L.B.

looking.

Ana Mendiata

Carolee Schneeman

YESSSSSSSS!!!!!!

Something about this piece that resonates with me...I'm sort of speech(text)less right now.

Ok so here is a recent body of work that I showed in class.  My professor suggested I look at Schneeman and Mendiata as there are some CLEAR parallels. I suppose artists have good sense of where there feelings and ideas are generated from--most cases within themselves. It's when you express them by creating something that the questions and doubts arise.  To see myself in another artists work is gratifying, comforting and most of all engaging. The experience is priceless. 

"i'm pretty sure my last conversation with god worked"

so what happens next?

I have been contemplating the past 3 of my life as a Mason Gross student.  I distinctly remember the evening I had decided that it would be my mission to return to school and pursue something that I'd always been deeply passionate about in some facet.  Despite passion, my primary goal was simply "to graduate."   It took me some time to recognize where I fit in to the curriculum and the community.  Because I hadn't been actively practicing art for many years, I was also unsure of my abilities as artist in general.  There are a few professors that really got through to me.  Through there passion to teach, I was finally able to develop my comprehension of whatever the heck we are all doing here.  I am very curious.  The experience of making art that is significant to me is one thing, but the the challenge of how it pertains to others opens the channels to something so much greater.  I am very curious about others now. How do I reach others while staying true to my own thoughts/feelings/desires?  

With this I am excited about growing as an artist and growing closer to recognizing my niche.  

So what happens next?

I see post graduation boiling down to a few scenarios. 

1. MFA 

2. "Real" Job  *paid

I have been consulting with former and current grad students, which has proven to be somewhat comical as there is no true consensus.  This maybe a good thing for the meantime as I am open to the possibility of either, as long as there is legitimate benefit.  

Chance Show-Installation View

In my head.

I've been thinking a lot about potential ideas for both the chance and thesis show this past week and continue to return to same over-arching ideas. Making comment on my my trials and tribulations is important to me.  It's a natural desire that may be part of this healing process I continue to go through.  What is equally significant is conveying this quasi-conversation that goes on in my head each day. It is incessant.  At times it can becomes drawn out, filtering through an entire lifetime of do-rights and do-wrongs.  Other times it is very present. I am continuously modifying my thoughts fearing that they will at some point lead me back to this awful place I was just 3 months ago.  Anything is possible if we allow ourselves to fall weak.  Strength and confrontation have been at the forefront of my brain these past few months.  

Weakness and neglect are in the past.  

So I am staying with self-portraiture.  I feel that using myself as the present figure in these images is what will be.  Though, I'd like to begin my exploration of other facets that do not involve the figure or perhaps conveyed through using someone else as the figure.  I want my presence to be felt and interacted with.  I keep going back to 3D or installation of some sort.  Started to look into holography as well.  Hmmmmm.  Some of my ideas are very distinct and "ambitious" and unfortunately I may not have access to the technology to execute them.  

   Recently, I've also expressed more of an interest in working with less structured and stylized images.  I sort of want to capture events as they are, using available lighting and less scripted actions or scenarios.  It is hardly possible for me to just sit around with a camera around my neck until "I" do something worth capturing.  Instead, I've just had a tripod waiting. To capture a given moment I return to whatever mental state I was in and start shooting. If I look at images afterward and get a legitimate sense of what I was feeling at the time, it is deemed a success.  

I've been looking at works of Elenor Carucci and Tracy Baran this past week.  Very signficant to my work! 

                                                              Tracy Baran

                                                       Tracy Baran

                                                                               Elinor Carucci

meet the neighbors.

Time for a little storytelling.

Once upon a time, on a friday evening, I sat on my living room couch thinking about how I would use the disposable cameras I'd purchased earlier that day.

The project was based on the "casual observer."  Looking at artists such as Nan Goldin, William Eggleston and Wolfgang Tillman, I was looking to be pushed out of my comfort zone and hopefully into someone else's....

I grabbed this flyer from a chelsea gallery last spring. It was a close-up image of a girl of African decent sort of staring upward and into the lens.  It was funky, provocative and the colors 

popped.  Flash as the main source of light

pushed the a sense of voyeurism.  We, the 

observers were interrupting the subjects 

time and space.  I wanted to explore this 

idea further and so the story continues.

I'd recently moved into a new two-story apartment complex in Highland Park in August, a life-changing move (another story all together) and have yet to meet the neighbors. Hmmmm.  I set out that evening at about 9 30pm (more like 10pm) to seek out neighbors (who were still awake) that would not mind sharing a brief chat and a few shots from my harmless "disposable camera."  I walked downstairs and couldn't help but hear some really good jazz whispering from under someones door--i rang the doorbell.  I quiet and reserved asian dude (probably a grad student of sorts) opens the door.  I shake his hand and tell him I like his music and explain to him why on earth I'm bothering him at this hour.  He asks me where he should stand, I ask him to open the door further to include his apt in the shot and there we go--two shots (that wasn't so bad, but coulda' been better.)

I knocked on 3 more doors--no answer.  One guy was clearly home (tv was going.  I heard him pacing the floor for godsakes!).  Doesn't matter--no dice.   I peer out the side entrance, across the courtyard toward the adjacent complex only to hear the beautiful sound of trumpets (in my head)--a ground floor apartment with ALL of it's lights waaaay on!!  I walk over with optimism's arm around my shoulder, confidently ring the doorbell and what the hell, even knock a few times for good merit...

A mid to late 40ish (with the weathering of a late 50ish) aged man briskly opens the door.  I first notice his curly faded purple hair and double hooped ears (large hoops).  He is holding a handful of sage that has been bound and now smoking up the doorway.  This man is fired up. I look past him to see a 20ish girl of punk/goth decent.  She's walking around the living room lighting tealights. Ok, so I introduce myself and shake his free hand.  I explain my "situation" and he proceeds to tell me that I couldn't have come at a better time because he has just had "4 shots of some veeeery good bourbon" and would do anything for the sake of art.   He continues to ask me if I know about the incident, echm "suicide" incident, that recently took place in his apartment (I didn't).  

"oh yes, it will be 14 days tomorrow," he says.  

He welcomes me into to a half-boxed up apartment and turns his back toward me while I enter the apartment.  I gaze downward to see his clam-diggered up jeans and black painted toes (and the dirty bottoms of his feet) as he walks away from me.  I find my way to the couch, relocate a bag of Kit Kats to the side table and carefully take a seat.  He continues to sage every crevice of the living room while telling me about his girlfriend who took her life "over there by the bedroom door. "  He is/was an anthropology professor at Rutgers and she was a former student of his.  Both were bisexual--they had the same taste in either sex. Both troubled--drugs, mental behavior stuff and so forth.  I started to snap some shots but forgot to charge the flash. I giggled. "I gotta reacquaint myself with the 'disposable' camera," I thought.  His punk/goth friend,  I will call her susan, and I started talking.  She "sort of" was living in New Jersey, sort of.  She too was a former student of (I will call him Jack.)  She was 22 to be exact and "did not know where exactly" she was going in life.  I looked her up and down--her reddish, brownish, blondish hair was thrown up with a rubber-band.  From what I also saw, her reddish, brownish, blondish hair was also making quite the statement from her ankles up.  She was homely and rough, with black military boots and tee. But her disposition was cute, naive but sharp and sort of witty.  Jack continues to sage, I continue to snap shots, Susan continues to chat.  Jack enlightens us to the fact that it will be his birthday at the midnight and he, an esteemed (and badass) mixologist is going to whip us all up some incredible cocktails to ring in his big day.  I agree on "just one." I have to be up early (and it just may be foolish of me to take even one "sip" in the first place.)

So he whips up the cocktails, we propose a toast "to new friends (and his ex of course) and to Jack's birthday."  

I musn't lie, it was tasty.

Though, on the front burner I kept thinking how critical it was to maintain my senses--and so i sipped.  We all talked for a while.   After the incident a few weeks ago, Jack was let go "for using up all of his sick days" and I suppose the controversial event as well "and now I am moving to the only place that can take care of my ass" (that explained the boxes).  That place was Philadelphia--I suppose family was there or something. After Jack shared more intimate stories of trauma and tragedy "now I want to know something about you." I was game--after all, he waaas leaving in a few days.  I told Jack and Susan my deepest secret that had recently manifested into a story of triumph (a secret few are aware of).  Jack was sort of in shock--his ex dealt with the very issue I did we actually shared a lot of other issues at one time or another.                                                                                                                                            

in fact, it played a prominent role in why she took her life.

We toasted to something along the lines of triumph vs. tragedy.

Ironically enough, now Jack is on the phone.  Talking to loud and "upitity, loosy-goosy" fem about a "guy" and how he's going to join them in the city and "save me some green sweaters."  I know this conversation, quite well.  I digress.

Eventually Jack took up saging again. This time it was different.  This time he was talking directly to the spirit of his ex.  He was talking her through the sequence of events that transpired "that" evening (he was talking a lot.)  I was not uncomfortable (must be my wonderwoman complex, i thought) I have encountered sooo much time around all sorts of with all do respect, "wackjobs," and this time I am sober.   He spent a lot of time around the bedroom doorknob that he'd pulled her off of after she'd took her own life.  It became a "production." Edit, it became a "sermon" that at times, turned into a classic "playwright."  This went on for about 30 minutes until he talked the ex all the out the front door (it was a long goodbye) and fervently slammed the door behind her!   Jack turned around toward his audience (us) and noticed the sage was still smoking "she must still be with us," he says.  And so the play continued.  

I could tell Susan was starting to feel a little loopy from the alcohol (she hadn't finished her drink just yet but she "was a light-weight," she says.  I took some shots of Susan before asking her to take her hair down. She happily obliged (I could tell she'd been waiting to do it).  Susan waves her head around to set her hair free and it was evident that homely Susan was now feeling sexy (one part hair:two parts badass cocktail, sexy). Now Susan was complimenting me on my calves. She was sort of enamored by them.  Jack quickly interrupts telling her "Stop, I'm trying not to think about that."  Susan digresses.  Jack eventually wraps it all up with a a hail mary of a sermon (I got some great shots).  He reconvenes witht te other side of humanity and starts talking with us again. Patting himself on the back he tells me "I know what the camera wants."  (Sorry couldn't help but laugh just now--too funny.)

After two disposable cameras and a 1/2 drunken cocktail I decided I couldn't bare it any longer and "have to get my digital camera!"  I walk out into the courtyard and peer back into the window to see what they might do when I was gone. Just as I anticipated, they were embracing.  I ran up to my apartment, ate a protein bar (shocker) loaded up my SLR pack and thought how silly it'd be to drink from that cocktail glass again seeing as though this dude was sort of a junky.  Anyway, walked across the courtyard to see these two dangling from the outside staircase, each smoking a cigarette and being goofy.  Jack even turned his back on me, bent over to accentuate his as and waved his finger between his legs as if it were a small penis (I have a shot of that as well). We eventually returned to the living room to chat some more while I sipped from my glass and continued to take pictures.  I was very conscious of the alcohol at this point.  I'd left it unattended for enough time that he may have tampered with it (it felt legitimately possible--nuff said).  I was sipping but looking for odd shifts in my coherence.  Susan continued to compliment and flirt with me. I pulled some modesty cards.  Jack walked me over to the mirror to point out how "beautiful my (your) smile is."  

I have to say, it got weird.  Not only was he transitioning into putting the moves on (strongly)....but I felt my mind turning shifty.  With no need for time to question, I was convinced...

my drink was spiked.

I abruptly broke away thanking them for their hospitality and it was time for me to depart because as I'd earlier explained "I have to be up early" (I did).  I quickly packed up and out the door I flew.  Walked across the courtyard up the stairs to my apartment, triple locked my front door as well as alll of my windows (ESPECIALLY the fire-escape one).   I kept the apartment locked and secure for two weeks even after he'd moved out (for safe measure).  

The following day I set out to finish shooting. I met some more neighbors, chatted with some nice ones and wrapped up with a very kind and hospitable Columbian family that is the apartment to my right (coincidentally, it was a nice break from my earlier experience).  Every wall was painted a different color and filled with prints and homemade art.  The mother and son (he was 11) discussed school and work and whatever came to mind.  The father came home from work with cooler in hand and bags in other. He was served a delicious homemade seafood soup and bread (mom continued to offer me food but I was not hungry). We talked around the kitchen table and shared homemade ice-pops. The mother told me about all of the crazy neighbors (the one just below me is in psych ward actually), I told her my story from the night before, she was not surprised.  Eventually it was just mom and I. She told me about Columbia and why they are now living in Highland Park.  We talked about culture and politics and feelings of discrimination and hope. After the sixth attempt to depart I finally made it back to my apartment.

And so it is.