fuck the couch

Towards the end of my Columbia experience, an esteemed professor of mine mused that he "laid on the couch for four months" after finishing grad school and his thesis. I laughed in appreciation at this and found myself conflicted-lay on the couch for four months?!?! With all of this momentum? That's not how I work! Oh, but the couch does look comfortable... 

So, I tried. 

It turned out that my couch wasn't so comfortable, after all, albeit pretty. 

And there was so much to do! Amanda, the Artistic Director for Striding Lion, was heading out West with Eloise and Ben, bound for the mountains, Ben's law school, and Eloise's new home state of Colorado. So, there were meetings, transitional eekings of keeping the company strong, inspired and fiscally sound. And there was planning, on my end, devising programming as the "becoming" Artistic Director, and the opportunity to frame and harvest the programming and community I've been laying out for nearly a decade through journals, teaching, personal musings, observations, and practice. There is no couch laying in that, but there was also a sense of stasis that became my couch, in many ways. Add to that, my unexpected unemployment, due to arts funding cutbacks resulting in my summer teaching position being cut, and I found myself living off my emergency credit cards, and my two bartending shifts that are muse-intensive, but by no means gainful employment... 

This summer was fraught with both feast and famine. The feast was in building opportunity with Striding Lion, structuring a kick-ass season, concern over economic stability, waiting to learn what funding will come through, and which ones will fail with our paranoid and flawed economy. The famine came in waves of recognition and manifested itself in spending hours trying to configure back-up plans, watching them fail, feeling caught and tangled in an isolation that I hadn't expected. I had planned to use this time as a gift-to learn to play my guitar well enough to perform live, learn my Logic software in order to record, write the great american novel. I did none of these things. I freaked out, trying to figure a way in which to survive. Is that a couch?

If it is, I don't like it, and I refuse to lay on it. I suppose it's wonderful that my couch is a lovely, yet uncomfortable, antique loveseat. Not a couch at all.Whenever I tried to settle in it, I could never get comfortable. I just didn't fit enough to relax or settle. It's better this way. 

Four months have passed. I'm back in action. Stasis session is over. Striding Lion is roaring along in the INCUBATOR series at the Department of Cultural Affairs(check out the blog at http://dcatheater.org/blog/) , which will culminate in our "Pioneers" performance at 7:30 pm on Tuesday, September 29th. There are two sections to this: a for-youth production based on the songs, stories, diaries and history of the Westward Expansion, and "Directional Shifts"- a production that is an introduction to the "Night Roars-live art series" in which our artists explore our own responses to the definition of "pioneer" in our current time and place. It's all very exciting and a certain exploration.

Now that I have dismissed stasis, I have learned that it's crucial to have a couch. I need a place to rest. So, for my birthday(September 1st), I built one out of my childhood wrought iron bedframe. It didn't really take much- a mattress, a boxspring, pillows made from remnant fabric from the local JoAnn Fabrics.It was a bit of a rescue effort, on multiple levels that I won't divulge here, and it makes sense.  I'm happy to build something new and functional out of my history. Points for being able to sleep upon it. I recognize that it is still not truly a couch, but I clearly don't dig on couches.

The culmination of the thesis exhibition of Loss is Expected occurred on Friday, May 15th, 2009, during the Manifest Festival at Columbia College, Chicago. In keeping theme with my deconstruction of  performance and production, my previous performances in the installation were minimally advertised, and used to alter the space, rather than entertain an audience. Audiences were unexpected or coincidental, and often unaware that performance was going on whatsoever. Prior characters were subtle and completely pedestrian. Mad Lady Libs was the breaking of this rule in my performances. She, too, was minimally advertised, but her costume, make-up and distance from a pedestrian evocation made clear the performance element. Clearly, she is a character that belongs to Loss is Expected. Clearly, she is a familiar icon, skewed. Clearly, as she will tell you, she is on vacation, and she is very excited to see and be seen, watch, and be watched, divulge and be divulged, solve and be solved.

Being on vacation, she has the ability to travel and explore-smile for photos with strangers, pose for others willingly. She has also prepared games and gifts- a poem, a pledge, a song, she reads tarot cards and interacts. She is not aware of her costume, other than the fact that it is sharp if encountered carelessly(being made of chicken wire and trash), so she keeps a careful distance. But she is welcoming, funny, and clear, albeit a little awkward. Luckily, she has no shame.

Text: I am an Island

I am an island, enlightening the world

I am an island and a gift.

I am an island here to welcome you.

Welcome.

I am an island of an icon on an island.

A goddess of freedom

from slavery

oppression

tyranny.

I am your teen dream set aside to watch over you

in friendship

I am an island

begging you to bring me your huddled masses

in hopes that they get to me first.

Breathing free in the dream

surrounding my feet.

I am an island built on your base

reduced to pieces for travel,

stored for clearance.

Thank you, Cleveland!

I am an island representing your dreams,

your gifts to me are clear,

covering me top full

on this island.

I ask you to now help me fill in the blanks

So I can share with you what I have learned,

Watching, waiting,

here for you, of you.

She then asks the crowd to offer these nouns:

1)    Noun- something personally sacred

2)    Plural Noun-can be anything

3)    Noun- something that contains something

4)    Noun- collective group

5)    Noun- Powerful entity

6)    Noun-personal ideal

7)    Noun-Personal ideal

Once the words are in place, she asks the crowd to place their right hand over their hearts, and repeat after her:

I pledge allegiance to the –1—of the United –2—of America. And to the –3—

for which it stands, indivisible,one –4—under –5—with –6—and –7—for all.

How does this character relate to Loss is Expected?Simply. She is who she is. She was built with one common goal and reminder of optimism, ideals and growth. Layered with waste and reflection, her reason for being is still proud and clear. When she doesn't make sense, or seems odd, it adds a cautionary tale to those who observe, which an observer can accept or reject. She is both a reflection and a nurturing entity, always seeking, always persevering.

The evolution of this character stems directly from my childhood. The only art contest I've ever entered(it was unbeknownst to me-a school project) was in 5th grade. It was a poster contest for the Kent Junior Women's League(oh, god, the field day I could have with that title, alone). The contest was to create a poster under the theme of "I Love America" and go from there. I drew the Statue of Liberty with little comic book thought bubbles surrounding it containing what I had been brought up to believe as the benefits of living in America: Food, Wealth, Clothing, Happiness, etc, etc, etc. The poster wasn't good, by any means, but it won 2nd place out of 100, and I got a free pizza and $10!!! Apparently, the poster was submitted to a state-wide competition. I never saw it again.

I probably wouldn't remember any of this, had not one one of my teachers laminated a newspaper article that had been published in The Record Courier and given it to my mother(she was the school psychologist for the Kent City schools-and is now a fantastic watercolorist in Cape Elizabeth), who then kept it until she and my stepfather moved to Maine, and it ended up in a package sent to me, just before I started grad school in 2007. In 2007, I found it absurd, hilarious and sweet, and gave this carefully laminated photo of me in a pinafore dress and a mullett at age 10 a permanent place on my refrigerator, as well as a reminder of the icons and signs that are both driven into you in youth, and chosen as you grow older, wiser, and wanting to remember those familiar things and events that you can't quite place, but form your identity.

Cross that(much like the initial cross in the tarot readings given) with the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance that we were trained to recite with a loudspeaker and a principal when I was a kid, and the manner in which we'd play with the word "indivisible." In my experience, we were trained and rewarded for learning our patriotic renditions. But the fact of the matter is, we all live our lives, and  recognize where we are, where we are going, and the place we personally land is not built of what we have been told, but of how we choose to play the games presented, and interpret the rules. Even(especially) as kids, we tried to play with the rules given to us.

I chose to work with the Statue of Liberty because she is beautiful, specific, stoic and a common thread between my process of growing up, ideals, and hopes for the future. I can't dismiss that she is an island(much like my own personal musing that "Joan of Arc Island" in NYC is a median on Riverside Drive),  a myth, and an aspiration. So, I humanized her. I gave her a home and a dowdy outfit, carefully and lovingly constructed, and a personality that is hilarious, concerned, welcoming and out of time.

On May 18th,after the performance, I returned to NYC to visit friends. As I clumsily tried to explain this particular character to Brandon, who is a video artist(an amazing one, in fact)in Brooklyn, he rather incredulously asked, "Karen, do you know where the Statue of Liberty's gaze falls?"He then told me of the statue of Minerva in Green Wood Cemetery, in Brooklyn, at the site built to commemorate the Battle of Long Island, August, 27, 1776. I did know this, given my past Statue of Liberty research... but I had forgotten. Visiting this monument of Minerva raising her hand in an acknowledging wave to the monument of the Statue of Liberty, torch high and resolute,  accentuated the inclusion that I sought to extend. Liberty may be an island, but she is seeking connection. That's her point. that is why she embodies the American dream. 

Memory is amazing to me. As are facts, and the games we play in which to join the jumble  that has been spread out like a carpet of reminders and cautionary tales. Loss is Expected is my first public foray into playing with my personal past and the history that built the history that will continue to define the past. It's playful, stark, layered and constantly influenced, easily overlooked, and equally enigmatic. I approached this installation as I have done with characters as an actor. It's intensely personal, and shamelessly overt.

None of this was expected. It makes total sense.

xo,

K

5/11/09

Title:What of today?

Game:

I brought into the space four newspapers-A New York Times, A Red Eye, Chicago Tribune, and a Chicago Sun Times. I spread them out underneath the tree(as the Christmas tree it once was), and began to page through, ripping or cutting out headlines or items that caught my attention on a quick flip-through. This was an attention-grab game. I found that photos or articles I found immediately disturbing or beautiful, and both, were impulsively cut with care. Things I found personally repulsive were ripped,yet still added, and headlines or advertisements that enhanced a sense of absurdity were carelessly cut. In the midst of this, much was going on- photo documentation was being taken for the department, my wonderful and always-inspiring advisor and I had a meeting, earlier than scheduled, but that was fine, and fit into the attention pull and skew of this task that was not announced, familiar and pedestrian, all fitting into the theme of this piece.

Once the newspaper pieces were dissected, I placed them where I felt they belonged in the space. This was my game  for this day. Pulling from places that influence and exist, yet being completely separated as an observer to catch and cut, pull, and extort the meaning that contains meaning for me at a first visceral glance. What catches our attention in the familiarity of following rituals, like reading a newspaper, which is a solid thing to do, while being concerned by the outside world, but how quickly is our attention, direction and impulse pulled? 

 I love newspapers as they are tangible, directed, edited, a chore, and a privilege. I chose to use newspapers that were both opposed in audience, and available at the nearest gas station. A little bit of choice, and a little bit of circumstance. We glean information based on the information available to us. Newspapers are directed to a specific audience, in journalistic objectivity and aspirations of integrity, and that is compelling to me in the scope of Loss is Expected. 

So I flipped, cut, tore, held meetings, listened to the activity around me, and then placed my findings where I felt they belonged within the space.

Pandora-May 4th, 2009-Loss is Expected

In Memory of the Kent State Shootings, May 4th, 1970.

Additions to the space:

Individual flowers(13 total) placed in holes that had previously been empty on the stage flats(nod to the photo of Allison Krause placing a flower in the barrel of a National Guardsman's gun)

A string of flowers draped on the tree

Text taken from Wikipedia:

"They're worse than the brown shirts and the communist element and also the night riders and the vigilantes," Rhodes said. "They're the worst type of people that we harbor in America. I think that we're up against the strongest, well-trained, militant, revolutionary group that has ever assembled in America."

Unknown speaker 1:"Suddenly, they turned around, got underneath, as if they were ordered to, they did it all together, aimed. And personally, I was standing there saying, they're not going to shoot, they can't do that. If they are going to shoot, it's going to be blank."

 

Unknown speaker 2: "The shots were definitely coming my way, because when a bullet passes your head, it makes a crack. I hit the ground behind the curve, looking over. I saw a student hit, he stumbled and failed, to where he was running towards the car. Another student tried to pull him behind the car, bullets were coming through the windows of the car.

"As this student fell behind the car, I saw another student go down, next to the curb, on the far side of the automobile, maybe 25 or 30 yards from where I was lying. It was maybe 25, 30, 35 seconds of sporadic firing.

"The firing stopped. I lay there maybe 10 or 15 seconds. I got up, I saw four or five students lying around the lot. By this time, it was like mass hysteria. Students were crying, they were screaming for ambulances. I heard some girl screaming, 'They didn't have blank, they didn't have blank,' no, they didn't."[19]

 

0.Jeffrey Glen Miller 265 ft (81 m) shot through the mouth - killed instantly

0.Allison Krause 343 ft (105 m) fatal left chest wound

0.William Knox Schroeder 382 ft (116 m) fatal chest wound

Sandra Lee Scheuer 390 ft (120 m) fatal neck wound

 

0.Joseph Lewis Jr. 71 ft (22 m); hit twice in the right abdomen and left lower leg

0.John R. Cleary 110 ft (34 m); upper left chest wound

0.Thomas Mark Grace 225 ft (69 m); struck in left ankle

0.Alan Canfora 225 ft (69 m); hit in his right wrist

0.Dean Kahler 300 ft (91 m); back wound fracturing the vertebrae - permanently paralyzed from the chest down

0.Douglas A. Wrentmore 329 ft (100 m); hit in his right knee

0.James Dennis Russell 375 ft (114 m); hit in his right thigh from a bullet and in the right forehead by birdshot - both wounds minor {died 2007}

0.Robert F. Stamps 495 ft (151 m); hit in his right buttock {died June 11, 2008}

Donald Scott MacKenzie 750 ft (230 m); neck wound

 "I think that the guardsmen were provoked beyond reason. I believe that we used every conceivable effort to get the people to disperse and to move, long before the formation moved up to the hill. And we regret this as much as anyone, that people were killed and wounded. We even regret the fact that it was necessary to be here."[24]

Text for Constance: Key to a state of emergency-as performed May 2nd, 2009

 

Lately I feel as though we are in a constant state of emergency. Travel, finances, trust, safety, history.  It’ as though we’re on a constant quest to find that one particular key in the jumble that has been collected and set aside for a later date or time.  And the time is now, so we fumble to find our keys, only to find them unmarked, uncertain, or lost

 

Keys: The last bastion of  safety in a carved form that is still as common as communication. A key allows entrance into protected spaces. It is used to add human protection for places of concern. We twist them and turn them, to know that we are safe and have created safety for the space we have left. Keys are carried on belts, chains, in purses, pockets, and forgotten until needed. In a state of emergency, they can be positioned between the fingers as brass knuckles that you hope to never use. Keys represent security. They are as multi-faceted as the dips, grooves and divets that define them.

 

Keys also represent trust and responsibility. No matter where or how I’ve wandered, I realized that I accrued a collection of keys. How do you dispose of them when they are done? Businesses once worked for, friends emergency keys who later moved, exes, school restrooms-they all add up. They all add definition, and can’t be tossed away without some sense of discomfort. They deserve suspension.

 

There are keys to getting to know someone.

Keys to getting to know yourself

The first key is as simple and unmistakable as your first home.

 

My first home, we were taught in school of captain Brady

And his brave leap across a great gorge

In a state of emergency

To escape those who knew the land, having lived there for years.

Native Americans who pursued him along the river

Captain Brady hid in this river, and breathed through a reed

That I’ve never seen growing

But it’s history, right?

It’s  what we were taught

We took field trips to visit burial mounds

In Towners Woods

Above Lake Pippen

Where the Hopewells laid their bodies to rest.

There were mysteries in those woods

And talks of hauntings

rituals

Pranks

At the site where our senior and prom pictures were taken

Grins frozen in time

And a Baptist church at the base of the hills

Where they sent their kids to abstinence camp

And consequently learned about sex

And none of it made any sense

How it all worked together.

It just did. It just was.

We joked about the river that ran through our town

The same in which Captain Brady hid

And the Hopewell’s fished, hunted, traveled and rested

And the industrial waste from another place that caused it to famously burn.

All of this pales in the history in May

39 years ago today.

When a state of emergency was declared

And Rhodes, a governor, called in the National guard

To silence the response to a war that had raged for far too long

Too far away

It seemed so unfamiliar then

To protect a town from its own.

A week ago from today

The SWAT team was called into my hometown

What Ive heard is that is was to end a party in the streets

And the panic that ensued

With burning couches and drunken angry mobs

throwing stones and empty bottles

Receiving pepper spray and battalian rounds.

Seems so unfamiliar?

An absurd re-enactment

To make national news and national play.

Because this place was once

a site of protest and confusion.

On the fourth day in May, just before noon

Escalating frustration

That was disregarded until it  became a mistake

Friendly fire

Victims in transition

An example turned answer

A new definition for a known space

Divets, painfully carved curves.

Recognized as an identity

To deciding the next course

Of protection and safety.

39 years ago today, a state of emergency was declared.

Two days later, lives were lost.

And a town became notorious.

It was given a new key.

A new tone.

One that continually dangles and unlocks

Pursuit, anger, comfort and tragedy

Hauntings

Rituals

pranks

 

Those of us who grew up in this city

Take our keys seriously

And remember them well

With protection and responsibility

As guardians to the next step

Unlocking the next new thing

That keeps us in the game.

 

I’ll be here on Monday, just before noon

Searching for the key to  quell the state of emergency that colors

Our constant orange alert

And to honor those who have carved the dips, grooves and divets

That unlock the next twist we choose to turn.

Loss is Expected-games and playing

Last night was the thesis exhibition opening. It was fine and awkward. I had made the decision not to perform for this event because, with this piece, my performance is not necessary yet.This night was a setting of the space, and the space is the performance, and the performers are those who enter it. The space is textured with the elements of theatre performance-a stage, a curtain, direction, blocking directions, entrances and exits, clarity, ambiguity and the freedom to play and break rules. the framing of it is skewed, but it is all there.

I tried not to stalk my piece, which was rather impossible,because I am primarily a performer, and I want to make things easy for an audience. But that is not this piece. This piece is a challenge. I eventually gave in and watched from the periphery. I wanted to see how people interacted with it, or if they did.

Observations on opening:

1)Everyone recognizes a pinball machine and bright colors. This inspires grins, nods and moving by to get to the more "serious" work waiting around the literal corner, in this case. It also inspires return for closer inspection and raised eyebrows. When I began this process, I did so with creating definitions of these elements to which I was attracted. The initial idea was to play with a photobooth, which is still integrated in the piece, but it's limitations were in the breadth of the theme that I hadn't gotten to yet. Photobooths were my gateway drug, and the definite personal place with which I identified at the beginning of this process.

Photobooth: A formulated private space with a plastic, uncomfortable seat, an awkward curtain, and a money-feed which may, or may not, accept your crumpled dollar bills. Once the money is fed and accepted, the subjects have no control over when the photos are taken. There are four, and expressions can change with each frame. I see it as a confessional of moments. It is an isolation chamber, with no background other than a white wall, but the image is disposable,In WWII, soldiers would send home photos of themselves to their loved ones. Now, photobooths are found in bars, arcades, them businesses and amusement parks. There is nothing to these pictures other than the pose that you try to to catch, with limited control over when or how the photo is taken, in succession. The fun is in the waiting, then the result is a grainy, streaked, distorted and imperfect, working more with shadows, rather than definition. Subjects are caught in categories.

As I played with the idea of photobooths, I continued into the sense of immediate recognition,distortion and temporary expression posed and frozen in time in a form that can go anywhere-tossed away, sent to a loved one, ripped into pieces to be shared, discarded, shoved in a wallet, or forgotten, until surprisingly discovered once again, and that isolated moment which occurred in this sterile space is suddenly alive again, despite(or because of) it's crass, grainy and distorted features.

Clearly, I still want to do a piece based on photobooths. But not while I'm in grad school. I want to use a real photobooth, and they are just expensive. Need funding!

Again-the photobooth was a gateway drug to explore recognition, amusement and my own journey thus far in the qualities of the definition I had created. Pinball was a clear choice. It's my favorite game. So I created a definition:

Pinball: A game of controlling chaos, using both skill and chance. A ball is propelled into an obstacle course. The player, once the ball is activated, can only control the flippers to bounce the ball back into a game of snaps, isolation, bounces and over-stimulating triggers-lights, sounds, catch-phrases and illogical point building. The most important strategy is to keep focus and position the bumper flipper soas to catch and propel the ball back into the game, staying alive. No one wins the game. Points are registered, but the ball always slides in between the flippers. Satisfaction comes from endurance. Loss is expected.

The frame(and title) of this piece quickly became clear, and I am happy with it. It is clearly recognizable, quickly passed up, and returned to for inspection...Yep.I saw that. Good.

2)Thank goodness for children, and their ability to seek amusement, and create it where they want it to be. They want it to be everywhere, but are in constant conflict of being pulled back and encouraged, not unlike that whole quest for identity thatis a lifelong mission. There were a couple of kids who came with their parents to the opening. They clearly were aware and respectful that they were at an art opening with their parents, and were very careful about being on good behavior. Kids are awesome. As their parents explored, the kids kept coming back to L.I.E. unsure of what to do. It's clearly a playground, but were they allowed to play? As I stalked my own piece, I watched them stalk it, too. One of the kids was the child of a professor of mine, and this professor knows my work, and that I want it to be played, so she encouraged her child to do so, which was great. Once she had free reign, her child started making up rules, and reacting to the given rules, which were ambiguous. And it all worked perfectly. This kid played the games, respecting the rules given and making new ones at the same time, striving to win, and working an optimism that is often forgotten or cast aside. This kid then became a leader to another child who had been watching, waiting and wanting to play.As the games were being played, other elements of the piece started gaining weight. The sound piece, which constantly runs, started infiltrating into the game, as well. I nearly jumped for joy when this child turned to her parent and said, "Hey, the lady on the radio knows what I'm doing and what I'm thinking!" I think that's an awesome success.

3) At the end of the night, I got a rainbow!!! What luck, great coincidence, and subtle agreement to my insistence of building this piece around a window. I could, and have, gone into all of the reasons of extension, meditation and the easy association that having this window overlooking Michigan Avenue and Grant Park offers, and weather conditions are a big factor, too, but a rainbow? I don't think I've noticed one in years. how lucky!

As i head into the next phase in this work, I am excited. Thank goodness I don't feel like it's done.

K

Loss is Expected-the depart-mental walk through

I'm guessing that these sort of things are always awkward. L.I.E. is 99.98 percent installed, and I had been hovered over my computer, trying to upload photos and send out a Facebook invite during the 11th hour, with the department, some who know my work, some who don't, walking through. I didn't get a whole lot of feedback, aside from Doug Stapleton and Jenny Magnus, who took the time to explore the piece, for which I am incredibly grateful. Other than that, there was a lot of nodding and smiling, which is expected. There are seven large installations in one space, all in various states of preparation, what else is anyone to do, but "walk through"? The whole show gets darker and darker as you go through. It begins with "This is a Play(by joseph riley)" with is a clean and composed piece- a literal box of a stage with very distinct and meticulous multiple backgrounds painted on window blinds that flip and change with the flick of a wrist and an idea. Landscapes and backgrounds appear and disappear in an instant, and he has written a performance that is as quick and as fragmented as the sound and actions of his shifting set. It's really fantastic. 

Then it moves on to my piece, which is brightly colored, intentionally messy, spinny, sloppy and both personal and impersonal. Prior to the walk through-I was given two unsolicited observations: The first was from a stranger who said, "Oh, hey!It's a big pinball machine!" and the next from my friend Jasmine who said, "Oh, hey!It's a crappy carnival!"

 

Next is Robert's piece, which is a mystery to us all. He has spent much time concealing his space with heavy black curtains, and I suspect the minimalist sense that he harbors well will prove to engage what I know will arrive-a space of calm and beauty. A chance to breathe. He does gorgeous and sophisticated work. My friend, Heather Khan, has always said that she wished museums had rooms in between exhibits in order to regroup, breathe and process before moving on. I think Robert channels this sentiment, and his work is in the beauty, sanctity and history involved, although I've never discussed it with him. He fights for calm, and I respect this. I'm glad that he is next to me(although I know my piece makes his fight more difficult-oops-I dig the contrast, but I'm selfish and playful-look at my work!)

It then moves on to Katie Haviland's "Familiar Strangers," which is a meticulously unsettling and gorgeous piece. I won't say too much about it, but it is beautiful and stark.

Moving along into stark absurdity and getting back to playfulness-Erin Cramer's "Funeral Procession" is a Grimm's Fairy tale personified. It is dark, wacky and full of life-sized puppets and musical instruments and amazement.

It continues into Amy Jacob's piece(how do I not know the name of it?) which builds on the stark tone with shear number of paper dresses, burned precisely and accordingly...just keeps getting darker and darker and more unsettling and sweet.

This leads to Jasmine Greer's piece, which I didn't check out today, so I can't give a real rundown of it, except for the fact that she embraces physical darkness in a fantastic way. Last I checked, the room was entirely black, draped in fabric, with small lights shining through. I can't wait to see her piece...

If anything, we're a dark crew, and this show just gets darker as you travel through. I can't wait to do so!

But, back to Loss is Expected...The piece is contingent on these physical games that have been set up with moveable pieces and veiled overt instructions. Jenny, who I always listen to as I would a director-with intensity, respect and  welcome intimidation- asked if I'd be present to return the space to it's original order, once the games had been played. This is a question for the whole piece, but specifically for the "Hat toss" and the "Ball roll." I'm sure I hemmed and hawed, but the answer is no. The absence or displacement of of these things that have been instructed to be tossed, rolled, or thrown is part of the central theme. The instructions are there, and they may be understood, but when it comes down to it, the object may not be there, and the interpretation of the instruction may be muddy. As a participant, you  expect it to be there, and when it is not, a few things can happen. Perhaps you feel cheated. Perhaps you feel disappointed. Perhaps you feel concerned. Perhaps you feel amused. Perhaps you feel bored. No matter what, something is evoked on an emotional level. That is the real point.

Really, the question is-what are you looking for? In my experience as an avid art enthusiast, a  theatre artist, a teacher, and an interdisciplinary artist, as well as someone who approaches art as I do life, things don't always work out as instructions may lead you to believe. How you assess and adapt makes you remember where and who you are. In this piece, there are clear guidelines. It really is a pinball game. You know that going in. You've seen the bumpers(I know-flippers)Her point is incredibly valid-who is going to be there to put it back together? Who will reset? That is exactly the question-who knows? This is where it becomes a little bit of a social experiment. Maybe no one does(until the night is over, and my reset list is in order with the gallery manager), maybe someone does, maybe someone else witnesses this, maybe nothing ever gets touched, lifted, thrown or rolled. All of these "maybes" send a message.

1) The sanctity of "art"-is it really so sacred? I understand that masterpieces are the works that have withstood years and centuries, and are highly protected by guards and vaults and museums and social etiquette. I've built a piece that is meant to shift at human hands and traffic. I have a real concern that the idea of "art" may mean that this work will lie under-explored and cautiously played. When I was in college, and just after, I had a boyfriend who was always disappointed that when he would come to visit me in NYC that his huge white minivan never got tagged with graffiti. He always got a ticket, but he wanted to have the credibility of having been in a notoriously urban atmosphere with a clearly huge canvas, just waiting. He only got tickets. 

2) L.I.E. is obnoxious. Intentionally so. It's also playful and designed much like a fifth grade play. There is a light innocence to it, as well as a weighted hell to it, and it bleeds into everything. The balls will roll down off of the piece, and into other areas.Objects may be propelled elsewhere. It is clear where these objects came from. The return of these objects may be a reason for someone to enter the piece, that's cool, too. It's cool if it infiltrates other pieces. That's a bit of the point. If objects are lost...well...look to the title.

3) To get to the human point, this is also a test(experiment, whatever). Who resets? who fucks things up? Who lets things lie?Who supervises? What does it matter. The fact is, if you choose something that is either full or empty, you still have made a choice. If you survey the atmosphere, you still make your assessments.

It's all part of the city and human identity. It is what it is. It's all beautiful, and flawed at every point.