dream

Mike and Tim had a house together just off of the hill. I went down there for help with fixing my bike. On the way I heard rumors of an article Tim had written for the Peak: it was “why Punte Alan is the greatest place on hearth” (and by Punte Allen, he meant SFU). It was a beautiful article that made everyone at SFU believe that they lived in paradise. It probably helped that the clouds and sky were dramatically good looking that day.
Mike was surprised to see me, but very kind; he gave me some cornflakes and strange potato patties to eat while he worked on the bike. Tim was either not around or upstairs. I wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable or welcome, and the feeling increased when D arrived. But he was also ambivalent to my presence. I assumed that everything was subdued because of the Peak article and the beauty of the sky.
Mike finished with the bike and I rode it back up to the school.

the aesthetics of a flawed critique

Art critics are almost always negative. (Or, they come across this way to me). As a former visual art student and current student composer, I fully appreciate a good proletariat-communist-esque critique session of my work. There is really no better learning. But the negativity with which we are supposed to view past art makes current artistic production/practice a wee bit daunting. I am very very good at making mistakes and being flawed – I think this is one thing that drew me to the aesthetics of failure when I learned about it in FPA 389 (Barry Truax’s sounsdape and context composition class). We were talking about the context of technology and glitch. Around the same time, I was taking FPA 240, Martin Gotfrit’s superuberfun performance class, and he told us about open performance groups which didn’t discriminate against the unskilled. I loved these ideas so much that I wrote a paper applying the aesthetics of failure to aesthetics in Vertov’s Man with a Movie Camera.

Susan Schwartz, in her book on Rasa, gives art critic Rowell’s general criteria “that the tradition offers for the qualities of individual musical performance”. These include:

flawless.
refined, a category that includes both precision and delicacy, with negative value attached to the vulgar, harsh, rough, or careless.
plastic, in the sense that it reveals the vital force that animates all life, as demonstrated in graceful, linear configurations, with negative value attached to the static, lifeless and awkward.
abundant and richly fertile, with negative value assigned to what is dry, parsimonous, fragile, strained, or limited
clear in projection of the text, with crisply enunciated syllables
integrated and organically unified in an orderly manner, not disordered, broken, disjointed, or chaotic.

And here’s a cute story from Beryl De Zoet:

It is told of Narada, who was a sort of Indian Orpheus, inventor of the vina and chief of heavenly musicians, that he caused a good deal of suffering to musical spirits, in the course of acquiring perfect mastery of his instrument. As we should put it, he murdered” the music. Krishna, the divine flautist, a friend of Narada, devised a way of bringing this home to the sensitive musician. He took him to heaven in which many nymphs and angels sat weeping and in great pain. Narada was horrified at the sight and rushed forward to help them. But he was told that these were the very ragas and raginis whose limbs he had torn and mangled in his clumsy efforts to force their living forms to enter his melodies. Their sprits, he was taught by this sad demonstration, cannot safely descend from their celestial abode to live in their physical sound-forms unless the musical vehicles are perfectly shaped to receive them and delineated with the utmost perfection of technique as well as spiritual vision.

I love Erik Satie, Janis Joplin, Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits, Boards of Canada, Bob Dylan, Aqua, Autechre, non-drum-machines, and That Musician on the Street as much for their brilliance as for their flaws. Their voices and music would not be so endearing were it not for imperfection – CHARACTER. ACESSIBLE. Why is it such a bad thing when my drones are out of tune? Such beating is desirable in Indian drone machines. But… am I just another “artist” “appropriating” “folk art”?

I didn’t like the term failure because I felt it was negative, or too extreme. So I started saying “the aesthetics of mediocrity”; Rebecca said that to her it connoted bland, poppy, giving up music. That’s not what I meant. She told me about Wabi Sabi – a Japanese movement which honored the flaw, against music that sounded too forced and polished. We talked about:
Is passion and love enough for music to be good?
With so much bombardment of expectations of perfection, how can we ever be satisfied or content?
Consequently we live in a state of fear (of failure, of production) and jealousy (because others are always better) and loss (I missed my chance, I should have, I’m deteriorating).
Self worth seems to be based on the possessions of perfection, beauty, agency, control, (and material goods).
And onto the discussion of ego: too much of it limits artistic production (self-consciousness, honor, “wanting it too much”). So often we desire to remove ourselves from ego in order to achieve accomplishment and recognition. So we have an egotistical intent in being not egotistical – the goal is to better achieve perfection, prevent flaws/failure.
It’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation – you are flawed if you are too perfect, too egotistical, desiring to be un-egotistical, or just plain mediocre.
(I still want to practice and get better).

I asked our lecturer (stuttering): Bad performance in historical India were said to injure and hurt the gods, so performers in India used to go through rigorous training to achieve good performance. Despite this, the uninformed Westerner called it primitive. Critically, historically, how did the Indian audience respond to failure?
She talked about how families would be punished/punish if their child/disciple dishonored the gods (I’m assuming by having a flawed performance). She talked about freedom and stylistic variation, despite stringent structures, and a dialogue between performer and audience. Another professor mentioned that much of the audience was not informed of these strict rules of performances, so may not have been affected by the failure.
I should have asked the question concerning, more, the difference between folk/refined art and if failure was ever seen as endearing.

bonding binaries

I read a book on Rasa by Susan Schwartz. Rasa describes many things; essence, flavor, taste (probably more “yummy” than “mmhmm, why yes, that aht does whet my posh palate”), one of the seven essences in Ayurvedic medicine that “maintains the integrity of the organism”, a curative element in alchemy, an aesthetic principle with religious origins and contexts, offering access to devotion and wonder, a description of the primacy of performance and its goals and design…

“Rasa is at once an inner and outer quality as the object of taste, the taste of the object, the capacity of the taster to taste that taste and enjoy it, the enjoyment, the tasting of the taste. The psychophysiological experience of tasting provided a basis for a theory of aesthetic experience which in turn provided a basis for a systemization of a religious experience.”

Whew. So in the spirit of Rasa, the performer must make the divine and transcendence of the material world more accessible to the audience (even if momentary – I thought of epiphanies), must honor the gods, and must go through rigorous training to achieve her (or his) goals. They are trained to exude awesome presence, transcend duality, and be subtly creative within strict constraints.

Right now, I want to talk about the dualism. #1. A prerequisite of enlightenment, says Schwartz, is to collapse the perceived distinctions between body/mind, spirit/substance, affect/effect…

“The worldview of the Natyashastra [the earliest "aesthetic"-y-ness-ish text in Sanskrit] is organic and dynamic. It proceeds through paradox: impersonality and intensity; the specific and the universal; the inner and the outer; the bindu (point) and its projection into infinite variety; stillness and movement; the physical body and its transcendence; the crucial nature of form, its development into a multitude of forms, and its final movement beyond form.”

So it is the goal and even responsibility of the Rasa performer to embody transcendence of these binaries, in order to help the audience achieve transcendence of this world.

#2. In class today, the lecturer discounted this book because Schwartz often quotes an art critique who looked at the difference of Western and Eastern art using binary logic – Western art is material, noble, and naturalistic, Indian art is spiritual, simplistic/overly ornamented, and not naturalistic (preferring to portray monsters, demons, etc). We talked a lot in class about this binary view of Eastern/Western art and aesthetics, and how we must rise above it.

And #3: My experience of India vs. Chacha/Bablo/Baboo’s experiences in India (various “average” Indians I have gotten to know – notably all male). I live in a nice hotel (albeit with cold water and cockroaches), I get driven around in cars or taxis or a tourist bus, I eat out in restaurants frequently and still spend less than I would at home, I have a camera and a computer and “gear”. (Is this the time to mention education?) Oh, and the pale hair and eyes.
Perhaps having the comforts of a hotel, frequent rich meals, vehicles, and “gear” makes me more able to engage when I do finally make it out on the streets, and into contact with Indians. Perhaps my differences just set me apart so much that I will never fully experience INDIA.

Elham, a fieldschool girl from Emily Carr, has tried to explain to me her notions of artful-ness: what is art is not the final product, but is the process of producing. It is not in creating something that will be called “art” – artful-ness can be enacted in every day life.

Can I achieve Rasa in my everyday life, by dissolving the dualism I see? How can I dissolve the dualism between East and West, between my Indian experience and an Indian’s Indian experience?

many dreams

Jan 28, 2007
I was hanging out with my old band.  We went to a sort of tourist spot with lots of rock formations.  There were many different chutes to go down and explore; sometimes holes connected them.  Though I was with the band I was wandering around by myself mostly, looking for some contemplative time.  I left my backpack down one chute thinking that I could get it through a hole, but I couldn’t; someone helped return the bag to me.  I went down one chute that entered into a chamber with an office and two displays.  Two people “discussed intensely” in the office as I looked at the displays.  Every so often they looked at me, not with foreboding, but more with curiosity.  When one of the office people left, the other woman came out to talk to me.  She was a bit of a diva and shared some of her opinions of the other person with me.  I played with the displays; one had a little shelf for a laptop.  The diva woman told me the laptop was another man’s, and made some comments on why they had chosen this particular laptop for him.  The other parts of the display were intricately carved wood.
The scene changed to a committee meeting including the diva woman and the other people associated with her office.  All of the women were topless.  The meeting was in the same chamber; Arnold Schwarzeneggar arrived in it and went into shock over what he saw.  He had an exhibition the next day; one of his tricks was to lift a huge barrel water cooler over his head and drink from it.  He was shaky, and commentators mentioned how out of form this was.  His chest was only half waxed, and badly, and mentally he just wasn’t there.

Jan 27, 2007
I was shopping for a cell phone.  Street stalls were outside, like in Delhi.  The shop was bright and I was excited and nervous.

Jan 26, 2007
I went snowboarding with a friend.  We sat watching a movie afterward, on a communal couch somewhere.  A new coworker of his entered the room and sat on the other side of me.  He started flirting with me, which bothered my friend; he said “You know how I feel from before.  Do what you want with that information.”  I gave his arm a hug.  The man was rugged and handsome, but too insistent.  He and my friend decided to prove themselves by performing some car mechanics.  My friend said something about choosing between someone with more experience (him) and someone with some different characteristic.  I felt turned off by his coworker’s grotesquely large thighs (which seemed to be growing).

Jan 23, 2007
G shaved his head.  I loved it.

Jan 22, 2007
Dream
It was my birthday.  Some friends and I went snowboarding, and afterward we made cookies.  We were going to watch a movie; it was someplace between the Cineplex Odeon on 33 South and State and my living room at home.  But Baby and G weren’t there.  So I tried to call them; I had to go down to the front desk of the Odeon to use the phone.  I could smell the popcorn.  I couldn’t get get ahold of G, and I wasn’t too worried about it, but I really wanted to talk to Baby (for some reason I didn’t called him).  I wasn’t incredibly concerned about my birthday, but I was happy to be with my friends.  I had to pee so badly, but I knew the movie had already started (7:30).  I went to the downstairs bathroom of my house.

Dream on the plane (Jan 20, 2007)
We were in India.  The fieldschool girls and I went to a ghat or “town hall” by the ocean, where we were going to watch the sun rise.  The colors were amazing – rich red, glowing blue, surrounded by black and gold.  Brett was a phenomenal fiddler and needed to practice; people encouraged me to practice as well.  I got out my pipes but my reed wasn’t working so well.  I tried another reed, though both were brown and old looking.  Trying to play, the pipes still weren’t working well at all, and when I took my chanter out again the reed turned out to be made for a ritar.  I set my pipes down on a table to figure out how I could make them work.  After I had adjusted the reed situation, I discovered that the people around me had completely dissected my pipes… all the stocks had been untied, and the bag cover was off.  I was devastated.  I didn’t know if I could fix them in time to play with Brett.  As I tried, another instrumentalist came through – the timbre sounded like bagpipes, but when I looked at the instrument, it was constructed of two strings on a huge wooden contraption.
Somehow I fixed the pipes, tuned them, and ready to go I went outside to find Brett.  Despite the beautiful sunrise, it was still dark outside.  Brett was tired and sleeping in her chair, and I roused her when I touched her shoulder.  She seemed reluctant to play (should have happened long ago).

good news

I love sunrises. This one’s on the ganges.

We’re now in Delhi, with free in-room internet. And I have a new skype account, so if you wanna chat with me kind of in person, feel free to join me:)

Today was Independence day. We saw a big big parade. Very few of the bagpipers in it were actually playing, but they sure did look good.

There are times when I can’t stand how much I feel like royalty here. And other times when it is very convenient.

One of the difficulties of being here is sticking out so much. I can’t help having coloring that looks like a dollar sign. The side of India that I want to experience isn’t pampering, ware-hocking, and bitterness at my existence. I don’t want to hurt others by being me. Patricia was very insightful when she told us to “critically observe the strangeness of our role in such a place”. Certainly I’m not unhappy with what I have seen and what I have done, what I am doing, no one has mistreated me, and many people are kind. I guess I just don’t want to be what I imagine I look like to them. If I wore a sari or a Punjabi suit I feel I would come across as a hippy attempting to appropriate the culture – even more out of place. My attempts at Hindi have had only about a 30% success rate. The best I can do, I suppose, is smile, say thank you, and make the most of my observations and experience. Even these things can be taken as suggestive or negative, I suppose, and feeling positive always is probably impossible.
I realized that my default reaction to the commotion on the streets was to downcast my eyes, hang my head, and act passively. I suppose I’ve done this for a number of reasons – to avoid coming across as icy or aloof, to act in (what I see as) the “when in Rome” culturally appropriate way a woman “should”, or to protect myself from stares/ sellers/ suggestiveness. But I don’t like the shoulder hunching any more. I am a woman, I’m blonde, and I am happy to be here and to experience these differences. No matter where I am, I want to be able to stand up straight and feel confident about my presence. If someone thinks this makes me bitchy or sex wanting, it’s really not my problem. Funny – I thought I’d gotten over the fear of being good/amazing/worthwhile when I grew out of the teenager phase (NEVER!).

blissfully sensually super saturated

Time is an astonishing flyer. We are already leaving Varanasi. We arrived here from Mumbai on an airline called “Sahara Air: emotionally yours”; before that we spent the night in Singapore, and by “the night” I mean 5 hours (3 of which were in the airport). I arrived in Singapore chewing gum, and illegally spat it out (in a garbage can). Whoever said that Singapore is the cleanest city was wrong. I saw like, 2 pieces of litter.

From the Varanasi airport we took a bus to the hotel, but because of jammed traffic had to get out and walk. No better introduction to India: I have never been in the vicinity of so many people, heard so many different car honks, received so many stares, smelled so many different kinds of pollution. At first I didn’t know whether to breath in through my mouth to avoid the smell, or to breath through my nose to filter the air a little – now I have no choice – my nose is stuffed with yummy black mucus.

Quoting my good friend Rebecca, with a few personal edits, we have:
Sat under an incarnation of Siddartha’s original Bodhi tree.
Seen a dead body floating down the Ganges right next to our boat.
Snuck into an open-air Hindu temple in the oldest part of the city during a festival where people were throwing milk and flowers all around.
Learned how to cross the street and survive.
Been taken on trips down windy night roads and dark alleys by a “guide” who barely spoke English… in search of Varanasi’s finest handwoven music (intoxicating).
Crashed a wedding party and learned Kathak moves from the little kids dancing to piped-in Bhangra music.
Listed to the nightly rituals on the Ganges, watched funeral pyres… and seen the sun rise over the river the next morning.

I dipped my feet and hands in the spiritually infectious river, wished for sustainibility and goodness to my loved ones and for resilience of compassion. Free spirited Elham dipped her whole body in.

It has been beautiful. I love that art has such purpose here. The contrast between ornamental beauty and asceticism. That men can be affectionate on the streets. That animals and humans coexist (monkeys, birds, cows, donkeys, pigs, goats, dogs, cats, chipmunks). I love my fellow fieldschoolies and how much I have learned from them.

More later…

up up and away

and off we go to India. My dear BC friends, I will miss you. I have it SO GOOD here. I cannot believe how lucky I am to have met you and connected with you. A few times in the goodbye stages of these last few weeks I’ve wondered why I’m leaving at all. But life is short, 3 1/3 months is even shorter, and isn’t it rich? I am lucky to have this opportunity, excited to better meet and learn from my fellow fieldschoolies, and looking forward to reuniting with you in May.
Much love, you’re BALLers!

The Inner Game of the Bhagavad Gita

I read the Bhagavad Gita. In it, Arjuna pours out his confusing to Krishna, uncertain about fighting a battle against evil – and also against his kin. Krishna encourages him to fight, telling him that it is his destiny and place in the world. The God tells him he should be in a state of understanding, but not attached to understanding, that he should keep in mind that everything lives and everything dies, that good and evil will exist always. To me, the state of mind he describes is similar in many eastern religions, a sort of unconsciously aware everything nothing in the moment in all moments elevated state.

It reminded me very much of Timothy Gallwey’s “The Inner Game of (Tennis/Golf/Music)”, and this was sort of an epiphany to me – a connection between spirituality and physical/mental performance. In these books, Gallwey discusses two different selves, one which is judgmental and fearful and thinking and the other which is in the moment existing and doing. To him, the second self is the best state to be in – “being in the zone”. I can attest to how beneficial it is to be in a state of no fear / not thinking too much / existing in the moment/ trusting ability and unconscious knowledge during a performance.

At first, during The Bhagavad Gita, I felt uncomfortable with how Krishna was telling Arjuna to be/act – “give in to Me” and so forth, the sort of manipulation of unconscious minions that has taken place throughout history (mostly, it seems to me, by religious leaders). If you are non-conscious, acting upon “destiny” or impulse, thinking not of the repetitions of history or of the consequences of actions, are you more vulnerable to a power monger with his/her own agenda?

As I continued to read, however, I got the idea that Krishna wanted Arjuna to be in this state, but with awareness and understanding, and for the sake of doing “good”. Cool. I probably have never experienced it, but I imagine that if you truly understand everything and hold ultimate awareness, then it is easier to be and act dispassionately.

dream

I was in high school, going between English classes. It seems I was confused about which class I should be in, but I liked both teachers and hoped they wouldn’t notice so that I could continue learning from both.
Glimpses of home and trouble brewing.
My very good friend Nebnimaj died – he was sick, and his girlfriend and old roommate were taking care of him. They joked about his illness until it started to turn for the worse, and a few hours later he passed away, in the arms of the people he loved. She and I had a walk and a talk a few days later, and in my devastated state I was impressed at how grounded she was. I was holding back.

dream

I went hiking in the Himalayas with an ex-boyfriend. I had forgotten my sleeping bag and ground cloth, but the scenery was so beautiful I didn’t want to go back. Periodically we came across pet cemetaries with colorful tombstones.
I woke up a little and tried to get back into the dream with my gear, but it didn’t really work.