keep thinking of the cranes for peace project that edison parent, margie, brought to our children's school. the powerful nature of it. she had somehow found a list of names of iraqi civilians who had perished in the iraq war that continues to this very day. i remember volunteers attaching a name onto each crane. what a simple way to raise awareness. to honor those whom we do not know and whose lives we cannot imagine from our life experience.
samantha power opens her book with a quote from Abraham Lincoln:
"we --even we here--hold the power, and bear the responsibility."
tonight, margie's efforts and lincoln's words fuel me.
i got to thinking, as i sent this blog out to folks for the first time tonight: "what if someone else sees this? some stranger? and they get the idea to make an art piece like this before me?" yes, that's the ego talking. and then, a wonderful idea came forth. what if another art piece of 800,000 nails were made to honor rwanda? what if 10 more were made? 50 more? one for each state. one for each continent. right on.
i say that there cannot be enough art made to teach us the lessons of global citizenship and awareness and if 10,000 people took this idea, more power to us all, for i live with the cockiness that i had at age 15, when i learned and really read about the holocaust of WWII for the first time. what a rude awakening. i was cocky because i had said to myself, "if i had been alive back then, i would have been vocal. a fighter. i would NEVER have let this happen on my watch. there's no way. how did caring people let this happen? and yet, in 1994, i did. we all did. i have to teach my children something.
i remember looking for the aisle of nails at lincoln hardware. i saw the sign that read "nails". me and my will shortz-loving brain noticed that the letters that make up "nails" also make up the word "slain."
Monday, November 19, 2007
notes to this point...
My art recipe for healing:
A large work space for 6 months, rent free
800,000 nails
a huge amount of recycled lumber scraps
In the spring of 1994, I was a 29 years of age and incredibly consumed by my personal and professional paths. Here in los angeles, while finishing up a job on one feature film and moving onto another, both with demanding time schedules, I was also writing/directing and co-producing a 35mm short film. I was deep in therapy for the first time in my life, wrestling my sexuality to the ground, sometimes on near suicidal levels, and contemplating ending a 6 year relationship with a wonderful man In order to be more loyal to my truer self.
Also, in the spring of 1994, unspeakable, swift and crude acts of violence were being carried out against a people on the other side of the planet. In Rwanda, Africa. I had no tv at the time. I did not subscribe to the newspaper. I listened addictively to npr, however, and that is how I got my information about rwanda’s state -- a true jewel of Africa descending quickly into the depths of hell on earth.
Africa has always fascinated me and I felt a unique kinship to this place because, as a senior in college, I spent a semester adapting dian fossey’s book “gorillas in the mist” into a screenplay for film. This was before Michael apted’s version was made into a film with Sigourney weaver. I marveled at the natural beauty, the country’s troubled political history, the tribal cultures, it’s gifts, it’s challenges. I dreamed of going there someday. I loved spending hours imagining the world of the virunga mountains with my researched articles, photos and words.
Yet, while I was so focused on my individual needs and goals, I heard the reports in the spring of ‘94, became immediately depressed and would pop in a cassette to hear something inspirational in my car. Not depressing. I turned my back. I wrote no letters. Held no protest at the federal building. I fell asleep in a way. I would not pay attention to the events unfolding in Rwanda in april, may and june of 1994. The rumors were too horrifying for me to imagine. Unfathomable.
Flash forward to 2004. Ten years later, I found myself living the life of a wonderfully blessed stay at home mom. I’d left the film business, found love in a wonderful woman from Massachusetts and we brought a boy and a girl into our world. In the spring of 2004, they were 2 ½ and 3 ½ years old. Child-rearing consumed me. Even with a tv in the home now, I still didn’t watch much. When it came to television news, I relied on Charlie rose to fill me in on all that is/was relevant in the world of politics, economics, history, news and, occasionally, the arts.
One night, I listened to Samantha power speak in great detail of the Rwandan genocide that had occurred 10 years earlier. Yes, for the first time, I listened intently to the details. I mourned. I felt shame. Disbelief. Frontline aired an indepth look at the attacks in that country at the same time. And now, as a parent, holding my small miracles in loving arms daily, the pain of those victims tore into me more than ever before. The details were too staggeringly shocking. 800,000 lives or more ended in 100 days? And these murders were mostly committed with machetes? Murders committed by former friends and neighbors? Impossible. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe how I stood by and paid little or no attention.
I lay in bed one night, trying to count to 800,000. I imagined painting 800,000 dots. I needed to see that number. I was desperately searching for a way to acknowledge each and every soul who perished as an act to pledge never to stand by again and let this happen, on any corner of the planet that we all share. What had happened there in those villages, townships, churches, stadiums. My god, how did this happen? I got to thinking. I owed those victims and perpetrators something, for turning my back on them as a global citizen. Those who were murdered were largely of the tutsi ethnic group. A group of people “different” from the hutu tribe in facial features. In height. In what else? I’m trying to understand.
In the spring of 2004, 10 years after the horrors of that Rwandan spring, the idea came to me: 800,000 nails banged into recycled wood scraps and assembled into some symbolic shape. For me, I need to see that number in front of me. Recognize the scale and pay homage to every single man, woman and child who perished. I know that 800,000 is just an estimate. It’s probably closer to one million, but some reports.
As I bang these nails, I hope to acknowledge my role in their deaths. I did not pay enough attention. I did not urge my gov’t officials to act swiftly enough to prevent this. I turned my back as a global spirit. I cannot ever do that again.
I should take a moment to recognize 2 of the most important people in my life, jay and chris. Two people who I have spent many years with, independently. Who have seen me suffer, truly suffer, through uncertainty, unfocused times, depression, humor, and occasional strength…all the spectrum of emotions that a human being can reveal and feel. They have both seen it all and have stuck with me throughout life to encourage me on a path to some sort of clarity. And truthful purposeness. Jay and chris…and a rich lot of wonderful friends who support me to this very day in being my truest self.
This blog will document my journey. My vision of this apologetic, meditational honoring of those who lost their lives in Rwanda, in the spring of 1994. Here’s what I want to do:
1.) from April 6, 2008 to july 4, 2008:
I will bang 800,000 nails into miscellaneous scraps of recycled lumber, paying personal homage to each and every individual who died in those 100 days of insanity.
2.) july to September, 2008:
assemble the wood pieces into a symbolic standing shape.
3.) September to December, 2008:
Publicly display the 800,000 nails so that anyone can
Come and paint the head of a nail or nails to pay their respects to this unspeakable tragedy.
4.) april, 2009
with my family, deliver it to a determined location in Rwanda
on the 15 year mark of the genocide and apologize for not
demanding that our government step in to prevent the sadness
that unfolded. To honor our relationship to the dead.
And thus, I begin the journal…
October 29th, 2007
Attended the day of the dead fall festival at our children’s school, after several days knee deep in preparing the altar display with wonderful volunteers. The school is a Spanish immersion public school that’s offered our family something quite unique in the way of education with awareness in social justice. That day, I saw art that teaches and touches the soul. Heard and sang music that, for a moment, built bridges between those of us who are different from one another. My friend Ericka saw to that musical aspect of the festival. And those of us who participated were all the richer for it. Found faith and inspiration in the dead -- how their spirits still inspire us and move us in our brief, rich lives.
Early November, 2007
Experienced many sleepless nights as I tossed and turned about this idea for a non-violence art piece for the Rwandan people who are no longer here. Cried for the country’s beauty. Felt so full of life that I couldn’t sleep because I have so much that I want to express, but feel there’s not enough time in my life to do it.
I told chris and the kids that I know what I want to do with part of my life. I want to earn a master’s degree in humanities at mt st mary’s college. I want to make an art piece as part of my dissertation and that art piece will have 3 components, as does the graduate program: a focus on the individual, the community, the global…and our interconnectedness to it all. I want a job teaching on the middle school or high school level after that. Sounds a bit selfish…I want, I want, I want. But, it’s something much more. It’s a purposeful path.
Eleanor (our youngest) asked what the art was going to be. I told her that I’m going to find a huge amount of scrap wood. I’m going to bang 800,000 nails into that wood in 100 days. I’m going to take it to a public setting so that people can add something (don’t know what yet) to the nails. And in the spring of 2009, I want to fly to Africa together to deliver it to Rwanda as an apology for not paying attention to their plight 15 years ago.
She said, “I don’t want to go to Africa. That’s too far. How long will we be there?”
Ah yes, many questions arise. Many more will come.
November 5th, 2007
taught at our co-op preschool. Inspired by the community, by young souls and a friend/fellow teacher who supports me in every way. Her name is danah. She once quoted a line from one of her favorite isreali poets:
“where the foot of righteousness is stomped, no grass can grow.”
Or something close to that. I told her the day before that I am so inspired by those words that she shared with me, and her friendship, which continues to take all sorts of wonderful, revealing turns.
November 6, 2007
Met fellow Edison parent, nery, for coffee this morning. He is someone who I hold in high regard on many levels. A kind, gentle soul. An artist. A thinker. Activist. He’s created wonderful works of art for the Edison fall festivals of recent years. We talked at length about many things with a focus on my 800,000 nails project.
He found it quite compelling and offered wonderful artistic and logistical ideas. What will the shape be, once all of these random pieces of wood hold all the nails? A shield? Too militaristic. Would it be in separate sections? Something that honors a specific African culture? And then, what, on a community level, can be added to the nails to enhance the meaning of the piece? He and his wife, Margie, brought the “crane’s project” to the school to coincide with the day of the dead altars last year and this year as well. Powerful. If you do a search on “cranes for peace”, you’ll learn more.
Nery told tales of his Guatemalan family, who eventually sought asylum in Canada. His days growing up in the Caribbean. The limited diet of his family. The times when he and his friend, at age 7, left the beach on a small boat, to fish in the ocean with rods fashioned with a stick, a string, nuts for weights, and hooks. How they had 3-piece hook contraptions so that they could feel the fish swim by and jerk their odd hook up, hoping to gouge the fish in the stomach, head or tail, thus catching fish (shrimp bait) without necessarily having to hook It in the mouth. He told me of central American persecution. Greed. Evil. Ignorance. And of the venezulan president who has a program to take poor, troubled kids off the urban streets, find out their artistic interests and foster that through gov’t sponsored programs. Creativity. Basic needs and education. What else will stop cultural hatred of one another?
A rich hour & a Half spent with an artist. A friend. A visionary.
Later that morning, I went to the santa monica library. I checked out the following books:
Gorillas in the mist, dian fossey (must read it again)
A problem from hell, Samantha power
Rwanda means the universe, louis mushikiwabo
Left to tell, emaculee ilibagiza
I started reading left to tell. Jawdropping. Horrific. Uplifting. She is such an inspiration of hope, love and forgiveness. And It makes me feel better about the time in my life that I’m moving forward with this idea that originally occurred back in the spring of 2004 (10-yr mark of the genocide). If I had pursued it at any time before now, I think I would have sunk into a deep state of sadness and suffering. But, from where I stand now as a feeling human being and from the amount of love that I hear in emaculee’s words and the words of her family members…I know that this project will be a meditation on the power of the human spirit. The reawakening of the human spirit. The pure recognition of it. The suffering has happened. We must embrace the lessons and do what we can to prevent it in any corner of this round ball we call home.
November 7, 2007
Tossing the idea around of shaving my head just before day 1 of 100. Right now I color my graying strands. Sure, some say it looks better colored. But, it’s not my most authentic self. I want to hold each nail in my hand…my most authentic hand. And bang it with focused, honoring energy…my most authentic energy. Nothing fake. Altered. My hair will grow back. I will be shocked at how much grey has progressed during my few years of home hair dye applications. But, on a purifying level, I will be more me. Chris jokingly hates the idea. Her dad’s bald. Her brothers. My friend lisa says I have every right to do that if that feels right to me. Still on the fence about it.
November 8, 2007
Emailed a few moms at Edison who have had careers of raising money in the non-profit world. Nancy and jacki . Hope they can come up with some ideas.
November 9, 2007
Saw Nery and Ericka this morning. Edison parents/friends--two wonderful beings, in my eyes. Of course, I don’t know the underbelly of their dark or cranky days, which would make them seem only more human. If I’m lucky enough to know them over a span of years, I only be all the better for it. They inspire me to the very depths. Whenever I’m around them, I feel like, as our therapist once said: “the gods reveal themselves.” Wonderful.
Nery said he’d been thinking of my idea a lot. How the community aspect will work. The symbol that we will create. I told him that the idea of a gigantic wing came to mind. I imagined one with him. All made out of pieces of nailed, scrap wood. Could be compelling.
Sat in a meeting at Edison this morning. “how to get the most out of your child’s parent/teacher conference.” Towards the end of it, my notes on the subject changed to wing sketches and crude time calculations. How many nails can I hammer a minute? An hour? A day? It has to be a 100 days. Symbolically. And it is a finite number of days. This forces me to drive myself to the space of completion. Otherwise, I might get mired down in other life duties and abandon it all together, lacking the needed momentum.
I thought of Imaculee’s experience, turned my paper over and wrote this:
“The only possible hope that we have as a species is to sit down, cross-legged. And touch hands. Let the two knees touch. Notice the folded legs in this position. Look into the eyes, acknowledge the ears, the mouth, the nose, the shape of the heart beating just below a complex surface -- the mirror image of human being-ness. And see the sameness. Focusing on our differences will continue to decay us to no end. Only the recognition of our sameness will save us.”
Got application off to mt st mary’s. transcripts on the way. Letters of recommendation from rosemary and Barbara in the works. Spoke with Barbara today and told her that I feel like all aspects of my life and interests are coming together in a rich way. I spent years making art for movies, yet something in my soul wasn’t being fed. I had some amazing and challenging years at home with our young children. I sank my teeth into the education of "parenting." And there, I learned more life lessons that I ever thought I could imagine. I’m still learning. I am inspired, depressed, overjoyed, overwhelmed, irritated, present, humbled…raising children is an experience in feelings…every single feeling on the spectrum.
Bought 3 pounds of big-headed, non-galvanized nails. I am going to go pound as many as I can into one piece of wood and start doing some math, to determine scale.
While the kids were in drama class, I pounded 150 non-galvanized nails into a piece of wood:
Nail size: 3/8” diameter head
4” in length
Wood size: 3 ½” w x 5 feet long
Time: approx. 10 minutes.
150 nails (or 3 lbs) costs $ 6.00 at Lincoln Hardware.
I could feel it in my arm, but know that I have a very strong left arm. Sometimes, I would bang the nails further into the wood with a clumsy right-handed swing.
10 November 2007
rosemary, old friend and working comrade, wrote a glowing reference for my entrance into mt st mary’s. I had to read it. Curious like a cat:
“Angi is one of the most motivated, intelligent, organized and principled assistants I ever had. She will put her utmost into any project she embarks upon. She has my highest recommendation. She has especially strong powers of concentration and passion for the arts.”
Bless her. Her words. Her recognition of all the many years we worked together on movies. She’s a one of a kind. A human being always in search of inner growth. A deeper understanding of all things. Wonderfully talented.
Chris set up this blog for me. Great job, chris! You rock, you’re brilliantly computer savvy…and other things. Thanks.
11 November 2007
my horoscope (and cooper’s) read this today:
“You hammer away at your chosen project with the persistence of a ticking clock. A small victory this afternoon gives you the fuel to keep going late into the evening.”
I’m not sure what the small victory was, but I read late into the night and finished Emaculee Ilibagiza’s book “left to tell” and came away with amazing remembrances and a further commitment to make this art. Here are some of the most poignant passages read late in the pages:
“Looking down at my beautiful country (from a helicopter ride after the horrors), it was hard to believe the ugly truth of the genocide. How many times had I wished during those dark days that I had been born a bird? How many times had I dreamt of flying away…above the relentless horror?”
“as someone pounded the nails into my mother’s coffin, I looked at the faces of my friends and relatives – shattered faces reflecting shattered lives.”
Also here, she speaks of god beautifully. I consider myself a searching, spiritual person, but not one who embraces a finite, concrete, singular god at present. However, this struck me as wonderful:
“I came to learn that god never shows us something we aren’t ready to understand. Instead, he lets us see what we need to see, when we need to see it. He’ll wait until our eyes and hearts are open to him, and then, when we’re ready, he will plant our feet on the path that’s best for us.”
Her mere survival rested on a mindset and heartset on forgiveness. Her inspiration is sublime.
12 november 2007
reading Samantha power’s book now. Heavy stuff.
14 november 2007
listened extensively to a cd that edison parent, ericka just gave me. It’s a recording of a live concert which paid tribute to Chilean folksinger Violeta Parra recorded in 1996. For many reasons, this music, from a region which I am completely ignorant of at this time, touched me deeply. There are ballads of the human heart’s frailty. Songs of honor for the masses. For those who suffer. Songs for anyone who feels deeply. There’s an indescribable connection I’m drawing to her words and music and my desire to make this art now. I’m trying to put my finger on it. Perhaps I’ll get it later. I guess I’m seeing my connectedness to all people, whether I know their world or not. I don’t really know Rwanda. Or Chile. But, I do know of the human heart and it’s capacity for love and hate and all complexities in between.
I got home, opened some mail from the organization “women to women international” and there was a profile of a woman also named violetta (but with 2 t’s). She had survived the genocidal wave in Rwanda in 1994 and this organization has partially helped to rebuild her life there.
2 violetta inspirations in one day. Before this week, I had never heard anyone called violetta, except in fictional literature.
15 november 2007
talked about my project to our couples' therapist. When I talk about it, I get more inspired. Tears flowed. I reached more clarity that this is the time in my life to do it. I realize this first phase, known as the “personal” aspect of the art, is really not solely personal. I draw on the wisdom and support and inspiration of those close to me which feeds my energy and drives home the point that, I’m not really doing this part of the art piece alone.
16 november 2007
talked to Edison parent/friend danica about Africa today. About her ties there in Ghana. Her travels. I told her about my project as well and she seemed filled with emotion and insisted that i get the wood from her home that’s about to be partially knocked down for a remodel. Hopefully, she will have her contractor set aside all good planks and timbers. I’ll get a truck and come get them. Ah, but where to store the wood?
17 november 2007
getting deeper into Samantha Power’s stunning work. Fantastic. Ever troubling.
Cooper and I drew wing sketches tonight. Eleanor drew “evil woman”.
Heard Cooper and Eleanor telling their next door neighbor friend (james, 12) that their mom’s gonna “make a giant wing of nails and used wood, not new wood, but recycled wood.”
Stayed up late reading, writing songs, singing…wishing that I could stay awake for 24 hours a day to use my time more wisely. However, I do understand the necessity for sleep. Without it, I eventually falter.
18 november 2007
listened to an old billy bragg cd from 1988 that edison friend Jennifer let me borrow last week. “tender comrade” brings tears. A true anti-war ballad that, to me, whittles the role of a soldier down to some very basic human essence. In the cd, there’s a poignant quote in the liner notes by revolutionary Antonio gramsci, from 1926:
“how many times have I wondered if it is really possible to forge links with a mass of people when one has never had strong feelings for anyone…if it is possible to have a collectivity when one has not been deeply loved oneself by individual human creatures…”
I read that and feel blessed to feel love and to be loved by so many. In that department, I’m stocked full and it fuels me daily.
19 november 2008
sat quietly while the kids slept and chris was at a work dinner. Poured over one of my most prized possessions: a photo album of poems, recollections and photos from a trip to Europe in 1995, taken with my ex-boyfriend’s mom, Eugenie, and friend, Signe. So many images from that trip inspire me to be my most present for the upcoming art project.
Noticed dumpster all over my neighborhood, filled with planks being ripped out of homes for remodel purposes. Time to go dumpster diving for good lumber.
A large work space for 6 months, rent free
800,000 nails
a huge amount of recycled lumber scraps
In the spring of 1994, I was a 29 years of age and incredibly consumed by my personal and professional paths. Here in los angeles, while finishing up a job on one feature film and moving onto another, both with demanding time schedules, I was also writing/directing and co-producing a 35mm short film. I was deep in therapy for the first time in my life, wrestling my sexuality to the ground, sometimes on near suicidal levels, and contemplating ending a 6 year relationship with a wonderful man In order to be more loyal to my truer self.
Also, in the spring of 1994, unspeakable, swift and crude acts of violence were being carried out against a people on the other side of the planet. In Rwanda, Africa. I had no tv at the time. I did not subscribe to the newspaper. I listened addictively to npr, however, and that is how I got my information about rwanda’s state -- a true jewel of Africa descending quickly into the depths of hell on earth.
Africa has always fascinated me and I felt a unique kinship to this place because, as a senior in college, I spent a semester adapting dian fossey’s book “gorillas in the mist” into a screenplay for film. This was before Michael apted’s version was made into a film with Sigourney weaver. I marveled at the natural beauty, the country’s troubled political history, the tribal cultures, it’s gifts, it’s challenges. I dreamed of going there someday. I loved spending hours imagining the world of the virunga mountains with my researched articles, photos and words.
Yet, while I was so focused on my individual needs and goals, I heard the reports in the spring of ‘94, became immediately depressed and would pop in a cassette to hear something inspirational in my car. Not depressing. I turned my back. I wrote no letters. Held no protest at the federal building. I fell asleep in a way. I would not pay attention to the events unfolding in Rwanda in april, may and june of 1994. The rumors were too horrifying for me to imagine. Unfathomable.
Flash forward to 2004. Ten years later, I found myself living the life of a wonderfully blessed stay at home mom. I’d left the film business, found love in a wonderful woman from Massachusetts and we brought a boy and a girl into our world. In the spring of 2004, they were 2 ½ and 3 ½ years old. Child-rearing consumed me. Even with a tv in the home now, I still didn’t watch much. When it came to television news, I relied on Charlie rose to fill me in on all that is/was relevant in the world of politics, economics, history, news and, occasionally, the arts.
One night, I listened to Samantha power speak in great detail of the Rwandan genocide that had occurred 10 years earlier. Yes, for the first time, I listened intently to the details. I mourned. I felt shame. Disbelief. Frontline aired an indepth look at the attacks in that country at the same time. And now, as a parent, holding my small miracles in loving arms daily, the pain of those victims tore into me more than ever before. The details were too staggeringly shocking. 800,000 lives or more ended in 100 days? And these murders were mostly committed with machetes? Murders committed by former friends and neighbors? Impossible. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe how I stood by and paid little or no attention.
I lay in bed one night, trying to count to 800,000. I imagined painting 800,000 dots. I needed to see that number. I was desperately searching for a way to acknowledge each and every soul who perished as an act to pledge never to stand by again and let this happen, on any corner of the planet that we all share. What had happened there in those villages, townships, churches, stadiums. My god, how did this happen? I got to thinking. I owed those victims and perpetrators something, for turning my back on them as a global citizen. Those who were murdered were largely of the tutsi ethnic group. A group of people “different” from the hutu tribe in facial features. In height. In what else? I’m trying to understand.
In the spring of 2004, 10 years after the horrors of that Rwandan spring, the idea came to me: 800,000 nails banged into recycled wood scraps and assembled into some symbolic shape. For me, I need to see that number in front of me. Recognize the scale and pay homage to every single man, woman and child who perished. I know that 800,000 is just an estimate. It’s probably closer to one million, but some reports.
As I bang these nails, I hope to acknowledge my role in their deaths. I did not pay enough attention. I did not urge my gov’t officials to act swiftly enough to prevent this. I turned my back as a global spirit. I cannot ever do that again.
I should take a moment to recognize 2 of the most important people in my life, jay and chris. Two people who I have spent many years with, independently. Who have seen me suffer, truly suffer, through uncertainty, unfocused times, depression, humor, and occasional strength…all the spectrum of emotions that a human being can reveal and feel. They have both seen it all and have stuck with me throughout life to encourage me on a path to some sort of clarity. And truthful purposeness. Jay and chris…and a rich lot of wonderful friends who support me to this very day in being my truest self.
This blog will document my journey. My vision of this apologetic, meditational honoring of those who lost their lives in Rwanda, in the spring of 1994. Here’s what I want to do:
1.) from April 6, 2008 to july 4, 2008:
I will bang 800,000 nails into miscellaneous scraps of recycled lumber, paying personal homage to each and every individual who died in those 100 days of insanity.
2.) july to September, 2008:
assemble the wood pieces into a symbolic standing shape.
3.) September to December, 2008:
Publicly display the 800,000 nails so that anyone can
Come and paint the head of a nail or nails to pay their respects to this unspeakable tragedy.
4.) april, 2009
with my family, deliver it to a determined location in Rwanda
on the 15 year mark of the genocide and apologize for not
demanding that our government step in to prevent the sadness
that unfolded. To honor our relationship to the dead.
And thus, I begin the journal…
October 29th, 2007
Attended the day of the dead fall festival at our children’s school, after several days knee deep in preparing the altar display with wonderful volunteers. The school is a Spanish immersion public school that’s offered our family something quite unique in the way of education with awareness in social justice. That day, I saw art that teaches and touches the soul. Heard and sang music that, for a moment, built bridges between those of us who are different from one another. My friend Ericka saw to that musical aspect of the festival. And those of us who participated were all the richer for it. Found faith and inspiration in the dead -- how their spirits still inspire us and move us in our brief, rich lives.
Early November, 2007
Experienced many sleepless nights as I tossed and turned about this idea for a non-violence art piece for the Rwandan people who are no longer here. Cried for the country’s beauty. Felt so full of life that I couldn’t sleep because I have so much that I want to express, but feel there’s not enough time in my life to do it.
I told chris and the kids that I know what I want to do with part of my life. I want to earn a master’s degree in humanities at mt st mary’s college. I want to make an art piece as part of my dissertation and that art piece will have 3 components, as does the graduate program: a focus on the individual, the community, the global…and our interconnectedness to it all. I want a job teaching on the middle school or high school level after that. Sounds a bit selfish…I want, I want, I want. But, it’s something much more. It’s a purposeful path.
Eleanor (our youngest) asked what the art was going to be. I told her that I’m going to find a huge amount of scrap wood. I’m going to bang 800,000 nails into that wood in 100 days. I’m going to take it to a public setting so that people can add something (don’t know what yet) to the nails. And in the spring of 2009, I want to fly to Africa together to deliver it to Rwanda as an apology for not paying attention to their plight 15 years ago.
She said, “I don’t want to go to Africa. That’s too far. How long will we be there?”
Ah yes, many questions arise. Many more will come.
November 5th, 2007
taught at our co-op preschool. Inspired by the community, by young souls and a friend/fellow teacher who supports me in every way. Her name is danah. She once quoted a line from one of her favorite isreali poets:
“where the foot of righteousness is stomped, no grass can grow.”
Or something close to that. I told her the day before that I am so inspired by those words that she shared with me, and her friendship, which continues to take all sorts of wonderful, revealing turns.
November 6, 2007
Met fellow Edison parent, nery, for coffee this morning. He is someone who I hold in high regard on many levels. A kind, gentle soul. An artist. A thinker. Activist. He’s created wonderful works of art for the Edison fall festivals of recent years. We talked at length about many things with a focus on my 800,000 nails project.
He found it quite compelling and offered wonderful artistic and logistical ideas. What will the shape be, once all of these random pieces of wood hold all the nails? A shield? Too militaristic. Would it be in separate sections? Something that honors a specific African culture? And then, what, on a community level, can be added to the nails to enhance the meaning of the piece? He and his wife, Margie, brought the “crane’s project” to the school to coincide with the day of the dead altars last year and this year as well. Powerful. If you do a search on “cranes for peace”, you’ll learn more.
Nery told tales of his Guatemalan family, who eventually sought asylum in Canada. His days growing up in the Caribbean. The limited diet of his family. The times when he and his friend, at age 7, left the beach on a small boat, to fish in the ocean with rods fashioned with a stick, a string, nuts for weights, and hooks. How they had 3-piece hook contraptions so that they could feel the fish swim by and jerk their odd hook up, hoping to gouge the fish in the stomach, head or tail, thus catching fish (shrimp bait) without necessarily having to hook It in the mouth. He told me of central American persecution. Greed. Evil. Ignorance. And of the venezulan president who has a program to take poor, troubled kids off the urban streets, find out their artistic interests and foster that through gov’t sponsored programs. Creativity. Basic needs and education. What else will stop cultural hatred of one another?
A rich hour & a Half spent with an artist. A friend. A visionary.
Later that morning, I went to the santa monica library. I checked out the following books:
Gorillas in the mist, dian fossey (must read it again)
A problem from hell, Samantha power
Rwanda means the universe, louis mushikiwabo
Left to tell, emaculee ilibagiza
I started reading left to tell. Jawdropping. Horrific. Uplifting. She is such an inspiration of hope, love and forgiveness. And It makes me feel better about the time in my life that I’m moving forward with this idea that originally occurred back in the spring of 2004 (10-yr mark of the genocide). If I had pursued it at any time before now, I think I would have sunk into a deep state of sadness and suffering. But, from where I stand now as a feeling human being and from the amount of love that I hear in emaculee’s words and the words of her family members…I know that this project will be a meditation on the power of the human spirit. The reawakening of the human spirit. The pure recognition of it. The suffering has happened. We must embrace the lessons and do what we can to prevent it in any corner of this round ball we call home.
November 7, 2007
Tossing the idea around of shaving my head just before day 1 of 100. Right now I color my graying strands. Sure, some say it looks better colored. But, it’s not my most authentic self. I want to hold each nail in my hand…my most authentic hand. And bang it with focused, honoring energy…my most authentic energy. Nothing fake. Altered. My hair will grow back. I will be shocked at how much grey has progressed during my few years of home hair dye applications. But, on a purifying level, I will be more me. Chris jokingly hates the idea. Her dad’s bald. Her brothers. My friend lisa says I have every right to do that if that feels right to me. Still on the fence about it.
November 8, 2007
Emailed a few moms at Edison who have had careers of raising money in the non-profit world. Nancy and jacki . Hope they can come up with some ideas.
November 9, 2007
Saw Nery and Ericka this morning. Edison parents/friends--two wonderful beings, in my eyes. Of course, I don’t know the underbelly of their dark or cranky days, which would make them seem only more human. If I’m lucky enough to know them over a span of years, I only be all the better for it. They inspire me to the very depths. Whenever I’m around them, I feel like, as our therapist once said: “the gods reveal themselves.” Wonderful.
Nery said he’d been thinking of my idea a lot. How the community aspect will work. The symbol that we will create. I told him that the idea of a gigantic wing came to mind. I imagined one with him. All made out of pieces of nailed, scrap wood. Could be compelling.
Sat in a meeting at Edison this morning. “how to get the most out of your child’s parent/teacher conference.” Towards the end of it, my notes on the subject changed to wing sketches and crude time calculations. How many nails can I hammer a minute? An hour? A day? It has to be a 100 days. Symbolically. And it is a finite number of days. This forces me to drive myself to the space of completion. Otherwise, I might get mired down in other life duties and abandon it all together, lacking the needed momentum.
I thought of Imaculee’s experience, turned my paper over and wrote this:
“The only possible hope that we have as a species is to sit down, cross-legged. And touch hands. Let the two knees touch. Notice the folded legs in this position. Look into the eyes, acknowledge the ears, the mouth, the nose, the shape of the heart beating just below a complex surface -- the mirror image of human being-ness. And see the sameness. Focusing on our differences will continue to decay us to no end. Only the recognition of our sameness will save us.”
Got application off to mt st mary’s. transcripts on the way. Letters of recommendation from rosemary and Barbara in the works. Spoke with Barbara today and told her that I feel like all aspects of my life and interests are coming together in a rich way. I spent years making art for movies, yet something in my soul wasn’t being fed. I had some amazing and challenging years at home with our young children. I sank my teeth into the education of "parenting." And there, I learned more life lessons that I ever thought I could imagine. I’m still learning. I am inspired, depressed, overjoyed, overwhelmed, irritated, present, humbled…raising children is an experience in feelings…every single feeling on the spectrum.
Bought 3 pounds of big-headed, non-galvanized nails. I am going to go pound as many as I can into one piece of wood and start doing some math, to determine scale.
While the kids were in drama class, I pounded 150 non-galvanized nails into a piece of wood:
Nail size: 3/8” diameter head
4” in length
Wood size: 3 ½” w x 5 feet long
Time: approx. 10 minutes.
150 nails (or 3 lbs) costs $ 6.00 at Lincoln Hardware.
I could feel it in my arm, but know that I have a very strong left arm. Sometimes, I would bang the nails further into the wood with a clumsy right-handed swing.
10 November 2007
rosemary, old friend and working comrade, wrote a glowing reference for my entrance into mt st mary’s. I had to read it. Curious like a cat:
“Angi is one of the most motivated, intelligent, organized and principled assistants I ever had. She will put her utmost into any project she embarks upon. She has my highest recommendation. She has especially strong powers of concentration and passion for the arts.”
Bless her. Her words. Her recognition of all the many years we worked together on movies. She’s a one of a kind. A human being always in search of inner growth. A deeper understanding of all things. Wonderfully talented.
Chris set up this blog for me. Great job, chris! You rock, you’re brilliantly computer savvy…and other things. Thanks.
11 November 2007
my horoscope (and cooper’s) read this today:
“You hammer away at your chosen project with the persistence of a ticking clock. A small victory this afternoon gives you the fuel to keep going late into the evening.”
I’m not sure what the small victory was, but I read late into the night and finished Emaculee Ilibagiza’s book “left to tell” and came away with amazing remembrances and a further commitment to make this art. Here are some of the most poignant passages read late in the pages:
“Looking down at my beautiful country (from a helicopter ride after the horrors), it was hard to believe the ugly truth of the genocide. How many times had I wished during those dark days that I had been born a bird? How many times had I dreamt of flying away…above the relentless horror?”
“as someone pounded the nails into my mother’s coffin, I looked at the faces of my friends and relatives – shattered faces reflecting shattered lives.”
Also here, she speaks of god beautifully. I consider myself a searching, spiritual person, but not one who embraces a finite, concrete, singular god at present. However, this struck me as wonderful:
“I came to learn that god never shows us something we aren’t ready to understand. Instead, he lets us see what we need to see, when we need to see it. He’ll wait until our eyes and hearts are open to him, and then, when we’re ready, he will plant our feet on the path that’s best for us.”
Her mere survival rested on a mindset and heartset on forgiveness. Her inspiration is sublime.
12 november 2007
reading Samantha power’s book now. Heavy stuff.
14 november 2007
listened extensively to a cd that edison parent, ericka just gave me. It’s a recording of a live concert which paid tribute to Chilean folksinger Violeta Parra recorded in 1996. For many reasons, this music, from a region which I am completely ignorant of at this time, touched me deeply. There are ballads of the human heart’s frailty. Songs of honor for the masses. For those who suffer. Songs for anyone who feels deeply. There’s an indescribable connection I’m drawing to her words and music and my desire to make this art now. I’m trying to put my finger on it. Perhaps I’ll get it later. I guess I’m seeing my connectedness to all people, whether I know their world or not. I don’t really know Rwanda. Or Chile. But, I do know of the human heart and it’s capacity for love and hate and all complexities in between.
I got home, opened some mail from the organization “women to women international” and there was a profile of a woman also named violetta (but with 2 t’s). She had survived the genocidal wave in Rwanda in 1994 and this organization has partially helped to rebuild her life there.
2 violetta inspirations in one day. Before this week, I had never heard anyone called violetta, except in fictional literature.
15 november 2007
talked about my project to our couples' therapist. When I talk about it, I get more inspired. Tears flowed. I reached more clarity that this is the time in my life to do it. I realize this first phase, known as the “personal” aspect of the art, is really not solely personal. I draw on the wisdom and support and inspiration of those close to me which feeds my energy and drives home the point that, I’m not really doing this part of the art piece alone.
16 november 2007
talked to Edison parent/friend danica about Africa today. About her ties there in Ghana. Her travels. I told her about my project as well and she seemed filled with emotion and insisted that i get the wood from her home that’s about to be partially knocked down for a remodel. Hopefully, she will have her contractor set aside all good planks and timbers. I’ll get a truck and come get them. Ah, but where to store the wood?
17 november 2007
getting deeper into Samantha Power’s stunning work. Fantastic. Ever troubling.
Cooper and I drew wing sketches tonight. Eleanor drew “evil woman”.
Heard Cooper and Eleanor telling their next door neighbor friend (james, 12) that their mom’s gonna “make a giant wing of nails and used wood, not new wood, but recycled wood.”
Stayed up late reading, writing songs, singing…wishing that I could stay awake for 24 hours a day to use my time more wisely. However, I do understand the necessity for sleep. Without it, I eventually falter.
18 november 2007
listened to an old billy bragg cd from 1988 that edison friend Jennifer let me borrow last week. “tender comrade” brings tears. A true anti-war ballad that, to me, whittles the role of a soldier down to some very basic human essence. In the cd, there’s a poignant quote in the liner notes by revolutionary Antonio gramsci, from 1926:
“how many times have I wondered if it is really possible to forge links with a mass of people when one has never had strong feelings for anyone…if it is possible to have a collectivity when one has not been deeply loved oneself by individual human creatures…”
I read that and feel blessed to feel love and to be loved by so many. In that department, I’m stocked full and it fuels me daily.
19 november 2008
sat quietly while the kids slept and chris was at a work dinner. Poured over one of my most prized possessions: a photo album of poems, recollections and photos from a trip to Europe in 1995, taken with my ex-boyfriend’s mom, Eugenie, and friend, Signe. So many images from that trip inspire me to be my most present for the upcoming art project.
Noticed dumpster all over my neighborhood, filled with planks being ripped out of homes for remodel purposes. Time to go dumpster diving for good lumber.
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