but the act of rising, like the energy that needs addressing, too long repressed, under oceans and inside hearts. I long for us all to be in touch with our destinies.
That destiny is to love no matter what, alongside our natural tendency to slaughter and be condemned to a death of some kind, which always follows birth by moments or many years, the difference is only important to the survivors, who cloud the issues of what life has left for any of us on the backside of too many earthquakes and one hell of a tsunami. All with feminine characteristics no doubt and very cranky tummy flaps.
With my own words I desire to make less of a mess of the space I occupy. I long for a landscape of peaceful composition fully rendered with potential approval by everyone. Ahhh, a dreamer you say, there is no way to do that. But nevertheless, how might I do that is what occupies my mind every minute of every hour, every day of every year, every year I have been here. Not because the ‘I of me’ needs it to be expressed by me for others, but because the ‘I of me’ requires that that one possible language to be strong enough inside myself to create an over-riding pattern of reality to offset the slaughter.
To deny my own sense of slaughter is insane and not very intelligent, for intelligence renders one thing to all, we know nothing, and we are more often merely responders than meaning makers, not one of us makes any lasting meaning for anyone besides ourselves to the point of intention that I seek inside myself, which is every one’s right that cannot be breached, except...some do try. I rub my finger across my scar and remember my own efforts to control anything, the futility smells upon my fingertips.
Then some are the collective parts of ourselves left to go fly into the universe without editing, like say the media...showing tsunamis, earthquakes, nuclear explosions over and over again with the still pictures heaped with visual remnants of past industriousness torn asunder. What think ye of industry today my friend, Ben? I think he might agree with me on this...there is nothing to be gained by watching it over and over and everything to be gained by turning it off collectively and saying, excuse me, I need time to think this thing through, there is much to do here, but it needs to be from the part of the ‘I of me’ of all of us after we become intimate with our own destinies and lift up our tummy flaps and allow a little air in.
While many are performing rescue, I sit here and contemplate...what we do next certainly needs to be extremely different from what we have done before...and...
It occurs to me that the only reason we need armies is for the purpose of saving those who are lying in the rubble of Christchurch and Sendai, this is an army’s true destiny, to rise up their numbers for these acts of love and not those that contribute to the slaughter. An army has the force that could put love back on the map of our world, to counter balance what is the natural tendency of all organic matter, to slaughter, decompose and/or simply die.
Imaginary boundaries need to come down, property rights rethought, positions of power destabilized need rethinking in egalitarian ways utilizing all our natural and material resources collectively to bring love equal to slaughter. There is no one on this planet unaffected by these events now thanks to technology, it is our best friend and our worst nightmare and it has brought to every one’s table this reality:
We are all on this planet together, and this planet is undergoing a very strong pattern of repositioning itself, not because of some angry god, gods, or external mad-hatter, but simply because it can and does over and over, no matter what. We all need each other to collectively create a world where everyone can be as safe as possible, while always understanding that there is not anything we can build, plan for, or dictate, that cannot be pulled apart, drowned and destroyed in the blink of an eye, or nearly as quickly, and this pattern will never stop.
The only thing we as human animals can truly do is to be constantly industriously cultivating our abilities to love differently than the way we have in the past. We need to language things differently, rebuild differently and that will never be possible as long as we look at the mediated spaces for our language keys...turn the television sets off...and think what destiny might rise up inside the 'I of you' that is important for now, we need one another to all be doing just that...NOW, not later.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
The Real Aftershock Gallery
Right now, the real Aftershock Gallery has no set anything. People come and do what they need to in order to regain their ground of being...one person paints, another turns the sprinkler on and runs half naked through it...we don't care here what you do to bring the art of life back, just do it.
Some drink endless cups of coffee, some smoke like chimneys while others up and quit. There is no set anything, nor should there be...we all have to find our level (Brother John is bringing his) and the only thing I do to help is to make sure there are no useless rules, and no one here to tell anyone the one word that shuts us all back down....NO.
YES, I say to the person who wants to rearrange my cupboards, just because it makes them feel better, it doesn't matter to me anymore where any THING is, just as long as all that lives is allowed to express that through artistic endeavours that is the impetus to go on in the face of so much tragedy, so much crisis and the endless aftershocks that will certainly continue to plague many human animals alive at this point in time and hereafter, because let us face it, there always has been a part of the world no man can control.
In so many ways, change has to be embraced and not resisted, it is this resistance to the changes we all need to intuitively over-ride and make a space in some way that provides the ground of being for artistic expression, which heals the savaged soul that has been for so long told NO, you can't do that, NO, it must be this way, NO, this and that are the only ways...
There are no room for "experts" in the aftershock gallery, we have become "friends of chaos" here, realizing that there are things in this world no "expert" can predict, control or alleviate...
but, "friends of chaos", can generate new and interesting ways to live in the midst of all that is...anyway that makes them feel better with only one rule in place...
do and say nothing that stops another person from giving a go at generating an expression that might make sense only to them, one is enough, one is...what we all are anyway, coming in and going out, it looks different, but is always, and always has been....this same way, individually, even when collectively extinguished in earthquakes and tsunamis.
Some drink endless cups of coffee, some smoke like chimneys while others up and quit. There is no set anything, nor should there be...we all have to find our level (Brother John is bringing his) and the only thing I do to help is to make sure there are no useless rules, and no one here to tell anyone the one word that shuts us all back down....NO.
YES, I say to the person who wants to rearrange my cupboards, just because it makes them feel better, it doesn't matter to me anymore where any THING is, just as long as all that lives is allowed to express that through artistic endeavours that is the impetus to go on in the face of so much tragedy, so much crisis and the endless aftershocks that will certainly continue to plague many human animals alive at this point in time and hereafter, because let us face it, there always has been a part of the world no man can control.
In so many ways, change has to be embraced and not resisted, it is this resistance to the changes we all need to intuitively over-ride and make a space in some way that provides the ground of being for artistic expression, which heals the savaged soul that has been for so long told NO, you can't do that, NO, it must be this way, NO, this and that are the only ways...
There are no room for "experts" in the aftershock gallery, we have become "friends of chaos" here, realizing that there are things in this world no "expert" can predict, control or alleviate...
but, "friends of chaos", can generate new and interesting ways to live in the midst of all that is...anyway that makes them feel better with only one rule in place...
do and say nothing that stops another person from giving a go at generating an expression that might make sense only to them, one is enough, one is...what we all are anyway, coming in and going out, it looks different, but is always, and always has been....this same way, individually, even when collectively extinguished in earthquakes and tsunamis.
Before Industry
Still working my morality board, it sits here propped up against the wall and anchored by a painting of myself created by a friend of mine who loved Van Gogh as much as I...I count the things before industry...temperance, silence, order, resolution, and frugality...I try to find those things in myself and others as they go 'a building Christchurch' again, like busy little bees, telling most of us what to do and how to do it...because that's what you get when you have a disaster--you get marshal law, a police state, a bureaucratic nightmare and a major media spectacle that just looks different than the state of things before, but operates the same, same, even a good toss, or total annihilation cannot wipe out man's nature.
I cry a lot, it eases the tsunami rising inside me.
Looking for a way to describe what it feels like for friends outside the pacific ring of fire that want to care and do something, anything to help (you know who you are, I will never expose you)...and, I can think and feel a temperate warning, it feels like extended death, created by 'real live' footage of massive watery burial in Sendai, oh....what's wrong with this picture...can you hear me...can you hear me....what does it mean...it means something, but, no matter what we decide for it to mean...it is just the way it is and always has been, sometimes more, sometimes less, but now that we have technology to bring us all abreast instantaneously, it means we all get to feel everything at once without any time to distinguish between the parts of it....whatever the event.
Christchurch tumbles, Sendai drowns and everyone everywhere gets a front row seat. How industrious this must make us all feel, no shit, or perhaps we just become cheerleaders screaming at the vision before us 'run little man in the far right corner of the television screen, run, run as fast as you can, that ain't no box of chocolates chasing you, it's a real live tsunami and don't you worry, we be watching you, too, and praying for you to win.'
Bullshit. Turn the damned thing off. There are some things we should not have to watch. Bring order into your living rooms everywhere. Stop watching and consuming the remnants of humanity.
I laugh too, it eases the volcano in the pit of my stomach and helps me digest the food I eat that threatens to choke me, or just quietly finish me off from being genetically modified, just like me.
So, just in case we might miss the nose hairs on those reporting the major crisis es, we buy a bigger television...and, instantly, I rip the veil across my face to poke my nose through and smell, the smell...which feels like it threatens to extinguish me, but smells can't kill you, they tell me....and smells don't come from television sets...but, I can smell something, strongly fermented and ingrained through pixels in my head that says there is disaster everywhere, always is, and always will be, and just like now, not a damned thing I can do about any of it.
So, my nose knows, that my mind is being colonized, my nose has not been because I have never stuck it in a television much, and now....I will watch it even less, which means leaving the rooms it occupies wherever it is on and tumbling and drowning out life for those who sit before it consuming other peoples predicaments and then, getting up to be industrious in ways that are programmed into them or out of them depending on the nature of man behind the pixels.
Sit in real silence. Create new pixels that float inside your mind and build a world of one, the most industrious thing in the world, is a singularly well focused person uninundated, unburied, unencumbered by one disaster after another after another after, ahhhhh, you get it, allowed to contemplate their own temperance, silence, order, resolution and frugality, before they engage in any industry whatsoever.
I cry a lot, it eases the tsunami rising inside me.
Looking for a way to describe what it feels like for friends outside the pacific ring of fire that want to care and do something, anything to help (you know who you are, I will never expose you)...and, I can think and feel a temperate warning, it feels like extended death, created by 'real live' footage of massive watery burial in Sendai, oh....what's wrong with this picture...can you hear me...can you hear me....what does it mean...it means something, but, no matter what we decide for it to mean...it is just the way it is and always has been, sometimes more, sometimes less, but now that we have technology to bring us all abreast instantaneously, it means we all get to feel everything at once without any time to distinguish between the parts of it....whatever the event.
Christchurch tumbles, Sendai drowns and everyone everywhere gets a front row seat. How industrious this must make us all feel, no shit, or perhaps we just become cheerleaders screaming at the vision before us 'run little man in the far right corner of the television screen, run, run as fast as you can, that ain't no box of chocolates chasing you, it's a real live tsunami and don't you worry, we be watching you, too, and praying for you to win.'
Bullshit. Turn the damned thing off. There are some things we should not have to watch. Bring order into your living rooms everywhere. Stop watching and consuming the remnants of humanity.
I laugh too, it eases the volcano in the pit of my stomach and helps me digest the food I eat that threatens to choke me, or just quietly finish me off from being genetically modified, just like me.
So, just in case we might miss the nose hairs on those reporting the major crisis es, we buy a bigger television...and, instantly, I rip the veil across my face to poke my nose through and smell, the smell...which feels like it threatens to extinguish me, but smells can't kill you, they tell me....and smells don't come from television sets...but, I can smell something, strongly fermented and ingrained through pixels in my head that says there is disaster everywhere, always is, and always will be, and just like now, not a damned thing I can do about any of it.
So, my nose knows, that my mind is being colonized, my nose has not been because I have never stuck it in a television much, and now....I will watch it even less, which means leaving the rooms it occupies wherever it is on and tumbling and drowning out life for those who sit before it consuming other peoples predicaments and then, getting up to be industrious in ways that are programmed into them or out of them depending on the nature of man behind the pixels.
Sit in real silence. Create new pixels that float inside your mind and build a world of one, the most industrious thing in the world, is a singularly well focused person uninundated, unburied, unencumbered by one disaster after another after another after, ahhhhh, you get it, allowed to contemplate their own temperance, silence, order, resolution and frugality, before they engage in any industry whatsoever.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Thinking about Industry and my Brother John
I was thinking about industry while I rearranged my office, had the kids bring over an extra bed, cleaned out drawers and made space for my brother to come and live with us in New Zealand for three months to help our morale and just be with us after we've had two major earthquakes here in Christchurch, New Zealand within the last six months. I wrote this poem for him:
My Brother John
My Brother John is coming on a big bird mechanical and complicit with its nature...
landing brilliantly, or so I hope
let fly before death by fire, hanging, slander, or natural disaster.
Like any other man, I am her, too.
Brother John brings cowboy boots, level, trough and all that implies
inside his own mind, not yours or mine, too, we can be duality when he leaves of course, as we
do, have and will be again.
And then, even when we don’t do, have and won’t be by choice, and then again by chance.
Will Brother John come to my rescue? You bet, he will and then he did in my mind before he
even came and went again. Intriguing me to realities of static, non-imaginary renderings off the
cuff, just to hear their refrain, it does not have to be in stone anymore my mason, but
if it be, let it be built by my Brother John--So Christchurch won’t fall down again.
My Brother John
My Brother John is coming on a big bird mechanical and complicit with its nature...
landing brilliantly, or so I hope
let fly before death by fire, hanging, slander, or natural disaster.
Like any other man, I am her, too.
Brother John brings cowboy boots, level, trough and all that implies
inside his own mind, not yours or mine, too, we can be duality when he leaves of course, as we
do, have and will be again.
And then, even when we don’t do, have and won’t be by choice, and then again by chance.
Will Brother John come to my rescue? You bet, he will and then he did in my mind before he
even came and went again. Intriguing me to realities of static, non-imaginary renderings off the
cuff, just to hear their refrain, it does not have to be in stone anymore my mason, but
if it be, let it be built by my Brother John--So Christchurch won’t fall down again.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Today
Today, I remind myself because I have to lest I forget to remember that for a week I must think about frugality. Then, I contemplate all that I just tipped out of my trashcan, consumables consumed by me, and one other person. The take is shocking. I recognize this and hate the waste and the seemingly no way to stop it. Every surface in my house has something on it left by someone other than me, I clean them off, the stuff continues to simply arise out of the dust that mythologies are cast in, and then decidedly, gets blown away by something, natural or man-made, a disaster is a disaster, a clean-up, now, that’s magic.
But, we are all alive, ya betchya. I re-conscribe my world and colonize my own language. I might as well; there is nothing and no else to talk to. Talking is passé for everybody, including myself, that’s why I write. Yeah, I talk a lot, too, inside and out like now. But, I don’t have any choice, that is just what I do, because I have to in order to find some order within the chaos that surrounds me, vibrating intensely beneath my feet as a testament to nature, that has always been prescribed as feminine, unstable, mysterious, unpredictable, or worse, an act of God.
None of it works, let’s face it.
Its okay to wipe the slate clean when the whole mucking place is devastated, but, the order must resume donchugedit?! They both suck because of and in conjunction with one another, there always is two in communication, but I disagree with this, I talk to the robins in the garden, I really do and you can’t take that away from me, call me crazy and be done with it, I exist alongside you always and I am an animal, no doubt about that, that makes two of us.
Most days I like it in a frugal kind of way, so I can’t wait for industry, which is always the by product of frugality, too, they are one and the same in the mirror, no matter who discusses which self blooms, they both change by the reflection one to another, we are not only a product of our environment, we are the environment that makes the product, the only time you go into the darkness is to flee, unless you walk at night amongst the stars, naturally, both parts addressed inside yourself, you are stardust if you like, and not stardust if you don’t. You get to decide at least that much. Which do you chose? Which sounds better? I decide.
I look up at the sky and see birds flying two by two everywhere, but I, I am alone until I recognize that Tuppy is there lying at my feet, protecting me from what? There is nothing to come and get me unless there is a decision made or an accident. I am not over there; I am inside you. When I write I can do that, be in more than one place at a time like magic.
That’s what I keep looking for while I learn what part is mine and communicate my own desire through language first, then and only then can it be communicated to another, that’s how it works, inside, outside, in reverse, reflecting back and forth, making it work, making it flicker across the screen by a process the “experts” would have you discoursing for a trillion years, and then suddenly, the years are at an end catastrophically by all kinds of events that rob us of our lives, and because of this deep fear of that, we attack one another cannibalizing no matter where we come from, where we are now and where we might think we are going.
Such is life and such is what Art longs to be, but never is, unless we decide for it to, says Eva.
Boom, boom goes the house in an up and down aftershock, just a jolt, a reminder of something kicking from the inside out, coming through, out to geeatcha...oh, my, it’s feminine rising.
But, we are all alive, ya betchya. I re-conscribe my world and colonize my own language. I might as well; there is nothing and no else to talk to. Talking is passé for everybody, including myself, that’s why I write. Yeah, I talk a lot, too, inside and out like now. But, I don’t have any choice, that is just what I do, because I have to in order to find some order within the chaos that surrounds me, vibrating intensely beneath my feet as a testament to nature, that has always been prescribed as feminine, unstable, mysterious, unpredictable, or worse, an act of God.
None of it works, let’s face it.
Its okay to wipe the slate clean when the whole mucking place is devastated, but, the order must resume donchugedit?! They both suck because of and in conjunction with one another, there always is two in communication, but I disagree with this, I talk to the robins in the garden, I really do and you can’t take that away from me, call me crazy and be done with it, I exist alongside you always and I am an animal, no doubt about that, that makes two of us.
Most days I like it in a frugal kind of way, so I can’t wait for industry, which is always the by product of frugality, too, they are one and the same in the mirror, no matter who discusses which self blooms, they both change by the reflection one to another, we are not only a product of our environment, we are the environment that makes the product, the only time you go into the darkness is to flee, unless you walk at night amongst the stars, naturally, both parts addressed inside yourself, you are stardust if you like, and not stardust if you don’t. You get to decide at least that much. Which do you chose? Which sounds better? I decide.
I look up at the sky and see birds flying two by two everywhere, but I, I am alone until I recognize that Tuppy is there lying at my feet, protecting me from what? There is nothing to come and get me unless there is a decision made or an accident. I am not over there; I am inside you. When I write I can do that, be in more than one place at a time like magic.
That’s what I keep looking for while I learn what part is mine and communicate my own desire through language first, then and only then can it be communicated to another, that’s how it works, inside, outside, in reverse, reflecting back and forth, making it work, making it flicker across the screen by a process the “experts” would have you discoursing for a trillion years, and then suddenly, the years are at an end catastrophically by all kinds of events that rob us of our lives, and because of this deep fear of that, we attack one another cannibalizing no matter where we come from, where we are now and where we might think we are going.
Such is life and such is what Art longs to be, but never is, unless we decide for it to, says Eva.
Boom, boom goes the house in an up and down aftershock, just a jolt, a reminder of something kicking from the inside out, coming through, out to geeatcha...oh, my, it’s feminine rising.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Frugality gives birth to the aftershock gallery
I am into the fifth week of my morality board commitment inspired by my friend Benjamin Franklin. Just for a recap, week one was temperance, two was silence, the third week I had the misfortune of contemplating order during the February 22, 2011 earthquake that hit Christchurch, New Zealand, the fourth week was resolution wherein I had to decide to flee or stay, and now that I have decided to stay in devastated Christchurch City and create the aftershock gallery, the virtue for this week is frugality, and as you may begin to see as I have, Ben was a bit of a visionary when it comes to practicalities.
Frugality, what does it mean, what does it mean?!?!
It means “in the context of certain belief systems, [it] is a philosophy in which one does not trust (or is deeply wary of) “expert” knowledge, often from commercial markets or corporate cultures, claiming to know what is in the best economic, material, or spiritual interests of the individual” (robbed freely from the Wikipedia which some people snub, and I find as readily available inspiration to begin a search for understanding when all the libraries have been knocked down).
At this moment, nothing could better describe my frustration in being knocked down (and locked out) after the major shakeup to await “expert” knowledge on how to recuperate. Since the aftermath of the very first Christchurch Quake on September 4th, 2010 which was thought fortuitous, but possibly gave all of us a false sense of optimism (something Gramsci warns us about), that has since February 22nd’s ruthless reminder that no “expert” can prepare us for what nature may deliver, I now find myself deeply embedded in the need for frugal philosophical contemplation, as well as an assessment of frugality as practice...
“Frugality is the practice of acquiring goods and services in a restrained manner, and resourcefully using already owned economic good and services, to achieve a longer term goal” (and again, I rob the Wikipedia).
What does this mean for me, what does this mean?!?
I am an artist. I am not a rescue worker or an engineer or a strong enough person to clear rubble. But, what I can do is provide a safe space (relatively speaking) and an environment that I believe to be one of the healthiest ones that people can become whole again through artistic endeavours.
I use to break up old plates and glue them on pieces of furniture and sell them for thousands of dollars in Oklahoma, USA, which is my homeland. However, now that I am a Cantabrian, I have refuse all around me begging to be turned into something constructive, creative, and beautiful with no need to break a thing, everything is broken. I know how to make lemons into lemonade and dress mutton into lamb. This is what I consider my goods and services that can be freely given to all my Cantabrian earthquake victims.
Today, I decided to open my home (which has not one crack in it, running water and electricity, located in one of the safest parts of Christchurch) as the aftershock gallery. Herein, anyone can come and paint, draw, sculpt, sing, read and write their way back to a beautiful way of living. There are two friends who have agreed to donate their artistic souls to the project and with no money, only talent and vision, we shall frugally go forth and provide an environment that can help the hurting psyches for those who feel locked out of the equation for recovery. Since the first quake, I have found solace only when painting and writing, I think many folk are built this way, and I intend to provide a place for them to do it in.
Herein, is my first port of call:
...is a space to create in, a gallery of different folks with different interests, but with the same situation of living with sudden change. Art is a healer for anyone and everyone is welcome here. We will try to accommodate projects for painting, mosaic, sculpting, drawing, reading, writing, and just about anything else our other artistic friends would like to donate their own time with.
...tuition is free or by appropriate donation...if you have no funds, no problem, if you have some, please share them, your funds will go back into the community by providing paint, tiles, brushes, mortar, pencils, paper, books and whatever other supplies are needed to help us continue to offer our services to the whole of Christchurch earthquake victims, which ahem, means everyone... with the place and the time to rebuild lives through artistic endeavours.
As much as possible, we will be using recycled materials, left over from building projects, demolition, broken china, pieces of family heritage restored through artistic recreation in honour of our passage as victims to victors. We will reclaim parts of our heritage, bit by bit, moment by moment, while focusing our attention on nothing but the moment in which we are creating in.
Let’s face it; everyone needs to come out of the desert occasionally. After a dry run, let’s get creative!
Bring your damaged goods and your damaged psyches to the aftershock gallery of friends and find out what can happen. There is no cost, but trying, we aim to supply everyone with some way to express in a positive way, all that has been happening to them through the vehicle of art as healing.
And, herein is my first attempt of formulating the beginning curriculum...
• Painting is not as mysterious as the brotherhood of secrets would have you believe. Painting is for everyone! All styles and mediums taught, but for now we will stick with acrylics because the paint dries fast and you never know how quickly we might have to finish it. Just kidding, oil painting and watercolour, also. (Any age)
• Drawing on all your instincts with a little help from one of our University of Canterbury Art Majors will marshal in memories of better days. Life drawing, still life drawing as well as a few people locked outside with no clothes on if you like, these classes will be designed especially to your own tastes. (Adult audiences and budding geniuses)
• Sculpting in stones that resonate with you will put you in focus with many dimensions of internal reflection, mending holes in the frontal lobe and putting yourself geopolitically locatable onto surfaces that take some rocking. (Ages 10 and upwards)
•Mosaic a pot, table top, shelf, picture frame, mirror frame, cabinet or any other thing you can think of with all your broken bits and pieces that you don’t want to throw away, because they mean something or remind you of someone, put them to use all in one place and create your own ART. (Ages 5 – senility, in fact, it stabilizes all ages, putting little pieces of the puzzle together again)
• Faux paint a surface of any kind, jewellery boxes, table tops, mirror frames, make a statement just by overlaying a few of your favourite colours that bring you joy, there are many ways to texture our life even when life does it to us it is ART. (All ages)
• Reading a book with a committed group of people can be a huge stabilizing as well as expansive for those hungering to hear something besides the media gone mad. The group can make magic by meeting once a week for the duration of reading and digesting any book the group suggests. (All ages, separated by choice and content)
• Writing your stories can be the defining moment toward healing any process, completing an era and making new meaning from rubble. Come write with us and read your story, pass it around, hear it out loud or simply take it home and lock it up, but write it, write it, write it.(All ages...for those who don’t write, they can tell it and we will write it for them)
• Singing needs no lesson other than the ability to make joyful noise. Our music majors will donate their understandings to the charitable controlled chaos we hope to exude.
And in conclusion:
the aftershock gallery is a concept that has arisen from people who have something to give, but nowhere to give it. Because many places are closed and deemed unsafe or hazardous, we still would like to provide some form of stability to all our lives. The aftershock gallery is in a home that has been through both earthquakes and does not have a crack in it. It is located close to the University of Canterbury and the Teachers College. It is fenced, gated and easily accessible with the safe parking around the corner.
Parents, these classes are designed to be able to drop your child off for a couple of hours, while you do your shopping or other necessary tasks, we will steep your child into an art project that will bring them stability, creativity and something to look forward to each week while we all get on with putting our lives back into order. We will put your telephone number into a quick group call to instantly message you of our status should further aftershocks occur.
Everyone, this is for you, too, with an environment of positive searching for new and exciting ways to express ourselves no matter what. the aftershock gallery and friends have decided that they would like to share their talents at this time with the larger public to promote healing and restoration for all of Christchurch.
We would like to keep our groups limited to no more than five, as two teachers will be available for each class, making seven people in one space an adequate amount for stimulation and a small enough group for safety during this time that proves to have ongoing aftershocks.
We are offering our services for free with the understanding that those capable of providing donations will be very much appreciated for the sustainability of this community project with no other purpose than to help the wider community move toward mending their lives through the natural functions of Art and its powers of beauty and restoration.
To express an interest for one of the formulas from friends attached, please contact us as follows:
theaftershockgallery@gmail.com
Donations for materials, letters of support and ongoing morale boasters will be greatly appreciated. Think frugally, but give resourcefully to the longer term goal of restoring the community of Christchurch through artistic endeavours. Art is life.
Frugality, what does it mean, what does it mean?!?!
It means “in the context of certain belief systems, [it] is a philosophy in which one does not trust (or is deeply wary of) “expert” knowledge, often from commercial markets or corporate cultures, claiming to know what is in the best economic, material, or spiritual interests of the individual” (robbed freely from the Wikipedia which some people snub, and I find as readily available inspiration to begin a search for understanding when all the libraries have been knocked down).
At this moment, nothing could better describe my frustration in being knocked down (and locked out) after the major shakeup to await “expert” knowledge on how to recuperate. Since the aftermath of the very first Christchurch Quake on September 4th, 2010 which was thought fortuitous, but possibly gave all of us a false sense of optimism (something Gramsci warns us about), that has since February 22nd’s ruthless reminder that no “expert” can prepare us for what nature may deliver, I now find myself deeply embedded in the need for frugal philosophical contemplation, as well as an assessment of frugality as practice...
“Frugality is the practice of acquiring goods and services in a restrained manner, and resourcefully using already owned economic good and services, to achieve a longer term goal” (and again, I rob the Wikipedia).
What does this mean for me, what does this mean?!?
I am an artist. I am not a rescue worker or an engineer or a strong enough person to clear rubble. But, what I can do is provide a safe space (relatively speaking) and an environment that I believe to be one of the healthiest ones that people can become whole again through artistic endeavours.
I use to break up old plates and glue them on pieces of furniture and sell them for thousands of dollars in Oklahoma, USA, which is my homeland. However, now that I am a Cantabrian, I have refuse all around me begging to be turned into something constructive, creative, and beautiful with no need to break a thing, everything is broken. I know how to make lemons into lemonade and dress mutton into lamb. This is what I consider my goods and services that can be freely given to all my Cantabrian earthquake victims.
Today, I decided to open my home (which has not one crack in it, running water and electricity, located in one of the safest parts of Christchurch) as the aftershock gallery. Herein, anyone can come and paint, draw, sculpt, sing, read and write their way back to a beautiful way of living. There are two friends who have agreed to donate their artistic souls to the project and with no money, only talent and vision, we shall frugally go forth and provide an environment that can help the hurting psyches for those who feel locked out of the equation for recovery. Since the first quake, I have found solace only when painting and writing, I think many folk are built this way, and I intend to provide a place for them to do it in.
Herein, is my first port of call:
the aftershock gallery of friends
...is a space to create in, a gallery of different folks with different interests, but with the same situation of living with sudden change. Art is a healer for anyone and everyone is welcome here. We will try to accommodate projects for painting, mosaic, sculpting, drawing, reading, writing, and just about anything else our other artistic friends would like to donate their own time with.
...tuition is free or by appropriate donation...if you have no funds, no problem, if you have some, please share them, your funds will go back into the community by providing paint, tiles, brushes, mortar, pencils, paper, books and whatever other supplies are needed to help us continue to offer our services to the whole of Christchurch earthquake victims, which ahem, means everyone... with the place and the time to rebuild lives through artistic endeavours.
As much as possible, we will be using recycled materials, left over from building projects, demolition, broken china, pieces of family heritage restored through artistic recreation in honour of our passage as victims to victors. We will reclaim parts of our heritage, bit by bit, moment by moment, while focusing our attention on nothing but the moment in which we are creating in.
Let’s face it; everyone needs to come out of the desert occasionally. After a dry run, let’s get creative!
Bring your damaged goods and your damaged psyches to the aftershock gallery of friends and find out what can happen. There is no cost, but trying, we aim to supply everyone with some way to express in a positive way, all that has been happening to them through the vehicle of art as healing.
And, herein is my first attempt of formulating the beginning curriculum...
Formulas from Friends
of
the aftershock gallery
• Painting is not as mysterious as the brotherhood of secrets would have you believe. Painting is for everyone! All styles and mediums taught, but for now we will stick with acrylics because the paint dries fast and you never know how quickly we might have to finish it. Just kidding, oil painting and watercolour, also. (Any age)
• Drawing on all your instincts with a little help from one of our University of Canterbury Art Majors will marshal in memories of better days. Life drawing, still life drawing as well as a few people locked outside with no clothes on if you like, these classes will be designed especially to your own tastes. (Adult audiences and budding geniuses)
• Sculpting in stones that resonate with you will put you in focus with many dimensions of internal reflection, mending holes in the frontal lobe and putting yourself geopolitically locatable onto surfaces that take some rocking. (Ages 10 and upwards)
•Mosaic a pot, table top, shelf, picture frame, mirror frame, cabinet or any other thing you can think of with all your broken bits and pieces that you don’t want to throw away, because they mean something or remind you of someone, put them to use all in one place and create your own ART. (Ages 5 – senility, in fact, it stabilizes all ages, putting little pieces of the puzzle together again)
• Faux paint a surface of any kind, jewellery boxes, table tops, mirror frames, make a statement just by overlaying a few of your favourite colours that bring you joy, there are many ways to texture our life even when life does it to us it is ART. (All ages)
• Reading a book with a committed group of people can be a huge stabilizing as well as expansive for those hungering to hear something besides the media gone mad. The group can make magic by meeting once a week for the duration of reading and digesting any book the group suggests. (All ages, separated by choice and content)
• Writing your stories can be the defining moment toward healing any process, completing an era and making new meaning from rubble. Come write with us and read your story, pass it around, hear it out loud or simply take it home and lock it up, but write it, write it, write it.(All ages...for those who don’t write, they can tell it and we will write it for them)
• Singing needs no lesson other than the ability to make joyful noise. Our music majors will donate their understandings to the charitable controlled chaos we hope to exude.
And in conclusion:
the aftershock gallery is a concept that has arisen from people who have something to give, but nowhere to give it. Because many places are closed and deemed unsafe or hazardous, we still would like to provide some form of stability to all our lives. The aftershock gallery is in a home that has been through both earthquakes and does not have a crack in it. It is located close to the University of Canterbury and the Teachers College. It is fenced, gated and easily accessible with the safe parking around the corner.
Parents, these classes are designed to be able to drop your child off for a couple of hours, while you do your shopping or other necessary tasks, we will steep your child into an art project that will bring them stability, creativity and something to look forward to each week while we all get on with putting our lives back into order. We will put your telephone number into a quick group call to instantly message you of our status should further aftershocks occur.
Everyone, this is for you, too, with an environment of positive searching for new and exciting ways to express ourselves no matter what. the aftershock gallery and friends have decided that they would like to share their talents at this time with the larger public to promote healing and restoration for all of Christchurch.
We would like to keep our groups limited to no more than five, as two teachers will be available for each class, making seven people in one space an adequate amount for stimulation and a small enough group for safety during this time that proves to have ongoing aftershocks.
We are offering our services for free with the understanding that those capable of providing donations will be very much appreciated for the sustainability of this community project with no other purpose than to help the wider community move toward mending their lives through the natural functions of Art and its powers of beauty and restoration.
To express an interest for one of the formulas from friends attached, please contact us as follows:
theaftershockgallery@gmail.com
Donations for materials, letters of support and ongoing morale boasters will be greatly appreciated. Think frugally, but give resourcefully to the longer term goal of restoring the community of Christchurch through artistic endeavours. Art is life.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Crying for Creativity
Today, eleven days after the aftershock/earthquake that hit Christchurch on the 22nd of February, 2011, I finally sit and grieve. It took awhile, but it hit me today. I cried in what felt like a healthy way, understanding my part in all this, what it is and what it isn’t, and how deeply affected each Cantabrian is, and all the others who just happened to be in Christchurch to come and play with us, or do business with us in this part of New Zealand. And I should mention as well, the impact for those who could merely watch from a distance, hands gripping whatever medium they could find for certain information.
Collectively we have experienced something that few people experience in their lifetimes, a devastating earthquake on September 4th that left not one person dead and then, less than five months later, another earthquake that defied all the reserves we each had left within us while robbing us of our loved ones and the spaces we loved to occupy.
Today, I was very sad for us, but in a healthy way, because I know that what can come from this, can and should be better than what came before these events if all of us just pay close attention to how we collectively create our progress and how considerate we are for our individual, as well as our collective, need to grieve and regroup without making decisions (or resolutions) too quickly.
It is important that we consciously slow things down and remember that recovery means making decisions that cannot be prudently made on the backside of a collective experience that left no one unchanged, no one unaffected. In our own unique ways, we all changed immediately, without growing into it, suddenly, staring our own mortalities in the face for those of us who survived, and negotiating the void of missing relatives, friends, and spaces to occupy, that will never be again. This is a collective devastation which rearranges all of our priorities while realizing the maxim, ‘nobody and nothing is perfect’ in the perfectly controlled chaos we all now live in. So, how should I approach my recovery?
Creatively, I am sure. If nothing else, I am sure of the need for creativity in the space of utter uniqueness.
In the immediate phase of recovery I shall take enough time off to consciously watch my thoughts before making too many grand and over-arching decisions. This is not the time for certain resolutions just yet, that time is coming, but first, I must reflect fully...and that, takes more time than rescue could allow. Those who performed the rites of rescue have been what they always live for...heroic in their capacity to perform immediate and affective relief. That time is now over for Christchurch, now, comes the hard slog that needs much contemplation by everyone left affected. Let’s not be too quick to cast in concrete that which could surely fall upon our heads once again. Let’s allow ourselves to grieve, regroup and then, cry out with creative ways to rebuild each of our lives.
I cannot remember where I first heard this...but, it has been something my creative side has always understood...
”Do not worry when you see me doing nothing, for that is when I am doing everything at once”...
Collectively we have experienced something that few people experience in their lifetimes, a devastating earthquake on September 4th that left not one person dead and then, less than five months later, another earthquake that defied all the reserves we each had left within us while robbing us of our loved ones and the spaces we loved to occupy.
Today, I was very sad for us, but in a healthy way, because I know that what can come from this, can and should be better than what came before these events if all of us just pay close attention to how we collectively create our progress and how considerate we are for our individual, as well as our collective, need to grieve and regroup without making decisions (or resolutions) too quickly.
It is important that we consciously slow things down and remember that recovery means making decisions that cannot be prudently made on the backside of a collective experience that left no one unchanged, no one unaffected. In our own unique ways, we all changed immediately, without growing into it, suddenly, staring our own mortalities in the face for those of us who survived, and negotiating the void of missing relatives, friends, and spaces to occupy, that will never be again. This is a collective devastation which rearranges all of our priorities while realizing the maxim, ‘nobody and nothing is perfect’ in the perfectly controlled chaos we all now live in. So, how should I approach my recovery?
Creatively, I am sure. If nothing else, I am sure of the need for creativity in the space of utter uniqueness.
In the immediate phase of recovery I shall take enough time off to consciously watch my thoughts before making too many grand and over-arching decisions. This is not the time for certain resolutions just yet, that time is coming, but first, I must reflect fully...and that, takes more time than rescue could allow. Those who performed the rites of rescue have been what they always live for...heroic in their capacity to perform immediate and affective relief. That time is now over for Christchurch, now, comes the hard slog that needs much contemplation by everyone left affected. Let’s not be too quick to cast in concrete that which could surely fall upon our heads once again. Let’s allow ourselves to grieve, regroup and then, cry out with creative ways to rebuild each of our lives.
I cannot remember where I first heard this...but, it has been something my creative side has always understood...
”Do not worry when you see me doing nothing, for that is when I am doing everything at once”...
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