#my state is trying to circumvent the social distancing orders | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nataliehegert · 3 years

Link

I met Catherine Czacki in a Zoom yoga class. The instructor was our mutual friend Linnea Vedder, an artist based in New York whom I’ve known since we were both high school exchange students in Germany twenty years ago. Participants in the class were scattered around the U.S., from New York to Wisconsin, to California.

“Oh, you two should know each other,” Linnea said to me and Catherine, “I think you live really close to each other.”

I live in Lubbock, Texas, out in the middle of the high plains, far from pretty much everything. Turns out, Catherine lives in Portales, New Mexico, a mere hundred miles away. That day, Linnea sent us both an email with the subject line “connections.” “What a wild coincidence that you both live so close and are so like-minded and interested in similar things!” she wrote.

The isolating effect of the pandemic, with our bodies sheltering in our respective domestic spaces, has conversely allowed us, in some cases, to reach out and intermix with others in virtual spaces while geographically dispersed. If there is one bright spot from the pandemic, for me, it is that I have been able to seek connections with old friends in far-flung places, and participate in or watch events such as artist’s talks and readings that I would not have been able to attend otherwise, in any capacity. These social spaces, performed virtually, intimate yet removed, are one way I have been able to push against the motivation-sucking crisis-mode-reaction of my everyday life and try to regain a sense of being here, being present, and still listening.

As Catherine and I talked in a virtual “studio visit,” the sun set and our respective rooms darkened, with only the glow from our laptops illuminating our faces. We traced the orbits of our mutual friends, between San Francisco, New York, San Diego, and now the Southwest and Llano Estacado region. We would have met eventually, that much is certain, but our meeting would not have had the same emotional tenor.

Czacki moved to Portales in 2019 to teach art history and ceramics studio classes at Eastern New Mexico University. She lives with a large and lovable, mischievous dog named Big Buddy. She makes objects, sculptures, paintings, talismans, and wall hangings from a variety of different materials—clay, fabric, beads, found objects—and writes poetry and sews clothes and plays music and works in her garden. These multifarious practices find their ways in and around her oeuvre.

While the pandemic and the lockdowns hit many of us hard, coping with limitations and finding workarounds is a practice Czacki has honed over many years. “There have been so many times that I was going and going, and then suddenly everything fell apart and I just had to stop everything,” she says. “But going through it so many times, I know what to do.” Meditation, yoga, and other spiritual practices, and eating clean, healthy food are part of it, but the real trick is adaptability, switching tasks frequently, and finding ways to circumvent problems. Can’t type? Record with the voice. Right hand injured? Make a sculpture or play music with the left hand “and whatever comes out is the art.” “I think that is partly why my artwork is so idiosyncratic,” she says.

Czacki studied painting in undergraduate school at the San Francisco Art Institute, but soon switched to new genres, intending to focus on video and installation. At the time, she says, she wanted to make “big objects,” but it never really felt right. For many years she felt the pressure to “follow that bureaucratic hierarchical order” and “get really good at one thing,” as either a painter or a sculptor, or to go big-time contemporary artist-style and form a studio with hired assistants. None of this felt right. In grad school, at Columbia University in New York, a faculty member stated “We didn’t know if you were an outsider artist or a genius,” she reveals. “For a while I let it poison me, and then I gained my self-confidence back.” After New York, Czacki pursued a PhD in art history, theory, and criticism at the University of California, San Diego where she produced a dissertation that is part theory and art history, part experimental writing and poetry. Through all these experiences, as some of her peers abandoned object making in the name of Marxist critique, Czacki continued to be drawn to “the making impulse.” “I had read all the art history and theory, but what was missing was the making,” she says.

Returning to object making, and exploring craft, she felt she was accused of participating in “some kind of fetishism” with regards to material. “I did a lot of research on the idea of the fetish as a colonial concept,” she says. “This idea of us being separate from the material world has a lot to do with Cartesian dualism; it’s a very masculine and Western-centric concept of the world.” Western art history privileges history painting over craft, and hand-made ritual objects that existed outside of European aesthetics were denigrated as “fetishes” and eyed with suspicion. Contemporary art theory continues to support this negative view of the “fetish” with the primary means of discussing the value ascribed to objects as “commodities.” Czacki resists this ascribing of hierarchies of value as supporting entrenched institutional, bureaucratic powers. “How those things do and don’t get seen as serious art has a lot to do with people’s relationship to institutional power,” she claims.

“There’s something radically healing about making my own art, and taking the time, turning off my phone for a whole day and focusing on cooking a bunch of meals, making one or two ceramic objects and sewing a patch on a shirt,” she says. For Czacki, the pleasure of indulging in the material, the “beauty and magic” of making, has a subversive side. “I could have continued to launch a critique against Western art history and I still do feel that,” she says, “but in the work is that [critique] while also giving me the pleasure and the healing that I need.”

In her research, Czacki discovered a kind of ancestral link in her attraction to the handmade and her own family history, though she is wary of emphasis on biography. Czacki lived in Poland in her twenties and learned there were deeply complex and conflicting narratives to her family history. “A lot of what I’m doing feels recuperative,” she says. Her relations on the maternal side were farmers and quilters and exhibited a strong relationship to the land—something Czacki has returned to in some ways as well, in the form of growing her own food and creating artworks from leftover fabric and stolen beads (her mother has an impressive bead collection).

Czacki’s fabric works are created intuitively, sometimes suggesting clothing or referencing the body, sometimes taking the form of wall-hangings or tapestries. Her clay works range from the functional to the talismanic, including a whole series of what she calls her “demons.” “I’ll make them when I’m feeling frustrated,” she says, showing me a green-glazed clay object that fits in the palm of her hand. “When I was doing union organizing work I had my ‘union demon’; I had my ‘PhD demon,’ or my ‘person-I-was-dating-last-week demon,’ or ‘my-dog-ate-a-whole-bag-of-rice demon.’” The most planned works, she says, are the paintings, which start from a vision, a color, or a drawing. “I don’t have a hierarchy between the planned or the intuitive,” she notes. “I let myself flow. The art is the easy thing at this point.”

This flow continues through Czacki’s practice in poetry and music. “My poems are telling people verbal information about the art that’s not didactic or narrative or essayistic,” she notes. “It’s pretty simplified and it’s on purpose. I want it to be about a sort of resonance with the material world that I’m trying to have.” The poetry contains an anticolonial endeavor as well: in her dissertation, she references Audre Lorde in how poetry strives for an “irreducible form of knowledge,” and Aimé Césaire, that “Poetic knowledge is born in the great silence of scientific knowledge.” Czacki recently published a 310-page book of poetry and images, entitled Creosote, with Line Script Diary Press, in collaboration with editor Adrienne Garbini.

Czacki is currently collaborating on an album of sounds with Andrew Weathers and Gretchen Korsmo of Full Spectrum Records, based in Littlefield, Texas—between Lubbock and Portales—who are more mutual friends between us (since 2019, Andrew and Gretchen have curated an experimental concert series at the gallery I co-founded in Lubbock). She met them by playing in the Llano Estacado Monad Band (LEMB), which bills itself as a “decentralized, asynchronous, collective, free” improvisational group, and discovered they all had friends in common from San Diego. “This is not uncommon in my life,” she says. “With a lot of my collaborators we will circle around each other in life, and then find a resonance. Collaboration is like everything else in my practice, I end up in a space and a time and a moment where you’re just around certain people and it makes sense.” The limitations of digital collaboration offer another opportunity to discover workarounds and circumventions. Since the pandemic began, LEMB has produced several improvisational pieces performed and recorded via Skype, as well as a couple of socially distant concerts. “I have learned to forgive the digital,” she says. “We’re all having this existential moment where we are learning the limits of the digital while at the same time we have to allow ourselves to let it be what we need.”

The real isolation Czacki felt after her move to Portales became a reality for most of us as we entered this age of social distancing. Czacki evocatively describes her dispersed social world as a “gummy tendrilled support network” or a “forcefield” of people scattered around the world that she can draw on for support. “These ways that we have these spread-out networks—this softness, these reserves—that we have to touch base with,” she gestures with her fingers inching forward. “At this moment we are feeling disjuncted in a lot of ways, so we are reconnecting with people that we’ve gathered along the way.” She adds, “If at any point in life we can take a positive view of something, it’s important, because life is shit and life is hard.”

As we talked, Czacki’s words struck chords of wisdom. Slowing down, pursuing contentment in everyday tasks, focusing on art every day, remaining optimistic—all are ways she has found to “deal with all the pain and trauma in life.” Everyday things become spiritual groundings—“write a poem, make a sculpture, do the wash.” Repeat, rotate, switch tasks. Work with the material, and find pleasure in it.

Feature Posted on 2/8/2021, Printed in Southwest Contemporary, Vol 1, Spring 2021

#in print #feature #highlights

0 notes

rilenerocks · 4 years

Text

A stink bug dropped onto my head while I lay in my bed in the dark, reading on my Kindle before sleep. It’s not the first time I’ve had one appear out of nowhere. Discussions with my son-in-law lead me to believe that our neighborhood has had quite the invasion this year, the kind when if you flip a piece of wood that’s been lying outside for awhile, hundreds might emerge from their dark place. In fact, an article appeared last fall, warning that this particular invasive species, mostly a nuisance, also damages crops – one more thing to worry about. A day ago, I read about an insect called the Asian giant hornet which has turned up in the United States, posing a big threat to already endangered honeybees. From what I’ve read, it also packs quite a painful sting when a human gets in its way. East Africa is contending with a second wave of locusts which is being nicknamed “Locust-19,” as this invasion is coinciding with the inexorable advance of Covid19 across the continent. Already threatened, the increased risk of famine will only make life more impossible there than it is already.

Was it only mere months ago that the world’s eyes were focused on the astonishingly devastating wildfires that were racing through Australia, killing millions of animals while destroying homes and poisoning the air? And Indonesia that was struggling its way through massive flooding? California was suffering through a terrible wildfire season while Washington State was being inundated with rain.

These were the headlines we were reading:

Australians flee massive bushfires as new fire threat looms.

The 2020 California wildfire season is a series of wildfires that are burning across the state of California. As of April 30, 2020, a total of 888 fires have burned 1,482 acres (600 ha) according to the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection.

After 29 straight days of rain, an intense atmospheric river will drench Seattle through the weekend.

And then there was the sudden tragic death of Kobe Bryant and his daughter, the shock of which reverberated around the world, a painful reminder of how quickly life can change, how fast lives can end, no matter your age, your health or your privilege. Finally came this coronavirus which swiftly forged to the head of the news cycle and has come to dominate the consciousness of the global citizens everywhere.

All these events reminded me of a time back in college, when it seemed that there were daily events that I’d read about, nature-based and otherwise, which compelled me to start what I called “ The Apocalypse Notebook.” For years, I clipped articles from newspapers and magazines, selecting astonishing articles which were interspersed with average daily stories. I remember thinking how easy it was to become inured to the unthinkable, those eye-popping tales tucked in between a story of people who’d just celebrated a 60th wedding anniversary and a description of a new restaurant opening. Stories of brutality, stupidity and for me, incredulity when I pondered how easily they came and went, just part of another news day. Here are a few of the headlines from recent times which would’ve made it into my apocalypse notebook, if I was still keeping it up to date.

Husband and wife poison themselves trying to self-medicate with chloroquine.

President Trump Wondered Out Loud If Injecting Disinfectant Could Cure COVID-19.

Kushner calls administration’s coronavirus response “a great success story”

I’m no Nazi, says mom of 7-year-old with swastika.

It’s no small wonder that people are searching for ways to cope and stay healthy through this truly dystopian time. In my part of the world, it’s become clear that my government is turning its attention to kickstarting the economy, pushing aside public health as a number one priority and looking ahead to the effort to re-elect our impossible president. That being the case, it’s become obvious to me that I’m going to have to make my own decisions about how I choose to live going forward, with no access to testing, no proven treatment for Covid19 and far from what I think will be a legitimate vaccine. I’m pondering what the risk vs. reward paradigm means for me.

You can’t really tell by looking at the photo above, but that is actually a ditch that I had to get hauled out of the other day. One of the ways I’ve used to circumvent social distancing has been to drive to an out of the way place and park my car next to a friend’s so we can roll down our windows and spend a few hours having a foodless meal together. One friend is my breakfast buddy and the other is my weekly lunch date. I’ve actually enjoyed chatting without the usual incumbent meals, as I’m always trying to keep calories at bay. In any case, this nice sunny day meeting took place at a different spot than our normal meeting place. Unbeknownst to us, the ground was saturated by heavy rains from the day before, so my attempt to straighten out my car turned into digging myself into what felt like marshland beneath the wheels. Thankfully, I have an app for that and a nice young man showed up with his tow truck to drag me out of the abyss. My friend and I still had a lovely time. I’m thinking that though I’d like to exchange some hugs other than virtual ones, this mode of interaction is going to suit me for an indefinite time, until I see how this virus situation plays out over the coming months. An odd choice? Maybe. But I feel uncertain right now and I’ve found a way to not feel so isolated. So that’s one thing.

Then there’s the pool question. I am sorely missing swimming and I mean that both literally and figuratively. I’m one of those humans who feels as comfortable in the water as I do on land. After almost two months of being unable to swim, I feel much less fit than I did before this virus changed everything. My body is stiffer and less fluid in its movements. I’m really grateful that my knee replacement surgeries allow me to take walks as an alternative to swimming. But I don’t get any endorphin rush from walking and I need to go for a lot longer than 40 minutes to feel like I’ve gotten a real workout. So what will I do when the pools finally reopen? I’m really on the fence about my favorite recreational activity. I keep envisioning leaping into a petri dish. Crowds of people splashing around. Locker rooms with so much traffic there’d need to be full-time cleaners to keep up with sanitation. Could I really enjoy myself with that anxiety? Adult swim hours would help but right now, I’m not sure that would be enough for me. So as an alternative I just purchased a below the desk elliptical machine. Between walking, using this thing and working in my garden, I’m hoping to keep myself healthy and strong. I’ve always been a person who looks ahead. I want to give myself alternatives now, in an attempt to prepare for whatever is coming down the road. Luckily for me, I hate grocery shopping. I think that after having done it for so many years for my family, I just got to the end. Except for when my son is here, I only have myself to worry about. The online services of ordering food and either having a delivery or doing my own pickup is just fine. I don’t think I’d care if I never saw the inside of a grocery store again. But the movies. I am a movie junkie. I can certainly watch movies at home. The plethora of choices in platforms is amazing and I get that. But ever since I attended my first movie at the Iowa Theater in downtown Sioux City, “The Giant Claw,” I’ve been irresistibly drawn to sharing the darkness and the flickering images reflected on the faces in the audience, the smell of fresh popcorn with Milk Duds tossed into the container as a warm chocolatey surprise. I haven’t seen a theater movie in months. Michael and I shared that love of movies. Before we had kids, we’d go a couple of times a week. When the babies came, I popped them into their Snuggli and kept them quiet by nursing them throughout the films. When will I go back to a theater? I guess that depends on how reopening looks. The same is true for restaurants. I don’t want to be crammed into any crowded waiting spaces. Maybe al fresco is the way to go. Picnics in the park with carry out seems like a good alternative. That is, unless the giant hornets take up residence in this town.

Trump Says Some States Will Be Able To Open ‘Literally Tomorrow’ If They Want To.

Maybe if there was a real national plan, I wouldn’t be busy with trying to figure out who I’m going to be for awhile. But there isn’t a national plan. All the states are on their own. So I’m just thinking about daily life. I’m not contemplating anything really big like whether I have taken my last trip, whether I’ll ever travel again. The biggest thing for now is to try to stay well, for myself and my family, overburdened with the complications of working from home and educating their kids. And there’s my son with his Phd, postdocs and no job market because of the pandemic trashing of higher education, along with everything else. All I can think of regarding him is that health insurance is expensive and what if the government eliminates the Affordable Care Act? The terror of no national health care. So, yeah, I’m going to be careful and slow. No malls for me. I’m going to auto-visit, grow a ponytail and work in my yard for the next few months. What about you?

About That Apocalypse Notebook… A stink bug dropped onto my head while I lay in my bed in the dark, reading on my Kindle before sleep.

0 notes