Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Collages
We Want Indians!
Portrait of a British man I met on a bus who repeated that he collected many spectacular things. He introduced himself as Jackson Utah and reeked of gin.
still working on this one
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Views from my new room
After recently moving to San Francisco, I've finally found a room to call my own, and it comes with this amazing view. I love to sit on my bed and take in the strong sunlight that comes through my bay window.I'm amazed at the position I've come into here. It feels so surreal. I am completely in love with Permaculture, which I try to explain as a sustainable method of agriculture that mimics natural systems. This does not do it justice. It takes every possible implication and consequence of a design into consideration in a holistic sense, all the while working with what's available and reasonable. My teachers never fail to amaze me, so thoughtful and sensitive. Plus, there are plenty of urban farms and other projects for me to get my hands dirty in the city whenever I want. These projects work with common themes: teaching people self-reliance and connecting them with the land. These themes cultivate a sense of resilience in the community and shift the perspective of those involved to one that is more accountable and resourceful.
After spending so much time studying social movements around the world and in different subjects, I've found that the ones with the most success share similar traits. They arise out of necessity, take an approach that accounts for whole systems, are open to change, and bring people together. I see Permaculture as something that will last, not merely because it is "sustainable," but because it is accessible. We currently need an alternative to industrial monocrop food systems that is not only available to all income levels, but healthy as well. Permaculture designs for whole systems, not just planning for water or ease of harvesting, but for everything involved. By thinking in these terms, it is naturally inclined to work with change. It faces each problem as a solution in itself, and creates a sense of solidarity with people in the surrounding communities. Permaculture fits the framework for a successful and lasting movement. It only has to follow its trend for growth that has developed since it was founded in the 70s.
There's a feeling I get when I know I've encountered something special and worthwhile. I'm overwhelmed by it everyday in this city (especially when I juxtapose my current state with my previous job, see "Internment"). In short, California is awesome and so am I.
Millions of people
Who know how to love
Please clap your gilded hands
And laugh out loud."
Saw Wei
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Internment
... a "life piece"
Today my office smelled like Hot Pockets. That's right, Hot Pockets. Like a Subway restaurant or clove cigarette, the stench of a Hot Pocket is unmistakably distinctive. My office smells like this because one of my coworkers loves them. Once, he bit into a Hot Pocket that was so hot it burnt his lip and left a dime-sized blister that lasted a week.
I've learned that a few continuities occur on the spectrum of internships. For me, one of these has been that the intern is given the office chair with the weird stain. It works okay, but it's got this big, awkward stain that I hope is coffee. If I ever try to switch the chair with someone else's, it always comes back to me before the next morning. For this internship specifically, I have the delight of painting the office walls for between 20 and 50 hours a week!
The holidays are a special time for any office of this kind: cheesy casseroles, awkward gift exchanges, etc. My secret Santa is a really friendly, kind of burly, older construction manager with a thick Mississippi accent. I figured I'd get him some beer until he came to my end of the studio and said loudly, "Eif eenybody has me as theyur secret Santa, ah just wantchou to know that ah really lahk Burt's Bees. Ayund candles." After a burst of laughter from the entire studio, he said seriously, "Weyell, ah lahk girls ayund girls lahk candles." I asked him later what he liked from Burt's Bees. He told me how his hands get dry and cracked from working outside so much, and then said, "Yeeou know those little honey bee gloves they hayuve? Theyure wat cotton gloves with the little huney bees all over um. Sometahms ah just lahk to sit at home with those on after I put on the hayund cream." Ah, people and their eccentricities. This bit of information made this rugged yet dainty Southerner my favorite person to run into at the office.
For one assignment, I was to make a flier to send out to clients that offered our services of hanging Christmas lights in landscapes. This is how my coworker explained it: "Well, we want this to have more than just Christmas pictures. So... you probably know better than I do... just... maybe something to do with Hanukkah? Or... I don't know... you know what I mean." Do I? What kind of Jew-specific holiday decorations exist in the world of crazy landscape architects? This kind of awkward interaction between religions is common in a town like Alpharetta, GA, where I commute to work. This poor lady got the assignment from the ultimate boss, who runs the company and gives out whimsical, intangible orders to whomever because he's too important to be bothered with concrete details or human decency.
He says, "I drive a hybrid," with the same up-inflection he uses to say, "I don't shop at Walmart." These responsible decisions have given him the moral foundation to act as he pleases, which has included screaming at one employee, verbatim: "Your opinion doesn't count here. I run this company and I have the ultimate say! My opinion is the only one that really matters here!" While this saddens me deeply for my coworkers who have long term commitments to work there, sometimes I view him as a fictional character that is part Steve Martin's character in Baby Mama and part Michael Scott from The Office, and it makes me laugh.
For example, each fall, when the geese come through on their arduous, mystical, migratory journey, he develops new methods of taking care of the problem of their presence. Most recently, he employed the floor manager, a proud hunter and his right hand man (who suffers the worst of his abuses and is my immediate superior) to help him in this effort. They walked outside, armed with roman candles, and stalked the geese from behind cars and steep banks, screaming and pouncing occasionally to fire off another round at the enormous birds that are such a nuisance.
My manager also seems to take pride in the ability to put down the people that work for him. Maybe he wouldn't be this way if he weren't treated the same by his superior. The owner doesn't realize that while profits don't trickle down when he says they will (he had to get that new hybrid Tahoe with company money for the sake of the company) negativity certainly does. In the moments when this gets me down I have music to carry me through, my refuge in a cruel and hierarchical world.
When I throw on an early 80s Grateful Dead show, I have Bob Weir's vocals, like a softball coach, cheering me on through the workday. I listen to him over the sound of my manager, asking me if I've done anything with the latest office supply that he lost. I have the Bad Plus' dry musical humor and Battles' crazy math-rock funk to keep me awake. Animal Collective and David Byrne restore my faith in the human capacity to create when people around me seem so apathetic. Steely Dan puts me in a fun, sleazy mood. Freddie Hubbard's "Red Clay" makes me feel like Superman. MMW helps me keep my cool and Feist feels like home. These artists get me through the hard days, when all I really want to do is go home, take a fat bong rip, and forget the whole thing ever happened.
Today my office smelled like Hot Pockets. That's right, Hot Pockets. Like a Subway restaurant or clove cigarette, the stench of a Hot Pocket is unmistakably distinctive. My office smells like this because one of my coworkers loves them. Once, he bit into a Hot Pocket that was so hot it burnt his lip and left a dime-sized blister that lasted a week.
I've learned that a few continuities occur on the spectrum of internships. For me, one of these has been that the intern is given the office chair with the weird stain. It works okay, but it's got this big, awkward stain that I hope is coffee. If I ever try to switch the chair with someone else's, it always comes back to me before the next morning. For this internship specifically, I have the delight of painting the office walls for between 20 and 50 hours a week!
The holidays are a special time for any office of this kind: cheesy casseroles, awkward gift exchanges, etc. My secret Santa is a really friendly, kind of burly, older construction manager with a thick Mississippi accent. I figured I'd get him some beer until he came to my end of the studio and said loudly, "Eif eenybody has me as theyur secret Santa, ah just wantchou to know that ah really lahk Burt's Bees. Ayund candles." After a burst of laughter from the entire studio, he said seriously, "Weyell, ah lahk girls ayund girls lahk candles." I asked him later what he liked from Burt's Bees. He told me how his hands get dry and cracked from working outside so much, and then said, "Yeeou know those little honey bee gloves they hayuve? Theyure wat cotton gloves with the little huney bees all over um. Sometahms ah just lahk to sit at home with those on after I put on the hayund cream." Ah, people and their eccentricities. This bit of information made this rugged yet dainty Southerner my favorite person to run into at the office.
For one assignment, I was to make a flier to send out to clients that offered our services of hanging Christmas lights in landscapes. This is how my coworker explained it: "Well, we want this to have more than just Christmas pictures. So... you probably know better than I do... just... maybe something to do with Hanukkah? Or... I don't know... you know what I mean." Do I? What kind of Jew-specific holiday decorations exist in the world of crazy landscape architects? This kind of awkward interaction between religions is common in a town like Alpharetta, GA, where I commute to work. This poor lady got the assignment from the ultimate boss, who runs the company and gives out whimsical, intangible orders to whomever because he's too important to be bothered with concrete details or human decency.
He says, "I drive a hybrid," with the same up-inflection he uses to say, "I don't shop at Walmart." These responsible decisions have given him the moral foundation to act as he pleases, which has included screaming at one employee, verbatim: "Your opinion doesn't count here. I run this company and I have the ultimate say! My opinion is the only one that really matters here!" While this saddens me deeply for my coworkers who have long term commitments to work there, sometimes I view him as a fictional character that is part Steve Martin's character in Baby Mama and part Michael Scott from The Office, and it makes me laugh.
For example, each fall, when the geese come through on their arduous, mystical, migratory journey, he develops new methods of taking care of the problem of their presence. Most recently, he employed the floor manager, a proud hunter and his right hand man (who suffers the worst of his abuses and is my immediate superior) to help him in this effort. They walked outside, armed with roman candles, and stalked the geese from behind cars and steep banks, screaming and pouncing occasionally to fire off another round at the enormous birds that are such a nuisance.
My manager also seems to take pride in the ability to put down the people that work for him. Maybe he wouldn't be this way if he weren't treated the same by his superior. The owner doesn't realize that while profits don't trickle down when he says they will (he had to get that new hybrid Tahoe with company money for the sake of the company) negativity certainly does. In the moments when this gets me down I have music to carry me through, my refuge in a cruel and hierarchical world.
When I throw on an early 80s Grateful Dead show, I have Bob Weir's vocals, like a softball coach, cheering me on through the workday. I listen to him over the sound of my manager, asking me if I've done anything with the latest office supply that he lost. I have the Bad Plus' dry musical humor and Battles' crazy math-rock funk to keep me awake. Animal Collective and David Byrne restore my faith in the human capacity to create when people around me seem so apathetic. Steely Dan puts me in a fun, sleazy mood. Freddie Hubbard's "Red Clay" makes me feel like Superman. MMW helps me keep my cool and Feist feels like home. These artists get me through the hard days, when all I really want to do is go home, take a fat bong rip, and forget the whole thing ever happened.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Mixed Media
Paint, collage, and tile on found cabinet face
close up
January, 2009
In my better moments I feel like this girl, especially the second from the left, radiant and alive, liberated.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Prelude
San Francisco, Ouray, Telluride, Ridgeway, Crested Butte, Great Sand Dunes, Santa Fe, Amarillo, Fort Worth, Shreveport, Birmingham, Asheville, White Stone, Charlottesville, Blacksburg, Floyd, Chapel Hill, Pittsboro, Athens. The last two months of my life have been comprised of these places and 3 road trips, with an apex in White Stone for a wedding and weekend full of good friends and lots of beer on the water.
Some prosaic anecdotes from the trip... A British man took on the challenge at the Great Texas Steak House in Amarillo to eat a 72 oz. steak in under an hour and failed, miserably. When I spoke to him there were 5 minutes and a frisbee-sized steak left. He talked about playing with the food on his plate, "I think I shall build a castle and hide in it." A Mason at a good barbecue joint in Fort Worth referred to Obama as a terrorist Antichrist. I apologized to my mother more than once for calling her "dude." It was preppy khaki shorts and wayfarers day for all the men on campus at UVA, no promotion was necessary. Got the gossip on Coran Capshaw's ex-girlfriends in Charlottesville. Bought a great Del McCoury album in Floyd, an awesome bluegrass pocket of the southern Appalachians. Spent the night in Chapel Hill with an amazing couple, Juan Logan and Susan Page: both profound artists, professors, and activists, and met a very talented potter in Pittsboro.
It's good to be back, red dirt under my feet and heavy air on my skin. I left so many friends and came back to a good family, always surrounded by love, and giving it out wherever possible. And, Lamp is my favorite nickname. Thus, I have named my blog, in a similar manner to most of my decision making: impulsive and hungover. The name gives a nod to shedding light on what I love and sharing it with you. "One can share a message through telling 'our story' as I have done, or through teaching methods of yoga, or singing, or making love. Each of us finds his unique vehicle for sharing with others his bit of wisdom" (Baba Ram Dass, Be Here Now). This will be my vehicle for expression, a place to post what makes me feel alive: my art, what cannot be expressed in words, recipes and meditations.
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