Coming home to the power out.

Around the middle of July, a professor at Hunter was kind enough to encourage me in this art-making affair, by asking me to complete 20 new finished pieces by mid-September. I don’t know why i expected anything different of myself, but here i am, with less than a month left, and one, one little collage that i feel comfortable turning in. Every day i tell myself, “move your legs into that studio, woman!” but most days i count the number of hairs i can pull from my dog in one swipe, or scrub the rubbery caulk-stuff in the spaces between the tiles in the bathroom until it gets dark outside and then i write off that day as you know, just not an art day. “I have to feel it, or else all i’ll make is crap.” Right?

Truth is i’m terrified, which is typical, but the tasks i’m resorting to in order to avoid even setting foot in the studio that is frankly inconvenient for me to have, but is there for the sole purpose of getting me to work, those are surprising. I have never cared about tile-caulk, never been concerned about getting my dishes really clean. “Not-embarrassing” is the level i generally strive for in all my hygiene, and even what constitutes that changes by the day. I mean look, i’m so desperate that i chose to blog about it, of all the loathsome activities.

The art i want to be making is interesting and complex and approaches form in really innovative ways. The ideas i have are genuinely interesting, about how our immune systems have to recognize what cells are us before they can figure out something’s there that shouldn’t be, about “disease as a relationship,” about dogs and how they move, about scientists writing about bodies in a tone that denies they have them. The ideas, those i never run out of, but when i sit in my studio i don’t know how to make any of that external. I just putter around with pictures that aren’t really that cool, pasting them to boards and drawing on them with the skills of a toddler. I have cool stuff that i want to think about in a visual way, conversations i feel like i could have with myself forever, but it’s that i don’t have the language, the means.

There’s so much swirling around, those metal-pointy things that some buildings have all around their cornices to keep birds from resting there, the beauty of a great-white shark leaping entirely out of the water to gulp a seal in one bite that i saw on Blue Planet, the voice of Patsy Cline, the expression my dog made this morning when i got up really close to his ear and whispered, “Good Morning!” I feel ill-equipped to process all this emotionally, much less artistically.

But. I. Have. To. Right now. I just wish i could translate, could speak this visual language fluently. Words have always been inadequate, but at least i’m fairly comfortable with them. Making images seems right, but comes so much more slowly to me right now. And it’s frustrating as fuck.

Possibly my most favorite meal ever.

Roasted potatoes, tofu scramble and guacamole burritos, fruit smoothie and coffee. Dear god it’s delicious.

Oven-roasted potatoes (loosely from Vegan w/ a Vengeance):
1 lb. small red potatoes, cut into 1 in. chunks
1 medium red onion, sliced into 1/2 in. pieces
2 tbs. olive oil
2 pinches sea salt
several dashes fresh black pepper
5 teas. fresh rosemary, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
2 pinches red pepper flakes

Preheat oven to 450. Toss potatoes and onion in bowl with olive oil, salt, and black pepper. Spread on baking sheet, bake for 30 minutes. Toss remaining ingredients in bowl, remove potatoes from oven and sprinkle mixture over them. Return to oven, bake until brown, about 20 minutes more.
——–
Tofu scramble (also loosely from VwaV):
1 tbs. olive oil
1 medium red onion, coarsely chopped
1 package mushrooms, sliced
4 or 5 cloves garlic, minced
1 block tofu, roughly chopped
juice of 1 lemon
2 teas. cumin
1 teas. paprika
1/2 teas. turmeric
1 teas. red pepper flakes
1 teas. salt

Saute onion and garlic in large skillet until softened, add mushrooms. Saute for about 5 minutes. Crumble tofu, add lemon juice and spices, toss everything together and let it simmer for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.
———–
Raw guac:
2 tomatoes, chopped
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 c. cilantro chopped
juice of 1 lime
1 teas. sea salt
red pepper flakes to taste, or 1 thinly sliced jalepeño
1 ripe avocado

Mix everything together in a bowl, making sure the avocado is mashed completely.
——-
Smoothie:
1 banana
2 ice cubes
1/4 c. frozen fruit
2 tbs. whole flax seeds
1 big dash cinnamon
milk of choice to your preferred consistency, i usually add 1/2 c. and if it’s too thick add a little water (rice milk is expensive!)

Add all ingredients to blender, blend until smooth.
—–
Remember to warm the tortillas over an open flame. So good, and always leaves lots of leftovers. I really could eat variations on this everyday for the rest of my life. Some other great combos are roasted corn instead of potatoes, rice and beans with arugula instead of tofu scramble, and sauteed chard added to the scramble. Perfectly complements any vocal jazz, especially Nina Simone, Billie Holiday, and Bessie Smith.

Public disdain. Or, disdain for the public.

I spent the last few evenings thinking about various perspectives i have, how those shift over time, things i am doing now that could affect them adversely, things to continue. Working in the restaurant industry, and specifically working for a clientele that i largely resent is changing me in ways i can’t even squish off from myself to evaluate. I just know that i am falling into that characteristic “front of house disdain” that is rampant with most of my coworkers. A friend said the other day, “I already think 75% of the people i pass on the street are impulsive, largely thoughtless, and not worth my time. Once i set foot at work that percentage jumps to about 95.” And mostly, i agree. So what? Maybe it’s true, maybe there’s merit in focusing your energy, especially in this city of 8 million, of filtering out who can get something from you and who can’t. You can’t relate to everyone, and everyone makes choices based on limited time and resources.

The problem is twofold. It seems arrogant to say that there are people not worth my time, as though my time is worth more than anyone else’s. As though people actually exist that i should not give the directions to if they asked me, no matter how much of a suit they were, or how entitled their behavior seemed. I’m sure suits are mostly people too, i’m sure they are just as lost and scared and lonely as the rest of us, maybe more, and therefore deserving of my time and eye contact. Because i’ve noticed that i have trouble making eye contact with the customers at work that for whatever reason attract my contempt, i have a very deep urge to not acknowledge their humanity by looking full in their faces. Certainly everyone deserves, unless they’ve committed something terrible against me, to be looked at, right? And yet several times a night i will speak to someone without looking at them.

Which brings me to my second point. Being around people that i would ordinarily not associate with for roughly 35 hours every week is eroding something that i can’t exactly name or understand. There’s a trust i used to have in people, you know, the idea that we’re all basically good but self-absorbed, trying to find our own ways. I think to create something for the public you have to believe this to some extent, believe that the people seeing a piece that you’ve spent a significant amount of energy and thought on are worthy of seeing it. Otherwise the work will probably be cynical to the point of meaninglessness. Even artists that dislike most people still trust and rely on those that “get it,” though that usually indicates a deeply suspect elitist and privilege-oriented attitude. For me, for the work i want to do, i need to see the public as important, even suits, even hipsters, even white boys hauling their powerbooks on their fixed gear bicycles. Lately, I see people that i have contempt for when i am not at work and where they with all certainty are not, which means i am taking it out of the restaurant and applying it to people that don’t deserve it. Not that even the suits do, but definitely the people riding the train don’t. And i have to get to a place where i trust that the people that could wander into an installation of mine or pick a piece up off the street can genuinely bring themselves to the art, can make it meaningful. Otherwise i’ll just be making art for myself, and that’s not why i’m doing this.

I’ve just been thinking about the work i’ve really been getting into lately, how vulnerable the artists are, how they ask the audience to let themselves into the pieces and trust them to go where they are gently led. This is the kind of work i want to come from myself, and i think if i stay in restaurants i’ll eventually be unable to see people with such love. I don’t know what the solution is in the short-term, how to guard against it while i still need this to pay the bills, but i do know that there is a count on the days i can be there. And, honestly, that gives me hope.

Whistlin’ dixie.

I saw The Blow (aka Khaela Maricich) perform on Tuesday, and it’s preoccupied me with the dynamics of performance and integration with the audience, giving what you get. Beneath her witty banter, self-deprecating jokes, and choreographed dances was a desire to connect that i hadn’t felt since seeing a Tracy + The Plastics show. There’s a level of respect there, even for people talking through the whole show, even for the arms attached to relentless digital cameras. Those are qualities i admire and want to incorporate into my own work, things i’m afraid i’ll forget the longer i work in food service, a genuine regard for people, even and especially the types of people that generally attend indie rock shows in the NYC.

After The Blow i stayed for a little of the Electrelane show. I couldn’t take my eyes off the bass player, not just because she was cute and queer, but to watch her work. She was completely at ease, occasionally lifting her eyes to the crowd, where her bandmates were either distant with the audience or erratically moving to the beat. But more than that i loved that she periodically checked in with the other musicians, not just to time difficult transitions but to see what they were doing, and i felt, to see how they were doing. Performing alone, like Wynne Greenwood, Khaela Maricich, and Miranda July afford certain freedoms, certain possibilities, but with a collaboration it’s so interesting to me how essential it becomes to read the people you’re up there with, to pick up on the subtleties in their movements and know when and how to support them. The potential there for complexity and nuance is really exciting, and where collaboration usually scares me (attributable to teacher-enforced “group projects” where no one ever knew what was going on), i think i could get into it at some point.

Otherwise, i’ve mostly been trying to adjust to living by myself. It’s proved more difficult than i anticipated, it seems i’ve become so used to being anxious in my living situations that i have it here out of habit. When i come home i try to remember that it’s just me and pup here, that there’s no drama. It’s a happy problem to have, but frustrating in that i’ve been here a month and am still not completely at ease here, in this space.

If you have not heard the song “Atlas” by The Battles, do yourself a favor and find some way to listen to it. One of the best songs i’ve heard all year.

How come nothin’ tastes good.

Another warm-ish day in this schizophrenic spring is not to be squandered. The sun pouring through my apartment makes me feel just like 3:31 in the Arcade Fire’s “(Antichrist Television Blues)” when Régine Chassagne starts belting it. I had to reassure my sister that that is actually a person’s voice singing that high and that on-pitch, and not violins. Should you sadly be without this song, you can download a low-quality version here. In other musics, the new Björk is coming out May 7th, i’m already shaky-legs about it. I didn’t get tickets to see her on the three-day stint she’s in the nyc, which at first was hugely disappointing, but i decided my 86 dollars could be better spent elsewhere, in keeping with my attempts of late to examine my consumption patterns and align them more with my politics.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how i decide what i need and what i don’t. Obviously there are invariables, but there aren’t as many of those as i anticipated. I can’t compromise on things like dog food, or my, my, Metrocard, but those temporary tattoos from ebay? Admittedly i already am not a huge big-time consumerist monster, but i am a United Statesian, born and raised, and that means that i do have a positive emotional association to shopping. I want to not necessarily spend less, although that would be good, but to spend better. Instead of buying greens only when i’m feeling really tired and know it’s due to a lack of veggies, i want to get a big share of CSA and in the winter shop for produce only at farmer’s markets. What i really want is to research what grows in the NY, NJ, PA area when, and only buy local produce when it’s in season. Do i really need to eat oranges, when they’re only grown in places far away from here? It will be hard to forego avocados and citrus, but i want to try. It’s just too counterintuitive to feel good about not having a car here, and then rely so much on trucks to drive all over the country to bring me what i want.

This extends to online shopping as well. I live in New York, of all places, and i still buy things and have them shipped to me because it’s painfully easy. This is dumb. If the Big Apple can’t provide it, i don’t need it. The sole exception is the vegan dog food, which i have tried to find all over the city unsuccessfully. And maybe coffee.

I also want to be a more active freegan, which could ease my avocado cravings. I mean, if a grocery store trashes some perfectly good bananas that happen to have been grown thousands of miles away, it’s better to eat it than to offer it up to the landfill, right? I’m most hesitant about this one, due to the high potential for grossness, but i want to give it a genuine effort before i decide that only produce that has never seen the inside of a black bag is for me.

All this is a kind of internal spring cleaning, but it has more to do with the reading i’ve been getting into these last few days. I finished the 6th Harry Potter on Friday (a requisite “eek!” in anticipation of the 21 July release date of the Deathly Hallows), which meant Saturday morning i needed new reading material, so to the library i went. I want to get more focused in the artwork i want to be making, so that when i start the studio classes at Hunter i’ll be able to use my time well. I picked up no fewer than four books about science, most of them focusing on the aesthetics found in nature, the design principles of cells and trees, why they work.

I can’t think of any other ideas i’d rather be working with right now, finding the spaces where art and science intersect. In the first book, The Ancestor’s Tale, Richard Dawkins traces human evolutionary history backwards, which is not strictly about design in science but looked interesting. There’s a part where he’s talking about why we can go back in time and see parallels between ourselves and snakes and bacteria and grasses, and how the information remains remarkably intact. He makes the comparison between evolutionary history and literary history, how we use old documents to tell us about cultures and languages long dead. “The important point about DNA is that, as long as the chain of reproducing life is not broken, its coded information is copied to a new molecule before the old molecule is destroyed… Large quantities of our ancestors’ DNA information survives completely unchanged, come even from hundreds of millions of years ago, preserved in successive generations of living bodies.” How powerful, the idea that we are living relics, housing the traits that helped our ancestors thrive in the water as fish or as bacteria. I still can’t quite absorb this completely, but i will say these last few days have been easier with this knowledge. I think that’s what’s been motivating my need to get more local and sparser in my consumption; i’ve been seeing the connections between myself and my surroundings in much more explicit ways than i used to. It’s easy to get abstract with words like “environment” and “eco-friendly,” but when i peel an orange that shares some identical DNA information with me, it’s different.

It’s my mom’s doing, this fascination with science, and i can remember her trying to sound casual but unable to disguise her disappointment when she asked me why i never went into science. “You seemed so interested in it, you always enjoyed visiting me at the hospital.” Which is true. I thought i was a really lucky kid to have a mom who worked in the lab, who could teach me how to grow bacteria in petri dishes, how to look at dead tissues under a microscope. She came in to visit my anatomy class when i was a junior in high school, and it felt damn cool to hear her talk about the micro-organisms she knew so well.

I can’t wait to make things that honor the passions that she transferred to me, that explain to her why studying Ingres and genomes are not really that far off.

Skepticism takes a smoke break.

A friend and i recently swapped some music, and i’ve surprised myself by listening to hers all morning. I can be, um, hesitant about friends’ music tastes, which is to say i tend to close-mindedly assume that while i love my friends, what cds they listen to passionately i would rather use for their intended purposes, as indoor frisbees. But today i broke yet another way that i limit fluidity in my life by recognizing her tastes as both entirely different from mine and equal. Before i think i could really only say that about, hmm… one other person. No, no, two. I love that i got exposed to music i would have never found on my own, music that is already incorporating itself into memories and smells and afternoons spent productively, music that is authentic and good. Here’s to unexpected communions.