A#10: Environmental Art

I’m not a very artsy or creative person when it comes to physically making something, so for a very long time this assignment had me stumped. But after some deliberation, I came up with an idea that suited my abilities and also the assignment.

Every morning when I walk my dog, I always notice and focus on this particular spot. I never really knew why… until I remembered Donald Duck teaching me about the Golden Ratio.

Seventh grade algebra was a trip, but I always remembered this one lesson. And once I realized why this particular spot kept standing out to me, inspiration struck. Alas:

It might be hard to see, but the Fibonacci Sequence fit perfectly. This is my environmental art! I might not have actually created something, but I took what I found in nature and created meaning from that. This spot in my yard reminded me of the perfect sequencing of nature and how everything may seem like a coincidence, but in fact is there for a reason.

Logic and reasoning created by humans can be applied to everything, even the natural world, and that helps us find something meaningful in all things. I’ve never felt particularly connected to nature, but this assignment and my result helped me coincide my analytical brain and the seemingly haphazardness of the outside world. Even when rocks and grass and weeds seem askew and lifeless, there’s something deeper just underneath the surface.

-Kayla H.

A10 | The Next Generation

For my A10 I built a nest and filled it with dandelion heads. Our Mother regenerates herself in so many different ways and I wanted to explore that idea . . . also I’ve been watching a lot of nature documentaries and it’s just wack how many ways life moves forward. So that’s what’s been on my mind.

Also, there is a lot of similarity in the shapes of things out there . . . spheres are very organic, it seems. Which is pretty neat.

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I hope everyone has a safe and happy summer.

Folding ourselves into something new (Environmental Art)

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I took up origami a little over a year ago and have an excess amount of folding paper in my room. So, naturally, I wanted to create something out of it. Combining two of my favorite things; the environment and Japanese culture, I was able to capture something I feel is quite beautiful. I made cranes and outlined them in the shape of a flower. I could have created origami roses and shaped those into a flower, but I feel as if the cranes represent so much more. In Japan, it is believed that folding 1000 cranes brings good luck. Cranes also symbolize healing when in difficult times. As the current situation of the world is healing and trying to find the goodness that’s to come, I thought it was fitting. I used a butterfly to represent the center of the flower as butterflies also pollinate, landing in the center.

I also wanted to touch briefly on the last picture. While it is a “‘fake” butterfly, the leaves and dandelion it lays on is very much real. I for one folded the butterfly myself. It’s real to me, in a sense. It’s all about the way you perceive things. Just because it’s made of paper, doesn’t mean it’s not real. In the same sense, just because hope is given out of falsehood, doesn’t mean that hope you felt wasn’t real. Oftentimes science disclaims many of our imagery and what we perceive as real. But don’t let that stop us from seeing what we see. Our minds are the great conveyor belts. It will carry what it wants to carry for as long as we are willing. It will stop when we have nothing new to discover; when all that we know can be seen through the eyes.

-Bronson Rivera

The U.S.S. Experience

A roommate and I went on a walk today. In a little niche of water and trees, I decided to try my hand at building a (mini) raft. It was surprising difficult — who knew grass isn’t a suitable alternative to rope? also, branches, eh? who made ’em so curvy? But! In the end, some success was had and I present to you the creation and maiden (only) voyage of The U.S.S. Experience:

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Here is a video recorded by my roommate of the launch! https://youtu.be/7oR1dPFORPI

The launch itself was relatively underwhelming and, in the end, I suppose I just threw a bunch of sticks tied together with grass into a river, BUT! the building of the raft was 1) again, surprisingly difficult and 2) an unexpectedly fun ordeal. I know it’s nothing profound but it was, in a way, the closest thing I’ll have to a graduation ceremony & was kind of better than anything I could’ve hoped for.

A walk and lounging in the grass

Today, I needed to take a break and just kind of de-stress from taking exams and writing papers. So I went and sat in a park that was next to Hewlett-Packard. I was conversing with a friend(at a safe distance) and we were talking about the work of Goldsworthy and of Pollock and other artists too. She and I spoke about how everything is the culmination of nature, or the -ness of things, that nature is the sum of it all. So, looking around this well manicured open-space all we found were some spare shed pine needles and grass. So, taking some inspiration from out grass-side chat this is what came of it. We spoke of how we wish there had been some flowers or weeds, but alas all we had were pine needles.

A#8 Virus Diary Excerpts:

Here’s some entries from my Virus Diary! Thanks everyone for sharing yours.

3.25.20
Day four. First day back at school. I’m tired all the time. How long will this last? Everything seems so endless. Perpetual. Should I buy a mask? Mom is immunocompromised so maybe I should. I’ll buy her one too. Infinite. Forever. Shelter in place but only if you’re privileged enough. Money is tight. Everyone I know is working from home. Unending. Everlasting. What will the new normal look like? I wonder if touching hands will be the same after this. I wonder what will become of the tenderness hidden within. Does everyone yearn like this?

4.7.20
Day seventeen. Literally nothing seems real anymore. My girlfriend and I joked that my brother had a premonition of what was to come and died last summer so he didn’t have to deal with… all of this. The darker recesses of my mind might believe that, though. He envisioned thousands suffocating to death and did the same in solidarity. Can the dying see the future? I can’t see a goddamn thing. If there’s one thing my life has taught me, it’s to never assume you have the time.

4.21.20
Day thirty-one. Wow, this all really seems to be never ending because we’re five days away from the shelter-in-place order ending but why do I have a feeling they will only extend it again? So many things seem to be acting as an extension of me lately—the breeze rifling the trees and the air flow through the window. The sun in its prime and shower water rushing slowly down my skin. I received my copy of the Greyrock Review today, and I think I finally know what it feels like to be a part of something that is bigger than yourself. I glimpsed the cover and the molten lava flowing from Venus’ statue pulled from within me my own magma. Something is coming and I can feel it.

–Kayla H.

Virus Diary

It’s taken me a while to be able to post anything, due to poor internet and my own horrible memory with the passwords I use for sites. My apologies. Either way, I’m still excited to share some of the poems and thoughts I’ve got, and the virus diary excerpts seemed like a good place to start.

Excerpts:

I think often of the people I didn’t know to say goodbye to. This is the thought most prevalent in my head. 

I know others imagine lost graduations and the weight of tests now done online, away from resources, away from professors and advisors and help. Others I speak to wonder about how to live from home— how to live alone.

I wonder how I did not know I would miss them all so much

I’ve heard it said that you never know when you’re leaving a place for the last time
I say, you never know when you’re leaving someone and forgetting to say goodbye

A friend told me today that she’s still in contact with those kids from her classes, the ones she knew well enough to miss but not well enough to call friends. She emails them. She texts them.

It’s not the same at all.

I hate to say it but there was a girl I started to love. We studied literature, she a sticker on her phone that said “Lesbians with Swords.” She had big blue eyes and freckles framing the prettiest smile. I began to hope and smile back.

We parted ways one day. I never learned her last name.

My mother asked me to keep a journal. She asked everyone in my family to keep a journal.
I tell her I am. I tell her I have the time, the motivation.
They’re lies.
I don’t understand how motivation is supposed to exist when I don’t know the day. When I don’t feel the weight of this event without thinking too deeply— when thinking too deeply begins to hurt, when I realize how much I’ve lost

Today, my friends sent me videos congratulating me on graduating. We’re in a group, a club. It was part of our last meeting. 

For the first time, I wanted to cry.

It’s fun to be home and to have time to screw around. I’ve watched new shows and fallen in love with new actors. I’ve written new things and I’ve actually slept.

But I didn’t get to hug my friends when I left. 

Perhaps that’s a blessing, because I certainly would have cried if we’d been together. But isn’t that part of this? Am I not owed a moment of hugging my friends, of crying with them, of reminiscing while we’re all together? I don’t care about robes or ceremonies or invitations to send out— I care about the way my friends and I were torn apart and our farewells were reduced to video screens and recordings.

A friend called me tonight, after the videos were sent. I used to be scared of answering the phone. I’m not anymore.

I’ve read 150 pages of a book I bought when this began. Good readers make good writers. I don’t remember reading so much in my free time before.

An Even Later A#7

Hello All, I am glad that I finally had time to watch and reflect on each of these documentaries: Peggy Guggenheim: Art Addict, Regarding Susan Sontag, Louise Bourgeois: The Spider, The Mistress, The Tangerine. Each has been a different experience and each has informed me of new things regarding my work as a poet/human/moral agent. If you have not seen any of these documentaries I highly suggest watching them, they are very informative on the process of creation, curation, and cultivation of a body of work.

The exposure of Peggy Guggenheim: Art Addict is both a cautionary tale and a tale explain how we should approach works of art and connections to others. Initially, when beginning her art collection there were some that called her lucky, but that is not the case she believed in the works of art that she was collecting. She had a reputation that came from working in the art world with no formal education on art, she was just someone who worked awfully hard in that field. Her reputation changed as time went on to being one of the foremost authorities on art, however that is not say that she had a reputation that was without problems. She, herself in the film said she may be a possible nymphomaniac; that reputation did follow her however it was something she overlooked herself. However, her family did not, she was painted as a black sheep in that family. This film has really shown that there is a difference between the art world in different places that the tastes of France are different than that of Italy and that of America. This is shown because from moving from France to New York, not long after came along her Salon which was how Jackson Pollock was discovered. However, her first impression was fairly negative on his work; after reflection and advice she was convinced of his artwork. The more that is explained of her work in the artworld really shows it is about the belief in the work of the artist.  So, the take-away from this for me is that a belief in the art that you create is the first place to begin and that those who like your work exist as well as others that do not. Just because someone does not understand or agree with your artwork does not mean that it is any less valid. Eventually, you will find your tribe of like-minded individuals that understand your work and they will appreciate the work you create.

The cautionary tale of Regarding Susan Sontag shows what it is like to lead a life where you hold yourself to a standard that is not able to be upkept. I identify greatly with how she was, a human wanting to study philosophy and write given all the opportunities and all she had to do was take them. In many cases, I could say that she is a very influential individual  in my life now. I though would not approach each situation as she did, some of her past relationships regarded her as not realizing that they were people too. She had a lack of empathy or judgement in that regard; she was not sensitive and seemed down right self-centered. I am glad that a story like her exists because it is a warning to those who take themselves far too serious. She faced many hardhsips in life and that really did shape her body of work, as her poetry is read throughout the film. Each part different but still pertaining to how her life was working at that point and time. She was a controversial figure at many points and times typically arguing about something that is going on in the world. She was very outspoken about the terrorist attacks in new York. This was something that really hurt her public image, even so she still worked to try and repair that image whenever possible. The take-aways from this cautionary tale are, make sure to not take life too seriously and make sure that if you say something make sure to say it the right way and not confuse others with what is said. The second is far more important than the first, as when you say something that is liable to get others fired up it is better to really know what you mean and then speak that truth. If you speak anything else it is just going to be misconstrued.

The focus of Louise Bourgeois: The Spider, The Mistress, The Tangerine really focuses on the craft. This focus transcends the process of creating art but really pinpoint focuses in on why a work is created. Our works as artists are typically an emotion channeled into a form. In the case of Louse Bourgeois the primary focus for her was anger. She was angry about her childhood and all the misfortune that came with it. She was angry with how her father treated her mother, how he had mistresses, how her mother treated her. All of these painful memories and painful feelings are channeled into her artwork, I know that this channeling of negative emotion certainly helps anyone to feel better. She also speaks of creation of works and then  the purposeful destruction of works, then to create again. This is a tactic that I have used since I have forayed into creative writing. I write a short poem, something small maybe ten to twenty lines. I distill what I am working with or I destroy it I rip apart my language and then I recreate the poem as a new work, typically it yield something more interesting than the first incarnation. This is something that she herself has said helped her. So, the primary take away is do not be afraid to destroy your creations, as you can always remake them anew and likely more interesting than before.

A#8 |Virus Diary [excerpts]

Hi again, everyone! These are a few excerpts from my Virus Diary, starting with an entry exemplative of what I was writing in the beginning, ending with more recent entries from the last week or so. (Still processing the fact that it is May what the heck!)

Thanks to everyone for sharing these.

A#8 Virus Diary

I wrote a poem from my virus diary entry.

quaranta giorni

The word quarantine comes from the Italian ‘quaranta giorni’, that is

forty days,

forty days have passed.

I received a package filled with dirty laundry and a poem I had written for someone else.

the poem was not meant to be returned.

I no longer ask for shelter or closure,

everything is closed these days.

I don’t need the seal to snap shut to know what is packed away.

 

All houseplants have curled in at their heads and turned yellow.

I hated the color yellow as a child because it was so bright,

and demanded such attention.

I just keep thinking,

forty days and forty nights forty days and forty nights

I can’t seem to shove food down my throat either,

is it still a fast if you do it unwillingly?

Do you still have emotions if nobody sees them?

Do you need to give a reason to an empty shell?

Is it fair to just go silent?

I do it all the time.