Pushing Rocks
Nibbling On Hope at the Edge
My story in the work memoir, “Divining Chaos,” ends just before the 2020 election and won’t launch until June 2022. I am now making final copy edits. That means I can’t add anything substantive but I can review what the publisher’s editor suggests and consider a word change here or there. So in my epilogue, I can’t write about the Biden presidency, the insurrection, or global wildfires. I have to raise any issues I've considered since November 2020,…
Guest Blog by Deanna Pindell: Ecoart Strategies for Engaging with the More-than-Human Lifeworld
Not even four centuries of the Cartesian split have passed, and look where we are: Westerners seem to have forgotten how to exist. I don’t mean that hyperbolically; we’ve created our very own existential crisis. We refer to that crisis as Progress. Quantum physicist and queer feminism scholar Karen Barad…
On Joy at the Edges
Despair is a difficult position. Besides an untenable accommodation to misery, it requires considering what we hope for: an end to: war? Saving beautiful species? Saving ourselves? A next date or a meal? How much can we grieve the mistakes of the Industrial revolution paradigm or the ubiquitous patriarchal system or routine, casual cruelties?
Hope Despite Darkness
Hope is like the dawn. Both return despite the darkest night. The work of completing the “Ecoart in Action” book is wrapping up and now we are expanding the outreach of the ideas behind the book. The imminent publication and the process of outreach represents hope for the future at this very dark time for our planet. We are now fundraising to effect our outreach goals.
On Why the Femicidal Stranglehold in Texas is Essential to the Fossil Fuel Economy
September 8, 2021 is Rosh Hashanah, a time of renewal after atonement which begins a new year. It comes this year after Labor Day, intended to let those who work, rest. I have written this before all three: atonement, rest and renewal.
The Mnemonics of Afghanistan and Titian
It seems paradoxical, but I often use conventional landscape studies as a means to think out complex adaptive systems, relationships between disparate agents that culminate in foreseeable patterns, and my next steps as a new media/ interdisciplinary artist. It is all about how mnemonics manifest as the embodiment of insight.
Lost Things; a Soliloquy on Love
This time last year, I was deep into the project, Hunt for the Lost. I wanted to identify all the things we were mourning, as ecocide and fascism appeared to have made a marriage in hell that was pulling us all into an abyss of despair and destroying all value in the world before the 2020 presidential election.
The Day Before I Turn 76 My Mind Is On Afghanistan As the Leading Edge of Despair
What to call Afghanistan- a horror? A catastrophe? Whatever it is called, however tragic the immediate descent into totalitarian misogyny and cruelty, I am equally concerned about international repercussions and yet time advances and change is only predictable in retrospect no matter how clairvoyant or insightful I image myself to be.
The Iconic Nature of Dawns and Sunsets
After days of fog, dawn faithfully returned to the island. I will have about six weeks more to hoard as many as possible.
Recording dawns is an iconic exercise for me. When in doubt, no matter what, I am reminded that dawn comes daily for every living being, like birth, hope and renewal of all kinds just as sunset comes as regularly as death and closure for all that lives.
How Do We Talk About Crises?
Last year, I completed the Hunt for the Lost project on Governor’s Island when a more ambitious project, Blued Trees Black Skies, was torpedoed by the pandemic. Since then, it became clear to me that small discussion groups need to explode into international exchanges.