celedon
blossoming red and white plum trees
yu suk
a hermit with a boy servant
choe buk
small boat by blossoming peach forest
an jung-sik
chusuk che
new style of calligraphy
gim jeong-hui
child on a tree
chang uc-chin
kandinsky/klee
standing face to face
post war korea
song young-soo
mountain
yoo young-kuk
valdemosa
welded steel
john pai
dancers
suh do-ho
some/one
faint shadows of love
kwant-kyu kim
/////////////////
dual painting
yang qian
egg shape #2
xu zhongmin
terraspin
huang yan
grotesque humanism
floating = new generation of china
how young chinese artists are too independent they float in their own worlds
how do they differ from young korean artists?
5
huang yuangqing
personalizing language from calligraphy
the spirit can connect the east with the west
emotionality
urbi culture
li wei
chagall
quiet garden
wang yiqiong
the grey zone can tolerate anything
china vision 2
yan kai
cypresses = time = humanity
Thursday, November 15, 2007
a hereness is six
We leave Ti We fly back into parts of Ch It grows hazywehavepassedover
mountain rang Did we believe we saw Mt. Ever It was
auspiciously magnificent
at this point. No man's land
mountain rang Did we believe we saw Mt. Ever It was
auspiciously magnificent
at this point. No man's land
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
a hereness is five
tomato wedges coated in sugar granules. muslim tea floats sage and chestnuts dried mums quietly. the boy shied a rock or potatoe at my heel. or so i didn't see but felt. enter clockwise random temple you monk sleeping. they hide deep within the temple cornershadows behind mandelas or kettledrums. to make eye and a sometimes smile. i see you in the wall mirror at the steps descending mandela restaurant. rooftop garden low ceiling ascend the stairs.
the light is making sense to me now. how it reveals the thing. how we are balanced under it. bus ride back from sera monastery to realize it is important to relax my face in sunlight with whistle jingle of bells around beyond. all colors drift past and the light flap colors towards eye. monks locals attach two pieces of metal for solar capacity. they use only the sun to heat water. through sera sounds of boiling kettles and tibetans working to raise a wall. details of daily work. he places a large bourlder on stakes of wood a woman pours red dirt mixture into the space where the boulder will go. he cuts and carves the rock to fit. one monk takes a graphite slab and pounds my backside willingly because i move through the temple and decided to go into the room and decided to take my own invitation. he knows to miss the spine. printers sit on calves strattle a long wood block of scripture. they fluidity and utterly rhythmic nothing no thing can interrupt their rhythm not the two 5yuen tourists who paid to take pictures. i remember that man is most beautiful when doing daily work and for pilgrims here it is a primary one.
we you eye are fortunate to know ourselves better in this light. no where else is it pure and unrefined, raw, raw light. the sun is on every part of our body even the forgotten parts like a toe and elbow.
the barkhor once more for a street vendor. she drops her price from 80 to 50 yuen only to give me a bracelet with explanation. bracelet meet the one i bought when we first arrived. we are identical. how so much is bohemian in lhasa.
hullo? hullo? you look. you buy. very cheap.
and to mean it. if you look you do buy.
we grow restless. we have acclimitized. we have walked.
someone takes my photo from behind a curtain.
tomorrow he will buy a painting from tashi i. i will buy a series of flags sewn together.
we will continue to walk through.
should we ask why we are walking?
auspicious/prostrating
the light is making sense to me now. how it reveals the thing. how we are balanced under it. bus ride back from sera monastery to realize it is important to relax my face in sunlight with whistle jingle of bells around beyond. all colors drift past and the light flap colors towards eye. monks locals attach two pieces of metal for solar capacity. they use only the sun to heat water. through sera sounds of boiling kettles and tibetans working to raise a wall. details of daily work. he places a large bourlder on stakes of wood a woman pours red dirt mixture into the space where the boulder will go. he cuts and carves the rock to fit. one monk takes a graphite slab and pounds my backside willingly because i move through the temple and decided to go into the room and decided to take my own invitation. he knows to miss the spine. printers sit on calves strattle a long wood block of scripture. they fluidity and utterly rhythmic nothing no thing can interrupt their rhythm not the two 5yuen tourists who paid to take pictures. i remember that man is most beautiful when doing daily work and for pilgrims here it is a primary one.
we you eye are fortunate to know ourselves better in this light. no where else is it pure and unrefined, raw, raw light. the sun is on every part of our body even the forgotten parts like a toe and elbow.
the barkhor once more for a street vendor. she drops her price from 80 to 50 yuen only to give me a bracelet with explanation. bracelet meet the one i bought when we first arrived. we are identical. how so much is bohemian in lhasa.
hullo? hullo? you look. you buy. very cheap.
and to mean it. if you look you do buy.
we grow restless. we have acclimitized. we have walked.
someone takes my photo from behind a curtain.
tomorrow he will buy a painting from tashi i. i will buy a series of flags sewn together.
we will continue to walk through.
should we ask why we are walking?
auspicious/prostrating
Sunday, November 11, 2007
a hereness is four
head fill dream of sauntering. my body prostrates before my imagination. a difficult day. moving in and out of tibetan people i am forced to recall i am a westerner. seen as a westerner. the pushing past feels more familiar now. in korea i can get away with my western self more; here it is not tolerated and i am constantly reminded of its presence. i am slowly facing my western ways; not in an attempt to change who i am, but understand more about how others live. how they see me and what it means to be seen. to be living side by side easterners as i integrate more and more into an eastern culture. in my imagination, i am of an eastern mind in certain respects, but i forget that no one can see my imagination; it is my body seen and translated instead.
any hope for communication is between our bodies, not our words.
what does it mean to embody an eastern mind inside of a western body as one might have it when they look upon you in an attempt to know you? that is, how can i learn from an eastern mind that is the body?
she at market stand
grabs one arm
more cheap
handle situation?
pay her respect
you obvious consumer
but did not want
to compromise myself
prey on
my humanity
i have no money
you saavy business woman
eye communicate
thank you softly
thank you softly
thank you softly
momentary human moment
weary situation
today a difficult day
affected by our interaction i could not get past muddy puddles and a band of unacknowledging monks who walked in the central compound of meru serpa monastery. we were flagged away. potala to no avail. no at the west gate. no at lhasa's tourist agency. a couple wanted to travel outside the t.a.r. but could not afford the permits.
a pilgrim's peaceful ways seems very treacherous and dangerous to understand. i do not understand it, but i can respect it. it seems that to be peaceful requires a certain amount of aggression. it is really difficult to feel this.
to see pak la buk cave relief paintings and a monastery. a very young monk makes eye contact with me as we cross pass the wicks burning in yak butter and wax. we pass right past each other. he looks out the window for a long time. she looks in the window of the cafe, who, i do not know. i only held my peripheral vision there. we wait for the pilgrims to pass through before us, a long line, always moving clockwise in these holy places. tibetan children are the most directly demanding. one boy tried to stop me in my path for the length of a block; i continued to walk forward acknowledging him under a soft voice with words he could not understand. it was difficult to get around him. he only held one hand up and shoveled food into his mouth with the other. never once looking me in the eyes but clinging to me as though i were his mother.
how to get past the other before the "i"?
i struggle with this. it. is. not. about. me.
i am uncomfortable most of the time here in tibet, but it is necessary and it is not easy. still it feels of home in the light and i came here initially for that. despite my discomfort, i still love it here. i love it because it is authentic out of necessity. tibetans use everything here. they depend on each other like no other people i've met.
they sat under a tent carving scripture into stone tablets they broke from the rock of the mountain. they take from the mountain and give it back language so that language is embedded literally into the mountain.
so that rebirth of language continues.
rock hives. thoughts of andy goldsworthy.
they didn't say no to photos so we were careful.
he paid for her portrait.
i recorded the sounds of the rock carvers.
knowing the day is beautiful.
it does not seem you can negotiate with tibetans; that is, you cannot negotiate with a spiritually-inclined person. you cannot make a person laugh or cheat themselves when they are asking you to truly acknowledge them despite their apparent begging.
i did not acknowledge him in the way he wanted, but i let him see how i was acknowledging him through my act of writing:
i am doing this right now and will not leave my creativity. you may stand there or even sit next to me. but my creativity should not cease until it needs to.
i apologize if we cannot understand each other in this moment.
any hope for communication is between our bodies, not our words.
what does it mean to embody an eastern mind inside of a western body as one might have it when they look upon you in an attempt to know you? that is, how can i learn from an eastern mind that is the body?
she at market stand
grabs one arm
more cheap
handle situation?
pay her respect
you obvious consumer
but did not want
to compromise myself
prey on
my humanity
i have no money
you saavy business woman
eye communicate
thank you softly
thank you softly
thank you softly
momentary human moment
weary situation
today a difficult day
affected by our interaction i could not get past muddy puddles and a band of unacknowledging monks who walked in the central compound of meru serpa monastery. we were flagged away. potala to no avail. no at the west gate. no at lhasa's tourist agency. a couple wanted to travel outside the t.a.r. but could not afford the permits.
a pilgrim's peaceful ways seems very treacherous and dangerous to understand. i do not understand it, but i can respect it. it seems that to be peaceful requires a certain amount of aggression. it is really difficult to feel this.
to see pak la buk cave relief paintings and a monastery. a very young monk makes eye contact with me as we cross pass the wicks burning in yak butter and wax. we pass right past each other. he looks out the window for a long time. she looks in the window of the cafe, who, i do not know. i only held my peripheral vision there. we wait for the pilgrims to pass through before us, a long line, always moving clockwise in these holy places. tibetan children are the most directly demanding. one boy tried to stop me in my path for the length of a block; i continued to walk forward acknowledging him under a soft voice with words he could not understand. it was difficult to get around him. he only held one hand up and shoveled food into his mouth with the other. never once looking me in the eyes but clinging to me as though i were his mother.
how to get past the other before the "i"?
i struggle with this. it. is. not. about. me.
i am uncomfortable most of the time here in tibet, but it is necessary and it is not easy. still it feels of home in the light and i came here initially for that. despite my discomfort, i still love it here. i love it because it is authentic out of necessity. tibetans use everything here. they depend on each other like no other people i've met.
they sat under a tent carving scripture into stone tablets they broke from the rock of the mountain. they take from the mountain and give it back language so that language is embedded literally into the mountain.
so that rebirth of language continues.
rock hives. thoughts of andy goldsworthy.
they didn't say no to photos so we were careful.
he paid for her portrait.
i recorded the sounds of the rock carvers.
knowing the day is beautiful.
it does not seem you can negotiate with tibetans; that is, you cannot negotiate with a spiritually-inclined person. you cannot make a person laugh or cheat themselves when they are asking you to truly acknowledge them despite their apparent begging.
i did not acknowledge him in the way he wanted, but i let him see how i was acknowledging him through my act of writing:
i am doing this right now and will not leave my creativity. you may stand there or even sit next to me. but my creativity should not cease until it needs to.
i apologize if we cannot understand each other in this moment.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
a hereness is three
tashi delek
tu jay chay
di gong ka tsay ray?
gu xiu nu for tea with currants and pine needles. he is playing guitar in pieces a song
half recorded half he wipes the tables down. this makes a song. two monks on the street barkhor square. one wears a backpack. one speaks into a cellphone. all the prayer beads at their sides
all the robes at their ankles. they peek into a window. hear a young tibetan sing a folk song. and two americans off to the side.
wondered and wandered into much today and the barkhor grows into an orientation we
they clockwise pour yak butter into bowls of floating wicks in the jokhang and we
old musty wood infused with yak meat butter, sage, and urine
why the basket with red and white garlands? when he plays it is folk infused gregorian chanting a meditation he can easily break with self and gather self back into. she has no money and the girls takes the garlanded basket back into curiosity and shyness. take picture, give yuen. does a shopkeeper know boredom here? where does their fascination begin? to notice everyone and everything that passes.
i saw her snatch the basket cradle it in her arms. everything is needed, shared. a kid on one neon rollerskate. which place is the rooftop? we reconciled ourselves to ourselves the other night. we will get into some world. can we be here? should we be here? will anyone notice or believe us? we live our togetherness in secret places.
here, the light is pure directness. harsh and ever present. white, white light. a man has an empty eye socket. i misheard her 40 yuen for 4 and she has no money but i have no interest in that bracelet and if it is not a photograph that means something to me i do not need it. he reminds me. circuit. square. there is an older section, still. where, but we find our ways and things we forgot about. it was always in front of our eyes, the prestige. everyone is lugging something around on their backside or in their hands, their hands and backsides pulling and lifting and holding. the day still isn't done the light makes it
gedum artists guild
tserang dhundrup
"languid dogs"
wang shi min
"women"
tu jay chay
di gong ka tsay ray?
gu xiu nu for tea with currants and pine needles. he is playing guitar in pieces a song
half recorded half he wipes the tables down. this makes a song. two monks on the street barkhor square. one wears a backpack. one speaks into a cellphone. all the prayer beads at their sides
all the robes at their ankles. they peek into a window. hear a young tibetan sing a folk song. and two americans off to the side.
wondered and wandered into much today and the barkhor grows into an orientation we
they clockwise pour yak butter into bowls of floating wicks in the jokhang and we
old musty wood infused with yak meat butter, sage, and urine
why the basket with red and white garlands? when he plays it is folk infused gregorian chanting a meditation he can easily break with self and gather self back into. she has no money and the girls takes the garlanded basket back into curiosity and shyness. take picture, give yuen. does a shopkeeper know boredom here? where does their fascination begin? to notice everyone and everything that passes.
i saw her snatch the basket cradle it in her arms. everything is needed, shared. a kid on one neon rollerskate. which place is the rooftop? we reconciled ourselves to ourselves the other night. we will get into some world. can we be here? should we be here? will anyone notice or believe us? we live our togetherness in secret places.
here, the light is pure directness. harsh and ever present. white, white light. a man has an empty eye socket. i misheard her 40 yuen for 4 and she has no money but i have no interest in that bracelet and if it is not a photograph that means something to me i do not need it. he reminds me. circuit. square. there is an older section, still. where, but we find our ways and things we forgot about. it was always in front of our eyes, the prestige. everyone is lugging something around on their backside or in their hands, their hands and backsides pulling and lifting and holding. the day still isn't done the light makes it
gedum artists guild
tserang dhundrup
"languid dogs"
wang shi min
"women"
a hereness is two
to look them
to look them too long
to look them too long in the face
to look them too long in the face is to lose face
nowhere else have i seen such full-bodied characters
their skin alone
both sanctuary and formidable
to go into
i want to go into
to look them too long
to look them too long in the face
to look them too long in the face is to lose face
nowhere else have i seen such full-bodied characters
their skin alone
both sanctuary and formidable
to go into
i want to go into
a hereness is one
an arrival hauled over
a slowness delivered
we are here in Tibet
a hereness we were always inside of
a handful of kind air
where is the elsewhere in the world?
trees from a field of marsh
she?
barks waddling in a half circle
they we tethered by old rope
to
How can you decide a
mountain?
estranged cows
Face up the mountain
Press my face up to the mountain
along the highway they're
Faces against the mountain
nippled haystacks
and they we walk in mud
You forget to breathe
or your breath is still
a slowness delivered
we are here in Tibet
a hereness we were always inside of
a handful of kind air
where is the elsewhere in the world?
trees from a field of marsh
she?
barks waddling in a half circle
they we tethered by old rope
to
How can you decide a
mountain?
estranged cows
Face up the mountain
Press my face up to the mountain
along the highway they're
Faces against the mountain
nippled haystacks
and they we walk in mud
You forget to breathe
or your breath is still
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