This is my Fall Semester schedule; I’m taking a Final Cut Pro technical class, a Visual Semiotics class which I am the teaching assistant for, a class called Narrative Withdrawal about video art and its relationship to film and finally, the world famous, possibly longest running class at CalArts, Post Studio Art with Michael Asher, aka the 8 hour crit. Fortunately it is not my turn in Post Studio until 14th November. I love it, it’s the hardest class I’ve ever done, and it is extremely brutal. Essentially I think that being the critee is rather like stripping yourself naked, pinning yourself to some kind of mast or cross and inviting an audience to ritually abuse you. Just a little observation, based on the faces of those being critiqued by the end of their session and their recovery time. Michael Asher is a sweet though, a real monk to art.
Ranch life has been fun, but it can feel rather like a gilded cage. Its true, you can pick a lot of food here, and it tastes nice, you can also go for walks, see nice views and go for freezing cold swims in an unheated pool. But our rented car, a Lexus, is really bad with fuel consumption and we just cannot justify round trips to LA for the evening, which leaves us rather stranded out here. Money, like the rest of the world, is going rather worse than expected.
However, DVD box sets of Poirot, Foyles War, Upstairs Downstairs, A Bit of Fry and Laurie and Monty Python betray our landlords Anglophilia. We are working our way through their DVD library; at the moment we are addicted to House (the accent may be American, but the timing is British).
I’m having lots of meetings with faculty in my studio; most very positive (notably, not all). Ashley Hunt is a visiting teacher and very charming, with an ability to get right to the heart of the work. Carla Herrera-Prats pushes, and keeps on pushing. Lesley Dick is unreservedly wonderful, as is Christine Wertheim whose all-inclusive vision of feminism is wonderfully provocative, warm and funny – she is my current cheerleader. I regret not doing an Independent Study with Kaucyila Brook, with whom I can talk black and white movies to infinity, and whose relationship to Queer Theory means she brings a greater understanding of female desire and how that is hidden from view in society to our discussions, which are animated, warm and fuelled by pots of tea.
Mary Kelly is organising a happening in Orange County, I had signed up to be a participant in May and was very excited about the opportunity having seen Mary talk last semester. On Sunday, I didn’t know anyone I could share a ride with, and I could not justify the 220 mile round trip expense, so I did not take part. I was gutted not to take part. Each week another opening, talk or happening that I want to go to takes place and I do not go as it is too far away, too expensive and feels too mean to leave husband stranded again on the ranch. We need to rethink our living arrangements for next semester.
Not all is doom and gloom. Our silver lining has been getting to know Gorado, our next door neighbour and ranch foreman. A friendly Mexican whose rushed, clipped English would be fluent if he could relax whilst he spoke. Gorado wins our respect for being the realest cowboy we have ever gotten to know. He wears a straw cowboy hat, boots (with wear and tear signs from spurs on them) and jeans at all times. He loves horses and has been know to ride down to a local restaurant and tether his horse outside while he ate. A couple of weeks ago it was his daughters ‘Baptisto’ party (Christening). He and his family friends cleaned out the barn, brought in tables and chairs and lavender and white balloons, a heart sculpture made of balloons, cakes, crates of Bud Light and lots of Mexican food. A family friend made some kind of a roasted pork dish by cooking it overnight on a fire outside – either on a spit or in a pot, we couldn’t quite work it out. Food was served at 4pm, a band started playing at 9pm and the party finished sometime not long after midnight. We stayed until the end with time-out breaks in between. We tried to imitate Mexican dancing (rather badly, but it was well received). We had great fun at the party and we were praised for being the only white people to stay after the band arrived. It was such a spectacle to see the little boys dressed as cowboys and the men dressed in their best suits with cowboy trimmings – rather like a Mexican Mafia look, mixed with other more urban hip-hop Mexican styles. We were amongst the most under-dressed, but we made up for that with our ability to party.
Finally, I love cuddling Lily, the springer spaniel, who reminds me so much of the dogs we had as I was growing up. I'm back doing CAP classes, this time on Monday evenings not Saturdays which works out better.
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