nature plus labour equals culture

Within an institution of “culture” (the gallery) I laboured to produce “culture” (a “garden” lets say) from “nature” (leaves scattered on the floor.) “Nature” (children) came into the gallery and destroyed my labour, returning my attempt at producing “culture” back to “nature.” I am now asking the gallery to salvage my production of “culture” through “law” thus validating my labour so it falls to the side of “culture” and does not remain on the side of “nature.”

no garden

A group of children playing in a field might come across a flower garden. If the children run freely through the garden while an adult is present, and the adult does not intervene, the children will believe it is o.k. to run through gardens. The question is, should the adult intervene and educate the children about gardens? If the adult chooses to not intervene, (believing the gardener wishes to privilege freedom of choice) the result is the garden is destroyed and the children experience permission from an adult to run through a garden.

Later, upon learning the gardener would have preferred the adult present to intervene, the adult could do a variety of things, none of which, however, will revive the garden. The children, never seeing the flowers that might have bloomed, will never know the consequences of their action of running through the garden. The gardener has no garden.

There is no garden.

may 30/31, 2011 – sunset 20:34 sunrise 5:09

life will, at times, give you such beautiful gifts. tonight, this my last night in the gallery, two beautiful women appeared. they both have left the space, but both of them will remain with me in spirit for a long time to come. thank you adriana, thank you maia.

may 29/30, 2011 – sunset 20:33 sunrise 5:10

although made of paper, these leaves are real to me.  i have been spending so much time with these paper leaves, in this gallery, during the nights. the leaves, i have to tell you, are beautiful. i walk among them, turn them over, pick them up, place them down. i read their undersides and create poetry from the texts inscribed in their skins. i put leaves in envelopes and then deliver the envelopes to people’s mailboxes hoping they too will cherish and see beauty in these leaves of paper. i have endeavoured to protect and honour them.

this is why my heart breaks when these leaves are treated with disrespect. when my work at honouring them is destroyed.

r u talkin’ 2 me?

leafs don’t talk. leafs don’t talk. leaf’s don’t talk (to us.)
and really, why should they? we don’t listen. we don’t listen, we don’t listen.
to leaves.

i remember a time when we, us humans, thought, whales don’t talk, whales don’t talk, whales don’t talk. then we discovered, yes they do talk, and we tried to figure out what they were saying. we discovered, yes the whales do talk, just not to us. but why should they really? i mean, would we listen, have we ever consulted them on matters of importance? like what might happen if we wanted to extract oil by drilling a hole in the bottom of the ocean? i mean, you would think we would consult the whales if we knew they talked. they probably know a lot of things about the ocean we don’t know. but we don’t talk to whales. not a priority. probably don’t want to get into issues of property rights. the whale might, after all, live in the ocean where we want to drill.

same with leaves. but i know leaves talk. i’ve been listening to them. i encourage you to do the same, go, sit under a tree. close your eyes. listen. listen to the leaves, they are talking to you and telling you things you need to hear.

 

may 28/29, 2011 – sunset 20:32 sunrise 5:11

so yeah, we cut the night in two and gave half to the new day. the birds are not duped. they know when dawn opens her sleepy eyes and lets the light shine through a new day is upon them. this 1 am in the morning talk is not for the birds. they know it is night, us humans, uh uh, no. we try to eradicate the night. we deny night an identity. it is lumped in either with the outgoing day or the incoming day. as if we don’t give night its own place, it can’t really exist.

1st man: what day is it?

2nd man: tuesday. tues day.

1st man: what night is it?

2nd man: thinks to himself, tues day night? tues night?

1st man: (again) what night is it?

2nd man: no response

1st man: (louder now) what night is it?

2nd man: still no response

1st man: (louder still) night. what night is it?

2nd man: i have no name for this, or any other night.

although i inhabit the night, the day does not respect my decision. she tries to leak into my dreams at every opportunity so i am sleep walking and sleep talking. so be it. soon enough she will get the hint and leave me alone.

may 27/28, 2011 – sunset 20:31 sunrise 5:12

although the sun sets and the sun rises with a regularity i find comforting, and although i want to find comfort within my own repetitions, and although i will be awake during the same night hours, i will not be at the gallery. tonight i stay home.