B r u s h S o n g Journal

Chogyam Trungpa, Raymond Saunders, and Living the Ultimate Work of Art

2016-03-03T05:37:00.001-05:00

"I want people to like you—not for what you make—but for WHO YOU ARE."

This is probably the last thing artist Raymond Saunders said to me as we walked away from an exhibition in California many years ago. It is a koan, which I have been chewing on ever since.

Raymond Saunders, Jack Johnson (RS15-019) mixed media on wood panel 30 x 24"

At first, I really didn’t understand what he meant. I thought in response, “But what I make is who I am.” As an artist, my life was about what I made. It was about what I put into the world, for people to see, experience, discuss. It was about what I said with my work.

As I thought about his words, I began to question the focus of my work, my methods and priorities. It reversed my orientation from outward to inward. From the object, to the human.

I began to think about what it really meant, not just to make art, but to embody art.

In a letter published in True Perception, Chogyam Trungpa writes,

The basic problem in artistic endeavor is the tendency to split the artist from the audience and then try to send a message from one to the other. When this happens, art becomes exhibitionism. One person may get a tremendous flash of inspiration and rush to “put it down on paper” to impress or excite others, and a more deliberate artist may strategize each step of his work in order to produce certain effects on his viewers. But no matter how well-intentioned or technically accomplished such approaches may be, they inevitably become clumsy and aggressive towards others and toward oneself.

Trungpa’s notion of aggression is a subtle form of projection. When we put something into the world as artists, we often embed a host of expectations in the work. It carries our ego. Which is why, when our work is critiqued, we feel personally attacked. When it is copied, we say something was stolen from us.

Chogyam Trungpa

For Trungpa, this approach to art is clumsy because it carries the anxieties of a child. It is aggressive because it holds us and our audience hostage.

But what is the alternative? How can one make things free of this aggression? Perhaps, the answer lays somewhere in Raymond’s challenge. "I want people to like you—not for what you make—but for WHO YOU ARE."

What do we stand for? Which values do we embody?

Raymond’s koan has, in a way, been my undoing as an artist in the conventional sense. It has been nipping at the edges of my creative conscience for so long, that I have now come to a stage where I sometimes cringe at being called an artist. Being called an artist implies that there is a separation between something that is artist and that is not artist. There is a pretentiousness, a distancing, an arrogance or exotification that happens.

I prefer Trungpa's definition of art.

The way you dress yourself, the way you brush your hair, the way you brush your teeth, the way you take your shower...all of those basic activities are works of art in themselves. Art is life, rather than a gimmick. ...art in this sense includes your total experience.

Synchronizing body and mind is always key. If we are artists, we have to live like artists. We have to treat our entire lives as our discipline. ...there is no boundary between when [artists] practice art and when they are not practicing art.

2015-02-09T02:04:00.000-05:00

A new recording of the profound Nalikae Tree lullaby, with a direct English translation by Prof. Peter Skilling.

"Mapraw Nalikae"

A palm tree, a palm tree,
A solitary palm tree stands alone
In the middle of a sea of wax.
Rain does not touch it,
Nor does thunder reach it.
In the middle of a sea of wax.

The only ones who reach it
Are those who go beyond good and bad."

Recording by Chatupon Phechobun.

Image of "Ten Thousand Bridges" art installation by Minette Mangahas.

On the Road: California

2014-05-29T23:47:00.000-04:00

5/29/14 : ★

One of the things I love most about traveling, is that it gives you a lot of perspective.

Bridge over the bay.

Everywhere you go, you encounter the narratives that people tell about who they are, what they do, and where they live. And for the most part, I've found that whether these stories are positive or negative has little to do with relative physical comfort, and more to do with emotional well being.

Dad in front of his home. He retired from engineering and went into medical massage.
He spends a lot of time in farmers markets. And he is so happy.

To a certain extent, each and every one of us constructs our own personal hell and heaven. And we re-tell ourselves the story of this hell or heaven, everyday.

Berkeley: A man named Rivers, dressed in a flashy silver suit, offers me flowers and blessed yogurt from the Hare Krishna Temple.

We chose to feel liberated by circumstances, or to be imprisoned by them. We chose hate or happiness. We chose to love or to run.

Flower offering

I can't help but feel that to have power over our lives, we must know that we have power over these narratives. We must recognize that we are the writers of the fictions in our head--and yes, they are fictions. Because almost any circumstance can be re-written to be understood and felt differently.

And these fictions we tell ourselves--they have power. They form the ground from which we make decisions about who and how to love, about what's possible for our future, and about whether we can be happy.

Patty's new hat.

Minette

ReBOOT

2014-03-17T05:53:00.001-04:00

Hello! And Happy Saint Patrick's Day!
As you may have noticed, I've neglected this personal blog since the end of 2012, when I launched into a long-term project called AKSHA.

Its been a large, life-changing experience which involved moving from Brooklyn to Bangkok, a year-long Fulbright Fellowship in sacred sculpture, a Kickstarter campaign, a new children's book, a new 150-meter art installation, and my first line of jewelry called LUMINOUS.

Its been amazing. And most of my journey has been documented on AKSHA's Blog and Facebook Page.

Since then, I've come to re-evaluate everything that I've done in my life. Everything, from the children's stories and piano compositions I made when I was 10 years old, my work as an artist in calligraphy and animation, to the work I did in grad school at NYU--All the work on my Brushsong.com site and this blog in retrospect now seems to just have been preparation for what I am doing now. I understand it all differently, and am repackaging it all for relaunch on the new Brushsong site later this year.

So be patient with me! All systems go. If you'd like to stay in touch, please visit my Facebook page or send me a note. I'm coming back to my writing and music, and so will post essays and video/sound pieces on this site from time to time.

Much love,
Minette

Path of No Path

2012-12-13T12:58:00.001-05:00

I am a seeker of logic.
I am a teaser of knots. I like to take puzzles and figure them out.
And, deep down, I also believe in the possibility--no, dare I say, the imperative of perfection. The world ought to be a harmonious place. Food should be delicious. People should be good. I should be... blah blah blah (substitute synonym for "perfect"). Everything I say, my excuses, my assertions, are based on the premise of perfection.

Even if I know it's not possible, I feel compelled to strive for it anyway.

Yet these ideals are all my traps. They are the torture chambers of my mind.
Because I believe in perfection, I am constantly looking for the right path, a map to clarity, the road to the life I want. As if it were all a chemical equation, we tend to think, if only I had all the right ingredients, I would be happy. I would get closer to what I want.

But what if one day we realize, there is no road. Actually. And because there is no road, we cannot be lost.

The goal is not on any one road. And no matter which way we choose, we will end up where we are going.

What then?
How would I live my life differently?

Welcome to Pohchang: Studying Buddhist Sculpture in Thailand

2012-11-30T11:34:00.003-05:00

September 2006, North India. The moment still rings clearly in my mind. I was at a large dinner party at the new residence of Orgyen Topgyal Rinpoche. Several large sculptures by Bhutanese artists stood awaiting finishing touches in the corner. In the middle of the meal, Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche calls across the room to me and says, "Minette, you should study sculpture."

Six years later I'm honored to receive a Fulbright Fellowship to study Buddhist Art in Thailand for a year. It's an amazing opportunity. So for the last three months, I've been working with the Sculpture Department at the Pohchang Academy of Art, which is part of the Rajamangala University of Technology in Bangkok. At the moment, I am the only foreigner at the school. My Thai was virtually non-existent before I came, and only a few people feel comfortable with English.

Ajahn Pei speaking to a class

Still, the first two weeks there were nothing short of amazing. My mentor, Ajahn Somyot Kumsang--we call him Ajahn Pei, first asked me to create a relief of a seated Buddha in clay. It was a revelation.

I've seen hundreds of Buddha images and statues, but nothing compares to the experience of forming one yourself.

They even brought me lunch. Fried rice from the cafeteria with fish sauce and chili.

When I finished my rough rendition, he challenged me to create a seated figure without any instruction. Needless to say, I had a million questions. How do I form the eyes? What proportions do I use? Ajahn Pei would only speak on philosophical terms.

I ask him how to use the tools. He says, "No tools. These, these are your best tools." Pointing to his fingers and hands. Like a beginner, I think I need to use all these beautiful tools to make my work beautiful. (Some of these tools are custom made by the professors themselves.)

But after working for some time I realize that my hands can do quite a bit more than I originally thought. And I began to abandon the tools for my fingers, because they were indeed more sensitive and precise.

Still, there was the question of what this statue should look like. So, like any liberated woman, I decided to make it in the imagine of my self.

Of course, having no classical training in portraiture, I didn't know how to do that either. In pity, one of the other teachers, Ajahn Tamin, called his friend and professor from the Contemporary Sculpture, Ajahn Komsan department to demonstrate.

He made a life-sized bust of my head in the hour and a half he had before lunch. I was flabbergasted.

Then Ajahn Tamin created a plaster cast from the clay original, and several students helped him cast the bust in fiberglass for posterity.

Nothing like seeing yourself in pieces...Removing the clay from the mold.

Apparently it would cost about US$ 3,000 to have my own head cast in bronze. Since I'm a bit of a nomad at the moment, I figured fiberglass may be a bit lighter to carry.

Following in the Footsteps of Surfers. . .

2012-07-31T11:48:00.000-04:00

I remember the day I discovered and bought my first Patagonia jacket. It was a moss green fuzzy made from recycled plastic bottles. I was amazed by the transformation involved and proudly wore it for about 8 years--until my mother fell in love with it too.

In light of what we're building with AKSHA, a friend sent me this link to an interview with Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard. His ideals of sustainability and fun have built an influential company that thrives regardless of the economy. I was so inspired by his humility and simplicity in crafting the Patagonia that I feel compelled to share it here.

Chouinard writes of how he did it all in the memoir, Let My People Go Surfing.

Schizophrenia

2012-07-30T15:56:00.001-04:00

I have many passions and, to make matters worse, my mind likes to tackle multiple projects at one time. Once stimulated, my brain works like a computer running multiple applications, each designated to a particular problem or interest. So while reading a novel about surgery, I might suddenly come up with a design for safer fire escapes in skyscrapers.

For some reason, I have a tendency to think of my interests as a pattern of parallel lines that don't meet. Perhaps because they are all essentially a series of thought experiments, until I manifest them as an art project.*

All this is my attempt to explain why I recently launched a separate blog for my new project: AKSHA.

AKSHA is a rebirth of sorts. My most ambitious project to date. And perhaps, its my hope that one day AKSHA will live on independent of me and my far-flung ideas.

At present it is art as an experiment in social enterprise. Over the years I've encountered many artists who've asked me for help. They either ask me a.) how to become an artist, b.) how to reach a broader audience, or c.) how to break out of the cycle of vulnerability that the fickle art market puts artists through.

Each time, I felt puzzled. I wasn't particularly famous or wealthy. I didn't follow a conventional path to an art career (ie. art school + residencies/ exhibitions/ awards + gallery rep = success ...I skipped art school.) Compared to some artists, I take a slow research-intensive approach to making art. I've been more interested in crafting one-off art projects to tell untold stories over the course of years, than in finding a winning formula for making artifacts that generate hype and sell well. (On average, my art projects take 3 years to go from conception to fruition.)

But I am realizing, that perhaps what I lack in convention I make up for in curiosity, hard-headed perseverance, and a genuine interest other human beings.

So here goes. My intent and approach to my Brushsong blog will remain the same. It is my self-serving journal, where I get to wax philosophical, dark and poetic about my creative process as an artist.

As an experiment in cultivating an on-line platform, AKSHA will have a more outgoing approach. Taking a page from business innovators like Timothy Ferriss, Alexander Osterwalder, and Chris Anderson, I will create content that may interest other people--be they artists, entrepreneurs, consumers or all of the above.

My agenda will focus on generating a culture of mindful art and commerce. Weaving "Innovative design and gear inspired by meditation and spiritual practice" with the intent to support artists working within those traditions. Developing the company on a blog means that everything is public--the booboos and bravos. I hope that you will join me in the journey.
___

*Being an educator I can't help draw it back to childhood and think that the segmentation is because we were forced to place every subject in high school--Biology, History, English, Math--in a separate notebook/binder, as opposed to experiencing them a parts of one integrated understanding of the world. (How wonderful would it be to have students integrate their knowledge and skills from each subject into one project at the end of each year or semester? Hey, wait a minute--that sounds like Art!)

Cholamandal Artist Village

2012-06-25T08:57:00.005-04:00

D. Venkatapathy

Upon the recommendation of friend and colleague, Virginia Jardim, while in India I visited a community of painters and sculptors who were at the forefront of the Indian Modernist Movement in the 1950's-80's. They live together just 25 minutes south of Chennai in a place called Cholamandal Artist Village. I arrived at their museum with a friend via a hired car, and was greeted by the manager, S.Nandagopal. Since we had exchanged emails before my visit, he was so kind as to insist on refunding our tickets (R20 each) and give us a guide who introduced us to four resident artists.

This is D. Venkatapathy, a painter whose shock of while hair only serves to underscore his intensity. He told me about the beginning of the artist village, how they built everything from scratch with the help of some government funding and visiting artists and architects from India, Europe and North America.

Then I walked down the dirt street to a house with a large outdoor workshop full of half-hewn bodies in stone. Here, I chatted with Nupur Chatterjee and Rajasekaran Nair in their home studio, a cool, cozy brick abode that feels somewhat medieval with the brick cobwebs encircling their cast iron and granite sculptures adorning every nook and cranny.

Nupur Chatterjee works with metal. Her work is small, taking inspiration from forest floors strewn with mushrooms, tree sprouts, and leaves. (She also has a fondness for drawing cats, and unfortunately I don't have a picture of them here.) She studied at the Shantiniketan Campus of Viswa-Bharati University, founded by Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore. She came to Chennai after graduation, upon hearing about what the artists were trying to establish here and has been here for over 7 years.

Her partner, Rakasekaran Nair, sculpts semi-figurative granite forms that are more monumental and stark in their polished black and rough grey surfaces. "The work is time-consuming and difficult," he tells me. "Granite is the hardest stone." His figures remind me of the soul, sinuous forms breaking free or emerging from the restrictions of stone. Like metaphors for the mind.

This is the self-designed home of the painter P. Gopinath, who was also one of the first artists to settle at Cholamandal Village. Originally from Kerala, he came to study with the founder K.C.S. Paniker (1911-1977), and has since taken a leadership role in the community. His beautiful studio is filled with expansive windows to maximize airflow and light.

His work is saturated by the colors of the earth here (which is often a gorgeous orange) and the spices and surroundings of his native Kerala.

Kenji Matsumoto: Japanese Sensibilities in Indian Wood

2012-06-18T01:44:00.000-04:00

Photo c/o Kenji at japaneseartfurniture.com

Two hours south of Chennai on the southeastern coast of India is a town called Auroville. In stunning contrast to the surrounding region, Auroville is thoughtfully planned, clean, and international. A number of buildings and street lights are solar powered. The town is run more like a collective than an oligarchy.

A view of the Matrimandir, an incredible structure at the center of the town that is wrapped in petals of glass tiles that enshrine real gold. It is an architectural marvel. One can go on a tour and meditate in its white inner chamber lit by a ray of sunlight hitting a clear globe. I felt that I was in a space ship made by magical elves!

Much of the food available is organic and delicious. They have outdoor exhibits featuring the far-off cultures like Khazakstan and Tibet, as well as advancements in green technology.

The Auroville Visitor Center

It is here that Kenji Matsumoto moved from Japan with his wife, Ikebana teacher Valeria Raso, over 10 years ago. He began by using the large knarled roots of felled trees to create highly original stands for Valeria's ikebana arrangements. When the stands became popular, Kenji expanded into tables--creating one-of-a-kind furniture pieces of exquisite beauty by hand.

Photo c/o Kenji

Being June, I was visiting during the hot off-season when Kenji's studio happened to be on break. His apprentices were away and the shop had been quiet. Still, he generously opened it up to show me his tools and talk about his work.

Kenji's process is intuitive. He looks at a raw piece of wood and designs from the existing patterns in its grain. Rather than shave off what others would consider irregularities, he brings them out as beautiful forms. He is a sculptor in collaboration with nature.

I asked Kenji how his work is received in India. He said, like the Japanese, Indian people have a very close and spiritual relationship with nature. Thus, they have an appreciation for pieces that reflect nature's beauty and want such things in their home. The people who commission and purchase his work love that each piece is one-of-a-kind. Such furniture is not as common in India as it might be in Japan and other East Asian countries, where this aesthetic and craft has developed over hundreds of years.

Photo c/o Kenji

All other photographs by B.A.M.

Smoke & Mirrors

2012-02-25T11:28:00.003-05:00

This stone once shone like a pool of water when struck by moonlight streaming in through a temple window.

How often do we seek to fool one another. The sleight-of-hand, the not telling, the hiding, the holding in. Changing the subject. Distraction with pacifier. Shock and awe. The peacock's feathers.

What does one do in the face of purposeful duplicity.

What does one do when one finds one's self chin-deep in a pool of swirling truths and lies. Each mixing, melding and reforming like a marble of stunning complexity. 'Till the original assertions become indistinguishable, each part of a fabric. The warp of beauty woven thru the weft of cunning.

This reminds me of my friend, Somyot Kumsang's fantastic wave of elephants and dragons. He did this when we were together in Bodhgaya. Everyone was stunned. What a fantastic illustration of tumbling thoughts, of confused emotions, and of politicians.

Polonaruwa in the rain on Valentines Day.

I am in love, enamored with this ancient place. In this age, we have the privilege of admiring the hubris of kings, who competed fiercely not just thru warfare--but also thru art--each one building more gorgeous temples to trump the previous generation.

What would happen if art were the medium for warfare today?

The shadow remains of a protector at a shrine.

This stupa was once painted with the milk of a thousand breast-feeding women. (I wonder if they had breast pumps?)

Gal Vihara. A 12th Century Theravada (and Vajrayana?) shrine with enormous statues carved into solid rock. A Sri Lankan monk, Manju Sri Thero, pointed out the vajras at the base of this ancient Buddha carved into the rock face.

An hour and a half away in Dambulla, a film is being created about art and forbidden love. This is Ranjan Ojha who plays Shyam for VARA, Khyentse Norbu Rinpoche's new film.

Throughout my time here, I have had the privilege of interfacing with Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche and Harsha Navaratne. Both movie makers and spiritual men. Leaders of movements, inspiring thousands. They are masters of swimming through the aforementioned pool, I believe. Makers of the cinematic mirror that reflects life.

Here Rinpoche is wrapping up the shooting of his new film, Vara (The Boon). The clay hands are those of Saraswati, Goddess of the Arts, whose statue plays a central role in the film.

Somehow, this all ties together. Art, love and the pursuit of truth.

The Question: Is truth worth pursuing?

Or should we just dance through the marbled water as it falls around us.

Real water. on real stone.

2012-01-26T22:14:00.003-05:00

There comes a time in one's work where it feels like you're teasing at the edge of madness. Where you are living in a movie, and things aren't quite what they seem. Like you've slipped through some rabbit hole, unknowingly, as you toiled through the night.

Its a precarious place. A dimension simultaneously between waking and dreaming.

I recently discovered that pictures taken in moonlight, saturated by long exposure, are somehow richer than those blasted by the rays of the sun. Its as if, in moonlight, objects are allowed a place of rest, to be themselves, to emanate their inner qualities. Their true colors.

These days, I prefer the solitude and quiet of the night to the gregariousness of the day. Ran than feeling blinded by the darkness, I feel as though I can see through things. Beyond the facades and surfaces. No displays, no pretensions, no distractions.

To be able to live in true darkness is a privilege afforded by the jungle. What little light there is surrounds the human dwellings. We are technically creatures of the day, fearful of the dark. And hence, we deprive ourselves of its secrets--and its wisdom.

In these circumstances, what little artificial light there is can blind you to the world beyond its reach. Ironic that illumination can be a source of darkness.

Here is a photograph of the lake behind Larry (the pooch on the porch above). I shot it just moments before meeting him that same night.

I guess I've always been a fan of subtlety. Of saying more in revealing less. Of teasing the audience, making the role of viewing an active engagement of the imagination.

These days, as artists in a world deprived of art education, we have to teach our audiences to see. Most children are not taught how to read paintings, photographs, sculpture. Many have no experience of making it themselves, and so have no insight into what makes art valuable. Half the message is in the process the object conveys. I believe this truly.

Yet, unless we use we use the medium of the vernacular like television, popular music and movies, we are speaking in a foreign language. And even then, if we want them to be moved at a deeper level, we have to take them by the hand and walk with them through the work. Just as my calligraphy teacher would teach me, by letting me experience the ink strokes one after another, hand in his.

I was born on Oahu, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Within two weeks of my birth, I was crossing that ocean to Asia. Throughout my life, I would continue to criss cross between islands and continents. Now, as my work takes me to different countries, integrating different written languages into the fabric of the paintings and projections, I am challenged to speak across cultures as well. I feel as though I am sewing the earth together, just as I might unite different parts of myself.

Perhaps that is why I now find myself drawn to the night. Something about letting down our hair, letting down the curtain, letting down our guard. In sleep, we become vulnerable but also intrinsically honest. In this state, the subconscious rules. And the subconscious is the true judge of art. Intuition, that place behind the theatrics of logic, is the only trump card we have to education. If we listen to it, it will lead us to what is true.

And that place of truth is what makes art a universal language.

Up, up, up...

2011-12-22T13:40:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, in my short life I have seen places in which I felt that Buddhism has become like an empty shell. Places in which the cultures and traditions that serve as vehicles for the message of Siddhartha have become so heavy with habit and obligation that they obscure rather than support the pursuit of freedom. Where prayer is a kind of begging for the granting of wishes. Where there is more of an emphasis on what we can get in this life, than what we can give.

In these places, I ask myself, "What can we do?" Or, should we do anything at all.

Often, I am seduced by the bells and incense, the fervent chanting, the pomp and circumstance of rituals that seem ancient, mysterious and sublime. In the face of such pageantry, why question anything?

Photo by Manjusri Balangoda

But it seems to me that Buddhism is, in essence, a path of questioning. And when we stop asking honest questions, then the sincerity that lights the path of dharma goes out.

It was in this spirit of asking questions that I climbed to the apex of Sri Pada last week with three good friends. Also known as Adam's Peak, this mountain is a site of holy pilgrimage for thousands in Sri Lanka each year. It is believed that Shakyamuni Buddha came there at one point, leaving an impression of his foot on a rock at the top. Christians believe it is where Adam first came to Earth. Hindus come for many different reasons, including a veneration of the Buddha as an emanation of Shiva. And everyone, including a smattering of foreign visitors, comes to see the view.

Amanda and Steve prep for the climb in our hotel room.

Like many, we left our guest house in Nallathanniya at around 1:30am in order to make it to the top for sunrise. Thankfully, the climbing season has been slow to kick into full throttle, and we came on a week day which meant avoiding huge crowds and the blaring speakers making announcements all the way up. Instead, we found ourselves serenely hiking up dimly lit stone and cement stairways, and passing just a few sleepy tea shops on the way. Sri Lankan grandmothers were already climbing down in their flip-flops, which was quite amazing and somewhat reassuring.

After hiking for half an hour, we came to a stream where Ven. Manjusri Thero showed us the rituals that first-timers do to assure a safe and successful ascent.

He gave each of us coins and a lime. We climbed down to the river in the dark to wash the coins with the water and lime.

The coins are then wrapped in a white cloth and tied to our wrists with mantra.

We stopped for tea once and I snapped a shot of this little dog, who managed to follow us up most of the way. (He was far more awake than we.) We gave him a few cookies, and he turned back before the steepest ascent to the peak.

We found this perfect little frog nestled in the corner of a stone step on the way up.

At some points, the climb was so steep I felt I was going to fall backwards! We clung to the rails for support. Its hard to imagine climbing this back before they had steps and rails. But apparently many explorers of centuries past climbed it using iron chains anchored into the granite rock.

The view from the summit just before dawn was breathtaking.

My compatriots, Amanda Keissel, Manjusri Thero, and Steve Francone.

It was cold up there!

Dawn breaks, revealing a magical landscape.

At the top we took off the bands and tied them unto a rod at the base of the shrine. No photos are allowed of the shrine protecting the Buddha's print on the rock. So most of these images are of the view from the rock and the pathways around the main shrine.

Manjusri Thero with new friends. I loved this monk's pink jacket!!! We first met him in Kandy at the Temple of the Tooth, and he followed the same pilgrimage circuit up Adam Peak the next day.

After a blissful stay and hot breakfast at the top, we began our descent down the many, many steps. Only this time, we could see them.

Always good to fuel up on bananas, provided by our beloved monk.

The tradition of unwinding string during the climb causes many layers of gauzy cotton thread to accumulate up the sides of the trail, like a massive spider web to the top.

Demonstrating the Spiderman mudra with the sacred thread. (Photos by MT)

Here you can just barely see the little town where we began our hike, to the lower left of the lake. That's how far we came.

Construction materials are carried up for seasonal buildings. (Photo by MT)

These trinket shops amazed me. This one reminded me of an old children's book about a man selling an enormous stack of hats.

Back at the beginning.

Giant hornet nests hang from a tree with Sri Pada in the distance.

Photo by Manjusri Balangoda

My Little Housekeepers

2011-12-09T08:03:00.001-05:00

As much as we're trained to think of ants as pests, they are in fact incredibly diligent housekeepers.

Living in the jungle means co-existing with an incredible number of insects, both inside and outside. Being Buddhist, I try to practice catch and release whenever I find an inconveniently large or active bug in my bedroom or bath. (I'm not much for crushing large critters.) Last night, I trapped a cricket in the bath room. I have a particular loathing for crickets that hop in unpredictable ways, especially when I'm trying to do my business.

Feeling sleepy, I decided to keep him in the little tupperware trap until morning. Unfortunately, in the morning there were ants around the base of the trap, which told me the little guy had passed away in the night. Sure enough, when I lifted the box there was already a flotilla of little worker ants lifting up the cricket's body the way hoards of pilgrims might hold aloft a statue of the Virgin Mary on the streets of Mexican towns during Catholic holidays.

As soon as I released their fence, they proceeded with their funeral march, right out the door. When I returned half an hour later, not a trace of the cricket remained. A few ants stayed behind to scout out the premises, just to make sure. But otherwise, the place was clean.

I consider these guys my automatic vacuum cleaners.

Gadget Monk + The Original Tree

2011-12-06T12:55:00.002-05:00

The Train Station

Last month I posted numerous pictures of the sacred Bodhi Tree in Bodh Gaya, India. That tree, planted at the spot where the Buddha woke up, is actually a descendent of a tree in Sri Lanka called Sri Maha Bodhi. This tree happens to be about an hour away from Islander, in Anuradhapura.

Sri Maha Bodhi

The left-most trunk--the one supported by the golden poles-- is the oldest and only remaining branch of the original Bodhi Tree brought to Sri Lanka in 288 BC. It is the tree with the oldest recorded history in the world. (The other branches are new off-shoots or grown from cuttings.)

It is so holy, that three tiers protect it from pilgrims. (As you can see, I'm on the lowest wrung.) I was accompanied by the Venerable ManjuSri Thera, who was able to go to the top because he happened to be friends with a monk who was sweeping at the time. (In the picture below, he is the orange spot meditating in the right hand corner.)

And here he is in the flesh, the last in a row of men representing the Buddhas of our age.

We stopped for lunch in Mihintale, at a gorgeous grove filled with ruins called Kaludiya Pokuna or "Black Water Pool".

I immediately loved this place! Huge granite boulders still bear the marks of walls built to house the many monks who practiced here. You could imagine them bathing in the lake amidst stupas and the countless turtles that still live there.

A bit of a techie, ManjuSri Thera keeps his SLR lens cap in his shoes during our picnic.

With Anil, our gracious driver.

Exploring nearby caves. To the right of the entrance, you can see the ditch that collected rainwater for this hilltop hermitage.

ManjuSri deduced that this was the site of a reclining Buddha once upon a time. You can still see the remnants of his legs and the shrine form on the wall. Sadly, this site has been pillaged by thieves searching for treasure.

(All photos with me in them were taken by MajuSri Thera.)

Elie Crossings: A hike through Ganapativanum

2011-11-24T22:14:00.004-05:00

I love this street sign.

A warning to those new to Sri Lankan country driving: NEVER honk at an elephant crossing the road, thinking that will make it cross faster. They are not cows. And they could get upset and turn your car over.

I heard that this actually happened to one unfortunate Sewalanka driver who was new and hadn't been much out of Colombo.

Lawrence and Shani of Hansa Coffee--my favorite Sri Lanka coffee company--came up for a visit to Islander last week. We took a hike around the land in the area known as an elephant corridor, called Ganapativanum.

Fittingly, one of the first things you come across is a Ganesh shrine by side of the dirt road there.

A native of Seattle, Lawrence has an amazing knowledge of the island's flora and fauna. While on this hike, I enjoyed the many tidbits of trivia he'd pull out about one nondescript plant after another..."This is for snakebite." "This is an aphrodisiac." He's an experienced herbalist, and someone I wish I had in my back pocket to pull out now and then.

A delicate Sri Lankan Passionflower and bud.

Amanda points out weaver birds' nests. We found one that had fallen off the tree, and I brought it back to my work space.

(It now functions as a convenient duster, unfortunately).

An idyllic elephant look-out amidst rice paddy fields. This place looks like a heaven for poets.

As you might imagine, elephants can wreak havoc on crops.

Lawrence's foot vs. Elephant foot

Mushrooms growing in cow dung.

Here's another elephant look-out.

Here's Steve, attempting to get into that treehouse.

This hand-carved stone belongs to the time of the Anuradhapura kings. It was used in the dam system to irrigate the paddy fields year-round, although we don't know exactly what it did.

The Islander lake at dawn.

The view from the entrance at sunset.

The Gala

2011-11-19T01:25:00.000-05:00

This is the piece showing at the Tibet House in NYC this Saturday, Nov. 19. Its on auction to benefit the International Network of Engaged Buddhists future art programs, and was created in Bodh Gaya this past month during the International Arts Gathering set-up by the International Network of Engaged Buddhists (INEB). I've been remiss in posting pictures from that conference, but needless to say it was a crucible kind of experience.

Tents were set-up in the courtyard, tables and stands in each dormitory hallway. There was paint, canvas, paper, and clay strew about the various buildings.

Thirty-three of us creative-types, plus at least a half-dozen INEB organizers, descended upon Wat Thai Buddhagaya for seven days. We came in by bus, train and air from seven different countries. We barely shared any one language (except of course, the language of art). Needless to say, the poor monks and nuns had no idea what they'd signed up for when they agree to host us.

We held performances and slideshows in the dining hall hours after the nuns went to bed.

We sketched each and every nook and cranny.

We explored the art in new temples being built.

We visited holy sites. This is on Vulture Peak, where the Buddha first taught the Heart Sutra.

We had impromptu photo op sessions on the roof of buildings.

Some of us made absolutely incredible art.

We were inspired by the company of holy men, who were also artists.

We got our hands dirty.

We came with some pretty incredible work all ready to exhibit.

In short, we worked hard and had a blast. I met an incredible array of artists working in South and Southeast Asia. It was really a kind of cross-cultural Buddhist art college of sorts. It was a remarkable opportunity to be exposed to multiple traditions at once. Here's a list of us all:

Thai artists included Bhanuwat Kittivuthikarn, Mareeya Dumronophol, Apisak Wattiwanpol and Somyot Kumsang, Sitthichai Smanchat, Supot Singhasai, Surasak Rodphrohboon, Suwat, Saenkattiyarant, Chatchawan Rodklongtan, Lipikorn Makaew, Phra Pol Kuwiangwai, Peap Vara Misara Prakitsilpa, Plaek Kitfuangfoo, Boonrat Na-Wichai, Pornchai Chaima, Sone Simatrang, and Songdej Thipthong.

Indian artists included Kaustav Paul, who studies ceramics at Visva Bharati University in Santiniketan, and Bodh Gaya artists Anish Kumar, who studied Tibetan thanka painting in Nepal, and Jagjeevan Kumar, who is a self-taught artist.

Wang Jian and Zhang Hong hailed from the Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts in China. Nguyen Xuan Viet came from Vietnam. Tiane Vilayphonechith and Chaleunphone Phonnabouth traveled from Laos. Zaw Win came from Burma and I flew in from the United States.

What a way to dry clothes!

2011-11-11T06:29:00.001-05:00

Its 11-11-11. I just have to say that. It may mean absolutely nothing, and pass without much event. But if you believe in the beauty of numbers, of the stars, calendars, serendipity and the universe, then perhaps its significant. At the very least, its poetic. Happy 11-11-11!

(I saw her, perched on the side of this cliff, above a river on the road from Bodh Gaya to Rajgir. And I was amazed.)

Bathing with Crocs

2011-11-09T13:12:00.002-05:00

I loved the bouquet of flowers this driver stashed in his tuktuk. Even three-wheeler drivers talk on their phones and drive. This road to Islander isn't paved, so it was like riding a bucking bronco on top of that!

The locals bathe and wash clothes in the lake everyday, unafraid of a family of crocodiles that lives here too. The baby is over 5 feet long. They said the crocodiles don't bother them. (No, I haven't gone in yet.)

One tree on the lake is the evening abode of two different flocks. Black birds (which sleep in the upper half) and white cranes (which sleep on the lower branches).

Almost full moon rising over Islander.

Free to Roam

2011-11-06T12:02:00.000-05:00

Back to the present... Yesterday I made the early morning journey from Colombo to Islander, Sewalanka's retreat center just an hour from Anuradhapura. I have to say, it feels a bit like I'm on a safari--I've seen more wildlife in my first two days here than I've seen in the last two years. On an hour-long walk before sunset yesterday, we saw peacocks flying around the jungle, monkeys playing in the trees, a kingfisher catch a fish, a green hornbill, a star tortoise, butterflies, giant dragonflies, frogs, a miniature scorpion, and geckos galore. Today, on a day trip to Anuradhapura, our bus whizzed by a family of three wild elephants stomping into a poor farmer's rice paddies. Unfortunately, I was only ready with my camera to catch a few of these marvelous beasts... so here is a tortoise, some people, geckos, and cute puppies.

The setting sun caught this tree so dramatically on our trail, I had to take a picture.

A family from the surrounding village stopped to say hello.

Somewhere between the 5th century BC and 11th century AD, the Anuradhaphura engineers built brilliantly calibrated irrigation systems that kept farmland watered year-round. The British were flabergasted when they discovered them, as no such system existed in the Western world. Islander is built around one such "bund" and they have excavated it out of the jungle.

Peacock tracks.

Front porch friends.

Amanda, my host and Sewalanka figure for 10 years, having lunch with Govinda, a Korean volunteer at Islander. (Apparently, Indian friends named him after the Bollywood movie star.)

Other than about 30 Sri Lankans, my company consists of two Korean volunteers and a French expat, Arnoud, who makes amazing ice cream. (More on that later.)

Minju's interior insect fortress.

There are no screens whatsoever at Islander, and the roofs are lofted above the walls for airflow. A fabulous design, except for the faint of heart.

Path to the dining hall.

Resident cuteness

Husking coconuts

Path lined by a living fence, newly trimmed.

A Temple by Moonlight

2011-11-05T11:14:00.002-04:00

After the light offerings to close the INEB Conference, I stuck around the Mahabodhi temple until it closed, captivated by the serenity and golden light that night.

Lamp offerings outside the side gate.

Pilgrims bedding down for an over-night stay beside the Bodhi Tree. I have to say, I was really impressed to see these specially designed meditation nets--a must for insatiable Indian mosquitos and all sorts of free-wheeling beetles and bugs.

Late night offerings for the Buddha inside the main temple.

A thousand Marigolds left in offering overnight.

A golden quilted lotus offering.

A Room With a View

2011-11-03T23:35:00.000-04:00

From my room this morning in Colombo

Sri Lanka is so wet and green, its such a nice respite from the brown vastness of India. On the descent, I was delighted by the dense jungle and endless rows of coconut trees. And its just lovely to be in a city by the ocean!

Sandstone and gold

2011-11-01T02:49:00.000-04:00

The Mahabodhi Temple this morning

Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche, who was in Bodh Gaya for the INEB conference, commented casually that the first temple was destroyed and this one was built by Muslims. Apparently, they then built a mosque on the site of the original temple, which was not next to the Bodhi tree but on a plot that is outside the current temple complex. (He then wondered if the mosque was for sale.)

This is Wat Pa Buddhagaya, which is one of at least six Thai temples in Bodh Gaya, and the site of the main conference. Its right behind the Mahabodhi Temple grounds, and you can see the spire in the distance. I snuck up on the roof of the monks' quarters with a few Thai artists to take pictures. (Here we are in a rather serious pose.) They told me that this temple is created for the Forest monks tradition and the art is in a style typical of Chiangmai.

While he was here, Aut (center), installed the new lotus throne in the inner courtyard behind the Bodhi tree, which is usually inaccessible. (My pictures are only through the sandstone fence around it). He told me that he was at the temple until 4am doing the gold leaf, and had caught a cold in the process. I'm not sure who commissioned him, but it underscores what an international project the Mahabodhi Temple is. Later that week, Richard Dixie told me that the new gold spire of the temple was created and installed by Nepali master metalsmiths who had to scale the face of the temple to put it on.

Here's the view behind us that isn't usually seen from the town. I wish all of Bodh Gaya were like this! The streets get a bit dusty and its easy to forget we're just a few minutes from verdant fields.

The Tree (and piglets)

2011-10-31T13:33:00.000-04:00

The last 2 weeks in Bodh Gaya at the INEB conference have been amazing. This is a descendent of the bodhi tree under which Siddhartha was enlightened, on the same spot with the shrine erected around it. I've visited it just about everyday, what a powerful place. In touching my forehead as the pilgrims do, I could almost hear him breathe, feel his skin. His presence is palpable.

I've a lot to catch up on, since I haven't been on the internet much this whole time. But I find it only fitting to begin here. ...and to add an adorable picture of pigs. This is sort of what Bodh Gaya is like--a mind-blowing juxtaposition of the most sacred spot in all of Buddhism and families of pigs sleeping under a little shack on the way to a little concrete coffeeshop that serves carrot cake and cappuccino.

London: The Tate Modern

2011-10-17T11:43:00.001-04:00

The Unilever Series by Tacita Dean is analog in the most fundamental sense in this digital time. Edited film with knife and tape on a table. For some reason, its whimsical surrealism reminds me of Dali. But perhaps that's just because I saw "Midnight in Paris" on the plane over from San Francisco.

(btw, I'm not that keen on Virgin America but love Virgin Atlantic. It was the easiest flight over.)