ok a lot at once, it has been building up

i was sort of remembering last summer--i think because i was thinking about where i was now--so of course i started thinking about where i used to be.

we were wandering around old faithful and a girl wearing a very stuffed backpack ran past us shouting the beehive's indicator is on! so of course we followed her and it turned out that a not so often geyser was about to go off. we got soaked.

and we hiked up to a glacier. i don't really know why this has anything to do with being in korea. maybe it is because i am thinking about seeing things from far away, like when you are in a plane and then seeing them up close.

when i flew here, there was daylight happening the entire time. intense bright light. we flew north and eventua

lly sort of snaking waterways and pockets of snow gave way to the frozen hudson bay. it looked very cold and i felt like everything down there was moving so very slowly, while we moved above it so quickly--i mean as slow as possible, frozen, it was very beautiful. and very flat. i remember hiking up into the mountains last summer and looking down over lakes--where the wind would move the water and make it look smudged. when we eventually flew between russia and japan all i could see was ocean, and every now and then a crisp, very white smudge, or a boat. there were ots of mountains when we flew over russia--and eventually just vast blue, flat ocean, that met the sky in a blurry line. at some point after the hudson, everyone closed their little window shades. i was a little upset because i could have passed the entire flight looking out the window, into the brightness and at whatever was below. but everyone was trying to sleep so i closed mine too. then i decided those windows are keyholes. the cabin was dark, and pretty quiet because most people were resting. i sort drifted in and out of sleep myself--but every now and then someone, somewhere in the plane would open their window shade just a bit, and not only was the light pouring in visually noticeable because the cabin was and felt very dim--but even if my eyes were closed i could sort of feel it. the small sliding sound and the total but short change in the inside of the plane. it sounds strange. the darkness of eyes being closed would get lighter--as that happens when light changes.

i opened mine a little too a few times--and the slice of light that came in was blindingly bright. once when i looked out we were above a soft plain of clouds.

so the windows are keyholes. during the constant darkness/brightness of my flight from new york to tokyo.

now here are my experiments about creating a horizon, building a sky (i see the ground as being something reflective) and using tripods to support--clouds, or these sort of delicate pairings (the ocean is below). here are some trees down by the lake--being grown straight with tripods.











a level of sky. clay is what is here. it's the easiest thing to get a hold of. and i see tripods everywhere.

i know it is a lot at once but i am going to keep going. this is wondering what is the smallest shift you can make to change an outcome--the sequencing of events that lead so some sort of end.

i like sort of smooshing these dry forms together. on instance, their grouping stops an action (the objects being stopped by themselves) another set is being blocked by a pile of fluff, and in another one is being removed. also--the resting place, the pause in action, the preservation of location/situation.









spent the weekend in busan--wandered around nampo-dong (the market area in busan) and waded around an this sandbar all day. watched the lighthouses at night-now i am thinking about them, and wanted to get out the balloons again--weighting them down in water and trying to left a concrete block. i remembered how when i was a kid thinking a was really light- so it was totally possible for me to jump off of the garage roof holding a plastic grocery bag above my head, i could jump off ad just float down. remembering all sorts of things like flattening pennies on the train tracks. i think maybe i will get out the bike i rode when i was little and drive it around town.
seeing this reminded of when i saw some construction in philly. a building was bring restored and the only thing left was the facade. it was held up by all sorts of scaffolding and rebuilt from the face backwards.





I have also thought of a solution for the giant cloud-fabric forms--a cloud zip line of course. i had a zipline that my dad put up in the backyard i spent hours and hours on it. it was on the side of the house where there wasn't much grass but a lot of moss and i really liked that.

and sorry to say i have to photos, but we went in the toya ceramix center, and there above a lake was a banner-message being held up by six giant balloons.

and now I am in Suwon

a little outside seoul.

i have been searching for the keyhole here. look here http://brittanydenigris.wordpress.com/

brought this slab out to the dry ground around the lake. i don't know what is going to happen with that.keyhole.sinkholethese are clouds on top of mountains, but since then i have turned them into these little domino tiles. i want to interfere with their way of falling on one another--sort of disable their system.

i went down to the lake and began wrapping this mound with string. then i wanted to tether it to a rock that was lying next to it on the ground, then across a puddle to a clump if grass and finally to s small twig sticking up out of another mound of dirt. i would like to think that if i picked up the rock next to the mound that the plants and twig would be unearthed. the area was empty, and then a van started driving towards me and two men got out and began building a fence. they hammered poles into the ground and strung rope in between them. i do not know why they were dividing this empty place. they came over to me and started inspecting the string, with their hands on their chins. eventually they laughed and just kept walking around and around the string and then they went back to stretching rope between the poles. it was kind of a nice set of activities happening at the same time.


trying to bring the sky downwards. there is a lake, and around that is a very dry expansive area of dirt--land behind readies for construction of some sort. that place is going to be useful.



I looked towards the window in the studio and this was happening. it tends to be windy here.

and now that i am in South Korea

I started in Busan. this is a huge sloping, eroded rock at a temple. i like that is also a shelf for small rocks and statues, offerings I suppose




very strange; this tube was tied to a fence and leads out into the ocean


this was just sort of a beautiful drawing that happened when someone left this lying around.



here are some women moving sand around.




and an exercise park.

things i saw before i left

the vines behind the fence










i see so much in philadelphia.

one night i was walking home, on 12th off of broad and i heard a strange humming coming from the park and i saw the silhouette of a person following this hovering bright blue light. it was a remote controlled helicopter, and they were flying it in the darkness. it was strange that he was driving it and following it.

and then there were many sort of stormy, windy cherry blossom days and i watched a woman sweep the pink petals off of the sidewalk into a dustbin with her broom.

and i am sure there is more, but that notebook is in another country now.





i was happy i decided to lay on the couch that afternoon after

this is the humming blue light

this is the link, where you can find the boat, and the keyhole and lots of things that have already happened

while er are here have i ever talked about vehicles, and how being in one is this trance where you both still and moving? it is weird how they crawl all over the world with us inside of them and how they place us where we otherwise could not be. like in the sky. and travelling across america--what did we do before the highways--there is all this land in the middle that just exists and is so vast.