Loose Ends

My life is like the contents of my luggage; strewn across the floor and disorganized. I'm currently in that pre-trip stage where there are a million tasks to be done and all you really want to do is just be finished and on the plane reading GQ. I've done everything from shopping at Costco to deflating soccer balls to freaking out about the fact that my airline tickets are still not here to watching my sister's first cross-country meet to filling out forms for two art exhibitions at school even though I'll be out of the country to planning next summer's art internships with my dad. But it will all come together, it always does.

Tomorrow I head off to Ann Arbor for three days of good-byes and last meals at favorite resturants. This coincides with Welcome Weekend, the last days before classes begin, and I can't wait. There should be good stories and photos to post after these next few days.

Until then, enjoy this lovely family picture we took before Amy left for college:

My Bags are Packed, I'm ready to Go...oh wait, not yet.

I think I’m more apprehensive about Mali than I’d care to admit. My mom and I had a disagreement over packing today and rather than go into the details, I’ll share a story instead.

I used to work for an organization at U of M called Outdoor Adventures; we were the premier campus outfitter, providing the university community with a rental center, rock wall, wilderness medicine classes, and weekend trips, to name a few services. Most of what I’ve learned about leadership and group management has come from my experiences with OA.

Because we were a department funded by the University, we led “institutional” trips, which basically means that we had a lot of rules so that no one would sue the school. Each trip leader needed significant medical training (80 hours for me) and had to prepare for anything and everything that could go wrong with a group of 12 students in the backcountry. As responsible leaders, we needed to plan evacuation routes from our camping spot each night. We stuffed our backpacks with extra gear for those just-in-case moments and worst-case scenarios. Inevitably, we never needed to use these preparations, but it put our directors’ minds at ease.

Around the same time, I took my first cross-country road trip with three friends. Being influenced by my mom and OA, we hit the road with a white binder filled with a strict itinerary, phone numbers, and at least three hotel options for each night. While it was an absolutely wonderful experience, it lacked a certain spontaneity that should be characteristic in a college road trip.

On my last OA trip, I took eight students backpacking on Cumberland Island, GA, over spring break. One of our highlights was meeting a lone hiker, Stu, who was staying with his mom in Florida and on a whim, decided to hike on the island for a weekend. He packed light, bringing sneakers instead of sturdy leather boots. Rather than carry the weight of a stove and fuel, he just brought food that didn’t need to be cooked, like apples, bagels, and peanut butter. And instead of an expensive rain fly for his tent, he just draped a plastic shower curtain that he had swiped from his bathroom at home.


I remember looking at this hiker, and then back at our group with our Patagonia jackets and matching tents and thinking, “When did having the perfect gear become a requirement to enjoying the outdoors?” When did we lose the essence of traveling, that excitement that comes when we face the unknown? Why do we feel like we have to know the solution to every single obstacle and have it fit in neatly in our suitcase? Would Stu have gotten wet under his make-shift rain fly if we had had torrential rains (which we did the day before he arrived)? Sure, but would he have died? No. Are we all such pansies that we can’t deal with a little discomfort, that we need to be protected from the world like when we are at home?

Guess what? It’s impossible to plan for every single scenario and trying to do so makes one paranoid and scared to step outside. If one truly wants to grow from traveling, there comes a point where one must relinquish a degree of control and just do it. There will inevitably be challenges and obstacles and regrets for gear left at home. Get over it. The self-satisfaction of getting through these “problems” is well worth the risk of leaving one’s comfort zone.

Think about your favorite travel stories; no one wants to hear about how you walked from the Eiffel Tower to Notre Dame on a perfect Sunday afternoon. We want to hear how you got lost and had to ask directions at some shady bar but ended up getting a personal tour by some drag queen who was actually the nephew of a priest at Notre Dame and got you in after hours so you could have the entire sanctuary to yourself before you and your new friend went clubbing until the sun rose over the Seine.

Look what you would have missed if you had remembered to pack your map.

Clarification: I’m not advocating being so ill-prepared that you put yourself in life-threatening situations. There is some amount of planning that has to be done or else you end up having too many bad experiences and annoying the heck out of people who work in information services (like me!). But that’s another tangent.

I’m just trying to point out that as a society, we see the unknown as something that could go wrong and consequently, we become too afraid to truly travel.

Those are just my thoughts as I read through scores of CDC warnings on malaria, dengue fever, yellow fever, cholera, sun poisoning, river blindess, filariasis, leishmaniasis, schistosomaisis, African Trypanosomiasis, and Ebola. Oh, and my personal favorite: Deep Vein Thrombosis a.k.a. Economy-Class Syndrome where blood clots form in legs of airline travelers. These may even break off (the clots, not the legs) and travel through the bloodstream, causing a pulmonary embolism.

My head is so full of travel warnings and recommended medical supplies that it’s hard for me to get excited about leaving. Sorry to end on such a rant, but that’s what I’m thinking right now. It’ll all be okay once I get my bags all packed.

Maybe we need another Photo Booth picture to lighten the mood:

Thoughts from Being Home

The topic of home can be a weighty subject, one that has occupied my mind for many miles on the road and in my many summer residences. I’m not sure where even to begin. How about a quick description of my immediate environment:

It’s night and, except for the hum of the refrigerator, the kitchen is quiet. Looking across the table, I can see our patio light illuminating the descent of rain. If these white lines moved any slower, I would think them to be snowflakes in a winter storm. I’m drinking water on the rocks; these particular ice cubes emerge from the freezer automatically as rectangular crescents. Condensation has built up on the heavy glass that I’ve used all my life. This scene has played out countless times as I’ve grown up; pouring over my textbooks while everyone is asleep upstairs, listening to the rain and wind shake the leaves in the nearby trees.

I’m absolutely content. Perhaps this is because no matter where I look, every object, every sound, every shadow here is utterly familiar. There are no surprises. Is this what defines a “home”? Is it the people? The details of one’s environment? When does a new place start to feel like home? I now equate Ann Arbor with my home (and G.P as my home-home), but is that only because I’ve lived there for three years?

I know I haven’t written as frequently as when I was in Seattle. Out west, I’m surrounded by the unknown and when every day is full of new experiences, it becomes necessary for me to process and record those events. Such is the nature of travel. I know that the first 24 hours in Mali when be documented through more pages and photographs than these past two weeks at home.

I think I’m tapping into something deep here. Something about the role of art/writing in my life, something about the need for travel, or at least for new experiences. Since college, I’ve never done the same thing for more than four months (class, work, living situation). And I don’t think it’s because I am unable to enjoy my present situation; in order for me to grow and thrive as a person, I think I need to constantly be exploring new territories.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this.

-BREAK-

I just returned from picking up my little sister at a friend’s house. A cold front has moved in and it’s pouring. The city feels empty with its dark puddle streets. We got completely soaked running from house to car, and sat inside shivering, listening to jazz pound like the raindrops on the car windows.

Why am I so attune and attracted to these environmentally-induced sensations?

Here are some other questions to ponder: Do I have to sacrifice the contentment of a stable home for the personal growth of an eternal traveler? Or can I still learn from that which is familiar? What fuels my creative process? I know I am more diligent about writing and taking photographs when I travel, but I also know I can pull off larger, more in-depth art projects when I’m not living out of a suitcase. There’s got to be some balance of these tendencies that can make for a viable career, or at least, a clearer direction in life. I don’t think I can choose just one; both are stronger because of the other. Traveling gives me inspiration and being at “home” allows me to create something more significant than journal scribblings. But I don’t feel like I’ve discovered the perfect ratio of time on the road to time in the studio.

Maybe I’ll find this balance in Mali. I’ll let you know if I do.

Home

I want to write something about home and family, but I also want to go to bed. So stay tuned folks. Until tomorrow, enjoy these pictures from my sister's new Mac:

Midwest vs. West Coast: Round 1

Did any of you know that I'm a weather fanatic? Provided I have internet access, I check weather.com compulsively. I get overly excited about watching the bright spots of green shape-shift across the map in staggered steps, anticipating when the rain is going to reach me.

One of my favorite movies of all times is "Twister"; and for that brief time in fifth grade, I wanted nothing more than to be a storm chaser. To this day, I love watching clouds roll across the sky in their infinite patterns and variations. Perhaps this explains the allure of the open road.

I've realized, weather is one of the few things left in our lives that we have absolute no control over. Think about it, we can barely predict tomorrow's conditions and even if we realize a hurricane is going to hit, there's nothing we can to do change its path. We dress accordingly, we move our picnic indoors, we evacuate. We adjust our lives accordingly and I kinda like that submission to forces greater than ourselves. Plus, it keeps life exciting. Which leads me to the title.

In the four months I spent in Washington, I did not experience a single thunderstorm. I didn't realize how much I've missed them until I returned home recently (most of the drive through Michigan was filled with rain. Which was good; my car had layers of bugs caked on the grill). Just outside my bedroom window, the first floor juts out so that whenever it rains, I can fall asleep to the blessed sounds of raindrops on a roof and thunder in the distance. After experiencing this all my childhood, obviously I have positive connotations with storms. Seattle's summers are maybe too perfect. During an eight week period, it rained only once; every other day was filled with blue skies, low humidity, and a comfortable high of 75 degrees. (Tough life, I know).

Honestly, I can go on and on about weather, but I'm getting tired. And I'm sure it's all so thrilling too. (one of the great skills of an interpreter is that you can talk for hours about nothing).

Right now, as I sit in a somewhat sticky leather chair due to the humidity, listening to the cicadas, it just feels like it's going to rain soon. And according to weather.com, at 4am, we're going to have Isolated T-storms (30% chance), a high of 64 degrees, 93% humidity, and winds from the SSE at 4mph. So in this round of Midwest vs. West Coast, the former wins...lightning fast.

Any favorite thunderstorm experiences? Mine: watching a storm race across the New Mexican desert, feeling the cool burst of air that precedes the rain and smelling a mix of sage and wet red earth. Summer 2001, Ghost Ranch, New Mexico.

Welcome Home

I’m staring out the windows of my hometown Starbucks and am slightly disturbed. The plush purple chairs have been slashed to expose the foam stuffing underneath and I just had to switch to a new circular table because the first one was too wobbly. The nerve! MY Starbucks in Seattle would never stoop to this level of disarray. MY Starbucks is proud and holds it caffeinated head high. Of course, I should be grateful that I can at least find a Starbucks here; most of the Plains states I traveled through still don’t know that a tall and a small are the same thing! Those poor people.

I’m obviously being facetious. Would those really be the comments of someone traveling to Africa in two weeks? (Okay, maybe.)

I’m ready to bust out some road trip rhetoric, with my headphones plugged-in and an iced-tea in reach. Why no coffee? Well, I realized that things may be a little different in Mali and that it would be best to wean myself off this addiction. Can anyone imagine anything worse than arriving in Africa, after 24 hours of traveling, with a massive caffeine headache? No thank you, I declare as I retire my French Press for a few months.

I took brief notes while I was driving these past four days: barely comprehensible scribbles of those thoughts and musings that inevitably fill the void of the empty road. Rather than a long chronologically-boring description, I’m going to try to break it up thematically, maybe in some sort of order, but most likely random. Little vignettes that together provide a good depiction of the entire trip.

Drumroll please…

You know it's the end when...

My pocket used to bulge with the amount of keys I carried this summer: for my house in Seattle, my van, my bike, the national park visitor center, the national park transient housing, SHIFT gallery, and the boys and girls bathroom at the gallery. Returning keys is always the last thing one does before leaving and as my pocket got lighter each day, I got progressively melancholy.

Asking for Directions

I stopped by an information center in Washington to ask to best way to reach the interstate (working at one all summer, I should have known the answer, but I didn’t. Too bad, get over it). When the staff member pulled out the state map, I got highly confused because it was right side up! Anyone who has ever worked at an information desk knows that you train your mind to read maps upside down in order to help the visitor. And this was the first time that I had ever been on the other side of the desk.

Learn to Drive People!

I think I have a somewhat bipolar reaction to driving. When it’s just me, alone on the open road, I’m as high as those wispy cirrus clouds above me. But as soon as a car gets in front of me, I come crashing down, literally feeling my blood pressure increase as the distance between our bumpers shortens. It doesn’t even matter if I’m going the same speed as before, something about another car in front of me pisses me off. This really only happens on two-lane roads, where passing is more difficult and dangerous. I honestly got more personal satisfaction than I should have when a car I had been following for an hour and a half got in the wrong lane at an intersection and I was able to pass them during their moment of stupidity. And just like that, I was back in the clouds. Please tell me that this reaction is not just me being crazy!

Mountains vs. The Plains

Despite living and working in the North Cascades for three summers, I think that I actually prefer the open landscapes to the dense mountains. Where I lived specifically was deep in a valley, where thickly forested mountain walls climbed to 7,000 feet above my house. As beautiful as it is, this place can actually be slightly claustrophobic and if you wanted wide 360-degree views, it was necessary to climb to the top of peaks. Driving across the desert and farmlands, the horizon was impossibly far away, a hazy line where blue sky blurs with yellow earth. And I felt calm, like it was easier on my eyes and mind. Well, at least until another car got in front of me.

My Guilty Pleasure

Okay, I’m going to admit it, I like to sing. But only in the car and only when I’m alone. It’s not that I have an awful voice but let’s just say I’ve never had any formal training since my voice deepened. I love being alone in a car in the middle of nowhere because there’s no such thing as being self-conscious. And after two solo cross-country road trips, I’d like to think that my voice has improved. At the very least, my vocal range has increased—I can hit notes in songs that I couldn’t last May. Karaoke bars, look out! Here comes the next American Idol. (sigh. I know my sisters are going to tease me relentlessly for this confession).

Wheat

Endless fields of wheat are amazing. Their colors shimmer and shift with the wind and changing light. As I drove east and the sun set behind me, the wheat became absolutely luminescent, glowing like an infrared photograph.

Morning Coffee

At an IHOP in Missoula, MT, I began my day with a cup of coffee. I don’t care where you go—gas stations, diners, or Starbucks—coffee is coffee and there is no better smell in the morning than freshly brewed coffee. Within that first sip, I literally felt the bags under my eyes tighten and my mind turn on. Man, I’m so conditioned; look for coffee-crazed comments from Mali.

Gottago

This road trip was not one of my more typical leisurely drives across the country. My goal was to get home as fast as I could without getting in an accident or a ticket and consequently, I had this rushed feeling whenever I stopped. Even if it was for something necessary like going to the bathroom, I felt like I was wasting time. Like every minute resting is one less minute of driving. I know this is obvious and ridiculous, but the Road, a powerful entity worthy of being capitalized, takes control of your mind. We’ll see just how much later in the trip when I go (even more) crazy.

Coffee in North Dakota...

…is free. Seriously, I grabbed a cup at a gas station and, like last time I drove through, I wasn’t charged! Does anyone have any answers to this? Or am I just that road weary and pathetic looking that the gas station attendant takes pity on me.

Did you know that the rest stops in Washington provide free coffee? They do it, not necessarily because everyone in Washington is addicted, but as a safety measure. Makes sense to me. Awake drivers are safer drivers. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if Starbucks funded this project, as a means to keep their customers addicted and coming back for more. Oooo, a conspiracy!

Best Time to Drive

By far, the best time to drive is between 6pm and 8pm. The light is gorgeous, bathing the landscape in a rich, warm glow. Shadows lengthen, deepen, and reveal contours you would have missed at high noon. The air has a cooler quality, perfect for driving with your arm out the window (admittedly, hard to do going 75 on the interstate). And of course, the traffic is less. Jazz and bluegrass fill my minivan and I’m perfectly content. I’m sure this light exists in the early morning too, but come’on, who wants to drive at 6am? Did we forget that I’m a college student? I don’t even know what 6am looks like.

My Senior Thesis

I know we art students aren’t supposed to think about our Senior Thesis until our senior year (go figure), but it’s still fun to imagine. Driving through North Dakota at sunset was the perfect time to plot and plan. I don’t want to reveal too much of my idea, but so far, it includes the Arb, a field guide, and a performance as a press secretary from a fictional science lab. Get excited!

License Plates

It wasn’t until my second day on the road that I saw my first Michigan plate ALL SUMMER. I’m totally serious. And it threw me for a loop. Even when I’m driving around Grosse Pointe, I’m confused at the sight of all our blue and white plates; where’s Mount Rainier? Oh well, at least Michigan citizens know how to drive (faster cars in the left lane really shouldn’t be that difficult of a concept, and yes, I’m talking to you Seattle).

Summer in the Midwest

As I entered Minnesota, land of 10,000 lakes according to their license plates, I suddenly realized that summer is better to the Midwest than the western states. Instead of forest fires, dry desert heat, and a generally hazy and overexposed landscape, the Midwest is lush and green, a humid air that smells of growth and vitality. And I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but in Wakefield, Michigan, as the sun was setting over an inland lake, trees and reeds and docks reduced to silhouettes I actually thought: I missed the Midwest. Maybe this is more of a big deal for me. I’ve been so westerly-oriented the past three years, toting the glory upon glory of the sublime mountains and oceans. For the first time in awhile, I had a sense of returning home, to a landscape of my youth. This comforted feeling was short-lived as I was about to complete the transformation from an excited road tripper to a crazed and battered kind of driver.

Going Road Crazy

I pulled long days, driving driving driving and when I wasn’t driving, I was sleeping. Day one: Worked half the day and made it to Missoula, MT by 10pm. Day Two: Missoula to Bismarck, ND. Day Three: Bismark to Marquette, Michigan. 13 hours of driving. Day Four: Marquette to Grosse Pointe.

All by myself.

That’s some marathon driving, worthy of being considered an endurance sport. I know it probably wasn’t the smartest or best way to road trip, but I was anxious to return home, considering my rapidly approaching departure date (September 6!).

By the end, my lower back was shot, a sign that either I have bad posture, or I’m getting old (hah). My eyes couldn’t focus on anything closer than 20 feet in front of me. My knees were cramping. And my teeth had a sugar slime coating from too many gummi bears and Dr. Peppers. Basically, I felt fat and disgusting, like the guy from “Super-Size Me” on Day 30. Ironically, by Day Four, I kinda stopped eating meals because really, you don’t exert too much energy by just sitting all day. I’m sure that helped my feeling of malaise.

Sometimes, my caffeine would suddenly wear off and I had to pull over for a half-hour nap. This isn’t even like at 10pm, this happened mid-morning on my last day. I was instantly out, deep REM sleeping until I’d awake suddenly, thinking I was still driving. Interestingly enough, I had a lot of insomnia when it came time to finally sleep at the end of the day.

I need to detox. So far, home cooked meals and 10 hours of sleep have helped.

Don’t get me wrong, it was still a wonderful road trip experience and I know that when I’m stuck in the library come January, I’m still going to look fondly at the memory of getting calluses on my hand from gripping the steering wheel all day. As I’ve mentioned before, perfectly planned trips are not interesting; it’s the misadventures that you remember.

And so I guess that’s it. Thus concludes summer 2006. I think. I’ll blog a summary later on, but for now, I’m just going to relax in the bliss of not being stuck in a moving vehicle.

Well, as soon as I drive home, that is.

Latest Cure for Insomnia: Blogging!

I promise that I have a wealth of literary wit and road trip observations coming soon (I've been taking notes while driving), but until I return home tomorrow, this will have to do. "Musings of a Wandering Artist," you ask? More like "Ramblings of a Weary Driver." Anyway, something is better than nothing:

Why do I have insomnia?! I drove for 12 hours today and should be exhausted, but I’m not. Not even close. And I'm curious why. The last time I had coffee was at 8:00pm, so I know that the caffeine has passed through my system already (and since it was from a gas station, it couldn’t have been that strong to begin with). I did take a short nap at a rest stop in Wisconsin, but that wasn’t significant enough to throw off my sleep schedule. Maybe it’s the time change; I’ve entered a new time zone each day and, much like daylights savings in the spring, traveling east sucks because you lose an hour. Or maybe it’s because I’m in yet another house (this makes 24 different residences). The clock is ticking and the stereo is flashing a cyan time-code that blinks in syncopation with the tick-tocking. Perhaps it’s because I’ve exuded so little energy while driving that I’ve lost all need for sleep (I’ve also noticed my appetite has declined with this latest sedentary lifestyle).

Or maybe, I’m just anxious to return home.


Blah. At least I’m being productive during these wee hours of the morning. Still Waking up in six hours is going to hurt.

A Birthday Shoutout

Happy Birthday to my good friends Michelle and Emily!

I leave in 3 more hours!

Last night in Seattle

It's just after midnight, which I know isn't late at all, but after four months of paying off my sleep debt from the school year, I should be asleep by now. Insomnia usually hits me either on Sunday night (when I stress about the upcoming work/school week) or prior to big events (like big travels or Christmas as a kid). I read somewhere that if you can't fall asleep in 20 minutes, then you might as well get up and do something productive until you're tired. Otherwise, you'll just lay in bed, fretting about the fact that you can't fall asleep, and perpetuates the cycle (did I just use the word "fret," what am I, middle-aged or something?)

I also remember my sixth-grade teacher saying that creative people can fall asleep faster than non-creative people and I have always taken personal offense to that statement (maybe I misunderstood her, since it was 10 years ago). All of my best thinking has occurred when I'm in a sub-conscious, stress-free state. It's like all the ideas that I couldn't think about because I was too busy in class or studying suddenly come forth and pester me like hybrid harpies and muses until I've paid them all due attention. I consider myself lucky in that I can think in 3-D, that I visualize projects in space, rather than just a plane. You know how a sculptor uses his whole body to embrace his piece, wrapping hands and limbs around it's contours? That's how I brainstorm; I can literally feel my mind bending and warping around an idea. Perhaps this is why I've often had difficulty keeping a sketchbook, because I'm already mentally sketching my plans. To be fair, I have noticed that keeping a sketchbook has a cathartic effect, that I can sometimes put my mind at rest once the idea is down permanently on paper.

On a completely different side of the sleep spectrum, I've noticed lately that I've begun to dream in French. Or at least, I think I'm speaking French. Whatever language it is, I'm damn fluent in it, which is certainly not the case when I'm awake. I'm quite happy with this unconscious habit; I feel like I'm studying without doing any of the work. Still, these conversations are limited to what vocabulary I already know. Hence, the mix-up in a recent dream between "le lait" and "laxatif" or "milk" and "laxative." I've also heard that language proficiency improves with the assistance of alcohol. Since it lowers your inhibitions, we're more likely to be self-confident in our speaking skills. Basically, what this all comes down to is that in order to communicate in Mali, I need to be stumbling around half-asleep or half-drunk.

I'm now eating "Original Salsita's Salsa Chips; Spicy Salsa Tortilla Rounds," a brand that I've only been able to find out here in the West. They're like Doritos, if Doritos were made with fresh spices and baked instead of fried. I love them and bought them for my road trip home... but couldn't wait that long. I wonder if I need to brush my teeth again.

I'm digressing. Or am I? I'm obviously in a stream-of-consciousness style of writing tonight.

Tomorrow I'll drive away and see Seattle and Mt. Rainier disappear in my rearview mirror and I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand, I'm very ready to start the drive home and reconnect (if only briefly) with family and friends. On the other hand, I have a distinct sense that this may be the last time I'm in the area for awhile. My life has changed so much since I first arrived here, Summer 2004. I'm sure I'll settle down out here on the West Coast, but for now, there are new places to explore.
Seattle's been good to me. I'll miss it and the people out here. And the coffee. And the pho. And the weather! Oh, how I love Seattle weather. I checked online for the forecast in Bamako, Mali: High 87, low 73, 96% humidity. So not as bad as I thought, much like Michigan. Though of course, Michigan has air conditioning.

Did I mention that I bought mosquito netting earlier this week? Kinda surreal to go comparison shopping for mosquito netting.

And this chips are so addictive.

And I'm going to bed.

Last Dinner in Seattle

On the menu: Japanese Curry, made by my roommate, Calvin:

Last Summer Projects

Here's a quick photo of some current projects. The oranges for the "Smorgasbord" Exibition and then a new piece for another show, "Remnants From Passage," curated by MFA student, Thea Eck. This is a brief description of the exhibit:

"How does the landscape record diverse acts and events of human activity? For example: desolate landscapes of war-town houses in Sudan compared with aerial views of past expedition encampments in the Arctic, both recording a human imprint yet no longer inhabited. Such contemporary or historic records may reference a passage of negotiated borders and resources. What can we glean from the traces of our activities that are left behind? How are they deciphered and then re-contextualized over time?

What is the relationship between our shifting identities to the landscape and the tools we use to record them?"

I decided to do an abstracted drawing of my commute to work in the national park. It's a 12-mile stretch of state highway that parallels the Skagit River. Also running next to the road are two sets of powerlines that travel from three hydroelectric dams to Seattle. I was curious of the form and the interplay between these three elements, reduced to lines from an ariel perpective. The blue is the Skagit river, the green is the land between the highway and the river, and the red is the space between the two powerlines. Even though they both travel in the same direction, the lines go from an organic quality (the river) to linear and man-made (the powerlines), with the road being a combination of the two. I'm also curious which element would last the longest. It's tempting to believe that nature will eventually reclaim all of man's "intrusions," but since the river is fed by glaciers within the park, and since humans are currently escalating the rate at which the glaciers melt, it may be possible that the river disappears first. (Of course, since the powerlines carry electricity generated from the river, that could be the next to go). Interesting questions to ponder. I'd enjoy exploring this process of abstracting landscapes and maps further...

All Aboard the Asian Express!

It’s late afternoon and I’m dipping sourdough bread into olive oil and balsamic vinegar, relaxing after putting the last of my boxes in the Asian Express (also known as the Silver Bullet). I’m pleasantly surprised how much room I have left; either I’ve become an expert packer over these past four months or I’ve lost things along the way. Hopefully, the former.

We (the Asian Express and I) have covered many miles together and I’m just hoping that it pulls through for another 2,500 miles without any accidents or speeding tickets (of which, I’ve had none in all my 7 years of driving). We recently celebrated a special milestone together. While returning home from work, I noticed that the odometer was about to read 123,456 miles and of course, I took a picture:


It’s funny how intimately you can know a car after so many miles. The driver’s seat has since conformed to my butt. I can hit every radio or climate control button with my eyes closed (though not while driving). And I’ve spent more than a few nights asleep on the floor in the back (we removed the bench seats before I left). Michael “Soccer Mom” Liang is one with his car.

Of course, it’s given me a few headaches as well. Like when a container of liquid laundry detergent exploded in the back and I had to endure the scent of Summer Breeze so fresh, that it was nauseating. Or when a headlight blew out while working at the national park and I could only drive during the day until I returned to Seattle. Or when I got wedged in my tight driveway that has three foot cement walls about six inches away from either side of the car, and no matter which way I moved, forward or backwards, an awful scraping sound caused my very soul to cringe (especially since my younger sister also scratched our other car earlier this summer. Surprise Mom and Dad!).


But if these are the worst of my disasters, fine, I’ll take them. Look at this terrifying accident from my friend back in Ann Arbor. Fortunately, everyone was okay, though obviously shaken up.


Yikes, that kinda brought the mood down. How about I dig up some fun pictures of the Express? This first one is an illustration I did after a period of time when I felt like I was forever unpacking and packing and consequently, when my life and my belongings were deconstructing into chaos.



(Artists Point, Mt. Baker National Forest)


(Theodore Roosevelt National Park)

Alright folks, this may be the last post for a few days. I leave tomorrow to work at the national park one last weekend and will leave for Michigan after work on Sunday. I'm restless and itching to go. What's that I hear? Oh yeah, it's the open road calling my name...

mmmmpodcasts.

A long, lazy day over here in Seattle. I may have left my house just once to go to Starbucks... other than that, just lounging around, half-heartedly preparing for my road trip home. Instead of practical things like, oh say, filling up my tires with air, I've been sitting in my room on the once-white-but-now-a-grayish-taupe carpet, filling my iPod with podcasts. What are podcasts you ask? They're like radio shorts for your mp3 player and they're absolutely brilliant, covering any and all topics in life. So in anticipation of those Great Plains states where the radio can cycle through without finding any signal, I'm relying on this stash to keep me entertained:

-Afropop Worldwide
-CBC's: C'est la vie: Word of the Week
-Learn French by Podcast
-Lonely Planet Travelcasts
-National Geographic World Talk
-NPR: All Songs Considered
-Road Trip USA
-The Onion Radio News
-UNICEF Podcast
-WGBH Classical Performance

Each are usually updated weekly and you can also download back episodes. So far, I have 1.1 days of podcasts. Keep in mind, mapquests predicts 36 hours of drive time from Newhalem, WA to Grosse Pointe MI.

Current Route: I-94 to the Upper peninsula, and then down 1-75. Chicago apparently has some construction. As usual.

I'm in need of a small miracle. (I'm okay, it's for a friend)

"No one gets left behind! No one gets left behind!"

I woke up at the ridiculously early hour of 6:30 PST today; apparently, my subconscious is aware of the fact that I'm leaving Seattle soon and should be awake for what's left of my stay. I'm sitting on my front porch, on a crumbling couch, and my toes are cold because I'm wearing flip-flops and its only 58 degrees outside.

This week is all about tying loose ends: finishing projects at work, saying good-byes, and lots of packing and cleaning. Last night, I caught up with my two friends, Tisha and Andy, who were the only people I knew in Seattle when I first arrived. Despite years living on the west coast, Tisha had somehow never tried Vietnamese Pho, a dish that I associate with Seattle as much as Starbucks coffee. For those of you who also have never tasted this steaming bowl of heaven, Pho is a traditional noodle and meat soup and filled with fresh basil leaves, bean sprouts, chili peppers, and a squirt of lime. And it's ridiculously cheap too. There is something about plucking and adding your own basil leaves, trying to coordinate the soup spoon in your left hand with the chopsticks in your right, and choking on a pepper but being unable to open your mouth
because you'd spray soup over everyone, that makes eating pho a rich process and experience.


We'd been meaning to see the movie "Little Miss Sunshine" all summer, having laughed hysterically at the trailer way back in June. We caught the 9:45 showing at the Guild 45th Theatre in Wallingford, though having arrived at 8:30, we passed the next hour at Murphy's Pub.

This movie is perhaps, the most funny and intelligent film I've seen in a very long time. Perhaps I'm drawn to the road-trip, coming-of-age genre, but I think it's something more. The directors and cast showed absolute control over their craft...like comedians with impeccable timing for their punchlines. It reminded me of graphic designers who utilize the "white space" as a design element; they control the pauses and empty space so that the content becomes stronger than if the page had been stuffed with text and images. The film is filled with absolute absurdity bordering on slapstick, but done so masterfully, that the ridiculousness becomes believable. For example, early in the movie, their van's clutch breaks, and rather than wait for a part (because they'd be late for the daughter's creepy beauty pageant), they learn that the clutch is really not needed for 3rd and 4th gear, provided they push the car until it reaches sufficient speed, or they roll it down a small hill. The brilliance in the plot is that each crazy obstacle is solved with an even crazier solution. It's this unpredictability that keeps the audience engaged and applauding after each scene.

I can't recommend this film enough. Please see it.

"The only losers are the ones so afraid of winning that they don't even try"
-Grandpa to Olive in "Little Miss Sunshine"

Emily Post says..

I just found this in my current summer reading, "Cross Country; Fifteen Years and Ninety Thousand Miles on the Roads and Interstates of America with Lewis and Clark, A Lot of Bad Motels, A Moving Van, Emily Post, Jack Kerouac, My Wife, My Mother-in-Law, Two Kids, and Enough Coffee to Kill and Elephant." I highly recommend this book if you've at all enjoyed my writings so far (author Robert Sullivan is a kindred soul in that we're both incredibly introspective and aware of the nuances of life. Or so I'd like to think). Anyway:

"It is your troubles on the road, your bad meals in queer places, your unexpected stops at people's houses; in short your misadventures that afterwards become your most treasured memories."
Emily Post (who, believe it or not, was a road tripper)

So true!

dear Ranger Mik

With most of my major projects done and one last week here in Washington, I’ve found myself mentally checked out of work and restless to get back on the road. Still, it’s been a good opportunity to reflect on the past three months.

As I was cleaning out my staff drawer at the visitor center, I found a packet of thank you notes from a 2nd grade class I had visited in June, a presentation called "Animals of the North Cascades." I had never worked with a group of children that young and was amazed at their determination to share their personal stories. Even when prompted to ONLY ask questions, they turned their stories into questions by adding an upspeak: This one time? I went fishing with my Dad? And we saw a bear? And he shot it? And now it’s a rug on our living room floor?

Reading through their notes, I can’t help but laugh at the random details they remembered from my presentation. I’ve copied my favorite quotes, with original spelling, as well as the best depictions of “Ranger Mike.”


-I learned that you are a park ranger and you are from mishagan.

-Dear Ranger Mik,
Thank you for sherin the cool Bear pichres with me.

-Dear Ranger Mike
Wot is your fait anmls? my is the picu! you wory gat! Cru you coing bocc?

-Dear Ranger Mike,
Thank you for coming to our class. I never knew that banana slugs eat poop. I hope you visit again.

-Dear Ranger Mike,
I really like the pica too. I dinen’t see the poop that’s why I said plants. I thought banana slug was just like other slugs that eat plants. I liked the skull.

-Dear Ranger Mike,
I lickt the picka. I am going to chrito dri owt gras and see if it will macke haye. I rilly lickt the bran. I lrnd that it etats anyml poop and ded plans. Thack you for cuming.

-Dear Ranger Mike,
I willy like the Bunana slugs you shoud us. I also like the Bear fure. And the Bear fite.

-I learned that moutain gotes don’t have many preteders and youshly get sick or somthing. Moutain gotes have two big hornes.

-Dear Ranger Mike,
I think you’re agreat man. Thank you for coming to school. My hole class likes you. I think.



Apparently, I'm now a girlscout.



Let the record show that I did not wear a red dress for this presentation.






This is, by far, my favorite drawing. Once you get over the fact that my legs are ginormous, I'd like to point out that I never even came close to speaking about lions in my presentation.

On the corner of Ranger Station Road and Powerline Drive

Every so often (and usually less often than we should), we find a place that slows us down. A place where our internal dialogue subsides and gives way to total sensory observations. This summer, I've discovered a quarter mile stretch of road near one of my many summer residencies. From my transient housing at the national park, a short walk along Ranger Station Rd takes me to a place underneath the powerlines where, amazingly enough, I find full cell phone service. The next place where cell phones works is over 100 miles to the east. For some reason, this one exact intersection of powerlines and road is open enough to catch a signal. And so it's become a ritual to walk from my house to the Cell Phone Spot each evening.

Usually I'm in flip flops and the road, while paved, is bumpy enough to feel the gravel pebbles on the soles of my feet (or perhaps, I've just worn my sandals too thin). The setting sun can be intense, but as soon as it drops below the mountains, a long sleeve shirt or hoodie is required. Blackberries, so ripe that they nearly burst when gently picked, line the sides of the roads in such abundance that it would require days of harvesting. The darkest ones are sweet enough that I swear someone had sprinkled them with sugar when I wasn't looking. A blast of chilled air lets me know that I'm crossing a creek and then the smell of cow manure reminds me that the water isn't as clean as it looks. A horse whinnies, a dog barks (and scares me briefly as it charges the fence), a car drives by and the person inside waves, of course. From below the powerlines, a distinct buzzing of electricity can be heard, a sound that makes me think of how the melting glaciers are powering hydroelectric dams that give Seattle 25% of its power and that we're melting glaciers faster than we think. It takes awhile for my cell phone to register the signal, but once acquired, has four bars. The sun continues to set and the mountains glow in red and orange hues. I've seen the moon rise on occasions and if I'm in a particularly good conversation, I'll stay out late enough to see shooting stars and the Milky Way. Another car passes, this time in the dark and because I'm blinded by the headlights, I can't tell if the driver waves. At this point, I usually realize that there are coyotes and meth users in the area and that I'm all by myself underneath powerlines in the middle of nowhere. I say my goodbyes and walk briskly back to my house in complete darkness, feeling the road underneath my feet even more distinctly than before.

Utah has Mormons. What do you have?

If any of you have ever worked in customer service, you are well aware of the fact that we live in a society filled with crazy people. Not crazy in a bad way, but crazy in the sense that life can be endlessly entertaining as long as you don't take people too seriously. For the past four years, we've kept a running list of the best visitor questions. There's something about a person in uniform, trapped behind a desk, that suddenly forces visitors to ask a question; even if they don't need anything in particular, they'll come up with something, like it's some sort of obligation.

And of course we're completely professional and answer their question with honesty and integrity...we just start laughing once they've left the visitor center. Here are some of my favorites:

2002
-It’s not Disneyland, but it’s pretty.
-I’m feeling dizzy. I think it’s altitude sickness. What is the elevation here? (answer: 550 ft)
-Is it required to have a beard to work at the VC?
-Do you chill white or red wine?
-Do you sell mayonnaise?
-Does it usually cloud over when it rains here?

2003
-Do you have any campgrounds without flying ants?
-Where can I get a good view of the SE sky?
-Can I see mountains here?
-So when do the deer change into elk?
-What’s north of you? (Canada) What’s north of Canada? (umm. Alaska?)
-Utah has Mormons. What do you have?
-Is Death Valley included in your park?

2004
-Where’s the liquor store?
-Are the views of the mountains weather dependent?
-Are Indians allowed to go to regular schools?
-What is the deepest point of the ocean that man is aware of?
-Are you telling me this is not a state park? I’ve been coming here for twenty years and I know this is a state park!

2005
-What is the meaning of life?
-I’m going canoeing on Ross Lake. Who do I call if I don’t come back?
-Staff: Hi, how are you today? Visitor: I don’t know. Staff: Can we help you with anything? Visitor: I don’t know. My wife makes all the decision.
-That park movie was sexy! Typical American film.
-If I have to watch that film again, I’ll shave my head and sell flowers at the airport!

2006
-What could possibly go wrong?
-You know, I’m just not that interested in forests…I like to have sex in the woods though.
-Shamanism! That’s what your film is about.
-Are you a lifeguard?
-Boy: Does that wheel chair belong to anyone?
Staff: It belongs to the Visitor Center.
Boy: Can I ride around in it?
Staff: Sorry, we need to save it for the people who might really need one.
Boy: Don’t the people who need one usually come with one?

Sigh. I love people.

I forgot to include this.

Definitely a hightlight of the museum: Kirk's Dik-Dik from Africa.



It has a prehensile nose.

A Visually Starved Artist Takes it Out on a 11-14 Year Old

Okay, obviously I'm feeling very ambitious and contemplative today. Last post. I promise. Maybe.

After living two blocks away from the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture all summer, I finally got around to visiting inside. While walking through the “Wildlife Photographer of the Year” exhibit, I felt compelled enough to take note on a few things that I had to retrieve my checked backpack to grab my notebook and pen. Either that'’s a sign of a good exhibit or the fact that this blog has forced me into some literary habits.

First off, photography is my background and foundation as an artist (my Dad was a professional portrait photographer while I was growing up), but I've strayed away from it lately to pursue, well, things like sewing orange peels together. Still, I wished I could have walked through the exhibit with him because we love to tear apart the work (“umm, why didnÂ’t he make the horizon LEVEL?”). Case in point:


Okay, granted the photographer is probably standing on a not-so-level boat and has a split second to capture this image and probably isn't thinking about the horizon line, no excuses! That's what cropping is for. I do feel somewhat bad about this judgment because the image is from the 11-14 year old category. Sorry Alexei.

Anyway. Back to the exhibit.
The large images looked amazingly rich in color and detail while standing afar, but upon closer examination, I felt like something was off. I’m not sure if it was the matte finish, or the fact that I saw more pixel granules than film grain or a combination of the two, but I found myself having to back up five feet before I could enjoy the image again. I found humor in this as I realized the parallel of nature to nature photography: sometimes, you really don't want to get too close to the subject, otherwise the tiger ripping your face off can be a bit painful. Likewise, don't get too close to the photographs.

Another thing, and this is a little pet peeve of mine in regards to wildlife and nature photography: many, not all, of the winning images seemed to be a result of luck, patience and expensive cameras with high shutter speed. Or, especially in the case of landscapes, the photographer uses the natural composition as opposed to using one’s creative mind.


Are those bad traits? Not necessarily, but I’m currently a product of my art school which places a high emphasis on concept. Thus, I’m more attracted to iconic imagery with something that transcends good timing.




I’m not sure if I’m articulating my thoughts well. Hm. What it boils down to is that many of these images were a result of something reactive (you wait with your eye to the viewfinder, finger hovering over the shutter button, until you see something that causes you to take the picture. You assign the descriptive—contemplative, sad, surreal, energetic—after the image was taken), as opposed to a proactive art form (where you have the idea/emotion first and then create the form). Just two different but valid ways of art making.

Lastly, these images acted as a mirror to my own art making practice. In response to my earlier question: why do I hang my work from the ceiling? Perhaps it IS because of my photography background. Photographs act as a means to suspend time and grant us the ability to examine our subjects more thoroughly and at our own pace. This thought came to me when I saw this image and compared it to one of my pieces from last semester:



Did that get a little deep? This is what happens when I’m outside the art school with no other art students to engage in such conversations!

How do you like dem oranges?

Well, I've put the final stitches in my seven oranges for Carrie and Andy's show. Currently, they're hardening under an electric fan (otherwise, they rot faster than they dry out). For the exhibition, I plan to suspend them from the ceiling (of course), in a linear path, 5 ft off the ground, 6 inches away from the wall, with a strip of cardboard painted light blue to act as a backdrop. Why do I like to hang my work mid-air? Unlike a pedestal, this really allows the visitor to view ALL sides of the object. Plus, given the spherical nature of the oranges, it should be reminiscent of our solar system.

Arts Corps Proof

Here's the latest on the Arts Corps design. It's been interesting to see how adding text changes the original design (See "Arts Corps Ideas 2.0"). I'm nearly done with this project, which really is my last big thing to do before going home; thus, I'm pretty much mentally checked out at this point. One more week, then I get to road trip!

Breakfast is Better

Compared to other students my age, I’m a morning person. After walking down the stairs in a still-quiet house, I flick on the lights to the kitchen and begin one of my secret joys in life: making breakfast.

When did this meal become so personally gratifying? And for that matter, why? Having a dietician for a mother early in my life had some impact on my habits, I’m sure. But I think I am drawn to this one time in the day because there is absolute stillness, both in one’s physical environment and one’s mental chatter (of which I have plenty). There’s a sense of hope with the approaching day, of all the unexpected things that could go right. Perhaps it’s just the lingering fog of sleep that clouds our memory of yesterday’s mishaps or the stress of an approaching exam, but it is one of the few times when we’re truly living in the moment. Maybe it’s because we’re so focused on operating the coffee maker (or French press in my case, of course).

Today, as I opened up the kitchen door (a habit I got into because a nights-worth of dirty dishes from this all-guys house thickens the air with a putrid stench of mildew and rot), I was pleasantly surprised to discover a cold breeze off a cloudy Puget Sound, requiring me to return to my room to throw on my favorite hoodie. So clad in this sweatshirt, shorts, and flip flops (I love flip flops), I boiled water for my first cup of coffee, and listened to an NPR podcast from my laptop. I switched to Bob Dylan as I made a scrambled egg sandwich on toasted sourdough bread and then a granola mix with frozen blueberries and raspberries (even for me, this is a bit much). Armed with this three-course meal (I include coffee as course-worthy), I sat down to begin in my still silent house.

Breakfast, for me at least, is a balance between nourishing my body with food and feeding my mind with the day’s news. This habit started young, reading the daily comics in the Detroit Free Press’ “The Way We Live” section. (And the family quickly learned that as soon as the paper was opened, my conversation skills closed). This has continued to evolve since then, growing exponentially in college when I lived in a house that had the New York Times delivered each morning. This summer’s reading routine takes place on my computer (provided I have wireless internet available): e-mail first, and then the on-line NYT (set to my homepage), my friends’ various blogs, Seattle’s alternative newspaper, “The Stranger”, andconcluded with a glance at who’s profile has been updated on Facebook.

This whole process, from brewing coffee to facebooking, takes about an hour. I know, I know! Who in the world has that much free time to enjoy such a luxurious morning? Well, me for one. But I know that it’ll only last as long as summer break. I’m pretty sure that I won’t have wireless internet access in Mali. Honestly though, I’ve noticed my breakfast being tainted by the bitterness of current events. Foiled terrorist plots and Israel-Lebanon conflicts is not part of my complete meal. So maybe being uninformed for three months this fall will be good.

I’ll get back to you on the tradition of Malian breakfasts.

Until then, enjoy this quote I found on the box of my chai tea:

“Yesterday is already a dream and tomorrow is only a vision, but today well-lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope”
-Sanskrit Proverb-

Have a great day everyone!

Notice the Lawn Maintenance Minimalism of the Seattle Mariners

I'm sure you are sick of me saying this, but I have never lived in a city with more perfect summer weather than Seattle. Despite a short heat wave in July, the majority of the summer months have been filled with clear blue skies, low humidity, and a high of, oh say, around 75 degrees. Jeans, flip flops, and t-shirt... life doesn't get much better.



Unless, of course, you do all that at a Mariner's Baseball game on a Wednesday afternoon. The last time I went to a pro baseball game was honestly when the Detroit Tigers were at their old stadium (shock!). Still, I quickly found myself comfortably cheering with the rest of the crowd. I was surprised how family oriented the game was (perhaps because of my exposure to college football and hockey crowds). And the views of the city skyline and Puget Sound from the stadium itself were absolutely gorgeous. Courtesy of my co-worker, Dave Williams, I couldn't have asked for a more fun Seattle summer day.



Oh yeah, we won, 2-0 against Tampa Bay.

Ahem. My Name is Ranger Mike and Welcome to North Cascades National Park

Some folks have expressed interest about my evening program, “Beyond the Overlook: The Art of Tourism and National Parks,” and I thought I’d provide an abbreviated version here. I consider it a sort-of capstone presentation of the past three years, a synthesis between my art background and observations as a park ranger (and presented in the style of a Nick Tobier lecture). Basically, I do a critical analysis of overlooks and tourism as well as throw in some contemporary artists who are exploring similar issues. Ranger Mike? Try Professor Liang.

Anyway, it’s a fun program to give and I hope you enjoy it. Most of the photographs are my own, but if you want to know the specific artist, just send me an e-mail. I’m blogging this in reverse so that you can following it from top to bottom. Here we go:

I first introduce North Cascades National Park as an incredibly complex landscape, one that is often very difficult to truly comprehend, much less reproduce in a drawing or photograph (hence the phrase: photos never do the place justice).