Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
At Willow's House
“Did you know the only reason they have us add eggs and oil is because back in the 50‘s when boxed food was introduced housewives wouldn‘t use it because it made them feel useless? So they let them break a few eggs and the market took off. They needed to feel they had a role in the process. The whole mix could be, ‘just add water…’”
Alli and I are making food for the party tonight at the Art Barn. Art Barn is in Seal Rock, off the Oregon Coast near Waldport. Willow is the propretress of the artist venue and barn of murals, rugs and couches boasting a ping pong table and a croquet course.
Everyone will dress as a farm animal.
She throws a mold of jello in the crowded refrigerator and starts tossing something in a bucket that is a kind of bean salad. From the Midwest, her diet is what I call “future food” - appetizers and jello - the cutting edge food of post-war America.
Alli tells me she loves Oregon, it’s the most beautiful place in the world. I agree with her but I’ve not been many places.
I mix the eggs with a fork. The table I am working at is scattered with ephemera: beads, crystals, toys. A placemat of some Disney movie is under some books. There’s a basket filled with dusty knick-knacks.
Above the table hangs low a series of prayer flags depicting yoga positions. Plants grow in the window sill and a montage of potted plants are shelved in the hot sun room. The water in the sink has sulfur in it so drinking water is taken from the bathtub.
As three large sheets of brownies cook I sit at the table and read the notes on the refrigerator. They are mostly positive affirmations; “live your dreams,” “dance to the beat of your own drum,” “You’re awesome!”
Drawings by Oceana, Willow’s daughter, are tucked under and over layers of lists, notes, pictures.
In the other room Oceana warns a friend not to touch her mother's shrine as they prepare their costumes for the party.
The house is filled with these bursts of sunshine.
It's a wild home, overgrown with sentiments and feeling.
Warm and used like grandpas sweater.
Plus, there are cats.
Willow’s home makes me consider my concept of HOME.
My mind wanders.
I have this friend James who tells me whenever I see him he is giving away his possessions.
“James!” I say, “you said that last time! Do you have any possessions left to give?”
“There is a center in us and all the things we own revolve around that center.” James says. He puts his hand near his chest.
Maybe he doesn’t do that, but that’s what I imagine him doing.
“The more objects we give away the more that center can grow. It gets bigger and bigger and we have so much energy!”
He tells me he is keeping his mandolin because it is small enough for his travels and when he plays it he can communicate with the people along the journey.
What to take from this? Willow and James are happy. They are free. One has jars of tea and books falling from the shelves, the other lives in a backpack.
Be Willow and fill your jars up with loose tea and fairy wings. Be James and let everything but your mandolin go.
Who the hell knows? There's no one way. Complicated, Simple, Messy, Orderly. What feels right? What are our spirits telling us?
Mine says, I need to paint a mural and throw away old magazines. I need monster costume and I need to give away the old wall paper
Okay, the brownies are done and I still have to get my costume together.
The Lorax
Lia, Peter and I. We’re headed west to the ocean.
The two hitchhikers, Steph and Thomas, we pick up on the way need to be dropped off in Eugene.
“What we’re you doing in the woods?” one of us asks, when they tell us they’ve been camping for about ten days.
At the base of the trees lived rats, they were looking for signs of their nests. The Northern Spotted Owl feeds off of these rats and the Northern Spotted Owl is a protected species. The owl needs these rats and the rats need the trees so the area around trees are protected. This is why, they tell us. They were finding ways to protect the forest.
In Eugene our small black truck rumbles into a narrow alley. Bikes rest against the brick. Stencil spray paint of bike wheels with pentagram emblems and anarchy symbols ornament the walls. Maybe there’s a compost pile or some vegetables growing. Young people are watching us from a doorway. I wave. They wave back.
“This is the Lorax,” one of them says. “Students from the college live here.”
We drive away but return when I noticed a whittled staff left by one of our hikers in the bed of the pick-up.
On our return, Thomas gives us a tour of the house.
The Lorax is a student co-operative founded sometime ago. Thomas shows us the expansive community kitchen where residents cook vegan food from around the region for everyone in the house. The living room looks set up for a performance with two old pianos off to the side. Illustrations are painted or sharpied directly onto the walls. Tapestries hang over the windows and it’s dark. Thomas tells us people at the Lorax have meetings and work stuff out. It’s a communist model. There are 25 or so college students living here at any given time.
Four or five floors up we climb a wooden ladder leaning onto an open hole and we’re outside on the roof. Lia is probably smoking a cigarette standing too close to the edge. Peter is probably inspecting bottles of alcohol for anything salvageable.
Thomas is talking to us. He tells us, one time, he saw a sunset in the west and a double-rainbow in the east and he just wanted to keep spinning around so he could see it all.
“Almost a triple rainbow?” I jest. “Yes,” he says with a smile.
The view is spectacular save for some grey clouds. Looking into the horizon where Thomas was facing to watch the sunset I itch the old doubt.
“How does it work?” I ask Thomas. “How does the house work?”
The question is rhetorical and he knows this because he doesn’t say much in response.
“You just have to believe in people,” he doesn‘t say.
The frustrated little misanthrope inside me is pacing circles around his office. Banging on the desk. Making the secretary nervous.
“It just can’t work” he mumbles. “A group of humans working together in peace. Everyone following the rules and respecting each other and being harmonious. BAH! RUBBISH! What about the dishes? Who does the dishes? What if someone doesn‘t pay their bill? What if someone pees on the ground? What if someone sleeps with someone‘s lover?!” Grinding his teeth. Wringing his hands.
I turn to look for the triple rainbow. Why is it I can’t see it?
It’s been awhile since I opened my arms and fell backwards from the picnic table. Since I trusted in another person’s ability to catch me.
Thomas and Steph hitchhiking, maybe they considered for a second that a car wouldn’t stop for them. Maybe some people at the Lorax wonder how the human web has held together for years and years being simply young people coming and going. Maybe they wonder, but then a ride comes and things work out somehow.
It works because in a very real form, a house, proves it does. Proves humans can get along. Because they hold the faith.
“It just works.” Thomas doesn’t tell me. "It's not always easy. It's a working love."
Human connection is the heart expanding. My hand is covers my heart, the misanthrope speaks for me, protects me from the possibility of disappointment. From the pain of unrequited love. I have a hard time letting go.
Lia and Peter pack ourselves back into the black truck. We set off.
“I trust these people,” I acknowledge to myself, sending a memo to the misanthrope. It's a start.
We are driving to the coast. To the ocean. Everything is fine.
Standing on the picnic table, I open my arms and fall.
The two hitchhikers, Steph and Thomas, we pick up on the way need to be dropped off in Eugene.
“What we’re you doing in the woods?” one of us asks, when they tell us they’ve been camping for about ten days.
At the base of the trees lived rats, they were looking for signs of their nests. The Northern Spotted Owl feeds off of these rats and the Northern Spotted Owl is a protected species. The owl needs these rats and the rats need the trees so the area around trees are protected. This is why, they tell us. They were finding ways to protect the forest.
In Eugene our small black truck rumbles into a narrow alley. Bikes rest against the brick. Stencil spray paint of bike wheels with pentagram emblems and anarchy symbols ornament the walls. Maybe there’s a compost pile or some vegetables growing. Young people are watching us from a doorway. I wave. They wave back.
“This is the Lorax,” one of them says. “Students from the college live here.”
We drive away but return when I noticed a whittled staff left by one of our hikers in the bed of the pick-up.
On our return, Thomas gives us a tour of the house.
The Lorax is a student co-operative founded sometime ago. Thomas shows us the expansive community kitchen where residents cook vegan food from around the region for everyone in the house. The living room looks set up for a performance with two old pianos off to the side. Illustrations are painted or sharpied directly onto the walls. Tapestries hang over the windows and it’s dark. Thomas tells us people at the Lorax have meetings and work stuff out. It’s a communist model. There are 25 or so college students living here at any given time.
Four or five floors up we climb a wooden ladder leaning onto an open hole and we’re outside on the roof. Lia is probably smoking a cigarette standing too close to the edge. Peter is probably inspecting bottles of alcohol for anything salvageable.
Thomas is talking to us. He tells us, one time, he saw a sunset in the west and a double-rainbow in the east and he just wanted to keep spinning around so he could see it all.
“Almost a triple rainbow?” I jest. “Yes,” he says with a smile.
The view is spectacular save for some grey clouds. Looking into the horizon where Thomas was facing to watch the sunset I itch the old doubt.
“How does it work?” I ask Thomas. “How does the house work?”
The question is rhetorical and he knows this because he doesn’t say much in response.
“You just have to believe in people,” he doesn‘t say.
The frustrated little misanthrope inside me is pacing circles around his office. Banging on the desk. Making the secretary nervous.
“It just can’t work” he mumbles. “A group of humans working together in peace. Everyone following the rules and respecting each other and being harmonious. BAH! RUBBISH! What about the dishes? Who does the dishes? What if someone doesn‘t pay their bill? What if someone pees on the ground? What if someone sleeps with someone‘s lover?!” Grinding his teeth. Wringing his hands.
I turn to look for the triple rainbow. Why is it I can’t see it?
It’s been awhile since I opened my arms and fell backwards from the picnic table. Since I trusted in another person’s ability to catch me.
Thomas and Steph hitchhiking, maybe they considered for a second that a car wouldn’t stop for them. Maybe some people at the Lorax wonder how the human web has held together for years and years being simply young people coming and going. Maybe they wonder, but then a ride comes and things work out somehow.
It works because in a very real form, a house, proves it does. Proves humans can get along. Because they hold the faith.
“It just works.” Thomas doesn’t tell me. "It's not always easy. It's a working love."
Human connection is the heart expanding. My hand is covers my heart, the misanthrope speaks for me, protects me from the possibility of disappointment. From the pain of unrequited love. I have a hard time letting go.
Lia and Peter pack ourselves back into the black truck. We set off.
“I trust these people,” I acknowledge to myself, sending a memo to the misanthrope. It's a start.
We are driving to the coast. To the ocean. Everything is fine.
Standing on the picnic table, I open my arms and fall.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Insta-apron
Seamstresses of the world prepare to be cheated. Introducing the barely even 6 step, no-machine-required (unless you're a badass and have one), guide to making an apron.
1. Go to a thriftstore and find a skirt in the little girl section.
2. Cut the skirt vertically along a seam so it a long piece of fabric
3. Acquire a ribbon and size it so you can tie it around your hips comfortably.
4. Sew this ribbon onto the waist-line of the skirt.
5. Sew patches for pockets.
6. Embellish to personal preference.
1. Go to a thriftstore and find a skirt in the little girl section.
2. Cut the skirt vertically along a seam so it a long piece of fabric
3. Acquire a ribbon and size it so you can tie it around your hips comfortably.
4. Sew this ribbon onto the waist-line of the skirt.
5. Sew patches for pockets.
6. Embellish to personal preference.
Rangoli
Rangoli is floor painting.
In the morning, using materials such as rice, grain, powder or colored sand, Mothers in India step outside to create beautiful and colorful designs on the ground in front of their home. The images are intended to express hospitality. In creating a Rangoli piece the artist typically draws a series of dots in white chalk. The dots are then connected and the artist fills in the between with the other materials.
Rangoli is an art of impermanence; not one to be framed, saved, and sold but a daily meditation of the transient nature of reality.
By the end of the day the image has been obscured by wind, movement from in and out the house or the appetites of animals.
In the morning, using materials such as rice, grain, powder or colored sand, Mothers in India step outside to create beautiful and colorful designs on the ground in front of their home. The images are intended to express hospitality. In creating a Rangoli piece the artist typically draws a series of dots in white chalk. The dots are then connected and the artist fills in the between with the other materials.
Rangoli is an art of impermanence; not one to be framed, saved, and sold but a daily meditation of the transient nature of reality.
By the end of the day the image has been obscured by wind, movement from in and out the house or the appetites of animals.
CADA-CASA article
"Cada Casa classes start ten minutes late," says director Tymon, sitting in a circle of students of The Mural Project.
I sit and look around. Poet House Art, off of Minnesota in downtown Bend has exploded since it's expectant beginning. What started as inexpensive studio space and gallery has morphed quickly into a social lounge, music venue, and an open door for those who want to do something cool.
It's the second week of The Mural Project class and students gather on or around couches with notebooks and white paper coffee cups. Class begins with Tymon dividing the students into two previously decided groups: "'Truck-stop group' is leaving to do a project proposal onsite, 'Mate group' is staying here to work on planning and finalize drawings."
Tymon sits with me a moment to discuss how he became motivated to start CADA-CASA and future intentions. His experiences in Cusco, Peru where a strict emphasis on performance and meeting standards made up many of the childrens education heavily influenced his ambition. He observed "there was a disconnection between the childrens perception of education and its relation to their life." In response he brought college students and volunteers into the town to teach screen-printing, web-site developing, musicianshop and more.
"CADA-CASA is a community-based education organization aimed to connect educators and students of all ages. Our goal is to redefine education as a life long process that comes from passionate members of our community."
It's guiding principles, given more attention on the CADA-CASA homepage, are Explorative Learning, Positivism, Community Awareness, and being Evironmentally Conscious.
Everyone has assumed action stations. Half have left. The other half opened notebooks or have pulled out sketches of proposed images for the Mate Bar mural. The mural itself will be painted on the brickwall of Tin Pan Alley one floor below.
There are about 10 students left, all teens, in the gallery with teachers who give direction, mediate questions, and collaborate mural plans.
It's a simple formula. Bring people who have something to teach together with students who want to learn and pair this with fascinating and explorative subject matter.
The Mural Project also seems simple enough. Divide into two groups, pick a theme for each mural, draw, translate onto large scale using a projector, combine everything together, and paint the wall.
I start looking over shoulders. CADA-CASA student Nicole is drawing mushrooms. She explains to me the theme of mural is urban environments returning to nature. "It's like the book Waters of Babylon," a student adds. "Post-apocolyptic."
Another has drawn a yerba mate tree, thick branches with bunches of leaves. Students are drawing and searching on the computer. A planning station maps out the mural in its entirity is being scrutinized. Everyone is very involved.
The future of CADA-CASA? Being recognized as an offical nonprofit and in a year have elective classes where students can earn school credits. And growing. More students, more teachers, more collaborations and more learning.
I sit and look around. Poet House Art, off of Minnesota in downtown Bend has exploded since it's expectant beginning. What started as inexpensive studio space and gallery has morphed quickly into a social lounge, music venue, and an open door for those who want to do something cool.
It's the second week of The Mural Project class and students gather on or around couches with notebooks and white paper coffee cups. Class begins with Tymon dividing the students into two previously decided groups: "'Truck-stop group' is leaving to do a project proposal onsite, 'Mate group' is staying here to work on planning and finalize drawings."
Tymon sits with me a moment to discuss how he became motivated to start CADA-CASA and future intentions. His experiences in Cusco, Peru where a strict emphasis on performance and meeting standards made up many of the childrens education heavily influenced his ambition. He observed "there was a disconnection between the childrens perception of education and its relation to their life." In response he brought college students and volunteers into the town to teach screen-printing, web-site developing, musicianshop and more.
"CADA-CASA is a community-based education organization aimed to connect educators and students of all ages. Our goal is to redefine education as a life long process that comes from passionate members of our community."
It's guiding principles, given more attention on the CADA-CASA homepage, are Explorative Learning, Positivism, Community Awareness, and being Evironmentally Conscious.
Everyone has assumed action stations. Half have left. The other half opened notebooks or have pulled out sketches of proposed images for the Mate Bar mural. The mural itself will be painted on the brickwall of Tin Pan Alley one floor below.
There are about 10 students left, all teens, in the gallery with teachers who give direction, mediate questions, and collaborate mural plans.
It's a simple formula. Bring people who have something to teach together with students who want to learn and pair this with fascinating and explorative subject matter.
The Mural Project also seems simple enough. Divide into two groups, pick a theme for each mural, draw, translate onto large scale using a projector, combine everything together, and paint the wall.
I start looking over shoulders. CADA-CASA student Nicole is drawing mushrooms. She explains to me the theme of mural is urban environments returning to nature. "It's like the book Waters of Babylon," a student adds. "Post-apocolyptic."
Another has drawn a yerba mate tree, thick branches with bunches of leaves. Students are drawing and searching on the computer. A planning station maps out the mural in its entirity is being scrutinized. Everyone is very involved.
The future of CADA-CASA? Being recognized as an offical nonprofit and in a year have elective classes where students can earn school credits. And growing. More students, more teachers, more collaborations and more learning.
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