Lab 1

10.19.08

LOCATION: Parking lot, intersection of Toole/6th Ave./Alameda (west side, north of the ATT Building)

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iclab1

image poem by Karen Falkenstrom

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Ann Dernier

Red Light Green Light (Draft) 10/19/08

Designated city, designated detour, designed for evacuation
Evacuate, create ghost zone.

Camera woman is to camera,
As Violinist is to violin.

Parking lot with 1967 Mercedes Benz, bike, wagon & cooler.
Note space number.
Blade of light between buildings
Knifes the asphalt.

Parking must be paid in advance
To pay wrong number same as
Paying.
A rear-ender.
Tow arrives, moves vehicles
And the 3:21.
Vehicle impounded with chain and drum.
Lot vacated, vacant, vacancy
And the 3:36.

Rhyming with no rhyming words.
Like learning to ride a bike,
From desire, move toward inter-section

“start pedaling with your left foot so the long loader
doesn’t hit your Achilles heal”

Like driving a violin through a parking lot.

Gretel, write, white the path with flour
Conspicuously or pass through, a breeze
And the 3:47
Dancers land in parking squares
Jays, mocking birds, doves.

Wear this one word for me.
Wear this one bird for me.
Take it.
City of migration
And a violin etching string lines and circles in a lot
Of blue asphalt, ash and fault
Foot falls and fault lines.
Walk the radial arc.
Circle the music.

At the bike of desire
In the radius of desire
Circle, land, circle, land, circle.
Bike, bell, basket, hand-break.
And the 4:02

Box, boxcar and whistle bell, blow horn
Blows over the underpass
City, give up a word.
Speak over the horn section,
Mid-sentence,
A word like ______________.
Enter the violin.
And the 4:24
I don’t belong but __________ belongs.
*

Three, Four, One and One, Four All (draft)

I
Below the blue-black tar paste
Figure ground
Earth ground to a fault

Stone quarried at reservation’s edge
Driven through the desert
On desert’s back

Black-top tar face
Tarred and now
Feathered with a crow’s blue-black back

II
West of here the old fort
Corner stone, a block from Stone
A hold post and military showing
Just below Sentinel Peak

North, tracks and underpass
The blacksmith needs iron
The rails, the horn, the signal arm
Choreography

South, Victorian architecture
And barrios of adobe bricks
From dirt, manure and rain water
Magical courtyards of mesquite

East, the depot
Yellowed timetables, docking clocks and clock-watchers
Dust settles in the evening light
Light settles in the evening

III
Tucson domed by a conspicuous wash of cirrus
From the Sistine Chapel
Michelangelo’s blue paint-
Brush cleaned in clear water, swished
Dipped again for blue
For water for water color
______

images: krista joy niles

tc

(excerpt)

city, in which the feet stutter reckless.
city, in which the vertigo is unnamed.
city, in which the throat throws persimmon.
city, in which the sheets are an impediment.
city, in which I trouble you, like rain.
city, in which the surface is disappearing.
city, in which the manhole never leaves you.
city, in which the visible is a treachery.
city, in which her hair breaks, like shame.
city, in which the whitewash is receding.
city, in which the finally falls out.
in which the body is neither promise nor
kindness nor dare. city, in which my back in newly token.
city, in which the broken are uneven.
even and faithfully bound.

Lisa Bowden

for Vicki playing violin

she’s anchoring a swimmer’s song

wet layered play

rapid and round

the ice flow splits

marks time with water

evaporating names.

Lisa Bowden

(periphery study in quatrains)

AT & T canyon walls of bisque

shelter granite arches

sidewalk rowhedge disappears into turning traffic

a parking meter steeple chase

oyster shell smooth

paint peels

canvas for sky

bricks no sun

catalina

telephone wires

warehouse and transfer

a grid of glass block

decapitated palm monument

to the east

barnacled shelves of forgotten fronds

grow out of rock


Lisa Bowden

(back to back with TC, improv warm up-DRAFT)

Desire To Intersection

envelope it here

desire’s cirumfrance

impounded car sounds

sound it out in the mouth—

on the car in your space

circled in.

your right of way

mapping taxi where skin touches tire.

lapidary ignites

enclosure.

______

..::: VIDEO CLIP :::..

Jamie A. Lee

______

10.17.08

LOCATION: City Parking lot @ e. toole & n. 6th avenue

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Adela C. Licona

interstial_being_becoming__belonging_a_draft

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El tren y el aire
Patas y el pueblo

Amarillo y azul

No quiero hablar

Si tengo que hablar
será en español,
el idioma del centro.

(Me acuerdo,
El Kress y los camiones
Day laborers and domestics)

Español. Idioma de la gente, la raza,
del pueblo

I left the group

I’m just that way
sometimes

Estoy sola,
Pero no perdida

Awkward beginnings
Desert absurdities

Rain for Rent

Commodifications
Appropriations

Un/occupied Space/s

Intersections

Invasions

Explorations

Transgressing Bodies

Transgressed Boundaries

Hey, you.

Come over here.

i do.

I hope Joe sues
you. What are
you, brain-dead
idiots?

[PAUSE]

Y-O-U D-O-N ‘ T
U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-

N-D M-E,
D-O Y-O-U ?

stunned.

i do not.

i do not understand

you.

His city
His space
His/panic

In/visible
Violations
Exploitations

Return to the group

Think in English
Speak in English
Right in English

Horns and Violins

Sweet sounds and sirens
Headers and an A minor

Roller coaster screams
Es la feria

Enter/Park Here/ For Rent
Public space & Private property

Peligro / No Entre and
Danger / Do Not Enter

Stay off the rebar ladies
Locas y locuras

spatialized Inventions

The drummer has found
her drum

Dusk and dirt

dirty girls find home

*

Wendy Burk

Not everything doing
is doing.

I know a street in the city
where blood drops.
Those are cars inside your veins.
They like going fast
and being noticed.
Imagine their light
reaching a distant star
instead of the other way around.

Imagine you are cars
and that there’s more
than one of you,
achieving a purpose
of transportation.

Mis fotos para compartir

Adela C. Licona

*

Lisa Bowden

Tucson Night Lot West of the Depot

pebbled gray vernacular
waltzes

in the dirt

desert forgiveness
triangles
rain into rebar haystacks

chain link songs
for rent
box car
sign cuts to the blue.


Laynie Brown

We stood on the brink of it
Picking bowed trash
Semi dusk in sepia
Tying her one-legged
Witness pebble rain

A violin so public —

=

Traffic is not a body but
climbing
mountained, fence

You could draw it
An aside arched irreverent
fencing with
walk and pluck

=

It’s bumpy arm-in-arm red dot
Wonder twin power activate, culminate, disseminate

Decide what to call it

A public street on its knees

Your car’s horoscope— here

=
The view from any life
no corset, no opulence
no dusk too slow
no hesitation would be nice

Pennington is the only street

=

Inspired by stagefright
gelsenium sempervivens 30 c

Ran yellow ran circlet

Ran yesterday by a playful
haircut simmering

Blown barely

Marry, misgive

=

The lot-book isn’t flown, grown
gathered swung, hung
—says who?

Spin, climb up and drop it

=

Rain for rent
US patent #51316175
capacity isn’t (1436) all you know

=

Headlights are not any kind of dusk

=

I wanted to be only in an ever folding field

Farewell big brothers and sisters
Angel Youth Choir
Hotel Congress

Isn’t your palm also a perimeter?

=

Do not enter 135 authorized transit
only airplanes

1 dollar off not subject to doubling

Kick me back
“can stepping”

sitting on the edges
of something I can’t spell

=

We stood on the brink of
only what we imagined
Do you have the time?

=

And most mysterious, how to skip on rocks?

Such unrushed insistence
bubble, babble, begin

Intrude— do not under-wonder
riddled and rattled

=

Whose arabesque leans
loudly on a train
Leaning is listening
lending, bedding, beading, betting, becoming
not cargo but danger

=

Running, a shoe shows off its red and black corset

Joni Wallace

Invisible City (10/17/08)

City of sky, colorized
City of eight shades of blue
City of blue corrugated
City of rails

City of rhapsody
City of dissonance
City of pizzicato
City of marbles

City of teenage boys stepping into a white van
City of girls screaming
City of Angel Youth Center

City of flash
City of spheres
City of stripes
City of numbers
City of don’t- touch-the-rebar
City of you-don’t-understand-me
City of human traffic

City of gravel
City of fences
City of silver chain-link
City of orange plastic chain-link
City of woman draped over chain-link

City of do-not-move-tank-with-fluid-in
City of ladders
City of dry spill-guards
City of scars
City of rain-for-rent

Barbara Henning

Invisible City 1 (Draft)

I sit on the periphery of the space. What was here
before? I wonder. The dancers are running and climbing over
everything. Beneath this gravel, what happened here?
A woman is playing a violin. Martin Luther King building
yellow yellow yellow. The busses across the street are going
going gone. One says, “Grant”, President Grant, Camp Grant,
over 100 dead apache women and children. It took two days
for the city leaders to travel with the mob out there
to exterminate the sleeping women with their bundles of hay

I have no desire to romp around in this dust

The women are clinging to the bright blue trailer.
Random acts start making patterns. Three men in orange coats
and hard hats appear to make sure everything is ok here.
The cameras are flashing and dusk is officially here
A dancer leans over a fence, her leg extending toward the north.
Three big black water tanks with signs: Rain for rent.
Art or commerce? A bus pulls out of the terminal with its lights on.
I’m sitting in a lot with my butt on gravel, writing.
Wendy Burke is cute. She’s walking and writing, too.
A white pickup cuts through the lot on the outskirts of our space.

Maybe the Apache rode their horses through here or perhaps
they were on foot, thirsty with little clothing
The big blue rain tank, we keep moving toward blue
Big Brothers Big Sisters Angel Youth Center
Weird little downtown. Picked up my cousin Linda
and her husband at the train station last year. A plane
is getting lower and lower, its lights flashing. Coming
in from the west. And then a noisy freight train rumbles
by: Union Pacific. The Hotel Congress at the corner in orange letters.
Rent me. Rain for Sale. Rent me. Rain for Sale.

Ann Dernier

Don’t Touch the Rebar
(Draft) 10/17/08

Lone bat
crew exits Lloyd
Construction.
Neon “T” moon rises from the high school.
Bus #21 to GRANT
whistles from Toole Ave.
Lee Ann’s dress unwraps an October breeze.
Sunset’s mourning retreats.
Another commuter
Makes for her red Volvo.
Karen kicks a can, can, can.
Vicki fingers a violin string,
case winged open in the lot,
bows a riff of Mountain style
melancholy, tiptoes a few steps, repeats the riff.
Violin case, a pair of women’s thighs in the gravel lot
beside a backpack,
bomb.
Notes detonated.
Film shot.
Poem detonated.
Explodes.
Shrapnel of dancers
moves toward the tracks.
Car horns, a whole horn section, cars, trains the 6:12, the 6:41,
and the Tucson High band begins.
2001: A Space Odyssey
breaks over the invisible space.
The Union Pacific, a whole union,
enters the maiden landscape
Across the case the music is louder

(draft)

above images: krista joy niles

*

Lisa Cooper

INVISIBLE CITY 1: DEPOT LOT

not everyone at once, but if not now then when?
dancers run, writers wait
how do I bounce, bounce away
— & hear music at the top of the yellow staircase

kickin’ it up, dusty town, the dust
same side of the tracks here—
train my grandparents took, newlyweds, 1926 or 7
(her letters of pure joy to her parents)

oil stains I came here to write
old as dirt
the troubled left leg sinks its heel into 8 inches of chunk gravel
the chalky powdery kind— illiterate chalk though, not a word in it

sorrow or indifference of stained rock— or scorn or shame—
self-conscious rock
another music, then a whistle, plucked fiddle
music of spokes of the chain link, rocks clack & rubbing rocks
makes the sound of the place itself, she plays it, makes its music

what was here before? ghost buildings, ghost places
not always desiccated
the earth here holds steady, barely breathing

this ground’s been through so much & asks for nothing—
groove channels of truck tracks double tires
suggest a fissure, aqueduct
ancient canal works, sacred water bathing temple
now scummed with old drops
scarred/adorned with wire rippings

parking the forklift, what barefoot
double-tire dump truck would course through this chunk gravel?
mass departures now, the trucks a choreography
exit stage right if the viewer is the street

man in a hard hat— not separate—
ambulating to the workday’s finish line
the best time of the week, Friday 6 p.m.
down(turn)time downtown, “magic hour”
bus roar, pickups head for home

I’m writing!! to the red/orange light of B’s camera—
play that note again for autumn, tomato soup tone in dusk

this ground loves the touch of our steps
the nearness of hands—
my spine & crunch of rock—
vibrato here, the growing dark

what was this place? all trace of any structure obliterated, save for
curbs, power poles of wood— so it harkens to another time
stray patch of linty grass, no flower, dog, nor tree

good breeze, men cough, smokers’ cough or chalk dust cough
on the way to hopefully a prepared meal & deep repose
if I can beat this train

not currently a dancer was a dancer
not dancing into the space to read it, merely going there
setting out first with my right foot always
do not enter confined space
okay

*

..::: VIDEO CLIP :::..

Here is my first snippet from DAY ONE! Thanks! What fun!

Jamie A. Lee / http://www.visionariesfilmworks.com
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4 responses to “Lab 1

  1. You guys rock!! LA

  2. incredible!!! what a fun and inspiring project– i love it!

  3. sacred gestures and creative cartographies in the city of human traffic – all this, grown out of rock…

  4. such a wonderful project, seeing human spaces with new eyes

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