TAMAR:
Up turning up turning upturning
compact, a breaking, dismembered,
the water in my ear canal, a dilating cavity of minds ear,
echelons of suspended echoes,
of connection as we at(tune) and co-create ambiance of vowels,
tunnelling,
Everything is in everything,
stripping & bulging
I dont know if i will ever, truly,
land,
But i know,
All will fall, and settle,
silence screams at us to listen,
silence is love,
silence is not avoid,
listen to erode away layers,
to arise from beneath, again
Attuning, Tamar Chaya 2023
https://drive.google.com/file/d/13d5wjTIWyf6tymi8muNOc3AHCgsHLgSg/view?usp=sharing
FIZ:
Last journal entry, I wrote about arriving and how arriving is continuous. Now, back in my apartment in Coburg, the word that fits is orienting. Orienting myself into ApartmentTeamsCoolAirColdWindTramBellOldFriends. Taking time to catch up with my body, whisked away from Mparntwe by aeroplane and plonked back home, cross legged on a chair on the balcony. Orienting myself within the variety bag of priorities and rhythms that make up everyday life - and doing my best not to get lost in them.
On the Saturday before the residency ended, Tamar and I sat at the big table and made zines. Scraps of paper, photocopied sculptures, printed out photos, layers of words written and read stuck together with tape and staples.
I called my zine A guide for continuing. It is designed as a way to get my bearings, orient myself towards some version of sustained artistic inquiry - which is a boring way of saying following the thread.
The guide asks:
How can I continue to follow the thread when I no longer have the luxury of space, time and a cohabitant within my artistic universe? How can I stay alive and permeable to the world?
The only way that makes sense for me to answer these questions is to do them, to make an attempt to follow the thread. For this reason, the zine is incomplete, interspersed with blank pages waiting to be filled.
[the church bell on the corner chimes, it is 5pm on a Thursday]