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Artists at Audiatur, ‘Warmism’ and Blue
Miia Toivio and Marko Niemi were the avant garde slapstick duo.
Lars Skinnebach was the Swedish man w dreds
Jenny Tunedal is king of Scandinavian poetry
I can’t find Cecilia’s card with her last name, but will.
Olga Ravn is the young Dane.
What is it about blue. Blue axes have been appearing randomly all over Norway the newspaper in Bergen reported and as my new Norwegian poet friend Cecilia pointed out blue is spiritual, is that what she said. Blue is the poetic color. I’ve been engaged in wanting to reinscribe ‘poetic’ in the language. As opposed to doing poetics I’m poetic. As a way. It’s a manner of living, a treatment of matter and existence. It’s a quirky living most would agree though you know there’s exceptions like what’s his name. The rich man who dislikes women and is regarded or was maybe a year ago considered a new “way” since no one ever thought of being rich of disliking women before. But outside of what’s his name the poetic way is a room, a kind of currency I’ve and many of friends have described as “where” we’ve spent our life. I refer again to a Creeley quote I’ve not been able to place. He said it, but where. He said one night in college he found himself on some other street and he decided to spend his life there. Maybe that’s an old fact but it’s I think not even a modern one. It’s premodern and postmodern. Just like being female. CA Conrad came to my class at Columbia last week and in talking about his somatic exercises I thought he was imagining a kind of social sculpture which is also poetry. His exercises are like installing it. Creating a program, an app. Is it ap or app. And then writing the poem would be releasing it. Each of Conrad’s exercises has a purpose. Healing poems. Not exclusively but for instance. He invited us to write a poem which is something we can do in our home. We are to try hearing our home. I’ve been hearing my pipes for years but believe me I can do it again. I’m planning to hear Leopoldine’s pipes, the pipes in the building she grew up in. Our home. I think we are to make a song. All of us are. And then there’s another thing. We are to try smelling our desk. Lick it perhaps. Then I see in the instruction that we should also sit on the floor. Bathroom floor or office floor. I’ll try them both. I’ve been screaming in my head that we must live in Europe, we must leave America, we must go. But when I think of sitting on the floor of my bathroom, taking Conrad’s warmist constructions, when I think of sitting on the office floor in this apartment and all the moving in we still must do, and are we also moving out, going to Berlin or South America someplace or Ireland. Where are we going. It’s all too much I’m just thoroughly excited that I am merely going home now with a poem soon in it.