Arthaus: You're not alone

 Arthaus day three:

If you sit in the Buddha position, all the Buddhas sit with you.

I've been doing ashtanga yoga recently in a self-led practica with teachers that guide me along. Their philosophy is to get us to eventually lead ourselves in yoga, instead of being constantly led by teachers in classes. Yoga's always been a soft practice for me - one that opens up my heart, and one that gets me to face the world with more openness. It's a great meditative state to be in, but as one of the teachers told me - I need to be careful with that state out in the city. In the city, we have to be (or look) decisive, be staccato with our movements. To wander around means to look like a tourist, and that attracts muggers. Leading my own yoga, though. That's an intentful way of leading myself into a soft state. The state of openness still exists, and yet, it is comforted by the constant alertness of the part of the mind that looks out. It feels more like creation, rather than potential. There is structure to all that life.

It is also very energizing to be around people who push themselves to do their own yoga.

Sit. Put a hand on the paper. Breathe. Now paint with one color. Make it a conversation.

I picked orange, teal and gold. Orange is the furthest in my comfort zone. It's bright, it's messy, and it's my brother's color. I never attempted to understand it, nor him. When I started painting with orange, I immediately thought of a butterfly, but being unable to paint, I let that notion go and went with what came up. Which was a flock of birds in the form of pointillism. Funny how flight shows up again, furthest from my comfort zone. Teal was lukewarm, I kind of got into what it was telling me. Foorsteps on a beach from the ocean. Gold was perfect. I even got my hands involved and painted from feeling. It was a butterfly. Of course.

How do we stay true to ourselves, and stay in relation to the others around us?

Breath. And sound. As self-centered as it sounds, listening to my own sounds grounds me enough in my existence, but since it resonates in others, I am able to still listen to them. I attempted to excavate a breath out of the colors, and amplified it into sounds. This, when we journeyed through purple, blue, green, yellow, orange and red. Individually, then as a group. I've noticed that I'm using my mask more, to my delight.

Someone may have 3 acting degrees, but get cast as a villain because he's 5 foot 7.

Our pieces: Abstract expressionism

The first group went, and we saw through repetition lines, contours, pink and air. They moved canonically, which brought time. Such that when I looked at the painting, I saw them in the exact same order they acted it out.

The second group (we) went, and we explored the emotions of the piece. We were red and yellow which met in the middle with some violence. And as everyone explored the aftermath, I became the soundless black void in the back. I play red and black with a vengeance.

There are 3 movements. Natural, amplified and essentialized.

I turn to the left, there is a wondrous building. I sit. I stand, spiral up the hill and climb a well. I come down, see a hedge of roses with one live red rose at the top. The roses are in a progression of death as they come to the very bottom, and on the floor lies petals with lost colors. I spin and ask for directions. I go right. I find train tracks. Then I find Singaporeans. I eat, and uncover myself. Now, I amplify it, then essentialize it into one movement.

Now I need 6 people, do what you remember of his journey. Take what you need, and see if it inspires you to go elsewhere.

6 people in the space. Spinning with abandon. Drawing horizontal lines with their bodies. Dying, rebirthing, climbing. Drawing spirals on the floor. Tearing at their masks. Itching at their souls. How beautiful. I have never felt more seen in my life, watching these wonderful people take markers from my journey and replay it to me with their interpretations. And all at once too! Two people fall to the ground as another climbed. One is tearing at her face as Ilaria spins wildly. Intza balances and Konstantsa is on a heap on the floor. She's found her natural ending in the fetal position. And we know. And with their careful interpretations of my movements, I felt related to. I felt... un-alone. They were moving with me. Suddenly, I understood that we were on the same journey. Every movement, every emotion, I do it with someone.

And then Yannis went. An entirely different piece. Breathe, slow down. Look, and go. Open your eyes and your face. And he slowed down, hugged the window, looked at us with his grinning, sheepish face, a skip and a hop, and he played hopscotch. And then again, with 25 more years. Then the piece ended with him back at the window. Was it lost childhood? Was it a want for more time?

My heart is full. And I am ravenous.

Below us is Berlin. But also, not Berlin.

Published on

7/17/19 10:47 PM