Saturday, 27 October 2007

Up and down the hairy girl-mountain or: Focus!






various views of what started out as the tip of the hairy girl-mountain and may well lead to other things

My head has been buzzing with ideas and I’ve got several pieces in work, the said hairy-girl mountain, which may well turn into another piece that needs a year’s work (and why should a mountain be done quickly, I ask you), a small hair-house, the crocheting of which is done and now needs putting together and filling, a very light not-red Suppenkasper-dress, crocheted with thin hook, so will also take a while, another cotton-wool-dress in rose-pumpkin-orange colours, stronger yarn and thicker hook and much loved as growing steadily, and - I kid you not - a brassiere for a giantess whose breasts hang hang hang, crocheted from cotton-covered wire. That’s all I can think of now, at least as far as describable pieces are concerned; over the summer (oh, I miss summer) there have also accumulated several as yet unnamable beginnings, their forms still oblique, never mind their final, if ever, Gestalt. Also more ideas for tieing/wrapping but arms currently lacking in strength.
My creative urges seem to be getting stronger and stronger and aren’t impressed at all by my slowed-down body and mind and I feel I’m losing focus and getting a bit muddled and now I’ve added writing (beyond the blog) to the list of the things that I want to explore. The days after my haloed visit to the Louise Bourgeois-exhibition I could hardly lift a limb as I was so exhausted, even the crocheting hook was too heavy and too difficult to operate. I lay on my bed and so much wanted to express something of this or that and in the end I made notes, starting from an image, just fragments of sentences and over the next few days they formed themselves into what could maybe called a poem, away from the context I started with (lying on my back, tired). Writing a poem was not on my list of things to do, so on one hand it seems alien to me and on the other hand felt entirely right (I like writing). Not sure what to do with that now, but I’ll introduce it here, a bit aquiver:

Tomorrow will come
(Taken out for editing.)

Don’t worry, I’m not giving up my day-job (visual artist, currently no exhibitions), but the process of writing this was as interesting as the process of making art. It started out as something concrete, and then I let myself be led into different directions by the words, by the tone, by the imagery, and each time the meaning of the whole changed and in the end I was surprised by what I wrote (and then read). It’s a long while since I’ve been able to walk through the park (oh, but I would like to!) and all the other stuff in its precision, if not in the feeling, is imaginary too, but the stranded insect and four-legged bodies are pretty close to ideas/images that have cropped up in my artwork, so maybe it does all make some kind of sense.

6 comments:

redredday said...

o Marjojo! where do i even start?!

i had to come back and read the poem on its own since my eyes were seeing stars with all that you mentioned before it. i love love the idea of the bra you're going to make for the the giantess' breasts that just 'hang hang hang' (love how you wrote that! i got the image immediately and perfectly).

and these images of the hairy girl-mountain are just so surreal. together it is almost as if a story is being told about her personality and temperament. she can be elegant, serene, crazed, desolate, giving and tender all at once. the hair itself looks so incredibly soft (love the color of it) and i don't care how freakish it is, i want so much to touch it, snuggle into it and put it on to become her.

and the poem...am quite taken by the imagery of the fused mouths four-legged body. can imagine it as spectator the piecing pain it would cause. and the transition from the wings to that crazy line of the sky 'turning from blue to white to pink to night' hits it just right for this and so many other things...

Marjojo said...

Oh Mien Mien Mien, I feel as if I've been holding my breath since I put up this post two days ago and just now, when I saw there was a first comment I was hoping it was by you and it is and now I can breathe again! How comes you get my work so well?
The blond hair is the same as used for ‘my mother has golden hair’, hadn’t thought about that until I just typed these words, the link could be interesting.
And I am so relieved that you could see something in my attempt at a poem, phew. I had mixed feelings about posting it and during a sleepless night (for other reasons) sank into fantasies about people going to my blog and turning away in horror.
Thank you!

Uschi said...

Marojo, I have read your post yesterday and i re-read it today and this alway has to be done with "good" stuff...
Your poem relates to many feelings I know from myself, similiar vibrations... a feeling of being excluded and being locked-in....by creating a poem every of these vibrations gets much more weight...so great you ventured it...

the hanging breasts....I'm no giant but I've got them...would feel a bit creepy about putting them into a wired bra....I refuse to put on bras whenever I can ;)))

I'm looking forward to the Suppenkaspar-dress...what about using vegetable-nets...

Marjojo....your ideas sound great!

cally said...

poetry, before i even read i knew it would be good, you have the heart and soul of a poet, it shows in your art. and you write so beautifully, always. makes me so embarassed about my own blog, i am utterly unable to express my thoughts in words, and the struggle to try only makes a mess, like constantly rubbing out and redrawing on the page, eventually you just have messy paper.

maybe as i grow in courage i'll post my more person work and it will speak for me. but i'm not ready yet. you know the fear of these things, that people will turn away. but your poem serves only to draw me in even more to this lovely , and yes, sometimes painful place that you have created here.

i love the honesty of it. the truth of your work, written or made, is a big part of why i am so drawn to it.

the new ideas and pieces sound wonderful, when i made human sized cocoons (cream and white- muslin, net, wax, wool and more) people were confused and thought they were giant bra's. but a real giantess bra, now that will be something to behold.

Erin said...

I'm feeling a bit inarticulate the last few days, please excuse my silence this last week and then the outpouring this week. When my mother died, I felt a bit like what you described, mute, and without the coherence to think more than I am grief, I am grief, I am grief. I wanted to speak but had no idea what to say, I began a little series of bird drawings, a small bird with an open mouth, one with bubbles, drowning, one with a long thin string, a story (but what is the story?), wails all of them. Too anxious to prove to others I was well, and healed enough to share what was in my heart, I shared the drawings with a small sweet crit group, and still I shuddered and shook as tears rolled down my face as I tried so very hard to intellectualize what was not coherent. And though the people I shared with were so supportive the project was just too fragile and I stopped. I think about it often though and wish I had carried it beyond the timid small drawings to something larger. And now I am beyond that moment, I haven’t decided if I will revisit it again.

I am glad that you are finding strength, and sharing your voice, your poem is beautiful in just the right way. To me your description of the lovers fused mouths and four legs swaying makes me envision a kind of monstrous lamb, and then the bright cruelty of innocence (childlove) destroyed. The phrase about watching the sky turning to night strikes me as beautiful, knowing there is a pain today, but still watching and knowing the world continues its flow. There is something divine in that movement.
I found The Wild Iris, and read it, loved:
“whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice”
Sometimes I feel as if I have been too long gathering my strength, that I may have forgotten the sound of my own voice. This line reminds me I am just testing my new voice, waiting to sing. Thank you for bringing that to my attention and gathering your own strength and courage to share something new.
note: I am trying to find more Bone Mother images and some process photos to share, it may be a little while before I find them.

Anna P. said...

Hello, I so love your work and words. Found you through Cally. Best,