A letter with no audience

I remember walking up to your house from our van (you lived too far away to walk, but close enough to get inside the car and immediately exit) and staring in your windows hoping that you were there. You always took your time, deliberate in your movement because you deserved it, you earned your mobility and earned our wait, so we listened with bated breath to hear you move about your house and approach us.
Your space was many layers deep. Living room connected by dining room connected by kitchen (where I would ask to wash your dishes–something I’ve always enjoyed) connected to door connected to stairs connected to foyer/solarium/entry connected to storm door connected to dead-bolted door (windows?).  The location of your bedroom perplexed me and although I never had a reason to see it, I always wondered where you slept. There are spaces in your house (did you have a basement?) that I never knew. Your full reality escapes me.
Every time you welcomed me into your arms, your home, and your life I felt safe and loved. This was so important to me as my extended family lived on the other side of the country, and only in your arms did I really feel that family could be created. Family is something you chose, you cultivate, and you grow–and it is through my family’s relationship with you that I learned this and continue to practice this.
I never remember a time when you weren’t 70 years older than me, and from when I was a baby, toddler, adolescent, and now, a young adult, there was always a world separating us from each other. A fact only bridged from what was a regular occurrence to now, or what still was, a rare treat, a rare embrace.
My nuclear family would sit around you in your La-Z-boy chair, which advanced technologically with each visit–from rocking to tilting to, ha, projecting you into motion and across the room. I would sit on the floor and look into the blocked patterns of the carpet, the way the plush would sit, fold, mold to my body and look in the natural light and by lamp. I sat accompanied by American Indian figurines and these clusters grew and grew with time. Although problematically collecting these peoples in your living room, I romanticized my memory of you with your ties to age, history, and the past. Your connection to families–your biological one and your created family, your community–always seemed apparent.
I remember a well. I remember chimes. I remember your grandfather clock that kept the tempo to our talk, I was usually silent, and that lured my father to sleep in the chair diagonal from you. I remember names of your bloodline–always slightly confused because my memory forgot them. I remember the choo-choo trains constructed with candy–Rolo’s stick out to me–and every time you would give my sisters and I a treat, sometimes a Tootsie pop.
One day, growing up, I was dropped off at your house. Our first outing alone. We went to Big Boy, confused as grandmother and grandson–I had hot chocolate, maybe chocolate milk?–while my mom and sisters (and dad?) went to the movies (I still haven’t seen Titanic, and I probably never will). I remember times and events but few details. The details are in the space, my voice is left silent and mysterious.
I was at work when my parents went to visit you for what would be the last time. While I was participating in a dialogue, my parents took a picture that would capture one of your last moments and it will be a picture I cherish. Your frail but very much alive frame.
My memories are notorious for fading. I’m infamously known within my friend groups and ex-lovers as someone who needs reminding. This letter will remind me of you. Wacousta will remind me of you. The way in which I create my family and choose my family will remind me of you. The love I feel will remind me of you.

do easy

Gus Van Sant, American screenwriter and director, created a short comedic film titled the Discipline of D.E. in 1982. The video explores the art of “do easy” living, which illustrates highly efficient means of completing daily and otherwise mundane tasks. This 16 mm film, while directed by Van Sant, is based on a story in William S. Burrough’s Exterminator! (1973). Both the film and the story resonate a very entertaining and informative take on the proper manner in which to complete simple tasks. According to the works, it is a lifestyle choice. A willingness to accept that there is a right way to do everything. A willingness to admit the error of normal ways. A willingness to relearn basic functions and master the simple things. A student of D.E. (do easy living) must learn–at the highest possible efficiency–to clear a plate. To shave. To brush their teeth. To walk. To do laundry. To iron a shirt. To sleep. To eat. To breathe. To

do easy.

Muscle memory is a powerfully beautiful thing. In order to master D.E., a student must devote their life to the discipline of repetition in order to build that kinetic memory. When moving through a space, for instance, one must be wary of the objects sharing that space and be willing to move through the same space multiple times if they fumble in a movement. If bumping a chair, one must start from the beginning of the room and walk deliberately around the chair to redo that movement and undo the inaccuracies to right the wrongs. While this may seem ridiculously silly, especially as the film was made with the intentions of comedy, the concept of this lifestyle should still be considered somewhat seriously. D.E. mimics a Buddhist mantra, an undertaking of a very gradual and precise lifestyle, where firm but gentle touches are central. This way of life focuses on leading clear and directed lives with careful and meaningful actions. It is a life devoted to mastering the little things.

In today’s fast-paced world, people often overlook the more humble components of life and do not take ample time to care for the parts that make daily life worth living. Always in a hurry to finish daily chores, but filled with ample time to spend on mindless activity–such as browsing news on social media–people can often forget how meaningful life can be. The act of living, and living efficiently, is a gift that all people should embrace. The crazy wisdom of Discipline of D.E. embodies the balanced ebullient and demanding spirit of Zen. Once mastered, do easy living can provide one with even more time to do the things they enjoy.

Please, sacrifice nine minutes of your time for a lifetime of time saving. View the film.

Paintings and the Real Life

Last night when I was sorting the photos taken during the weekend when I went kayaking on Huron River with my friends, a really interesting one caught my eyes. In the picture, there is a boat in the middle of the river. My friend and I are sitting on the boat, taking a break from kayaking, effortlessly holding the paddles and turning our heads to look at three swans floating on the river. In the distance, there are trees with beautiful foliage of vibrant colors like red, yellow and green. Above the trees is the blue and cloudless sky, which is mirrored in the water, along with the reflections of us and the trees on the river bank.

This image immediately reminds me of the painting, In the Norwegian Boat at Giverny, by Claude Monet. In the painting, three girls in white dresses are boating on the Giverny river. Well, obviously they are dressed more elegantly than us, but the pleasant environment and the leisurely mood are quite similar with what we have in our photo (and we got swans lining up in the background!).

Monet, in the Norwegian Boat at Giverny
Monet, in the Norwegian Boat at Giverny

The idea of unconsciously recreating paintings in real life fascinates me. After all, the painters get their inspirations from reality. When I was studying abroad in Paris this past summer, I visited Auvers-sur-Oise, the village in which van Gogh spent his last two months of his life, on a Saturday. The little village keeps most sites that appear in van Gogh’s paintings unchanged over the past decade, and there is even a map that marks each site so visitors can take a themed tour of van Gogh. I went along the route. I saw the église (church), the wheat field, and Dr. Gachet’s house, and I was trying so hard to find the perfect angles in order to capture photos that are exactly the same with the paintings.

However, after I came back, it was this picture I randomly took that immediately melt my heart:

I didn’t even remember when I took this picture. However, it is definitely a perfect recurrence of the touching scene of parental love shown in van Gogh’s First Steps.

van Gogh, First Steps
van Gogh, First Steps

Some people describe Auvers-sur-Oise as an eternal village because it has little changed over the past decade and every corner is as beautiful as a painting. However, it seems that sometimes real life could be even more beautiful than paintings.

Awwww…cutest thing ever.

The 2013 Orientation: The Art of YouTube

I just read an article on CNN about something most everyone knows about YouTube. In my column last week, I talked about YouTube briefly, in the form of the Vlogbrothers, who have attained internet stardom.

They aren’t the only ones. As CNN points out, YouTube is a giant community that, within itself, breeds smaller communities based off of people – vloggers – who have somehow cracked the code and gotten millions of people to watch them – myself included.

On my YouTube, I currently have 46 subscriptions, though I’d be lying if I said that I only watch those channels. My YouTube preference ranges from the comedic (charlieissocoollike, Dave Days, nigahiga) to the oddly specific (BookTube, Feast of Fiction, hankgames). Each day, all the people I mentioned and thousands more get billions of hits, but they don’t do anything but sit at home and make movies.

And yet, I can spend hours on YouTube finding yet another video I have never seen before. Normally, this would seem to make the market saturated – why would I want to listen to Sam Tsui, a musician who gets his income primarily from YouTube using home recordings, when I can go watch the newest Panic! At The Disco music video?

But I think that’s what makes it work so well. YouTube has an audience of the world, and it caters to every single aspect of that audience. Not only that, it caters towards the mood of the audience. I’m bored, so I watch someone parody the life of a college student; I need a break from studying, I look up a new artist I’ve never heard of; I need inspiration for my history paper, so I look up an action video created without the help of Hollywood. The options are limitless, and it makes YouTube one of the most innovative and artistic tools of my generation.

But it also makes me wonder. Where will the next generation fit in? Will they just feed into the YouTube mantra, giving advertisers even more money with every click? Or will YouTube slowly fade into oblivion, just a social network that will be remembered only in name (R.I.P., MySpace)?

I love YouTube, I love the D.I.Y. feel, and I love that it isn’t someone I can’t relate to that is talking to me. I love that they are able to interact, reply to comments, and make videos that relate to the everyday, mundane problems I go through. I love this community, but I think that as both an artistic medium and a creative outlet, it is only the starting point for the internet.

Jonty Hurwitz: Artistic (mad) Scientist

Back in the day, the mention of “anamorphs” only had something to do with teenage heroes who could transform into any animal they touched, fighting a constant battle to save the Earth from unfriendly aliens (see “Animorphs”, by K.A. Applegate). Then I discovered the work of artist/scientist Jonty Hurwitz, and the meaning of the word – spelling differences aside – was changed forever. Just as the Animorphs were bestowed with the ability to take on multiple forms, Hurwitz is able to imbue his sculptural systems with the properties of both cast object and ephemeral image. Each work in the series, which has been revisited multiple times since the birth of “Rejuvenation” in 2008, operates in these two modes of expression simultaneously. The objects themselves seem to be frozen in the midst of transformation – but from what origin does the projection begin, and into what new form are they melting?
Anamorphosis is the process by which a two- or three-dimensional image is translated through a lens or mirror in order to clarify its distorted visual information. In biological terms, it is a gradual, ascending change of form “to a higher type”. Jonty Hurwitz takes both into account when he creates these complex sculptural installations. Each is made up of a metal casting that stretches around a focal point, abstracting its representation into a streak of circular motion. A cylindrical mirror accompanies each sculpture, placed at the very center of its distortion. The image that appears on the mirror’s surface is a perfectly accurate rendition of Hurwitz’s subject – a hand, a frog, or a pair of faces staring back at one another through the reflection. The result is an artwork that exists as both a sculptural set of abstract objects and a painstakingly accurate reflected image. Neither element “works” on its own, each half depending on the other to make sense of itself.
Jonty Hurwitz was not always an artist. He received an Engineering degree in his hometown of Johannesburg, South Africa, considering himself the “techie” when it came to skill sets. He had a knack for calculations and coding, torn between a love for art and the practicality of mathematical physics. One day in 2003, he stumbled across a series of anamorphic portraits created by classical artists like William Scrots and Hans Holbein, which changed his life forever. After four years of simultaneously programming the British payday loan company Wonga and making art in his spare time, Hurwitz decided that he had done his part for the corporate world and devoted his life to “expressing calculations visually.” This obsession with logic and science is clear in Hurwitz’s anamorphic sculpture, giving the distorted forms a definitive quality that is not simply “abstract”. There is a sense of reason in their abstraction, a method to the madness. To confirm this feeling that there is form beneath the distortion, if only we had the right lens to see it through, the mirror is placed at the exact center of its circular path. Hurwitz sets up the viewer with a proposition: “You think this is just another contemporary abstraction?” He immediately answers with a cylindrical, reflective, “Think again.”

Back in the day, the mention of “anamorphs” only had something to do with teenage heroes who could transform into any animal they touched, fighting a constant battle to save the Earth from unfriendly aliens (see “Animorphs”, by K.A. Applegate). Then I discovered the work of artist/scientist Jonty Hurwitz, and the meaning of the word – spelling differences aside – was changed forever. Just as the Animorphs were bestowed with the ability to take on multiple forms, Hurwitz is able to imbue his sculptural systems with the properties of both cast object and ephemeral image. Each work in the series, which has been revisited multiple times since the birth of “Rejuvenation” in 2008, operates in these two modes of expression simultaneously. The objects themselves seem to be frozen in the midst of transformation – but from what origin does the projection begin, and into what new form are they melting?

Anamorphosis is the process by which a two- or three-dimensional image is translated through a lens or mirror in order to clarify its distorted visual information. In biological terms, it is a gradual, ascending change of form “to a higher type”. Jonty Hurwitz takes both into account when he creates these complex sculptural installations. Each is made up of a metal casting that stretches around a focal point, abstracting its representation into a streak of circular motion. A cylindrical mirror accompanies each sculpture, placed at the very center of its distortion. The image that appears on the mirror’s surface is a perfectly accurate rendition of Hurwitz’s subject – a hand, a frog, or a pair of faces staring back at one another through the reflection. The result is an artwork that exists as both a sculptural set of abstract objects and a painstakingly accurate reflected image. Neither element “works” on its own, each half depending on the other to make sense of itself.

Jonty Hurwitz was not always an artist. He received an Engineering degree in his hometown of Johannesburg, South Africa, considering himself the “techie” when it came to skill sets. He had a knack for calculations and coding, torn between a love for art and the practicality of mathematical physics. One day in 2003, he stumbled across a series of anamorphic portraits created by classical artists like William Scrots and Hans Holbein, which changed his life forever. After four years of simultaneously programming the British payday loan company Wonga and making art in his spare time, Hurwitz decided that he had done his part for the corporate world and devoted his life to “expressing calculations visually.” This obsession with logic and science is clear in Hurwitz’s anamorphic sculpture, giving the distorted forms a definitive quality that is not simply “abstract”. There is a sense of reason in their abstraction, a method to the madness. To confirm this feeling that there is form beneath the distortion, if only we had the right lens to see it through, the mirror is placed at the exact center of its circular path. Hurwitz sets up the viewer with a proposition: “You think this is just another contemporary abstraction?” He immediately answers with a cylindrical, reflective, “Think again.”

Up, Art, and Away!

I’ve been thinking a lot about houses lately, as my final term as a university student comes to a close and I enter a world of credit, student debt, and the ever present pressure to build more credit without going into debt.  I may never buy a house.  I may rent or lease my entire life, or I may end up buying an apartment.

To be honest, right now the last thing I want to do is think about all of the financial ramifications of one of those red brick and white picket fence monstrosities.

Aesthetically however, several groups of artists seem to be taking the notion of a house and turning it into art lately.

French photographer Laurent Chehere is one of them, who is taking houses to new heights with his surrealist still life photography.  After taking photos of real houses, he composites them into cloud and sky backgrounds with whimsical effects.

The last one reminds me of the 1956 French Film ‘The Red Balloon’, which the artist cites as inspiration.  Chehere said that he wanted to transform some dilapidated houses into something ethereal, I would say that he succeeded.  And all of Chehere’s works remind of the quintessential flying house movie ‘Up’.  I smiled at seeing Chehere’s work because in in paradoxical way, I think he is grounding the genre of surrealist art, by inserting images of common houses in whimsical settings.  There doesn’t seem to be an overt political message in his works, it is merely fantastical.

It’s a fantasy that I wouldn’t mind living in after college.

Image Credits: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/10/17/laurent-chehere_n_4109968.html