Life and Busy-ness

Boy, do I have a lot going on...School is bustin' my butt as usual, I have a photo shoot with Alder tomorrow at the crack of dawn (10 AM).  I have a doctor's appointment Monday at 9 AM, and then a sewing class 10:30. 

There is so much I want to do!!!  I want to create clothing that extends or truncates the human form...I want crazy huge dresses with weird shit hanging off them, I want wrapped bodies concealed by yards of gauze, I want random fingers sprouting from waistlines, head coverings that sculpt the human cranium into an unidentifiable biomorphic ovoid...

And I need to clean my garden.

And build my studio.

Yay! Pictures!!

FINALLY!!  a photo shoot that I was actually able to do, to spend a bit of time exploring with, and that I enjoyed.  What a great way to wrap up the summer!

My friend, Alder, let me into a building in Vancouver.  Her partner, Joey, says they are not going to destroy the building but will maintain its beauty much the way it was originally intended.  Gosh, I sure hope so...I'm pretty dismayed by all the old buildings that are being demolished in Portland, and this one is just gorgeous.  Anyhow, here are some shots that show what that space is like.  In a couple of weeks Alder said she would do a shoot up there with me!   

The Good and the Stressful

First, the good, yes?  There's a call out for small and affordable work at Radius Gallery.  I had wanted to create frames for my little painting collages for awhile, so I made a couple of frames for them (even though, my flippin' scroll saw broke).  I made 2 frames.  um.  THEY SUCKED!  I mean, my idea for them just did not pan out at all.  And I didn't see how I could change my idea or the materials to make it work so I bailed on it for now and fell back into my comfort zone, which are the boxes. 

This is my first mini-box:

"Ode to Dorian Gray"  2016

"Ode to Dorian Gray"  2016

It's very small; it fits in my hand.  The scroll is simply placed in and can drop out if it's not wedged in quite right, but for the most part it stays put.  To me when I see it on my wall it reminds me of a piece of jewelry...ok, much too large for jewelry, but you get the idea.  The sunflower hook is an antique, and adds a certain vibe that I like a lot.  I consider the photograph side the "outside" and the old decomposing tintype the "inside," though I have spent time with it hanging both ways and like it equally well no matter which side is hanging.  I feel like the scroll and the broken personal photo have a private feel to them.

The scroll looks like this:

Inside with scroll unfurled, "Ode to Dorian Gray"  2016

Inside with scroll unfurled, "Ode to Dorian Gray"  2016

I've "signed" the inside underneath the scroll.  The quote is from Oscar Wilde's creation, "The Picture of Dorian Gray."  I've also shown the edge box because the wood is pretty, and by holding it, you can get a sense of the size of the finished piece.

I have 2 more coming out now, and I love them both...will post as soon as I get them finished.

The rather unpleasant bit that happened isn't real...or maybe it's more accurate to say that it is a dream, but says something about where my mind is at.  In the dream I traveled across the country to attend a show I was in.  I had sent a lot of work to this gallery, and was excited to go see it. 

I walked into the gallery and nobody knew who I was, but they were all friendly-seeming and were milling about drinking wine, and laughing with each other.  I did not see my work anywhere, so I began to wander in search of my pieces.  A smaller gallery branched off behind the bigger one, and I entered.  There was nobody in there.  There was work on the walls, but no viewers and none of the pieces were mine.  And then a hallway...that took a turn and made a slow curving journey to a back closet-like area.  I went through the closet area and into another gallery.  It was miniscule and decrepit and my work was there.  It was not even hung on the walls, it was placed face up on cheap metal shelves, and two of the pieces by the door had paperwork thrown on top of them...bills of sale for artwork sold from the front gallery.

That's it...no neat ending, no punchlines, no redemptive glow at the conclusion...just this, and the shitty feeling of self doubt it left in its wake.

I remember once hearing an interview with Dustin Hoffman on NPR.  He was talking about how full of self-doubt he was...now it's been a very long time since I've heard that interview, but I remember him describing his feelings, and sometimes when I have dreams like this, it's good to remember that people like Hoffman have similar feelings.

Math Made Simple

math made simple:

WEBaBirdintheHand.jpg

pearl + coffee = bird

dektol + tulip = coffee

(therefore)

pearl + dektol + tulip = bird

bird - tulip = dektol + pearl

(but)

dektol + pearl = nest

(therefore)

the nest is in the bird. it is a matter of biological determinism. inevitable...immutable. please don't ask me about the egg.

it

was

not

necessary

in the first place and

not

desirable

in the last.

Susan Sontag on keeping a journal

Superficial to understand the journal as just a receptacle for one's private, secret thoughts--like a confidante who is deaf, dumb, and illiterate.  In the journal I do not just express myself more openly than I could do to any person; I create myself.

The journal is a vehicle for my sense of selfhood.  It represents me as emotionally and spiritually independent.  Therefore (alas) it does not simply record my actual, daily life but rather --in many cases--offers an alternative to it.

There is often a contradiction between the meaning of our actions towards a person and what we say we feel toward that person in a journal.  But this does not mean that what we do is shallow, and only what we confess to ourselves is deep.  Confessions, I mean sincere confessions of course, can be more shallow than actions.  I am thinking now of what I read today (when I went up to 122 Boulevard, St Germain to check for her mail) in H's journal about me --that curt, unfair, uncharitable assessment of me which concludes by her saying that she really doesn't like me but my passion for her is acceptable and opportune.  God knows it hurts and I feel indignant and humiliated.  We rarely do know what people think of us (or rather, think they think of us)...Do I feel guilty about reading what was not intended for my eyes?  No.  One of the main (social) functions of a journal or diary is precisely to be read furtively by other people, the people (like parents + lovers) about whom one has been cruelly honest only in the journal.  Will H ever read this? 

A couple of thoughts skipped through my mind as I read this 1957 Sontag entry -written just over a year after I was born.  I have always seen my journals as a way of re-writing myself.  So much so, that at one point I began creating false entries that were exciting to me -that I would have liked had they been true.  It had occurred to me as I crafted these entries that I may become forgetful one day, and that I might go back and read my own journals as a way of reacquainting myself with my(former)self, and that with "journal augmentation" I would come away with the sense that my life had been crazy-full of adventure and madcap exploits.  I no longer craft such entries...I think it's because my desire for adventure has been usurped by a bigger desire:  to stay here, exactly where I am and create objects and images in my studio.   I think this desire to be exactly where I am is a huge gift. 

The other point she made in her entry that I connected with is this idea that there can be contradictions between how we act towards others and our feelings for them.  I think that in dealing with people -both others and ourselves- contradiction is the rule.  I have been most surprised -sometimes for the better and sometimes not- by the contradictions I find in myself.

Ghost Ships Image Set

So here is one of the images for my Ghost Ships project:

I have this image framed in one of the vintage frames with the convex glass, and am presenting it as a diptych.  Here is a low quality photo of how the set is hung:

It's a bit hard to see, but the bottom piece (also convex glass) is a photo of cupped hands, there is aMorpho butterfly inside of it...I wanted to draw a comparison between the moving arms in the top image and the wings and motility of the butterfly below.  I was hoping that -together- they would give a sense of fleetingness.  Anyhow, the butterfly is iridescent -I've only ever seen this species of butterfly before in photographs and photos don't show their iridescence very well.

The small piece off to the side...not sure I'll put it in the gallery, but I like the shape and difference it adds to the grouping.

Ghost Ships

Last year I was given a solo exhibition at a new gallery in Portland.  I was SO excited to show in my own hometown and since I was given the liberty to do whatever I wanted with the space, my imagination ran a little wild with it. 

I first considered creating a murmuration out of paper birds, of creating this piece in my garage and making a set of tintypes with it...then re-creating it in the gallery as a huge, ceiling installation.  Prints from my tintypes would adorn the walls.

*side note - this is a murmuration for those who don't know:

Then that idea ebbed, and I found myself wanting to channel Leonardo Drew...to create a large scale, modular photographic installation.   I had actually began making objects for this, but I simply lost interest in it. 

Then, one night I was listening to an episode (#36) of Lore Podcast called, "When the Bow Breaks" and became entranced with in the notion of Ghost Ships.   Ghost ships are real...they are vacant vessels that just float around out there on the open seas.   The crew is either missing or dead.  Ghost ships are floating equivalents to abandoned houses, but more mysterious, I think, for their rarity and for their peculiarity...I mean, there's no reason for a ship to be sailing without a crew, whereas houses stay right where they are long after the inhabitants have all left.

One of the things that appealed to me about the idea of ghost ships is how it might work as a metaphor for human beings as we are all just passing through, really...slipping silently through the waters of life -waving to each other as we glide by.  The human body is also a vessel of sorts...and though we may not be empty, we are certainly haunted -both culturally and individually by our histories.

For my show in Portland, I had decided to present a show of photographic images & objects that work within the theme of "Ghost Ships."  Each piece was to be presented in an antique/vintage frame -the kind that has convex glass in it.  The convexity of the glass leaves room to add items to the work...so in Untethered Pearls, for example - I was able to put a few alphabetical symbols in there that appear to be floating.   I also liked the way the frames echo port holes in a ship.

By the time my show was cancelled (yes, I really did just say that --it was cancelled) I had already spent just under $1500 on the frames.  Unfortunately, the gallery folded.  And here I sit with 19 antique frames and 5 finished pieces. 

I decided to celebrate the fact that I now have these gorgeous frames that I would never have purchased without believing there was a destination for them.  And I'm going to create this body work anyway.  I have time now to think about how I would really like each piece to be.  There's no rush, and I love the objects I've already created. 

Anyhow, that's it for today...maybe tomorrow I'll post pix from the Ghost Ships series.

photo kitty.gif

Goodnight, world.

Shoot gone Bad

I always feel a little like an impostor when I say I'm a photographer.  Why?  Because well, photographers do certain things that I don't necessarily do.  In particular: they take photographs.  This year, I have done -or rather, TRIED to do- precisely TWO shoots.  Yep, that's it.  One of those shoots was supposed to take place yesterday, and you can probably tell from the tone of this paragraph that it didn't happen.

Abandoned, late-victorian style house south of The Dalles

Abandoned, late-victorian style house south of The Dalles

Some months ago I made a date with Betsy to drive out to an abandoned house south of The Dalles.  The house is not a mystery; there are lots of photos posted online of this place and one of my students drove out there last year to do a shoot inside the house--the inside space is gorgeous, and I was so excited to go out there!  I packed a bunch of props, a ladder, chairs and tools, and we left Portland around noon.

Google tells me that the drive from Portland to The Dalles is an hour and a half.  With a potty break and the extended distance south, it was actually a bit longer.  By the time we got there it was after 2, so it took maybe 2 hours and 15 minutes.  The house was not hard to find, but it was fenced off and there was a sign posted:  No Trespassing.  OH BUT...I have this secret belief that such signs don't actually apply to me, plus I just drove a million miles to get there, AND one of my students got in less than 6 months ago, so yes...I AM GOING.  I found a place in the fence where I could pry the wires off, and I was in, striding through the wheat field towards the house.  Betsy came after me, but I could see right away that she was reluctant, and as I began closing the gap between myself and the house, I looked back.  Betsy was frozen in the wheat...like she had simply stopped coming and was standing there watching me go alone. 

As I got to the door, I could hear movement inside the house and the most amazingly beautiful and truly GARGANTUAN owl flew out of the roof, and perched on a protruding board.  He and I stared at each other eye-to-eye, for some moments.  I don't think I ever realized how large owls are, or how pretty, or how strong.  Every photo I've ever seen of an owl has diminished the majesty of that breed of bird.  When he flew off, it felt like he left in a small sonic boom. 

I then looked back at the frozen Betsy.  She was in the exact same spot she'd been earlier.     At which point a local person drives up in a pick-up truck, and shouts:

"ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE THERE?"

and so I shout back, "PROBABLY NOT."

The driver started saying other things, but she was too far away and I couldn't hear her, but I wasn't confused about was this:  The deal was off.  Yup.   I'd packed and planned and driven to this destination and that the best thing to come of it is meeting my owl. 

I walked back to Betsy.  She was staring down at her feet and said, 
"I'm scared of rattlesnakes."  but there were no rattlesnakes.  I looked at her feet; she was wearing nearly nothing...like flip flops or something equally unserviceable.  Anyhow, that was the extent of the shoot, more or less.