SLAG MAG: Peace

Vol. 2, Issue 3

A pubLIcAtIon of the oLd furnAce ArtISt reSIdency

Featured Artists Chloe feldman emison chloefeldmanemison.com Walter Early walterearly.com Francesca Gagliano FrancescaGagliano.com Jodie Geddes facebook.com/groups/PoemsbyJackie/ Kasia ozga kasiaozga.com Denise Philipbar denisephilipbar.com Klaus pinter klaus-pinter.net Eli Tamondong projectileimagery.org Marie tomanova marietomanova.com

SLAG MAG, Vol. 2, Issue 3 Š 2015 published by Jon Henry - Guest curated by andrea collins Edited and designed by Elizabeth Ygartua A production of the Old Furnace Artist Residency The Old Furnace Artist Residency is an ongoing artist project curated by Jon Henry. The residency is located in Harrisonburg, Virginia. It is open to all forms of artistry: sculpture, painting, video, sound, conceptual, poetry, fiction writers, critical theorists etc. Special attention is given to practices which are focused on social justice and being socially engaged. Emerging artists are especially encouraged to apply. O.F.A.R. is accepting residents through 2015. Visit oldfurnace.tumblr.com for more information and to apply.

introduction PEACE? Who owns this word anyway.

Everyone from God to Black Lives Matter lays claim to it.

If only those German Jews had had guns, right?

The Colt .45 Peacemaker won the west, right?

Make love not war, right? Then again, cruel to be kind means that I love you baby, right?

Are you a pussy if you’re for peace? Can a pussy make peace?

Is peace a human right? Is it a concept? Is it a pursuit? Is it the absence of violence, or can you really be calm, serene, and tranquil while gutting people from another culture?

Is peace natural, or are these things natural: domestic violence, gang violence, forced prostitution, slavery, bullying, racism, homophobia?

Mother Teresa said “The greatest destroyer of peace is abortion because if a mother can kill her own child, what is left [but] for me to kill you and you to kill me? There is nothing between.”

How do you feel when a “peace officer” pulls you over to the side of the road?

Lean on peace too hard, and it breaks into thousands of fragments.

In this issue of slaG maG we give the artists a go at them.

— andrea Collins, guest curator   

It seems we can’t go a week without reports of massacres, bombings, collateral damage, public shootings or stabbings, police violence, domestic abuse, and human trafficking. What are artists to do in this situation of seemingly perpetual aggression, especially when aggressors claim their violence is for peace? For this issue, I’ve invited guest curator Andrea Collins to co-examine this ever-present paradoxical paradigm. — Jon henry, artist and creator of slaG maG & o.f.a.r.

Marie Tomanova Photographs from POSITIVE BIOLOGY series, 2014: Shower Curtain, 12x18 inches Statue, 12x18 inches Hotel Bathroom, 12x18 inches

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Eli Tamondong body solidarity

this body is my favorite outfit mine to wear mine to care for mine to share no borrowing without permission this body is my favorite underwear supportive comfortable protective I wear it all the time this body is my skin my armor my shield my sword sisters take the streets soldiers united protecting one another in this naked wilderness

(re)charge

enter the electric wash of meditation step by step down the stairs through the thick air waves step by step blue green melting into each other twisting the light bodies glow stretch lay close open and inhale awakening spirits through the skin vibration improvisation scratches the mind until the dancer turns and turns and turns the floor into their comfortable heart shape eyes observe without judgment sometimes they leave too early sometimes they leave too late sometimes they leave to return sometimes they leave to leave but all in attendance refresh and the minds take a spiritual coffee break

don’t call me baby

the brave heart terminator in fishnets and wig sets fire to the apathetic paper fist crunch push thrust to the storm of the disco ball rainbow this is not the fifties

we will work out to pop music pop film to make believe make out to the heartbeat drum jump roll rope the credits the princess is the warrior in this three legged slow dance

Christina Massey

Details from “Business & Pleasure” series, 2011 Sewn painting collages

Kasia Ozga Boys Will Be, 2015, shown at the Industry of the Ordinary Project Space in Chicago “The work, a wall drawing made using toy army men and hot glue, was part of a larger shows, Boys will de Boys, juxtaposing celebratory conspicuous consumption and the reality of recent racially motivated street violence. Composed of multiples of a ubiquitous childhood toy, the work examines the role of play in socialising youth and asks the audience whether a tendency toward violence is innate or culturally grounded. Rather than offering a clear vision of how children act or misbehave, I ask whether we, as a society, desire a culture of peace?”

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Walter early Mandala series 2015 printed on vinyl 24 x 24 inches “These images are collaged geophysical data from aggressively mined sites in Canada. The data is manipulated into the form of a mandala as a way to visually return the site to a sacred and peaceful state.�

Klaus Pinter 6 SLAG MAG

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Denise Philipbar A Moments Peace I’ve spent my life hoping for peace but have only experienced fleeting moments of it.

Born into the era of Vietnam, images of war raged across the evening news while my parents discussed whose son or brother had just been drafted and who managed to dodge that draft or not. I dutifully wore my MIA bracelets feeling like I was somehow helping to end the conflict and bring out boys home.

Finally, when I was entering high school, the war ended and America experienced a brief moment where, at least on the surface or in my naive youth, I though it was at peace in the world.

Sitting here contemplating peace, I realize that it is an ideal I know little about because I so rarely have encountered it. I remember lying on my bed after school wondering if the plane flying overhead carried nuclear warheads, while a deep anxiety enveloped me. Maybe growing up in the state where the first atomic bomb was detonated added to that. I’m sure it didn’t help. I’m not sure, as I look back, where I got the idea that “they” wanted to drop “it” on us came from.

Did someone tell me that?

Was it a message I received from a class in school? An

evening news program? My parents? I don’t remember where I learned to be afraid, but I know it has colored my life in shades of radioactive psychedelia that now appear in my paintings.

When I was a child, I was not allowed to have a moment’s peace. My mother is addicted to drama determined to inflict her dependence onto her five children and husband. If she wasn’t home, the house would grow quiet for a while, at least until a couple of kids got into, which with so many so close in age was a common but short-lived occurrence. If the house grew quiet and she was home, I knew it was just a matter of minutes before chaos would erupt and perdition would rule for hours.

As a child, peace came when my mother went out.

Peace. I seem to only be able to define it in terms of what it isn’t. It isn’t war. It isn’t noise.

It isn’t chaos or violence. It is a lack. It is an abstinence, a sobriety, a temperance, a nephalism. When I’m painting, this is often how I tackle a difficult passage to paint. I work around the area that won’t resolve. I whittle away at the difficulty until I understand the boundary of what is and what isn’t

until with only a brush stroke or two left, it is complete.

I stand back and am often amazed at how easy it was in the end to resolve, while it was a struggle to get there— anxiety ridden, anything but peaceful.

I dance around the idea of peace trying to find the boundary. While I write this, my home is tranquil by design. My eye of the storm. It is an ideal I’ve worked towards for decades, even as chaos swirls just beyond my window panes.

My mother is thousands of miles away. And while Putin is rattling his uber macho sword at Europe, Kim Jong Un has just announced his first foreign visit will be to Moscow. While ISIS rises up in the Middle East from the ashes our country has help to create there, Israel decides if BiBi will continue his rule. While the democrats and republicans continue circling each other like a pair of out of shape sumo wrestlers, stomping and jiggling, top knots swaying, Hillary prepares her run. I’ve realized that peace, for me, is bounded by the walls I have created both physically and mentally to keep Gehenna surrounded at least for a while. Peace is a state of being one creates for oneself.

Francesca Gagliano Pigeon People, 2007,Oil on Canvas 42 x 42 inches, 2007

Chloe Feldman Emison Chained, 2010 Pen and ink and watercolor 14 x 11 inches

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Jodie Geddes I am From…

I am from porridge in the morning and Jamaican hard-dough bread Pots and pans banging at the crack of dawn The place where green tea has always been a staple known for solving tummy aches and the occasional serious injury We have and continue to love like two oceans meeting The smell of flowers growing in an open field Rice and beans in El Salvador I am from Kings and Queens with crowns in multiple places On the corners of streets in small zip lock bags Behind bars Heads laying on a cold twin bed In the soil where many tried to bury the history of the black and brown body I am from Queen Nanny and the Maroons Slaves in the Blue Mountains Mothers who nurtured souls in the Nile Whips and chains Stolen and changed names Bodies stacked like sardines traveling across water I am from that body that cried when he realized his mother would never come back He would not remember her name He would only remember the look in her eyes when she was taken I am from there but I am also from here The Maya Angelou and Tupac The rose grown from the concrete The Bellis Perennis remaining pretty everlasting I am the dandelion to the bee sting Soothing the wound of a young child I am from the plantation in the americas I am a star on the flag waving through the bombs bursting in air I am a hot day in winter A white flake melting Dripping into a pothole I am the wool beneath your fingers Whispering its way through a natural woman’s hair I am a magnolia leaf stretching its petals to catch a glimpse of the sun at its highest peak I am many things beyond my existence I am love, sadness, and a flourishing garden

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