Dear Dada: A Review of Maintenant 6

Source for Now © Catherine RutgersDear Dada,

I’m so ambivalent about our relationship. There is laundry that I didn’t do. Tax papers not yet filed. And, heaven help me, work that I should have finished already.

Then I start thinking about you, and all I want to do is read poetry, look at art, even make some myself. This is our dilemma! Will you rescue me from the mundane? Or tumble me into utterly paralyzed blankness?

It all depends. You’re moody. And don’t try to deny it.

Don’t think that I’ve forgotten how you made me struggle to figure out what makes you different from the surrealists. Or my painful confusion over how you could have come before them, when I think you should have been the clean sweep that came after their authoritarian and frequently baroque immoderation. But it’s only fair to acknowledge that I, too, can be harsh, have sometimes been certain that you and your heroes have nothing to offer but a cynical art-star glamour.

So, you might ask, why am I writing? Well, fact is, you still inspire me. And I’m not alone. Exhibit A, Maintenant 6, one-hundred-and-twenty artists and writers, gathered in your honor. Page one is an anonymous graffiti found in Corsica: “Tout est Dada” (Dada is everything). Maybe it is. Maybe you are inescapable. And maybe I don’t mind.

Maintenant 6 Front Cover © Three Rooms Press 2012

Cover of Maintenant 6, published by Three Rooms Press; image used with permission. Cover art by Mina Loy, circa 1955-1959

Maintenant – A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing & Art appears in print only, and only once a year. The quality is excellent. I know you’ll appreciate the size, just big enough to see everything, just small enough to keep it from looking like something you’ve subscribed to that arrives in your mailbox weekly.

Peter Carlaftes and Kat Georges, who also handled design and production, are the editors. I’d describe them as curators, skillfully balancing the images and text to create an exhibition you can hold in your hands. Considering the complexity of language throughout, the twists and turns and unexpected line breaks, the layout is impressively clear. I wish, however, that there were titles in the TOC, so it’s easier to find a piece again if you don’t remember the artist’s/author’s name. Would also like to know what media were used in the artwork.

Speaking of language, it’s not always English. So something like the caption for Irene Caesar’s intriguing photo – “In Principio Erat Verbum” – might require a visit to your preferred search engine to find out that it means “in the beginning was the word.” There’s also plenty of English at play: nonsense words, rhyming words, letters and symbols in juxtaposition. Sometimes with a message: “Declare art on war / the spray can is mightier than the sword / defend yourself with words / and declare art on war.” (Mandy Maxwell, Declare!) Sometimes not words at all. Silly, annoying, beautiful. Don’t ask me why, but I love looking at Remorse Re-Morsed – William Shakespeare’s Sonnet CVIII, in which John J. Trause presents the poetry in Morse code.

Even though the inside is entirely black and white, the images pop with details and shading, and there’s plenty of color in the words. From “On textured deep green, sub blazing yellow, / White fluffy cone lunges / barking its threat” in Lance Nizami’s Just Another Day to Peggy Aylsworth’s Waking the Morning: “Into the layers of an ordinary morning— / A bowl of Krispies stares me down. / Blue bubbles deliver unction to my skin. / Why did I choose an orange blouse?”

By the way, here are some details for finding this book on the World Wide Web –
Maintenant 6: A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing & Art

Three Rooms Press, First edition © 2012, http://threeroomspress.com/authors/maintenant-dada-journal/

“Maintenant” is French for “now.” Yes, I checked, and am glad I did, because I found out that, as a verb, it means uphold, maintain, sustain, preserve, protect. As we all know, Dada, you’re not always a bowl of cherries. Ditto for the work in Maintenant. But the feeling I’ll remember is having visited with friends, and a daffy sense that something deceptively light, offhand, baffling can really be a life preserver.

Love always,
Cat

Negative Earth © Catherine Rutgers

I Don't Know © Catherine Rutgers

But That Is OK © Catherine Rutgers

Original images by Catherine Rutgers © 2012

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Oh, Those Violets Are Driving Me Crazy

Driving Me Crazy © Catherine Rutgers 2012Oh, those violets are driving me crazy. Oh, those violets are driving me crazy. Just want to see them all day!

Oh, those violets are driving me crazy. Oh, those violets are driving me crazy. I’d like to be them all day!

Oh, those violets are driving me crazy. Oh, those violets are driving me crazy. Just want to show them all ways!

From the semi-green grass of Spring 2012 to the unforeseen dimensions … here we go!

We Only Need a Tiny Space © Catherine Rutgers 2012

Irrepressible © Catherine Rutgers 2012

Live Through This With Me © Catherine Rutgers 2012

Don't Be Jealous © Catherine Rutgers 2012Sea O Violet © Catherine Rutgers 2012

Crazy for You © Catherine Rutgers 2012Phenomenally Liquid Dimensions © Catherine Rutgers 2012 and 202001 Driving Me Crazy, 02 We Only Need a Little Space, 03 Irrepressible,
04 Live Through This with Me, 05 Don’t Be Jealous, 06 Sea O Violet,
07 Crazy for You, 08 Insane Dimensions
Photos, transformations, and text by Catherine Rutgers © 2012

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The Art of Compost: Do you promise to funk?

Funk to Funky Opening © Catherine RutgersIt began late last August: the campaign to make compost. First, there was a neglected pile of garden stuff, left in a heap all summer long. Greenish and soggy and hard to pull apart, but I did. And it was fun in the most satisfying way. As the season got colorful, I walked through the neighborhood and found one lawn covered in yellow, one in red. I took large canvas bags and filled them, carried them home. I picked up seed pods on the avenue, and neighbors brought their kitchen scraps.

Every leaf was chopped into bits, every twig snapped short. I filled dozens of buckets, worked a couple hours each day. Often first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Every single bucket had its own smell. Always sensational, often fragrant: mint, orange peel, fresh coffee grounds. As I chopped and snipped, everything else fell away. There was only me and the thousands of leaves and stems and twigs I had the privilege to handle and dismantle.

The feeling of it! The look of it. At one point I thought, “If you document this, it’s art.” And promptly dismissed the idea. But on November 4, 2011, I started to take photos. This is pretty much the way everything looked while I was working. There’s a color twist above. The eggshells in number two were arranged (before being crushed with scissors). For number seven, I flipped some leaves over to show off that glistening red. The last photo is also the last bucket: December 23, 2011, at 4:35 p.m.

Image 2347 © Catherine RutgersImage 2452 © Catherine RutgersImage 2384 © Catherine RutgersImage 2423 © Catherine RutgersImage 2457 © Catherine RutgersImage 2450 © Catherine RutgersImage 2443 © Catherine RutgersImage 2506 © Catherine RutgersImage 2458 © Catherine RutgersImage 2517 © Catherine Rutgers

Photographs and words by Catherine Rutgers © 2012

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Green Springs Forth!

And what a lovely thing this is. Being curious to know exactly what the vernal equinox is, I find it quickly in that handiest of sources, Answers.com, this one by Greg Scott:

“As the earth revolves around the sun there are two moments (not whole days) of the year when the sun is exactly above the equator. At these times neither pole tilts toward the sun. These moments are called ‘equinoxes’. One occurs in March as the northern hemisphere starts to tilt toward the sun. In the north, that equinox is called the ‘vernal, or spring equinox’, the beginning of spring.”

Tilting toward the sun. Oh, yes.

Green Springs Forth © Catherine RutgersPhotograph by Catherine Rutgers © 2012

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Sea of Joy

The next post is going to be intense. It’s the opening round of the thesis conclusion, from the razor’s edge to the power of the circle. It usually takes about a week to work on the text and create new images for each post. No. 63 will take a bit longer.

Meanwhile, I’m seeking respite in a carnation transformed. The original scan is from 2005. The actual flower was green. Not the dyed kind, but the astonishing kind you see naturally in zinnias or luna moths. She and I have been partners in multiple variations, including a few valentines, of course. Float on, little flower, float on.

Sea of Joy © Catherine RutgersImage by Catherine Rutgers © 2012

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