The New Inspirational Movement

Our First Date 2007

Digital Comic Strip

Rio Yanez  San Francisco, CA

My head has been swirling with thoughts on identity lately. I just read a New York Times article about  "Blipsters" and unfortunate term coined for Black Hipsters. You can check out the article at http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/28/fashion/28Blipsters.html. A lot of blogs have been responding to the article and the things it puts forth. I wrote my own blog about it at http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=11241110&blogID=223800398 .

The comic strip is a musing on issues of race and (especially for young urban Chicanos) the idea of having a "scene".   

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Imagen de Yagul Ana Mendieta 1973

Last year I bought a book called Ana Mendieta, Earth Body which really moved me. I picked up this book again and realized how meaningful her work is to me….

Since Jorge’s death, I wake up every morning thinking of him. My mind swirls around remembering the good times, the two days that we had together, the two days that I’ll never forget. I remember them so clearly:

the boat ride down the canals past the mangroves where hundreds of iguanas attach themselves to the limbs of the trees, counting them with the children as we pass by

walking at night to a steel drum neighborhood party, our feet moving in synch with the beat of those drums, the dog’s long ears swaying with the guero, people smiling, eating, living.

having drinks in Viejo San Juan and wandering around the blue bricked roads

another party the next night, filled with poetry, light drinking, some smoking, this time Damaris’s son, a composer of heavy metal and classical music picks up a cuatro and plays old rock ballads on it

a late late night party, smoking pot at Indira’s home, playing a domino game, more cuarto guitars, their are new york puerto ricans there…

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     I'm giving back to the Universe what the Uni-VERSE gave to me. Participacion Mystique I'm letting go of what is. BEING. Of what is to become. L' Avenir. Letting go of what I AM up to now which in turning echoes what is. (H)echo. Letting go, for there is no need to take. Everything has been given to you. Every-thing and no-thing is in front of you. Gnosis. Therefore, let go of what you possess. Deseo. For when one lets go, one receives. What does one gain by worrying of the day. Oh anxious eye! One must learn to breath again. The first breath was born from a serene one. (Circular Time) The second from an earnest one. (Linear Time) Unos Mundos. Death to all anxious objects! I'm in the world now. I'm out of the wor(l)d now. The Uroboros. Between and including Consciousness and Unconsciousness there is becoming. There is connectedness. Mysterium Coniunctionis. There is balance. It is a prime mover. It is creation. We are the re-sounding fact of creativeness. (H)echo returns! It is sufficient unto itself. That is all!

Terms: 

 "Participacion Mystique" - This term came from a famous French
Anthropologist Levy-Bruhl toward the
end of the 19th century explaining how the 'primal mind' works in
relationship toward nature.
Since I’m from Arizona and the Sonoran desert I have always been
fascinated with how native
americans "think". The oneness toward what’s around them is something
which intrigues me and I have tried to live this way in certain respects.
As an artist I adore nature and learn so much from her.
Another way of looking at this is the subject and the object are
one as opposed to the western way of thinking in
which we separate the two! The object has been something to exploit, sell,
possess, etc.

"Mysterium  Coniunctionis" - All this refers to is the mystery and all
inclusiveness of the union of the opposites esp. in regards to men and women.
Carl Jung wrote a book on this. And he took his
cue from the alchemists of the 14th-15th cent. and he transform this
to refer to our psyche.

Text and Image by Rene Angulo Trujillo 'OtrO' Angulo 

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A philosopher who seeks to understand
humans should concentrate on studying
poets.                    
                                    -Joubert

<>    We always think of the imagination as the faculty that forms images.
On the contrary, it deforms what we perceive; it is, above all, the faculty
that frees us from imediate images and changes them. If there is no change,
or unexpected fusion of images, there is no imagination; there is no imaginative act.
If the image that is present does not make us think of one that is absent,
if an image does not dertermine an abundance-an  explosion-of unusual
images, then there is no imagination. There is only perception, the memory
of a perception, a familiar memory, an habitual way of viewing form and color. The basic
word in the lexicon of the imagination is not image, but imaginary. The value
of an image is measured by the extent of its imaginary aura. Thanks to the
imaginary, imagination is essentially open and elusive. It is the human psyche’s
experience of openess and novelty. More than any other power, it is what
distinguishes the human psyche. As William Blake puts it: ‘THE IMAGINATION
IS NOT A STATE: IT IS HUMAN EXISTENCE.’

from ‘Air and Dreams: An Essay on the Imagination of
Movement’ by Gaston Bachelard

From a town called Cashion

Somewhere in Arizona
I’m planted
out of the sun devils muzzle
i landed
somewhere outside Phoenix
i’m stranded

moonshine fills him deeply
a thought-rubbed groove returns me steeply
under intense lightning
blinding me on my way to Damascus
conversion to native lands cactus

From a town called Cashion:

                                             in my fathers passion
                                             he formed me in this fashion

the women in black look up into the high, endless sky
things seem backward here
my thoughts move forward here
the virgin on the moon
a computer in the room

From a town called Cashion:

                                            in my mother’s passion
                                            she formed me in this fashion

somewhere on a court i play
with friends who have shown me there way
surrounded by youthful revelations
the turning of the world that day
the feeling that i just can’t stay

From a town called Cashion:
                                             with my friends passion
                                             they informed me in their fashion

somewhere in California
i’m transplanted
out of the city of angels wing
i surmounted
an artificial sun in smoked clouds which s(t)ing
an official with a plastic ring
i’ve returned
eternal return

To a town called Cashion:    
                                          in my parents passion
                                          they formed in this fashion

from a town called Cashion
i return
eternal return
to a town called Cashion

<>Image and poem by Rene Angulo Trujillo 'OtrO' Angulo

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just want to pass along the insight i gained when reading a book entitled "emotional intelligence." in the book the author speaks of creative destruction, a term child-psychologists use. it is the seed of creativity and problem solving. a kid builds a house (with legos for example), evaluates it, re-thinks it, destroys the house, and then recreates it differently. sounds familar? thus, child behavorists hate prescriptive toys and games that lead you to one point, one end, one predictable image. creative destruction reminds me of derrida's idea of de-construction. yes, you tear apart the piece, the text, the movement, find what's wrong with the piece within the piece. but, the next step is reassemble, to learn, and to create. you don't end with criticism. you take that insight and begin again with that knowledge. so, my advice to myself is to make some shitty work and smash some legos! creative destruction-what a cool term.

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       The art of living is based on rhythm, on give and take, ebb
and flow, light and dark, life and death. By acceptance of all
the aspects of life, good and bad, right and wrong, yours and
mine, the static, defensive life, which is what most people are
cursed with, is converted into a dance, the dance of life, as
Havelock Ellis called it. The real function of the dance is -
metamorphosis. One can dance to sorrow or to joy, one can
even dance abstractly, as Helba Huara proved to the world.
But the point is that, by the mere act of dancing the elements
which compose it are transformed; the dance is an end in itself,
just like life. The acceptance of the situation, any situation,
brings about a flow, a rhythmic impulse towards  self-expression.
To relax is, of course, the first thing a dancer has
to learn. It is also the first thing a patient has to learn
when he or she confronts the analyst. It is extremely difficult,
because it means surrender, full surrender. Howe s
whole point of veiw  is based on this simple, yet revolutionary
idea of full and unequivocal surrender. It is the religious
veiw of life: the positive acceptance of pain, suffering,
defeat, misfortune, and so on. It is the long way round, which
has always proved to be the shortest way after all. It means
the assimilation of experience, fulfillment through obedience
and disipline: the  curved span of time through natural growth
rather than the speedy, disastrous short-cut. This is the path
of wisdom, and the one that must be taken eventually, because
all the others only lead to it.

from the 'Wisdom of the Heart' by Henry Miller

Image by Rene Trujillo, pastel 

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okay, i should mention that i'm not a computer sophisticate—something i'm not embarassed about nor proud of. and i'm a horrible typist and speller. hey, where's the spell check on this blog? but, i wanted to share a few books that i read over winter break that made me realize i need to kick-out-the-jams. i'm waaaay to conservative for my own good–conceptually and artistically. sure, if i compare myself to middle america i'm a weirdo. but, that is a lazy comparison. and the book that made me admit that i am coasting by being cool is called "the middle mind" by chris white. it is concise, irreverent, and has lots of exclamation points (something that bothers me). exclamation points reminds me of the spice girls or used car commercials. anyway, he laments the lack of imagination in america. he states that imagination is always subversive because it points you to a different way of thinking, basically a different life, to change. and that "stupidity is not a lack in people; it is one of the ways in which we are oppressed." he really goes after terry gross and spielberg. these two are entertainers (he compares them to oprah) and "our culture provides entertainment as a compesation for an inducement to work." job sucks, go watch some t.v. and if you think you are the cultured-type, watch pbs. i love this…"art's job is to give us objects that argue forcefully that there is a difference between feeling alive and feeling dead." anyhow, he wants a revolution and he wants artists to led the way. and he wants distinctions. okay, i have to go to school. i'll talk about "the corporation," which i'm sure many people have read. and "satisfaction: sensation seeking, novelty, and the science of finding true-fulfillment." i apologize in advance for any typos.

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Up on 15′ scaffolds at San Leandro Ca New Juvenile Justice Center August 2006

On Being a Finalist

There’s something about being in a juvenile hall that makes me feel guilty even though I haven’t done anything wrong. Maybe it’s the unlocking of doors, being lead down corridors and hearing the doors shut and locked behind me. Or maybe it’s sitting in front of a row of teen girls under the supervision of juvenile hall staff and arts commission staff. Either way, it’s an uncomfortable place to be and this is where I began my journey as a cartoon muralist for the new Juvenile Justice Center in San Leandro.

The new facility is designed to function as a maximum and medium security housing for troubled teens. It will accommodate 360 youth, ages 12-17y.o. with a separate facility for girls. The housing is divided into 6 units called “pods”. Each pod has a half of a basketball court with a mural to be painted above the hoop. The murals will be visible from the teen’s individual rooms, which are similar to prison rooms, except there’s a metal desk with a lamp. 44 artists had applied for the mural commission that was weeded down to 22 finalists. In the end, only 6 would be chosen.

As with any public art it’s important to meet with the community who will be directly affected by the art. And there I was, one of 22 mural finalists sitting in front of a dozen girls of juvenile hall. One by one, we introduced ourselves to the teens. Afterwards we finalists started asking questions of what kinds of imagery they would like to see. The girls responded quietly and I listened intently, pencil in my hand pointed at my notebook, ready to write their ideas. Although some of their answers seemed a little programmed, by the looks on their faces, a whole lot of other stuff was going on. But a couple good questions got the teens really talking:

“If we could open you up and look inside, what would we see”?
Many of them answered, “pain”, “anger”, “loss”, and expressed the desire to be with family and their kids.

Another question was asked, “If you could be a spirit animal, what would it be?”
Overwhelmingly the girls identified with being predatory cats like tigers and panthers.

Just as the conversation was becoming more interesting, our time was up! As we were lead out of the conference room in single file, some one from juvenile hall told us that if we wanted additional information about the teens, to go to their website called thebeatwithini.org. Thebeatwithin is a website of writing, thoughts, poetry by the teens of juvenile hall.

When I got home, I looked at my notes. They were meaningless scribbles. I decided to check out thebeatwithin.org. to see if there was something that inspired ideas. I spent the rest of the night reading their experiences being teens. Their writings sent me into my own tearful adolescence past and the difficulties I had being a young woman. Flashbacks of getting into fights with other teens over what most adults consider petty, like name-calling, cheating, bad rumors flowed thru my mind. But it was the girl’s stories of partying and ending up in the back seat of cars with strangers that reminded me of the dangers I put myself in all in the name of being an adult.

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The Place of Jorge’s Death, Por Fin 2 Villa, Rincon Puerto Rico, 3pm January 15th 2007

“To lie in the arms of nature, the sea,that fluid that we once felt when were infants in the bellies of our mothers, so has Jorge returned to his Great Mother Earth and Great Father Sun, to be reunited with his now Cosmic Family, his father, his mother, and all his other ancestors, which are now transcended into spirit.”

Isis Rodriguez aka Lilly Rodriguez (hija de Lillian Diaz)

Our gratitude to my brother, two surfers, and a young man who risked their lives to rescue Jorge.And to Damaris Diaz who’s efforts to revive Jorge will always be remembered. Our Love goes out to Kurt (10 year partner of Jorge), Damaris, and all survivors of Jorge.

Me, Kurt, Niki & my cousin Jorge Diaz 1-13-07, Viejo San Juan, Puerto Rico

1-15-07 The Day Jorge Died

It was around 2pm in the afternoon when Jorge Diaz, my cousin of 44 y.o, pulled into a the driveway of a villa called Por Fin 2 in Rincon Puerto Rico. Damaris, his sister, Andy his nephew, and I were in the car with Jorge. We were looking forward to visiting my mother, and the rest of my Kansas family: her boyfriend of over 10 years, Buddy, my brother Rudy and his wife Stephanie. When we got there, Jorge and Andy were excited to get into the water. The villa was right on the beach making the water accessible. As I gazed out into beach, I saw swimmers and surfers in the water, little kids running on shore, people sunning themselves. Because I never pack well for these types of outings, my mom went looking for some of her beach clothes in case I decided to swim. Jorge was already in his red floral beach shorts anticipating a swim. He was talking to Rudy and Buddy. My mother returned with a tank top and shorts and I went to put them on. When I came out, Andy was all excited because the store across the street rented boogie boards. Damaris, Andy, mom and I went to that store and Andy was off with his boogie board.

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Puny Artists! El Rio Smash! 2006

Digital Mixed Media 

Rio Yanez  San Francisco, CA

Man, today was just one of them days…This morning I was sitting on the toilet and reading a recent issue of In Touch magazine (yup, poopin’ and readin’ tabloids). Inside was an article about a dog that was considered a “Master Artist.” Apparently she has her own book of lithographs coming out and has already had a slew of solo shows. Tillie the art dog has the kind of career most of us only dream of and as I read the article it was killing me.

Then I’m showering and listening to NPR on the radio. They were doing a piece on dancer/choreographer Paul Taylor. I listened as they kissed his ass for a dance performance he choreographed/performed where he stood next to reclining woman and the two of them were still for 4 minutes. I was so offended that the reporter was praisng him for a dance performance that involved no movement.

So here’s my philosophical question, are dogs that make art and dancers who don’t even dance smashing the western art world or do they represent the bullshit baggage of the western art world?

I’ll be the first to admit my envy of the attention that they were receiving as artists. But while I’m out trying to take photos of my neighborhood and not get a cap popped in my ass Tillie and Taylor are getting fellated by the press for doing next to nothing. Now, I’ve got my art credentials and I can dig minimalism and experimentation…but I’ve also got enough ghetto credentials to know a hustle when I see one…My problem is that I don’t know where my thoughts fit into the big picture.

I want to know, am I standing in the way of artistic progress or am I rightfully fed up with the mainstream art world?When I was in art school I was told that the worst thing you could ever do is close yourself off from someone else’s vision. It’s always been a fine line between being closed minded and recognizing bullshit as bullshit. Of course the teacher that told us to always keep an open mind also admitted that if we credited our artwork to children or small animals that we would have made a fortune by now.

 *Sigh* I guess all I can do at this point is take a tip from the lip of Ice Cube and be true to the game.

Peace,

Rio

Blessed Borracho  2006

Photograph

Rio Yanez   San Francisco, CA 

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