Leonardo@Djerassi 2022: Gallery

Le résumé fourni par la source

Krista DeNioThe NETWORK project (of which I am choreographer/director/ instigator) is an ongoing exploration and creation of audience-participatory, land-based performance experiences. These experiences are intended to share biological processes for communication and survival employed by tree communities and offer opportunities to contemplate ways/ methods/design of systems that humans could implement in our own communities.In the beginning, we met with Jonathan Cordero and Gregg Castro of the Association of Ramaytush Ohlone to have a conversation about working on their people’s land and the concepts and precepts of the NETWORK project. Our team (including biologist/core collaborator Chloe Crotzer; sound engineer Elton Bradman; map designer Maria Dolores McVarish; cocreators Diana Lara, Heidi Erickson, Maica Folch, Mindy Zarem, Grace Shaver, Rosemary Hannon, paige sorvillo, and Amy Cranch; and poet Elizabeth Costello) was quickly grounded by our new friends in understanding the difference in the relationships that western cultures have to land and ownership (and being “from” “that place”) versus indigenous cultures, who believe they are a part of that land (of the land itself) and thereby understand their inherent responsibility to it.Some questions we contemplated and offered, within the experience: How do you feel connected with the lands your ancestors call home?How do you give respect for those who have cared for your homelands before you?How do you care for the plants, animals, and waters that sustain you?Somewhere in the middle, I was talking with Jonathan about when the land acknowledgment should take place within the experience, and he gently asked, “Isn’t the whole experience you’re creating a land acknowledgment?”Brian HouseNormally too low frequency to hear, infrasound travels vast distances through the atmosphere. It comes from calving glaciers, wildfires, energy infrastructure, and even HVAC systems at massive data centers. Big phenomena like these are entangled with the climate crisis. If we could hear infrasound, could we listen to the crisis as it unfolds across the globe?For my residency with Leonardo at Djerassi, I developed my Macrophones project to try and find out. This work appropriates Cold War technology and combines it with current signal processing and machine learning techniques to make infrasound audible. I constructed three large low-frequency microphones on the Djerassi grounds; they recorded micro-barometric fluctuations through a sculptural wind filter. I put the recordings through additional noise reduction and resampled them upward by a factor of 80 into an acoustic range that we can hear. Thanks to Ambisonics and a realtime binaural mix, listeners at the site could then use head-tracking headphones to hear the infrasound spatially situated in the landscape around them.For me, paying attention to how we are connected through the atmosphere, rather than through the Internet, is both poetic and political. My hope is that listening to infrasound nearby and from thousands of miles away can cultivate the expanded sense of the local on which an equitable climate future depends. This project had long been speculative, so when I finally got to stand there and hear those strange tones and crackles and booms rolling in over the hills, I was beyond excited. I’ve since taken Macrophones to sites including a city center, the Arctic tundra, and an old-growth forest, and I’m looking forward to installations to come.Haein KangDear Pamela is a site-specific telematic artwork installed on the hillside of SMIP Ranch, the site of the Leonardo@Djerassi program. SMIP Ranch, located in the San Francisco Bay Area, is a fascinating place surrounded by magnificent panoramic scenes of the Santa Cruz Mountains and the Pacific Ocean. If you walk into the mountain, you will find artworks that manifest the beauty of weathering, which multiplies the mystic aura of this place.Dear Pamela consists of a rudimentary log drum made from Pacific madrone wood and a sensing and control system that detects drumbeats and drives a Twitter account. Pamela Djerassi’s poem, which begins with “the vast beauty repeats itself,” is posted on Twitter when someone beats the drum. If someone is following @PDjerassi on Twitter, they will see the verse in their feed.If you come across this log drum while hiking, keep tapping it so that the vast beauty rushes over like the waves of the Pacific beyond the mountains.(Special thanks to Tim DeVoe for showing me the area’s Pacific madrone trees and teaching me how to use a chainsaw.)Mark MayerThe unaccounted for mass of the universe must be passing through her tonight. Something is. Dr. Emily Mena, post-doc at the Tilden Lab, is parked in front of her house weeping about her father’s death as if for the first time in many years. And he isn’t dead, he isn’t even sick. He’s 59. They talked today. He played pickleball.It’s tonight that is doing it to her. The word makes her weep. Tonight, which reduces the whirly cosmos to these specific transits, this 11 pm when from this blue sedan, she remembers them catching an ecstatic loose dog running in lightning zags twenty years ago in Northside Park and sees, not as prophecy, just in normal human anticipation, his bed at West Mercy General, his dry nose hair breathing, his flattened chest. What is going on?Shall I tell you? When a soul exits the time layer, it creates a small puncture. A tight whirlpool persists around the puncture even after the puncture has healed. Humans call the suckhole grief. It is not a stable vortex. It wobbles as the currents shift; it slides back and forth on the time layer, pulling old nights in old sedans into its churning. She is brushing the hair on his arms with her fingers. She is tacking to a bedroom wall a bib from his granddaughter’s Thanksgiving 5K. She finds him weeping while washing his bicycle. Ancient fingers hold a jigsaw piece rubbed brown. All this, tonight, in her car.Or, likelier, she’s just sad. She’s had a long day and no dinner. The tunnel in her chest is hunger, not vortex. She follows the tunnel out of the blue sedan. On her stoop, through the tunnel walls, she can see the garden pots in a concentric stack, pots that used to have plants and should again someday. She unlocks the front door. The lock makes a sound like oracle. She moves at her speed, an hour per hour. She brushes her teeth, she rinses, she sleeps.Lisa RosenbergAs a poet, my art is largely invisible. I arrived at Djerassi anticipating the gifts of a cohort and long, quiet blocks of time. But I hadn’t expected the transformative gifts of space, or rather space-and-time—an ironic oversight for anyone trained in physics. There, in the generous space of Middlebrook Studio B, threads of inquiry unreeled and gained focus. Processes of thought and composition could find articulation, populate the walls, reveal patterns, bubble up, and boil down to a constellation of scrutable work: nascent, under revision, and nearly complete.Insights, camaraderie, wanderings, conversation, and extended reading marked the weeks. Synergies and correspondences surrounded us. I made a shaky truce with the site’s abundance of spiders—my unlikely weaver-mentors. Spiky dandelion-look-alikes ruled the slopes outside my window. Raptors above, foragers below, birdsong in the distance.I titled my blog posts “Weeds and Stars,” after a thread in recent poems. This also felt fitting to the territory. You really can’t look around yourself at Djerassi without finding wild plants, creature tracks, curious geometries, and the broad canopy of sky over the Pacific and foothills.Open studio. Empty studio. Portfolio of window light and piled paper. Language on the walls, in the air, along the spines of what is wished and worked for—Note: Poem fragments in this article allude to “anyone lived in a pretty how town” by E. E. Cummings.Jenifer WightmanWhile my residency was delayed for two years due to COVID-19, my 2022

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