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This weekend an “earth-shaking” literature event is taking place: Reading the World X, a conference dedicated to multicultural literature education, held in San Francisco, CA at USF. I say earth-shaking because my lovely neighboring city of San Francisco, is rumbling with the footsteps of attendees from all over CA and other states, who have gathered together to celebrate, educate and share with one another—a wealth of voices in multicultural literature. Guest speakers include: Ashley Bryan, Naomi Shihab Nye, Alma Flor Ada, Leslie Tryon, Laurence Yep, Sarah Ellis, Peter Sís, Rita Williams Garcia, Jack Zipes and Doris Orgel.

I’m honored to participate as a presenter my first year at this event. Today, I’m putting on a workshop titled From Hawaiian Talk Story to Printed Page. I’ll be leaving shortly and will update this post with stories, updates and hopefully, pictures. Stay tuned…

The above image is from the picture book, Starry Messenger: Galileo Galilei by Peter Sís, which graced this year’s Reading the World X posters and promotional materials.

Peter Sís tells an evoctive, multi-layered tale of growing up behind the Iron Curtain in Czechoslovakia in his picture book, The Wall. I couldn’t put this book down even after it turned dark and I had to read with just the inside car lights on. (I brought the picture book along on an errand, hoping to squeeze it into my day–which I did!)

In the car’s dim lighting, I learned how the seemingly innocuous, yet twisted schooling of the boy, mounted up to a lifestyle of paranoia and fear. He hears of a relative being thrown into prison for planning to defect to the West. His parents no longer speak freely in front of him and his sister for fear of being ratted on by them. However, the boy’s internal walls, erected and reinforced by Soviet society, begin to crumble long before the Berlin wall does, thanks to his love of drawing and hunger for artistic expression.

Sís captures the flavor of youth’s innocence amid sordid world views through stunning pen and ink illustrations, graced with sensitive, carefully-placed color washes. Read this book and relish the visuals, but take time to read the timelines at the beginning and end of the book. Much more than a memoir, it summons a fresh take on Communism and the Cold War. Other reviews on The Wall can be found here (must sign into the NY Times) and here.

I look forward to hearing Mr. Sís speak, along with other children’s literature luminaries, at Reading The World X, a multicultural literature conference held next month at USF–it promises to be an enriching event. I’ll be an attendee, as well as, presenting insights on Hawaiian storytelling. Stay tuned!

When my son was a toddler, he’d get super excited when we included peas in his meal. He called them “balls” and he’d throw them around the kitchen. He would also shake, rattle and roll–practically blast off–in his high chair whenever he played with…I mean ate…his food. This illo (a mix of ink and colored pencil) was a drawn a while ago when he was 1.5 years old. He is now 15. You do the math.

Cheers! May you soar with your dreams (and soar in your dreams) in 2008!

Hey, I made a virtual snowflake! I went to one of the best online artsy crafty sites around–it’s fun and relaxing, sophisticated yet simple to use. It allows redo’s, previews, downloading and saving as a photoshop or .eps file. My snowflake was modified in photoshop using the gradient tool (in the background layer) which I tweaked with the sponge filter.

Create your own snowflake here.

Love things that sparkle? I know I’m not the only one who does. The holidays bring out the sparkle bug in all of us. Think of all the people who flock to view those overly-decorated blinking homes on display during the holidays. On a recent trip to Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, we (my family and I) saw a gigantic whirligig sculpture from a distance–a landmark for The American Visionary Art Museum (AVAM).

Trekking toward the whirligig, we came upon a mirrored tree marvel (top photo). It was comprised of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of mosaic mirrors with colored plastic and glass embellishments along its trunk, base and “branches.” Hanging delicately off the tree branches were dangly mirrors of assorted shapes and sizes which caught the afternoon sun at the perfect angle, setting off a mini light show that bounced and danced off the sidewalk, the street and us!

We entered the museum, turbo-charged for more delightful discoveries. (AVAM is incredible. A must-see next time you’re in the Baltimore-Washington DC area.)

Check out the cool up-close, lovely details. The name of the sculptor TBA (as soon as I find out).

Here’s to home-grown shiny and festive. Promise not to send PETA after my father-in-law? Paul grew up hunting the wilds of Chesapeake Bay (pre-suburbia) and this deer head, a gift from his brother, hangs in the family room. Paul’s decorating-diva spirit definitely got the best of the deer–the lights, beer cans and a blinking doodad on its nose–so not Martha Stewart!

Paul strung up even more colored lights along with his hand-crafted contraption of pine cones and beer cans placed on a retro beer-tab chain hung along the walls and ceilings of the room. Can you imagine him on reality TV: Straight Former Hunter-Chemist with a “Queer Eye?” Not! Well, at least, he can express bright, shiny and festive!

Ana Mendieta was a Cuban performance artist who lived in New York in the 1970’s. The title Where Is Ana Mendieta, not only refers to the suspicious circumstances of her death, but to the nonexistent presence of the work of women artists in mainstream exhibitions, to the absence of work that portrays the aesthetic rooted in Latino cultural identity.

Mendieta boldly explored women’s identity, sexuality, and spirituality in pieces that were deceptively simple. Her work was constructed from the elements themselves, dirt, water, and light in their most basic forms; her themes revolved around the ideas of burial, rebirth, submersion in the natural world. From a perspective beyond the dominant culture's construct of nation, a construct of governments, the hegemony of conquerors, Mendieta's work reverberates with a older, indigenous idea of nation. It challenges the viewer to envision an idea of nation and identity based on a direct relation to the Earth itself.

In a series entitled Tree of Life, Mendieta flattened herself against a large oak tree. She is naked, covered with gesso and paint to simulate tree bark. Where does the tree stop and Medieta begin? Where do we stop and our connection with nature begin? Simply done and deeply resonant. I immediately saw a connection between this piece and a Mexican/Chicano idea of rootedness to place that is not hemmed by borders, but by history and ancestral links to land, to nature itself.

In another, untitled series, Mendieta is shown in a series of photos. Again, she is naked, this time in an isolated field. Next to her is a skeleton. The photos show her climbing onto the skeleton, embracing it. She creates a powerful image of the life/death cycle, as well as a quintessential Latino commentary on mortality. At the heart of existence, life and death are united in an eternal embrace. In the midst of life, its fullness, its lushness, its sensuality, Death is constant companion. While modern, European-based culture constantly seeks to avoid aging and mortality, there are traditions that accept its centrality. Mendieta brilliantly illustrates that death is both the beginning and endpoint of all things.

Mendieta worked closely with a variety of feminist artists, but did not label herself as feminist, and I understand the reticence in using the label. The women's artistic community did not offer a truly supportive relationship, and while she had meaningful connections with individual artists, her work was not be adequately appreciated by feminist and post-feminist critics. In a nutshell, Mendieta did not invent a new relationship to body and Earth, she reclaimed an ancient one, but was never embraced by the 'larger' artistic community.

I was profoundly moved by her work. The work is poetry, visual poetry, poetry made flesh. These are clear, visceral, and direct images that I hope to use as a touchstone in my writing and performing, particularly in performing. I want to tell a personal and universal story with my body, and Mendieta has created a standard for me, as well as strengthening and deepening a physical lexicon.

Blocker’s writing is dry and extremely formal, making this difficult going as a reader, but don't be dissuaded by that. I wonder if some of the density of language was more an expression of Blocker's own inability to grasp and express the power and simplicity of Mendieta. However, the book sings when Blocker allows the work to speak for itself.

ISBN-10: 0822323249
ISBN-13: 978-0822323242

Mind you, gente, there can be no substitute for a Daniel Olivas post, but he's getting a little well-dererved R & R, so consider this a humble placeholder. -- LA