image of the week

Kim Jones, a.k.a. Mudman
sculpture as extension of the self, or vice versa

"there's blood in my mouth because I've been biting my tongue all week"

As of late, I cannot seem to shake this anxiousness and restlessness that has gripped me so intensely. As I eagerly await graduation in May, I cannot help but to tune out during classes and meetings (that will have no bearing on anything after this semester, mind you) and dream of all the possibilities that are before me. I am scared shit less and excited all at the same time. The rest of the world is right there, just beyond my reach and it's driving me crazy. When I get like this, I'm pretty much useless for everything else except for whatever I am so frenzied about.

Currently this frenzy is manifesting itself in my choice of music. I generally go through obsessive fits with music (part of an addictive personality no doubt) and this is what I am obsessing about right now:
-Rilo Kiley
-Kings of Leon
-really anything with a violin
-the soundtrack to the Diving Bell and the Butterfly

I have discovered in each of these how music can truly embody/personify an emotion or moment. How passages like the climax of Does he love you? by Rilo Kiley can stir something so deep inside of a person that you become convinced there is some magnetic, powerful force or being at the heart of it. That may sound far too abstract to really digest, but after seeing Joshua Bell perform this weekend at the Germantown Performing Arts Center (I hate Germantown, by the way) I felt like I saw the physical representation of that force. And this is pretty much true for any live performance, but in watching Bell play, I was mesmerized by the way his body responded to the music and the instrument. He trembled and swayed with the violin as he made it sing. The violin evokes a number of emotions for me already, namely an intense longing, apprehension, and tragedy all mixed with a note a hope... and Bell seemed to exude that in his body language, as though he were merely an extension of the instrument. It was beautiful.

And so, as last week's entry was dedicated to the ballet, I would like to dedicate this week's to music and to the powers it holds over me. I promise next week to give you all (if there are in fact more than one or two of you reading this) a more concrete or focused entry. But please please, listen to some of the above and get worked up about something. It's good for the soul.

"pretty is what it's about"

"Pretty is what it's about... and everything was beautiful at the ballet." This little snippet from A Chorus Line became our mantra this weekend as some of my friends and I ventured downtown to witness the wonder that is the ballet. The Ballet Memphis performance, AbunDANCE, is actually the first professional ballet performance that I have attended (with the exception of the Nutcracker many years ago, which I was informed doesn't count) and I'm officially hooked. I was completely mesmorized by the movement and passion conveyed by the dancers, marveling at the grace and agility they possess. I now understand why Edgar Degas among so many others focused on the dancer as a major source of inspiration. They represent the perfection of form and the potential of the human body. Consider me jealous.

The evening consisted of four performances, each based on the traditions of a world religion and were directed by a choreographer familiar with those traditions. For Ballet Memphis, "AbunDANCE is a celebration of something larger than ourselves and how we manifest that hope and belief." And each choreographer helped to bring that manifestation to the stage, all contributing a truly unique style and richness to the performance. Dana Tai Soon Burgess' reflection on Buddhism, Julia Adam's piece following ancient Jewish choral music, resident choreographer Trey McIntyre's lively performance accompanied by a gospel choir and Abou Lagraa's rather controversial portrayl of Islam (my personal favorite) combined to present the viewers with a marvelous sampling of major world religions interpreted through dance. And while the differences between the religious traditions were evident, the beauty inherent in each superceded those differences. The evening seemed to promote the understanding that no matter how different our beliefs may be, the important thing is that we all continue to believe. For me, the evening was a welcomed reminder of how religion still informs us and our culture in so many ways.

I must admit that coming from a background in visual art, where the term 'pretty' or 'beautiful' is often a criticism indicating a lack of substance, I would like to employ some other word here but simply cannot find a more fitting expression. So I conclude by saying that Saturday's performance was sincerely beautiful, an evening that I will continue to replay in my head for some time... that is until April when Ballet Memphis performs again.

picking through

I am sitting here in my room, trying to think of something witty or interesting to say... and am not coming up with much. But as my eyes wander about my room, I notice postcards and posters from exhibits and museums, trinkets found at antique stores and on my various travels, a multitude of pashminas and an almost unmanageable stack of books and magazines (mostly art related)... and I begin to think how odd/marvelous it is the way we tend to carry these things about. For instance, I have a fairly extensive collection of postcards from museums that I have been to, and I never really know what to do with them but feel strangely compelled to have them with me. Surely I am in some ways buying into the idea of ownership, that of being able to take home a bit of a masterpiece if you will. But more importantly, they are the evidence of my trip, fascination, appreciation, longing... whatever it was that I felt when standing in front of that particular work of art. In that way, most of the things adorning these otherwise particularly bland walls represent some important memory or event for me, be it a semester in Paris, my grandmother, or an unnatural obsession with Jonny Lang.

I suppose what I find so interesting about of all of this is how we capture these memories or desires, visually... pictures, magazine clippings, postcards, posters, maps... hung on the wall. That is how we begin to own a space, by hanging things on the wall and decorating that space to suit our tastes etc... Bedrooms, living rooms, hallways then become a visual representation of ourselves in a way in that this is what we choose to surround ourselves with and how we present ourselves to others who may visit that space. That makes us all curators of sorts, exhibiting our lives within the walls of our homes.

I apologize if this makes no sense at all (I personally blame the copious amounts of cold medication)... but as I now prepare to move onto the "next phase of my life" (after having been recently accepted to graduate school in New York!), I cannot help but to think about not only how I will fit all of this stuff into an apartment the size of a shoe box, but how these things/my trophies are going to be the daily reminders of where I've come from. Starting over can be a very daunting thing, but certainly even more so if you do not have something to hold onto from before... And so I will pack up my postcards of Picassos and Rodins, boxes of aging pictures, and piles of books that will take me years to get to because that's pretty much who I am. An uncertain girl with pack rat-like tendencies who clings to all of this stuff to have a sense of what has been done and what comes next.