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lee lozano

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[kotodeg-corin]

Jose Puig statement

i realized (suddenly!) the other day that i didn’t feel that sneering demand thats been hanging gross and heavy in my chest since who-even-knows. that “Kotone, what do you even WANT?” always clanging in my head.

i want to want to want. i want love in deliberateness. in all the types of relationships. i want the choice to invest and reinvest. i want all our autonomy. i want to swallow a stone and to move my body and to be in my body, for some little while. i want to swallow stones of water and to change elements and to be warm and to spread time.

i feel really ready to start

[kotodeg-corin]

Class Reflection

This class was such a culmination of beginnings for me. So many things coalesced, things I had been thinking about for a long time or that I had divided from my “art practice.” Or things I had wanted to be a part of my art practice but felt moved away from, discouraged from or told (or felt told) were cliche.

I came in with the contrives of responsibility: of communication, of justification, of story told. frustration of “what do you WANT,” to the seeming viewer, to myself. To those I saw as being in the role of supporting me but the action of not.

That responsibility of communication was in the first crit piece, Neither Do I, that I had promised in my Deans International Travel Grant that I would make work about my trip to Japan. But it was the whirl of fabrication that was that piece, despite the comments of the uneven table, the direct construction, the fact that I made the pillows and the cups and ordered the immersion boiler is what I still feel about that piece. And it was a bridge, between the work I made previous. The fear of nonexistence, of unjustified, so that I feel I have to hide a Concept that’s explainable, verbal, that becomes so stuck in my teeth that it overwhelmed its looser freer truer possibilities.

So many things have happened in my life during the span of time between the first piece and the second piece, and the second and the third, the things I think and how I flow, internally.

The second crit piece, Sweet Solutions, I was so nervous about. Making a small object that was presented as itself and only itself. Who even makes just “sculptures” anymore. But this was a part of me starting to look at my other blogs as well, my image dump blog, my anxiety response blog, my music, pools I let collect different aspects of myself, that I mostly do for myself, internal, private.

In notes for that piece Max said the negative space of the object was huge, so much bigger than the object itself. I felt I understood that of myself.

I was invited to be an artist in a friend’s show at Valet. Another whirl of fabrication and heaviness of my conversation with you Corin about my energy, aggressive, heavy, judgmental, probably unintentional. how much space my energies take up. Do I mean to, I mean to. I go to the show, set up on the ground, am on the schedule as being “ongoing” but really that means I’m in between the scheduled performances, which means everyone’s floating back down from each performance and not there to be present for mine, that I’m not present to be there for mine, that I’m not really ready and I don’t have any words and Sam Morgan says “what are you doing Kotone?” gently, curiously, and I say “I don’t know” and pack up, tell Silu that I can’t perform tonight. She’s understanding, doesn’t give me a hard time, but messages me a few days later asking why and what she as an organizer could do differently in the future. Sometimes things aren’t for the time they’re in yet. The objects were there and it was when they were meant to be but not to perform in that time, not yet.

I’m trying to become more sensitive to the way things want to go. Pressing my hand gently to see which way it gives.

I keep talking to my friends about romantic friendships. What do I actually feel. I’ve been joking for so long about being heartbreakingly in love with all of my friends.

I’m trying to feel what I actually feel, to be truer in my descriptions of how my body feels. It’s more than about sincerity.

I have Molly’s final crit. Just dancing alone in front of a room full of people. I do see when people come in and leave, and some of who’s there. I do have thoughts and some thoughts of narrative while I’m moving. Mostly I’m jst moving. I’m sore, already stiff and tired from saying goodbye to one of my closest most wrought friends, dancing the night before. (Is it truer to be dancing as goodbye in a roomful of friends? Am I trying to recreate?)

I’d been going to therapy. The therapist would let me speak fast and jump from one recent anecdote to another and then pull forth words I kept using. Told me I had compassion as well as feelings of betrayal of not feeling understood, not feeling reciprocated in efforts to be understood.

I tried to look more at my friend I’m estranged from, estranged myself from. Tried to see how confusing the situation as a whole was, how sudden. Tried to let go. It had been mostly rage in different viscosities, different temperatures. Tried to have some compassion.

This estrangement was where my focus on growing of my politics of deliberateness and investment stemmed from. And my focus on feeling what I really am feeling, really am wanting. I do the presentation with Isabel about Love, about action and deliberateness. There’s some spite there too. to be contrary, to have desire, to be desireable. this sentence is displaced.

Going toward. Allowing.

Final crit piece. I tell my mother on the phone that I’m making an installation but every time I go into the studio I keep getting gentle no’s from the universe, things just being a little too difficult, and started to panic that I was listening but getting anxious to receive the alternative. Three days before the show I go home between classes and nap with/on my housemate’s cat and remember the Valet piece. Go to studio and talk to a friend about my complicated feelings about my friend who left, the one I danced goodbye to. Realize shelves. The piece that didn’t exist for the Valet show suddenly exists as it feels meant to. The fabricated pieces already exist, have been waiting.

That first performance of water to stone, stone to water felt blissful, true. The second felt like falling off my bike. Not in failure, but the tight inevitability of slow falling and hitting the ground. gravel in scraped knees. There was grit between my teeth. It’s fine, another feeling, but I think it’s its next piece, clay and water.

a chronology of the last two years: steam. sky and horizon. water and stone. so probably next is clay.

feeling in my body. my body as a surface that feels. my body as a soul that feels (not has feelings, but feels, currents). air currents. pressing (starting a collab w a friend on body movement and how air currents are made by hot and cold pressing)

Somehow this semester was so much different than semesters before, felt truer and more focused.

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do my atoms remember what they used to be a part of

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second performance was much more. face on pavement. hit my jaw and scraped my face and skint my knee. becoming stone by embedded stones.

i dnt even kno what was different. literal grit in my teeth. everything felt much harder. every action is far away and tedious. stay down.

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every day they want you to shrink: fit here, in my palm, in my shadow, don’t be bigger than my idea of you, don’t be more beautiful than i can accept, don’t be more human than i am willing to allow you to be and be quiet, you’re too loud, even your unbelonging is loud. quiet your dreams, your voice, your hair, quiet your skin, quiet your displacement, quiet your longing, your colour, quiet your walk, your eyes. who said you could look at me like that? who said you could exist without permission? why are you even here? why aren’t you shrinking? i think of you often. you vibrate. you walk into a room and the temperature changes. i lean in and almost recognise you as human. but, no. we can’t have that.

Warsan Shire, Be Small For Me. (via sheholdsyoucaptivated)

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Golshifteh Farahani playing hang drum 4 months ago in Paris!

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how do i make a stone

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i talked to samara golden last night abt terror. i think we both didnt have much to Say about it bt i felt a terror in her work and i feel a terror in myself and i told her abt the night my friends and i broke onto the roof of my old apartment where i lived on the top floor and had a skylight. and i didnt let my friends look in anyone else’s skylight bt mine, when we found it, and how i looked into my skylight into a sudden dollhouse diorama of my sophomore college life. we couldn’t see the door or the walls or any point of reference except the floor and the couch my roommate brought with him when we moved in and the few things we had scattered on the floor and that red round rug. we couldnt see the walls so there was no point of reference of depth or distance and there was my house, with its couch my roommate brought with him when we moved in and our small few scattered things and the rug and it was all small and far away and just for a dollhouse. how disturbed i felt.

ive been reading thro my image dump tumblr ive had this whole 4 years and how much of my writing is about terror, tho i didnt know then.

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love like falling asleep in a rectangle of hot sunlight. love like reading the writing of a friend you(re in) love that makes u feel like falling in asleep in a rectangle of hot sunlight.

terror and love and hot sunlight

[kotodeg-corin]

Sweet Solutions response

Max told me that my object’s negative space is huge. That’s how i feel about my own body, my own self. On good days its that I feel like I have so much power within my body, a density, a deep sound. On bad days I feel radioactive, the inevitable headache from the thrumming of a fluorescent light in the back of your eye. My objects feel so much more powerful than me, overwhelmingly so. 

If their negative space is so big, is there room for me? Is there room for them to work together? Would it be diminishing them, as their negative space presses into each other? Would it seem like a compilation of pieces sitting near each other?

The notes I was given mostly talked about magical science and the (irony) of the title. I do feel validated in the theatrics of my object and in the urgency coming thro without me packing in behind it. I tend to overcompensate and overload from the fear that I’m not heard, able to be heard.

Trusting in my science, spiritualism.

Brass and glass are so important. Brass is gold is sunlight, glass as density you can see.

I am afraid of becoming too well behaved tho. what am i allowed. i still have such a resistance to being told not to use pine, although i realize it’s because of the qualities of the wood, its tendency to bend and warp.

That Yoko Ono article, about all the Modernist guys making such Serious, crisp architectural intellectual work and she just wants to throw blood.

The difference between theatrics and theater. Being too dramatic without first bringing people into that new plane. Deperson-ing.

Allowed to be blank, sit, drip. Having dripped. Will drip again when feel like it. May never drip again. This is a better rebellion than pine.

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if it were thick and solid would it still make sound? i’m not looking to hit it like a cymbal anyway

or better to get a big sheet and form it? would I be able to put grooves into it? i guess i would chase it

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ppl’s frustration w me: “why are u telling me this. how is this connected”