November 26, 2013

3 4 y r s .

i went running yesterday.

i haven't been in months. in a year and

three months. it felt good — to return to myself,

today i'm sore, but feel renewed:

having done something, having seen a door and opened it,

having followed a new route, grown tired and kept going.

June 12, 2013

n / a

i'm happy to announce that after many months of planning,

i've recently opened n/a, an exhibition and event space

in oakland, california.

with a focus on the queer experience in contemporary art practice,

n/a seeks to gather individuals and communities of diverse social

and political backgrounds, with programming that encourages

critical dialog, lends legibility and visibility to queer artists and

ideas, and produces new imaginaries. it is curated by myself

with the help of a community of organizers. many thanks to

kait mooney, christopher f├╝llemann, kristine eudey, alex

maldonado, alexandra anderson, rocket caleshu, daniel

nevers, and lindsay reed for their love, hard work,

and support.

i'm very excited to tell you about our first show,

your motion says you're in the mood, new work

by christopher f├╝llemann. in the meantime,

visit out our website, friend us on facebook,

and drop by if you're in town.


January 23, 2013

a l t / e x

I am a proud recipient of a 2012 Alternative Exposure grant 

from San Francisco's visual arts nonprofit Southern Exposure

in support of n/a : an emergent art space for the Bay Area 

queer community opening later in the spring, 2013.

Meet all the grantees tonight at Southern Exposure

6-8pm 3030 20th St San Franisco

January 17, 2013

f a u s t

saturday the 19th i participated in small press traffic's poet's theatre, 

a festival of avant-garde plays by poets. i performed a small role in 

In A Word, Faust, written by ish klein and directed by kevin killian.

the event was held at counterPULSE. X

January 10, 2013

a n o t h e r n e w y e a r

The Forest

At night
under the trees
the black snake
jellies forward
the stems of the bloodroot,
the yellow leaves,
little boulders of bark,
to take off
the old life.
I don’t know
if he knows what is happening.
I don’t know
if he knows
it will work.
In the distance
the moon and the stars
give a little light.
In the distance
the owl cries out.
In the distance
the owl cries out.
The snake knows
these are the owl’s woods,
these are the woods of death,
these are the woods of hardship
where you crawl and crawl,
where you live in the husks of trees,
where you lie on the wild twigs
and they cannot bear your weight,
where life has no purpose
and is neither civil nor intelligent.
Where life has no purpose,
and is neither civil nor intelligent,
it begins
to rain,
it begins
to smell like the bodies
of flowers.
At the back of the neck
the old skin splits.
The snake shivers but does not hesitate.
He inches forward.
He begins to bleed through
like satin.

Mary Oliver