The unfinished story.

Time to break the silence.

How could I catch up on all the things that have happened since January and February? There's been much—too much. But one of the funny things about writing a blog is that it's not like writing something like a journal, or a novel. It's a window into your life for the rest of the world to peer into. At least, that's how I've always wanted to write any blog I've kept for myself. I value the honesty of it, the upfront-ness of it. But you can often run into the blogger-privacy-dynamic. Sometimes you don't tell the same thing to every person—it is not always appropriate across the whole spectrum. We all deal with this, of course—but unfortunately for me, when it comes to writing, or at least blogging, I'm compulsively blunt and honest. This dynamic begins to creep up on you when "bigger" things start to change in your life that not everyone is aware of or, arguably, need to be aware of. Or—perhaps they do need to be aware of them, but that issue may be in the eye of the beholder. Dizzying, right?

Well, no matter worth considering too long. I'm here to catch up on everything that's happened so far. So let's start with the basics.

The rubber finally met the road, financially speaking, and I can say that things have changed radically from my last blog post. The stress of not knowing where your next batch of rent money is coming from has thankfully passed. Not only can I breathe easier, but I can dedicate time, and thus money, to the pursuits I really want to be engaging—such as painting, or writing, or transforming the backyard of my apartment, which is little more than a vacant dirt lot, into a flourishing garden.

On top of that, a trip up to the great white north to see family and old friends proved be a great time of introspection, self-reflection, and relaxation. It gave me time to think about the new developments in my life, and also where I wish to be headed as an artist, as a designer, as a writer, and as a human.

Finally, being in a healthy and happy relationship has been a godsend—perhaps literally—and saying that I'm thankful for that doesn't really match with what it actually means for me, nor how deeply it's impacted me.

What I can say is this: a new path is charted. I'm not entirely sure where it is going to lead me, but something that was lost has been found, if I could put it that way—and not just from a few months ago, but from a few years ago. I'm still seeking to understand it, what it means for me, and trying to pinch myself as to how real it actually is. And this I mean in a spiritual sense. I had never really counted how deeply growing up within the christian institution had affected me. But now, certain bonds have been broken—and re-tied, perhaps, or they will be re-tied, but not in the conventional ways. If there is such a thing as spiritual growth, it must mean that we grow tired of our old shells and grow a new one. This molting process may seem difficult for us, but more it may be more difficult for others in fact who are not going through the same transition. They may not understand it, it might not be for them—they might not even need it. But the fact of it is that what I believe, and what I believe I am, is not and cannot be contained by typical Christian theology. While I understand that others are very comfortable in this realm, I was never one to stay comfortable, even from when I was young. I think back to the first days where it struck me that I "could" or "should" be a Christian—walking out of Sunday school classrooms at four or five years old, pamphlet in-hand explaining that Jesus loved me and had suffered something deeply for—what? Me? Something I had done? It was never explained what. Only later did I understand that via something called "original sin", which smacks to me now of an intellectual conjuring rather than an intuitive truth, could I understand how a four-year-old could be responsible for the brutal and execution of a man two millennia ago. St. Augustine called every infant a tyrant, and it seeped into every "good" preacher's thought process since it was made sacred dogma. And while I think it is true that humanity has lost connection with spiritual realms, essences, and truth, I think this obvious disconnect has been compressed and mutated, transforming into an unbendable doctrine that, because it is unbendable, acts more like a brace than a channel. This is what original sin is. It is reflective of truth—but it is not truth itself. This is the great bait and switch Christianity has played on itself. It was an intuition, unstable and profound. It should have remained there—but as soon as it is canonized, it becomes foundational, immovable, and unshakable—and thus, brittle and empty. Like a vein that could carry valuable blood and nutrients, but is now clogged up with "junk" truth that masquerades as the thing it should only be representing.

I think of how I went to church on Easter—first time I'd been in a church for many years. Stranger still, that it was the same church (or, the same people, the building had just changed) I had remember from childhood. I actually looked forward to the sermon, wondering what this teacher would say about what christians believe to be the most pivotal moment in history—the death and resurrection of their god. I didn't have any expectations, but I did have hopes—I hoped for poetry, I hoped for celebration. I hoped for an expression of this great and powerful truth for the mystery of what it was.

While I was unsurprised that, I was still shocked that what instead the teacher spoke of was the mechanics of theology. As if he was picking apart a car, he explained to a quiet congregation the inner workings of the mystery, which was not a mystery at all. Each piece of doctrine, each intellectual morsel, was thoroughly oiled and fit neatly with the other. Nothing was out of place, nothing out of the unbreakable circle. And, most curiously, he was so passionate about the completeness of the system that, seemingly, by virtue of its completeness, its weight should be pressed on every person within the room—certainly the ones who did not believe it to be true. Like a scientist dissecting the anatomy of a highly complex animal, he completely and utterly dissected the meaning of the Christ and his work, so on and so forth.

And as I sat there I wondered, for all the mystery and all the passion, all the pivotal moments that had led up to that day two thousand years ago, all this man could talk about was what it "actually meant". As if the events were a metaphor for the system, and not the other way around.

I thought it funny that while Jesus had spoken completely in metaphor and mystery, almost intentionally confusing his listeners, that now it seems all his teachers can ever talk about is the exactness of things. Jesus was an elusive figure—a wanderer, going from town to town, performing miraculous feats none of the teachers of his day could replicate. Whenever he spoke to the people, it was in strange lessons and stories that even his closest friends couldn't understand. He was a man possessed—possessed by power, possessed by truth, possessed by some kind of reality far beyond the scope of what any of the approved teachers, with their highly systematized and clearly explicated lessons, could stomach. And it was not even the radicalness of the truth that he spoke about—in the end it was the politics of what he said that got him killed.

I find it ironic then that the modern teachers of this "word" have gone and done the same thing the his enemies had done. Jesus is a mystery. He always was, always will be. I find it funny that we may worship the mystery, and then deny there is such a thing as mystery to him. What do we worship then? The system that defines the mystery?

This is why I no longer call myself a Christian these days. I can't get around the fact that I believe Christianity is at ends with the Jesus it surrounds. It is not simply that all institutions, in the end, fail their purpose if grown to large or deep—it is the extent to which Christianity has gutted itself, and its God, of everything that is worth worshipping.

So now, you may ask… where does this leave me? Or, perhaps, lead me? I'd rather take the mystery on its own terms, with a healthy dose of salt. Maybe I'll write more about my research on the subject here. However, I don't believe that the writings in the Bible are completely god-inspired. They were written by men, and while there is spiritual truth written in those words, the fluidity of that truth oscillates with the humanity possessed in the hands that wrote them. To call something like the Bible the word of God is another bait and switch I find so incredible that it disheartens me—not because I don't believe it to be true. But because it is only half the story, and less than half of the word of God that is scattered everywhere else in the world—and beyond simple books, but in reality as we experience it. The quietness of things. The shifting of the world, and the depths of the mind, which stir with restlessness when put under a lamplight. There are hidden things we don't understand, don't want to understand. Sometimes life will kick us over the head when we're not listening. But most often, the rest of its lessons come in a quiet whisper. It is our job to read the signs… to see the symbols, to understand that if we were to push against the walls and veils of this life, we would find the borders to be pliable and flexible. Maybe, if we were so humble in our own life and had learned enough lessons, we could even reach deeper, and pierce that fabric, reaching down and below.

The simplicity of understanding life at its surface is easy. That's why people do it, and remain there. For others, it is not that it is easy, but because it is all they need to learn this time around—which I believe to be fine. Like a grueling lesson plan we can only understand in small amounts, I don't believe people are to be faulted when they stay in what they know, because it is all they know. But I will fault them when they stay in what they know, and are bold enough to declare it is all they ever need to know. The Bible has its own lessons about pride.

So… what does all this have to do with me, in my life, now?

Simply that I need not be bound by the religion of my youth. As we grow spiritually into adults, even Paul teaches, we move from spiritual liquids to solid foods. Not that I'd be bold enough to claim I can eat a steak these days—in fact, my spiritual stomach is so sensitive that whatever I take in I have to take in bite-size morsels. But I will not live on bread alone… it's time that I moved onto something much better and tastier. In fact, I think I should have done so years ago.

It's exciting. It's scary, it's fruitful. I have to have my wits about me and I have to be aware of my surroundings. But I never was easily satisfied with simple truth, I think. Was it my own intuition, or was it simply watching what my family went through? I think the latter… but I always suspected truth was much more complex than this.

And yet, again, it comes back to the simplicity. The ease of it. Almost as if we have to regress. Back to childhood. The child can't comprehend original sin, but what of it, when the adults are taught that they must become like children?

My greatest hope is that I need not be always bound by the religion of my youth, because while I may claim I've moved beyond it, and I have, I still feel its tether via memory. Is that because I should come back to it? Or is it just because it is too strong to let go of in two months' time?

The story is unfinished. But then, isn't that how it's supposed to be? I'm not sure if I'd like it another way. It's always more beautiful when it's unfinished.

Blogging Hiatus

It's rainy here in downtown Seattle—I mean, Tucson. I'm blogging from Skybar, one of the local haunts for coffee goers.

Unfortunately the month of January/early February have been difficult, and may continue to be difficult, mostly due to financial reasons. This is why I've been on a bit of hiatus for blogging. Ironically, I can make as much work for myself as I want—the question is, will it bring in an income? While my schedule of design gigs suggests that after mid-February things will look much more up than they have been lately, nevertheless I have concluded that, in the grand scheme of my experiment—the move to Tucson—it is time to get a "real" job.

Not that design is not a real job. But between the economy, lack of connections, and the downturn of a few certain gigs that I have gotten, I've concluded that a more stable column in the income picture is necessary. Maybe I won't need it forever—but January taught me a few good lessons about what a bad economy can do to someone trying to make a living off their art, and just starting at it under a new name.

So my apologies for the hiatus, and unfortunately it may continue until things look much better. My intention with this blog was not only to be consistent, but for it to be a live documentation of my artistic works, my written works, and my progress in Flam Chen. While it is still all these things, finances have engulfed all these other priorities that would require, or suggest blogging. Thus, blogging is also on a hiatus.

My best to my (few) readers—and I promise I will return, and likely with much more exciting news than this!

I, Lower Middle Class

This month has been a difficult month. Financially, the holiday season has not been kind to me. Most of the situations have not been of my own doing, but rather have simply been unfortunate facts or been losses on other people's parts, and thus mine. Rather than passing blame, though, I've focused on seeing these situations as learning experiences.

Even though being a freelance graphic designer is not typically considered a lower-middle-class type job, I've been forced to consider alternative forms of income. Not because I can't find work as a designer, in fact (I have enough to keep me occupied and afloat), nor because it is not in demand. It is simply because the work I do is actually too expensive for most people. And even though I do not charge really what the lot of my work is worth (not to sound like I have a big head, but it's actually what most people close to me tell me personally), what I do charge does not really cover my cost of doing business in the long term. Yet, even if I did charge a more "typical" freelancing rate, I wouldn't probably be able to take on the kind of work I have already (it would be too expensive for most of my clients). It is a kind of catch-22.

Part of this is the economy, part of this is the nature of Tucson itself and the city's economic climate. Other factors may be part of it though—the fact that I am a relative newcomer; that I have, frankly, a limited amount of connections (though growing).

But whatever the case may be, I try not to dwell on those things. The fact that I am part of a subsection of economic society that I would call the "lower-middle-class" has allowed me a bit of time to reflect on how other people live, or are forced to live, with a different kind of standard of living, especially in terms of finances. I was shielded from the economic downturn back on the East Coast. Here, it is no longer the case. Now the odd realities of this subsection come to the forefront: it is easy to slip through the cracks of this country, which is not based on religion, nor democracy—yes, you read that. And I'm fairly convinced by it. Rather, the United States is based on Capitalism.

Is it really that far fetched?

Maybe it's too strong a statement. But it's just a strong statement, I think, when ones close to you cannot afford health insurance, yet are too "rich" to afford food stamps. Or your close friend, who is a diabetic, does not benefit from the current options for health insurance as they are, since they cost them about as much as the medication and doctor visits would alone. Only the obviously socialist and Unamerican health care reform plan would actually improve her chances of making ends meet—and thus, in her case, keeping her body functioning properly.

The logic of capitalism is so simple, it is enticing: those who work hard enough will succeed. Those who do not work, or are not successful at their work, will not succeed. It is a romantic ideology, and carries with it a kind of snobbery. It assumes that, regardless of how much or how hard a person's work is, if it does not succeed given the conditions, it deserves to fail. It hinges on that clause "enough", and does not define the end goal beyond the vague word of "success". And it turns a blind eye to the ratio of work between the one who can lift a finger to invest and the one who must break their back to make their family's bread.

This inherent blindness is something that I think is reflected in Michael Moore's latest film, Capitalism, A Love Story. Not that I put a lot of faith in Michael Moore and his work—some of his latest films I think have been the work of elaborate fact weaving as much as they have been muckraking. But this one, which I saw months ago now, is echoing strangely these weeks as I watch both myself and my friends struggling to make their ends meet. Some might blame them for being artists in a world that does not favor the artist as an economic entity.

Well, I'd say that's a very capitalistic response. And, instead of concede it, I'd rather blame that response with a second blindness—ignoring the inherent value of the artistic consciousness in a culture that is more and more starved for meaning. And if you're doubtful of such a starvation, just visit the spiritual self-help section in the closest bookstore. I bet it'll change your mind. That response to artistic culture in a capitalist society can be compared to the same mentality I heard once evoked by an American man, only a few feet in front of me, when I was visiting the Louvre in Paris. He said, while looking at the classic paintings of Greek heros and Old Testament prophets: "You'd wonder if they all must have been naked back then!"

I would have laughed if he had not said it seriously. He couldn't, or didn't try to understand why it was worthwhile to dedicate your time to understanding the visual beauty of—and that which is underneath—the human body. I'd wonder if he'd say the same thing if he was walking through the Erotica convention in Los Angeles, since, after all, "they're all naked." Funny, that most porn stars seem to make a great deal more money than most painters. By the laws of capitalism, pornography must certainly be more valid or "viable" than art. There's no question of what it does to culture, society, the play of gender roles and relationships. Odd, that many social conservatives are also fiscal conservatives. I wonder how those two schools of thought may inhabit the same brain, and suppose that they each can happily coexist. If the institution of marriage is in trouble, why not get rid of the porn industry, which harms so many male minds and female bodies, and, by any typical measure of social conservatism, obviously dissolves the values that hold society firm. Of course, industries like that are too profitable. One puts their money where their beliefs are, don't they?

It's the irony of our culture, and how it plays out in those whose lives are less fortunate, or maybe just willing to make more sacrifices than the average. Yet at the same time, I realize that I am by no means unfortunate. In some places on this Earth, the machine I type these words on could feed a whole family for a year, perhaps. Just as I can't imagine living the life of a successful capitalist like Dick Cheney or Alan Greenspan, neither could a poor Sudanese woman imagine living the life I lead.

And there is another irony—the sad irony of our world. And as I remember how lucky I actually am, I'm thankful that this short stint in hard times can teach me what the value of ten, twenty, thirty dollars actually are. Hopefully the lesson will be strong enough that I can remember the way that other people must live, and that they cannot choose otherwise even if they wanted to (unlike me). Hopefully the rest of the world can gradually realize this—and it can put behind its comfortable, familiar ideologies of ethics and how economics "justify" it.

First Performances

Yesterday was kind of a whirlwind, and unexpected, but awesome nonetheless. Two of my first performances (not officially in a Flam Chen faculty, they're more like "appearances") in a row, first on silks, then on stilts at the Ensphere warehouse show.

And there's a video to prove it!

The silks bit was for the Rhythm Industry performance review—a sort of open house when all the cooperative groups and artists of the Rhythm Industry center show the latest that they've been working on. Because Flam Chen was at Angel Ball doing their showtime thing, only some of the beginner/intermediate students were available to show the latest. Kelsey and I volunteered to do a silks piece as representing Flam Chen.

It's a work in progress, and it's obvious that I've got a lot to work on (point your toes, keep your legs straight, etc.). I'd like to video myself now on silks to actually see where the strengths and weaknesses are. It'd be great for training. But I'd like to think that this, for all its imperfections, is not too bad for two or so months of training.

Video of me and Kelsey, thanks much to Clencovision, who was kind enough to put it on Youtube so quickly:



Kelsey did really great.

Forgive the cheesy swinging of the silk on my part. When properly executed, that will send the flyer into a tight spin while in the hipkey. It seemed to be an easy thing to do while I was hanging there, and kind of came out lackluster. Oh well—another thing to work on.

The other appearance on stilts was late last night (or really early this morning) at the Ensphere warehouse show. My first time being a shadow walker—I didn't have the arm stilts to go with it (you can only tie so much aluminum to your backpack while biking through town), so more like a psuedo-shadowwalker. But the effect wasn't lost on people. It was interesting seeing people's reactions—from shock, to flirtatious (no comment there, aside that the costume is skin-tight, white, and more or less androgynous), to fear. I actually chased one girl around a car while she tried to take a picture of me. Of course I hugged her and told her my name later on.

The costume is half the battle, but the other half is being the shadow walker. The costumes are really powerful, even though they're simple in their construction (it's like walking around with an elastic bedsheet on you), but actually performing as an otherworldly creature is actually what makes it all happen. People's reactions suddenly go to this pure, more neutral area where typical human body language identity is lost and anything can happen. Some find it elating and amazing, some find it ominous or frightening, and yet others don't know how to interpret it, and just get angry, as if this walking bedsheet is some sort of social threat.

I'll be scanning the intarwebs for picture-proof of this. There were multiple times I posed for cameras. They have to show up on Facebook sometime.

What it takes to join the circus

What does it take to join the circus?

A couple of things.

1. Dedication.

2. An insane amount of patience.

3. A disappearing ego (it appears onstage, then disappears offstage).

4. The belief that living in a warehouse or industrial sector and making your way completely with whatever amenities you are given or can provide yourself with is romantic.

5. Know-how of what it takes to make money, but a belief that money is only a means to an end.

6. Almost infinite love of art and love of craft.

7. Determination in the face of extreme adversity—even the kind that cannot be bought out, named, or convinced over coffee.

8. A willingness to, occasionally, starve for your passion.

9. Realizing that the romance is an illusion.

10. Believing that, no matter how hard it is, what you are doing now is always worth it because it is always true, and that you really quite wouldn't be as happy doing anything else.

Life of a month-old circus performer

It's been a month exactly since I moved to Tucson to join the pyrotechnic theatre troupe Flam Chen.

Since this blog is going to be repurposed from cataloguing my experiences at Arcosanti to cataloguing my experience as a legitimate "circus performer", it's fair to answer the question most people who know me personally lately.

So, what exactly are you doing in Flam Chen?

Not coming from a strong background in the performing arts specifically, most of my time with them is spent just training. The first thing you notice about yourself as you start to practice something like silk aerial, or even stilts, is that there is a distinct muscle buildup. Especially with aerial, there is nothing you can do if you can't hold yourself on the silks for more than ten seconds, and in any number if different positions. For me, while I am overall a healthy person, but not particularly athletic or strong, this gradual changing of the body has been noticeable—and exciting—for me.

My old training in Aikido kicked in, and in many ways that's what allows me to do any of this at all. The language of the body—understanding what it takes to move a certain way, with a certain amount of force or flexibility, is what one person needs most when approaching something like aerial—though it can be incredibly helpful even in the day-to-day activities of sitting and walking. It's been a long time since I studied Aikido, and I think it shows in how well I speak the language of the body, but aerial training is reminding me of its importance—and now, how it can tie into raw strength, which is a dimension that I've not experienced before. I've probably gained a little weight around the shoulders and in the arms since I got here, even in that short of a time. Probably only noticeable to me right now—but I hope that it becomes noticeable to others who knew me before I moved here. I became a lot healthier at Arcosanti. That trend is continuing here.

Being aware of this physical transition, I've made a point of it to eat well. Aside from my one daily vice, which is coffee, I eat fresh fruits and vegetables, usually sauteed or stir-fried (yes, I cook with fruits—it makes things more interesting), with a variety of different meats and carbs, but usually pastas or rice noodles. Lunches are usually a bagel sandwich with some fruit or yogurt, and because I'm not interested in spending the extra money on soda, I am drinking multiple cups of tea almost every day.

My weak points are my flexibility—I need to be more serious about yoga, and as soon as I'm sure I have the funds to support it, I'll continue my long-paused Aikido training.

I tend to work in cafés. Being a freelancer gives me a lot of flexibility, as long as I can make the ends meet. While I do plan to get my cappuccino machine shipped from the east coast to help save on the cost of coffee, which adds up real fast (I'm not the kind of person that feels justified in walking into a cafe without buying something), I tend to hang out outside the house I rent out of whenever I can. If just for the change of pace and scenery—I've found it difficult to work at home on most days. Sometimes the extra concentration is worth the extra dollars in beverage.

But the life of a month-old circus performer also carries with it the gradual initiations. I think I'm a special case, in a special situation. Flam Chen doesn't really have an audition process, nor much of a tiered structure of who is a performer and who is not. They instead have a pool of people that, from whatever walk of life or for whatever reason, got "sucked in" to the group and their activities. For most of the core members that make up the troupe, the rest is history beyond that. For me, the pattern seems to be similar, but with the fact that I somewhat already had my foot in the door. Being from Arcosanti was the crack, and then talking with the different members and sharing my skillset with them opened that crack further. After I realized that there was an opportunity in this picture, and after realizing it was the one chance in my life to do anything like it, I decided to see if I could pry the door open enough so that I could walk through. Indeed, it opened.

I think the fact that I moved myself from the East Coast to Tucson, from an outsider's perspective seemingly on a whim, may have had something to do with it. For me, it was just the practical reality of the situation—where else could I practice silks or firespinning? But again, from an outsider's perspective, it can be a powerful signal. Is it odd that someone would just decide to move because they were so excited about the group, with no promise of pay nor any real written agreement about what would happen? Is it a sign that others may do the same in the future, if the company has a way to ingest them and find a way to plug them into a potential hierarchy?

These are unanswerable questions. But for me, the steady training and gradual involvement in shows, usually as a stagehand or safety, are the small steps into a future I honestly cannot predict. I know that I am steadily approaching a cliffside—a point where I will have to make choice, so to speak, where I will have to open these wings and see where the wide horizon takes me. All the different elements that make up my life right now—Proteus Creative, Flam Chen, Tucson and its surprisingly broad networking scope, and even other elements that are gradually emerging—all of these are like puzzle pieces, and there is a number of different ways to arrange them. None of the pictures will be wrong—but only one, I think, will be best, and I can only put them together one way, once.

For the first time in my life I feel like I have so many options that there is no clear direction. I know that this is actually just an illusion. That the pieces of this life are gradually getting sewn together by an unseen power or by strange twists of fate that even I could not have guessed, even in my remotest dreams—if anything, the direction may be clearer than ever. It's just in a color I've never recognized before.

There is so much to be done, and a lot that needs to be learned. Somehow I feel like it's just the beginning.

Bike Woes, Glamorous Week

This week has been a troublesome week, but with today, the Saturday before the All Souls Procession, everything should be back in full swing for me. During the early week I got sick. Determined to overcome it quickly my first full week in Tucson, I laid low and pumped myself full of garlic, echinacea, orange juice, green tea, and chicken noodle soup. By Wednesday I was back on my feet, though not fully healed. I had spent some good money on a new bike, my main mode of transportation, just the week before. Finally ready to get out of the house, I woke up in the morning, showered, and was ready to go.

Flat tire.

Apparently Tucson wreaks havoc on bike tires. It is the desert, after all. Burs, needles, all those sorts of things will make short work of any normal bike tire. After getting a ride to the bike shop and fixing the punctured front tire, I ride home and check the tires again that evening, only to discover that the back tire now has a bur of its own.

Patching the tire proves useless. Frustrated, still a little sick, and still looking for work, I decide to lay low again.

Finally, the cold is almost entirely gone, and I've learned a lot about bike tire protection. It took a good $140 of my bank account, but today I should be all set. A set of new tires, both back and front, that have a layer of kevlar and/or nylon on the inside. Then, an inner tube protector layer, and finally, a slime layer inside the tube that will fill in any hole that makes it past the first two layers. It was a little bit of money blown, but in my mind it's worth it. In these situations, you usually get what you pay for—and even though I may still be in a scary transition phase, investing in solid transportation is, in my mind, totally worth the investment. I need to be able to get around for networking, work, and personal sanity. I've found that I'm usually much more productive when working in a cafe or lounge, rather than at home. It forces me to focus.

So, finally settling in a little bit and having scoped out some more places around town (I'm posting this from Epic Cafe), and starting to get some web design work trickling in, I'm starting to feel a bit more confident. I realize though that I really am making my own way here. Of course, I knew that initially from the start. But the practical, tangible reality of that is much rougher, much more cut, than I've known so far.

But everything is working. There is very little I can complain about—in fact, I have a lot to be thankful for. And tomorrow will be a day of days.

Don't worry—I'll post pictures of the Procession. Even though I've been pretty much out of the Flam Chen loop this week, they've all been working non-stop. And with even seeing a few fruits of their labors now, I'll get to see the whole tree, in all its flaming glory, tomorrow evening.

Transmitting from Tucson

Legitimate sighting of Blonde, abstract artist/graphic designer and wannabe circus freak in central Tucson, E. University Blvd., at obviously one of the best coffee shops in town (thanks Google Earth!).



Please inform the institutional authorities so this creative force can be contained, managed, and given a bank account with a few extra digits.

In all seriousness though—flew into the city yesterday, everything went smoothly (as smooth as air travel can, really). Already settled in, saw the Flam Chenistas. It's the last 400 yards of the All Souls Procession prep, so I've been making myself available to help randomly wherever random help is needed. Though I've been warned not to say this too often—there's lots to do.

Also, finally got the full version of Proteus Creative launched, with all its navigation and sub-pages. Full portfolio is now online. It also went through a hasty compatibility/testing period, so it should work with flying colors (well… maybe missing one or two) in Internet Explorer and the windows browser of choice, Firefox (sorry IE 8—you got the CSS right, but now your kind isn't obeying JavaScript correctly).

So this whole transition time, getting settled down here, carving out a business, and managing personal finances (awesome online app for this I found: Mint.com—if you have money issues and are an internet-savvy person, this might be a godsend for you like it is me), will take some time, and a lot of work. But it's that sort of thing where keep your head down and just keep driving forward.

Let me know if any readers out there want web design work! ;)

Transition Week

I've fallen into a rhythm this week—anything that could be a rhythm. It's a transitional rhythm.

I've been back home at Maryland ("home") for about a week now. The familiarity of it all was palpable. I had grown up in these rooms. Many memories were tangible—old, leatherskinned journals containing secrets. IKEA lamplights that I had hung and left there for 5+ years. It's funny to think that orange tends to appear very often in my design-related projects. My entire room was painted like my designs—black, browns, oranges, and luminous, rice-paper lamp tans. All warm colors.

I've started reading The Poetics of Space by Gaston Bachelard. Appropriately, probably, since his intention is to form a phenomenology of the house. I'm keenly interested. I liked his quote that states that artists are phenomenologists by nature. It makes me want to read up on what phenomenology actually is. I know enough to have a feeling about it—I don't know enough to have a definition.

When I came back from Arcosanti I hit the ground running. This week was not a vacation, nor is the next coming week. Proteus Creative saw a partial launch right before I left (check out the site if you haven't, http://www.proteuscreative.com), just so something could be up there. I've been since working on the full version of the site, which is coming along nicely. The full version will probably be up by the end of this week. Of course I already want to redesign it. I'm frustrated by my lack of scripting skills—I don't want to be dependent on other people's plugins for jQuery anymore, which is why I will be learning Javascript and AJAX—so I can build my own intuitive web interfaces from the ground up.

But even with all that, I've learned that there is a rhythm to the day. Like music. There is the upswing in the morning. I look forward to the smell of coffee, the cool air, that top of the world feeling—the feeling where you're looking forward to everything that will happen in the day. Salvador Dali once said that he would wake up with a feeling of ecstasy in the mornings, jumping out of bed to see "what this amazing feat this character, Salvador Dali, will accomplish next!" I'm not quite that… egotistical? But I do see enjoying progress in my work. The fulfillment of art in its completion, is the completion of art itself.

But I need to work on the nights. Because I'm such a focused personality, I need time to relax. Usually this comes in the form of playing video games, which I've finally gotten sick of. Not because I don't like video games. But because they, really, don't relax me—they allow me to concentrate on something else. Something other than all the things I want to accomplish in a day, or a lifetime. But for the amount of relaxation they do give me is kind of a game of decreasing returns. I'll play for hours until I'm tired, then go to bed. Then wake up in the morning—but I won't feel refreshed.

So I've decided to take up reading. It's only been a few nights, but reading Gaston Bachelard has been a lot more fun—really—then playing games for even twice the amount of time. And I love philosophy. I always intend to read more of it, but never do. For me, philosophy really is the engine that drives art, science, culture, writing—everything. Philosophy is a powerhouse, if you understand it and can see how it can be applied in practical ways. I just lack the foundational knowledge, personally speaking, to fully grasp all of it in its full intent. So picking up the habit of reading (and doing so with intent!) is two goals at once. I want to make it my way of relaxing—the way I calm my brain, yet can still allow myself to remain focused on something that is not work.

Writing is similar. Journal writing, I mean. I'm starting to pick up that habit again, though it's stop and start. Same with yoga. Yoga in particular, and its offshoot field for me, Aikido, are both things I want to concentrate on more steadily once I get down to Tucson. They are more pieces in the puzzle I want to fit together in making the transition to Flam Chen.

I'm still very intent on it. This week has just been the thick of things. Realizing how much of a cliff I'm jumping off, yet considering the scenarios again and again, comparing my intentions, my expectations, the realities, the possibilities, what I can give, what I can get out of it—I always come back to the same conclusion. Which is why I haven't wavered.

Socrates said: "The mark of an educated man is the ability to entertain a possibility without accepting it."

I think education, if it were actually education, would account for a lot of the personal conflicts in the world. Misinterpretations and so forth—being willing to entertain possibilities without accepting them—realizing that you don't have to commit to them by entertaining them.

But that is part of the good, solid decision making process. And I've not done all this on a whim. I'm very sure of myself—yet completely open to what may come. I have goals, but not expectations. It's a fine balance, a delicate balance. But if you can achieve it, it is a wonderful feeling.

The night comes.

It's only Monday. I leave on the 26th.

I have reading to do.

The Weekend to End All Weekends

It's my last weekend at Arcosanti—or just "Arco", if you prefer. Some of the people have gone out to enjoy the Decompression party happening… somewhere out in the desert, as you'd expect.

I've not been thinking much about the fact that I'm leaving Arcosanti, after having been here for about half a year. I did that for about an hour yesterday. Everything has been much more practical. With the upcoming move to Tucson in late October, no more than two weeks after I get back to the chilly east coast, I've been in overdrive—fixing up the Proteus site, figuring out living situations, scrounging up as much money as possible, and in general trying to batten down the hatches before I jump off the cliff. In all reality, this whole move to Tucson and joining Flam Chen is a cliffjumping exercise. I've never moved before, much less had my own car or had my own apartment (I sort of have at Arco, but Arco isn't reality). I won't be having my own car, which makes things interesting. Thankfully, I'm staying with one of the Flam Chen members who has a spare room he needs to rent out. From there, I'll set up my business and settle in. Everything is pretty much bikable. I've already scoped out the neighborhood from the air of Google Earth—marked the best coffee shops, lounges, routes to and from the Flam Chen studio, and the organic grocery stores.

Speaking of biking, anyone have one they want to donate? ;)

The money situation is tight. I'm not interested in living paycheck to paycheck, though I will probably have to do that the next two months. It depends on how freelance takes off and if I can get serious clients. It's not so difficult to be impossible—it's just difficult to be just that, difficult. It's certainly workable—at least, I believe it to be.

Even if it doesn't work out, this is the one chance I have to play the wildcard. There's nothing lost to strive for the most potential, the most unique, and fall back to the original plan—go back to the east and make money, go to school there.

That's the justification at least. So this weekend is the transition from Arco to the east, and the preliminary transition from the east to back out west. And I should be in the town only a week or two before All Souls happens—one of Flam Chen's biggest events throughout the year.

Watch carefully. The blog posts over the course of the next three weeks should get very, very interesting.

Autumn welcomes wish lists

It's been a relaxing day. The feeling of autumn is here. The elevation of Arcosanti gives a seasonal difference—and nights can get quite cold. But this morning had that quiet, introverted, chilly mood about it. The temperature change seemed to change the architecture almost. What is usually oppressing concrete interiors seemed to reflect the cold starkness of the air. In that sense, they seemed welcoming—they held in the heat of the sun. In some ways I think the architecture of Arcosanti is more winter desert architecture than summer desert architecture.

The cool air reminded me of Baltimore, which was a welcome sensation. Suddenly I felt like I was back among brownstones, with that cool, soft, Atlantic air coming in from the eastern bays, mixed with just a little bit of exhaust, bakery smell, and cigarette smoke. The smell of a city in the morning. A real city—not what Arcosanti is, or rather tries to be. Here the air is crystal clean, but hard—rich in calcium and basalt dust, if there is such a thing. It's as hard as the water. Like breathing in minerals.

But some soothing beats took care of things and I got to work. I've still been recovering from Earthdance. The past two days I'd broken out in hives. I've never had them before—might have been an allergic reaction, but at least part of it was the stress, I think. I wanted to hit the ground running on the new Arcosanti site template, and I did—but people commented on how I looked. Less energetic than usual, etc. I felt fine—but apparently it showed more on my face than even I myself knew or felt.

Personal projects have been suffering. I've not been painting. I've been journaling more though, which has been very good, very necessary. Handwriting has always been a pinnacle language for me, ever since I started it about five years ago. Through the written word, it is as if I can understand everything. I do not need logic, as much as I am intellectual. The written word gives me the tool to affirm, to understand, to experience—it is my own language. Oftentimes it is a healthy mirror.

I will have to be ramping up my business soon though. I have been getting some connections with clients—it's been good to have at least some hits with the current Proteus Creative site. But it is only a transitional page. It looks like only a random freelancer's contact page, and really that's what it is—but now it's time to create the full site. So hopefully I will be able to lay low the next week and a half, until I leave Arcosanti, quietly working on that site during the late afternoon and evening times.

There's a reason for that though. I will have to be making money soon—real money, and real fast. Chiefly because I am moving.

Not into Baltimore though. I'll stay only a week or two on the east. A month later, if all goes well, I will actually be back in Arizona. Cross your fingers—in Tucson, of all places. Because I am planning on joining Flam Chen.

Crazy decision? Of course. Surprising? Probably not. Most of the plans are already laid out—I've talked with Paul and Nadia, the head honchos—had great conversations with them. I had actually made this decision, or was at least seriously considering it weeks ago, before Earthdance. No second thoughts so far.

I'll go into why I am choosing this some other time. But if you know me well enough, I would bet that it would make sense if you thought about it for awhile.

Think about it this way. There are only a few things you can do in your life at certain times. The "life wish list" may go something like this:

1. Go to art school, become a painter.
2. Write a novel.
3. Take a sojourn into the desert.
4. Fall in love.
5. Join the circus.
6. Run a successful business.
7. Take a risk and don't look back.

So far I have 1, 2, 3, 4 (sort of), working on 6, and 5 and 7 would be one and the same.

It's a wildcard. But has anything I've ever done been sensible, usual, or safe?

Thought so. ;)

Flam Chen in Mesa and Tucson

This past weekend saw a visit into Tucson. I wanted to get to know the city a bit—I really haven't seen the majority of cities out here in Arizona, and this was one in particular I wanted to see. But the added bonus was that Flam Chen was doing two shows in the area—first in Mesa on Friday, and then again in Tucson on Saturday. It was good to see some familiar faces I hadn't seen since July 21st.

Of course, I came back with pictures.

First, from their performance in Mesa at the Mesa Arts Center.

















Ruben spinning Poi with flares on stilts.











Then, Saturday show in the evening on "Bat Night"—a celebratory evening where Tucson residents watch 40,000 bats fly out from under the Cambridge Avenue Bridge. Sponsored by the Rillito River project, the night was organized to raise awareness about water usage. Flam Chen flew balloons at the different heights where the water table had receded from in depth over the course of 200 years of develop. The first balloon was flown at 25ft, where the water table used to exist naturally in Pima county. The last balloon, reflecting the modern day situation, flew at almost 200ft high.

Before the balloons are lifted to their appropriate "depths".



The Shadow Walkers freak out the crowd.













Balloons start to get raised.





The bats come out, and fly through the balloons.





Both these events were probably benefit concerts, so Flam Chen did them for free, essentially (at least as I understand it). For these ones they were mostly working on a skeleton crew. But even with that, and especially on Friday, they put on a good show.

Awesome Restaurant in Phoenix

I'll explain more about how and why I ended up in Phoenix this past Friday—it was to promote the Earthdance festival (which I'll describe in a future blog post, I promise). The shameful thing lately is that I have not been able to post many pictures due to having lost my camera charger. Of course, I found it in my suitcase last week, so this Friday night I took it with me and had the joy of actually being able to do some photography.

So get ready for a picture post! The dinner that night was at the District in the Phoenix Sheraton. A friend of someone in our group to promote the festival worked there, so we got a bit of a nice in. The food was fantastic (I felt disgusting, having a giant cheeseburger with a bunch of Italians that really hadn't been outside of Arcosanti yet, but I needed it all the same and didn't regret it), but the decor was even better. Here are the photos from the night. I'll have to post-process them later.







All the glasses cases had some special lighting, which I particularly enjoyed.







A few shots of the huge lights that hung inside the hotel before one of the hotel staff pulled me over.

Homo ex Machina

This past week or two I've been on an organization binge—or a frustrated binge, probably, because I'm not satisfied so far. Basically, it's organizing my silicon-based brain—my mail client (and getting rid of email addresses I don't use, or at least planning to), my address book (which I almost never use), my document files, my harddrive in general, my web browser bookmarks (just got Safari 4 and it's much faster than Firefox), and my iTunes Library (huge task).

It comes partially with this whole Proteus Creative thing I'm working on. In an effort to create an entirely new system for my professional life, working on a workflow, and designing a portfolio interface, it seems like everything now needs to be sorted and categorized. Which is funny—five years ago, I would have tested as a Perceiver on the Myers Briggs (a personality assessment). Now I would be classified as a very high Judger. For the non-Myers Briggs inclined, this is basically a transition from a loose, flexible organizational style to a tight, list and category oriented style. By far, I've swung the later direction, especially over the course of the last two years. Being at Arcosanti and prioritizing my work life to such an extent, out of necessity and not just personality, has only enforced this swing. I've learned a lot here—writing project proposals and plans, figuring out group workflow in an online setting where everyone already has busy schedules; delineating phases for a given project, even the notion of deliverables (something that, on the scale of a client and freelancer relationship, just seems silly) seem now like something useful, daresay necessary. From task planning applications to automated timers and alarms, from project outlining programs to RSS feeds that can keep you passively up-to-date on the latest open source developments and "Web 2.0" script widgets—everything needs to be synthesized, digested, and organized in such a way that it is easy, quick, intuitive, and causes as little stress on my person as possible with the maximum amount of payoff.

Overkill? Maybe. But also, perhaps, necessary. For some people, it's not so far fetched. And if I want to become truly "professional" in the graphic design world, and take on big clients that work in this sort of fast-paced environment and have that amount of organization not out of romance, but out of necessity—well, I might as well match them at their own game, if not exceed them.

There is a bit of romance to it—the romance of mechanization and automization. But on thinking about this, I realized my standard for the amount of organization I want in my life: everything should be structured to a point that it could practically run itself. Of course it won't—the intent is needed to push the button or move the mouse. The intuition of my design eye, which cannot be boiled down to anything other than what it simply is—intuition—needs to be there for anything worthwhile to come out of Photoshop. After that though, File > Save As, convert to JPG, run a script that uploads it to the web which triggers an alert to my client, etc., etc. It's all there, and the computer takes care of the rest. The entire process is automated—except for that one, tiny spark that makes the giant, anodized aluminum, pre-scripted machine run. Intuition—the intent that it should, and must, work.

I'm well aware of the fact that I spend most of my day in front of a screen, and I'm well aware of the fact that I, aside from having my laptop welded into my flesh, might as well be a cyborg. As I've written before, my iTunes Library and harddrive should be a fairly accurate mindmap of my actual brain. And I think that, as technology and the Internet progresses (computing in the cloud, Google makes an operating system, guess where that's going to go, etc.) the phenomenon is only going to sharpen and intensify.

But there will always be that one thing missing to make the giant communication web in the sky run, should humanity cease to exist.

I think that the Star Trek Borg image of a future, technocratic humanity is no longer an accurate depiction of our evolutionary future. We'll imbed implants in our brain, let machines help run our organs. But we won't let them control our will. We won't submit ourselves to the cloud-brain. We're too emotional, too individualistic, and too democratic for it. Our machines will grow ever more complex, more and more complex than even we as organisms could be. The silicon in our iPods will hold more information that our carbon-based brains could ever hope to. But there will be no instigation, without us, do use that information. We may create a machine race, someday, with its own intent, maybe. But we'll never submit ourselves to the way a machine thinks. We're too inconsistent and lie too much to ourselves to ever engage, effectively, that kind of evolution.

Then again, we're also probably some of the most adaptable creatures on the planet. So I might be wrong.

But at least for now, I think the real future of humankind is not that it will be amalgamated with technology, in the sense that we become the technology. The technology may become us in the far future, but for now, the machine may be a hulking mass, indisputably efficient and effective.

But without the intent in that circle of screens, there will always be that one missing element to make the whole thing run. The intent—the intuition between scripts, will not be there. The one thing that will not be able to be quantified, or scripted. The pure chance that something, somewhere, actually tells the system, to "go." We will literally become the spirits within the machine—the ghosts of flesh in an overwhelming sea of invisible information and rigid file directories. The machine will control everything—except for the one thing it can never understand.

Greek Gods and Design Studios

So I've a special treat for those who follow my personal work. As a graphic designer, I've gone under the domain name of secondseraph.com for a few years now. It used to be a personal site, but later transformed into a professional portfolio site as I started shopping myself around as a graphic and web designer.

As my skills and portfolio has improved, however, I've grown steadily uncomfortable with the name "SecondSeraph". It was originally a biblical reference to Isaiah's vision of the seraphim, and I had made up the name as an AOL screen name when I was thirteen. As I grew, the name grew with me, and basically become my second identity.

Well, not very designer-ish, is it? These have been my thoughts lately. As I've grow as a graphic designer, I've thought about rebranding myself more as a one-man design studio, rather than a simple freelancer (mostly because I can provide clients with a full package of print, multimedia, and web). Though I'm not quite at that stage, I am close to it. This past weekend, I felt it was necessary to make the switch.

So, in the coming month, I will be getting a completely new domain name to host my professional work. I will also be separating the art website from secondseraph to its own domain, and either get rid of secondseraph altogether or reappropriate secondseraph back to what it originally was—a personal site with a flavor of experimental webdesign, like so many other cool and crazy interactive web projects out there.

I'm pretty excited about the new professional site though. I spent almost a whole day this past weekend working on it. It's not finished yet, but I can promise you it will be a next step upward, as my redesigns tend to be. Here's a sneak peak of what you can expect:



I've always been a fan of naming things after Greek gods, and recently I took a liking to Proteus—one of the early, primordial gods of the sea. He is noteworthy for being a shapeshifter that could tell the future—if anyone could capture Proteus, the "Old Man of the Sea", he would tell them the future—after he had tried turning into anything from from a serpent, to a lion, to a tree, to water itself. It's where we get the word "protean," connoting flexibility and adaptability.

Probably a good name for a design studio, mm?

Anyway, that's the progress on so far. Look forward to more updates regarding "Proteus Creative" and where it will be heading. I'll be using a new CMS I recently discovered to create the engine the site runs on, instead of head-on XHTML/CSS programming (as much as I am a fan of it, sites are more and more run on engines now rather than individually coded webpages).

Feel free to tell me if I'm out to lunch on the logo. ;) Typically it would be aligned to the right side, but this is a screenshot of the new site, so the P symbol is centered at the top. Hence why the text is justified to the left.

The Anti-Burnout

It's been a stressful few days—funny, that it was fourth of July weekend. Tuesday seemed hellish. Maybe it was just because I felt behind in my hours and I had woken up late (at least in terms of Arcosanti time). I'm hired now—a full time employee at Arcosanti, working as a graphic designer. Happened about a week ago. Of course I was overjoyed at the news. The payment is minimal, especially for my kind of work (note to self: always know what you are worth, and never sell yourself short). But no one is here for the money, of course, including me. We're here for different reasons. But now I'm being a bit more diligent regarding the exact count of my hours. It interesting how there is a slight cultural change—maybe it's all just in my head, but it is still a change. A bit more pressure, maybe? I'm not entirely sure. Either way though, I was thankful.

This morning has improved my mood though, also thankfully. Again, kind of a late start, but the office has been quiet, and I'm back and listening to Wovenhand (probably the folk artist I like, and I love his music to death). It's a horrible feeling, to feel like you're not in your own skin. But then, when your back, its as if your whole person has flooded—you're back again. You're your normal, depthful, happy self.

I suppose it just comes and goes with the stress. I have to remember that most of this pressure is just inwards, believe it or not. No one's over my shoulder, cracking the whip. Even as an employee with a boss, I'm the one setting the deadlines, the priorities, the procedures, and for multiple things at once.

I remember an interview with the members of Rammstein, one of my favorite groups—they were speaking about how they kept their band running and happy. They've been around for a few years now, and they compared it to keeping an old car healthy, tuned, and running smoothly. When it rumbles and runs, boy does it rumble and run—but it's not the sheer power of youth that keeps it going. It's the fact that the members treat each other kindly, give each other space, and take vacations. They know their limits, and they can feel when burnout is close.

Mm… burnout. Thankfully, I haven't been there—at least, not here. But I've come close a few times. I only have two settings—on, and off. If I don't have something to grind and I'm on, I better turn myself off, because I'll just be grinding the gears.

Again, it's all about knowing yourself. Knowing your limits, knowing what your worth. Knowing that when you work, you work hard and consistently. Knowing that not everything can happen in a single day, even though it feels like you could do it all that day.

Photoshop as Art

I've been creating a slew of new artworks lately, primarily digital. Which is interesting and new for me because, while I work in digital design a lot for work-related purpose, I would rarely define most of my digital work "art". I usually reserve that term for painting or writing. But lately I've gained an interest in delving into photoshop as an art-tool as much as a work-tool, which has led to a bunch of new works.



Those are links to a few of the recent works, which I've uploaded to my DeviantArt page. I've decided to become active on DA again and share these works online because I've gained interest in using the stock photography on that site (not for paid works of course, and these works in particular use my original photography).

If you have not taken a look at DeviantArt, but love fresh and original artwork, I highly recommend it. It was probably the original art community site, and has since become the one to rule them all (others, like Depthcore and Rasterized are much more exclusive and don't let just anyone join their ranks). If you browse the favorites section on my page you'll see what I mean. Or, follow this link to browse the all-time most popular works in the 3D abstract category, which is one of my favorite categories. I've always loved looking at images like I See No End:



These sort of images actually fall into a sort of cultural style of 3D Abstraction that is pretty rampant in popular digital art. They usually have a high amount of technical detail, have extremely warped perspective, and oftentimes look as organic as they do mechanical. In some cases the genre has become quite tired, as I've seen images like this (and sometimes poorly executed ones) as far back as five years ago. Jens Magnus Karlsson was one of the original artists, at least as far as I can remember, that pioneered this "style" of digital work. Like many things, it became formulated and imitations appeared, but it is hard not to be inspired by it nonetheless. His infamously good website, Chapter3.net, is little more than a resume page now, and he now apparently runs a high-scale design firm in NYC. Most of that original artwork is quite hard to find. His DeviantART page is gutted, and even Google Images can't find any of the "Chapter3" work in question. One of the few examples you can find of his work is in the spectacular book New Masters of Photoshop, which of course is right next to my elbow as I write this. I highly recommend for those who ask the "how did they do they do that??" when it comes to this extreme imagery.

Thankfully though, the digital art scene, 3D Abstract or not, has much material to satiate your appetite when looking for crazy, amazing, inspirational imagery. One of my favorite active artists of this overall genre is ekud. I highly recommend you check out some of the stuff he is doing (he is also featured regularly on DepthCore).

I hope you enjoy my work. I will be making more, hopefully defining my own "voice" in what is essentially a medium all to itself.

Cheers.

Welcome to my thought-stream

Well, look at that. I happen to have a blog.

Great idea that Blogger makes it 3 or so steps, max, to set one of these up. It makes it tempting to do them on a whim.

That is not, of course, to say that I'm doing on this on a whim. In the past I've been a horrible blogger, actually. I've kept a number of blogs at various addresses in various states of disrepair and lacking-of-updates. However, writing consistently has always been a staple of my life, and while blogging has never, at least in the past, fit into my typical pattern, I have a bit of (gasp!) intent in creating this little corner of the internet.

There are the obvious things—I tend to have a number of personal projects going, including novels, paintings, new websites I'm creating, books I'm reading or philosophies I'm considering. Due to the fact that I am working from home now and no longer in school (and more or less stranded in suburbia), I'm doing this so people can "keep track of me" and what I'm doing.

Like I said though, these are the obvious things. Most blogs seem to function around an original intent that inspires them—an event, a project, or an issue—that the blog becomes a running feed of. That might be the secret to creating a "healthy" blog, even though it seems that most blogs actually outlive these original inspirations and come into their own after that fact. This one is no different.

I intend to make this blog a chronicle of the experiences I will have at Arcosanti, an alternative living community or "Urban Laboratory" in the Arizona Desert. That experience will be a 5-week workshop where I will be living on their premises, helping out in… well, whatever I end up helping with (it could be anything from agriculture to construction—quite a change of pace for me, a 120 lb.-or-less pale blonde who rarely leaves the computer screen). I encourage you to take a look at their website to get an idea of what the place actually is. However, out of courtesy, I'll provide the TLDR (too long, didn't read) version here:

Less of a commune than it is a living experiment in ecologically friendly architecture, I visited Arcosanti for the first time when I was about twelve years old. It's been in my mind ever since. It was designed by Paolo Soleri, an Italian architect that originally studied under Frank Lloyd Wright. Soleri's architecture is just about as radical as his architectural theories, which center around melding ecology with architecture, thus coining the term "Arcology"—or, to put it in a more understandable way—a theory of architecture, perhaps even of lifestyle itself, that redesigns the city as a completely unified, passive entity in its local environment. This is a bit more than just putting solar panels on a house—it's more like redesigning the house itself so that solar panels become a redundant (and ugly) addition. In fact, it's even more than that—it would be more like redesigning the entire city into a single building that is, in essence, a giant solar panel.

Yeah, it's a bit like science fiction—and Arcology as a term is probably used more in video games and novels than architectural circles, I'm sure to Soleri's chagrin—but science fiction theories have an odd habit of coming true. And beyond the theory, the learning experience to be gained from living and working in a place like Arcosanti for me, personally speaking, is a great opportunity, and for relatively little cost. Simply as a location, Arcosanti is unique, and it will be a great thing to be steeped in that environment for a month and more.

To see exactly what I'm talking about, take a look at my DeviantArt page which has photos of Arcosanti from one of my previous visits.

This 5-week workshop will be starting April 12, and while I hope to be updating this blog once or twice a week up to then, I will be doing my best to chronicle my experience during the workshop while I am there.

So I have a lot to look forward to. But I won't bore you to tears until then—I'll be looking forward to writing here again. ;)