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Happy. New. Year. (The more we say it, the more it's true?) As challenging times continue for many/all(?) of us, I'm finding it even more important to reflect on wins, losses, missed opportunities and new connections. There are a lot more highlights than I expected from 2021 -- maybe if you look back, you'll find the same? I hope so. Here are some from my end: Highlights:
I did make progress on my 2021/2022 goals, but I notice my goals for the next two years do look similar to last year's (and the year before). As Andrew Simonet encourages, I'm trying to think more in terms of decades now, rather than years or days, so that's okay. Progress is progress. These are big goals for me. These days still aren't usual. I'm grateful to be healthy, have work, have a home to live in, be able to afford groceries, rent, bills and small luxuries, and be *relatively* mentally stable. 3 Big Goals for the Next Two Years:
As I've found it challenging to make bold steps in these days of continued uncertainty, finding myself occasionally paralyzed by the unknowns aided by past trauma festering in my ribs, I want to make this a year of more bravery, more stepping forward into what I know I need, letting go of what no longer serves me, more courageous joy, more openhearted rejuvenation, more grounding reflection. May 2022 be my year of claiming space for what I know I need.  Heading toward the highest sea cliffs on the world on Moloka'i. What a light spot -- fully vaccinated, before Delta, just married.
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Thanks to those of you who shared your thoughts about my 500-word artist statement in process. Below is the 250-word version. They'll both live in the "About" section of my website shortly. Feel free to again share observations, what feels like the strongest pieces of language, how it makes you see/invites you into my work and questions, if you like. Regardless, thanks for taking an early glimpse. As a playwright and writer across disciplines, I study the distance between us, seeking connection across differences.
Writing teaches me to trust my brain and get present in my body, two things I once thought impossible. I mine monsters that plagued me through child-and-early-adulthood (and still chase me down), amplifying them to mythic metaphors in locations loaded with personal history, so I can grapple with my mind as a human who lives in an absurd world, just like you. By revealing my most vulnerable secrets, I hope we can see each other more clearly. In my work, tactile language, playful contradictions, kinetic imagery and haunted landscapes bridge spaces between words, between universes, between you and me. I uncover how my disorders, scars, terrors, regrets, curiosities, heartbeats, delights and wonders link with yours, the earth’s and the cosmos’. I cook our rawest parts together in hot lava stew. By physicalizing my most difficult moments and mashing them with yours, along with surprising bursts of dazzling beauty and mystical forces, I hope laughter and meet-cute swoons can bubble alongside the brutality of reality. I want us to take more time to pay attention with intention, to see that the shadows inside us we can’t bear to acknowledge also overwhelm the stranger next to us, those too far away to comprehend, nonhuman persons and unrecognizable entities – and that we share intoxicating joys, dreams, desires, too. Without shame, we can unveil, heal and embrace our weightiest, wildest places for love of interdependence between everything. Hello! I'm working on updating my artist statement. Below is a draft of the full 500-word version (that I can cut down as needed for various applications, but would live on this website along with a 250-word version). If you want, feel free to share your first impressions, using the following questions as guideposts: What is the strongest language -- words/phrases that linger with you? After reading the statement, is it clear what kind of art I make? Is it clear why I do it? Why (I hope) it matters in the world? And how I do it? Does it make you want to see my work? If you already know my work (a bit or a lot), does it sound like what I make, or more aspirational, something I'm reaching for but doesn't quite fit yet? Thank you for reading and any help you'd like to give! Observations and questions are welcome, prescriptions less so. No troll remarks needed, either :) As a playwright and writer across disciplines, I examine the gaps dividing genres, people, perspectives and my own disjointed fragments. Studying the distance between us, I seek connection across differences. I write what terrifies me, juxtaposing the rough and the funny, the silken and sharp, the gorgeous and grotesque to catch a glimpse at what it means to exist on this planet.
Writing teaches me to trust my brain and get present in my body, two things I once thought impossible for me. Swimming through memories I can't believe happened, I mine monsters that plagued me through child-and-early-adulthood (and still chase me down), amplifying them to mythic metaphors in locations loaded with personal history, so I can grapple with my mind as a human who lives in an absurd world, just like you. By revealing my most vulnerable secrets, I hope we can see each other more clearly. Sensory details spark mirror neurons that unite nervous systems. In my work, tactile language, playful contradictions, kinetic imagery and haunted landscapes bridge spaces between words, between universes, between you and me. As I exorcise my past, my peripheral vision widens. Disparate pathways coalesce. Through searching research, conversations, surveys and letters shared with me, I uncover how my disorders, scars, terrors, regrets, curiosities, heartbeats, delights and wonders link with yours, the earth’s and the cosmos’. I pour together collected stories, observations and devised collaborations in hot lava stew, cooking our rawest parts together. Cathartic release brings breath. My play see in the dark: a new myth churns a recurring nightmare from my adolescence with our fears of the other and climate disaster. In a future Juneau, Alaska when all the glaciers have melted, the ice fields have vanished and nothing is recognizable, an isolated community of mutant outsiders must decide what to do with a newcomer: the young girl with a great power that threatens to destroy their village and everyone in it. This play collides environmental collapse, collectivism, poetry, a genocidal shadow beast, radical love and the value of compassion over suspicion. By physicalizing my most difficult moments and mashing them with yours, along with surprising bursts of dazzling beauty flooding with waterfalls, oceans and mystical forces, I hope laughter and meet-cute swoons can bubble alongside the heartbreaking brutality of reality. It's hard being alive today. I want us to take more time to pay attention with intention, to see that the things inside us we can’t bear to acknowledge also overwhelm the stranger next to us, those too far away to comprehend, nonhuman persons and unrecognizable entities – and that we share intoxicating joys, dreams, desires, too. I want us to take stock of our hidden monstrosities. Without shame, we can unveil, heal and embrace our weightiest, wildest places for love of interdependence between everything. What if we held unconditional friendliness toward all citizens of the multiverse, ourselves included? I want to hold out a hand and sit with you through your struggle. Together we can get through this thing called life. Recently I enjoyed listening to this podcast episode "Lost Proof" by Dr. Cindy Shearer, my former professor and advisor in my MFA days, when I studied Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts at California Institute of Integral Studies. In response to Cindy's invitation at the end of the episode, I went on my own little trip and made a postcard out of the experience. I feel so-so about the results, but found the process awakening, so wanted to share her invitation with you: "What if you make a commitment to do something that you do every day but to try it on for one day in a new way. What if you try to see it, experience it as travel or as a trip. Don't forget to take your travel -- your traveler -- journal with you. Record words that speak to you...as you travel or images, or pick up small items that appeal or speak to you so that you have them to remind you of the trip when you get back. When you do get back from your trip, feel free to explore definitions or the etymology or the synonyms connected to words that you found...Sit with it all. And then make a postcard of your trip. Don't forget, please, to make your stamp." Cindy Shearer I took a walk in the foothills near my neighborhood as I often do. What most struck me was the number of demolition sites in my path. A row of low-income rentals gone for future condos. An old building (perhaps related to the military site that used to be there) torn down in the dusty hills on my route, resulting in new fenced-off locations and detours. I was able to find a different way to my favorite spot -- a pond leading to a little marshy-land in the midst of high-desert surroundings -- but the circuitous directions kept me thinking about how much is continuously disappearing in our cities and natural landscapes.   I think if I spent more time making the postcard, I might enjoy that element more, but going through this short process was a playful way to reenter a larger project I'm returning to this month. I forgot to look up etymologies, synonyms and definitions of words -- definitely something I'll do if I revisit this with another walk and text/image piece in the future. Maybe I will, down the road, or on a break/detour from my current project. If you go on a journey and make a postcard, I'd love to hear about it. So would Cindy -- you can connect with her via Instagram as she invites at the end of the podcast. A few images from my trip: i see you hiding stuck in your busyness anxiety zaps your lightning bolt brain release sparks or get comfortable clear the confused moments wavering that hula hoop spinning plates no competition break out smash boxes burst light pools poor or not you're fire magnifying polarities no barriers i am here the saga a high road conscious opening thirsty skin shatter empty smoke to collect the kindling again find breathing room little turtle wake from chaos dance in ocean currents glow star-fused spacious all is in your color stop trying so hard  find breathing room, little turtle. Photo by Andri Munazir on Unsplash the grey a mist a cloud this city lives in fire season we got swallowed by a volcano through wide, tall panes fragments of cyan between white/rust/brown but a ghost blue less of itself summer days i squint my eyes peering at bright but an overcast lid traps muggy dry the sleepy light ducking back in bed sight a bronze tongue that makes me fold in on my ribs just so air punishes lungs days like this might as well stay inside watch the months go by  Photo by Manny Becerra on Unsplash dig the garden push into heat shovel, water feed blossoms thin greens tick tick tick at keys pull sprouts one idea, another rake past garbage writing is composting churning one thought, another getting lost pluck sucker-shoots spidery grasses, tough weeds sew hope, prune sentences, enrich soil that patience all the waiting slow grow daily in the dirt vigils on chair, by seedlings fight critics, aphids, slugs distractions sometimes the sun sometimes a frost and everything wastes 50 pages pumped thrown away file deleted note forgotten but the harvest after mind numbing stuck wandering pacing slogging to make something of this land is it even fertile? the chance of leaves, blooms, a whole tomato a feast, a draft a completed work something to dream on to return for tick tick tick  Crunch up foothills Swelter sweat, dust Birch leaves rattle Brief moments of clouds, paralyzed in blue Squint Feet ache, my poor bunion toe Ration water Heart starts to slow To-dos crumble Thighs sting, the climb The path by the pond A sign sticks out Warning ice isn't safe  Photo by Chris Leipelt on Unsplash the water the ripples wet grass fog grows over the bay campers crowd around coleman for coffee and tea water in the warm of right now i take off my sweatshirt watch the waves listen to humans plan their day i don't think about my syllabus be here pay attention to my bloated belly the black needle beaked birds and finch-like flappers fall away from the business around the table this green tea my heart of whole damp love and squishiness this view of blue away from phone service sun warms my neck with thanks to Nick Jaina for the prompt I want writers who listen who understand vast silences and shine light in shadowlands I want writers who comb deep caverns of sea who fall in romance with the planet around them and ask fellow beings to seek palaces of kindness writers who deconstruct their realities for each other willing to fly free past small lives to find something scared writers with courage who magnify the depths who complicate air and make sense of the noise I want writers who challenge the everyday who create imaginary universes out of a bunch of blankets laid over chairs for a kid's fort who erupt volcanoes and paint figures ready to jump but crawl back home and rip out large sections of biblical text to make a new reality writers who make peace stumbling on sanctuary humming wavelengths I want writers who sing lullabies to their readers but the kind that wake us up writers who make kaleidoscopic dances on the page that acrobat off and up and tumble into our hearts thighs throats writers who crack me down the middle with a sledgehammer and then offer a handkerchief I want to be a writer who takes wandering walks through old growth forests and has soft conversations with trees moss leaflets who drinks in autumn and pours out spring I want writers who map the stars in reshaped constellations and invent myths that erupt with the same grandiose heat as the ancients but have awakening energy that stirs something deep from our seats something primal guttural familiar in a tribal way in the way of us that is forgotten memory beyond the bottoms of our feet yet glimmering starlight too guiding us to sublime faraways I want writers who don't reinvent circles but split apart the old contraption and reassemble the parts until they disrupt my breath until I stop recognizing the form only to unveil the fresh beginning I want to be a writer with the racing spririt of that seven year old who ran in from the front door to meet his parents at the welcome desk a writer with curious eyes who puts ear to the door throws it wide discovers the secret place and smashes a violin case on the ground but only for good a writer who traces back to finds hope in history and future too I want writers who travel to the ends of the multiverse who can pull back the moon and release the sun who empty their ribs and continue to open I want to float in a hot blimp to survey the whole topography below me and uncover blanketed mysteries  float in a hot blimp, survey the whole topography below me, uncover blanketed mysteries Photo by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash |
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$1, $10, $100, whatevs :) Heidi KraayProcess notes on a work in progress (me). This mostly contains raw rough content pulled out of practice notebooks. Occasional posts also invite you into the way I work, with intermittent notes on the hows and whys on the whats I make. Less often you may also find prompts and processes I've brought to workshops, as well as surveys that help me gather material for projects. Similar earlier posts from years ago can be found on: Archives
July 2022
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