are occasionally overwhelming for this little lady with hermetic tendencies. This year I am focussed on connecting as a professional with the wide world of possibility. Portland is full of good food, great ideas, wildly creative people, and no money. That kind of works with my m.o. I'm working towards insinuating my work into cafe settings- and I got into Art in the Pearl, a high-end affair, so we'll see just how much money there isn't on Labor Day weekend.
I spent the first few months of this year in the tumble of a new job, new lovers, new friends, teaching, and making sculpture. My old friend Richard and I filled the Tin Man with our work two weeks ago, and were joined this round by Lauren, a new friend from NYC. Lauren and I have become fast friends, and I hope that she will continue to join us. With the completion (and yes, success) of the firing, I feel more settled, and eager to return to functional work.
In a week or two, I will be ready to present the new website Tim and I have been working on- long-awaited for me... hard to put together a confident website before I have a high-quality "product", as Pop refers to my pots. It was only last year that we got the kiln figured out.
so much- it is exciting! and I am stretched.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
political bodymod
this interview starts interesting and gets better- he ends up talking about one of his other projects in which he hacked a video game created by the us military to illustrate his point.
here's a link to the current event- the server is overloaded at the moment
here's a link to the current event- the server is overloaded at the moment
Monday, March 1, 2010
I'm now PR for Portland Open Studios, this is my first project
Press Release from the city on the wire!
Thank you Careen for all your help on our press release and this one!!
Cheers,
Kindra
Thank you Careen for all your help on our press release and this one!!
Cheers,
Kindra
| City of | Sam Adams, Mayor Twitter: @mayorsamadams www.mayorsamadams.com | |
| PORTLAND, OREGON | ||
| Office of Mayor Sam Adams |
March 1, 2010
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
CONTACT:
Mayor Sam Adams, Portland Arts Community to Celebrate 10 Years of Portland Open Studios
Portland, Ore. -- For two weekends every year, "Portland Open Studios Tour" artists in the Portland metropolitan area open their studios to the public. This Thursday, March 4, Mayor Sam Adams and Portland Open Studios will be hosting a City Hall reception and ceremony to celebrate the ten-year anniversary of Portland Open Studios.
"The arts in Portland help define and differentiate Portland as an energetic and creative community," said Mayor Adams. "Helping artists make their work accessible to the public and helping the public understand the value of professional artists benefits us all."
To commemorate the milestone, Mayor Adams will read a proclamation recognizing Portland Open Studios' commitment to providing art education to all members of our community, adults and children alike, and for its dedicated support of local working artists. Portland Open Studios will unveil the organization's 10th Anniversary Purchase Prize gift to the City of Portland.
"In the past 10 years, over 500 artists have participated in Portland Open Studios, sharing the act of art making with thousands of visitors from around the block and across the country," said Kelly Neidig, President of Portland Open Studios. "We could not have remained self-sufficient for ten years without the individuals and business who support us and local artists by buying our Tour Guide and taking the tour. This celebration is for our volunteers, our neighbors and for everyone who has supported us."
Portland Open Studios supports local artists and also provides an art education experience; visitors can watch artists at work in 100 studios around Portland during the second and third weekends in October. In 2009, for the tenth year anniversary, an exciting mentorship program was introduced, connecting art students in the public high schools with participating artists. More than 20 artists on the tour mentored 45 students, giving them an inside view of their studios and business practices. These young apprentices could become the future creative capital of Portland.
"Portland Open Studios was truly a springboard for me as an artist because others took notice of my work that may not have before then," said Chris Haberman, 2008 Portland Open Studios artist. "It helped me get on OPB's Oregon Art Beat and into the next phase of my career."
The City Hall reception also kicks off a special month-long City Hall Exhibition, The 10 x 10 Show, which features works of art by over 80 artists in the 2009 Portland Open Studios tour. The event is free and open to the public. Artwork is for sale with 20 percent going to the Kimberly Gales Scholarship fund for young artists.
Visitors can enjoy music, refreshments, and this rare opportunity to see an array of art by Portland Open Studios' artists. Refreshments are being generously provided by Storyteller Wine, Full Sail Brewing Co, and Artemis Foods. Music entertainment includes Jim Boydston, Daryl Davis, and Steve Remington of Manzanita.
To learn more, contact Pollyanne Birge with the Office of Mayor Adams at 503-823-4182, or visit www.portlandopenstudios.com.
###
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
mike singing about lions and dragons
I have to record a few of my neighbor's stories this afternoon, because he was a mercenary in Angola in the late seventies (civil war) and we talked about big cats for a few hours. spring is here- a little early- the plants know best. after teaching in the morning, I change into shorts and rescue a few huge clumps of daffodils from said neighbor's encroaching ivy. A few years ago, a motley crew of middle- aged men moved across the street, replacing some person who had loved the yard enough to trim the rose bushes, shape the cherry tree, and plant a few daffodils that gradually became an explosion of yellow every spring. Now they are obscured by a rotting boat with a shredded tarp, and I intend to rescue some of them.
so, Mike is of Sarmatian blood, and he never lets you forget it- he has a tattoo of the Goddesse with a bow and arrow on his pectoral, and his vision of heaven is a "golden meadow" and no reason for war. He watches the history channel incessantly, or maybe his stories all rush out of him when a friend comes around, but in a tumble that I rarely follow for various reasons. That the sarmatians were the original Amazons I've grasped by now, along with their adherence to the principal that no matter how bad it gets to be the underdog, do NOT fight dirty. his mother was an assassin in the spanish civil war and was taken out by Franco. His wife and he both worked in Africa protecting a zinc mine, dodging machine gun fire and screaming airplanes - she eventually was hit by a drunk here in portland, and he just, oh, he misses her so much.... he went to church on valentine's day and could not stand with her -
Mike told me about cats this time (after telling me a kid's story involving a wounded and generous dragon). He asserts that cheetahs are as dumb as rocks but they make great watch-dogs in the small towns because what you really have to watch out for are the hyenas, and the cheetahs make all sorts of noise when they come around. as watch-dogs, they were not domesticated, but maybe sometimes their cubs would be given a safe place in a closet. but one time, Mom was out chasing an antelope or some large critter, and just as the cheetah (which he says has a special claw that they use as a hook to snag the back leg in a certain way) was about to get it, it made a sharp turn, so the cheetah ran smack into it. antelope goes tumbling, at sixtywhatever miles per hour, catches its horn on something and gets a broken neck. cheetah was discovered with a bloody nose, knocked cold. but she's the mom, and her cubs are in the closet, so she was rescued. but the hyenas had come, so the rescuers ran, with mom, back to the village just in time to close the gate and Mike says one of the hyenas was still running at them and slammed his head into the gate.
that was good, but this one was better: as guards, they have a short list of friend and foe, in a handbook of sorts. one time they had identified foe but were far from shelter. under the trees was a pride of lions. I love this- all about the attitude, they saunter over to the trees, hiding the guns, pretty much acting like they have as much right to be there as anyone else. the lionesses shuffle over, instructing the cubs to make space. The lion, however, grumbles and carries on. The lionesses grumble back at him. Soon afterward, a truck with a mounted machine gun cruises by, never noticing the bipeds among the other beasts.
the one with the dragon was a parable: it is said that dragons do not care to be disturbed, and that they are greedy. But once upon a time, there was a group of friends who came upon a wounded dragon, and they decided to follow their own council and offer their help to the dragon. She accepted, and they carried her in a net to her lair whereupon she offered them as much gold as they could carry, saying that she had no taste for it. But also, she offered them precious stones, which she loved very much. by that point, I was discovering that the daffodils had multiplied so many times that they were a solid clump about a foot wide and sucked down into about a foot of mud (under the ivy and around the rabid butterfly bush). but you know, the day is sweet, the stories are good, there are other garden-lovers who would happily take some-- "did I ever tell you about the griffin!?" so the griffin was a real creature before the time of the sarmations.... something about how the griffin was one of the Goddesses' favorite creatures, so when it came time for them to die, she didn't want to let them go, so she turned them into stone.... fossils.
and I have written this entire post with an impossibly sweet little stray lounging sort of around my left arm as I type- I would take a photo but that would mean I'd have to get up.
so, Mike is of Sarmatian blood, and he never lets you forget it- he has a tattoo of the Goddesse with a bow and arrow on his pectoral, and his vision of heaven is a "golden meadow" and no reason for war. He watches the history channel incessantly, or maybe his stories all rush out of him when a friend comes around, but in a tumble that I rarely follow for various reasons. That the sarmatians were the original Amazons I've grasped by now, along with their adherence to the principal that no matter how bad it gets to be the underdog, do NOT fight dirty. his mother was an assassin in the spanish civil war and was taken out by Franco. His wife and he both worked in Africa protecting a zinc mine, dodging machine gun fire and screaming airplanes - she eventually was hit by a drunk here in portland, and he just, oh, he misses her so much.... he went to church on valentine's day and could not stand with her -
Mike told me about cats this time (after telling me a kid's story involving a wounded and generous dragon). He asserts that cheetahs are as dumb as rocks but they make great watch-dogs in the small towns because what you really have to watch out for are the hyenas, and the cheetahs make all sorts of noise when they come around. as watch-dogs, they were not domesticated, but maybe sometimes their cubs would be given a safe place in a closet. but one time, Mom was out chasing an antelope or some large critter, and just as the cheetah (which he says has a special claw that they use as a hook to snag the back leg in a certain way) was about to get it, it made a sharp turn, so the cheetah ran smack into it. antelope goes tumbling, at sixtywhatever miles per hour, catches its horn on something and gets a broken neck. cheetah was discovered with a bloody nose, knocked cold. but she's the mom, and her cubs are in the closet, so she was rescued. but the hyenas had come, so the rescuers ran, with mom, back to the village just in time to close the gate and Mike says one of the hyenas was still running at them and slammed his head into the gate.
that was good, but this one was better: as guards, they have a short list of friend and foe, in a handbook of sorts. one time they had identified foe but were far from shelter. under the trees was a pride of lions. I love this- all about the attitude, they saunter over to the trees, hiding the guns, pretty much acting like they have as much right to be there as anyone else. the lionesses shuffle over, instructing the cubs to make space. The lion, however, grumbles and carries on. The lionesses grumble back at him. Soon afterward, a truck with a mounted machine gun cruises by, never noticing the bipeds among the other beasts.
the one with the dragon was a parable: it is said that dragons do not care to be disturbed, and that they are greedy. But once upon a time, there was a group of friends who came upon a wounded dragon, and they decided to follow their own council and offer their help to the dragon. She accepted, and they carried her in a net to her lair whereupon she offered them as much gold as they could carry, saying that she had no taste for it. But also, she offered them precious stones, which she loved very much. by that point, I was discovering that the daffodils had multiplied so many times that they were a solid clump about a foot wide and sucked down into about a foot of mud (under the ivy and around the rabid butterfly bush). but you know, the day is sweet, the stories are good, there are other garden-lovers who would happily take some-- "did I ever tell you about the griffin!?" so the griffin was a real creature before the time of the sarmations.... something about how the griffin was one of the Goddesses' favorite creatures, so when it came time for them to die, she didn't want to let them go, so she turned them into stone.... fossils.
and I have written this entire post with an impossibly sweet little stray lounging sort of around my left arm as I type- I would take a photo but that would mean I'd have to get up.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
thoughts on the TRC and reparations
my trip ended "on a hot note" as we say in ceramics: a date, lots of dancing, some disappointing dancers, and then a most interesting seatmate on the 16 hour plane ride home. (oh, yes, and then utterly lascivious ladyslippers in a greenhouse in florida not to mention how hot it is in portland at the moment).. by the time I was getting on the plane, I was well into the groove of a travelling state of mind- it takes me some time to adjust away from the comforts of home- though I was delighted to return to it, I could have been equally delighted to do something like Sam is doing now- a few months exploring ZA and neighboring countries by 4x4. this is the Kiwi staff aboard, a most compelling gentleman. a wanderer, for a time, he's about to top eighty sovereign nations explored- this is his blog, and he said he'd be writing again, but who knows-
I'm going to tackle a tricky subject, for me, with the full awareness that I have only scratched the surface of understanding- racial integration in ZA. This is my central question: given that other nations have been the product of centuries of conquest and division, suffered colonization, civil wars, apartheid and held truth and reconciliation commissions, did South Africa manage to get it more right than their neighbors? I absolutely cannot answer this properly, but I can relay my impressions and conversations. My impression is yes, and on pure instinct, I think the reason why is the particular quality of people like Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu. Yes, Mandela started out as a terrorist, and Winnie, his wife for a time, came before the TRC for some horrifying abuses- and it's still a mess out there- but something extremely powerful did happen with the TRC. I read Country of my Skull by Antjie Krog, an award-winning reporter who covered the entirety of the TRC. Interspersed with her accounting of the peoples' stories themselves, she references such ideas as the "culture of shame" found in Japan, and how the defeat of the emperor in WWII is the defeat of a people because individual identity is submissive to identity with the leader. One story that particularly struck me was that of Winnie Mandela- she had no apology before the commission. testimony was heard, she was steadfast in its absurdity. Until Tutu, beacon of leadership that he is, stood at the conclusion and simply begged her to apologize. The TRC had no formal clout, it was an independent, mostly nonpartial body fueled completely by its moral authority. Tutu was, in some eyes, demeaning himself by begging her for an empty apology. But the author argues that it was a brilliant move because she did actually apologize, and though they were empty words, the clan power structure of which she was the leader in many ways collapsed when she, by words if not in sentiment, acquiesced. she was, in some ways, dismantling the identities of her clansmen. one example of subtle but important groundshift.
Krog contends that simply by entering the collected truth into the national consciousness, a kind of peace can be made. An admission of guilt on the part of the perpetrators was in many instances as difficult to give as it was for the victims to forgive. But in other instances, despite conflicting versions of the same story, the inherent imperfections of language, the subtle and strange ways that widely different cultures living in such close proximity interpret an event, and the twists in individual psychological composition, great catharsis was achieved by bringing enemies before each other in a forum of respect. My brief perception of Cape Town culture was of great cultural variety and integration at least in public spaces. As anywhere, people self-segregate- that was also evident. I don't know what the proportion of blacks is in the city- in the country it's 80%. In the city, multicultural is the word- muslim, jew, indian, black, british, afrikaner and trendy white all swirled around each other, night and day, though my perspective is limited to daily "safe" wanderings and downtown clubs at night. I did not stroll through the shantytowns where 25% are HIV-pos.
So what of reparations? Germany gave reparations to the Jewish people- Israel was in large measure, created out of the German coffer. (is it gauche to point at Israel's systematic apartheid against Palestine?) In South Africa, there have been no reparations- there was no governing body that organized it, and no money anyway. (there is, intriguingly, a suit in US court currently that would bring international corporations to task for their role in SA apartheid then, with the aim of reparations). In the excellent company of our learned family friends, I heard a joke that clarified one perspective. Tutu was unfortunately misunderstood in a q&a session after a speech he made here in the states. the question was about the gravy train. Wikipedia says the gravy train is a british rock band but originally the gravy train was the train that the parliamentarians travelled on inbetween their summer and winter government houses in Cape Town and Pretoria. Gravy, of course, referred to the whiskey and cigars they all enjoyed en route. In the q&a, someone asked if there were still problems with the proverbial gravy train. Tutu replied that it wasn't a problem anymore, now they all just had their own jets. Which is to say that what happened with the election of the ANC in 1994, the first free elections, a population-proportional representation was elected. But that meant that people were, and are still, elected based on affirmative action and not on merit. The leaders do not know how to lead, they are still operating out of a tribal-based mentality in which prestige is measured in blig- (oh, wait, maybe this is too familiar), so tax money is fundamentally misunderstood to be personal money and spent on such things as -private jets. Moreover, affirmative action measures effectively closed down trade schools because qualified teachers could no longer be hired beyond a certain quota. Education in general suffered mightily- the quality plummeted so steeply that students wishing to enroll in med school were so fundamentally ill-prepared for the coursework that they would fail out. which in turn meant that capable students found that school an undesirable name, and turned aside. Affirmative action has also ensured that small businesses is stymied because beyond a ten(?) employee limit, one must be population-proportional regardless of skills sought (or languages mutually understood, etc.) These are observations through one filter.
Me, Claude, and Noah
Another set of stories from the same visit focused on trying to set up a small fishing business in Mozambique. Claude relayed for us the wearying quantity of bribe money needed to get the proper permits to run a fish boat, as well as a insider's communique of the creepy clarity of Saudi Arabia's systematic anti-western education of the young and impoverished. In a related thread, I enjoyed the conversation of an american gentleman who spent some of his school-years in Saudi Arabia, and he told me of the conniving ways he and his brother experienced when they had won an engineering competition of building a toothpick(?) bridge capable of standing under so many tens of pounds. the next day their names on the placard were replaced by their rivals... he contends that the Saudis will squeeze every penny out of their oil fields regardless of the resources' destructiveness for the next fifty years and fight tooth and nail for power.
intermission for photo of me and Noah battling the skalliwags in their pool-
I digress, but here the thread returns- my seatmate on the plane was a Jewish businessman from Johannesburg (with these lovely shiny shoes...). We also were talking about resources, Africa being so rich in them, and his contention, if I read it right, is that although focused reparations may indeed be a good idea, the general attitude in the African interior is one of "tomorrow, I will do it. or maybe next week. perhaps next year". he happens to find the relaxed life highly attractive and dreams of retiring into it. My question to him was about climate reparations: If the "developed world" financially helped the developing world essentially jump into a whole other kind of sustainable infrastructure, could that particular form of reparation be well-received and effectively implemented? He did not hazard a guess. We talked about the enormous sums it would entail. We agreed that enormous sums are being spent on war. We spoke about valuable work in the world, leadership, ethics, and where revolutions begin (coffeeshops). I wondered how much worse it could get before it gets better, and he reassured me that there will be a second coming. By their calculation, I'll be dead by then (250ish years from now)- too bad, I'm sure it will be exciting.
Meanwhile, uptown: Pop and I were on a mission in wine country and ended up in a cellar.sorry you have to turn your head sideways That wall is a beautiful wooden relief of three monks tasting their wine.
and then kidnapped to Franschhoek Valley where some of the most exclusive wineries are, but on the way, ran into a fire
goodbye with photos of the ocean at Tsitsikamma Park well east of Cape Town- I've never seen Pop's jaw drop before, but it did as we first spied this drama
I'm going to tackle a tricky subject, for me, with the full awareness that I have only scratched the surface of understanding- racial integration in ZA. This is my central question: given that other nations have been the product of centuries of conquest and division, suffered colonization, civil wars, apartheid and held truth and reconciliation commissions, did South Africa manage to get it more right than their neighbors? I absolutely cannot answer this properly, but I can relay my impressions and conversations. My impression is yes, and on pure instinct, I think the reason why is the particular quality of people like Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu. Yes, Mandela started out as a terrorist, and Winnie, his wife for a time, came before the TRC for some horrifying abuses- and it's still a mess out there- but something extremely powerful did happen with the TRC. I read Country of my Skull by Antjie Krog, an award-winning reporter who covered the entirety of the TRC. Interspersed with her accounting of the peoples' stories themselves, she references such ideas as the "culture of shame" found in Japan, and how the defeat of the emperor in WWII is the defeat of a people because individual identity is submissive to identity with the leader. One story that particularly struck me was that of Winnie Mandela- she had no apology before the commission. testimony was heard, she was steadfast in its absurdity. Until Tutu, beacon of leadership that he is, stood at the conclusion and simply begged her to apologize. The TRC had no formal clout, it was an independent, mostly nonpartial body fueled completely by its moral authority. Tutu was, in some eyes, demeaning himself by begging her for an empty apology. But the author argues that it was a brilliant move because she did actually apologize, and though they were empty words, the clan power structure of which she was the leader in many ways collapsed when she, by words if not in sentiment, acquiesced. she was, in some ways, dismantling the identities of her clansmen. one example of subtle but important groundshift.
Krog contends that simply by entering the collected truth into the national consciousness, a kind of peace can be made. An admission of guilt on the part of the perpetrators was in many instances as difficult to give as it was for the victims to forgive. But in other instances, despite conflicting versions of the same story, the inherent imperfections of language, the subtle and strange ways that widely different cultures living in such close proximity interpret an event, and the twists in individual psychological composition, great catharsis was achieved by bringing enemies before each other in a forum of respect. My brief perception of Cape Town culture was of great cultural variety and integration at least in public spaces. As anywhere, people self-segregate- that was also evident. I don't know what the proportion of blacks is in the city- in the country it's 80%. In the city, multicultural is the word- muslim, jew, indian, black, british, afrikaner and trendy white all swirled around each other, night and day, though my perspective is limited to daily "safe" wanderings and downtown clubs at night. I did not stroll through the shantytowns where 25% are HIV-pos.
So what of reparations? Germany gave reparations to the Jewish people- Israel was in large measure, created out of the German coffer. (is it gauche to point at Israel's systematic apartheid against Palestine?) In South Africa, there have been no reparations- there was no governing body that organized it, and no money anyway. (there is, intriguingly, a suit in US court currently that would bring international corporations to task for their role in SA apartheid then, with the aim of reparations). In the excellent company of our learned family friends, I heard a joke that clarified one perspective. Tutu was unfortunately misunderstood in a q&a session after a speech he made here in the states. the question was about the gravy train. Wikipedia says the gravy train is a british rock band but originally the gravy train was the train that the parliamentarians travelled on inbetween their summer and winter government houses in Cape Town and Pretoria. Gravy, of course, referred to the whiskey and cigars they all enjoyed en route. In the q&a, someone asked if there were still problems with the proverbial gravy train. Tutu replied that it wasn't a problem anymore, now they all just had their own jets. Which is to say that what happened with the election of the ANC in 1994, the first free elections, a population-proportional representation was elected. But that meant that people were, and are still, elected based on affirmative action and not on merit. The leaders do not know how to lead, they are still operating out of a tribal-based mentality in which prestige is measured in blig- (oh, wait, maybe this is too familiar), so tax money is fundamentally misunderstood to be personal money and spent on such things as -private jets. Moreover, affirmative action measures effectively closed down trade schools because qualified teachers could no longer be hired beyond a certain quota. Education in general suffered mightily- the quality plummeted so steeply that students wishing to enroll in med school were so fundamentally ill-prepared for the coursework that they would fail out. which in turn meant that capable students found that school an undesirable name, and turned aside. Affirmative action has also ensured that small businesses is stymied because beyond a ten(?) employee limit, one must be population-proportional regardless of skills sought (or languages mutually understood, etc.) These are observations through one filter.
Me, Claude, and Noah
Another set of stories from the same visit focused on trying to set up a small fishing business in Mozambique. Claude relayed for us the wearying quantity of bribe money needed to get the proper permits to run a fish boat, as well as a insider's communique of the creepy clarity of Saudi Arabia's systematic anti-western education of the young and impoverished. In a related thread, I enjoyed the conversation of an american gentleman who spent some of his school-years in Saudi Arabia, and he told me of the conniving ways he and his brother experienced when they had won an engineering competition of building a toothpick(?) bridge capable of standing under so many tens of pounds. the next day their names on the placard were replaced by their rivals... he contends that the Saudis will squeeze every penny out of their oil fields regardless of the resources' destructiveness for the next fifty years and fight tooth and nail for power.
intermission for photo of me and Noah battling the skalliwags in their pool-
I digress, but here the thread returns- my seatmate on the plane was a Jewish businessman from Johannesburg (with these lovely shiny shoes...). We also were talking about resources, Africa being so rich in them, and his contention, if I read it right, is that although focused reparations may indeed be a good idea, the general attitude in the African interior is one of "tomorrow, I will do it. or maybe next week. perhaps next year". he happens to find the relaxed life highly attractive and dreams of retiring into it. My question to him was about climate reparations: If the "developed world" financially helped the developing world essentially jump into a whole other kind of sustainable infrastructure, could that particular form of reparation be well-received and effectively implemented? He did not hazard a guess. We talked about the enormous sums it would entail. We agreed that enormous sums are being spent on war. We spoke about valuable work in the world, leadership, ethics, and where revolutions begin (coffeeshops). I wondered how much worse it could get before it gets better, and he reassured me that there will be a second coming. By their calculation, I'll be dead by then (250ish years from now)- too bad, I'm sure it will be exciting.
Meanwhile, uptown: Pop and I were on a mission in wine country and ended up in a cellar.sorry you have to turn your head sideways That wall is a beautiful wooden relief of three monks tasting their wine.
and then kidnapped to Franschhoek Valley where some of the most exclusive wineries are, but on the way, ran into a fire
goodbye with photos of the ocean at Tsitsikamma Park well east of Cape Town- I've never seen Pop's jaw drop before, but it did as we first spied this drama
Sunday, January 3, 2010
kirstenbosch gardens
they are teasing me for disappearing into my cabin for so long to write this, but I have to share just a bit more, for I'm not sure when next it will be easy- I had a wonderful birthday- Sam and I hiked up Table Mountain, wandered around up top, and flew down again, landing in a garden. that's a view from lunch, and below, an idea of what it's like on top of this very unusual mountain- long, skinny, and flat on top, plants all dry and spikey, white rocks, hot wind- reservoirs stained tea- brown with the tannins of so much plant life.
and then we pass from such a craggy tumble to the highly manicured gardens of Kirstenbosch. 
this is a place dedicated to indigenous plants of the wide variety of bioregions of South Africa, and it was so peaceful to me when I returned the next day- (on my birthday, I was just too wobbly-tired and trying to keep up with the long-legged Kiwi)
Gina, these photos are for you- you'd have an ecstatic fit in here
I spent the day drawing and writing.we have also been meeting up with family friends from Florida- the son of which journeyed on the first Argo with Jason as they made their way around the world so many years ago. Claude met his wife Julie on that trip and is now the father of two sweet lively kids, and building a new ship for their next life- long adventures- Pop and i had a lovely long lunch visit with them in their home overlooking Hout Bay.. and we've had other social engagements that have taken the potter with the perpetually shredded nails and dirty mind nineteen floors up to one of the most posh places in town to taste the wine that tempers the tongue and eat the delicacies flown in that morning from who knows what corner of the planet. Before the steel domes over the plates were simultaneously wisked off, I saw my reflection- David de Rothschild came up in conversation- I'm not sure how, but I jumped- he's one of my favorite people, and I immediately saw a way to inject words like "climate change" and "desperate poverty" into the afternoon. slip it in, with excitement, with hope---- dead on arrival.... sigh
holiday mayhem
Fair to say it's been a proper vacation when I've been doing instead of writing about it- we are lovely in the harbor, nestled in a corner along with other bigger boats of various descriptions- ratty rusty near-ocean fishboats, a two hundred foot chinease fishboat
, or at the moment, a norwegian research vessel. at the opposite side are the tugboats responsable for guiding the heavily loaded cargo ships that moor offshore. The tugs are the musclemen- below is a vid of one temporarily 
stern to the dock as someone hops off or is collecting something from the office- we joke that even such a mass of machine can't move that concrete dock- they move with equal facility forwards backwards and any which way- they spin on a dime- Pop says its because they have their propellers in tube-shaped cages down below their center-point that can be pivoted in any direction, much like my wrist-joint, as i imagine. These ones are about ninety feet and we're guessing pack a few thousand horse-power. hot.
on the other side of the pier is a very large boat with an oddly-shaped bow and stern, designed for laying ocean cable.
We rest against a floating dock with a constantly creaking ramp. the dock itself was a favorite of the harbor seals until we bipeds invaded the territory. A standoff was described to us as we arrived: the big male (bob) and his harem were pushed to one end of it and a temporary barricade was constructed: turf. Bob was displeased with the arrangement and moved his coterie after a while, now smaller males compete for the right to lay in the shade and be pestered by chinese sailors shouting HELLO!HELLO!HELLO! at them. I sometimes wake to their honking and snorting. Then there are the various beeps and blasts of ships coming in, going out, going in reverse, the pirate ship tour that looks like it would be more stable upsidedown, the harbor tour boats who point us out, the deep bass of tugs, the distant wail of singing from the marine festival (I think I've heard sweet home alabama seventeen times now), planes, helicopters, police cars... it's never quiet and like living in a city, it all blends in after time. The harbor, though polluted, is far from empty of marine life. Of course there are the hordes of screeching seagulls that sound like something from Hitchcock. Flocks of hook-beaked cormorants swoop down in search of the occasional school of little fish that get trapped in here. Other schools may be chased by dolphins ripping under the surface, and corralled at the other side by the seals that swim in such playful spirals. We've even seen a sunfish on multiple occasions, one of those strange beasts that looks like a boney disk with a dorsal and lower fin- like a fish that got it's rear half bitten off. When the wind picks up, the waves move from gently tapping at the steel drum of the stern to actively smacking it, the rigging begins to rythmically bang against the resonating tube of the masts, whisting around the shrouds and lifting the sunshade tarps into sails until we roll them up again.
New Year's Eve was a night such as this, tending to the tension on the dock lines, delaying the enjoyment of the champagne, anticipating fireworks under the blue moon, which turned into ducking flares set off upwind by some passing jokers. Pop and I are here for the month as the captain and crew take their vacation time on various schedules. Fortunately, we are joined the entire time by the second mate, Sam, and when they were all satisfied that they'd secured the boat to a safe level, he and I ran off in search of parties. It's an unexpected treat to have an occasional partying companion, but after that night and last night, I am beginning to think that perhaps I need a guide for the urban safari as well as the wilderness one. Pop and I muse on the veneer of civility that covers the modern human animal. Partying sometimes brings this into stark relief- we ended up at someone's house in a rich neighborhood, strewn with liquor bottles and fashionable people. His comment was that it reminded him of high school and we left as soon as his question had been answered.
But they celebrate new year's twice around here! the second of the year is the day when historically, the slaves had their one day off. They took to walking through the streets in a procession of minstrels, banners, song and dance. Today it is organized into brass bands, a raucous surging energy that taps the African love of rythmn and dance. Each group is in their own polyester suits, from the older men to the little kids, and the colors are out of control- Often the little kids came along first, perhaps with a full feathered hat and baton, and dancing, always dancing- faces and bald heads painted in swirls and ribbons, then the full band, always playing something with great surging rhythm, and then a huge group behind them of people waving parasols. Invariably there were the stragglers- still dancing, blowing whistles, waving arms- frequently I got goose-bumps as their song blew into it's full volume and everyone erupted into movement. Especially in amongst the others were a few young people who were specially designated at dancers- those who roused the crowd with running flips, wild gestures, flapping tongues and wide eyes, a fay strip-tease style dancer, boys naturally moving as they would have centuries ago, now with rainbow mohawk wigs... and there were the ancestor-demons with rubber halloween masks and wooden axes that jumped up on the wire railings that kept the crowd on the sidewalk, frightening the kids as they pretended to steal their souls- the funniest moment occurred when a little boy ran away from one of these, into the arms of his mother who promptly, playfully, flicked off the demon. the little boy mimicked his mother and everyone burst out laughing...
Travel is always a mixed bag- it is bittersweet to me whose desires run deep- I wanted to follow the parade to where I knew they were going, move with them- these beats are the same as my canned electronica, but the energy was internal and palpable and not maintained by annoying laser noises and squealing women: the beats are the same as the plains indian sun dance, soaked in the spirit released by trance and ritual wounding. Something in me stirs when I am confronted by energy in this form, and I made a plan to rejoin the people that evening at the stadium when I learned they would be dancing all night. But I am in a foreign land and confirmation is not confirmation, and the veneer of civility is particularly thin in some places: I was a woman alone last night, wandering through places where white people are stabbed then robbed, and when I got the the party, it had moved- I was heartbroken. here I am in the center of the river, and even then I somehow get stuck on some rock- how? invariably i blame myself- what intuition is off? why does fate move in these ways? Pop quotes Einstein: "is the universe belevolent or malevolent?" if you accept the question to begin with, one can only accept what is as right and necessary. I lost the thread, so my imagination extends forward into evening- staid grandmothers shuffling with the littlest kids, portly fathers and their exhausted wives, girlfriends hanging on each other preening for the circles of boys in a metaphorical cockfight, their shiney band suits, elaborate metallic face paintings and clown wigs in various states of disarray, everyone and me dancing in the exuberance of the unvarnished spirit.
Kirstenbosch gardens-
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