“Yet though it is fashionable these days to see nature as a derivative of culture, culture, etymologically speaking, is a concept derived from nature.  One of its original meanings is ‘husbandry’, or the tending of natural growth.

The world . . . charts within its semantic unfolding humanity’s own historic shift from rural to urban existence, pig farming to Picasso, tilling the soil to splitting the atom. . . Perhaps the pleasure we are supposed to take in ‘cultivated’ people lurks a race-memory of drought and famine.  But the semantic shift is also paradoxical: it is the urban dwellers who are ‘cultivated’, and those who actually live by tilling the soil who are not. ”

From The Idea of Culture by Terry Eagleton

Every day on my way to the Jefferson St. L train I see this, read it, and think about it.  The creator is Skewville, a twin brother artist duo active in transforming the Brooklyn landscape.  A recent proposal, the Bushwick Art Park is visualized as a “green space” on a blocked-off Vandervoort Place, with murals painted on bordering buildings, and sculptures installed in the road.  With the park, Skewville aims to connect the long-existing population of bodega owners and industrial workers with the young people (often called “artists”) who arrived more recently, creating one thriving community.

This story, via my mom, a pretty radical knitter herself:

The book Yarn Bombing: The Art of Crochet and Knit Graffiti compiles photos of knit interventions all over the world, along with accompanying texts and how-tos.  They even give a handy guide of the measurements of major buildings, bridges, and monuments in case you want to go all Christo and Jean-Claude.

Though the book came out last fall, the phenomenon is nothing new. Magda Sayeg, a pioneer in yarn bombing, began taking her work to the streets in 2005 in “response to the dehumanizing qualities of an urban environment.”  Stephen Colbert reported on one knitter’s response to American institutions like guns and SUVs in 2008.

A lot more photos are here.

Picking wild blueberries in the fields next to Jordan Pond in Bar Harbor, ME.

These ones are wild wild blueberries, because wild (or lowbush) blueberries are also commercially grown along with their gigantic highbush relatives.  Only Maine and Canada harvest these little blueberries commercially, so if you, like me, grew up in California, you may have never seen them before.

A sprinkle of blueberries I picked today vs. three from a store-bought pint.

Cultivated highbush blueberries may be bred sweet and easier to eat, but will never be as satisfying as picking tiny blueberry by tiny blueberry in the wild.

Last month, Obama and his family landed in Bar Harbor, Maine for a “two-day private vacation” around the island and Acadia National Park.  Yesterday, I hopped from Brooklyn to Boston to Bar Harbor myself to help revive a tradition that began back when my grandfather spent 1960s summers working at Jackson Laboratory.  Towns along the coast like Bar Harbor rely on the warm months to generate income for most of the year.  Businesses are small, locally owned, and fueled by crowds of tourists.  There isn’t a Starbucks in sight.  This is good ol’ American capitalism.

Or is it?? The allure of the small town may be lost in nostalgia.  My childhood memories of Bar Harbor include ordering a vanilla frappe at the soda counter of the Rexall, filling up on penny candy at Bee’s, and picking blueberries on a hillside.  Though these things still exist today, they’re overshadowed by business, however big or small, catering to the American tourist.  Store after store stack moose and lobster themed tzotchkes in the windows.  Others advertise their wind chimes and paperweights in Papyrus font.  The search for authenticity is difficult, if not futile.  I’d love to comb a thrift store for an old moose pin or roughed-up sweatshirt, but I have yet to find one.  Obama’s visit meant one thing for Bar Harbor: more money.  And that’s what’s important, right?

What does it mean to be a human being? How do we create meaning and give form to our lives? We feel, we talk about our feelings, we think, we talk about our thoughts, we observe our surroundings, we are critical, we learn from seeing and doing and reading and hearing and we talk about it all.  We learn.  We touch and we kiss and we have sex. We also eat and we laugh. We eat and laugh a lot.  We move. We walk and sometimes run. We breathe. We make lots of noises. Funny noises but also painful ones and noises that let out our feelings. We cry. We cry a lot because we feel a lot.

Humans also do some things they probably shouldn’t do. We value things we don’t really want or need. We forget how to feel, think, learn, and cry. So what does it really mean to be a human being?

Mike Mills’ project, Humans, explores these questions through a line of products and posters that combine graphic design and a higher art.  Though his manifestos, texts, and images may provoke more questions, they also bring us a little closer to the answer.

Kirsten Dunst beachin’ with Sagan back in 2007.

Hey, it’s officially Summer.

“What is art, and what’s not?” begins a local CBS article which examines (or instigates, rather) controversy surrounding a new downtown mural by Barry McGee, commissioned by the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego. (Watch the video if you have a few minutes; it’s really pretty embarrassing.) “Whether the display is beautiful is up for debate,” it continues, defining “real art” as some outdated notion of beauty, and anything outside this canon as an “eyesore”. Get with it, San Diego. While MCASD is trying to introduce public works by Barry McGee, Shepard Fairey, Invader, and others to this arts-deprived city, the public calls the local news anytime they see anything outside convention.  Whether McGee’s mural is pretty or not is beside the point, censoring what’s new or different will never lead to progress in a community.  But who cares — after he’s finished it’ll probably just get painted over with a giant fresco of Shamu.

Clockwise from top left: …And the Chair by 9 Parsons photography students, Who’s Laughing Now by Kevin Christy, Show Them to Me in the Sunlight by Sara Rara, You Can’t Spell Yesterday Without Yes by Ted McGrath, Rachel Friedman, _Quarterly 4, Heroin Chic by Chelsey Pettyjohn, Pattern Maker by Alana Celii, (center) Mike Perry.

Some of the zines shown above were made by working artists and illustrators, others by students. The classic zine is a platform for activism, a Xeroxed and staple-bound way of spreading the word.   ABC No Rio in downtown New York City is a “collectively-run center for art and activism” that closely embodies this spirit of the zine.  Their library of almost twelve thousand zines focuses on political and social issues.

The zine fad faded in the 1990s, but we who DIY-til-we-die declare them back.  Though many are still Xeroxed, finely designed and printed zines feel more like little books or functional works of art (Sidenote: I actually prefer the term “artist’s book”, as “zine” feels trite and lacks description).  The common thread is in the creator’s intention: to share what is important to them with their community.  Zine swaps are organized for this purpose, with artists and zine-makers getting together to trade their creations.  Homework in San Diego convenes periodically to display, sell, swap, and barter for zines.  A quick Google search may yield similar events in your area.  There are also tons of retail stores that stock zines.  I love Family and Oooga Booga in Los Angeles, and think Printed Matter in New York City is the best.  Wikipedia actually has a list of stores around the world that sell zines.

Some of my own little books.  See more details here and here.

As we live our lives online more and more, many anticipate the death of print media. Images and texts are readily available, giving less of a reason to pick up a newspaper, magazine, or book.  However, a relationship between the internet and print has emerged, altering the nature of both media. _Quarterly, a publication of visual and literary art, presents their content “in a form available to as many willing minds as can be.”  This means it’s available online and in print at little or no cost.  Diwa Tamrong’s Somebody Else’s Problem prompts readers to interact with the pages of the zine itself and document their experience on the SEP Blog.  Alana Celii‘s Pattern Maker presents laser-printed versions of her 11 favorite tumbled images.  Zine Swap in London asks you to mail in your zines along with a form downloaded from their website and they’ll mail you some right back.  Participants’ work is cataloged online and exhibited in their annual exhibition.

I can’t think of a better interaction between the internet and real life than this.  And so, after reading this off your computer screen, I challenge you to go make something and then we’ll have our own zine swap.  Try looking at Fecal Face’s DIY on how to made a fold-up zine from a single sheet of paper (it says 8.5 by 11″ but could be any size, 11 by 17″ works better).   It’s super easy to reproduce and is totally legitimate — Chelsey Petteyjohn and Ted McGrath’s pieces shown above were made this way.  Give it to all your friends, and mail one to me with a return address and I’ll mail you one of mine!  Send mail to Leah Goren, 638 E. 14th St. #15. New York, NY 10009.

Though I did grow up with Barbies, a Barbie limo, and a Barbie mansion, one of the most notable dolls in my life I made myself at age four. Her name was Zucchini Baby and she was just that: an infant-sized zucchini in a handmade paper dress.  Humans have been fascinated with dolls since prehistoric times.  There’s something provoking about our physical bodies and faces forged in miniature (We all know the Venus of Willendorf by now, right?).  In fact, most early dolls were of adults; the “baby” doll didn’t emerge until the 19th century.

For hundreds of years, mothers made their kids rag dolls, a name for any doll made out of fabric.  The first mass-produced rag dolls were introduced in 1860s America, and the rest is post-industrial history.

Today DIY-til-ya-die is back, and though it’s been commodified like any other trend (see Urban Outfitters’ DIY section), you still actually can do it yourself.  I sat down for a few hours a couple weeks ago and came up with Puss, who thrives in my no-pets-8-by-10-foot Manhattan apartment.

It doesn’t take too much sewing know-how to make your own doll, and crude can be good.  Improvising and doing weird stuff is what makes the end result really feel like your friend, and then become friends with your friends.  On a recent trip to California, Puss was having entire conversations with Dylan by the end of the week.

While playing with Barbies may not determine a little girl’s success in life, it probably wouldn’t hurt to make a Zucchini Baby with her either.

Because really, who would you rather be friends with?

Me too.

Sources here and here
P.S. My friend and fellow Parsons Illustration classmate, Chelsey Pettyjohn, makes the most amazing dolls. See them here.