births, deaths. weddings, funerals. events that are personally extraordinary yet universally ordinary: simultaneously momentous and mundane. in the past couple of months, i have mourned the death of a friend, celebrated the births of friends' babies, rejoiced with loved ones uniting in wedded bliss. all the while facing my own transitions and thoughts of change as i prepare to leave 9 years here in shanghai to return to the states.
life is this strange current of constant change. the days, when lived one by one, seem quite ordinary - waking, eating, working, talking... but the compilation of these days, the story threaded through the weeks, months and years - remarkable.
the shock of glen's death still washes over me in cold, unexpected waves. while celebrating at a friend's farewell party the other night at karaoke, my heart got sad amid the loud singing and rambunctious dancing. life felt so full, so rich, so young. to take that away abruptly...tragedy.
these are precious days in so many ways. i have six weekends remaining in shanghai. 47 days to wrap up nearly a decade of relationships, dreams, regrets and good works constructed in this city. in light of glen's death, these days seem even more precious; each day to live and love is, in truth, an extraordinary gift.
cups of coffee: 2
mood: pensive
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
things that disappear
we held our final SHAC exhibit at our studio space yesterday. by the end of this week, all the tenants of 696 wei hai road will be evicted and the buildings will be razed down or renovated to sparkling newness for whatever bars, cafes and boutique shops will occupy their spaces.
to mourn this loss, our last exhibition was appropriately titled "things that disappear", and all selected pieces wrestled with the reality of insistent disappearing in our lives - from buildings to people, memories to relationships. special attention was given to installations that embodied an act of disappearing; most works were scratched, painted, carved into the walls with maximum use of negative space and intentionally designed to remain in the studio and disappear with the building when it is demolished.
i debuted as an installation artist, collaborating with a couple of other friends to create a "confessional tent." draped in black cloth to form a black box-like room, the confessional tent served as an installation the prompted participants to release the burdens they carried inside: grief, bitterness, regrets, heartaches. the tent was dark inside except for a shaft of light that fell through a hole cut at the top to illuminate a paper shredder, painted black and suspended from the ceiling. the walls were bare and dark except for one quote scrawled in white chalk on one long wall:"when i kept silent, my bones grew old through groaning all the day long."
participants were invited to write their burdens on pieces of white paper with charcoal pencils or publicly declare their burdens by writing it in chalk on the walls. if they wrote on the paper, they would then step up to the lighted shredder and put their paper through the shredder. pieces would fall directly to the floor beneath - a pile of white, shredded confessions.
i also collaborated on another piece, one that was much more personal. at our 'urbanity project' opening, my friend glen had come to show his support. a photograph was taken of him in deep conversation with our friend oli, amid the art and other attendants. as glen recently passed, it seemed an appropriate memorial to pay honor to him somehow in this exhibition.
my friend faith, a very talented artist, reproduced the photo onto the very same wall where glen and oli had leaned. using ink and actually removing pieces of plaster from the wall, she created an exact life-size replicate of the photograph. with layers of the plaster and wire beneath the walls showing through, the whole reproduction had an eerie feel to it - glen as the only fully drawn person in a sea of negative space.
faith asked if i would write a poem in lieu of an artist's statement. i agreed but it was much harder than i'd anticipated. i had to remember. i had to think about details - his voice, his face, the way he carried himself. i had to force my mind back into his presence - or his presence back into my mind. i had to wrestle with the undercurrent of grief and the continued aftershock. i had to consider how i think about death. and i had to do it all under time constraint for the exhibition.
the process was both painful and cathartic. in writing it, i was trying to force some sort of closure by the poem's end - more so because i feel like i should have closure, not because there was any real sense of closure. it was good to receive feedback from friends and come to terms with not having closure, with letting questions remain unanswered.
anyway. here it is.
cups of coffee: 1 mood: thankful
to mourn this loss, our last exhibition was appropriately titled "things that disappear", and all selected pieces wrestled with the reality of insistent disappearing in our lives - from buildings to people, memories to relationships. special attention was given to installations that embodied an act of disappearing; most works were scratched, painted, carved into the walls with maximum use of negative space and intentionally designed to remain in the studio and disappear with the building when it is demolished.
i debuted as an installation artist, collaborating with a couple of other friends to create a "confessional tent." draped in black cloth to form a black box-like room, the confessional tent served as an installation the prompted participants to release the burdens they carried inside: grief, bitterness, regrets, heartaches. the tent was dark inside except for a shaft of light that fell through a hole cut at the top to illuminate a paper shredder, painted black and suspended from the ceiling. the walls were bare and dark except for one quote scrawled in white chalk on one long wall:"when i kept silent, my bones grew old through groaning all the day long."
participants were invited to write their burdens on pieces of white paper with charcoal pencils or publicly declare their burdens by writing it in chalk on the walls. if they wrote on the paper, they would then step up to the lighted shredder and put their paper through the shredder. pieces would fall directly to the floor beneath - a pile of white, shredded confessions.
i also collaborated on another piece, one that was much more personal. at our 'urbanity project' opening, my friend glen had come to show his support. a photograph was taken of him in deep conversation with our friend oli, amid the art and other attendants. as glen recently passed, it seemed an appropriate memorial to pay honor to him somehow in this exhibition.
my friend faith, a very talented artist, reproduced the photo onto the very same wall where glen and oli had leaned. using ink and actually removing pieces of plaster from the wall, she created an exact life-size replicate of the photograph. with layers of the plaster and wire beneath the walls showing through, the whole reproduction had an eerie feel to it - glen as the only fully drawn person in a sea of negative space.
original photo
reproduction
faith asked if i would write a poem in lieu of an artist's statement. i agreed but it was much harder than i'd anticipated. i had to remember. i had to think about details - his voice, his face, the way he carried himself. i had to force my mind back into his presence - or his presence back into my mind. i had to wrestle with the undercurrent of grief and the continued aftershock. i had to consider how i think about death. and i had to do it all under time constraint for the exhibition.
the process was both painful and cathartic. in writing it, i was trying to force some sort of closure by the poem's end - more so because i feel like i should have closure, not because there was any real sense of closure. it was good to receive feedback from friends and come to terms with not having closure, with letting questions remain unanswered.
anyway. here it is.
Letter to the Dead
You occupied this space, once. Your voice carried as a warrior’s call, clear and brassy. Your speech – clipped and precise, a rapier slicing the air. Your endless spouting on politics, on love, on how tea ought to be drunk. Your hands – strong, athletic – never shaky, never fumbling. Space widened around you, aura rippling like a golden globule of oil in water. Every ounce of you, grounded.
Until to the ground you fell. Body flat, a forgotten plank. Gravity.
You disappeared without trumpets or kisses. No last glance from a twinkling eye, no wave from the closing elevator door. No letters, no cards, no sentences scribbled in haste on the back of some ripped note. Just sudden vacuum.
How does space become negative? How does nothingness become so unbearable?
We pressed our Sunday best. We spoke in measured tones and weighed words, dishing comfort like winter’s stew. We shuffled down corridors, fear dressed as sorrow. All the while muffling wails that would quiet a banshee.
Do we pay penitence now or are they coins too meager and too late?
Memories of you burst like sudden light - aurora borealis. Flash of brilliance, then pitch black.
Are you the dust and we the breath, or is the other way around? Perhaps you are here, waiting quietly in the dark. Are you touching the walls, pacing the floors, reaching out to brush our skin, missing bodies once warm and familiar?
Perhaps you tread with ghosts, drinking bowls of wine, pouring libations to the living. The silly, silly living. Perhaps the eyes of the dead see so much more than what the living will ever know or comprehend.
Or perhaps we squint, through darkened glass, searching for dappled sun to guide our trembling steps.
Glen Camille El-Hayek
February 7, 1978 – March 22, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
ah, cambodia!
over china's labor holiday last week, a few friends and i took a quick jaunt down to cambodia. we hired a van and driver who shuttled us between phnom penh and siem reap (a little over 5 hours each way). good eats, great conversations, gorgeous scenery, absolutely lovely people....i was completely enraptured by the place...
exploring the magnificent temples of angkor
inside angkor wat
door-to-door monks
fish massage and pedicure - the little fish eat the dead skin off your feet. yech.
life has been moving at a million miles per minute. my mind has been fixed on high speed, and there is so much to process. meanwhile, the days are ticking by....less than two months before i leave shanghai...
cups of coffee: 2
mood: pensive
Thursday, April 21, 2011
one-way
it's official!
just purchased a one-way ticket from shanghai back to america, departing on june 30.
let the countdown begin.....
cups of coffee: 1 with soymilk
mood: whoa
just purchased a one-way ticket from shanghai back to america, departing on june 30.
let the countdown begin.....
cups of coffee: 1 with soymilk
mood: whoa
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
springtime in beijing
three days, two nights...one last trip to beijing before i leave china.
overnight trains, peking duck, crowded subways, summer palace, skewer of fried scorpions, speakeasy bar, meeting up with friends old and new.
delightful.
overnight trains, peking duck, crowded subways, summer palace, skewer of fried scorpions, speakeasy bar, meeting up with friends old and new.
delightful.
our lovely courtyard hostel
beautiful day - outside forbidden city
forbidden city
lovely old door in a hutong neighborhood
first bite!
eating our way through the famous wangfujing night market
fabulous spring afternoon at the summer palace
beijing - i admit you've won me over. but i'll always be a shanghai girl at heart.
cups of coffee: 2 + 2 green tea
mood: going strong
Thursday, April 7, 2011
and now for something completely random
if i could be any literary character, hands down, it would be anne shirley of "anne of green gables." i had a conversation the other day with a male friend who described her as a perfect role model for young women. i completely agree with him. she is intelligent, passionate, determined, yet also incredibly caring, sacrificial and tender. i strive to embody those characteristics as well but find myself identifying with her fiery temper more often than not...
as for literary heroes, my crush is atticus finch from "to kill a mockingbird" (one of my favorite books of all times) - especially the portrayal played by gregory peck in the 1962 film version. *sigh*
cups of coffee: 2+
mood: sleepy
Monday, April 4, 2011
all so beautiful
this past weekend was one for the books. one might even call it 'epic'. it started with hanneke's celtic fusion fiddle concert to a crowd of 200+ on friday evening, rolling into a rowdy karaoke night until the wee hours, complete with interpretive dancing and live violin accompaniment on coldplay's "viva la vida." saturday started leisurely and then continued at a lazy pace all afternoon at a bathhouse. saturday night was catching up with the bro and sis-in-law while watching 'community' and 'the office' and feasting on mediterranean takeout. after church on sunday, i gorged on red wine and meat at a friend's brazilian bbq house party, then jumped, swung and twirled my way through a repertoire of scottish dances at another friend's birthday ceilidh. the weekend capped off with an amazing dinner at a xinjiang restaurant, washed down with black beer (a xinjiang specialty) and lots of laughter around a large table.
wow.
the whole weekend was such a gorgeous display of friends, family, food, love, music, dance, joy and all the delightful moments that compose a life well-lived. the joy was contagious: from feet stomping and hands clapping at hanneke's concert; to strangers-cum-friends bonding over heaping plates of black beans with rice and steak at the bbq; to my friend beaming as he celebrated his 38th year of life with an adoring wife, a new baby daughter, and buddies decked out in kilts and toasting him with whiskey....it was all so beautiful.
i felt this tender melancholy strain of unbearable beauty - all these wonderful moments that, as lovely as they were, had to end at some point. all these wonderful joys that point to this longing to experience them forever.
mourning with those who mourn, rejoicing with those who rejoice - we have such capacity for joy and sorrow, for beauty and brokenness. our hearts are too big for these mortal cages.
cups of coffee: 2
mood: peaceful
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)