The Girl who Loved Insects

Lithops Dialogues in Diaspora

I realise insects have held a strong, if shifting, narrative all the way through my life. As a child I loved all forms of animal life. I had a rabbit as a best friend. I felt deeply hurt in incensed when I witnessed my brother burning ants with a focussed ray of sunlight through a magnifying glass and saw my mother casually crush snails underfoot because they were eating her plants. Teenager-hood shifted that empathy. I became ‘fearful’ of insects not out of a deeply held terror but more out of an adopted gendered response. I thought it appropriately feminine to yell for a family member to come and kill the insect I encountered in my suburban setting (now I was the killer). I am pleased to say, my family never took my urgent requests seriously, even to the point of laughing at me.

Choosing to study fine arts after leaving school, my degree show was all about the relationship between humans, insects and the city and I created hybrid, monster insect-city, insect-human fusions. I chose this subject matter partly because the particular cockroaches in my city centre existence were truly terrifyingly large, odious and suitably apocalyptic symbols. Those were dark days in the 80s. In depicting and sculpting cockroaches, I was partly trying to find a way to come to terms with living with them and also attempting to loose my fear of insects I had developed. The endeavour was partially successful, I love all insects except city cockroaches.

Hunt my Tongue

Intense focus on insects passed out of my life until seven years ago, when I found myself living a rural life engaged in an intense series of mythological, archetypal, photographic, naked self-portraits. I was unable to work during the cold winter months and developed a keen interest in the flowers of the fynbos growing all around me. I photographed every single species of fynbos flower that emerged painting with light in the dark of night, the same technique I was using for the self-portraits.

I became interested not only in the fresh flower in bloom but also how its form changed in the process of dessication and death. I noticed when the flower was dying, it was the most fertile time for the plant as the seeds are growing in the expanding ovaries. As my knowledge of flowers deepened, so did my powers of observation. I became aware of the close relationship between plants and insects and I began to image insects. Because my photographic process requires long exposures and working in the dark with a moveable light source, it necessitated the insect be still for many minutes at a time. An impossibility for any living creature. Death, a necessity for my technique, is also a theme extending through all of my work.

Mysterium Fascinans

Ever since I re-named myself Kali, at age 30 while living in Berlin, after the Indian Goddess of creation and destruction. Death, decay, waste and the darker more hidden aspects of life became threads weaving through all my creativity. At the age of 39, I witnessed the death of my mother due to cancer. I experienced that close to imperceptible moment when she just never took another breath. A moment so quiet, yet a moment that changed everything. (Before the undertakers arrived, I redressed her cold stiff rigor mortis body.)

I am interested in the impact death has on physical form. The death pose providing hints as to the final moments of life, whether they were traumatic, defensive, unexpected or peaceful. My real interest lies in bringing some life back into the inert form in a way that is honouring of the existence that particular being led. Joseph Campbell, the great mythologist, identified creativity as “the God-power in this world”. Finding ways to re-animate the dead through photographs can provide some hubristic power although I definitely put myself in the category of a fumbling demigod.

I hold all of life as sacred and never kill any form of life in my creative endeavours. They are all finds, gifts from friends, or in the case of larger animals, birds and snakes, tragic victims of roadkill. Roadkill is a sign of constant human encroachment on wild territory and spaces so there is less and less habitat for wild animals to survive. It is with such mixed feelings that I receive any animal killed on the road and it becomes an imperative for me to pay tribute to their lives. I do so through photography, re-animation into perpetual motion films and an alternative form of taxidermy that doesn’t involve any cutting.

Call of the Void

Providing a setting for my re-animated life forms, is where my work enters the theatrical. In this part of the creative process, I become the director of a play, staging a scene by placing the various “actors” (insects, plants, animals) in relationship with one another. Relationships that are more revealing of my own state of mind than any realistic reflection of what takes place in nature. The backdrop to my photographic theatre is our greater home, a view out into the universe, courtesy of the high resolution, Hubble Telescope, public domain astronomy photographs.

With more and more sophisticated technology, we are able to look deeper and deeper into matter and at the same time deeper and deeper into outer space. I find these opposing viewpoints we are able to expand into completely fascinating. In some small measure, it parallels my own bionic vision. I have one eye that focusses near with the other focussing in the distance. I had my eyesight medically restored from severe cataracts I developed in my mid forties. It was both comforting and frightening living in a misty, blurry world and my extreme attention to detail in all my photographs is testament to my continuing delight with my now sharp vision.

Ultimately I feel my work speaks to interconnectedness of all of life. the incredible balance and mutual interdependence of everything. I see a proliferating metamorphosing oneness that throws up infinite different reflections of itself. At the same there is a delicate balance between eveything which can be easily shifted. Humans are presently seriously upsetting this balance in their lifestyle choices which strip, poison and decimate natural resources in constant expansion and consumption. I see myself as a visual advocate on behalf of wild animals, plants and insects who are not able to communicate directly by themselves and so I hope that my images in some way touch people to appreciate the incredible beauty of fynbos flora, to find the smaller six or eight legged creatures fascinating, to see that wild animals have as much right to survival as we do as humans. In fact the mass extinction of other species will ultimately mean our own extinction as well.

Probing Fissures in Time and Reason

 

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The Girl who Loved Insects

Escaping the city and Dark Light

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I escaped city living through a temporary house swop, a friend who had built her dream home away 3 hours outside of cape town needed to return to the city for work and medical treatment, I wanted out of city life. It was a wonderfully mutually beneficial arrangement that lasted for two and a half years before we managed to extricate ourselves from each other’s houses. It enabled me to without major financial commitment establish a life away from a city dependence.

I have not looked back and seven years later, I still live a rural life. My reason for leaving the city were many but the driving force was that I was changing careers from a documentary filmmaker back to my first love, art. I studied fine art formally at university but found that other interests and adventures pulled me in directions I had never anticipated. Studying art is both a blessing and a curse. It enables you to situate yourself within an art history context expanding your visual and cultural references and for this I am grateful. But it also stifles spontaneity and for me it severed my trust with my instinctual creativity because, so I was taught, there was a “”right and wrong” way of going about things according to lecturers biases. It took me five years of an chaotic, anarchist, experimental life in Berlin to undo my formal art education. And by that time I was more interested in filmmaking.

Filmmaking led to photography and that was a big reason why I left the city. I began an intense series of transformative self portraits using a photographic technique called “light painting”. The technique enabled me to transcend the solid flesh of my body and capture elemental energy forms. In all the portraits I am completely naked. Clothing felt too restrictive and identifying. I became immersed in discovering ancient, inner, mythological archetypes which were re-interpreted through my 21st century perspective. In order to access these much deeper layers, I needed intense focus, a lot of wild space, and quiet, exploration I found impossible in the pressure, noise and congestion of the city.

The mythological self portrait series I termed ‘Dark Light’ for I felt I was making the unknown visible, through (my own) embodied form in a way that could be captured on camera. It was immensely liberating as I felt I was finally freeing myself from a voyeuristic male gaze I had inadvertently internalised my whole life and was. It turned out to be a full time three year project, discovering and presenting myself through my own eyes.

During this time, I was taking long walks through exquisite fynbos which I was fortunate enough to be living in the midst of. It felt very organic that I transferred the same light painting technique and intense vision into exploring flowers. In fact one Dark Light sub series is the mergence of my female form with various proteas. So began my fascination with flowers, plants, expanding to insects and animals.

Escaping the city and Dark Light

Wholeness & Brokenness

Wholeness and brokenness seems to be a theme running through this latest batch of work. I have only  seen it now, yet it also seems to obvious and also such a vast nebulous topic that one could almost say any image is about wholeness and brokenness. In general our lives speak to this immense topic.

Listening to Marie von Franz on dream interpretation, she says that at the core of Jung’s psychological approach is individuation, finding out what our uniqueness is about and giving it expression. Everything in the universe is individuated, no two trees are alike, no two leaves are alike, no two stones are alike, no two bees are alike. Discovering our uniqueness involves a dialogue with the soul which goes beyond the rational. Dreams are messages from the soul, the deeper part of ourselves. At this deeper level there is uniqueness yet also wholeness and connectedness (the collective unconscious).

I have to admit, my creativity is spiritual. There I have said the unmentionable, the very thing one should not talk about in the art world – spirituality. It’s as if spirituality becomes trite in the art world. I do agree that there can be an aspect of trite spiritual art, that is all about rainbows, haloes and dragons. I would say that kind of work is more craft than art.

This is my second attempt at being an artist. My first attempt at being an artist involved attending art school at a university after leaving high school. I graduated with a fine art degree and an advanced diploma in art which took five years of study and practice. Afterwards, I went travelling, landed up and Berlin not long after the wall came down and that became the place where I pulled my formal art education apart. It took the same amount of time dismantling as i had spent studying, five years. After those five years, I no longer wanted to be an artist.

I re-incarnated myself as a self taught documentary filmmaker. I was so happy to answer “filmmaker”, when people asked me what do you do? I could see the awe in their eyes. People would reveal to me that being a filmmaker was always something they had secretly wanted to do. We all love movies and going to the cinema and sometimes fantasise about the movies we would make if we could. Previously when I answered “artist” to the “what do you do?” question, I heard the sigh and pity in peoples’ voices.  The legend of the poor, starving, mad artist is ubiquitous.

Now I am back in the art game. And what a game it is. I thought I knew some of the rules after I left art school, but at that time I didn’t know what I wanted to express. My life experience was rather minimal and middle class protected. Re-entering the art world has not been easy, just to understate the difficulties. Fresh out of art school, the doors of the art world seem to gape open to a privileged, young graduate of a prestigious school. Re-entering, the doors appeared firmly shut. After a 20 year break, you are forgotten. Now you no longer have the right credentials, no recent exhibition history, no accolades to recommend or judge you by. The harder you try knocking on the locked doors, the more you are seen as unworthy of any attention. This is the  strange, defeating, circular logic of the art world I have encountered.

The interesting part of returning to personal art, is that I am realising how much of a documentarist I actually am in my creativity. Each night I document some creature, plant, fruit, vegetable, stone, egg, anything I have come across or been given that is of interest to me. The process of photographing is a deeply meditative for me. At night I enter into a parallel world, where the realities of the day are forgotten, and the expanse of deep, nocturnal blackness opens up. I enter into stillness and time becomes elastic. An hour can seem like a night, five hours like a few minutes. I don’t even realise I am in the void. There is no subject, there is no object, there is no form, there is no not form. Just the click of the camera aperture on long shutter brings me back.

I have vast archives of photographs, just my insect images number over 6 000. I can only do around 30 photographs on a good night. So that amounts to 200 nights of photographing insects alone. I have over 7 000 images of flowers and plants and so it goes on…

Presently I am in the stage of collaging together the individual images from my  documentary archives. This becomes a really creative process for me. This is the time when I wonder and ponder and question myself. What are you doing? What are you trying to express? Photographing is a intensely creative act for me because of the chance provoking method I use to light up my subjects. But there is a certainty in that there is an actual subject/object in front of me. Collaging enters into the abstract, the scene needs to be created and everything is open to change.

Back to the theme of wholeness and brokenness. I am finding the visual language to express the mystical experiences in my life. You know you have had a true mystical experience when you are no longer afraid of death. You intimately know in your bones that death is but a transition. Having experienced the Eleusinian Mysteries in ancient Greek times, it was said that one too lost the fear of death. But you were put to death if you revealed the mysteries, a strange self defeating deterrent…

Words are not my friends yet. I feel pinned down by them, like an insect in an entomologist’s collection. Images are open ended, they have multiple, layered meanings. Words can play multiple tunes but only in a wordsmith’s workshop. I am persisting with this blog because I am determined to be on a more friendly basis with words. I feel my soul is calling for me to use this medium and that I should make myself a little more comfortable and adept in this linguistic medium. So do forgive me dear guinea pig reader. The good part is that everyone is blogging and revealing all sorts of things about themselves and their lives, so I don’t feel so all alone.

And this is what emerged today with the theme of wholeness and brokenness…

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Wholeness & Brokenness