I had a dream last night. I havn't dreamt in a long time. In the dream, I was in a dark water, swimming with some people. All of the sudden this huge snake slithered passed me, and I stopped. The snake wrapped its body around me and opened its mouth. I felt its fang around my foot, and I was terrified. My body stiffened. My first instinct was to kick back and push away the snake. The snake had completely wrapped around me, and it wouldn't have taken much for it to cause major injury to me. So I relaxed my body. The fangs around my foot just nicked my foot, and had retreated. The snake wanted to be friends with me.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
It's too soon for revenge.
I've burnt a bridge yesterday already. Yelled at the head waitress who was the daughter of the owners of the restaurant that I worked at. I doubt that they will want me back. Me-> emotionally unstable, emotionally imature. She seemed like she was really stressed out and tired.
I am so angry right now, I feel like I need to take a bat and break things. I think I'm going to wear jogging shoes to work from now on and go running during lunch break.
I found the most beautiful place in Chinatown today. A small park hidden away. Within the park, you feel like you are ontop of a roof. That you are up in the sky with other sky scrapers. At the edge of the park, it feels like you can jump off and land onto another roof top. Or maybe fly into a cloud.
Chinatown is so magnificintly beautiful.. I love seeing the colorful clothing stringing along the rooftops. Urban domesticity brings color to the drab and sterile cityscape. I stepped outside of my building and took a good look at it from the park across the street. And I thought, 'Oh, is that what I am in every day?' So bland, and so plain. All the windows are square, and the tower loomed next to other ugly sky scrapers.
I don't know why I was so surprised to see the building. Maybe it's because when I'm inside the office, the office is inevitably an interior. The inside of something. And I am looking outward to these magnificintly framed views of San Francisco. The outside seems so dramatic, and exciting. The container that I am in, must be something grand to hold such sites.
From the large picture windows I watch the stormy clouds cascade over hills of buildings. I notice the swarms of pigeons that swim through the alley ways that the beat poets used to hang out in. The swarm move like a beast, breathing heavily. The city is wild and dirty and old.
At 5 o'clock, I was out again. This time, being part of the alleys in Chinatown. Walking like a ghost, feeling quite invisible like the tower that I am always in. Bawling, feeling so sorry for myself. Wishing that someone would just surprise me and cut my throat.
Instead of turning the knife inward, I have to turn it outward. And my weapon? My weapon is patience, my weapon is my feet that can run, my hands that can create things, and my heart that can feel. It's all a lesson... and it hurts.
I am so angry right now, I feel like I need to take a bat and break things. I think I'm going to wear jogging shoes to work from now on and go running during lunch break.
I found the most beautiful place in Chinatown today. A small park hidden away. Within the park, you feel like you are ontop of a roof. That you are up in the sky with other sky scrapers. At the edge of the park, it feels like you can jump off and land onto another roof top. Or maybe fly into a cloud.
Chinatown is so magnificintly beautiful.. I love seeing the colorful clothing stringing along the rooftops. Urban domesticity brings color to the drab and sterile cityscape. I stepped outside of my building and took a good look at it from the park across the street. And I thought, 'Oh, is that what I am in every day?' So bland, and so plain. All the windows are square, and the tower loomed next to other ugly sky scrapers.
I don't know why I was so surprised to see the building. Maybe it's because when I'm inside the office, the office is inevitably an interior. The inside of something. And I am looking outward to these magnificintly framed views of San Francisco. The outside seems so dramatic, and exciting. The container that I am in, must be something grand to hold such sites.
From the large picture windows I watch the stormy clouds cascade over hills of buildings. I notice the swarms of pigeons that swim through the alley ways that the beat poets used to hang out in. The swarm move like a beast, breathing heavily. The city is wild and dirty and old.
At 5 o'clock, I was out again. This time, being part of the alleys in Chinatown. Walking like a ghost, feeling quite invisible like the tower that I am always in. Bawling, feeling so sorry for myself. Wishing that someone would just surprise me and cut my throat.
Instead of turning the knife inward, I have to turn it outward. And my weapon? My weapon is patience, my weapon is my feet that can run, my hands that can create things, and my heart that can feel. It's all a lesson... and it hurts.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Happy Happy Happy
Aaron yesterday had told us, Ruchama, Amy and I his resolution. It was impressive to me that he had put sincerety and reflection into this event: the passing of 2007.
Like Aaron I wanted to have a resolution for the new year. But I had my big lesson not too long ago, and I have my small challenge.
So instead, I want to spend today, the first day of the new year to reflect back on the old.
Wednesday, was plain, if khaki can be a flavor for ice cream.
Thurseday, was raining. was cold.
Friday, a day of friendships, and a lesson for preciousness, or the lack there of.
Saturday, a day of exhaustion. A day of working again.
Sunday, a day of preparedness. A day of shopping, and stealing.
Monday, a day of frustration. A day of liberation and being a kid again.
Tuesday, is today. A day of expectation.
Like Aaron I wanted to have a resolution for the new year. But I had my big lesson not too long ago, and I have my small challenge.
So instead, I want to spend today, the first day of the new year to reflect back on the old.
Wednesday, was plain, if khaki can be a flavor for ice cream.
Thurseday, was raining. was cold.
Friday, a day of friendships, and a lesson for preciousness, or the lack there of.
Saturday, a day of exhaustion. A day of working again.
Sunday, a day of preparedness. A day of shopping, and stealing.
Monday, a day of frustration. A day of liberation and being a kid again.
Tuesday, is today. A day of expectation.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Being a Woman
My mother had called me last night to tell me about a book that she is reading about. The book is about womanhood by a Japanese American author. She is a woman in her 50's, and I think that her views are a bit old fashioned, but there are still some meritt to what she says.
My mother and I got into a converstaion about the contemporary society and the loss of womanhood. The things that had engendered women had become lost in our society. Women are now expected to make and do like men. Make a lot of money, be active, and even lead a life that is not centered around families.
These are exactly the things that had offended me about American feminism when I was in high school. I hated the idea that women who were home makers were subservient to career women. According to American feminism, the specific customs and qualities that engendered myself, my mother, and my girlfriends were the very things that disempowered us. Things like, cooking, cleaning, ironing, and doing these sorts of chores around the house were things that belonged to us women. But it was shameful to participate in these things, let alone to enjoy them.
It's as if us women who came from another land, with different skin tones (other than white), we have an idea of gender and womenhood that is more practical. The idea of womanhood was something that came with our upbringing. Something that I had resisted as a child in Japan, when I had to learn how to speak Japanese, the girl way: when I had to play soccer in an all boy's club, because no girls wanted to play. But as I learned to become more acustomed to the society norms, I started to appreciate the things that made us women. When I graduated from college, I remember my brothers having to learn for the first time, how to cook and do laundry. How strange, seeing them go through the awkwardness of learning, and seeing them enjoy the practice.
It was Donna Haraway who wrote in Cyborg Manifesto, that she would rather be a cyborg than a goddess. I think the idea of being a machine or a self anointed divinity gives me the cringe. One conjures up an image of a skinny white woman in suits, and the other is a fat old woman with long wavy hair. But especially the idea of a cyborg, who is genderless, that is half human, half machine, half man, half woman, is horrifying. It strips me of the qualites that I had cherished in my mother, my own culture and myself. I had not considered my own gender, what kind of woman I am. I'm not thinking that I can make my own gender identity. It is what I am. What am I? I am many things.
Here are my heroes...
Etsuko Matsuo
Eleanor Roosevelt (well, I still have to read her autobiography)
Janine Antoni
Meena Satnarain
Andrea Zittel
Teri Rueb
Eliza McKenna
Jennifer Weiss
Elizabeth Diller
Octavia Butler
Ruth Asawa
all my girlfriends
My grandfather
My mother and I got into a converstaion about the contemporary society and the loss of womanhood. The things that had engendered women had become lost in our society. Women are now expected to make and do like men. Make a lot of money, be active, and even lead a life that is not centered around families.
These are exactly the things that had offended me about American feminism when I was in high school. I hated the idea that women who were home makers were subservient to career women. According to American feminism, the specific customs and qualities that engendered myself, my mother, and my girlfriends were the very things that disempowered us. Things like, cooking, cleaning, ironing, and doing these sorts of chores around the house were things that belonged to us women. But it was shameful to participate in these things, let alone to enjoy them.
It's as if us women who came from another land, with different skin tones (other than white), we have an idea of gender and womenhood that is more practical. The idea of womanhood was something that came with our upbringing. Something that I had resisted as a child in Japan, when I had to learn how to speak Japanese, the girl way: when I had to play soccer in an all boy's club, because no girls wanted to play. But as I learned to become more acustomed to the society norms, I started to appreciate the things that made us women. When I graduated from college, I remember my brothers having to learn for the first time, how to cook and do laundry. How strange, seeing them go through the awkwardness of learning, and seeing them enjoy the practice.
It was Donna Haraway who wrote in Cyborg Manifesto, that she would rather be a cyborg than a goddess. I think the idea of being a machine or a self anointed divinity gives me the cringe. One conjures up an image of a skinny white woman in suits, and the other is a fat old woman with long wavy hair. But especially the idea of a cyborg, who is genderless, that is half human, half machine, half man, half woman, is horrifying. It strips me of the qualites that I had cherished in my mother, my own culture and myself. I had not considered my own gender, what kind of woman I am. I'm not thinking that I can make my own gender identity. It is what I am. What am I? I am many things.
Here are my heroes...
Etsuko Matsuo
Eleanor Roosevelt (well, I still have to read her autobiography)
Janine Antoni
Meena Satnarain
Andrea Zittel
Teri Rueb
Eliza McKenna
Jennifer Weiss
Elizabeth Diller
Octavia Butler
Ruth Asawa
all my girlfriends
My grandfather
Sunday, December 16, 2007
List for the Week.
Ok, so here are some projects that I need to work on...
Growing Pain-as soon as possible
-since I was a kid, I used to have this thing, called growing pain. I remember crying at night as a kid, because my limbs would hurt. Weird... My mom told me, recently that my grandmother had the same thing too.... Anyway, it's a silly thing.
Some studies...
Binding thesis documents, white, cut them in to half size books.
Stuff the books with naked trees. seeds. Make the body of the books grow.
Give these away as christmas gifts.
As a counterpart to this,
Take pictures of pig meat parts, and stuff it with seeds.
Take pictures of wounds, stuffed with plants.
Take pictures of wounds of trees stuffed with bleeding fruits. - this is a different kind of pain... this is more about birthing.. it's kind of like a different project. It's like 'woman's work' that amanda, meena and i did... our work got stuffed into a tree... such a violent response, yet it's so powerful.
Making Space for Art-Saturday
Dirty space-Traditional Studio, private space
Clean space-Media studio, public space
floating sacs in the air, illuminated.
I need to do some diagramming of the key ideas overlayed onto the master plan... just so that I could start to understand how people navigate through this.
So for the pinup... I want to have collages, and diagrams. My goal is to have at least the general idea squared away, and take a stab at the design.
Structure and composition next step.
Mom's Website, Marketing-whenever
How can my mom sell bee health products? I'm thinking that if she approaches it more as beauty products... it might work better... or atleast be more fun on my part.
Hmmm.... I should go to Whole Foods and Elephant Pharmacy. How to make a website...
DIY-holiday project
I'm fixing my laptop. I swapped the hard drive from an old laptop to the one that's broken. Now I have to reconnect the drivers.
I need to fix my bike chain. The chain is lose, and I need to replace it. So this is probably going to be next week.
Christmas presents-lotions (?)
Growing Pain-as soon as possible
-since I was a kid, I used to have this thing, called growing pain. I remember crying at night as a kid, because my limbs would hurt. Weird... My mom told me, recently that my grandmother had the same thing too.... Anyway, it's a silly thing.
Some studies...
Binding thesis documents, white, cut them in to half size books.
Stuff the books with naked trees. seeds. Make the body of the books grow.
Give these away as christmas gifts.
As a counterpart to this,
Take pictures of pig meat parts, and stuff it with seeds.
Take pictures of wounds, stuffed with plants.
Take pictures of wounds of trees stuffed with bleeding fruits. - this is a different kind of pain... this is more about birthing.. it's kind of like a different project. It's like 'woman's work' that amanda, meena and i did... our work got stuffed into a tree... such a violent response, yet it's so powerful.
Making Space for Art-Saturday
Dirty space-Traditional Studio, private space
Clean space-Media studio, public space
floating sacs in the air, illuminated.
I need to do some diagramming of the key ideas overlayed onto the master plan... just so that I could start to understand how people navigate through this.
So for the pinup... I want to have collages, and diagrams. My goal is to have at least the general idea squared away, and take a stab at the design.
Structure and composition next step.
Mom's Website, Marketing-whenever
How can my mom sell bee health products? I'm thinking that if she approaches it more as beauty products... it might work better... or atleast be more fun on my part.
Hmmm.... I should go to Whole Foods and Elephant Pharmacy. How to make a website...
DIY-holiday project
I'm fixing my laptop. I swapped the hard drive from an old laptop to the one that's broken. Now I have to reconnect the drivers.
I need to fix my bike chain. The chain is lose, and I need to replace it. So this is probably going to be next week.
Christmas presents-lotions (?)
Time to Grow Up
I got my hair done in Chinatown, and I got my eye brows done in Piedmont, by a Chinese lady. They both struck me as self-righteous types. I didn't like the way they did their jobs, and commented on how to change it, and of course, they resisted. They take pride in their creations. They are like artists. I don't like those qualities. Self-righteous. I am the same way.
My grandfather almost died several times in China, and Siberia. He was lucky that he had survived. My family is lucky that we exist. He is my idol and my hero since I was little. He is also my mother's hero. He did what he had to do... I'm always trying to do what I want to do-nothing really special there.
My grandfather almost died several times in China, and Siberia. He was lucky that he had survived. My family is lucky that we exist. He is my idol and my hero since I was little. He is also my mother's hero. He did what he had to do... I'm always trying to do what I want to do-nothing really special there.
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