An Eco-Æsthetics
By CM2 (Carla Macchiavello and Camila Marambio)
Less representations than resonances.
Echoes passed along
as vibrating rumors
of bodies engaged
in ancient and new conversations.
We sway to make room
for what has already been here
attentive to what they express.
Maybe feel this image to see it:
a room full of echoes, dripping with traces
from times combined
waters meet waters
shiver together
with muddy thoughts and perceptions
weaving threads futurepast
right where the apparently small unfurl their depths.
Do you notice the moss?
A practice of details
delving into the messiness of being here
with you and every body else.
Tend to the relations
large and tenuous
loud and slippery
slow and disappearing
across bodies, species, and so much asphalt.
Disobedient to categorizations
while learning new languages
moved by questions that sprout questions
caring for how
queries are made.
Is it art what we do? Eco-aesthetics?
It’s certainly the dynamism of living systems,
a dance connecting permanent change,
taking a ritual leap of the imagination
into the lap of a transformation that already is
together we say hol-hol tol.
A call to action, to recognize
that we die
together.
My/our artistry creating consciousness.
Our ethics? Orange brown.
Searching for it in our aesthetics
roaming language, word games, historic puzzles, enchanted airships
dip into the composition of this unseemly alliance
but notice the missing h.
It’s a silent h
barely audible, not a hissing sound
but an archway
asking for you to step into its mouth.
On the other side,
when embraced,
you’ll notice the h that was always there:
a house destroyed:
oikos (ll)amama.
The portal must be rebuilt.
We act on that, a practice that includes you.
Listen to how the world relinquishes control
and miss (the point).
Missing and grief become key.
Spin a key of variable points pulsating together
move around the multiplex
chant along to reenter the order of chaos.
Ecosystems are interactions.
Welcome.
You, It, He, She, They, Me, Them, We, Us, somewhere.
It matters where.
It weighs
and waits no longer
Hear it burn of desire
to be recognized
renamed
remembered
restrung
conserved
and repaired
Hol-Hol
Walking barefoot on its soft body, you sink.
So sink.
Every step
leaves a stain.
This is why we hesitate.
Hesitation is our resistance.
Laughter our medicine
strangeness our form
dissolution a method
for us to yield.
Yield, you, yes you know who you are:
stop harassing me with your ambition
and yield your privilege, it is about time.
Time is running out
and you can give your time
without knowing what you’ll get for it.
The walls ring
and your fathering is done.
DONE.
In gushes the aesthetics of pleasure
with release
experiment giving
instead of taking control,
leave your loafers of privilege
up north
walk barefoot into this game.
cohere to feeling
instead of to concept.
Follow her lead
the dancing queen whose neck is torqued
she bears the pain of death and oppression.
Follow her lead
the singing owl lady whose tongue is fierce
because she speaks the language of her ancestors.
Follow her lead
the medicine child whose mood tells of the wind
because she was destined by a desert.
Follow her lead
the rehabilitated erudite whose inner brightness
roars the way towards new meaning.
Follow her lead
the young figurine whose generosity is evidence of her
cosmic patterning.
Follow her lead
the lady with the voice of smoke
whose wit outweighs her bones.
Follow her lead
the punky junky whose interest in the world is so infinite
she must run on sugar.
Follow her lead
the president of her tribe whose broad smile and wide stance
digs deep into the past to recover what was never lost.
Follow their lead
the sniffers of the subtle layers whose gifts are plenty
and so they share.
Follow their lead
the androgyneous waysayer whose inner organ is a fine tuned spirit sensor.
Follow their lead into the underworld.
We speak in whispers across oceans of tears,
thankful
that some forms of stitching
still reign amidst so much disparity.
We lean in to each other
and whenever possible
take the load for
one another
holding doors open,
doors to
let the air walk in first
all because it feels right
and this is precisely how
we source wisdom from feeling
from breath
and vulnerability.
trust
trust the parts
trust the pieces
trust the procession
trust the sensibility of another
trust the organism
Every crip effort is efficient as an exercise in collectivity.
Our intelligence has limits,
Thank you for meeting us here at the border.
Now you go,
we’ll watch (in awe)
cheering for you
with our feathers.
If you do nothing,
it may be exactly what we need to learn.
Down time
Rest
Recovery.
