the light by which i travel into this and that

Jens Lekman and his drummer, Addison. they played a show at the California Academy of Sciences on Thursday, September 29, 2011. this post is about their performance.

i'm in a delicate state right now. i've tried to write this blog post several times over, over several days (this is attempt #5 6). i never do that, not with blog posts anyway. never. it's weird for me not knowing what to say, but then again, i understand: it's hard to write about things that mean a lot to you, that are deeply personal, that are personally significant. it's hard finding the perfect words to say something that just makes sense to you, something as simple as liking someone's music and how it makes you feel. that's what's going on here. that's what happened when i tried to write a thoughtful post about seeing Jens Lekman perform in San Francisco. nevertheless, something must be said. 

the seasons are changing and i feel lost, like i often do this time of year. there are so many things that i miss and can't return to, and i'm reminded of all those things the most when summer turns to fall. i've spent the last few weeks listening to Jens's music because it makes me feel at home in a place in my heart and memory that doesn't exist in a physical place any more.

i guess that's why seeing Jens perform live is such a meaningful experience for me. it's a physical home for an emotional state.  it's dancing and singing along with others who feel the same way you do.

Jens played a fantastic set, including songs from his new EP and some stuff that might be on the new record (my guess is the songs "Cowboy Boots" and "The End of the World is Bigger Than Love" are on the forthcoming record, in which case i already can't wait for it to be released), and he also played some older stuff, like a beautiful acoustic version of "Black Cab," and one of my favorite Jens songs of all time, and a song i want played at my wedding, "I Saw Her In the Anti-War Demonstration" (videos below). and when Jens played "Opposite of Hallelujah" and he busted out a sample of Chairmen of the Board's "Gimme Just a Little More Time," i swear we both looked directly at each other while we waved our arms in a come hither motion and shuffled our feet in place, while lip syncing the lyrics. Jens also played "A Sweet Summer's Night on Hammer Hill," and i sang along and yelled "oh no!" like it is on the record, and then everyone else started in with me, and we did the "bumpa bumpa bumpa bumpa bumpa bumpa BUMP!"s and at the end of the song, Jens clutched the mic tight to his chest and, beaming, asked us "can you hear the beat of my heart?" while his hand thumped a heart flutter on the mic for all of us to hear. he looked so happy to have shared that song with all of us, like we had just made his night because our collective understanding of the song matched his, and that synchronicity was putting a smile on all of our faces.

Jens playing the crowd like a xylophone at the end of "Opposite of Hallelujah"

something else i really appreciated about seeing Jens this time around was the light politicking he did between songs. reading his blog and listening to his music lately has made me realize the subtle politics in his music that are gradually coming more prominently to the surface. during his set, Jens paused to tell us about the debates over a Good Samaritan law in Sweden, healthcare and education, and he sang a love song about an anti-war demonstration. and "Waiting for Kirsten," from his new EP, though ostensibly about missing the chance to see Kirsten Dunst at a local club, is also a delightful song about social equality and a Swedish disinterest in celebrity ("in Gothenburg we don't have VIP lines/ in Gothenburg we don't make a fuss about who you are"). 

i've always thought critics have underestimated the resonance of his music; they get caught up in the surface, distracted by the adorable lyrics (he rhymes "Jehovah's [witnesses]" with "pullovers" and "casanovas" in a way only someone with a sweet Swedish accent can do), without realizing that Jens is writing/singing about some pretty heavy stuff: love, loss, the end of the world, missed connections, life's changes. his work has always had that common theme of working thru life's transitions, difficult times, with a sense of humor and a childlike questioning. his music is liminal, transitional music with some of the despair diluted with fun. it's dancing-because-what-else-can-we-do kind of music. i always label his music "Holiday" when i put it in my library, because that's how it feels to me, like a holiday from my life's worries, but also because holidays as a kid were always those short breaks between the end of something and the start of something else, when you were at home in your old house that you grew up in, but don't feel like you live there any more, and you spent your days lying in your bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about your life and scared about your future.


i had more, so much more, to say. but you know what they say about pictures and words. so here are some pictures and some moving pictures i shot at the show (click on pictures to make them bigger!):

Jens sampling Chairmen of the Board's "Gimme Just a Little More Time" during a live performance of "The Opposite of Hallelujah" (i think this is from his 2007 tour for Night Falls Over Kortedala, because of the girl group with him, and because i remember filling with joy when they busted out that sample during the show i saw in Chicago)

Jens Lekman extract by Wirewool

my college friend Karen and i at the end of the night, happily holding one of Jens's limited edition picture discs in the lobby of the museum.

additional things that must be said:

- i think the most frequently uttered word of his entire performance was "pocket." that in itself encapsulates how much love i have for his music and what great friends Jens and i would have made, if only we grew up in Sweden at the same time.

- i have mp3s to share with you! 

Cowboy Boots (Live) (link goes to another page, right click on mp3 link to download)

The End of the World is Bigger Than Love (SoundCloud link)

Yeah, Oh Yeah! (Magnetic Fields cover)

tree house

i've always had an affinity for all things related to trees, nests, and birds. so imagine my explosive delight when i learned of the artwork of Patrick Dougherty! i had the phenomenal pleasure of seeing one of his art installations today, in Palo Alto, CA.

Patrick Dougherty is an artist who uses renewable resources to craft beautiful, dynamic structures. his work material is sourced from local plants and shaped and woven without the use of metal nails or synthetic glues, just the delicacy and dexterity of human hands. this particular piece, called Double Take, was made from willow and poplar branches from a place in California.

Double Take is quite easily the most exciting and inspiring piece of art i've seen all year. my first response to it, as i rounded the corner and first caught glimpse of it, was that it looked like something from out of Where The Wild Things Are.

in fact, that's a good way to start describing the impact the work had on me. the atmosphere and feel of the Wild Things movie was fantastical, vaguely familiar and slightly off-putting, like a dream, a vivid dream that is sublimely vibrant and intensely textured. this is the same effect i got when i approached Dougherty's work: i felt other-worlded, the way you do when you confront something strange and beautiful for the first time. gargantuan nests of woven branches standing over 20 feet high on the corner of a neighborhood - their staggering beauty and seeming defiance of natural laws and elements completely belie the humble materials of which they are made.

from the rigidity and strength of twigs, branches and splinters, Dougherty shaped structures that imparted smooth, liquid movement, at once evoking the hot licking flames of fire and the gushing, explosive force of water. the branches look as if they are constantly wind-blown, but stand hardy and strong despite the elements. the structures are both deeply rooted* into the ground and reaching skyward.

*a little girl shows me how they watched the artist use larger, thicker branches to form a frame, and then dug deep into the earth to root them, later burying them so the whole structure would remain in place.

indeed, what makes Mr. Dougherty's structures so captivating is how full of contradiction they seem. the unnatural, conspicuous beauty of the whole contrasting with the humble parts. the fluidity despite rigidity. the deep-rootedness coexistent with upward flight. even though Mr. Dougherty builds his works of art with the intention of allowing them to decompose naturally under the elements, Double Take seemed impervious to weather and the seasons. i went at a good time, the day after the first day of autumn, and the leaves were beginning to show the first signs of changing color and had begun to fall, landing on ledges in the sculpture windows, sometimes catching in spiderwebs to spin perpetually in the wind. from the ground, vines have started climbing their way up the face of the walls. the sculpture looks every bit as alive and dynamic as i imagine it did in January 2011 when it was finished.

the other dimensions of the sculpture which made it so exquisite: the smell. i wish i could have captured the smell to share it with you. all around it and inside it was the freshest piney fragrance, like being deep in evergreen woods on a clear snowy morning. crisp, clean, comforting, and invigorating.

also: the way it invited interaction. in the hour i was enjoying the sculpture, i met two little girls, who rode their bikes right up to me and asked me, "do you know who made this!!?" they were so excited to start talking about it, and wanted to show me all the ways they could climb in it, on it, around it. after them, a trio of senior citizens came and walked through it, poking their heads out of windows to grin at each other. after them, a family of a dad and his two boys, both under 7 years of age. the boys would go to a window and play a game with their father in which they pretended to serve him a fast food order ("do you want sweet potatoes or ice cream, dad?" "do you want ice cream with that?" "you get ice cream because you're the man.") seeing everyone have so much fun with the art made me realize how rare an occasion it is to actually be able to touch and play with something so beautiful that is also not fragile or protected behind glass.

another amazing thing about this piece was how three-dimensional it was. this seems obvious at first, because of course a sculpture is 3D. but think about the sculptures you see in museums, and how there are only approximately 4 different angles (from the front, rear, left and right sides) at which to view a sculpture before you've exhausted visual interest. supposedly symmetry is a sign of beauty, but it makes for, ironically, flat and boring art. not so with Mr. Dougherty's work: i walked around the entirety of his work for about an hour, and photographed a new angle each time. each section of Double Take, like a tree in a forest, was remarkably individual and irreproducible.

now, for lack of any more words (or perhaps too many), a glimpse inside Double Take. i shot this video while walking through the inside of the work. you can see the phenomenal craftsmanship that went into the weaving and construction of the piece. you can also hear the sound of children playing, the distant chirping of a bird, see the light and hear the wind, as well as the traffic from the nearby street, and the sound of my feet on the brittle wood pieces on the ground.

look at banner!

my future husband and i are featured on Democracy Now!'s banner for their 9/11 War and Peace Report, "The 9/11 Decade: Voices of Dissent."

the photo they collaged was from an ANSWER LA protest in March of 2010, on the 7th anniversary of the Iraq War [ link goes to the original source article of the following photograph, taken by Gary Friedman of the LA Times ]

this photo of us represents a significant moment for me, so i'm honored Democracy Now chose to use it as a representation of the post-9/11 generation and post-9/11 America, and how we are moving forward in the wake of the attacks.

that particular moment of the protest was an extremely intense and emotional one for me. we had marched through the heart of Hollywood - "thousands" of us, according to the article - and stopped when we reached the soundstage. there were speakers, but i don't really remember what they spoke about. i was too absorbed in my surroundings - people stretching back for miles, and us at the front of it all, learning Spanish as we marched along alternating between chants in English and Spanish, and there were police on the rooftops in black uniforms and i could hear helicopters over our voices.

the following photographs all come from ANSWER LA's flickr site.

everywhere around you could see the ravages of 9/11, amazing how the collective memory is so intact, and intensified, in the presence of so many people. it was fascinating to me to see the violence implicit in a peace protest: people angry at 7 years of war, comparisons between Obama and Bush, banners that read "RIP Public Education" and others that suggested 9/11 was an inside job, others expressed a hatred for Zionism. it became clear how much violence and pain we were still experiencing so many years later, and how much suffering we were still self-inflicting. it made me wonder if we'd ever find our way out of pain and violence.

and then, we were invited to sit in the street and observe a collective moment of silence for all the victims of the aftermath. all the victims of war and hatred and the victims of the class wars and the budget cuts whose impacts will damage us for years to come. 9/11 killed thousands of innocent civilians, here and abroad, led to human rights violations, changed the way we travelled, shattered relationships with our international brothers and sisters, and now was beginning to erode our democracy as public education took the first major hit as the war sucked our government dry of funds. as we sat in the street, everything suddenly hushed, i felt a trembling fear in my heart for what would happen if we did not find a way to peace.

in the silence, i wanted to weep. here we were, all connected by tragedy, but still with the strength to see that war wasn't right. here was hope. i could see all around me people start to put fists in the air in solidarity. there was strength still in all of us, despite feeling crushed down by despair. this war would kill our spirit if we let it, but the crowds of protest were growing, the voices of dissent were growing, and would continue. we were joined on the street by thousands of people from multiple walks of life, and maybe in this group would be a future president, a future lawmaker, a future organizer, a teacher, a parent willing to believe we still have the responsibility to change.

another reason i am so honored that this picture was taken, let alone used by Democracy Now!, is that ben and i are together in it. ben and i first met while working together on a living wage campaign at Miami, and we fell in love through our mutual dedication to social justice. one thing that made me excited to get to know ben better throughout our relationship was the feeling of finally having a true partner, someone who i could depend on emotionally and who would give me strength, but who also shared my passions and would collaborate with me to make the world a better place. my whole life, i wanted to change the world; finally i had someone who would walk beside me all my life and help me do it. as we move forward and prepare to join our lives together, we plan to always honor our commitment to social justice, and to foster lives that practice a philosophy of love.

per aspera ad astra

i decided today that if i ever get a tattoo i'd want it to be of the phrase per aspera ad astra - a Latin phrase meaning "from hardships to the stars." there are so many beautiful reasons i would want this on my body, that i'm tempted to rescind my prejudice that tattoos are tacky and have it inked into my inner arm.

first, i'd like to think that when i die, i'll be borne into the stars. and the idea of my body bearing this phrase, this philosophy, through life until death is exactly what i want my tattoo to be, a comment on im/permanence.

furthermore, this phrase was one of a few audio messages selected to be cast off into space aboard the Voyager, to represent peaceful intentions from humanity. this message was encoded into morse code and recorded on the Voyager Golden Record, along with samples of music, greetings in 55 different languages, animal and nature sounds, and a meditative message from Carl Sagan's wife.

i've never been terribly interested in astronomy nor fascinated with the possibility of intelligent extraterrestrial life. and yet, i find myself regretting the lack of this kind of fantasy and curiosity in our modern collective imagination. it seems my generation was the last to experience the height of the american space program, and current youth are perhaps untouched by the influence of these ideas and the accompanying sense of infinite exploration, as well as unquantifiable humility in the impossibility of ever being certain in the great big galactic scope of things.

i think that humility, that unknowingness, accompanies a healthy sense of imagination that in turn keeps people from being too ... material in their living. what i feel like we have now is lots of kids growing up and becoming bankers and not enough dreaming of being astronauts.

today's Voyager research (i got lost in a research loop on wikipedia today that started with me trying to sort out my tracklisting for the Dark Was The Night compilation, which led me to read about Blind Willie Johnson and his wailing gospel-blues slide guitar and how it was included as an example of loneliness on the Voyager record to be, potentially, discovered by future extraterrestrial lifeforms) also led me to consider the absurd task of writing and communicating messages to infinite space. in the Voyager capsule, Carl Sagan et al. included a letter from then-president Jimmy Carter:

We cast this message into the cosmos... Of the 200 billion stars in the Milky Way galaxy, some — perhaps many — may have inhabited planets and space faring civilizations. If one such civilization intercepts Voyager and can understand these recorded contents, here is our message: We are trying to survive our time so we may live into yours. We hope some day, having solved the problems we face, to join a community of Galactic Civilizations. This record represents our hope and our determination and our goodwill in a vast and awesome universe.

i think it's somewhat indicative of the zeitgeist of the 1970s that our president took time out of his schedule to write a letter to the cosmos. imagine what that conversation must have been like, "uh, hey jimmy, we want you to write a letter to the future. to be read by aliens. state our intent as a galaxy. btw, humanity may be completely gone by the time this is picked up by anyone. kthxbye." but that's what i'm talking about, you know? we're missing a little galactic humility and imagination in our present-day thinking.

WHAT A FANTASTIC DAY!!!!!!
this is one of those excellent days when i feel completely competent, no, superb at my job!

check this out: i just taught a class of 14 special ed 6th graders to not only solve one-step algebra equations with addition and subtraction (ex: x-9=13, 8+x=15), but also how to solve one-step algebra equations involving multiplication or division (ex: x/9=12, 3x=36), and furthermore, i taught all of them how to self-monitor their behavior so that they are focused and on-task 100% of the time!!!! they were quiet, diligent and dedicated to understanding all of today's material. and the result? i got 100% from every single one of them on the end-of-day quiz.

i mean, really, does it get any better than this?

i feel like teacher of the year right here.