My first night at my Grandmother's House

I left Portland yesterday and I stayed in Spokane my first night with my sister, Kevin, and my cousin Michael. It was really good to see them. Portland was raining when I left it, the last person I said bye to was Justin, it was the second time we had said goodbye to each other. I cried when this slipped out of my mouth: “I am scared.” My last few weeks in Portland was a series of goodbyes, and tying up loose ends. I feel the first time in a great while ok with being alone. I know that there are things I need to figure out on my own. Sometimes it feels really impossible.

Now I am in Montana. It was a beautiful drive with the leaves changing, and the people and cars growing more and more scarce. I realized that the last time I was in Montana in the fall must have been when I was a small child. I was romanticizing that I would be living in Montana, taking care of my grandmother, and being the Fleming family oral historian. On the way up I listened to old tapes that my father had recorded. These tapes are old oral history from 1987 of many members in my family, some alive some deceased, some I had met, others I hadn’t. I was three years old at the time of the recordings. The tapes are full of stories and laughter- and also of things that were uncomfortable to recount. My grandmother’s voice was so different then. You can hear in the background kids running around, talking and crying, playing high-pitched piano notes, opening and closing the screen door to my grandmother’s old house. I thought of the backyard that opened up to the garden and rickety swing set. You can hear the trains rolling by across the street, and her old phone ringing- all of this is breaking up the conversation. I can tell from these recordings how much my grandmother had been through. As well as how much all of the kids in her family, my aunts and uncles, had been through when my grandfather died. There is too much to report, too many stories, and the sadness that my grandmother might have endured.

When I walked in to her house today, I realized that her health was no joke. I am care giving for her now, and her life is in my hands. While she sleeps the hum of her oxygen is pumping. I give her a cup of pills at night and in the morning, I made her soup and a salad. After she ate, she starting talking about my eldest cousin who had died in a car accident, and my aunt who died several years ago from pancreatic cancer. I wondered if when it comes close to dying, if you start thinking more and more about who you might meet up with again after you die. My grandmother told me that the lord forgives everything, but she said that it is much harder thing, to forgive yourself. She had realized that two months ago, when her health started kicking. I told her that sometimes before going to bed I tell myself good things. Every time that people leave her house, I wonder if it is with a thought that it may the last day that they will spend with her.

Post Script: Below is an oral recording that I took of my grandmother and I. It is the last recording of her voice. I used an excerpt of my interview with her coupled with a video that I took near Snake River, Idaho, on my way from Montana to Nevada- en route to Europe. I miss my grandmother dearly. (post script written March 2011)

Prague Week 3

In my body I know that I am not going home.

And somewhere in my bones

a quiet whisper responds

that I must stay,

that I must also go back there.

Shut the door to my basement sanctuary

making art,

in the garden feet deep in the golden dark soil,

listening to the

squawk of the blue jay.

Somewhere deep in my bones

I know that I am not going home- but maybe.

My hands remember that

I once made things, colorful things-

things that you could cuddle up with,

get lost in.

Somewhere hidden deep within me I am so sad

that I won't get to know you better.

That maybe I am changing so fast

that the me,

with you

can only be around for so long.

When I am meditating

my old friends are with me.

They have not forgotten about me.

Somewhere in the ache of my back,

I will be with you, again, very soon.

*(possible optional ending)

I might have never thought that I could

be so alone in this.

but I am alone and I am able to

be with so many new people-

to experience new things in a way

that I had never thought possible.

On the plane from San Francisco to London

Sitting next to you

was something to get used to.

Lying warm on the sofa-

cuddled up so closely,

that with any sudden movement

we would both (suddenly) fall off.

I can't stop breathing,

like I can't stop loving you.

And I obviously can't be on a flight-

to a new continent,

alone without

intermittently crying my eyes out.

what it is to be alone

far away alone

who lives far

how is being far

being anywhere from exactly this place?

I have forgotten certain things about you so soon.

and I am getting used to the notion that maybe you

have, for me too.

Arrange the suitors in a line-up.

None could have been there for me.

Perhaps because I am too broken,

to really be there for anyone, myself.

To be in love

love like it could be a thing that comes and goes.

Forgotten, to be remembered like it was after seven months

of not seeing you

We felt each other's arms in disbelief-

"Is this you ?

I am still in love with you."

I am fucking heart broken.

And I am not sure where I am going from here.

because,

Moving forward

feels like moving backwards

as we learn from our mistakes

our mistakes become are our memories

And so I

I build, I break.

I break, so that I can build.

I am trying to breathe a fire of my own belly,

to have no doubt that the

one who is doing this

is me.

I Burned Those Journals

When I first moved to this city

I made friends with a junky-

we were both lonely.

Sitting on the steps with nothing

to do to pass the time,

but talk of the central library.

Looking up books

on how to make flutes.

I helped him score drugs,

by being the one who turned in

stolen jewelery to Nordstroms.

I watched him check out at

the water front-

he bought me pizza,

sang me a song

at open mic.

I was friends with meth addicts.

Lost friends in car accidents.

Lost my virginity in a haunted house

on an Indian Reservation.

And a few weeks ago,

I burned those journals.

I watched smoke erase memories,

in seconds.

Poems I thought I would put somewhere,

someday.

Short Story, written spring 2009 on my way home from Oakland

The water reaches my back cold at first, shockingly until my body gets used to the sensation. Haven’t fallen asleep completely sober in seven days. She is still asleep in the other room with her arm over her head and the sun creeping in through the window. It is a bright morning and really beautiful out there. Where I am from it is really rainy and cold- I feel as though I am on lock down back home, but not here. I turned out from the shower. This corner of the house is separate from the bigger living room, hard-wooded. I know she doesn’t hear me.

I want to kiss her and feel her and I am not sure that she wants me to. Talks that we have had over coffee, fruit or nuts in the dining room competing for who can make the other laugh longer, louder. On the pavement our walks become something of a floating venture, amazed at how plants have arranged themselves, as if they had done it so deliberately. During our drives down the interstate, everything is an event of self-discovery and disillusionment, or coming into reality, or coming into our reality together.

I rest and try not to watch her as she continues to sleep silently on that couch. With her permission perhaps she’ll let me take pictures of us way up high- overlooking the city as the sun passes over the bay and we think nothing of the past or future. Thinking only of how our voices should get louder as we have known each other for longer now.

A note to my addictions:

I do not want to be enslaved.

I want to be empowered.

I do not want to be enslaved.

I want to be empowered.

I will take the shackles off my wrists.

And I will separate you from me.

Things To Do In Portland Before I Leave (for good?)

Am I missing anything?

Drink PBR on a porch. Go to a Blazers game. Watch the sunset from Mt. Tabor. Read fiction at Powells. Buy a zine from Reading Frenzy. Walk to The Roxy, eat something that is bad for me. Go to soul night at Rotture. Hang out at Burnside Skatepark. Ride a bike around the espionage. Browse Andy and Bax. Go to a house show. Drink coffee at Stumptown. Pick mushrooms in the forest. Sit in the Public Library. Drive to the coast. Take the max to Pioneer Courthouse Square. End up at Mary's Club or Union Jacks. 20 oz. at Billy Ray's, play pinball. Tie up loose ends. Rollerskate at Oaks Park. Rummage through free bins and dumpsters. Hang out with all of my besties. Make dinner from food bought at the co-op.

Poem Written In The Olympic Rain Forest

You please me,
so please be with me.

Let us- sabotage relationships
and fall in love so fast that the
falling of breaking up happens faster.

Rapidly like rapids flowing downstream only
to meet up with the hurricane whirlpool
sun-burned-skin-to-skin
forever building houses just to
knock, knock them down again.

I am alone,
so that I can be better-
to be with someone else?

I am lighting candles in the wake of my past,
and seeing this stream as my breadth,
my coven, my forgiveness.

I realize that I have laid down to sleep for months
and drank and smoked in the tide of all my troubles-
I have had fun,
I even had fun
when we were fighting.
I enjoyed the struggle.

I enjoyed it
until I couldn't take it any more so I started running:

Running so far that I forgot why I was running in the first place.
Running because I was so pissed.
Running 'till I was too tired to continue.
Running for days,
for miles on end
so that I could forget about this pain,

and maybe-

learn a new one.

I have learned that love is like entering oneself into
a fire pit.
It is like taking an axe to the heart and opening it up
similarly to that can of beef stew that I just swooned over.

I cannot, no longer can I-
open myself up this way.

To open yourself up and spew out love of 1,000 nights
spent by your side laughing-
to leave it open only to douse it with peroxide-
bleach.
Like you just had to make it sting so fucking bad that
it just might heal correctly when I finally muster up the willpower...

to put that Flintstones band-aid on.

I realize that I fall in love too easy,
I realize that I don't need an apology to forgive you.
And I don't need to hate men as I have resorted.
I don't need,
to put you and myself through a gauntlet of ups and downs
because I am too

god-damned insecure to really

be
in

love

with myself.

So I am just going to run.
I'm running into the back of my hand.
I am fleeing situations so swiftly you would think I were
a cougar cat-badger-bandit who belongs to the night.

but I'm not.

I am more like my hens.
I am awake with the sun, I cry for food and water
and I squawk to my hearts content
when I have just laid an egg.

But.

I invite myself to love.
To be open like a parachute
Into my own arms.

and to come home,

at night.

alone.
to sit on the edge of my bed,
contented.

A conversation about art and the oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico, by Ariel Kempf and Judith Fleming

Jf: What motivated you to make these pieces?

AK: I was pissed, I was mad, I wanted to vomit. But couldn’t very well do that all the time. We planted the idea [to make this show], and then it was like the floodgates were open.

JF: Can you talk a little about where you’re from and how that relates to the work?

AK: Well,

I’m from the dirty, dirty. It’s very steeped in its ways and traditions. It’s both open and totally closed at the same time

JF: You mean the people

AK: Yes, they would talk to you for hours about anything, give you a place to stay. Very hospitable, yet very set in its ways. It’s layered, it’s murky and muddy.

JF: I’m trying to imagine how it’s changed over time, as I’ve never been there

AK: Yeah, that’s the thing is that not much has changed, people will feed you- people move there now, which I don’t think happened before.

Because it’s where I’m from, it’s an attempt to process what is happening, and it is helping me to see how tied I am to the place.

JF: Yeah, it’s devastating.

AK: Here’s this place that’s so unique, it is water- it is various stages of water turning to land. Louisiana is the mouth of the Mississippi river, which is visible from space. And there’s industry and industrial farming all up and down the river, and by the time it reaches the delta it is really toxic. And that is New Orleans drinking water.

JF: What do you think is going to happen?

AK: I have no idea. It could be really bad. With all the chemical dispersants they have put into the Gulf it is causing a lot of death. It breaks up the oil into really tiny particles that disperse and keep below the surface; by effect those animals can’t breath as the oxygen levels are so low… Not to mention that ¾ of the oil is “gone” – captured, siphoned, burned—that .25 is 5 Exxon Valdese spills.

AK: What made you want to make something?

JF: Well, the oil leak is pretty disheartening, to say the least. I heard that it was the largest man-made disaster, and people were comparing its weight in castatrophy to the dust bowl. I started doing other work around it with an organization called Public Social University, a class on survival because I felt that things were really starting to hit the fan. To me, we really need to be able to depend on each other if we loose control of our ecosystem as well as our governmental system. When I went home to Nevada for my brothers wedding my mom suggested that I do a show of embroidery on my experiences. She pulled out embroidery that she had started for my sister when my sister was living with nuns in Albania. The embroidery was things of my sister’s life, like our dog, her college mascot, and so on. From there my mother taught me how to embroider, and my grandmother too. My friend Ally Drozd, who help make the blue crab piece, sent me a link to the ten most effected animals from the oil leak. From there it became kind of a research project, these animals are so beautiful and important, not just by themselves but to each other.

JF: Do you want to talk about the material that you used?

AK: I really just chose it to represent the sand, oil and water mixture.

JF: Yeah, but you told me that this too was a representation of a photograph?

AK: Yes, it was. A photo that I found online, a close up of the leak on land, a few days after it had first washed up on land.

JF: Have you been back?

AK: I was there when it was on fire, I landed April 19^th, it happened on the 20^th.

JF: What was that like?

AK: It was really intense. A place that’s finally after 5 years is coming back to life, as if things are going to be ok, and the deepest offshore oil rig, blows up. Eleven people died- and it is gushing oil, and nobody is really talking about it. It was intense.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Embroidery by Judy Fleming and Ally Drozd

Fabric by Ariel Kempf

All work is for sale with all proceeds going to the Louisiana Bucket Brigade and the Bayou Rebirth.

arielmkempf@gmail.com

Public Social University Recap/Reflections

I left the country when was twenty-one years old. I went to Brazil to work with children in the favelas of Recifé, Brazil. I taught art workshops in a park. I was robbed once at gunpoint while walking from one park to the next after a sponge-painting workshop. When I was robbed, it was by two adolescents, who were around seventeen years old. After, I bought a skateboard to protect myself, and I cut my hair short and arrived at the park again for a workshop later that week. I was not mad at the kids who robbed me; I was more upset with the nature of the incident. My anger stemmed from the ability to recognize the problems of capitalist society, and how the corrupt disparity between rich and poor can result in children doing things out of desperation and hunger.

My art changed from there. I started to become more and more interested in education and social justice, while still seeing art as an important and viable way to reach out to kids with little or no educational background. I came to realize that art making was no longer about the art itself, but could be about shedding light on political injustices. The only question then, to me, was how I could pose needed questions to those who potentially were not interested in hearing them.

Upon my re-enrollment at Portland State University a good year later, I took art and social practice. We started a class project called Public Social University that term, a project that I took on the following term and soon turned into a functioning small non-profit. This project is a free education forum that we sometimes call art.

I started Public Social University independently from Portland State University with my friend Rozzell in the winter of 2009. He and I have been collaborating for over a year now, and have been interested in radical ideas of education- which can run without monetary necessity, taught person to person. We have also been interested in teaching more holistically; by utilizing more senses then those most commonly used learning devises such as linguistic, mathematical and auditory.

In my opinion, it is necessary for those who live amongst each other to build a sense of place and community. Carol Becker wrote, in “The Nature of the Investigation” that, “The response of many young artists at this juncture is to say: We want to be effective, to learn practical skills, to cross over into the city and work with groups of people to influence social policy about issues of the environment, homelessness, racist conflict, drug abuse, gang and domestic violence, the death penalty, and arts policy.” Another reason why I viewed Public Social University as important, is that we recognized that if the institution or the government is not giving us what we wanted, then we must either demand it, or build it ourselves.

We built Public Social University during the first scares of the economic recession. We thought that with so many people out of work, it would be a great time for people to come together, to teach classes on that which they are capable of facilitating. We then designed it to center around topics of value, such as water, food, healing and friendship.

We have since have won grants, been sponsored, spoke in different community events and given talks in classrooms. We became interested in becoming more radical. I wanted the Public Social University attendees to leave our events with something to take away, to change their communities. We had been investigating the importance of Oral Histories, with our grant money and sponsorship we designed a mobile museum called the Oral History Space. During the installation, I could sense my capability to collaborate with Rozzell shift. I was realizing that certain dynamics in our relationship could no longer be upheld. It was as if as we gained experience, we grew more and more into what we wanted out of the project, as well as what we could learn from each other. I think we can both agree that Public Social University has been an amazing collaborative effort, and that the project, as well as ourselves, have become better and stronger because of it. But like everything in life, it will grow and change, and new and better things will be created.

My interest in teaching that which I deem as important is still going to be explored as I am facilitating a free weekly on-going workshop under the Public Social umbrella on Survival at The Waypost. There is still need to examine what has been done in the past to evaluate what is a necessity for the future. In this very moment, as I finish the last day of my undergraduate studies, I feel ready to move on to the next chapter in my life, one that doesn't involve student loans, and is still meditating on everything that has happened in the past year.

(photo by Justin Flood)

My Dad Teaches Jr. High Kids Really Well

My Dad Posted This Link, Applicable Cross-States/Nations

Public Education and Ambivalence

By Thomas J. Fleming

I am a huge fan of American public education. Okay… with one caveat… When it’s done well.

Where on Earth is there anything quite so amazing as American public schools? It’s the one place where no one gets turned away. No one. For any reason. Even disciplinary expulsions have limits.

Don’t speak English yet? Come on into the tent. White, black, Asian, Arab? You’re in. Mentally or physically handicapped? Republican, Democrat, Independent, Communist? Gay, straight, bisexual? Rich, poor, even homeless? Religious, agnostic, atheist? C’mon in! You’re all invited into the tent.

And once in the tent, we in America go on to say: Are you athletic? We have a way for you to develop that talent. Are you musical? Are you artistic? Do you want to learn a trade? How about a foreign language? Going to college? We will provide the resources for you to have a leg up on accomplishing whatever you dream for yourself.

What makes American public education so awesome is that we, yes all of us, have to find a way to make this work. And the process of doing that… Whew! What a task. What an awesome responsibility.

Right now, in Nevada and elsewhere around the country we’re faced with a lot of decisions regarding American public education. One decision has already been made regarding my future in Fallon, Nevada.

I recently received a “RIF” (Reduction in Force) notice from the Churchill County School District (CCSD) in Fallon, Nevada. The district sends out the notice to employees who will not be offered a contract for next school year.

Our school district officials (School Board and Administration) determined that “specials” at the elementary school be cut. “Specials” are what we call the teachers who provide elementary students with experiences and curricula in Music, Art, Computers, and Physical Education.

Our district officials also decided to cut many elementary classroom positions. They closed a highly regarded elementary school. Several positions were also cut at the high school and the junior high.

Remaining teachers will have significantly higher class sizes. There will be fewer potential experiences for our students.

Examining the circumstances of how we reached this point is worth the time and effort.

The problems we face, as I see it, come from fundamental public ambivalence about public education. We want our children to have a solid, well-rounded education that includes music, art, P.E., technology, vocational programs and upper-level college prep classes. We want reasonable class sizes. We want to field athletic teams in a wide variety of sports. We want other vibrant extra-curricular activities.

We want – or at least we don’t begrudge – our teachers’ making a decent living wage with health and retirement benefits. We want our schools to be well-equipped with the necessary books and other tools needed to educate them.

Our ambivalence shows up when it comes time to pay for these things.

Here’s just one example of what I’m talking about in Nevada: A year ago, our State Legislature passed a couple of temporary tax measures that augment the state’s education budget. These measures are “sunsetting” in a few months.

There are many politicians, including our Governor, who are promising that these particular tax measures will not be renewed.

If the measures aren’t renewed, the Nevada public schools, which already rank 50th out of 50 states in per-student funding for education, will be faced with another set of huge cuts.

Will we augment our K-12 schools’ budgets through tuition payments, as state colleges do? Will we hope for another stimulus package from the federal government, which came to our rescue a year ago? Perhaps we’ll offer to pay teachers with chickens and house-painting.

Or will we simply sigh and complain about how we are forced to cut entire programs and increase class sizes yet again, placing our schools even further on the road beyond mediocrity to the quagmire of apathy.

Or. Perhaps. Hm… We can own our responsibility to make our schools work and take the actions necessary to match the words we say about how important quality schools are to all of us.

I enjoy listening to the conversations of others.

The planets give way to 1001 stars,

alive and breathing in the atmosphere.

We must hope,

hope we must.

Answers to Questions from The Research Club

What does it really take to teach art, creativity and critical thinking?

It is important to me that we step away from being afraid of defining ourselves as artists, because someone or something in our lives has discouraged us to do so. Let us not be afraid to own something that is within us, or to be a part of something great.

In my little experience of teaching art, I have learned that it is important to go to the place first, find what the people in the place need and want, and then facilitate that course according to the need. The need might be that kids make a picture for their friend, or build their self-esteem by making objects, the need might also be a survival course for backpacking in the wild, or building a chicken coop- the possibilities are endless, but it is up to the teacher to help direct it.

In regards to Public Social University, we’ve found that doing events on different themes has been successful. I believe that the reason is because there is a desire to learn in our community. What we try to do with Public Social University, to me, is much like composing a musical piece, which brings a person from one realm of thought and possibility to the next. I enjoy organizing Public Social University events to start with addressing the theme or issue, to explore the issue, and to leave people with the tools to do something about it, in a hopeful way.

In regards to creativity, I don’t believe that creativity can be taught, though I do believe that we can challenge ourselves, and that everyone has an innate ability to be creative in that which interests them.

On critical thinking: it is important to think about place, about ourselves, our heritage, our surroundings, our medium, what is happening right now, how we are feeling, why we are making an object or designing an interactive project. Deciding what and why might help us to make the object or event better. To me, giving meaning to a work is valuable.

Making things is a tool for communication, it is also a way to have fun. It is important for me at times to think of art nonsensically; there is no reason for it. Period.

Are university courses worth the investment made by students, and what effect do they have on the greater world of art?

I don’t believe that in general university courses on art are worth the investment made by students, but I do believe that learning can help students to grow, change, make new connections and discover new things about themselves that would most definitely benefit them as artists. Though university is a business, teachers really do care and want to expose us to the art that’s out in the world. If a person is available to soak in all of the information that is taught in art school, then they will benefit, but it is not a necessity. It is up to a person whether or not the time and money spent on going to art school is “worth it.”

Are there better ways to foster creative communities and advance the arts?

I don’t know.

The arts will advance whether or not there are students taking art classes, and many art communities will exist whether or not an art school exists. I am not even sure what “advancing the arts” means. I personally think that they are always evolving.

Perhaps if we were to “advance the arts” in Portland, we as individuals should explore human life experiences, world knowledge, and of course I believe that being involved in free education and a stronger community network can help. There is a lot of bureaucracy in the art world. I would love to see that lesson a little. I once decided that I wanted to lead my social practice class in making a really long hopscotch, my intention at first was to build the hopscotch right in front of the art museum. Someone from the group was interning at the museum, and expressed that he did not want to build the hopscotch there because it might upset someone. Making public, socially engaged art should challenge the higher-ups in the art world, art is what you make of it, we should not put boundaries on ourselves to create. I have been thinking a lot lately about how it’s ok if something that I do upsets someone, that is the nature of controversy, and that is what often works to get your point across.

To Live In Love

I recently met with a friend, artist Ashley Neese, for tea. She talked about her work as a social artist and mentioned that she believes in love and that all of her projects are centered on the idea of love. When Rozzell Medina and I first started to know each other he gave me a book titled Love, by Leo Buscalgia. The book explores what love is within its 150 pages. It talks about being vulnerable, practicing non-judgment and being wholly human, forgiving and imperfect.

It is true for me, that if we live in love and express ourselves not out of fear or judgment- we can meet with amazing people, we can do amazing things with our time.

As a community organizer, I attend a lot of meetings. I meet with a lot of truly giving; inspiring and insightful people who are creating change in Portland. I am nervous when I call people, and I psych myself out sometimes when I leave the house to meet with folks with whom I admire. I am also nervous and shy when I speak publicly.

It helps me to work through the anxiety by living life compassionately and openly to the future. Money can happen, jobs and opportunities will present themselves; everything will flow and happen if we allow it space, time and energy.

I am organizing an event with Public Social University called, HOUSING part 1: Approaching Space and Place. While organizing, I have been doing a lot of thought about vacant land and buildings. I noticed that while buildings remain dark and unused, there are displaced people sleeping in ally ways nearby. I noticed a similar occurrence with food. I went dumpster diving and found bags and bags of perfectly good food, while there are many who are hungry in the world.

Then, I consider to myself, "I wonder what the world would be like if we consciously lived through love."

What could we accomplish in our life times?

We Can Learn Anything

I told a friend that I wanted to make a video of people tying their shoes. My friend told me that it was a bad idea, and he laughed at me. To deal with the discouragement I was feeling, I bought a video camera and taped my friends as they put their shoes back together.

Why Did You Leave Us Scamp's?

About a year and a half ago, I found myself making frequent trips to the DMV Express in the Lloyd Mall. As it turns out that particular DMV has strange hours and I would leave feeling distraught that I had ventured so far into a mall without much of a reward. Thankfully, around the corner from the DMV was Scamp's, where you could take cute small puppies out of their pin and play with them. I developed a particular liking to an adorable golden retriever, whom I couldn't afford let alone possess.

Rozzell Medina and I went to Scamp's one early afternoon to see what animals wanted to run free and tug at ropes when we found that Scamp's had closed down. We noticed that around the entrance were photos of pets bought at Scamp's. We decided, then, to make a small shrine for the pets. Although you can't read it, we also left a note asking Scamp's why they had left us. Also unavailable in the video is the sound of a woman approaching Scamp's and yelling, "Noooooo...", we cut the camera off a little too soon for her voice to be heard.

Nevada Sky, Mid June

Watch and listen carefully, the climax happens at 1 minute and 50 seconds.