Being Human & Belonging to Nature
Ordinary, art-making, alchemical practices and tools
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My slow work tool for teaching patient focus and engaging with cycles, rhythms, smells, and textures. I have two mortar and pestles in my kitchen and one in my apothecary. Alchemical uses: grinding whole spices, pulping herbs, mixing, extracting essences for oil blends, and grinding natural pigments for dyes and painting.
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When taking a trip, I am not seeking a vacation. For me, traveling has never been guided by leisure, rather an opportunity for discovery. Inevitably, I will find myself in the process of forgetting, remembering, transforming. That's reason enough to get up and go off. And, the same reason to come home again.
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City living challenges me to seek out slices of nature whenever I can and one of the ways I do is to nurture a small urban garden of my own. It took a few years of experiments in my Greenpoint, Brooklyn apartment to understand the intense conditions of heat and wind in an open roof patio environment. I climb out of the window to care for my containers and have focused on setting up a perennial garden for bees, pollinators, wildflowers, birds, and privacy. All plants are natives and drought-resistant Mediterranean varieties. Each summer I grow as much basil and tulsi (holy basil) as I can so I can give some to friends, make iced tea, and freeze some for pesto during the colder months. A few summers ago I gave myself the challenge to grow new plants only from seed and had great success with tulsi, bergamot, and milkweed. I continue to challenge myself each year to learn more and try new techniques and root/propogate a variety of plants. A few new plants have even “landed” in my garden thanks to resident squirrels and birds. I discovered a Chinese crabapple, a Fuzzy Deutzia and a tiny oak sapling looking for a home.
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This is the 1970s rangefinder I hunted down and use the most for 35mm film shooting, mostly in nature. I relish lining up the double images into a tiny diamond for focus. There is something nostalgic for me in hearing the shuffle of the advance lever and the way the lens affects the character of the pictures. I am briskly transported to days of my youth, posing for cameras and sitting on the living room floor flipping through family photos kept in binders of slippery-sticky protective sleeves.
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Studiolo is a 15th century Italian term meaning "little studio." In the 16th century Italian Renaissance period, the studiolo evolved to mean "a room of one's own" and became a special interior chamber dedicated to solitary reading, study, and contemplation. I try to create a version of one wherever I live.
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File this inexpensive, newly released half-frame camera under ordinary-but-satisfying. I took a summer roadtrip to visit my sister in NC and tested it out before requiring it for my students to use in class. I hope to acquaint them with analog processes and film as many of them are too young to have had it in their lives. I wanted to keep this experiment inexpensive but a step above disposable cameras, add the ability to get double exposures on a roll of 36, and explore diptychs as a conceptual space to create meaning. There is a robust half-frame camera of my dreams on my wishlist but for now, this little guy is perfect.
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Walking meditation is a formal practice taught in many meditation lineages. The act of mindfulness meditation in walking teaches the form of presence of mind in action and expands awareness. I like to extend this practice to walks in nature, commuting via subway, and running ordinary errands on the city streets. A few years ago, I was fortunate to walk along the spiritual halls of Mosteiro dos Jerónimos in Lisboa, Portugal.
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Whether singing around the rim or giving the bowl a tap, the sounds of a Tibetan singing bowl will forever be linked to my earliest sensory memories of studying Yoga and meditation. The special resonance demands a present mind and helps me to locate "the now" no matter where I've gotten lost. My personal singing bowls bookmark meditation periods for my students, prepare the energy in classrooms and spaces, and ring in my transition from work to home.
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In 2013 I began keeping a home apothecary. At first this just meant keeping spices but it soon developed into a fuller endeavor. I gained experience in the seasonal cycles and practices of growing, harvesting, alchemizing and categorizing herbs, spices, teas, tinctures, and essential oils. Today, my apothecary is a wellspring for my day to day needs, my first stop when I am sick or injured, and a growing library and lab where I train and strengthen my senses.
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Essential oils are a main ingredient in my apothecary. Some brews in my library are pure oils I purchase and some I have distilled and pressed on my own through a windowsill sunbrew method. Some brews are alchemical combinations for seasonal aromatherapeutic application. I always keep a section of my collection unlabeled for training my olfactory sense and for teaching students how to identify essential oils by scent and learn about their therapeutic benefits.
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My mom gifted me this flower press block. I know there are all sorts of ways to press flowers but the vintage palette of the book binding, the gold lettering, and the ability to press 7 flowers at once to remember this year’s flowers in my patio garden made it feel like a ritual I look forward to repeating years to come.
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Sadhana is the Sanskrit term for a personal spiritual practice. As a "sadhaka" or seeker, my sadhana has been evolving over a number of years as guided by my vocational studies as a teacher and under the tutelage of my own teachers. Daily study, Yoga, meditation, pranayama, devotional rituals, making art, dancing, gardening, and communing with nature are some of ways I deeply connect to my spiritual center.