surreal deconstructionism

2 dresses, 20 minutes of improvisation, 4 hours of editing.

Surreal Deconstructionism

surreal deconstructionism

Bfa notes edited fun by Molly Poore

Recorded conversation between my professor and I when I was freaking out in senior ex. trying to learn a bunch to stuff REALLY quickly. Listening back on the convo I feel like a total idiot, but that's the nature of learning something new. The "serious" or rather complex nature of what we talking about balanced with perverted inserts mimics my eventual gallery instillation titled "Submersion, Dispersion and Suspension a.k.a. Get 'em Wet".

Media: Audacity, Mark Koven

non sequitur, but very good.

Are you doing your laundry in the bathtub?

uprooted

not in chronological order. passport, drivers license's, school i.d's, YMCA i.d. I've tried to keep every photo i.d I've ever had, but I'm missing my first license and my first passport ('cause the take it when you get a new one) maybe another, I haven't checked the dates thoroughly. I think the passport photo is my favorite. I was 16 and stoned with day old eyeliner.

Uprooted

These shells came from the beach on the left. After collecting them, we stopped at an art show where these metal, bead and foil-coated plastic trees were hanging (uprooted). The shells ended up in this vase creating the "shell face" without any intention on our part. I was laying on the floor in my living room when I noticed the face for the first time. Uprooted... aren't we all at some point...

Uprooted

I will one day invest in a scanner!
Medium used: Cut-out of plant made from bristol, india ink, vine charcoal. Pasted on bristol with matte medium.

Are you doing your laundry in your bathtub????

This experiment ended up being cooler in my head as opposed to being on paper.
Medium used: white and blue paint mixed with laundry detergent, bristol paper, t-shirt stencil cutout

Are You Doing Laundry in Your Bathtub????

ya'll might gotta zoom in for detail.
sketchin' book, sharpie, wax, oil pastel

Are you doing laundry in the bathtub?

paper pulp, rubber made bin, droid x camera, sketchbook express

Are You Doing Laundry in Your Bathtub?

Thinking about doing laundry in a bathtub made me think of doing laundry in a toilet... a clean one. This would be my soundtrack.

Are You Doing Laundry in Your Bathtub by Jeremy Poore

Structural Instructions

I’ve been instructed to do so many things in my life it’s created this kind of structure around me. But it doesn’t fit anymore. The structure feels constricting, restrictive, like a shell that no longer fits my crab body. The instruction feel unnatural and cause me to go against what I feel is right. And I don’t want to be a crab anymore either. So now I will contrive new instructions and with those build a new structure. These instructions will apply to those who created the old structure and its instructions too. If they don’t follow the revamped instructions will they be a part of the foundation for my new structure? I think I’d have to look at the instruction to figure that one out. I’m abandoning the old model in favor for an unknown one, a new one, and an intentional one. I really love the building blocks of the previous structure they just need rearranging. A few more added; a few broken, cracked or rotted ones removed or repaired. These instructions will create a modular structure, a free structure, and an inclusive structure, a croissant not a donut.

media: photobooth, couple weeks old fingernail polish, good ole fashion teenage style angst mixed will a little adult composure and perspective.

Structural Instructions

Medium: Photograph from book, photogram made in old photography class, pastel, india ink pen

Are You Doing Laundry in Your Bathtub?

is it the thing that i thought it wasn't? help! what? do i need someone to explain why i am so nosy? i need to rise above - i'm going to rise above... my curiosity. what? you are tired of my abuse.

the lights were off. the curtain was drawn. i stood there operating as a good fortune teller, predicting a tub and spigot and then i missed the point; i told the wrong fortune. what? most of us need to do laundry.

what? there are deeply wet pants and i have a racetrack in my mmind and i'm wwinning and llosing all at once. loose cannon loosing loss. what?

get ready for work

Structural instructions

the bars the bars the wallllll

Structural Instructions

Posting Order

Here is the order that Rachel sent out July 14th. We are now off the order. Last week should have been Chandra. She didn't post, but Dash posted. This week was my turn, so I posted "Structural Instructions". I thought that the "Post person" posted a new work by Sunday and then we all have a week to respond. Is this correct? I'm the newbie here, so let me know if there is another way intended by the elders. Thanks, Jeremy

Rachel

Dash

Matthew

Nureena

Bronwyn

Molly

Elisa

Chandra

Jeremy

Sometimes You Get So Close

i am confused!

it's true.

are we responding to dash's piece? i like jeremy breaking the format.

this is the tone poem in my brain:
bzzzt bzzzt bzzzzzt

Response to Structural Instructions

Instructions to my Colon

Structural Instructions

Instructions come in many forms. Syllables issuing forth from lips, riding on winds propelled by the shrinking of space between spine and ribs... Two dimensional line drawings depicting left or right, up or down... Light refracted through lenses, hues, saturation, frequency, repetition signaling and signaling and signaling...

Nothing sends a message in such universal language as bars and a wall. Whatever your ethnicity, your socio-economic class, your language, your upbringing... bars and walls separate the space you are in from the space you imagine to be on the other side.

Light steals through bars giving an image for the mind to play with. What is that over there? Should I go see? Do I go around? over? under? Can I squeeeeeeeeeezzz?

Walls present a different challenge. One wonders what might be on the other side with only relational cues as clues. Hmm... I've seen this kind of wall before... must be a building or parking deck or privacy fence. What's on the other side?

I want to know.

Structures instruct us in concrete ways. Light is a bastard showoff. Shadows hide mischief and lingerie.

Sometimes You Get So Close

The process is one of constant death, in my humble opinion. You have to figure out how to generate perpetually, even if it means destroying parts of yourself.

Sometimes, if you don't generate, those same parts destroy themselves on their own. It's a strange space we have to occupy.

I've drank or smoked or gone without sleep or food or water or sex for inspiration. It hurts, but it helps. Creativity is a painful process, one that requires a certain amount of willingness to

endure the worst for what may not even turn out good. The best is something none of us can achieve, and yet we strive for it. I'll drown for an idea.

I'll jump off a building if it means I can describe falling that much more accurately. I'll fall asleep and forget to wake up and wake up and forget to fall asleep

I'll stare at walls or screens or pages or anything blank a hunger to fill it gnawing at my insides
and when I can't fill the void with words or feelings or sounds I'm filled with emptiness.

This is how deafening silence can be, how soothing the harshest noise can feel, how calming turbulence can be, how frightening stillness is.

We search for meaning in words, knowing that words mean nothing. We all know their “uselessness,” Harjo says. So why do we continue?

How could we/I not?




this poem is based on/inspired by a poem called "bird" by joy harjo as well as the ideas i wrote about in my king cobra post.

Distillations

This is an unintentional video of a conversation my nephew and I had while hiking this past weekend.

Sony NEX-5 HD digital camera

Distillations

refraction,
a period.

intentionally unsettling masses
resetting a spread-spectrum solution
on the arc to purity,
concentration.
watch it condense through existential balance,
(not some fruity hippy crap.)
and through iteration strip away more unwanted components.

the final meaning is wrought here.
we combine the non-zero zero point of the universe with
the right set of words
and get one idea,
expressed completely.

Distillations

watercolor, dog fur, dental floss, condom wrapper

Response to Distillations

Take a look. My first post. The title links to the video. Thanks for inviting me into the fray.

Here is the link it is on SoundCloud

http://soundcloud.com/elisa-faires/distillations

Distillations

This is my new song recorded with layers upon layers of voice and electronics..This piece was inspired by a subject I have been obsessed with for awhile now ... Alchemy...

Distillation is a method of separating mixtures based on differences in their boiling points. Distillation is a unit operation, or a physical separation process, and not a chemical reaction.

The first clear evidence of distillation comes from Greek alchemists working in Alexandria in the first century AD.^[2] Distilled water has been known since at least ca. 200 AD, when Alexander of Aphrodisias described the process.^[3] Arabs learned the process from the Egyptians and used it extensively in their chemical experiments^{[citation needed]}.

Clear evidence of the distillation of alcohol comes from the School of Salerno in the 12th century.^[4][5] Fractional distillation was developed by Tadeo Alderotti in the 13th century.^[6]

In 1500, German alchemist Hieronymus Braunschweig published Liber de arte destillandi (The Book of the Art of Distillation)^[7] the first book solely dedicated to the subject of distillation, followed in 1512 by a much expanded version. In 1651, John French published The Art of Distillation the first major English compendium of practice, though it has been claimed^[8] that much of it derives from Braunschweig's work. This includes diagrams with people in them showing the industrial rather than bench scale of the operation.

So my friends.....

there are many layers to this definition..... the chemical, to Carl Jung and many mystics psychological and the spiritual, to the Moonshiners in the hills...

sorries

hi guys.

i haven't had a computer for a bit. now i do! so that's good. let's keep this train going.


i believe it's elisa's turn!

andreas serrano is a liar

This photo was taken in an abandoned building by the French Broad River...

This is my response to Serrano and his golden lies...

I was all ways, there

Medium: Digital photograph, Canon Rebel XS

Taken from a moving car.

I was always, there

MacBook's Photo Booth, Android phone camera, Vignette Demo app, small mirror, mah face.

andreas serrano is a liar

andreas serrano is a liar by weaklies

acoustic guitar, singing, talking, effects. garageband. ableton.

moments slip away

you say goodbye to everyone.
you tell your best friend
you're going on ahead.
'i'm going on ahead.'
you're not there for the screams

I Was All Ways, There

digital photos, field recording

andreas serrano is a liar

those of us who explore creative outlets must often ask ourselves why we endeavor to do so. creating is a really hard, sometimes torturous avenue down which to travel. the obstacles, self-imposed or otherwise, are painful and challenging, oftentimes leading us to question why it is that we must pursue such an outlet. is art supposed to be easy? is it supposed to be hurtful? can it, should it, will it ultimately destroy those who create it?

so what if we torture ourselves preemptively? can we skip the rough part and get directly to the goods, the core ideas?

in the next thirty minutes i'm going to drink a 40 oz. king cobra and reflect on these ideas. i'm going to live-blog this experience and type out a stream-of-consciousness monologue. by drowning myself, torturing myself for the sake of an idea, perhaps i will find an answer to these questions. perhaps not. here goes.

11:05 pm - unopened king cobra.

(my first thought is that this stuff doesn't taste nearly as bad as i thought.)

i've never been sure of how to define why artistic curiosity. my main creative avenue is that of songwriter and producer, but i've always tried to express myself in "creative" ways. essentially, i've always wanted to wrangle the images/phrases/ideas buzzing around my head and present them to others in some tangible or understandable form.

i think i fell upon music because i

well, i don't really know. i've never been able to finish that sentence, i suppose. i think music just spoke to me in a way that drawing or painting didn't. i remember getting lost in sounds at an early age; i curled up and hid behind the couch in absolute terror the first time i heard the ascending synth line of kool and the gang's "summer madness."

i also really enjoyed writing - that is to say, i really enjoyed being alone and thinking, so i guess i thought that getting lost in sound and writing could be kind of cool when combined.

11:15 - 1/3 of the way done

there's a specific memory that came back to me as i was in the gas station buying the 40. i had gotten off of work at my bartending job in chapel hill and was heading home to try and finish writing a song i'd been working on for weeks. the next day was friday, and i was due in the studio to lay down all the vocals. i had written several drafts of the first verse (this was back when i was rapping), but none of them seemed to work. i didn't want to disappoint my bandmates, so i was determined to stay up late, latch onto some form of inspiration, and knock down a couple pages of lyrics.

however, i was really, really stressed about not finishing the song in time. i hadn't been able to get very far before, so it didn't seem all that likely that i'd write the entire thing in one night. in order to get myself away from myself, i stopped at the gas station and bought a budweiser 40, thinking that if i got kind of fucked up, i'd be able to ignore the stress and sit and write. it'd worked before, why wouldn't it work now?

it didn't work at all.

i played the beat on loop and chugged this 40, trying to goad myself into finding some sort of jumping off point. i didn't even have the first line of the song written down, and there was nothing coming to me from the ether or the alcohol, or whatever. my stress got worse.

(i've started to realize that i'm running out of time to finish this 40 according to my self-imposed time limit.)

11:27 pm - 2/3 done

i basically broke down. i fell to the ground and cried. i couldn't write this stupid fucking song. i was a disappointment to myself and my bandmates. i was wasting everyone's time. i didn't understand how to write, what to write, why to write. i was finished. what was i doing? why did i think i had the authority to write songs or make art? if i couldn't just sit down and do it, why was i even trying?

(i have two minutes left. i'm 3/4 done.)

the next morning i woke up and wrote three verses for the song in 30 minutes, drove to raleigh, and recorded the song in about 2 hours. i have never played anyone this song, and the version that exists is only two verses long. it's called "mustard gas" and is about choking to death.

(ok, i'm one minute past my 30 minute time limit and i'm 4/5 done. i lose [?].)

so, what conclusion can i come to? art is pain? there can't be something that pretentious and ugly at the core of why we do what we do, can there? can truth be construed as pretentious and ugly? should we even care if it is?

i've only raised more questions for myself. i'm uncomfortably drunk, but i feel as though i have conquered something. they say that when you drown, you feel an immense, enveloping warmth.

(it's 11:37 and i just finished the king cobra. 32 minutes.)

Andreas Serrano is a liar

Baby's first video edit.



music: Ashcan "Orchestra" -- Ceilings or ++Sonata for Live audience

stacks

Digital Photograph taken with Canon Rebel XS

Andreas Serrano is a liar

King Cobra, hedonistic slugs, tragically curious ants, couple of super flies

Stacks

collage, print outs of googled images, gelly roll metallic pen

Stacks

(Canon Powershot sx110)

stacks

canon powershot sx110, chairs, bike, back porch

stacks

Stacks by weaklies

stacks, chair, bird, key.

dream big

your consciousness:
it's intellect, and property,
and so many unknown things.

your content.

shaping the monochrome void
into something interesting.

invisible hands behind our hands,
strings of nucleotides
stretched out and waiting for meaning,
given breath
and a stake in the world
that most of us agree is there.

Stacks

Dream Big

(collage, pen, paper)

dream big

curtains - dream big

just some thoughts.

Dream Big

An older piece from December 2010. Medium used: Chalk, colored pencil, drawing paper.