meeting with an expert:: an account
oh why do i keep thinking of you
yep so
some thoughts:
[healthy or otherwise]
criticism isn't necessarily bad, but often difficult to deal with
i don't know how to
constructive criticism even worse
what if you want everyone to like your work all the time?
nobodyu
nobody wants to hear about that
or rather, everyone wants you to be confident
:michael jordan you know, he persevered;
well right, but except what if
what if
what if
what if
what if
araki
then you
then you come home and we sit there without talking,
i don't even know how to do that anymore
so tired so tired
can't even speak
read ikkyu or something else that's equivalent
about hmmm
prostitutes
red light district
that's up my alley right now
i wouldn't go there
but
but thinking about iot
it
internet girl
s
is araki an internet girl?
how do you write research? beautifully, like nobody's gonna read it
there is a woman who is half-elegant with green hair here
and then I cannot think anymore
for things stop inside of me
and I am falling but I don’t know towards who so I fall towards anyone who is willing to
stand in the way
and then random boys who
--
jeg tenkte nettopp at joda, jeg skal ta kontakt med en person jeg egentlig... ikke burde ta kontakt med. jeg vet ikke hvor lurt det var.
og hva slags ting tenker jeg paa i disse dager? om jeg skriver det paa en blogg klarer jeg kanskje aa artikulere det, tror jeg, det er en slags workbook, men jeg skriver ikke ut noe.
statement scribbles:
Weaving, language,
intimacy, packaging, wrapping: letters, gifts, individual gifts to the viewer in separate envelopes
can we make another skin? can we etch patterns into people that were not previously there, and dictate where they go, and what they look like? or superimpose a new language?
individual pieces, individual threads forming a larger cloth, wrapping around the body, the face, the mouth. anonymous labour, invisible labour: dedicate a lot of time to making something which will not be noticed, or which is expendable, like a hand-woven and -dyed surgical mask, expendable and meant to be discarded after use. or a simple piece of paper, slightly frayed at the edges, but beaded intricately and worked on for hours and hours. small things, and small movements.
intimacy, packaging, receiving something or viewing something only for oneself, so when you view it, the work is meant for just you, it is meant to be seen by just you.
translation; my brother’s music into a medium I can understand, wanting to use my own language to express him? to translate into mine.
collective and individual memory, investigation
processing collective trauma?
collective unconscious? hmm, sounds too avant-garde, haha
collective memory, blanks, banks? bank of collective memory
memory of cloth: jordyn-linen, what memory is retained in cloth? how much does it remember? do-ho suh, lee kit.
linen, also masks: memory of the people wearing them;
send a mask to a person, ask to have a photograph of them wearing it, then send me that and something else, something of their memory of it, can be a photograph? shells and husks from bugs; weave-memory of the body, clothes we take off retain our memories.
masks, discarded? no, used, gifts, send: make a uniform package and type up a letter (service bureau print? or matte printers?) to:
[[ names excluded
privacy still matters ]]
historical consciousness
collective memory
memory
photographs: how do we look back, how do we perform nostalgia?
lines of time/memory, languages
abstracted languages, memory retained in features: faces both beaded and lined
--~~~
dancing with my insides: ann and Chinese girl from site practice, dancing with something that cannot be danced, for example:
-grind down something with your foot that is right below the floor
-reach your heart through your ribcage, but do not move your head arms or legs
dancing with my insides: spasm, twitch, uncontrollable, or rather, extremely well controlled
(how do I study dance?)
suicide: drowning: water in the face - slow drowning... writings on suicide? the bell jar, sylvia plath, lise
dance: Tavia, Silver Linings Playbook, girl with funk 6 years old, Rihanna dubstep twitch
DANCE INSPIRATIONS AND EXERCISES FOR MYSELF.
dance exercises... not costumes
light: flashlights, weaving, woven lights
letter from jordyn: ask pappa scanning
feet and hands: jordyn, bjork (i saw her): o’keefe’s hands
Neruda, book of questions
master-student: forgiveness
CS Lewis: Mere Christianity: “there are no ordinary people, it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit.”
“How monotonously alike all the great tyrants and conquerors have been: how gloriously different the saints.”
questions and written practice: PAOLA
book (tq japanese)
Andrea Zittel, daily life and practice
William Kentridge: Felix in Exile
and
Peter Greenaway
many many many thoughts, here we go
writing systems, subconscious writing, calligraphy, Bhutanese script, and how it looks, combined with hitakana and katakana and kanji and Chinese (v. old but also traditional)
and tissue paper, on the wall, very, v. mundane material (exhibition at the Met, go back and look at it, ink on cardboard) EVERYDAY (failure)
RESIDENCY AT [[[[, WRITE TO MOM AND DAD ABOUT IT
APPLY FOR FUNDING FROM TRAFO
RE-POST ON FACEBOOK AND MESSAGE FRIENDS WHO COULD BE INTERESTED
Song Dong “stamping” or writing on the Lhasa river
his water writings, water calligraphy, water diary, breathing on the ground to create ice, beautiful and slow
the sound of the paper, pasted onto the wall with water, falling down - one morning, clear everything out and paste up papers all around, document it
all-night performance, Ann Hamilton and Jordynn, in so many ways
(Shahzia Sikander art:21
Frank Thiel’s frozen images, end of the world, polar vortex, Svalbard, industrialization in the midst of wilderness? what does that mean? and Letha Wilson? not that, but htatttt
all-night performance, where is the documentation for it?
Shahzia Sikander, paper and wax paper, like a book on the wall, with pages, etcetera, very tall, dimensions of a space? dimensions of my studio space? draw out and measure out the dimensions with my body? somebody did that, but what if I do it, what happens then?
Dawn Lui > king of Mong Kok, EE, ask her about informationa nd his name, covering something with writing, covering my studio and (myself) with writing, hair writing,
women’s writing, jess fan,
the pillow book
house of leaves
hair writing, skin
cave painting, heat textile, heat responsive textile, base/basic instincts,
COMMUNICATION AND MISCOMMUNICATION (it hurts too much to write her initials here, too....)
what are we
who are we
where do we come from
sophie’s world
Letha Wilson: jacolby satterwhite
jayoung yoo
hair space meditation performance naked
fetishistic objects, but so simple
what am I writing on these walls and floors? 23, jim carrey, obsessiveness, mad people, jordyn, madness and obsessiveness what is that? stereotypes, the omen biblical clippings, writing everywhere, la piel que habito, trening, what is the meaning of writing no one understands? like screaming into the abyss.
araki's internet girl.
Evaluatataion
I did not write about it while it was still pertinent because lots of things were happening, and the last thing on my mind was to blog about it.
Above was the final project for the residency, along with this:
and also:
This is a brief overview of the end, I'll get into the details more as the semester progresses and the spring gets digested. Safe to say, I am still "working" on the projects I begun last semester, but slightly differently. Mainly due to me being back at SAIC and not having the same, rich environment in New York (with BHQFU and other initiatives), it's changed a bit. I'd like to find something similar here in Chicago, but the art environment is very different here.
A large part of this is the almost absolute domination of SAIC (School of the Art Institute of Chicago) in the city and the galleries - everyone seems to be a current student, teacher or alumni of the school. Last week I visited a UIC-gallery, and the feeling I had in the space was totally different. Earlier in the evening we'd mainly visited SAIC-galleries where we bumped into acquaintances everywhere and the art mostly consisted of colored lines and line drawings, something not-yet-peripheral-painting-like and "geometric abstractions and explorations." Therefore, entering the UIC-gallery was refreshing, as the art seemed to be a little more politically oriented... or something. I also realized UIC offered free art classes during the summer! Free and open to everyone, many of the classes seem to have been oriented toward political engagement and activism. I wish I could have partaken in this, as it's hard to evaluate from the outside (considering who funded it and their requirements).
Which is what I'm writing my thesis about. For now, that is the continuation of working I can see. Looks like it'll be about art education, how expensive it is and what it does to art making and values for me to graduate with $100,000 in debt and a BFA. Plus evaluate some alternatives, like BHQFU and the School of Making Thinking (representatives of which were present at the Unpanel).
And that will be it for now, as this is already pretty text-heavy. Finally, this might be a way for me to work through the thesis topic and a sort of exploration in Chicago's alternatives to art education, as this is where I am now, and will have to work with this!
4
i can come across as sharp, at times, even bitter or sad, but it's hardly true
you find in me something unspoken that i hadn't dared touch but still wanted badly to see
everything i write is in the form of love letters to you don't you know that by now? certainly
it must be totally obvious
i don't know who you are
although i've met you several times
and spent so much time with you
there is something harsh in being with you without being there
but it is satisfying nonetheless
except describing it
talking about it
isn't so good, so much of the time
yet some aromas come up as the words leave my fingers
like peppermint
parsimmon
cumin
(which smells a bit like sweat)
rosemary and lavender, then
i rubbed my own shoulders this morning, in an effort to relieve the aching muscles in my neck
it helped for a while - an icy cold was there, and i felt it
but i wished for something else
a little cup of shaved ice with some cherry juice on would have been good now
alas, i could not have it, so i went for the little bread with eggs and ham and cheese instead
a croque monsieur almost
it was either way incredibly good
incredibly delicious, just perfectly savoury, and otherwise
well i don't know what's the point of this. if all i want to do in my days are things which are creative and then elsewise
why is this something i bother wasting my time on
switches in my head yeah right
i mean, i believe in it
i believe in so many things, like we have an apothecary in our own head its true
i heard it on the radio i tend to believe it
but switches are harder because you adjust them yourself
but there really are such things that you don't want to get used to
you don't want them to get better
so why are you here, my dear? is this just a fun play trip for you? something to brag to your friends about?
hah, nevertheless, it's paid for, room and lodging, even an occasional piece of bread
in the morning
dip it in your coffee, it's not so bad
i got into the habit of eating something sweet each day
it's like a reward
you got through another day, good you
good good, very good
so here is your reward
there are no more rewards (i decided to stop)
then they all told me to write, i thought, they're older
maybe they're right
will you recognize yourself in this? will you see where you belong? can you tell what's true, what's made up?
will you tell me later? will you remind me, it was not what i said
it was not what i meant
or,
that must be me. she means me. well, you know, you should know, i do. i mean this for you, but perhaps you won't know for a while. perhaps you won't know. but it's for you.
several things are harder than they used to be. realizing that my dreams aren't true when i dream of home. waking up and not being able to call my grandmother with a normal phone. noticing that fall isn't the same everywhere, but it still gets colder. i put on pants for the first time in the summer and say, well, that's that, summer! we had a ball, we really did. there were things i did that were fun and sad and very good. but i will see you next year, you know i will, really, i will. we will be there, all of us, where you last left us. summer says, he he, okay. see you soon.
i continue, although i'd prefer to open a new document
it's more harmless
perhaps this won't be continued for so long
i dream of something that will seize me, one day
and i think, then it will be something quite different
from what it's been before.
there is a level of threat to it, threatening the present:
just you watch it! another day will come, and it'll beat you to a pulp! that's right, blue and bloody!
watch it, day of today. you won't last long.
you find in me something unspoken that i hadn't dared touch but still wanted badly to see
everything i write is in the form of love letters to you don't you know that by now? certainly
it must be totally obvious
i don't know who you are
although i've met you several times
and spent so much time with you
there is something harsh in being with you without being there
but it is satisfying nonetheless
except describing it
talking about it
isn't so good, so much of the time
yet some aromas come up as the words leave my fingers
like peppermint
parsimmon
cumin
(which smells a bit like sweat)
rosemary and lavender, then
i rubbed my own shoulders this morning, in an effort to relieve the aching muscles in my neck
it helped for a while - an icy cold was there, and i felt it
but i wished for something else
a little cup of shaved ice with some cherry juice on would have been good now
alas, i could not have it, so i went for the little bread with eggs and ham and cheese instead
a croque monsieur almost
it was either way incredibly good
incredibly delicious, just perfectly savoury, and otherwise
well i don't know what's the point of this. if all i want to do in my days are things which are creative and then elsewise
why is this something i bother wasting my time on
switches in my head yeah right
i mean, i believe in it
i believe in so many things, like we have an apothecary in our own head its true
i heard it on the radio i tend to believe it
but switches are harder because you adjust them yourself
but there really are such things that you don't want to get used to
you don't want them to get better
so why are you here, my dear? is this just a fun play trip for you? something to brag to your friends about?
hah, nevertheless, it's paid for, room and lodging, even an occasional piece of bread
in the morning
dip it in your coffee, it's not so bad
i got into the habit of eating something sweet each day
it's like a reward
you got through another day, good you
good good, very good
so here is your reward
there are no more rewards (i decided to stop)
then they all told me to write, i thought, they're older
maybe they're right
will you recognize yourself in this? will you see where you belong? can you tell what's true, what's made up?
will you tell me later? will you remind me, it was not what i said
it was not what i meant
or,
that must be me. she means me. well, you know, you should know, i do. i mean this for you, but perhaps you won't know for a while. perhaps you won't know. but it's for you.
several things are harder than they used to be. realizing that my dreams aren't true when i dream of home. waking up and not being able to call my grandmother with a normal phone. noticing that fall isn't the same everywhere, but it still gets colder. i put on pants for the first time in the summer and say, well, that's that, summer! we had a ball, we really did. there were things i did that were fun and sad and very good. but i will see you next year, you know i will, really, i will. we will be there, all of us, where you last left us. summer says, he he, okay. see you soon.
i continue, although i'd prefer to open a new document
it's more harmless
perhaps this won't be continued for so long
i dream of something that will seize me, one day
and i think, then it will be something quite different
from what it's been before.
there is a level of threat to it, threatening the present:
just you watch it! another day will come, and it'll beat you to a pulp! that's right, blue and bloody!
watch it, day of today. you won't last long.