Scars (Help Needed)

My latest endeavor is one that has become of great importance to me.  It started out as a final in my Historical Processes class.  I was to complete a series of photos and print them using one of the many historical printing forms.  I explained to my teacher that I wanted to do a group of portraits using a large format camera (a film camera which uses a 4"x5" or more negative), using the kallitype process. He responded with "I like the idea, but why would you be grouping these people together?"

I thought.  And thought.  And thought....

Scars.

After shooting a few portraits, I soon realized that this was something that could mean something more to people more than myself, and it quickly became more than just a homework assignment, transforming into one of the most important works in my young career.  It is now the series that I will use for what is called a "BFA show"(Bachelor of Fine Arts Show), and will be a part of a BFA student gallery that showcases the work of graduating fine arts students.

 Here are a few examples of what I have done so far:

Return (of the Jedi)

A long time it has been.  A semester has come and gone, and so has my (very short) summer break.  Much has happened, yet so has nothing at all.

My semester back after India was one of the most stressful, and yet rewarding semesters of all.  I was taking 15 credits of classes, all of which were studio classes--meaning I was working on 4 projects at a time, with no time for breathing in between.

Here is a quick summary of what I did for the past 4 and 1/2 months:

rideinastuntplanenewapartmentstarfishesblackandwhitefilmyellowstoneandeverywhereinbetweenhoursinthedarkroom35mmfilmholgalargeformatdocumentarytattooparloursmannamedtrollwatchingpiercingsandtattoosgettingdonetattooconventioninslcattemptedseriesonchildpsychologyportraithoursinlightstudiomotorcycleinstudiocrashedlaptopmodelsmodelsmodelshistoricalprocesseslightsensitivechemicalsonpaperoriginalformsofprintingphotoscyanotypesgumprintsplatinumprintskallitypesvandykebrownsscarsindiapicturessummerbreaknew4x5cameravisitfamilyinmedfordinportlandinBoiseinCorvallisinSeattlevacationsanjuanislandsscarsworkdrastichaircutwhichleadsusto...

Now.

I have started work on my BFA (Bachelor of Fine Arts), which is like my photographic version of a thesis.  As part of the completion of my degree, I have to shoot and present a series of photos on campus in a gallery like setting.  It is what all my blood, sweat, and tears, and hours of work for the past 4+ years is for.  It is a very important and prestigious event, and an honor to be a part of.  Definitely not something to take lightly.

The Leave-Taking (My Hindustani)

It only took a moment to fully commit to coming to India. Once I had made the decision that I was going to go (rather come), that was it. I might as well have signed a contract in my blood. Although, there were many things that led to that decision. I had to experience truly wanting, that desire to have something so bad that I was willing to push myself, and do what I could to have that one thing. I had that need, that desire, and I took action, then I there was the final step: losing the thing that I longed for, failing to get what I desired. Unlike the decision to go to India, letting go was a long and painful process that I reluctantly went through. I stumbled, and fell apart. I had almost completed the puzzle, but it was thrown across a room, scattered and I was blindly trying to piece it back together.

In searching for the scattered pieces, I found a better way, a better option. I had shelved my dream of travelling, figuring that I wouldn’t have the funds or the chance to do it. I had been working a steady full-time job, and had a load of money.

I remembered a friend of mine from high school going on a study abroad with BYU. I was so envious of her when I looked at her pictures, and wished I could go. But, what was stopping me now? I approached the parental units with the idea, to which my mom replied “I actually had been thinking that same thing! I hadn’t thought of where you should go, but I felt like you should do something like this.”

We looked into it right away. It was only offered for the fall semester, and dammit, I had just missed the application deadline by a few weeks. Rather than wait a year and half, I figured that I would email the contact and ask if there was a late application date. Within 24 hours he replied, asking if I could call him that night.

Return to Rajahmundry

I had the best day, and the worst day all at once. It was the best day because I was presented with a truly unique experience, that pushed my comfort levels, and shattered some of my fears. But the events that followed however pushed me too far. I'm a relatively private person, and am told often by my loved ones that I keep too much inside. That day I found myself in rare occasion of genuinely wanting and needing to talk to someone, but was in a place where no one could speak enough English to really listen to what I had to say. It was a horrible feeling to have no choice but to keep everything inside. Although it was only a day I had to wait before I could talk about it, the hours passed painfully slow, each thought and each second tainted with confusions, shock, and anger.

My research has been geared toward learning about the death rituals of the Hindus. This research involved many interviews with ritualists, and other people involved in the practices of the Hindus. Some of my research allowed me to observe and document some of these practices, including observing a cremation.

The man who oversees the cremation

Krishnayya's Aunt and a photo of her Late Husband

On Monday I returned to Rajahmundry to continue my research that I had started on my first trip to Rajahmundry. The first few days were full of interviews with ritualists, workers at the cemetery, and the wife of the chairman of Kailasbhoomi (the Hindu cemetery I am studying). On Wednesday, the site director Krishnayya returned to Vizag so he could continue making final preparations for his trip to America in a few days.

The usual Hindu Cemetery

Kailasbhoomi

It was recommended by the Chairman of Kailasbhoomi that I spend some time at the cemeteries and observe its workings, so I chose to stay in Rajahmundry for another day or two, to do so. Thursday morning I went to the north side cemetery first. Already two bodies were being burned, which as odd as it sounds, I was happy to see. The families were in the designated area for them to wait and watch, as is usual. Not much would be more distracting than a random white girl walking by, so I stayed on the sides out of respect for the ceremony that was taking place.There was some construction still taking place in the area I was standing. Two men approached me, saying they were the contractors, and we conversed briefly. They saw I was watching, and told me I could go closer. I was hesitant still, because they families were still in the "observatory" (the best word I could use to describe it), and I wasn't sure how they would feel about me getting any closer, especially when I have a large camera strapped around my neck. The contractors saw no problem with it, and took me right up to the burning area. This alone was a very rare thing to be able to do, as there is much left undone on research of the Hindu death rituals. Again, I was surprised when the contractors encouraged me to take photos--Krishnayya had told me to not take photos if there was a cremation going on, which is completely understandable. I confirmed with them that it was okay, and they in full confidence said it was okay. I snapped away.

These photos and experiences are more graphic in nature, and so to be sensitive to my followers who may not wish to see these things, I created Abusurd Alacrity Uncut as a way of publishing the parts of my research and photos that are more mature in nature.

Being forced to hold everything in, I want to lay everything out, the way things were and are still. 'Uncut' is a blog that is completely open and blatantly honest in my thoughts and experiences as they occurred, and can contain some mild swearing and content of sensitive subject matter, and mature in nature. These are the things that do not belong on my original blog.

I would not want to push any of you, my reader's, boundaries or comfort levels. I would only encourage you to read the other blog if you feel comfortable with it. If you feel that you are, you can click this link: http://absurdalacrityuncut.blogspot.com.
On a final note I would like to thank my readers. Thank you all your support and interest in what I've been doing for the last three months. I only have 3 weeks left, which is hard to believe. Time has never flown by faster. The rest of my time here is going to be filled with studying for my Telugu final, and a final hurrah by making a trip to Darjeeling next week. It should be quite a final adventure, and I'm excited to tell you all about it.

Krishnayya's Uncle in the slums of Rajahmundry

One of the most pitiful street puppies I've seen yet

Krishnayya's "never wife" who is now married to his Uncle

The Proposal

Here I stand in front of 200+ college age Indians hooting, and before me a Nepali boy kneeling, with one hand holding a microphone and the other stretched out to me. How do I get myself into these situations? Oh, I remember now.

Four other students and I made a trip to Kakinada, a city 200 km away from Vizag, as special guests of the Vice Chancellor of Jawaharl Nehru Technological University-Kakinada. The Vice Chancellor, Allam Apa Rao, is an incredibly generous man, and a good friend of both Krishnayya, and Dr. Nuckolls (program director). For every batch of BYU students that have come on this program he has invited them for an all expense paid trip to Kakinada. As special guests, we stay in the University guest house, where each room has Air Conditioning, and hot water (a rare thing anywhere in India). I could say without apprehension that I was excited to go to Kakinada.

It's Thursday and the day has come for us to go to Kakinada. I wasn't the only one excited to go to Kakinada either. One of our cooks, sixteen year old Silazaa is from Kakinada. Silu is cousins with our washerman Razu, so when circumstances required it, her mother took her out of school and sent her to Vizag to work in the program as a cook. She, for the past couple weeks, had been missing her mother dearly. So Krishnayya promised that when we made our trip to Kakinada, that she could join us to visit her mother.

She had dressed up in her nicest Salwar Kameez, and was directing our driver through Kakinada to get to her home. Her excited face brightening up as we neared her house, and saw the familiar faces of her neighborhood. I was happy to see that she lived in what looked like a much better than decent area of town. The car stopped in front of an alley that led past a half dozen houses, and at the end, a hut, her

Home and Rajahmundry

Home is a fluid concept. For me, home can come in the shape of the pan handle state, or the hills of southeast Washington, on the road in a small two door Toyota or in the embrace of a loved one. Right now, home is on the opposite side of the world I know. Its taken the shape of a mosquito net, in a neon green house in the middle of a city bursting with a population of 3 million. Home is a place where the red soil is so bright it looks orange. The sewers are open, and available as public restrooms, the mangy flea-ridden street dogs number in the thousands, and I always have to watch my feet to be sure that I don’t step in poop (dog or human). At the end of the day, my skin is covered with a black film from the pollution created by the nearby steel mill. But that is India. My India. My Vizag.

I’ve found another home. This last weekend the group made a trip to Rajahmundry, a smaller city about 200 km north of Vizag. Rajahmundry is on the grand Godavari river, and is the hometown of our Site Director Krishnayya, and also happens to be the location where most of my research will be taking place. I immediately loved it for it’s less chaotic atmosphere and its riverside deliciousness.

Priests on the Godavari River

On our first full day there, we took a trip through what Krishnayya called “the green-belt” of the East Godavari district. For 2 ½ hours we drove through villages that farm mostly rice patties with some other unfamiliar crops. The drive was amazing, and soooo incredibly gorgeous. The air was untouched by steel mill pollution and filled with the freshness of agriculture. I would love nothing more than to spend a day with the villagers working in the rice patties, and watch more of their life-style. That also would have given me the opportunity to actually take pictures—pictures from inside a car don’t really work too well.

After driving for a while, we stopped at a sweet shop to watch how kaja is made. The sweets in India are, like the rest of the country, unlike anything else I’ve eaten. One of the most popular is Burfey (pronounced barfy), a sweet so rich and heavy that it makes me want to barfy. Clever I know. Kaja is made by rolling thin dough, then cutting it, so each piece has a billion layers, and then fried. I’m not entirely sure where the sweet part comes in, but I know its there somewhere. Many of the girls were freaked out by the number of flies that crawled

Ramanaidu, Thotlakonda, and Bimli

Saturday was the day that the group finally made a trip to Ramanaidu Film Studios. Since our first week here, we collectively have been wanting to tour the studio; but it was far from being as exciting as we had imagined. Although, that could have been different had we been there while a movie was actually being filmed.

After our quick tour, we drove another few kilometers to see the ruins Thotlakonda, an ancient Buddhist Complex that was said to have "flourished" 2000 years ago. About 20 years ago excavations began after it was sighted during an aerial survey by the Indian Navy in preparation for construction of the nearby Naval Base. Thotlakonda is on top of a hill that overlooks the Bay of Bengal, with a few small buildings, most of which looked like they used to be round structures. I should have brushed up on my Buddhist culture and architecture so I could know what each of the buildings could have been for, and better imagined what the buildings might of actually looked like. Oh well.

Hilary exploring the ruins of Thotlakonda

After Thotlakonda, we made our last stop in Bimlipatnam, another coastal city, at the base of the hill that

A day in India

Clangclangclangclangclang!

Oh, good morning Krishna. I recognize that you are an early riser, and admire your ability to wake up at 5 each morning, but I don’t think I’ll wake up just yet. Unfortunately my night owl habits kept me up late, and I therefore am not eager to wake up for another 3 hours. I’ll let your priests ring their bells, while I blindly run my hands around my pillow in search of the earplugs that fell out during the night, and plug up again. Ah, silence. A little too much silence actually. Its 8:26 now, and telegu class is in four minutes. Crap.
Dive under mosquito net. Put pants on. Throw of the sheet that pretends to be the door that I don’t have. Ru-u-u-u-n down the stairs. Slab my breakfast PB&J together. Crap! Notebook! U-u-u-u-p the stairs, notebook, ba-a-a-a-ck down, out the door, down the street around the corner, around the cow grazing on garbage, and into the program house for class.

As engaging as my telegu Instructor Siva Prasad is (insert heavy sarcasm here), my mind can’t help but wander and think of what I’m going to do today, putting it to the soundtrack of “Anaganaga O Dheerudu,” the Disney Telegu movie I saw a few weeks ago*. I draw a blank of what I want to do, so I just sing the little parts I know from the soundtrack over and over in my head.

According to BYU, I came to India to do research. As much as I would like to act like I am taking my research seriously, I can’t. I would rather wander around the city by myself, and absorb the culture. But the idea of being accosted by the men asking me where I’m from, and if they can have my phone number so I can help them “learn English” doesn’t ever give me motivation. Maybe I should start wearing toe rings (the Indian wedding rings), and then they’ll leave me alone. I’m going to have to muster up the motivation to do my research.

Clangclangclangclangclang!
Krishna’s making his racket again. Is it really noon already? I go downstairs to each another delicious lunch made from the talented cooks we have. Oh! And what a feast! Goat curry, rice, chopati, dahl, and potato curry. Mmmm, good for the soul.

Although, the direction changes of my project has increased my interest level. Instead of studying tombstone imagery, I was going to compare the funerary customs of the smaller cultures within the

Becoming a "Yes!" Woman (Krishten! Freak Out!)

I would like to preface this post by apologizing for the length of this post. Please do not let the length deter you from reading the post. So give you more incentive to read this post I will tell you right up front that I'm in a movie. Now you have to read the whole thing. Commencing in 3... 2... 1...

My dearest cousin MacKenzie said to me “I want you become a ‘yes’ woman while you're in India.” That was some good advice Mac.

A few days ago, after telegu class, one of the guys in the program, Sam, asked if anyone in the group was interested in going to a lunch with some of his contacts for his research. Sam is researching sustainable agriculture, and as part of that research often visits a small farming community in which the lunch was being held. I wasn’t initially interested, but Hilary made the excellent point that I probably wasn’t going to do my research anyway, so I might as well join her and Sam.

“Okay, yes.”

You know what? I’m glad I went.

It was a fascinating community of radswamis, a non-hindu religion that follows a guru but does have some hindu elements. They believe in not being a burden to society and have created a mostly self-sufficient community. Everyone has jobs that help in supporting and continuing their community. There are multiple farms that everyone will work on in the morning before they go to their jobs. The crops are distributed among the people, and the rest sold. The income from the crops that they sell go back into the farming fund.

There was a distinct difference between this community and the rest of Vizag. The houses, though still in poor condition by American standards, were in much better condition by Indian standards. The streets

India: Week 1

Here are a few lessons I have learned from my first week in India:

1. Time is relative. There is no need to be uptight about your schedule. Its okay to be 15 minutes, 45 minutes, 60 minutes, heck even 2 hours late! “Actually tomorrow would work okay too.”

2. Bathrooms are overrated. “Who needs a stall when you can just whip it out right where you are!”

3. Bargain, bargain, bargain. “Okay, 150 rupees sounds fine. But 80 rupees sounds even better!”

4. If you have a tough decision to make, don’t make it. “Should we take down the temple that’s in the way of the road we’re building, or should we just go around it? Lets just not finish building the road.”

5. When driving through traffic, think of everything as a puzzle. “If it fits, go for it.”

6. When someone makes a side-to-side bobblehead motion, it does not mean “I guess” or “sort of”. That is the Indian way of saying, “yes”.

I am thoroughly enjoying my time here in Vizag. I chose to go to India to experience something different than myself, and boy I got what I asked for.

Time has a way of distorting in India. I don’t know how to describe it. Apart from the driving behavior on the roads, pacing is slower, and I don’t always feel like I have to rush from one place to another. After the first day, I felt like I had been here for much longer. But as slow as time is moving, I know that this will be over before I know it.

I read in my book on the history of the Hindus that one of the staples in the hindu beliefs is that if there is one truth, the exact opposite of that truth exists as well. It hasn’t taken long to witness this belief. The hindu religion is really a hodge podge of beliefs, and there are hardly any rigid rules. If an idea sounds good, they accept it. Take for example my house. The outside is neon green, and similar to some European houses I have seen has a lower surface area touching the ground, and stacks high. But it has a very Indian design in its openness and high ceilings, and rooftop access.

Keeping that in mind, I think of the way that we have been treated here. The Indian people have been

Book Arts Take 2

For having put so much money, time, blood (no joke), and love into making books, I find it funny that I've only posted once about it. Since August, my book making skills have really developed and turned into quite an affair. If I had a significant other, I would so leave them for book making. But since I don't, book making is my significant other. Here's a photographic journal of some of the things I have done so far.

Cord Bound:

Left: My journal had too much "melt your eyeballs" pink for my taste, so I took off the old cover and made a new "faux" cord bound book. The cord binding is really an elegant and classy style binding.
Right: Covered completely with leather. I used a transferring trick that I learned from my media experimentation class, and used a little sketch I drew to add more interest to the book cover.

Exposed Spine Bindings:

These are truly my favorite types of bindings. Not only are they practical because they lay flat when open, but they look absolutely beautiful. Real bookbinder candy.
Left (bottom): The next journal I will use when I finish the one shown above. This is the greek stitch, with hand marbled paper I made on the cover. Using a book on Non-Adhesive bindings, I taught myself how to make this stich. I didn't record how long it took to complete this, but the first run through on the first line took about 3 hours.
Middle: The exposed tape binding. This is another great book because if done right, you can flip the front cover behind the back cover like a spiral notebook. It's pretty popular with my roommates.
Right (top): The coptic binding with canvas boards as the cover. I painted the covers myself, and drilled the holes for the thread to go through.

Clamshell box with content book:

As part of my final I had to make a book with content in it, and a box. I turned my portfolio series into a book called "Fall Abstractions". I used the coptic binding, and made a clamshell box to put it in. Before covering, I cut out layers of the book board to make an embossed edge. After covering it, I painted it with gesso (paint prep), and used gouache (a watercolor like paint) to add a little color.

Casebound Collaborative Book:


The other part of my final was to be part of what was called the collaborative book, in which each member of my class would contribute in the making of a content book. The class voted on an ABC Animal book. We were all put onto teams that had designated tasks like design of the pages, making the illustrations, and so on. I was on the box team, were we came up with the design of the box--not how it would be covered but what kind of box, how it would open etc. We each got our own copies of the pages, and the parts to make the book with the case bound binding, and the box.

For the book, I picked out a fabric from the local craft store, and turned it into book cloth by using some adhesive muslin like substance called wonder under, which then changes the fabric to behave more like paper.

For the box, I drilled holes into the box board through the material I used to cover it, then sewed pieces of suede cord onto the board to make leafy/jungle-like designs to coordinate with the animal print I used for the book.

People keep asking how long it takes to make a book. To be honest, I have never kept track from beginning to end. It would scare me to know how long it takes. But it is different with each of the different types of bindings. The time it takes doesn't matter, pardon the cheese, but the result is the fun part of it.

For those who are wondering, I leave on January 4th for India. And for those who are keeping track, that means that I only have 3 days to go. My knotted stomach just turned over.