Integral Education: The CIIS Blog

On Mapping: Winter 2011-12 Exhibitions at CIIS

By SUSANNAH MAGERS, curatorial intern, The Arts at CIIS

Mapping takes many forms; one can map virtually anything and everything. As a conceptual strategy employed by artists and curators alike (by the Hand Drawn Map Association, for example; the New Museum’s 2007 exhibition Get Lost; or Katharine Harmon’s books, "You Are Here" and "The Map As Art: Contemporary Artists Explore Cartography") it has reached beyond traditional topographic or geographical renderings of space to include the spiritual, political, social, and emotional ways we experience our lives and the places we live. The Arts at CIIS’ winter exhibitions are a testament to this pluralism.

On the 4th floor of the CIIS Main Building, artist Elliot Ross’ portraits in his series "Yehudhith" are a celebration (Yehudhith is a female Jewish name that means “Jewish woman,” and “in praise of”) of the lives of contemporary Jewish women, a poignant photographic reckoning with a specific historical legacy of the Holocaust, and a tribute to their survival. Also on the 4th floor, is Carolyn Radlo and Alanna Simone’s video work "The Grandfathers," which charts an almost meditative, cathartic route—mother (Radlo) and daughter (Simone) coming to terms with the impact of the Holocaust on their family’s historical narrative.

In the 3rd floor hallway of the CIIS Main Building, mapping the physical body, artist June Yong Lee’s "The Torso Series" imparts intensely personal information about individual bodies through black and white, macro-photographic panoramas. Without the visual cues of a face as an influence, the torso portraits resist easy identification. The work allows for the viewer to absorb, engage, and read the work from one’s own perspectives, regardless of gender or race. Each tattoo, scar, or marking is open to interpretation.

Ghosts and Cottonwoods, Tasha LeClair and Shizue Seigel, ink on paper, 2011

What makes a place? So reads the first sentence in the front book jacket of Rebecca Solnit’s "Infinite City: A San Francisco Atlas." Currently on view at 695 Minna, "Laramie: A Gem City Atlas" pursues a similar task; to visualize information about the various narratives that constitute the social, economic, historical, and political constellation of a location, in this case Laramie, Wyo.  Partnering with the University of Wyoming's Creative Writing MFA program, along with "Infinite City" cartographers Shizue Seigel and Ben Pease, this particular mapping explores subject matter ranging from Native American reservation sites and ancestral land to paranormal activity. Below I ask Solnit some questions relating to her passion for mapping, her current projects, and the potential of "Laramie: A Gem City Atlas."

Collaboration as Memorial

By NANCI PRICE SCOULAR, mixed media artist living in San Francisco. Nanci is a first year student in the Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts MFA Program.

This post was written as an assignment for professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

The idea of “collaborating” with the work of an artist no longer alive is intriguing to me for a number of reasons. Firstly, I could control the outcome. Secondly, I could use the original work as a springboard into my own creative process. Lastly, there could be a bonus—if the artist was well known enough, I might get “discovered” by association. I decided to test this idea.

To start I purchased a used copy of "Dark Light" (Lustrum Press 1973) by the photographer Michael Martone. It was not in good condition but met a number of my criteria: Martone was no longer alive and he was successful enough to get his work published. I was very drawn to his vulnerable and haunting black and white photographs. They would be the perfect inspiration for my creative process, plus the monochromatic images would be a strong yet neutral building block for my collage.

By way of structure, I challenged myself to find a story. What was Martone thinking about when he took the photographs? Assuming he had input into the sequence of the images, why did he put certain ones opposite one another? Why this collection as a whole? I had little guidance. My copy had no cover and the only clue was in Martone’s words in the preface: 
“It needed in the first instance 
a bright light to expose 
and a dark light to expose…”  

I inferred that the collection was about the role of contrast, how both the dark and the light are needed to reveal something. To me, that something was vulnerability. With that in mind, I looked at each double spread as a yin and yang, honoring the dark and the light both with the tonality of my collage elements and my content itself. The project is still in progress but here are some examples:

Through the process I discovered that collaborating with an artist no longer alive is something quite different to what I thought it would be. What began as an exercise in exclusive control over someone else’s work as the foundation for my own became a way of experiencing an artist whom I could never meet. I could not stop thinking about Michael Martone. What experiences shaped the vulnerable eye with which he composed his images? I could feel the intensity of his gaze as I worked on top of them. I felt the need to honor his intention, his message, instead of taking the work in a new direction. I felt him beside me in some form as I worked.  

To Querer es Creer (To Love is to Believe)

By JUAN CARLOS GONZALEZ, student in the Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts MFA program

This post was written as an assignment for professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

It's important for me to creatively and consciously share my outlook on life with friends and mentors, because these relationships give me a sense of belonging. They also inspire me to continue to create with humility while validating my feelings. Through these friendships, I am able to explore other art forms and begin to feel whole.

Being in conversation with my friends and mentors furthers my understanding of inquiry and art in more authentic ways because I continue adding content and stories that I can transform into symbols throughout my work. For example, I recently had the opportunity to become part of Teatro Alisal, where I began exploring the use of spoken word and poetry. Our theater troupe is made of residents from East Salinas. Recently, we presented “To Querer es Creer” (To Love is to Believe).

For me this theater piece is very meaningful. Xago, our theater director, kindly put together performance that made use of personal story, and I appreciated being able to convey my feelings and emotions. Through the use of spoken word and poetry, the Alisal troupe and I were able to reflect on two-and-a-half years of planning and implementation of the East Salinas plan for Building Healthy Communities. This reflection highlighted some of the pivotal moments from various points of view—our own or someone else’s. We shared the challenges, struggles, and moments that have helped galvanize the members to realize a healthy and equitable East Salinas community.

I believe to tell our stories is very powerful and inspiring, and can contribute to social change. I want to tell the story behind the symbols and the power of color in my paintings and sculptures. I want to give voice to the forms inspired by my experiences, forms inspired by nature, and transform color onto canvas.

It has been extremely important to better understand the human condition and how it weaves throughout my body of work. I have used art as a vehicle for social change and to engage residents and youth into healthy and meaningful development through creative expression. There is something about sharing my art and new art forms with everyone that inspires me to keep creating and to deepen the content of my art and conversation.

An Interview with CIIS Alum Katie McCleary

By LOIS KEANEY SMITH, student in the Writing and Consciousness MFA program and intern in the CIIS Communications Department.

The more I learn about careers, the more I wonder to myself: Who do I know who is actually doing these things? Do I know anyone who is actually managing to create their own work life, or developing a portfolio career? Instantly I thought of someone—Katie McCleary.

I first met Katie when she was working as the writing coach at Susurrus, Sacramento City College’s literary journal. Katie is a graduate of the CIIS Writing and Consciousness MFA program, and the person who brought me to CIIS. I caught up with Katie to talk about her book, her new nonprofit, and her work life before and after CIIS.

What were you doing in terms of your creative writing practice/career before you got to CIIS?
Before I entered the Writing and Consciousness program, I was writing very little, helping out a local literary journal, and working 60 hours a week at a nonprofit that mentored at-risk youth. Needless to say, I was completely burnt out. I remember calling in sick to work to have entire days at home to write. I spent a lot of time daydreaming about a writing life and being in the world of books, but was failing miserably at producing one.

What tools did you learn at CIIS that have helped you to develop your career?
Well, I learned how to cultivate a writing life—everything from creating a writing practice, learning craft, and integrating myself into a community of passionate writers. The consciousness piece fit well with learning how theory can be bridged into action. I was already “in action” prior to entering the Writing and Consciousness program, but now I had theory to back up what I already knew in my gut. This may sound silly, but in a way I was able to not feel so guilty about leaving my nonprofit job to pursue a “selfish, ridiculous dream.” I felt that I had walked out on teens and parents and teachers who needed me. I was able to actualize that writing has a place in social action and movements, particularly storytelling.

How has your career path changed since CIIS?
Since CIIS, I’ve had two children—that’s taken up a lot of time. However, I’ve been able to balance a writing life with work and parenting. I’ve taught at various community colleges, edited a literary journal, published in my community, and spearheaded The Writing Table, a collective of writing teachers who offer workshops around Sacramento. My latest project, 916 Ink, has bridged my past with my education at CIIS.

What career goals do you have that you didn't before CIIS?
Well, I had dreams of writing a novel, but without CIIS I wouldn’t have actually completed one! I wrote a collection of short stories and the first draft of a novel at CIIS. Since then, my novel has been re-drafted at least 13 times. Excerpts have been published and one awarded me a fellowship at the Tomales Bay Workshops, where I personally worked with Dorothy Allison for a week. Beyond publication, I’d love to teach in an MFA low-residency program in the future—but that’s pretty far off, I think.

What teaching/writing jobs are you currently doing/have you done recently?
I am revising my literary young adult novel, "The Chandelier Forest," with agent Amy Tipton of Signature Literary Agency. I’ve just finished a draft of my second novel, which is about a group of orphans who inherit a zoo for injured creatures.

I am actively teaching creative writing through The Writing Table, and at UC Davis Extension. I also coach beginner writers on their manuscripts, which is rewarding.

But my biggest project is starting 916 Ink. We are dedicated to promoting literacy by empowering youth in the Sacramento region to engage in literary arts. 916 Ink seeks to excite young people with language, particularly written language; to instill in children a sense of joy, wisdom, whimsy, and wonder with words; to celebrate syntax; and to support teachers, schools, and libraries in their efforts to share the benefits of reading and writing with all area youth.
 
Currently, I am the executive director, and in spring our organization will be inspiring 70 students (ages 8–18) to write. Once our programming is complete we will publish their creative writing in real, beautiful books in partnership with the Sacramento Public Library.

Legacy

By NICOLE KLAYMOON, dancer, choreographer, storyteller, and artistic director of a local dance company called Embodiment Project. Nicole is a student in the Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts MFA program.

This post was written as an assignment for professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

Dance cannot be documented in a way that can live on throughout time, unlike music, film, language, and visual art. Dance is a fleeting and interpretive artistic discipline that can only exist in the visceral immediacy of the present. While film can capture acrobatic tricks and physical illusions, it cannot capture the alchemical transmissions that occur in the intimate space between performer and audience. According to Merriam-Webster’s second definition legacy is “something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past”—something that endures over time. So how do choreographers and dancers leave behind work in an art form that exists in the now? While the artistic product can hold great value, it is the creative method that fosters longevity and gains momentum with time.

When a renowned painter dies his/her paintings are left behind and hung on walls of museums, galleries and fancy homes. But when a dancer dies so does his/her art. Rennie Harris, Hip Hop dance pioneer and choreographer, says that dancers are “walking historians.” Once dancers train with a choreographer, they can access the choreographer’s artwork and brilliant creations inside their muscle memory.

I had the opportunity to see Joe Goode’s Performance Group when they premièred “The Rambler” at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts this last spring. I was struck by Goode’s introductory monologue to the dance performance—I understood his message to be; when I am dead and gone I am less interested in leaving behind a legacy with my art, I care much more about leaving behind my formula that can live on without me. And “The Rambler” reflected Goode’s deep sense of his artistic process and humanity.

The Israeli artistic director and founder of Batsheva Dance Company, Ohad Naharin, created a movement method called Gaga. It is hard to say if Naharin is more known for his dance works or his systematic approach—it seems that they are symbiotically related. Gaga is defined as an “experience of freedom and pleasure.” It is a process to access the power and awareness that lives inside our subtle body—the non-physical dimension of our being that can sense and interact with unseen worlds. Ohad Naharin wrote, "We discover the advantage of soft flesh and sensitive hands, we learn to connect to groove even when there is no music...We change our movement habits by finding new ones, we can be calm and alert at once…We become available..." His dance pieces clearly elicit a movement quality that is primal, ancient, and unique to each body. It appears that every company member is both technically trained and also "untrained" and "untamed" at the same time. My sense is that Gaga technique functions as a method to find one’s authentic movement expression.

New Art Form

By MICHELLE CHAMPLIN, student in the Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts MFA program

This post was written as an assignment for professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

One of the many unique aspects of the Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts program is having an opportunity to research an art form other than my own (visual art). My choice was to research sound arts. The inspiration to research this art form stemmed from an assignment given in my “Creative Inquiry for Artists” class to create a “sound map.” There were few guidelines. We were simply to craft something generated from our personal definition of “sound map," and I happen to own a small digital recorder and decided to put it to use.

Because San Francisco and the symbol of “city” are significant in my work and in my life, I wanted to utilize the sounds of the city.  I began by listening. While standing still for several minutes in downtown San Francisco, I shifted my attention to the hum of vehicles, clacking of high heels, and the occasional piece of a conversation. I then held my recorder outside my bedroom window and caught the noise of cars passing, church bells ringing, and a garage door opening. Next, I recorded myself in my space—painting on canvas and the click, click of my fingers typing: symbols of the work I am currently involved in and what I am working towards. I also happened to have a recording of my grandparents harmonizing—singing an old love song together and wanted to use it in my sound map.

I listened to everything and put something together with the help of some music editing software (I used a free trial). Suddenly, I realized a story was emerging. It was my story—my roots, my experience, my life. While listening to my own project, I began to see my work and my own perception of my work in a slightly different light. It helped me to discover the symbol of city in my art on a deeper level. For me, “city” symbolizes freedom. I knew this to a certain extent before the sound map project but listening to my work rather than viewing it creates a different kind of experience. I’m still attempting to figure out how to express how and why this is the case and I’m contemplating what makes sound art so inimitable.

Queens, Queens, and Block Parties On World Turf

By MELANIE TORMOS, mixed media artist living in the East Bay. She is bushwacking her way through her first semester at CIIS as an MFA student in the Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts program.

This post was written as an assignment for professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

In the Interdisciplinary Arts program, I was recently asked to step out of my comfort zone (Land of Acrylic and Canvas) and delve into a medium foreign to me. I chose dance. Suddenly I found myself on YouTube watching an endless stream of videos featuring young men and women turfing, waacking, popping and locking. I attended Block By Block—part party, part performance—at the DeYoung Museum by Sean San Jose of Intersection For the Arts featuring Campo Santo, The Embodiment Project (fellow CIIS MFA student Nicole Klaymoon’s dance troupe), and other talented young MCs, DJs, and actors. And I uncovered the gem of Saul William’s 1996 SlamNation performance of his poem “Ohm.”

My choice is leading me to something important; to a new, powerful authenticity my artistic voice has been craving for a long time. During my undergrad years, as I struggled through recovery from a devastating eating disorder and suicidal depression, I realized my values and those of mainstream society didn’t vibe; consequently, I was institutionalized and medicated. I read about artists and visionaries with their own struggles—for recognition, acceptance, funding, an open ear and mind.  Though I was any other suburban white girl to the eyes of outsiders, I felt I shared with these marginalized persons a passion for Truth.

I might have lived the hip-hop lifestyle as a creative, passionate woman with Puerto Rican roots had I not moved at a young age to the Southern California suburbs. It seems my parents chose the safety of the suburbs over the urban environment, but I wonder if I would have fared better in a tight-knit urban community like the ones in which my female cousins were raised. Growing up in Queens, they identify much more strongly with their Puerto Rican heritage even though, like me, they are half-Latina and half-European (they Irish-American, and I Slovakian-American). They are more outspoken and have a stronger sense of self (or it seems that way).

An Interview with Career Advisor Margie Lam

By LOIS KEANEY SMITH, student in the Writing and Consciousness MFA program and intern in the CIIS Communications Department.

At several points in my life, I have faced a dreaded beast: the Craigslist job search. I sat at the computer, watching my hope free-fall until I felt only despair, clicking through listing after listing and finding nothing. By the end of the day’s job hunt, I felt desperate, hopeless, and, worst of all, directionless. There are no jobs at all. There are too many jobs. I don’t know where to look. Back then, I didn’t really know what I wanted to be, so where would I even start looking?

We did not have a career counselor at my high school, just a college counselor. I never visited the career counselor as an undergraduate—it simply did not occur to me to go. So, on a Friday morning this fall, at age 28, I visited a career counselor for the very first time in my life.CIIS career counselor Margie Lam made the experience as painless as possible. She grabbed her mug of herbal tea and we headed into a meeting room.

Margie listened patiently as I described my wayward journey towards a career. I asked her if she had any general job hunting advice that would help anyone who was in graduate school. The first step, Margie explained, was to develop a “career action plan.” A career action plan, as Margie described it, works best when broken into small, orderly, bite-sized pieces. The necessary steps for any job search should function in much the same way. Here are some of the steps:

• Start in school
• Know yourself
• Stay specific
• Ask for help
• Be realistic
• Be flexible

Start In School
“Don’t see yourself as just a student,” Margie warned. Instead, she stressed the importance of seeing graduate school as an opportunity to further your career and to make connections that might benefit you in the future. There are many ways to do this, she said. One is to make connections with people in this community. Another strategy is becoming close to other students and to professors, and knowing what projects they are working on.

Margie recommended taking on “internships or volunteering, paid or not. Take on leadership projects, coordination, anything to add to your experience and skill set.” There might also be a professional association to get involved in through your program. The goal of all this, of course, is to build connections, and to learn what is out there in your field.

Know Yourself
But before you do any of this, you have to know what your field is. If you are still figuring this out, or have many interests and have trouble narrowing it down, as was my problem, there are several resources that might help. One is a personality-based career test. Two tests Margie recommended were the John Holland Typology test and the Meyers-Briggs type indicator. Both ask you a variety of questions about your personality, interests, and skills, and then based on your answers, classify you into a particular group.

I took one test and found that I was categorized as: ASE: Artistic, Social, and Entrepreneurial. Artistic and social were not a huge surprise, but I’ve never seen myself as being particularly entrepreneurial, so that was news.

Stay Specific
Many of my ambitions over the years have been vague, which made it incredibly difficult to know how to begin working toward them. I knew I wanted to write, and I knew I wanted to help people. I had no idea what career those vague aspirations might translate into. The trick, Margie explained, is to find ways to narrow your dreams down into something achievable: “Look at your dream and see it as a goal. The more you can narrow it down and be specific and concrete, the better.” It is far easier to start researching organizations if you know what you’re looking for. It’s also far less scary and overwhelming if you have a specific place to start.

One resource to help you concretize your dreams is the Occupational Outlook Handbook provided on the United States Department of Labor. This handbook provides useful, specific information about skills required in different fields, what the job market is like in these fields, and the training and education needed.

Songwriting: A Form of Meditation

By LISA MARIE BAUTISTA, student in the Creative Inquiry, Interdisciplinary Arts MFA program

This post was written as an assignment for professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

First of all, I want you to know, I have only written one complete song in my life. (I consider a song to incorporate both the melody and the chord structure, and possibly the notes or lyrics.) I attempted several times before to finish this song and I stopped composing at a certain point. I was interrupted, let’s just say. I became distracted by something else that lured my attention, or by my discouragement.

Two weeks ago, I settled on the lyrics. I started writing the chord structure first, many years ago when my parents first gave me my one—and favorite—guitar. Throughout this time I wrote several, at least five or six, versions of the lyrics. In fact there were many other times in my life when I thought, “This is it. I’ve written a song!” Then shortly after that, I would realize I was too scared to say what I had written, and slowly I would forget every word. I have spent 10 years writing this song.

The melody is the hardest part for me. This surprises me because of the specialty that I bring to writing music: I am a singer. I sing melodies constantly, which should explain why I can’t stop coming up with melodies for this song. Every time I sing it, I sing the melody differently. Luckily, I am slowly settling on a general idea of one or two melodies for each line of lyrics.

The most intense part of writing is the doubting. Some days I will walk away from the studio feeling hopeful, with the least amount of fears. Then other moments, I will run from the studio because I can’t accept the challenge. Every session, I warm up my voice, practice the song I am working on for my voice lessons, and then focus on my own desires. At first glance, this plan of action sounds exciting. I feel blessed and honored to have the gift of creation. Yet, an intimate experience of my agenda, then gives me a clearer understanding of creation—I see the possibilities of truths. My song becomes the voices of my ancestors and I feel great pressure to articulate their message. My longing to uncover the deep essence of these voices serves me, and I am usually willing to go towards the dark sides of my perception. But what I find startles me.

On Storytelling

By AARON ROSE, writer and ceremonialist based in Chicago. Aaron is writing her first novel, “Lawndale,” about the relationship between a Jewish family and an African-American family through their shared history in a Chicago neighborhood.

This post was written as an assignment for professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

There is nothing I would rather do at any given time, morning, noon or night, than listen to or tell a story. So, during a recent Creative Inquiry workshop, when visiting poet Traci Brimhall asked us to write about stories we were told as children, I was surprised to discover that nothing came to mind. I was read to more or less regularly – “Ferdinand the Bull” was my hands-down favorite – but I struggled to remember any stories that were told to me. Then I did remember one. I was four years old, spending the night in my maternal grandparents’ house and Bubie, my grandmother, was putting me to bed. I asked for a story. She told me a story about three sisters – one had one eye, in the middle of her forehead, one had two eyes, one had three. My grandmother, I understand now, carried a version of the Grimm’s fairy tale with her from Lithuania when she left in 1919 at the age of 11. In Dbrova, where she was born, it was a story told to her, and it came to mind at my request. But, at that moment, it seemed something terrible happened to me – a child entertained by the Do Bees and Don’t Bees on Romper Room and Captain Kangaroo. I was stunned by the sinister tale of jealously and retribution – not to mention the eyes! I struggled to understand why she was telling me something so scary, and felt a sense of danger and dislocation.

Ultimately, Traci’s exercise blew wide open a space inside me that felt empty and deeply disappointed; a space where memories of reaching for the magic and joy of creative expression was met with a patchwork of casual responses by a family trying assiduously to assimilate and succeed in the promised land of 20th century America – so I stopped reaching.

In the weeks that followed, I’ve thought more about the importance of stories…

As children, we love, and need, to hear and tell stories: it is how we learn about the world and how we gain mastery in life. Stories told to us by our parents and grandparents teach us where we come from, and in that telling give us a sense of possibility for where we might go, and prepare us for what we might find on our journey. Storytelling also creates bonds of understanding and intimacy, as the teller chooses to reveal something they value, in their own words, in their own way. How else, except through storytelling, do we know that we are not alone in what we see and experience, that we are more than a collection of rocks piled up on the shore of life?