multiple media mythical manifestation

Jade Fusco: the DMZL in delight

[thedmzl]

Talking tapestries with the kids

[thedmzl]

“La Svegliante” talking tapestry, talking painting, ready for animation.

[thedmzl]

Talking paintings need other paintings to talk to. 

By Friday, they will be painted, full of color, light and shadow. 

Then the kids from the schools will come, and I’ll invite them to step into the canvas and animate the paintings, and I’ll conduct short interviews with them, discussing the aliveness of art, and whatever else arises.

[thedmzl]

Here at Fontana dei Fieri, when I made one “Quadro Parlante, Ambulante” a Talking, Walking Painting...

Art, it wants to breathe. It wants to commune with the scenery, rather than simply represent and make reference.

Art is topography in itself; it is a map to navigate one’s language in the face of a creative expression collected on canvas, or collected into coherence, as any sort of art piece. 

I don’t constantly contain my language behind glass, or pressed in a book; I carry it with me, I let it tumble out of my mouth, and into the ground, and I let reflection diffract meaning into my eyes. 

[thedmzl]

Reflections on this day in the life of an artist in residence at Fontana dei Fieri

Sitting down to write after such a good day, feeling refreshed and invigorated, with a growing appetite for dinner. I’m feeling plugged in, now. Last night I decided that I need not participate in social media any longer while I’m here, and what a relief to engage fully, and receive the fruits of this experience completely, and dive into this magical presence.

I dreamed of receiving an invitation such as this, to come be a part of a household, in a special place; to come and be appreciated for my work, just as it is; to be encouraged to create in harmony and in synchrony with the land; to be fed three meals a day made with love and stories and passion for the life in the earth; to be offered a gorgeous studio with walls built from straw and mud and to walk down there from the house where I have a cozy bedroom; to walk every day to the studio down a gravel path, with the affectionate pups at my heels, past the sage and the rosemary and lavender and marjoram, breathing in the musical wind-swept panorama of green pastures and olive trees and the hills far off and the ancient holy town of Pietrelcina nestled below them and the train passing and the sheep bleating on the air. To be called for lunch and for dinner by Alfonsina who has adopted me as one of her own. To walk into the dining room and hear records turning and filling the room with the greatest Italian voices and songwriters.

Chef Emilio made us paccheri with crab sauce for lunch. I watched as the crab sat  in the pan, folded into itself, a tasty red carcass sizzling in a oily pool of yellow and red plum tomatoes. Emilio humming and howling at the fragrance of the simmering sauce, plumes of hot ripe ocean rising into his nostrils making his eyes tear with delight.

The part in the movie when the priest sniffs the wine, he says, he started bawling at the beauty of that scene.

Emilio says, “You’ll taste the sea in this dish.” And I did. The lemon in the sauce “opens up the sea” he says, and it does. Like the sun, I said.

After lunch we sat around the table and chatted and I shelled some walnuts for Alfonsina who was to make some walnut cookies. I love removing the little crinkly brains from their casings, some dried up with wrinkles, others plump and oily and the color of sand.  

I thought of the witches dancing around the walnut tree, near the Sabato river, in nearby Benevento. Benevento is known as the city of the witches, for it is said that they would gather and perform their rituals on the banks and take flight from the bridges on their brooms. Many witches were burned in these parts.

Here there is the sweetest maremmano pup, Bianca, who is healing a broken leg. She is so much a part of the tenderness of this experience.

And the horses, I feed them grass and sing them songs.

In the studio:

Today, I applied the pieces of paper dipped in flour, glue and water sauce, to the canvas.

The canvas I had prepared with refuse formations covered and fastened with tape to the canvas. In this way, with pieces of recyclable materials like water bottles and packaging and cardboard cut and reformed and taped together, and then taped to the canvas, I create a topography of dimensional possibilities.

Underneath this was a sketch I created after being upset and crying a lot several nights ago.

Once I stopped crying, I felt inspired to approach the canvas and do something to it.

I took a piece of charcoal and pretended to smoke it like a cigarette. A relaxing and satisfying act to perform for oneself, delivering all the benefits of focusing and breathing and modeling resignation and patience and introversion and hopefulness in ones body all at the same time, without the smoking part.

And then I put out the cigarette on the canvas and began dragging the charcoal about, making shapes and not knowing what would emerge.

And after 45 minutes of 3 rounds or so of drawing and smudging the lines to set in the dimension...I beheld a scene of a woman and a man walking in a city street, his arm around her shoulders. I felt like they just left a restaurant, they have the airs of having just put on their coats and being tipsy. He’s possessive and she doesn’t mind, she likes it. Her breasts are pronounced and his face is big. He’s like a buffalo, she’s like a gazelle.

And so then I added the topography of refuse to the shapes of the sketch, adhering to and exploring the forms in the drawing, with the intent to revisit their augmented dimensions with the possibilities in paint.

And I embalmed the topography of paint with the flourglue and water sauce paper treatment. I mummified the topography. Ossified the shapes and said bye bye to the charcoal sketch as it was buried underneath torn layers of white paper in the flourglue and water sauce.

[thedmzl]

excerpt of an email to a different former lover that was never sent

[...]but we found ourselves in a beautiful sun-filled house, metaphorically speaking, and glanced down its corridors and oggled at the ornate tapestries hanging and I bet we both wondered what we could see of ourselves in the pictures of myths woven in them. i'm an artist, i make pictures about feelings, even with words. with words it is a challenge since i stack and arrange and order them like keys until they unlock the door to reveal a perfectly fleeting metaphor for feelings that have been lingering long enough to stain the inside of my soul. it would be a shame for the stain to fade and this is why i want to write to you so that we can acknowledge, even silently, that you mean something to me and I want you to recognize something else in me that i feel i haven't been able to share with you. even if i feel you dont deserve this honesty on my part, or maybe exactly because i feel you don't deserve it I want to scrape myself raw for you and to be generous with my words and pictures and not knowing and not caring how you'll receive them. i want to make it a practice of being as sincere as the brightest little pin star in the sky with anyone who i have shared something intimate with. i want to take risks. i know that writing you this letter is a risk and its exhilarating. why not be so honest that I risk making us both feel a little uncomfortable and edgy and at a loss for further words? How else can we learn about ourselves, or grow in any direction in a relationship? I'm shy with you because I don't know what I want which means I was fretting too much and timid in my actions for fear of meeting an adverse reaction. but then I think why not, in a letter, be completely open and lay bare all my fantasies and fears and inconsistencies, to dilate my souls vessel for a few minutes and let you peer inside, i dont even know if i know you, or how well i know you. i feel defensive as i write yet i am writing in earnest because i want to start here, with you, you who may feel buried up to your neck in ice after reading such a torrential outpouring of emotion, maybe petrified by the feeling of obligation to write me back by the same meter of honesty and reflection and the same measure of length. but i dont expect you to write me back, which is why i hesitated to write you in the first place and reveal all of the buzzing tones that would underline each word i wrote with the pretense of checking in, casually. because of course ive been thinking about you these days, and my displacement an ocean apart allows me to feel for the shape outlining our affair, as if I were fumbling for the edge of the bed in a black room. im afraid, if i dont try to share these feelings with you now, while they are still flickering brightly in my chest, i will resolve, in the next few weeks, to turn down the flame and carry on once again by the steady pilot light that is my very own ever-glowing heart. you charmed me, i have a little sting inside and i want to share this sting with you before my sputtering pride sends me gliding aloof, gingerly skating over the crystal waters where shadows of love, yes love, bristle and cringe like baby porcupines in thin pink icy tunnels. i'll unfold for you my panoramic postcard of feelings, a stack I keep tightly pressed to my chest like a waxy accordion. I'll expand for you the glittering and murky landscape of high white mountains and stars in the deep valleys in this momentary inhale of a note and as I draw you in to peer through this atmosphere the panorama and my high white mountains and dark wet stars will gasp in an F# or a D at the pair of an outsiders eyes that may tarnish the unblemished shine that settles over everything there, they will gasp in one high note as the eyes with their privileged insight will bore like lasers through the atmosphere into the snowy landscape and maybe melt something. And maybe with a lower sounding whoosh the panorama will be pressed closed again and the landscape will grow dark and you will feel as if you had some kind of dream but its hard to remember it now because you forgot to write it down. at least i can show you something so that we both know about how i tried to isolate and dissect and plucked a fruit from the beautiful, abundant tree we were sitting in and tried to describe how it tasted to me. i get disappointed with the idea that we were too close too fast, that we took bites out of each other before we were ripe to eat and picked the bitter skins off our tongues when the other wasn't looking. i wouldn't want for our instincts at self preservation to tarnish, like a few corrosive breaths, the shiny mesmerizing things we passed back and forth between us. or maybe the sex was too good and any other kind of interaction paled in comparison. how good was it? I dont even really know. sometimes you are a selfish lover, but i forgive you. you frustrate me, but i forgive you. because i appreciate you.

[thedmzl]

excerpt from an email to a former lover that I never sent

I have this urge to slither back in time and with the forked tongue of my editor's mind, annotate some of the experience we shared, the conversations we had, the glances with which we anointed each other. I would draw captions at our feet in the dirt, or thought bubbles floating above our heads like shimmering smoke rings, or words in the fog of my winter bedroom window in Brooklyn while we talked on the phone- words that spelled out in plain speak, all that was not being said, on my part, on yours... I have not been completely honest, with myself or with you. I swallowed thoughts and feelings of discomfort like little pills of shame, because I don't like to create tumult. I used to (past tense 'cause I'm working on it) buy into this illusion that in my close relationships, people cannot stomach the truth of what I feel and think when it is unsavory. I fear they will be offended and hurt by my ill regard beyond repair. That's when the poison of pity starts seeping in, the most potent venom, and skewing and melting perspective. Sometimes I get a little drunk on poetic metaphors so as to avoid feeling the blunt fact of feeling. Feeling is more fact than thought. Like right now? Is it happening now? Am I wandering around in this self-made-maze of metaphor, skirting the point? No. Here it is. Well here is goes [...]

[thedmzl]

Some scenes from so far so good in the making in the process.

[thedmzl]

This past Sunday, January 7th, I took the train from Naples, to Benevento. I was picked up by Francesco and accompanied to the Masseria Fontana dei Fieri Artist’s resiency, a kilometer away from Pietrelcina, the home of Saint Padre Pio.

 I am honored to be the 3rd artist in residence on this beautiful land, to be gifted a sublime working space, and welcomed into the extraordinarily genuine and welcoming Boffa family, who run the Masseria- anagri-tourism locale, where people come from all over Italy to experience the fine regional cuisine and passionate spectacle of the charismatic and chef-historian-poet, Emilio Pompeo, aka “chef narrante.” 

For the next two weeks, I will create a body of work that will culminate in an interactive dinner-theater performance for family and friends of the Masseria, and an interactive, educational experience for the visiting school children of the region. 

Gaetano Russo, a dear family friend and wonderful sculptor in his own right, is the creator and curator of this new residency program. He has discovered the most perfect situation to host this vision of inviting artists to come and have an authentic, wholesome experience, joining the family, drinking in and funneling  inspiration from the history, nature and spirit of this place, into art-work that will contribute to the ever-evolving narrative. 

PS

Yesterday, I found the 9 of swords on the street in Benevento…I discovered it is traditionally a negative card, reflecting mental anguish, doubt, fear, worry…I feel it represents the subliminal fear I was feeling prior to arriving at this residency…the fears of not following through on my ideas, of not delivering, of feeling paralysis in the face of so many ideas. I had also been harboring some anxiety around disclosing too much information, in spite of my gut feeling, to someone who was not ready to receive it gracefully…and so this may have been a premonitory sign. Ah, well…I value authenticity and transparency and not delaying the truth. And sometimes there are emotional consequences…with some self-reflection, perspective, forgiveness and gentleness, we can move through anything, deriving fresh wisdom from our experience. 

Back to the studio to make some talking paintings! 

[thedmzl]

The Aquarian Shrine; the sound sculpture that I created and built for Burning 2017. I wrote and recorded 5 songs, as prayers for the water, that resounded from a speaker installed within her platform. She was positioned at 10 o’clock, in the ring of artist-made shrines around the Man.  Thankyou, Andy Barron of the Reno Gazette for this beautiful photo! Here is the link to listen to the music. 

https://soundcloud.com/dmzl_ditties/sets/the-aquarian-shrine-burning-man-2017

[thedmzl]

Standing Rock

I landed back in Austin, from our journey to Standing Rock, one week ago today. The experience moved so many things inside me, that I've spent these seven days in deep reflection, rearranging the systems of beliefs-the hopes, the fears, the revelations, the concerns, the beauty, the knowledge, the ignorance, that constitute my identity-like a little kid plays with blocks. Sitting in a wide field of gratitude, in deferential awe for this human experience and how we’re starting to work together, across generations and cultures and timelines, to restore what is good and rebirth what is needed. I've been trying to build story and significance in a way of sharing, and it feels messy, I feel like I'm missing pieces, like don't know enough, my perspective too privileged, or I wasn't there long enough for it to sink in, there's so much to speak to how can I start just anyways, this tower is going to be way too big BOOM knock it down again. And I'm learning that it's important, it’s a big part of it, this practice of knocking down our blocks everyday and trying different approaches to building thoughts into real things. So, Standing Rock. What I can speak to, is the microcosm of my experience and the village that my family up there, has helped create at the Oceti Sakowin (Seven Council Fires) camp. I must express here my deep reverence and gratitude for the extraordinary team of humans that I call family, which includes my actual mom, namely, the core members of the Red Lightning Camp, hailing from the Playa.Our team has been on the ground at Standing Rock for several months, through thick and thin and blizzards. It started following this years burn, as momentum around Standing Rock started to gather, our core people began to strategize and set a plan in motion to bring the resources, infrastructure and leadership we’ve harnessed over the years, to North Dakota in service of this revolution and support of the Lakota, Dakota and Nakota nations to protect their home. Multiple journeys, fiscal and material donations, rotations of team members later, Red Lightning contributed several heated tents, teepees (couple stoves still making their way…pray for the stoves) a powerful solar-generator, a 40-foot geodesic dome, illumined and warm, thanks to that generator and a wood-burning stove. For weeks now, the dome has been a crucial gathering space and sanctuary from the elements, for hundreds. In the three days I spent on the ground, I witnessed the space packed with people from all over for a beautiful, bountiful Thanks-taking dinner, prepared with love by neighboring kitchens; many meetings of the Tribal Councils; community meetings for camp leads and orientation meetings for newcomers; ceremony, capoeira, and relevant film and footage screenings; and a crowded, passionate, thoroughly sobering discussion of de-colonization, that is, the ways in which white and non-indigenous folk are perpetuating colonial violence, whether they're aware of it or meaning to or not. I’ll elaborate on this quick in the context of Standing Rock, using white folk in the place of non-natives: Colonial violence does’t imply violence in the overtly physical and obvious sense. Colonial violence may include absent-minded acts of cultural appropriation by white folk; expectations of being treated as a friend, or acknowledgment for being in a good way; white disregard or lacking awareness of native customs; entitlement to be there in the first place; and a big one, which hit home for me: the entitlement to be taught, explained, illuminated about, customs and culture by the native people. Standing Rock is not a natural history expo where we grab samplers of wisdom and information for your own enrichment and betterment. It is not the job of the Elders to educate us or bring us up to speed. We do our own homework, we ask other non-natives, we observe, we listen before asking questions and imposing our presence. In the historic sense colonial violence involves not honoring, not even at all, treaties and land rights. It is environmental racism, cultural genocide, etc. From the start we took care to heed the specific requests in terms of support, and expectations in terms of participation, of the tribal leadership on the ground. We deeply intended to be in a good way with the land and the people and be respectful, courteous guests. Nevertheless, as a motley crew of eager, pro-active, each-“specialized”-in-something, burners with a penchant for productivity, making up time and showing your work,...we couldn’t help but have presumptions of what our contribution would look like beyond offering our infrastructure (and what sort of props we could receive, or white guilt we could appease, for being such good allies…a characteristic faux pas) These presumptions were crushed and all personal agendas sacrificed on the altar of listening in service. We learned, are learning, to listen; To listen before we ask, to listen before we volunteer information, to listen before imposing an agenda, to listen before we dig a hole in the ground (digging a hole in the ground ‘cause it seems like a thing to do, for a fire or otherwise, is perpetuating colonial violence. The ground is sacred. Plus we shouldn't dig holes in the ground for our personal fires that burn many logs and warm a just couple of people. We shouldn’t lay pipelines.) Standing Rock is a delicate and charged socio-political climate, to say the least. I do not mean to paint a picture of  the Lakota/Nakota/Dakota as being a less than compassionate people; I just mean to illustrate how the major influx of non-indigenous gung-ho activists to the land, pitching tents everywhere and asking for direction or guidance, kicked up a lot of dust in the literal and figurative sense, and could be disruptive when those folks use up more resources than they bring. So we learned lessons, were chided or rebuked for our ignorance or claiming innocence, and have learned to recognize and help mediate the kind of behavior and mentality that contributes to dissonance between our different cultures. And we are still learning to listen. Several weeks in, we have established sincere and familiar relationships with the tribal leaders at Oceti Sakowin. We have relinquished the assets and agendas we came with, to the greater and most immediate needs of the camp as a whole. We have focused on winterizing all of the structures to ensure the community has a safe and warm space to sleep and gather, for the medics to treat the hypothermic, to house the veterans, etc. We are now in the process of installing satellite internet system so that the camp has wi-fi independent of the carriers. The needs change every day. It is truly amazing to feel a part of the force that delivered such crucial shelter, and so many courageous, hardy allies, to North Dakota during this pivotal time. And it’s amazing to see the gumption and commitment of the Burning Man community touch-down and translate and evolve in such a very real and righteous way. All those conversations we had on the Playa about making things count in the real world…well, this is a start alright. I had the honor of driving up with my man (yup…my man) Azul, from Denver, and another friend from Red Lightning, with a trailer packed with food, gear and donations from the Four Winds American Indian Council, where we attended the weekly Wednesday meeting just prior to our departure. We had the honor of offering Joseph, an Elder from Four Winds with a wicked sense of humor and singing voice, a spot in our car. We drove through the night.We arrived Thankstaking day (taking back the thanks is how it goes)  After settling in we made our way around to the different camps, to some that felt over-looked, offering turkeys and foodstuffs. I helped clean-up the Red Lightning village and prepare the dome for dinner. I offered emotional support to our team leaders, I acquainted myself and shared meals with dozens of sparkling, robust, radical humans, and just took everything in with my eyes and heart and ears and skin and feelings. The weather was amazing. I spent half a day on an ultimately futile goose chase from one end of camp to another, to find a man who had a barrel stove to give away. The camp is teeming with activity: carpenters, trash-sorters, peaceful-action trainings, compost toilet builders, donations organizers, kitchens cooking, kids on horse-back trotting about, lots of dogs, caravans coming or leaving from the road lined with hundreds of fluttering flags from all nations, and always, always prayer, song and wise words around the sacred fire that burns through the days and through the nights. One day many of us walked down to the water in song and sat in a circle in silence. The police were there on the hill, like storm troopers, and then backed away from the edge, to “let us have our ceremony in peace.” Shucks, thanks guys.The river was strong and still. The sun sparkled. Drones from our side buzzed overhead, documenting, and it was distracting and felt weird but I just focused harder on sending currents of love to the cops, and weaving blankets of light and protection over the land. It was calm. One morning I met my mama in the prayer circle around the sacred fire, joining the big ring of bundled humans with halos of breath, listening to the songs in the dark dawn. All the women walked down to the water together, as the sky brightened, and we offered tobacco and our prayers to the slushy river one by one, walking between loving corridors of the men supporting us on the slippery banks, singing the whole time... It continues. Standing Rock is not over, despite what the message media may have tried to broadcast following the refusal of easement issued by the Army Corps. It is blizzardingx, and they are standing strong up there, focusing on survival and maintaining as formidable a presence as possible. Energy Transfer Partners claim that they will go ahead and drill. DAPL has their day in federal court this Friday, seeking a summary injunction. If the judge goes for it they will be cleared to move forward. If they drill without permission, they’ll just pay the $50,000 fine per day. It’s all very frightening, and we must remain hopeful AND take action. Withdraw your money from the banks, that’s a great first step. I’m in the process of doing so. Drive less, and drive slower. Standing Rock does not need any more clothing donations. Standing Rock needs monetary support, so that they can buy what they need themselves at the hardware stores closest by. Donate to the legal fund, via this website. There are over 600 individual legal cases for water protectors, and they need support. They are still welcoming allies that are extremely well prepared for arctic blizzard conditions. How are we going to make changes in our daily lives, in this new year, to reflect the world we want to live in? How will we stop our pollutive patterns, inside and outside? How can we encourage each other and hold each other accountable? What are your ideas, everybody? We left Standing Rock knowing we'd be back. Come clean-up time, or sooner. The ride back to Denver, broken radio, making up songs, heart beats and cows and gray prairies, black tree gnarled in a frozen dance by a frozen pond…feeling solemn, feeling hopeful, feeling, feeling... Donate to Oceti Sakowin camp, the main and largest camp, here: http://www.ocetisakowincamp.org/ Learn more about Red Lightning and what we're doing, and see pictures, and DONATE, here: http://www.redlightning.org/ In love, Aho Mitakuye Oyasin (for all my relations)

[thedmzl]

I didn’t imagine that I would be participating so ardently in festival culture. I worried about what other people would say, about festivals being too much play, not enough work. Part of me feared it wasn't a constructive way of investing my time and energy, that I’d be better off plugging myself into the real-world system, figuring out ways to make money, while furthering my projects and  mission to be in service to humanity somehow…how could I go to Burning Man, Bhakti Fest, Symbiosis, OneLove coming up, and still participate, make a name for myself (what does that mean?) in the world beyond festival grounds? HOW? It seems like a silly question to me now. Lots of people party and do a bunch a drugs and lose themselves the whole time, that's true. But there are many that are finding something new, and educating themselves, and learning about how to take care of their bodies and care for people. I have never felt more connected, more informed, more inspired or more empowered as a human living life fully. I have personally committed to showing up in a new way, embracing more responsibility, helping build infrastructure, orchestrating pathways and openings for communication, art, playfulness and healing. And sharing my art in a way that will uplift and inspire and bond people together. Goodness gracious goddess how grateful I am to have listened to the subtle voice that said GO please just go and stop thinking too much, stop justifying, just go silly girl you are meant to be there…have as much fun as you can bare, and who knows what you learn, what you will experience, which magical souls you will meet? I remembered once I got there, as I was sharing my voice and drawings and dancing, my ideas and love, with such a crazy amazing group of people…and RECEIVING SO MUCH INSPIRATION from the creative souls around me... I remembered for the hundredth time, how powerful it is to get off our butts and GATHER together! To ASSEMBLE to COLLABORATE EN MASSE! And to come together with the intention of sculpting our human experience by pooling our physical, spiritual, intellectual, creative resources and build anew, according to what we value in our hearts and what we celebrate with our bodies and spirits…it's some powerful and transformative shit we got going on. It's not perfect, but it's a really good start. It was awesome to participate in conversations and workshops about how we are refining the vision for festival culture to create lasting, regenerative, self-sustaining communities that grow with and give back to the land. So many people are on that path, making hard-boiled moves to manifest intentional communities and to steer festivals in this direction. The whole permaculture community, wow! Talk about walking the walk. And discussions about what alternative economies could look like, what it means to subvert our dysfunctional system in place, creating a new story and participating in another network of exchange, where relationships with human beings are valued way above commodities, corporations and status. We learned how to create close-loop, off-grid infrastructure systems for our lands that could help us source our own water, manage our own waste, generate our own electricity and so on. There is so much cool information and it's so exciting about learning about this stuff in person with a group of pepole and not on Youtube. It's kinda like college. And I felt deeply reassured, again, that art, ritual, song, ceremony and dance, play a vital, integral part of this whole getting our shit together movement. Culture! Without culture we are barren and stoic. Our stories keep us connected with each other and most importantly with our nature, within and without. What I learned during the 5 days of Ritual Performance Immersive leading up to the festival weekend at Symbiosis, and at Burning Man, and beyond, was that we really MUST tell our stories for everyone, and create new stories together. We gotta remember our personal and ancestral, ritual ways of tuning in and showing gratitude for the subtle energies, spirits and elements that weave the dream into the fabric of our existence. Back in the day we used to tell stories, make art, perform share ceremony to commune with and celebrate the spirits of the plants, the animals, ancestors, and to commemorate individual initiations into new phases of life. Now we participate in the entertainment that is designed to numb, dumb and stupefy the masses. But we are seeing through all that now. We must learn again not just what to DO ABOUT our current predicaments on the planet, but HOW TO BE with ourselves in the process, and ALL LIFE FORMS that we share existence with. Let us remember to recognize the connection between our thoughts, words and feelings, our actions, and the environment within which we live, both immediately close, and around the world. And let us remember  that all this sets the good vibe, everyone. And without the vibe, it kinda sucks. Love youuuuuuuu

[thedmzl]

BODY STROKES AT INDRA’S AWAREHOUSE. 

An exciting evening full of performances, inspiring broadcasts from luminaries abroad, music to dance your ass of to, lyrical expressions, spontaneous gestures, eruptive expression, a community of hearts melting together and bodies sweating. 

For the majority of the evening, I was perched on a platform, painting slow, moving my limbs as if newly grown, and I created a Butoh go-go dance painting. 

Realizing a dream I didn’t know I quite had, with each deliberate stroke. 

I made that hat in the morning, prepared my dress as canvas and ceremonial garb.  

My Sculpture hat and sky gown were transformed throughout the evening. Paint the hat, paint the gown, paint the wall. 

In the waning hours I crafted and embellished at the magic scrap ‘n glue station, all materials ready, hot adhesion and textures of all kinds. I elaborated and created Wonderland play garb. 

The atavistic action painting phase 1 complete. Costume complete. 

All in a days work. 

Ride the tide of inspiration, all the way to the shore. 

[thedmzl]

In Austin: murals, jazz, drums, dancing

I’ve been living in Austin for almost six months.  It’s been wonderful. 

Working at the jazz club the Elephant Room, admiring many musicians, rewiring my brains with beats and melodies, both new and old...I feel like I’ve been on an IV drip of music since I’ve been here.

Aside from learning to play drums, feeling beats in my hair, dancing at Sahara for Africa night and ecstatically on Sunday morning, making my drawings and small paintings and videos and pastels, working on a new website, singing and performing some nights, still a little furtively...and keeping a constant eye and feel for the thread that’s weaving it all together...throughout all of this, I’ve been 

planning for this epic MURAL that I’m gonna paint! Finally, this week is starts!

This mural is part of a grand, nationwide wave of murals organized by Beautify Earth-a wonderful non-profit arts organization based out of Santa Monica-that has teamed up with Zappos, to fully fund 10 walls in 10 American cities...

And I have the true honor of painting the Austin wall...

It’s a dream come true. It took me a while for the rest of my self to get on board with the reality of this actually occurring...until now, until today...where we go and start touching the wall for the first time. 

I’ve been tuning in, in the ways I know how, to this city’s energies and sounds and dreams and cultures and histories...and imagining how I can funnel all of this into a brilliant wall painting for the city that everyone can enjoy and connect with. 

I’ve been checking out wall after wall after wall after wall...many phone calls, many emails, many inquiries, many mock-ups...

Until finally, last week, I found the wall, the perfect wall!

 Needs some love, sure..but it’ll be beautiful, so beautiful, and once it’s prepped and painted... 

The wall is on the side of Cisco’s, on Comal at 6th...Cisco’s, the legendary, family owned since 1943, Tex-Mex diner run by the fantastic Cisnero family. 

It’s a historic building, in the east-side, near a bunch of classic, beloved Austin venues...

And I get to paint my Tom Robbins-Matisse-Gaughin-Rivera-Khalo inspired dancing cowgirls, in their wonderland, for all the people to enjoy!  

[thedmzl]

Robert Beatty

Website for Lexington, KY based artist and musician Robert Beatty.

wow

[thedmzl]

objects anchoring moments

I practice reconciling my impulse to minimize my attachment to objects, with my urge to form ideas from matter; I sculpt from sentiment, and draw from a catalyzing concept, in a gesture of externalizing and isolating, and I suppose archiving, a moment matured in my mind. 

I listen to the teachings of several “channels”: individuals that have proclaimed to be conduits for wisdom that streams from beyond the reaches of our planetary systems, to aid in the evolution of humanity. I find these teachings, and the language used therein to be highly compelling and I feel the tweaks of thought and loosening of mental knots of construct, as information about evolving human behavioral patterns is transmitted. Whether or not these individuals claiming to be channels possessing extra-sensory abilities are “genuine” or “authentic” is of no matter to me, for the wisdom they spit is righteous and empowering, and has been heavily influencing the way I design my life for the past couple of years. 

One such channel is Bashar. In a video of his that I recently listened to, he stated several exciting concepts that I am playing with at the moment, in regards to creating art works, and navigating through the tapestry of life: 

The idea is, to paraphrase: Time is one single moment, experienced from multiple perspectives. 

I love this concept. I have always thought about time spatially, about navigating and designing life like a treasure map, as opposed to a linear, one-directional timeline. 

This idea, which presents the present moment as focal point to be viewed from endless perspectives, implies that there is always a choice to be made, in terms of where I choose to stand, focus in on, and participate in any experience.

This idea also implies that I am always, unfailingly, myself, and that language is ultimately the tool with which we sharpen the focal point of our perspective. 

We are such suckers for language, we often fail to realize how the words we use directly determine how and what we experience in our reality. 

Time is one single moment, described in a multitude of different languages. 

When I sit down to make something, this is exactly what I am doing; I am defining the present moment by acknowledging my unique perspective that includes my circumstance with all of its inherent resources. 

Making a sculpture, or a Glyph drawing (I have defined the “glyph” as being “the precipitate of a moment’s essence”) is my way of anchoring myself in space and time and claiming my perspective, by the means of manipulating and molding matter. 

It’s just what I know how to do, and it feels good, and it makes sense to me. Combine these things, glue them together, mold this shape...I am shaping time into material substance. 

The making of the object is my perspective. Then, with a glyph or a sculpture, I offer it as a focal point for someone else to observe, to focus in on, and define what they see in the abstract yet cohesive form there. 

Pictured below: 

Glyph Sculpture (December 2015, found materials, papier machee, paint) by Jade Fusco, featuring the neighbor’s python slithering through the temporal landscape)

Painted Glyph from the Skytown Glyph Wall (2013) by Jade Fusco at Skytown Cafe and Bar in Bushwick, Brooklyn

[thedmzl]

Moonday

David Bowie died today. 

I can’t help but make the connection, between the Newsletter I sent out on New Years Day, in which I used the Labyrinth and how we create/navigate it, as a metaphor for life, and I included a couple pictures of Bowie, including a great gif that I found on the internet. 

What’s in your Labyrinth? Is the question I asked. What are you encountering there? What sorts of scary monsters? Shining heroes? Are you the monster? Are you trying to escape, or are you enjoying being lost? What if your Labyrinth is your whole world, what if the journey through the Labyrinth is the point? I think so. I think we can make up our Labyrinths as we go along. Of course we must design challenging encounters, for that is how we grow. We also design our rewards and triumphs. 

Bowie knew all about the Labyrinth. He put on one hell of a show, in his. Dressed to the Nines, to wander down the corridors of his, to dance with his monsters, and dazzle the creatures that crept there...I am so inspired by this man. 

Thank you for teaching us how to be grand and to never fear our brilliant colors.