6 November 2017
Make art about navigating through landscape, exterior or interior landscape, literally or metaphorically.
12 October 2017
Make art about or inspired by the route you take every day.
Prompt Love Catch-Up!
6 July 2017
Make art about packing for a trip, what to leave in, what to leave out.
7 July 2017
Make art about arrivals, about arriving.
8 July 2017
Make art about reunion of souls.
9 July 2017
Liminal: occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
Make art about liminal space.
10 July 2017
Make art about light and dark, about the juxtaposition of light to dark, about how we need one to know the other. (with love to Mesha Maren ❤ )
11 July 2017
Make art about moving past obstacles (with love to Rahul Mehta ❤ )
12 July 2017
Make art about a whisper, or a howl (with love to Kim Dana Kupperman ❤ )
13 July 2017
Make art about relocating in our own bodies (with love to Jon Corcoran ❤ )
14 July 2017
Make art about the amalgamous nature of memory, of how sometimes the amalgam is more true. (With love to Eric Waggoner ❤ )
15 July 2017
Make art about point of view, about deliberately shifting point of view (with love to Rodney Jones ❤ )
16 July 2017
Make art about departures.
17 July 2017
Make art about driving alone, about that silence in the cocoon of the car.
1 July 2017
Make art about something unexpected, something magical, happening in heavy, holiday traffic.
27 June 2017
Manchild’s headed off for a trip to Hawaii with his girlfriend 🙂
Make art about learning something on a long flight.
28 June 2017
I’m reorganizing and rearranging and reshaping my tiny little house in the trees, moving furniture, getting rid of stuff.
Make art about discoveries made while spring cleaning or reorganizing. Or make art about the feeling of newness that comes after a big clean or reorganization, after ‘cleaning house.’
On the train the woman standing makes you understand there are no seats available. And, in fact, there is one. Is the woman getting off at the next stop? No, she would rather stand all the way to Union Station.
The space next to the man is the pause in a conversation you are suddenly rushing to fill. You step quickly over the woman’s fear, a fear she shares. You let her have it.
The man doesn’t acknowledge you as you sit down because the man knows more about the unoccupied seat than you do. For him, you imagine, it is more like breath than wonder; he has had to think about it so much you wouldn’t call it thought.
When another passenger leaves his seat and the standing woman sits, you glance over at the man. He is gazing out the window into what looks like darkness.
You sit next to the man on the train, bus, in the plane, waiting room, anywhere he could be forsaken. You put your body there in proximity to, adjacent to, alongside, within.
You don’t speak unless you are spoken to and your body speaks to the space you fill and you keep trying to fill it except the space belongs to the body of the man next to you, not to you.
Where he goes the space follows him. If the man left his seat before Union Station you would simply be a person in a seat on the train. You would cease to struggle against the unoccupied seat when where why the space won’t lose its meaning.
You imagine if the man spoke to you he would say, it’s okay, I’m okay, you don’t need to sit here. You don’t need to sit and you sit and look past him into the darkness the train is moving through. A tunnel.
All the while the darkness allows you to look at him. Does he feel you looking at him? You suspect so. What does suspicion mean? What does suspicion do?
The soft gray-green of your cotton coat touches the sleeve of him. You are shoulder to shoulder though standing you could feel shadowed. You sit to repair whom who? You erase that thought. And it might be too late for that.
It might forever be too late or too early. The train moves too fast for your eyes to adjust to anything beyond the man, the window, the tiled tunnel, its slick darkness. Occasionally, a white light flickers by like a displaced sound.
From across the aisle tracks room harbor world a woman asks a man in the rows ahead if he would mind switching seats. She wishes to sit with her daughter or son. You hear but you don’t hear. You can’t see.
It’s then the man next to you turns to you. And as if from inside your own head you agree that if anyone asks you to move, you’ll tell them we are traveling as a family.
17 December 2016
One of my undergrad degrees is in Anthropology, and the gift of that, the ability to view ‘us’ through the detailed and complex lens I learned from my amazing professors in that field still, every day, shapes the way I move through the world.
I first discovered Anthropology in the library as a child, those trips we made to get books every weekend with my mama, and one of the things I first loved about the anthropology books I found was that, in those books, I found women–not as subjects (although that fascinated me too)–but as the authors, as the experts: Ruth Benedict, Margaret Mead, Jane Goodall. They were who I imagined myself to be as I “excavated’ arrrowheads and shark teeth from the plowed up tobacco field beside the trailer park where I lived as a child.
“It is these undeniable qualities of human love and compassion and self-sacrifice that give me hope for the future. We are, indeed, often cruel and evil. Nobody can deny this. We gang up on each one another, we torture each other, with words as well as deeds, we fight, we kill. But we are also capable of the most noble, generous, and heroic behavior.”
―Jane Goodall, British primatologist, ethologist, anthropologist, and UN Messenger of Peace
“As the traveler who has once been from home is wiser than he who has never left his own doorstep, so a knowledge of one other culture should sharpen our ability to scrutinize more steadily, to appreciate more lovingly, our own.”~Margaret Mead, American cultural anthropologist and author
“I gambled on having the strength to live two lives, one for myself, and one for the world.”~ Ruth Benedict, American anthropologist and folklorist
Make art inspired by anthropology, by an anthropological discovery.