workshops & other collaborative events
With Iso Rabins
In a blend of the visual and culinary arts, artist Kat Geng and co-founder of Forage Kitchen, Iso Rabins, each prepared a mouth-watering soup in collaboration with guests. Geng and artist Robin Birdd created a sculptural readymade broth while Rabins built an edible savory stock of ingredients, found and foraged, by the guests. All guests were invited to participate in or observe the process and enjoy the end results. This evening of shared meal making was in conjunction with Lost In The Found, a solo exhibition by Kat Geng at Royal Nonesuch Gallery in Oakland, CA.
The Assemblage Line
activated at Counterpulse and Art Night SF
When given an empty canvas, I stare intently at my toes as I wiggle them, plan which wall to remove and couch to shift were the place mine, examine my palms as I ponder my life as written in wrinkles and wonder which wrinkle is Wednesday’s. One might say I do nothing. I certainly do not make a thing. The plain sheet of paper with its limitless possibilities stares back at me blankly. If it had a tongue it would be sticking it out tauntingly.
And so then, when all hope of a masterpiece has vanished, and the page remains empty, I do one of two things: I scrawl or I scrap.
Scrawl: I write most imprecisely. I scribble down what someone mumbled on the muni, or what a sculpture whispered to me, an inspiring line or word in a book or an uninspiring one or a feeling I am having, or an urgent question. In fact, lots of questions. And then questions about all my questions.
Scrap: I consider all the scraps, dig through my bins for the right ones. Scraps are all the objects we overlook, throw away, abandon, forget, use and discard, they are the remainders. They often need a scrub. Each hold their own story, trigger a memory and a feeling. And sometimes they are just colors and shapes and supporting roles for other scraps.
A scrawl always leads me to a scrap. Or a scrap to a scrawl. I’m never sure which will inspire the other. But the concept and object meet. Then they get acquainted.
When the mind gets in the way—as it does sometimes—I scribble. Not words just marks. Short lines, long lines, dots and spots and intentioned squiggles.
So you see, with some words on a paper or objects in my hand I am no longer wiggling my toes or staring at a blank page, I am making. I share this with you because I find few better remedies for a rough day than artmaking and perhaps you too would like to start from scraps.