easy come easy go

The disconnect from this j-o-b evolved quickly, and … easily, though with some angst in shifting the conversion of money to time rather than the reverse. After four years of 100% remote, 3.5 years office-bound before that, immersed in the cash-for-time schema, it comes down to the last day, spent mostly shuffling bytes. I did hear from a number of colleagues and one contractor who I worked closely with during the past year, which was nice, also the head of HR sent a pleasant note. She’d been very supportive when I was in deep conflict with the mindless, unimaginative, and utterly toxic prior management of the organization (thanks to her, I won that battle, seeing the asshole off into ignominious retirement a couple years ago!).

The only communications heard from my current boss the last week was “Have a nice weekend.” Late on Friday afternoon. Seemed a bit weird. He’s got plenty other stuff to deal with at the org. Oh well. Ça suffit!

That whole week was about shuffling data and information sets and writing procedural documentation that will likely never get used. Data acquisition, storage, and display has become an end in itself in many organizations: battling externally-applied standards (see the NGMDB‘s GeMS program), and the ever-present profit-motive of market-dominating libertarian vendors seeking to cash in on all steps of the process. At the same time, the binding of the data consumers into various platform ecosystems culls resources at the receiving end. Tired of addressing all the concerns around that. And what of the science that is supposed to be happening? It’s all the same: as the granularity of data acquisition increases, more and more energy has to be applied to organize and analyze the data. This side-tracks reflection, imagination, and even basic synthesis. The path from data to information to knowledge to wisdom is now largely externalized, rather than embodied. AI, the newest arrival in the fray, is injecting itself into the knowledge/wisdom process with a limitless ferocity given asymptotic CPU capacities and the vastness of the overall information space it is learning from. I will not look to AI for wisdom, only as a holographic representation of hubris.

Today is the second “work day” where I’m not working for someone else. My “mines.edu” email account is now defunct. That chapter of life mercifully over. It will take a bit of time to unwrap mind from all the noise that it’s been filled with over the past years. And to embrace what is to come. It’s happening, here, now. Conversations ensue with the network: Finland, Iceland, Germany, and points in between.

The next step, liquidating some assets so that they are more internationally portable: currency. The first big item, prepping and selling the Cedaredge house. Will have some documentation here so if you are looking for a quiet and dark-sky second home, a writing retreat, a plot of land to start a vineyard or apricot orchard, a base for some of the best Nordic skiing in the lower 48, or if you know anyone who might be … lemme know!

Integral to that will be the losing of accumulated stuff, so that the move back to the base in Arizona is less painful. Gotta get to work!

Phill Niblock 1933 – 2024

death

Sorry for this text, it’s garbled, but I can’t make it less so in the moment. Check out some of the links below for more considered words and documentation of Phill’s presence and creative expressions. I’m dismayed at the number of obits that are appearing here … sheesh …

The other day I was reviewing older sound recordings on the website, one of which is a remix of sounds recorded at one of Phill Niblock’s annual Solstice events at his and Katherine’s loft in New York. Back in 2007 I was in the NYC area and was able to make it to one of these legendary happenings. A number of ShareNY friends had reminded me of them, and my modus operandi generally is when in town, check stuff out. And if Phill Niblock is doing something, well, there’s no excuse!

Winter Solstice event @ Phill and Katherine's place, New York City, NY, 21 December ©2007 hopkins/neoscenes
Winter Solstice event @ Phill and Katherine’s place, New York City, NY, 21 December ©2007 hopkins/neoscenes

So, it was sad to hear of Phill’s passing. The hundreds, thousands of performances that he made, participated in, or facilitated for other artists—most often within the aegis of the Experimental Intermedia Foundation over the years—had a profound impact on all who experienced them. The annual Winter Solstice events at their loft were especially intense both in the immersive visual-sonic sense, but also in the powerful element of basic human encounter: always a slew of interesting folks attending!

As is noted in other obits, being and doing were things that Phill did with a profuse and personable energy. I was lucky to cross paths repeatedly with he and Katherine on their numerous transAtlantic forays and in NYC related to some ShareNY events.

Phill’s experimental visual and sonic work implemented a solid-and-shimmering tableau of full-on psychic immersion in live performance. The Solstice happening was merely one of the hundreds that Niblock brought into this universe from another, parallel universe, where time, sound, and Light have both more subtle and more tangible presence and energy.

An openness for exploring the profundity of the temporal was something that Bruce Elder and Stan Brakhage exposed me to back in the 80s, so Phill’s monumental 16mm opus, The Movement Of People Working, was immediately, electrically, attractive. It forms a compelling exploration of what human presence and be-ing actually is, not merely how it manifests: this element of lived immediacy imprints itself, over time on the receiver. And, combined with the sonic expressions forms a holistic, immersive experience. (Morton Feldman‘s influence.) Transcendent!

We shared the idea of duration in performance work: perhaps related to our separate instances of experiencing the work of Feldman. Phill often bringing duration to a beautiful extreme that inevitably sparked internal change within the witness/participant (there is no audience in this regard, there is only the Void!).

Condolences dear Katherine, and for our shared loss.

Visit Phill’s website for a deeper plunge. This obit by Lawrence English is especially illuminating. And the NYT obit gives a wide view on Phill’s life.

Further insight into the Solstice Events with some documentation at Roulette; along with a 12-hour video.

The Cold War Legacy Lurking in U.S. Groundwater

[Ed: I’ve made many transits of the lands referred to in this informative if not disturbing read. One crucial issue not mentioned in this article are the rapid developments in the science behind groundwater modeling in relation to biotic vectors and what exactly is happening to uranium compounds that are available and mobile underground. The redox (and subsequent immobilization) of uranium through biotic/microbial vectors has recently been demonstrated to have major effects on reductive sedimentary environments, though gauging the precise impacts on particular situations remain difficult. See, for example, Biotic-Abiotic Pathways: A New Paradigm for Uranium Reduction in Sediments]

The town of Uravan, Colorado (named so, combining the words URAnium and VANadium) with the Manhattan Project era uranium mill operational, ca. 1950. Photo credit: Colorado Historical Society.
The town of Uravan, Colorado (named so, combining the words URAnium and VANadium) with the Manhattan Project era uranium mill operational, ca. 1950. Photo credit: Colorado Historical Society.

This story was originally published by ProPublica and was written by Mark Olalde, Mollie Simon and Alex Mierjeski, video by Gerardo del Valle, Liz Moughon and Mauricio Rodríguez Pons.

In America’s rush to build the nuclear arsenal that won the Cold War, safety was sacrificed for speed. Uranium mills that helped fuel the weapons also dumped radioactive and toxic waste into rivers like the Cheyenne in South Dakota and the Animas in Colorado. Thousands of sheep turned blue and died after foraging on land tainted by processing sites in North Dakota. And cancer wards across the West swelled with sick uranium workers. The U.S. government bankrolled the industry, and mining companies rushed to profit, building more than 50 mills and processing sites to refine uranium ore. more “The Cold War Legacy Lurking in U.S. Groundwater”

Ten Bulls

I. The Search for the Bull

In the pasture of this world, I endlessly push aside the tall grasses in search of the bull.
Following unnamed rivers, lost upon the interpenetrating paths of distant mountains,
My strength failing and my vitality exhausted, I cannot find the bull.
I only hear the locusts chirring through the forest at night.

Comment: The bull never has been lost. What need is there to search? Only because of separation from my true nature, I fail to find him. In the confusion of the senses I lose even his tracks. Far from home, I see many crossroads, but which way is the right one I know not. Greed and fear, good and bad, entangle me.

2. Discovering the Footprints
more “Ten Bulls”

notes: ‘using’ vs ‘taking-care-of’

I got onto this track while observing how others live in relation to the stuff that they ‘have’. A few additional thoughts coalesced between the annual moving of house, the monthly payments for a storage unit 800 miles away, and the effects of having too much stuff myself.

The personal nature of this dialectic rests within the character of an individual’s relation to reality, to the world, and to the perceived structural manifestations of that world. A worldview of flow acknowledges that change drives all conditions, that ‘things’ are temporary configurations of energy flow. A worldview rooted in the hard structures of materialism sees ‘things’ as mutable in their immediate usefulness, based on their potential to persist, if that characteristic is acknowledged at all. Both views stand in deep relationship as to how life is lived, moment-to-moment. Both are forced to acknowledge the transitory nature of be-ing.

Using suggests a consumption of a limited resource, something that is recognized or at least assumed to have a finite material life. And, when ‘finished’ or ‘used up’ the object is discarded, after being rendered use-less. But isn’t it such that everything gets used up? Sure, but there seems to be an inherent level of violence correlated to the rate at which something is used up. Laboriously accumulated or meticulously assembled things may be destined or actually created to be destroyed in a single usage: the explosive weapon. Although time is often measured relative to human perception and human life-span; this metric applies an anthropocentric stance that seems reasonable, given that many of the things used up are human fabrications. However, the speed question suggests that a slow dissolution is a constant background condition. If you don’t use me up, I will be used up anyway.

Taking-care-of suggests a stewardship that is governed by a continuity of interaction and attention meant to project the usability, the use, perhaps into a long future, perhaps a passing from person-to-person, beyond the individual’s life-time. In a way transcending the limitless hubris of the anthropocentric: it will last longer that I. However, to maintain usability an object needs to maintain its ordered existence: this requires energy and attentive care. Life-time and life-energy are drawn upon. Living is compromised. And, in the end, nothing will stop the dissolution that entropy enforces. You may be taking care of me, but I will be used up eventually.

Turns out, a majority of the ‘things I own’ are use-less to begin with: The Archive. Well, perhaps not completely bereft of function, but certainly not when in a survival mode. The Archive is the carrying of a story, of stories, forward in time. The use-full-ness of the story is directly correlated to how it augments survival—how it carries us through. The propagation of information forward in time is the core value in this. Whatever the form, information represents an ordered configuration of energized matter. However, value is relative. Information, energetically carried forward in time, compromises the viability of the carrier in a direct way. Without the compensating augmentation, it is not a good idea to participate in such a process as an organism. Use-full-ness is relative and changeable depending on circumstances, what was once useless may later become a valuable source in another context.

Using suggests a recognition that the end game is ever-present. Nothing is forever. Order cannot be maintained indefinitely. Energy runs out. We leave only the dissipating measure of our transitory presence: ripples radiating from that short cosmological pulse: use it, or lose it.

Taking-care-of suggests a refusal to recognize our impotence. Resisting the inevitable. Gentle raging at the dying of the Light. A refusal of the commonly assumed nature of reality: that caring is somehow an eternal value.

In the end, perhaps neither style of engagement with stuff really … matters. pffff!

life, or

Life, or what’s left of it changes to a different ground state. Still indeterminate, still challenging, still energized. with others, with the self, with the world, with all perceived, all known, all thought of, all sensed.

But, when infertile senses are gone, what’s left? A hollow (corpse)? A teeming emptiness? A plasmatic field? A soul? or no thing.

I prefer no thing. I’m tired of the endless material chase of noun, of structured and reductive sameness. The soul-less naming of the world. The endless descriptions, declensions, and derivations, not to mention re-creations and duplications. Enough is … enough. Gluttony gnawing at the root of satiation. The belly ever larger than the eye. Consume this. It’s gone.

And yet, fully immersed in the stuff of nightmares, no stillness of soul. The body wracked by energies of disorder. Has hypostasis reversed itself, abandoning body’s object?

Everything under the Sun

A great shift comes. All things are questioned. Martial law in the sounds of choppers and F-18s overhead. Is this The Great Reckoning? Or simply the systematic operation of Life on the planet? What will be … will be. Doris is long dead.

Hardly the impetus to record in words what is happening. Audio has supplanted saying. I’d rather go listen to the birds, especially the (male) red-winged blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus) congregating in the artificial riparian zones scattered around the golf course that sits in the middle of Golden.

Cycling twice a day, legs getting a workout, arms not, swim-less, pool closed. Back at home::office, there is food to stuff the face with, no attention for tasting. Nights that are full with shades of wakefulness. Remote connection, once my creative tool of choice: now a form of labor. Remote-ness becomes the societal norm.

About to depart to the West. Will I find vigilantes controlling the way?

another shifting

The concept of living in a house sitting on the side of Mt. Zion—a house with a 350-foot mine (adit) off the laundry room—is beginning to recede as it gets cleared of belongings. Living in close proximity to 1.6-billion-year-old stuff, piled high, is … grounding. But why is there so little time taken to concentrate on place, and the energy that place imparts into the body. It’s Friday. Somehow a finality creeps in to sit next to life, a cozy acquaintance, even intimate. Instills a bit of panic, is this the last creation? Of course, what is that idea, creation, anyway, that so defines Life, even by its inverse? Answer is unknown to me.

Days spin with a ferocity not elsewise encountered. Little energy left by the end of each one, and the frequency of the cycle is ever more transitory.

Sky creates the only accessible continuity. That and the habit of watching it. A new experimental video work is budding. Not sure when I can execute, but I’ve got enough raw material, and I’ve got a fully licensed and current version of Final Cut on a new iMac Pro. We’ll see if there is enough time/energy outside of work to do anything about it.

pleasant to be free …

It is pleasant to be free, when one has enough to do and think about to prevent one’s ever being bored, when one’s work is agreeable and seems (pleasing illusion!) worth while, when one has a clear conception of what one desires to achieve and enough strength of mind to keep one, more or less undeviatingly, on the path that leads to this goal. It is pleasant to be free. But occasionally, I must confess, I regret the chains with which I have not loaded myself. In these moods I desire a house full of stuff, a plot of land with things growing on it; I feel that I should like to know one small place and its people intimately, that I should like to have known them for years, all my life. But one cannot be two incompatible things at the same time. If one desires freedom, one must sacrifice the advantages of being bound. It is, alas, only too obvious. Any given note of a melody is in itself perfectly meaningless. A melody is an organism in time, and the whole, or at least a considerable proportion of the whole, must be heard, through an appropriate duration, before the nature of the tune can be discovered. It is, perhaps, the same with life. At any given moment life is completely senseless. But viewed over a long period, it seems to reveal itself as an organism existing in time, having a purpose, tending in a certain direction. That life is meaningless may be a lie so far as the whole of life is concerned. But it is the truth at any given instant.

Aldous Huxley, Complete Works of Aldous Huxley

changing up the trajectory

und so. Lots’a mulling over these past months, and the conclusion is that moving forward I will spend as close to 100% of my time [outside of the regular CGS workday] in proceeding to get on with my creative work. This means an end to what has anyway been an impoverished social life of the last year. Time is slipping, and in order to accomplish something, anything, before the clock runs out, the days of nomadic shuffling around to engage with folks f2f are over, gone. Much life-time was spent in this pursuit over the years, but now, the archive calls, to be reassembled, reconfigured, simply maintained, fwiw: there is certainly no worth in it residing in boxes. Hundreds, thousands of vintage silver prints, slides, negatives, tapes moldering away in boxes. And I need to spend the time in getting works out, or something. The bulk of my creative production went into that personal network, and it seduced me into thinking it was a sustainable pathway. It was not. It brought me to the miserable situation that I am in now. I see this reflected in every postcard of mine that I run across. A piece of my life-time/energy spent in the desperate drive to remain connected. more “changing up the trajectory”

hard core: worm farms?

Third week of hard labor down. “Churching-up” the house in Todd’s lingo. If the churching-up will bring some equity return, then gawdammit, I’m in! Except for aching hammer-struck fingers, sun-burned eyes (in the +95F sun), dehydration, and crazed physical multi-tasking… Making piles for charity, piles for the library, piles for the land-fill, piles for recycling, piles for the Natural History Institute, piles to take to Boulder, piles to store for awhile, piles to store for less than a while, Home Depot shopping lists, argh! It will all be over in 3.5 weeks. Anyone need a nice worm farm??

take a nap, dream, and then take a relaxing hike

You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d;
Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled:
Be not disturb’d with my infirmity:
If you be pleased, retire into my cell
And there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk,
To still my beating mind.

Shakespeare, W., Prospero

from the spamological cosmos

[interview][green][value][south][boyfriend][while][repeat][guidance][earth][debate][copy][secretary][alert][student][career][contribution][supermarket][goal][bird][general][match][room][purpose][presence][individual][pipe][September][funeral][relation][ordinary][background][gather][homework][mouth][bank][final][can][sent][passage][adult][mountain][economics][nu][freedom][message][recommendation][illegal][burn][pizza][hunt][weakness][initiative][enthusiasm][mission][mouse][pass][pen][respect][method][change][decision][signature][dump][quality][message][sex][exchange][junior][sense][mixture][chair][wall][vacation][might][forum][show][bottom][scheme][meeting][fish][status][influence][girl][pollution][high][master][schedule][February][script][response][throat][month][top][member][salt][appeal][bicycle][team][crash][distance][advertising][worker][native][light][conclusion][yahoo][game][bridge][store][floor][accident][event][estate][whereas][order][suspect][fishing][cancel][dinner][purchase][rain][radio][proposal][advantage][trick][bill][suck][black][strategy][common][product][few][long][loss][equipment][fight][design][calendar][dependent][picture][host][grab][save][bonus][gas][view][research][diamond][bug][potato][whole][wine][upper][border][swing][length][courage][debt][poet][battle][concert][past][start][pound][cable][chart][error][put][pull][iron][heart][education][combination][manner][company][layer][population][phone][airline][agent][pour][luck][official][chance][work][satisfaction][platform][desire][lack][opposite][finance][return][bone][joke][recommended][classic][employer][establishment][evening][risk][story][help][catch][juice][reply][rub][finding] more “from the spamological cosmos”

AudioBlast Festival #3: les frontières sonores

AudioBlast Festival #3: les frontières sonores, online and Nantes, France, 01 March 2015

Sound and music networked practice is increasingly significant, the public is very interested in this type of emerging practice, and Apo33 continues to develop this unique festival in the world! There is no equivalent.

Audioblast is a festival from cutting edge using digital tools to cross the concert, performance and particular form of exposure where the public can sit, listen to concerts, roam and chat with the artists during their online “live” sets; with possibilities for live chats with the musicians. The public can both listen at the Plateforme Intermédia which also allows a wider public into this world.

Audioblast Festival is an annual edition in the program of the Association and will be presented as part of the cultural project for APO33 at La Fabrique.

neoscenes was invited to jump into the festival for a one-hour live improv stream between 1400-1500 (GMT+1) Sunday, 01 March in Nantes (6-7 AM Mountain Standard Time – Arizona / 8-9 AM Eastern Standard Time – NYC / (you can go to World Time Buddy to calculate other time zones).

I would quibble with the ‘cutting-edge’ designation — I’ve been involved in streaming sonic (and visual) performance for almost 20 years now. It’s more ‘fringe’ than cutting edge. And the is likely more an issue of a distinct lack of solid historical references for most artists who are now discovering these mediums of expression. Even when I’ve been teaching about such stuff, for example, at CU-Bolder in 2012-13, the students were repelled by the thought of approaching a cutting edge, they literally couldn’t handle it: too indeterminate. (every time I remember that teaching experience, I wince.)

For the last five years, sonic art has seen (heard) huge growth among young artists as the tools are ubiquitous and pocketable in the form of smart phones. I can now stream over wifi using my iPad. Of course, it was possible 10-15 years ago as well, but it was a lot more unstable and often complicated. Today, at AudioBlast there were no technical glitches during my set. Good!

Audio in the network: a digital sound festival using the network as a venue for diffusing experimental, drone, noise, field recordings, sound poetry, electronic, and contemporary music. The festival will be streamed live online (you’ll need VLC or another ogg player — iTunes doesn’t work for this, argh, they switched to (open source) ogg at the last moment) and in quadraphonic sound at the venue La PLATEFORME INTERMÉDIA – LA FABRIQUE (4, Boulevard Léon Bureau – 44000 Nantes – France).

The theme this year is “Sonic Frontiers” / “les frontières sonores” :: the full schedule and the list of artists and another place to listen from (https://apo33.org:8000/audioblast.ogg)

Audio has been instrumental in pioneering many digital and communications technologies and is a versatile and creative medium for gaining deeper understanding of digital coding languages both visual and text based. Sound can travel and encourage a more horizontal and collaborative society, which also has the potential to germinate innovative practices across mediums and genres. During 2015 through the framework of “Sonic Frontiers”, APO33 will question and debate the ideas around audio migration, how sounds travel, influence and structure cutting edge music practices and sonic arts.

[documentation of the performance]

self-portrait in the studio, Prescott, Arizona, February 2015

trainspottin’, yea djezuz!

Society invents a spurious convoluted logic tae absorb and change people whae’s behaviour is outside its mainstream. Suppose that ah ken all the pros and cons, know that ah’m gaunnae have a short life, am ay sound mind etcetera, etcetera, but still want tae use smack? They won’t let yae do it, because it’s seen as a sign ay thir ain failure. The fact that ye jist simply choose to reject whit thae huv to offer. Choose us. Choose life. Choose mortgage payments; choose washing machines; choose cars’ choose sitting on a couch watching mind-numbing and spirit-crushing game shows, stuffin fucking junk food intae yir mooth. Choose rotting away, pishing and shiteing yersel in a home, a total fucking embarrassment tae the selfish, fucked-up brats ye’ve produced. Choose life. Well, ah chose no tae choose life. If the cunts cannae handle that, it’s thair fuckin problem. — Irvine Welch, Trainspotting

The Scottish accent wouldn’t roll easily here, but the concept would. It seems the precarity of living a free and full life is evermore challenged by the brutality of market-driven … everything.

first night

Spent the first night in the new place. No way of getting enough fresh air into the poorly-insulated house. Single-glazed windows in the original part are useless. No attic fan (yet). And since they put in air conditioning (versus an evaporative cooler), there is no way to get fresh air through the HVAC system. So, sweating in the monsoon heat.

Totally stopped noting hours of labor on the new place last week already. Too tired to do so after a day’s worth of bustling stuff around. I will not calculate my sweat equity in this way. Much has been done although the serious tasks, many of them, are still waiting. Right now just getting the simple and free modifications & cleaning done. There is a lot of poorly poured concrete ‘retaining walls’ and sidewalks that are useless and will have to be jack-hammered out. And in their place, a single set of new retaining walls properly designed and executed to keep up-slope drainage away from the house, and to secure the Pine Knoll parking area. On the south side of the house, removing all generations of concrete poured up against the foundation. seal foundation block, and set in some French drains, … and on and on and on…

Still haven’t looked into the main attic (no access from inside the house), or spent significant time in the crawl space. Mitigation, mitigation, mitigation — of the imperfections of prior systems. Takes energy that I don’t presently have — between the Lyme’s fiasco and a bum shoulder (acting up for the first time in 20 years — probably from all the heavy labor versus simply doing yoga, swimming, and lifting). Take it easy, whilst bleeding the savings account.

Day 2 – hard at it

The seller filled two dumpsters (skips) full of stuff. The first was removed on Friday, the second sat from Saturday through Monday. So on Sunday after it appeared that the seller and her family had finished up and left the house, I did a bit of diving and among a number of items, I filled half the back of my truck with clothing to take to Goodwill, as I said yesterday. There were tools, CDs, blankets, and all kinds of stuff. Just because I have a house now doesn’t mean I need to acquire stuff, but there were some useful things, along with a fair amount taken to charity. It’s a pity I didn’t get to the first dumpster.

At any rate, the seller arranged for a third dumpster to be left after the second was removed — I guess she felt there were things left that I might not want. Good deal. So today I spent:

12 hours – cleaning the garden shed and clearing its gutters, fixing some of the back yard water drainage, trimming large single branches, removing some stumps of rotted ponderosa, separating out reusable cinder blocks and bricks; beginning to dissemble the fence. With the dumpster here, I have a free opportunity to get rid of large items that wouldn’t easily fit in a garbage bin. Started cleaning the garage so that I can use that space as a staging area.

1 trip to Home Depot – drain pipe extenders, except I got the wrong adapter sizes, so will have to go back. Monsoon season has begun and there were thunderheads towards the Rim. It got overcast here which broke the heat.

Day 1 – today I bought a …

… house. good lord, what does this mean, how does this affect the trajectory of the future path? Thank god for breakfast yesterday with Todd and Amy to keep some semblance of perspective on a thoroughly normal process (replete with a thousand hitches) that can be a big positive adventure.

Start cleaning right off. The seller left a full dumpster that I dove deeply into last evening and this morning; pity I didn’t get to dive the previous one from last weekend, lotsa good stuff in this one! She also (thoughtfully) arranged to have an other empty one delivered as there was some stuff left that she figured I might need to get rid of. This is a good deal as I will be able to get rid of a bunch of the more obvious branches and detritus in the yard. They left some very usable items, a small dining room table, several single beds, many square feet of cheapish flooring with backing, several terrariums, a storm door, some yard implements, shelving in the garage, quite a bit of tiling, and so on.

I filled half the back of my truck with clothing they had discarded along with a few other items to take to Goodwill this afternoon when I go out to pick up the Title and Closing paperwork.

(on ma knees, what have ah dun?)

Now to get back to the TO Do list that is expanding by the minute…

en route – Keystone #666

Heading back into the NYC urbs after a week in Cornwall, PA. Philly ringed by collapsing tenements and the rail tracks littered with quantities of random detritus, all iron-work rusted, signage cryptic. How difficult would it be (how much energy would it take) to clean this stuff up, return some order to the system?

Free your mind, your ass will follow! The Kingdom of Heaven is within! — Funkadelic

twoi: meet-to-delete

Julian Priest‘s TWOI project has a number of interesting dimensions: when I noticed that friends at Pixelache had jumped into participating, and, greatly respecting Julian’s work in general, I patched together a paper-shredding meet-to-delete that actually fit the bill quite well. It was, after all, staged on Satellite Court.

Prescott Arizona

07 May 2014
Time 14:30-1530 (UTC -7)
Location: -112.466932, 34.570271
1610 Satellite Court, Prescott, Arizona

051 30cm stack of my Uncle’s papers from more than seven years ago that Gladys (his sister-in-law) left in a pile to be shredded
052 Bank statements
053 Credit Card statements
054 Investment statements
055 Medical records
056 Other state secrets
057 12 year stack of 2700 gallons (US) fuel receipts from John’s recently sold Toyota Tacoma truck

Annick facilitated an event in Brussels:

Meet to Delete!

Bruxelles Event Report – Saturday April 26th 2014 – 17h00–21h00 local time – Galerie Up – Bruxelles

We had a lovely Meet to Delete event in Bruxelles at Galerie Up.

The Gallery is small 20 square meter space in the Saint-Gilles area of Bruxelles, launched and owned by Clarisse Bardiot.

On the left side of the Gallery we put a small round table with a shredder and a pot with colored pens. People could sit at the table — or stand by it -— to shred the documents they had brought or delete datas from their cell phones, in a symbolically intimate and focused act.

Next to the table, we had suspended a roll of paper onto which people could write their first name and the nature of the information they just deleted.

On the right side of the Gallery, we video-projected the orbital path of the satellite. A candle was lit in the opposite corner. A poster was displayed next to it, another one was on the door of the gallery and 3 others on the gallery window.

A 9 slide Power Point about the project was available on an iPad for people to browse.

Drinks and light snacks (chips, olives) were served.

At the end of the event, Clarisse and I took a picture of the roll of paper, then we shredded the roll and the posters, and we blew up the candle.

The meta data of the event that we shall keep are the picture of the roll and samples of shredded documents.

About 20 people attended the event, among them some children. Most of them came around the same time, which allowed for nice exchanges.

Many questions were asked about The Weight of Information satellite and the whole project.

What came out of the discussions was that we all delete stuff without necessarily thinking about it but when asked to do it consciously, and in a collective set up, it raises a different approach and feelings to the act of deleting data. Here some that were stated:
. Deleting data and information belongs to the private realm, doing it collectively is, in a certain manner, sharing some sort of privacy.
. Every one reported that they had to think about what they would delete.
. It is difficult to decide and choose what to delete [in the framework of the Meet to Delete event], it is giving a weight to something that has no —or no more— value, that we want to get rid of and in a kind of a paradox giving it, for this moment, a central place.
. The notion of loss was also mentioned.
. It takes time to delete, that is it takes our attention. There is a sort of paradox to isolate mentally oneself from the group to focus on the deleting process.

We had also many informal conversations, some related to social and political issues of (storing) digital data!

For me, the most lovely moment was when one of kid, after having understood what it was all about, deleted “2 files from his DS”.

It was a joyful and friendly event, extremely rewarding intellectually and in terms of human relations.

Thank you Julian for this beautiful project, Clarisse for having hosted it and Alexi for the caring support, everyone that came to Galerie Up and Zac for the idea of the Sprite satellites. This has allowed for a generous, sharing, poetic and light moment.
Annick

The Weight of Information: Meet-to-Delete, Prescott, Arizona, May 2014

Mari Keski-Korsu’s program: Case Pyhäjoki

See what happened at this powerful human coming-together of (em)power-full people, Case Pyhäjoki. Should’a been there. Instead, half a world away on the Uncompaghre Plateau keeping an eye on the sky, actually, two eyes (sometimes with artificial attenuation). Getting to show some old friends around this particular region. At least, I find this place fascinating — given the similarity to Echo Park in some structural senses. Four of us old engineering-school house-mates have a very fine hike yesterday to a WWII strategic minerals (mica) mine. Into that Pre-cambrian basement rock. Mica crystals still bursting out of the cavity wall: some crystal complexes many square feet in area with the strange laminate layered crystals that can be split down to absolutely transparent sheets as thin as any paper. The crystalline lattice bonds generating laminar sheets of strongly connected atoms with weak ties between adjacent layers. Occasionally interspersed with sprays of black tourmaline up to 2 cm in diameter and 10 cm long. And the pink feldspar and cloudy white quartz matrix, pegmatitic. Quite dramatic. It’s hot in the canyon, but there are heavy clumps of cloud that keep ebbing and flowing shadows that cool the ground. Down-canyon there is a layer of > 2 cm chips of (shattered) white quartz that has come from some industrial mining process of crushing and sizing the chunks of stuff from the blast-face of the mine. They definitely had a full-on industrial process going on. And, as a strategic mineral reserve, did they even have some security/military presence, that’s one question I would have for the historians. Among others.

portrait, Chris, Bill, and Rick at the mica mine, Bangs Canyon, Colorado, August 2013

It is a pleasant outing into this intense landscape, environment. With three other quite intense people. Each in a particular way. That’s what’s nice about Mari Keski-Korsu’s collaborative art/activist project also, the one that just took place at a nuclear development site on the upper-mid-western Baltic coast of Finland. She has a talent for bringing intense people around her. It’s a powerful and important talent! Wished I coulda made it. There were two of my US students who claimed interest in going but neither ended up even putting in applications — apparently none of them understood this way of getting funding to experiment with their own creative practices in juxtaposition to some equally curious others — although I tried my best to open their eyes to this process. The rest of the students were absolutely deaf to the idea/offer that they participate in collaborative projects throughout the spring semester. As well as being hostile to the process of collaboration in general. (Or were hostile to the person who put them in the position of having to face the issues of active collaboration and collaborative thinking, sheesh, off-putting!)

Case Pyhäjoki looks good, as I had no doubts it would after talking with Mari in May at Pixelache. Great work!

Productivity and Existence

“A remarkable and charming man, your friend,” said the professor; “but what does he really do? I mean … in the intellectual sphere?”

“In the intellectual sphere…” I answered, “H’mm … in the intellectual sphere … he is simply there.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, his occupation is not, in fact, of a very intellectual nature, and one cannot really assert that he makes anything out of his leisure time.”

“But his thoughts?”
more “Productivity and Existence”

running late

Running more than a bit late on the journal entries from my father — just too damn busy for that part of the picture to be processed right now. They will resume when I have the time. I am shifting into travel mode as of today as preparations for movement are beginning to impinge. Packing the small amount of stuff that will stay in the truck over in Grand Junction, and packing the suitcase/daypack for the movement across Finland, Estonia, Germany, and Netherlands for a couple months. Things start to fall in place with visits to folks which is nice. Many raucous good times line up. uh-oh.

moving visual thinking

After attending the Brakhage Symposium a few weeks ago, I run across this excerpt from Bruce Elder. It’s a little dense.

Brakhage has even argued that artistic forms relate to our embodied nature. The relation is most obvious in rhythmic forms, for all rhythm, he insists, derives from the throbbing of the heartbeat. Brakhage believes that physiology is what ultimately determines what we see. He believes, too, that physiology has a large role in determining what forms artists produce. The conception of cinema that he offered from the mid-1980s to the mid-1990s, that cinema can present what he calls “moving visual thinking,” he also bases on a notion of the body, for this idea of cinema proposes that film’s great strength is that it alone among art media can present the prime matter of thought before it passes through the filter of language. Adults are ordinarily unaware of the prime matter of thought but, he maintains, a fetus or infant is. This prime matter derives immediately from the synapses and reflects the nature of corporeal processes. At times Brakhage even identifies this thought matter with changes in the nervous system and so insists that his films actually present the “sparking of the synapses” or “the light in the brain.” He even avers that his films do not present pictures of moving visual thinking but convey the energies of moving visual thinking itself. One of the poets and poetic theorists Brakhage has read most avidly is Charles Olson. Olson’s poetics were fundamentally anti-mimetic, and his antimimeticism rested on his claim that a poem generally does not depict what it is about but, rather, by reawakening the energies of an experience in a reader’s body, actually recreates the experience. One suspects this fundamental proposition had a significant role in shaping Brakhage’s ideas on moving visua1 thinking. more “moving visual thinking”

Mary Caroline MacKenzie 1916 – 2013

death

portrait, Mary, Seattle, Washington, August 1957[?]

My favorite Aunt, Mary, passes peacefully today in Fort Myers, Florida. At 96-y.o. she had a long and active life. More to come on this. I have her entire photographic archive of which I scanned a few images a couple years ago, and will be getting some of those images up in the next week or so. It’s a sad day. She was everything one could ask for in an Aunt! Funny, lively, actively doing stuff with the nieces & nephews, remembering special occasions, and a good correspondent (with her impeccable English usage, spelling, and grammar as the main church secretary to the pastor of the historic Park Street Church in Boston, Massachusetts, right on the Boston Commons). More remembrances shortly when I’m feeling better.

Mary Caroline Mackenzie, beloved sister, favorite aunt, and devoted friend died peacefully on Monday morning, March 18, 2013, at Shell Point, Ft Myers, FL. She was born December 19, 1916, at home in Melville, PEI, Canada, to John Malcolm and Lillian May (Kedy) Mackenzie.

Before retiring to Shell Point Village in Florida, Mary was the long-time personal secretary to Drs. Harold Ockenga and Paul Toms of Park Street Church in Boston, Massachusetts where she was a member. She was an active adventurer, taking numerous and frequent camping, skiing, bicycling tours around New England, the Maritimes, and abroad. She was generous with her time and attention to her family as well as to her many friends. She spent happy years at the Village with her many close friends, her volunteer work, and her numerous hobbies. Mary shared her faith and love for the Lord with family and friends. She will be deeply missed.

Mary is survived by her brother, Alfred Kedy Mackenzie of Prescott, AZ; her cousin, Isabel (McLeod) Sabapathy of Charlottetown, PEI, Canada; nieces Janet A. Hopkins of Chino Valley, AZ and Nancy Jane Haan of Livermore, CA; nephews John C. Hopkins of Boulder, CO and Douglas C. Hopkins of Kingston, NY; great-nieces Lawren Richards of Eagle Bay, BC, Canada, Casey Mackenzie Johnson of Livermore, CA, and Dana C. Johnson of Livermore, CA; great-nephews Loki A. Hopkins of Livermore, CA and Jason B. Babcock of Phoenix, AZ; and six great-great nieces and two great-great nephews.

A Celebration of Life service will be held at 10:15AM, April 6, 2013, at the Shell Point Village Church, 15100 Shell Point Blvd. Fort Myers, FL. She will be buried next to her parents at the Puritan Lawn Cemetery, Lynnfield, MA.

The family suggests memorials be sent to Park Street Church, 1 Park St, Boston, MA 02108.

prosodic paralysis

lenticular eyelids hover over the Flatirons, nuclear red-orange.

I say “nice view” to the Salvation Army bell-ringer
standing outside a building full of food-stuffs.

Inside, I look for cheap things.

and leave without change in my pocket to give:

I take the other door out.

this after making a transfer across fiber-optic networks of value for calories.

a transfer of what? some numbers punched, and it is tending to make me sick.

sick in a way of driven feverishness to escape to elsewhere where values are true and not merely convertible currencies of social trust in … God.

sick in a way of realizing that the point-of-view taken, the approach is an illusion surfaced with centripetal impulse (impulse driven by rotating planetary system, and fed by the mesh of gravitational attraction to things). leave me go! release the mass of embodied … stuff and finally convert gravity to Lightness.

William Gibson in Wired

Wired.com: How about Twitter? More than most authors I’ve checked out, your tweet-happy avatar @GreatDismal seems to be most comfortable messaging and cool-hunting on the service. And in the novel, Twitter’s consistently used as a communication and parenting device, depending on the spook.

Gibson: Well, I discovered Twitter while I was writing the novel, and I immediately saw its odd potential for being a tiny, private darknet that no one else can access. I’m always interested in the spooky repurposing of everyday things. After a few days on Twitter, what was most evident to me is that, if you set it up right, it’s probably the most powerful novelty aggregator that has ever existed. Magazines have always been novelty aggregators, and people who work for them find and assemble new and interesting stuff, and people like me buy them. Or used to buy them, when magazines were the most efficient way to find novel things.
more “William Gibson in Wired”

Farenheit 451 (or, the ridges of thumbprint)

Re-reading a yellowed paperback version whose spine has cracked, letting pages loose at every turning. Shall I burn it in the next sacrifice action, in a camp-fire in some wild place?

Bradbury dances around the verity of impression: or impact, or simply the realities modeled by quantum entanglement. How one action is experienced by both the specific surrounds but also by the whole cosmos. How creative energies change everything, all the time. I can’t figure it out. And especially can’t reduce it to anything sensible. Nothing that might be effective as an expression within the social system. more “Farenheit 451 (or, the ridges of thumbprint)”

Herradura Añejo, eh?

Herradura Añejo, the end, Colorado, June 2012

well, well, well, well … this bottle takes eight months to empty, shared with numerous friends and strangers across Colorado. as an ice-breaker, Ogden Nash suggested: “Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.” I think it was Steve Brezina who turned me on to Herradura Añejo way back in 1981 at a pool party at his folk’s house in Lakewood. (and not Gold, and definitely not Silver, only Añejo will do!). I refuse any other Tequila, except maybe in a margarita. Añejo is only for sipping like a fine Scottish whiskey … nurse it! the only better hard liquor I have run across was my former father-in-law Jón’s landi that was produced in his garage with good Icelandic potatoes and water. he’d make it to 96% alcohol and water it down for human consumption.

if you’ve had that reaction of swearing off Tequila after drinking too much of an inferior brand, resulting in a nasty cheap-tequila day-after, give this stuff a try. I’m no drinker, so I can stretch a bottle out, as happened with this one, for months with only the occasional pleasure of a smoky caramel-smooth night-cap, or in special celebration with others: it’s been said “you don’t get drunk, you get high” (because of the complex organics of the agave plant that it is made from). that and no hangover, or timburmann as the Icelanders say. good stuff, as far as fire-waters are concerned, might as well consume the best than all the rest!

more stuff

Last day in Arvada and, well, the ensuing 12 days at Echo Park is still completely unprocessed (both visually, literally, and, perhaps, figuratively, and/or even psycho-spiritually). Whatever the case, it’s over and gone already. But heading to Glade Park above the Colorado National Monument to house-sit for a couple weeks, so should be able to pull some more quality content in then. After that, though, back on the road again, jumping around Colorado, and thence to Arizona (again). Then the job search begins in earnest. Academia, private sector, non-profit, NGO, or perhaps even public sector. Whatever fits the plan — which is an open one!

NOI and DOI

NOI – Notice of Intent. Is this something you give when you are intending to do something? Like, a warning? I’m hearby giving you notice of intent to flatten that already pug nose on your smirking face…? Nah, just the thesis. Warning the university to get ready and in the words of E. Power Biggs, organist, “If you’re not ready to have a happening, MOVE BACK!” It’sa happening to be sure. A couple more weeks of clean-up, final-final draft in today for Norie to make a last read-through: what a way to spend a weekend, bless her soul! Of course the question of whether it passes by the examiners is moot at this point. (also at this point, ask me if I care!).

DOI – Intimately interlinked with the NOI. It’s a digital object identifier. As the days turn to years, research time is spent hunting for particular DOIs — one attached to each and every journal article out there in Internet-land. As soon as I submit, I am dis-enrolled at the uni and soon thereafter, I lose proxy access to a world full of online stuff — magazine, journal, newspaper archives, Oxford English Dictionary, Chicago Manual of Style, all that, dang!

chilly morning words

Chilly morning words form. Brushing away the crust of ice formed by dreams of last night. And other morning words of resolution. Or just thoughts. Words. With cornbread heating in the oven. New warmth diffusing into the food-stuff. A morning. A morning. Words melt, spill, tremble. Waiting to drop into space. Formed from symbols that litter the mind. And then, the thoughts on resolution. the accuracy of the human animal sensibilities.

And all that.

I run, minded, mindful, of the past and what. is. not. yet. The recent spins into the places of spinning. Words traded with new Others. And Others becoming newer in closeness.

I write like this in the morning. And let mind wander. The discipline lies alone in the be-ing. Not much else at all. But. I find no pointedness here of objective. To explore in these words. At least, I see none yet. Retrospective. And this such that we create more than we may know at the point of creation. Why is this: some disconnection with the creative self to be unfolded at some later time? I know of all which I have created at some points. Some electric instances. but of this, life remains unknown.

we’re stuffed

Again in a situation with a friend, helping purge and order an overwhelming abundance of stuff. The developed world is drowning in its own excess accumulation of stuff. Between direct body consumption as manifest in the wide-spread epidemic of obesity and the external accumulation of stuff, there is little room for living. A moment spent managing stuff is a moment of life lost forever.

To maintain a system of stuff takes energy. Else disorder of all that vibrating stuff become a field of chaos for the embodied human to simply sink into the midst of. Life becomes dominated by either the life-time required to maintain the order of the stuff, or the increased disorder that becomes a distorting filter enveloping the once-clear senses.

Purge some and apply order to the remaining stuff. Mostly purge — duplicate stuff, triplicate stuff, quadruplicate stuff — less stuff is more life. Stuff impedes our full experience of life, it drags us down into lackluster, overwhelmed, and subordinate be-ing (or even less to mere consumer). Finding a balance is tough when immersed in the (absolutely pathological) ‘normative’ behavior of the developed world.

Having made that ideological pronouncement, it’s clear that some folks can manage to get others to manage their stuff. They accumulate enough social power to control vast fields of stuffstuff of great complexity that is distributed widely. Of course, some of this power, in this moment of history in this techno-social system (TSS), relies on the existence of that black-gold mine of highly concentrated non-renewable stuff: hydrocarbons. Without that massive (re)source, none of this accumulation of stuff and the consequent control of it would have ever been possible. When it runs low or runs out, the abilities of people to keep their stuff in order will decrease, markedly.

more “we’re stuffed”

post-post

the day after the ascent of a 14,000+ footer (Grays Peak, near Silverplume), no sore-ness. remarkable, considering the intensity of the cardio work that such an effort entails. heart-throb rising from chest to throat to head as altitude is gained.

heading back into deep work on the thesis after a string of field research expeditions and dislocations. the gathering of material is continuous, as is the (plodding) process of getting archive material up (see new (old) stuff)

then, back to work.

So human social organizations constantly reconstitute themselves through a flow of members and other adjunct materials, information, and energy. Many of these are selectively favored through a continuing expansion or effort to expand above their original size. Such organizations may reach a point at which further expansion is blocked, and budding off is the only alternative to continue. The blockage may be due to internal structural problems, such as a Marxian internal contradiction, or the appearance of revolutions, and so on; or, to external constraints–such as furious neighboring states, or a strongly competitive market enterprise. — Richard Adams

I would suggest that the enumerated items — members, materials, information, and energy — may be re-categorized into energy, and the embodied and surrounding protocols (flow pathways accumulated through shared (social) information). Materials should be ignored in the sense that they are ultimately manifestations of energy: traditionalists are be encouraged to consider that the concept of ‘things’ and of static ‘materials’ are merely convenient constructs to be transcended or shed in the stead of energy and flow…

Let us transfix this momentary eternity which encloses everything, past and future, but without losing in the immobility of language any of its gigantic erotic whirling. — Nikos Kazantzakis

Ta… impossible, when writing, to accede, to yield tradition to this, eh?

Thursday, 17 August, 1961

Clear, 72°F

We all went to Melville, ate lunch, took in a few movies, and met Mr. & Mrs. Emory who keep the store at Melville Station. I went fishing with JAH, the rest went to visit Angus MacLean, their neighbor. The “Old Home” is now owned by an elderly man who lives in Quincy, Massachusetts; he formerly came up every summer but hasn’t for two years. There were lots of fish, but they didn’t like my diet; they ate a caterpillar off the hooks!

Anne rec’d. her letter from Robbie!

Started to read Rommel’s Papers: fascinating stuff.

To bed early.

the meta-structures of creativity

if creativity cannot be taught, cannot be ‘made’ to happen, how best to approach the assumption that it can be fostered or stimulated within situations?

one answer to this is a consideration of the meta-structure of flows that characterize a particular situation. I have talked about meta-structures elsewhere. to begin with, each instance itself is only ‘separated’ from everything else through a process of abstracted defining. separation is an abstraction, a reduction of the actuality of holistic, immersed, and connected being and presence. so, best not to consider separation, distinction, and particularities. rather, retain a sensibility to all possible flows, or flow in general. easy to say, despite the (English) language being wholly insufficient to deal with such concepts. (Csikszentmihalyi is pretty good at making a natural language argument for flow, though he comes from a completely different direction than me, the conclusions are similar, will explore that when I shuffle through some of the references…)


more “the meta-structures of creativity”

Chilean butterfly effect

NASA ash imagery

the Wednesday flight to Auckland looks in doubt as of today. volcano Cordon Caulle shot so much stuff up to extreme altitudes (over 15 km) and some of that got caught in the jet stream of the Roaring Forties weather pattern, and now, a week later it’s traveled around the globe and hit southern Australia, Tassie, and eNZed. crossing the Tasman Sea is best done by boat. sheesh. Darwin Station keeps an eye on it all locally for the VAAC.

already entering the drone zone of movement, though, regardless of what goes on with the ash cloud. though would not relish being a passive observer of an ash-compromised turbine engine. Air New Zealand hasn’t canceled any flights versus all the other carriers who have up to Quantas which has canceled all their flights to Tassie and eNZed. what to make of that? the NASA images are at least definitive, and surprisingly not referenced in Australian media anywhere.

OZ packing list 2011

THINGS NOT USED: extra bush hat, extra plug adapters, leather jacket (not often), theraband (since in fitness club), fleece liner (seldom); swim gloves;

1x suitcase + 1x carry-on + large nylon duffle bag + day pack for laptop (ok)

carry-on + daypack:

digital gear:

MBP laptop + power supply (ok)
Motorola hands-free unit (ok)
Nokia phone + chargers (lv 1 or both) (ok)
AU phone SIM (ok)
mouse (ok)
ipod touch/nano + earphones + etymotics + cables (ok)
headphones (ok)

6x mini USB cables; 1x normal USB cable; 1x standard Oz power cords; all power cables (ok); all AU mains adapters (ok)

2x water bottle (ok); kitchen knife (ok); insulated cup;

Clothes:
Goretex jacket & hood (ok); new sleeveless fleece (ok); hoodie (ok); 1x full gloves (ok); wool hat (ok);

2x blue jeans; 1x black jeans; 1x shorts; 2x belts; sweat pants (ok);

Tilley hat (ok); 1x baseball cap (ok)

all underwear (ok); all socks (ok); 10x t-shirts (ok); 3x other short-sleeved shirts (ok); long underwear (1x) ; 5x long-sleeved shirts

pens (sharpies, etc) (ok)

gym shorts; swim suit (x2) (ok); goggles (x2) (ok); fins (ok);

bathroom stuff: electric toothbrush; toothpaste; shampoo; body soap; skin cream;

towel set, cloth bags, plastic breakfast containers; duvet; cover

SUITCASE: running shoes; 10x sox; 10x underwear; water bottle;

DUFFLE: comforter; goretex coat & hood; towels; sheets; swim fins; pull-buoys; swim gloves; theraband; yoga mat & strap; sweatpants; tanktop; Nike underwear; Tilley hat; workout towel; swim bag; plastic containers;

CARRY-ON: camera bag, 4x sox; 20x DV tapes; Nikon & batteries & charger; sunglasses & case; ipod touch; ipod nano; 6x Toshiba drives; journal case & notebook;

DAYPACK: laptop & laptop case; Buber book; gum; water bottle; 1/2-gloves; nuts;

quick transit

near Lucerne Valley, California, December 2010

With a truckload of stuff, it’s too complicated to camp extensively. And, in retrospect, not much to say anyway. Got to get back to Prescott to get organized for the ensuing departure.

yurt raising

yurt framing, step one, Glade Park, Colorado, June 2010
up early, wrestling with the rather small pile of parts — the lattice wall, the door, the skirting, and main fabric roof, insulation panels, rafters — but surprisingly little ‘stuff’ to make a whole house. yurt raising, surprisingly easy (except for a few points) with a small crew of smart folks, a few tools, a couple dogs, and about 6 hours total: no glitches; friends make a heli over-flight, and we chill out for a barbecue in early evening.

the particular points that I can recall: the fabric roof is DAMN heavy; the installation jig (wood tower) is essential (remember to attach firmly to floor!); even-ing out both the roof and wall fabrics is tricky; that’s where a crew of 5-6 is good. two people doing the job would be very tough if not impossible; cabling around the door frame is non-intuitive; all-in-all, it’s pretty darn easy, it was completely done by 1400, so, about 6 hours work. and it is a spacious and comfortable space.

western terminus Yampa Bench

west terminus of Yampa Bench at the Chew Ranch, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado, May 2010

Sleep difficult, not sure why, whether simple discomfort, though the back of the truck seems very comfortable in the immediate impression, warm, soft enough, but body cannot find a comfortable position, side to side, somehow, problems. Could be that yoga hasn’t been happening in the last days. Hiking is a challenge for the body as well.

Drive up to the head of Sand Canyon, intent on doing a hike, but what looks like bad weather coming in, a heavy front across the whole west, sends me back after a short recon along the Bench Road. It seems doable as an alternative escape route, if this end is the worst, though, in wet conditions, forget it. And it totals thirty miles to Elk Springs, not just the three miles I did on recon. Almost all of it is in the red and yellow (bentonite) clay-sandstone alluvium, and this is precisely this same stuff which sits at the top of the Echo Park Road — from the 2000-foot displacement on the Mitten Park Fault, so, no real solution in heavy and widespread rain. However, this doesn’t seem the case — the rain is sporadic, fast-moving, and interspersed with bright sunshine and the roads are basically still dry after two days of ‘winter storm,’ so fretting about it is a waste of energy. Either I get out on Friday or I don’t and have to wait a few days. Plenty of water, fuel, and food, so that is no problem. The only locked-in point is the flight next Wednesday evening to Portland. But I’d still hate to miss the yurt-raising in Glade Park at Collin and Marisa’s this weekend! more “western terminus Yampa Bench”

CLUI residency — Energy of Situation

Some final words on the residency period:

Energy of Situation

Rather than producing new material configurations of the energized world as a tool for individual continuance and relevance to the wider social system, I chose to concentrate on a fundamental closer to the bone, as it were: the production of new configurations of the energized world as a tool for individual continuance and relevance to the wider social system. What we do changes the cosmos, always, everywhere, (because everywhere’s are not separated nor distinct).

Traditional art production is (merely) the (re)configuration of certain flows in the near (and far) surround of the producer. My approach generally falls under this model but approaches the reconfiguration process from an entirely different path. Entering a ‘residency’ is (merely) moving from one (life)-situation into another: we are constantly doing this in life, transitioning from one semi-stable configuration to another, with periods of more-or-less instability in between. If one leaves traditional temporal and spatial metrics behind, this process may be seen simply as the modulation of a constancy of flowing condition. The particular conditions and configurations of a situation dictate the potential range of reconfigurations possible, given the energy input of the individual and the embodied life-energy/life-time that is available. The configuration is merely a cumulative apprehended set of flows occurring with a reductive purview (and is always relative to the observer!) There is the ‘locally external’ factor of the accessibility of external energy sources for reconfiguring, but if one approaches the situation as a more autonomous and self-contained instance, the range of possibility is limited just as life-time and life-energy is limited. It is along this approach that I undertook this residency. (I will here omit a wider discussion of the framework of my personal model of the cosmos as there isn’t the room here to undertake it even in brief).
more “CLUI residency — Energy of Situation”

CLUI: Day Fourteen

collapsed canal backfill, South Base playa, Utah, April 2010

Flat Light. Cycling perhaps ten, twelve miles out. Parallel with the huge trenches of the salt/potash mining, eventually towards Blue Lake. A bit nervous about unexploded ordnance, but there are plenty of old vehicle tracks in the playa to follow. The berms, canals, and drainage engineering has completely off-balanced the system here. In its original condition, as it still the case north of I-80, there is a thick layer of very hard and relatively pure salt overlying the extremely fine-grained mud that accumulates as the ranges surrounding the playa slowly erode. It’s this same very fine-grained sediment that comprises the nasty dust in the frequent and rather violent wind storms kicks up high into the atmosphere. When wet it becomes a gooey mess that is at the same time, slick and very dense. The very reason that it costs USD 600 if you get your vehicle stuck somewhere in the local playa — usually when the salt ‘ice’ breaks through — it takes a snow-cat to tow it out. And, as the basins between the ranges are being formed as a result of wide-scale extensional tectonics, that stuff is deep, thousands of feet deep! Nothing like the feeling of being out in the back country here with a vehicle that is stuck or has broken down. Cell phones usually don’t work, and it’s a long walk anywhere. I carry plenty of water (10 gallons), a shovel, tow cable, full tool kit, flash-Lights, some food, sleeping gear, signaling mirror, and other bits of paraphernalia to at least make it a comfortable wait. And most of the time, I have my mountain bike which would make a 50-mile exit a possibility.

CLUI: Day Seven — shorelines

looking north to Pilot Peak, off Rt. 93, near Wendover, Nevada, April 2010
Aim for the nearest topological features to the south, some small intrusives, an isolated fault block, likely, rhyolitic basalts of some sort (with some peridotites or greenstones possibly?). Lake Bonneville paleo-shorelines are visible, with a prominent one slicing the hills like a poorly-made isometric topo model. The hills are technically on the Air Force test range, but I disregard the signs (parking behind some low hills across the road in order not to attract attention).

Definitely a different regime than, say, the Sonoran desert. Here, the land seems more sterile and has only very low scrub, most less than a foot high. Low or black sagebrush (Artemisia), salt brush (Atriplex), rabbit brush, black brush, tumbleweed (Salsola pestifera), and a handful of other species are thinly scattered, with either desert varnish, pebbly sand, or the occasional small colony of cryptobiotic soil. Can’t really tell if this lack is a direct result from severe overgrazing (this is, after all, BLM land) or just a harsh (colder, drier!) regime here compared to the relatively abundant biota of the Sonoran.

Plenty of evidence of other human intrusions on top of the igneous stuff that these hills are made of. Bullet casings, scraps of glass and metal everywhere, bullet holes in anything worth shooting at. Two mines have burrowed into the earth, leaving debris, holes, and mounds, a refrigerator with major firearm damage, a twisted bike frame, and the shattered glass crunching underfoot.

The hills are much larger than they initially appear, a frequent phenomena in a landscape without the normal metrics for scale (trees and human structures). A great view in all directions from the top.

A lake shore sand deposit in the form of a light tan mudflat attracts my attention on the talus-skiing descent, as it is bisected by the old roadbed which exhibits the typical roadbed riparian affect — with visibly larger brush on either side of the eroding pavement — the direct affect of the slight concentration of runoff precipitation. Walking here in the flats one feels … exposed … as the occasional mining truck speeds by a mile or so away. The only relief among short sage brush are the holes dug by coyotes into smaller varmit holes, now that would be something to watch! Good for spraining an ankle if step is not watched closely. The only other difference are the widely scattered aluminum beer cans, mostly effaced of any markings by the brutal sun, sitting pell-mell in the sand.

I notice later that the Nikon has more crap on the CCD, about which nothing can be done — you can see two spots in the lower left center of the images. My irritation with this camera system increases as the years go by. I am constantly astonished at the poor quality of the lens, along with the dirt accumulation on the CCD — it’s a closed system, for god’s sake, how does it keep getting dirty? I don’t even take the lens off, ever! I think the Canon system is superior both optically and technologically. But nothing to be done about it, unless I decide against getting a new laptop and instead get a new camera. Ach, I get tired of technology!

A start to meditations on The Road

The road-as-pathway is a channel for the flow of energy. It is defined by socially-constructed standards and protocols: a web of socially-applied energies follow the limitations and directedness of those protocols. Roads are a human construct in response to the existence of natural blockages that divert from desired trajectories, that expend communal life-energies and threaten the control of energy resources.

The road is perhaps a synthesized mirror for the human-navigable river, that directed natural space of flow, or the ocean which is the cumulative and spatial confluence-of-all-rivers.

Practically all natural landscapes have some form of blockage as to cause a deviation to even slow and deliberate human passage. So, when there is a lack of free and easy passage, first a foot-path evolves, or is established through troddden effort. This is a trajectory for the body, with the foot leading. Seeking a pathway on foot requires vigilance and concentrated attention in many environments, though this condition is necessarily eliminated from daily life in the developed world — almost completely through the efforts to flatten, level, grade, and pave large swaths of the Terran surface.
more “A start to meditations on The Road”

constancy of change

Responding to Michael Connor on the [NEW-MEDIA-CURATING] list:

In the gallery it presents a kind of ontological mirror reflecting back and stabilizing our own sense of self in its apparent stability and autonomy… By contrast time-based art, interactive art, and all art involving some form of interaction over time tend to do the opposite. Perhaps this may be a partial explanation of the continued resistance to such work in mainstream institutions.

sotto voce:

I’d say this dialectic is a cultural construct relating to the West’s inability to philosophically cope with the constancy of change in the universe. So many arbitrary scalar frameworks (and labels, names, abstracted linguistic tags) are put onto (material) stuff to give us a(n artificial) sense of stability. Art in institutional white boxes (whose very institutional-ness is critical to the fostering of that sense of stability); stone sculptures in public spaces; art market metrics. The very object-ness with which we frame the discussion here is embedded in the language of Newtonian fixity and precision of tracking the trajectories of Things. Along with the categorization process which allows a ‘safe’ social shorthand for circumscribing those Things (which, in other world views are merely phenomenal events or flows of potential energy), a circumscribing of which has as primary intent the rendering as safe that phenomenal event to a nervous bystander who wants to believe in the monumental fixity of his/her social system. And the personal fixity of being alive and existing.

Buck Creek ramble

early rise. mild temps. hearty breakfast. then off, away from the dunes into the foothills of the Blanca massif and the Buck Creek watershed. going up. high-pitched grade, slow walking. piñon, juniper, small prickly pear, and the occasional mountain ball cactus. on up. looking down. stopping, looking up, around. lunch break upon the discovery of a pair of buck horns (14-point!). Buck Creek, well named. after enough vertical and hitting snow in the trees, a rapid, steep, and unstable descent into the creek bed itself, water appearing from springs and disappearing. some snow left in the darker, more northerly slopes. sound recordings of water, snow-melt. a tongue of wild fire burned its way into the lower parts of the creek, towards the dunes, leaving gray and ragged carcasses of aspen and willow to succumb to gravity in time. the campground is completely full, mostly with a huge group of junior-to-senior high school students from Sandia Prep. at each campsite there are three tents, two seniors, and six younger students, a food cooler, stove, tarp, and other campsite stuff. the older students organize the cooking and such. there must be 150 kids, teachers, and parents total. they have a raucous Talent Show this evening. (I am so far behind on audio processing, no clue when some choice samples might show up here…)

Riverwalking

Moore knows rivers, wet places, how to feel, how to transliterate feelings, and how to see, but I’m not in consonance with her characterization of the desert. Drawing emotion onto those landscapes seems to place the human over that which is not known — as though it could be humanly known. Something like the common personification of animals and the position of pets in the human social system. The desert is a transform mapping of the Void. Why personify that? Seems corrupt to add human stuff(ing) onto it.

Sometimes, in a desert landscape, a landscape without consciousness, emptier of intellect than any other landscape I have ever seen, I think I can feel emotion lying like heat on the surface of the sand and seeping into the cracks between boulders. There is joy in the wind that blows through the spines of the saguaro, and fear in bare rocks. Anger sits waiting under stones. Exhilaration pools in the low places, the dry river beds, the cracked arroyos, and is sucked by low pressure ridges up into storm clouds that blow east toward the Alamo Canyon.

Moore, K.D., 1996. Riverwalking : reflections on moving water, San Diego, CA: Harcourt Brace.

Reindeer on the Road

mikropaliskunta is back again! An expedition collects artists to explore the nationality of a tourist in Canary Islands 03-10.march.2009 The travel can be followed in real-time at renewed website https://www.mikropaliskunta.net

mikroPaliskunta is a series of interdisciplinary expeditions exploring contemporary imagined nation called Finland and its eco-social changes in a sustainable way. mikroPaliskunta has already made two expeditions: across Finland from north to south by a biodiesel car with a stuffed reindeer in 2006 and around Berlin by bicycles in Germany in 2007. This spring, the group starts a series of expeditions themed The Finnish on Holiday. The first expedition in the hell triangle of tourism is made to Canary Islands – the ever-popular holiday destination and a border shore for African refugees risking their lives to enter European Union. Following two expeditions head to entertain centers in Vantaa and Lapland in Finland The Finnish culture is moved to warm climate in Canary Islands. How does tourism intensify presented national identity in tourists themselves and in local people? Also, the affects of mass tourism from perspective of economic depression and ecological awareness is an interesting subject matter, explains media artist and member of the expedition Mari Keski-Korsu. mikroPaliskunta website is renewed for the Canary Islands expedition. As with the earlier expeditions, also this expedition can be tracked almost in real-time. The artists of the expedition work with their own individual themes producing articles, photographs, videos, maps and a series of performances about coffee drinking as a social phenomenon. All the materials about this and the past expeditions are exhibited at the website. Members of the expedition include media artists Mari Keski-Korsu and Mika Meskanen, photographer Eija Mäkivuoti, author and scriptwriter Taina West. Researcher of sustainable consumption and production Satu Lähteenoja is a special guest of the expedition. mikroPaliskunta is supported by Arts Council of Finland and Finnish Cultural Fund.