Lessons from Icarus
Just another WordPress.com site#28: Bottoms up…
The idea of phenomenal transparency has long fascinated me. It greatly consumes my thoughts and informs my approach to architecture, photography and probably life in general. Layers of reality, the facades that attempt to uphold said realities, and the bare bone roots of what simply is, spin around us like brilliant kaleidoscopes dancing with abandon.
Phenomenal transparency goes beyond concrete, physical, literal absolutes and asks us to consider conceptual layering as well. Regardless of our actual physical understanding of reality – whether spatial or mental – we can take this concept further and manipulate those ideas by questioning and challenging our perception of spatial boundaries and delineations.
I am also interested in taking this whole idea yet another step. What happens when we start to engage and manipulate our sensorial and temporal relationships with the world? How does this inform our spatial reality…our reality in general?
Basically, this is what I think about when I don’t sleep. After easily falling asleep, I wake up at 4:30 in the morning for no apparent reason. I spend at least half an hour to an hour going through all my tricks to fall back asleep. Then, I just start thinking about my work. For the past few weeks I’ve kept myself away from the computer in the morning. I know that once I get it going, there’s no way I will go back to sleep and that’s definitely been my goal.
But, I decided today that I freaking just need to change my approach to all of this. For whatever reason, I am waking up bright and early, ready to go…albeit, the exhaustion sets in a few hours later. And, as exhausted as I am throughout the day, I’m still with it enough to get my day job done.
There’s a lot on the horizon…and I know I have to push myself and my work farther. As it was recently pointed out to me, it’s all there floating around but I have to push myself farther in creating the visual tangibles and connect it to my fascination and desire to delve deeper into our understandings of humanity.
And writing this is hopefully going to let me sleep through the night.
Soundtrack: Some god-awful show called Alcatraz that will undoubtedly contribute to my way too vivid dream states.
#27: Eventually, the circle completes.
Last week I received a phone call from someone I don’t know at all that has greatly affected how I’ve been seeing, thinking and feeling this week.
My grandmother once had an uncle named Robert. He was seventeen years younger than her father and, like other eligible guys his age, went off to World War II to fight the good fight. As she recalls, on 4-4-44 (actually, I’ve come to learn, 4-4-45), she arrived home from school to learn that her father’s baby brother was missing in action. His plane was shot down somewhere in enemy territory and never recovered.
Eventually, he, along with the rest of the crew, was deemed dead.
A few years ago, a diary and some photos were discovered. The diary belonged to a military photographer who also snapped the photo below. His diary noted the location of the town and, apparently, the US Government had been searching for the plane in the wrong location. His photo is believed to be the first photograph of a war plane going down.
It’s strange looking at that photo knowing that I’m looking at the moment of death for one of my relatives.
The plane would have landed in what was then Russian territory. GPS not being what it is now, they simply had no idea.
Years later, thanks to some descendants who pushed the government to reopen the case and discover what happened to these boys, the plane’s location is believed to be known. Excavation for the plane and, hopefully, the recovery of bodies begin this spring.
It turns out that my great-great uncle was a lieutenant in the air force and actually a replacement pilot for this particular mission. None of his living descendants knew that. In some of what I’ve read since the phone call, Robert’s disappearance greatly affected the father of one of the descendants who got the case reopened. The caller found me in his search for next of kin and relayed the above.
I wonder what those boys realized as they saluted death. Robert had a wife and young daughter waiting for his return. Was there time to ponder them? Did he make his peace the last time they were in his gaze? Did he carry those goodbyes?
As I’ve written before, I don’t understand what humans do to each other. I don’t understand how we can let our minds go and treat others in the horrible fashion we do. It blows my mind that those boys needed to be where they were. I can’t believe that, for decades, their bodies have been silently fading. Yet, life goes on. Perhaps later this year this boy, my great-great uncle Lt. Robert L. Mains, will be laid to rest.
Soundtrack: still on Florence + the Machine…so good
#26: Beauty is always good.
Day two of 2012 was absolutely lovely. I love those days where you’re just so happy tears brim as you dance down the street with a kickass song blasting in your head.
I am in the midst of a tremendous love affair with the music of Florence + the Machine. It gives me goose bumps every time and I just can’t stop moving. This evening has been one of the best dance parties ever. It makes me feel like I’m soaring and it’s an incredible stimulus.
Sometimes when I can’t concentrate, I turn on music that I can surrender to and just let it dictate what comes out…whether it be a drawing, design or writing. Even when I can concentrate, if good music’s traveling through me, it can take my work farther. Tonight’s been amazing.
I feel as though I might be tired tomorrow. Right now my heart is racing too much and I have too much exhausted energy to think about sleep. Though, maybe after forcing myself to succumb to yoga, I’ll find myself sinking into an oblivion where my dream state will take over and take me on a ride.
Walking back from MoMA today, I passed a little boy of maybe three or four as he started shrieking. “The moon! The moon!” He was ecstatic. He laughed and pointed past me at the 4 pm moon that hung in the air waiting serenely for its grand entrance.
God, he was thrilled. I wonder what else rocks his world that way.
Soundtrack: Florence + the Machine…and I really almost can’t handle Shake it Out…it dances all over me.
#25: Sometimes babbling is good.
Today is 1 January 2012. I finally for real got out of bed and put my contacts in at 1:37 in the afternoon. It’s Sunday. I’m supposed to meet up with people this afternoon but all I really want to do is get caught up on my own stuff.
I’m sitting at my desk. I’m settled by a window and I look out over a little courtyard and the backs of my neighbors’ apartments. Beyond rise larger apartment buildings.
I don’t have curtains. I probably should. I know that I’ve given countless shows at this point. But, I really love the light. And I love thinking about all the lives inhabiting all those windowed rooms. It kind of blows my mind sometimes.
Last night, as what happens on New Year’s Eve, the conversation turned towards resolutions. Funny enough, the conversation quickly turned away.
Every year, I make the same resolution: to be the best “me” possible. I don’t succeed at every moment. But, given my brutal personal honesty, I am the first to admit when I don’t. I suppose the moral though, is that since I started doing it at fifteen, I’ve realized that as I’ve gotten older, it’s made me a pretty happy person.
Someone remarked the other day that I giggle a lot. I like to laugh. I believe life’s too short to not laugh. And, I don’t know how many people realize this but, life is pretty hysterical.
One thing that makes me sad are the people I know who don’t laugh regularly. That’s the kind of thing that would really depress me if I let it. It certainly has before. And then I’m not laughing.
This is sort of a meandering of thoughts, I suppose. I do those well. It’s also a warm-up for the rest of the afternoon. I have a lot of writing to do today. I’m also posting photos and videos. Get excited.
Soundtrack: the insanely annoying clanking of the heater
#24: For a pick me up, have a drop.
“Keep your chin up.”
“You got it in you.”
“Go get it!”
“Elicit a few “wows” today.”
“Tough is your middle name.”
“It’s yours for the taking.”
“Get back in there champ!”
“You’ve survived tougher.”
“Get back in the game.”
“Buckle down and push forth!”
“Nothing you can’t handle.”
“Take charge and mean it.”
“Impress yourself today.”
“Seize the day.”
“Don’t waste a precious minute.”
I’m becoming addicted to Halls Cough Drops. I’m not sick. I just love reading these things. Maybe they’ve been on them for a while but it’s been a couple years since I’ve bought them stateside. Awesome.
Soundtrack: My Pet Dragon Home Demos
#23: You’re a boy. You’re a girl. Go.
I had an affecting conversation tonight. It’s not quite my story to tell but the thoughts it conjured have their own relevance.
A few weeks ago in New York – actually in a few cities around the world – there was a “Slutwalk”. The walk promoted (among other things) the idea that just because a woman celebrates her body, that does not mean she should be victimized or degraded. The walk took place downtown and ended with a rally in Union Square. Unfortunately, I heard of it that afternoon; too late to participate.
I was once told that I could be considered a walking set of contraditions. I replied that, perhaps, one should question the standards – and acceptance of such standards – that created the space for such contradictions. But, I understood the point and, though I felt the comment revealed the (for lack of a better term) shallowness of our relationship, I could see the basis upon which the comment was made. I mean, “gracious” is about the strongest “language” I’ll generally use and I seldom go anywhere without my pearls.
On the other hand, challenging what it means to “be me” is something I vociferously live. And something I believe everyone should embrace. Some of you who read this know me and a few of my stories. Even those who don’t really know me or all of my stories but have been reading this blog, should know that I’m all for collecting experiences and living life.
Sexuality is an aspect of who we are. For most of us, it’s never going to change. If we can’t embrace it, if we can’t love our bodies and what we let our bodies say about aspects of our self, then what’s the point? And yeah, yeah on that whole reproductive thing. But, if we all can’t have a little fun with the bodies we found ourselves in, then that’s just silly.
Now, the conversation tonight touched on a whole different set of topics. But, the anchor stems from our culture’s proclivity to sweep certain aspects of sexuality under the rug and embrace others when no one is looking. Still others are shamed and cast aside while the rest fuel an underbelly that more refined folks don’t accept until they’re a few drinks in…or about to get get married.
I don’t know what else to say without writing an essay. So…there you have it. Maybe more some other time.
Soundtrack: the heater
#22: When in doubt, rock out.
I love the subway. It’s one of the most colorful parts of this city and the crazy temporal realities that it shuffles throughout constantly blow my mind. Every walk of life finds a spot on those trains and every temperament has its moment to shine.
It’s the perfect place to catch people mid-being; to watch people transition from the mental state the privacy of their home allows to the persona that comes with their daily interactions. It never ceases to amaze me.
As we peel the layers of our being and get closer and closer to the root of who we are, I wonder how deep to the core our subway self lays. Where does it fall on our personal state of being hierarchy? I wonder.
The other day I stood waiting for a train. Off to the side and unaware of my presence, stood an older woman very well put together. I’d guess in her late fifties or early sixties. Her coordinated heels and bag complemented her tailored clothing. Her lovely arranged hair topped a perfectly made-up face. She emitted that older, elegant kind of air that some effortlessly pull off.
And, she was rocking! With headphones in her ears, she was completely oblivious to the world around her. One hand danced with an invisible partner while the other kept time on her leg. She smiled away and sang silently; her mouth big and her eyes bright.
I have no idea what she danced to. Whatever it was, it looked like one helluva good time.
I watched her probably for a full two minutes before the train came. As the train zoomed in, I wavered back and forth on approaching her. A part of me desperately wanted to hear what she heard. Another part felt it indecent to interrupt her good time.
I wondered which aspect of her self I had witnessed. Where was she going? From where did she come? Was this her “regular” her? I suppose I’ll never know. I’m not sure it matters.
Soundtrack: Bruce Springsteen Greatest Hits
#21: Pull it towards you.
In Chinatown there’s an architecture firm that’s made its mark in this country by doing healthcare and institutional work. It’s not always the most glamorous area of design but it’s an important one that few people can do well. This firm of roughly twelve people just received a major commission for the restructuring of a renowned medical campus.
I was there the day the owner got the call relaying that he was wanted. They wanted an architect and they wanted him. No questions. While this man has been practicing for years and was a mighty player in one of the country’s top firms, he is only now at the pinnacle in his own firm. He’s at least in his sixties. And let’s not mention the recession.
Architecture is one of those fields that truly favors elders. It’s a discipline that embraces the relationship between the mentor and the mentee. And you certainly can trace the teacher/student employer/employee relationships throughout those practicing and teaching.
Architects tend to practice until life shoves them off the stage. All that time honing their craft, its no wonder that “great” architects tend to be older.
I stood in the copy room as this man sighed in disbelief. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Yes. Yes, they say it happens when you’re older.” I smiled, “It makes sense.” “I know. I just…Meier’s 77. Frank’s in his 80s. I just never expected I’d be here. Two years ago…,” he trailed off. “Two years ago, I had two clients. Two. And now I’ll have to double my office just to keep up.” He laughed, incredulously.
It’s an amazing thing to watch someone realize that they are there. They are where they always expected to be. They are where they have always worked to be. That was a beautiful afternoon. God, I’m really happy I got to see that.
Soundtrack: The Lost Trailers Welcome to the Woods
#20: It has to be earned.
(Another one from Korea…and truly not meant to offend…)
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the idea of respect and social hierarchy. Deferentialism is completely integrated in Korean society. It’s measured by how low you bow, where you work, the color of your traditional clothing…even what word ending you use! The entire Korean language is created to be deferential to whomever. I mean, the word ‘please’ doesn’t actually even exist in Korean because it’s all just built into the way you speak.
Part of me thinks it’s awesome. There’s something rather intriguing to me about a language where politeness is understood. But, at the same time, sometimes I wonder about the potential facade that it can create. If you are my elder, I’m going to speak to you in a certain way because you’re my elder. That’s it. Unless I’m going to be totally disrespectful and risk being shunned by everyone and their mother, I’m probably going to stick with that form of speech. But, what if you don’t really deserve it? I wonder what constitutes ‘undeserving of the polite form of speech’.
Along with that, much of Korea’s social interactions are based on Confucianist thought. Everyone knows their place and guys are…well, I don’t think anyone I know here would say that women don’t have equal rights as men. But…it’s interesting.
I took a class in college called ‘Ethics and Feminism’. This is the class where I was basically called an idiot for not realizing that Idgie and Ruth in Fried Green Tomatoes are lesbians…who knew? Seriously, did everyone? I just thought they were really close friends.
I’ve never been big on widespread labels. Labels generalize – something of which I’m even less a fan. I get that there are often reasons for the labels but I feel like the labels let people hide, excuses be made, and all around ridiculousness to reign. And yes, I realize that some are inescapable. But why is it that I have to be a girl first…everything else second? (Though, I do love being a girl.) Why do we accept them?
In the Ethics class, we all had to introduce ourselves and tell why we were taking the class. Well, I remember one of the early students loudly declaring that, “[She is] a Woman and believe[s] in Women’s Rights.” Many of the other students seconded and thirded and of course there were the ones who declared, “I am a Feminist.” They were all taking the course to broaden their understanding of self and what it means to be a Woman. And the few guys in the class spoke of supporting women’s rights by way of the class. I was one of the last to go. My introduction, which is seared in my brain (I even remember where I sat): “My name is Jessica. I am an individualist. I’m interested in the ethics part of this course.” (And yes, it felt like how I imagine a treatment group intro to be.)
Somehow, when I signed up, I totally didn’t think about the second half of the course title. And clearly, I was the only one.
This is the course where I got into an emotional debate over…what else…feminism and all those labels. I was often the only one with my particular viewpoint. It started as another broken record discussion on WASPy men and the position of women and the dream that one day the roles might be reveresed. I didn’t usually offer too much in these discussions; to be honest, I was pretty irritated that I had gotten myself into this mess. But I’d finally had enough.
If the roles were reversed, we would still be having the same conversation. Imagine back to the cavemen days. Let’s imagine that the women killed the mammoth and the men stayed at home and bore children. Throughout history, women provided and men nurtured. The exact same scenario would be present today with one small distinction: the pitch of the voices.
Now I’m certainly not advocating that we neglect this entire conversation and that women should shut up about inequality. Not at all. I think most of the gender based projections on women are despicable and brimming with ignorance. But, I do think that people sometimes get carried away with making sure everyone understands the similarities, and differences, between the two genders. Why don’t we just focus on the person?
I realize I might sound naive in this conversation but I really don’t understand it. I’ve had this thought before. Whenever aliens descend on our planet (or choose to make their presence known), I wonder if we’ll be shocked by their lack of apparent gender. Or their ability to be whatever gender their society needs. Or if they’ll just reproduce in some crazy fashion we cannot even comprehend and the distinction of gender won’t even be a recognizable concept to them.
It’s interesting being here. Don’t get me wrong – I love it here and I’m certainly not trying to paint Korea as a mysogynistic society. But, I am in a country where negotiating your gender often seems to be step number one. Whether good or bad. After the gender is ‘negotiated’ then the whole physical appearance comes in and you go from there. And then, next thing you know, your face is plastered across a billboard, your smile graces a metro stop in Seoul, and you discover that you’re the star of a seven minute promo video (that you never signed up to do).
Gracious.
Soundtrack: the clanging of the heater
#19: Stirrings are good.
A friend who I’ve not seen in a while, asked me what I’m doing that’s exciting.
I love thinking about his question.
My life is slowly gaining rhythm stateside. My things are spread among the city, waiting patiently for the chance to break free from their confines. I’m rediscovering the 9-5 vibrations that fuel the drive and carry the energy into the night. I walk along streets I’ve encountered countless times before and there’s this odd feeling of someone familiar wearing different clothes, hiding under a fake nose and glasses, surreptitiously giggling wide-eyed in my direction.
I see the outlines of the city around me. Nameless silhouettes brush past me with that insane energy that, god, I’ve missed. You know that energy. It starts deep in the lowest recesses of your soul. You forget that you’re capable of producing it until it’s completely overtaken everything you know to be and you’re jumping with joy and laughing with abandon. Man, it’s a good way to be.
Soundtrack: My Pet Dragon Mountains and Cities (Rock On!!!)
Lessons from Icarus 