#mtcaz

I came to Mt. Caz to reflect on my relationship to my process. Specifically, I wanted to examine how rest affects my creative spirit. Rest and reflection are vital elements to any creative process but sorely lacked in my own. What was it about rest that seemed elusive in my practice?

Since last May I’ve been struggling with a block. I wanted to make art but the muscle memory of how I used to work wouldn’t shake, and consequently, squashed my desire to make. I was so used to making art at the expense of my mental and physical health that it was more like an addiction than an art practice. Being hyper productive at all costs was my modus operandi. I would sit at my desk for hours, back hunched over, taking little to no breaks. What drove this pattern of behavior? On an ego level, I craved a self defined identity (detached from roles of daughter, wife, and other monikers I didn’t choose but were given to me) and being an artist felt the most freeing and an accessible entry point into self-assuredness. I also wanted to belong to a community of other artists. And it seemed like nonstop production was the currency to gain access into these communities. So I worked obsessively to put my artwork on social media platforms. It promised opportunities and exposure so it seemed like a natural place to grow my artist legs. I quickly learned that social media never stops. So I didn’t want to either. It didn’t seem like my artist peers were hindered by it or let alone questioning social media’s toxic affects on art. Resting felt wrong, even detrimental to my harder-better-faster-stronger practice I was cultivating. Unsurprisingly, I became reliant on social media. The likes and hashtags became cat nip for my insecure artist self. I let social media dictate how much to produce, when to produce, and what strategic messages to inject into my work to drive traffic to my tiny virtual corners on the internet. My practice was entirely governed by social media. My work no longer felt true to me and I started to lose the joy of creating. The dread of making art was so alarming that I couldn’t confront it initially. Art making became so precious to me that I relied on the rigid ways of thinking, making, and sharing my art. No rest, just make. No quiet, constant uploading. My body was screaming for rest yet my mind registered that as “that’s weakness talking, just push through the pain.” It felt like I was on a high speed train that wouldn’t stop unless it crashed into something. And, indeed, the metaphor became reality and I suffered a back injury from sitting too much at my desk. I was forced out of commission by my own body. This down time became open season for my demons to wreak havoc. Self critical judgments took residence in my art heart, art brain.

I used to wonder what other artists meant when they’d say things like, “every piece I make has a little piece of me in it.” I believe your process and work reflects back to you exactly where you are mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Your process has a way of showing you what your demons are, and if you’re not observant of how those demons affect you, it affects the quality of your work and the relationship to your creativity. When I look at the work I made during my hyper productivity period, I see obsession, perfectionism, and desperation. I initially blamed social media as the main villain who robbed me of creative joy. With hindsight, I know now that was a scared me trying to deny the real work that was ahead of me. I had to dive into my inner world and have tea with my shadows to seek answers. When the mind is allowed to run amok, all it does is generate noise. No spaciousness, only anxiety. What exactly about social media is harming my relationship to creating and my process? How do I unlearn these habits?

When the demons got too loud, it became clear to me that I needed an escape from my familiar environment. So I came to Mt. Caz to seek quiet and rest. If my mind couldn’t figure it out, why not let my tired body lead the way? The initial reintroduction to quiet and rest was comical and awkward at times during my stay at Mt Caz. I celebrated seemingly trivial joys of the mundane such as jumping on my bed for shits and giggles and taking a nap. These felt like huge victories because it meant that my body was acclimating to the healing medicine of rest. In between these moments of celebrating, however, I also experienced guilt around needing and engaging in rest. I felt like I didn’t deserve it, my imposter syndrome was at a level 10, and I had trouble sleeping the first couple of nights in Terra Incognita. I even started to force myself into making art when it wasn’t satisfying. I thought I was wasting my time not making art at an artist residency. Even with Christina and Albert’s blessings that I didn’t need to justify my residency by creating something, I felt insecure about doing nothing. Am I still an artist when I’m not making anything? Where do I get my motivation to make if social media isn’t a dominant part of my practice? I gave up on the grandiose ideas of making new work at Mt Caz and forced myself to rest and sit with whatever demon came up to chat with me. The more I resisted the rest, the more anxious my mind got, and the self critical voice got louder.

Maybe it was the actual lack of noise pollution in Corvallis. Maybe it was the forces of the winter cold that made me more present minded and aware of the natural space I was occupying. Maybe it was the consistency of Albert’s work schedule and morning routines that grounded me in an otherwise structureless time-space. Maybe it was the sounds of Christina’s shuffling house slippers that felt soothing. Maybe it was the nightly dinner conversations between the three of us that invigorated my mind in a different way. Maybe it was learning how to play an ukulele and feeling musically vulnerable with Christina and Albert. Maybe it was just being in an unfamiliar space. Maybe it was meeting other creatives and talking about their creative struggles. Maybe it was the aimless walks I took in the Mt Caz neighborhood. Maybe it was Christina and Albert’s permission to not make that finally sunk in.  Maybe it was playing to just play. It was the totality of the aforementioned that led me to just be. Doing anything and nothing, whenever, wherever, without judgement. The anxiety noise around not making subsided once I surrendered to rest. Eventually, my body started to guide my decision making, not my mind.

I dropped into my body and I could finally hear myself again. The message was loud and clear: when you surrender to rest, spaciousness manifests. And when the body experiences nourishing rest, the quality of your work and process gets revitalized. I jokingly called my AIR as rehab or a detoxing experience. It really did feel that way. The withdrawal, emotional and psychological angst, the frustration and impatience, the resistance to stillness and quiet, the self hating, and then the unexpected peace and clarity. I remembered what it was like to know what I want, separate from the illusory shoulds I create to justify aimless productivity.

The biggest takeaway from my Mt Caz AIR experience was that I returned to myself. I could hear myself without distractions. I cultivated a body conscious knowing. I read the introduction to Pema Chödrön’s “When Things Fall Apart” before coming to Mt Caz and wished so desperately that I too could surrender to rest. And I think I got a glimpse of what Pema was talking about:

“It was the most spiritually inspiring time of my life. Pretty much all I did was relax. I read and hiked and slept. I cooked and ate, meditated and wrote. I had no schedule, no agenda, and no ‘shoulds.’ A lot got digested during this completely open and uncharted time.”

~Ahran Lee

Being at Mt Caz felt like a roleplaying game (that’s what my kind of games are called) because I was playing “The Artist In Residence” and seeing what happened. It was painful at times to encounter that part of myself - who wants approval, wants everything to be perfect, wants to be productive at all costs - but also it was cool to get her to chill out a little bit and just do her thing. Make stuff. Absorb. Learn. Play. Get totally lost in people and ideas. And run some games that went super well!!! Albert and Christina were amazing, they gave me everything I needed including a lot of things I didn’t realize were important.

My biggest accomplishment at Mt. Caz was running POP!, a live action roleplaying game about the online community of people who love and f*** balloons. I’ve wanted to make that game for years! Something about that nurturing, welcoming, supportive environment being ever-created at Mt. Caz let me just do it already. And let my players play. 

Since I left Mt. Caz my journals have been bursting with colour. The Artist in Residence has not exactly been put away - I think she is tucked into one of my pockets, somewhere.

On dancing butoh

“Why or what is butoh? I’m looking forward to discovering. What I do know for now is that it’s an avant-garde dance of ritual performance and transformation, of death and life, that came out of Japan in the 1950s. It combines aspects of contemporary dance, theater, and improvisation. For me, it’s helped me explore spaces beyond the Western analytical mind, with more organic movements to find deeper connections and truths. One butoh philosophy talks about dancing to the edge, and in finding the edges, we can expand ourselves and find new turning points. With my activist heart, I was interested in the dance we need for our times and how we heal and transform into taking action. To rewind a little to connect some more dots: last May, a Facebook event for a butoh popped up and I decided to check it out without too much thought. When I met my teacher, Atsushi Takenouchi at the workshop, my heart felt less alone in the love I feel for the world. I felt viscerally moved the presence and love in his movements and teaching. Also around this time, my philosophy professor Hubert Dreyfus, who had taught about creating meaning in a secular age, passed away and I didn’t want to lose any time while Atsushi was still kicking and teaching. I planned my trip and bought my tickets for Italy to study at Jinen Butoh School. Then I went! A teeny barefoot butoh soldier. Seeing and learning from a master who has worked on his craft for more than 30 years was incredibly inspiring. It’s very strange and still new to me that it’s what I feel like doing right now. For the first time in my life, I’m doing something because something in my body is telling me to do it.”

[Above] Min dancing butoh during an experimental noise show.

On Synchronicity

“I haven’t had to do any of this alone and I’m in awe of the synchronicities that life can conjure up and actually taking them up. Here’s some magic that’s been keeping me going:

“??! Here in Corvallis, Christina met an experimental musician who invited me to dance butoh at his events. Without trying to be a punk, I came up with a silent performance for a noise show, inspired by street violence toward blacks, queers, and females. I asked the audience to put on earplugs and stay with the sounds of their breath. It felt good to be connected to what’s happening back in Oakland and to the new people I met in the audience.

“??! This past Saturday, Albert and Christina helped me put on a show to share my deep insides on ripping through the patriarchal feminine within me, through a butoh ritual performance. Albert did his thing and designed an opening ritual on embodying the air, chaos, and nothingness we share, for the ritual. Wow. We did something...”

[Below] In the Grove at Mt Caz, Min and Albert rehearse a move for “Mermaid: Ritual Butoh Performance”.

[Below] Min as Mermaid. Grove as Theater.

On Cultivating New Practices

“Today, I’m sitting here at Mt Caz, with Albert and Christina in Corvallis, Oregon. Albert and Christina are cultivating a place for community and art and I’ve happily become their guinea artist in residence / degenerate art kid. I’m feeling lucky to be so loved and nurtured... With this gift of time, space, and care, I’m contemplating and experimenting with what it means for me to be a devotional artist, cultivating a solitary practice, performing butoh as ritual in deep and connective presence with nature and others, living without settling on humanity, and learning to stop letting my brain force my actions… It’s new and sometimes hard to process all this change and keep going toward what I know on the inside to be true, and have to create on the outside. I am practicing bringing the inside, out by taking the time to care and gestate, performing, and trying different ways of sharing and teaching as I learn.”

[Below] Min with local musician and organizer Chris. Together they improvised a butoh performance in downtown Corvallis.

[Below] The crew and performers for “Mermaid: Ritual Butoh Performance”

In addition to five new performances, Min’s 6-week Mt Caz residency also gave her time to create an artist website, organize a photo shoot for professional dance pictures, and connect with other creatives in discussion about this ongoing play of art + life. When Min hosted a dance workshop in town, we heard from attendees that they were delighted and grateful to have discovered a butoh workshop in our part of the world.

We wish Min well as she continues her journey through life and art and butoh. Keep up with Min at her website or via her newsletter.

And if you, too, want to explore the gifts of space, time, and care that a Mt Caz residency may afford you, consider applying here!