AHC: You started out in photography, what made you decide to take up painting instead? Do you still practice photography at all? Lisa: I did start in photography and that actually was my focus in art school, but I always had painting in the back of my head, I think. My dad was an amazing painter, so that was a huge influence. He worked mostly in abstract, but also worked a lot with wood and sculpture, so that may also be where my tendency to move through mediums and explore a lot, comes from. AHC: In your figurative art you work with found photo's, are these photo's picked up at garage sales and the like? What is your process like with these? How do you create that delicate balance between anonymity and the personal that runs through these paintings? Lisa: Yes, they are all photos found and purchased, from estates as well as ebay. I think because they are not my photos, my family, I am able to create a distance, but still play with themes that are very rooted in my experience. AHC: Can you talk a bit about your abstract work? It's incredibly visceral, stormy, mysterious, I don't think I've ever been as pulled in by abstract work as I have been by yours. I sense so much breaking through, like poetically drafted Rorschach's. What is the inspiration and process like with these? Lisa: I am always personally drawn to abstracts, so when I was ’stuck’ at a point in my figurative work a few years ago, I played around with what I call my floodline paintings. They are very much the purely emotional side of the coin from my figurative work. It is also just nice to go between the two, the process is so completely different and challenging in different ways. AHC: Snapshots are an important element in your work, you’ve stated that they can even change our memories in some ways, can you explain what you mean by that? Lisa: For myself, and I’m sure many others, many of my earliest memories are influenced by the photos of that time. Photos become like a touch stone that we go back to and often that photo is the memory. I’m also fascinated by a study I read that showed people remembered fewer details when they took a photo, almost as if we don’t actually see/experience something if we think we captured it with our camera. AHC: Who are some of your artistic influences? Lisa: So many and the list is always growing. Obviously my dad, as well as many of the painter that worked in a similar style of his era, Franz Kline and Gerhard Richter. Also Sally Mann, Fairfield Porter, Alex Katz and Luc Tuymans. (and many more) AHC: Do you remember the first work of art you encountered that took your breath away? Lisa: Hmm, I don’t have one single moment like that. My parents took us to the art museum at our local university quite often and collected antiques, including art, so it was always there in the background. AHC: Do you have any upcoming exhibits or new projects you’d like to mention? Lisa: Right now I’m playing with a new technique of manipulating the paint and image so hopefully that will continue and lead to new work. For more information visit www.lisagolightlyart.com/
0 Comments
9/14/2016 0 Comments Four Poems by Jess MizeAnguish Paper smells like death. The forest misses a beat. Hollow screams bleed from my pen and another cries out in anguish. The scent of metal lingering in the air is so alluring. H The glow on her skin is like the sun’s rays through coloured glass. Sa solitude est la mécanique érotique. Weirdness. A becoming. A lonely, beautiful young woman haunted by nature, vice, her habits. She wanders about the earth with disdain and superficial indolence. The young woman carries a planet of regret and experiences the remorse of Prometheus. Saisis par cette heure indicible. Elegant, Is it Not? everytime i close my eyes a part of me commits suicide relief comes when the pain runs Red out of my veins. And Now I Know how Joan of Arc Felt thoroughly depressed; wanting to die. Self-pity passes over me like a wave of mutilation. Wa-aa-avve. I have visions of nightmares over Joan of Arc. Hopes and dreams departed in an icon discarded. A pendant that did not make the life journey. Tears like snow globes. Inside their own fantastic little fake plastic world. Haven’t I cried enough? In a thousand different ways. The answer is always no. There are more ways to suffer in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in my philosophy. The wicked one. The being of light. The one who enjoys suffering. A hell of one’s own invention. Bio: Jess Mize is a blonde-haired surfer girl from South Carolina. Her favorite author is Stephen King. 9/13/2016 1 Comment Three Poems by Jon BennettIn the Chinese Hotel I thought the ghost of the man who died in that room had come to accept me but it was lonely no one spoke English so when another white kid moved in I knocked on his door His name was Jacob "I'm an art student," he said "Did you get a bed yet?" I asked "No. I don't have a bed," he said I could see his easel through the blinds so I started painting again I liked the feeling of putting paint on boards from the orange crates left in the midnight alley I dabbed away, but it was no good so I returned to the guitar ‘I'll paint the air with notes,’ I thought, ‘only I and the old ghost will hear.’ Gamble and Ditch Hotspot is like keno it’s in all the donut shops there’s a video screen and the #s come up every few minutes. You can win $2 to $100,000 or you can just always lose. The wiry speedfreak, worn down to chain link and doorknobs always has a stub of a blunt in the corner of his mouth, he stands outside to smoke it watching the numbers through the window. “2 out of 3 I would’ve won 400 bucks!” he says. No one knows what this cryptic language means least of all the Chinese donut lady. He takes his $2 winnings and I look at the page which has gone on long enough and then gone on too long, so better luck tomorrow. Pierre Pierre stole my baseball glove it was 4th grade and I’d just moved from a hippy private school to the public school where Howard Williams hit me in the side of the head so the other side hit the drain pipe. Pierre tried to cover my name with yellow paint but the marker showed through and the principal plucked it from his walnut colored hand easily as picking a plum. I learned then no matter what happens we’re all fucked in our own different way. Bio: Jon Bennett is a writer and musician living in San Francisco's Tenderloin neighborhood. You can find his work on Spotify, Pandora, and at www.jonbennett.info. AHC: Can you tell us a bit about your process, themes & inspirations? Jennifer: I'm currently exploring themes of body language, body image, femininity, and female identity. I'm inspired by figure painters Jenny Saville, Njideka Akunyli Crosby, Lucian Freud, Euan Uglow, and Egon Schiele. I'm working to achieve heroic paintings of women. My process usually starts with some vague ideas that I incorporate into setups that I photograph, which I then play around with variations of color and cropping in Photoshop. Then I use these as reference for my oil paintings, which in the past year have averaged on 5x6 feet in size. The paintings always take on a life of their own, deviating from the photo reference, which is the best part! AHC: What first drew you to art? Was there a specific moment in your life or turning point where it became clear to you that you were being called to create? Jennifer: As a kid i was into drawing a lot. My mom taught me a little bit about painting, but it wasn't until I was in college that I really got into it. It took a while for me to realize I had to go full force with making art. After that it felt great to know that art is my calling in life, but it's also a very slow process, and talent is nothing without continuous practice, so I don't think there was necessarily a specific turning point but just lots of help and guidance I had along the way. I might not have even made it to graduate school if I hadn't been encouraged by the painter I work for, Justin Bower. I owe a lot to him for his help and encouragement, as I was pretty terrified about going back to school! And turns out, grad school is one of the best decisions I've ever made. AHC: Who are some of your artistic influences? Is there anyone outside of the art world who has had a huge impact on your work or who just generally inspires you, writers, filmmakers, musicians etc? Jennifer: I was a weird kid growing up, I didn't really listen to music. It wasn't until I was in my 20s that I started expanding my horizons and learning about what kind of music I was into. Now, I can't imagine getting any work done without music! I like an eclectic mix, often things that have electronic influence or energetic sounds, but one artist who's inspired me more than anyone is Prince. I listen to a LOT of Prince... I'm also inspired by atmospheric horror films like "Let the Right One In" and "Eraserhead". I like the subtlety, which I try to incorporate in my work, because I like mysteries and nuances, and hate having things spelled out for me. AHC: You've written that the figures you paint "exude feelings of uncertainty, unease, disconnect, but also strength and heightened awareness." Could you talk some about these qualities and why they are important thematic elements for you and your work? Jennifer: Uncertainty, unease, and disconnect, because in being connected through technology we are spending less time with people in person, becoming more lonely. This affects us emotionally, sexually, and with so much information being fed to us through the media, insecurities about ourselves increase. My reasons for contrasting this with strength and heightened awareness, is to show that women are gaining power and feeling freer to voice their opinions and desires. I want my paintings to have an encouraging element, to not ever let my subjects loose power and strength. They convey a sense of longing and desire to break out of a confined space, i.e. our overbearing environment, to be a strong individual, ignoring anyone's expectations. I try to create that feeling by contrasting the figure's enlarged size with using the edge of the canvas as the barrier for their claustrophobic space. AHC: Your paintings are an expression of a women's desire to break out of confined space, I'm wondering does the gallery space in any way become another type of 'confining space' and does your work function as a subtle critique of these problems of confinement as well? Jennifer: That's a really interesting interpretation, and I love to hear when people find hidden meanings through my work even when I wasn't focused on those ideas. For me, the constricting space is more about the limitations for women in society. The gallery is definitely a space that most artists have mixed feelings about, so there's definitely room for discussion there. AHC: When you're working on a piece what's the environment like, do you work best with silence or with music on, what is your studio environment/vibe like? Jennifer: I almost always play energetic music because it helps me work faster and stay positive. I always have to work alone, so if there's no music I go crazy. Some people work well around other people but I need to focus when I paint, so any disruptions can ruin my painting session. I always wonder how Andy Warhol was able to be so productive with all those parties going on at the Factory! AHC: What is the first work of art you encountered that took your breath away? I was quite young when I was exposed to art and museums for the first time, so it's hard to remember, but I'm sure it had to be either seeing Van Gogh's paintings at the Norton Simon museum in Pasadena, or possibly at the Getty museum in LA when they had a really great exhibit of Rembrandt paintings. Seeing that work in person was like a spiritual experience, just mind blowing! AHC: If you could spend the day with any artist, from any field, living or dead, who would that person be and how would you spend the day together? Jennifer: That's a tough question, because there's so many artists who's work I love but I doubt I'd like to hang out with them! So many talented artists are troubled, anti-social, or just plain weird. Sorry to be so blunt, but it's true! Hopefully I myself don't fall into that stereotype. I think my best choice would have to be my previously noted Njideka Crosby. She's young and seems like a nice person who I'd enjoy spending time with. I'd probably choose to visit her studio, because I love seeing work in progress and getting a glimpse into a creative process. AHC: Do you have any upcoming exhibits or new projects you'd like to tell people about? Jennifer: Right now I'm focusing on creating work for my thesis show which will be in the Spring 2017 at Claremont Graduate University. I don't have the date set yet, but when I do I'll share the info on my Facebook page! www.facebook.com/jenniferkingart For more information visit www.jenniferkingart.com/ 9/12/2016 0 Comments Five Poems by Natalie CrickYoung Love When you were five And I was six, We would hold hands Just like this. When you were nine And I was ten, We made a pact To never tell, and then: You began to tell me every word That escaped from your lips, with cold secret stares. A look or a glance through long Fingertips. Your beautiful face. I see you sitting by the stair, your body Tight in hot sun, a sad lamb On stage. And when I have passed you Flushed red raw, I want to remember How young we were. Splayed out across the pitch Like baby starfish, pink and pinched As tongue's blood. Our father and mother are in silent reverie, With knotted wrists and electric hair, Nodding and clapping, as dumb waiters do To our games. When we are together we are together. Today we are family as the ill Walk in lines, with shaken smiles that marry us. Mother, to me you are a figure of fun. Father, you are a child when you wake up each morning. Sunday School Madeline loves it And sits as Mother would. The priest is like her Father Dressed all in grey, Palms fluttering with Paper clowns, Legs and arms spinning anti-clockwise Like the priest's eyes slide From side to side. We are his for an hour But he cannot touch us, For we are jewels to be watched, And, one day taken. Nobody has ever held his hand But Grandmother, with rings like Little girl's warnings. This is my house of God, Rain thundering as Unanswered questions. Their faces are taught and chilled with frost. He is the bee of androgyny Thrusting candelabras as tusks. This drone of activity, It is all too much for me. Faces dumb as naked dolls. He strips them, licking them with stars Like potential girlfriends Or meats to be weighed. This Dark Thing This dark thing that sleeps in me, It steals from me so I am left with nothing. I am blameless, Godiva. The murmurings are alive. Watching you dully from my bed I have taken the pill to kill. I mourn my own death, Drowning into the night. My tears could devour The ocean. I want, I want. I have lost myself. But that is not enough. Love Me Two friends. Chalk and cheese, gelled with want. The shy one with silver sticks That clunked on wooden boards Skipped to a secret song. And him, a gauzy giant, The bitter scat his excuse. It shines for special occasions, Shouting about life of biting tongues: I am history reinvented. Blink twice. I am not out of the ordinary. He tells me how I have a nervous laugh And how nice The mice looked, strung up in grey wire. An easy spear through each socket. Would I like to walk with them? It would be like kissing the flute With my eyes smoking and hissing, Ash sinking in each pit. Let me roll in icy pools. The Other does that, Hair wet and black, Tossing acid. Do you ever sleep? He wants to be loved. I do not react. The sun lets them in, The moon breaks in two. Bell, once. Bell, twice. One is finished. Dear Sister It is Winter here. Snow has fallen. “I am afraid”, said the moon. She is beautiful tonight. Now it is darker than December. What is dead is a different colour. My dead sister is neither a man nor a woman. She is a ghost. We do not speak of her Anymore. I turn away from mirrors When I see her reflection. The dead can no longer see I no longer care. O Lord of darkness, I want my innocence. Bio: Natalie Crick has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. Her poetry is influenced by melancholic confessional Women's poetry. Her poetry has been published in a range of journals and magazines including Cannons Mouth, Cyphers, Ariadne's Thread, Carillon and National Poetry Anthology 2013. AHC: Can you tell us a bit about your process, themes & inspirations? Christina: I have been inspired by many things over the years: nature, folklore, religion, emotion… but I suppose it all comes back to how I, myself, relate to these things. When I have an idea for a painting it usually comes to me in a flash. The rest then falls into place like puzzle pieces. I work together with a bunch of beautiful, inspirational models to create work which tell that story, my relation to nature or how I felt reading that story or even how I felt going through something in my own life. But I like to leave these things open ended. There needs to be space for the viewer to fit themselves into it and make it their own. That to me creates the best artwork. AHC: What first drew you to art? Was there a specific moment in your life or turning point where it became clear to you that you were being called to create? Christina: If life were only so simple! I, like most artists I suppose, were drawing before they had even have memories of drawing. I never saw it as a career though, even in high school when applying to art universities - I always thought of a more practical application of art. But like I said, life isn’t so simple. I never got to go to any of those art universities and spent the early part of my adult life around Europe. By the time I settled in Sweden and I picked up the paintbrush again it had been years since I had created. It started more as a way to pass the time than anything else, but the more I created the hungrier I became to become better and the more I had to say. I guess in some ways it was a snowball effect. AHC: Who are some of your artistic influences? Is there anyone outside of the art world who has had a huge impact on your work or who just generally inspires you, writers, filmmakers, musicians etc? Christina: Most of my current artistic influences are my peers! Looking at my Facebook newsfeed is both inspirational and disheartening at the same time! The smooth skinned perfection of Sarah Joncas, the phenomenal storytelling of Martin Wittfooth and just about everything to do with Andrea Kowch… there are so many amazing artists at work right now today, it feels like such an exciting time to be creating! If not intimidating ;). Outside the world of art I have definitely been inspired by singer Agnes Obel, writer Neil Gaiman and the composer Dustin O’Halloran. AHC: Those "journals full of stories and poetry" from your youth, has any of it made its way into your work, small nods to your younger self? Christina: Oh sure, in small subtle ways. I had a lot more fire in me back in my teenage years. I think time, maturity and experience have made all those things I used to obsess and write about smoothen out into what you see today. My endless dialogue about human nature, good and evil, the mysteries of the forest… I suppose I will be working my whole life figuring these things out. Back then the drawings were a bit wild in comparison, pregnant bellies and ´monsters. We all learn though that monsters come with pretty faces and new beginnings often start from ashes. As I grow and learn - so do my paintings. AHC: What is it about myth and religion that you find so compelling as a narrative device for your work? Christina: In simple terms, reality and concrete are boring. Ancient stories hold all of the magic which has been lost today. I like that, I like that there was a time when people really believed in magic and forces beyond our control. Religion is different. I have a strange relationship with religion. I kind of view it as a strange authority figure which I feel the need to contradict, as it is in itself so hypocritical. I have spent a lot of time researching Christianity, in particular the bits and pieces left out of the Bible or the misinterpretations of the original text. I like exploring those stories and odd translations in my own work - I find it fascinating that millions of people can follow religious text which is merely a shell of what it was meant to be. Or even worse - an archaic example of how the world needed to work 2,000 years ago which has no real function in modern society. I could go on forever I suppose, which is why I paint it instead. A picture says 1,000 words! AHC: Can you talk some about what you describe as your "compassion for the lonely and the broken"? Christina: Well, it is just that. I understand how it feels to be both those things. I think anyone who has lived abroad in particular can know that feeling, but let’s face it. Life is never simple and easy - we all have our own version of lonely and broken. I enjoy painting pieces which have a strong emotive feel to it because I want others to understand they are not truly alone. Almost every other person on this planet knows how it feels to be sad, helpless, broken hearted… that is the great irony of humanity really. We all feel alone in our own little bubble going through the trial and tribulations of a bodily experience and yet we are in fact all connected. The best pieces of art, in my opinion, are like the best songs. They leave room for your own interpretation, your own story - so you can glide into them and really feel that strong connection. That “ah-ha” moment where you say “yes, exactly, that is exactly how I felt”. That is my mission as a painter. AHC: What is the first work of art you encountered that took your breath away? Christina: I had to really think about this one! I believe it was “Midsummer Eve” by Edward Robert Hughes. I probably saw it for the first time when I was about 12 and we were studying Shakespeare in school. To me that painting was perfection, a nighttime forest scene full of magic! I loved the thought of stumbling into a clearing at twilight and finding fairies. I still love it today. AHC: Do you have any upcoming exhibits or new projects you'd like to tell people about? Christina: I do! I am personally curating a show in support of the charity Mission Blue. It will be held at Haven Gallery in New York with an amazing lineup of artists. Mission Blue works towards protecting our oceans so they have a chance to heal and recover after decades of manmade abuse. A percentage of all sales goes directly to supporting this goal - so definitely something to check out! The show opens on October 29th, 2016. You can follow Haven Gallery online to see all of the work as it comes out! For more information visit plantiebee.com/ 9/11/2016 0 Comments Three Poems by Jada YeeOvernight From the ocean beneath the night, a wave blew through my bedroom and slammed the door shut; a heavy, anvil fist crash-landing on a cluttered dinner table. I look down at the chapter of an open book, searching for where I left off, struggling to remember who I was becoming before. Ashamed that I’m still reeling from the shock and surprise of suddenly being well again, after accepting that I would always be ill. An overdue cross; an overdue punishment, briefly hovered over my shoulders, made its taunting introduction, and then, mercifully disappeared. Now, I fight sadness. I fight the hard-to-explain. The details of a regular day. The numbness; the overwhelming need to escape; choosing one pain over another. It’s the fierce California heat in an idle car; how it loves to inspire headaches that start at the bridge of my nose, turning into knocking pulses behind my eyes. It’s the sight of children playing pretend in the aisles, wielding foam swords and shields, sparks of laughter and happy screams. Hating this and the excitement of their running feet. It’s the impatience when a person asks what I do in my spare time, and their look of surprise when I tell them I’m not pursuing a degree. Three fourths of me is disappointed. The remainder is just my body, always having to bring me back to life. Here comes tomorrow, with its redundancy. I have my résumé, with its awkward history. I have my fifth grade certificate, naming me The Quiet Child. What a lasting impression those words have made; constantly feeling unqualified for everything life demands, while being told that life has never asked for much. Be Well When everything was in reach, I was restrained. I was held down by my body’s ill-informed defense. The fundamental ease of taking one step at a time and the simple solution of getting a good night’s rest were attempted, but followed by painful cries of “Stop!” I did not last long, performing menial tasks such as curling fingers forward to grip; bending knees to sit; extending arms to pull the covers closer. But today… Today, these menial tasks feel like incredible feats of agility. Today, these wrists are kissed by steady hands. Today, these hands are strong enough to firmly hold onto this forsaken spoon. Today, these hands are getting reacquainted with the dance of the hollandaise stir. These fingers are strong enough to play drums on the cutting board. These joints are immune to the sharp citrus burn of jeweled lemon wedges. The only sign of red is the wine, and, my god, it tastes like courage. This almost feels easy; sautéing diced onions and peppers; being able to translate each word the sizzling language sings. I feel like a little girl, proud of my own illumination; skating in the socks that were once, only bedridden. I choose to see these moments as second chances to rise without fear of what I may face tomorrow, because today…Today, I am well. Thief High above suspicion, she draws doors and invisible hinges on museum glass. Without a whistling call, raindrop letters lay down their guard. Quietly, she’ll escape, with a button kiss from each. This thief’s oasis is the concrete bed in her own backyard; staring up at the restless morning freeway in the sky. Even the wall beside her is an icon; a canvas, painted like a broken path, proud of its past. Framed eight feet above, is a climber’s mark; courage, signed with a surviving shell. These signatures are the most sacred things. They are the things that beg to be stolen, not with a desire to be kept, but with the intent to travel. You can call this thief a gypsy chameleon, but you won’t find her sitting in yoga positions with pinched fingers, withdrawn from all consciousness. The heart must be unashamed of its wandering ways, because wandering is the only way to find delicate symbols that were left behind; pauses, abandoned too early; shadows, presumed lifeless. Although subtle and strange, these are symbols hoping they’ll be given a second look, another chance. Not unlike these strange souls of ours; our precious selves, longing to be found. Bio: The day Jada Yee’s high school English teacher introduced free verse poetry to the class was the day she found her passion. What she struggled to say aloud was translated clearly onto the page. Poetry encourages truth without perfection. In the last fourteen years, writing in silence and with music has become Jada’s strongest coping skill for depression and anxiety. Her work has appeared in literary magazines such as Poydras Review, Mad Swirl, A Quiet Courage and others. AHC: Can you tell us a bit about your process, themes & inspirations? I’m really interested in humanity, both in its positive attributes and its failures. This manifests in my work often through objects used by humans, or the spaces they inhabit. Humor is very important to me—I view it as a coping mechanism for society in its current form, which consists of vast injustice and inequity. I think my work contains a lot of humor and joy because it’s how I continue to exist in the world—making art is also a part of that. In general, ideas of liberation and resistance drive not only the creation of my artwork, but how I live in the world on a day-to-day basis. It might not be easy to see this in my work because I’m not interested in making work that is super political or didactic (it’s super difficult to do this well and admire those who can!), but much like in politics, I think where we have some of the greatest potential to effect change are in small moments in our daily lives (which is why I was a high school teacher for several years). Therefore, a lot of my work might be ambiguous or mysterious, or funny or fanciful, but also functions as a subtle form of resistance. Maintaining a sense of humor or joy in living is a form of resistance because it’s you trying to hold onto your humanity. The miracle will apply to you Formally, my work is very colorful and playful, sometimes shiny, sometimes made of many small pieces, sometimes very landscape oriented. In addition to color, I use a lot of shapes, textures, and patterns. The work I’m making now consists of ink or gouache drawings that I’ve scanned and turned into vectorized shapes, which are then cut out of paper or vinyl using a cutting plotter and applied to Bristol or other materials. I like to imagine potential spaces I or others might inhabit (utopian, mysterious, or even mundane), or possible objects or beings that could exist—a lot of “what if” questions. My background originally was in literature and writing, so my artwork often contains a lot of narrative potential. AHC: What first drew you to art? Was there a specific moment in your life or turning point where it became clear to you that you were being called to create? I've always made art. When I was a child, I used to entertain myself by making collages. The series Dream House came from the experience of cutting up my parents' Sears and JC Penney catalogues and arranging them in the form of my ideal home. Activity Room 2009, collage on paper, 14" x 17" However, I was always much more interested in writing and thought I would become a writer (I studied world literature in college). In my teens and early 20s though, I became very involved in music. For many years, I booked experimental/DIY music shows at a collectively-run venue in San Diego called the Che Cafe. I would make collage posters to promote the shows, and also ended up making album art. Eventually, I became less involved in music and began to focus more on my art. Art-making, writing, and music have always been integral to my life, not separate from it. Pocahaunted, Pukers, Barn Owl, Vis Viva, Crystal Village at Totally Intense Fractal Mindgaze Hut 2008, collage on paper, 17" x 11" AHC: Your work in 'Accumulations' explores the theme of cyclical consumption, planned obsolescence and all of the "stuff" both wasteful & useful that we pick up along the way in a life. One of your titles captures this perfectly 'Trying to Reach the Point of Largest Growth' could you talk more about this theme and what first drew you to tackling this subject? While a lot of the works in this series depict accumulations of physical objects (especially consumer goods), for me, they also represent other things we might accumulate that aren’t tangible. For example, what is passed down to us from our families (both good and bad). I made Trying to Reach the Point of Largest Growth at the beginning of my career as a high school teacher, and I was thinking a lot about forms of privilege I inherited from my family due to growing up as a middle-class white American (to name a few), and how these forms of privilege might be in play when working with my students. I titled the work Trying to Reach the Point of Largest Growth because as someone who is interested in self-reflection, personal growth, and justice in the world, I’m always striving to do better, both for myself and in my relationships with others. However, there is no end point—it’s a lifelong pursuit, and if you think you’ve reached any kind of “end point,” then you’re missing something critical about the task at hand. Trying to Reach the Point of Largest Growth On the other hand, while some of my works might have a specific meaning for me personally, and often there might be something I’m considering as I’m making the work (and the work, in fact, might be a way for me to explore that for myself), I don’t think it’s important for viewers to see that in my work. I like to make work that can have layers of meaning, maybe even some ambiguity. I’m totally happy for someone to look at the work and create their own meaning—I think that’s one way my practice as an educator really aligns with my practice as an artist—this idea that you can come to an artwork as a viewer and see something in it for yourself (grounded in what you see, of course). I view my own personal thoughts around the work as kind of “bonus” information that isn’t necessary for the viewer, but maybe kind of fun. I don’t want anyone to feel that they have to see what I see or that there’s specific meaning just waiting to be unlocked if you can find the “right” answer. Relax No. 1 AHC: Now, more than ever it seems we need safe spaces to come together and dialogue with each other, we are losing tangible outlets for this, your work in 'DIY Safe Space' explores what these may look like and asks us to imagine our own. Could you talk more about this issue? And also about the notion that we must 'do it ourselves', that it starts with us? I wouldn’t say I believe in the concept of a “safe space,” but I do believe in the value of alternative spaces outside of mainstream culture and the concept of dialogue in a general sense. Working at the Che Café and also a worker-owned food co-op in my early 20’s completely shaped who I am today, and I think it’s important for spaces that exist as a counter to a traditional capitalist framework to exist—for example, non-hierarchal organizations, worker’s co-ops, DIY all ages show spaces, artist-run galleries, etc. While these spaces are not perfect and often replicate some of the same problems as the rest of society (i.e. racism, sexism, transphobia, ableism, etc.), I think it’s important for people, particularly young people, to have access to alternative modes of thinking and living during their formative years. If they aren’t provided outlets for imagination and creativity, and the opportunity to see what this looks like in practice, how can we expect anything good to happen in the future? Talking Circle No. 1 2011, collage on paper, 14" x 17″ I live in the Bay Area so the question of space is at the forefront of everyone’s mind; with the rapid acceleration of neoliberal tech domination, we’re losing access to these kinds of spaces (along with affordable places to live—my partner and I were recently evicted from our Oakland live/work space of eight years and our rent has increased by almost three times). I don’t feel like I have anything new or insightful to contribute to this discussion that hasn’t been said by a million others, but I do wonder what it would be like to live in a place where the issue of housing and space wasn’t such an issue. What would it be like if everyone didn’t have to work so much to ensure the most basic level of survival? Is that even possible in an American city now? There's a Lot of Things to Feel 2011, collage and gouache on paper, 21" x 29"
AHC: Do you have any upcoming exhibits or new projects you'd like to tell people about? If you’re in San Francisco, I have an exhibition opening at The Mill on Divisadero St. on October 7. I’m also working on a series of posters featuring inspirational/transformative/transgressive quotes by authors, artists, and activists for classrooms. You can find out more on my website at jessalynaaland.com/ 9/10/2016 0 Comments Three Poems by Devon BalwitThat Man The man who begot me will not speak to me, afraid I will ask for something he is not prepared to give—money or affirmation-- as if he has not already left me his legacy, his hair-trigger mood, his gift for language—ours and others. His third wife and I could be twins. They call each other baby. Am I not the real baby? He sends money on my children’s birthdays, always the same amount, the same note, the same doodle. Five decades, and I still cannot ignore him although another raised me, presided at table, taught me taste and boundary-lines, calls me daughter. Like a missing tooth, that man compels probing. Is my need cellular? Every morning, my dog shakes, ears flapping. I do the same, but the itch lodges too deep. Animal Like the shamefaced man in the AP photograph, you will want to abandon your child to the discipline of woodland survival. You will want hunger, loneliness, and fear to extort remorse, extract promises never to hurt or bother again. You will be tempted to drive him so far away that returning will be too much trouble. You will not care about public opinion because the public cannot possibly know. You will remember animals that devour their young and know yourself an animal. If you see your child again, you will pause before you hug him, wondering how soon before you’ll wish to leave. You may feel horror at yourself, or shame, or righteous on your throne of judgment. I do not know you. I only know myself, the times mothering unleashed magma. The times it took all I had to take all I could. To a 20-year-old considering a vasectomy sure your folks were crazy / they didn’t tear soft feathers from their own breasts to line the nest / didn’t ask the right questions / or asked too many / were uptight about sex / or overly-sexed / screaming fuck me through thin walls / they sloshed complaints into their glasses each night / drained them dry and poured more / made you feel awkward in front of your friends / awkward in your own home / made the cycle of life seem too tedious to initiate / the thought of you / becoming them to a new you / bringing on cold sweats / so here you are / pamphlet in hand outlining the cauterizing of your vas deferens / painless / outpatient even / what can be achieved by my saying this? / but as one who suffered / and found a way to live with suffering / I can only say trust me / in ten / fifteen years / you’ll love someone / will find yourself admiring children in public places / wanting a son or a daughter / and the weirdest thing / will be thinking that you’ve got this / that you might even do OK Bio: Devon Balwit wears many hats in Portland, Oregon. Her poetry does likewise. Some it has found recently: 3 elements, Birds Piled Loosely, drylandlit, Dying Dahlia Review, Lalitamba, Leveler, Of(f) Course, The Cape Rock, The Fem, The Fog Machine, The NewVerse News, The Prick of the Spindle, The Sow's Ear Poetry Review, The Yellow Chair, Timberline Review, txt objx, vox poetica, and Vanilla Sex Magazine. AHC: When did you first start writing? I started writing when I was 5, I wrote a story about my favorite red shirt, but I spelled it shit. My dad put his cowboy boot up my ass. My mom beat me in the head with her house shoe. So I quit writing until I was in the army at 18 in 1971. I wrote all kinds of stuff, mostly letters, but it felt good and crazy like I was talking to myself and I could lie all I wanted to. After many years I wrote a Native American novel set in my home state of New Mexico. Some rip off agents in New York built my hopes up and took my reading fee money of $200. I thought screw reading fees, I won’t even pay a buffalo nickel now. Then I happened upon Bukowski and the small press and I says hot damn, home sweet home. AHC: Who are some of your major influences? Jack Micheline, Charles Bukowski, Emile Zola, Charles Dickens, John Fante, John Steinbeck, Jack London, Pearl Buck, Isabel Allende, Louise Erdrich, Juan Rulfo, Pablo Neruda, Li Po, Tu Fu. AHC: If you could spend the day with any writer, living or dead, who would that writer be and how would you two spend the day? If Edgar Allan Poe was alive I wouldn’t mind hanging out with him. We could go shark fishing, then shoot some snooker, go surfing with some hot chicks in bikinis, have some lobster and clams on the beach. Drive around in my 57 Chevy, head north and have lunch with Stephen King. AHC: What is the writing process like for you? Whenever inspiration hits or do you have a set time everyday where you sit down and hammer out ideas? Words for stories, poems, or scenes may hit me in the head like a gorilla with a sledge hammer or like a woodpecker trying to turn a telephone pole into a toothpick. They can come at any given moment. Trying to capture all the words are the fun and the agony. Later comes the blood on the paper of revision. First thought best thought, sometimes, but hardly ever. Working late at night into the morning with Red Hot Chili Peppers or Rage Against the Machine blaring through headphones works well for me. AHC: Would you like to tell people a little bit about your new book? My new book is: Sleeping With the Fish, 265 pages of stories and poems for under $10. It’s from Pski’s Porch and the front cover is a photo by Jeff Alfier. www.amazon.com/Sleeping-With-Fish-Catfish-McDaris/dp/06926713 AHC: What are you working on now, any new projects in the works? Currently I’m working on a novel. I should have a 3 way book out next month with Andrew Hilbert and Ben John Smith called Weird Buffet. Also a book with 6 other writers from Ireland called Drunk For Seven Days. I continue to send all work published, (electronic and paper) to my Special Archives at Marquette University. This interview will be included. Catfish McDaris Collection Biographical Note/Scope and Content The Catfish McDaris Collection includes the publications and personal papers of the author, as well as a small collection of publications by and correspondence with other modern poets. Marquette University acquired the Catfish McDaris Collection in 2013. Processed by McKayla Sutton, Pat Zimmer, and Amy Cary in 2014. Biographical Note Steven “Catfish” McDaris was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico in 1953 and grew up in the South Valley. Dave Reve, the editor of Zen Tattoo, suggested the nom de plume after McDaris admitted that he wanted to quit his job at the post office to start a catfish farm. After serving as a gunner in the U.S. Army, McDaris hitchhiked across the United States and Mexico. His eclectic experiences include shark fishing, building adobe houses, taming wild horses near the Grand Canyon, and running a zinc smelter in Texas. He has also lived in caves and called a Chevy Impala home for one winter in Denver. After working at a post office in Milwaukee for 34 years, McDaris found employment as a journeyman bricklayer. He now spends his time rehabbing furniture, making knives, and writing poetry. For the last two decades as a poet and author, McDaris has published prolifically in the small press. In addition, nineteen chapbooks feature collections of his poetry, prose, and artwork. McDaris has served as a contributing editor for numerous journals, including the Latino Stuff Review. He has been nominated several times for the Pushcart Prize and is a two-time winner of the Poetry Slam at the Green Mill in Chicago. In past years, he participated in poetry readings around the world, including venues in New York, Chicago, and Paris. McDaris also lent his expertise to help found Wordstock, a charity poetry festival in Milwaukee. Scope and Content Series 1, Publications, 1972-2013, is composed of the published works of Catfish McDaris and other modern poets. The series is divided into three parts, with the first corresponding to works published by McDaris. This includes poetry and prose found in chapbooks, zines, and journals, which are arranged in alphabetical order by publication title. Series 1.2 consists of zines published by other modern poets, arranged in alphabetical order by poets' last names and chronologically thereunder. Series 1.3 contains books published by others, many of which have been signed by the authors. These books have been cataloged separately and can be found in range 31, bay 2, shelves 5-6. Series 2, Personal, 1969-2013, contains McDaris' personal files related to awards, correspondence with editors, general correspondence, drawings and sketches, interviews, newspaper clippings, photographs, poetry event announcements, publishing programs, and reviews of his work. This series is arranged alphabetically by subject. Series 3, Poet Files, 1980-2010, includes McDaris' correspondence with other modern poets, along with newspaper clippings, announcements of upcoming readings, and samples of their literary works. The series is arranged alphabetically by poets' last names. Series 4, Media, 1994, is composed of a small collection of VHS tapes on the Wordstock charity poetry festival in Milwaukee. They are arranged chronologically. Series 5, Electronic Materials, (in progress), consists of materials published by Catfish on the internet, collected in Archive-It, a website-capturing tool. Alligators and Gorillas Her alligator mouth spewed profanity, a steam rolled fire hydrant in Spanish Harlem in July, folks cooking crocodile Eggs on Cadillac hoods, at times Spaniard felt like he’d gone thirteen rounds with a gorilla, he wore a swordfish mustache When she rose from him, he’d squint in the smoke, smelling her ephemeral shadows, he felt dead, she’d chopped his chest open and his heart fell out and rolled away. New Mexico Dreams Spaniard just finished smoking some good cheese and sipping Thunderbird, he was almost finished reading LeRoi Jones’ Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note, Amiri Baraka had signed it for him, he heard a tap at the door, it was one of his gal Pals, she wanted to watch tv, she took a shower and came out in a white silk negligee, he’d been writing a poem, she leaned against him, smiled, and read You got me on fire baby like parakeets in Marrakesh I’ve been in the dog house all my life, bad people come in all flavors from Placitas, Tijeras Canyon, Jemez Hot Springs, Tucumcari, and Santa Fe. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
April 2024
Categories |