moving and packing and unpacking and showing

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i keep telling myself that i should be packing but i don't even know for sure what that means or how to begin doing such a thing, let alone WHERE to begin, and i've done this so many times before but this is so much different.  this move is an entirely different experience. 

i secured a little Airbnb studio this evening for our first three weeks in Brooklyn.  that's not long but it's an address.  we have a launch pad and the tickets are bought.  this is happening.  i should be packing.  but what?  what should i be packing???  there are still 3 weeks to go. 

thankfully, i managed to get some art out in to the world so i have far fewer worries in that regard than i did before.  i really didn't want to cart a ton of artwork with me to the other side of the country.  i want to see what new images emerge.  or what old images return.  i want to see what i'll write and what i'll think and what i'll be drawn to, what i'll want to read.  i want to see what types of images and vocabularies i gravitate toward once i set down all these possessions, all these histories and ghosts.  but it's such hard work to make this type of room.  i have to touch everything.  i have to hold these objects in my hands.  i put on old necklaces and look in the mirror.  i try on sweaters i haven't worn in 2 years and consider my reflection.  even the mirror will need a new home.  everything must go.  almost.

there are things that i can't part with, most of which will be shipped to my sister's house in southern california during the next several weeks.  things that belong more to the family than they do to me.  the pictures in the previous post are, by and large, of things my mother owned.  i took these objects from her home when she died.  i filled a cardboard suitcase with things which seemed to bare witness to who see was, things which articulated the indescribable corners of her heart, things that would someday comfort me, someday make me smile.

it's nice that that "someday"  has finally arrived.  i've only looked in the suitcase once before since packing it 4 years ago.  right before i moved here, in to my beloved white room where the reformulation and re-imagining of my life has taken place, i looked inside. i cried.  the sight of these objects carried too much weight.  it broke my heart to look at them.  i couldn't deal with touching them.  it was a happy moment the other evening to come across a picture of my mother as a young woman, to look at her image and smile back at her big grin.  I didn't look at her photo at all for the first 2 years following her death. it derailed me entirely to see her.  i'm thankful that is no longer the case.  i've wanted to be able to look at her for so long.  i've wanted to have her hair and her eyes and her style in my life.  i've wanted to look at her and see the features of my face that AREN'T hers.  i look in the mirror and see so much of her face in mine.  too much.  sometimes i hate looking in the mirror because of it.  i want to see where she ends and i begin.  being able to look at her photograph again is part of that road.  packing and unpacking and coordinating these objects is part of that road.  the exhibition of the "sweaters of death" are part of that road too.

i was very proud last night at the reception to see them hanging together in one place.  i looked at them and decided that they are a single work-  a sculpture.  i do not intend to let the collection be splintered.  i don't want to parse them out.  it is symbolic of a particular era.  it is an act of healing as well as an artwork.  the texts of the individual pieces are too beautiful spinning together in a room, gaining too much poignancy and sensitivity to be splintered.  the collection needs to remain in tact.  it is a diary...  writing that i am proud and privileged to share.

 

i felt incredibly appreciated and loved last night.  so many friends came out to support my work, to support ME, and to give me a hug while we're still in the same region.  i feel so lucky to be able to share this work as i prepare for a new phase of life.  a chapter is closing.  the people who came to the show last night were present in my life through some of my darkest days.  many of them have seen me cry on the anniversary of my mother's death.  many have gone out dancing and drinking with me when all i wanted and needed in the whole world was a friend to have a bit of fun with.  many have read this blog in the middle of the night when i published hard to read (sometimes scary) drunken rants about my anguish and longing.  for however sad the work itself might be, i am happy it exists.  i am happy to be able to display it so publicly.  and i am happy that it is done.  i'm sure i'll make more sweaters in the future but the subject of that work will be very different.  this "work of mourning" has been carried through.  every stitch is dedicated to my mother and siblings, to my mother's siblings, my grandparents, and to anyone who might draw a bit of comfort from the existence of these black twists of yarn.

this is one way to pack and unpack, i suppose.  :)

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ode to eva hesse

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IT IS SOMETHING. IT IS NOTHING. Ode to Eva Hesse.

crocheted sweater

angela simione, 2014

i keep forgetting to post this!  the first sweater of 2014!  it felt so good to make.  it feels like it's been forever since i made a sweater.  the process is just long enough to feel substantial, and quick enough to supply me with my fix of instant gratification.  :)

the text is taken from Eva Hesse's artist statement for her 1968 exhibition "Chain" which is taped to the inside of the front cover of my "sketch" book.  i took her last two sentences.  

"I would like my work to be non-work.  This means that it would find its way beyond my preconceptions.

What i want of my art I can eventually find.  The work must go beyond this.

It is my main concern to go beyond what I know and what I can know.  The formal principles are understandable and understood.

It is the unknown quality from which and where I want to go.

As a thing, an object, it accedes to its non-logical self.

It is something.  It is nothing."

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not a contest.

stare at me. i'll stare at you. there's something to it.









THOU SHALT DIE
hand-crocheted sweater
angela simione, 2011

promise

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wear it, swear it.

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forward...



or backward, you wouldn't believe the looks one gets for wearing this to the grocery store. hahahaha!

body as billboard. sweater as art form. fashion = announcement, pronouncement, provocation, an embrace of the filthy word. this sweater robs those jerks of the ability to shame a girl in to silence by throwing this little slur out. so common. so horribly common. fuck that. crazy like my mother? you have no idea.

proof of life

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what is it about this act? so similar to diary keeping, to writing... like letter by letter, i go stitch by stitch, a call to arms, a cry for warmth, stitch stitch stitch repeat repeat repeat and lay me down to jam the hook, twist the wool, twirl round and pull. stitch, stitch, stitch, all lined up like assassins, like teeth, like a stack of letters in the box.

i've been nerding it up with my new sweater as you can see. i finished it last weekend and wore it to my german class monday morning. it sent a flag up to the little goth girl in the class and we had a sweet little conversation about knitting and crochet during the break. lovely... that sort of quick affirmation, an immediate recognition of self in the eyes of another. we see things in each other... an odd, unspeakable mirror. that's what we are. a hall of mirrors.


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me thinks the sweater makes the lass look a wee bit busty.

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this is not necessarily a complaint.






i just can't seem to stop making sweaters. there's just something about it that suits my moment. they make me feel safe(r) somehow. it's reassuring and empowering that i can actually satisfy a basic need (clothing) with my own two hands.

recent fascination: skulls

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human
10" x 10"
oil on canvas, 2011

(first oil painting of 2011)








sweater* and 5 foot tall human skull painting** (in progress)




*the sweater might look pretty familiar to the crocheters in the room. my first run at one of the projects in debbie stoller's The Happy Hooker. i'm working on my 2nd attempt now. amending the design, personalizing the fit, working out a prototype of my own. :) also, this is one of my New Year's Resolutions that has been satisfied: make a sweater. and i must say i am addicted. it's very happy-making even if the sweater is sorta screwy.



**that's my refrigerator it's leaning against just to give you a sense of scale. pretty big. pretty nice. one layer of paint so far but it's already a beauty.