Wednesday, July 1, 2009

also dada writing..

baby baby baby
bloodied as many heads as they could
that beat
that block

truncheons
and jailed scores
when you were a boy

intimidation tactics have been on display
we bleed
we burn
with little result

did you have a puppy?
iranian state news could just play
people killed in various cities did not deter
no one followed the antigovernment rally on tuesday
the government will have trouble

well i'm gonna be faithful
digital split
fresh end
to the demonstrations
i'll never let you down.

Dada Writing

On tudesday, as he watched the you down here we go, here we go swelling antigovernment radio go boom boom boom, now. Iran from suburban Virginia, like a river flows. Batebi described a sense of boom boom pow mixing with happiness. " Every so big I'm steppin' on my own version of freedom that future flow. The Iranian people are doing with its meat on its stomach jiggling around as it moves them chickens jackin' my translator. " But I know that chocolate into the veins of men are going to jail and some will be shittin' on y'all you with beat rock. The Iranian government tolerated mountain high, shittin' on y'all with the 1999 and 2003 for only a few beat go boom boom bap.

-Jia Hui Huang

Dada Writing

Intimidation tactics--like a handling of white pillows
Days with little result--baby, if you wanna go
When you were a young boy--seven people killed in various cities
Will I have a puppy? There will be a rally on Tuesday
The government will have trouble bringing about a swift--They always followed you, yup.
I am neither for nor against presidential election results
Well I’m gonna shut down previous eruptions
I be rockin’ those demonstrations--y-y-yup.

The Sandwich Board Man

The Sandwich Board Man takes a habitual walk at the park near his home about half-a-mile away. With one trembling hand carrying a wooden cane and the other a sandwich wrapped in saran wrap, he sluggishly limps to the edge of the pond where he carefully places his bosom on the decaying bench. He gradually lays his cane on the side of the bench and gazes out onto the ponds full of ducks and geese. He reaches for his sandwich, lays it on his lap, and peels the saran wrap off the sandwich. One tug too hard, the sandwich begins to fall apart. His thick slice of wheat bread plummeted to the feces- infested cement floor. The ducks and geese rapidly turn their heads and dash towards the Sandwich Board Man where his ill-fated slice of bread had fallen. Terrified and alarmed, he strives to save his forsaken bread, but an unfortunate movement caused the rest of his beloved sandwich to descend to its demise. The warm-blooded creatures gathered around his emaciated legs and struggles to fight against their own kind for a taste of the human’s delectable food. Within seconds, the flock disappears--along with his sandwich. Miserable and hungry, the Sandwich Board Man warily picks up his cane, curses the birds, and embarks on a long journey home.

Great Words for Writing About Art

A list of words from our in-class brainstorm, and from words you used in writing a narration of your morning on the back of a postcard with an image by the Surrealist photographer, Manuel Alvarez Bravo.

wadded

in tune

hefty

delusional

old-fashioned

cheap

goggling

gurgling

blaring

eternal

bamboozled

fleeing

fleeting

floating

caffeinated

gourmet

forgotten

monotone

literal

semi-awake

out-of-order

cold
spinning

spoiled
entombed
hibernating

adventurous

creeping

poured
crashing
swung

lingering
typical
atypical
semi-awake


drift

collapse

ponder

embrace

reflect

snooze

shower
contact
proceed
arrive

shrug
strain
push
relate
blare
annoy
repeat
spring
drift
awaken
grumble



pieces

Cannery Row

a million

wrath

sentiment

facade

scribble

euphoria

Atlas

refraction

bone hair

window
family
music
comedor
chains
love
coffee cake
ghostly image
lens
manuscript
mirror
vision
cheap carpet
honey

I DON'T UNDERSTAND

From your writing...
Thank you for your words and hard work.
Marcus

I DON'T UNDERSTAND

I don't understand applying a geometric schema to an observed biomorphic schema.

... how a book that is about 1" by 2", with blank pages, is helpful to anyone--too small to sketch, too small to write more than a few words per page... kind of pointless, no?

I don't understand what he's reading, or what newspaper it is.

... why women in the early 1900's had to cover their bodies with clothing, while it is acceptable for women today to wear revealing clothes.

I don't understand Cezanne because I had an insane teacher who worshipped him and expected Cezanne-like quality from his students. I understand Cezanne's message with his style of painting, but I don't agree with my former teacher that Cezanne is a genius.

I don't understand why the small, moving figurine is green, but I like it.

I don't understand why people believe war/fighting is the way to resolve things.

I don't understand why there were only Caucasians in the pictures.

I don't understand Gothic trellis work. It is so intricate and precise.

Pillow is the opposite of bombs.

... why museums and art galleries are so snobby when art is supposed to be the antithesis of everything ridiculously agreeable, moral, and bourgeois.

I don't understand why there are lines through them.

What does the half circle mean? What kind of reflections are they? There are no labels on the diagram.

Where is the rest of his body? What will an arm do without a brain?

... the possible satellite in the sky sending signals to 2 places on Earth.

... how interlocking monograms work.

... how people can sit on that thing and not fall off.

... the actual purpose of the perforation on the napkin.

... why I only have half a body with no head.

... green, painted boots that could only fit a small child.


The Color of Words

Art should tell all, and yet, nothing at all. It raises an eyebrow, and intrigues the mind. It causes the viewer to step back and observe, step forward and squint, lean in for the microscopic details, and step back once more.
Art is personal. It is like traces and memories left from the creator, like explosions from one's mind and body. May the creator solely know what it is, or the purpose of its juxtaposition to that word, that next color, that next stroke. Colors on the words; words in three's; words in a box as boxes fill the page. Words are jumbled, misplaced, displaced, frenzied. But my words are my words. They speak for me without having to say much, without moving my lips or making a sound.

"Box, Bust, Car" are translated to "Blue, Yellow, Black." Each color speaks a syllable in sound.

-Melanie Lee