In Good Company in These 'United' States where Americans love death more than they love life, &where LOVE does not LAW make, &where The Great Flattening means we cannot call anyone 'crazy' cause 'that's so not-woke,' &where CHILDREN ARE SACRIFICED ON THE FRONT LINES IN THIS WAR AGAINST WORDS & GUNS THAT IS BEING FOUGHT WITH WORDS & GUNS

they say that the quickest way to send a message to someone is to kill their child

I am anxious

because I love my life

&I do not want to lose it

I am anxious 

because I love life

&I do not want to lose it

I am anxious 

because I love love

&I do not want to lose it

a companion piece to a Goose Takeoff video that captured a Goose Event that helped to soothe my growing anxiety about finally moving away from this place after being trapped here by the pandemic, etc.

because I want to remember some details and remember some observations.

Over the course of about eight minutes, eight pairs of geese lifted off and flew away from our favorite Goose Island, here in the place we are currently located. 

We arrived at the Island around 0830 that morning, swept a bench of its snow, and lit a J. While enjoying the brisk snowfall after a 20-degree-Celsius-day the day before, after a short shift (the bodybuddy/lifemate's back tire was completely flat when we went to leave for jobbing [yes, we check it every day before we go to bed on job nights], and so, we were about ninety minutes late, and since I'm menstruating and my direct supervisor asked if I wanted to leave early, we left about an hour early), we had to burn some time before the place where we had to run an errand opened, so we burned some cash at an sbux (cause we never spend at sbux, cause fuck sbux, but it is fucking delicious *sigh*), warmed ourselves, caught up, and then ran our errand.

On our long way home, we—obviously—stopped at Goose Island to see whatever it is that we might see that day. My hope is—always—a Goose Landing, but like I say in the caption of my insta-upload (#tkscm), I have been beginning to feel the pangs of anxiousness as we embark on a move for the first time in three years. We were more accustom to more frequent international, long-distance outings, but I have been slow to embrace the reemergence of life post-pandemic, and so, this is, quite literally, the first time in three years we've left the walkable radius around our apartment, with one exception when we went about sixty miles away by free-bus during the August of 2022 for the "Zero Fare for Clean Air" campaign, etc. 

So, naturally, I'm all sorts of anxious, nervous, nauseous, and insecure. The ground beneath my feet has been feeling wobblier and wobblier as our departure date comes closer and closer.

And I've also been feeling impatient with life, in general.

Thus, I view this event as a small gift from the geese of Goose Island, in whom I've had the absolute most joy watching and observing over the past three years, sometimes daily. We took the long way home from work to see them, and as I waited to see some geese land, the geese in our presence took off. 

It wasn't until we were about halfway home that the event dawned on me the way that I'm writing about it now. I honestly didn't think much of it in an esoteric sense, because anytime I'm able to get any sorta good wildlife footage/photography, I am always so happy to have been at the "right place" at the "right time," etc. As we continued our bike ride home, I realized what I had just seen and what it thusly meant to me, personally, and I got teary eyed and nearly cried for like the third time that day (yesterday, Thursday, 16 March 2023). 

During the rest of our ride home, I began to piece together the video, as an idea. 

Back at the Island, while I was waiting for a landing, two geese who were sitting on the water began to swim up toward the shore and made their way onto land. They were big geese, and they slowly climbed up the low slope, and then, just as they were beginning to approach the sidewalk, they turned around and started honking back at the water. Then a pair on the water took off, into the air, and flew right over our heads and banked north. I was—obviously—thrilled. I had my camera out, ready to catch a landing, and did not even think to film the takeoff. 

Then the 0844 pair took off, and I caught it on my camera. Then I heard a squawk, and the two 0845 pairs took off together. When I was running each clip through the instagram stories feature in order to timestamp them, I was a bit disappointed that there isn't a perfect 0844-0850, the 0846 is missing. But then after putting the video together and watching it fifty times to make the video, I realized that the 0845 group is two pairs, the 0845 AND 0846 group, together! And I shrieked with joy! 

Thus, over the course of eight minutes, eight pairs of geese took off from Goose Island to head north, as pairs, within, what I assume to be, one larger sixteen-member group. 

The pair that takes off at 0849 was the pair that first climbed out of the water and walked their way to the edge of the pond's physical limit lest it flood. And the pair that takes off at 0850 were being balked at by the 0849 pair for about a minute while the other pairs were taking off. My theory is that the 0849 pair are the oldest and the 0850 were the youngest. I think that the not-filmed "0843" pair must be the most spry and most-capable as they were going to lead the pack. I also think that the 0849 elders were maybe serving as lookout to make sure they could count everyone. I think the 0845/46 two-pair pair were parents with their two kids. 

And finally, I think that the 0848 pair were my total favorite, because they were the only pair that didn't take off in a very coordinated, perfectly aligned, pair-flight takeoff. One took off faster and higher than the other, leaving the other to be cut out of frame, but then the other banks left harder and jets into frame. From their behavior, they are either the mutables of the bunch or they are perhaps stuck together as a pair but are not mating pairs, something like siblings or cousins, etc. 

I—obviously—am not an ornithologist or whatever it is that a goose scientist is specifically called, and so, these are all fun ramblings of my mind as I watch and observe a fascinating population of geese. 

a screenshot of the 0848 pair

I wish you well on YOUR Quest.

... sail on ...

 

That time I wrapped an object

After my first full semester as an art major, I knew I wanted to try sculpture, but the mere 3D Design entrance class was an advanced class, so it wasn't until I was about three semesters into my major that I took my first sculpture class.

And the semester's first project was "Wrapped Object"

The objective was to wrap a stick until a shape formed, and we each had to draw a material out of a hat to determine what the wrapped object would be wrapped in, and I drew "SPONGES"

This is what I made ...

Wrapped Object c. 2006
chopstick wrapped in twine, sponge rollers, pins and wax
current location unknown
last known location: with professor Robbie Barber at Baylor University

The thing about this assignment is that I truly loved it, and I still love it, but it is not in my possession. The sculptor-artist-professor of the sculpture program (i was enrolled as a BFA-Sculpture at the end of my sophomore through junior years of undergrad and took business classes to fill out my credits, but I did not graduate from Baylor University), Robbie Barber, liked my object so much that he asked me if he could keep it for further classes, etc. I didn't care at the time, but I recently looked him up and saw that he's still at Baylor, so I might have to contact him to get it, cause I've been hankering to see it again. 

Anyway, this project was a nightmare. It was my first "sculpture," and I had no idea what I was doing, and I had no idea what I would do. So, as usual, I put one foot in front of the other and went to Walmart to see what sorta "sponges" I could obtain.

Randomly, I walked through the hair stuffs aisle and saw the sponge rollers and thought that I could make something of them. There was only one pack left, so I bought it and thought, "Okay?"

We were provided twine with which to form our shape, and so, I wrapped a chopstick with the twine until I came to the general shape of my object. Then, I pulled out some sewing pins (i always have sewing supplies on me, cause my grandma taught me how to sew at a very young age) and started wrapping my object in the sponge rollers. 

It wasn't until I had finished the third layer that I realized that I didn't have enough sponges, and I panicked. I think I even cried for about an hour at my own stupidity. But the project was due the next day, so I had to figure out a way to finish it. 

I cannot remember how I acquired the candle, but I had a candle or wax and I almost burnt our (my sophomore-year roommate's and my) apartment down. I found a can of soup in the cupboard and emptied it into the sink, washed it out and set it on a burner. I dumped some wax into it and then as it melted, poured it over the remaining part of the uncovered twine until the remaining sponge-less twine was covered in wax. 

Then I took a look at her, and she looked like a little piggy. So I cut the two remaining sponge rollers in half and then cut those halves diagonally to give my piggy a bonnet. 

I put her into a little box and carefully transported it into class the next day. I was genuinely thrilled by the outcome, and I couldn't believe that I was able to accomplish something so great out of my own stupidity. 

When critique time came around during that first 3D Design class, my professor couldn't stop fondling it. By the end of that class, my professor had suggested I enter the BFA program in sculpture and off we went.

Until, of course, I had a nervous breakdown, stopped eating and quit school altogether for a year. LOL.

J/k, totally not LOL. It was sad and something about which I rarely talk because nobody talks about it, but the reality is that being an artist is psychologically tormenting. You are constantly being asked to look inside yourself, see who you are and present yourself to the world to be judged. It is a form a psychological torture if one does not want to be an artist.

And there is no psychological guidance while undertaking such a feat as an undergraduate learning how to be and thus become an artist. 

I see this as a huge gaping hole in the potential success of a future artist. How are we to deal with the psychological pressures of creation, ideation, judgments on our personhood, etc.? If our artistic elders do not instill in us a way to deal with what it means to make art, how are we, as young artists, supposed to figure it out when the alternative is suicide? 

Art, creation, the bringing forth into this world something that is so intensely personal is a feat that most do not attempt, because it is too hard, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically. To ask someone to show you who they are is to ask the impossible. And so, to be a person who is not only willing to find out who they are but also, are able to then show the world who they are is to be a person living the impossible.

 

A Tale of Three Visions

I am going to attempt to convince you to make art. Obviously, I'm not here to tell anyone what to do, but I am here to encourage the living of one's life to its fullest capabilities, and insodoing, I believe that art-making, no matter the medium, is essential to a full life, and I am going to use three works of my own art to make my case.

Firstly, however, I feel as though I need to "go over" my philosophy toward art, in general, as a former practitioner of art history and as a current practicing visual artist. Without the framing of my psychological approach to art-making, it may be difficult to understand what I'm attempting to communicate.

From my perspective, my mind/thoughts/emotions and body/brain are two separate entities, and they lack the ability to communicate directly with each other. Thus, when I think a thought, I eventually have to either speak it out loud or write it down or make some sort of art. 

The reason I do this is because my thoughts are not "real," as they are figments of my imagination. My emotions feel this way, as well. And so, that little voice inside my head is not registered by my body/brain. Obviously, my thoughts/emotions can affect my physical body/brain, but the specific problem is largely unknown to my physical body/brain because the thoughts/emotions are stuck inside my mind/thoughts/emotions. 

Thus, the making of art.

To me, art-making is any act wherein the artist creates something tangible within the physical world to express an internal thought/emotion. 

Whenever I have a thought/emotion that I do not understand, I either write something or make visual art. It is then, in my opinion, that my body/brain can finally "see" &or "hear" &or "physically feel" what it is that my mind has been thinking/emoting. And then, I can understand myself better by seeing/hearing/feeling the physical piece of art that I created from my thoughts/emotions that were trapped in my mind. 

Does that make any sense at all? 

Well, if not, hopefully these three examples will help flesh out what I'm trying to accomplish here, today.

ONE

Two Dead Roses by Yours Truly (1985-present) c. 2007
3' x 5' acrylic on canvas
current location unknown
last known location: the dumpster behind 1590 South Pearl Street, Denver, Colorado, USA

This was the first assignment of the painting class I took my junior year of college, spring semester 2007. And we were allowed to paint anything for this assignment, I believe, because I remember wracking my brain about what to paint, because, as a student fulfilling lower-level requirement courses, I hadn't yet really been free to make art. I had some dried roses in my apartment for some reason I cannot remember now, and so I brought them into the studio and started painting. 

I honestly cannot remember what happened during those few weeks I worked on this painting, but then, one day, it was finished, and I stepped back and thought, "Cool." 

We had our usual critiques and nothing special was made of my effort. I obviously did well, but it was nothing special.

Then, about a week or two later, I really saw the painting for the first time when I was just glancing at it from afar. Something dawned on me.

About a month later, I was no longer seeing the boyfriend that I had been seeing.

TWO

Misery by Yours Truly c. 2008
18" x 24" charcoal on newsprint
current location unknown

After I dropped out of college at the end of the 2007 spring semester, I moved to Syracuse, New York, USA to be a trainee at a (very modest) ballet company. I arrived in the summer of 2007 and by early spring 2008, I was feeling miserable, but the feeling made absolutely no sense. 

I was dancing full-time. I was supposed to be happy. I should be happy. 

Then one day, I whipped out a sheet of paper (cause I brought some basic art-making supplies [newsprint, charcoal, erasers, etc.] with me when I moved) and decided to draw something for some reason. I didn't know what I was going to draw, but I just sat down and went to town.

This is the drawing that was produced from the feeling I was feeling despite the fact that "you shouldn't be feeling this way," etc. 

Within the month I was re-enrolled in school and apartment hunting online. Needless to say, I didn't stay at the company once I completed the trainee program. I got the hell out of there and finished my degrees.

THREE

Our Love by Yours Truly c. 2011
approximately 5' x 2' acrylic on canvas
current location unknown
last known location: the dumpster behind 1590 South Pearl Street, Denver, Colorado, USA

As an artist, I never know what I'm creating or why until I'm finished and enough time has passed that I can see the art for the message it is. This is also why I argue that good art, real art is irrelevant to any observing audience. Art and art-making is about the artist, and only the artist can understand what the art she makes means, which is also why I think art history is a loaded piece of shit.

I began this painting about a year into a relationship that began about two years before we finally fucked. I had no idea why I was painting again, and I didn't know what I was trying to accomplish. I simply felt like painting, so I did. I remember this particular painting taking me only a day or two to look like this, and then I stared at it for many months because I just kept looking at it, thinking to myself, "Is it done?"

I apparently decided that it was finished in December of 2011 as that is when this picture of it was taken. And then it just sat around our apartment and day after day I never really looked at it.

We were married two years later, and a few days ago, when I sought out these pictures to make this post, I saw this painting for the first time in about a decade. 

Look at it with me, will ya? 

I, personally, find it to be a particularly momentous painting, and I fell in love with my bodybuddy/lifemate all over again.

Despite my overwhelming feelings toward this piece of art that I no longer even possess, I do not think that anyone else should care, and I cannot even imagine what one of my paintings would look like if I were commissioned to make art for someone else. I obviously have nothing against artists who create on commission; I am not one of those artists. 

And I'm here to convince you that you are also an artist. And I would kindly like to suggest to you to make art, in whatever medium you prefer. I believe that this is the only way that you can speak to yourself.

Art-making can be as simple as you sitting alone speaking out loud to yourself so that you can hear yourself. Art-making can be as complicated as building an entire skyscraper so that you can see what it is that you believe about the world. 

No matter what comes of you making art, only YOU can understand what you're looking at and the meaning of that art is only meaningful to YOU. That's the whole point of art-making, imho, to learn about yourself so that you can move through this world as the most you-version of you. 

Happy Art-Making! 

When Bravery is to Courage what Doing is to Practice

The Bravery to Do

The Courage to Practice

To Do takes Courage

To Practice is Brave

The Bravery to Practice

The Courage to Do

To Do takes Bravery

To Practice is Courageous 

 

[untitled]

2023 February Reads

 Year Goal: 07/53

4. Like, Comment, Subscribe: Inside YouTube's Chaotic Rise to World Domination by Mark Bergen 

Nonfiction | 338.761025 BER | 2022 | 416 pages

5. Theories of International Politics and Zombies by Daniel W. Drezner 

Nonfiction | 327.101 DRE | 2015 | 216 pages

6. BITCH: on the female of the species by Lucy Cooke [must read]

Nonfiction | 591.56 COO | 2022 | 400 pages

7. Taste: A Book of Small Bites by Jehanne Dubrow

Nonfiction | 573.87801 DUB | 2022 | 145 pages 

re the selfies

i've sorta decided to make it a #challenge for me to take fifty selfies this year, 

cause i was rewarding myself with the egoic self-massage of staring into a camera, 

at myself, for a lengthy enough period of time to capture myself, 

as i stare at myself, through the month of februrary, 

but now that i've done it and posted them to my ig (#tkscm), 

i kinda just wanna see what happens throughout the year, etc. 

so, here you have it, nothing you've ever asked for but maybe always wanted ;)