Did a popup art installation here in Kärsämäki. Zines. Sketches. Magazines. Collage.
Three people put stuff together with DK’s zines and we made a tea room out of the front porch.
There are literally like 23,004 tea cups, saucers and related in the kitchen here. I think this place was originally the kind of spot you could stop in, whenever you felt like a chat or the need to unburden, and have a cup of tea.
The Pappila Popup was fun.
It looked like this:
This all started when about 4PM, I noticed a bunch of people beginning to turn up. Cars everywhere, suddenly it felt like the parking lot of some kind of a carnival. Then, there began a parade of *taxis*. Taxis out here in rural northern Finland are *giant.* They are bigger than minivans. They are serious things, elephantesque but black and yellow, that look like 12 people would be inside but then, only 2 emerge.
This whole thing was a ‘happening,’ as they say here in Finland. The actual happening happened to be a music concert. I’d heard about it since I got here–music, concert, August. But given the relatively small turnouts for most things I’ve been to now, I just had no idea there would be some 100+ people popping in. My hunch is that people
drove from far and very far (no big deal in Finland to take on long, long road trips, ‘Thanks for the offer to stay, but why would I need to overnight? It’s only 140km from here.’) They came to hear the music of Arja Korieseva — Elämäni Laulut. Glad to see so many people looking happy and enjoying themselves, the music, and the sun. And a few who popped in to say ‘hei’ and join us for tea. (Kiitos! You know who you are. Hyvää. Joo. HT Kaltio Magazine, At Johan’s, and Kattilakosken Kulttuuriosuuskunta.)
Secret event ‘Kesämuisto’ *happened* in Kärsämäki
Thanks! We had nice time and a private event. Come and view the zines on display through the end of August.
IN A PRETTY FASCINATING kind of collage and layering, two things I am discovering are my ‘thing’ while I have 12 whole weeks to sit around and make zines and shoot the breeze whilst listening to the sound of, well, breeze–in aspen, in birch—I am doing something new. A podcast. I know that some people have been telling me that I should do this, for some time now. I know. I heard you. I just… don’t like the idea of… voice. That said, why then, have I recorded my voice over the years, starting from microcasette tapes on that world tour that led to the short film, ‘The India Tapes,’ which some people I knew well in Seattle got to see when it screened at the Tasveer short film festival in that city some time ago. A decade back? Where does the time go? Okay, well, that is a good segue to the next bit.
Some of the time when I am writing I get all philosophical and esoteric. I ‘lose my audience.’ A lot of people tell me that, too. But then, they listen to my voice recordings, and they’re like, ‘Are you, um. High?’ ‘NO!’
‘Art, to me, is conversation. A very particular kind… the kind that has a certain quality…. the quality of S P A C E.’
OF COURSE NOT. It’s just that when the jam is good, I love a great conversation. I’m super into it, when there is a high quality of S P A C E, that is, and only then, really… the back-and-forth of it, the improvisation, the silences, the whole thing. I love it. It’s like… my favorite thing, ever. I write in this style because this is how I talk. I know. It’s not straightforward. It’s not direct. It’s not even linear, for feck’s sake. It’s just what it is. And it’s me. Totally, honestly, raw, unedited. These things are very underworked, these blog posts, and now… the podcasting… I’m not going to promise a lot with the audio files. Not because it’s hard to make them: I’m discovering that with Zoom, QuickTime and a couple of friends in other parts of the world to help me push the sound clips together, plus a couple of websites with sweet sound effects (I was going to say ‘fx,’ but I’m not really that trendy), well—it’s easy. Podcasting with Soundcloud is super easy. I don’t have the equipment you would want to have if you were pro, but that’s okay. I’ve never been a big fan of expensive equipment. In fact, everything I make these days is based on what falls to hand. In bricolage style. The stories that I write now (there’s some new stuff coming together for the new zines, one of which launches at Oulu Arts Night on 16 August, and stuff, well, those as well as the visuals come into shape not because I have this predetermined idea of ‘what I’m going to do,’ but because, in the process of looking around and bumping into things, people, materials, magazines, stuff just falls into place, and makes a picture. Not a picture, necessarily, like a photograph, though I do have those now, because of the camera and the ‘Slow Moment’ photo journaling workshop that I’ve been hosting online since the start of June, but other kinds of pictures. Conceptaully, imagine that a conversation is captured and frozen into a moment. Then you spool that moment out. You maybe write some kind of short fiction piece. Or you actually record it and edit it into a sound file. Or make a short video and share it at a festival. Well. There are so many things you can do when you have the essence of the moment and you are able to see the art in it. Not easy, to see things. That’s part of what I talked about with some of the new guests in ‘Slow Moment’, in June, over email and forum-salon conversation spaces. Well, mostly email. Occasionally, a phone call. I am in Scandinavia now so I have so much wifi and since it’s way up here by the Arctic Circle, I also have tons of brightness and tend to be awake 23 out of the 24 hours of the day now. Which renders the time differences and timezones irrelevant.
This is good.
This is leading to some very important and unique moments of catching-up. And going back to the people who most intrigued, or left impressions, or seem to have been on their way to interesting places, back when I met them.
‘It’s the thread that makes the necklace’
I’M EVEN GOING back to some of ht many, many hundreds of thousands of words I’ve written in the past and doing that good thing that all writers must: rewriting. Thank you, Dropbox, for holding all this stuff in your digital vault. I’m ready to dump most of these archives, though. Keep only… the highlights. Because short and sweet is another thing I like. Keep it short. Keep it simple. Zines let me do that. So the zine form—8 pages, nothing more—is a good way to repack some of what I’ve written (while also giving it a little bit of a tweak because when you are younger and writing and when you’ve written much, much more and are writing, you are also able to see the thread, the thread!…. and it’s the thread, after all, that makes the necklace.
Pearls on a string. Here we go. Now it’s not so much about the discovering of the new pearls to add to this thread, as it is feeling like I’ve found what my set is, already, and have closed the loop, and am now going back through the circle, saying ‘hi’ to the many lovely gems of people and places and conversations and… artistic moments… that I’ve been lucky enough to collect. And sharing these new learnings and reopening those stories, but only selectively. Only in S P A C E. To the journeys, the new, the near and the next.
Next in S P A C E, today’s prompt, for ‘Slow Moment.’
Are you wondering where I am? It’s cool to contact me—I’m not that hard to reach. Email me, maybe? Here’s a form.
IN A FEW DAYS, I will be starting the salon in our protected-page space, ‘Slow Moment.’ It’s about slowing down. Recharging. Discovering yourself when you make time to show up… for you. No obligations, no ‘to-do’s, and scrapping the idea of ‘getting something accomplished,’ the idea of this particular programme is to let it flow. Flow. So important. I have been talking with people in online conversations for about four months now, setting things up for this special 12-week session. It’s our last online workshop, for the general public, as it just became obvious that for DK, making people be creative isn’t important. What’s important for DK is helping those who have already taken a step, of their own accord, towards some kind of transformative breakthrough. Of course you can’t have a linear path to breakthrough. Or transformative stuff of any kind. Of course it takes work, struggle, sloshing about, tackling vague ideas, throwing most of them away, and starting over, when you recognize that all the work so far has been ‘sketching.’ We call it P L A Y. Playing our way towards the new and the next is what we do around here.
Zining in Finland, Cambodia, et al.
ZINING HAS BEEN, for me personally, a way of slowing down. ZininginFinland, in particular. ‘This is Finland,’ said J., whom I met last night at the pub. ‘We just… be.’ Not bad. I really enjoyed our brief chat outside of the place; karaoke was on inside and it was a thin crowd. I cycled over there with my midnight ride in the pretty-bright-still-but-not-like-before light. Mist was out. Mist. This was what we talked about. Small town life. Passerby. Chance encounters. That’s the stuff of gathering the narratives that make S P A C E the zine; showing up to ask the questions and be prepared for anything is the jazzy jam that is Atelier S P A C E. (If I don’t show up for me, how can I ask others to show up for themselves? So I am living the practice. Go where you don’t know anyone. Find out stuff. Ask them things. Talk to people. Learn. Discover. Find a theme. Then, either with guests who are interested in joining in with you or without them, write a short 8-page zine that pulls together the best of that which you pick up, makes it contemporary, gives it a shape, and then, print some of them, and share them.)
Pubs are third places. They are where we convene. I know, I know. There is an objective, most of the time. Not me. I’m there for the conversations.
Here where I am about six hours north of Helsinki, things are quiet. Conversations are slow and easy. All around is nature—and it’s handy that you can cycle around to get the things you need. Foodstuffs. Provisions. Euros. It’s convenient, small, and just fine. I am not a stranger to small town life; and this stay has got me remembering all the things about Skibbereen and rural North Carolina that I used to really enjoy. End-to-end rainbows, for example. Which I talked about in the past, here on this blog, when ‘A Slow Moment begins’ got writ.
Poetry slams in S P A C E
WRITING MORE. Zining. Making poems with people around the world. ‘Whatever of philosophy is made into poetry is alone timeless.’ These words—I had quoted them in my TEDx talk, ‘There’s Not That Much Time Left.’ Something I haven’t admitted out loud anywhere on the public spaces of the blog is this: I was kind of winging that talk, there, at the end. You have to read your audience, right, and see where the feeling is going. You have to see what fits, what’s working, what’s not. It takes time to build up to that. It’s a long, simple crescendo. You get going and you start and you begin to get the feeling. Here is what’s the story. This is where we’re synching. It’s a jam session, to me—even me on the stage felt like that. I was laughing and enjoying myself with the people in the front rows who were laughing and enjoying themselves with me. (Afterwards, a ‘speechmaker’s consultant’ tried to pitch me, and said, ‘You really don’t want to laugh at your own jokes.’ But for me, for DK, for all he things that have become, since, S P A C E, if I don’t laugh, I’m not having fun, and if I’m not having fun, whatever the hell is the point?’ Of course I didn’t ask him to help me. In fact, that was the last time I got on stage, aside from one other time, in the same city on the same stage, in fact, for ‘Fuzzy Quantum Pop.’ Too fun.)
DG said it: ‘Throw away most of the stuff you write, because you know what? It’s bad. I did that. Do you do that? Throw away most of it?’ I nodded. He said, ‘Good.’ DG is a pianist. I get along with piano people, drummers. Maybe because they like to accompany… words. I am the vocals. I realize this now. Words are my thing. Pen is my medium. Whether lines in marker, or cut lines, or lines worked out somehow (it takes a long time sometimes, but other times comes in bursts, like now, unedited and uninterrupted—a story flows) into poems, or occasional ebooks, I make lines.
Slow moment? For me, bringing the lines into shape. Giving the scaffold in architecture blueprint to the ever-emerging shape of S P A C E. Something to say? Leave a comment, below. Comments are open, until the bots catch on.
DK is making S P A C E, a weekly interactive magazine and an online community for people who are highly engaged with the creative process.
DESIGN KOMPANY is celebrating International Zine Day in Finland with new friends. On the 21st of July, join us for a series of activities throughout the day at a mini-popup zine festival. This is made in collaboration with local retailers and an artist-run co-op. We are also launching a new zine in our international series, S P A C E. You an find out more about the photozine, S P A C E || Kärsämäki, here.
Author Dipika Kohli, co-host of Atelier S P A C E and a founder of Design Kompany, will read ‘Slow Moment’ to a small group. Dipika’s writings have appeared as columns in the Seattle paper Northwest Asian Weekly and in Charlotte NC’s Saathee Magazine. She was an editor for an alternative newsweekly in southwest Ireland and an environment editor for a Seattle daily before turning to publishing her own memoirs, in the series, Kismuth. She was invited to speak about her first book, The Elopement, live on air at NPR. Listen here. Today, Dipika hosts conversation salons in real life and online, working with others to develop dialogues that have centers, and not sides. She edited an anthology, The Mirror (DK // 2014) with others in the online circles that she convened, gathering each story that resonated into a compact collection. For photography, she won two Japan Foundation grants to document architecture in Kyoto and Tokyo.
‘Slow Moment’ is her first photozine.
This is an invite-only event for *just* those who pre-order the zine. It is USD $100. Make an online payment at this page.
PIENOISLEHTIEN TEKEMINEN on Suomessa vielä harvinainen harrastus. Työpajassa tutustut lehtien tekemisen mahdollisuuksiin ja opit taittelemaan ja tekemään uniikkeja tai monistettavia vihkosia. Sisältö voi olla kuvia, tekstiä tai ehkäpä pieni tarina. Millaisen lehden sinä voisit tehdä? Pajaan osallistuminen ei vaadi aiempaa kokemusta tai valmista ideaa. Ohjaajana taiteilija Dipika Kohli, Design Kompany (US). Ohjaus suomeksi ja englanniksi. €10 (hinta sisältää materiaalit, sekä kahvin ja leivonnaisen)
Mukana voi tuoda myös omia aikakausi- ja sanomalehtiä sekä askartelutarvikkeita kuten sakset.
TODAY IS FRIDAY. Tomorrow is Saturday. Not just any Saturday. It’s International Zine Day. Which, for the likes of people like me, is extraordinarily exciting. Because… zines! I love zines. Short and sweet, on the spot, made by hand, often, and inviting opportunities for real life conversation. That’s what they’re about, for DK, anyway. Making space for real life. Designing the magic moment. It all sounds very general and strange and weird but you know what, it works. When I was installating the show that’s on display right now at Cafe Onni here in Kärsämäki, I was like, wow. People are just hanging around watching a little, and os you know what I’d do? I’d ask, ‘Want to hold this here, for a second? Is this aligned straight? Are you free on Saturday, July 21? Come and open the books and have a look, just put them back when you’re done. Anywhere is fine.’ It’s nonlinear. It’s open space. It’s designed to invite the new and different, the interconnection, and of course, make room for PLAY. Play is our way.
Join Design Kompany and new friends in Kärsämäki for a once-off event, a Festival of The Zine. Celebrating International Zine Day, this will take place in various venues on Saturday, 21 July.
What are zines?
Zines are independently published periodicals. They are not fancy, nor are they mainstream. Rather, zines are part of the “indie, DIY (do-it-yourself) culture” that shares its spunky style with punk and other subcultures. With a zine you can express yourself freely, without the need for an editor. You can make as many or as few as you like, and you can decide who gets to read them, if anyone. Unlike social media and sharing of digital streams, zines are hands-on, and they’re shared in real life, with real people. You get to have a conversation. You get to see how people respond. It’s much more about the exchange and the quality of the connection, we feel, than it is about ‘producing’ for the sake of making ‘content’ for the masses. In an age where the internet can confuse and lie to us, zines give us a tangible grip on the here, and now, and remind us that at the end of the day, we get to create and write our own stories. The stories of our lives. The stories that remind us who we are.
‘You’ve been everywhere, DK. You lived in… Japan, in Cambodia… where you wrote Breakfast in Cambodia, am I correct?, yes, I thought you had said that, and of course the places where you grew up, too. You have seen and done a lot. Now you have to make something out of that. For all of us to experience it, through your eyes.’
‘That’s a tall order!’
‘It is. But you can do it, DK. Show us. Show us the world.’
‘Art, right? Art can show us new perspectives? Isn’t that what you like to say, all the time? How it can make you stop, and think, in new ways?’
‘Um. This conversation isn’t going to be easy.’
‘I never said it would be easy.’
‘The world is right in front of us, but we just have to let ourselves see it.’
‘How do you do that?’
‘Slow down. Notice. Show up. Make time. Keep it real. Do no harm. All that.’
‘Like last night?
‘The tea party? Yeah! I didn’t know it was going to be such a warm, cozy affair. It was, though. We had just three, in the end. I had invited some people here and there around town, halfheartedly, admittedly, because I’m not one of those people who likes to throw a raging party, rather, I like small, quiet circles. Very small circles. Kind of like with the online projects: just a few of us, talking together. Quality, in depth. No superficial mumbo-jumbo and muscle-flexing and peacocking and so on. I hate that. You go out into the usual spaces where people mix and honestly, it’s a zoo. Why we get caught up in this dance of displaying something… facade-making… I have no idea about. I think it’s because people are incredibly bored.’
‘Which reminds me. I’m working on a new comic book. About Finnish, um, black humor.’
This is part of a series, 100 conversations. Made with the support of members of S P A C E.
THE LONG DAY is reminding me about old conversations, in many places, about time. Philosophical, you could say. That’s part of who DK is. It took a while to admit to it, but then, didn’t we do a TEDx talk about how there’s not that much time left? We did. Six years ago. Seems like a lifetime: I’ve been on the road for a year in Asia, then parked for four years in Cambodia, now I’m on the road again–in Scandinavia. Well, kind of on the road. Because I’ve learned that bouncing around from point to point is not as intriguing as sitting still in one spot and absorbing it more fully, I’m here for three solid months in the middle of northern Finland. Lapland is over yonder, there is talk of reindeer meat, or reindeer hitting your windshield, and how nice it is to see the sun. Lots of talk on the talk radio about summer. Festivities and the cheery feeling of it; the sun not going away, the lakes reflecting all of it, with a mesmerizing shade of light grey twinged with blue. Chillin’. I noticed it’s a quiet day, today, here. I saw some people getting their cameras out and taking pictures of the river. I saw some others getting gas and going in for a bite to eat–the hamburger place, the pizzeria, the cafe where I’ll be co-hosting a zine popup this month. Buncha stuff. There are people who come through this town because it’s a stop on the motorway from Oulu to Helsinki, a major throughline, though the road is only two lanes and looks like it’s any countryside road, to me anyway, in the smaller counties of North Carolina. One of my many homes. That’s another thing, though. That’s drift. Today, time.
Slow down to see now
SLOWING. That’s the topic, these days, here. Slowing down to sense. Slowing down to see. Slowing down to feel. Letting things catch up… feeling the ambient awarenesses that have been percolating for years, but haven’t had time to precipitate out into the here and right-in-front-of-you, because… time. ‘The way we live our days is, of course, how we live our lives,’ it has been said, and many times, and I am thinking about my friends who will say, ‘Yes, I wanted to, but I didn’t have time.’ I’m thinking of DB in Seattle, who, in his drawing class for freshman and sophomores, would make a comment about how texting and drawing nude models just isn’t a good idea, that you don’t need to multitask here, that, ‘we all have the same amount of time.’ Priorities are the thing to focus on, instead of how to make more time. How to do the right things, instead of just doing things. How to… well, wait. I’m turning into one of those productivity blogs. I don’t meant to do that. But I do agree with PT who said, ‘Relentlessly prune bullshit.’ You just have to, if if you want to move the ball further down the playing field, towards the end zones that you decide are worth pursuing. You can’t just… wait for things to happen, nor can you… wish for more time. All of these thoughts are trickling in and out of the S P A C E of spaces where I’m conversing with some of you, some new people here in Finland, too. And learning. Always, always curious. Wanting to know more. Where does the time go? What did we do with it? Is it important to plan? What are the benefits of not-planning? And: what will I do with my days, while I live? This is the question, ultimately, that the TEDx talk landed up, asking about. What will be your legacy?
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I was aiming to go up there and make a long philosophical statement about how people are being busied into being busy and forgetting how to slow down, notice now, and be present and aware of what it is they actually want their lives to be about. What is the story your life will spell? (DK always asked this of our clients, and then, added to it, with: How can you design for that?) Not that popular a topic. Thinking about the life you want to live and what you can do to make it happen? That’s big-picture stuff. That takes overarching grand views on things and letting some time go by so as to reflect. But who has time for that? The day to day details of getting things done are at hand. And that’s why, really, honestly, the pervasiveness of the ‘to-do’-ers and their insistence that making time is more important than making artful connexion and meaningful moments of their time is probably why I decided to come here to focus on ‘Slow Moment.’ It’s a long story. It’s going to have to be shortened, though, because ‘Slow Moment’ will be an 8-page zine. That’s later, though. Now, I’m thinking about a time I sat on a terrace and talked with someone I hadn’t seen for more than a decade, about what we did with our lives, in the interim.
‘The time,’ he said. ‘The time does not come back.’
I wonder if he remembers it as clearly as I do.
YES, IT WAS DIRECT, and sort of out of nowhere. ‘The time does not come back,’ he said. Did I detect regret? Resentment?
I remember looking out over the plates and chairs and people who were talking together in groups of two or four, drinking their wine and beers and partaking of desserts and salads, and the sun was setting, and it set, and we were still talking, and I remember this clearly, about that line, ‘The time does not come back.’ Of course, I’d wanted to say, and then add something about reversible time and physics and multiverses and some theory–but it wasn’t that kind of a party.
Time. Not reversing. But that’s why we have to notice it, right? Be here now. All that stuff. Notice it and do the things that feel good, make the work that matters–to us. It’s relative, after all. Why follow someone else’s prescription for ‘what counts’ and ‘what matters?’ A job is really you just selling your time. What is the work that matters to you? Are you doing that? What is the legacy you want to leave?
I’d wanted to ask such questions, of course. I always do. Was there something you had wanted to do with it that you didn’t? (This is mostly what I had wanted to ask, but couldn’t, of course. Acquaintanceship is different from friendship, after all.)
We parted. The year ended. The next one came. This is life. This is the cycle. This is how things go. Probably won’t ever see one another again, either. Something about feeling… a sense of distance. At not knowing why the action and initiative weren’t there. I felt he had regrets, but they weren’t faced on, not looked at, not examined, or questioned. Self-awareness of this was missing, too. There was some weird sense that there was a lacks somehow. A lack that could not be felt, or seen, until another day, and time, which, I got the feeling, would not come.
Because making the time and space to reflect isn’t for everyone. Those who do come out, I think, with a purpose to their life that goes beyond ticking boxes of filling in lines or paying bills. Those who are able to assess themselves clearly can do… living. Yes. Do living. Do it. Without trying so hard to conform to someone else’s pictures of ‘success’. Without avoiding looking in the mirror, and asking the hard questions, ‘Is this for me? Am I living the life I want? Am I being true to myself?’ So many people skip this. Well, of course. It’s hard.
But I think about these things a lot. I look for others who do, too. I count those people amongst my friendship circles. I listen for the curious, the ones who are saying, ‘There’s got to be more. Help me think about this.’
‘Did you see Waiting for Godot?’ I’ll ask them. ‘Or read the play?’
‘Beckett. Read it. Then let’s talk more.’
Philosophically, these kinds of existential queries—what is the point of it? what are we doing with our time? where is the meaning?–are the ones that we thinky-thinky types like to dwell on. (Sometimes too much. Acknowledged.)
More philosophy and so on, ahead this month in ‘Slow Moment.’ Be a part of it, when you join us in these places in S P A C E: ‘Slow Moment’ the salon, and ‘Slow Moment’ the zine.
THE CELEBRATIONS CONTINUE. Midsummer happened. The all-night party (in which the sun doesn’t set, which makes it easier) continued on into the next day, spilling into the following week. A small going-away last night for those shuffling out (June ends) and a small, curious anticipation today. That’s because a handful of us still here and continuing our summer at the artist residency in Kärsämäki are left wondering who’s coming this week. (Maybe even today. It is, after all, 1 July.) Timekeeping. In the form of months, not minutes. Hm, I guess this is how it starts. How a slow moment begins.
A SLOW MOMENT BEGINS. Tomorrow I start sending the first of the series of prompts for ‘Slow Moment,’ which is the project that brought me to Finland. The ideas in sketch phases that I had been working on since the ‘Book of Time’ conversations in Phnom Penh (early 2016, with CN, mostly) are now a 12-step programme. It’s neat when you can take a step back and see how the seed of inspiration grows into a thing with its own character, spunk, and will. It’s exciting to see how people will play with this one. After all, ‘Slow Moment’ and the goal of really seeping deep into it, immersing, is how all of this ‘let me go to Finland and lay low and make some stuff, maybe art, maybe poetry’ began. I had never been to Finland before, but had heard about its natural beauty from many friends. I’d been to Denmark, and Sweden, and had always had an eye on Finland because, hey, more Scandinavian design to be inspired by, but not until I got invited to come here to where I am did I have a real compelling reason to make the commitment to a plane ticket, and come. But… ‘Slow Moment.’ Needed to be thought through in exactly an environment like this. Slow sunsets. Slow sunrises. Slowing down into the natural world and remembering where slow time comes from, how it is ample, when you let it flow. (You have to let it.)
The point of departure for this inquiry was: What would happen if I devoted 12 full weeks to the pursuit of the ‘Slow Moment?’ And here I am.
S P A C E x ‘Slow Moment.’ As usual, I’ve invited people to join me on this query: the online forum-salon ‘Slow Moment’ begins tomorrow. We’re going to keep the application window open this week, because of ongoing celebrations and how that means a lot of time needed to get back into the swing of things. Especially here in Finland. And I’m hoping to see a few guests from the town where I am, and possibly Oulu or Helsinki, too. Let’s see how the conversations unfold. But yeah. The application window is open through Friday, just in case any one who was on the fence about applying needs a day or two to actually do that. It’s okay if you don’t, we’re going to carry on. (But if you do, it could very well be the beginning of a cool, relaxing journey into the space of, well, S P A C E.) A photography x journaling online workshop, this one. Curious? Good. Here’s where to learn more.
JOURNALING. I am on the road again. Sometimes I get caught up in the day-to-day stuff, like, ‘Yes, now these are things to be done today,’ and forget to just notice, well, the now. Here and now. I have been putting musings as well as full-on writing prompts together all weekend for the ‘Slow Moment’ project. I’m really excited about it. All new prompts, new people, new conversations, new connexion. And maybe, if we’re lucky, interconnection. Which would make it, after all, kind of relational and fun and cool and interesting, and not just ‘an online course.’ There are far, far too many of those. When we mix it up with a swatch of S P A C E, incredibly odd things can pop out, and surprise us. Refreshing, unexpected things. Which make us go, ‘Hey! Did you see that?’
MAGIC MOMENT. And that’s how it happened, too, that last night, out of the window, a bright wide thing came into full view: an end-to-end rainbow. It had… to be… one of the most exquisite I’ve seen. It’s been a long time since I lived in a place that has rainbows like this (Ireland, early 2000s), and the flat space where you can see it, both ends. You could plot the curve of that parabola, you could make an equation about it. You could take a pic and put it on instagram and you would certainly get a lot of ‘likes.’ But you know what? I didn’t feel like doing those things. Replica-sharing. Ew.
I just took the camera that was in the room, the nearest lens, and went out there. It’s SDF‘s old camera, and it belongs to BOSS now, and I’m borrowing it for the duration of ‘Slow Moment,’ and I got about five or seven pictures of the field, the backlit flowers, the red small cabin like buildings where there are people who go and take lunch and coffee, then, of course, the sky. As much as could fit. To describe it would take pages. To feel it took a lifetime of waiting. Readying, too. For it. The thing that came. In a whiff of droplets and a sideways glimpse of ROYGBIV. The night continued, as usual, into its white, long hours. And turned into the next. The sun sets. Two minutes later, it rises.
OOO. I LOVE THIS STUFF. Relational aesthetics. Will tell you in a second how I came to know about this term, ‘relational aesthetics.’ I am jazzed about it. Why? Because other people have also been interested in a thing that interests me.
Even if these are academic people, art critics, or, gaw, the Art World, (sets whom, normally, I would avoid conversing with because I never thought that what I’m into would be what they would see as artistic), even if then. I’m listening. Why? Because I’ve been wrong. There are others who have already been on this path. Which means there are signposts, if only I know where to look. In other words, the feeling is like this: Wow. It’s not that they thought it’s not artsy. They actually think it IS artsy. They’ve even named it. That means, it’s a thing.
I like that.
DISCOVERY. Because I studied math, physics, and applied math and physics, I didn’t even know about this stuff. No one starts in on making anything by following a prescription, though–it’s not like I said, in the 1990s, ‘I’m going to make relational art.’ That would be stupid. I just sort of bumbled my way towards something that a lot of other people also stumbled upon, and that means, there is more than just one of us. That means, we are something. dada. Surreal. You can call it something like that. Or… you could just enjoy knowing there are now whole volumes of things to learn about, things that those before you (who you can feel some resonance with) have done, seen, thought, written, drawn, painted, created, installed, and more.
AT DK, AND OUTSIDE of it, what I make is relational art. Read this post about interstitial space that might give you a feeling of what that feels like, in writing. This is newish, I’m gathering, from my limited conversations with new people who study art and so on. New is hard for people to get into. And mostly, sadly, I’ve noticed, many people are afraid of the new. There’s even a word for it. Fear of the new. ‘Misoneism.’ But this really gets in the way of innovation.
INVITING THE NEW. I care about new things. New input. New people. Part of DK’s goal with our new relational approach is to get in the face of that fear, and introduce people to others who are
(seemingly, but not really that) different, and meet up, in real life, and just connect.
It’s invigorating and feels great to see that there exists a philosophy of this kind of art, which means I can amplify the effort to move the dial in the direction that I feel is the best one for us. It’s been written about. People nod. That foundation has been lain. So much of the work has already been done.
So, DK are morphing from a design consulting studio into something more… arty. I didn’t mean for this to happen. But it has. Just looking back on things and reflecting, I see the pattern. If you check out DK’s projects in S P A C E that have been going on since 2014, you’ll see what I mean. Before S P A C E started, we were a design boutique. Straight up, clean lines, modern aesthetic, quality workflow, nothing got out of hand and we had a lot of happy clients. But now it’s… kinda different. Now we’re into stuff like conversation spacemaking. Salons. Ateliers. Gatherings. Workshops that get us all out of our boxes, mixing, discovering, and meeting others whose paths we might not have crossed, like, ‘16N‘ and similar. Oh, yeah. Speaking of that. ‘N’, and describing it to people, and sharing about what our studio was trying to do with it, that story I shared casually and randomly with two art students at a table next to me in Aarhus in a wintry streetlit cafe. They taught me.
Context and relevance: ‘What you guys are doing is relational art’
‘Relational art or relational aesthetics is a mode or tendency art practice originally highlighted by French art critic Nicolas Bourriaud. According to Bourriaud, relational art encompasses “a set of artistic practices which take as their theoretical and practical point of departure the whole of human relations and their social context, rather than an independent and private space.” The artist can be more accurately viewed as the “catalyst” in relational art, rather than being at the centre… The artwork creates a social environment in which people come together to participate in a shared activity. Bourriaud claims “the role of artworks is no longer to form imaginary and utopian realities, but to actually be ways of living and models of action within the existing real, whatever scale chosen by the artist.”… In relational art, the audience is envisaged as a community. Rather than the artwork being an encounter between a viewer and an object, relational art produces encounters between people. Through these encounters, meaning is elaborated collectively, rather than in the space of individual consumption.’
Designing space to share real life with new and different others
Well! So there are others, too, who want it to be about the party and not the artist!
The inkling of this being more interesting came to me for the first time when I was hosting the opening reception for the show, ‘Today I Love You.’ It was a solo show and happened in Durham NC USA in 2012 over the Valentine’s Day weekend. Why not? I got into it and made more than 100 pieces, all brand new. But those weren’t as interesting as the people who came: the chocolates and the champagnes, the conversations, the interplay between the people I never met and the ones I’d known for half my life. North Carolina, after all, is one of my homes. JL surprised me by showing up which was brilliant, as he was an early mentor. Then there was KEF. And pictures by the talented JD. And a visit from the younger RK. There was AM and BW, pictured, too.
Others, including SR, a videographer I had only met recently but who has a fantastic energy and whose tireless enthusiasm and collaborative bent really inspire me. I remember being super happy, seeing all these wonderful people together in one place. Kind of like other shows, in Seattle, or the conversation spaces, in other places in the world. I’m thinking of ‘BEAUTY’ in Phnom Penh. Of ‘Hello August’ in that same town.
Of so many, many moments where new and different others could find remarkable connexion.
That is after all what DK now exists to do. DK design that particular kind of S P A C E. Remarkable.
I love the space that gets made when people are connecting, interacting. Interconnecting. With the zines or art books, or reading something I’ve written, or looking at a piece, but what’s more interesting is the conversations that open as a result. So the pieces are just prompts, now.
They’re not the pieces of Art, to me. The people are; not just as individuals but in the collection of being there, together.
Sharing a moment. Making a space.
(And by the way!, you can experience it. Here’s how…)
The shape of S P A C E
A SHARED MOMENT. A once-only experience.
In case you were wondering, this relational approach and the interest in finding the beauty of interconnectivity, and interplay between new and different others whose paths might not have otherwise have crossed, is why I am helping design our studio’s 2018 suite of ateliers. If you have been in touch with DK, or want to try something new with us this year, this is a good time to give it a go. Something new. Something fresh. And then towards the fall we’ll turn away from the online salons and get back to making what we make best: zines.