i’m reaching out to you today because at some point over the last three years we were together: collaborating, conceiving, sharing, witnessing, holding a circle for the labor of words. my personal intention over this period of time has been to push the boundaries of performance, creating situations where we are asked to show up unprepared and present rough, raw, and unprocessed materials. when the circle is formed, the room becomes a somatic unit, with no separation between performer and audience. we are accountable for the message we make together and later for the message we reflect to the world.
through practices of radical imagination and acceptance, i aspire to continue the rotation of mirrors and shatter the embedded notion of othering. the focus is to break down capitalist notions of protection and safety into community caretaking, peeling our nerves, massaging our scar tissues, and conceiving alternative communities where vulnerability holds us all accountable.
today i’m writing to all 48 people who created Words on Paper, , do you feel the siren., Maybe all of us at once, and do you feel the siren, to announce
WE SPOKE, taking place at the women’s center for creative work.
for this durational reading event, i’m asking each of you to nominate one wordmaker who would like to participate and can be physically present in los angeles on april 13th, 2019. please send me your nominee info by january 15th.
a place where we can begin -
hold on to each other, fear ignites hate, this land has been burning, from the first white step. this is an invitation to expand into the circular triangle created by the contact points of our past circles. this is the melting point of past connections and present transformations, this is the unfolding of community. we showed up for one another once before; we held space, we touched. that meeting point of recognition and accountability will multiply in voices. can we go back to a past experience and plant a seed, one that will change the lineage of perception and assumption? what is alive in your heart right now? can we archive the experience in real time over time? in twelve years, mother nature’s rage will be brutally known across space and time. fighting for something deeper than the kill? this is shadow work. we brave it together, bearing witness to the collective movement, emerging.
thank you for helping me move our shared experience into the circular triangle, i’m forever grateful for your presence in my life.
please let me know if you have any questions
do you feel the siren, reading series was held at Days LA in the winter of 2017 in collaboration with Nora Beckman
A four-part reading series presenting original works from 26 artists and writers, creating vulnerability and strength while falling into the present: do you feel the siren, descends into chapter two.
10/29: Christy Roberts Berkowitz, Dorit Cypis, Meital Yaniv, Nora Beckman, D Hil, Kim Ye, Estelle Srivijittakar.
11/5: iris yirei hu, Ragen Moss, Luisa Martínez, Sarah Bay Gachot, Meg Whiteford, Farrah Karapetian.
11/12: K. Bradford, Tamara Llosa- Sandor, Olga Koumoundouros, Charisse Pearlina Weston, Amanda Joy, Matt Savitsky.
11/19: Dylan Mira, Suzy Halajian, Edgar Fabian Frias, Shoghig Halajian, Julie Tolentino, Jheanelle Garriques, Carolina Caycedo.
It’s not this time, it’s both gone and happening in some distant future
Into unfamiliar waters
falling into my own death
Falling, and then finding your way
Falling, don’t catch me, stop chasing me, you can’t save me or be me, this valley is mine alone and I’m falling into you and I’m falling into me
You fall, I fall, we all dance into oblivion
Turning, upending aspects, cycling and tumbling
I’m writing this in summer knowing I’ll be hearing your words in the fall-ing to come, wearing another layer of protection, longing for the torching heat that belongs to other days, past days.
It’s not enough to be one thing anymore, show your complexities
Out of control, into being always falling away from the sound
Falling into a new place, falling into an empty space
What will be your final fall, my final beginning
Falling into the idea of one thing while really understanding the other
It’s not enough to have a solid idea, firm and unchangeable
It’s not enough to say that you’re one thing and I respond with another
I can't catch my breath and it's already too late
Falling into the journey
How many more times can you get up, rise up, restart
Please please me
Please let me know
Please let me go
Walking the dark valley shamefully looking for a source of light because mine has run dry and I don’t want to need you but the stars are hiding and the moon forgot to rise and now I need to find my own way back into other days, echoing days, falling days.
It’s not enough to be free
The yearning for, not against
Stepping on past adventures from lost souls that found amazement right before death and now the ghosts of time are here to tell me I’m failing at falling
Supplicants file in long lines through the dark, stopping for a moment at the waystation on their questing
It’s not a question but a snake of impossibility
And I try to explain that I am falling
Do you know how to find your way?
I’m not sure what it means
Maybe all of us at once
| reading event |
in collaboration with Kim Zumpfe
Sunday July 30th, 2017 4pm - 6:30pm
LACA (Los Angeles Contemporary Archive)
For the 24 hours proceeding the public event, 12 artists-writers will be gathered together inside LACA writing new original pieces. Please come to hear and witness our unprocessed and unrehearsed words.
Marbles Jumbo Radio
Matt Savitsky Minty
Have you ever meditated without setting an alarm? Time...
We choose how to build time in each moment, between a lived experience and a written one, Imagine you don’t need to choose, Imagine you are being offered an opportunity to shatter time.
Time to leave and come back, time to never leave, time to stay, time away, time with us, no one is counting, we don’t need to know when, when we will sleep, when we will laugh, or how it will end, we will listen when time says its time. How would you use your time if memories could be used as a currency to circulate different time, better time? Time…
Time to hold your breath in my mouth without the need to swallow or release, time to write letters never sent, to be read in the midst of intimate strangers, time to float in the air between rehearsal and performance, without knowing how to move or be still, without knowing how to look or look away
How many balloons fly up in the airport-welcoming hall by accident, a string slips from a hand longing for embrace, how long do you think the balloons stay against the ceiling, is it a natural death, do they collapse and fall one by one, or is it someone’s job to climb up and bring them back to the ground every time? Time…
Time is liquid pouring backwards and we are the ones who lick it forward, time to look into my eyes without blinking when you desperately need a way out, to get out, time for impossible language to travel us beyond these bonds made in blood spilt by inventors that feed lies, do you remember all the people you have kissed, all the times? Time…
Time to forget the reason we said yes, vulnerable manic gestures, let it be outside of time, inside our being, our coming together for a time. There is no time for me to say, precious time, go write it down, ooze all out without a need to clean up before you taste. Take all the time you need, read you time, we left, we right, upside-down, show you my scars, my indents, between us all there is no me, maybe all of us at once.
, do you feel the siren. reading series was held at Days LA in the spring of 2017 in collaboration with Nora Beckman
When you reach to the moon and your scream gets shattered into a million unspoken hopes. Do you look back, or do you look ahead. Do you dream in color? I do too, thank you for asking. I hold you in the street, your sign shadows me from the sun, can you imagine rising over and over again just for [the sake of] us. Constantly hiding from the moon to make the waves wash us clean. Swells of war, wash my blood, it is nasty, and it holds the names of all the warriors who died for the unborn. Protect everyone, I beg, we cry, I fly, we lay naked on the edge of your wall, drip, drip, drip, can you smell the red liquid pour. Recognizing enemies as family, aliens as allies, loved ones as shields. We show up, we wash up, we ride. Millions of people around the world just want to hold hands, imagine that. Your breath is the sorrow fragility we’ll overbuild with love. Can you make the bottom of my shattered glass overthrown the person acting like. Charge. Is a given rather than a quest. How many more will die, hide, climb, descend to the sky. Bury me with treasures or don’t bury me at all, cleaning the dirt from the distraction of your voice I will ask for a revolution everyone can see. Beyond the seas of lies and the lands of power there is a silent roar waiting to be unleashed. Me from the cage while sparkling my back with hits of joy, I can take it, I swear, just keep the extra sweat pouring from the cracks. Shake my head when I yell in your ear that vulnerability is our secret key. Digging wounded fingers looking for a shade of skin, cover me with warmth first and then suffocate the shedding tears. I will follow you anywhere I promised under a tree, the fire took you whole and your wish is my morning, rising with every decision to move a limb.
Sunday, March 26th, 5-7pm
Ali Kheradyar, Thinh Nguyen, Christine Cangelosi, laub, Meital Yaniv
Sunday, April 9th, 5-7pm
David Bell, Kenyatta A.C. Hinkle, Noelle Armstrong, Greg Luna, Jennifer Moon, Catherine Wagley
Sunday, April 23rd, 5-7pm
Kim Ye, Tanya Rubbak, Johanna Breiding, Nora Beckman, Neha Choksi
Words on Paper
We live between the objects we make and the pages we write.
This is about that moment when you put the brush aside, close the editing program, cover the clay with a wet towel, emerge from the darkroom and step onto a fresh page. There is a poem resounding in your head that’s finally ready to come out.
How much color is used to overcome a letter? How many words hide beneath an object? Can a sentence be disrupted by a red string, by a shattered glass, by a gold stain? Does a paragraph have a shadow? Do you write in order to make art or make art in order to write?
Words on Paper will explore the relationship between our identities as visual artists and poets, as believers in radical living as much as critical thought; as women-identified and queer, traversing and transforming the landscape of political engagement.
This exploration will be navigated through five reading events held in a curated visual space, one informing the other in an unbroken circle.
Please join us:
Thursday September 1st, 2016
7-11pm Opening + Reading event #1 - touching (a)part
*Reading will start at 8pm
Tuesday September 6th ,8pm
Reading event #2 - supposedly between them
Sunday September 11th, 8pm
Reading event #3 - You Said It Wouldn't Hurt
Tuesday September 13th, 8pm
Reading event #4 - the tiny in the vast
Friday September 16th
7-11pm Closing + Reading event #5 - where will I be buried
*Reading will start at 8pm