Wednesday, June 12, 2019

definitions






























































writing is the engineering of language
using precise placements to erect the beams and bridges of society

















friendship is making history together
having people to share your stories with 










and keep past experiences...existent.









friendship is a way to source your memories,
to correct each other on them
















technology just saves you time
to spend more time on your technology
































music is the massaging of emotions
working out knots of feelings
































kayaking is the biking of the arms
biking is the kayaking of the legs.



~ ~ ~



today's featured artists: matthias brown, peter tarka, fredrik söderberg, cinta vidal, kidmograph

Sunday, April 28, 2019

going there












































ill give away one of my secrets
artodyssey1.blogspot.com










































 












chaos is survival

i was at a djembe show last weekend after getting some free tickets (industry), and the craziest thing happened.
everyone in the audience was given a djembe drum so they could learn to play along with the performers, and everyone more or less played at the right times. except these couple of dudes in front. they played whenever they wanted,  swatting at the djemebes with their clumsy american paws in direct competition with the performers' cheery island songs. there we sat, our eyes beaming in delight with that familiar childhood feeling you get as you watch decent performers in costumes sway and clap and mime the gestures for you to do "after them, one more time now!", and then there were these dudes.
the house manager, poor soul, gave the lead member of the Bad Boys in Front a couple of chances until his tantrum shaped the perfomance before our sore djembe hands. what im about to explain is, as my friends have since pointed out, pretty vulgar for an exit from a drum circle. Bad Boy goes from whisper to yell in one drunken swoop while telling the manager to get her face the fuck out of his face!!! the performers one by one stop playing until the soundtrack of the room is just filled with this guy swearing at us all, enjoying it a little bit with his arms raised and his middle fingers shooting toward the nosebleeds of the 100 seat theater. the rest of us are wildly banging our djembes in protest. he drunkenly lurches his heavy body out of his seat forward at the amiable MC and unshirted men in island garb that are populating the set, but before he reaches the steel drums, the performers rush out to back stage. multiple employees find a way to hold him back - holding him by every limb, separately - as an elderly lady volunteer usher tries to talk him down from his little toddler fit. screw you all, he says, you all should go to hell! :)
they remove the man, and we all start clapping, our adrenaline pumping like a thousand djembes.
what a bit of chaos, right? when's the last time anything like that happened in a theater, such a prescribed ritual experience? this was absurd - thrilling! - and we all got to riot on our djembes for the next hour and a half, so excited that we got the chance to see it. what a show, what a night!
we felt like the luckiest people alive, in that audience - and that's just it. we were alive. "oh, wow, something could have happened in there!" the uber driver says on the way home.
you're insanely right. we live in an insane world. 
luckily all of the instruments and humans were spared, but i guess what i tasted, what we as an audience experienced together, was a burst of survival. that animalistic rush we feel when something is on the verge of going terribly wrong but then nothing really happens, or we narrowly escape, and all of a sudden you can feel where your heart is in your chest and you think: great odins raven, im safe! whether that's straight downhill on a mountain bike or sailing a giant gust, or in a djembe concert,
the body all of a sudden feels itself alive. it does a gut check, a role call for all its parts working in order. there's a rushing current of energy as your senses awaken and assure you this is real, you're real, this world is unfathomable but you've gotten yourself this far, at least.
just as we enjoyed watching them, these Bad Boys enjoyed being naughty on purpose. we're so drawn to chaos, and to other people's chaos, that we couldn't look away. there's an inherent satisfaction in leaning into what we think is madness, an unleashed moment, and harnessing it by putting it into words. and even by *giggle* gossiping about it later.
chaos is the taste of survival and the constant state of it.











~~~

Wednesday, April 24, 2019

on writer's block

did you know that humor only works
when you sacrifice yourself first?
fact.












as an existential person i cant help but apply the questions of my life to this blog. what is its purpose? what does it contribute to creative fulfillment? what does it contribute to other life?

i think a lot of these questions - and perhaps a fear of audience - have held me back from sharing as much as i would like to. it's not really growth, just to age. you have to actively work at keeping your sense of youthful abandon, especially as a creative.

it dawned on me that without this output, im the only one in conversation with myself. people don't know what's going on in here, in this brain. the sunflowers. the music playing with the art. the smiles with strangers. the tears welling up with a song, surging. the meaning i see in just about anything.

for a while, too, i was thinking: what value are my words and posts when there are millions and billions of words, images and articles posted to the internet everyday? perhaps you, reader, can relate. i'm just contributing to the noise, i thought.

but there is a place for what i do, i must remind myself. from the start, my goal has been not on gaining readers, but on curating meaningful internet experiences - for myself, definitely, but also others. it's meant to be a respite from the noise, something you read late at night it's dark and you're in your room doing whatever and no one else is awake. possibly my favorite thing in the world is to experience - and express - the ways music and art and text engage with one another in my head, forming a sort of intersectional poetry. it's something you and i can get our thoughts lost in, and we don't even have to talk.

i cant go back and fill you in on it all, and i realize i dont need to - after all, wouldn't that just be noise? what's more important than recording everything is accepting that your life story is never all going to be in one place. digital tools certainly exacerbate feelings of disconnected storylines - you've got different ones on every fuckin social media platform you're on - but it's always been this way. our life stories have always been told by everyone around us, with us, hopefully.

once im gone, maybe you'll find my various journals and scribbles and iphone notes, my slew of unsorted images of artworks and personal photos, and make a story out of it. if you're reading this: oh, it's worth it. i rarely am what you may think!

in the meantime, i should probably wrap up writing about writing and just start writing!






julia ciccarone






























~~~

Monday, February 18, 2019

the beginning of a story if i was going to write one

she was almost done tying the boat together. she wrapped the sea grass delicately around the mature bamboo sticks, a sacrifice the forest had to make for her escape. the launch was premeditated, postponed by days watching the storms pass through the inlet. she twisted a knot at the corner of the last two bamboo and looked back at a drenched pile of her clothes laying in the sand. beyond, the sea glimmered in the hot midday sun, finally still after the storms save for the subtle crashing and lapping of translucent blue waves against the rocks by the shore. she walked to the pile and inspected a white linen blouse, holding it limply up to the sun as it dripped warm beads of water on to her ankles, providing temporary relief from the scalding sand engulfing her feet. the events of the night before had not been washed away with the early morning's downpour; a blood stain in the shape of a hand was still soaked on her sleeve, reminding her of the hooded man that grabbed her arm at the edge of the city walls and her breathless dash back to the beach, to safety. mae threw the white blouse over her shoulder, and laid the rest of her mud-encrusted garments out flat on the sand. as they dried in the sun, mae slashed and sectioned off pieces of a sail, weaving them together with a thinner beach grass she had collected near the fortified city gates. the coastal council had been helpful on some of her negotiations, offering their protection and more access to their resources than a foreign girl, arrived alone by boat, should be offered. mae was blessed with convincing words and a genuine, though sometimes debaucherous, smile; she was hard to say no to.


what they failed to say yes to, though, was the amulet she rolled over in her fingers in her pocket as she looked out over the wind lines in the distance. wisps of sandy brown hair crossed the bridge of her nose, veiling her lazuli eyes from the bright rays of sun. she released the small, heavy object deep into her pocket, letting the weight pull at her pant leg. she grabbed the two ties of her leather belt and tightened them. she patted the amulet, buttoned her pant pocket and shifted her attention to the cliffs.

a man squatted in the tall grass on the edge of the highest crag, a sparrow in the distance staring down at her. mae squinted, one hand held to the sun and the other balanced on her hip, akimbo. she returned his stare. the young sentry was going to let her go, only on the condition she would return. it was his trunk out of which the amulet came, out of which mae had provided the lost key. mae of course had stripped the key from lucas' neck to begin with - but he trusted her too generously, admired her so in the candlelight, and never saw her for a theft when he awoke. lucas, thin with long, brown hair, was a typical archivist, too gentle to defend the city. it was a trait which drew his blind fate and his ignorance on this occasion had almost left the two on miraculously agreeable terms. it was only when lucas' guard, one of his family's men whom mae had previously employed, ironically, the last time she was in Claire, followed mae through the ghettos of the city did she realize he didn't expect her to leave. with a short bow over her shoulder, moving quicker than the guard around the corners she knew so well, she eventually scurried out through her own tunnel and plunged into the black moat below. i could leave forever, burn the bridge, she thought as she swam, but she knew he would speak eventually. he said he would. if the amulet was one piece of the puzzle on this confidential mission, she could return it when it provides her the information she needs it to. if it does, mae thought. 

mae's father, benito de savoy, hadn't always kept his promises to mae and her sister when they were children.

~~

Monday, December 31, 2018

2018

the underlying questions of this year related to things much larger than myself: what is life, and how do i grapple with the opposite? without self-indulging too much, these questions were rooted in an uncharacteristically dark ongoing reflection after my 26th birthday that my time is finite, which is not a brand new understanding of course, but one i tend to address every few years around life transitions.

as a self-professed "peter pan" i think what was different about this year was that i began to face my age honestly, seeing myself as beyond youth, but also seeing all of the beauty and fullness that comes with it: having the tools and credibility to pursue my realest dreams, and realizing now is the time to do so, knowing i will always only be as young as i am today and using that pressure to prioritize.

this sort of truth-facing allowed me to begin to imagine a more sustainable trajectory for my adult life that reflects my values in the deepest sense, from the major to the mundane. when i allow the pressures of the world to fade into the background, what is front and center? what do i really want? how to continue to become my best self and not rely on achievements of the past?

on a major level, it's practicing gratitude everyday and with intention. in moments of fear and anxiety about time, about life, this is what i kept coming back to and what settled me. all we can do is be grateful for life and change in the greatest sense. there's not much beyond that; i can't think of anything that is more important - or even basic - than remembering and celebrating how fortunate we are to have the gift of living.

for the mundane, my reflections this year have sparked a renewed interest in my body and health -- after all, what more have we? ive doubled my time at the gym with my brazilian dance class, which allows me to perform again - albeit in front of older women and gym rats who watch on if only to question if our class is really exercise, or just glorified ass shaking - and has nurtured an actually pretty intense interest in brazilian music and culture at large. like quebec, like NOLA, brazil is a hybrid culture, undefinable, made up of myriad identities and fused societies, which is probably why i take to it. and i picked up where i left off on childhood joys, including taking ballet classes again and starting to coach the new trier  high school figure skating club, which i founded as a student over 10 years ago(!).

i'm spending more time experimenting and prepping lunches in the kitchen, and had my first real fine dining experience at boka, where nikki, hana and i enjoyed a five course meal which involved picking salmon roe out of a dainty hollow egg shell with a miniature spoon and ordering my first ever veal as an entree (i called it what it was: "deer.") nikki and i enjoyed our third annual visit to the thoughtful french restaurant bistro campagne, this year eating a few weeks earlier than our usual october date to enjoy the last few warm days of the year on their leafy, fairy light-sprinkled terrace with its quaint tables and views into the luxuriously-lit interior.

krista tippet's book "becoming wise" was a sure growth moment in considering wholistic wisdom - from body, to mind, to world. her chapters on words, flesh, love, hope, and faith illustrate the ways straining to work with - not against - the Other (from our environments to other humans and cultures) reveals an understanding sans acid that our growth is intrinsically a part of the growth of our surroundings. by giving up a bit of ourselves - whether thats having faith in the other side of a political argument, giving precious time to a soup kitchen and those in need, or cultivating good food from the land, profits aside - allows us to create a better, more caring world, which inherently does have the power to heal us all, if only we try in earnest to relate ourselves with that which lives outside of the self. the golden rule, expanded.

as a consequence, i sought out literature that sits uncomfortably outside of my world view, from maya angelou's heartbreaking "cage bird sings" to stories of indian immigrants living in america. rather than sit and complete my own list, i sought recommendations from others. i found that my aunts, uncles, friends, and grandparents became the voices of the books they wanted me to read, the narrators of the authors' words. while i imagined my grandpa reading to me the pages of "the road to character" - sharing what felt like his wisdom and recommendations for living - my own voice took over the pages of david sedaris's "calypso", the only book i selected for myself.

with family, i had the immense privilege of playing 18 holes with my grandpa on his 80th birthday, reclaiming my prowess on the golf course under years of his tutelage with an 85. i enjoyed watching my brother move from second city grad to producer, creating his own improv series from soup to nuts, from renting the space to performing with his troupe throughout november. around that time, one of my aunts appeared on national tv as an audience participant on the stephen colbert show. then, in december, i was lucky (or unlucky, depending who you ask) enough to host the extended family for the first time for christmas, showing them by way of my home that my teenage rebellion has yielded an organized adult, albeit one extraordinarily obsessed with 'zen' aesthetics, hand crafted furniture and thrifted artworks. one of my truly greatest joys in 2018 was helping my grandpa list his prints online, where i am native and he is not, and just getting to have a project to work on alone together.

other cross-generational 'wins' included seeing greta van fleet at aragon ballroom with my dad, where we came together over our shared love for zeppelin and left understanding each other better. while it didnt quite have the same spiritual outcome, my mom took me to 50 cent at ravinia, which was as amusing and contradictory as it sounds. as always, i had many notable concert experiences this year, ranging from the chicago symphony orchestra at millenium park, to george clinton and the flaming lips at the taste of chicago, to tame impala and mount kimbie at pitchfork, and doja cat and all of the bitches who dressed like cows for her show at chop shop.

cold months were spent well, including watching unprecedented figure skating in the pyeongchang olympic season - a 15 year old taking the gold from the 18 year old she trains with (ouch), and nathan chen, the quad king, changing the evolution of skating altogether. we spent chilly fall sundays having brunch and watching football as part of an all-girls fantasy football team, and for halloween, nikki and i ventured west to san francisco, soaking in some of the last warm days out there on a private cove called 'shell beach,' eating fresh oysters, and soaking in the size of the great redwood trees and the quiet forest floor in their shade. dressed as a sheep and ed sheeran, with my former montreal roommate sydney, we went to a freaky afro-funk halloween party in downtown oakland, where we burned sage and herbs under palm trees and stars and watched performers in purple feathered costumes deliver drum solos that made your heart feel its thumping presence and exploded with passion and fury, as if this were the last concert on earth, our last nights to be alive. the morning after, we made bagels and walked through golden gate state park, taking in the felt energy of the hashed and re-hashed peace sign spray painted at the base of strawberry hill, where the hippies buried their beads at the end of the summer of love. we went on to explore the intersection of haight and asbury, and later that night, learned backgammon in the oldest bar in the city.

around the corner from halloween was thanksgiving and birthday season, and for nikki's birthday we went bowling at pinstripes with her family and introduced them for the first time to my mom, and we also went out for a highly recommended experience at chicago magic lounge (it is full of surprises, so i'm not going to spoil it for you.) for my birthday, i invited friends for a creative evening in the west loop, eating lou malnattis pizza and trying out ice curling for the first time at kaiser tiger after.

nikki, hana, and i enjoyed moving in to a new apartment in the spring with an excess of space and my first ever dining room and backyard. our house philosophy, "reckless hospitality", is a spin off the museum world's notion of "radical hospitality" which is a commitment to going out of your way to provide visitors a warm welcome. our version merits not only going out of our ways for our guests but making questionable decisions for them that ends up prioritizing our parties over our neighbors, because fuck it. to this point, we hosted late-night bonfires for our friends around 3 nights a week over the summer, which opened and closed with two massive house parties with friends of all different groups, neighbors our age trickling in from down the block, and a DJ who got away with playing electronic music into the wee hours of the morning on our porch outside. the spot also granted us room to grow herbs and vegetables and plant bulbs that we picked up on a bike adventure to the chicago botanic garden (set to bloom in spring 2019.)

the summer was kicked off with my best wedding experience to-date; for whatever reason, weddings have tended to be tear-jerkers for me in the last few years, and not always in a good way. but this time, i saw my best childhood friend caroline marry a man that reminds me of her beloved childhood golden lab, wrigley, making me feel oddly comfortable with the arrangement and overall lucky to be a part of the bridal party. after the early june trip to the wisconsin dells, to experience "the best and worst of america in one place," as i often repeated when telling back the story of the bachelorette party, the weather started to turn for the better and i began to enjoy a summer filled with sailing, kayaking, and long, beautiful days at the north end of gillson sailing beach.

the scene - hammocks and slack lines tied to trees, fire over the open grill, congregations of multiple generations of sailors and "north end" tagged onto the picnic tables as the sunset painted the skies with surreal pinks, corals, and reds - is where my heart lives. one evening we cooked mussels and pasta, playing beach golf with real clubs and frisbee with Sky, the kokes' icy-blue-eyed mini shepherd who twirls, and sometimes flips, to catch whatever is thrown. one night, we invited my mom to join, and we watched the beach go from day to night, and she must have been a good luck charm, because we also saw a real, red fox come down from the hill, and Sky was a good by and stayed still. another evening, i remember ripping downwind on a southeaster into a setting sunset, breaking over waves and blasting tunes with an all-girl crew, laughing at the boys on shore, and relishing in our community that appears each year around a lake and a small piece of land that we have claimed as our own.

we took some beach friends up to nikki's lake house in wisconsin, where we dunked ourselves in the frigid natural spring that feeds the lake and partied (almost to a fault) with a sailing family we met next door (nikki even delivered on a promise to sail a regatta with the dad the next morning, while the rest of us slept through our hangovers.) on another trip up to wisconsin, we entertained our friends niki and josh the week before their engagement, keeping the secret of josh's proposal while watching the shooting stars strike across the sky all night long and waves lapped quietly against the pier. at the end of the beach season, nikki and i enjoyed our first hike at the indiana dunes, where i was swept by seeing lake michigan and the 'other view' of chicago as we emerged out of the cool forest and onto the sandy peaks that rise and fall for stretches and stretches of beach, untouched by gators, multi-million dollar homes, and 'no swimming' signs.

as i reflect on my blessed life, i also must make room for hopes and shortcomings, and while i have achieved increasing professional satisfaction with my day-to-day work, and my writing there, i know there is more i can be doing to grow personally. i dream of carving out more time to experiment and create, and each hour spent with eyes fixed on a screen or reading friends posts on social media makes it easier and easier for my creative aspirations to slip away. i contributed to this blog, but not nearly as much as i could; i spent time taking photos, but haven't spent the time to organize or give value to them. i have potential projects sitting around the house, and a head full of ideas to bring the beauty of the world to light and to others.

while i continue to focus on my body and health, i want to ring in a new year of meaningful contributions and more thoughtful time management: not a second to waste these beautiful thoughts. in a time when the world needs optimism and a reason to keep on, i wonder if i can help. i dare myself to be more vulnerable in my writing and in my relationships, to throw caution into the wind, to say the unpopular thing, to immerse myself in the uncomfortable and lead others to take that leap with me.

~ ~ ~

Thursday, December 13, 2018

thought sprawl




















how long can our intermittent generational obsessions with outer space last? the 1950s featured retro futurism, the 60s brought us the space race, the 80s created space odyssey, and the millenium chucked us the internet. each generation holds their own deep charm and fascination with the technological advancement of their era, evidenced in periods of future-obsessed media that sprawls beyond scientists and academics into mass imagination. these moments emerge in whimsical costumes, horrible visual effects and a distorted future of a green alien-filled space saucer and girls in silver clothing. popular culture takes on a new aspirational identity, dreaming up a future as a way to define their own time, on the brink of what feels like riding a wave of great progress for human kind. 









just as our parents, and their parents and their parents, we are the most technologically sophisticated generation that ever existed to date, and that feeling is wild and fills the world with things like psytrance and sci-fi but also black mirror, and that's a lot to shoulder. how long does the magic of what we've created give us such a cosmic feeling before we - and the generations which came before us - start to see with open eyes again the physical realities that hold us, like how the wall paint is peeling and time and flesh and gravity are binding in this world, before we even ask how our innovations are radically changing everything. 









ultimately those physical realities are a relief, a tether back down to earth. when the web connects us to endless realities unknown, our mind-bodies are what we actually have, what indeed feed us and move us and make us feel alive and lovely. those physical realities brought us masterful poetry and art that lasts the ages, pinned up in this timeless shared mindspace, our map of the evolution of ideas. hand by hand, mind to material, these relics are pure, holding our cultural stories in the same world in which those stories unfolded. the world of information today - its constellations of internet profiles, chatter, and an infinite spiderweb of links - democratizes the power of knowledge while saturating this power, asking people to curate their own narrow view of existence, a sure benefit in the short term taken over a long view of history. 










images by beeple







in the meantime, i look up, i take my notebook with me, i see the sunflowers through the window, and the paint is peeling, and i am checking for everyone - i havent seen any aliens yet.


~ ~ ~

Friday, August 17, 2018

i'm back



surprise!











life is a tragedy for those who feel
and a comedy for those who think




jaison cianelli




i luckily get to meet a lot of artists through my job, probably the best part about it. i always wonder the path that brought them to that point - if they knew it would work out for them. my best guess is no, and that's why it's always so satisfying to see and meet these anomalies. there's inherently a bit of resistance involved, and i admire that.

the other day i met a special artist who put a smile on my face, which i later told him in the elevator - federico herrero is inspired by the landscape of costa rica, where he is from, and the ways people there paint their houses and fences in pretty pastels, spilling color onto their surroundings in a habit that is inherited and assumed, playing with the sunlight.

he described the commission - a large-scale mural - as a part of one continuous landscape that he is painting all the time, on different surfaces, to surround people with a musical arrangement of color. he hopes it encourages presence, an experience of the way colors - like sounds - move through a space in our minds that is beyond words and borders, like a universal alphabet. it is where light is, the artist says. i couldn't have articulated it better. i was always smiling at him.





i love him so much





oh! and did i tell you he does playgrounds:







this brings me to my next point which is that there was a playground design competition in surface magazine, leading me to believe that creators are grasping the aesthetic value of playgrounds, that something i humbly premeditated is taking hold.

my play and place essay touched on a lot of emerging concerns - a lack of awareness of the spaces around us, i am guilty as well, and the bleeding together of the private and public simulacra, the external and internal via devices, apps, and spellcheck.

people are beginning to wake up to the power of the playground to initiate out-of-routine contact with the world, a creative experience stewarded by the hands and the body that feeds the absorbing mind. it's great - i love it. we should all make playgrounds out of unconventional materials and see what happens!


"If there’s anything that ties these projects together, it’s the idea of the multifunctional—that good, sound playground design needs to be something that’s fluid and can be experienced in many different ways, from various angles, with no one-size-fits-all model."









"Fluid worlds of exploration, independent of scripted beginnings and ends, they invert the notion that new playspace requires new ground. This design uses infrastructure’s free gifts, providing shelter from sun and rain and robust structures capable of suspending miles of play, to create new playgrounds in underserved urban neighborhoods and activate spaces vulnerable to privatization. Connecting neighborhoods separated by the world of on and off ramps, the aerial play spaces are constructed from the recycled debris of temporary infrastructures: netting, tubes, cables and scaffolding, concrete pipes and water-filled highway barriers. These materials change from one geographic location to the next—an infinite variety in an infinite world of leftover space.”


more later!