Ran off with the circus for a few days but had to come back. An exhibit calls:
Playthings opens this Wednesday, the 26th of September Stroud House Gallery Station Road · Stroud · Glos · GL5 3AP
Private view on Saturday the 29th from 6.30-8.30pm. Serious Fictions will be installed in one room. Exhibit runs for a month. Ah well... here's a clip from the performance last Friday:
One of the other reasons why I really wanted the studio was so I could practice my arnis. I was training this morning when my nutter of a flatmate asked me if I wanted to perform with her tomorrow at Ascot. I was like, 'Uhh, doing what?' She was like, 'Oh just play around with your sticks.'
She brings out her own gear and I look at them and go, 'Oh, like, fire sticks and shit?' She goes, 'Its 120 GBP an hour.' I was like, 'OK!'
And then I ask her what I have to wear. She tells me I have to be in a catsuit so that I won't burn anything and asks me what color I want. Of course I said black. She pulls out a black pvc catsuit, and Des, (hip hop artist from Nom de Plume who I'm shooting on Sunday) was nearly cracking up. I put it on and tried it out with the sticks. Des says I may as well put my name on it. (Let's hope I don't burn it first.)
Well, here's to all those years training, getting beaten up by the guys, sparring in disgustingly sweaty gear, and getting kalyo on my hands!
For the past six weeks I have felt like how a cat must feel if it was thrown up in the air a long way up, waiting and waiting and wondering when it would finally land on its feet. The cat has finally landed in the big smoke. I've just found a flat after camping at Jazzy's for a bit. Since I can't live in a darkroom and photographers hardly have any need for them nowadays, I'm living in a studio instead.
The first thing I saw in my new flatmate's room was this shirt:
Well if this wasn't a sign... we also had dance rehearsals happening that afternoon. There were robots, yes, robots, dancing in my new home by the river.
Finally, the photographer has a studio. Wala nang atrasan 'to.
This is where I work during the weekends in the summer, and during uni breaks (like easter). It's an unspecified four red star hotel somewhere in the forest where we do silver service. It's actually an old castle in protected hunting grounds since the 1000's (!)
Getting itchy feet. I wouldn't recommend for anyone to live in Bournemouth (unless of course you were born here, you really can't help where you're from.) One of my tutors once said that the reason why we are so good at what we do (being in the academe, in the arts, whatnot) is because we have nothing else to do. It's a good place to study for sure. It's a work hard party double hard place. Intense on both ends of the spectrum (for me anyway.) The lack of decent clubs led to the rise of smaller club nights. You get pretty good live acts coming down, tho mostly dj's, and they come once in a while. Recently, more progressive nights started coming on and the scene started coming together.
Nothing cultural around this area unless you call charity shops cultural. I heard that the Antiques Roadshow was here last week. You've got the beach. It is truly one of the most disappointing beaches I have ever seen. Even Zambales, with its gravel like sand, seems much better than a slew of tiny beach huts filled with the members of the Liberal Geriatric Society. Here you can concentrate on theory, read poetry in the garden, feel the melancholia of the gray skies and listen to the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra live. Everyday is like Sunday.
And then there's summer. I am missing Summer Solstice at Stonehenge once again. It is our grad show opening tomorrow, and as I am in charge of sorting out some technical aspects of the projected works, I am being the responsible student and staying home.
...in the fridge is a bottle of bubbly (no, not champagne, but aussie bubbly..,) and feta cheese. some pitta, some hoummus. strawberries and fennel in the garden, berries for the bubbly and fennel for the...hoummus.
"Born in 1928, Nicolas Roeg became a moviegoer in the '30's, long before cinema was granted the status of an art form. There was no great emphasis on scholarly appreciation or critical analysis of the moving image. Film schools had yet to be invented. People went to the movies without knowing the business inside out, like today. The first film Roeg saw was Laurel and Hardy in Toyland.
'The thing that struck me most of all about cinema was that I believed it, said Roeg. I didn't think of it as drama. It wasn't like pantomime or going to the theatre.
....
There are no rules in life, are there? says Roeg. And if there are, you should learn them, but not necessarily obey them all the time. You must make your choices. That's how you maintain your innocence. It's the only thing I'd be arrogant about. I'd like to retain my innocence in some way. When I first encountered cinema it was with a sense of wonder.'"
A group of Israeli soldiers during the six-day war Photograph: Vittoriano Rastelli/Corbis source: The Guardian
It started out with a song called 'Six Days', a DJ Shadow sampled Colonel Bagshot original with a music video directed by Wong Kar Wai and DP'd by the visual poet, Chris Doyle. I became slightly obsessed with the song and later on, so did the rest of the flat. It was at the same time last summer that I was living in London, and was asked to do a shoot for an olive oil group called Zaytoun. (the arabic word for olive)
Zaytoun is a non-profit group that faciliates the import of Palestinian made olive oil and other produce by Palestinian farmers. The olives are handpicked from olive trees as old as Jesus Christ. It is wholly organic. They also produce something called Za'atar. which is a wild herb mix that you can sprinkle onto the olive oil to make a simple and delicious dip.
The Zaytoun group organizes visits to Palestine. This is taken from their website:
This work offers solidarity with the farming communities who are most at risk from settler and army violence in the West Bank. Both settler harassment and the military closure of their olive groves and routes to and from the fields makes it impossible for some farming families to bring their crop home. The role of international volunteers in these cases is to observe, note what’s happening and where invited by the Palestinians, to negotiate safe passage for the farmers and their crops.
Atif is one of the organizers of the group and he asked me to come with them to Palestine to document the harvest. He said that it would be a great experience for me and that the farmers would get along with me because of my guitar playing skills (natch!) He then showed me a video of the last time he was there. The song to the video was 'Six Days.' I told him I loved the song, and asked if he had seen the video. He told me the song was about the Six Day War. I watched the video, saw the people,and became educated by their protests and situation. Later on, they began running and I heard some shots being fired.
'Did anyone die?'
'Of course. Only one, tho,' he said, matter of factly. 'Yes, people do face death here everyday. It is a common thing. People are used to the guns, to the violence, to the death. That is their life here.'
'Uh... and you want me to go?'
Apparently it doesn't happen all the time. But they never know when it will happen so he couldn't assure my safety. He tried to convince me to go. I told him I'd think it over. This wasn't the first time this happened. Years back, (referred by Lille) I was asked by the Probe Team to come with them to Basilan, Jolo, and General Santos in the southern and most troubled part of the Philippines. We would be getting up at 5am, getting on choppers, then getting picked up by ex -bandits in speedboats and taken to a private island. I also had to wear a veil and be covered head to toe and I remember being briefed about not showing as much as a wrist. How was I supposed to do my job as a photographer, underneath a veil? I went for a long swim and weighed out my options. I really wanted to go but at the same time I didn't want to risk my life for USAID. I said no.
I'm not a photojournalist, and I don't think I was built to be one nor do I have the mindset for it. But I will make it to Palestine. One day. There are other ways by which I can help, and at the moment, I feel that risking my life isn't one of them.
I came to Bournemouth to take further studies at the Arts Institute, as well as to get a bit of surf. I read somewhere that the first artificial reef in Europe was supposed to have been built, and ready to go. I thought to myself, "Right, so it's going to be a bit cold, but if the surf is good the whole year round, then... let's go!" There were talks of building the reef for ages now. All I've seen so far are messy, mushy waves, that break by the pier, similar to Huntington Beach in LA. The color of the water is similar as well. It breaks during the winter, when the water is freezing, the skies are gray, and the water, a murkish brown. Not very enticing to someone spoiled by the tropics. The coldest I've ever surfed was Mexico during the winter!
But... the building has begun and it looks like the reef will be ready to go by September of 2007, exactly two years since I first moved. At which point, I would have moved out of Britain's happiest town. Summer has come (a few days at a time) and all I can think about is... "When will I get to surf again?"
I wish you more love and more joy and more days until your numbers grow, and the mama that you are shall truly be. Thank you so much for your generosity, hospitality, and for sharing the gift of your wonderful voice.
I have been envisioning my final work of ink (I have three to date) and have always wanted my last one to be done in the Cordilleras. I remember talking to Tommy Hafalla, a well respected Filipino documentary photographer, about it a few years back and he tried to discourage me from having to trek so far to get inked. I saw him again last October in Baguio. This time he told me I should leave more time for it, as I am going to get sick for a few days after, and need to trek quite far. He told me about another photojourn, who got one a bit different than what he expected. (He was given a woman's tattoo, apparently. He still doesn't know.)
I guess I didn't understand then, but reading Willi's story, I began to see and understand beyond the ink's surface: "...anyone can lay claim on an emblem. I think emblems are especially attractive to those who have fallen into cracks, who are neither here nor there or caught between a terrible past and an uncertain future. We need emblems to serve as hooks, anchors, to find connections."
Right, so, I am horrible with memes. I want to give it a go, but might fall short. Here goes:
Pu-pu platter is great (whenever Ari finds the time to update it.) He is also incredibly helpful and generous with his resources and has sent me a whole lot of essays when I identified my interest.
Motel de Moka is a music blog with several different contributors. I think the blogger that interests me most is someone called Squashed, who also contributes to music is art. He has his own blog too. I mean, where else can a question about dropping tunes turn into a small lecture on sound theory in the comments box?
I read the Wired blogs a lot. Does that count? *Pahabol
One blog that I do like reading (but don't get to read too often) is Howie Severino's. Candid, informative, and you know what? He really makes me think about a lot of things.
I have been dreaming about Einstein, god knows why. I vaguely remember having a photo taken with him on my phone. What I do remember is that in a moment of lucidity in my dream I thought, 'I dreamt of Einstein,' not once, but twice, as I saw him again in the same dream. Apparently there's a book called Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman, a professor from MIT. Here is an excerpt:
14 April 1905
Suppose time is a circle, bending back on itself. The world repeats itself, precisely, endlessly.
For
the most part, people do not know they will live their lives over.
Traders do not know that they will make the same bargain again and
again. Politicians do not know that they will shout from the same
lectern an infinite number of times in the cycles of time. Parents
treasure the first laugh from their child as if they will not hear it
again. Lovers making love the first time undress shyly, show surprise
at the supple thigh, the fragile nipple. How would they know that each
secret glimpse, each touch, will be repeated again and again and again,
exactly as before?
On Marktgasse, it is the same. How could the
shopkeepers know that each handmade sweater, each embroidered
handkerchief, each chocolate candy, each intricate compass and watch
will return to their stalls? At dusk, the shopkeepers go home to their
families or drink beer in the taverns, calling happily to friends down
the vaulted alleys, caressing each moment as an emerald on temporary
consignment. How could they know that nothing is temporary, that all
will happen again? No more than an ant crawling round the rim of a
crystal chandelier knows that it will return to where it began.
[...]
In the world in
which time is a circle, every handshake, every kiss, every birth, every
word, will be repeated precisely. So too every moment that two friends
stop becoming friends, every time that a family is broken because of
money, every vicious remark in an argument between spouses, every
opportunity denied because of a superior's jealousy, every promise not
kept.
And just as all things will be repeated in the future, all things now happening happened a million times before.
Pina Bausch'sLe Sacre Du Printemps (The Rite of Spring). She is a German choreographer and one of the leading figures in expressionist dance. Her work was featured in the Pedro Almodovar film Habla Con Ella. Pina is also short for Philippine (!)
