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Love and Death at the NIH by Michele Banks

I first started experimenting with watercolor about 10 years ago, and from the beginning got into “wet in wet technique.”  To paint “wet in wet” you paint a base color and then add other colors to it while it’s still wet.  This allows the different colors to bleed into each other, making interesting patterns. People who saw my wet-in-wet work at shows kept mentioning how much it looked like cells under a microscope, so I found some images of cells in mitosis, or cell division, and discovered that they did indeed look a lot like what I was doing.  After looking at the images I began actually trying to paint cells, but I guess I’ve been painting them for about a decade.

Last winter, when DC was buried under several feet of snow, I decided to finally make a move into online art sales, opening up a shop on Makers Market, a juried online marketplace with a scientific bent.  The cell pieces were instantly my most popular, so I’ve been making more and more cell images.  I’ve been showing my work, mainly at art festivals around DC, for about 10 years.  Selling online connected me to a whole new audience and provided a creative shot in the arm. A bunch of biologists bought my work, and some of them suggested new subjects, like bacteria or blood cells.  One buyer pointed me toward “brainbows” – a series of images of mouse brain cells dyed in bright colors.  I loved them, and the images inspired me to begin painting brain cells.

I was talking about this new work with an artist friend, Sean Hennessey, who mentioned that he was having a show of his work at the National Institutes of Health (NIH) and suggested that my cell paintings would be a good fit. The curator at NIH agreed, so I started to conceptualize this show. I decided that a whole show of mitosis paintings would be a little boring, and I wanted the exhibit to have a stronger theme.

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I got to thinking about how activity at the cellular level underlies major upheavals in our lives, like falling in love, giving birth and dying.  I decided to divide my paintings into two groups – love and death.  It’s a kind of ridiculously grandiose theme, but I’m a lover of opera and Russian literature, and heck, go big or go home, right?

I learned a whole lot of anatomy and biology while painting these pictures.  I looked up microscopic photographs in books and on the web and did many practice paintings, trying to get the balance right between accuracy and artistry.  The “love” paintings focus on the cells that are involved in attraction and desire – the skin, eyes, and ears, the brain and the circulatory system.  I’m very proud of my blood vessels, especially my abdominal aorta.  (That’s not technically a cell, but ok, too bad.)

For the “death” paintings, I depicted three microscopic killers – bacteria, viruses and cancer.  The cancer piece really hit home, because I lost both my parents to pancreatic cancer over the last decade, and I had never really approached it in my art before.  And I included two mitosis paintings, because cell division underlies the whole process of life and death.

I’m really happy with the work I’ve put together for this exhibit, and I feel like it’s opened new doors for me creatively. The exhibit opens January 14th and will be up through March 5, 2011 at the NIH Clinical Center West Gallery (10 Center Drive, Bethesda MD 20892.) For more info about getting to NIH, see: http://www.nih.gov/about/visitor/index.htm

Michele Banks is a self-taught artist based in Washington, DC.   She stayed in school for 20 years, picking up degrees in non-art-related subjects from GW and Harvard.  Michele then set out for Europe, spending five years as a management consultant in the UK and Russia.  After getting married, moving to Bermuda, and having a baby, she came back to DC and started to paint.  Michele has been showing her work locally since 2001 at galleries and festivals in the DC area.  She has served on the steering committee and the board of Artomatic, and her work is in the DC government’s Wilson Building Collection and the permanent collection of Children’s National Medical Center.  Michele lives and paints in an apartment in DC that she shares with her husband, daughter and cat. She sells her work online at artologica.etsy.com.  You can follow her on Twitter @Artologica.

In the Kitchen Chopping Vegetables by Jenny C. Lares

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She’s chopping carrots
on the bamboo cutting board
the knife slicing,
permanently and irrevocably.
She asks me when I came home last night
in the beat to the blade
rocking on the board.
She leaves no time for pauses
and continues on a motherly tirade
each stroke closer to my tongue
escaping out my mouth
and the inevitable slap across my face.
Ladies don’t come home at 2am.
Her words reverberate,
resounding off the board
and only the scraping of steel on bamboo
occupies the space between us.

In our fury, blood, spit and
a million misunderstandings
spill over with one misstep.
Our words are curt and sharp
as that knife and we battle
endlessly as we’ve been taught.
Neither one backing down
because pride is all we got
in common, and a struggle
I articulate in my college rhetoric.
When really all she wants to know
is if she raised a good child,
a good daughter.
Her personhood founded on
being a good mother.

As she starts to mince onions,
my silence stings with each passing second.
I want to tell her:
I am good.
Just not in the way she wants.

Jenny C. Lares is a poet and the Founding Co-Director of Sulu DC, an underground network and home for Asian American and/or Pacific Islander (AAPI) multidisciplinary artists in the D.C. area. On the 3rd Saturday of every month, she curates a showcase of emerging and established AAPI artists from local and national scenes. Ms. Lares also hosts the 4th Tuesday Open Mic Night at Busboys and Poets (14th & V). She has featured at Busboys and Poets, Artomatic, and Mothertongue, and has performed at the APIA Spoken Word & Poetry Summit(s), the Bowery Poetry Club in NYC, and the Asian Arts Initiative in Philadelphia. Her work was recently published in the anthology, Walang Hiya: literature taking risks toward liberatory practice, published by Carayan Press.

In the Kitchen Chopping Vegetables by Jenny C. Lares (c) Copyright Jenny C. Lares; printed by permission of the author. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons (cyclonebill).

Black Swan

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Photo credit: Niko Tavernise

Director – Darren Aronofsky
Writers – Mark Heyman, Andres Heinz & John McLaughlin
Choreographer – Benjamin Millepied

Most mainstream dance films are part of the romantic dramedy genre, but “Black Swan” is anything but typical.  This haunting dance movie chronicles the cycle of obsession through three phases: normalization, realization and confrontation.  We meet Nina (beautifully interpreted by Natalie Portman), a stunning, talented yet troubled ballerina – she is the new star; an up and comer, slated to dance the coveted role of Odette/Odile.  Moving up the ranks from soloist to principal is an exercise in duality itself; excitement and accomplishment coupled with anxiety and nervousness.  Most dancers find a way to navigate this new territory, but for Nina, a fragile individual already teetering on the brink of sanity, the consequences of her promotion are disastrously fatal.  Though set in the world of ballet, “Black Swan” really focuses on the psychology of delusion.

One of the first things you notice about Nina is how her compulsive ritualistic behaviors have normalized in her life, almost to the point that the bizarreness has anesthetized into regularity.  Despite being rooted in self-hatred and her desperate need for perfection, these patterns have de-emphasized and re-interpreted into normalcy and comfort for her.  When these demons are habitualized, they become hard to identify and define and thus, impossible to escape.  One particular manifestation for Nina is in the picking and pulling of her skin.  Again, the underlying issue here is perfection (or the appearance of perfection), so when faced with a blemish, cut or scratch, Nina is unable to let it heal on its own.  Every mark on her body was far more than just a physical abnormality.  For her, it spoke of a flawed existence and thus, she sadistically and methodically peeled it all away.  But this process of normalization can only last so long.  The facade will eventually crumble when you are forced to admit, confront and feel that which you have buried.  Nina’s casting as the fractured Swan Queen was the catalyst that released her own fractured personality.  She was not taking the role into her life, the role was embodying what was already happening in her mind.  Living it out inwardly and now outwardly (in the studio and on the stage) ultimately took her over the edge and brought the shattered pieces of her subconscious to the surface in a way that she had been able to control in the past.  She had moved away from normalization and onto the processes of realization and confrontation.  For some, this emotional journey provides healing and understanding, but for Nina, the pain could not be conquered.

“Black Swan” is another movie that purposely utilizes shaky camera work.  I was actually a little surprised that there wasn’t a note on the theater door warning that people with motion sickness might experience some dizziness throughout the film.  No matter how jarring it felt in the audience, what an appropriate choice for Portman’s Nina.  An unsteady frame for a neurotic psyche.

My Hometown by Sarah D. Lawson

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My hometown rocks bombs made of paper and steel
It is equal parts pomegranate and salt water
Rummages through ashes of hopes and history
and tourists lined up for a view

My hometown weeps for steady soil and handshakes
Unbroken promises or steel embedded dreams
It is the dream of antiquated generations and
adolescents and, sometimes, even me.

My hometown’s rockets speak Russian
and whiz through Diaspora
It is a fingernail in the much larger
ocean of the universe
But it sticks on my lungs like the
labored breath of its shade
The smoke of Yafo or the
symphony of sirens as the sun sets
on another week

Here, echoes are the only thing we can all agree on
The neutral nature of sound when it drips off tongues

Like the notes spoken when you ask if I’m Jewish
Upon my yes, “It’s pretty fucked up what’s happening in Israel”
Word.

But I am not the Gaza Strip.
Not the walls of women wailing as their houses are leveled
Not the dismantled boy whose healthcare
is on the other side of a checkpoint.

I am more Rachel Corrie than the bulldozer
I am never the bulldozer
Or the soldier whose only Arabic is “stop or I’ll shoot.”
I do not hold a PhD in conflict resolution.

But I do know this
When my eyes roll back for sleep
there is a firework of a Tel Aviv sunset
burned on my resting corneas
Wholeness exists for me only in the
desert of the south
or the Shuk on a bustling Friday

Scents of roasted chick peas and spiced teabags
Real and comfortable
like home

My hometown taught me how to coexist over
Arak in Ashkelon bars
Wake to Shakshuka with Sabras in hotel rooms
And worship stars for peace from bomb shelters
my students used as a library in the Golan

So when I wake up at night, sweaty with nightmare,
It is my hometown anthem pumping in my eardrums
Like the soundtrack of my own funeral
My hometown, I am tethered to you
So please, for my sake,
Could you learn how to behave?

Sarah D. Lawson is a .org girl raised in the suburbs of D.C. She is the co-founder and Slam Master of the Beltway Poetry Slam and sits on the board of mothertongue, DC’s premier women’s spoken word organization. You can find her on stages from Spit Dat to Sparkle, organizing events through her co-op housing in Adams Morgan or attempting to squeeze 27 hours out of every day. She sat on the steering committee for the 2010 Capturing Fire slam in conjunction with the Split this Rock Poetry Festival and was a member of the Jenny McKean Moore Poetry Workshop at The George Washington University.

My Hometown by Sarah D. Lawson (c) Copyright Sarah D. Lawson; printed by permission of the author. Photo courtesy of Sarah D. Lawson.

Nick Leitzke on Plenty

In this Murmur DC post, Nick Leitzke discusses the idea of “plenty” in America, and what it means for him as a music collector. Here is an excerpt:

“We take many things in life for granted. An endless supply of essentials seems to surround us. We will never deplete the resources that are necessary for our survival, and we can live our lives knowing that everything is in the black. My car is always on a full tank of gas. My bank account is always ready to accommodate my rent. Starbucks will never run out of freshly brewed coffee. These are a given. The very notion that any of these resources will run out is absurd, because we sit on an endless reserve of everything. This is America where plenty is an entitlement. Don’t ask me about emergency plans because people who speak American don’t have ’emergency’ in their vocabulary.

But the necessary things never last. I will eventually have to break down and fill my tank. I will have to check my online statement to make sure my balance is roughly where it was last month. There will be that one busy day where the line is out the door and I might have to wait four minutes for a fresh cup. Exhaustion of any or all three of these things will derail a good day. Lack of plenty – that is the one thing Americans refuse to accept. The day a lack of plenty hits America is the day the Earth stops spinning on its axis. (But isn’t there a recession going on? Shhh-shut up!)

Then there are the things I know I can’t live without. Recently I made a discovery that turned my world upside down. I am the kind of music collector who treats his collection like a collection. Any real comic book connoisseur will house his collection in plastic sleeves with proper cardboard backing to preserve the newsprint and the spine. The same is true of a music collector. Stick those records in plastic sleeves if you have a shred of decency inside you. Is that CD in a cardboard digipack rather than a plastic case? Get yourself some CD-size sleeves and protect that thing, you unruly savage. Preserving the collection ought to be priority one for the collector. Before that album goes on the shelf, make sure you have it taped shut and safe from the elements.

Crisis struck when I ran out of record sleeves. Every time I bought a new record I took another sleeve from the pack, well aware they would run out one day. I had no need to worry, though. This is America where nothing runs out. Records stack easily, as long as you stack them upright to maintain their integrity. The day arrived when I pulled the last sleeve from the pack, and I didn’t worry too much. Just stack them next to the player so they’re already in grabbing distance. The stack is growing larger? We’ll get more sleeves eventually. Don’t worry.

Denial is the real American virtue. The scope of the crisis didn’t fully hit me until two weeks ago when I made the most shocking discovery of all. My CD sleeves ran out. Not only did my CD sleeves run out, but I had multiple Amazon orders en route. This can’t be! My world is…I don’t even know. What am I going to do with all of my new children? It’s going to mean going online to the place I purchased all my sleeves to begin with, but what will I do in the meantime? Think man. Think.

If there is one thing that times like these call for it’s cleaning house. Take a good long look through that collection and find the pieces you haven’t touched since the day you bought them. Ask yourself if you really need them and then make that difficult but necessary decision. The choice is hard, but there are any number of sleeves in this collection that could be used for new acquisitions.”

Click here to read the complete post.

Image in the post is of various album covers, from Leitzke’s post.