• June 26th.  (My nephew's birthday:-)
     
    I'm leaving for the Netherlands tomorrow, but am long overdue in writing about a residency I did in Wichita, Kansas a few months ago. Harvester Arts is a fascinating model for a residency/ creative exchange program. I was there for just over 2 weeks and was given a stipend, a lovely hotel and precious time and space (Thanks again, Emily!) to work, most of which I spent writing the text and choreography for a performance. At the end of my stay, I performed the piece for a wonderfully engaged audience over the course of several days.  
  • And here's where what Harvester is doing gets particularly interesting. 1. They hosted a town hall meeting weeks after I left, where many people gathered, talked about and analyzed the piece. (They texted me great questions during the meeting that I'm still thinking about.) 2. Several people who experienced the performance were artists and writers, and in the weeks since I've left they've been developing works in response to the piece I made there. These works are being presented through Harvester tomorrow and later in July, and I can't tell you how much I wish I could witness them in person.  If you're anywhere near Kansas tomorrow (June 27), you should absolutely not miss Big Bear Rocket Hand Salon and Ant in Rocket Palmestry by the inimitable Linnebur and Miller or When Breathless My Machine Will Guide You by the unstoppable Brady Hatter and Mike Miller. 
     
  • I don't know what the specifics of these pieces involve, but the connection to my performance that is at least alluded to in the fliers - the jumping off point, presumably - is tender and hilarious and it has me completely curious. I can't explain the feeling of this, yet - of seeing something I brought into the world so directly embraced as a point of provocation for other makers. Like seeing yourself in the faces of relatives you'd never met.
     
  • I've never heard of this approach to generating real conversation - verbal, literary and visual - around the work done in a residency program. It's so innovative and exciting, I'm beyond proud to be part of it. Big thanks to my many new friends in Wichita. And congratulations to Harvester on figuring out how to love on art in a whole new way.
     
     
     
     
  • Saturday and Sunday I'll be performing two companion pieces at Wayfarers for Bushwick Open Studios. Both of them are quiet pieces done for two people at a time. Both are 15 - 20 minutes long. The audience sits across from each other at a table wearing headsets and the audio guides them through a narrative. I'll be putting things on the table and taking them away to direct and misdirect that narrative...
     
     
    If you're interested in attending one of the performances, send me a text with your preferred approximate time between 12 and 6pm. 718.486.7758.
     
    Saturday, May 31st, 12-6 I'll be performing "ok don't look at the stranger..." You'll be paired with someone you don't know for this performance.
     
    Sunday, June 1, 12 -6 I'll be performing "Let me get this out of your way..." You must bring someone you know and love with you to participate in this one.
     
     
  • May 29
     
    In Brooklyn, gearing up for Bushwick Open Studios this weekend. I'll be performing at Wayfarers all day Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I'm doing "ok...don't look at the stranger..." and Sunday I'm doing "Let me get this out of your way..."  I've re-recorded the audio components for stranger (thanks Ryan!), and have only performed let me get this out of your way in Kansas, so i'll be curious to see how both pieces change for this rendition. 
     
    But first I have to finish cleaning the entropy demonstration that is my studio.
     
     
     
  • May 27
     
    I did my first radio interview today for a Canadian public program called "Definitely Not The Opera." As far as a conversation goes, I think it was pretty stilted because the host had specific answers in mind based on my pre-interview, but I didn't understand which ones. I think they're going to have a lot of editing to do...
     
     
  • Late May 
    I haven't written anything about Harvester and Wichita because I came back to a bunch of other deadlines, but here's a still from the performance I developed while in residency there. ("Let me get this out of your way...") I'll flesh out the documentation for this project and talk more about Harvester's really special approach to residencies in the next few weeks. But I should mention quickly that it was so wonderful and I owe Kristen, Kate and Ryan many, many thanks. <3
  • May 15
     
    I was so excited to be commissioned by Fleisher Art Memorial to design and fabricate this year's Founders' Awards. Helen Cunningham and Ted Newbald were being honored and I completely adore both of them. While I was a resident at Fleisher, Ted and Helen shared their amazing home with me for many months. The first night there, I couldn't sleep - their house is filled with so much amazing folk art from around the world (including hundreds of Guatamalan slingshots I based their awards on), my brain couldn't relax! Celebrating them was a complete honor.
  • April 17.
     
    Harvester home base. Though right now I'm mostly writing from my hotel, which comes with a personal shuttle service. I loved the idea of it for a minute, but apparently my environmental guilt is bigger than my inner Diva...
  • April 15.
     
    I'm in Kansas. Struck by the space of the sky and the perserverance of the wind. I'm writing for a performance next week and a little stunned at how easily I let myself get distracted. I think this is why I usually write at night. And also why I eat a lot of snacks when I'm working...
     
  • March 24
     
    Some quick pics from The Prosthetics of Joy until I can edit them into their own project page. I worked with students, staff and faculty at UAB, plus the amazing artist and my dear friend, John Orth, as well as former White House photo editor, Jared Ragland and the phenomenal musician Armand Margjeka. We created a kind of play that was based on a photo from a Barmitzvah party. In our re-enactment, the characters, set and costumes were indivisible and the performance culminated in the recreation of the original photo. The residual installation is on display in the AEIVA Gallery at UAB.
     
    Sponsored by the John S. Jemison Fund, College of Arts & Sciences & the Department of Art & Art History
    Live performance of The Prosthetics of Joy project commissioned by the Department of Art & Art History for the AEIVA.
  • March 22/ 23
     
    My last day in the heart of Dixie was just lovely. I'm exhausted but also overwhelmed with how wonderful this entire experience has been. I've been too deep in the weeds to post in progress shots, but I'll put lots of images up from the project over the next few days. Thank you kindly, UAB and Birmingham!
  • March 10
     
    I'm in Birmingham. There's a Waffle house directly across the street from a Pancake house, so I'm feeling pretty good about this whole Alabama business.
     

  • March 3rd.

    I'm back on the icy mainland, ineligible for any weather-related complaints. I'm thick in the throes of preparation for this project - coming up way too soon. (There's so much I want to do that I won't realistically get to.  I'm already imagining the sequel...) If it doesn't give me a nervous breakdown, I think it could be pretty cool.
     

     
  •  
     
     
  • February 17th.
     
    Yesterday was a "Studio" day at Waipio. Hawaiians believed that all souls entered and exited the earth through this valley. Perfect place to work with the sea and the sky to (humbly) make clouds.
     
    photo thanks to Dave Herman.
     

  • February 13
     
    I've started a series of what I'm thinking of as "sea and sky" pictures. I'm making cyanoprints using a sea sponge to generate a cloud form and the ultraviolet light from the sun to expose the image. They were inspired  in part by some beautiful prints of a skeleton key by Peter Eudenbach. I'm loving that both the picture and the process are so simple. It's just the paper, the sponge and the light from the sky with me as the middle agent. Right now I'm "developing" them in the sink in the bathroom, but I'm hoping to develop an edition in the ocean next week. (The ones on the mirror are the rejects;-).
     

  • January 27

    I'm anxious that I'm not being as productive as I'd like here, but beating myself up for not relaxing more in Paradise. ...Is NewYeurotic a word?

     
  • January 22
     
    It’s too late to fix my posture so I brought a stool into my room from the garage. The wind is a constant forceful exhale against the house this afternoon. The windows try to rattle a quick protest whenever it pauses to catch its breath, but mostly they’re just forced quiet against their frames. It feels like this in Brooklyn before something really big and really bad happens, so it’s a little unnerving that my friend and his kids just piled into the topless jeep to go on an icecream run.
     
    Three little grey/brown birds with broad white stripes on their wings were literally just blown out of the tree in front of me. They popped out of the roiling foliage hurling backwards, clearly unprepared for the situation. The little guys flapped the air in a panic (picture a dog thrown into a pool) before they regained composure and flew past the forced quiet window. I’ve never seen that happen before. I’ve never even thought about the possibility of that happening before.
     
    I’ll probably spend most of my time here trying to explain why being able to so clearly see the whitecaps on the distant ocean as it blends upwards into the sky gives me heart palpitations.
  • January 21
     
    It's snowing in New York.
  • January 17
     
    I’m in Hawaii.
     
    There's a rooster crowing. There’s a bird on a phone pole making quite the welcomed racket. The coquis are quiet now, I guess until it gets dark. The orange flowers on my desk – picked along the side of the road by my hostess – are the most spectacular and asymmetrical foliage you can imagine.  There is an avocado, also on my desk, plucked from the tree in the yard and, if I had only slightly better posture, I could see the ocean as I type...
  •  
     
    January 20
     
    We’re high enough on the cliff that the Pacific Ocean seems to raise up, flat, in front of us, like wainscoting to the wall of sky. I didn’t realize it until I got here, but I’ve dreamed about it before. In my dreams, it was a wall of turquoise water just at the edge of town, and my waking logical mind couldn’t understand what was keeping it in place. Now I understand. It was a matter of perspective.
     
    I would wake up from those dreams with an awareness that the ocean was standing in for imminent but unscalable mystery, and that my inaccessability to it was a kind of self-criticism:
     
    I used to be able to get there.