Tiny tiny dewdrops on šø/*\ š· bridge
Not a romance. Not your paradise. #maroochyrises #maroochy #notaromance Kabi Kabi Country
Unraveling of things misplaced/hidden. (detail) #plantinks #bacterialinks #mineralinks #mushroominks #bodilyinks #earthpigments #bushfirecharcoal #sensorimotordrawing #somaticdrawing #beingwith #discomfortandgrowth #symbiocene
Our environmental/bio sound synthesiser, probably has snakes sleeping in it over winter. So now: āØ snake snoring!!, your heart, the ground, the air, pond and mountain ā°ššæš #floatingland2019 rossannels #karlapringle
My body is a disorderly writer, but little words of love spoken with bodily marks, counselled by the ground beneath me. Kabi Kabi Country. š Dual handed š¤²š¼ body sensory drawing. A little cup, a bodily gesture of care, hoping for it to spore. Bush fire charcoal, bacterial garden inks, dirt and puff ball mushroom ink, š (very sporey). ā¤ļø #mushroomink #plantink #bacterialink #ecoprint #drawing #coldpress #sensorimotordrawing #symbiocene #care #morecarelesscapitalism
#Repost quoartis ć»ć»ć»In āOctopus BrainStormingā participants are instructed not to think about anything in particular but rather to feel their emotions and empathize with the emotions that are being expressed by their partnerās headpiece. Throughout the presentation, the participantsā brainwaves are run through a unique set of algorithms that translate the brainwaves into lights and sounds.
A participatory performance art installation by Victoria Vesna and Mark Cohen.
#quoartis #artandscience #artandtechnology
#ucla #artsci #science #neuroscience #brainactivity #electrodes #performance #lightshow #octupus #octopusbrainstorming #arteyciencia #arteytecnologiĢa #brainwaves
Cleaning studio, old old old old works, covered in mould and stains, - now I do on this purpose, maybe reverse time? I thought then of broken codes, missing words, homelessness, invisible bodies, pointless roads, and history re-writes, but these still seem to underly many things. And many of these things are still from holes in the homogenous societal quilt that ultimately covers no one.
I really enjoyed this, you can still grab a digital copy!š #Repost morethnmelanin with make_repost
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You can still read the zine!! Don't forget to send your email address through!
Picture credit: cassiveaggresive .
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#soldout #zinemaking #womenofcolor #nonbinary #peopleofcolor #bipoc #queer #zines #literature #digital
The good room.
Folding into nothing. There is a sound that comes with folding into nothing. I donāt know if itās comparable to the sound of something small disappearing, maybe itās like the sound of a vacuum swallowing? I donāt know, I can only say it sounds like folding myself into thin air.
I have a bodyguard, Iāve called him Kevin, like Kevin Costner from the movie, 'The Body Guardā. Heās a bit over protective.
Heās the one who folds me. He tries to keep me safe, and to be safe it is best to be invisible. So he crushes me into a small hole of nothing....I have to be careful what I say right now, I can feel him getting uneasy. He starts with my legs, he folds them up, then heāll move onto my torso, turning everything inside out until it disappears. Itās painful, but he thinks itās best for me.
He wants me to be allowed in the good room.
But itās full of relics that love no one.
Itās cursed.
Do you know the room?
Or are you pressed into the corners of the ceilings?
Watching people going in and out.
All sorts of people with bodies, walking.
Some know itās mean.
Some think it is THE room.
Most just want to redecorate/renovate this room.
But I will tell you.
This room will take your body and eventually
Youāll be stuck.
Stay out of this room
Take down this room
End this room
Fall
To
The
Ground
Relieved
Free
If you leave can I come too?
#Repost coz I canāt move, I wake up choking, my legs donāt work, my body shuts down, because the same violence that broke me open years ago, is still alive here now. The disembodied colonial culture is killing us all- for the sake of some hierarchical capitalist godly ideology somewhere? STOP NOW. Listen to the people of this Country, listen to Country. Be here now. Be with this place under your feet. The power of this Country and the ceremonies that still live in this land are so powerful that even under 15m of concrete youāll hear, if you listen. Have a relationship with Country. Ask it where it hurts. You are a part of this place and you canāt ignore that. This place, you belong to. Love it, protect it, you arenāt powerless. Have a relationship with the place under your feet. As hard as that might be- try, whatever that brings up, it will also give you the tools to heal. I was once told, āwhere grows what kills, also grows what curesā, and Iāve found it to be true. Try. ć»ć»ć»
My grandmother spent her childhood at Brooloo, nearby is a giant bluff of ancient rock, strangely from the same geological family of scattered mountains that I live at now.
These mountains once faced Antarctica as part of Gondwana land. They have twisted and turned for over 200 million years.
I came to know this bluff when I was beginning to piece together some ancestral patterns. I was trying to understand my c-ptsd and the numbness in my body.
Iāve come to believe some of the numbness stems from an inherited, general culture of colonial abuse, disembodiment, disconnection and disassociation with place.
First Australian Peopleās original and unwavering connection with Country was ignored so land could be claimed as terra nullius and stolen without righteous or godly remorse. (Guilt)
The insistence that we are somehow separate from place is nonsensical and inaccurate. We are a composite of human DNA and interchanging micro bacteria, which inhabits not only bodies, but also our environment.
Country is people and people are Country. We need to understand and feel this for coming generations.
Iād so much rather live in a #symbiocene than die in an #anthropocene
#kabikabicountry ā¤ļø
Struggling to create a speculative place of being:
I visit a speculative forest
No one owns it or me.
We speak infrasonic
and the transformative fungal fruits of
our motioning
river into an underworld.
When I forget myself,
And pain, pain, pain, pins me down.
I hear it whisper, āyou are
master of your own toolsā
Lain on it's ground, we breathe
In union
Until I remember. [_____________________]
I hope one day our breath
Will be so rich
Itāll descend,
waking misty ghost rivers,
Flooding everything
everywhere
with belonging.
And weāll remember why
we were told to forget,
our bodies,
separated
owned
I visit a speculative forest
No one owns it or me
#speculativefiction #speculativeplaces #speculativeforest #symbiocene
Record of a time, my mother tongue, on his masters voice. Green eye shadow, vintage glitter, pine plantation, sensorimotor drawing. #recordsofatime #greeneyeshadow #sensorimotordrawing #hismastersvoice #mothertongue
Backyard colours of fruiting lichen and fungi, except for the last one, itās from coastal heath but I had to add it because purple!
Bonyee ( #bunya ) sacred tree, Kabi Kabi Country. Home to many, feeding many, holding the ground, the ground holding us all. ššš
Green eyeshadow, Forest
Retracing, invisibiles, both hands, trying to change patterns, autopilots, to be with what is slow and constant. I think a lot about layers as I work with materials/medicine from places I visit. Working actively to re-pair my body with this land. Reconcile so many things. Too many things. I work daily with elements, soil, water, plants, wind born pollens, fungi, droppings, what ever comes my way, talks to me. My body is tangled in itself and slow. So I move like a rock, taking time, more time, seeing slow things, small things, layers, tracks, rituals, stories.
Their movement is embedded in the landscape. I think about attempts at their erasure. And how these attempts have sometimes made the places stronger. (Not always, and I wish this wasnāt true) Covering indigenous ways, marks and knowledge to remove it, but inadvertently indenting it, invisibly like code. Like intaglio, they remain, a feeling, desire lines, the obvious way, paths taken by animals through landscapes, winds and their shaping of place, water and itās course, carving, waterfalls that sing, the way of place. My slow damaged rock body, listening and observing. I didnāt like this at first, my slowness, but now I feel like itās been lucky. Damage from my kin, colonial ghosts, eating their own violence, giving me a way to see things they tried to destroy. Like a rock, everything in slow motion. Country is people and people are Country, the ancestors of the First Peopleās of this Country are literally the ground you stand on, listen to them, respect the wisdom of this place, let it teach you, how to be with Country. Let it teach you how to live and to love despite all the crap. #alwayswasalwayswillbeaboriginalland š¤šā¤ļø #symbiocene
There was this image of a sovereign head that appeared over the leaves in the pink blood of the bodies of crushed cochineal. I moved it around the room, like an intrusive flashback, trying to find a way not to see it. But I cried, Iād lain my body with these leaves, and there was this divined head in blood ink. Plain to me as day. I drew flowers from burnt trees over itās dead bodies. I hated us even more then. Then I realised it was just a head without a body. Disembodied, and I could see all the dead women in my family. I washed it. The bodiless head disappeared and I took pigment from this ground here and with both hands together, in union, I wrote, WE. I hope that this is good magic. But like all apparitions itās unphotographable. #symbioscene #listening
Australian mistletoe, grape skins, charcoal from bushfire Country, ghost of mulberry bark paper. Things that hold, in-betweenness, joiners, liminal actions, thresholds, change. I hope š¤
#Repost more- still relevant. The River returns me, Be/coming Home. 2019, made on Kabi Kabi Country.
My ancestors arrived at the Sunshine Coast in the late 1880ās, most Kabi Kabi/Gubbi Gubbi people were brutally removed from the area during this time. My family never spoke of this war, but a legacy of unquestioned cruelty permeated my childhood. I saw and experienced violence in every form. My body, and this land, and itās people were invaded, powered over, pillaged and controlled. I hope acknowledging this violence serves to dismantle places it still lays hidden.
These works are made using a form of sensorimotor drawing and mark making. I use this to connect with Country in a thoroughly immersive manner, to listen deeply with all my bodily senses. These images are records of the reverence that exists between bodies of land and flesh - petitions against the destruction of their unity, love poems to Country and belonging, teaching my body to become home. I wish to acknowledge the power of Kabi Kabi Country and itās people.
#Repost still relevant. āBetween Usā, 2019, showing mailboxartspace from 4-28th of April. *Be/coming home - Kabi Kabi/Gubbi Gubbi Country is the land of my childhood. Itās rainforest Country bordered by mountains, rivers and ocean. In the 1880ās most of the Kabi Kabi/Gubbi Gubbi people were violently removed from the land where I now live. My ancestors also arrived here at this time. I was never made aware of my familyās involvement in this war. I never heard stories about it. It was not spoken of. There was a lot that was not spoken of. And I cannot speak for ghosts, but I can see patterns ā patterns of intergenerational culture.
I grew up with violence in every form, and suppression, repression, and denial. The conquerors conquer their own. The land was powered over, owned, diminished, pillaged and controlled. My body was powered over, owned, diminished, pillaged and controlled. Frightened men fight until they die. I left, so I wouldnāt die fighting back.
Now Iāve returned. I am trying to reconcile the violence and disconnect of the past. I am trying to come to terms with the violence against the KabiKabi/GubbiGubbi, the land, and my own body. I try to understand and disable the violence and to be a witness to what has occurred, to my self and to others. So I listen. I listen to the Traditional Owners and their deep wisdom of and connection to Country, I listen to Country and its deep wisdom of and connection to people, and I listen to my body, its deep desire to be at peace within this place - to end the violence.
These drawings are made with a method of sensorimotor mark making. I use this method to connect with Country in a deeply immersive manner - to listen fully with my body. To let a conversation between my bodyās sensory receptors and Country take place.
These are records of the deep reverence that can exist between bodies of land and flesh - petitions against the destruction of their unity. Love poems to Country, teaching me to come home, teaching me to become home. *I would like to acknowledge that this work was made on Kabi Kabi/Gubbi Gubbi Country, and to pay my deep love and respect to Elders, past, present and emerging š¤ā¤ļøš
Being with. Trying to figure out how. Difficult things. Being here, history, relationships with this place, history of this place, asking this place to show me how. Kindness.
The day on Kabi Kabi Country with my love, surprise reserve hidden away. So many new things to be with. Plus a giant snake skin, and then he made me dinner. šā¤ļøš¤ā¤ļøšš
Happy #worldenvironmentday Donāt forget, as Bandaid sang in 1985, āWe are the worldā. Weāre all connected, be kind. ššš Maybe this year you could commit to learn some new local knowledge from the First Nations people of your place. Most areas have a website, with information and wisdom that can only be gained with occupation and observation of an area for more than 40,000 years. #worldenvironmentweek #kabikabicountry #wearetheworld #localknowledge #bekindtoyourselfandeveryoneelse
Being with; mistletoe, fungi, blood, witches brooms (eucalyptus gall), various bacterial and plant inks, dirt, copper, woad, moss, lichen, bodily fluids, rust, pomegranate, ferns, rocks, automatic drawing, ochre, my body moving with this place in Kabi Kabi Country, the elements of land showing me how to be here, be with, in balance. Long slow wet press between mulberry bark paper. (Detail)
More information here: https://facebook.com/events/s/black-lives-matter-sunshine-co/312159859793297/?ti=icl
š¤ Always #blacklivesmattereverywhere #aboriginallivesmatter #noblackdeathsincustody #nobombingsacredsitesffs š¤
These are attempts at bodily negotiations with intergenerational ghost pilots. Itās in my body. My #colonialism. The violence of the hidden wars, hiding now in our bodies. Keep calm carry on with colonialism. Our secret histories have been internalised, playing out on remote control like a ābest ofā, Soldier on, weāve always done it this way. We autopilot things weāve been doing for generations, for survival initially, and to gain power, but now itās just a stuck record. Its an obsolete system to please ancestor ghosts who probably had to please their ghosts as well. Itās all a lie, making your body a part of a dysfunctional system for someone elseās benefit. But you can start again, act for what you believe in. Just recognise the auto pilots. The ghosts. Donāt stop feeling the feels, even the horrible ones, be kind to yourself and others. Stock up on good feels. #Express, #create, be #embodied. Be with all the things. You are anyway. The bacteriaās leaping through you constantly like a circus hoop. Eject the ghost pilots. Iāve been rubbing over marks made in auto pilot drawn into dyes made from Country, Iām trying to make choices, change patterns. Tomorrow Iāll try filling them with dirt from here. See if I can make something change, something grow different. Somehow. ā¤ļø trying to #reconcile #reconciliationweek #reconciliationlifetime I wish I could say this better.
Tangled bodies floating within and without creek bends and lily ponds. Medicine.
Cold water on mulberry bark paper. Mistletoe, ferns, flowers and sea witch who eats people who are heartless and poos them out soft and shiny.
Karla Pringle, āProducing highly undocumentable works since 2000ā Trapped actions, my body and my birthplace, asking the ground to hold me... thereās a blah. But Iāll wait until I can work out how to photograph these, mostly erased, giant, ghostly works, that labour to amend autopilot flight paths.
Cold, slow, wet, press, things keep growing.