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In the act of moving with and dialoguing with the rocks, my initial concept of movement shifted. As I stay still, I feel my lungs take in oxygen from the air, my chest expanding, rising, then slowly contracting, falling. On rhythm, on beat. My heart pounds, pumps, pushes blood into my veins. My stomach turns, yearns, waits for food to come into my mouth. All bodily senses are active, alert. There is this awareness of being alive still. Movement not only happens when we act, twirl, bounce, do. Movement moves us. From the time our very first fibres were formed, we move.

And as I moved with the rocks, my emotions were moved heavily as there were several tensions and challenges that arose. Strong emotions blocked my thinking, and there were many moments of feeling stuck. But these tensions moved me to listen and be open to feedback, especially from my collaboratory group. As I balanced rocks and they continued to fall repeatedly, I was invited to slow down, listen to, and know each rock individually. It invited me to engage in deep listening to the materials (the rocks, the paper), the way my fingers moved, the floor I was on, my speed. 

Feeling the different textures, shapes, and weight of each rock, they remind me of the unique stories of Covid-19 victims. Each experiencing their own struggle, own shock, own worry- they carry with them a heaviness that would either, in time, disappear or will let them not feel anything anymore (death). As I step on thousands of stones, memories of unnamed or unknown people to me who were afflicted by this virus leaves a mark. It becomes a part of history. Stepping on them without protection for my feet (shoes, cloth, slippers), I remember the sharpness, the pain, and discomfort of going through this pandemic even if I didn’t experience seeing anyone be tested positive for coronavirus firsthand. All these emotions and thinking resonates with me, and highlighted the importance and benefits of thinking with studio work- practicing art as research, seeing things from multiple perspectives (viewer-maker, maker-performer-viewer, artist-researcher-teacher), allowing for risks and collapse to happen, deeper engagement with different senses, and so on.

In the process of thinking-doing, the once stagnant rocks in the simple studio collaborated with other materials- paper, sweater (cloth), light, darkness, mirror, toilet paper- bringing to life thinking and emotions that remained in my mind. In the doing, each material collaboratively becomes a part of the assemblage, with my body as the force that makes it happen. I reflect on the ways we can continue to prevent Covid-19 from spreading, which is to wear our masks, consistently sanitize or practice proper hygiene, and so on. Whether flattening the curve or letting the numbers soar high again, we make it happen.

As we continue to live with our current situation, with Phase 3 coming soon, I am left with more questions, puzzlements, and wonderings. But in the doing (in the researching, dialoguing with, thinking with the studio, collaborating with), I become more grounded and attuned in what is around me- inviting me allow lingering, pausing, and stopping as part of the process.

With the changes that had to happen over the past few months, as a society we have adapted by taking on new norms that abruptly changed the way we live, the way we do things, and the way we move. As if hitting a reset button, Covid-19 has caused us to stop and stay home.

Movement (as living beings) is a big part of our lives- from before we even become in our mother’s womb, we move and have moved. This 2020, we experience a whole wave of restrictions that has placed limits on our own movements- from social distancing, to limiting gatherings, to only being with your family or the people you live with.

At the height of Covid-19’s global pandemic, movement seemed to be a privilege we took for granted. Throughout my art inquiry, I will navigate through and engage with the concept of movement in today’s pandemic, continuously working with and dialoguing with rocks as a material. Dichotomous to movement, I found myself drawn to the weight, the heaviness, the stability, and stillness of the rock, which I was able to make connections with personally.With each engagement with rocks, I gain a deeper understanding of what it means to be grounded in the world I am presently a part of- that I am not here merely existing, but rather continuously feeling with, breathing with, living with, and moving with.

but do we need to do it all over again?

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After revisiting previous working documentations, I place a blue sweater from my closet to the studio with the rocks. The blue sweater represents the ripples from the lake- how freely the lake flows and moves. The rocks are the boulders that I can barely get near to. These boulders would split the flow of the water, making the water scatter and flow in a different direction. This is in relation to physical distancing that is still currently in place. Although the policies are becoming less strict and bigger gatherings are taking place, there is this muscle memory within us that would make our bodies move a different direction when another person is approaching us. As for toilet paper… well, it has written its own story and will forever be one of the highlights of history when we look back on year 2020.

Studio work: Becoming the viewer of my own work, I become compelled to stop and linger longer. What will happen now? What is next? As there are talks of the coronavirus becoming a seasonal virus, what could we have learned from this season? How are we going to move forward? What else do we have to un-learn, re-learn, or even discuss further? Have we already moved on?

Seeing and hearing less talks about Covid-19 has given me mixed feelings. Numbers have dropped drastically, but there are still so many cases. What will happen next?

In being invited to take a step back after meeting with my collaboratory group, I felt the need to go for a walk outside. Although Kentridge (2012) invites for a walk within the studio, I think with the idea of walking playing a role in the pre-history of the making in my small “studio” in my room.

As I walk, I notice the abundance of rocks and pebbles on the trail.

Immersing myself in this moment of stillness and quietness with barely anyone around me, I ground myself on the rocks I am on. How do I further dialogue with/work with rocks? What is being changed in me as I continue to walk and move on top of these rocks? Walking pushes my mind to want to create something, to act further, to do, to move together with.

With my feet barely noticing nor feeling the touch of the rocks, I decided to bring some back to the studio.

Studio: renewed lens, renewed encounters

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A pebble or a rock by itself seems very insignificant. Minute, it is easily missed and not given any attention. But multiplying that pebble to thousands, it is no longer insignificant. It is now part of a bigger picture that has the ability to move people- to walk, to jog, to run, to skip.

In the beginning of the year, Covid-19 was known as a new virus that killed dozens of people in the city of Wuhan, China. Not much media attention was given until dozens turned into hundreds, and hundreds into thousands. With numbers quickly escalating day by day, panic and anxieties continue to be present wherever we go.

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I walk on top of these rocks today with nothing to protect my feet to physically feel the prick, the discomfort, the pain of my own weight on the rocks. Not being able to stay on top for long, my feet take steps back. Dotted markings that would eventually go away becomes my reminder for our current realities- people are still dying everyday.

I move on top of the rocks. With most people around me getting used to or are becoming comfortable with the ‘new normal’, it seems that the rocks no longer hold the same weight that they had in the beginning of the inquiry.

Reference:

Kentridge, W. (TAUVOD). (2012, June 24). A natural history of the studio . YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vm1juXIaCsg

“to gather again”

As BC is currently in Phase 2 of slowly reopening the economy amid Covid-19, there is a deep and unusual feeling of uncertainty within me. Going for a drive, I succumbed to the invitation of the lake. The wind pushed the water a little harder than earlier, creating ripples that moved to and fro, ascending then descending, as lines and curves would appear and disappear- this tells me that the dawn dance between wind and water has began.

The rock stood still as the water and wind continued to move. As if echoing my own thoughts, I may seem uninterested or apathetic on the outside, but deep down there is a whirlwind of emotions.

How concerned am I with what is going on? Am I excited? Fearful? Worried? Am I not yet ready for what is ahead, or am I elated to know we as a province are doing well? How can I move forward?

Taking a break from everything, I decided to go for a drive. I think with Goldsworthy’s (2004), and the way he engages and thinks with the world. Seeing this as an opportunity to further engage with my inquiry, I brought some toilet paper with me to see if there is a possibility for me to be in dialogue with what’s surrounding me.

Dichotomy of movement: toilet paper and driftwood

The huge boulders of rocks were too dangerous for me to come closer to as the tide was rapidly coming up. Spotting some driftwood lying down nearby, I decided to redirect my inquiry for the night.

Gathering up toilet paper that I packed up in my bag, I had the urge to attach some toilet paper in this broken piece of wood. As I lay the strips of toilet paper, the wind blew softly, pushing the strips to sway a little bit.

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Over time, the strips became more fragile as water would constantly moisten its fibers. Knotting and re-hanging on the driftwood, I did my best to let the toilet paper stay on the driftwood. My position had to shift several times as the toilet paper kept being blown away so easily whenever a strong gust of wind would blow. There was this continuous desire to have the toilet paper stay and just hang, but at some point, it finally let go.

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I felt so much disappointment as I watched the toilet paper disintegrate into smaller pieces. The toilet paper gave in too easily to the wind. As if being flushed down the toilet, it had already served its purpose. I have no choice but to pick it up and throw it away.

Personal reflections:

With most rules or bans being lifted and people starting to become more comfortable with gathering again in larger groups, I feel that if we are not careful enough, we might expect all our collective efforts the past few months to go down the drain. If we become caught up once again in our own selfish desires of gathering together without proper distancing, maintaining good personal hygiene, and so on, I wonder about the effects we will have in the months to come.

With all that is being shown in social media and the news, it feels as if my life is constantly being bombarded with an overwhelming amount of information- with little or no room for me to feel, reflect, to take in a little bit longer. Everyday contains different policies, rules, and regulations. As people become angrier and more restless, they move on their own- disregarding government advisory that once took complete control over our normal.

We are moving again, but this time, we are moving backwards. Clumsy, easily carried away, we move out of impatience.

References:

Riedelsheimer, T., Donop, A. V. & Goldsworthy, A. (2004). Rivers and tides: Andy Goldsworthy working with time [Film]. New York, N.Y.: Docurama : Distributed by New Video Group.

Challenges and Revisitations:

Continuing this inquiry, I ask myself:

What does it mean for me to live in this world right now?Why did I choose rocks? What did it represent? Does the weight of the rocks and its inability to move on its own represent anything? What about the size- pebbles, boulders, stones? What will change if I choose to interact with a different rock?

One of my challenges in deciding if I should continue with rocks is resisting the idea of having to make something. What can I possibly end up with with rocks? Discussing with my collaboratory group, we all agree that we want to pay more attention to the process, the in-betweens, the dialogues being generated. Seeing the value of back and forth dialogue and discussions in making sense of what is happening, we feel the need at some point, to dismiss and completely let go of being stuck with the end result. Although at the same time, we concluded (with laughter) with the realization that something will eventually be made or created in the end.

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There were many moments of collapse that happened, with each repeated try getting more frustrating than the previous. Slowing down in my process of balancing, I am able to reflect this on life prior to Covid-19. This highlighted for me the fragility of our so-called life. We spend so much time trying to figure everything out in a small amount of time- trying to balance work, school, family- only to realise in the end how easily this life can fall apart… within mere seconds.

In order for the rocks to balance, I needed to smoothen out the paper a little bit more. I scrunched it tighter, enveloping the rock fully. At times, I had to remove the paper and put it back a different way in order for the rock to become more stable on top. There was this undressing and dressing, this turning and tilting.

Continuing this process, I become more attuned to the movements of my own body- first through the way my fingers shaped, sculpted, then to the way I would position myself on the floor. This process of repetition invited me to focus on the way my body was moving with the material, as I work with it. Thinking that every rock would be the same, as I continue to repeat the same action over and over, my own bodies’ tempo and rhythms change. The way I approached the first rock is different from the way I would approach the 50th rock. Each rock experiences my touch differently, therefore also responds differently.

There was now a connection- a reciprocity in understanding the other that goes beyond mere touch.

References:

Marshall, J. & D’Adamo, K. (2011). Art practice as research in the classroom: A new paradigm in art education. Art Education, 164(5), 2-18

There is stillness
and movement.
Laughter, rejoicing,
yet also anger, a burning.

We have been called to pause,
rest,
yet there is more action
than ever.

I stay,
I move.
I sit,
I run.

I move with,
in the beauty
and chaos
that is today.
-free flow writing by Faith Dawa

Ever since news of Covid-19 moving rapidly across the globe stirred up chaos and alarm, the term ‘movement‘ has left a particular impression on me. Like a certain food after-taste, having to explain what it means to move leaves more puzzlement, pauses, and tilting of the head as I try to bring into a definition and contextualise what it means to move today.

As the government and society all over the world introduces a new way of moving and interacting with others in the public space, we are now to physically distance ourselves and remain 6 feet apart from others. Here, the term “movement” gains a new meaning.

Gathering of Materials

Rocks: As I reflect on the weight of a rock, the more I am able to connect with my thoughts and questions. Looking at the stillness of rocks, this was a complete opposite of what it meant to move.

The rocks outside my home represents my current state: static, helpless, unable to do anything else, heavy weighed down emotionally.

As I gather the rocks, I notice the differences of each rock: its shape, weight, smoothness, textures, and even the sound it makes as it collides another rock. Taking note of these, I wonder about the different lives affected by Covid-19. From afar, it seems that we are all experiencing and going through the same thing- lock down, staying at home. But as we look closely, we are each navigating though this new normal in different ways- with each experience having its own heaviness, struggle, discomfort, anxiety.

Studio Space:

After gathering, I set up a small studio in my room. Initially made to be a storage for the rocks, I rearrange the rocks to articulate my current understanding of movement: physical distancing.

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As I move the rocks around, I notice the shadows of each rock. Each shadow being a temporary trail or memory created by the rocks as long as the lamp is in a certain position. In today’s context, there seems to be a lot of varying conditions on how we are to be outside:

• “as long as we are physically distancing ourselves, we’re fine”
• “#stayhome”
• “you MUST wear a mask; don’t leave without it”
• “only go out for essentials”
• “Canada is low risk”

…and the list goes on.

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By marking down these shadows, I think about how our movement is dictated not only by what our current government says, but by how we interpret their words. As beaches and trails continue to remain packed most especially during sunny weather despite government efforts to close them down, this only proves how we still are bound by our own thinking and interpretation.

A Pedagogical Narration on paper encounters, collaboratively created by Faith Dawa, Jacqueline Davis, Melanie Warren, and Audrey.

The word research is usually associated with topics regarding different sciences, and is used mainly in places such as laboratories. The word almost has a serious tone to it as it communicates hours of work looking into a certain thing. But what happens when we associate research to our practice? What does research do in a classroom?

Research allows for meaningful curriculum and inquiry to take place in the classroom. Acts of attunement to place, language, time, and self/other are forms of research, which initiate inquiries and various ways of learning.

As it is important to reflect upon the image of the child, it is equally important to reflect upon the role of the educator. When we combine the role of an educator with the role of a researcher, we create a being that constantly questions, reflects, reimagines and seeks for different possibilities of already existing realities or theories. A teacher-researcher creates an environment for children to learn by seeing the world as is and by reimagining it as well. A teacher-researcher opens new lens to see, feel, create and connect with what is around us, while keeping in mind importance of context, culture, and time.

My daily walks include my walk from home to the bus stop, the bus stop to the coffee shop, and when I am walking with children to the forest. Its been almost a year ago when I decided to leave home at least 3 hours earlier before my work. In the beginning, walking was a way for me to relax, prepare, and drink coffee before I start a busy day.

But recently, walking has become a form of meditation- a way for me to reflect and gather my own thoughts. I believe I don’t exist to simply exist, but to enjoy, make connections, embrace, and question what’s around me. I see the rain dripping down from the sky, meeting my skin and sending shivers all over my body. I breathe the air provided by the trees who have stood tall and proud over the years, and feel my heart beat pound a little harder as my lungs say “thank you” once again for the gift of breathing. I walk further and further to get to my destination, and in my head I question my own map- “why did I choose to walk this path again?”

Surrounded by other beings (nature, materials, city), I walk also not to detach myself completely from routine but to explore different ways to do and look at my routine. I feel blessed to live in a city surrounded by nature (or is it nature surrounded by a city?) and to be able to walk the same path each time and learn something new. Walking has become a form of research and exploration, where the same path doesn’t always seem so familiar. I know that this path doesn’t always physically change. But it is when I walk that it becomes unfamiliar, as I finally see things that may have existed for a period of time, but just needed someone to stop and walk slower to be noticed.