Over the course of the semester, Iāve allowed myself more freedom in expression, formally. Conditioned to a certain mode of writing and thinking about literature, my later portfolio entries reflect my loosening up as I came to terms with my anxieties about producing less rigid (more creative, perhaps) work. I had to overcome my aversion to what I create outside of a more structured critique, and, for what it is, Iām not violently displeased. It took, Iāll admit, a lot of self-analysis to get to this space of movement--something which I am exploring more of in my final project.
I enjoyed having the opportunity to explore poetry of different forms and mediums in this course, and literature that I otherwise would not have discovered. I really connected with most of the material, and enjoyed having a space to think together and explore together--the class atmosphere was welcoming, once we got past our initial fears of speaking and opening up to one another. Collaboration was encouraged, in both thought and action, and while it took me most of the semester to break from my comfort zone enough to reach out and utilize it, my final project for this course is more collaborative.
I, like other students of this time and place, crave discipline and constraint. This course was an exercise in discipline of a different sort--I was disciplined to be less disciplined. Though I am in a rather free department, this course allowed me more freedom, which naturally causes anxiety. I am, by the semesterās end, less anxious at the prospect of this type and scope of discipline, and I am grateful for this opportunity (and process).
When I was little, my grandfather would take me to Niagara Falls State Park, let me climb up on the railing, and hold onto me, so I could feel the Mist on my face. He would tell me about all of the people who went over the Falls, with barrels or without, to scare me, to keep me safe. Iām not sure if he was afraid that Iād fall in my zealousness, or if he was afraid Iād jumpāafraid that the Maid of the Mist would carry me away, that welcoming spirit of Niagara, terribly sublime.This river is my site of myth, this is my Origin. Climbing rocks on Three Sistersā Island there would be a chorus of cautious voices, Stay on the ground, get off the rocks, if you fall in the River youāre going over the Falls. Iāve always wanted to plant my foot in the Niagara. I know Iāll get swept off my feet, I know Iāll get whisked awayāspirited awayāby the same power that I try to feel and gauge. The rapids will pull me under, Iāll be thrown against the rocks, tossed over the falls, yet She calls to me.
This is the memoir of my mother and her river.
Power so raw we harness it for energy; men fought over Her, fought to harness Her, fought for the rights to harness and exploit Her. We divert her power to produce our own, and call it preservationātoday the American Falls recesses at a rate of 3-4 inches every 10 years, the Horseshoe Falls at a rate of 1 foot per year. We call it preservation, we say it is for Her own good, for our childrenās good, She is destroying Herselfāwe sustain ourselves from these preservation efforts; our industry boomed and died with this River. We poisoned her, and in turn we poisoned ourselves. Hooker chemicals in the groundwater, seeping through basements; my River mother swelled and cried. My motherās elementary school has since been torn down, What was the school district thinking when they bought that land for $1? Love Canal was long filled in when I was born. Iāve heard rumors of them digging up the contaminants, of reburying the barrels, of more concrete to keep the poison out of the Niagara.
Every time I leave the Niagara Region, I visit the Falls. Standing at Terrapin Point, in the middle of the Falls, the breeze lifts me up and grounds me. The rapids behind me, undulating, crashing, drown life into me. I regret leaving her. She divides countries but unites peopleāthe Honeymoon capital of the world. Even wounded, she is mighty. Her mist kisses me, and I know how it feels to be blessed.
Forever in awe of these rapids.
Forever in love with these Falls.
I was born from this river.
Data taken from: http://www.niagarafallsinfo.com/history-item.php?entry_id=1268Ā¤t_category_id=152
I wrapped my leg in a nod to Jenjira, who spoke through Tuan to her grandmother and son-in-law.
To finish my session, I meditated on the end of Weerasethakulās entry for February 8, 2554, in which he watches a local shopping channel in his hotel room. A woman who reads auras claims to sell this ability:
In her office, people sat in a lotus position with their eyes closed while she guided them, one by one. She asked what colour they saw in their minds. From the screen, I didnāt see, even in my mind, any bleeding colours. She assured me that the technique was proven in America. She quoted a woman named Barbara who wrote a book on colours and on how to unlock your 800 past lives.
For my entry regarding Apichatpong Weerasethakulās For Tomorrow For Tonight, Iām fixating on the darkness that permeates through his images (and through his films as well). Using fairy lights and, serendipitously, the reflective bands on my leggings, I attempt a āglowing through movement,ā exploring my body, stretching myself out, and drawing from the more spiritual elements of Weerasethakulās textual sections.
I bought the multimedia (multi-material?) book used on Amazon, and when I opened the package, I flipped through to see a bandaid on mirrored paper, and it took me a minute to realize it was supposed to be there (as opposed to some gross prior owner sticking their used bandaid in the book for an unknown reason).
The bandaid motif reoccurs in the printed images, as does other healing materials--gauze, ace bandages, etc. This motif provides an indexical element to the text, which is reproduced in the text itself, primarily in the poems concerning the body, motherhood, and birth:
I pace, carrying a blank placard high
the other mothers greet me through the fallen frames of their smiles
this plaza is the cemetery for our missing
here we excavate empty tombs
intimate silhouettes that our children un . occupy
we are wandering gravestones
with a fossil in every womb (XV. ācemetery for the missingā)
The imprints or indexes left by the body, at times (like above) on the body, render the body as marked and marking; the footprints in the first section introduce this type of icon as important to Georasā project.
Content-wise, I took to the poems published after the first section than to the poems within the first section. The images of stillborn motherhood, of womenās growing bodies, and the violence associated with these bodies attracted me more than the progressions of the first section, trance.lations.
In addition to markings Georas gives to her text, the previous owner of my copy made her own markings: On a couple of the pages (especially the definition page before the table of contents), the reader underlined clauses in red ink. I also found a short hair in the gauze in the middle of the book. These markings allow me to follow Georasā journey within the text, as well as the journey of another reader, which I think increased my engagement with the text.
For my part, Iāve turned the pages so harshly that the binding is separating; pages are falling out.
Posts about the vertical interrogation of strangers written by e. spero
This is a great project/response to Bhanu Kapil Riderās The Vertical Interrogation of Strangers. I love the repetition of the gesture, of casting out into nature, of burial, of planting and nurturing, of letting grow. The addition of the menstrual blood adds to this more than any other fluid would; the feminine nature of the text (in content, in subject, perhaps in form?) calls for menstrual blood. Cast out of the body, it is used to nourish this project.
The text for our April 5 meeting is Schizophrene, by Bhanu Kapil. An extended poem in multiple movements, Schizophrene illustrates the fragmentation and spacial disconnection (dissociation?) of a being in transit. Torn between India and Britain, the speaker is concerned with colour and location, of grids:
All my life, Iāve been trying to adhere to the surface of your city, your three grey rectangles split into four parts: a red dot, the axis rotated seventy-six degrees, and so on.
But then I threw the book into the grid. It was a wet grid. (4)
This grid motif occurs throughout the poem, and I see it as a striving for orientation, and the speakerās desire to ground herself, to affix herself like a pin on a map.
In her āQuick Notes,ā Kapil writes,
From cross-cultural psychiatry, I learned that light touch, regularly and impersonally repeated, in the exchange of devotional objects was as healing, for non-white subjects (schizophrenics) as anti-psychotic medication. In making a book that barely said anything, I hoped to offer: this quality of touch.
These āQuick Notesā gave me a vocabulary by which I could consider the fragmented nature of the text. While reading, I enjoyed being taken for a ride, I enjoyed not having the pieces connected for me, and I enjoyed not knowing. After reading the āQuick Notes,ā I see these fragments as ātouching-down-upon;ā moments of contact that are unutterable in a āwhole,ā expected way. The concerns this poem has with orientation, identity, colour, and process really struck me and stayed with me, though the text had to ferment a little to stay with me so closely.
Progress shots from my first project, a map of how the characters move in Dionne Brandās Love Enough, and an accompanying essay.
The day this was due, March 22, was also the day Rob Ford, former mayor of Toronto, died of a rare cancer.
For the next 2 class sessions, weāll be discussing Haruki Murakamiās novel 1Q84. For the first class session (and this portfolio entry), weāll only be discussing book 1 of the novel.
There is a moment (at least one) in which Tengo describes Fuka-Eriās eyes asĀ āeddying,ā and thatās the word that Iāve been focusing on in thinking about this text. Weāre only one third of the way through the text, and the storylines havenāt quite converged yet. They are, however, eddying--at someĀ point Aomame and Tengo will meet again, at someĀ point their paths will cross (maybe spontaneously, on the street, as Aomame hopes), and at someĀ point I expect them to join forces, seeing as they are both on the sameĀ āside.ā Iāll admit Iām finding the love interest portion of the story strange and unnecessary--though I suppose it might work to balance out the sexual-but-not-romantic elements of the story by situating this long-lost love as an ideal.
The ways in which their lives are paralleling one another, or spiraling toward one another, strikes me. Aomame has coined the word/nameĀ ā1Q84ā³ as a way of differentiating her present situation from the previous normal (1984). She chooses Q, as she explains, because this world that she is in isĀ āa world that bears a question.ā I find an interesting correlation between this grand question and the girl who bears no questions, Fuka-Eri. Whether this is an element of translation, or if Murakami expressed this as such in his original Japanese text, Fuka-Eri is described as speaking without pronouncing the question marks. It isnāt that her voice lacks inflection, itās that she fails to pronounce punctuation (so weāre told in the English translation).
I do have two criticisms of the text so far, and theyāre related: the heavy-handedness and repetitiveness of the narration, and Murakamiās focus on breasts. We are continually reminded that Aomame is unhappy with the size of her chest, and that she finds herself lopsided (who isnāt, though?), as we are reminded of Fuka-Eriās large,Ā āripeā breasts. This focus on breasts (and how often chest size is mentioned), made the comment (only mentioned once) pertaining to Tsubasa (her chest had not yet begun toĀ āswellā) more present to me. I understood it, from Aomameās perspective (the subject of that chapter), as a mark of Tsubasaās youth, a way to emphasize the gravity of the crime committed to and upon her. She was just a child. Pre-pubescent. Her chest had not yet begun to swell.
Aside from that one comment about Tsubasaās chest, Iām tiring of the fixation that Tengo (and Murakami?) have on Fuka-Eriās chest, and the constant mentions of breasts. I find it distracting (which might be a purpose for including it), and Iād rather see more of the plot and fantastical elements.
Similarly, I found the text to be repetitive, which may have been intended to remind the reader to continually associate the Dowagerās glass house with a slowing-down of time, for example, or to emphasize Tengoās girlfriendās love of Billie Holiday and other jazz musicians. I found it to be heavy-handed from the beginning--when Aomame is in the taxi in the very beginning, for example, the taxi driver repeats himself in telling her that things may appear different, but there is only one reality. The narration accompanies this second utterance with a description of his tone, comparing his emphasis to underlining an important phrase in a book.
Despite these criticisms, Iām very much enjoying the ride. Iām excited to see where the narrative is going to go, who or what the Little People are, and what casualties there will be. Iām not sure if I should anticipate a happy, tidy ending. I hope not. I like my stories to be a bit of a mess.
Lucy Barker's installation Between the sea and thee is meant to explore the liminality of Morecambe Bay. Barker only really explores the physical space and overlap between land and sea, and does not mention the Morecambe Bay cockling disaster of 2004. But her invitation to explore the liminality of the space I think invites us, in conversation with Isaac Julien's installation Ten Thousand Waves, to think of the liminality that humans may experience within this space. Screen 2's footage and sound evoked the experience of those cockle pickers for me, in a way that Julien's installation piece did not. Julien historicized the men and the migration, while Wang Ping's poetry helped to memorialize them. Ten Thousand WavesĀ focused on life, whereas Barkerās installation leaves the viewer open to think about death as well.
Julien would watch viewers navigate the space in the gallery and construct their own experience from the fragmented nine screens. Similarly, I'm constructing an experience of Morecambe Bay by viewing clips from Barker's installation after Julien's, and with the 2004 cockling disaster in mind. On its own, Barker's installation is disorienting; within the cockling disaster frame, it's macabre.
4. Between the sea and thee - representation of projection positions from Lucy Barker on Vimeo.
āBetween the sea and thee: a large scale, three room, inter-linked installation devised from material collected in a series of walks along the Morecambe Bay coastline exploring liminality in ourselves as well as in the space between shore and sea.ā
These are photographic samples from Lucy Barkerās multimedia installation āBetween the sea and theeā that explores the liminal zone of Morecambe Bay - its intermediacy between land and sea.
It is a multi-media installation linking three linked spaces featuring video, photography, sound, sculpture and text that interpret three specific and contrasting locations along the Morecambe Bay coastline and the journey between them.
Each installation distils the essence of the locations and reinterprets them within an indoor environment to dramatic effect. With particular attention to the liminality of each location, using variations in scale and maximising the particularities of the differing spaces where the installation takes place, attention is given to shifts in perspective, offering the viewer varying experiences as they move through the work.
By looking deeply at and experiencing the locations around Morecambe Bay, the installation will afford the viewer an immersive experience of a distilled and expanded interpretation of this uniquely beautiful but at times treacherous landscape.
This piece is primarily aimed at people residing in and around the Lancaster and Morecambe Bay area. As a newcomer to the area, Lucy Barker has a viewpoint which differs from someone who lives here. Providing an intimate perspective and interpretation of particular points along the Bay from the viewing positions of an outsider, the piece will give local people an opportunity to view and experience the Bay in a way they may not have done before. At the same time, she hopes the piece is of a larger significance in drawing attention to the qualities of properties of liminal and littoral spaces in general. Accordingly, the work is intended as an immersive journey which has a broad appeal.
Seeing the liminal zone as a metaphor for human transformational experience, the artist considers what we project onto, interpret or subsume from our environment.Ā How we connect with it emotionally and how our emotions might affect it.Ā Through film, photography, writing, animation and sound, she draws on her time spent with the bay.Ā Recording her perception and experiences of it over time, focusing on details and slowly drawing them into wider and deeper exploration. Distilling an expanse into a single grain. Converging on three particular areas of this vastly beautiful sea-land, with its treacherous sands and galloping tides. Each designed to evoke an emotional response relating to its particular and contrasting location. For three moments. In three spaces.
Until the building of the railway in 1857, the cross sands route across Morecambe Bay in northwest England had been a major transport route in the area. Because of the dangerous tidal crossing, with quicksand, fast-rising tides, swirling currents and deep tidal channels, guides were appointed royally since the 16th century.
Nowadays the crossing has become a popular activity, with Cedric Robinson, the current Queenās Guide to the Sands, often leading groups of up to 600 people. The nine-mile (14km) Morecambe Bay crossing takes about three hours.
Watch an interview of the Queenās Guide to the Sands here
The main image in this article (pictured as the preview image) shows the arrangement of the screens for Julienās Ten Thousand Waves when it was installed in the MoMA. This adds to the 3 installation diagrams printed in the book of the same name.
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