Tuesday, June 21, 2011

In my earliest memory of the arts, I am. . .

For those of you who know me in real life, a few of you know that I am working on a visual art project with my long-time friend, Angela Colasanti. We had our fourth (or was it fifth?) meeting yesterday and things seem to be going well. Actually, it's difficult to downplay my enthusiasm for this little endeavor of ours: things are going extremely well and our first official announcement is only a month away. The project combines my respect for words with my respect for activism, and if we pull this off, it could mean more exciting projects in the future. You'll here more about this project in the coming weeks. For now, mark your calendars for the evening of August 26th and September 9th.

And, how would you complete this sentence?

In my earliest memory of the arts, I am. . .



Lost Entry from May 23rd


From notes I scribbled down in my phone, and later, in another journal.

Longwood Gardens. My favorite room in the elaborate and palatial greenhouse is a room with enormous vaulted ceilings of glass and steel that fade away into the sky, above the true center and spirit of the room: an enormous marble pool--grey and silver--perhaps as large as an Olympic pool. Filled ever so slightly with just a coating of shimmering water, the pool nourishes clusters of ferns, orchids and small trees. That shimmer, that was what moved me. I yearned to walk down the stars into the pool and to walk on that film of shimmering water. There was a wooden bench in one tree-shaded cluster, a fern on one side, room for one to sit on the other. I could have spent an afternoon on that bench, by the fern, and under the shade of the tree, tapping my foot. Sending ripples out. All afternoon. A whole afternoon. Honestly.



Lost Entry from May 22nd


It's late Sunday night. I'm taking a break from the task of preparing for a short reading tomorrow at Drexel University. I'll be reading as part of a "marathon reading" where poets, fiction writers, and essayists read their work, one after another, all day long. There will be short breaks for the audience, and each reader will take questions from the audience. I am making a few notes about artist Ai Weiwei and poet Bei Dao so that I can bring attention to the work of writers and artists who are suffering for human rights. Ai Weiwei was arrested by the Chinese government on April 3rd for charges that only exist in paranoid and oppressive countries. Ai is an activist, trying to bring attention to social problems in China--problems that when simply spoken of often put him at odds with the government. Or, from their perspective, he is the social problem. Ai's story is a fascinating one: an artist who designed the most noted structure at the Beijing Olympics--the pride of the Chinese Government--is now under arrest. I plan to use part of my time during the marathon tomorrow to read three poems by Chinese activist and exile, Bei Dao, and a quote from Ai Weiwei's TED talk--his talk was actually delivered via a pre-recorded video that managed to make it out of China to the TED talks. Bei Dao's work is available online through a SALT / Jacket co-issue published in July of 2001. Here's Weiwei's quote.

"You need people who can act, who can give-up their opinions, who can talk to the young people, to try to find a way to encourage people to be involved. Only when you are doing that, can you have a civil society."