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HUMANIMAL: A Project for Future Children | by: Bhanu Kapil

I read this book of prose through Kindle on my iPhone on the 5 hr. flight form Oregon to Atlanta & then NYC. It was by far one of the most creatively moving works I have ever read, so intensely gripping I had to look up and remind myself where I was and that I was reading a text. Fellow Caldera AiR Beth Loffreda referred me this text and now I understand why. This book is phenomenal  using pain, history, and poetic grace as a way to trace back to a possibly exsisting past that needs to be remembered, held, and cared for. It brought me through the jungles of India and into the life of two young farel wolfgirls Kamala and Amala who are ‘saved’ by a Priest. I would love one day to do a work based of these two sisters and Kapil’s work in general.

One of the texted that gripped me and is so moving…

“Lucidly, holographically, your heart pulsed in the air next to your body; then my eyes clicked the photo into place. Future child, in the time you lived in, your arms always itched and flaked. To write this, the memoir of your body, I slip my arms into the sleeves of your shirt. I slip my arms into yours, to become four-limbed.”



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I was told about this book of prose by fellow AiR Jimmy Newborg. Three days after he lent it to me I dove into it the night before I was to give my artist talk at Calder’s January Open Studio’s, my nerves were a mess and I was tired form excessive writing needing actual time to step back form the massive project I just produced. Plowing through the book in a night at the end I felt overwhelmed and a strong connection to the contents throughout the pages…to Carson, I cried. Not because I was sad or really upset even but rather overjoyed at the success of the project and everything experienced in the making of it. I realized that I had just taken something that I put my entire self into and now it was gone from me and existing out and free to be viewed, experienced, and critiqued by the world. Like the boy named Geryon, I too continue to painfully grow with each artwork made and completed, a little piece of me goes with it.

Song of the Girl in White

Symphony in White No. 1: The White Girl
James Abbott McNeill Whistler, 1862

Whistler explained his artistic philosophy and his reason for including musical terms in his works’ titles in his famous “Ten O’Clock Lecture,” a part of which was published in his book The Gentle Art of Making Enemies :

“Why should not I call my works ‘symphonies,’ ‘arrangements,’ ‘harmonies,’ and ‘nocturnes’?  I know that many good people think my nomenclature funny and myself ‘eccentric’… The vast majority of English folk cannot and will not consider a picture as a picture, apart from any story which it may be supposed to tell…
As music is the poetry of sound, so is painting the poetry of sight, and the subject-matter has nothing to do with harmony of sound or of colour [sic]… Art should be independent of all clap-trap – should stand alone, and appeal to the artistic sense of eye or ear, without confounding this with emotions entirely foreign to it, as devotion, pity, love, patriotism, and the like. All these have no kind of concern with it and that is why I insist on calling my works ‘arrangements’ and ‘harmories…”

James McNeill Whistler, “The Red Rag,” in The Gentle Art of Making Enemies (London: William Heinemann, 1890), pp. 126-7.


AndrEi Trakovsky

While studying video art I was drawn to documents written by Andrei Tarkovsky (Solaris, Stalker, Mirror/Mirror, Nostalghia) who’s films incorporate aspects of philosophy and spirituality by the use of riveting visual moments where “cinematic images per se are observations of phenomena unfolding” as he considered cinema to be “sculpting in time’ (Trakovsky 63). Furthermore, Trakovsky had a way of creating a landscape that contained a presence beyond the moment of a scene, referencing a timelessness of place; he was more “interested in the landscape than in the tale, in the semantic ambiance of his settings” (Dunne 81). His films, techniques, and philosophies, encouraged me to seek the power of the compelling image through my own work. Once scene I found personally compelling from his film Stalker (1979).


Three main characters are on a journey to find a utopic place called the Zone, they stop along a railroad track and the sun shines bright causing the characters to be still and silently stare up at it, the scene continually holds until the sun fades away. This scent left an impression on me because it encouraged me not to disregard the natural things that happen during a shoot and discovered through editing, and how short moments can be as riveting and profound as an elaborately planned shoot. His work encouraged me to feel confident in the still moment and video as painting.

Janet biggs




Saya Woolfalk





I should never have learned words
how much better off I’d be
if I lived in a world
where meanings didn’t matter,
the world with no words

If beautiful words take revenge against you
it’s none of my concern
If quiet meanings make you bleed
it also is none of my concern

The tears in your gentle eyes
the pain that drips from your silent tongue –
I’d simply gaze at them and walk away
if our world had no words

In your tears
is there meaning like the core of a fruit?
In a drop of your blood
is there a shimmering resonance of the evening glow
of this world’s sunset?

I should never have learned words
Simply because I know Japanese and bits of a foreign tongue
I stand still inside your tears
I come back alone into your blood

The poems translated here are taken from Ryuichi Tamura: Poems 1946~1976 published in 1976.

TRANSLATING TIME: Cinema, the Fantastic, and Temporal Critique

Bliss Cua Lim

Duke University Press Books (September 21, 2009)
ISBN-10: 0822345102

In Translating Time, Bliss Cua Lim argues that fantastic cinema depicts the coexistence of other modes of being   alongside and within the modern present, disclosing multiple “immiscible temporalities” that strain against the modern concept of homogeneous time. In this wide-ranging study—encompassing Asian American video (On Cannibalism), ghost films from the New Cinema movements of Hong Kong and the Philippines (RougeItimHaplos), Hollywood remakes of Asian horror films (Ju-onThe GrudgeA Tale of Two Sisters) and a Filipino horror film cycle on monstrous viscera suckers (Aswang)—Lim conceptualizes the fantastic as a form of temporal translation. The fantastic translates supernatural agency in secular terms while also exposing an untranslatable remainder, thereby undermining the fantasy of a singular national time and emphasizing shifting temporalities of transnational reception.

Lim interweaves scholarship on visuality with postcolonial historiography. She draws on Henri Bergson’s understanding of cinema as both implicated in homogeneous time and central to its critique, as well as on postcolonial thought linking the ideology of progress to imperialist expansion. At stake in this project are more ethical forms of understanding time that refuse to domesticate difference as anachronism. While supernaturalism is often disparaged as a vestige of primitive or superstitious thought, Lim suggests an alternative interpretation of the fantastic as a mode of resistance to the ascendancy of homogeneous time and a starting-point for more ethical temporal imaginings.