“Places You Marked” by Rahil Najafabadi - July 18, 2023
PLACES YOU MARKED
In the hallway of a shut off feeling, beneath my thought
of you, there is another dim passage. More to know
than to feel when I put on the gown of attachment.
I’m pulled by something, but it’s gone by the time
I arrive. It’s so faux like a picture, everything stays
in its own place. I was sold the idea of tearful smiles,
and I laughed through the absence to make it true.
I was sold for the pink warmth of womanhood, love
words that watered the plant of a person. I am still,
warm, heated with the same burnt anger, like the color
of desert sand when it gets into your eyes. Just see––
Don’t try to remove the distance. It’s clear now,
suddenly the light is enough when I walk behind
the moon. You walk behind me, but we come back in circles.
July 15, 2023 - “You brought a flask of whiskey so we could drink beneath the freezing moon”
There were fire engine red shutters on the windows of the house next door.
They’d glow in the warmth of the yellow lights above the house’s garage.
We knew Charlie Floyd lived there with his three daughters: 10, 12 and 17.
We didn’t know Shelia Floyd. We didn’t know why she was never there.
Your aunt said something happened to Shelia and it was Shelia’s own fault.
Your aunt said Shelia had been sent away but sometimes they’d let her out.
For Christmas and things like that, maybe her birthday in late September.
I remember we were up on our roof one night last December. The Floyd girls
were outside and hitting a ball against the house’s garage beneath those shutters.
It made this sound that was at once loud but also soft and soothing, one heavy
thud after another. Again and again. You brought a flask of whiskey up so we could
drink beneath the freezing moon. Then Shelia’s car pulled into the driveway.
She cut the headlights but kept the engine running. We could hear her screaming.
She was telling the girls to get in, get in the fuckin’ car —- get in, now. They did.
She put the headlights back on and slammed the gas, reversing —- it didn’t matter.
Then Charlie Floyd came running outside and screaming too. He was in his robe.
It was crazy. You passed me the flask again. I took a long sip and passed it back to you.
July 12, 2023 - Anita Brookner’s - “A Friend from England”
Anita Brookner’s A Friend From England is a cautionary tale. Maybe you know him, or her, or them —- that one friend who keeps at a distance; the one who, at any moment, might boil over in a rage and judgment-filled lecture about your life-choices, as well as those life-choices of everyone around you.
Brookner’s 1989 novel explores the pseudo-friendship between thirty-something Rachel Kennedy and the twenty-seven-year old Hannah Livingston; who finds herself faced with at least three decisions: when to wed, who to wed, and what to do for work.
Even though Rachel isn’t that keene on getting to know Hannah —- and Hannah’s less than interested in spending time with Rachel, Hannah’s parents, who’ve helped Rachel with accounting for a bookstore that she runs — have invited Rachel —- a woman who has kept mostly to herself and lives alone —- into their family circle. They’ve made these efforts, at least in part, in hopes that Rachel can help their daughter navigate these impending decisions, and then in essence, launch.
The caution and hesitancy with which Rachel speaks parallels the deliberate and careful manner in which Brookner wrote this novel. Nearly every sentence is explored for its authenticity, then either confirmed and expounded upon — or retracted, and explained away.
For instance:
The weather put a stop to all my activities. Every evening I got into bed earlier and earlier. It was as if I were travelling backwards, back into childhood. I slept voraciously and was aware of dreaming copiously, although I always forgot my dreams as soon as I awoke. In any event, those dreams were of no consequence to me or of interest to anyone else.
July 9, 2023 - Hongbo Tan’s “Plum Blossom”
After a recent move, while unpacking, I noticed a carefully-wrapped package inside an old cardboard box. Ripping off its layers of yellowed paper, I saw a white enameled mug sparkling as brightly as when it was first presented to me years ago when I was still in China, a gift from a peasant girl I knew for only a few days in a hospital - a mental institute to be exact.
That was 1971, and we were in Fengshui, a small town in the south, far away from the political center of Beijing. The Cultural Revolution was in its fifth year. Colleges and universities had just begun to reopen after being closed, but instead of admission by scores in the national college entrance exam, students were now selected from workers, peasants and soldiers. Proletarian consciousness far outweighed academic competence. I was among the first such students to enter the Teacher’s College of Fengshui.
It was summer break. I was one of the last to leave campus; I had volunteered to close down our dorm to give others more time to travel home. My family was close by, but my college mates came from all over the district, some having to travel for days.
_______________________
While I was walking through rows of bunk beds to collect trash, Administrator Wang rushed in and asked if I could accompany a girl to the hospital, a girl from the math department who had suddenly fallen ill. Her name was Mei, “Plum Blossom” in Chinese. Administrator Wang was in charge of student affairs. A big bear of a man, he was well-liked and was ready to extend a helping hand whenever one of us students needed it. He even walked me to the dorm one evening when I returned to the campus too late from a home visit, to make sure I got in safely.
I followed him outside and saw two male students and Mei already waiting. Her hair uncombed and a bit messy, Mei looked more distraught than sick, which was a relief to me as I had trouble seeing the very sick. The hospital where my mother worked as a gynecologist had more than its share of them. Each time I passed through to get to our living quarters, I had to look the other way to spare myself the sight.
The four of us set off without delay. Mei and I walked in front, while the two young men followed close behind. Passing through the campus gate, I turned to the right in the direction of my mother’s hospital, the best the city had to offer. “Wrong, Kiddo!” the young man in charge shouted from behind me. I was sixteen, while my peers were already in their early twenties. Since I was the youngest on campus, older students dubbed me the “Kid” or “Kiddo.”
I had to admit that my presence in this college was a “freak accident.” The Cultural Revolution had forced the shutdown of China’s entire higher education systems from 1966 to 1970, during which middle school graduates were sent to the countryside to receive “re-education” from the peasants, or sent to the factories or the army if they came from proletarian families. By the time colleges reopened four years later, all of those graduates were in their late teens or early twenties. I was one of the few exceptions.
Strictly speaking, I was not a peasant, worker or soldier. The reason I was here could be traced back to an overheard lesson. One summer evening right before the Cultural Revolution was about to hit us in the south, my grandfather, who had made education his life’s mission, was showing my youngest aunt how Pinyin, the phonetic spelling of Chinese characters, could be used to learn the English alphabet. Always curious, I moved closer to listen. Even though he had migrated to the city as a young man, Grandpa had not changed his village accent a bit. The funny foreign sounds, mingled with his country accent, stuck in my memory and made the English exam I took upon my graduation a breeze.
That was most fortunate because at our middle school, our core curriculum consisted of visiting factories, digging bomb shelters in preparation for the escalation of border disputes with the Soviet Union, learning to grow vegetables and sweet potatoes in neighboring communes, and marching and drilling like little red soldiers. Books other than Mao’s and revolutionary pamphlets were locked up and forbidden. The last thing any self-preserving teachers dared to focus on was academics.
After graduation from middle school, at age fifteen, I was sent to the countryside to build roads - shoveling in the mountains and carrying soil in two bamboo baskets under a shoulder pole. There was no such thing as choosing your own high school or career. The state made those decisions and assigned you to positions they deemed necessary.
It just happened that at around the same time Mao began exploring normalization with the United States to counter-balance the Russians. After Henry Kissinger’s secret visit to China, English suddenly became important, replacing Russian as the sole foreign language to be taught in all schools. Since I scored a perfect 100 on that exam, consisting mostly of the English alphabet, after only six months in the countryside, I was reassigned and sent to the Teachers’ College to be trained as an English teacher. Thus, I skipped years of physical labor. Grandpa’s devotion to education had helped prepare me, but timing and luck were certainly on my side.
The young man who shouted at me turned left and led us in the opposite direction, away from the city and into the mountains. Our campus was already on the outskirts of the city. There were no other buildings beyond us except for a mental hospital several miles away, which had recently gained national fame for its innovative use of acupuncture combined with group sessions on ideology and self-criticism.
Outside of the city, public transportation was non-existent. Roads were generally rough paths, unlevel and dusty. I was surprised that the road leading to the mental hospital was smooth and evenly paved with asphalt. Once in a while, an army vehicle would pass by, but we were the only pedestrians. We walked silently. Mei was quiet, too. She was tall and powerfully built. Years of physical labor had left unmistakable marks on her calloused hands and masculine shoulders. Yet she appeared placid and gentle. I humored myself that I must have had a calming effect on her. The two young men walking behind apparently knew what was going on with Mei, but neither bothered to tell me. I did not ask any questions, but just kept walking. There was no need to feed their sense of seniority.
After a long and intense walk, we reached a gated facility at the foot of a hill. Inside the gate, canopies of tall trees shaded single-story buildings. Evergreen bushes and flowers of bright colors framed their exteriors, and brick paths connected one building to the other. Nurses in white rushed in and out. The young man in charge of our group got hold of a nurse and asked for directions. We were sent to the main building. Once there, I was told to wait in the hall while the two took Mei to the registration window. She was then ushered into a room down the hall, apparently the doctor’s office.
After what felt like hours of waiting, the head young man returned to fetch me. I followed him to another building and into a room with two rows of beds. Mei was already there, settled into one corner. The young man told me that she had to be in the hospital for observation, and I needed to stay with her until her family was notified. He assured me that Administrator Wang had already sent someone to her village, but it was remote, and it would take several days for a relative to arrive. As if reading my mind, the young man said that there was a store inside the facility. I could get a toothbrush there. Food coupons for the two of us and a bed for me next to Mei were already arranged. All I needed to do was to stay with my ward. One of them would come tomorrow and take me on a quick trip back to campus, where I could shower and bring back a change of clothing. Before long, he said, I would be home. He was reasonable and I could not argue with him.
Still in the dark as to the exact nature of her illness, I reconciled myself to the unknown. These “adults” seemed to want to shelter me from something. Still, Mei’s quiet suffering had already earned my sympathy. After the two men left, I brought her to the cafeteria. We took long walks on the hospital grounds after lunch and dinner. She was quiet and kept her thoughts to herself. I kept quiet, too. When it was time for bed, we went back to our room, shared with several other patients and their caretakers, and I went to bed with my clothes on.
I was awakened next morning by the loudspeaker playing “The East is Red, the Sun Rises, and China has brought forth Mao Zedong,” a typical regimen to break the day. I looked at my watch. It was only 5:30. I got up quickly, like everyone else in the room, and made sure my ward was up and dressed, too. A nurse soon came and led the roomful of us to a meeting hall in an adjacent building.
Others were already there. As soon as we sat down on our designated wooden benches, a middle-aged man in a faded army uniform approached the podium. In his right hand was the “Little Red Book” - Quotations from Chairman Mao. He waved that hand high in the air and shouted, “Long Live Chairman Mao! Long Live the Proletariat! Down with the Bourgeoisie!” On cue, we stood up, waved our right fists, and began shouting after him. This went on for a few minutes. I was relieved that we did not have to do the loyalty dance as in the earlier days, in which young and old alike would wave their hands and kick their feet high in the air to show loyalty to Chairman Mao. Those dances had always embarrassed me.
When we sat down again, the man on the podium opened up his “Little Red Book” and began reading in a deep and reverential voice: “Because we are here to serve the people, we should not be afraid of being criticized. If what they say is right, we should correct and improve. If what they propose benefits the people, we should adapt and implement.” He continued with a few more readings. After that, we were told to stand up again and repeat after him. Fifteen minutes later, we were dismissed for morning exercises and breakfast.
At breakfast, I overheard the nurses whispering excitedly among themselves that the Fifth Golden Flower was back and would be joining the morning self-criticism session. “Whose group will she be in?” one of the nurses asked. “Mine, in Room 15.” This was the same nurse who led us to the meeting hall. I could barely contain my excitement. The Fifth Golden Flower was the most beautiful and beloved movie star, if China had ever called an actress a star in those days. How on earth would she come down all the way from her end of the world to this hospital? Had she, too, had some sort of a mental breakdown?
The Fifth Golden Flower was the heroine of the movie “The Five Golden Flowers,” a musical so popular that even my grandmother could sing its theme song, “By the Butterfly Spring.” Set in Dali of Yunnan, one of China’s most scenic and ethnically diverse provinces, and in the period of the Great Leap Forward, the movie tells the story of Ah Peng, a young Bai man in search of his love, a girl he meets on his way to a horse race. A young woman, driving a tractor loaded with young girls, is stranded with a broken wheel on their way to the same race. Ah Peng jumps off his horse and fixes the wheel for the driver. Falling for each other, the two decide to meet next year at the same time and place. In his rush to get to the race on time, Ah Peng forgets to ask the girl for her full name, - he just knows she is called Golden Flower. When Golden Flower does not show up the following year, Ah Peng begins to search for her, unaware that Golden Flower is a common name for girls in that area. After many mishaps and four Golden Flowers later, Ah Peng finally finds the fifth Golden Flower, his love from the roadside.
The movie was released in 1959 and won the best actress and best director awards at some international film festivals, but was banned during the Cultural Revolution for promoting bourgeois romance. Leading the attack was none other than Mao’s wife, Jiang Qing, who had been a B-list actress herself prior to joining Mao’s revolution, and was famous for her insatiable jealousy and deadly vengeance. The actress who played the Fifth Golden Flower became the natural victim. Suddenly, China’s most beloved movie star was a counter-revolutionary and an enemy of the people. She disappeared from the public overnight, and her real-life Ah Peng left her.
The next morning, after walking Mei to her meeting room at 8:30, I sneaked into Room 15 to get a glimpse of the beautiful Golden Flower. What I saw shocked me. Instead of that willowy young girl in bright-colored Bai costume, I saw a stocky woman in a tight burgundy shirt - a shirt that obviously could not accommodate her weight gain. Her face, though still beautiful, had barely a hint of her former sparkle.
One by one, members of her group discussed how they had cleansed themselves of their selfish thoughts after studying such and such quotations from the “Little Red Book.” How terribly wrong of them when they had so wrapped themselves in their own thoughts, while peasants were toiling in the soil and workers were sweating in front of furnaces to provide for them.
When it came to her turn, the Fifth Golden Flower read a quotation from Mao in Mandarin, with each character clearly enunciated. Like the fifth Golden Flower in the movie, she, too, was of Bai ethnicity and normally spoke a Bai dialect. At a reception held in her honor, Premier Zhou Enlai had encouraged her to learn Mandarin - he had heard that her lines in the movie were voiced over. Apparently the fifth Golden Flower had taken the Premier’s counsel to heart. She then described how fearful she was of the needles during acupuncture, the institute’s revolutionary miracle cure. It was Mao’s quotations, she emphasized, that helped her overcome those fears. She recited one of the quotations on the spot: “Be determined, not afraid of sacrifices, overcome all obstacles to win victory.” A chill suddenly hit me. The contrast between the Fifth Golden Flower in the movie and in person was too much. There was not a single thread left of her former vivacity and free spirits. I could bear no more and slipped quietly out.
In the meanwhile, at the Teachers’ College, somebody must have reached out to a certain young man, the platoon leader of Mei’s department. He came to visit us, as handsome and refined as Mei was sturdy. Her spirit lifted upon seeing him: a smile appeared on her impassive face, something acupuncture had failed to achieve. “Mei, you are finally blossoming,” I teased her, playing on her name. “Thank you!” Her face turned a crimson red. A few days later, Mei’s father arrived to take her home. Before leaving, Mei and her father insisted that I accept that big bright white mug, an expensive gift for a peasant family.
I’ve learned that Mei broke down badly when the handsome platoon leader left her for home without making any good-bye. They had been spending a lot of time together and reached a stage beyond just friendship. I did not know all the details, but I was simply thrilled that things worked out between the two of them. Campus romances were forbidden in those days, but instead of getting kicked out, as was the norm for breaking the rule, Mei and the handsome young man were discreetly married, a miracle possible only in a far-away town during a quiet summer break. Perhaps Administrator Wang, with his big heart, while carefully skirting the politics of the day, was able to engineer a happy ending.
June 6, 2023 - “Touch” by Rahil Najafabadi
TOUCH
Of all the chances to be lost in a foreign garden,
I am familiar with the wind and the pity roses
handpicked by our visitor. Through every take
of words said even after hesitance, I said always.
But isn’t every flower untouched the essence of
an unsaid goodbye? I hear it in the song of a sun
that never rises nor steps away from my eyes,
a nightfall in a moment, for the moonlight to just be.
The goodbye is in all our faces looking down,
facing away from the fear of hope being false,
that I will see you instead of touching your monolith.
It's not as otherworldly to hold stone, it’s literally
the most mundane I can turn you, but the sight
is still somewhere in a loss of poetry, found in touch.
June 1, 2023 - It’s all hazy now
Hester Street meant that one bodega that had those good sodas, the fancy ones that cost $3.75 that you’d buy two or three at a time. Hester Street in June meant that one pizzeria that had that two slices plus garlic knots and a can of soda deal (but not those good sodas) for $7.50. It’s all hazy now, like that entire summer took place in one afternoon. I just remember the way you looked in your yellow and navy dress, stepping out of the bodega on Saturdays with those sodas in a paper bag: sunglasses over your eyes and the sun of the city held like some secret miracle in the palm of your other hand, just waiting / for what . . . to be opened
May 31, 2023 - The water tower was always there
Yes. It was raining and I said I’d be a little late. Then a little late turned into three years later and that one spot on Ninth Avenue where we could see the middle of Manhattan the best kept changing. Then I sent this photo to you late one night. You looked at it for a while then said the water tower was always there. I couldn’t remember either way. Maybe the tiny water tower was there, maybe it wasn’t. I just remember how the rain started falling that day I was supposed to meet you: all at once and still.
May 30, 2023 - “No More Poetry or Any of Our Differences” by Rahil Najafabadi
NO MORE POETRY OR ANY OF OUR DIFFERENCES
I wake up one morning and I think of my promise,
that today is nothing more. An extension of sunny
despair, it’ll be a little more than the rain and salt.
It is in between looking at the same painting of Monet,
and seeing my favorite sculpture in different bodies.
The water tastes the same as the day I kissed every word––
Those love letters live in the air as you speak of me.
What I need is less wood, I can stand and write to you.
Just eliminate any comfort that seats me away from the run,
the hunt and queue of being next to you as you read me.
No more poetry but the thing that needs to be said,
whether anyone hears it or takes it to sleep. Any of our
differences could be the flower that makes it to my tea.
Taste the honey with me, it’s enough to fill a vase.
May 28, 2023 - A Conversation with Christina Geoghegan - Interview by Elizabeth Lerman
When presented with Christina’s artwork, I was immediately struck by her use of shadow, structure and light. Her prints have the ability to pull a viewer in and prod them to think deeper about what, exactly, they are seeing. Consciously centered around subtle moments of solitude and contemplation, and what it means to capture them, Christina’s Nightscapes series straddles the line of light and dark, hidden and exposed, seen and unseen, studying the spaces in between.
With dedicated attention towards color, posing and linework, Christina creates a series of delicate but daring images, all of which seem to show the duality of human strength and softness. Here, we talked to Christina about her series, exploring her intentions, inspirations and techniques alongside some of my own unavoidable rambling.
- Elizabeth Lerman
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Christina: Hi.
Curlew: Hi How are you?
Christina: Good thanks, how are you? Can you hear me okay?
Curlew: I can hear you. Can you hear me?
Christina: Yeah, I just put you on speaker. Where did you go for a nice walk? It's raining here in Ireland.
Curlew: It's been a remarkably sunny past couple of days, I'm in Brooklyn, New York and Spring hit all of a sudden but I'm kind of jealous of your rain, I was supposed to be in Ireland around this time but my trip got pushed.
Christina: Oh, what brings you to Ireland?
Curlew: I've always had a fascination with the literary side of things there. It's where some of my first favorite writers were from, so it's been on my list. I would really love to go to the Trinity Library.
Christina: You've probably done your research for the best places to go for literature in Dublin, if you're staying in Dublin.
Curlew: I definitely want to stay in Dublin and then I think about renting a car and doing some countryside driving.
Christina: Ah, so you're here for a while then?
Curlew: I think it would definitely be at least a week. My roommate is a travel itinerary queen so she's been working hard on that for us.
Christina: Nice, nice. I usually take the same role so I was going to suggest anyone with more than two or three days in Ireland should get out of Dublin.
Curlew: Definitely on my to-do list. I'll text you for recommendations when I finally do it.
Christina: Oh do, absolutely. It's probably a good thing that you weren't here at this time because honestly I don't think you'd enjoy driving for hours in the rain, but it'd be very authentic I'd say.
Curlew: Yeah, right, that's the experience.
Christina: Yeah, you go with your raincoat and five layers, that's the experience.
Curlew: I can come home and say I really did Ireland then.
Christina: True. I've never been to America.
Curlew: Oh really?
Christina: Yeah, I have family in parts of Connecticut, so I need to take a trip over there.
Curlew: Oh, I'm from Connecticut, that's where I grew up.
Christina: Oh, no way. What part of Connecticut?
Curlew: Stamford, like 45-50 minutes from the city.
Christina: My cousin is renting near Hartford, between Hartford and Springfield so I'll have to go there at some stage.
Curlew: Yeah definitely, we can swap.
Christina: That's a good idea.
Curlew: All right. Should we dive into your work?
Christina: Sure.
Curlew: I really enjoyed them and I keep talking about them so Isaac thought I should probably just do this interview. I don't have an absurd number of questions. I have a couple of personal questions, just about inspiration and context.
So my first, okay, well you might just have to humor me for a second - I am not tech savvy, so I was wondering if you could somewhat, like in layman's terms, explain the process for these images, like how you start-to- finish create them
Christina: Inspiration or more of the technical aspect?
Curlew: If you want to go over technical first then I definitely have some more artistic inspiration questions. But I think technically I'm fascinated, so if you want to share that, that'd be awesome.
Christina: Okay, so I'd usually, I mean, we'll go to the inspiration later but it's kind of part of the process, but it's more just observing, kind of those liminal spaces, you know, at the bus stop, someone waiting in a waiting room, you know, in queue somewhere, and you know, their expression is no longer kind of engaged with the world, they're either absorbed in their phone, or in their own world.
And those moments are fascinating, considering just being the city, you're always kind of alert and things like that, so seeing those moments is quite fascinating and from there really either they're photographs I've taken or photographs that I've looked for on the internet that kind of are parallel to the postures and facial expressions and the poses and of what I've kind of seen around me in those moments of those moments of pausing and from there, I just kind of sketch it out, upload it onto illustrator and then use a pen, really, to create the line work and fill in the color.
Curlew: Wow. Okay. Awesome. So there's a couple for me, the two kind of "neck heavy" shots of those necks straining up reminded me so much of the Man Ray photographs of Lee Miller. Have you seen that?
Christina: Yes, the long neck shots, where they're reaching out. It's very lovely to be compared or even reminiscent of any Lee Miller, so thank you.
Curlew: I think it reminds me of a similar like, kind of what you were saying, this uncanny moment where people become a little bit disembodied. I thought, like the way that you played with light and kind of like focused on, hmm - the way you block out eyes was interesting to me because it makes the viewer kind of forced to focus on something else in the image, and I think what I really liked was the way it kind of sharpens these pieces and and disembodies the person as a whole, it breaks them down to these parts a little bit and I think hearing you say that it kind of came out of these moments where people themselves are feeling a little disembodied, that's really interesting.
Christina: All right, interesting comparison there. It kind of came back to some old work - I've been doing art since I was four, on a pretty regular basis but I think every artist goes through different phases while they try different styles and while I've never really attempted printing, I did take a lot of influence from the visuals element of that in process or a moment years ago, where I did kind of imitate the visuals of print and it kind of came around full circle, so there was a few kind of sources to this, and one of those series came back around, it was more of the moonlight revealing the posture, the true self, you know, it's where they are expressing themselves when they think no one is looking.
Curlew: Right.
Christina: And that was now kind of explored in Dublin cuz you don't really get the same intensity of moonlight, like I'm from the countryside so you really would get that moonlight in the window. But here you get street lights, hence the choice of color.
Curlew: Right.
Christina: And so being very alert and active all day and projecting in a way and assimilating into different environments constantly, versus when the person is alone in their own space, that's when their true emotions come out, positive or negative, there's this kind of this sigh of relief, that breath and - are you familiar with the works of Steve McCurry?
Curlew: Oh, I'm not. Let me Google now, hold on, let's see. Oh yes, visually I am. I wouldn't have known him by name, but yes.
Christina: Yeah, it's probably one of the more profound photographers with the gaze, really intensifies it and I saw these prints as massive, massive prints, god probably back in 2010 here in a photography exhibition in Dublin, and just the idea that you get such so much communication, just from the eyes, if you revert from that and kind of close off the eyes, you're suddenly experiencing as a viewer, this intense moment, but you can never fully understand it because you're closed off from that.
Curlew: Yeah, I know one of the pieces is called or labeled as "fragment", but I think I kept thinking of all of them as these kind of like wonderfully - I think the way that you use the color, they kind of range from really sharp to soft.
The one entitled “fragment” I loved. The way that slice - it either reminded me of like a knife or a lightning strike or like a mirror sliver and I think it's fascinating because we know it's the part of light catching a face but to kind of find a face in that sliver is a really interesting task and I think the shadow work from there on, like even the way parts of the body or the face aren't connecting, it really makes you wonder what's being reflected onto them, so your point about like Moonlight versus Street Lamp is so interesting.
The color totally makes sense to me now, and I think that that's like such an interesting move from that kind of a rural space to a city. Do you think your work kind of changed and transformed when you moved, or was it just like taking inspiration from different things that were around you?
Christina: I would definitely say it's probably the latter, I would take inspiration from the environment I'm in, so in the countryside a lot of landscapes, print in the grass, use the Earth, the rain and the soil, really, and the wind to influence the direction of the spray paint for landscapes. But then, in the city and a smaller space without storage for art or the studio space, you're suddenly filled with ideas and influence, and you think, oh, I've got all these ideas, I want to write them down so I can maybe do them later but that's why digital kind of came about here because it was a way to get those ideas out of my head and express what I was seeing.
Curlew: Right, awesome. I also was wondering about, so specifically, the titles of some of these pieces - do you end up naming all of your pieces or do they just kind of, like come if they come? Because I know as a writer if a title doesn't come to me, I really cannot force it.
Christina: Absolutely. So, a lot of the times as I'm doing the piece a title will come, but I love reading, so you'll notice a lot of the titles are quotes from songs, from literature, things like that.
Curlew: Yeah, I love that. I noted the Miyazaki quote.
Christina: Yeah, absolutely. A big inspiration also, not seeing the eyes, you know that there is a portrait by [Rene] Magritte where there's someone staring into a mirror standing in a living room in front of a mantelpiece over a fireplace looking at a large mirror and what's reflected is their back so they don't see their reflection and that was an inspiration for that piece with the quote by Miyazaki, just seeing the back of head, really.
Curlew: Yeah, I think that's really interesting. I was thinking like, because I had those Man Ray neck images in my head I was really associating your work with The Uncanny and surrealism, and I think - have you ever flipped through any of Gregory Crewdson's photographs?
Christina: Name rings a bell, but I'm just looking it up now.
Curlew: If you haven't, you totally should. He does, like, they're very different visually than what your works are, but the idea of capturing someone when they think, you know, they're not meant to be seen or no one else is watching.
Christina: Oh, like Edward Hopper in a way.
Curlew: Yeah, to me Gregory Crewdson is like the photographer version of David Lynch, he's great at capturing that like, disembodied spookiness almost, that comes with seeing something we shouldn't be seeing or having someone be unaware that they're being, you know, surveilled or watched.
Christina: Yeah, it's fascinating because in photography, you've got those old videos, some of the very first videos, people are kind of ignoring the camera so to try and capture anything of that authenticity is quite hard, whether it's posed or even to imitate authenticity is quite, it's quite the challenge.
Curlew: Yeah, this is kind of a side track but I just finished reading a book, fiction, about this photographer and his daughter who's his subject and there's this ongoing kind of debate of his best photos of her because no one can tell whether she consented to being photographed because they're so, kind of, voyeuristic and there's this kind of moral debate.
But it made me think about how hard it is to pose people like they're not supposed to know they're being photographed. Or even drawn, you know, I see people sketching other people on the subway all the time and I always think oh, the minute the person realizes they're being drawn, something in them is going to shift.
So I think that pureness before the realization is awesome. It's just so untainted and then the minute we realize we're being viewed or taken in our entire manner changes.
Christina: That reminds me of something - do you know the photographer Gordon Parks? I love his documentary work, his documentary photographs and, you know, there's a huge amount of I dunno, I feel empathy and identity.
There's one series he did about a group in the inner city and there's a photograph where somebody is hiding in the shadows and looking out onto the streets and the idea that, you know, the light plays such a like nuance, it's unsubtle, the light is no safer than the darkness, so they're exposed, similarly here, the person is exposed in the light but in the night, they're, you know, they can express themselves and be themselves, but the same time they're disappearing into that.
Curlew: Right. Yeah, I think anything that kind of like takes the body and disconnects it [Dog Barking] Oh my God. I'm so sorry. That's my dog.
Christina: What kind?
Curlew: She's like a golden retriever-dachshund mix, she's so short but then she's like this thick sausage body.
Christina: Oh yes.
Curlew: I have a friend here from Dublin and I looked in his fridge the other day and he was clearly planning on making like a full Irish breakfast, really going all out, so he had all these sausages in his fridge and I was like, every single one of these meats looks like my dog's body.
Christina: Did you end up eating the breakfast?
Curlew: I didn't, it wasn't for me. But I have enjoyed one in the past and they're delightful.
Christina: When you're over here I'll give plenty of tips, you probably got a lot from your housemate, but we love our bread here, our sourdough and our cheese is top notch.
Curlew: Yes don't be surprised if I berate you for tips and ideas. I definitely will.
Christina: No problem.
Curlew: Okay, awesome. All right, back to this. So my questions are much more conversational than direct, but this is exactly what I wanted. I just wanted to hear your ideas behind what you were making and it's interesting to listen to you tell me something that I had my, you know, own hypothesis on and kind of like almost perceived Inspirations, like I know what your work reminded me of, but it's interesting to hear who you consider an inspiration.So you've obviously mentioned a few along the way, but do you have like, I don't know, like three to five real favorite visual artists or writers, anything that has kind of like continuously inspired you?
Christina: Oh, that is really hard.
Curlew: I know. Okay, specifically maybe for this series - what you were working with?
Christina: Well, I think there's so much different, as you say while you're writing you come up with titles or things like that, and there's so many moments in the process and things that you have forgotten about or didn't even know you're thinking about suddenly come to you, so if you don't mind, I'll probably add a musician into the mix as well because it's definitely something I listened to a lot while these ideas come, so I would say, Magritte, an artist, Ludovico Einaudi, a musician, and then, hmm such a hard question. Let me think out loud. Can I come back to it?
Curlew: Yeah, get back to me. I'll be sensitive because I've been asked questions like this and I'm like a movie and book person, so people are like favorite movies, favorite authors and I could give you five from each genre and sub-genre, like it's the worst question I know.
Christina: Exactly. Oh, oh here's one - Richard Linklater, Before Sunrise
Curlew: Oh, gorgeous.
Christina: Its expression, its nonverbal communication. So many forms of language there, it's beautiful. So Richard Linklater, Ludovico Einaudi, Magritte - tough, tough, tough, let's go for an author here. Oh - I'll definitely go with Toulouse-Lautrec in terms of an artist, the intensity of the lines there, the color, there's something dancing, so expressive, but oh a writer, hmm, what am I reading at the moment?
Curlew: Oh, good question.
Christina: Let's see, I'm reading like four books.
Curlew: I'm always reading four things at a time.
Christina: Anyway, I'll text you my final five.*
Curlew: You can absolutely text them to me, that sounds good. Okay, I think I only had one other question. So I think this is kind of going back to the like purposeful covering of the eyes.
I really liked the way you had different methods of making sure they were covered in terms of like eyes closed, face arched up, the hands covering, that one struck me because it was the only one to me that seemed to maybe involve a second subject and now that I'm looking at it again, it could be like that the same hands that belong to the body, but I think that one is so surreal and eerie because the way the hands are posed, it reads like they're coming up from behind this person.
So that one specifically stood out to me and I was just curious to see whether you had an intent in your mind, you know, like what that image is saying or where that kind of idea came from.
Christina: So, it's very funny you picked that up, because that has been the most controversial one and has really started some very heated debates about how I represented the meaning behind it.
So the meaning behind it is in that "blind pursuit", while it is open for interpretation in the positioning of the hands and the similar color application it could be there physically, so the idea is that you're holding yourself back in a way, like this could be anything that's holding you back and you might look to something around you to hold you back or it could be yourself or it could be someone else. Like it's your perception of what's holding you back and it's that blind pursuit, so that you can move forward.
So that was it, that was a really tricky one and when I did it, when I go through a series of work or style over the years, I do create borders and I create rules, and I step over the line sometimes, but I'd stay within them to create a visual language and so my work can look quite different from one series to another, but with this one, I stuck with the rules of keeping the same pallets and line work, so the idea that was metaphorical later becomes a topical point, I guess, because it's, they're not real in a way but at the same time they're physically there.
Curlew: Right, yeah, that's interesting. Hearing you say that as I look at it, I almost think what I said first is maybe the point, like where your mind goes in terms of feeling, maybe like attacked by yourself, you would go like, you know, those are my hands, they belong to me, and if you're feeling victimized or attacked by an outside force, it would be really easy to see them coming from behind, so I think that interpretation based on where you're coming from mentally is really interesting. I can see why there's a lot of discussion around that piece.
Christina: Yeah, whether to change the color, make them semi-translucent, or to position them so there's less ambiguity. That was an interesting one because with the blind pursuit the idea is that there's this surge of energy that you have, pulling yourself forward and responding to it, but at the same time you don't get there, or if there's something that doesn't allow you quite reach that moment.
Curlew: Yeah, I love that imagery. It's also nice because there's nothing excessively, you know, threatening or violent about it, they're not pulling in any way, they're just kind of placed there. I think that softness where there's potential of possible danger is like an interesting thing to convey in a still image. Like, if this was going to be a moving image, there's only two ways that it could go, you know, it's either gentle or it's not.
Christina: In this case it was almost that blind pursuit, you're too close to see in a way.
Curlew: Yeah. Okay, I have one more technical question, just because I'm curious, well, not technical, maybe it's a little inspiration too, it's a little bit of both. So I was looking at these, I think especially "Inhale", "Fragmented", "Some people, feel, the rain others just get wet" and "Blind Pursuit'' read to me like sculpture busts, like the bust of a head and I don't know whether it's because it's cut off more at that shoulder point, but the way it accentuates kind of the strength and form and muscle in the neck seems very like Grecian, almost and reminded me of a statue bust that's a three-dimensional, tangible thing because of the way these muscles were conveyed.
Christina: Yeah, I think the neck and the back are particularly fascinating because while there's so much expression in the eyes, the nuances in the muscles and the skin, whether they're responding to the environment or touch or internal motion give so much away and so I've always been fascinated by drawing the neck in different forms and this is one way kind of just to accentuate or an extension of how the person is feeling.
Curlew: Absolutely, I think you don't see it in you on yourself that often, but when you think about what that area of the body can convey, it's fascinating, because of the veins and nerves, and if you're tense, you can see it there if you're relaxed, you can see it there, so I think the pull to play with that part of the body is very understandable and appealing.
Christina: And when you’re exposed, you know, you protect your vital organs, but when people are nervous, for instance, one of the first things they do is put their hands under their chin in a form of protecting the neck in a way. You'll see the motion again and again.
Curlew: Yeah, yeah. I think the vulnerability of the neck too, of that part of the body, looking at an image like, "Inhale" or "Some people feel, the rain others just get wet" the strength of the neck and then that idea, the way it kind of looks like, you know, these hard sculptures to me, that juxtaposed with the knowledge that it's pretty much the most vulnerable part of our bodies and that it's so accessible and it's this danger zone and I feel like my hands like going to my neck even as I'm talking about it because it's just such a vulnerable part of the body and I think the urge to kind of convey that in a really non vulnerable way is interesting.
Like I think, the way that even you have your neck arching up, that's making it look so structured and strong, but even that is kind of exposing the body to danger or attack, like, it's very vulnerable.
Christina: I like the analogy you have there, the pendulum between the vulnerability and the strength. That's kind of one of the reasons I chose, I mean, of course, with the natural inspiration of the streetlights, and then the darkness, the strong line versus the emotion there, the feeling, that is also a kind of a contrast there are similar to vulnerability and strength.
Curlew: Yeah, I think in something like "Saturation" and "Fragmented", looking at those, the delicacy, almost, of these faces versus the harshness of the light, I think it also, like you said, plays into that vulnerable but almost like impenetrable being, you know, there's a certain strength I think to the faces in these photos or the bodily poses but I think there's also a very big, like looking at "Saturation", specifically, there's such a big human vulnerability, like blocking that light or being affected by something in front of you. I think there's definitely a nice balance between soft and harsh.
Christina: Yeah, yeah. And the part of the inspiration is kind of seeing people, not put up a front, but more to be present the whole time and then to step back and feel when they're on their own or, you know, absorb or reflect, and those are kind of a lot of these moments that are being captured, you know, the strength of the day versus the honesty or the vulnerability, the truthfulness of the night, you know, the truth is not always comfortable and some of these faces don't look particularly comfortable, you know, there's an exhaustion coming from it.
Curlew: Definitely. Yeah. I like that. Well, I love them all and I want them all on my wall. I think that wrapped up my written questions, but I'm glad we got into some tangents, I think they were good tangents.
Christina: Yeah, absolutely. I love discussing art and I love questioning work. I love hearing different interpretations of work.
Curlew: Yeah, I think it's always interesting to see, you know, as an artist we lose control of work the minute it's kind of out in the public realm and it's not up to us how people interpret it. I'm a very solitary writer, but I recently joined a writing group and it's been a huge help.
Even hearing, you know, how they will read something of mine. I'll be like, oh, that's so interesting, I would have never thought that. Like the fact that someone has the ability to get something completely different from your work is always fascinating, I think, the possibilities of what people can interpret are kind of endless, especially with images like this. It's so personal how we see them.
Christina: Yeah and the more abstract it is, I mean, there's the fringes or the peripheral, the recognizable versus unrecognizable. You know, obtaining any interest or intrigue and if you can kind of get something that is on the threshold of each side, just on the threshold, that's where you kind of have that sweet spot.
Curlew: Definitely.
Christina: For the fun of it, can I ask the same question back to you - five favorites? Artistic inspiration?
Curlew: Okay. All right, I'm gonna try to do what you did, kind of cover some different mediums. So okay, so writing I think maybe is almost the easiest. I am completely infatuated and inspired still by Shirley Jackson, Daphne du Maurier, Joyce Carol Oates, kind of like Gothic female writers.
I love Shirley Jackson, specifically, she spent a lot of time in Vermont, which is where I went to college and she just has this amazing ability to capture like Suburban Gothic, and obviously David Lynch is a huge inspiration in terms of that too. I think anyone that kind of delves under the picture perfect surface of these kind of, you know, suburban areas, there's always so much seedy shit going on. That really interests me and family relations, and you know, I love, so, okay, for filmmaking, I love horror - Chan-wook Park is a Korean director, Oldboy is probably his most famous, but he's done a few American films recently too.
He just has a great filmography in terms of bizarre, uncanny kind of human emotion. It's just very scary, but moving and I think that's the goal. I never want to write something that's only terrifying. I love the idea of things being, like, gorgeous and moving and funny, and then also scary and alarming because that's just how life is.
Christina: Yeah, I was going to say the same thing, I feel like there's two sides to me, like one side is landscape pieces with Einaudi, Toulouse and Linklater and then the other side you've got Anton Chekhov, Lynch, you know, the things that make you grow and uncomfortable.
Curlew: Yeah, and it's funny that you said Linklater, he's been a constant inspiration for my writing, I think the way he writes dialogue and something like the Before Trilogy, is so moving to me because these people are hard to watch, sometimes he's really just showing you like a very pure human interaction and I think his ability to kind of move through the ups and downs of love and life is really interesting to me.
I kind of agree with you. Half of me is like this, like I get a lot of my inspiration from nature and I'm a romantic and I like love the idea of being deeply in love and then the other part of me is just like, completely, like dark, disassociation, David Lynch.
Christina: You're speaking in a way here, it's hilarious to hear someone else voice it, that's so funny. Linklater, one of my favorite quotes from him is so satirical and sadistic, it's like "memory is a wonderful thing if you don't have to deal with the past"
Curlew: Oh one hundred percent. Yeah, okay so that's writers. Music, I'm a sucker for anything from the 70s, my friends make fun of me because my playlist, like it's John Denver, James Taylor. Mostly it's that and movie soundtracks, like Trent Reznor, especially for my writing playlists, lots of instrumental stuff.
Christina: I'm going to see Paramore tomorrow.
Curlew: Oh my god, amazing. Are they playing in Dublin?
Christina: They are but, long story short, the ticket site kept crashing, so I made a spontaneous decision to book a trip to Glasgow to see them, then a week ago I was given a ticket for Dublin. I'm not a crazy fan but it fell into my lap and I was like I'll take the opportunity, this is unique and bizarre.
Curlew: So like two weekends in a row?
Christina: Thursday then Sunday.
Curlew: Okay. So it's just a week of Paramore. They're going to see you and be like this girl is following us.
Christina: Apparently fans do that.
Curlew: Yeah, absolutely. Well, that's a good week you have lined up.
Christina: Yeah, thank you so much for the call.
Curlew: It was really great to talk to you.
Christina: Yeah, yeah you too and definitely keep in touch when you're planning to come to Ireland because there's really so much to see here.
Curlew: Yeah. Absolutely, I will and I'll send over my website and then I'll find you on Instagram too.
Christina: Oh yes please do, I'm looking forward to that.
Curlew: Alright awesome. It was very nice to meet you virtually.
Christina: Nice to meet you too, and have a great evening - oh it's morning there.
Curlew: It is! Day is starting, but you have a great evening and, really, enjoy the concerts this week.
Christina: Thank you so much.
Curlew: All right. I'll talk to you soon. Have a good one.
Christina: All right, you too. Bye-bye.
*Final Five Inspirations:
Richard Linklater
Ludovico Einaudi
Rene Margritte
Anton Chekov
Hayao Miyazaki
May 27, 2023 - “Space we Learned Again, is a Luxury”
There is a tiny corner in the Financial District, Nassau and Beekman, where this morning, a few minutes after nine, a man on a red and black Ducati motorcycle revved the bike’s engine once, twice, then a third time before peeling of, kind of. The streets are narrow and pedestrians were everywhere - going to and from this place and that.
Though the Ducati aficionado was wearing a racing helmet suitable for a professional race, he was also dressed in a button-up shirt, slacks, and almost dress shoes. Only a few seconds after the third rev of his engine, another man, dressed similarly minus the racing helmet, on foot, stepped off of the sidewalk and onto Nassau street.
Their paths nearly crossed and a collision was avoided, but only barely. After the shock and fear faded from their faces, they both kept walking, exchanging menacing looks at each other as they kept on. Who was at fault? The pedestrian, for haplessly stepping onto the street and off of the sidewalk and looking only barely; or Mr. Ducati, for daring to experience a bit of the thrill of the bike’s engine on a street so narrow and densely populated?
As a witness and a similarly-suited pedestrian, I assign my blame to the man on the motorcycle. He was smug, nonplussed, and upset that some lowly pedestrian would dare to step onto the street — in Manhattan, of all places, and in those tight Financial District corners, where often, there’s just not enough room on the sidewalk.
Space we learned again, is a luxury. Step onto the wrong street at the wrong time or desire to show off the power and speed of your riding machine at just the wrong moment, and you just might flirt with tragedy.
May 26, 2023 - “I have to leave the table, have to sit and stare blankly” by Elizabeth Lerman
I have to leave the table, have to sit and stare blankly in the small bathroom because they are so honest it makes it hard to breathe and I don’t know if it’s the beer or the boundaries but something is different here and I know I’m not easily shocked, so maybe it’s not shock so much as it is relief, a deep breath that breaks me in two and I don’t really want to think about what I’m trying not to think about but the way they think about it makes me want to sob and say so what because that’s what they are doing, as they lock hands and smoke like it’s second nature, and that’s what I want, later I mean, when it matters, which seems so far from now but also so close because the way they are talking about it tells me it all happens very fast, and she is on her knees now, in the garden, shameless and screaming while they laugh and love her for it, and I want to pounce then, want to pry the sureness out of the scene and swallow it up for myself.
May 25, 2023 - “Thinner in Time” by Rahil Najafabadi
THINNER IN TIME
Nothing is lost between the pages, we’re running.
Variations of the same confusions take us back,
and I know I can be bored, lifeless, a count of many.
Nothing is lost––the hair kept in a drain will grow
even longer, like the brighter wall that covered
the discoloration of grief. Nothing is ever lost,
except the passing of light, the dark wall is back.
I will switch off, like the room stuck in shadow.
The end sounds more forgiving because we begin
seeing the absence thinner in time.