tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-213905342024-03-06T22:53:13.264-06:00musings ofliving out the questions / a life by wateranonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.comBlogger262125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-47941291293093086542016-04-12T23:31:00.000-05:002016-04-12T23:31:20.141-05:00[untitled] 160412<i>Foreword: this is a typed transcription of a hand-written thing. But I rather like it that way; writing by hand is a different process, as the neuroscientists have noted. It's also odd to be re-colonizing an old online space, for me</i><br />
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So ever since Grandpa died I've been a little bit (okay, a lot, but sporadically, so it averages down to a little) like <i>what the FUCK am I doing with my life?</i><br />
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I'm working a burnout job that brings me too little satisfaction and too much stupid and avoidable stress. With different circumstances it would keep me busy and perhaps content-ish, but fail to satisfy my creative desires… you see, I'm a creative. Artist? Designer? These labels are laden. I love experience and richness of observation and subtlety.<br />
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Shadows on a wall.<br />
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And several online writers have offered a 'just do it' suggestion - blog your way to understanding yourself. So I think I want to do that (the confluence seems like a bit of an existential neon sign); freeform write in the evening about the things I think of during the day.<br />
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<b>I was thinking I'd like to install <i>Of a ship</i> in peoples' homes. </b>It changes when lived with. But it becomes about the performance specification (to use a term from architectural practice). Not an instruction like Sol Lewitt exactly, but the special thing is the artist's work of considering its installation, maybe moreso than installing it. The idea is precious and the materials ordinary. (Much like Lewitt, actually. Ah.)<br />
And I imagine making one for Charlie's new house.<br />
My instruction piece <i>A place upon which light may fall </i>relates poetically to installing this piece.<br />
[So, ah, if you have a desire to share your home with a dark expanse of wall, keep reading, and if you still do, please contact me. I love to imagine this piece being embodied in many ways, and in many lives. Same sentiment for many of my pieces, actually, which is part of why I enjoy working with instruction so very much.]<br />
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<b>I also thought of reframing a bathroom ceiling to make it very tall; </b>into an attic, reframing joists and rafters as necessary, so you walk into a space and feel as though you're in the bottom of a well, [except there's a bathroom at the bottom of the well, and some light], and that was really interesting, [the thought of] doing that in a residential space. [So the ceiling is just under the rafters, way up. The room would be painted a similar dark color to <i>of a ship. </i>And it wouldn't exactly be like a well because there wouldn't be an opening into the sky.] It has to be understood as art, then, and carefully, because it's just so darn odd. And one grows accustomed and forgets wonder and then maybe remembers or lives it vicariously, by surprising visitors. [And these ideas about how we live with things and forget and remember is important to me too.]<br />
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<b><i>Of a ship </i>started out being about </b>the scale of a barge but it became about vastness and the water and observation, and the slow time of a larger timescale, and indirectly about how difficult it is to access that. And maybe the sublime of Rothko and of Klein.<br />
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<b>I'm wary of how this blogging exercise</b> could easily focus on the unmet aspects of my life and overlook some that are met… like my enjoyment of proposal-writing is an enjoyment of finite detailed concrete tasks. I suppose doing the laundry does just as well… or (in the future when I am only doing residential design consulting and art) doing bills and accounting. The satisfaction of these little necessary things; of things orderly and done well. One needs an anchor, a reference point, after all. Even if it's just a tidy kitchen.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-6180981739755608722012-12-25T12:54:00.000-06:002012-12-25T12:54:09.527-06:00Of Marx and Deity<br />
At brunch I sat glumly, my mind a swirl around Marxist alienation and well aware that this was not acceptable fare for Christmas morning. (Don't have experiences that are different from everyone else's, and especially don't understand those experiences differently than everyone else. Whatever else you may then be, at least you won't be alone. This passes for humor, darkly.) At least when Dad asked what I was thinking about, he rescued me by then supposing that yesterday's drive was tiring. It wasn't, but at least then we were then talking about driving rather than alienation, though in some ways I suppose it amounts to the same thing.<br />
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After things were put away I sat to read for a bit and flipped my book to the marked page, my eyes falling first on a sentence three-quarters of the way down the right hand leaf:<br />
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<i>Similarly, limited points of view emphasize the isolation of individual consciousness.</i><br />
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It's hardly acceptable to speak of Marx and deity in the same sentences, but of deity I must speak, because a single sentence at once distilled and crystallized my unutterably inchoate thoughts, and for this I blame deity.<br />
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(Parenthetical #1: Yes, lately I'm a theist. Deity could always retreat just beyond our reach and grasp; it would stand to reason, after all, and is the sort of absurdity that, given everything else, would only make sense.) (Parenthetical #2: We are alone, but also each alone with the Alone. That news is all comfort, and none at all.)<i> </i> <br />
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So I leave these thoughts with you, dear Internet, because they're hardly the thing to send to anyone on Christmas, to start, and I don't know who would talk with me about Marx and deity, besides.<br />
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anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-34721269729098993572012-05-22T09:51:00.003-05:002012-05-22T09:51:36.899-05:00<i>a note from here:<br /><br />still seeking the holy.<br />beauty alone isn't enough.</i><br />
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That's something I wrote to myself a day or two ago; now I'm trying to remember what it means, amidst the stresses of packing and starting life over. Again.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-79676702155371396882011-09-23T10:11:00.001-05:002011-09-23T10:13:13.578-05:00On the hardest thingNever forget that life can only be nobly inspired and rightly lived if you take it bravely and gallantly, as a splendid adventure in which you are setting out into an unknown country, to meet many a joy, to find many a comrade, to win and lose many a battle.<br />- Annie Besant<br /><br />Here's a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCvmsMzlF7o">youtube video</a>.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-69257500040072172742011-06-16T22:59:00.002-05:002011-06-16T23:08:23.727-05:00<span style="font-style: italic;">[For those who don't know, I have a summer job in Ohio doing architect stuff.]</span><br /><br />So, four days into a new job - the job itself is familiar, though some parts are new. The great source of intrigue is the people. Observing them, and observing myself, and the interactions. Mostly I hang back and watch. Everything about me is in plain sight - for those who know what they're looking for. I've had a few interactions and conversations whose nature rather surprised me, and I sure didn't start them.<br /><br />I guess that's a comment and an observation. I'm still learning to understand it. Connection has been a central topic for me over the last months, so it's fascinating and beautiful to move from relative isolation, in terms of relationships with other adults, to relative population.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-24300890224469328672011-05-14T10:44:00.002-05:002011-05-14T10:47:54.956-05:00I keep looking for this quote and returning to it. It's in C.S. Lewis - Surprised by Joy.<br /><br />It's about the distinction between enjoyment and contemplation. It's on 217-218. Maybe now I'll be able to find it again more easily. I got lucky finding it this time.<br /><br /><br /><blockquote><p>‘ I read in Alexander’s <em>Space Time and Deity</em> his theory of “Enjoyment” and “Contemplation.” These are technical terms in Alexander’s philosophy; “Enjoyment” has nothing to do with pleasure, nor “Contemplation” with the contemplative life. When you see a table you “enjoy” the act of seeing and “contemplate’ the table… In bereavement you contemplate the beloved and the beloved’s death and, in Alexander’s sense, “enjoy” the loneliness and grief; but a psychologist, if he were considering you as a case of melancholia, would be contemplating your grief and enjoying philosophy. ‘</p></blockquote> <blockquote><p>…It seemed to me self-evident that one essential property of love, hate, fear, hope, or desire was attention to their object. To cease thinking about or attending to the woman is, so far, to cease loving; to cease thinking about or attending to the dreaded thing is, so far, to cease being afraid… In other words the enjoyment and the contemplation of our inner activities are incompatible. You cannot hope and also think about hoping at the same moment; for in hope we look to hope’s object and we interrupt this by (so to speak) turning round to look at the hope itself. Of course the two activities can and do alternate with great rapidity; but they are distinct and incompatible. ‘</p></blockquote>anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-39542157944566111712011-02-24T08:08:00.003-06:002011-02-24T08:30:43.796-06:00Five years.It's been just over five years since my world turned upside down. For me it's hard and a little embarrassing to go back and read what I wrote of that experience. Whether the writing is obtuse or clear, it is hard to see how much it lays bare. Of that particular shift itself: I have thought of other ways of expressing it, from time to time. Expectation no longer forming my reality. Thus, loss of everything I was attached to, everything I held to. Except, at the time, God - but that slipped away, too. But loss, loneliness, and only ever always falling. I'm five years more accustomed to the sense of it.<br /><br />It's coming up on five years since I declared love to be my highest priority:<br /><blockquote><br />The argument is this: <b>love comes first.</b> I don't mean sissy love from afar without getting our hands dirty. I mean gritty, real, messy, beautiful, difficult love. (I could more easily show you than tell you, but this is a blog; please forgive my words for falling short.) Doing what Christ did in coming to earth. Sitting down and caring for people with no agenda whatsoever. To be one of those people whose qualities I mentioned in <a href="http://anonymous-julie.blogspot.com/2006/03/sacred-place-sacred-space-sense-of.html">an earlier post:</a><br /><br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">... approachable, accepting, slow to anger, slow to judge, quick to pardon, seeking to understand, seeking to love, seeking to do right. They create a space where the tide of fear is held back, where no secret is too dark, no failure too deep, where any uncertainty is permitted. Where our humanity can be laid bare without shame or judgment.</blockquote></blockquote><br /><br />Five years later, looking at my own writing: it's strong, vulnerable, and true. Five years. My aim was unerring. I still seek to be that love, and could say it no better now. Love is hard. Love is easy.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-80645792790721051222011-01-01T12:35:00.002-06:002011-01-01T12:40:11.525-06:00New year, same old...Well, I'm still attached to the idea of my people continuing to be alive. Too many close calls this year; even one is one too many. <br /><br />Listening to Adyashanti while taping and mudding drywall - an activity which, by the way, is quite relaxing. At least for me. He remains good stuff, for me - I know I've heard all these recordings before, and I still find new things in them, or - they find me where I am. Pick your subject-object relationship.<br /><br />The idea that one oughtn't be attached - just another idea to be attached to.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-69004235551305773352010-09-18T12:04:00.003-05:002010-09-18T12:31:20.574-05:00Distinction"What you feel and what things are aren't the same." - Donald Judd<br /><br />I had no idea I'd find a kindred spirit in Judd, but I have. It started innocently enough, in a book recommendation, Spiral Jetta. The author visits Judd's work in Marfa, and her discussion of one of his installations leads me to think that in Judd I may find some clues and strategies for installing my own work. But there the fatal turn: in an academic moment, I borrow a book of essays (as opposed to pictures) from the library ("Donald Judd," edited by Nicholas Serota), on the premise that it is important not merely to reappropriate Judd's installation methods but to understand his reasoning.<br /><br />In reading, I am finding that, first and foremost, Judd is an advocate of careful and conscious experience. Therein the kindredness. <br /><br />So here we are. While I remain uncertain of the art/object status of my work (perhaps Fried will shed some light on this in his essay "Art and Objecthood," which I have also obtained) I am not sure of the importance of the distinction. I want to better understand how to express where I stand, not only for the sake of articulate apologia in critique, but also to elucidate my own awareness. <br /><br />Also this week: I viewed photos of Marina Abromovic's work, after a friend's description of many of the works in her recent retrospective in New York elicited from me a somewhat incredulous response. I regret the response, for experiencing the recount spoke of the strength and impact of the work. But everything was lost in the physical description. The description is a handle, a way to refer to the work such that others understand the reference. But the work must be experienced.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-36922778865653631072010-09-16T20:22:00.000-05:002010-09-16T20:31:18.540-05:00Training WheelsNow is the time to know<br />That all that you do is sacred.<br /><br />Now, why not consider<br />A lasting truce with yourself and God.<br /><br />Now is the time to understand<br />That all your ideas of right and wrong<br />Were just a child's training wheels<br />To be laid aside<br />When you finally live<br />With veracity<br />And love.<br />- Hafizanonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-2328284573738642622010-09-10T00:06:00.001-05:002010-09-10T00:08:16.825-05:00You are so young, so much before all beginning, and I would like to beg you dear sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now.<br />- Rainer Rilke<br /><br />I've returned to my habit of bedtime reading. Since the move:<br />Letters to a Young Poet<br />Dirt. The Ecstatic Skin of the Earth.<br />The Last American Man<br />Illusions. The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah.<br />Spiral Jettaanonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-74788559368323841362010-07-29T18:01:00.003-05:002010-07-29T18:28:21.423-05:00Three Views<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsXBfAknXMGBH41FKYJeHK4D5gavCCJT3jbTSBlDfWTaa_pDoB4VcZdI8SOOEJlhY3Doo93cqITGYZ2_mcoeZc6hyPhEQdHHXU7VHWxtsF5TUvf2AveRmh_lcHBscoABFTZNhOw/s1600/IMG_1443small.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsXBfAknXMGBH41FKYJeHK4D5gavCCJT3jbTSBlDfWTaa_pDoB4VcZdI8SOOEJlhY3Doo93cqITGYZ2_mcoeZc6hyPhEQdHHXU7VHWxtsF5TUvf2AveRmh_lcHBscoABFTZNhOw/s400/IMG_1443small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499468752470037298" border="0" /></a>View #1: from my favorite boat. Sailing makes me happy, and pretty much makes everything better. C. and I went sailing on his boat this afternoon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3w3Y_yDojfz2hnBJwwrdsi3N221TfntR2SjR0emxXIOnkPTSvjONy-8n6SLh3zCQR4Jnw2RPbq1PQBTX_V3QXRpmMmWDx1NBLAeaNmrgRJhYXFm-rP-iacIxJ_EBXQjGT6C8lw/s1600/P1040921.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3w3Y_yDojfz2hnBJwwrdsi3N221TfntR2SjR0emxXIOnkPTSvjONy-8n6SLh3zCQR4Jnw2RPbq1PQBTX_V3QXRpmMmWDx1NBLAeaNmrgRJhYXFm-rP-iacIxJ_EBXQjGT6C8lw/s400/P1040921.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499468765939685282" border="0" /></a>View #2: from my front yard. Bye bye, Chicago.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ClaRml_0iLUHbFjpMEfgPFeL45xboHjdNwob-T3RosUX_noyn5eNPs3bXLve9eIorcR3hgKUWg-6bo28lfOZh_mtnXuYCwoPiGXsSGlynLjhj5WMs4BFR03fg7eAagDjDeKazg/s1600/P1040915.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ClaRml_0iLUHbFjpMEfgPFeL45xboHjdNwob-T3RosUX_noyn5eNPs3bXLve9eIorcR3hgKUWg-6bo28lfOZh_mtnXuYCwoPiGXsSGlynLjhj5WMs4BFR03fg7eAagDjDeKazg/s400/P1040915.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499468776036491698" border="0" /></a>View #3: from my new front yard. I'm moving to Champaign next week. Hello, prairie.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-59612210898208061492010-04-29T18:31:00.002-05:002010-04-29T18:34:23.116-05:00Sorry, Folks.Comment moderation has been enabled. I'm tired of the spam comments that include links.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-61869129248041802022010-04-09T21:23:00.001-05:002010-04-09T21:23:54.948-05:00I can't stop going back to this one:One regret, dear world, that I am determined not to have when I am lying on my deathbed is that I did not kiss you enough.<br />- Hafizanonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-7686021445840036792010-03-10T12:40:00.000-06:002010-03-10T12:41:48.505-06:00I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being.<br />- Hafiz<br /><br />Something beautiful with which to greet the day.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-45841560029653134232010-01-30T23:56:00.000-06:002010-01-30T23:57:13.926-06:00<blockquote>The one encompasses the many, but it is not the sum. The numinous is an experience, and a common one above all. If there is no god but "the" god, then "the" god must encompass all gods; but most honestly "they" are names, scribbled in thirst for knowledge and driven by awe.<br />-C, maybe.<br /></blockquote>anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-18659106052051228542010-01-12T09:22:00.005-06:002010-01-12T09:32:24.903-06:00On Aversion to Mystery<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Untitled</span><br /><br />We want it to be cut and dried.<br />We want it to be easy,<br />we want it to be certain.<br />We want to follow the enumerated directions,<br />and to end up with biscuits.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-19429023194418178962010-01-02T23:24:00.004-06:002010-01-03T01:26:25.868-06:00What about hope?Seriously: what about hope? What is it? What's it worth? <br /><br />I've considered hope for weeks, turned the question over and over. It's the thing with feathers. I'm a little discontent: that's a little too quick, a little too easy. (Not that there's nothing to be said for hope as the thing with feathers. There's a hell of a lot to be said for it.)<br /><br />Time used to be where I'd write thoroughly about such things, have an analysis party. But... I am not so moved. (If you've been checking my blog lately, I haven't been too moved lately.) Why not? Dunno. Feeling like thinking is in many ways a dead end. It's not, of course: thinking is good for lots of things. <br /><br />I can link the notion of hope with having any sort of positive vision for a future. Any notion that things may be all right, after all. It's hard stuff to come by. Really hard.<br /><br />After all, the future is nothing if not uncertain. Ergo, happiness is uncertain, too. (Of course, I could imagine the logistics being more difficult than they need to be, the hurdles greater than they are. Of course I could be.) <br /><br />And, yeah, sure, it doesn't exist, none of it, but it persists in appearing to exist, so I seem to persist in behaving as though it does exist. And I don't consider its non-existence all that often. Really, I don't do much analysis, anymore. Not the long way; perhaps the short way.<br /><br />But, what about hope? When dreams seem possible; when a sliver that could lead anywhere, but gleams nonetheless, seems to draw a little closer, when the odds seem a little more favorably balanced... one could call it hope.<br /><br />At the same time; how is that any more than a distraction? The eternal is, and was, and ever shall be. Of what use is hope when that is the constant? Everything, nothing, longing, no longing. So back into it - illusory? - immanent! - pain, suffering, love, fear. The whole spectrum. Alone - and not. Breathing paradox.<br /><br />Well, there's some musing for you. No answers, no need for answers. Just musings.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-20754449385393959162009-12-21T22:54:00.003-06:002009-12-21T23:01:33.741-06:00Maker and MysticThis graces the pages of Adventures in Clay, but is as much of this as it is of that. As I work at my statement of intent, I find myself in the strange position of needing to express both maker and mystic, to express either of them adequately. So it goes.<br /><br /><p></p><blockquote><p>I’ve been on hiatus from the studio itself for the better part of two months. Workshop, firings, Thanksgiving, photography, writing, and a 1500-mile grad-school-visit road trip consumed the interim. Given this pause, the obvious question is, “what next?” Being behind the camera, then at the computer, put me in a more objective position. A myriad of conversations with an assortment of intelligent and thoughtful professors and students gave me new insights, drew out the thoughts I’ve struggled to capture for my writing. The sheer volume of interaction and thought, coupled with many, many hours of solitude, finds me with a new perspective. The experience has clarified and edified my ideas on <em>what am I doing, anyway?</em> Now, in Chicago again and without another immanent departure, I experience a sense of separation from all that came before. What next?</p> <p>The first next: yesterday I spent many hours editing. With a hammer. A strange thing. Significant, but not easily reduced to a few words.</p> <p>In seeking an understanding of what to make next, I find there are threads that run through the lacuna, things that continue to move and attract me. So, there’s that, another next.</p> <p>And there remain the mundane but very real timelines of graduate applications. My statement of intent and artist statement remain incomplete, though elucidated by conversation and solitude. Another next.</p> <p>And so on.</p></blockquote><br /><br />Happy winter solstice.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-88098284698677512262009-10-21T11:57:00.002-05:002009-10-21T11:59:22.013-05:00The more efficient a force is, the more silent and the more subtle it is. Love is the subtlest force in the world.<br />- Mahatma Gandhi<br /><br />Somehow this goes with what I was just writing, which is for a blog post at design-realized.com (http://www.design-realized.com/wordpress to be exact). It's about the grinding stones I saw in Phoenix this spring, and my work with the form:<br /><br />Physical. The form. Holding a space but not enclosing it.<br />Material. The ability of the form to be a material test; a large surface area. Since I've been experimenting with amending clay bodies and how they behave in atmospheric firings... this is a nice thing.<br />Texture. Whereas most of my work has been smooth or finely-textured, these have both a roughness and tenderness to them. I have a tactile and visual attraction to them.<br />Conceptual. The form is made by grinding corn. The wide groove is worn in through many, many repetitions. I think of markmaking, of myself, how repetition makes things tangible. I think of the power of words, of actions, often wielded without care or respect for the ability to .<br />As a form it has the potential to be a platform for some kind of social commentary, but I still want them to stand on their own.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-35358131543250040402009-09-08T09:58:00.000-05:002009-09-08T09:59:12.845-05:00When you are in doubt, be still, and wait; be still until the sunlight pours through and dispels the mists -- as it surely will. Then act with courage. <br />- Ponca Chief White Eagleanonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-10484749089846505152009-09-04T08:51:00.003-05:002009-09-04T08:55:30.003-05:00it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.more reflections on 27 to come. but, truly: it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. better times, i think, to come.<br /><br />last day: a good sail with good friends. dinner. closed out the evening deep in "desert solitaire" by edward abbey, on loan from another dear friend, and listening to "dark side of the moon".<br /><br />a good chapter to close, but not one to quickly forget.<br /><br />first day: "dark side of the moon" followed by "dreams of the color blind" followed by some live "explosions in the sky"<br /><br />and will end with an overnight sailboat race, including cocktails and cooking a hot dinner. (we're going to be casual about it.)anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-63682114580222518082009-09-03T09:41:00.002-05:002009-09-03T10:43:48.680-05:00Inside twenty-seven, for a few moments more.Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.<br />- Carl Jung<br /><br />(This rings of truth. But that's just my view.)<br /><br />Unrelatedly, but not worth another post: twenty-seven ends at midnight. I'm grateful to close the door. It's been quite the year.anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-26912437221915186352009-09-02T08:43:00.001-05:002009-09-02T08:45:23.754-05:00What is Experience?Response to JBMoore's post <a href=http://jbmoore61.blogspot.com/2009/08/divine-and-manifest.html>Divine and Manifest</a>.<br /><br /><i>The word fire is not the thing it points to, yet everyone knows what fire is because they have experienced it.</i><br /><br />Have they?<br /><br />Have people even <i>really</i> experienced the Manifest, or is it all sent through a filter of needing to name and describe everything?anonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21390534.post-57209502747164525412009-07-28T19:10:00.001-05:002009-07-29T10:44:20.236-05:00We see architecture as an act of profound optimism. Its foundation lies in believing that it is possible to make places on the earth that can give a sense of grace to life—and in believing that it matters.<br />—Tod Williams and Billie Tsienanonymous juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18055080538242335793noreply@blogger.com1