the weather

The weather
The clouds and winds are ominous
The temperature has changed it is cold
The molecules are closers together
And their is no humidity
They are grey and purple
The air is cold
The weather is the rain
The current
The wind

care

Care
Pride
Consideration
Concern
Consciousness
Awakeness
All the same
Faceted of persona
Disease mentally ill
Dialogue
No dialogue
Not social
Sociable
Adapting and response to the thig surrounding us to live with and along side of it
This is Suficient
Without name or role or gender or breaking
Tenacity
Expansion
Coasts expansion within collapse
Breaking and building within breaking down

open

i am so open so intensely open. and i can remain closed, and narrowed and i don't know what to do.  i all can feel is the warmth of the air
the sounds and tones or people's voices
but not the content
i cannot think voluntary
all i want to do is follow the wind for a walk
and forget so i can remember

i want to be like the water

i want ot be like the water constantly in flow together with the flow of the other forces around me. ican i do that, can a be like the water and still exist. still be a part of society

notes on water

I like being near rivers
Or atleast bear bodies of water that flow a d trickle downwards
Forgetting me and were they have been
Mainly I like the sound of travel it's why I appreciate the screechings of train at 1am
I like nosing something/ someone is always moving

I today my class and I  went to Robert e lee park
And we walked along the dam
I had been craving to be near water
For about a week so I was silently hoping we would head there for a few hrs
Specifically to be near the noise of flowing water
It perfect almost too perfect



I brought my camera with me
I haven't taken photos and it felt good to look and appreciate the looking for a situation or capturing a moment I couldn't possibly fully predict
Something I can't fully see with my eyes

I can't remember if it was emery or nick who mentioned walking is falling and catching yourself in succession
It was Emery  but I can imagine Tony saying something so profound so causally
Profoundity in the everyday is something I admire a great deal
It pulls out the epic in the daily making a day a moment of a day significant
Moyra Davey photographs
Cool long white photographs
Fascination
I know when I tired I get to a point where if think about the lower half of my body moving involuntarily of my mind or the part of my conscious mind the mind of my identity
It separates from my body and as a result, if I try to think it through, I can't move forward

I ask alot of questions because I can't seem to get a straight answer
I get to a lot of dead ends

I can me more of myself when I am in motion then when I am at rest
I have been thinking all about when I was six and I knew I loved to Lean but hating education and school that was bored but I loved to read and I always hoped that reading and scholarly education would meet at place where there was a fullness of knowledge or a meeting/or understanding through the people that attended
I thought that was what college was going to be like but I was wrong
Black mountain college

30 Americans

I went to se the 30 Americans show at the Corcoan with the Black Student Union. The trip was great, we went to china town and had lunch and the saw the exhibition. It was warm for January and it was nice to get out of Baltimore for a day and see what DC is like in the winter. This Corcoran Museum like the rest of DC is very American. the walls, the signs, the buildings scream of  Roman architecture. The show was disappointingly traditional. I saw a lot of art I expected to see from the artists exhibited. I later found it that this was a part of the Rubbells family collection and the collection was donated to the Corcoran for the exhibition. As I walked through the collection I found out how much their collection and selection influenced the scope of this exhibition. Black Art, Post Black Art or any artwork classified based on an ethnic genre carries the burdens and stygmas associated with educating the masses about a cultural experience. The Rubbells collected artwork of very famous it exhibition African American artists for over a period of thirty years. Although  I appreciate the family collecting this artwork I am surprised by the lack of diversity within the collection. There were a few sculptures one by David Hammons and another by Leonard Drew. A few installations, probably one  the strongest works in the exhibition by Gary Simmons, another by Kara Walker and Glenn Ligon. The show was a riff with imaginative hype about the black experience lacking substance and freshness. The title was the first key to this staleness, the title called  The exhibition due not generative fresh blood into what it means to a black artist working in present day United States. The work is strong but had very traditional formats, portraiture painting harkening back to early American portatire of Kenhende Wiley, Carrie May Weems  and photography of Hank Willis Thomas, commenting on how Africans were enslaved in American, Nick Cave sound suits.

Diaries of a Winter's sleep

reflections on how I got here and where “here” is.

Go. Capture light in a bottle. Draw your quivering hand. Transcribe the wind. Make a new subatomic form, make an origin story. Use your head... destroy your mind.

Break eggs.

Everything has a reflection an opposite...an opposing side. To show again what cannot easily be seen,  a manifestation. Everything I have made has been a manifestation of my views. What I like is a reflection of my nature… this is common. Everyone has this and everyone uses this. I am no different, I eat, I sleep I use my senses, I survive. In my physical way, my behavior is correct. I see another day.  My mind is common and my body follows. My world view is my surroundings, what I know. Miniature

mu

I try to connect the dots, making work, place things, entwining them into the words I have read by men and women whom I believe,

 know what I seek.

I find little satisfaction in making things. I make them, they are made. It ends, I end.   And what follows is a void this feeling of loss. loss of a purpose. So I manically make things attempting ignorance loss. i clutch  something,  anchor something push myself against something. But I am mistaken, I keep mistaking something for air, I keep slipping. I wasn’t meant to capture this I tell myself  to keep moving. if I  am kinetic I will be in the world. I will be present. I state but have no belief.  I tally my lies. To make a relationship between objects and people feels incomplete. And I feel that, I know that, I am to do more. I don’t have an answer to the equation of where I am to be. Nor do I have the answer. I have no goal, nor do I expect to find it soon.

void

 I have to be told to fall in love with losing to jump in confidently into nothing. But I am too cautious, fearful because I do not know my consequences.

I am exhausted and I am stuck. I am trying to trace some origin, some birthplace of ideas. I look to the past and find o nourishment. I think about the future like a chess player planning every move. But I am no tactician. I can see my moves felling the king.  I try, I lose and I try again. I lose again. I analyze, I look but I don’t learn anything new. I try to read my palm like a seeker looking from an outward manifestation of something I have kept. I overturn rocks.

 I leave a portion of my creativity ability to a force outside of myself. I have plan But I don’t have a resolution to heal the wounds.

I think this path is correct. It feels correct. I write knowing I am supposed to write.

Heat water…make tea

drink

I am an old woman with a young woman’s problems. 

But I am consumed

 so I continue.