There are times when I have a "look at your life" moment. These are the moments when something happens, or someone says something, or you feel something new and there's nothing you can do but look at your life... look at your life and ask questions, or wonder how you got here- where you're going... hold your life up to the light and uncover what it's really all about. One of my dearest friends from high school got married on Saturday. The past week seems like a whirlwind of events, laughs, dances, and recollections of memories of beautiful moments, milestones, and friends. And now my dear friend Rachel Scott is Rachel McGlaughlin. It's like she's this whole new person... she's a wife... and I have never seen her as happy as she was yesterday, her father walking her down the aisle toward the man who is now her husband. And I stood at the alter watching her walk toward him, I couldn't help but look at my life... look at my life and hope that one day, I could love someone that much- that someone could love me that much, and choose to share in this crazy, ridiculous thing together.
It's funny how things change as time passes. It's funny how they stay the same. It's been a long while since Rachel and I shared an extended period of time together, but nevertheless, I realized this weekend, as I always seem to realize with her, that some people never change...and some relationships just pick themselves up right where they left off... like no time has passed at all. And again, you look at your life and you wonder what it is that allows certain relationships to withstand the test of time while others seem to have no choice but to fall away... fall apart. What allows us to hold onto the people we love? What allows us to keep cultivating or nurturing relationships so that they may last? Better yet, how does the universe seem to come together in these "look at your life" moments offering you the chance to begin again... to begin something new, to start cultivating all over again, while in the midst of all those old relationships still keeping you alive...
I couldn't be happier for my dear friend. And I cannot wait to see how our relationship evolves as she starts this new chapter of her life. Even more so, I can't wait to see what the next "look at my life" moment will be...
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
content needs a grave to go to
Marlene Dumas is this incredible South African artist I discovered while visiting the MOMA in New York this past winter. She's an incredibly intimate, unique painter whose work pulls at the nature of our own humanity, our existence... She says that content needs a grave to go to. It's an interesting concept when you think about it- the notion that material needs a place to rest, or rather, die- to get buried, left deep beneath the surface so that perhaps other content can find its growth on top of it... so that life can continue without it, beyond it, in spite of it. She explores this idea of 'measuring' one's grave. What does it mean to quantify or somehow attempt an assessment of one's death? Or how should one come to his or her own end- what does that even look like?
And like a work of art, how do we ever come to find those endings? It's not the same as human life, certainly. Yet, I don't think any work of art is ever completely finished. When we're working within such transitory, subjective concepts and frames, how are we to truly come to some conclusion? Some sort of finished product?
I think it's because we're dealing with the human form. We're dealing with the physical body, and the pieces, colors, and textures- the very medium of the work ( in dance specifically) is constantly changing, growing, and coming into an understanding of self. The very components coming together to create the work are not concrete, thus, how can we create something finished? We can't. Because even within performance the work changes. And those bodies move in and out of that work into another. And more over, I think it's less about the actual work being this completely finished thing and more about our sense or impression of the work there after. Is our impression complete in a sense? Is our reaction to our comprehension of the work leaving us with a feeling of completeness... of totality? It's about who we are and what we're bringing to a work of art that informs our response- its quality, depth, and impact on our perceptions...
And long after a work has left its impression on us, that impression, over time, fades away. It finds a grave... a place to rest, so that other impressions can find their place beside or on top of it... and these layers just build and build over time, until one cannot help but realize that each work viewed is just an impression on top of an impression on top of an impression... and we are informed and influenced by the work that has come before and will follow after... even if we don't realize it.
...........................
"a painting needs a wall to object to
an image needs edges to relate to
content needs a grave to go to"
-marlene dumas
And like a work of art, how do we ever come to find those endings? It's not the same as human life, certainly. Yet, I don't think any work of art is ever completely finished. When we're working within such transitory, subjective concepts and frames, how are we to truly come to some conclusion? Some sort of finished product?
I think it's because we're dealing with the human form. We're dealing with the physical body, and the pieces, colors, and textures- the very medium of the work ( in dance specifically) is constantly changing, growing, and coming into an understanding of self. The very components coming together to create the work are not concrete, thus, how can we create something finished? We can't. Because even within performance the work changes. And those bodies move in and out of that work into another. And more over, I think it's less about the actual work being this completely finished thing and more about our sense or impression of the work there after. Is our impression complete in a sense? Is our reaction to our comprehension of the work leaving us with a feeling of completeness... of totality? It's about who we are and what we're bringing to a work of art that informs our response- its quality, depth, and impact on our perceptions...
And long after a work has left its impression on us, that impression, over time, fades away. It finds a grave... a place to rest, so that other impressions can find their place beside or on top of it... and these layers just build and build over time, until one cannot help but realize that each work viewed is just an impression on top of an impression on top of an impression... and we are informed and influenced by the work that has come before and will follow after... even if we don't realize it.
...........................
"a painting needs a wall to object to
an image needs edges to relate to
content needs a grave to go to"
-marlene dumas
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Who doesn't want to dance?
Who doesn't
want to dance
to be inside the body
not somewhere beside it
to feel the arms and legs
hot and clean in a clear lake of air
like fins, as though every limb
were a fish for a moment
free of water out of the world-
the body, strange as a planet
reeling in its own soft sparkle
Who doesn't want to dance
to let the body go gracefully mad
to fall into the music as though
from a cliff- every muscle a feather
every three feathers a bird every bird
bald blind and falling
as though the fall itself were the dance
as if the music were a cusion of air
a wind holding you up as though
in motion the body is a leaf is a
new fabric better than feathers better than water
Who doesn't want to remember the feet
to wash them in music
to feel gravity's tireless kiss
bringing you back, pulling you in
as if there were only you and the earth
and music were the sea
and the body were a small ship with lungs
as it sails- as though breathing
were dancing and dancing were living
and living enough. Who
doesn't want to dance?
-Timothy S. Seibles
want to dance
to be inside the body
not somewhere beside it
to feel the arms and legs
hot and clean in a clear lake of air
like fins, as though every limb
were a fish for a moment
free of water out of the world-
the body, strange as a planet
reeling in its own soft sparkle
Who doesn't want to dance
to let the body go gracefully mad
to fall into the music as though
from a cliff- every muscle a feather
every three feathers a bird every bird
bald blind and falling
as though the fall itself were the dance
as if the music were a cusion of air
a wind holding you up as though
in motion the body is a leaf is a
new fabric better than feathers better than water
Who doesn't want to remember the feet
to wash them in music
to feel gravity's tireless kiss
bringing you back, pulling you in
as if there were only you and the earth
and music were the sea
and the body were a small ship with lungs
as it sails- as though breathing
were dancing and dancing were living
and living enough. Who
doesn't want to dance?
-Timothy S. Seibles
Sunday, May 24, 2009
do what you like, like what you do
I feel like when you graduate they shouldn't hand you a diploma but the plan for your life. Like the five year plan you've been forced to create in course after course throughout your college career, only it will actually come true. It will tell you the next steps you're about to take, countries you'll travel, music and foods and really crazy experiences you should try, what kind of handsome successful man you're going to marry. And it's all up to you what you'll try, where you'll go, what you'll experience. I mean, it should be like that anyway... but within this scenario, it's like you'll literally be handed the permission to live your life- really live it. Instead, they hand you this piece of paper declaring your degree... your degree, and what does that really even mean? To what degree do you really have a grasp of anything? Of this specialty, this field... I'm not really sure.
All I know is that people keep telling me I have my whole life ahead of me. When really, there's a significant part of it behind me, and a whole lot of which I'm in the midst... that's the part they never stress. We're so eager to look past it that we so often miss the moment... the now, this time and place and sense that we're in the middle of. We're so busy planning for our lives we forget that we're in the process of living them. I'm living this life, right now, and I have this beautiful opportunity to make things happen, allow them to happen... to attempt to just be happy. Like Laura says, "do what you like, like what you do..."
I've got more... I'll put it down later.
Needless to say, this house has been filled today with delicious food, wonderful people, and so much laughter and love. That's more than enough for now. More than enough.
Goodnight folks.
All I know is that people keep telling me I have my whole life ahead of me. When really, there's a significant part of it behind me, and a whole lot of which I'm in the midst... that's the part they never stress. We're so eager to look past it that we so often miss the moment... the now, this time and place and sense that we're in the middle of. We're so busy planning for our lives we forget that we're in the process of living them. I'm living this life, right now, and I have this beautiful opportunity to make things happen, allow them to happen... to attempt to just be happy. Like Laura says, "do what you like, like what you do..."
I've got more... I'll put it down later.
Needless to say, this house has been filled today with delicious food, wonderful people, and so much laughter and love. That's more than enough for now. More than enough.
Goodnight folks.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
like your life just figured out how to get good
Have you ever woken up and truly believed you were still in the midst of a dream? Like perhaps you've actually mastered the complexity of lucid dreaming and were simply making things happen in this sleep perpetuated state? But you wake up and you see that the world has shifted just slightly. Because it had to have done so otherwise the present moment you're in wouldn't be possible or comprehensible. This is all rather vague I know but needless to say, I had this moment waking up, feeling like it was all a dream, because it looked like a dream I've had so many times before... only this time it was reality. This time these two worlds that I so often struggle to negotiate came together in this completely real, beautiful, funny, lovely way.
It's funny when you feel like life is making sense in the moment. That certain things or connections are supposed to happen, or feel a certain way as they're happening... and you're just now finally experiencing it. You're just now experiencing the reality of the ever frequent dream you've been playing in your mind for so long... only the reality is far superior. Well, because it's real.
Again, I know this is all pretty vague... a sweeping generalization that probably makes no sense. I guess I'm just hoping that someone out there understands the relevance and complexity and utter gloriousness (not really a word?) of what I mean. It's like your life just figured out how to get good- like that second... I think I stole that thought from My So-Called Life. I think I steal quite a few lines from Angela Chase... but no matter. I feel like my life just figured out how to get good in that oh so vague but beautiful moment. And now I'm left feeling somewhat stalled... because in the dream you keep creating the next moments and the next moments. In reality, I supposed you create moments, but more often than not it feels like we're just waiting for them to happen.
And there's another question. Are we creating our lives? Or does it seem more like our lives are happening to us? Or is it both?
....Sorry folks. I'm a little fuzzy and scatter brained this morning. I moved that tassel right to left yesterday. I drank mimosa, hugged my family, took photos with friends, probably saw some people for quite possibly the last time, and had one very fun evening out... And now I'm here. Trying to negotiate my life, and this moment, and the next... And hoping that that moment wasn't just a dream... that I didn't become an expert at lucid dreaming otherwise as I write this... I'm still asleep.
It's funny when you feel like life is making sense in the moment. That certain things or connections are supposed to happen, or feel a certain way as they're happening... and you're just now finally experiencing it. You're just now experiencing the reality of the ever frequent dream you've been playing in your mind for so long... only the reality is far superior. Well, because it's real.
Again, I know this is all pretty vague... a sweeping generalization that probably makes no sense. I guess I'm just hoping that someone out there understands the relevance and complexity and utter gloriousness (not really a word?) of what I mean. It's like your life just figured out how to get good- like that second... I think I stole that thought from My So-Called Life. I think I steal quite a few lines from Angela Chase... but no matter. I feel like my life just figured out how to get good in that oh so vague but beautiful moment. And now I'm left feeling somewhat stalled... because in the dream you keep creating the next moments and the next moments. In reality, I supposed you create moments, but more often than not it feels like we're just waiting for them to happen.
And there's another question. Are we creating our lives? Or does it seem more like our lives are happening to us? Or is it both?
....Sorry folks. I'm a little fuzzy and scatter brained this morning. I moved that tassel right to left yesterday. I drank mimosa, hugged my family, took photos with friends, probably saw some people for quite possibly the last time, and had one very fun evening out... And now I'm here. Trying to negotiate my life, and this moment, and the next... And hoping that that moment wasn't just a dream... that I didn't become an expert at lucid dreaming otherwise as I write this... I'm still asleep.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
oh academia!
In my academic career I think it's safe to say that I've had few- very few teachers/professors who have left a significant mark or truly inspired me. Because it really is my belief that only via the mark of a brilliantly passionate, crazy, completely involved and thoughtful individual that I should leave an educational experience feeling changed or challenged or even brighter.
Sad to say my last semester of college has been tarnished by certain professors whom I fear do not have such passion, or rather, thoughtfulness, awareness, and a true understanding of their students. What's happening? How does this gap only seem to be growing wider and deeper by the day... the second? Is it the overly inundated use of a digital world that impairs our abilities to communicate- to truly listen and care about the individual? Are we so caught up in the politics or the verbiage of labels and titles essentially equating to nothingness that we've lost that love, that incredibly delicious, rich, drive and desire for learning: not only the student from the teacher, but vice versa. I thought people became educators because they believed in education- because they believed in the people they were educating. Not because they simply wanted to hear themselves speak or get sucked into the hyper-driven Facebook culture that nowadays seems to lead us to slanderous comments and hurt feelings. Facebook does not belong in the classroom- but that's another post, another time.
A very dear friend of mine finds herself in a low place- nearly days before our graduation, because of this lack of communication, this lack of any real attempts for teachers to teach us- to care about us and who we are. My friend is beautiful. She is by far one of the most exquisite, talented, thoughtful, organized, and trusting individuals I have ever known. She has taught me more in this last semester of college than one good professor, let alone bad, could ever dream of. Yet she finds herself in the midst of a terrible, disgusting, biased situation where as a student she is victim to this lack... this gap... whatever the hell it is; I just don't know.
And what are we to even do when it seems like our voices don't matter? Or aren't heard? When the personal vendetta of others with seemingly more power takes force and drives us to silence or succumbing to simply make bad circumstances disappear. And some say, we're graduating in a few days anyway... what does it matter? What will speaking up or taking charge even do now? I don't know... piece of mind? Pride? Leaving room for those bright students following us to actually have their real voices heard, their real faces and talents and personalities seen and recognized. Maybe someone will care about them and what they are about. Now I know this sounds overly emotional or dramatic. And I have to add that there certainly have been some extraordinary teachers in my life, in college, who have made me and my peers better people. But for them, I set aside a separate post- a separate dialogue to honor all that they've done.
Tonight... this morning, I'm writing for my friend, for myself... for all of the moments when I've simply let the ridiculous, and horrible, and truly inappropriate slide because I just didn't think it was worth it. Well, now I do. No young individual should ever have to feel belittled, slandered, disrespected, or targeted by someone who is supposed to be doing their best to help them succeed...
Albert Einstein once said that education is what remains once one forgets what he learned in school... I'm starting to think he was right.
Sad to say my last semester of college has been tarnished by certain professors whom I fear do not have such passion, or rather, thoughtfulness, awareness, and a true understanding of their students. What's happening? How does this gap only seem to be growing wider and deeper by the day... the second? Is it the overly inundated use of a digital world that impairs our abilities to communicate- to truly listen and care about the individual? Are we so caught up in the politics or the verbiage of labels and titles essentially equating to nothingness that we've lost that love, that incredibly delicious, rich, drive and desire for learning: not only the student from the teacher, but vice versa. I thought people became educators because they believed in education- because they believed in the people they were educating. Not because they simply wanted to hear themselves speak or get sucked into the hyper-driven Facebook culture that nowadays seems to lead us to slanderous comments and hurt feelings. Facebook does not belong in the classroom- but that's another post, another time.
A very dear friend of mine finds herself in a low place- nearly days before our graduation, because of this lack of communication, this lack of any real attempts for teachers to teach us- to care about us and who we are. My friend is beautiful. She is by far one of the most exquisite, talented, thoughtful, organized, and trusting individuals I have ever known. She has taught me more in this last semester of college than one good professor, let alone bad, could ever dream of. Yet she finds herself in the midst of a terrible, disgusting, biased situation where as a student she is victim to this lack... this gap... whatever the hell it is; I just don't know.
And what are we to even do when it seems like our voices don't matter? Or aren't heard? When the personal vendetta of others with seemingly more power takes force and drives us to silence or succumbing to simply make bad circumstances disappear. And some say, we're graduating in a few days anyway... what does it matter? What will speaking up or taking charge even do now? I don't know... piece of mind? Pride? Leaving room for those bright students following us to actually have their real voices heard, their real faces and talents and personalities seen and recognized. Maybe someone will care about them and what they are about. Now I know this sounds overly emotional or dramatic. And I have to add that there certainly have been some extraordinary teachers in my life, in college, who have made me and my peers better people. But for them, I set aside a separate post- a separate dialogue to honor all that they've done.
Tonight... this morning, I'm writing for my friend, for myself... for all of the moments when I've simply let the ridiculous, and horrible, and truly inappropriate slide because I just didn't think it was worth it. Well, now I do. No young individual should ever have to feel belittled, slandered, disrespected, or targeted by someone who is supposed to be doing their best to help them succeed...
Albert Einstein once said that education is what remains once one forgets what he learned in school... I'm starting to think he was right.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
celebratory champagne
I'm officially done. Officially done with a thing they call college. And aside from a lovely ceremony on Friday where I'll symbolically move a little tassel on my cap from one side to the other, I'm done. I know this all hasn't hit me yet. I'm still in the slightly giddy phase- but then again, maybe that's from the celebratory champagne we've been drinking today (my mother taught me well, friends!). My whole life I've had a difficult time with change. Or more so, I've had a difficult time dealing with things ending. Because I can't help but feeling like I'm losing something- something that I've spent so much time cultivating or nurturing. And to focus your attention, emotions, thoughts, and energy into one thing or person or track for such an extended period of time- like four years- that's a serious feat. That's incredible.
It's pretty remarkable how much I've changed over the past four years. I know that doesn't sound so profound- college is certainly bound to change a person. But I truly can't imagine not being how I am today... I have found this incredible love and passion within creating and performing art. It was always there, but I feel like now, I belong within it. I feel like now I can actually call myself an artist. Hey, I'm an artist! And with people- I have cultivated some of the most exquisite relationships I could have ever dreamed of. Truly, the people I have in my life- these friends, these other dancers and artists, they are my soul mates, my piece of mind... where would I be without their advice, their insight, their passion for life and love and the constant need to challenge or evoke change? I feel like I'm starting to understand where I fit into this whole crazy universe. It's not like I've found religion or anything; these days I'm pretty sure I'm a pantheist- but I guess I can attribute college to that awareness as well. Simply, I just think the universe... nature... well, it's awesome. And if you ever just stop to absorb the incredible beauty of the universe, which is really, impossible to fully grasp or understand, well, you'll feel so incredibly awed. But maybe I digress...
Today I got to thinking about what I really am going to miss about college. My dad posed the question about a week ago and I couldn't think of it really. But the thing I realized, which I suppose I've known all along- I won't really be missing college. I'll be missing the people and the moments that have made this time beautiful, extraordinary, challenging, and ridiculously hilarious. I will miss late nights laughing on the kitchen floor, dancing it out to Celine Dion in 6606 after a really hard day, rambling conversations with the people who understand... the people who let me rant even when they've already heard 3 other versions (Laura)... I will miss MDE, and "Books on Tape" and "Dear" and my gorgeous friends and dancers who continually bring me back to life. I will miss Mim and her unwavering support and love and wisdom. I will miss PDJ. I will miss the feeling of dancing in the Kay Theatre, or the feel of the marley in the Dance Theatre- or jamming out with Bob on a really good day. I will miss Danielle's laugh and Emily's quiet, sweet, calming presence in this apartment- in this little apartment that has become a home. And that is just the beginning of a hundred thousand "I will miss" phrases.
Our lives are defined by moments- the tiniest fragments of our day to day experience culminate in a tapestry of events and we are shaped, altered, and affected most often by the seemingly insignificant. And now I'm here. This moment. How significant is this graduation? Commencement means 'beginning.' I am at the beginning of something- a moving forward- taking all that a college education encompasses in search of the future moments that will punctuate, highlight, and color my life making it uniquely mine. And I will surely miss this version of myself. But if Mim's right, we can't ever escape ourselves- in life, in relationships, and in our work- we just keep washing up like dirty laundry on the beach.
It's pretty remarkable how much I've changed over the past four years. I know that doesn't sound so profound- college is certainly bound to change a person. But I truly can't imagine not being how I am today... I have found this incredible love and passion within creating and performing art. It was always there, but I feel like now, I belong within it. I feel like now I can actually call myself an artist. Hey, I'm an artist! And with people- I have cultivated some of the most exquisite relationships I could have ever dreamed of. Truly, the people I have in my life- these friends, these other dancers and artists, they are my soul mates, my piece of mind... where would I be without their advice, their insight, their passion for life and love and the constant need to challenge or evoke change? I feel like I'm starting to understand where I fit into this whole crazy universe. It's not like I've found religion or anything; these days I'm pretty sure I'm a pantheist- but I guess I can attribute college to that awareness as well. Simply, I just think the universe... nature... well, it's awesome. And if you ever just stop to absorb the incredible beauty of the universe, which is really, impossible to fully grasp or understand, well, you'll feel so incredibly awed. But maybe I digress...
Today I got to thinking about what I really am going to miss about college. My dad posed the question about a week ago and I couldn't think of it really. But the thing I realized, which I suppose I've known all along- I won't really be missing college. I'll be missing the people and the moments that have made this time beautiful, extraordinary, challenging, and ridiculously hilarious. I will miss late nights laughing on the kitchen floor, dancing it out to Celine Dion in 6606 after a really hard day, rambling conversations with the people who understand... the people who let me rant even when they've already heard 3 other versions (Laura)... I will miss MDE, and "Books on Tape" and "Dear" and my gorgeous friends and dancers who continually bring me back to life. I will miss Mim and her unwavering support and love and wisdom. I will miss PDJ. I will miss the feeling of dancing in the Kay Theatre, or the feel of the marley in the Dance Theatre- or jamming out with Bob on a really good day. I will miss Danielle's laugh and Emily's quiet, sweet, calming presence in this apartment- in this little apartment that has become a home. And that is just the beginning of a hundred thousand "I will miss" phrases.
Our lives are defined by moments- the tiniest fragments of our day to day experience culminate in a tapestry of events and we are shaped, altered, and affected most often by the seemingly insignificant. And now I'm here. This moment. How significant is this graduation? Commencement means 'beginning.' I am at the beginning of something- a moving forward- taking all that a college education encompasses in search of the future moments that will punctuate, highlight, and color my life making it uniquely mine. And I will surely miss this version of myself. But if Mim's right, we can't ever escape ourselves- in life, in relationships, and in our work- we just keep washing up like dirty laundry on the beach.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
spontaneous overflow
Tomorrow is the last final of my undergraduate career. And while I know I should be studying my hardest and making all attempts to give these last moments of my college education every ounce I have left... I struggle. I spent the majority of yesterday in great attempts to study but found myself listless, restless, and in huge avoidance thereof. Which is kind of funny when you think about it considering I'm studying for Romantic Literature. This is a course I have adored, filled with work by some of the greatest writers of all time, in my humble opinion, and yet I simply feel overwhelmed by the amount of information needing to be covered. I mean, when you think about it- they're just books- just words. And I feel threatened by words, of all things? And maybe that makes sense.
I agree with Calvino that there is a sort of limitation of words- that one can never truly express how he or she feels via words because there are no turns of phrase that can fully encapsulate the complexity of human emotion or experience. Yet, there are those moments when words leave us completely transfixed or paralyzed- like nothing in the history of language could ever sound or feel as beautiful as that combination of vowels and consonants so perfectly placed together. Like the way I feel when I'm reading Jane Austen, or Keat's extraordinary command over the senses in his series of Odes, and certainly Wordsworth whom I think said it best when he wrote, "all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Powerful feelings. Why shouldn't I feel overwhelmed when confronted with the powerful feelings of 10 exceptional literary talents?
Yet here I am, simply procrastinating further, avoiding the material at hand. So perhaps I'll go try, one final time, to study until this brain cannot retain any more information, and then tomorrow I'll greet the morning writing about those works of literature I so adore. Maybe it won't be so bad after all? Gosh, am I really this much of a nerd?
I agree with Calvino that there is a sort of limitation of words- that one can never truly express how he or she feels via words because there are no turns of phrase that can fully encapsulate the complexity of human emotion or experience. Yet, there are those moments when words leave us completely transfixed or paralyzed- like nothing in the history of language could ever sound or feel as beautiful as that combination of vowels and consonants so perfectly placed together. Like the way I feel when I'm reading Jane Austen, or Keat's extraordinary command over the senses in his series of Odes, and certainly Wordsworth whom I think said it best when he wrote, "all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Powerful feelings. Why shouldn't I feel overwhelmed when confronted with the powerful feelings of 10 exceptional literary talents?
Yet here I am, simply procrastinating further, avoiding the material at hand. So perhaps I'll go try, one final time, to study until this brain cannot retain any more information, and then tomorrow I'll greet the morning writing about those works of literature I so adore. Maybe it won't be so bad after all? Gosh, am I really this much of a nerd?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
moving photographs
I love the view from my window. Now it's not the most glamorous of views, but something about it seems nothing short of beautiful. My room in this college apartment sits on the corner of the building leaving me with an odd sort of 'L' shaped space and two lovely sets of windows. My desk sits perfectly next to one such set, ideal for those paused moments of reflection, people watching, and the occasional screaming match with overly intoxicated students on Thursday nights.
Now like I said, there's nothing all that glamorous about this view. And more often than not I dream of being transported to a view encapsulating water or mountains, or a busy city street. What do I see? There is this odd juxtaposition between parallel parking lots, tiny cars negotiating their way back and forth, large brick buildings, a parking garage, and some of my favorite trees- who now find themselves lush and green, creating a semi-border around the cars and people walking through.
And there is a family of birds- a family of birds who find themselves resting in the rain gutters just below the window near by bed. I rarely get to see them, but more so hear their flutter in and out of the gutters. And maybe it's something about knowing that these tiny pieces of nature pop up in between the overwhelming displays of urbanization and construction that brings me joy. Maybe it's the tiniest reminder that I'm not so alone up here in this room- that even from the top floor, looking out over everything else, there are creatures who've come to rest right next door.
In a strange way these windows frame my life- like a moving photograph perpetually in transit. In some ways the view keeps changing. Yet I can't help but feel like it's the way in which I'm viewing that's different. Sometimes the air in this room feels so static, and the world existing outside these windows, no matter how mundane or predictable has breath, and movement, and expandability. What we see depends upon how it's framed. And in a few months, I'll be looking out a very different window at a completely new moving photograph. Yet I can't help but feeling like though it will be different, it'll feel the same.
"My first concern about a window is to find out what it looks out on... and there is nothing I love so much as something which stretches away from me out of sight." - Andre Breton
Now like I said, there's nothing all that glamorous about this view. And more often than not I dream of being transported to a view encapsulating water or mountains, or a busy city street. What do I see? There is this odd juxtaposition between parallel parking lots, tiny cars negotiating their way back and forth, large brick buildings, a parking garage, and some of my favorite trees- who now find themselves lush and green, creating a semi-border around the cars and people walking through.
And there is a family of birds- a family of birds who find themselves resting in the rain gutters just below the window near by bed. I rarely get to see them, but more so hear their flutter in and out of the gutters. And maybe it's something about knowing that these tiny pieces of nature pop up in between the overwhelming displays of urbanization and construction that brings me joy. Maybe it's the tiniest reminder that I'm not so alone up here in this room- that even from the top floor, looking out over everything else, there are creatures who've come to rest right next door.
In a strange way these windows frame my life- like a moving photograph perpetually in transit. In some ways the view keeps changing. Yet I can't help but feel like it's the way in which I'm viewing that's different. Sometimes the air in this room feels so static, and the world existing outside these windows, no matter how mundane or predictable has breath, and movement, and expandability. What we see depends upon how it's framed. And in a few months, I'll be looking out a very different window at a completely new moving photograph. Yet I can't help but feeling like though it will be different, it'll feel the same.
"My first concern about a window is to find out what it looks out on... and there is nothing I love so much as something which stretches away from me out of sight." - Andre Breton
Friday, May 15, 2009
these tiny brackets
I'm not quite sure the weight of its contents.
It's something more than nothing but it's nothing precious.
Objectively speaking.
What is the density of interlacing liquid threads?
This has been a test. She said.
This is only the illusion of an endless whole and we're all striving for maximum legibility.
I'm not quite sure what that means. It's like he said: We create these things to give emotional texture to our lives.
I create to awaken the senses, to find an awareness stemming so deeply beyond the crux of the moment in a dream when you reach true lucidity.
We're fumbling. Falling through reality. Through space and time, and broken hearts. Broken clocks. Repaired frames and re framed pairings of ourselves and others.
Through fiction. Through the moment when you wake up in the morning and still wish you were sleeping.
Because it's within the solace of sleep you tread the purest stream of conscience.
This story unravels between our human bodies. Between our fallible, complicated, tragically beautiful little lives. And all you have to do is listen.
Listen to the moment when the reel stops feeding through, and the fiction lifts itself up. And the lines marking where this begins and that ends are blurred.
Transitions do exist.
Yet more often than not they are colored in grey hues. And muddy tones cloud over the vibrancy of life and light that are supposed to radiate…
Extreme choices.
Tiny fragments.
Where does the never-ending end?
They say a tangent is a digression. A digression, an aside, or more so, a parenthesis. And isn't the parenthesis the most significant accumulation?
This is where we’re supposed to focus.
Because within these tiny brackets we believe the deeper meaning rests…
This is about the work.
And the work is a parenthesis.
And this life… has been a test.
..............
A week from today I graduate from college. I graduate from college. Shea says this is the moment when you ask yourself, "now what?" And I say, start a blog? Sure, why not! I have to admit, I've always been the kind of introvert who preferred the feel of pen to paper. Something seems more authentic about recording my thoughts that way- like I'm creating a memory or a piece of correspondence in that moment. But there's something appealing about the readiness and efficiency of the digital inscription. And something alluring though slightly intimidating about sending your thoughts into the ether for others to find.
A week from today I graduate. I don't know why this feels like the moment to start a blog. I guess it just seems like everything is changing and evolving so quickly and I just don't want to miss any of it. Maybe here I can take some time to remember it all.
Andy Warhol once said: "Life is a series of images that change as they repeat themselves." So, there's a pretty good chance I've been here before. Only this time, it just looks different.
It's something more than nothing but it's nothing precious.
Objectively speaking.
What is the density of interlacing liquid threads?
This has been a test. She said.
This is only the illusion of an endless whole and we're all striving for maximum legibility.
I'm not quite sure what that means. It's like he said: We create these things to give emotional texture to our lives.
I create to awaken the senses, to find an awareness stemming so deeply beyond the crux of the moment in a dream when you reach true lucidity.
We're fumbling. Falling through reality. Through space and time, and broken hearts. Broken clocks. Repaired frames and re framed pairings of ourselves and others.
Through fiction. Through the moment when you wake up in the morning and still wish you were sleeping.
Because it's within the solace of sleep you tread the purest stream of conscience.
This story unravels between our human bodies. Between our fallible, complicated, tragically beautiful little lives. And all you have to do is listen.
Listen to the moment when the reel stops feeding through, and the fiction lifts itself up. And the lines marking where this begins and that ends are blurred.
Transitions do exist.
Yet more often than not they are colored in grey hues. And muddy tones cloud over the vibrancy of life and light that are supposed to radiate…
Extreme choices.
Tiny fragments.
Where does the never-ending end?
They say a tangent is a digression. A digression, an aside, or more so, a parenthesis. And isn't the parenthesis the most significant accumulation?
This is where we’re supposed to focus.
Because within these tiny brackets we believe the deeper meaning rests…
This is about the work.
And the work is a parenthesis.
And this life… has been a test.
..............
A week from today I graduate from college. I graduate from college. Shea says this is the moment when you ask yourself, "now what?" And I say, start a blog? Sure, why not! I have to admit, I've always been the kind of introvert who preferred the feel of pen to paper. Something seems more authentic about recording my thoughts that way- like I'm creating a memory or a piece of correspondence in that moment. But there's something appealing about the readiness and efficiency of the digital inscription. And something alluring though slightly intimidating about sending your thoughts into the ether for others to find.
A week from today I graduate. I don't know why this feels like the moment to start a blog. I guess it just seems like everything is changing and evolving so quickly and I just don't want to miss any of it. Maybe here I can take some time to remember it all.
Andy Warhol once said: "Life is a series of images that change as they repeat themselves." So, there's a pretty good chance I've been here before. Only this time, it just looks different.
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