Construction

So, let me talk about the job it is that we're doing: we're tying together bamboo poles with nylon cord. We are creating a structure to be travelled through out of bamboo and cord, and with no blueprint. The knowledge base of this building lies with a few multi-project veterans, a bunch of older hands, and a few newbies. Chaos and interaction drive the structure up at out. Chaos and interaction also figure into the interpersonal relations. I'm very impressed at the flexibility and good-naturedness of both the bamboo and the people.

Morning review.

On some mornings we get a bit of a review or suggestion about what and where Mike and Doug want us to focus or work, other mornings there is no such chat; Doug and Mike will be around and attend to individual things as needed. The most memorable of directives to date: "Looks great. Go do whatever."

As for tangibles, we have different widths of both bamboo and cord. We have the Moso type bamboo for the big, tree-like posts, and Aria for thin, flexible treatments. Likewise, the 5 mm cord is necessary for the moso, and the 3 mm is best when working with the Aria.

The dove that planted itself in the middle of the double helix path one weekend....

In this particular setting—arid desert—we are having an issue with cracking poles. Is it the dry desert air or is the frost that happened in Georgia this spring while the poles were growing, or is it a combo of the two? Not sure, but our rapidly-depleting store of bamboo is currently cracking at an unprecedented rate. Trying to find a crack-free pole in this last week or so has been near to impossible.

Ma'ayan and Klil working on safety ties on the dance floor.

Then there was the load testing. This is when the governing institution demands that the structure be tested for its ability to hold people (our crew has been stomping through the thing from the start and are sure that it will hold folks just fine). The water barrels and sand bags are brought up the uneven steps into the highest of the structure's paths, and left for 24 hours to see what collapses: to test the capacity to hold 20 people they load the structure up with 40 peoples' weight. There were ten to fifteen loud, young boys carrying heavy loads through uneven terrain, yelling and laughing for hours on end. There were also Museum representatives eyeballing the endeavour and meandering through the structure, commenting and pointing out possible issues here and there. And then there was also all of us, still trying to build yet stay out from under the barrels and sand bags. It was chaotic, to be sure.

The big, blue, water-filled barrels, sitting high up in the structure on a walkway.

An added challenge is the development of the social interactions of a group of people thrown together for 7 weeks, 24 hours a day, work and play. That intensity can drag on the most able—and intimate—of friends.

Now, together this all could be overwhelming were it not for the kindness and constant support of our patrons, the Starn brothers. They are supportive of our ideas, are empathetic to our sufferings and willing to communicate that, and, importantly, are happy to play with us when we do things social, on and off-site.

The view from the highest level of the sculpture garden, complete with interpretive text.

In the last few and next three days we have been/will be pushing to get everything finished to satisfy both the artists' and safety people's expectations—not a small task. For everyone, especially me and a few others, this push will be made more difficult by varied physical stresses imposing themselves. I have been battling with some kind of impairment that torments my hands, making them tingle and twinge almost all the time, most excruciatingly at night. Tomorrow's 12 hour day should be quite interesting, to say the least.

Sunset over the "Love" sculpture and city, bamboo poles in foreground.

So this is what we are here for.
In the beginning I was aware of my parallel dedications work: to getting the job done, experiencing the artwork and its creating, and being part of the larger crew, as well as being committed to exploration: everything around me in Jerusalem, in all free hours. The latter has been a waning drive as the weeks have worn on, and the work increased.

Two days left of building. Four days left until heading home. I admit to looking forward to heading home!

Evening party in the structure.

Contextualising

Palm Tree farms in the Judean and Samarian deserts

After a couple of weeks of getting acquainted with the city, our daily routines, and the breadth of options available to us, we—most things are definitively group activities—have had the time to reach further afield and explore Israel a bit.

Last weekend we drove in two cars to Eilat (Elat) on the Red Sea for some beach time and amazing snorkeling. When trying to picture Eilat think 'boardwalk on the Jersey Shore' and you'll be close. The beach is a crazy scene, tons of folks on a narrow band of sand and rocks fronting on crystalline waters. And trash. Lots of trash. I realised at this point how spoiled I am in such things.

Liz, Jesse, Sarah on the beach of the Red Sea

Eilat child vom scene at the Red Sea

 

Thai Food massages

 

Eilat hostel interior courtyard

On the way down and back we also stopped at the Dead Sea... that would be the water body which: has a salt content of 25% (and increasing, due to evaporation), you should not put your head under (or you'll need to call for emergency help), and that buoys you up with almost zero paddling assistance from you. Nutty. Huge crusts of crystalline salt line the shore and you must slip across them when entering the water at certain points.

Dead Sea

Dead Sea mud treatment

The cornerstone to this weekend trip, however, was a trip to Masada. We hiked up to the top of the mesa very early in the morning in order to be on top in time to see the sun rise over the Dead Sea.

Masada, aerial view

Tristram's grackles overlooking the Judean desert at Masada

North, hanging palace of Masada

The story of Masada is an amazing one dating back to 37 BC, with both Alexander Jannaeus and then Herod building this palace and city atop the mesa, training mules to go down to the valley unaccompanied where they were laden with food by farmers and then sent back up to the town. The Jewish Sicari rebels then took the town before the Roman breaching of the walls of Masada.










The Romans somehow* built a 375 foot siege road—a giant ramp almost as tall as the mesa—where upon breaching the fort walls they found the populace had all killed themselves in order to avoid the dishonor of being ruled or killed by the Romans. Then it was taken by Jewish Rebels in 66 AD, retaken by Romans, and eventually abandoned.

Mosaic at Masada in the small palace

It is an amazing place to really get a sense of that history. It is also the most visited archeological site in Israel.

Sunrise over Masada and the Dead Sea

* Originally, Jewish rebels on top of Masada threw stones at those building and constructing the ramp. When this plan was realized, the Romans put captured Jewish prisoners from previously conquered towns to work the ramp. The Jewish people on top of Masada stopped killing those who built the ramp, choosing not to kill their fellow Jews, even though they understood this might result in the Romans penetrating the fortress. The walls of the fortress were breached in 73 CE According to Josephus, when Roman troops entered the fortress, they discovered that its 960 inhabitants had set all the buildings but the food storerooms ablaze and committed mass suicide or killed each other. Josephus wrote of two stirring speeches that the Sicari leader had made to convince his fellows to kill themselves. Only two women and five children were found alive. Josephus presumably based his narration upon the field commentaries of the Roman commanders that were accessible to him. There are significant discrepancies between archaeological findings, and Josephus' writings. Josephus mentions only one of the two palaces that have been excavated, refers only to one fire, while many buildings show fire damage, and claims that 960 people were killed, while the remains of only 28 bodies have been found.

Exploration

Visiting a new city has its own style of exploration: food, top tourist sites, beautiful objects... Moving to a new city—even if for a somewhat limited time—on the other hand, has a different style of exploration: exercise locations, local foods and what days they are sold, the cheapest grocery stores, where "your people" hang, inexpensive and good bars and restaurants, pharmacies, the good bathroom at the museum, etc.

We have the benefit of gaining from the group's discoveries; at one week, we have finally discovered: the cheapest place for fresh vegetables (the "Shook"), the best coffee nearby (Cafe de Paris), the second best place for cheap, fresh veggies (the Armenian quarter of the Old City), and a wine we like (Golan, Cabernet Sauvignon 2012).

The Shook

We have also discovered the nearest climbing area (Wadi Qelt), joined the climbing gym (er...The Jerusalem Gym? can't read Hebrew...oops), and determined just how far it is to the Dead Sea (40 minutes) for our salt body soak.

Lowering off at the Wadi Qelt

As of this week, I now feel like I have the mental space to tackle the Old City in a more comprehensive manner. I did have the chance to see tour groups being led to the most holy and historic places there, and immediatly headed off in a different direction, but I would actually like to see those places too.

Good graffitti

In the Old City

The museum staff have been lovely to interact with. We find ourselves lunching in the tiny staff cafeteria at the buffet, and have been able to chat with them at length. They have been warm and welcoming. I've also enjoyed chatting with the head of grounds (we're in the Noguchi Sculpture Garden), who also does framing, about music. There is an interesting intersection of fine art and music everywhere you go and it's excellent to have that when you are far from home in NY and the center of the discussion is England.

Israel Museum grounds looking to the east (Big Bambú at near right)

Exploration also comes in the form of finding your place in the community. I am lucky that I have a built in community in the rock climbing world and that many of the local crew are climbers. On the street or in the stores it's a different matter—at least for me. I try to be my friendliest self and say my polite things in the language dictated, and this is generally received one of these ways: friendly interest, non-interest, brusque dismissal, or being asked out. Ah, well.

Sunrise over the Old City

Tonight we entered the fray of those who were cheerfully celebrating Independence Day. We were definitely the observers of this national celebration, even if we did get sprayed with the foam that everyone carries in order to spray on anyone nearby, and even if we did dance to the DJ in the middle of Mahane Yehuda.

Structure

Settling into the apartment and project here. There is good food, kind people, hot sun and hard work, good roommates, a nice apartment in a good location, and a whole country to explore.

 The Calatrava Bridge was the first clearly designer structure we saw when arriving to the city.

Visually (so far), the city outside of the Old City is an interesting mix of shiny, new buildings, 1960s buildings, and stone-fronted, 3-story apartment buildings. I know there is a great cache of Bauhaus architecture to be found, but have not yet had a real chance to explore beyond a limited circle. As well, East Jerusalem hasn't even been on the many lists of things to do and see, so I expect more visual interest there.

Apartment building a couple of blocks down the road from us.

We are housed in a few apartments very near the Old City—Jaffa Gate,—parks, restaurants, etc. It takes about 20 minutes to walk to the Museum, mostly through a park, and on the return trip we've discovered what we've dubbed the "Middle of the Road Bar" situated on a wide median in a tree-lined neighborhood. It's a nice place to stop for socializing before heading home. The sting of the price of drinks in Israel certainly keeps this place from taking up whole evenings.

Most of the crew at the Middle of the Road Bar

The structure has come along nicely and we are still moving along at a good clip; it feels good to grow the piece in the Starn Brothers vision. While the area below is cordoned off, there are still visitors coming as close as they are able, and an intrepid few even venture to speak to us; one group of children even drew pictures of one of our members. He was delighted, naturally. Today I ended up working on what is soon to be the dance/party platform(!).

Day One of the building: morning

Day One of the building: 10 hours later

On the upper deck at the end of Day Five

So the building days continue, the banter, laughs, getting to know the local crew, and learn their languages will keep us entertained as we tie our knots and place the poles—as will Jerusalem.

It was 4am, and I was trying to lull myself into sleep. I listened to the ever-present, uneven swish of far distant cars, a sound sometimes joined by the single note of a bus, or the buzz of a scooter before dopplering off into the distance. Amidst these gentle, lapping waves of sound, I imagined I could hear single and cascading tones simmering up through the light blanket of noise, tones that weren't in accord with each other in pitch or length and somehow evinced the unevenness of the human voice. The sounds continued, multiplied, but they were never so pronounced as to be definitively other than the wind, cars, or busses passing in their journeying from wherever to wherever...

It was certainly possible that these were the sounds of morning prayer, and, as I threw off the sheet, finally renouncing the idea that I would succumb to sleep, I considered this sound's place in the aural fabric, the half tones rising and falling, ethereal, evocative in this world of devotion and religion, rife with mystery and fear, ominous and ancient.

Tiring of straining to hear the individual voice in prayer simmering through the wash of sounds, I pulled the sheet over me and worked on letting go in hopes of reaching that hypnagogic state which leads to sleep.

At 5am, I became conscious of silence—no cars, no voices—broken only by the beginnings of a sparrow's monotonous song in the dim light, and the clatter of kitchen pots nearby, signalling the start to the day.

     Soon begins a two-month adventure in Israel. I will no longer find my days in a sunlight-deprived room seated in front of my computer in a museum, but will be outside in the blazing sun, nowhere near a computer, yet still within the confines of museum-world.

The Israel Museum

The Big Bambú has been constructed in multiple places around the globe—NYC, Tokyo, Venezia, Roma—and now Jerusalem. This will be my first time harnessing into the bamboo and tying knot after knot until, with our group of 20, we have constructed (coagulated?) the explorable chaotic frame that is The Starn Brothers vision. Unlike the towering Rome installation "You've Got Horns Like a Minotaur" at the MACRO Museum, the Israel Museum installation is likely to be lower and wider.

(Big Bambú, You've Got Horns Like A Minotaur, 2012, installation at the MACRO Museum,
Rome, dmstarn.com)

For a little grounding in the vision of the work, I pulled this off The Starn Brothers web site:

The concept of Big Bambú has nothing to do with bamboo; it is the invisible architecture of life and living things. Every person, every culture has been built with this architecture, that architecture is chaos, random interdependence of moments, actions becoming interactions, trajectories intersecting— creating growth or change. Big Bambu is the medium of life—we all maneuver our own trajectories in life through the trajectories of every other individual. We gain footholds on their activities and circumstances and use them to move through life—swimming on the chaos medium of life, chaos is a law of the universe, and we recognize it as part of life that we all flow through every day, but more than flow through, we all use chaos—all the time. Everything depends upon one another and the loads are distributed throughout, the interdependence is natural and fluid. There is not too much weight applied to any one thing.

From the installation on top of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2010 (dmstarn.com)

It should be noted that the Starn Brothers are said to encourage the random creation and input from the climber/installers, which means that—just like the majority of sculptural creations—there are many hands in the making and installing of a single work. I like it. It does however evoke a long-standing debate: Who are the artists? Is the artist the craftsperson or the one with the vision? Should the craftspeople get equal billing? There is oft no record of the many artisans who put their expertise into the creation of work, no names, no recognition. They are just laborers, the gasoline that makes the motor run. But here, again from the Starn Brothers web site...

The climbers that build it with us are part of the art—they are the agents that help it rise and reach. In the body of the organism of BB you see all the individual voices of the crew of rock climbers making countless decisions and tying countless knots in brightly colored cord—this is where the interconnections happen and the interdependence of the thousands of randomly directed poles is felt, this is what creates the great unplanned structure, the dangling cords are the evidence. The construction may at first glance look haphazard, but don’t confuse Chaos with Chance, every pole placement and every knot tied is a string of decisions—made by several climbers, over successive time—maybe over weeks or months...and long after we are all gone, the evidence of every decision envelops the visitor.

... recognition of the necessity and integration of the 'installers' who are also creating the work, who are making and performing as part of the piece, part of the concept, in order for the piece to be what the artists' vision is. Now, re-read the concept statement above.

From the installation on top of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2010 (dmstarn.com)

Me? I'm not pressed about acknowledgement of my participation or creation; I agree with their concept and happily join in in my role, and, at this point, offer no position in the credit-giving debate. I suspect, however, that after two months of 10-hour days working off the ground, grinding my hands to shreds with the other Bamboozlers, I will have deduced fairly precisely where I stand.

Or maybe not. It's not a long-standing debate for nothing.

Introspection, Exoproduction

It's the new year. I've been reading, listening. I've been paying more attention these days and thinking of my place in the world.

We all have something to offer, right? Just put it out there and those who are interested will pick it up, right?

Why is that so hard? I stop myself before I create because, a) it won't be good enough, b) someone else has done it, c) who will care?

I believe that this line of thinking is the hurdle that separates those who do and those who don't.

Now, granted, if you're going to bother, you should be sure to both put in a good effort and have a reasonably defined idea to work with. Maybe the idea's the hurdle: feeling like it is both interesting AND new.

Well, at a certain point, it's time to just go forward, edit on the fly, put it out there, refine your message the next time. I've learned from playing in bands that you can practice for months and months in the basement on the new song, but it's not until it's played in public (better still, recorded) that you really realise what you would change for the next time. Why not now, this year? WTF. Here goes.
C'mon and join me, we can make a big mess of things and see what comes of it. 'Kay?
I've got your back.