Tuesday, December 18, 2007


The length of day requires isolation.
Shivering in my cold, leaving oxygen particles on my invisible window/mirror.
Personal inventory,
And glazed eyes.
A few etchings are made in my mental steno pad.
Tears creep as I recall earlier sagas,
And love lingers in its usual wayside longing.
My nails are dirty and the wind is crackly
Whispering chastisement for my habit.
Time chisels-clearing away for the new.
My fingertips burn waiting for my lips to purge this moment’s fire.
Heavy lidded, romantic lashes.
I’m sleepy.
I ash and exit my temporary retreat.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

OMNI-JAVA in Greenpoint

Friday evening's inaugural reading for theOMNIVOROUSgroup was a glowing success and a sincere representation of the collective's potential. Iandry presented his Popcan, as a "community art" piece, allowing us all to paint and contribute.

The evening was hosted by yours truly, including Richard Morales, Sierra Marcks, Caroline V. McGraw, and Adam Chandler.
Poetry and essays were presented.

floating Mary

John's Explosions, one of which was sold that evening.

Iandry's near complete popcan/map.

The space was perfect and the audience was receptive and eager. It was a beautiful evening and truly the beginning of something special. Check back for upcoming info on the next OMNIVOROUS reading!

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

*card created by my John Baber

*the first OMNIVOROUS reading at Java Studios
Friday, December 14th @ 730
244 Java St.
G to Greenpoint Ave.

Featuring work by Sierra Marcks, Richard Morales, Caroline V. McGraw, Adam Chandler, and Erica Cardwell

Mural by IANDRY


theOMNIVOROUSgroup is an artist's collective that will harbor my own work-visual and written-along with providing support for those that recognize the urgency of expression.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Finally, some FIRE.

My first live experience with Earl Greyhound was immediately after Mos Def’s February performance at the BAM Opera House. Rejuvenated, I journeyed upstairs for some after-show fete, and was accosted by Earl Greyhound performing in the cafe. I was in the fortunate position of watching music evolve. The band consists of the three essentials to a rock orchestra-bass, guitar, and drums. Matt Whyte is a willowy brunette on the guitar, shattering things with his genuinely shaggy and sexy soul. The afro goes to Kamara Thomas handling that bass in the best way possible-like a shouted secret-- creeping in from the back. The drummer, Ricc Sheridan, completes the trio solemnly banging out wild percussion. Earl Greyhound has an original quality with a faithful formula—letting the music speak for itself. Their sound provokes memories of early “rock clubs”, where your attention is not required but summoned. Earl Greyhound’s first album “Soft Targets” (SOME Records) is just a dose of what the uninsured kid ordered. It is a collection of unruly love songs, beat-erific howlings, and ambiguity from all ends. The album opens with ‘S.O.S.”, a true to its name outcry and demand for your speculation. About midway through the album is “Monkey”, an urgent piece that channels Led Zeppelin with its gorgeous stylings and loose extended verse. Theirs is a stance of confidence and experience, and Whyte declares this in the final song of the album, “I get the rocks to roll.” Earl Greyhound has created their place on the enviable platform of a rocker. It is in this place where the music is less passion and more stasis--a place for people that were born to rock. And they will rock you, but there’s no need to turn up the volume to feel their vibration.

Monday, October 29, 2007


On my way home from a movie, I was eavesdropping on the subway. A group of anxious high school seniors OR college freshmen-- a fledgling bunch still in awe of the sound of their voice--sat directly behind me. There was a conversation of distant girlfriends, where every sentence ended in a question mark, and, even "clubbing" was mentioned. One main player, a boy, was called into question regarding his girlfriend at home and the girl on his arm. He seemed to be concerned and was anxious to chat with her when he returned to his hometown. Le dame au currant was a little deflated, but not defeated and continued to probe for an explanation for his mood. Suddenly voices lowered, tones softened, and passion rose a few notches between the pair. The other three continued their noisy train ride discussion of found objects and other sideshow randomness. The boy and girl murmured their close conversation and everyone listening (only me!) was privy to the innerworkings-- plumbing--of the forbidden love affair. Their whole intention seemed to originate as something slow and new, a flirtatious step up the ladder of dating and maturation. It was obvious that it had gotten away from them.

"Control has left me, and I can't feel another thing."

Monday, October 8, 2007

Fresh and Fertile....fall art FALL!

Infinite Island at the Brooklyn Museum - A sprawling exhibit of 45 artists from 14 Caribbean nations declaring themselves as the rightful owners/originators/sinners of the projected getaway.

Midnight's Daydream
at the Studio Museum-- Three male artists-in-residence (Titus Khaphar, Wardell Milan II, Demetrius Oliver) tug aggressively at past marginalized ideals...displaying their relevance. If these are my compadres as I stomp towards the future, I am slightly at ease.

WARDELL MILAN's series Battle Royale-- Collaged photos based around Ralph Ellison's boxers The Invisible Man presented as vulnerable objects and players for a captive audience.

AND two new shows at the Whitney...

Neither New Nor Correct: New Work by Mark Bradford

collage at 2006 Whitney Biennial

and Kara Walker's My Complement, My Enemy, My Oppressor, My Love. There is a great retrospective written on her by Hilton Als in the most recent New Yorker.

Get to it...some of them will be leaving soon.


Wednesday, October 3, 2007


It is easy to take jabs at people that think highly of themselves. This is something that has been said of me. My thought process in response tends to be, "well if I don't, then who the hell will?" It seems that in recent years and certainly within my generation, humility has been mistaken for self deprecation. Cutting ourselves down to make others feel good. That's not exactly the definition of the word....in fact, it's the complete opposite. Humility should come naturally and shouldn't be some forced behavior we do out of guilt. Statistically, young adutls are pretty heavily medicated for our social and emotional slights, leaving us to second guess ourselves and our surroundings. We boast to get lifted, but then we cry ourselves to sleep at night. Let's eliminate one pill-poppin' step--try basking in the glow of WHO YOU ARE. I feel fortunate that I was raised to relish in my assets--see them as gifts and use them accordingly. Dumbing down for someone's comfort doesn't provide any growth or ascension. And, we mustn't forget that that is why we are here....for the most part.

Tap into your lovingkindness and let that lead you, but smile broadly and hold your head high in the meantime.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

SAY IT, don't spray it!

There were two women having lunch at a Manhattan bistro. Fall had faded without memory, leaving the weather in a brisk and overcast limbo. Over eggs, the women shared the recent happenings in their dissimilar lives. They were seated in the center of the restaurant, a prime location for a view from all sides. Sally, married and expecting a boy, was dressed in a white maternity top. The other woman, Mariam, was an unmarried business woman, nursing the bitter end of a bronchial infection. She wore a purple blouse. Their interaction was that of fond, yet indebted acquaintances. It was a polite encounter. Sally talked in depth about her summer home and some renovating in the apartment that she and her husband owned in preparation for their new child. Mariam spoke of lots of professional advancement and squelched her painful cough frequently, to protect delicate Sally from any germs or infection. Her friend did not seem to notice. After they finished lunch, Mariam sipped her wine as Sally considered dessert. Their conversation quieted, leaving Sally to begin to describe her husband’s attempt at putting up the first bit of dry wall for the new baby’s room. The story was mild and not exactly humorous, yet Sally took her time recalling the experience. Mariam was tired of talking about motherhood and new apartments, and really just wanted to step out for a cigarette. Resigned, she sipped her wine and laughed where necessary. Suddenly, a large cough flew from Mariam's throat releasing wine across the table and onto Sally's blouse. Both women paused and stared at one another. Mariam began to frantically apologize as she reached for napkins to dab out the stain. Stunned, Sally stared down at her shirt, with a few drops of Mariam's spit under her left eye and upper lip. She couldn't believe how quickly her shirt had been ruined. Mariam’s many apologies were jumbled together with sincere dismay and embarrassment. It was as if the internal needed to be on the external—her thoughts had to be heard, so they launched themselves at the oppressor in a wad of phlem-y rouge.

Be yourself.


Je vous manque JoJo!

"There are no plumbers in Paris." - Julie Delpy, 2 Days in Paris

"There are no cats in America."- Fievel, An American Tail

Sunday, September 16, 2007

summer camp photos

Behold! The relaxed majesty as my page opens...tingly tangly pillow talk. Over the summer, I was a writer in residence at Cat'Art in the south of France. If you know me, you have already seen the interior and exterior property where I spent time collecting myself as someone else. These other pics are just some additives to permeate my edges.

The scene of the crime.

Yes, the typical doorway in Europe...but this specific one is in Chalabre-- a nearby town about 6km away. I am proud to say that I biked the 12km total to this town with my friends Joanne and Kevin several times. Absolute fulfillment and endurance for this city girl who's normal fancy is yoga a few times a week. We were left with little choice, especially if we wanted certain produce or frozen goodies that the local store, Vival, didn't have.

Throughout the summer, Mercedes and I would chat/screech/yelp many a manic discussion concerning anything from Cecil Taylor to Lucky Strikes. And each time, I managed to NOT have my camera. On my last day, I rode into town with Amanda to pick up some bread and chat with Mercedes and Kevin. Her studio was locked and she was nowhere to be found, so this is the only peek I managed to capture.

The mayor of Ste. Colombe sur L'Hers

Bits and bons,
with Miss Clempson.


The weather was pretty brisk for most of the summer, and we were usually having to cover our arms. That day, Bridget entered the common area at L'ille looking particularly dashing and delightful and Joanne had already tickled my fancy in her scarf and slouchy bag. Chuckling at their collective demeanor, I decided that this couldn't only be an image in my mind. I needed to ruin it by interrupting the pair and snapping a photo. I think the results are worth it.

Monday, September 3, 2007

collective streaming.


Woven bits on my thoughts on art as the amibitious manipulation of our personal scope to be seen by everyone or no one......

“one man’s junk is another man’s treasure.”
It's as simple and unspecialized as that.
Expression, originality....in the way we walk, what we choose to see....
We express ourselves differently, and we may duplicate what appeals to us, what provides comfort… few embark on the true journey and some are “called” more strongly than others. Passion and blood flow fast and thick...both providing life.....some of the greatest representatives of this are Jean Genet, James Baldwin,and, even Jesus Christ. Where expression becomes duty and living comfortably in the world cannot be done without the completion of the inner on the outer.

Madness or clarity?
They way I see it is the way it is.

It’s "innovative art" being a double negative and SOMEHOW connecting that to the belief that we ALL have the potential to be innovators. I feel strongly in our potential to innovate and I believe that those who do not agree, have not yet learned how to see. Some of us are more consumed by our form depending on if we nurture it or not….or if we are given the means to nurture it. Ambition isn’t taught –however leading by example is important—but being born into nothing doesn’t allow for much ambition to develop. The demon/spirit inside of us has to speak loud enough for us to feel explosive if not reckoned with.

Ambition training. With varying levels of inborn desire, our ambition requires attention. Enlightenment. We should educate, not humiliate.

You wake up seeing red visions of fun-loving pain
Dancing on the blade provides us with choices.
We may not be aware of this as we peer over the edge

Spend time understanding that YOU are your palate and create from that basis. Learn.

That moment of priceless clarity provokes a high that is more delicious than any kind of greasy grass on the market. I say, get lifted! Stick your finger in the sauce and burn yourself. Taste it and memorize the ingredients. But don’t forget to share your sample.

The discussion of the artist is rightfully a regular debate amongst creators. People have decided that Van Gogh was mentally disturbed as he stood with ear in hand, but did he just get THERE? That enviable place that the typical artist immersed in his work will experience ---rare and usually fleeting connection.

Have we been spared?

Put time in and crank out the answer.

Practice makes perfect. Damnit.

This should provide you with some motivation:

Monday, August 27, 2007

reverserewindbackwards FASTFORWARD motion

I have been back in the city for two nights now. Travel--usually exhausting--can either be smooth and pain-free OR unnerving and torturous. The latter is where I will be leaning towards--aahh, only the quick can keep up with Erica's wit......

On Saturday, at around 11:45 AM in Montreal, I was sweating behind my ears and tapping my strained fingertips lightly on the tray table in front of me. AIR CANADA has some f'ed up policy where you have to pick up your luggage and carry it with you through customs ALL whilst you try to make your connecting flight. It's heinous bullshit.

Check out my sassy French cuss words--putain merde fais chier!

The best part about the whole thing is that I only had 30 minutes to do all of this. On the flight to Montreal, I shared the middle row of seats with the only children travelling alone. Two sugary sweet, freckle-faced ginger girls with no concept of personal space. The eldest was knocking so hard on puberty's door that the pimple by her lip sang songs to the tune of "O Canada, My Canada." Delicious. They both seemed to have flown plenty of times in their young lives, but were never explained that their economy size seats were not their living room. The only words that we shared were when I helped them fill out their customs form and when the eldest's eyes glossed over when she realized that I was from the United States. Needless to say, I missed the connecting flight after being rushed and misdirected by most of the staff at the airport. I was bumped onto a later flight with plenty of delays, and by the grace of the Almighty I made it safe and sound back in the city.

So, she's back.

At LaGuardia, I was greeted by the moist heat and heavy stench of the city. I felt proud--mostly because of the familiarity of the homestead. The sparks and twinges that I'm used to experiencing when I arrive from being away from my city were minimal. My feelings have been that of indifference in recent years. Does indifference signify comfortability? Home? The place is still magical to me, but my feelings refer to the city as more of a possession and less of the mystical place that cast its spell on me almost 7 years ago.

"The current of life is to uncover life's gems when our gaze is decidedly elsewhere."

I am very excited about the creation of this blog. It will document my zipzapzany thoughts as well as the happenings of theOMNIVOROUSgroup. I will be the commentator--omnivorouSis.

Check back for more info on the upcoming OMNIVOROUSdance series.


Friday, August 24, 2007


First blogspot.

I fly out of London tomorrow morning at 10. My two month journey of renewal, enlightenment, and divine goodness is complete and I am now returning to dirty stinkin' rotten NYC. I'm lovin' it like McDonald's.

Dave Rave told me that the south of France is "God's country." He was right.
I have found my second home.

This first post shall be short and perfectly sweet because I MUST put myself to bed for tomorrow's early morning.

dream sweet.