Has it been quiet? No, it has been an overloaded summer into fall… Having a hard time keeping up with myself, but it seems that is how I like it.
I toured Europe, Mexico and Seattle, getting my mind blown in various ways and plotting future full-on hobo adventures, in which I master the skill of living exactly nowhere for the rest of my life.
I returned to grad school after quitting a few years back, happy now to dive headlong into my study of abject horror, my fascination with the grotesque and how it all relates to my version of performance. Graduation = 2012, if the world doesn’t end first, but we all know it will, so this is why I do it for the experience and not for the degree.
And I am currently Production Designer, Makeup/Hair and Documentarian on this incredible noir-murder-musical film by Julian Grant, called F*ckload (of Scotch Tape). To be rotoscoped!!! I’m learning so much and am scaring the complete and total shit out of myself, just as it should be. Julian is a true phenomenon. I am so fortunate to have his nonstop creative energy and kindness in my life.
Then it was time again for Scary Movie Party– 2011 marked its 8th year of handmade horror. Our most ambitious events to date, we included some incredibly strong work from artists and filmmakers all over the world. Loving my new international community of makers! For your viewing pleasure, our annual MIT GAS video.
Then bisous, a participatory honey-tongue-drawing performance, was installed at Defibrillator as part of Food & Performance.
Now, my beloved and I are in NYC for his solo project, UNUR.
Then back to Chicago for a winter I will do my best to ignore. Onward!
version 1 of broken photo is upon us! this is another one of my projects, in which i am part artist, part organizer. the idea is to create images, battered and bruised, through tactile means only– no digital allowed. scratches, multiple-exposures, warped film and its final presentation is what my two co-conspirators and our 12 handpicked artists are going for. though i, of course, am breaking my own rules in a sense. i hope for my final output to be an ephemeral representation of such tactile processes. that is, a super8 looped projection. which, naturally, ive never done before.
the original concept for my concentric trench super 8 film piece was for it to remain fully analog. surrounded by piles of crumpled, off-reel, hand-processed super8 film caused me to realize the enormity of the undertaking. sure, im made of magic, but what gives? i determined that i would lose the focus of the narrative (whatever it still may be) if i could not understand my own editing in a linear fashion– the way digital editing can offer. so i digitized all 12 reels and was able to build a mockup in final cut.
within broken photo lies an opportunity to present the analog version of this literally dragged-through-the-mud film. a small loop, a repetition. just as the process of digging a concentric trench actually is. i hope this wee gesture for broken photo will help me resolve this otherwise enormous concentric trench project… which has been on hold since 2009. returning every so often to resolving this piece is a bit like stumbling across the remainder of a cactus spur half-extracted.
toward resolution, then!
≠
broken photo’s inaugural exhibition will be on thursday sept 1, 2011 at living room gallery in chicago.
there is always a point in scheduling my future endeavours when i think, “sure, ill have plenty of time to do this. i mean, theres nothing else going on then, so…YES.”
then my months become days and diminish into hours and my minutes start getting all bunchy and i get irritated with myself for doing too much at all times and i have to put myself to bed, certain that some kind of better solution, better process with hit me over the head one day.
{breathe.}
but this is my process: the optimism, excitement, what-ifs and perspective of the long view; followed by the cautionary prudence of minding my time and carefully choosing new opportunities which cross my path; then total, compleat freakout, self-doubt, frustration, the “i guess ill never learn”s and temporary mental shutdown. it is not pretty, but, fortunately, it is ephemeral. i have to remind myself that i wouldnt do this many things if i thought i couldnt hack it.
so, now that i am on the other side of said freakout, i am able to name the things ive involved myself in. without apprehension, without doubt. especially now that i have ceased staying up nights in a row to work on a film set doing makeup and, relievedly, the clog in our tub has finally been snaked.
and okay, so it looks like i do have plenty of time… excellent.
august
teaching kids performance throughout the summer
my parents visit and stay at my house
broken photo exhibition, for which i am an organizer and artist
goin’ to mexico
practice gore effects on friends in preparation for independent film
september
goin to seattle
goin back to grad school
being a body in a sound & movement performance
practice gore effects on friends
begin special effects makeup design for independent film
october
scary movie party 8, organizer/filmmaker/DJ at the whistler
scary movie party 8, see above, at the hyde park art center
mischief night performance at hpac– blood/lick drawing
grad school
practice gore effects on friends
special effects makeup design for independent film contd
november
my brother and his family visits
food & performance at defibrillator– honey/lick drawing performance, 2 days
a merkins thanksgiving part 3
grad school
practice gore effects on friends
special effects makeup design for independent film contd
december
grad school
practice gore effects on friends
special effects makeup design for independent film contd
film wraps
sleep
here is your reward for making it through this post: paddy from dillinger 4! zinggg!
An amalgamation of fbook posts, which is all I could muster during this hyperactive euro-tour. Enjoi!
∴ ∴ ∴
April 6, 2011
pass. port. pass-port. passport. PASSPORT!!!!!!!!!
∴
May 5, 2011
LET ME CUT YOUR HAIR!: A Fund Razor
Dear Friends:
great advertising, yes?
I am super lucky to be going to Europe this June with a great couple of gals. I need to make some extra scratch for the trip, so: Let me cut your hair!
Just a trim, some sweet layers, dashing color, a fake fade or something experimental. “I’m not a pro, but my mom is,” and she taught me– I gave my first official haircut was when I was 9. Now I do asymmetrical cuts on purpose! I do men’s cuts, too. Tell me what works best for your hair and we can go from there– hey, let’s call it a collaboration. Asking for donations only, whatever you can afford to give– as we all know, every little bit helps!
Come over to my house across the street from Humboldt Park, we will lounge in my yard, drink good beers or lavender hibiscus tea as my sweet puppy Maisy basks in the sunshine at your feet. Or I can come to your place, no problem.
I’m leaving the last week of May, so please contact me before May 22 for your new, awesome spring hairdo!
Thanks so much, I will eat a croissant in a beerhall in your honor. If you don’t need a cut, please help by spreading the word!
xox, Jessi
∴
May 8
my mother’s advice on going to europe: “dont get sold into sex slavery.” quoted with permission. happy mother’s day, everybuddy!
∴
May 9
pack weight = 18.2 lbs so far. edit, edit.
May 9
PASSPORT RECEIVED! im this much closer to becoming an ex-pat, woohoooo!
May 9
just a reminder: i am cutting hair for tips so i dont starve in europe. put me to work! xox
∴
May 22
heaven for me, hell for Patrick.
Provencal Lavender Fields Map
Provencal Lavender Fields Map. Travel Maps for exploring Provence, South of France and Paris, by Provence Beyond.
May 22
a map of my EUROPA 2011 trip. one of my biggest experiments to date, seeing much art, some monks, castles, puppets, pals, beers, lights, mountains, flying by the seat of my pantalons, can’t believe this is really happening, ohmygoodness, people, i am leaving the US.
EUROPA 2011
Covering 18034 kilometres / 11206 miles
May 26
dear formerly long-haired friends: thank you for helping me achieve my goal of Eating Food in europe by letting me cut your hair. moreover, i am humbled by your faith in me and my magic scissors. i make cheers to you at electroparty! xox
∴
May 27
putting together my euro-soundtrack. this one. this one right here. the anthem today for tomorrow.
May 29
i made it to prague by way of a restorative 3-hour layover in munich. now im safe and sound in my bunk at prague square hostel after a decidedly spiralesque couple of days. g’nite!
Flickr
let the eurotour begin! documenting whatever these countries lay before my gaze…
∴
May 30
booking future hostels already… a couple more days in prague, then onto kutna hora to see the ossuary/bone cathedral, then a day in dresden, then berlin. ive already seen so much in just 2 days, my eyeballs ache. also in need of a leg rub. you know, like for bar-b-que.
∴
May 31
super prague apartment for super nice ladies!
Czech Rep./Germany/Netherlands
Super nice! (Novy Svet, Prague)
May 31
such a lovely end to another huge day. ill be inside a castle tomorrow!!!!
thunderstorm over prague castle. mindblowing. why do we not have castles in the states?
∴
June 1
just bought my ticket to see bedrich smetana’s “vltava”— a love letter to the river moldau which hairpins through prague and which i played as a middle school cello nerd. ill also be hearing the music of vivaldi, dvorak, pachelbel, albinoni, bach, mozart, all the heavy hitters from my days in orchestra. gonna witness this cathedral-style. i brought my hanky for the most wonderful 70 minutes of my life in prague thus far. eeeep!
∴
June 2
final day in prague. i will be excited to move on to kutna hora to see the bone cathedral/ossuary. scary movie party stock footage, anyone?
our first eurail train of the trip arrived beautifully in crusty old kutna hora, czech republiky! we lucked into a fancy ikeaesque apartment & a student band is playing old swingin jazz jams in the courtyard below us… ye got yer dukes place, yer what a wonderful world and hopefully some herb alpert if those kids can get loose.
June 3
the bone church was incredible— bones of 40,000 people in amazing constructions. i have 200 czech korunas left before we head out to berlin tomorrow. gee, what should i spend it on?
∴
June 5
the bone church, ruins, and unacceptable signage. goodbye, czech republic. destination berlin!
June 5
oh em eff gee, BERLIN! riding bikes with Todd to meet Frank at Muggelsee Lake. it is a beautiful, sweaty day with phenomenal old friends. and beer, of course, what can i say? when in berlin…
∴
June 8
goodbye berlin, thanks for the memories. next stop, the canals of amsterdam! and some well-earned shuteye.
June 8
berlin people, tear it up!
MM Presents: BRAVE EXHIBITIONS BERLIN w/ UNUR + AUTOMATIC WRITING
Location: King Kong Klub
Time: 10:00PM Thursday, June 9th
June 8
here we are, amsterdam! im gonna bike the hell out of you!
∴
June 9
more more more photoez! berlin altogether and the bright beginnings of a dusky amsterdam. BIKES!!!!!!!!
at bolhoed vegetarian restaurant in amsterdam. the vegan sampler plate is insane— bready roasted veggie pizza, dill white asperges, lentils, tomato paprika tofu, herbed brown rice, fresh salad with watercress, people! just drank a big glass of soy milk for the first time since leaving. heaven.
Healthfood Restaurant De Bolhoed
At the Bolhoed on the Prinsengracht enjoy organic vegetarian food in a charmingly chaotic decor with New Age accents. The dishes on the menu are all vegetarian and quite often vegan as well. There are tasty carrot pumpkin soup and hummus and tzatziki as well as casserole dishes and brownies.
∴
June 11
ladies and gentleman, i am proud to report that i have achieved drinking both gold and silver leaf! (in a 17th c. herbal liqueur called “tears of the bride,” limit 3 due to metal poisoning). all this for 4€. one can be shiny on the inside too…
∴
June 12
goodbye, amsterdam, its been expensive. spent the day a half hour away chasing windmills in zaanse schans. the old paint mill’s secret room bestows upon me brilliant stonemilled pigments: ducaten-goud bronsepoeder, russian green and blue glass litter (a precursor to glitter). AND this hotel has a sauna. super psyched!!!
June 13
dear antwerp, show me what you got, for i have no idea what to do with you. love, jessi
June 13
hello, antwerpen centraal! feed me!
deelicious vegetarian fare at finjan, then a walk to the “fancy fair,” which was a surprise carnival! rode some lawnmower-powered bumper cars around a slippery wooden track and laughed my ass off. a walk along the waterfront with a quick stop to get fizzy water and a cherry lambic for the walk home to our hotel across the cobblestone street from the cathedral. “free life,” the folks say here. agreed.
∴
June 14
in antwerp, at cafe lombardia, vegan goodness found quite by accident! tofu totall sandwich and an iced caffe with vegan cream on tooooooop! it looks like dee-lite exploded in here. the proprietess may or may not be lady miss keir… in 20 years. i am stunned.
June 15
la tour eiffel = 1, johnny depp = 0. such a satisfying day walking the hectic streets of paris with Jenelle using my french skills (well!), drinking wine and taping a message from a very cool girl child on the eiffel tower itself. we were offered help by no less than 7 people today and it made me coo. my feet are way poofy and ive laundry to do in the sink… paris, montmartre, im yours.
∴
June 17
catacombs, more happy french conversation and jovial passings through l’incroyable sacre cœur park, du bière et vin avec Jenelle and now a hostel room full of bright-eyed world travelers. humbled, grateful and anxiously awaiting an embrace at gare l’est from one hardworkin’ Patrick. le sigh…
June 17
trois jours à paris avec Patrick Scott. c’est magnifique!
∴
June 19
hangin with some incredibly wonderful french goth-punks in paris. these kids loooove to cook. AND they have soya milk for my café. again, certain heaven. today, the louvre and finding the old grand guignol horror performance theatre, eeee! then off to carcassonne on the night train for a handful of days in the french countryside… in a holding pattern of stunned-ness.
June 20
eating the face off of some super creamy ste-félicien cheese on baguette with a(n) euro-glass of westmalle tripel. Patrick scored us this kickass cheap hôtel/apartment where we can cook our own supper for the first time in weeks! considering driving through provence to the beach tomorrow instead of training it… lavande, la plage, chartreuse, i am coming for you!
∴
June 21
trying for this on a whim and suggestion from a new friend… it has surely been the natural pigment tour thus far! color, i want to eat you.
June 21
avignon, france. le credit card is officially maxed out exactly as planned. plotting our evening excursion *in a tiny noir FIAT convertible* to see des ocres de rousillon land formations at the golden hour. du bière, some deep twilight, then full darkness at 10 pm. the cicadas have arrived and their timbre is definitely french. hovering in wide-eyed disbelief for these experiences.
∴
June 22
cette matin, je vais à la musée lavande. et puis, je vais à les alpes françaises pour boirons le chartreuse liqueur et carthusian monks! oui oui oui. ce soir, je retourner à paris. et demain…………….. sigh. je ne peux pas parler!!!!! il est trop triste!
June 22
”Chimm Boffo!” Jessi and I celebrate the last piece of leftover plastic bag tofu from our hotel room hobo dinner last night. note the faux nutella smears on Jessi’s fingers. That’s class you can’t buy in the city.
June 22
one car, 6 trains, 3 villages, 1 city… all in a days work. tomorrow, two trains, two planes and a long, weighted walk home to my best girl maisy. wishing Patrick the best fortune on his insanely complicated way home via barcelona. wish we were flying together…
∴
June 23
off to see charles de gaulle about a plane… à bientôt, paris!
June 23
chicago. a long walk home from the train by choice. MAISY MAISY MAISY and the cats. handlebar with Jenny for beers and food. 10pm here, 5 am in europe. c’est comme ça.
∴
June 24
Maisys Auntie Jenny has truly earned her orbs/balls as Saint Jenny, protector of animals, plants and wayward ephemera. today, i light candles in your honor. thank you for a friendships worth of care. i love you.
was totally, completely insane. with all the end of the year teaching stuff happening along with some major life events, i have been breathlessly racing against the clock for months. i never got caught up and so i just evacuated chicago for europe.
im exhausted from being busy and needlessly preoccupied. being this busy means that i am not available for those i love. it means i cant always pick up the phone when someone calls. it means i am not taking care of myself and my family. it means i have two speeds: on and off. i dont rise up from sleep, i mechanically switch on like a light. and i dont fall asleep, i shut down. i have been living this way for at least the entire time ive lived in chicago, which is (inexplicably) the better part of a decade. it is the compleat opposite of how i want to continue spending the remainder of the precious hours i have been given. so. europe. teach me.
arrival. sunday may 29
a blur.
a little bumpy, a little dizzy, but overall pretty cush, after all, i was lucky enough to fly lufthansa. they give you pillows and blankets (both clean) headsets, full meals and two thick steaming wet wipes for you to freshen up with as you see fit. i tried to sleep the whole time, but it was difficult. i was more than ready to get off that plane.
chilled out in a patch of grass outside the munich airport to reset myself. took a picture of a picture of maisy in the daisies. smiled at jenelle. got on a tram and drove 100 yards to a tiny plane that looked like a caricature of itself.
landed in prague. had to find jennifer somewhere in the airport, who had taken 5 flights to get to prague due to frequent flyer miles. found her, got on another tram. saw some hooded crows in the countryside! got on the most vertical escalator possible and couldnt even look where i was going. really fast subway, another vertical escalator, walking on the surface through a sea of drunk people or tourists or both with too much baggage. find prague square hostel (recommended), check in. lay down for 50 seconds. go out and explore, take a hundred photos, eat pizza, piss off our first server by asking for water. drink a celebratory beer with the girls. more roaming. up too late figuring out my System… uploading photos on an un-intuitive ipad. sleep. but not for long.
Since I won’t be around to defend my planties from jerky human invaders for all of June, I am embarking on an exercise in severely letting go.
Temporarily, I understand the need to put it to the side, to make it easier on the folks who are helping take care of my indoor plant and animal family while I am away this summer. It kind of hurts to detach this much from raising green goodness into the world, but I know I must prioritize and balance my expectations against the realities of the city and the schedules of my friends who are so graciously minding the farm. Therefore, sadly, I will not be growing my beloved varieties of cotton this year. Too much to ask.
Another major part of my detachment is because I know that nobody cares about all the work, planning and care it takes to raise plants and keep them well the way I do. Except for the farmers I know– they obviously totally get it, thousandfold, at that. Honestly, between tuckpointers pissing on my food plants while they work and constantly keeping an eye out for the landscrapers to remind them for the 57th time over 2 years to please leave the plants alone and please do NOT spray poison all over the place/inside my animals, gardening in the city just gets downright discouraging.
I understand that raising and tending things which are alive like plants and animals is a major part of my identity, and this action is part of my creative process. As an artist, everything I do is an extension of my creative practice, which has a strong science vein connecting the concepts I investigate. As a teaching artist, I teach what I know and practice. If I can’t practice gardening, then I certainly won’t be teaching it. Already this spring, I have brought in redworms and sweet, sweet crumbly compost for my kids to pour over, oohing and ahhing while simply discovering the soil. I introduce the land as curriculum as much as possible not only for the ecology factors but also because I have learned that city kids can be incredibly fearful of the natural world. Me and my redworms try to undo as much of that as possible.
But now, out of necessity, I must disconnect from my little piece of tending this natural world. Therefore, Entropic Gardening ensues.
I unloaded ALL my seeds that I have been saving over the years into 3 buckets: prairie perennial + flowers, food plants and herb plants. I added some dry sand and compost to help broadcast the seeds evenly, mixed it up, and with only a fork, spread these mixtures in and around my yard. Quickly, without fuss. Even so, the whole process of tidying up for summer took 3 hours. We shall see what comes up, as the earth and her seeds know best.
As I was forking over the prairie wildflower mixture around the exterior of my yard beyond our protective fence, something started becoming very clear to me. When planting in the public way, do NOT put in the effort to make it look nice. Camouflage sown seeds with the existing cigarette butts, crack baggies, shards of glass, styrofoam cups, gallon containers of automobile oil and doggie doody bags. Planting in public areas must be kept low-key and effortless, or else people will feel compelled to destroy it. After all, why should anyone have anything nice? Then, when it eventually does get destroyed, you won’t feel so bad, because, in a way, you made peace with the possibility of total destruction happening. Everyone wins.
I will still put bamboo stakes up with white surrender flags to mark off areas which must be left alone, because I am protective that way. But that is it. I mean it. I’m walking away. Slowly, slowly… walking.
Ahhhh, having low expectations is awesome. Makes me feel “young again,” like when I was in high school. Zingggg!
Ah, yes, my favorite anti-tourist bumper sticker of all time. A less concise version might read: Thank You for Supporting Our Economy with your Tourism Dollars, but Leave your Impatient, Aggressive, Uptight Attitude at the Border, for that is NOT How We Do It Down Here.
At the beach yesterday, my best friend and I were just reminiscing about one of many ridiculous experiences we had as teenagers vying for a parking space at Siesta Beach along with scores of circling tourists. These car-sharks are marked, in order of severity: Canada’s bottom-dwelling Nurse Shark; Pennsylvania’s Mako, Illinois’ Tiger shark, New York’s Bull shark and, finally, the dreaded New Jersey Great White shark. We circled the lot for at least ten minutes, becoming more and more eagle-eyed, then found one. We pulled in, noting that no one in the throng of opposing cars had their turn signal on claiming it for themselves, a recognized “dibs.” Next thing you know, we are being literally screamed at by a dessicated, golden-fingered, overly tanned middle-aged man with a funny accent for stealing “his” parking space. Naturally, as Natives, we thought little of it and went on our merry way to rejoice in the waves of the Gulf of Mexico, away from the sweaty clamor of tourist season, high school and parents.
When we returned back to her car, we found a handwritten note under the windshield wiper from this petty shriveled man, proclaiming: I’M HAPPY TO SEE THAT FLORIDA GIRLS ARE NO DIFFERENT THAT NEWARK WHORES.
Even through our incredulous laughter, we were kind of pissed: his sour-grapes argument was irrelevant on several counts, but the fact that this man was so eager to name-call two young girls that he spent his precious tanning time writing it down was just over the top and cemented our permanent disdain for these outsiders.
Now, as a circumstantial Midwesterner with frostbitten nether-regions, I have finally grown to truly appreciate the steamy, dirty, southern peninsula I call home. And, like it or not, I am now Part of The Problem: the Northern/Midwestern snowbird migration-invasion of the Slow Coast.
Only I am different than the regular tourists. I am fortunate enough to have a more complete understanding and appreciation of the inner workings of this tropical heaven because I grew up there.
As a Native Floridian, you learn that nature will always be smarter and faster and more beautiful and more ferocious than you could ever hope to be. Hurricane season teaches you evacuation strategies and patience with the boredom of being trapped indoors with strangers. The sweltering heat makes you appreciate the shade of broad oaks, towering palms and the predominant, short concrete shelters we call home. It also will teach you a thing or two about being unnecessarily modest, as it is just too damn hot to wear many clothes at all. Jellyfish, crabs, skates, stingrays, sharks, razor-sharp oyster shells, alligators, snapping turtles and fire coral teach you respect for the organisms in whose territory you are merely a guest. Picking oranges, tangelos, lemons, limes, avocados, papaya, tangerines, mangoes and grapefruit from unassuming backyard trees shows you that no one really ever has to go hungry. You learn that pristine beauty comes with a price: the sultry Gulf of Mexico has a dark side whose beguiling aqua rip tides will drown both you and your ego. Florida’s flying cockroaches will begin training you in night-blind sprinting competitions. Witnessing the majestic and meandering Manatee’s body, thick with deeply-carved scars achieved from just being alive near careless, drunk motorboaters calls on you to think outside of yourself and have consideration for your neighbors.
As for the people of the state, well, some of ‘em still have a ways to go. The smatterings of disgusting lingering racism show you that we are never as advanced as we purport to be. The friction of the haves vs. the have-nots yields an unsettling truth to modern day race and class segregation. The male-female politick can be just as discouraging and excruciatingly sexist. I will say that being practically naked in a bathing suit so constantly forced me to get over any qualms I had with the un-Barbielike imperfections I was supposed to have and into a space of feeling quite comfortable with my own body exactly as it is, not as the world would seemingly like it to be. I thank Florida for this good, site-specific lesson in being comfortable inside one’s own skin, sunburn and all.
If I ever have children, I will never raise them in an environment where they cannot have direct, informal interactions with the natural world. I have learned more about animal behavior and stewardship of the land and water from catching lizards in my yard and minnows in the deep ditch behind my now-razed childhood home than any cutting-edge virtual nature program could have provided.
All of these experiences led me to understand that there is a communion we share with the animal kingdom that must always be honored. Behind the Vacationland tremors and beyond the hedonistic gluttony Florida is known for is the low phosphorescence-electric hum that the tourists will never understand: this is the spirit of place.
And as I sit here, reflecting on my three previous days in my home state in a gloomy, rainy, cold Chicago, the thermostat still stealing my paycheck, fresh Florida sunburn covered up by 2 shirts and a hoodie, I am absolutely in awe of the Flowery Land.
And ultimately, this becomes a self-conversation about where I’ve come from versus where I belong. That is the crux of determining of my next direction. At least for now, there’s no way in hell I’m washing the Gulf of Mexico salt from my crazy-huge, seaweedesque, beach bum hair. Heaven indeed.
I remember the first time I heard the phrase, “It’s not what you do, it’s who you know.” I was not even out of my undergraduate cap and gown, blinking in disbelief and deflated, yet determined to rise above the norm. Almost 20 years later, I can still taste the irritation I felt at receiving this cynical, hopeless statement in my two virgin ears. After all, I had given my whole self over to the rigors of the BFA Studio Art program and, more importantly, I’d made a commitment to learning how to become an artist for the long haul. Hadn’t I worked hard enough for it, alone through countless nights in my studio, on my own merit? In my mind’s eye, the “who you know” comment had succeeded in swiftly eliminating all my efforts.
The first week after graduation, I immediately went searching for work, with ponytails flying, riding my grey Huffy bike up and down Southern streets, excitedly envisioning myself working in a gallery or, egads!, making art for a living. I (naïvely) thought my hard-earned BFA made me more attractive to the non-art job market. My high hopes of finding a job that had everything to do with art were dashed little by little, until I found myself searching for work which had anything, ANYthing, to do with art.
Screen printing was what I happened into first in a literal metal sweatshop within the town I graduated. It was drudgery-lite and suitable for a detail-oriented person like myself: counting the umpteen t-shirts that came rapid-fire off the dryer, targeting inky pinholes and blasting them with an acetone gun, then moving up to working on the press and, until the second layoff, working briefly in the art department designing horribly embarrassing sports-themed outerwear. Still, I made new friends. I shaved my head. My new friends also shaved my head.
For my next trick, I remodeled and painted houses for a living, still within the same town I’d graduated. I’d already had plenty of real-world experience, an interest in color and transformation, plus a nice, steady hand which required no taping off of moulding. I thought, “At least I’m working with paint.” I got paid much less than my boss’ male friend. I was repeatedly stung by wasps. I never once fell off a roof.
There was a point, after said boss made an unwelcome comment about my underwear and during not being able to afford my $112.50 in rent + continued repair of the car my brother had kindly lent me, that I thought: “Hey. This isn’t working.”
Determined to keep my chin up to balance my dismayed tail, I moved back home for 3 months. I made some big drawings and bigger post-collegiate bad decisions. With no offense to my folks whatsoever, I got the hell out of there quick with money this vegetarian made slinging steak sandwiches to chain-smoking country folks. A job, I might add, that my always-generous neighbors offered me, a now-blonde weirdo with a lip ring, a girl-shaped spectacle in total opposition to the countryfied je ne sais quoi of it all, because they knew I would do good work.
Next stop: Austin, Texas. This town of half a million weirdos saved my drooping life and set me on a crooked path toward learning how to scrape together a living as an artist. I have one certain dear friend named Benné to thank for her recognition that something was stirring in my work. Her generosity in including me in several nearly back-to-back exhibitions set me on a profoundly momentous path toward building a solid technique and artmaking practice.
So here I am. Making art, forming nonstop collaborations, teaching kids and generally inciting more preposterous, beautiful, scary work into fruition than I can personally handle. Still working on piecing together a living from it all.
And after all the denial and outrage I felt for “it’s who you know,” I look back and note that I have prescribed unwittingly to that maxim the whole time.
It is who you know… because people cannot do all this living on our own.
Artmaking requires people, good people, resilient, devoted, activist, supportive, 24-hour, punk-as-hell people, be they audience, critic, benefactor, co-conspirator or human clamp. Artists are meant to engage others and draw them close, then release them back into the ocean of imagination.
Who you know can’t be prescribed, it has to be built. Through poor judgment, vulnerability, shared experience, strife and careful editing, all, of course, against the behest of our egos. I have been truly fortunate, in my personal eschewing of the power structure of the Art Star system, to find a veritable restless hive of forward-moving artists like myself who, above all else, just want to make art happen.
Hence, my deeply-lived Concentric Trench Residency at ephemerally ancient Rockett Ranch, courtesy of Benné. Hence, the people-powered horror collage, Scary Movie Party, now in its 8th year. Hence, the forthcoming Broken Photo, formed from a simple idea and made real by people who know people whom we want to support and who will also pass the torch to new artists when their turn is complete.
Today, I began the long-awaited arts partnership with my favorite neighborhood high school, North Grand (and my new favorite coolest teacher ever, whom I will heretofore call “Ms. Awesome”). We are working on linking the phenomena of western ghost towns (Bodie) with contemporary urban blight (Chicago) and are paying special attention to the role of the artifact in recreating the histories of these fallen civilizations. What are that factors which make folks leave literally overnight? What do they leave behind? How can we use those abandoned artifacts in situ to help us understand what the culture of living was like in that place? How does environmental context in these remote or urban areas contribute to the death of a society?
The kids will be taking multiple roles in this project: as researchers, historians, reporters, artists and curators. We will be keeping a blog which will help us discern all the various facets inherent in the simple act of leaving.
On a personal note, it feels so very good to be teaching something I am downright fascinated by, have researched and visited (ghost towns) as opposed to my presence in the classroom as an instrument of generalized arts learning. The question is always how to get the kids engaged in the learning. That goes for teaching artists, too! truly happy my desires are not being left behind. And also that Ms. Awesome is so receptive to risk and uncertainty (as artmaking will always be) and as weird as me is one hell of a perk! Huzzah!
Egypt. 25 January Revolution. A circle in the square. People-powered secular protests, so overwhelmingly persistent and peaceful that even the army joined. Brilliantly simple strategies. A revolution with no leaders. Of the people, for the people, by the people. I heard one of the revolutionaries remark: now that everything has changed and Egypt is entering a new era, “most importantly, the Egyptian person has changed.”
While watching the resulting carnival from Mubarak’s decline in Tahrir Square, I heard commentators stumble over using the word revolution to describe this work. Why? I expect it is because we have never witnessed (nor been a part of) a revolution which was not a vicious bloodbath. The Egyptian people have redefined the word revolution, for good.
I’m going to take inspiration from this beautiful lesson and apply it to the act of making art. Every gesture we make is a revolution in itself, every failure, a pivot point to revolve around. Like the revolutionaries, it is the artist’s responsibility to make the gestures which incite discourse in ways nobody else can or are willing to embark upon.
I am particularly struck by the timeline of a hard-earned 18 days atop 30 years, and will begin some experiments with that particular duration for my work. After all, if the people of Egypt can bring down an oppressive leader with steadfast insistence in just 18 days, I wonder what we artists can accomplish with our own revolutions?
Thank you to the people of Egypt for showing us how it’s done.
tonight, my beloved and i had a small crew of old friends unexpectedly arrive to partake in the snow lantern extravaganza. the weather made for perfect packing snow and more comfortable evening temperatures. the forms of the lanterns became more abstract and less historically accurate: little cliff dwellings, monster faces and a snow lantern tower. we dug into the snowdrift’s vertical faces cut by the snowblower to make miniature glowing alcoves. i’m finding that the shabbat candles work better than tealights, though both tiny flames are truly something for the snow to contend with, hence the need for the wandering keeper of the flames, who rebuilds, patches and relights the lanterns.
i am still really enjoying the community connection at our street corner. i engaged in a long conversation with two teenaged boys, both self-described artists (i love the confidence!) who wanted to get involved. they loosely critiqued the work (again, love!) saying that electric lights would work better and i welcomed their electricians’ improvements. somewhere in our conversation, the ask flipped: no longer were they hoping to participate in “my” project– now i was making plans to engage in “their” life-sized snow lantern project in the park. amazing. perhaps my favorite spectator image was that of an older gentleman, definitely native to humboldt park, literally jumping and spinning and hooting at how beautiful the lanterns were to him.
the positive remarks, picture-taking and oohs and aaahs from folks who bother to slow their cars down to engage continues to be humbling to me. if not for all this snow, i would not be outside for a few hours each night, working, contributing to conversations with strangers who are not really so strange after all. hopefully, i, a girl of pale complexion in a dynamic brown neighborhood, have become less strange to my neighbors. my perception of these folks, my ‘hood and my own self in this location are all shifting for the better and i want that to last, because the snow will not.
kamakura snow huts. for the fun of digging in sunshine and snow all day in hipboots and new $2 ski gloves with my best beloveds, for the continued lack of streetlights since the blizzard and for our 2 unknown neighbors who were shot and killed a block away from us earlier this week.
all good reasons.
people are really taken with these snow lanterns in ways i couldn’t have imagined. in the half hour my beloved and i were outside lighting the candles, we got an invitation from the building manager across the street to come be tenants of his, we got hugs, i love yous and god bless yous, folks took pictures and even the fire department who had just arrived mid-illumination to tend to an elderly lady across the street didn’t try to stop us. this simple, unassuming gesture caused people to slow down, happily call out to us from passing cars and, in a rare expression which melts my raw, winter-chafed heart, smile.
there will be more! we plan on adding to the existing lights each evening– come join us or make your own! here’s to spreading the light in your neighborhood.
chicago to atlanta in one fell swoop. nourishment at soul vegetarian, then movement toward bostwick, ga. exterior shots of interior space at the nolan house, firmly shuttered and softly decayed. back on the road to st augustine through unlighted country roads. 29 hours.
i know your work has just begun, but i want to thank you for these things:
minimizing the visual clutter of the city
abstracting familiar objects into broad shapes à la kudzu
providing new ephemeral art supplies for myself and others
tucking the gangbangers in for the season
giving my planties protection from the drying winds
making sledding down the big hill at the park easier
conjuring a sense of suspension and levitational wonder
relieving my winter-brittle southern self with childlike play out-of-doors
a neverending, ever-shifting work in progress intentionally designed to be reflective of the inside of my head– though neatly arranged, everything swirls out of chronological order, left with blank spots to be filled with future work. still updating with videos and movement pieces i am currently editing. building this site became much more fun after i stopped overthinking it and developed a super simple, barely-tiered system which could be easily updated. what a relief. enjoy!
but now she’s gone, she left these movies to carry on.
Scary Movie Party, our no-budget handmade horror film fest, was a great success! The fine folks at the Whistler and the Hyde Park Art Center made for two awesome, well-attended screenings and we are grateful for their support. My beloved and I were even interviewed as horror aficionados here, which was an awesome excuse to geek out about the horror genre and discuss how we view its relation to artmaking, popular culture and the science of self-induced fear.
SMP has always been about building a community of makers and engaging a community of enthusiasts, whom I hope will picture themselves as makers too. This year (SMP’s 7th annual screening) was our first major push to widen our pool of makers and audience members. For two insanely busy artist-organizers, I feel like we made some serious headway with SMP7 and look forward to learning from this year for next– SMP8 in 2011. Stay tuned for updates, for we intend to revolutionize the submissions process!
3/7 c. Learning how to use PowerPoint as a medium for video
1/8 c. Updating my website
3 1/6 c. Work Samples
2 tbsp. Letters Of Recommendation
1 tbsp. $25
I lb. Confidence in my work and direction
a dash of Prayers
Scary Movie Party Blood Pudding Cake
1 c. Getting submissions together and burned on a disc
1 c. Vegan Fake Blood
1 1/8 c. Filming my 2 movies
2 c. Editing my 2 movies
3/4 c. Putting together a DJ set, costume and structure for the night
¼ c. Patience with myself
1 lb. Excitement
3 lbs. Gratitude for the Filmmakers, Audience & Venues
a pinch of Luck
an armful of support for/from my Beloved Co-organizer
2 drams Whisky
The membrane piece Double Layer Mini-Tarts.
2 c. Meet in a suitable space with my collaborator
1 c. Make the costumes
2 c. Build movements on interaction with the costume
7/10 c. Film it for posterity and future inspiration
3 c. Perform it
Relief to Taste
≠
Oh yeah, and teaching 5 days a week. And getting over this cold.
I’ll sleep and eat in November. Can’t wait to be inside these events and enjoying the fun, then on the other side of all this, plotting new directions and keeping focused on my work.
Today, my uninsured body went to the mechanic. EFHC, I love you.
For a sliding-scale fee of $120 (of which I only had to pay $30), I received an annual exam and full physical with 5 beautiful vials’ worth of blood taken. My old doctor moved away to Georgia, so today I had my first visit with my new PCP, an amazing Physician’s Assistant who is also an actor. Seems like I know many artists who try to make ends meet by being a caregiver also. Interesting. I wonder why artists (in particular, women artists) are so prone to nurturing in ways like massage, doctoring/nursing, teaching?
As I sat watching my blood fill those vials, I marveled once again at the human body and its movement. Crimson blood, its iron moving in waves, leaving me. Going somewhere else to be centrifuged and decoded. Letting me know the status of my body’s wellness, though I ought to know a bit already if I am paying attention. Therefore, an ode:
I arrived in Chicago from Minneapolis two nights ago, body bent up and sleep-sick from the ride. I made sure I slept through my historic crash-and-burn assimilation into city compression from country expansion and my marginally fitful night of sleep was evidence enough that my plan worked. Feeling good, though slightly skinnier for my efforts, and ready to rock a profound path forward.
This October’s teaching tentacles are all over me. As usual, I ride the double-edged rainbow of being concurrently thankful for the work/money and putting up my dukes to defend my artmaking time/practice.
Friends have been watching over our two enemy cats and verdant narrow windowsill fields in my apartment. Friends and across-the-hall neighbors have been robbed of their possessions and heirlooms. The dismaying veil of urban suspicion and feeling guarded returns. One building neighbor has returned from our wars in Afghanistan or Iraq or both and is not yet ready to communicate without obsessively repeating his words. I am welcomed with bashful smiles of recognition or disbelief at my favorite school. My whirlwind of packing for the trip to Art Farm now looks like an actual tornado. Visual static is being systematically removed from my studio area walls. The days are crisp, sun-filled and restless. The Autumn has most certainly arrived to warn us of our approaching six-month winter. There are no chickens here.
I am pleased to discover that my beloved Art Farmers still consider me relevant in some way beyond their Art Farm experience and have continued to contact me. {Likewise, my friends: await my correspondences and trinkets by post intently.} It is encouraging to know that I am missed and am thought kindly of, as faraway as we all are now. I am charmed by the knowledge that engaging people in intensive artmaking and figuring out how to live together inside a spare environment can link one person to another even outside of that beautifully temporary place we all created.
But everywhere is temporary. We catch flashes of actions and accidents all around us at all times. Quite a miracle of sorts that we can see anything at all, really. Makes me smile brightly to myself when I find I am able to recognize shifting spaces and the momentary pauses within them.
Here it is. My last full day at Art Farm. From the beginning, I knew it was looming and worked like these were my last days, but somehow thought my residency’s end would never come. These gusts of wind are keeping me from finishing the Studebaker today. I’ll have to get up super early tomorrow to finish. I’m 82.7% packed, cleaned and loaded. I need to unload the kiln tonite and pack up whatever fragile survivors there may be (the peephole view didn’t quite look promising, not bad for an experiment?). I still have some mowing chores to do, also not fun with all this wind, but nevermindthat, I’ll get it done. So now I am focusing on performing the Floating Barn image I have in my head.
{blink.}
There’s no beer and hardly any food left at the farmhouse. Wish me luck.
The kiln in my studio started on low at noon today. Ed turned it up to medium an hour ago. In another hour, I can turn it up to high for 6-8 hours and wait til tomorrow eve to unload it. Quite a 4D process. I love this kind of waiting.
I am super excited to see what will become of my eggshells and things, especially after all this fuss and help from my old man, the potter. Ed says that firing cone 8-10 porcelain slip at cone 6, which is the limit on this electric kiln, will make for an eggshell-like surface. I never expected to get eggshells from eggshells! My dad says it may be still slightly porous, which will make for a multitude of interesting possibilities for whatever it is I’m going to do with all these subtle objects.
From all the stinky burnout of bones and fibers and paper and, um, frogs, I may have to pack me and my pup into the hammock in the back of my truck for the evening. Plus, it might actually be too toasty in the studio to sleep and the low for tonite is only 51º. Perfect indoor weather.
I’m exhausted and kind of scattered tonight from all this tidying. Maybe it’s the shellac fumes from the Studebaker, for whom I only have 20 sheets of silver leaf left to bestow. My knees mysteriously swelled up yesterday most likely from my gilding position, though today they are semi-better, thank you ACE bandage, whoa, I’m old. I’m still covered in Killz from painting the ceiling of my studio two days ago. I definitely smell tired. This is awesome.
Now for dinner on top of Victoria (the barn) while watching deer come for the salt Heidi put out for them. Then more packing and sleep sleep sleep gently swinging to the sound of crickets and creatures inside my portable home beside my sweet puppy on her red raft.
til I leave the grand, wide open potential of this island and its ephemeral inhabitants. There is a heavy sigh in that statement. And, though I rarely if ever make promises, I made one to myself not to burn up upon re-entry into the city this time. Leaving this place won’t be the end of it.
Updates:
Lines of palms distinguished twice. I am continually amazed at how our paths physically reflect themselves in our bodies.
Krampus Nacht has come and gone. Mannerist arms bow like a sliver of moon in the ink of night. A collar of paper rays. A porcelain mask.
Almost ready to fire my porcelain eggshells, lace, paper cones and animal bones. There is now a beautiful electric kiln in my studio supported by a layer of fire bricks marked with my last name. The 2000º heat is good for these cold autumn nights in the country.
Almost done gilding the Studebaker. Comically, almost out of silver leaf as well.
Am obsessed with making time lapse videos the past few days. Oh man. Cuss-worthy and amazing. Just wait.
Must remember to shoot random Scary Movie Party stock footage of this place in all its gorgeous dilapidated glory, especially of Victoria, the $400-relocated-to-Art Farm-by-truck barn. {shudder} Ohhhh, and that farmhouse attic…
Last postcards sent from Nebraska…
Portraits of my studio buddies, the chickies…
Make the Floating Barn image that is stuck in my head…
Organize and film the farm jousting performance…
Pack my truck early in advance of resonant last-day sentiment…
Be still for sunset.
I’m still not slowing down, even facing my soon deadline. Making a performance of filling paper cones with slip. Why shouldn’t my object-making be performative for these performative objects I build?
And that is the thing about Art Farm and not slowing down. There is no “No” here, only “Yes, let’s!” and getting things taken care of. In clearing out a spot for the kiln in my schoolhouse home/studio yesterday, I rearranged my space in such a way that it felt totally brand new to me, just by the simple act of rearranging the furniture and, thusly, finding a new system for my inhabited work space. It was so new, in fact, that it almost felt like I was starting from scratch. Goodness, I wish I could extend my time here by another month and a half.
I can’t. What I’m really craving is to take the energy, inspiration, focus and generous camaraderie I feel at Art Farm back with me. Can I continue what I’ve begun here at Art Farm back in Chicago? Realistically, only some of it will survive for various reasons (access to equipment, having to pay for that access, change of environment which changes the context of the work, etc). I know I can take what I’ve learned about myself and my artmaking practice to my home base and start again there.
Here’s to building a new kind of artists’ residency: a fully immersive, integrated, endless one.
September 22. Autumnal equinox. On the cusp of summer and fall. Too cloudy for a third Studebaker moon pic, so for my birthday present to myself, at midnight I became the moon I sought. Video still from an experiment named porcelain body.
