Indigene - an artist monograph

Indigene

“Bloom,” video loop and ﬁlm stills on aluminum.

Copyright, 2023.

“Welcome,” The word welcome in Arabic, digitally manipulated photograph. 2008.

Preface:

WhenIusethetermindigene,itistoassertmyrighttobelongtothehumanraceandthis planet,toassertallofourrightstobelongregardlessofethnicorigin.Nooneisaliennor somehowlessdeserving. Eventhestatelessarefirmlyrootedonourplanet.Weallbelong, forthesimplefactthatweexist.

Idonotusethetermtousurpnorunderminethegreatpeoplesofindigenouscultureson TurtleIslandandelsewhere.Isuspecttheywillbetheonestosaveusfromourselves,the oneswhowillleadusforwardastheplanetdescendsintoclimatechaos.

Godknows,wewillneedguides.

Being AI is All the rage now. You can spend all your time painting, playing music and reading books.

Self-Portrait as AI, mixed media, 2023.

1. Hereweare

Weareallindigenoustotheplanet.

Weallbelonghere.

Manyofuscannotpinpointexactlywherewearefromonthisplanet.Itdoesn’tmakeusanylessdeservingto exist.

Somepeoplethinkthatthismulticulturalismisanewphenomenon,an“Americanexperiment.”

Maybeitisnew,atleasttotheextentitistoday,butsomepeopleforget.

Theyforgethowlongandlargehumanhistoryis,aninsurmountablechasmoftime.Wedigdeepintheearth, foragingtherubbleofempireslonglost,tryingtodecipherforgottentruths.Ofcourse,thisdoesprovideuswith someofthestory,butmaybenotall.

InthecollectiveWesternconsciousness,forgottenaretheRomanruinsscatteredacrosstheMiddleEast. Forgottenisthe800yearoldMoorempireinAndalucia,nowmodernday,Spain.(Intermsoftime,that’stwo UnitedStates’.)Cleopatra,thelastrulingEgyptianQueen,isadescendentoftheGreek,AlexandertheGreat. AncientPersia,moderndayIranhadhighwaystoAfrica,AsiaandEurope.

We’veneverexistedinneatandtidyfactionsofculture.

We’vebeenappropriatingfromeachothersincethedawnofhumanexistencebecauseitisournaturetoshare, learnandgrowandyes,sometimes,steal.We’vebeensharinggodsandgoodsformillennia.

Howwearrivedatthispointintime,Isuspectisafarmoreintricateandinterestingofastorythantheonewe aretoldandtheonewehaveforgotten.

Buthereweallare,ploddingalongonaspinningplanetthatisflyingthroughouterspaceatdizzyingspeeds wonderingwhyweexist.

Theexistentialiststellustocreatemeaninginthefaceofmeaninglessness.Religiousfolktelluswearebeing tested,thatwewillbedividedintotwogroups,goodpeopleandbadpeople.NewAgersthinkwearejust havingexperiencesthatwillmakemoresenseoncewearedead.TheBuddhiststellustonotworrysomuch,to justliveinthemoment.Someofusdon’tbothercontemplatingthewhys.Theyarehappilyconsumedwiththe detailsofdailylife.Othersstill,arecaptivatedbyamassingwealthwhileothersonlythinkaboutfame.

It’sallveryperplexingandifwewerehonest,alittleabsurd.

ThefearofdeathiscalledThanatophobia.Itisonefearthatweallshare.

Ihavewonderedoftenwhythiscollectivefearhasnotbecomeaunifyingfactorinourspecies.Whydoesnot ourfearofdeathpromptasupremeempathyforeachotherinlife?Whydowekilleachother?Whydowekill theplanet,thatwonderfulorganismthatsupportslife,ourlife?

Strangely,accordingtoSigmundFreud,itisactuallythefearofdeaththatcausesthisaggression.Hecallsitthe deathdriveorinGerman, Todestrieb. Itisthedrivetowarddeathanddestruction,oftenexpressedthrough behaviorssuchasaggression,repetitioncompulsion,andself-destructiveness.

Ithinkitisnihilism,anutterragethatonewilldie,whichinturngivesbirthtoanimpulsetodestroy.Theultimate, “IfIcan’thaveit, noonewill”mentality.Itisasupremelyselfishact,theultimatetempertantrum.

Wewhoexisttoday,inthismoment,havebeentoldtimeandtimeagain,thattheplanetcannotsupporthumanlife formuchlongeraswearelivingnow.It’sassimpleasthis.Wemustchangeourcollectiveways,oursystemsof societyifwewanthumanlifetocontinueafterourownindividuallifehasceased.Iwonderifitnotalackof imaginationthatcausesustopersistinthistrajectorytowardsannihilation.Perhaps,itissimplyamatterofusnot beingabletocomprehendnotjustourownstateofnon-existence(atleastinthisform)butalsoourabsolute inabilitytocomprehendahumanlessearth.

Whatisthepointofwealthifthereisnoonetoinherit?

Whatisthepointoffame,ifthereisnoonelefttoremember?

Whatisthepointofkillingothersforlandthatwillinduetimebecomeuninhabitable?

Whatisthepointofkillingothersforresourcesthatonlyhastenourspeciesdemise?

Itisinsane.

Wearelivinginatimeofcollectivepsychosis.Acollectivedeathdrive.

2.OfCircumstance

MynameisRulaJones.

MyfirstnameisfromSyriaandtheytellmeitisalsothenameofasmalltribethatonceexistedinancient times. I’mnottotallyconvinced.

ItisalsoLatinfor one who leads,whichisalotofpressure,frankly.

IreceivedthisnamefrommyMother,Dalal,aformerbohemianofBeirut,…”when Beirut was the Paris of the Middle east before the civil war.”

SheiswhollyAmericanizednow,inherownway.AretiredEnglishlanguageprofessor.

MylastnameisJones.Socommon,bothmeaninglessandmeaningful,itcarriestheweightofcolonialism andslaveryimportedfromWales.IreceivedthisnamefrommyFather,acowboyfromTexaswhotriedto makeitbigbytravelingtheworld.

Sometimes,peoplefindthiscombinationextremelyamusing.

“Howdidthathappen?”Iamoftenasked,likeI’mananomaly,somebizarrecreaturetowhichImust immediatelyowethemanexplanation.I’mverygoodnowatrecitingmypast.Icandoitinlessthantwenty seconds.

WhenIwasyounger,Iwouldmutter,pauseandstumble. Iwasunsuremyself.

Ididn’tevenknowwhat“our,”asinmynuclearfamily,officialreligionwas, until4thgrade.

Duringaridetoschool,IhadaccidentallyletsliptomyfriendthatSantaClausewasnotrealandmyfriend’s Motherbecamefuriousatmeandshouted,“Youwouldn’tknow.Iknowwhatyouare!”

Later,IaskedmyMother “what we were”andsheexplainedthatweareMuslim.Iaskedherwhatthat wasand shejustreplied,“It’stoocomplicatedtoexplain.”Ineverrodetoschoolwithmyfriend’sMotheragain.

HowwasItohaveknown?WecelebratedChristmas(minusthereligionpart)andnooneevermentionedGod, nordidweevergotoaplaceofworship.IneverdidanythingMuslim-likeeither,exceptreceivemoneyand clothesandgoodfoodonsomethingmyMotherwouldadmonishwas“thefeast!,”asifIweresupposedto intrinsicallyknowwhat the feast wasallabout.

ItisexceedinglyeasytoconverttoIslam.I’munconvincedmyfather,whogrewuplooselyBaptist,inthewilds ofTexas,wasseriousinhisconversion. IthinkhejustwantedtomarrymyMomandwoulddoanythingtomake thathappen.

Ionceaskedmyfatherlateron,“WhichGodisright?”andhereplied,“eithernoneorall,”whichisveryconfusing forakid,butwhichuponreexaminationasanadult,Iviewaswiseandredemptive.

Imustadmit,consideringtheeventsofthepastfewdecades,ithasindeedbeeninterestingtobefromtwo cultures,toputitvery,verysimply,“atodds.”

DuringthefirstIraqwar,Iwasin6thgrade.Atlunch,aboysittingacrossfrommedeclared,“Wearegoingto blow themupandsendthembacktotheirAllah.”

AndIlaughed.

Immenseshameovercamemeafterwards.Idon’tknowwhyIwouldlaugh.Hewastalkingaboutkillingpeople whowerenotsodifferentfrommyrelativesinSyria,whomIlove.Ihavebeenstaunchlyanti-wareversinceand eversincetherehasalwaysbeenwar.

Confusionofculturecomesquitenaturallytome.Whenmyhusband,Anthonyalmostgotintoacaraccident,I crossedmyselfandrecited(asbestIcould) Bismillah al rahman al rahim, whichmeans“InthenameofGod,most Gracious,mostCompassionate,”butwhichIthoughtmeantsomethinglike God help me!

InArabculturetheyarealwaystalkingaboutGod.It’sGodthis,Godthat,Godeverything.Idon’tthinkasentence isevercompletedwithoutinvokingGodinsomeway.Alas,inAmericanChristianculture,wearenotsupposedto takeGod’snameinvain.Itis“blasphemy”todoso.Thus,IwasalwaysgettingintotroubleinChristianschools.

”Godhelpme,”I’dsaybeforestartingatest.

“Thankyou,God,”whenIpassedatest.

“OMG,justleavemealone,”whenIgotintotroubleonceagainfor“takingthelord’snameinvain.”

Nottoolongago,mycat Sirius or Siri forshort,diedsuddenly.Ifeltinstinctively,wemustwraphiminaclean, cottonclothandburyhiminourgarden.Andsowedid,whichwasratherMuslimofmetodoso.Then,Irecited “thelord’sprayer,”whichIlearnedfromEpisopalianBoardingschool.Lastly,Ilitacandleatnightforhisspirit. Maybeallreligionsdothelatterpart.

Beingmulticulturalisbothliberatingandisolating.Peoplelikemeexistontheperipheryofthings,watching,both longingtobeincludedandgratefulthatwearenot.

how to live and die Hold On.

go. Keep Going.

Let

ART KID

Acrylic Painting, 4 ft x 4 ft. 2019.

Ihateperforming.Ihatethesweatsandshakinghandsprecedingperformance,,theabsoluteconvictionIwillforget allmylinesandwordswhileonstage.Thiswasnotmerestagefright,asIbelievedforyears,butratherbecauseI amanHSPoraHighlySensitivePerson.

HSPisnotapersonalitydisorderbutratherageneticdispositionthataffectsapproximately20percentofboththe humanandanimalpopulation.PeoplewithHSParenotnecessarilyshynordotheysufferfromlowself-esteem. Theyare,rather,keenobservers.HSP’sexperiencerealitysointenselytheyneedsignificanttimealonetoprocess themassiveinformationtheyacquired.

Thus,itwasperhapspoorluckthatin1996,IreceivedafullscholarshiptoattendWagnerCollegeinStatenIsland, for“voice”inthehopesorrathermyMother’shopesthatIbecomeanOperaStar. Isang twoItalianariastoa sourlookinggroupofmusicprofessorsandmyfatewassealed.

Allmypeerswereattendinganice,localcollegeinNorthernVirginiawiththefreedomofbeingundeclaredwhileI hadbeenmarkedfor“greaterthings.” Notsurprisinglyafteronlyoneyear,ItransferredtoMarymountManhattan College,droppedmusicandimmediatelyimmersedmyselfinthevisualartprogram.

IlearnedtorevelintheanonymityofNYC.NoonecaredwhoIwasandIfoundgreatfreedominthis.Icould observemillionsofpeopleadayinnocuouslyfromthesidelines.Insuchadenseplaceofhumanity,onelearns things.Onelearnsaboutthedepthsofhumancrueltyandalsokindness,andaboveall,theunrelenting,resilienceof thehumanspirit.

Energy.Thecollectiveunconscious.Telepathy.AllthesethingsarerealandlivinginNYCwillleaveyouinlittle doubtabouttheirveracity.

Itwasthiswhirlwindofhumanenergythatinterestedmeasayoungartist.Iwantedtocontributetoit,interruptit, andinterveneinvariousways.

3.ArtKid

Oneexampleofmedoingexactlythatisthefollowing.

IprintedonehundredcopiesofHansChristianAndersen'sfairytale, What One Can Invent. Irolledeachprintup intoatightscrollandwrappedthemwithbeautifultissuepaperandribbonandthenleftthemontrainsthroughout thecity. Thestorybegins:

‘Therewasonceayoungmanwhowasstudyingtobeapoet.HewantedtobecomeonebyEaster,andtomarry, andtolivebypoetry.Towritepoems,heknew,onlyconsistsinbeingabletoinventsomething;buthecouldnot inventanything.Hehadbeenborntoolate–everythinghadbeentakenupbeforehecameintotheworld,and everythinghadbeenwrittenandtoldabout.

"Happypeoplewhowerebornathousandyearsago!"saidhe."Itwasaneasymatterforthemtobecomeimmortal. Happyevenwashewhowasbornahundredyearsago,forthentherewasstillsomethingaboutwhichapoem couldbewritten.Nowtheworldiswrittenout,andwhatcanIwritepoetryabout?”

Thenhestudiedtillhebecameillandwretched,thewretchedman!Nodoctorcouldhelphim,butperhapsthewise womancould.Shelivedinthelittlehousebythewayside,wherethegateisthatsheopenedforthosewhorodeand drove.Butshecoulddomorethanunlockthegate.Shewaswiserthanthedoctorwhodrivesinhisowncarriage andpaystaxforhisrank.

"Imustgotoher,"saidtheyoungman.’

Readthecompletetaleat:

HansChristianAndersonholdsaspecialplaceinmyheartandimaginationforalthoughhisstoriesforchildren fairedextremelywellwhilehewasalive,hediedthinkinghimselfafailurebecausenoneofhisworksforadults didparticularlywell.

AnotherprojectIdidwastocreatehand-sizedclayheads,caricaturesofhumanfacialexpressions.Thesurfaces werepaintedwithbright,acrylicpaintmixedwithsand.Theywerecomedic,oddandfun.Iplacedtheminperfect cubeboxes,andthenwrappedthemcarefullyinpaper.Theboxeswerenotsignedbutratheracardwithmylogo wasplacedinside.ThislogowascreatedfromaninkdrawingIcalled The Thinker. Theseboxeswerethenbicycle messengeredtovariousartgalleriesinChelsea.Ineverfolloweduponthesespecialdeliveries.Iwondertothisday iftheyarestillinsomeone’spossessionoriftheyweresimplythrownaway.

Notknowingthereactionsofthepeoplewhofoundthestoriesorofthosewhoweregiventheheadswaspartofthe artpiece.Itisanalogoustohowourbehaviorscanhaveanimpactontheworldinwayswearenotawareof.

DiaryofaProduct

Theygavemeaname andIfeltmyselfbecomethename.

Proudofmylogo, Iwaseagertoleavetheproductionline, impatientlywaitingmyturninacquisition.

Thelineworkerssaidnottohurry, thatIhadtime, butIwastooanimated.

Atthestorehouse, theyshinedmycomponentgoods makingsuremystickerstayedsticky andworkingpartsinorder.

WhenIwasaccidentallyscuffedup fromamis-handler, theyrestoredme withaninvasiveapparatus.

Ididwellinthesubsequentexhibitions, Comparablewiththeothermerchandise.

Still,Ifeltawkwardinmyproductdisplay andslightlyembarrassedofitsflashydesign.

Myshelf-lifepassedon andIdetectedintheirworriedglances ThatIwasnot,perhaps, functioninguptoexpectation.

Itriedhardertooperate accordingtothemanualissuedwithme butIfeltthatsomeofthecommands wereunwarranted.

Eventuallythesupplytodemandratio dwindledandstill,Ihadnot consummatedatransaction.

Ihadbecome,theyexplained,a marketrisk.Inshort,Iwouldnotbe goodfortheirgrossmargin. Asmyproductsatisfactionwas nownegligible, servicingandan upgrade,wasneeded, andIwasrecalledtotheproductionplant.

Afterproddingmewith instruments,they detectedIhadan internalflaw, theresultofahumanerror.

Afterdeliberatingtheydecided thatrepairwasnotworththeirtime asnewermodelswerealreadybeing fabricated.

Ishowedthemanufacturermylogo andexplained Itismyname.

Hesaid, “Don’tWorry, Itpeelseasilyoff.”

4.TheMiddlePath

TheMiddlepathisthepaththatissaidtohavegivenBuddhaenlightenment.Afteryearsofextremeself-denial,he cameuponthisidea,theconceptofmoderationanditapparentlyworked.

TheMiddlePathhaseludedmesinceIwasborn.Iammoreofanextremist.

MaybethisbehaviorbeganwhenIwasachildintheU.K.MyMomwouldgivemeacoupleofpoundsforthe shopsandIwouldexcitedlygoroundthestoresandpurchasecandyandteenmagazines.Atthattimecandywas fairlycheap,1por2papiece,sowithonlyafewpoundstomynameIcouldpurchaseahundredpiecesofcandy easily.Iwouldeatthemallinadayortwoallwhiledreamilyadmiringpopstarsinmynewmagazine.Thiswould occuralmosteveryweekendwhenIlivedinLondon.

Inthestates,therewasColaandFritosbutasIgrewolderandmoreconscientiousofwhatIlookedlike,Idecided sugarwasbadforme.

Andthen,Idecidedallfoodwasbadformeandstoppedeating.

Ihadtogotogrouptherapyandlearnhowtoeatnormallyagain.Meandtheothersingrouptherapywouldsit theremournfullylookingatoursalads,eachofuswonderingexactlyhowmanycalorieswereinthesaladdressing.

Itwasanallornothingmentalitythatextendedbeyondfoodtoeverything.Iwouldeitherfailmyclassesorace them.Iwaseitherintotalloveorutterlydismissive.Iwaseitherinperfecthealthorteeteringonneardeath.Black orwhite.Badorgood.Extremetoextreme.

Ihavetowatchmyselfasanadult.Re-parentmyself.IfI’mnotperfect,orinaperfectsituation,that’sfine.I acquiesce.Iletitbe.Itrynottorunifthingsbecometoodifficult.Iamtoogiftedatgoodbyes,tooreadytosay fuck it.

ThesedaysItellmyselftositandbewithwhateverdifficultemotionIamexperiencing.Itrynottoreact immediately.

Itisnoteasy.

It’saworkinprogress.

Iamnobuddha.

WET a poem in word & watercolor

Andit seems a man would make an Ophelia of me too attempting to weigh me down with heartbreak to a watery death

But

we are not the same Ophelia and I.

I am more Gaea than he could ever possibly imagine.

Bodies of water are not tombs but life’s blood and creatures of the deep are friendly natives of the womb whispering wisdom and resilience to my wet sorrow.