Bustories

rainy, thinky

2011-08-14T05:47:00.000-07:00

The last week of this program rolled through all tornado-like. Now it's pouring rain outside as if an attempt to wash the past 6 weeks away. It's coming down in sheets and all i can think of is how much energy it takes to pump all the storm water out of the subway lines so it doesn't become completely immersed. Even though...maybe it would give it all a good cleaning?

Days like today, where it rains from sun up to sun down and through the night, make me want to sit in bed with a cup of coffee and think and think and think. I am already accused of thinking too much most of the time so it's no wonder i had to leave PA, where days like this happen on a weekly basis, for Arizona which can withhold a thought for a good 3 months sometimes.

In the last few weeks of the program, i switched into working mode and compiled a series of videos resulting from...let's call them "urban gestures" and a few erased drawings. If you're about to ask me if i'm aware of Rauschenberg and the erased De Kooning, i'll have to remind you that it's not the only time someone has ever erased anything (for example...here or here). I decided i need to start doing some shorter, simpler actions and projects that i could execute within a day or 2 (although the compilation of the documentation or results might take longer).

This is part of an effort to not get too bogged down in some gigantic project that takes over my life and gives me high anxiety. Anxiety and neuroticism is my long-time friend and i need to channel it into a faster start and finish before my head pops off by the age of 40. Maybe it's a result of picking up this Anxiety and Depression book by Scott King at the New Museum (the best book store), but i have become far too aware of my own neurotic behavior.

Friday, the chair of the department took us all on a 2-hour sailboat ride around NY harbour. I like boats. I want a boat. I was giddy with happiness. Then, the day rolled into our final potluck blowout party including David Ross playing Dylan songs on guitar, karaoke, European dance moments, lots of wine, videos, photos, balloon hats and getting kicked out of the building to continue the love at a local bar. A lot of drinking was had and...2 separate, unrelated sing alongs to "Country Roads"

It was literally one of the best days of my life. Everyone in this program is pretty amazing...loving, warm, smart, creative and fun people. I'm feeling pretty fucking lucky.

just going the way...

2011-08-08T17:58:00.000-07:00

i'm just going the way the man tells me to go...

today i did a small project/action/walk. i started walking north for a half hour and only went the way the green lights told me to go. with this kind of structure to my navigation, i ended up redundantly crossing streets (i imagine some wind-up toy stuck walking between 2 points over and over again) but also taking routes i might not otherwise take while normally choosing the most direct path. i saw parts of the city i normally wouldn't see...a way to break up the routine with the structure of city-designed direction. where do the green lights WANT me to go?

here's just a few of the photos i took at intersections

the baby train

2011-08-05T17:48:00.000-07:00

People here, in Park Slope, seem to aggressively have babies. I mean, they are everywhere, in single, double and even triple form. Today, i saw some woman pushing an unwieldy stroller carting 3 small people around. A man tried to hold the door open for her while she, exhausted and sweaty, attempted to squeeze the device through the narrow doorway.

I like babies. I smile at them. They give me something to look at on the subway that isn't a Budweiser advertisement or warning about bedbugs. HOWEVER, i find myself getting a little tired of the sheer number of babies that are being transported around Brooklyn.

On my first day here, i saw a young, fashionable guy who i immediately assumed was not the father, pushing 2 of them. I commented that he couldn't be the dad and must have been pushing prop babies around. Somehow, babies had become the new ornament, like a small dog or clever hat. Maybe babies could be rented by the hour or day. Instead of paying someone to babysit, you could make a fair dollar by renting yours out. Think of how well they'd begin to socialize! (children are like dogs, right? The more you expose them to people, the calmer they become around them?).

At first, it was a little bit of a curiosity, then an oddity and now an uncanny, bizarre reality which i live in. On my run to Prospect Park, i have to bob and weave around at least 500 large-tired, fully-equipped, bulky, annoying strollers.

An announcement to all...stop having so many fucking children.

sidetracked

2011-07-31T22:09:00.000-07:00

i love 30th St Station in philadelphia. i've been to a lot of different train stations but every time i come back to this one, i always feel a little bit of awe. it just doesn't seem to get the appreciation it deserves.

today was a great day of reconnecting with all of my family down in philadelphia after not having seen them for 7 years or more. for my aunt's 70th birthday, over 50 people traversed from new york, new jersey and various places in eastern PA. burgers, red beet eggs, german potato salad, birch beer, ring bologna, Yuengling, sun, heat, hugs, yelling, noise, music, kids, a pool, coconut cake, pizzelles and chaos. i loved every minute of it and loved my aunt and uncle for bringing me out of new york to be there. ursos may be the best family ever.

now it's thundering and lightning here in brooklyn and i'm getting my head back into video editing and how to explain survival skills as a sensitive human being in a country not made for one...i'm sure it will all become clearer later on.

stuck stuckity stuck stuck

2011-07-28T18:39:00.000-07:00

stuck. paralyzed...momentarily. first, the ideas are there and everything makes sense and then you find yourself eating Table Water Crackers and wondering why. they look so much like i imagine communion wafers looking like.

like trying to remember the pieces of a dream, putting together a cohesive idea keeps slipping away from me. maybe it's the lack of sleep, lack of time, too much personal pressure or too many Milano cookies.

these are the images of stuckness

no, i did not

2011-07-26T22:00:00.000-07:00

i did not art this past weekend.

instead, i wandered onto a beach in a ukrainian populated part of brooklyn where people wearing headlamps caught crab in the dark. i stepped on dead fish, nearly walked into a giant spider and coated my feet in sticky sand. it was all part of a scheme to attend a clandestine art party re-enacted after a 5-year hiatus. the directions, received by phone after arriving in a remote parking lot, were too complex for me to remember and after walking a half mile without a sign of the next turn and walking into dark plants, my roommate and i decided to abort the mission. the aerial view of this stretch of beach put the supposed location of this party (i like to convince myself there were only maybe 5 people there, including the one guy i heard shouting "WOOO" in the background while i received directions) out on some remote arm by some remote lagoon under some random bridge. still...i went because i was looking for an adventure of sorts. it just turns out i wasn't as up for it as i thought i might have been.

i still somehow stayed up til sunrise and leaked into my sunday with a yankees game, a long, stuffy subway ride home and me, crawling into bed early.

non-art weekend succeeded.

here's your poetry, cracker

2011-07-26T11:56:00.000-07:00

here's your poetry cracker

those were the days

2011-07-20T20:41:00.000-07:00

what...happened since last friday? not sure...i think it's been a blur.

i arted myself a bit more by visiting the the Whitney (for free, bitches!) to see the Cory Arcangel show (he's speaking to our class on Thursday) and the Kevin Jerome Everson films. both, totally worth it. Arcangel uses pop imagery and contemporary culture (video games, youtube, sitcoms, photoshop) in a way that doesn't make me feel alienated like some video mashups do although it seemed some of his projects could work without ever being executed. just the idea of enlarging the photoshop gradients to museum proportions was enough to make me understand. but, my roommate liked their visual impact so it seems there's something for everyone. my favorite piece used youtube video clips of people playing heavy metal guitar to perform a classical guitar piece.

then, today i went to see The Kitchen's Soho Years exhibit and spent a good hour and a half reading all the posters, press releases and project descriptions and watching tons of video including performances by the Talking Heads, Bill T. Jones, Elizabeth Streb and video pieces by the great Dara Birnbaum and Bill Viola.

also, been reading a ton of Foucault to figure out some thoughts i'm having about power, authority and structure. then, today i picked up Derrida's Archive Fever. not entirely sure i understand what i'm reading but i'm hoping i'll absorb a bit just by being in proximity to the book.

on my walk over to The Kitchen today, i decided i needed to provide some more photos of this fine city while i'm here and carried my camera at my hip, taking shots in the direction of whatever i was looking at. i don't know why, but i'm kind of interested in removing any framing or control over the photos i'm taking lately. and at the end...a photo i took from my bed one night recently when the moon was shining in on me.

so much space

2011-07-15T19:30:00.000-07:00

we were piled into a bus titled the "Golden Touch" and whisked away to Dia Beacon today. large scale artists galore, and many restrictions about photography which didn't exactly sway me. so, i attempted to keep my hip shots to the windows and lighting from above.

i came around the corner to find a huge Robert Smithson installation that literally made me gasp (maybe even a little yelp, as a witness will attest to) and make me feel pretty weak in the legs— a shiver ran over me. one of the other students started singing "hallelujah". a nice moment of convergence.

i layed on the floor for the Michael Heizer, crawled inside a Franz Erhard Walther piece with 5 others and attempted to not get too art-ed out by Smithson, Agnes Martin, Louise Bourgeois, Fred Sandback, Sol Lewitt, Judd, Ryman, Serra (him and his massive objects). if there was anything close to a temple being constructed to worship contemporary art, i think this must be it.

Then, off to Starn Studio. These twin brothers built this enormous, changing bamboo structure plus one that went on the rooftop of the Met and another in Venice for the Biennale. listening to these guys talk was like listening to one person who took requisite pauses for breath. if you closed your eyes, you wouldn't know there was 2 people there. we perched ourselves on their "living room" and tried to not fidget too much. and then i lost my lens cap.

and for all the fans out there, here's another photo of me looking either dissatisfied, angry, confused, hungry or constipated. outside, in the garden designed by Robert Irwin.

wave dreams, rosler, giddiness

2011-07-14T19:54:00.000-07:00

Martha Rosler spoke with our class today. i got to ask if she always had her confidence with her work and ideas and if it ever made her lonely. her unapologetic self inspired me to get out of my studio, go run 4 miles, have a Yuengling and finish the night working at home. i ran into her in the bathroom and told her she was an inspiration (or was it another word? i'm terrible at remembering these details)...then i saw her laugh when i was telling someone else that i've had a lot of experience with men not liking it when i tell them no.

the night before i had a dream i was in a house near the beach and saw a giant wave crash in the distance. the crashed wave water rushed right up to where i stood. when i tried going the other direction, waves came at me from that side, too, but never covered or drowned me.

a few photos from the past few days.

a selection from my Efforts of Persistence photos

yes, i'm now one of those people who takes pictures of their food. but just look at how pink and fluffy they were. i joked that maybe they weren't actually food and the wait staff was just laughing at us dipping styrofoam into peanut sauce

an in-action shot while running in Prospect Park

edges of in betweens

2011-07-12T21:34:00.000-07:00

took a walk into Gowanus yesterday. it was warm, humid and breezy. i heard some people say it was hot but as long as there's a breeze to blow across sweaty skin and keep me cool, i'm not complaining. the mere fact that i can walk outdoors in the middle of the day and not worry about my closest source of water or shade makes me appreciate it even more.

i had no idea what i was doing...i just needed to get out of the damn white walls of my studio. i couldn't find any in between spaces wherever i walked, so i filmed the spaces where the edges of the built met something else.

these videos are comprised from stills of video footage. i just liked that flow better. would like to watch La Jetee again when i have a few moments.

a night with a view

2011-07-09T22:16:00.001-07:00

There are always views in New York looking up. This is one of them.

A night of talking, beer and tote bag forgetting and a long meandering ride home.

I seem to be missing a lot of thunderstorms in Phoenix.

saltz and pepper

2011-07-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

Art critic Jerry Saltz came and spoke to us today. a lot of people seemed to have some strong opinions about this, because of him being on some Bravo TV show, his review on the Venice Biennale and his recent write up on Cy Twombly, after his death.

It's a good thing i don't tend to put a lot of stock in what other people tell me about other people because i really enjoyed him, his talk, and being able to see him right now, after all the above-listed hullabaloo.

some things i wrote down during the talk:

need to be awake
"no one had thought to deploy it"
"our negative manifesto"
"are you saying anything?"
"difference between surprise and novelty"
getting same source material
critics limiting themselves—afraid to say what they think
"a place to be happy and miserable"
"i would secretly, in the backs of trucks, destroy a lot of art"
"i want to be in the conversation now"
"lowering the visual literacy"

how can i...

2011-07-06T19:29:00.001-07:00

how can i get any work done with all this nice stuff around here.

the moments pop up in between.

today, it was a donut and cheap coffee, regular style, taken in on a bench in front of a building in a few spare moments before i had to be anywhere.

later, it was the dangling lights and tight quarters at the indian restaurant when a disco ball was turned on to wish a kid a happy birthday (candle in mango ice cream).

how can i stand it sometimes? all these moments and places, stuffed together without gaps. nestled in.

attempts were made

2011-07-04T19:21:00.000-07:00

attempts were made at venturing out into the city today. sometimes i forget how much distance there is in between things here. a run in Prospect Park, a visit to MOMA and the Francis Alys show: it felt scattered and a bit overwhelming...how did all those dots connect? my favorite part were old b&w photos he had collected of people walking in the city. they even had a display of toy cars like the magnetized one he's used before to walk through the city and collect any metal debris. only, this display was a simulation of something authentic. they stuck a bunch of bottle caps to it to "simulate" debris from the city streets. did they miss the point entirely?

then, gyros and falafel on the street and an infinitely long and dark train ride to busy Coney Island. Kim's friend Dee brought us to the Coney Island dance party...i always love to watch people dance. watch some video of it here.

i did not eat a Nathan's hot dog, but i did witness a lot of body types in all levels of non-clothiness...and a dog with huge, human balls. the owner kept parading him around in front of us. it was awkward for us all.

school starts tomorrow so i'm celebrating the nation's independence by re-reading Ranciere's "Problems and Transformations of Critical Art". this girl knows how to make things happen.

rainy lazy sunday

2011-07-03T20:11:00.000-07:00

A night of wine and tequila leaked into a day of sleeping in under rumbling thunder and steady rains.

poor little ouija board...

2011-07-02T21:27:00.000-07:00

"poor little ouija board... never had a chance."

it sat...discarded on the side of the street.

i am not here yet. my body is...but my head still isn't. various couplings of wine and tequila haven't quite assisted in making it real so i'm waiting for the morning to bring new revelations. maybe with coffee, it will become apparent.

but at least a few moments in the grass in Prospect Park

all backround port-a-potties aside...

it was a beautiful, warm, breezy day in Brooklyn. glad to be out of the 116º searing heat.

my 6-week home is stunning. i feel spoiled.

they're coming to get you BAHRbra!

2011-06-29T11:55:00.001-07:00

Zombies are kind of the in thing right now. Or maybe it's vampires, or werewolves or whatever the new show is on MTV about hot teenagers who are immortal and feast upon each other.

So in this spirit, I am bringing Bustories back from the dead. To get in the spirit, you should probably watch Night of the Living Dead (the original, duh), filmed entirely in Pittsburgh and partly in a cemetery that i've been to.

The reason for the resurrection has little to do with buses or stories, or even zombies, for that matter. Call it pragmatism but i figured it would be easier to keep people up to date on my upcoming 6-week long adventure in New York as i begin my MFA in Art Practice at the School of Visual Arts if i just keep all the information, random thoughts, elaborate dreams, observations and reflections on various city smells to one location: this blog. Bustories has served this purpose before while i was a resident artist at Taliesin in Wisconsin.

So if this sounds like it's your sort of thing, follow the blog and i promise to keep you up to date on all the useless information i normally share with you in person. It's like i'll be right there in front of you, being self-depracating and neurotic as usual. I'll try to keep the posts brief but, as you know, i have that damn propensity for verbosity.

the bus conversation

2009-04-01T08:44:00.000-07:00

This one started off as I think they usually do—with a total jerkoff raging about being on the wrong bus and how it must be because the driver doesn't speak english, everyone is against him, and now he's going to be late for work.

Having had a lot of experience with people who like to rant and rave and assume that everyone around them would and should be on their side ranting with them, i've learned that the best thing to do is turn up the volume on my iPod or roll my eyes and ignore them. It's best to not engage since then you get roped into their madness and now YOU must have an answer to their problem.

The bus conversation begins as soon as said a--hole gets off the bus (thankfully) to wander the streets aimless and lost. Then, someone says out loud what everyone else is thinking and before you know it, the isolated mini-zones of the bus's private space have turned into an open living room of discussion. People side with the driver, they agree with each other, laugh, nod, correct and reiterate parts of the story, add their own observations... Then there's always the one person who sees they have an audience and has to keep it going. There are, after all, a lot of lonely people who just want to have a conversation with someone and this is the best reason to start one.

Eventually, it dwindles, soon after having to explain the situation to too many new arrivals and absolutely after the main talker (the conversationalist) exits the bus. A constant turnover. Nothing ever lasts very long.

mapping in mapping out

2009-02-24T07:07:00.000-08:00

I recently started a new project using maps, specifically of tourist destinations. I started first in Phoenix—figuring it best for me to start with home before I branch out to other tourist-destination cities. Part of the point was that tourist maps are extremely selective about what they highlight. Businesses who paid for ad space seem to get the largest marker on the map and anything not deemed important by the company making the map blur out into a grey or tan—a sort of nondescript space. I expected that and even counted on it for the substance of my project (that I'm not going to get into more).

What also interested me was that on one map specifically, certain transportation options were featured. First of all, the number of "P"s is overwhelming. I know Phoenix is a car-oriented city but looking at this map, it seems there are more parking garages than anything else. Secondly, the only highlighted transportation was the Light Rail and the 2 Downtown free shuttles. There are actually 8 other buses (the 0, 1, 3, 7, 8, 10, 15 and 19) that go through downtown and sometimes more conveniently service areas people might want to get to.

Now I know it isn't a transportation map and that you can go to the Valley Metro website to find out that information but what interests me is that they decided to put any transportation info at all on this map and, when they did, they decided which forms were appropriate for their audience. I'm still interested, but not totally surprised, by how silently it is impressed upon us that taking public transit for one reason (entertainment or tourism) is OK but for another (necessity or choice) is not. This map eliminates the idea that there is anything else available to them, the newcomer and visitor to downtown. If they arrive by light rail from the suburbs, they are made to believe that the only transportation that is viable for them are the ones indicated on this map. Others seen whizzing by on the road in front of them suddenly become part of their peripheral vision. I think, even if there is a glimmer that it seems like an option, that glimmer is soon over-ridden by the thought that "oh, that's not for me".

I keep wondering when the shift will occur and when, if ever, these boundaries will break down.

The map shown here is from the Copper Square website.

lozenge

2009-02-17T07:13:00.000-08:00

I'm beginning to think that all buses should begin to have a cough lozenge bin up at the front of the bus. It could be right next to where they keep the transit books. That way, even if the coughing person won't notice it or get one for themselves, another passenger could go get it and hand it to the person who wishes to share their germs and saliva with the entire population.

And maybe there could be a tissue box, too. I don't know. I guess it's just wishful thinking.

sister cities

2009-02-15T08:51:00.000-08:00

My lovely sister in Seattle has informed me that there is a similar (probably better or at least more consistent) blog to mine up there that was picked up by the Seattle Post-Intelligencier called Bus Chick. It's on my list of blogs i'm following but for some reason doesn't show up in my blog list next to my recent posts. Could be because it's not generated by blogger.

After reading a few of her posts and liking what i see, i'd like to announce that, in my mind, Seattle is now the official "sister city" to my Phoenix bustories. They haven't confirmed this and i haven't made contact with the "bus chick" but it seems to be an innocent enough claim so i'm going to go with it.

Her most recent post mentions the economic stimulus package and how cities have been cutting back on mass transit while also trying to encourage ridership. Phoenix is a perfect example of this. After all the hype and hoopla for the opening of the light rail system and the promise that it would cost EXACTLY the same as riding the bus (i hope everyone heard that right, because there still seems to be a question out there despite the hundreds of messages assuring us that there is no difference in fare), the city/Valley Metro announced only a month later that they were considering increasing transit fare.

This comes as no real surprise to me and i firmly believe that a fare hike is way overdue for this city (it's been the same $1.25 for over 14 years). But i find the timing annoyingly predictable. From a marketing standpoint, I knew there was no possible way Phoenix/Valley Metro would announce a fare increase prior to the light rail opening since that might destroy the momentum they had going for people wanting to take public transit over driving. The fact that the announcement of a fare hike nearly doubling the current fare and cuts in service came not even one month after the opening seems comical. Sort of like a bait and switch of values. But really, i'm totally fine with this since if you read one of my previous posts, i think the new transit-riding folk can definitely afford the fare hike. As for the people who have always taken the bus and dealt with all of its awkward growing pains, this inconvenience should pale in comparison to waiting at a bus stop mid-summer, 110 degrees out, no shade, a late, packed bus with a less-than functioning a/c system that breaks down halfway to your destination. And i certainly hope the city will be making available plenty of reduced-fare passes. I guess it is the harsh reality that when the economy starts to suck, many people complain about it but the people it screws with the most are the people who didn't have much to begin with.

Even though I know that most of the costly improvements to the transit system here were made more to benefit the middle, class, professional set than the ex-con, single mom, teenage, or lower income set, we are all reaping the benefits from it. Even long after people either return to their vehicles or find a way to ride transit when there are only other people like them riding it, we will still have a shade structure to keep us from dying from heat exhaustion and hopefully, a more intelligent, frequent system. Since public transit seems, to me, to be the ONLY solution to gas prices (and the soon-to-be scarcity of oil), traffic congestion, urban pollution and other environmental hazards, it will have to bounce back.

More from Valley Metro on the fare increases here.

let GO

2009-01-27T10:12:00.000-08:00

"Please let go of my bike", I finally said after the guy attempting to be helpful became annoying.

And before you say anything, I'm aware of the "just being nice" defense. Because, it's not that. I like people to be nice. I think it's nice when someone asks if I'd like a hand and gives me a choice. What I do not like is the help that is thrown at me rendering me frail and powerless in a moment where I'm not requiring any assistance. I always think of the reverse—would this guy do the same if I were a man? Of course not. Or he would at least have responded the first or even the second time I said "thanks, I've got it". But finally, when I turned around for the third time to see that he was ready to mount me from behind while saying "oh, you just got a little bit more to go", like I'm a 5 year old, I had to look directly at him and say "Please let go of my bike".

It must be confusing for some guys. They're raised to do all kinds of things for women, without any explanation why and are never sure whether it makes them a wuss, tough, rude, nice, letchy, perverted or helpful. I'm willing to give many the benefit of the doubt and I don't get bothered when a guy holds open a door for me. I hold open doors for people. I just think it's the thing to do.

But there are other things, like me lifting my bike onto the vertical hook on the light rail that, if I'm doing it already, I don't need help. I'm also not so fond of people touching my stuff but that's sort of a secondary irrational pet peeve. And what makes it more of an awkward and sometimes frustrating situation is that getting your bike on that hook isn't exactly the easiest thing to do. I see all kinds of people, big and small, struggle with it. But if I don't get it up there immediately on the first try, it's like I'm a stubborn, silly female who really can't do it but hates men and doesn't want there help so will instead injure herself in the process.

This got me thinking about stubbornness. I had been accused of this for most of my developing years and less frequently as I get older. But mostly, what I was supposedly being "stubborn" about were basic things like insisting on going some place on my own rather than being escorted there (i.e. walking to the bus stop) or basically doing something, anything, that I wanted to do. "Stubborn", "Independent" and "Pigheaded" (thanks Mom) are some key words for many women choosing to do something on their own that others think they shouldn't and can often be spoken with the word "too" placed in front of them.

I wish I wasn't repeating what I said to this supposedly helpful guy over and over again in my head. My polite self that's often telling me I'm too stubborn is having a conversation in my head with the self that is confident and able-bodied. The 2nd self is attempting to win. The first self is hoping that I don't run into this guy on the train again.

oh is THAT what you meant

2009-01-20T14:15:00.001-08:00

It starts off where you're not really sure what's happening. What's normally a mundane transaction that you see out of the corner of your eye becomes slightly off and then you're staring to figure it out.

When people tell me they don't want to or are afraid of riding the bus, I think twice about telling them stories like what happened yesterday. I don't want to feed into the panic.

After the driver loaded up a wheelchair on the #30 bus, he opened the front door to the rest of the passengers. A guy got on that I noticed had ran from another bus that crossed in front of us—no big deal, no fanfare. Then another guy in a red shirt starts getting on and it seemed like the guy behind him fell into him or ran into him by accident. Then, that little alarm that goes off in my head when I can tell something just isn't quite right went off and there stood before me a full-fledged, clumsy fight scene by the fare box.

The 2nd guy hadn't fallen but had pushed the 1st guy into the fare box. Then he started pulling things off of him—a headset, a backpack, a phone. He kept shoving him and mumble/yelling profanities about him stealing his stuff. He threw the phone, which went towards the bus driver, who was trapped in his little bus-driver seat box corner. The guy being attacked seemed almost unaffected and amused. He held his hands up like he just touched something he shouldn't have and kept trying to just get out of the way of the maelstrom. When the pushy guy got off, I thought it was over and just a weird aberration to the day but then he insisted on continuing the drunk fight scene (there were a few people in the back of the bus who didn't get to fully appreciate the first few moves). He kept pushing and picking up small items (the same ones, it seemed) to throw at the unaffected red-shirt guy. Finally, after about 3 or 4 re-boardings and almost falling into a woman and her daughter who yelled "get off me! get away from me!", a conflicted-looking bus driver grabbed the guy, pushed him off the bus and told him if he got back on his bus, he was going to kick his ass.

It sounds very active and very eventful but most of us sat there watching with mild interest. I can honestly say that it wasn't until the pushy guy got somewhat close to me that I even felt my heart race a bit. Most of us seemed pretty bored, with the exception of a couple giddy teenagers in the back seats.

A few people and the bus driver called 911 while this guy stood ranting and raving to anyone walking by outside the bus. The driver couldn't even let anyone else on since this guy was obviously hell-bent on getting back in.

The cops showed up. Phone calls and texting commenced. The attacked guy never actually denied having stolen this guy's stuff. No one really talked about it with each other—just threw around a few knowing glances and rolled eyes. Apparently, most of us had seen worse.

Eventually, another bored, casual-looking cop showed up about a minute after the drunk guy had hopped on his alarm-yellow bike and swerved down the road. I assumed I would hear about a pedestrian/vehicle accident when I got home.

Then it was over and we headed on our way.

the only people having fun on the bus are the little kids

2009-01-19T11:15:00.000-08:00

They stared out the window with their eyes widening and tracking the landscape. They turned one way, then the other, and pointed out something on the horizon to the person next to them—a funny sign, a strange-looking person, a building, an airplane in the sky. They yelled across the aisles to their friend—giggling and fidgeting about the speed of their movement and how they seemed to float above the public. They were separate touring entities—set apart from the masses and in a perfect view-finder for the city. They were safe and comfortable and excited.

What a relief to see adults behave this way for a change. The doors and windows of the city were finally opened up to show what I've been looking at for years—like paintings covered up in storage and then revealed to the open air. The light rail brought all of this to hordes of adults clamoring to get on board and fighting to get a seat. It moved fast and they didn't have to do any work. It was a moment of powerlessness and effortless bliss—like free-falling. Walk on board, look out the window and soon you'll be some place else.

Every day, kids on the city bus smash their noses and mouths to the smudgy windows (to everyone's disgust), shouting out every now and then to their parent or grandparent and sticking their finger where they just licked the window. They look around at everyone else on the bus—the placid faces staring forward and waiting for the next destination. Like a dog in a thunderstorm who barks and whines because the sky is falling and no one even looks alarmed, these adults seem to have no concept of the amazement that is presented to them just outside the window with hardly any effort on their part.

Every now and then I'll catch someone noticing something and then pretending that they didn't. This morning it was an ordinary black bird that looked both ways, then hopped onto the tracks next to our waiting train. The guy 2 seats behind me either saw me seeing it or saw it himself. Either way, we both watched the twitchy movements of the bird while it poked around the tracks for scraps of food. It looked just like a person picking up items in a grocery store. Pick up, inspect, replace, retain, move along in short intervals. Without staring, I imagined the guy pressing his nose against the window, then squishing it sideways until the bird was completely out of view. Then he'd look up and around and notice me watching too. His eyes would get wide, he'd jump up and down while kneeling in his seat and say something incredibly observant and exclamatory like "DA!".

p.s. while looking for a photo for this entry, i did a search for "child bus window" on google images and noticed that the only ones to come up were mostly kids on buses in other countries. so...not only is staring out the window a novelty but watching children staring out a window can only be fully appreciated while in another country??

the "change"

2009-01-16T08:15:00.000-08:00

It's as if someone dropped the concept of public transportation on the city of Phoenix for the first time.

The other morning after doing all of my post-boarding adjustments (iPod on, book out, jacket unzippered, bag in place, etc) I looked up to notice a change in scenery. Suddenly, the train was filled with 20-30 somethings, well-dressed white people. I'm not sure where they all came from, or where they were before but here they were right in front of me.

Now I'm glad anytime anyone decides to take public transit over the sometimes complicated venture of driving, navigating and parking a car but I couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed at why all these people were here invading my nice cozy territory and where exactly they all came FROM.

For the months and even years leading up to the opening of the light rail, I often heard people telling me that they couldn't wait until the light rail started because then they could take it to X. Sometimes I'd point out to said person that the place they wanted to go was already readily available to them by bus line Y. Usually there would be an awkward moment where the person would look stunned, surprised, or comically curious. I knew it was all an act, though, because the truth was that riding the bus didn't really enter into their vocabulary because there was that certain stigma attached to it. There was also the rare person (maybe just one) who out and out said that they didn't want to ride the bus because it was, you know, the BUS and there were BUS PEOPLE on it.

I've thought about why I don't feel offended by this. Even though I take the bus voluntarily now—having a car and having the money to fill the tank—it used to not be voluntary for most of my life. My mom never drove (and still doesn't have a drivers license) so walking and riding the bus was crucial to transporting ourselves anywhere. Even after I broke my arm walking to school in Sinking Spring, PA, we had to take 2 buses to get to the hospital in downtown Reading. I never had a parent (meaning my dad) willing or interested in driving me anywhere so the only option was walking, biking or the bus. I guess for some people this would seem hugely unfair and ridiculous but I didn't have much time to think about that because it was just my life.

And, even after getting my driver's license at age 21, I didn't have a car until I was 22 and then shared it with my boyfriend. I still had to ride my 1984 Schwinn, walk and ride the bus to get around.

So doesn't all of this history make me a bus person? And what's so bad about me? I shower regularly, read my book quietly, follow the bus rules, give up seats to elderly, pregnant and disabled people and am a generally responsible, considerate person. Does that make me not a bus person? Where has this stereotype come from and how does it apply to the entire population of bus riders? What picture is conjured when they (or you) think of a "bus person"?

I know what these people are referring to, though. I know, and have first-hand knowledge of all the nightmare stories about some experience of someone's friend of a friend who once rode the bus to a certain location and witnessed something horrifying and scarring that will forever detain them from taking public transit. I know, but don't understand, the general public's fear of being in close proximity to a transient, ex-con or "urban youth". But do they think that the light rail will exclude these people? I'm not sure I understand what makes a bus moving on rails more acceptable to face these things than being on a bus with wheels.

Some might say it's the time or the distance or inconvenience of riding the buses. But from what I could see, most of the new guard of riders were taking it mostly up Central Avenue and getting off before it left downtown. Before the light rail there were 3 buses that ran EACH every 15 minutes, making them run even more frequently than the light rail. The travel time up Central is also basically the same—about 10 to 15 minutes.

Most likely I'm guessing it's the concept of safety-in-numbers. When other young, white professionals know that other young, white professionals are also going to be riding public transit, it suddenly becomes acceptable within their realm of options. But then I say to myself, aren't I a young white professional? It just makes me feel, yet again, that I have never and maybe will never, feel as though I'm a part of the group that I possibly could be labeled as being a part of. Maybe it's having grown up in public housing, or having uninvolved, unconcerned and apathetic parents who had no concern to take me anywhere. Maybe it's having been forced to be resourceful and do what most people have to do to get to work, get to school or, you know, get to the emergency room.

Generally, I think I'm pretty happy about my ability to not be intimidated by things that I know nothing about. There's always a way to figure out how to do something or how to get somewhere. And there's that great sense of liberty when I know I don't have to do something only when everyone else decides they're going to do it too (who the hell has time for that?).

I'm glad that these people have decided to open their horizons and I think, in a few weeks, I might actually start believing that I think that. But for now I'm going to harbor just a slight amount of resentment and annoyance that most of these people couldn't have figured this system out months or years ago—unclogging and un-polluting the streets when it wasn't a group decision to do so.

Mourning the Red Line

2008-12-29T20:44:00.001-08:00

We had an awkward relationship of push and pull.

There was a point in time where I hated it so much, I preferred to walk 5 miles home. There was puke, a wiry more-man-looking transvestite, many drunks and a guy I swore was about to hijack the bus. There were loud teenagers, people playing their cell phone rings over and over again to simulate a song, teenagers playing dice on the floor, broken air conditioners, broken-down engines, handwritten signs, surly drivers and the overwhelming number of surprisingly nice ones.

And then there were the guys: the guy who stared directly at me for miles, the guy who brought a loud radio on board (and the driver who never told him to turn it off), the guy who borrowed someone's cell phone to tell someone he promised he was going to buy a whole PILE of pills if they'd just give him one tonight, and the many, many guys who have asked me what I'm reading, if I'm a student and what my tattoos mean.

10 years ago it was the bus I had to take. 4 years ago it was the bus I refused to take (after the previously-mentioned almost-hijacking). 3 years ago it was the bus I realized was the only real option to take to do almost everything I needed to do.

Over the past 4 years it has been detoured through every aspect of the major construction of the light rail line. The Red Line rumbled over rough streets sometimes sending every rider airborne. It navigated down narrow lanes that Honda Civics had trouble inching through. Bus riders waited at bus stops in the middle of the summertime that sometimes consisted of nothing more than a pile of dirt.

It seemed that the Red Line was the everyman's bus. You could take it to or from jail or to the airport. I've seen pilots, students, ex-cons, prostitutes, nurses, lawyers, homeless, drunk, sober, fat, skinny, parents with screaming kids and parents whose kids always said please and thank you. I would look at the single moms wrangling their 2 or more children and see me, my sister and my mom riding the bus in Reading, PA. I like to assume that I was the well-behaved kid who never said a word. Sometimes the best came out in people when then told the driver to wait for someone running for the bus or the worst when a healthy 20-yr old wouldn't get up for a limping elderly person or pregnant woman.

But now...poof! The Red Line is gone—never to be ridden again. The light rail has replaced it's heart and 2 other bus lines have picked up its head and it's tail. As much as I dreaded the potential smell and experience that might occur on every ride, I'm looking back on it like I just graduated from some university. After a quiet morning ride on the antiseptic and bright light rail, I craved the darker moodiness of the Red Line rumbling down Washington Street towards 16th. The bright interior lights of the Metro make it almost impossible to watch the desert sunrise and without a detour to the airport, there's no point where everyone looks up as we take the bridge over the freight rail yard or Salt River.

All of the ickiness about the Red Line ended up being what ultimately has endeared itself to me. Something like an unappealing body part that you eventually get used to and then realize that it kind of defines you. Referring to myself as having "bus hands" just doesn't seem to be the same without the Red Line. It seems I invented that term because of the Red Line and the number of times I've seen people cough and sneeze into their hands and then grab the exact same pole I need to touch.

Germy, icky, run-down, loud, close, smelly, warm, cold, obnoxious, generous, kind, rude, annoying, frustrating and genuine.

Bye bye Red Line.

hope for america

2008-11-05T11:04:00.000-08:00

There's always a lot of banter on the city bus—it's mainly the reason i wear my iPod before, during and after my bus ride (that, and the drunk/letchy/lonely guys who try to strike up a conversation about the book they could care less about that you're reading). Normally, my reaction is to try to tune it out or hope for the banter to become numerous enough that it all blurs out like a wordy wave of the ocean.

Today was different. I don't know, call it my renewed sense of hope in humanity, my excitement that what i may have thought was impossible occurred (impossible being that which i feel would make our lives better), a feeling of togetherness with my community as an entire café broke out in applause and cheers when Obama won Ohio—but something was just a little different. Maybe it's like one of those moments where you've never met anyone from Idaho or Wyoming before and then you meet someone who is from there and then suddenly it seems everyone you bump into has a connection to there. Or maybe it's what non-cynical people see every day of their lives—people who have seen the impossible happen and no matter how long ago it was, still hold out that positive hope for the future.

Today, the guy muttering to himself/at large was muttering about how even if John McCain had given Barack Obama 100pts, he STILL would have won the presidency. What? Was he watching the polls? Did he vote? He CARES?? Then, 2 young men struck up a conversation about how they can't believe it happened and happened the WAY it did. 2 young men, talking politics, expressing disbelief and hope...it made me turn down my iPod and try to listen in more to what they had to say. But then I was actually bothered that they weren't speaking loud enough for me to hear them. For a bus where people sometimes have conversations OVER your head from the back of the bus to the front, this, too, was a rare occurrence.

I'm wondering what the ride home will be like when everyone is more awake and the reality of the situation has settled in.

mourning trees

2008-08-29T15:14:00.001-07:00

A crazy storm last night here in Phoenix—the first time I can say i was honestly scared about a window breaking or a tree falling on the roof. We got lucky. I woke up to find this right outside our window. Winds at almost 80MPH, hail, almost 2 inches of rain. I wondered what it must be like to be caught in the desert in the middle of something like that. It seems frightening here but mostly because of all the stuff we've grown and constructed around us.

Throughout our neighborhood, powerlines were down and giant eucalyptus and fir trees broke or uprooted themselves. Without saying too much, the following are pictures within walking distance of our apartment, including an entire street blocked off.

dad dreams

2008-08-24T09:34:00.000-07:00

I had an interesting dream last night. And as much as i'm aware that countless people tell others their dreams in an effort to either get them to answer questions or to make themselves sound more interesting, i thought this one was especially relevant given all these issues i've been dealing with about my personal disaster. I also feel like i have to get this stuff out—in the process of purging. The next piece i have in mind will have me recounting as many stories and memories as i can think of to pull them to the surface and loosen their power on me.

So, i'm in my parent's house, standing in their kitchen. I think my mother is behind me but my dad is sitting at the table in the crowded dining room. I'm yelling at him and saying something like that he's a little man or that i don't care what he thinks or that he's insignificant. Then i realize, by saying it, that it reaches the point as it would when i was a kid where i pushed him to the point of violence. There would be this moment when his rage would come out and he could no longer control it. Sometimes i knew when i was about to do it and sometimes it would come by surprise but i got to learn that small moment when the air shifted and i needed to run.

At the moment in my dream where i said what i said and the air snapped and he burst slightly from his seat, i watched him pick up a hanger that was sitting on the table. Then i turned my back and crossed my arms and he beat me on my back right side with it. I said or thought something like "you can't hurt me anymore" or "it doesn't hurt" and it didn't. I didn't feel any pain even though i could see, from above, the welts on my back. He never really left his seat at the table—i guess a testament to his usual aloofness. Then i walked away and went upstairs.

My mom was upstairs in a room with me—distraught but also inactive. She seemed upset that this was all occurring, like she would be when i was younger and he would hit or slam me but it seemed her fear of him over-rode any instinct to help me. I told her "he can't hurt me anymore. it doesn't matter. it doesn't hurt anymore. it used to and i needed you and you didn't do anything. but it doesn't hurt now." And she stood there, dressed in red (which she never wears), looking exceptionally young, and with a bewildered look on her face.

The whole time in the dream i wasn't upset or angry or disappointed. It was like i was standing above it all and couldn't be affected by it anymore. I know i'm still far from that but it's inspiring to see that my mind is working at it and that there can be another side to all of this. The recovery from the disaster. It upsets me now to read this and think of it as me and something that i think about and still deal with. It's something that defines me. It upsets me like watching a sad story about someone who has to break a tie with something she had hope for but instead was stuck with the mucky reality.

strange home

2008-08-04T19:03:00.000-07:00

It is strange to be home. I'm not sure how much time it will take to adjust or if i ever will. It's something different than geographical difference.

The ride back was about as emotionally and mentally strenuous as the month-long experience in Wisconsin. Confused thoughts, feelings of displacement, wondering what's next, wondering what's right for me, wondering what i want. I doubt it's something that will ever become terribly clear.

On the way back, i left my mark in a few places—once in Colorado and twice in Utah.

ending

2008-07-30T08:48:00.000-07:00

It's already Wednesday, and as i get glowered at by yet another tour group, I'm summing up my work.

Now all of a sudden it feels like i haven't been here at all. It feels like i just arrived yesterday. Time away from and together with people is nominal. There's just never enough time for anything.

It seems impossible to think that i could conceive of and complete a piece or anything in this span of time. But somehow i did. A big messy blob—we'll see how it goes after i look at it a month or so later.

Below is the opening portion of the video i've worked on. It could probably stand alone but since i think this project will be a part of a larger project to do, i'm not worrying too much about specific orders. There is another version with a lead-in to the rest of the video.

The disaster can keep going on since it always continues and exists in everyone. I think for me it's become a way to get at what i always want from people which is behavior, discussion, thought without pretense and defenses. People being people without worrying about how they're supposed to be. Which is really just me trying to figure out how to be myself despite what i feel people want me to be or my nervousness around my own expectations on how to behave around others. If they choose to participate, they have to reveal something, which is always the big risk. It's about my insecurity. And i think i feel the least insecure when i'm talking to others and they're not pretending with me. But it's all very complicated. What is authentic after all? All speaking and writing is a combination of communication and concealment.

video is copyright 2008 by Jen Urso

damages

2008-07-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

In the continuing realization of my neglect and poor health care as a child, i got to experience a day of barely any eating except what soft food i could mash into my mouth due to my TMJ acting up again. It started innocently in the morning while trying to eat a granola bar. The apple i had also brought back with me to my room sat mockingly on the corner of my bed all day. What a tease.

I thought this image described the experience rather well except that my hairstyle and sweater choice isn't quite as fetching.

This has been going on since the age of 14 after i fell on a railroad track (don't ask) but i didn't put 2 and 2 together until i was almost 30. As a teenager, my jaw would regularly lock open or closed—an extreme version of what i experience now (i'm better at sensing the warning signs). It is the most frustrating thing to not be able to talk or feed yourself. What's odd, is that i didn't even think, until yesterday, that this should have been something my parents should have taken me to the doctor for. It is really strange to find more evidence that actually generates physical pain of my parents lack of concern and attention as well as overall laziness. If your child couldn't chew because her jaw was locked shut, would you just provide her a straw and some tomato soup? I'm also finding it interesting that as i unearth certain emotional pains from the past, physical pains are making more sense. They begin to go hand in hand. The other would be the repaired fracture in my lower back that (the doctor says) occurred a very long time ago, most likely in childhood. It's painful every day.

tourist onlookers in the studio

2008-07-24T20:46:00.000-07:00

To give you an idea of what it's like to be a human museum exhibit, Tiana was kind enough to share a few of the shots she's taken with her computer's camera that faces the group of tourists that enter the drafting studio (where we work). There are at least 10 groups a day, 8:30-4:30. Sometimes there never seems to be a break from them. I have to navigate around them through different staircases and doorways to get a glass of water or go to the bathroom. Note how they shamelessly stare at us working and how they wish they could take a photograph. Photos courtesy of the talented Tiana Peterson.

end of days & your favorite female superhero

2008-07-24T07:41:00.000-07:00

The days are closing in...has it really been 3 since my last post? I'm afraid of time getting away from me.

After reviewing my the video footage with Tiana that i had somewhat pieced together, we thought it'd be best for me to draw out my concept of how the video would flow. I think it worked because after several hours or a day or who knows at this point, i had some ideas about how to pull it together. Somewhere in there was another sleepless night where a dying bug clicked all night long trying to get out of a spider web outside my window. It clicked (or maybe snapped is a better description) well into the morning. The spider was persistent. Imagine someone snapping their fingers above your head at irregular intervals and you get the idea. Nature can be really noisy—especially when you don't have traffic, helicopters and young men driving with loud bass systems to distract you. That morning, the usual loud chirping bird woke me up around 7am.

Speaking of spiders—i counted yesterday and there are 17 in my room. I've noticed a marked decrease in the amount of annoying little flying things like gnats and mosquitos so i'm here to announce that for everyone's protection, the best bug deterrent are spiders (Spiderwoman!!). The other one (for the outdoors or for the interior of Frank Lloyd Wright's living room) are bats (Batgirl!!). Something about eating 1200 mosquitos a minute. I'm not sure if i'm more disturbed by the image conjured of a bat snatching up 1200 mosquitos or that there are 1200 mosquitos in existence in the air at any given time. Is it one of those riddles that the bats are capable of that?

I'm planning a presentation of sorts here at Taliesin of my work to date on Tuesday, July 29. Not sure if the video will be done by then, since i've made it a hundred times more time-consuming by adding another animation element, but i'm really excited about it and think it will work great. It will be a long, busy 5 days until then. I'm glad to have a real reason to not participate in every event that occurs around here.

another project...

2008-07-21T16:31:00.000-07:00

Started a dangerously simple project today (how might i be able to make it over-complicated and time-consuming—hmmmm). Many of the buildings here are in serious disrepair and there seem to be constant efforts to rebuild and renovate. But it almost seems to no avail. It seems a daunting task. I'm always amazed at how far a structure can go and then still not completely fall apart. But there's an urge to fix it, to make it "right". Here, the proceeds from the sale of all the gadgets, trinkets and whirli-dos go to helping to revitalize the buildings. I figured it only appropriate to try to help 2-fold—by buying the product (the 2 cheapest in the bookstore) and using those products to try and repair the buildings.

surreal sweaty stinky

2008-07-20T18:23:00.000-07:00

I spoke too soon about the sleep thing. After no luck around 3 or 3:30am this morning, i finally gave up and turned on the light to read. Still woke up around 7am—Oh well.

Last night was one of the recurring Taliesin formals. I sum it up with the words in the title for this post. Cocktails were in an un-ventilated, un-fanned, un-air conditioned room where we all collectively sweated and held our glasses to our faces. I also made an attempt to walk out on the famous FLW cantelever walkway but was told it wasn't such a good idea. And someone had just mentioned to me a few days previous how it was structurally sound. I'm beginning to walk gingerly everywhere. Then there was dinner in an equally sweaty but at least well-fanned dining room. It was really strange having the students and apprentices serve us. I haven't figured out what the purpose of this event is but i found out that it actually happens at least once a month. It's truly like a wedding reception.

Maybe tomorrow i will have more inspiring and interesting things to post but i'm not sure my brain is functioning too well right now.

drawn

2008-07-18T07:06:00.000-07:00

I think i've settled back down to where i can get some sleep again. Seems to have a lot to do with actual work level. I wonder, what will i do when i get back to Phoenix and can't spend 14 hours a day working on artwork? It's strange how once i create time to do it that it seems extremely purposeful but when i'm balancing it with a life where i actually have to make money, i can convince myself that it's peripheral or frivolous. It's a good thing i came here when i did. if only i could start charging $200 or $300 an hour for my graphic design work, i'd be set. :)

Above are sections from one of the large drawings i've been working on. I had originally started, thinking i would do something scroll-like but the long, horizontal shape was hard to work with. Now i'm working on a 36"x36" square which feels much more natural.

floating

2008-07-17T14:55:00.001-07:00

Floated some more disaster stories today on the Wisconsin River. Luckily, there weren't any storms imminent (it seems whenever i innocently walk outside with my camera, they begin to brew) but the water was almost eerily placid. The raft actually ended up floating upstream. I have Tiana to thank for the great photos posted here. Always so good to know a talented photographer!

I had been filming water in different states, from placid to turbulent, and wasn't really sure what i was going to do with it. I thought maybe i could sandwich it into the imagery filmed of the rafts floating. Now i know i'll definitely incorporate it and will work on the idea through my drawings tonight. The large drawing i'm working on seems to be a documentation of the disaster work in progress...full of trials and errors.

Tiana and i had also discussed collaborating on a simple site-specific project on Taliesin and had considered how so many areas are in disrepair. After a trip to the gift shop (see Tiana equipped with the FLW handpuppet to the left), it was clear that the merchandise attached to the FLW fetishistic phenomena is a big source of helping finance repairs and maintenance of the sites. We thought of using the products themselves to simulate "band-aids" around the site—like taking a stack of Taliesin pencils (the cheapest item in the shop) to prop up a sagging overhang or using postcards to patch a broken window. Even in this project, i can see my sensibility for damaged areas, items, people. A tree fell in a recent storm and it made me pretty sad. Such a huge thing. It makes me want to fix it but i know it's futile. Is that the same sensibility working in this place?

Also, tending to the damage, neglected, ignored through small, persistent, caring actions. Not sure what that's about yet but i'm working on it. The floating of the disaster stories and the experience of reading them has given me a better sense for how everyone you meet is dealing with or has dealt with many forms of disaster and are the people they are because of it. It's this amazing persistent ability to overcome, adapt and transform that gives me a huge sense of understanding and sympathy for people.

so long gone

2008-07-15T09:25:00.000-07:00

It's been several days but i'm realizing that maybe that's because it's been cool, sunny and beautiful since my last post. The day after the last storms, it was incredibly windy and i managed to make some recordings of it. I've just spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to get it to upload, and it won't work. Maybe i'll figure out a way to do it later.

I've been working pretty intensely on the disaster project...mostly filming and drawing. Also been drinking copious amounts of coffee which i think is actually making me more drowsy. Going to go over video footage today but i still have more to do. I'm still not sure about the sound.

A new visiting artist, Tiana Peterson arrived Sunday evening and will be staying here for 2 weeks (maybe longer?). She's doing some interesting things using the commodification of Frank Lloyd Wright as a reflection on American consumerism. I think her lecture will be interesting, at least to see the reactions from people in the audience. Not that everyone here worships FLW, but you never know.

The image below...
is a "portrait" of a knot mass with it's corresponding disaster story. Today i floated a few down the Wisconsin River and will be floating more as i get them in the stream flowing from the Taliesin pond and a creek that runs next to the highway and flows to the river. I have to admit, today when i filmed one of the paper rafts floating away down the river, i sincerely had a sense of relief—as if that story was being released or alleviated. I stood there and stared at the rippling river for a while, where the raft was and had since turned the corner. I couldn't find it with the camera anymore. The ink on the story had blurred and most likely, the knots would sink pretty soon.

they call her stormy

2008-07-12T07:51:00.000-07:00

Another huge storm moved through last night with over an inch of rain...where does it all go? The night before we had almost 3 inches. The streams always seem to look the same.

I am questioning, questioning. Also trying to do without question but it is difficult. I'm considering the issue of value or non-value that i place in my work. By leaving a piece of myself behind in an abandoned area (like the vacant lots), i'm creating only the remotest possibility that i will be found. And then if i'm found, will i be seen as having value? Or will i be ignored, discarded or damaged? Why do i put myself out to be weathered and abandoned? It's like i'm playing a trick on people to force them to figure everything out, only what's the investment for them? Why should they bother? Do i expect that by uncovering something special within something mundane that this will be seen as a metaphor for myself? I seem to have a question about my specialness.

This all seems terribly self-indulgent and narcissistic even though rationally i know that i'm far from that (or so i've been told). I need to figure out a way to prove that something of value can be discovered in an area that seems valueless. I need to switch the roles of special vs. non-special; value vs. valueless; unique vs. mundane. After reading this NY Times article about the Mogaoku caves at Dunhuang in China, i thought of creating little mud piles that contained the knotted threads. For their smaller sculptures, they would actually use mud, mixed with grass or straw, as a strong, long-lasting material. Now these caves are in trouble because of the huge amount of tourists visiting it. It has so much value and it was created with devotional intent but then was buried underground for centuries.

I would put the mud piles in obvious places before a rain storm (they're so reliable here) or at a creek's edge, then document the mud washing away to leave the knot masses. Then, they too would either wash away, be revealed, or be discovered. I'm not sure about it all but i'm trying to not question myself as much. Depending on the weather today, i may try it out.

I'm still working on the knot masses that will float down the river/creek. I've tried several iterations and their flotation is kind of an issue. I was reminded by an Argentinian student here how the Vikings (her husband is Swedish) would wrap their dead in cotton, set them on a plank of wood, and send them into the water. Once the bodies were far away, they would shoot a fiery arrow and set the body ablaze. There are also the prayer papers that are set on the water...something about sending things downstream to be remembered and to hold hope.

And one last note regarding art and value—from another article in the NY Times about an exhibit with sand as the central theme:

One of the most remarkable works of all is by a self-taught folk artist from Iowa named Andrew Clemens (1857-94). Using variously colored sands found near his home Clemens created pictures and patterns inside glass bottles, one grain at a time. The example in this exhibition depicts an eagle waving an American flag over an intricately patterned, richly colored band of diamond shapes and interlocking organic forms.
The museum label notes that Clemens, who lost his hearing to encephalitis as a child, once worked for a dime museum creating sand bottles while people watched. When he completed one, a barker would ceremonially smash it to prove there was no trickery involved. It’s a curiously sad story, like an episode in a Dickensian novel.

shaft diversion

2008-07-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

and now for a slight diversion...

Last night i had a dream about Shaft. In the dream i was actually watching the movie, Shaft, and mentioned how i'd seen it before. Then i started watching it but realized that when i'd seen it before, i had never really paid attention to it and therefore didn't really know what it was about. Without getting into too much graphic detail, it turns out that Shaft is gay, or at least bisexual, and he seems to be very conflicted about this. He knows it's his true nature and is really a very sensitive guy but isn't sure how to reveal it. The entire movie (in my dream) takes place inside an apartment that is almost entirely white—white furniture, walls, linens...i think even Shaft, himself, is wearing white. Quite innocent. I feel for Shaft, but i don't know what to tell him that will help his situation (yes, at this point, i'm in the movie). He seems very somber and quiet. I woke up with some funky soul music in my head that was playing in the dream but can't remember what it is now (NOT the Shaft theme).

better bug go away

2008-07-09T07:24:00.000-07:00

And an update on the bug repellent? THIS is the best one. no DEET (which i guess is toxic bad stuff contained in most OFF) and it doesn't totally stink. Natural repellent that actually feels cool when the wind blows.

filming-ing

2008-07-09T07:08:00.000-07:00

Today, i'm going to start filming for the video project i have planned where i'm floating the knot masses down a creek. i've already filmed little bits and pieces, like the whirlpools of the water given the heavy undercurrent, and numerous trial runs, but hopefully this time i won't get caught in another storm like above. Yesterday, as i walked the 10 or 15 minutes down to the area i wanted to film at and do a few tests with the knot masses and whether they'd sink, i checked out the sky on my way and saw a lot of cumulus clouds building, but along the perimeter. Nothing too dark or ominous. It was mid-afternoon and maybe my Phoenix mentality of storms only striking in the evening was dominating my logic. I was focusing on filming the water, throwing things in, pulling them back out, tying thread here and there, tying branches to the knots, etc etc, when a cold gust of wind hit me (it HAD been in the mid-80s and really still and humid). I look up and there is a sky about as dark as the one you see above hovering over me. I think i actually can hear me on the video saying "oh shit". Then proceeds me running like a freak down the side of Wisconsin highway 23, my camera bag jostling around at my side. I had already gone for a run that same way earlier in the morning and wasn't really up for another one. By the time i finally reached Taliesin and had a whole tour group staring at me, the storm apparently just skirted us and no rain fell. I felt after all of that, it should have rained but oh well, that's the temperament of weather.

Today looks much better—sunny and clear, and i even have an assistant. I've dropped the books for the time being and i'm just heavy into the making. There just never seems to be enough time. It's amazing how that becomes relative given how much time you have. I wish it was always this way.

Flooding

2008-07-07T07:09:00.000-07:00

I thought now would be a good time to share some of what I've found on the flooding that occurred here in Spring Green. For one, i was told about 2 videos: one that showed the Taliesin driveway where there's a large pond flooded out all the way to County Rd C and the other was a video of cows floating down the river under an overpass (don't worry, they manage to find ground to stand on).

It sounds like Taliesin was surrounded by a moat of water...not even from the river but just from runoff and the creeks overflowing. I keep trying to imagine it as i look at the area around me and see the patches of damaged crops but it's just so hard to see. I think it's the same as when you know a person as an adult and hear about some traumatic incident that occurred when they were younger and have a hard time picturing them dealing with that situation. Here stands a somewhat together human being. Trying to imagine them amidst chaos and how they might be is difficult because you believe in the self that's put before you. Here stands the placid green pastures of Wisconsin with a mildly flowing stream next to them.

Another silly, strange video i found was one of the irrigation systems still running while an entire field of crops are flooded out. This is also in Spring Green.

What i was surprised by is how calm the water looks. When i was looking for an area to do filming for my piece, I wanted to find moving water that made noise. Now it seems as though it happens almost quietly—like someone creeping up on you. How something so seemingly calm can be so damaging is unsettling.

Birdier

2008-07-06T10:36:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a rumor that a somewhat endangered species of the red-headed woodpecker is nesting in the giant oak tree outside my window. I may have seen it this morning but i can't be sure since i forgot the thoughtful binoculars my partner's mother gave to me! This is what they supposedly look like (the bird, not the binoculars).

But these guys crack me up. As i go running down a trail next to some corn fields, they follow me—flying over my head—until i'm out of what i guess is their territory. I know they're probably really common around here, but they're different looking than a pigeon or sparrow so seem interesting to me.

Calvino

2008-07-06T09:20:00.000-07:00

Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had; the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.
—Invisible Cities, Italo Calvino

Timelines

2008-07-05T12:11:00.000-07:00

There are an unbelievable amount of websites with timelines of disasters. To name a few:

http://www.mapreport.com/subtopics/d.html
http://www.infoplease.com/ipa/A0001440.html
http://www.intute.ac.uk/sciences/hazards/timeline.html

It's interesting to see what some people consider to be more monumental disasters than others. One, for instance, always seems to have to mention a disaster in the UK, even though its consequences pale in comparison to the disasters occurring in other areas of the world at that time.

After seeing these sites, i've thought that i'll take the stories i collect of personal disasters and place them on a timeline alongside disasters that occurred in history.

I'm still having trouble figuring out how to access the river where it's not completely placid. Maybe that's asking too much since that might be a bit of a risk. I remember the river in Richmond, VA was insanely accessible from many really dangerous angles. Here, everything is coated with thick foliage and poison ivy. But i want to get a good sound recording of moving water and also want to test out whether my string masses with sink when i toss them into the water. So i'm waiting, waiting. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe Sunday. I hate when waiting 24 hours can drag out to seem endless.

One major thing i've come to realize about this piece i have in mind is that it seems to be an attempt to heal something—it could be me or others. Or it could be healing myself by attempting to heal others. It could be the sense that we're always in a state of being damaged and healed all at the same time.

And another thing...these Taliesin tour groups sure can get a little irritating. There's nothing like being stared at like a museum exhibit. I feel bad for the students who have to put up with it year-round, here and in Scottsdale.

bugs

2008-07-03T16:07:00.000-07:00

Bug repellant update:

My new favorite type of insect repellant is Cutter Skinsations Aloe and Vitamin E. It prevents me from smelling like a walking medicine cabinet and supposedly moisturizes skin. We'll see. The mosquitos are still finding the small 1/4" squares of skin that i've forgotten to cover or spray, including behind my ears, my thumb and knee exposed from my ripped jeans.

Ok, since i wrote this i think this stuff may keep away the mosquitos but attract the flies and bees—what's the deal with that?

Defenses

2008-07-03T08:52:00.000-07:00

The bugs here are incredible. My new perfume scent is Off unscented (yeah right) insect repellant. I put it on every morning and then again in the late afternoon. But i'm going to collaborate with Saskia Jorda (the artist in residence coordinator here) to design a mobile mosquito netting outfit of sorts. My preliminary sketches are shown on the left.

Some new interesting findings is that the man-made lake at Wisconsin Dells that flooded during the early June floods this year not only created a new tributary to the Wisconsin River that Taliesin sits adjacent to but was once actually a glacial lake before an ice dam broke and forged the rest of the Wisconsin River that now flows to the Mississippi. It's an interesting development to me to think of how far back disasters go and also the mirroring of current events—draining a lake and overwhelming the Wisconsin River. I still need to do more research to understand how the area here was affected by the floods but i'm definitely planning on taking a trip to the Wisconsin Dells.

I also went for a run this morning to try to get some recordings and photos of the river close up. Unfortunately, the river is pretty quiet where i took the photo you see but tomorrow i'll try out some other paths along the river's edge to see what i can discover. A plan is brewing for a piece using the knotted string masses i've been working on for over a year, video of them flowing down the river, stories of people's personal disasters (as well as my own) and a video/animation that combines all of these.

Disastering

2008-07-02T09:45:00.000-07:00

my room in the Tan-y-deri house at Taliesin, Wisconsin. i'm in the process of adapting it to be my own (including the kleenex around the edge of the windowsill to keep out the mosquitos)

Out of all the things, the most interesting one i've come across (besides the state of Nebraska) is a pamphlet found in the Taliesin kitchen: "Project Recovery: Suggestions for coping with the emotional aftermath of a disaster".

The paragraph on the cover states:

Disasters often strike with little or no warning. In an instant, your home and community can be damaged or destroyed and forever changed. Even if your home or business does not suffer directly, you can still feel a disaster's impact.

On my way here, I kept hoping i could catch a glimpse of the disaster remains from the catastrophic flooding in Iowa and Wisconsin. The most i noticed were some crackled muddy areas that once were crops and a damaged barn or shed in Nebraska that i imagined (not necessarily accurately) was hit by a tornado. When i looked across the fields of Iowa and Nebraska, i imagined the weather, not serene and sunny as it was, but cloudy and ominous—the clouds a purple-green. I tried to transport myself to that feeling of no-escape, because there is no shelter, there's only continuous open space.

I felt disappointed in Iowa that most of the floodwaters in my purview had receded and traveled down the Mississippi, even though i heard on the radio of a town that was still coping, weeks later, with being underwater. Imagine the bugs. Imagine the smell—that rank, fermenting stench that i'd smell growing up in southeastern PA after a week straight of rain. I never paid attention then to whether the creeks and rivers in our area were overflowing.

But i'm captivated by disaster and compelled to want to see it—maybe like most people who try to catch the latest news until another disaster takes its place. Think of all the events this year: earthquake in China, Typhoon in Myanmar (?), tornadoes in the midwest, torrential rains and flooding in Iowa, Wisconsin, Illinois, Missouri. Then there are all of the man-made disasters like the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the criminal election in Zimbabwe, the riots in Tibet and China and the hunting down of police officers in Juarez, Mexico. There are the disasters on the local scale that I assume the rest of the country knows about or should know about—the crashing of 2 news helicopters, the racial profiling by the county sheriff, serial shooters and serial rapists and the imminent downfall and collapse of the historic Icehouse as it becomes overwhelmed with debt and in need of repair.

The parallel i keep coming back to is that of personal disaster. My fascination and concern over disasters locally and across the world relates directly to my concern and feelings of lack of control over my own disaster—past and present. The initial events were years ago but i'm still dealing with the aftermath. There is no pamphlet for being 33 and dealing with the residual effects of emotional and physical abuse, neglect, and being made to feel a nuisance and worthless.

I know the work i'll do here will end up being about this. I was morbidly enthusiastic when i heard of the torrential rains affecting the exact location that i would be traveling to. I tracked the flooding levels on the National Weather Service website and New York Times, wondering if things could possibly get worse.

There's something about locating myself amongst a disaster to give my own some credence. To be able to witness a force that destroys or attempts to destroy that which seems so valuable, permanent and precious. But it never manages to completely obliterate it. There are pieces left, even if just in the memory, that is what causes everyone the most pain. As it says in the pamphlet as a resulting behavior or thought of a disaster: "Frequently replaying the events and circumstance of the disaster in your mind."

It's this proximity to almost death—to almost destruction, but continuance—knowing that at some point, it will end, leaving you no remnants of stress or pain because you, with it, will be gone.

leaving

2008-06-28T09:49:00.000-07:00

By this time tomorrow i'll be on the road towards Wisconsin. No more bus rides for over a month.

I've procrastinated the planning and the packing for as long as possible and now i'm left, as usual, at the last minute to frantically coordinate everything in my life into a few bags. My stomach is twisted. My mind feels scattered and half broken. And I'm going to visit my grandfather in the hospital in about an hour.

Change happens all the time but i know sometimes it's good to force it upon yourself. This has been a long-term effort that has, until now, been a concept. In retrospect, I'm sure it will seem minor. But for now, the movement from interior to exterior seems like a wide, dark gap. A drive. A simple drive across mostly flat land through New Mexico, Colorado, Nebraska, Iowa, Wisconsin—seemingly uneventful but potentially emotionally rugged. Flatness and expansiveness has the tendency to contrast with other areas of upheaval. My thoughts, like a silhouette against the landscape.

It should be interesting.

hot fat

2008-06-23T15:25:00.000-07:00

When i left work the other day, it was 113º and 3% humidity outside.

I have to walk across a McDonalds parking lot, whose oil effluent (smell and material) is hosed down every morning and evening. I always have to navigate the frantic drivers heading towards the drive-up and their hamburger blinders (must get burger, must get burger) but on this particular day, not only was the line for the drive-up wrapped around the building but was forming in other directions, too. Cars angled themselves from the east and south street entrance. A car coming from the west inched forward. They were all converging, converging.

The loud hum of car air conditioner fans temporarily drowned out the sounds of street traffic and my eyes sizzled and choked on a mixture of dryness, dust, car fumes, and ambient cooking oil smell. The parking lot was full. I didn't want to be too conspicuous by staring into the vehicles of the waiting mass—assuming their universal fear of the world outside of a set of doors—but i wanted to try to catch some similarities that would all drive them to this place all at once at 5:25pm.

What was it about the searing dry heat and the comparable and even more unpleasant, searing and stuffy car that lured them to unknown quantities of oil, saturated fat, large servings and non-ice cream ice cream? With gas at over $4 a gallon and the possibility that they could be stuck in the drive thru chute for almost 10 minutes, what could be so enticing as to bring them there? In a city full of eating options including large overly-cooled grocery stores with ready-made dishes, WHY would you choose to remain in your vehicle and watch the gauge on your fuel tank dip lower and lower?

Sometimes i'm like an alien living in this strange land—a place where sweating off your entire backside is preferable to lifting your body up and walking 10 yards to a door. I assume some of them stared at me in wonderment and pity, thinking who in their right mind would choose to walk anywhere.

Are we not humans? Do we not have legs, muscular systems, lungs, blood, brains, etc—all coordinating with each other to make it possible for us to move? Have our bodies become so detached from our minds that a small, contradicting, self-defeating alien shouts out that we should do counter to what we're designed to do? It's a sad view. It's a view from a bizarre dream. It's a scene out of a movie i haven't seen that's about something that we like to think hasn't happened yet.

Nonconformity

2008-06-10T11:20:00.000-07:00

I have always had issues with doing things the way everyone else does. It probably started even earlier, but i can remember as far back to the age of 5 or 6. We were riding the bus from Sinking Spring to (probably) Reading or the Berkshire Mall or maybe the VF Outlets to buy some velcroed sneakers or Lee brand jeans for my dad (our jeans were either handed-down or bought on employee discount at Sears). We must have sat towards the back because i remember having a clear view of the backs of everyone's heads. People sat dutifully in place, facing forward, quiet. Me, my sister and mom were probably pretty quiet too considering my mother's tendency towards that and our tendency to not want to piss off my mom by acting up.

I watched the backs of everyone's head as the bus bounded over potholes and around curvy roads. The bus went left—the people went left. The bus turned right—the people leaned right. The bus went over an especially deep pothole—the people's head jostled in uniform movement. It really bothered me. I can't remember if i had a sense of any order in the universe at that age despite my scary ponderings of what existed beyond the stars. Laying awake at night on my top bunk (my sister rolled around too much and would fall out of bed so had to be on the bottom bunk) i would try to imagine what was beyond the stars and then what was beyond that and beyond that and beyond that. Then i was feeling dizzy and crying and completely unable to fall to sleep. The vastness of the universe was too much for me.

Witnessing people's head dutifully falling into a uniform bus-moving pattern was too much for me as well. If the bus leaned left, i leaned right. If it went over a bump and people's head fell into a rhythm of movement, i would try my best to do the opposite of each of their movements, either by sitting perfectly still or yanking my neck and back counter to any natural force of nature. In the process, i'm sure i must have bonked heads with my sister or rammed into my mom's cool, freckley shoulder once or twice. They assisted in the process by not questioning my behavior or trying to correct me in my proper bus movements.

I still think about it now nearly every time i ride the bus. I still feel a little bit of annoyance that it really does make more sense to just allow myself to move the way the bus wants me to move me. I still want to pull an ever-expanding set of detachable puppet strings to keep everyone from moving the same way. "Break free!" i want to say, or wanted to say. "Loosen the shackles of this thing we call movement dynamics or physics or perpetual motion!". "Determine your own movements! Don't let anyone tell YOU how to move!".

It seemed to make more sense then. "Fools." i thought then. I assumed i had defined my individuality and personal power by fighting that which seemed inevitable.

Sizzling bacon

2008-06-05T17:52:00.000-07:00

Riding the bus this time of year in Phoenix becomes 2 things: Survival Mode and Funky Season.

Survival Mode

I realized pretty quickly after moving to Phoenix 12 years ago that taking the bus here was different than any other place. In the "hot season" (as I'll call it which can start as early as April and last as long as mid-October) it starts to become a matter of personal survival. The strongest, the most resourceful, the most clever do the best and are rewarded by a fully arctic-mode bus air conditioning system. The weakest are quickly dwindled away either by fainting or become so overheated and sun-crazy that they become the person walking down the street gesturing and talking loudly to themselves with a full, leathery tan. I guess you could call either of those a form of heat exhaustion or sun stroke. Neither seem fun to me.

To prevent this, what I've come up with is a bag weighted-down more and more by what become essential travel items. The basics are what they suggest to you on the friendly clip art and stock photography PSAs provided on the bus. Happy smiling people stare down at you wearing hats, white clothing and an umbrella while another couple chug on water bottles. So that starts the bare minimum for me. The full array could consist of:

water
hat
umbrella
long sleeve shirt (to cover from sun or to stay warm on the bus)
blue ice packs (to keep food, lunch or water cold—it will actually get hot)
snacks (sometimes the bus breaks down while running the a/c on full blast in 110 degree weather)
book (for waiting and reading on the bus)
iPod (so pissed-off people who are waiting un-preparedly don't talk your ear off about how late the bus is—what am I supposed to do about it?)
phone (to call for help if you're having a stroke? or when that pissed-off person gets annoyed that you're not as annoyed as them which sounds ludicrous but has actually happened to me "well you're awful patient!")

Funky Season

When the temperature is consistently over 110, despite the "dry heat", the body still is sweating profusely and there's really nothing that can be done about it. It's funky time. Time to start recognizing that all those odors you used to think emanated from things like garbage cans or strange greasy alleys come from human beings. And actually, it's just the guy standing up in front of you while you sit and try VERY HARD to breathe through your mouth, stare as far downward as possible and look intensely interested in the book you're not-reading. Even you could be the funky person—you're only human and you're not different than the other people there. It's not as though people forgot to shower, it's just that it doesn't matter anymore. I think Phoenix was even voted the sweatiest city by some deodorant company (do they sell more to us?). And while we'll never compare to a New Orleans day of 98 degrees and 90% humidity, there's something equally unsettling and apocalyptic about starting your day off at 7am and 95 degrees with a high of at least 110. It is an oven, fair and square. Stand in front of any oven long enough and you will squint your eyes and start to sweat.

Maybe i should add eye drops to that list? Oh yeah, and a dust mask for when monsoon season hits and dust storms hit oh-so-conveniently right around quitting time.

My bag is getting heavy.

Why is it so DESERT-Y here?

2008-05-28T11:30:00.000-07:00

First off—I live in Phoenix. Phoenix is located within the Sonoran desert.

When you ride the bus a lot, it's unavoidable that you listen in on others conversations. It could be a good, bad or completely benign thing. A lot of the time, the conversations are in Spanish which can either help you learn it by exposure or leave you completely in the dark—only picking up on key words.

And then there are the ones where you don't hear anything at all because you're either zoned out, focused on your book, or listening to an iPod. With these, a few key phrases zoom in or shout out and, when taken completely out of context, provide me with humorous speculation on what in the world the conversation could be about.

Why is it so DESERT-Y here?

The person in question stood out when she got on at Sky Harbor Airport and stood in the center of the aisle, hands on nothing, and fell over about 4 or 5 people as the bus took off around an extreme curve. She seemed to spread herself out in all the empty spaces available between a rolling suitcase, un-pillowcased throw pillow (like, it was just the raw, white fiber), an ancient-looking hand-held video game and a book that looked like it was a textbook on how to become a good christian. She was smiling a lot and trying to engage people.

This was obviously her first bus ride—at least in this city.

I say this because there are numerous people who get on the bus here who have obviously recently relocated and want everyone to know where they came from and (often) why Phoenix is so weird and how much they dislike it. What surprises me is that usually, things don't seem too weird or unlikable until one of these persons gets on the bus and tries to talk to you about why they hate where you live.

I don't know if this is what she ended up talking to someone about or not. It seemed as though she was just trying to get directions. but then out came this statement, brighter than the midday sun reflecting off downtown's mirrored buildings.

Why is it so DESERT-Y here?