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Archive for the ‘art’ Category

they ask me to remember

but they want me to remember

their memories

and i keep on remembering

mine.

 

“Why Some People Be Mad at Me Sometimes” – Lucille Clifton

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As for the topic of race, I subscribe to American author Fran Lebowitz’s position, in which she says first, it’s only a topic to white people, and second, well-intentioned white people should stop asking, “What would it be like to be black [or brown]?” and to instead seriously consider what it’s like to be white. And that’s to concede that being white is not to talk about levelling the playing field, but to acknowledge that “white people own the playing field”.

From “White Noise: When white privilege drowns out reality” by Virginia Larson in Noted. 

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This is the most delicious interview.

It’s a conversation with poet, Ocean Vuong at The Creative Independent on “being generous in your work”. It’s about the nature of creativity, the past, being home, the problems of criticism without engagement, the limitations of purity, everything being related to everything, survival, closeness, connection, the fetishism of certainty, and the action of paying attention.

What’s your mood when you write?

When I’m lost in the work, I’m curious. I don’t know if curiosity is a balm, because it often gets me in trouble, but it gives me control. It becomes fuel, and it brings me out of myself and into the world, even if I’ve just been sitting at my desk and thinking about spirals, which is what I’ve been thinking about this morning.

The Italian philosopher Vico had this theory that time moves more in a spiral than it does in a line. He believes that’s why we repeat ourselves, including our tragedies, and that if we are more faithful to this movement, we can move away from the epicenter through distance and time, but we have to confront it every time. I’ve been thinking about trauma—how it’s repetitive, and how we recreate it, and how memory is fashioned by creation. Every time we remember, we create new neurons, which is why memory is so unreliable. I thought, “Well if the Greek root for ‘poet’ is ‘creator,’ then to remember is to create, and, therefore, to remember is to be a poet.” I thought it was so neat. Everyone’s a poet, as long as they remember.

 

 

 

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From Evelyn Bracklow’s creepily enchanting porcelain tableware” at Yatzer. 

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Panaji, Goa. Image courtesy: Julien de Casabianca

From here.

Paintings are important slices of history, but when they are tucked away in the hallowed halls of museums, large swathes of people are unable to access knowledge about their own past. Outings Project removes art from places frequented largely by privileged art connoisseurs and pastes them on walls which are universally accessible, allowing lesser-known paintings to narrate neglected personal histories.

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After reading Cruzvillegas’ warm book and exhibition, I felt renewed. I walked outside and gazed upon the dead patches on our lawn (that none of our neighbors have) and my children’s scattered toys (that every other parent picks up), and for once wasn’t annoyed:

Not long after photographing this autoconstrucción, I decided to set aside my long held hostility toward Instagram and gave it a try. Would it be possible, I wondered, to approach this communal and fragmentary medium with the spirit of generosity as Cruzvillegas describes it (providing things and/or knowledge to oneself as shares or bits of life-term research)?

From “Popsicle #25: The autoconstruccion suites” at Little Brown Mushroom. I can’t remember if I have posted this before.. but I am posting it again.

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