Nesting Instincts

Ben and I finally took the plunge! It may not seem monumental for everyone else, but for us, it may have been more difficult than deciding to get married. I'm talking about buying a new couch and a couple of chairs to match. As I said, not exactly huge in the scheme of things, but it means a lot to us. Our little place no longer feels like a student apartment, but more like a real, established home. That, and we will not have to a.) snuggle up with visitors on the old blue and gray beast, b.) drag a mattress into the front room when we have guests, or c.) avoid asking anyone to come to our house. For the benefit of our family who is far away, and as a sneak preview for friends in the area, here is a picture, along with a few of the rest of our place. Please keep your arms and legs in the car at all times, and do not stand up until the ride comes to a complete stop:

When we first saw this couch at the store, we wouldn't even consider it. The fabric it came in made it look like it had been made from the hide of some ill-fated muppet. The color was between turquoise and moss green with the texture being the unfortunate hybrid of carpet and fleece. Luckily, there was a sectional in this upholstery, which helped change our attitudes. Also, it was the most comfortable couch of all on which we had sat.

This is our dining room, with Ben's computer in its usual location. I cleared my computer off so that you would all think our house is usually cleaner than in reality. Is it working? Recognize the clock, Molly?












I'd ask you into the kitchen and bathroom, but the kitchen sink has dishes in it and the bathroom is nothing special. (Unless mother nature calls, then it's really special...;) )

This is the master suite... Okay, so it really isn't a suite, and you really can fit a bed in and that's just about it. But it sure feels good after a long day at work and the studio! (And shipping the comforter set from Utah was definitely worth it!)

And lastly, a comparison:

The "office" when we first moved in:












And the office now:


I think the amount of visible floor space is just about the same, although it is a lot better than it was before. Imagine the way the room currently is only with a full-sized mattress in there, too. Now think of puppies and rainbows so that you can sleep tonight. We were able to make enough room for the mattress in the basement as it is turning out to be more difficult to sell than we thought. If y'all know anyone in the St. Louis area that would like to buy the mattress (cheap!) and could come pick it up, we'd really, really appreciate it.

Well, that concludes our virtual tour. Please come and visit us in person soon!

Creation and Destruction

“All things change. Nothing is permanent.” --Buddha

My husband and I were definitely the outliers in the room. The vast majority of our company was old enough to be our parents if not our grandparents. It was a sea of gray hair. We probably should have expected it, considering we were a.) at the viewing of a documentary b.) at the art museum c.) there on a Friday night. Although we already admitted that we are nerds, this definitely cemented it. Every day just confirms how well suited the hubby and I are. Not only did he willingly go to an art documentary on a Friday night, he wanted to go when I mentioned it. And then we both LOVED it.

Of course, this particular documentary would probably be fascinating to anyone who is interested in culture and current events. If you can, find a copy of “The Giant Buddhas” (2005) directed by Christian Frei. You can also find out more about the movie at www.giant-buddhas.com. It basically tells the story of the destruction of two 1,500-year-old Buddhist statues carved into the cliffs of the Bamiyan Valley in Afghanistan. In March 2001, the Taliban blew them up essentially in retaliation for the sanctions the world established against them (from what I understand).

The film was quiet with haunting melodies floating over the images of the Afghani desert or following the footsteps of a seventh-century Chinese monk. A melancholy tone permeated every shot. While it focuses one specific event, that event cannot be isolated from the context of war and poverty. I mention this to emphasize that the loss of human life is the greater tragedy, not the loss of physical things. However, we are very closely tied to the physical world through our bodies, minds, and spirits. People live in space and time where everything shifts, moves, grows, decays, alters. Our bodies become one with the landscape as we take in food and air, incorporating it into our cells, and then returning it all when we die. Natural change, decay, disintegration is not destruction, however. In fact, this is my current artistic subject. What can seem like demolition or ruin can in fact be beautiful, and often is involved in a process of revelation or even a new, different creation.

The now-destroyed Buddhas were incredible. They produced a sublime awe even without the mask and gemstone eyes that shone over the valley many centuries past. The statues were not pristine, but rather told the story of the years that had come and gone. Erosion worked slowly but unceasingly on the rock. Eventually, they would have gone the way of everything else. The Taliban changed this. Watching the video of their (inept) explosions made me nauseous. Stupid, wanton, selfish destruction.

As an artist, I find a certain amount of joy and pleasure in pure creation. I truly think that creation is one of the ultimate goals of life. Physical production is not the only meaning of ‘creation,’ although one of the more obvious ones. As the Taliban took dynamite to the Buddhas, they destroyed not only tangible objects but also relationships, identities. I’m sure these demolishers did not gain any true joy or happiness out of their act.

I’m not sure exactly what is happening now with regards to the site. Some wanted to rebuild the Buddhas, while others have suggested laser projections in the now-empty niches. I think I prefer the later option. Whatever happens, I hope that the people are able to rebuild their lives and their country.

And with that, I should get back to my own creative endeavors.

...And the floods came up!

There's a children's song which tells the story of two men. One man, the more sensible of the two, built his house on a foundation of rock. The other apparently wanted a seaside home and built his house upon the sand. In this tale, the forces of nature conspire to pour water down upon the abodes of both men, but each ended up with a different outcome. Man One stayed comfortably warm in his stationary house, while Man Two soon found out that he had something more akin to a house boat. The moral of the story is that we should all build our lives on a solid foundation.


While I agree wholeheartedly with this lesson, the song was brought to mind by a completely different circumstance. This story does involve sensible men and foolish ones, but there are no foundations involved. The words "the rains came down, and the floods came up! The rains came down and the floods came up!" flashed through my mind as I splashed through the puddles on the ground and felt rain water falling on my head. The problem was that I was indoors. *sigh*

There had been a leak in the studio ceiling all last year, which they were supposed to fix during the summer. The Roofing company tried patching it several times over the three months, none of which held, so during the first week of school they tried to do a larger-scale repair job. That week bits of rotten wood flowed down a slide from the roof, and we all prayed (looking up to heaven through the holes in the roof) that the job would work. Our wonderful building maintenance people (wise men, not like the roofers!) worked tirelessly to protect students' studios with tarps. It's a good thing, too, because as soon as this first rain hit, the seam burst open. Now there is flood where before there was a drip. Good repair job, roofing company!

The old roofers (the foolish men) were fired and as of this morning we have a new roofing company. However, the roof is damaged beyond repair, and probably had been since the beginning. The roof will be torn off completely and replaced, which means all of us in that area have to evacuate. I've been transformed into a flood evacuee! Our new graduate director, who is winning a lot of fans among the grad students, is desperately working to find us all adequate accommodations.

I now sign off, listening to the hum of the wet/dry vacs, and thinking that the wise man had probably not only built upon the rock, but also made sure he had a good roof.

Planning and a Variety of Citrus

Growing up, I learned a lot from my mother. One thing would be my cooking skills. Another is how to polka and waltz. My dad has never really liked to dance, but she had been quite good. We would polka in and out of the front entryway and into the kitchen, my mom taking the man's part. Then we'd break down laughing. My mom even taught me algebra in seventh grade. This meant studying my textbook beforehand, re-learning the material that had faded before taking on her frustrated daughter. Then there are all the less concrete attributes that she exemplified that hopefully I soaked up at least in part.

There is one thing I did not necessarily learn: her meticulous planning skills. Oh, yes, I know how to think through a process. My field is very process-oriented and requires one to think things through start-to-finish. Otherwise things have a tendency to blow up on you, occasionally quite literally. This is all very different, however, from the way my mom structured her life, especially at the beginning of her married life. All I have to go on is the written records, but I'm assuming she followed her plans pretty well. She has several weeks' worth of dinner menus written out. According to the plan, you would have the same meal every eight weeks or so, always on the same day of the week. Maybe that is why there are some meals that seem so set in my mind. You eat goulash with steamed cauliflower. That's just the order of the universe, dang it!

Then there are some of the crazy records she kept. I'm assuming they were for idea purposes later on. Otherwise I'm not quite sure why you would need to know what was served at the Sybrowsky's dinner party, held December 5, 1997. She also left lists of what we put on the neighbors' Christmas goody plates each year in the early '80s. In case you were wondering, the almond chocolate balls were a constant. Oh, and blender cheesecake with cherry pie filling was served as the refreshment for the third week of temple prep.

Lastly are the lists of chores and when they were to take place. There were daily chores, weekly chores, bi-weekly chores, etc. All of this comes to mind in stark contrast to my modus operandi lately. No, I've never organized my life the same way as my mom did, but recently it seems more chaotic than usual. And I'm being more forgetful. There is one thing I can attribute it to: engagement. I always maintained that the combined I.Q. of an engaged couple drops to that of a kumquat or some other similarly intelligent fruit. By myself, I think I'm currently somewhere around a grapefruit. Let's just hope that the wedding comes before I get juiced.

One year down, or a promise fulfilled

Being able to breathe is rather a nice luxury. The semester ended, and suddenly, *gasp* I had the time again. Let me tell you, having time to do laundry and clean the apartment....ahhhh, it seems like there's nothing better! With the end of the semester comes time to post the entry that I've promised several people. I know that some of you wanted to see the end-of-year show that we first year grad students put on but couldn't because you're in a different state. I wish y'all could have come. It was a good show; the work was diverse and ambitious in scale. Even better, I felt that my work was on par with the rest. While that may not sound like much, it means I've come a long way. There seems to be an inevitable artistic crisis that comes with the first year of grad school. Add to that the mile-long list of firsts that I've gone through these last eight months (the first semester especially)... Well, I feel a lot more secure now. And I am very grateful for the support of those who were able to make it out to the gallery. It means more to me than you know.

Here are a few pictures of the piece in the gallery:

Passing (2007), fired and unfired clay, approx. 3" x 12' x 8'

The photo above was taken right after completion; the slip and coils are still wet.
Below are some views of it from other parts of the gallery. (Doesn't that floor look nice? I swept and mopped the whole thing...)





Next we have some detail shots after it had dried some:

Lastly, we have a shot of the coiled "fringe" after someone stepped on it during the opening. One of my professors tattled to me about the first person. The uber-dean lamented it (he really liked the piece!), but I simply smiled. The piece was meant to have a lifespan, be impermanent. That was simply a part of its history.

I had intended to put a second piece in the show, but there just wasn't room for it in the packed gallery. I'll just set it up in my studio and document it there. As it is an impermanent piece, very few people will ever see it in person, which is kind of sad. On the upside, I learned how to mud drywall (which I apparently do quite well), which will be extremely helpful in the future.

For now I'll just take a couple of deep breaths to prepare myself for an exciting summer. Look for me back home in just a few weeks for a short visit. I can't wait to see all of you that are there!

Small Town Life

I live in a small town. Looking at St. Louis, most people wouldn't say so. Sure, it isn't the megalopolis that is New York City, and it isn't Chicago or L.A., either. But to be honest, by the numbers I found, the metro area has a population greater than that of Utah. And truly, driving was a wild ride for a while after moving here. I would get home exhausted from the sheer energy necessary for navigating the crowded maze of streets (not numbered on a grid and with lots of one-ways, ugh). At that time, it seemed like I was a small-town girl that had been unceremoniously plopped in the big city. I was wrong.

At least here in "Gateway City," being LDS shares many of the consequences of small town life. One of the most obvious: gossip. Gossip, chitchat, small talk, gab, tittle-tattle, chin-wagging, scuttlebutt, whatever name it goes by, people feast on it. It's like being able to have all the cheesecake you want without packing it on the hips. Sort of. Maybe it would be helpful if the more a person gossiped, the more weight he or she would gain. I know I certainly would be carrying a little more around the mid-section, which might encourage me to start a low-gossip diet.

While in reality gossips don't balloon into blimps, consequences exist. Sometimes it is true no one gets hurt. For instance, it's rather amusing to hear what the word on the street is about me and the BF. It sounds as though we're likely to run off to Vegas at any moment to get hitched at the Wee Little Temple on the Strip. I'm waiting with bated breath to hear that we've actually gone and done it. Wouldn't that be juicy? But not all gossip is this innocuous. Sometimes talk touches extremely personal, raw topics with a damaging lack of regard. People (myself included) don't necessarily mean to prod or expose emotional open wounds. Most genuinely care about those around them. With enough chatting (and it would be naive to expect that people could sew their lips shut), however, this hurt inevitably happens.

But, you know what? To me, I guess it is worth the bumps and bruises to be known, not to be just another anonymous face in a sea of humanity. So, when all is said and done, I'm not planning on moving out of my small town any time soon.

A drop in, er, of the bucket

People talk about the urban jungle. In fact, when my family sent me out to St. Louis, they sent me equipped with a very reliable car. I think my dad, especially, worried about the apparently certain mugging that would happen every time I stopped at a red light. The headlines declaring St. Louis the most dangerous city in the country could not have soothed his fears. Today I can attest that where I live is indeed a wild place.

A vicious assailant shattered my sense of security just two days ago. I was taken completely unawares, and at first I could do nothing but freeze. Although someone saying "hello" is enough to make me jump sometimes, this time it was justifiable. Imagine long, spindly legs flying so fast they are a blur coming straight at you. It was unnerving. Luckily for me, I've taken a self-defense class, so it didn't take long for me to regain my composure. I reached for the nearest weapon I could find: a common plastic bucket. In my hands, however, it was anything but harmless; it was lethal. My attacker's legs popped off and continued to quiver for several minutes. Peace and order were once again restored, although I was left pretty creeped out. After the legs stopped trembling, I moved the bucket and sweeped the carcass into my dustpan. At this point, it was no longer recongizable as a house centipede (a joy not shared by my family in the desert).

My experience of the jungle that is St. Louis is not limited to that one episode. Today, in fact, during a lovely walk in the cool of the morning, tufts of what looked like cotton floated down from overhead. Curious, I took a closer look and realized that it was bird down. Perched in the trees above sat a large bird. I should say more specifically that it was a hawk plucking the feathers off of its unfortunate meal. Yum. Hungry?

Thankfully, my experience of St. Louis wildlife hasn't been all alarming. In fact, I've seen beautiful cardinals and woodpeckers and even come across a couple of these in Forest Park:
He had a friend, but the friend was a bit more skiddish and I wasn't able to get a picture. It really made me smile.

So, while it is a jungle out there, I think I'll survive. Well, that is if I can evade the blood-sucking bunnies and the rabid squirrels. They'll get you every time.