Start from where you are, again

I started zoëlab 365 as a blog, as a way to track my personal happiness project. As a way to get back to my inner life after motherhood. As a commitment and challenge to my faith in creativity. But then zoëlab blossomed into something much bigger, more complex and longer lasting than just a blog, it became, simply put: a process. A process I fell in love with. A process in which I could share my most intimate enthusiasm for artmaking and in-love-with-ness of life and a place where I could be honest about my darkness, revealing of my heart, and a place where I could develop my point of view. It became a place where I could catalogue, and at the same time discover patterns in my past artistic explorations and musings. Starting with my early childhood—I unwound an improvised, non-chronological autobiography, or artography. I saw that the person I was trying to become was the same person I was as a child. I was self-revealing, but I was veiled, too. It was satisfying to experience the tension between exposing myself to a potential public, while at the same time feeling so hidden, unseen. Living on a raw piece of desert, building a life from scratch, and trying to find myself, as a woman, as an artist, and as a mom. I saw how not only was my role as mom was a creation, just as our family—was a creation. My dedication to my philosophy of life as art--taught me that everything in our life, if we approach it with love, humor, and creativity is art. We could decide how we wanted to create our life in a way that best suits all of us. Living in this way takes lots of compromises, and things are quite, yet deliciously, imperfect. We live a life that skids on the edges of camping and homemade comfort. Garbage and art. Off the grid, yet plugged in. We live a life in between—in between two cultures, in between two languages, in between two worlds—first and third. We live a life that is exciting and feels right even when it goes wrong, which it does often, because we are living from a desire to grow and develop and learn everything we can, everything we are fascinated by and enamored with.  Everything that will help us become better human beings. 

This new process brought me to a new place in life—or rather returned me to something that had been dormant but present since I was a little girl. For the first time, I truly believed in myself. Not in the sense of Rocky or Spiderman—well a little bit in that sense—but also in the sense of my self being something that was always changing, ever creative. It wasn’t the small self, the ego self, it was the larger SELF that I had encountered. This SELF is not a thing in itself, but rather, a potential (a potential that we all share as humans) and that all I needed to do was face my fears, laugh them in the face and then keep going, keep making, keep digging down deep enough to find compassion and humor and courage to live a little larger than I was used to. The self  that emerged was bigger than I could hold in any one picture in my mind. And thus a blog is a perfect place to collect such a kaleidoscope.

This process is, in itself, a testament to process, itself. It is a celebration, investigation and navigation of process—of what it means to be in-between the polished products of life, of how we make meaning of our life, how we develop into our destinies, while at the same time empowering ourselves to act upon the life that flows out of us. It is a study in how we reclaim the parts of ourselves that we have not wanted to see.  It is an explanation of how we get crazy loving and curious and childlike and grow ourselves up enough to be responsible for our choices and yet, irresponsibly committed to the magic of life—sometimes putting it above strict bedtimes or careful expressions or logical spending or any expectations the outside world may have on us. I am learning how to question unconscious values while at the same time upholding the often unmirrored values that I have held (until recently) secretly, inside my heart. Values like kindness, compassion, creativity, tolerance, expressiveness, generosity, forgiveness, honesty, grit, upholding the feminine principle, kick-assedness, embracing opposites, beauty, and grace. 

I trained myself to be more disciplined, I challenged myself to be more alive. I awoke myself to the mysteries of natural life. I dared myself to share what was shameful. I flirted with exposing parts of myself to the public eye. I got curious about what it was like to take my art more seriously and myself less seriously. And, most of all—I let myself be. Anything was okay to share if I wanted to share it. I gave myself permission to be or express or share whatever/whoever I was in the moment. The combination of that freedom with the daily commitment was a magical potion. It worked for me in a way that no other project had ever worked for me before because it provided continuity and visibility--two aspects of my life that have been particularly lacking.

And ever since it ended I have wanted to get back to it. But somehow, I didn’t know how. And then I figured it out: 358 days later—all I have to do is get back into the process. I had lost sight of what it really was, and what had made it so magical for me. This is the raison d’être of the blog—why it was invented—as a way to track a process, and yet to be able to return to it over and over in an easily searchable fashion. The only problem was that my last blog was missing a search feature--as well as a tag feature. This fact frustrated me to no end. And then I realized I would have to start over and do a new blog on a new platform with new parameters. I would have to learn a new interface and new design skills. I would have to get better internet at home. I would have to get a computer that actually worked. I would have to get our electricity hooked up. I would have to quit my job. I would have to return to music. (Well that was just something I needed to regardless.) I would have to get organized. I would have to build up the courage again. And now I have done all those things, a year has gone by. And I still felt blocked/blogged. I didn’t know how to start. Or re-start. I couldn’t just press unpause. Or could I?

At various times thought out year this past year of bloglessness a voice inside me told me this: “After a whole year has gone by, you need to catch up your readers (if you still, or ever, had any) to the latest events in your life.” “You have to transfer all 360 posts to the new platform. This could take months, maybe longer.” “You should create a clever graphic recap time line of the past year.” “You have to make a video compilation of all the posts of 365.”

And then I consulted the Tarot Cards—which I only just started studying a week ago, (after having just received my first professional reading.) I am always looking for signs from the kind and playful universe. And the tarot cards told me this—a message which I gleaned from several different readings over a few days: even if you can’t publish everyday, go back to your commitment to be in the zoelab process everyday. Find your way back to the work by going back into the work. You are a the second stage of completion and you are about to embark on a new journey. September will be a month of success for you. And then another sign, this time from the-universe-via Lucas: he showed me a piece of video he had downloaded earlier of Ron Sexsmith and friends singing the Elvis Costello song: “Everyday I write the book.” 

As poet/astrologer/musician/pronoaic prophet Rob Brezsny (whose book has been inspiring/affirming me lately) would say, with welcome "rowdy blessings" from the universe, I am re-committing myself to The Process that this blog started two years ago to this day. 

Stay tuned....

p.s. I have transferred all the posts for the first month of ZOELAB 365, and will continue to transfer the rest of the 11 months of posts here.

Blocks

It's been almost a year of no blogging. I am not sure how much longer I can go. I miss you. I miss this process. The longer I wait, the more I have to say. The more I have to say, the harder it is to say it. What will it take for me to feel like being "out there" again?

Backwards Night Dreaming About Camp

ZOELAB DAY 78

I have been so busy lately. Working on ZOELAB is the only time of the day where I don’t feel “busy.” Or when I watch television, though television is still being busy, because we aren’t really present when we’re that passive. (I must confess I fell off the television wagon the other night, and instead of creating with ZOELAB, I watched four episodes in a row of The Sopranos. God, I forgot how good, and funny, that show was. Carmella is my empowerment heroine.) Anyway, what is busyness but preoccupation with things that don’t exist in the present. I really don’t like being this busy--when we’re busy, we start to accept stress as a baseline emotion. I want to remember the reason we live here, in Baja, in the desert next to the Pacific ocean, is so that we don’t have to be so busy. So that we can be more relaxed as parents, and as a family. So that we have more time to be creative and social. So that we can have time to just be. But, with parenting, work, and all our various projects, we are living in the busy world. 

Trying to find inspiration for sharing on ZOELAB, I started looking through some old writing and found a list I had made for my first blog, almost four years ago, of pluses and minuses of living outside, while we were camping on this very land that we now have a house on. I never published the list. Today I noticed there were 15 items on the minus list. On the plus list, only 14. I added the 15th today, so the two lists would be even. 

How beautifully simple life was when we camped here. Not that it was easy, but it was a special and peaceful time. I realize how lucky I was to have lived in nature while I was pregnant--ocean, mountains, desert, and also: dessert. 

Pluses vs. Minuses of Living Outside

Minuses

1. Everything gets dirty

2. Sun damage

3. Windy

4. Cold at night

5. Have to dump our toilet

6. Keep food in storage away from animals

7. Lots of prickly, hurty things, scorpions and cholla

8. No cell connection

9. No internet connection

10. No place to hang a mirror

11. Things break a lot

12. Lack of security

13. Lack of comfort at night

14. Lack of entertainment at night

15. Have to take garbage to the dump 

Pluses

1. Keeping track of how much water, gas, electricity using

2. More aware of the moon, the stars & the sun

3. Love rocks

4. Peaceful (except for noisy neighbors)

5. No rent

6. No bills

7. Can make as much noise as we want

8. No need for alarm clock

9. Can recycle gray water for plants

10. Hear ocean and birds

11. Perfect for Ping/guard dog/free dog

12. Appreciate the little comforts in life, with each new comfort comes a whole new possibility of life style

13. You can create new spaces freely

14. You never have to worry about parking

15. Being present comes naturally

The Slow Making of a Dream, Third Phase of Building: Bedroom

ZOELAB DAY 77

I am aware that my Second Phase of Building post, the latest and biggest phase of our house building project, is long over due, but now, even though it will be out of order, I am announcing Phase Three. Thanks to my parents, and their upcoming visit in February, we will now be able to finish the bedroom building, which my parents will stay in when they visit. It will be the first time I have had my parents as a guest in our home. Lucas has two months to gather a crew, buy the materials and finish the building. Will he and his men be able to do it in time? Only time will tell. 

Above photo is a shot of the North view from what will become Emilio’s bedroom, which is now our clothesline area.

View of our living space building from Emilio’s future bedroom.

Front entrance to building. Emilio’s bedroom will be on the right, ours will be on the left.

Lucas still hasn’t decided many of the important structural aspects of the house, like how he’s going to do the roof, but he’s created the basic design of the building. Lucas is an amateur architect with no training, and a moderately experienced builder, you could call his style of working “improvisational architecture.” But I am not even sure it can be called architecture, it is more like building with giant legos. No matter what I call it, I continue to be in complete awe of his vision and skill, using nothing but his imagination and the internet, in creating comfortable, elegant and unique spaces. This is Lucas’ basic design: there is an entrance in the center of the building, into avestibule, which leads to two symmetrical bedrooms on either side. Each bedroom has a closet that is also located in the center section, and a shared bathroom with an entrance from both bedrooms. This center part of the building is already built, out of cement blocks (the most popular building method around), which was started while the main house was being built. But the bottom part of the walls are made out of earth bags, which a lot of our main house is also made of. More about earth bags when I write about the Second Phase of Building.

Wider North West view of bedroom building from front entrance before earth bags and foundation. Photo taken on January 29th, 2012.

seis doce: behind the seams

ZOELAB DAY 76

(Numbers can have meaning too.)

It came to me a few years ago. The idea for a clothing line that was so local it was named after the area code. 

When we first moved to Baja, I got a cell phone with theCabo area code (624) because that was where we bought my phone. We lived, however, in the 612 area code of the Pacific Side of the peninsula. There is a considerable amount of rivalry between Cabo (624) and the area I live in which is comprised of: La Paz (the city where Emilio was born, making him a pazeño), Todos Santos, Pescadero, and Elias Calles (our town, which is, driving south on the highway, the last town before you reach Cabo San Lucas). After a few years of using an out of area area code, I realized how much cell phone credit I was using up for no reason. The Pacific side folks tend to feel significantly superior to anyone from Cabo. I am not sure if the snubbing goes in the other direction. 

I eventually myself a new phone in Todos Santos, and I was considerately excited that I finally had a 612 area code. Imay have some identity trauma from having grown up in Brooklyn during the area code change, when in 1984, Brooklyn, which had had the same area code as Manhattan, 212, had suddenly been given a new area code: 718. I remember being really mad about it. After all, I reasoned, Brooklyn is not a separate city from Manhattan, we are just different boroughs. I had learned that we were supposed to put Brooklyn, NY as our return address when we wrote letters. But I refused. I argued again: Why should I write Brooklyn, NY, when it’s part of New York City. I stubbornly continued to write NY, NY for Brooklyn addresses. My feelings about area codes and neighborhood pride run deep, as they do for many people who come from the area that is less well known than it’s neighbor.

Living now in Elias Calles (which is halfway between both Cabo and Todos Santos in either direction), as I did in Brooklyn and Oakland, I feel again the born out of defensiveness local pride that comes from living a half an hour away from the larger town. 

Anyway, when my cell phone had 612 area code, I felt, finally, that warm, familiar feeling of belonging to the underdog. One day, while dialing a number from my 612 phone, and feeling that pride, I was reminded of a clothing company called Neighborhoodies that makes custom t-shirts and hoodies with people’s neighborhoods (or anything they want) written on them. I ordered three tank tops from Neighborhoodies as a surprise gift to my social service bandmates--each t-shirt had written on it: social service, in the front, our individual band name which was a combination of our given name and the instrument we played, and our favorite number on the back. Zoetar, Drumifer & Pollase. Sure, it was dorky, but we embraced that as part of the band aesthetic. 

Anyway, the memory gave me an idea: I had just started making t-shirts that were really simple to make, and yet very flattering, and then I realized I needed to make t-shirts with 612. In fact, I decided to name my future clothing line 612. As time went by, I discovered that local Mexican, don’t say: “six one two” “seis uno dos,” when they give you their phone number, they say: six twelve. Seis Doce. If you want to be real local, you need to say seis doce. And hence, the name of my new label. 

How can you have a new label if you don’t have any clothes yet? Well, today I finally had a day in the sewing studioat Casa Luna and got myself through a day of sewing with my new serger. The serger is a wonderful exciting new machine that I have been wanting for a few years, but because it’s new, and different from a regular sewing machine, it is a bit tricky. It is so easy for me to get intimidated by new techniques and machines, and want to give up. However a little perseverance got me through an hour of troubleshooting the bad sounds the machine was making. It was a lot of threading and rethreading, but when I finally found my rhythm, it was incredibly gratifying to be able to actually use the machine. Sergers sew the seams, cut the fabric and finish the seams all at the same time. They are fast efficient machines that make even a novice’s sewing look more professional. They use 3 to 4 different needles at a time. Anyway, they are the ideal machine to use when sewing knits, which is primarily what I make, because the seams they create are both strong and stretchy. 

Using the dark blue bolt of fabric (my first bolt ever bought) I got at the Segunda in La Paz, I made six Y-shirts (this style looks more like a Y than a T). I also finished a shirt (pictured above) and appliqued my first 612. I still need to sew down the numbers, but that’s more or less how it will look. I am currently researching label options, considering getting a stamp with the logo printed on it, that I can put on the inside of the of the clothes. Six and a half is not a lot, but it’s a great start. Initiating (or re-initiating) is always the hardest step. On Monday ZOELAB is going on the road for a week, so I don’t think I will have a chance to do any more sewing for a little while. But when I get back, I’ll definitely getting back to the studio! I want to do more with the applique, I developed another style of applique (that I made on my pink sweatshirt) that I want to try with the Y-shirts.

This story has a dual purpose, to share the development of an idea for its own sake, sharing its intention and its process of creation, all successes and failures, but also as a way of copyrighting it, to prove that it is in fact mine (though not really mine, as you can see, my idea is a pastiche of others’ ideas.)

how to launch a clothing line

ZOELAB DAY 75

1) Decide that you want to be a fashion designer, or at least learn to sew your own clothes, even though you don’t believe you can because you don’t have the patience.

2) Receive sewing machine as birthday present.

3) Take sewing classes, which are fun, but lead to no independent sewing.

4) Wait years. 

5) Take another few sewing classes, which are also fun, but lead to no independent sewing.

6) Then, sew an easy project, like curtains.

7) When looking at the seams, notice that your favorite dress is also easy to make.

8) Copy it as a t-shirt, with out really knowing how, with a single piece of fabric you’ve had for years. 

9) Try other projects. Sew cloth birds to make mobile forfriend’s baby shower gift.

10) Dream about a serger. Don’t buy it yet. 

11) Instead, buy a book about sewing.

12) Take a lesson on applique. 

13) Turn favorite sweatshirt into the ultimate and absolutely most favorite sweatshirt.

14) Take independent lesson on how to copy a garment.

15) Dream about a serger, but instead buy a book about sewing with knits, saying to yourself that if you really start sewing a lot, then you can think about getting a serger.

16) Make more and more projects, before you know what you’re doing.

17) Receive a serger for a birthday present.

18) Try it out, make a few things.

19) Go to a local fashion show and believe your clothes will be in it next year.

20) Let the serger sit and sit.

21) Set up your sewing space. 

22) Write on your blog how you are going to start a clothing line.

23) Don’t do any sewing. 

24) Feel bad about how you aren’t doing any sewing.

To be continued...

how to be an artist

ZOELAB DAY 74

how to be an artist

Let everything in you count

(even shit storms) 

     and carry a pen.

    especially softness. 

listen for it, 

   its voice waits to be heard.

    paying special attention 

to the child.

Don’t judge the different parts, 

     love them or let them be.

After all, we are letting our hearts matter. 

We are daring to live from the right side of the brain.

Don’t be lazy 

unless you are trying to be lazy.

Let the child inside

live out its course. 

Follow her closely, 

delight in her delights, 

cradle her rage, 

listen to her lessons. 

Most of all, respect her, 

for she makes the artist in you.

Everything you have ever been and will ever be 

is right here in the room with you.

Don’t chase it,

let it come to you when it is called for.

You are becoming: 

1. desire/love (ego/egoless, wants something in return/wants nothing in return)

2. belief

3. courage

4. commitment

5. stubbornness

6. grace

Dare to take up space in this world. 

           You are only practicing the art of being yourself.

To Do Collage

ZOELAB DAY 73

Indirectly inspired by assignment #56 from Learning to Love You More, mentioned in art world post, I made a collage. It started out free style--I leafed through some old magazines, cutting out images that had significance to me, but instead of being a portrait of my friend’s desires (assignment #56), it ended up being a visual to do list. As I picked out the images, I realized the ones that had significance to me reminded me of things that have been floating around in my head have I have been needing/wanting to do. I added the letter-punched red labels after the fact, simply because I had just rediscovered the punching gun that Lucas found at a thrift store when I opened my hot pink plastic 1970’s Samsonite suitcase, which is the holder of my vast collection of collage papers, fake tattoos (one made by artist Kiki Smith!), and stickers. (I still have a sticker collection, and stuffed animal collection and I’m nearly 40. I have gotten in heated discussions with my 3 year old son over whose Snoopy is whose.) How fun it is to reconnect with all those wonderful tools. I really recommend trying the visual to do list. I had a lot of fun with it. It loosened the pressure I normally feel when I make a written to do list. It would be interesting to make one that is pure image, with no words. Perhaps the images would start to have an unconscious affect on us, subliminally inspiring us to perform the tasks on the do list. What if the tasks on the list were significantly more boring than the ones illustrated above? That would be the real challenge, making boring tasks like “pay water bill” look enticing to ourselves.

Try making a visual to do list and let me know how it goes. Send me your images!

another museum adventure

To continue on the theme of photographing museums, I want to share some images that I took last August in my new favorite museum, The Tate Modern in London. Lucas, Emilio and I took a grand European tour that summer and when were in London visiting our friends, I got to spend a very happy dayalone, wandering around the museum, which shows exciting and eclectic contemporary and modern art collections, in a very impressive industrial space. The museum allows photography, the general admission is free, and it also offers many interactive resources as a way to engage in the art. Though out the time I was in the museum, I periodically welled up with emotion because I was so inspired by the space and the art, and after two years of motherhood, it felt like the beginning of my return to art. I had forgotten to bring my journal with me, but I had my ipod, which has a voice recorder. Here is an excerpt from what I said: 

“I also realized that being at this museum alone is what I really needed because I have been depressed and lost and disconnected.... this happens to me in life and it makes sense but, it’s been hard being a mom and being a wife because I feel like I have no core and I’ve sort of lost track of the other things I care about, my passions. I realize that... I unconsciously think: ‘my life is over, now that I’m a mom that’s all I’m ever gonna be and I won’t ever have time to do any of the other things that I love to do.’ And whenever I have a few minutes or hours it’s not so easy to reconnect with who I was, or who I would like to be... Believing in art as a religion, not just something to do, but it being a deepest expression, not being lost in the world of practicality.”

Here are some photos I took that day of people entering the museum in its great hall--the last one is a video.

museum adventures

De Young in San Francisco

ZOELAB DAY 71

To continue with my insider/outsider perspective of the art world theme, and to honor the photo from yesterday’s post, (which was taken at Mass MoCA) I want to share some photographs that I have taken in some of my favorite places to photograph: museums. There are not very many museums in the world that will let you take photographs inside them. But there are a few. Taking pictures is is a way to have a more interactive experience when I go into a museum. Instead of just being an observer, I become participant. I go from outsider to insider. But, in the end, I feel even more like an outsider.

My interest in this activity started when I was nineteen years old and visited the Musée d’Orsay in Paris. The Musée d’Orsay was a railway station (built at the turn of the 20th century) that opened as a museum in 1986. It is a beautiful space, and when I first visited there, they allowed photography. In those days, I used a 35 mm Nikon FG. I have since lost all those photos (they were actually stollen from my darkroom drawer in college). I loved photographing the art, with the light glowing down from the magnificent dome glass ceiling. I returned to the museum last year with my French aunt, (twenty years later) excited to re-experience the museum with my digital camera, and found out that they no longer allowed photography. Needless to say, I was very disappointed. Since then, one of my other favorite museums to take photos in is Mass MoCA (Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art.) My parents live an hour away, and every year when I visit them, we make a family pilgrimage. Taking photos there has become a big part of the ritual, especially between me and my brother.

Mass MoCA in North Adams, Massachusetts

de Young in San Francisco

de Young in San Francisco

de Young in San Francisco

Museo de la Historia Natural, La Paz, México

Mass MoCA, in North Adams, Massachusetts

Mass MoCA, in North Adams, Massachusetts

Mass MoCA, in North Adams, Massachusetts

Mass MoCA, in North Adams, Massachusetts

Mass MoCA, in North Adams, Massachusetts

You may ask: is this intellectual property infringement? And the honest answer is: I don’t know. But I do find it interesting to think about: seeing art, and the space that contains it, from a different person’s perspective. Not necessarily as the artist, or the museum, intended. Does that photograph of art become art or is it a sneaky reproduction?

Art World: Outsider/Insider, Part Two

ZOELAB DAY 70

Meanwhile, I was going graduate school school to become an expressive arts therapist. I thought of it as the ideal career for someone like me. I could continue to express myself in all the varying art forms, free from the constraints of making money within that context, and at the same time, I could make a living as an expressive arts therapist. Through my three years of school, and two years (one year overlapping with school) working as an expressive arts therapist, I developed a new relationship to the arts. Making art was no longer about ego gratification and being clever, but it became a soul need. It became a way of living. A way of making meaning out of life, so that I could have a more playful, creative relationship with myself, and with others. It was a way to take myself less seriously, but at the same time take my feelings more seriously. I found something I really believed in. Making art in this way is magical, deep and satisfying. However, as I headed deeper into the professional world of psychology, with its licensing hours, ethical codes and boundaries, I started to feel uncomfortable. I asked myself is this what I really want? I started to find myself feeling less whole, and more split. The connection I had with being an artist in the world started to slip away, but I wasn’t willing to give it up. I wasn’t willing to put it into hiding. In an expressive arts therapy based desire to integrate this split between the Professional and the Artist, I came up with an idea for a sitcom character--an untrained working therapist, who was very unprofessional, with very poor boundaries because what she really wanted to do was to be an artist. Every week she had a new fantasy, and as she sits with clients she fantasizes about her other life. I did not make the show, and we moved to Mexico soon after. (Since then I have been developing the show within the new context of Baja, and plan to start shooting in 2013).

It wasn’t until last year, when I was planning workshops for Art For Life,  my organization that I am building in Mexico, where I teach cultivating creativity workshops and do creativity coaching, that the realization came to me. What if the work I do helping people to access their creativity IS art in itself? After all, this could be a form of art as social practice. When I think about it, it is not so different from what an expressive arts therapist is trained to do. With expressive arts therapy, “the work” or the therapeutic relationship is private, and therefore personal only. But with social practice art, “the work,”  while still just as personal, becomes public, and therefore universal. In this way, the work benefits not only the teacher/therapist/artist (me) and the participant/student/artist, but also, the public, who witnesses the interaction (whether through recordings, or as a live audience.) Another important difference between expressive arts therapy and social practice art is the context, and the language of aesthetics. My goal is to make Art For Life (its teachings and experiences) relevant in different contexts, using distinct languages of expression. Some workshops will be relatable to people with no arts training, while some will behelpful to people who are fully engaged in the art world. I am interested in connecting the gap between the sophistication and internationality of the art world and the depth and empathy of the expressive arts therapy world. The art world can be kind and the expressive arts world can be hip. 

The internet is an integrative space that can hold the kind of approach I am speaking of. This blog is, in itself, my foray into social practice. My goal is to make it more interactive--so that it feels more of a mutual experience. I want to share one of my favorite examples of participatory art--the project by Harold Fletcher and Miranda July called Learning to Love You More.  If you are interested in social practice/participatory art, please write to me and share your knowledge, as this is just a starting place for me. I have been sharing with you a a new thing, a delicate thing. The first seed of a possible direction of my ever-evolving desire to integrate my dreams, passions and skills, so as not to feel compartmentalized, so that I may live the enchanted life of my dreams, and to help others live their creative dreams. Ultimately, to live life as creatively as possible, to live life as art.

Art World: Outsider/Insider, Part One

ZOELAB DAY 69

I have always had an ambivalent relationship with the visual Art World. Even though my mother is a painter, with an MFA in art, and I was a Studio Art major in college and grew up in New York City, getting to go to some of the finest museums and galleries in the world and I have dedicated to my life to the study, practice and teaching of the arts, there was a clear moment when I decided that I would not become a professional visual artist in the traditional sense. I knew, somehow, that I did not want to make art to sell in museums or galleries. I have had a few pieces in shows here and there, but really, it has not been my goal. This project ZOELAB is the most I’ve put myself out there as an artist in my life.

The art world, with its erudite sleekness and exclusivity, is both a real and conceptual place to which I have felt intuitively I don’t belong. And yet, there is a paradox. Because I also feel a connection to the art world, I understand its language, but yet something has been missing. I love to go to museums and galleries. I love to read art criticism (or used to) and have heady discussions with artists about aesthetics and contexts. Many of my friends are artists who are entrenched in the art world. And yet, since I was a small child, art has always meant something else to me, more personal, less categorizable, something in the realm beyond judgment. I felt that art belonged in a different context than a museum or gallery, and yet I loved visiting those very places. And even if I can participate in the culture around art with which I am so familiar, it somehow does not include me. Perhaps it is because art and commodity don’t go together for me. Perhaps it is because even though I love visiting museums, they still feel like places of restriction and institution. Perhaps this is also because I have not yet found the right medium.  That is... until now.

I have dabbled with the idea of performance art. I can get excited about conceptual art. I have taken a lifetime’s worth of photographs, and yet, I have no interest in putting them in galleries. But, there is one art movement that is gaining more and more recognition that genuinely calls to me. It is an art movement that is accepted in the art world, and yet, by its definition, is difficult to commodify. It does not have a clear title, but is often referred to as social practice or participatory art. From Wikipedia: “Participatory art is an approach to making art in which the audience is engaged directly in the creative process, allowing them to become co-authors, editors, and observers of the work. Therefore, this type of art is incomplete without the viewers physical interaction. Its intent is to challenge the dominant form of making art in the West, in which a small class of professional artists make the art while the public takes on the role of passive observer or consumer, i.e., buying the work of the professionals in the marketplace... It may also be categorized under terms including relational art, social practice, community art, and new genre public art. Folk and tribal art are also considered to be "participatory art" in that many or all of the members of the society participate in the making of art. While a painter uses pigment and canvas, and a sculptor wood or metal, the social practice artist often creates a scenario in which the audience is invited to participate. Although the results may be documented with photography, video, or otherwise, the artwork is really the interactions that emerge from the audience's engagement with the artist and the situation."  Here is a quote I found by Andy Horwitz on the site culturebot from his essay on social practice in the context of performance. “...the emergence of social practice as a trend speaks to two fundamental shifts in American culture: one, a broad re-thinking of the role of the arts in society and two, a rejection of corporate capitalism’s demand that citizenship is predicated on being a consumer, not a creator or empowered participant in civic life.” When I first heard about “participatory art” something in me awakened and I knew I had discovered an art form for me. I love its emphasis on altruism and its stance against commodification. Also, I am interested in playing with outsider forms that question the institutional form.

To be continued...

Turning Against The Self

ZOELAB DAY 68

Buddha was said to have said: 

“not getting what you desire and getting what you desire 

can both be disappointing.”

Sometimes we get what we want, and we rejoice.

Sometimes we get what we want, and fear makes us recoil.

Sometimes we don’t get what we want, and we learn and grow.

Sometimes we don’t get what we want, and we turn against ourselves.

There are times when my heart opens up with desire. Especially around my birthday. But if things don’t go my way, sometimes I identify with the child in me, and let it be about the ego. I tell myself a story that makes it all about me. This is how children are in the world. Not only do they easily get disappointed, but they personalize, they think there must be something wrong with them, and that’s why they didn’t get what they wanted. As the story that I tell myself continues, as a balm for the disappointment, I see the cause to be direct action against me. As if the world wanted it that way. And then, instead of soothing the hurt child, I turn against her, unconsciously aligning myself with my projected view of the world. This is perhaps an adolescent response--thinking the world is paying attention to our disappointments. And that we are the only ones feeling that way. When really, the world is in a constant flux of a totality of disappointments and triumphs, as well as everything beyond.

You may be wondering, what kind of disappointments am I speaking of? They are the same disappointments we all feel in a daily way: we didn’t receive the phone call we were expecting, our favorite tea cup broke, our life doesn’t look quite like we want it to. But, when I really think about it, the greatest disappointment is usually in myself. Ultimately I am disappointed by my own abandonment--by not taking care of myself, not keeping my life in balance, not giving myself enough rest, not taking care of my own needs. It is a disruption of function within the inner family of the psyche. It is easy to blame the world, but it is impossible for the world to take responsibility. It is more effective, and far more empowering, to take responsibility for my own feelings, and my own actions or lack of actions. Of course sometimes events happen that are beyond our control, but still, we always have a choice in how we respond. And in how we care for ourselves. Often, when the heart is vulnerable and full of longing, it is a sign that the inner child is needing attention, and the inner adult self, whose job is it is to take care of the child, is wrapped up in the outer world that seems to have no room for those quiet soulful needs.

However, that is not the end of the story. Even after I’ve caused further suffering from turning against the little self while it already feels vulnerable, I realize that as soon as I start to have compassion again, and show kindness, the little self didn’t actually come to any permanent harm. It never seems too late to show kindness. Again, like a child, the self is resilient. It can endure great suffering, and responds well to compassion. It is soft, yet strong, like a jelly fish. Maybe it stings a little in self defense, and instead of breaking when poked, it gives just a little, and then its body fills back into the space after the aggravator is gone. 

I notice with three year old Emilio, whose ego is not yet fully formed, that he does not yet personalize his disappointment. If he feels disappointed, which sometimes happens several times a day, his response sometimes is to go into arage, but more and more often, his response is to go into a corner of the room and hide. He goes under a blanket or a desk or a table. Perhaps this is how he tends to the hurt part of himself, or perhaps he is ashamed. Or perhaps a little of both. Either way, after only a few minutes of hiding, he returns to his world of play, bounced back in full recovery (just like the jelly fish.)

Another way to see this cycle of separation and reunion is as a spiritual longing for connection with the The Self. Here is a poem by Rumi to illustrate:

Love Dogs

by Rumi

One night a man was crying,

                                                Allah! Allah!

His lips grew sweet with the praising,

until a cynic said,

                             “So! I have heard you

calling out, but have you ever

gotten any response?”

The man had no answer to that.

He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.

He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of the souls,

in a thick, green foliage.

                                        “Why did you stop praising?”

“Because I’ve never heard anything back.”

                                                                   “This longing

you express is the return message.”

The grief you cry out from

draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness

that wants help

is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.

That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs

no one knows the names of.

Give your life

to be one of them.

GeGe & MeiMei, Part Two

Our feet at the beach in Rio 1999

ZOELAB DAY 67

The other lessons that came from Alexander were cultural. One day, sometime in the mid eighties, while waiting for the bus in Brooklyn, Alexander turned to me and gravely stated: “Promise me, Zoë, that you will never wear designer jeans.” I asked him why, and he said, “just promise me.” So I promised him. I didn’t figure that one out until a few years later. The ironic thing is the only designer jeans I have ever owned is a pair of turquoise Calvin Klein jeans that I had picked out and Alexander bought me as a birthday present three years ago.

And then there was the time I was sitting in my room, and Alexander walked in with a new record. It was David Bowie’s Changes. He showed it to me, and I asked him who it was, and he said David Bowie. I told him I thought he was a girl. And he said, well he’s not. Then he put the record on and I was transfixed. 

When Alexander was in college, he majored in religion and philosophy. He was very interested in Buddhism, as well as other eastern thought. I was a senior in high school at the time, and curious about Buddhism--he recommended that I read the book “What the Buddha Taught” by Walpola Rahula. I read it and recognized what the buddha taught to be truth. But I also knew that I was not ready to transcend my ego. I knew I was still addicted to the highs and lows that ego attachment brings, and that I had I would return to Buddhism later in life.

A year later, I was to go to Beijing for a summer with my high school Chinese class to do a summer course in Chinese language. While I was preparing for my trip, and starting to feel anxious about going so far away, Alexander tried to give me courage. He said, I have three pieces of advise for you about your time in China: “1) Don’t bring your walkman. 2) Speak as much Chinese as you can. 3) Stay aware.” I actually can’t remember if I followed the first piece of advice, but I did follow the second one. I pushed through my fears, and struck up conversations with Chinese people as much as I could. I even made some Chinese friends. But number 3 is a piece of advice from Buddha, via Alexander, that has been with me my whole life. The experience of being aware, being the observer, not only of others, but of my own thoughts, actions and interactions, has led to much wisdom and relief from suffering. It is a wonderful piece of advice for teenager (who can be so self conscious).

During a summer visit from college, my brother introduced me to yoga. This was still the 1980‘s when people still aerobisized. I didn’t know anyone else who did yoga. He would practice his poses on the porch of our house in the Berkshires daily, and I found it fascinating to watch. I took black and white photographs and wrote a poem about it called Yoga in Earshot. A year later, I bought a book on yoga, and started doing headstands in college. I have continued to practice for all these years.

In high school, the influence that my brother had on me made me feel different from people, and sometimes alienated. He initiated me into the world of cultural criticism and spirituality. He inspired me to be rigorous in my thinking and to question everything. He became an anthropologist, sublimating his personal cultural alienation into a discipline of social science. And I became a therapist/artist, sublimating my sensitivity and emotionality into artmaking and helping others. 

We have visited each other or traveled together in many parts in the world, including: Kenya, Tanzania, France, China, Vietnam, Brazil, Holland and Mexico. And now, in some ways, we are going in opposite directions--I have become a sort of society drop out, while at the same time using my memory and knowledge and personal experience to engage in a cultural dialogue. And him, a professor and writer in Amsterdam, living an urban plugged in life with all the bourgeois trappings. We are each going our own paths, influencing each other along the way. As I go, I continue to see all the little and big ways that Alexander’s early lessons have stayed with me. And now, more than ever. I probably won’t ever use Algebra or Latin ever again, and I do hope to play more basketball, but as I look at my life, I am continually reminded of his ideological and intellectual influence. He helped build my school confidence, and encouraged my development as an emotional spiritual intellectual. To illustrate his kind of influence, I will end with an excerpt from the personal statement I wrote for my undergraduate college application, which was an excerpt from my journal (which had only one section.) 

And now I know everyone needs a voice, each person has her own but she needs another to feed on. Another to accept hers and expand its possibilities, to go beyond what is expected. I know that no one at high school is that voice. Alexander is that voice. And even though I have discovered his voice is not always perfect, not always consistent, it is alive. It is there. Not everyone has, or knows they have, or knows they need a voice. A voice of love, of understanding, of influence. I know my own voice follows love; love of the abstract, the personal, the unique… I need a reason to be voice. It has to be person, someone to speak to me… a voice that speaks to mine… My dream is to be a voice. Maybe it is a voice that quivers or that is shy, sensitive, or silly, but it is a voice that communicates.

Okay, now we’re going to the beach.

GeGe & MeiMei, Part One

ZOELAB DAY 66

In honor of his visit, I want to write a post about the person who had the biggest idealogical influence on me during my coming of age--my older brother, Alexander. Just last night, we were having an intense conversation about how freeand authentic I feel in our new life in the desert, and how strange and surprising it is that my life has taken this direction. I found myself confessing how deeply anti-capitalist I’ve become. At first, I sensed a hint of defensiveness on his part--as he had just confessed to his recent shopping spree in LA. But then, the more we talked, he started to remember how it was when we were kids. When I was a young teenager, and he was an older teenager (he is three and a half years older) he would talk a lot about his alienation from American culture, and he would criticize not only capitalism, but the whole bourgeois way of life. There was a part of me that saw what he saw, and agreed with him, but I still loved shopping, American television and all the wonderful mass marketed consumer goods that America had to offer. To show how I grappled with his influence, I will quote from a section of my journal that I had called “Unorganized Thoughts.” My journal during that phase was a small 3 ring binder that had several sections separated by tabs, they were called: diary (a typical girls diary detailing dramas with friends, crushes, and reports of basketball games), Miscellaneous: Unorganized Thoughts, Writing, Vocabulary, and Lists (to do lists, Books I want to read, Famous Good Looking Men (formerly cute boys)). I was fifteen, a sophomore in high school, and he was eighteen, and was in his first year of college.

April 22, 1989: 

[This started out as a poem, but kind of became a diary entry.]

I am an observer

of words

of actions

of relationships

I am a poet

or am I?

Is it critical to be clever

when writing poetry?

yes, I mean that in both senses.

Alexander is a bohemian intellectual

Is that what I sometimes

think I am?

Though I do no hate all T.V. except Channel 13

and I don’t only watch foreign movies

and I am not totally against

superficiality.

Though should I be?

I am allowed to be different than him.

I wondered at first, where did this drive or interest that I was intellectual or anti-America, or at least against some of the things that America represents like: Capitalism and well I don’t know exactly. But my point is that all this thought was instigated by the influences my brother has on me... I can’t align myself in this world. What the hell am I...

EARLY TEACHINGS: ALEXANDER’S SUMMER SCHOOL 

BASKETBALL

The summer before 5th grade, Alexander decided that he was going to teach me how to play basketball. He took me every week to one of the schoolyards in our neighborhood, and showed me how to dribble and shoot. Sometimes we’d play “around the world” or “HORSE”. If there were other kids his age around, he’d play a little one-on-one, while I watched. Afterwards, he bought me a Welsh's Strawberry soda. There was only one store I knew of that sold it, and it was across the street from PS51-where the court was. I felt pretty cool playing basketball, and ended up playing on my school’s basketball team for seven years.

LATIN

The summer before 6th grade, before I was to enter a new school, a private school that didn’t have grades, but written reports, and taught subjects like painting, poetry, modern dance, Latin, Chinese, where you were encouraged to think for yourself and write essays, Alexander decided that I should learn Latin. He knew I would be learning Latin the upcoming year, but he wanted me to have a head start. We spent the summer at our house in The Berkshires, and Alexanderheld daily lessons on the grass. He even gave me quizzes. My first lesson was to memorize the conjugation of love: Amo Amas Amat Amamus Amatis Amant. I repeated over and over until it became an automatic mantra. And I still remember it. Though I never did study more than one year of latin--the next year I switched to Chinese.

ALGEBRA

The summer before 10th grade, Alexander decided it was time for me to learn algebra. Again, he wanted to me to be prepared for the subject when it was to be introduced the following school year. I don’t remember what instigated this, perhaps it was a compassionate response my expressions of insecurity about new school subjects. In Elementary school, I had had low self esteem and school anxiety. Every summer I would fear that I wouldn’t be able to handle the next grade. My parents had to reassure me by saying that everyone was going up a grade, and we would all be in it together. I don’t know if it was because of Alexander’s teachings, but I ended up loving algebra, and even though it was difficult, I did well in the class. There was something about the abstraction and the perfection that appealed to me. I really surprised myself with that one.

Deregulated, then Supported

ZOELAB DAY 65

My brother has come from Amsterdam for a visit! I am very happy about it.

The past few weeks, I got a little knocked off my routine due to work. My work is fun, and enlivening, but it brings me away from the inner world. It is a saving grace to have ZOELAB to bring me back to that other, emotional and subtle world of experience and expression. Normally, getting knocked off my routine would result in feeling lost, but thanks to this built in structure, I cannot get lost for very long.  This is something I like to teach in my workshops: structure or routine is very useful for our creative productivity.

I was feeling uninspired and exhausted and was considering giving in to the temptation of losing myself even more into someone else’s world in a movie rather than engaging in a ZOELAB process. I decided to check my email, and had received a birthday note from a dear artist friend and loyal reader who sent me some very inspiring words of encouragement about my new paintings, (and play dough) which lifted me up. It was just enough to give me the ignition to dig down through the tiredness, and produce another painting about the experience of deregulation and then support. I also had a wonderful phone conversation with another dear artist friend earlier today, which helped put into focus how important it is to support art-making--our own and each other’s. 

It’s a wonderful reminder to all who risk existing in the precarious and vulnerable territory of being an artist. I give a lot of thought to what it means to be an artist and how difficult it is and how strong one has to be. We live in a culture where the arts are not as supported as they should be. Not only on a governmental, financial level, but on an unconscious cultural level. We all carry around with us mostly unconscious assumptions about what it is to be an artist. There is a voice in us that supports those assumptions, the voice can be subtle, so it is not always easy to catch it. I have spoken with many self-professed and closeted artists about the discouraging voice they carry with them, and how often it keeps them doing what they need to do. It takes real strength and courage to keep creating, despite this voice, which I call the inner critic. The more aware we are of our inner critic and the familiar phrases it tells us, the more likely we are to defeat him/her. If we are not aware of the presence of the inner critic, we unconsciously project him/her onto others around us, or the general public, rather than seeing that our biggest detractor is most often inside us already. I know the inner critic to say such things as “no one cares about your art, it’s too personal. It’s not really art. It’s selfish to be an artist. Your writing is too serious, not enough humor. No one cares about abstract art. People feel alienated when you talk about spirituality.” Etc., etc. etc. I don’t mean to say that the inner critic doesn’t have some use, but too often it comes in too early or too strongly, before we are ready to put our work under the discerning and sometimes distorted eye of the inner critic.

I find that the antidote to the spell that the critic puts us under is reminding ourselves that it is not up to us to judge the work we make, we make art out of human and spiritual necessity. It is the need to express, communicate to ourselves and to others. To find different forms of language within the realm of imagination, dreams, emotion, the body. To use our creativity to find new ways of experiencing and describing that experience. We share our art with others so that we can make a full circle of connection. Not to judge or be judged. We all need to support ourselves and each other, so that we keep finding the courage to create.

Thank you to all of you that have encouraged and supported me in this project. Your encouragement inspires me to keep encouraging others.

Birthday Wishes

ZOELAB DAY 64

I turned 39 today. I worked all day and got to spend no time with family or friends. I got lots of virtual love but Little Zoë feels neglected. I am going to buy her a vintage “gold” heart necklace, break my sugar diet with a piece of wedding cake, and make a photo collage.

Checking In

ZOELAB DAY 63

It’s a new month, (my favorite) and the beginning of a new season. The busy-ness is upon me. Weddings and such. I wish I had more time to commune, relax, create, share on here. But in the spirit of keeping up, and not letting perfection get in my way, here is a list that sums up last month for me:

discovered new (for me) art form : 

illustrations using watercolor or gauche and fine pen!

discovered other new art form:

(photographic chronological autobiography)

got through summer and am enjoying early fall weather

Didn’t get any sewing done

Got to re-connect with old friends through internet

Discovered some amazing blogs

Found new ways to bring new readers to this blog

(through my grad school)

Received encouraging comments

Gave up sugar

Got sick and recovered twice

Experiencing the full circle contagion of inspiration

Is this daily project of ZOELAB increasing my happiness and creativity and connection to self and others?

YES

Is it creating a challenge with my relationship

with my family and housework?

YES

Is it worth it?

YES

Dia de los Muertos

ZOELAB DAY 62

It’s the first day of November. It’s also Dia de los Muertos. A day whereMexicans honor the dead. The two most recently deceased beings I know are Bashi, our friend Bruce’s white german shepard, and Da Sol, our friend Omar’s blue healer. Bashi died on Tuesday, October 23rd of old age, and complications arising from that old age. In the last year of her life, Bashi’s two hind legs no longer worked, but she was still able, miraculously, to swim and walk around by dragging her legs behind her. Da Sol, who was also quite old, died a few weeks ago shortly after receiving a hard kick from the neighborhood donkey, Einstein. Lucas and his sister, Emilia buried Bashi in the dark, on our land. Her owner was in Vera Cruz making his yearly pilgrimage to traditional parts of mainland Mexico to capture the enigmatically beautiful Dia de Los Muertos festivities. He owns the plot of land next to us, but the land was undiggable there, so she is resting very close to her home.

Because he is respectful, and speaks excellent spanish, Bruce has been given access to the some intimate moments of the reverent and ancient practices of honoring the dead. Some day, I would like to go with Bruce to witness the traditional Dia de Los Muertos celebrations. In the meantime, I can look at his vast collection of colorful and solemnly dignified images, which I had the privilege of working with closely when I designed his website. For our wedding present, Bruce gave us a large photo depicting hundreds of observers of the holiday in Chiapas. See below.

Day of the Dead, San Juan Camula, Chiapas by Bruce Herman

Getting Sugared Up on Halloween

ZOELAB DAY 61

We took Emilio to a Halloween party for kids at a local bar/cafe. Lucas had found a very official-looking NASA space suit at a thrift store in California--it just happened to fit Emilio perfectly. After we already had the suit, he said he wanted to be Spiderman, but we had no time to make him a Spiderman costume, so he had to be spaceman instead. It took a little cajoling (with the sweet sweet promise of sweet, sweet candy) to get him to wear it. But once it was on, it didn’t seem to bother him as he had many more important things on his mind. As Emilio is only three, and has not been in day care or preschool, he is still not used to large crowds of people. His normal super gregarious and expressive self shuts down and he becomes extremely shy. When he feels nervous he tends to put a finger in his nose, or mouth. It issomehow utterly heart breaking to watch this shy, sweet, innocent Emilio emerge amidst the sugar-driven chaos of Halloween. We witnessed the same thing, which was even more hectic last year, when we spent Halloween with some friends in Los Angeles.

The photo above depicts a game all the children were playing called freeze, where all the kids dance to music, and when they turn the music off, the kids are supposed to be still. If they move, then they are called out. Emilio did quite well at this game, as he did not move the entire time they played. He just stood quietly in his spaceman suit, with his finger in his mouth.

Now, let me explain that all that I have described above is pre-candy. Then the trick-or-treating happened. The adults at the party were given bags of candy to offer to the children who approached them. (No stoops and ringing doorbells like we had in Brooklyn). Once Emilio had gathered his loot, he was allowed to eat three pieces of candy. Within minutes of a few pieces gummy candy and a lollypop, Emilio brightened considerably. His eyes became wild and he was suddenly chatting it up with strangers about the robot boy he saw. Then he noticed that cartoons (vintage Scooby Doo) were being projected on a screen. For the rest of the evening, he sat, sucker in mouth, eyes glued to the soundless screen. During the car ride home, as he continued to suck on his lollypop (it took him the better part of an hour to finish it) came the question of whether there was gum in the center. As he is still too young to have gum, due to potential choking hazards, we were concerned about it. He refused to let me take the tiny bits of gum away from him, but eventually he spit them on the floor. Now, the issue of gum has special significance to Emilio. Because it the only treat he knows of that we never allow him to have, it has come to symbolize all that is good and great in the world of being older. He has often said, “If I grow up, maybe I can have some gum.” When Lucas and I repeat this line to each other, and he hears, he says: “hey that’s my question!” We didn’t realize it was a question, but I can see now, how it is.

After years of making a big effort to avoid giving anything sweet to Emilio, except for rare special occasions, we have come to a place with parentingwhere his asking for treats is a constant occurrence, and our giving in is much more than we would like. How I miss the days when he ate only plain yogurt, didn’t drink juice, and never asked for treats. Now, the first thing he says when he wakes up is: I want something sweet. We never give him candy (except for this Halloween) and we don’t keep any treats in the house. But now he’s wised up to the sweet things available at home and he will ask for honey, with yogurt. (Yes, in that order.) It’s a little scary how it has come to this. It is difficult in a country where strangers give sweets to Emilio every where we go. Sweets and children seem synonymous. Now, I can’t go blaming Mexico, but I know I must not be the only parent who struggles with issue of sweets (as well as video watching). These two things are some of the most addictive substances in the world, are unhealthy and have psychoactive effects. Yet... they are so hard to resist, bring such joy, and make great bargaining tools. A daily parental dilemma for sure.

One of the benefits of my recent two week long intestinal bug, is that it got me to stop eating anything with sugar. Now I am not as much of a sweet tooth as some people, so it wasn’t that difficult to give up. But, what I did notice, is how beneficial giving up sugar has been for my mood and for regulating my blood sugar. Due to tiniest fluctuations in my blood sugar levels, I am susceptible to dramatic mood swings. Cutting out sugar has stabilized me more than any other trick I’ve tried (5 small meals a day, eating nuts, whole grains, etc.) I am going to really stick with this. Now I have to find a way to break Emilio from his obsession.

Happy Halloween!