These portfolio entries reflect my choice to slow down and notice the everyday lived experiences around me; the ordinary experiences that I take for granted and manifest routinely without a thought. Slowing down and experiencing the lived experiences with hermeneutic phenomenological research disposition re-introduces the contextual and situated lifeworld I live with.
The engagement with hermeneutic textual expressions such as poetry, rich descriptions, photography, and videography attune my perception and generate meaning from the art of being sensitive within everyday lived experiences. As a woman situated on colonialized land in British Columbia, Canada, the portfolio unfolding here is my emerging understanding about research and the place the teacher-researcher crafts with children, more-than-humans, and others within living inquiries.
It is six thirty in the morning; the fog is slowly floating away and hazy rays are drifting through the patio doors, illuminating the round table nearby. The window above the kitchen sink is slightly open, enchanting a few moon rays into the cozy kitchen. The witching hour is upon me, it is time to make the black potion. I open a top cabinet on the right side of the stove and take out my Moka Pot the ultimate cauldron. Next, I take out the coarse ground coffee from the left-side cabinet and a measuring spoon from the utensil drawer. The black magic in the Moka Pot is made in a three-chamber brewing process: the bottom water tank, the middle filter basket for the ground coffee, and the upper chamber which collects the magical brew. Standing next to the sink, I feel the cool air sneaking through the window and chilling my skin as I fill the Moka Pot’s water tank. Moving next to the stove, I put the bottom part of the Moka Pot on the counter, inserting the filter basket and measuring the coffee into the filter.
Making Coffee in Moka Pot Video
I attach the upper chamber onto the water tank and put the Moka Pot on the stove, turning the heat on high and waiting for the magic to happen. At first, silence surrounds me, the bewitching loudness of it rings in my ears, but as the water starts to boil, the steam created pushes the water up through the coffee grounds and into the top chamber. The process is accompanied with a loud sound of sizzling and an eruption of steam.
As I stand next to the stove I observe the chain reaction and contemplate if this modern witchcraft will result with the desired potion. I feel the heat from the stove warming my face while the chilly air sneaks around me and cools my back, intensifying the visibility of the steam around the cauldron. The eruption subsides and the potion is ready. I pour it into my coffee cup and add some soy milk, carrying the cup with the coffee to the kitchen table where I sit and enjoy my black magic.
The first thing I realize while I making coffee is that that I only use the Moka Pot on weekdays, as during the weekends I use my French Press to make coffee. I also recognize that the French Press method of making coffee is calmer and more meditative, while the Moka Pot method is eruptive, violent, and loud. Furthermore, the coffee made in the Moka Pot is a harsh, full-bodied coffee with high levels of caffeine; whereas the coffee made in the French Press is a softer coffee, less caffeinated, and imbued more with the coffee’s fragrance and oils. The questions that drift through my mind are:
How does the method of making coffee affect the hot brew?
What is it like to be a weekday’s morning hot brew?’
Contemplating with the questions, I come to think about the weekdays and how the concept of weekdays affects my level of stress. Weekdays and weekends are social concepts which divide and separate my week into different experiences. During the weekdays I find myself making a hot brew with higher levels of caffeine and during the weekends the coffee preparation method I use is gentler.
Does the hot brew that I make during the weekday affect the way I feel and behave within the weekdays?
It is a weekday, 7:30 in morning. I am sitting at the round kitchen table, drinking my coffee, and gazing through the patio doors at the weak sunrays fighting their way to illuminate the patio’s corners. My daughter, Hannah, walks into the kitchen, dropping her backpack onto the floor and then dropping her body into the chair just across from me, asking,
“When are we leaving?”
Upon hearing this question, my body tenses up, and I can feel my stress levels escalating. I sharply answer,
“In ten minutes.”
I can feel my body tense even further while I wait for her response, preparing my arguments in case she will argue her wish to leave the house later. Hannah puts her headphones on and dives into her iPhone’s world. After five minutes, I walk to the house’s entrance, opening the door and walking to the car, leaving the house door open in a silent message for my daughter to hurry up. Entering the car, I sit at the driver’s seat, turning on the engine and then pulling out of the driveway. While waiting for my daughter to join me in the car, I feel my stress reaching new heights, and when she joins me in the car, after a couple of minutes, it seems as if the air is crackling with tension.
We are driving out of our complex, the deafening silence between Hannah and I feeding my stress. I join the heavy traffic on the roads, driving through the streets, cars all around me, pedestrians walking on the sidewalks while others choose to cross the street without any crosswalks in site. The tension in the car continues to grow, it seems as if the air has become thicker, suffocating me. I open the window to let in some fresh air; however, loud sounds gush in, as well. The noises and vibrations of an aircraft flying above, the SkyTrain zooming by, as well as the buses, trucks, and tens of cars driving by. Red lights everywhere whispering, ‘watch out, be aware,’ and high-rise buildings standing erect like a brigade of soldiers dressed in their shiny uniforms, reflecting the sun and blinding those passing by.
To the deafening sounds from outside the car, my daughter decides to add her extremely loud music as she connects her iPhone to the sound system in the car. The atmosphere inside the car combines with the ambiance outside of the car, feeling like a war zone. I am on high alert with all my focus on the road, and I am unable to communicate with my daughter emotionally, rationally, or verbally as I drive her, everyday, to school.
I took an apple, a common fruit in Canada and North America. The harvest of apples is happening during the months of September and October, so right now the markets all over the lower mainland are full of crispy, fragrant, and colorful apples. Therefore, when my group members looked at the apple photo series, they were familiar with the fruit itself; however, the location and the position of the apple were not conventional. Another conscious decision that I made was having the photos in black and white, the lack of colors calls attention to the hollows, rises, and textures, as well as to the highlights and shadows in the photos. The first reaction one of my group members had was asking the question: ‘What happened to the apple and how was it carried around?’ Then they asked questions regarding the surfaces, saying, ‘as we touch the apple, what is the apple touching?’ They continued to wonder ‘what is the meaning of apple?’ before concluding that the relationship between the apple and the surfaces tells a story.
Since I was a child, whenever I was hungry between meals, I would just grab an apple to eat and be satisfied. Therefore, there are always apples around me: in my home, the backpack I use for school, in the lunch I take to work, or next to me when I have class on zoom. Apples fascinate me. Besides the fact that my body likes to eat apples, my mind marvels at the wisdom and abundance within their essence. The apple’s seed contains within it the memory of recreating another apple tree, the apple tree’s flowers are a source of pollen for the bees, and the apple tree gives tens of apples year after year. I want to communicate the apple’s wisdom and the personal connection I have with apples through my photos.
In the first series I try to relate the visible qualities and characteristics of apple as I see them. A fruit which is a friend with seeds that hold the memory of the apple tree within them and can create the image of a bee in the core of the apple. The core of the apple also connects the top and the bottom of the apple: the stem at the top and the remains of the flower at the bottom. I envision these parts of this apple as the antennas that collect information from outside of this apple’s world, transferring it into the apple’s core. Lastly, the numbers, which were given to apples by humans, represent for me the transformation of apples into commodities in our society in the name of globalization.
In the second series I try to communicate the inner qualities I associate with apples: wisdom, worldliness, and globality. One photo represents for me the image of the globe, spinning around and around on its axel like our own planet earth. The photo on the right manifests my desire to connect to the endless wisdom and memory of the apple. The image represents to me an image of a human body in profile embracing, above their head, the apple’s abundance.
The six photos as a whole communicate the thousand faces of an apple: its generosity, reciprocity, memory capacity, loyalty, resiliency, abundance, and so much more.
In Judaism, lighting candles is a weekly practice. We light shabbat candles every Friday at sunset, as well as before special holidays. In our tradition, light is associated with memory, as the existence of my nation has been relying, for thousands of years, on the ability of one generation to remember the Hebrew language and Judaism’s ways of knowing and pass it to the next generation.
As a Jewish woman, I have received, from both my parents and grandparents, my peoples’ ways of knowing as well as methods to preserve and pass on their teachings to my children. To preserve my people’s heritage and ways of knowing, we have certain practices that we do weekly, yearly, and in significant stages in one’s life. Lighting candles is one of the practices, and my group members respond to the dialogue presented to them within the series of photos in a way that reminds, illustrates, and emphasizes to me why I am lighting the Shabbat and holiday candles. Upon seeing the series of photos, the words memory, family, togetherness, and respect were thrown into the air. As words turn into sentences, my group members elaborate by saying:
‘Your dialogue with the candlelight, fire, and symbols brings to mind a family coming together around one table, talking, and sharing a meal. It communicates a peaceful dialogue with non-human presence, and it highlights your humbleness and vulnerability. The dialogue here requires you to be present in the moment.’
Although the photos did not show a family coming together, or the togetherness of family sharing a meal while conversing, the act of candle lighting captured in this series still manages to convey the ideas surrounding togetherness and connection. While at the same time, highlighting the dialogue I conduct with my heritage, memory, history, time, place, and ways of knowing. The candle lighting dialogue connects me with the essence of my people, which is human dignity. This connection allows for a dialogue, a way to communicate with the world we live in and my people’s ways of knowing through togetherness, kindness, and respect with all beings.
The story I try to tell through this series of photos is the story of my roots, which are the continuum of my ancestors’ roots. Furthermore, to keep my connection and remember my people’s ways of knowing, I consciously choose to practice the action of lighting candles at specific times. In the photo series I try to call attention to my dialogue with more-than-humans, a dialogue that helps me keep my connection with my peoples’ ways of knowing and keep the Jewish nation’s memory alive. Although the photos communicate only one part of my lived experience, the lighting of the candles and the symbols that are associated with the practice still manage to provoke my group members to think about the aspects of the practice that were not present in the photos.
My group members were able to sense the thoughts that drive me to light the candles during the specific time, place, and with the particular symbols I have used.
In the Western society, which values progress and economy above all, time plays a major role in our language. We can buy time but should not spend time, as time is money. Furthermore, the concept of time and its uses in the English language assist in the construction of a society that is divided and categorized by good times and bad times, and where we need to take the time or make up for lost time. Investigating the etymology of the word ‘time’ leads me to the site etymonline.com, where an aspect of the meaning of ‘time’, especially in its noun form, catches my eye. According to the “[o]ld English, tima [time refers to a] “limited space of time, [furthermore, the term time] ” … from PIE [means]*di-mon-, a suffixed form of the root *da “to divide.””
In following the understanding that time places limits on space, and that the suffixed form of time, when it is attached to other words, is to divide, the true essence of time is unveiled. Time’s main purpose, in the English language, is to limit space and establish division. One might ask,
How is time, with its linguistic intention to limit and divide, able to affect our societal structure and ways of knowing?
By thinking with the linguistic idea behind the concept of time, we can understand how our society is using the term ‘time’ to establish a timeline for growth; a linear perception which separates and divides all aspects of our lives. The language used to describe time separates, categorizes, and divides all aspects of life and affects our ways of knowing, as language is the vehicle for sharing ways of knowing.
Contrary to the perception of time in the English language, Hebrew approaches time as ‘being dispositioned’ or available physically and mentally for the other. The word time, in the Hebrew language, does not separate or divide, it is actually bringing people together, and the word itself indicates its purpose.
Reference:
Etymonline – Online Etymology Dictionary. Etymology dictionary: Definition, meaning and word origins. (n.d.). Retrieved October 11, 2022, from https://www.etymonline.com/
On the counter in a bowl, flour, water, olive oil, and hands join together. Human and more-than-humans come together in a specific place and at a given time to create something new. Human and more-than-humans joining and transforming within the dance of becoming.
What is the Nature of time while I cook and bake with my children for the Jewish high holidays?
Coming together in a virtual space, my classmates and I contemplate the nature of time as we view frozen moments captured by the intra-action of human, more-than-humans, others, and things.
“The image of the yeast above reminds me of the moon,” says Tracy. Tracy’s observation evokes thoughts and conversation about celestial time, sensations of endless time that stream through endless generations.
“Where are the yeast?” asks Ai.
Ai’s curiosity calls my attention to the way yeasts grow up. It is as if they are managing to expand upwards, against gravity’s laws, by hanging up on the air.
“You should try circle images, as they communicate better the cyclical movement of time,” says Crysta.
So, here I am experimenting with editing my images into circular forms, which call my attention to all the circular forms within my lived experience. Sensations of a linear process transform into cyclical experiences where the tools, motions, and challah bread are all round.
The cyclical motions of kneading the dough remind me of the clock’s cyclical motion as it goes round and around its borders. This perception provokes discussion about linear and cyclical time.
The photo with the round dough reminds me of the moon, as if the hands are holding it up in the starry night sky. Baking with children highlights the relationship we have with children, and brings forward the sensations of maternal energy. The maternal energy that Tracy brings up, which is associated with a common perception that the moon represents a feminine energy, evokes a debate about gender and gender performance.
Walking in the footsteps of my dog and thinking with Triggs, Irwin, and Leggo’s (2014) writing in their article, Walking art: Sustaining ourselves as art educators, I contemplate their words and a desire emerges. A wish to know how joining the fluidity of the universe and listening to the light feels like, and how the experience of walking relates to the tension of becoming and the notion of “[w]alking with all of our relations.” (Triggs et al., 2014, p. 29). Entering the park, where different terrains compose the reality, I look to the east, checking on the source of light as unknown sounds erupt out from the darkness violently crushing into me. I listen with my eyes to the light rays’ messages as they communicate the environment into my retinas, sensing the light trying to break through the atmosphere and banish the darkness to another part of the world. I keep to the path, anxiously wondering if the light has enough messengers so early in the morning to deliver all the messages the universe is sending within this small park. Will the weak early morning light be equipped enough to communicate with all the thirsty eyes of the looming obstacles and unseen corners held within the park?
Oban decides to veer from the path. I intently scan the terrain for any obstacles, not trusting the weak light rays to manage the task-
but,
wait a second,
a sound reaches my ears, it is the sound of my walking feet conversing with the frozen ground.
The walking feet and paws crunch the glittering layer of ice which adorns the stiff grass. The source of light is growing steadily, illuminating the woven carpet on the ground. The warm hues of amber, orange, and yellow leaves send warm sparks into the air, as the light rays capture and share the glint of the leaves’ icicle veneer. The sound is traveling through the air, waves upon waves joined by light waves, removing the burden off my shoulders and weaving it into the light and sound waves in an early freezing morning.
Reference:
Triggs, V., Irwin, R. L., & Leggo, C. (2014). Walking art: Sustaining ourselves as arts educators. Visual Inquiry, 3(1), 21–34. https://doi.org/10.1386/vi.3.1.21_1
