empty

When thinking about this project, I thought alot about my favorite belongings. What are they, in order, the top 10, 25, 100? Lists, displaying them, tracing their outlines on the muslin... all kinds of ideas. But really when I thought more about it, I have favorite things, but there's really nothing that I couldn't let go of, nothing that I feel like I would die if I didn't have. That was kind of a good feeling, a freeing one.

I started thinking more about places, where you are (belong), where you put things. How some places lend themselves to easy arrangement and some are continually confounding. Some places you feel right in, some you don't. In some places you are productive, in some you are not.

An empty place feels so spacious, fresh, like a clean-slate and full of possibility.

I finished my piece for Betsy today, and it is a group of items including a floor plan of a past favorite apartment.

Near the bone

It is life near the bone where it is sweetest.

Thoreau

Between Here and There

Sometimes when I am
where I am supposed to belong,
I don't feel like I belong.

But when I am standing,
I know that I belong somewhere
between the surface of the earth
and the top of my head.

knotted communications

Belongings and counting.
Belongings and time.
Belongings and accumulation.
Belongings and exchange.

This is an example of a khipu.



According to a Harvard website, “most of the existing khipu are from the Inka period, approx 1400 – 1532 CE. The Inka empire stretched from Ecuador through central Chile, with its heart in Cuzco, a city in the high Andes of southern Peru. Colonial documents indicate that khipu were used for record keeping and sending messages by runner throughout the empire… The word khipu comes from the Quechua word for “knot" and denotes both singular and plural. Khipu are textile artifacts composed of cords of cotton or occasionally camelid fiber. The cords are arranged such that there is one main cord, called a primary cord, from which many pendant cords hang… When khipu were in use, they were transported and stored with the primary cord rolled into a spiral. In this configuration khipu have been compared to string mops…The Inkas used a decimal system of counting. Numbers of varying magnitude could be indicated by knot type and the position of the knot on its cord… More recently, researchers such as Gary Urton have recognized the depth of information contained in non-numeric, structural elements of khipu.” For more, see: http://khipukamayuq.fas.harvard.edu/WhatIsAKhipu.html

facial floor plans

In New Zealand, the Maoris refer to their tattoos as Moko. Traditionally, they tattooed large areas of their bodies as well as their faces; some Maoris still do. I was fascinated to learn that segments of the designs of a person's facial moko may reference the person's immediate family or relatives.

European colonizers discovered that the "owner" of a moko could draw it from memory (without a mirror) and that he used it as a signature. I found examples of this on line. In the first case, it is the image of a land grant that was signed by a Maori named Tuawhaiki, chief of Otago Ngaitahu tribe. The second example is a signature of a Maori named Kowiti who was the chief of Waimate and Maunganui.

To me, there's a correspondence here with the floor plan Lynne posted. The moko signatures look a bit like maps.

It makes me think about the floor plan of my apartment and how I inhabit the space. I think about which areas I've lived in the most and the corners I am rarely even aware of. I think of the floor plan of my face, how I have inhabited it, and it has inhabited my life. I wear the sun on my cheeks, the water I drink: in my eyes. My eyes are doorways, as are my ears, mouth, and nose. Passages where I tread more often. And the edges of my forehead, where it meets the thicket of my hair -- this is a quiet place, but equally important. The years have started to dry and gather into creases on my skin.

And just as the moko signature references family - shared DNA, shared memories, belonging - the floor plan of my face connects me to mine. My nose looks more like my father's now. My chin, I am told, comes from my grandfather. My eyes are brown like my mother's.

5528 N. Kenmore Av., #204, Chicago, IL

This is an apartment I lived in for 2 years, from 1996-1998 in the Uptown neighborhood of Chicago. It was the first apartment I lived in by myself. I lived here during a year off from grad. school, while working as a secretary in the financial district, sort of retreating and collecting myself. It felt good to be in this space, a completely rehabbed interior of an old building, including a classic clawfoot tub. The affordable rent allowed me to easily live within my means then, at least the 1st year when I had steady employment. The sunroom was a great studio space, I was very productive there. Not all spaces work well, but this one did, even though the kitchen was so narrow that you couldn't fully open the fridge door. There's always a shuffle of belongings and furniture, and some items work out, while other things acquired prove to be mistakes. I learned during this time of my life (moving 4 times in 5 years), that I didn't want to own anything that I really didn't need or love and didn't want anything that I couldn't carry myself.