The piece that TRIIBE performed was meant to be a reflection and commentary on social networking web sites. They each stood in front of a blank wall with identical masks, identical wigs and identical orange smocks, with a blank cartoon word bubble on the wall behind them. They would occasionally erase and write something new in the word bubble. The rest of the gallery had a half dozen other places for audience members to write their own word bubble caption and hold up a triplet mask - perhaps with a mustache or goatee, or bright red lips. The collaborative photographers that assist TRIIIBE had still and motion cameras set up to record the interaction and photos of audience members participating in this performance piece. People came and looked and wondered, and it took very little prodding to get folks to write their own captions, grab a mask and pose for a quick picture. I was thrilled that the triplets greeted me by changing a bubble to say "Thanks for coming Harry" - yeah baby, even I can become art! I posed for two pictures: one next to the welcoming caption they wrote for me and one with a cartoon in the cartoon bubble that my sisters taught me to draw when I was very little, with the caption "my avatar has a mask to hide behind" - at least that's what I meant to write.
I hung out in the triplets gallery for bit and then wandered around to the other galleries in the SOWA complex. I found some interesting art, some very cool stuff that moved me, some boring stuff, and some pretty good red wine (sweet!) - so I did a few loops stopping in to check out TRIIIBE and their crowd, swinging back to the place with good wine (and boring pictures) and checking out the more interesting stuff and talking with a few of the artists. Here is some scribbles from my pocket notebook that I wrote down as I wandered, looked, mingled and drank my way through a very pleasant Friday evening!
Triiibe - do the masks make us anonymous? or do they make us uniform? part of the same body? we can all be identical triplets when we connect. We can share thoughts and emotions, we can finish each others sentences, we can interrupt each other and do each other's hair. I wish I was a triplet!
Photos taken inside giant cathedrals, mega-churches: all staging and hollywood production and mixing boards and technology and props. God was nowhere to be found.
Still motion photos that prove the existence of motion. two picture sequences. a man holding a dark cloak - then the cloak flying high in the air revealing a child's tricycle. a nude woman holding a bridal gown in front of her body, and then just the gown floating in the air after being tossed high above.
Old photos of a little brother. cracked glass in tarnished frames. faded and blurry photos never revealed the memories from when they were taken. my brother making a fist, showing his strength and muscles. my father saying grace before a sunday meal, looking down. me, getting ready to jump off the porch railing,ready for adventure and flying.
Unseen and Seen: shadowy figures standing in shallow water. lost, confused, stuck in purgatory. only one woman has joy, looking back to see the ripple she caused with a splash of her hand.
Photographs of natural textures and patterns in sand along the shore - juxtaposed against giant colorful purses collapsed into crumples of random colors. the colored crumples disconcerting, the patterns in the sand peaceful and calming. ripples in the sand formed by the receding tide. reflections of bare trees in a tidal pool. the white foam at the edge of the water, well past the breaking wave. The artist stopped to chat "what are you writing?" I told her "so I can remember what I see". She told me that she took these pictures over a a period of years while living near the Santa Barbara beach. Taking these pictures was a meditative, therapeutic practice that she needed to get over some horrible trauma in her life. She would go to the shore several times a day, day after day, month after month. She learned to stop being a photographer, and to become one with the moment, she became the sand, and that it when these images appeared to her. Her name is Nahid Khaki and I love her sand.
Ancient city-scapes painted by number. numbers are the texture. numbers are the stones of the wall and the pave of the sidewalk. numbers are the water rippling in the canal. numbers fade into the pale blue of the sky. numbers are the branches and the twigs of the trees. numbers are the reflection of the number footbridge, in the number water, under the number sky. His name is Tobias Rava.
Cellphone Pictures: reflections of a cloud in water. shadows from a tree overlaying water lilies. shadows across a shuttered door. tibetian prayer flags blow in the breeze. I take a picture of the pictures and the artist asks what I will do with my notes and picture of her pictures. I tell her I will remember what I saw. I tell her that it is the reflections that capture my attention - everything else fades into the background because it is the reflections that show me the truth of what we cannot see. I love her pictures - her name is Mary Lang.
I stop in the "Mars made" showroom to play a game of 8-ball on their beautiful tables, machined from solid blocks of aluminum and steel, with cups made of carbon fiber, with felt that is not regular felt, but is made from worsted wool. The table is smooth and hard and straight. A perfect fast table with no imperfections and unforgiving pockets.
I go back once more to the Triiibe performance space as the First Friday comes to a close. I greet the triplets and thank them for inviting me. I meet Mattie (for a second time I think), wish everyone a good night and go home to write this...
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