Start time: 5:49 PM, Dudley Square
End time: 7:49 PM, Mass Ave T Stop, Massachusetts Avenue
Action: Started in Dudley with heavy suitcases filled with seed pots, dirt, water and squash seeds. Asked passers-by to help me carry my suitcases from one bus stop to another. Proceeded along the route in this way, remaining still and waiting at each stop until someone offered to help. Got as far as I could in 2 hours.
Documenter Information:
Gender: Female
Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian
Age: 27?
Lives in: Brookline
5:49 PM: Dudley Square
Chivalry?
The scene wasn’t great at the start. My own bad experience colored my first impression of the first person that interacted with Andi.
Was she safe?
I think so. I’m sure she makes her intentions clear.
Am I safe? I’m slightly put off but I feel ok.
I don’t feel comfortable taking a photo because I was immediately connected to Andi by others visually. I feel like I look as if I were spying or trying to catch someone doing something.
We turned the corner. Not so many people. Just I in fact.
3rd stop:
A small older, kind-looking woman. She seems to sympathize. I can separate myself from the situation now. Andi and the woman are sharing stories now. I feel safe here and I feel Andi is safe.
A man passed in a hurry.
It’s green here. I’m under a tree. I feel like we are at the line between gritty urban and industrial manicured landscape. There are dogs – many of them barking.
She looks like she’s been stranded. Where could this woman possibly be coming from around here with those two bags/suitcases?
The red of the bags stands out against the green.
4th stop:
Totally desolate and between places. It’s not a place itself. I shouldn’t be standing here. She looks like she should walk to the next stop because this isn’t a place to be standing.
Lonely.
Andi, you are a very “open” person. Inviting, I mean. I’d talk to you.
Some help comes, finally. Or rather, it is sought across the street. It seems this whole action, this favor that’s being requested, is a chance to expand on a moment that would normally only be a moment. To create more of an exchange than just eye contact.
Help leaves us off at a non-bus stop. She was a young black woman who moved on in another direction.
I’m curious about the men and how they react to the seeds that are given. Women seem to be comfortable with it.
It’s chilly and cement-y. A building is under construction across the street. It’s as cold in the shade as the area looks. There’s no one around that isn’t driving by in a vehicle.
Andi moves across to the next corner. A woman offers -- oh, no she doesn’t. She takes the smallest bag and there isn’t any conversation.
Stop 5:
At the next stop. The woman drops the bag and doesn’t want Andi’s gift.
The man at the stop seems happy to take the gift and chat.
Seeds grow and become nourishment. A kind gesture… grows to nourish as well.
It’s loud. Ambulances, construction, and the Boston Medical Center traffic.
We are a lot less out of place. Many people carry things but they are kept. Nothing to be shared. Purchased things in plastic bags – owned.
Your bags speak of going somewhere. The man you are speaking with isn’t going anywhere. He’s at the stop but not catching any of the many buses.
I wonder where the seeds will go.
1 to Revere…
Strange that I imagined women being more receptive to the seeds…
On Mass Ave it’s quite busy. It’s dusk. I realize many people move about in a very closed off way. Myself as well. I’m truly surprised at what seems to be an overall positive reaction. A willingness to help a woman in need.
There are young girls, 17 or 18 years old. They seem wary. Andi is a stranger after all.
Nope, now there’s a crowd of kids. Squealing tires scare everyone and the crowd walks away.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
8/10/07: Performance walk documentation
Start time: 5:36 PM, 77 Mass Ave
End time: 7:36, 77 Mass Ave
Action: Filled suitcases with heavier dirt. Carried extra backpack and red umbrella (open continuously when not on bus.) Got on #1 bus when arrived at stop, got off when a different rider requested a stop. Accepted help when offered and gave away seed pots when this happened. Was followed and observed by documenter.)
Documenter's Narrative:
Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian
Age: 34
Lives in: Dudley Square
Documenter text:
5:35 PM: #1 bus arrives.
African American man in his 40’s helps A onto the bus.
Blue Jeans/Black Polo Shirt. Smiles exchanged.
Seed exchanging.
Conversation engaged over the Mass Ave Bridge.
5:39 PM: Stop Requested.
He indicates with palms to his body outward, she with palms up.
5:42 PM: Stop requested.
5:43 PM: Handshake and Introduction.
5:43 PM: Stop requested. Asian man in his 50’s gets off.
5:43 PM: Stop requested:
African American man in his 50’s gets off. White man in his 60’s offers to help A while she gets off. No further exchange.
5:45 PM: I exit on Huntington Avenue.
I can see the red umbrella and when the traffic stops I can see the suit cases
5:49 PM: I swallowed my gum. Dang!
There is a huge can of beer and a keg shape in a paper bag next to it.
An empty battery shrink wrap box. That hard plastic…
An AAA battery box and a lottery ticket.
5:52 PM: CT1 Bus goes the other way.
Where did A go? Oh! There she is.
5:55 PM: A sitting on the large suitcase under umbrella.
It’s starting to spit rain.
Comfortable temperature – probably in the 70’s.
Wish I had worn my watch.
5:57: CT 1
5:57: Man looks like a cartoon crossing the street, leaning way forward and back at the same time.
5:58 PM: Woman on motorized scooter/wheelchair pulls into Bus shelter. Starts smoking. I see her all the time in Dudley driving down the middle of the road.
6:00 PM: She tears off down Huntington. Here comes the bus.
6:02 PM: A gets looks from people. Just looks.
6:03 PM: Mass Ave Orange line. She gets off the bus but looses her shoulder strap. No panic, just hustle.
6:04 PM: Helicopter overhead, really overhead. Hovering over. I hope it is traffic.
6:05 PM: Still making huge racket. I overhear a kid say to her “is this trash?”
She says “It’s salt and sand.”
Teenage ladies in a car say “Why would I steal from him?”
“OK, Um…”
White top woman in her 30’s on the phone.
Silver vesper passes. Helicopter is gone.
6:08 PM: No rain. Not even a little. There is a couple speaking Spanish, a sqeally bike.
A siren.
“You seeing anybody?”
“Girl’s crazy. Put a gun to his head.”
6:11 PM: Ambulence goes by.
A lady is done with her Cheese Doodles.
A guy is done with his cigarette pack.
6:12 PM: Bus arrives.
The Spanish speaking couple gets on the bus.
At Columbous Ave, A gets off. Busdriver says “Hope you don’t have much further to go.”
“Ha ha”
6:14 PM: Pizza Place on Mass Ave and Columbus.
Smells like pizza. A very quiet corner. Even the car rumble seems muted.
6:16 PM: A man is very angry in a car. Shouting on phone. “They take a credit card here.” Aaah. I don’t know.”
The smell of French fries in vinegar.
The guy that was at the Mass Ave Orange Line is standing next to me. Blue denim with baggy drawstring pants and flip flops.
“Hey”
“Hey”
“Hello”
6:19 PM: Here comes the bus.
Here comes 2 busses.
6:20 PM: Stop requested.
This bus is quiet. Only a happy baby gurgle. She gets off the bus.
A man in a checked shirt gets on.
Baby slobbers all over a lady’s face. Other ladies smile.
6:23 PM: Stop requested. Shawmut Avenue.
A man across from A has tattoos. A drawing of a scary face on his bicep. He gets off with me.
MASS Food Market man with a sweater in his 40’s. It looks like fish scales. He bought cigarettes in a green package. (I can’t see the brand.)
6:26 PM: Light changes to green. It smells like pond water.
6:29 PM: Light changes to green. Two young guys look like they were from 1976 walk by everything was old except them. Sky is clearing up. Bright afternoon light.
The #1 is coming to the next stop up.
6:31 PM: Green light.
Older lady in her 60’s is hailing a cab with an umbrella that has a huge wooden hook.
No bus. Out of service.
6:32 PM:
6:33 PM: Light changes to green. The CT1 bus comes.
6:34 PM: Green light.
A lavender duck tour vehicle goes by.
Joane is tattooed on a guy’s inner forearm. I hope he is still with Joane.
6:36 PM: Green light. It’s been 1 hour.
A gets on the bus.
“Silver Line and bus connection.”
6:39 PM: Stop Requested.
“Harrison Avenue and Boston Medical Center”
Woman in scrubs bumps into A. They have an exchange. I miss most of it. “
A said “I was getting off here”… maybe?
A car horn
Smells like sweet bakery and damp concrete.
A man in his 60’s has curried rice in a Styrofoam container on the ground and is flicking the rice around him. How he has a different container in his hand and is doing the same.
6:43 PM: Here comes the bus. A woman in scrubs has a dollar bill out to get on the bus.
Red Sox emblazoned.
Duck Tour.
6:46 PM: On the bus. Turns onto Albany Street. Two ladies discussing in Portugese or I don’t know what language. Not Spanish. Maybe they are from Haiti.
6:49 PM: Stop Requested.
In front of Tropical Foods on Washington.
A moves her cases one at a time in front of the stop. Sign.
6:51 PM: Man comes along and stops.
6:52 PM: Mass Ave bus passes us.
Man is changing the garbage.
Smells like wet.
Someone passes speaking excited Spainsh. I know because he said “loco” and everyone knows that much Spanish.
6:54 PM: Man is collecting the carts in the Tropical Foods parking lot. That noise hurts my teeth.
6:56 PM: #1 bus goes by.
6:57 PM: We walk towards the station.
I hear music.
“My baby doesn’t….”
6:59 PM: #1 bus goes by us at Williams.
7:01 PM: A puts her suitcases down.
Everyone here has heavy bags.
7:02 PM: She puts her suitcases down.
Again.
7:03 PM: Again.
We are walking fast.
The #1 bus passes us again.
Again.
The suitcases are heavy.
Sorry… it was a different bus.
In Dudley square.
7:07 PM: DJ Nighttrain is jammin’. I can hear his music from here.
I can smell the Dunkin’ Donuts and the Chinese place.
The bus fan rumble is like white noise.
I can hear the dance music and fan.
7:10 ON: The #1 starts.
A man has lots of dry cleaning and cologne.
There is a lady in a stylish turban with melon and white stripes.
7:14 PM: “Melnea Cass Boulevard”
A lady in a cream beret gets off. She has an orange sweater.
“Melnea Cass Boulevard and Harrison Avenue”
“Please report…to the bus driver”
Someone smells like fried food – that salty sweet smell.
“Northhampton Street”
7:17 PM: “Stop requested: Massachusetts Avenue at Albany Street”
“Remember. Courtesy counts.”
7:18 PM: A gets off the bus.
It smells like fuel.
A woman asks me: “Does the 31 bus stop here?”
“Yep.”
“Did I just miss it?”
“Yep.”
7:22 PM: Here comes the bus.
Nearly empty bus.
One person reads. One text messages. A man with a black bandana sits there.
20-somethings in bright colors talk.
7:24 PM: Man with striped sweats gets on the bus.
7:24 PM: Man with cane gets on the bus.
7:25 PM: Tremont Street.
Stop requested.
7:25 PM: We exit onto a puddle on the corner of Tremont.
Someone passes smoking grass.
Once again a pause in the sound.
The Corner Café. Smells of Middle Eastern spices.
7:28 PM: Lots of bikes pass.
Fumes from the cars.
A looks pained.
The bus has that blaring roar. She is tired. Having difficulty controlling the bags.
7:31 PM: We get on the bus. Fast stop.
A new girl gets on and:
“On the bus line”
“Getting on and off the bus”
“That’s what I am doing”
“What about you, what are you doing?”
“Hopefully, yeah.”
“She’s outer came….bridge.”
7:33 PM: Fast stop at Symphony.
“Yeah.”
“O-oh!”
“So whenever I have…”
“That’s awesome”
“Yeah.”
“I got beat up yesterday.”
“Oh!”
“Yeah… That’s pretty scary.”
“Yes.”
“ What’s that?”
7:35 PM: Newbury Street.
Performance ended at 7:36, 2 hours after the start and right after Newbury Street stop.
I wanted to speed up or slow down most of the 2 hours. I enjoyed the hanging out, observing, paying attention to the city. You know… the stopping and smelling the roses kind of deal. I wanted to capture all of the things that Andi might have missed.
End time: 7:36, 77 Mass Ave
Action: Filled suitcases with heavier dirt. Carried extra backpack and red umbrella (open continuously when not on bus.) Got on #1 bus when arrived at stop, got off when a different rider requested a stop. Accepted help when offered and gave away seed pots when this happened. Was followed and observed by documenter.)
Documenter's Narrative:
Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian
Age: 34
Lives in: Dudley Square
Documenter text:
5:35 PM: #1 bus arrives.
African American man in his 40’s helps A onto the bus.
Blue Jeans/Black Polo Shirt. Smiles exchanged.
Seed exchanging.
Conversation engaged over the Mass Ave Bridge.
5:39 PM: Stop Requested.
He indicates with palms to his body outward, she with palms up.
5:42 PM: Stop requested.
5:43 PM: Handshake and Introduction.
5:43 PM: Stop requested. Asian man in his 50’s gets off.
5:43 PM: Stop requested:
African American man in his 50’s gets off. White man in his 60’s offers to help A while she gets off. No further exchange.
5:45 PM: I exit on Huntington Avenue.
I can see the red umbrella and when the traffic stops I can see the suit cases
5:49 PM: I swallowed my gum. Dang!
There is a huge can of beer and a keg shape in a paper bag next to it.
An empty battery shrink wrap box. That hard plastic…
An AAA battery box and a lottery ticket.
5:52 PM: CT1 Bus goes the other way.
Where did A go? Oh! There she is.
5:55 PM: A sitting on the large suitcase under umbrella.
It’s starting to spit rain.
Comfortable temperature – probably in the 70’s.
Wish I had worn my watch.
5:57: CT 1
5:57: Man looks like a cartoon crossing the street, leaning way forward and back at the same time.
5:58 PM: Woman on motorized scooter/wheelchair pulls into Bus shelter. Starts smoking. I see her all the time in Dudley driving down the middle of the road.
6:00 PM: She tears off down Huntington. Here comes the bus.
6:02 PM: A gets looks from people. Just looks.
6:03 PM: Mass Ave Orange line. She gets off the bus but looses her shoulder strap. No panic, just hustle.
6:04 PM: Helicopter overhead, really overhead. Hovering over. I hope it is traffic.
6:05 PM: Still making huge racket. I overhear a kid say to her “is this trash?”
She says “It’s salt and sand.”
Teenage ladies in a car say “Why would I steal from him?”
“OK, Um…”
White top woman in her 30’s on the phone.
Silver vesper passes. Helicopter is gone.
6:08 PM: No rain. Not even a little. There is a couple speaking Spanish, a sqeally bike.
A siren.
“You seeing anybody?”
“Girl’s crazy. Put a gun to his head.”
6:11 PM: Ambulence goes by.
A lady is done with her Cheese Doodles.
A guy is done with his cigarette pack.
6:12 PM: Bus arrives.
The Spanish speaking couple gets on the bus.
At Columbous Ave, A gets off. Busdriver says “Hope you don’t have much further to go.”
“Ha ha”
6:14 PM: Pizza Place on Mass Ave and Columbus.
Smells like pizza. A very quiet corner. Even the car rumble seems muted.
6:16 PM: A man is very angry in a car. Shouting on phone. “They take a credit card here.” Aaah. I don’t know.”
The smell of French fries in vinegar.
The guy that was at the Mass Ave Orange Line is standing next to me. Blue denim with baggy drawstring pants and flip flops.
“Hey”
“Hey”
“Hello”
6:19 PM: Here comes the bus.
Here comes 2 busses.
6:20 PM: Stop requested.
This bus is quiet. Only a happy baby gurgle. She gets off the bus.
A man in a checked shirt gets on.
Baby slobbers all over a lady’s face. Other ladies smile.
6:23 PM: Stop requested. Shawmut Avenue.
A man across from A has tattoos. A drawing of a scary face on his bicep. He gets off with me.
MASS Food Market man with a sweater in his 40’s. It looks like fish scales. He bought cigarettes in a green package. (I can’t see the brand.)
6:26 PM: Light changes to green. It smells like pond water.
6:29 PM: Light changes to green. Two young guys look like they were from 1976 walk by everything was old except them. Sky is clearing up. Bright afternoon light.
The #1 is coming to the next stop up.
6:31 PM: Green light.
Older lady in her 60’s is hailing a cab with an umbrella that has a huge wooden hook.
No bus. Out of service.
6:32 PM:
6:33 PM: Light changes to green. The CT1 bus comes.
6:34 PM: Green light.
A lavender duck tour vehicle goes by.
Joane is tattooed on a guy’s inner forearm. I hope he is still with Joane.
6:36 PM: Green light. It’s been 1 hour.
A gets on the bus.
“Silver Line and bus connection.”
6:39 PM: Stop Requested.
“Harrison Avenue and Boston Medical Center”
Woman in scrubs bumps into A. They have an exchange. I miss most of it. “
A said “I was getting off here”… maybe?
A car horn
Smells like sweet bakery and damp concrete.
A man in his 60’s has curried rice in a Styrofoam container on the ground and is flicking the rice around him. How he has a different container in his hand and is doing the same.
6:43 PM: Here comes the bus. A woman in scrubs has a dollar bill out to get on the bus.
Red Sox emblazoned.
Duck Tour.
6:46 PM: On the bus. Turns onto Albany Street. Two ladies discussing in Portugese or I don’t know what language. Not Spanish. Maybe they are from Haiti.
6:49 PM: Stop Requested.
In front of Tropical Foods on Washington.
A moves her cases one at a time in front of the stop. Sign.
6:51 PM: Man comes along and stops.
6:52 PM: Mass Ave bus passes us.
Man is changing the garbage.
Smells like wet.
Someone passes speaking excited Spainsh. I know because he said “loco” and everyone knows that much Spanish.
6:54 PM: Man is collecting the carts in the Tropical Foods parking lot. That noise hurts my teeth.
6:56 PM: #1 bus goes by.
6:57 PM: We walk towards the station.
I hear music.
“My baby doesn’t….”
6:59 PM: #1 bus goes by us at Williams.
7:01 PM: A puts her suitcases down.
Everyone here has heavy bags.
7:02 PM: She puts her suitcases down.
Again.
7:03 PM: Again.
We are walking fast.
The #1 bus passes us again.
Again.
The suitcases are heavy.
Sorry… it was a different bus.
In Dudley square.
7:07 PM: DJ Nighttrain is jammin’. I can hear his music from here.
I can smell the Dunkin’ Donuts and the Chinese place.
The bus fan rumble is like white noise.
I can hear the dance music and fan.
7:10 ON: The #1 starts.
A man has lots of dry cleaning and cologne.
There is a lady in a stylish turban with melon and white stripes.
7:14 PM: “Melnea Cass Boulevard”
A lady in a cream beret gets off. She has an orange sweater.
“Melnea Cass Boulevard and Harrison Avenue”
“Please report…to the bus driver”
Someone smells like fried food – that salty sweet smell.
“Northhampton Street”
7:17 PM: “Stop requested: Massachusetts Avenue at Albany Street”
“Remember. Courtesy counts.”
7:18 PM: A gets off the bus.
It smells like fuel.
A woman asks me: “Does the 31 bus stop here?”
“Yep.”
“Did I just miss it?”
“Yep.”
7:22 PM: Here comes the bus.
Nearly empty bus.
One person reads. One text messages. A man with a black bandana sits there.
20-somethings in bright colors talk.
7:24 PM: Man with striped sweats gets on the bus.
7:24 PM: Man with cane gets on the bus.
7:25 PM: Tremont Street.
Stop requested.
7:25 PM: We exit onto a puddle on the corner of Tremont.
Someone passes smoking grass.
Once again a pause in the sound.
The Corner Café. Smells of Middle Eastern spices.
7:28 PM: Lots of bikes pass.
Fumes from the cars.
A looks pained.
The bus has that blaring roar. She is tired. Having difficulty controlling the bags.
7:31 PM: We get on the bus. Fast stop.
A new girl gets on and:
“On the bus line”
“Getting on and off the bus”
“That’s what I am doing”
“What about you, what are you doing?”
“Hopefully, yeah.”
“She’s outer came….bridge.”
7:33 PM: Fast stop at Symphony.
“Yeah.”
“O-oh!”
“So whenever I have…”
“That’s awesome”
“Yeah.”
“I got beat up yesterday.”
“Oh!”
“Yeah… That’s pretty scary.”
“Yes.”
“ What’s that?”
7:35 PM: Newbury Street.
Performance ended at 7:36, 2 hours after the start and right after Newbury Street stop.
I wanted to speed up or slow down most of the 2 hours. I enjoyed the hanging out, observing, paying attention to the city. You know… the stopping and smelling the roses kind of deal. I wanted to capture all of the things that Andi might have missed.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
8/5/07 No. 1 bus route walk documentation
Start time: 3:10 PM, Dudley Square
End time: 5:10 PM, Harvard Square
Action: Walked with heavy suitcases filled with seed pots, dirt, water and squash seeds. Accepted help when offered. Was followed and observed by documenter.
Documenter Information:
Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian; Eastern European
Age: 34
Lives in: Cambridge
Documenter’s Narrative:
3:10 started at Dudley Square station
• i noticed that are almost no people walking around but an older lady waiting for the bus was curious. after all you were caring two red suitcases...
• i had a strange feeling about not helping you carry. i am obviously not cut out to be a wartime photographer... i am not sure how you point a camera and shoot while someone could use your help...
• we passed a graveyard and i thought of you with two suitcases as alone. maybe partially because there were no people on sidewalks. what are the sidewalks for if no one is walking? somehow your solo walk was both sad and appropriate.
• why would anyone carry luggage like that. long shoulder strap makes it hard to control its sway. the suitcases are different weight and size. does it matter? this imbalance? visually? your right shoulder seemed to suffer more.
• you walk fast. so fast that i could barely keep up writing and taking photos. you must be in great shape. it was hot but not too hot. heavy suitcases. still... amazing stamina i thought. but i am sure you will slow down eventually...
• first sign of cordiality, care, paying attention. a car let you pass at the crossing near the k-8 school. another car stopped at the lights... latin music blasting. i don't know why but i really enjoyed the little concert.
• everything seemed asleep except you with 2 red suitcases and a car with the music blasting.
• people do not walk enough... and everything is so small. it takes a short time to get anywhere if you are not in a hurry...
• are the suitcases cumbersome enough to attract attention? they are red but you are strong, fast, happy... i saw people after people not even notice that you are carrying these suitcases. maybe they need to be bigger? maybe there are more of them? maybe you cannot finish the walk unless people help you? right now you can...
• feeling a bit of anger. people do not pay attention. cell phones suck. everyone! everyone seems to be on a goddamn phone... really busy folks on a sunday afternoon. essential city walking: be on your cell phone. well... fuck your phones and be curious about people around you... in front of you.
• so why do this? so much performance requires so much physical and mental effort. i love the look of a single person walking with 2 red suitcases. i really do...
3:30 Mass Ave & Albany Street
• you are on the sunny side of the street. i chose to walk on a shady side. i thought now we are going to hit more people and thus more reaction, interaction... anything. 4 women stood at one bus stop and not a single person turned to look after you.
• # 1 bus is passing. why not take it? :)
• more people on phones. smokers seem to look at anything that moves. because now they are usually smoking alone. outside of their businesses and apartments.
• a man walked behind you for a while but no reaction. i think he wanted to pass you. but i think he was aware that you are carrying a heavy load. i am not sure he cared at all.
• are you too young? does it have to do with age as much as it does with sex? if you were 60 it would be different... how would they know you want their interaction, interest, help. we recognize help by seeing people stumble, be slow, pant, etc... you look like someone who could run the marathon field. are they timid maybe? i think i would speak to you... unless i was more interested in a cup of coffee... city... selective observations and rare engagement.
• i am thankful i am not doing it. a little evil might enjoy what is essentially hard labour by someone else. i have a camera and a notepad... i can stroll... except you are still walking quite fast.
3:50 Mass Ave Orange line stop
• you sat on the suitcases waiting for a walk sign. this reminded me of countless people i have seen in my life at major train and bus stops in Eastern Europe during the 90s. everyone was going somewhere and everyone was waiting to go somewhere... i always thought their suitcases were like a small familiar territory... a piece of one's own domain/
• we pass my favorite Boston fascist plaza... the Christian Science Center. i love that place. something i believe Il Duce would like also...
• about 60 people pass by... some tour. high school? summer camp? not a single person paid attention to the suitcases or you caring them. that was really surprising.
• Berklee students pay no attention. as usual. they have different cares.
4:03 corner of Mass Ave and Boylston
• a conversation!!! finally!
• ... he helps you carry the suitcases to Hynes Convention Center bus stop. another # 1 passes...
• suddenly i feel guilty documenting. he is helping you. he is talking with you. but here i am. i can help right. i do not. that is not my job. suddenly the stage changes for me. from your microperformative walk it becomes a project almost where i eye your work and all those people. somehow it changes the experience for me. i feel unfair to the helping man. you hug and part.
• you continue and all i could think of was: it must be hard to carry both suitcases again. there was a glimpse of help. is it harder?
• suitcases: private, locked, personal, dangerous... not inviting at all... we are trained to avoid other people luggage...
4:14 Mass Ave bridge (real name Harvard Bridge)...
• you slowed down. tired a bit i am sure. i am looking forward to the bridge. wind will good.
• btw. as a pedestrian: FUCK people on bikes on MY sidewalk. on your right! on your left! well thanks for letting me know but i have no clue what that means at the moment and i do not hear very well... so i daydream of throwing them into Charles and for a moment i hope someone would stumble over one of your suitcases...
4:22 an older lady asks a quick question.
• i cannot hear what you said but i heard her say: Good luck! and she is off. right now even Sizifus seems less absurd to me. at least he did not care about the people.
• you rest... another #1 passes...
4:29 MIT...
• again no one pays attention that i can tell. artists are masochists.
4:40 Central Square...
• looks like a place where you can blend in. such a strange place... very lively... always crap everywhere...loud people. good. loud music. even better. city sounds and not just vehicles screams are always welcome. Central has a smell too... not pleasant.
• 1369 Coffee Shop... every table outside is taken... no one looks after you.
5:10 or so...
• we arrive at the last #1 stop in Harvard square...
End time: 5:10 PM, Harvard Square
Action: Walked with heavy suitcases filled with seed pots, dirt, water and squash seeds. Accepted help when offered. Was followed and observed by documenter.
Documenter Information:
Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian; Eastern European
Age: 34
Lives in: Cambridge
Documenter’s Narrative:
3:10 started at Dudley Square station
• i noticed that are almost no people walking around but an older lady waiting for the bus was curious. after all you were caring two red suitcases...
• i had a strange feeling about not helping you carry. i am obviously not cut out to be a wartime photographer... i am not sure how you point a camera and shoot while someone could use your help...
• we passed a graveyard and i thought of you with two suitcases as alone. maybe partially because there were no people on sidewalks. what are the sidewalks for if no one is walking? somehow your solo walk was both sad and appropriate.
• why would anyone carry luggage like that. long shoulder strap makes it hard to control its sway. the suitcases are different weight and size. does it matter? this imbalance? visually? your right shoulder seemed to suffer more.
• you walk fast. so fast that i could barely keep up writing and taking photos. you must be in great shape. it was hot but not too hot. heavy suitcases. still... amazing stamina i thought. but i am sure you will slow down eventually...
• first sign of cordiality, care, paying attention. a car let you pass at the crossing near the k-8 school. another car stopped at the lights... latin music blasting. i don't know why but i really enjoyed the little concert.
• everything seemed asleep except you with 2 red suitcases and a car with the music blasting.
• people do not walk enough... and everything is so small. it takes a short time to get anywhere if you are not in a hurry...
• are the suitcases cumbersome enough to attract attention? they are red but you are strong, fast, happy... i saw people after people not even notice that you are carrying these suitcases. maybe they need to be bigger? maybe there are more of them? maybe you cannot finish the walk unless people help you? right now you can...
• feeling a bit of anger. people do not pay attention. cell phones suck. everyone! everyone seems to be on a goddamn phone... really busy folks on a sunday afternoon. essential city walking: be on your cell phone. well... fuck your phones and be curious about people around you... in front of you.
• so why do this? so much performance requires so much physical and mental effort. i love the look of a single person walking with 2 red suitcases. i really do...
3:30 Mass Ave & Albany Street
• you are on the sunny side of the street. i chose to walk on a shady side. i thought now we are going to hit more people and thus more reaction, interaction... anything. 4 women stood at one bus stop and not a single person turned to look after you.
• # 1 bus is passing. why not take it? :)
• more people on phones. smokers seem to look at anything that moves. because now they are usually smoking alone. outside of their businesses and apartments.
• a man walked behind you for a while but no reaction. i think he wanted to pass you. but i think he was aware that you are carrying a heavy load. i am not sure he cared at all.
• are you too young? does it have to do with age as much as it does with sex? if you were 60 it would be different... how would they know you want their interaction, interest, help. we recognize help by seeing people stumble, be slow, pant, etc... you look like someone who could run the marathon field. are they timid maybe? i think i would speak to you... unless i was more interested in a cup of coffee... city... selective observations and rare engagement.
• i am thankful i am not doing it. a little evil might enjoy what is essentially hard labour by someone else. i have a camera and a notepad... i can stroll... except you are still walking quite fast.
3:50 Mass Ave Orange line stop
• you sat on the suitcases waiting for a walk sign. this reminded me of countless people i have seen in my life at major train and bus stops in Eastern Europe during the 90s. everyone was going somewhere and everyone was waiting to go somewhere... i always thought their suitcases were like a small familiar territory... a piece of one's own domain/
• we pass my favorite Boston fascist plaza... the Christian Science Center. i love that place. something i believe Il Duce would like also...
• about 60 people pass by... some tour. high school? summer camp? not a single person paid attention to the suitcases or you caring them. that was really surprising.
• Berklee students pay no attention. as usual. they have different cares.
4:03 corner of Mass Ave and Boylston
• a conversation!!! finally!
• ... he helps you carry the suitcases to Hynes Convention Center bus stop. another # 1 passes...
• suddenly i feel guilty documenting. he is helping you. he is talking with you. but here i am. i can help right. i do not. that is not my job. suddenly the stage changes for me. from your microperformative walk it becomes a project almost where i eye your work and all those people. somehow it changes the experience for me. i feel unfair to the helping man. you hug and part.
• you continue and all i could think of was: it must be hard to carry both suitcases again. there was a glimpse of help. is it harder?
• suitcases: private, locked, personal, dangerous... not inviting at all... we are trained to avoid other people luggage...
4:14 Mass Ave bridge (real name Harvard Bridge)...
• you slowed down. tired a bit i am sure. i am looking forward to the bridge. wind will good.
• btw. as a pedestrian: FUCK people on bikes on MY sidewalk. on your right! on your left! well thanks for letting me know but i have no clue what that means at the moment and i do not hear very well... so i daydream of throwing them into Charles and for a moment i hope someone would stumble over one of your suitcases...
4:22 an older lady asks a quick question.
• i cannot hear what you said but i heard her say: Good luck! and she is off. right now even Sizifus seems less absurd to me. at least he did not care about the people.
• you rest... another #1 passes...
4:29 MIT...
• again no one pays attention that i can tell. artists are masochists.
4:40 Central Square...
• looks like a place where you can blend in. such a strange place... very lively... always crap everywhere...loud people. good. loud music. even better. city sounds and not just vehicles screams are always welcome. Central has a smell too... not pleasant.
• 1369 Coffee Shop... every table outside is taken... no one looks after you.
5:10 or so...
• we arrive at the last #1 stop in Harvard square...
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Walk One: 5/26/07 Reflection
I took to the streets on Saturday the 26th. Was actually pretty nervous about the whole thing... It being my first time out there were a lot of unknowns. My default was - prepare for the journey in the folding and building and prepping of the suitcase innards. I thought the hard part would be the carrying - the exhaustion. I ended up discovering that yes, that was hard, but there were also other hard learnings that needed to happen.
I hadn't tested the suitcase carrying at all before heading out. Packed up the bags pretty heavy thinking 'I'm strong. I can do it. Heavy's the point.' Or maybe I didn't think twice at all. Had just come to a conclusion that I'd have seed pots, extra water, extra dirt in the bags, and carry them. My roommate asked me if I'd be using gloves. I (kind of proudly) said no, that I'd be fine.
I jumped to it. Had actually never taking the number 1 bus from Harvard before so the exact loop it takes in the beginning was unfamiliar to me at first. (My route was Central Square to Dudley...) I started and the process went along as such:
start: Crossed street to Harvard yard. Bags felt heavy right away. Made me a little nervous, but I set my jaw, looked straight ahead, and took small steps. Moving.
next: Circled the yard. Must have been only 4 blocks when I had to stop, stretch my arms, rest, and switch hands. I had to give myself a talking to. It already felt long - and I needed lots of pepping already to keep myself going.
next: Came upon an opening in the gates across from the Fog. Started to think about the pain I was already feeling. Thought about the gallon of water I had in one bag. For drinking, for watering seeds, but also for dead weight. 5 blocks in and I snuck around in to a grassy area by the gate and poured out all the water. I had bought the water. I kept the container. I felt more conspicuous doing that than walking with suitcases. I felt week, a bit, for having to pour it out so soon. My arms also hurt.
next: Switching hands a lot. By the time I got to Mass Ave, I was feeling hot spots on my hands. One suitcase had a spongy pleather handle; the other had a plastic handle. Both were rubbing my hands quite a bit. Muscles ached a bit, but my main concern was my hands. I walked slow, tried not to rest. Lots of people passed -- I remember a big group with a baby carriage. I started to hope (or maybe dare) some of these folks to pass. I couldn't tell if I was conspicuous or not...
next: Arrow St. and Mass Ave. My jaw is set and I'm not exactly having fun. Not not having fun, but feeling more determined than anything. A cab driver, possibly Haitian -- African -- stops and asks if I need a ride. I say "No thanks." I remember thinking that he looked kind of concerned, but still drove away. I thought I should have given him a seed packet. But he was on the road and on the clock. And I didn't really think of it soon enough.
next: Dana St. and Mass Ave. Hands burning like somethin' else at this point. A black man with a stroller walks. Still moving he smiles and says to me as he strolls by: "those look heavy."
"They are."
I think about how he just kept on moving. I didn't know how to stop him. I worried about not engaging both these people in any sort of conversation. I started to feel anxious that what I was doing was not spectacle enough. Switched hands. Definitely burning. Muscles felt sore... Made a commitment to make it as far as the hardware store in Central Square so I could buy gardening gloves to protect my hands.
Kept setting mini-goals: I'll make it to that bus stop and then rest. I'll make it to the YMCA and then rest. Some of these were even too ambitious. I'd set goals, and then I'd give myself permission to stop if I needed. Kept up a constant inner banter which was mostly a mantra giving myself permission to stop if I needed. I still didn't feel great stopping. I also wasn't doing a lot of smiling.
next: Hardware store. I had to cross the street to get to it. I pondered lots of sets of gloves. Looked at ones with sticky plastic on the palms thinking this would help. A young white man behind the counter gave me some tips. He was very nice. Asked me what I was doing -- if I was going on a trip. I felt relieved that he asked and I said something along the lines of "I'm walking to Dudley Square." He didn't ask why. I wondered why. I didn't say why. I was glad he urged me to get the most expensive gloves. He wished me luck.
next: Prospect St.: A white woman passes me from the front. She looks over and says: "Heavy, huh?" with a sympathetic smile. I say "Yeah." I keep walking. I think that next time I need to challenge myself to engage some of these casual comments more. Not sure how. I find I don't really want to do it but promise myself I'll try.
next: Right by the Central Square bus stop. Gloves help my hands, but do not completely take away the pain. I start to feel muscle exhaustion and bad pain in my elbows and wrists. At this point I'm thinking a lot about pain, about why I've set this up to involve pain, about how much is worth it, and about whether I am on the road to serious injury and whether it's worth it. I notice a woman look at me strangely and feel more conspicuous with the gloves.
next: I pass a restaurant in Central Square. I know the chef. He's standing outside. He says to me - "Those look heavy". "They are" I reply. I take it as a chance to push the comment more. I say "I'm going to Dudley Square" and actually feel weird and wilted about how I said it. It felt strange and false - like I was forcing further commentary. "Good luck" he says. I walk off, not feeing great about the interaction.
next: I pass teenagers outside All Asia. I didn't know it turned into a hang out for teens during the day. A fun discovery. I'm definitely tired and worried about the pain in my elbows. I don't stop in front of them.
next: In front of a Salvation Army. A Latino man passes in front of me and says "Have a great trip!" smiling. I say "I'm not flying. I'm walking -- to Dudley Square". He doesn't hear me so I say it again. He says something like "Alright honey. Have a good trip." And keeps walking. I feel weird about the interaction again. Like I'm baiting help. Like no one really is ready to speak beyond the short comments. I'm not frustrated with anyone else but myself.
next: 3 blocks up I decide to dump out the bag of dirt that was dead weight in one of the suitcases. I dump it out under some bushes by a parking lot near Vassar St. and MIT. I have to give myself a talking to in order to feel okay about lightening the load. I'm thinking a lot about pain, about injury, and about why I've set the walk up to involve this. About how much is necessary, how much is too much. I'm stopping twice per block at this point.
next: I give myself permission to stop more. I find that putting my bag between one arm right under the elbow helps with some of the pain. The lightened load helps for the other side, but my elbows and hands feel so delicate that even the light suitcase spark more 'bad' pain. Very worried about injury.
next: Nearning the Mass Ave bridge and the Charles River. Stopping a lot.
next: Once on the bridge, I set new goals: go to a lamp post. stop. stretch. walk to another lamp post. These are only about 15 feet apart. After resting, I pick up the bags and they feel okay. 5 steps in they're heavy. By about 5 feet before the next light I'm swearing under my breath. Something along the lines of "Jesus fucking-a christ".
next: At the middle of the bridge a couple passes me. A few feet ahead they stop and turn around. The man says "do you need help with that? At least to the end of the bridge". The told me they'd seen me struggling along Mass Ave. I gratefully accept! I ask him where he's from. "Obviously not here because I'm helping you"
He's from France. The woman he is with has been in Boston for a year. She commented to him about the unfriendly street culture and he's seen it when he visits. We spoke a little bit about it - he said: Bostonians don't help. A car pulls up along side the sidewalk on the bridge.
next: A woman sticks her head out and asks me where I'm going. "I'm from Boston, and I can help". She says she heard the French guy say that Bostonians aren’t' helpful and wanted to prove him wrong. She'd also seen me struggling. Before she puts my bags in the trunk I ask the French couple if I can give them something. They say yes and I pot a squash seed for them. I refer them to the blog for planting instructions and say goodbye.
next: I'm nervous -- I'm in a car. I'd told myself I would walk the whole way. I hadn't expected this at all and don't know how to react. The woman in the car (white, young -- maybe early thirties) asks me where I'm going. I tell her Dudley Square. She's on her way to Mission Hill. I try saying "drop me off anywhere"... She says she wants to take me where I need to go.
But, she's also in a hurry. We spend some time coordinating -- she calls the people she's meeting in Mission Hill and tells them she'll be late. I try to take this as a chance to let her know that she can drop me off anywhere along Mass Ave. She seems rushed. She says - no, it's fine, I can bring you where you need to go. I'm not sure if I want to go all the way to Dudley Sq. I'm not sure if I'll have really 'done' the piece if I do that. I also feel like that experience still is the piece. I try to urge her to drop me off wherever.
I tell her what I'm doing... say I'm an artist, that it's art, that that's why I can really be dropped off anywhere. She hears the story - and then says something like: "but I still want to take you where you need to go. You need to go to Dudley, I'll drive you there. " So, I need to agree. I wonder about the art. I wonder (as I had been all along) about how different it was than I expected. Wondered how I would document this when I go to Chicago and talk about the experience. I feel pretty disgruntled.
She hears my story - - I worry I blurted it out in such a way as to limit conversation. It was the first time I talked about race and class and my relationship to the bus line. The way it was delivered, it didn't spark further conversation, so she shared her story. She's part of a Christian intentional living community and was on her way to fix up one of the homes. She'd been living in a convent, was a PhD student at MIT in something health and medicine related. This particular community is of people in the health and medical industry who are also Christian.
We get to Dudley - - she's rushed, I don't want to waste her time, and she swings around and drops me off. I pot a seed for her as fast as I can. I can't tell what she thinks about it or me. She puts the seed pot in the passenger seat and drives off. I'm right in front of the bus station.
next: I'm at Dudley, kind of in awe. Glad I'm no longer walking and hurting. Smiling at the turn of events (and how it maybe saved me from injuring myself.) A Jamaican cab driver asks if I need a cab. I say no, but ask if I can give him something in thanks for offering to help. We proceed to have an odd conversation. He's flirting, or at least I think he's flirting. I try to talk more about the concept behind the piece. The artist space in Dudley I work with. My relationship to race and class and the site. I start to feel that the conversation seems driven more by white guilt and an eagerness to be 'taught' by him who lives the experience of otherness. Here I am just passing through. It doesn't help that I can see my cleavage reflected in his sunglasses.
He talks about living in some communities where he's felt like an outsider. Says that sometimes it's nice to be surrounded by people like you. Then he talks about different women he's dated, white women he's dated. The conversation is long and I feel weird about taking his time, about the flirtation thing, about my confusion about how to bring up the concepts that I thought were the groundwork for the piece -- which I thought I knew how I wanted to talk with people about. He asked for my number, offering to get together and talk more about these things. I referred him to the blog and went to the bench of the number one bus to wait for my friend who was helping to take photographs of the whole thing.
Definitely felt full of frustration, self-criticism, and confusion about everything that transpired. Worried about how I'd been treating people on the street like objects to be interacted with or provoked, adversaries almost?, but not subjects, collaborators, or dynamic participants. Wondered about the involvement of pain, risk and injury. Wondered at the fact that I was picked up by a car right at the edge of Boston, the edge of where I thought I'd start having different interactions and experience different communities that were much more unfamiliar to me than Cambridge -- out of my comfort zone. I thought it oddly appropriate (or just intriguing) that this particular thing happened right at the river dividing Boston and Cambridge. It reminded me of my usual way of getting to Dudley and through Roxbury - protected. By car, bus, or bike. Funny how the one time I was trying to be connected, be on foot, and be really about taking a risk and traveling beyond my comfort zone I was picked up and dropped off instead.
I hadn't tested the suitcase carrying at all before heading out. Packed up the bags pretty heavy thinking 'I'm strong. I can do it. Heavy's the point.' Or maybe I didn't think twice at all. Had just come to a conclusion that I'd have seed pots, extra water, extra dirt in the bags, and carry them. My roommate asked me if I'd be using gloves. I (kind of proudly) said no, that I'd be fine.
I jumped to it. Had actually never taking the number 1 bus from Harvard before so the exact loop it takes in the beginning was unfamiliar to me at first. (My route was Central Square to Dudley...) I started and the process went along as such:
start: Crossed street to Harvard yard. Bags felt heavy right away. Made me a little nervous, but I set my jaw, looked straight ahead, and took small steps. Moving.
next: Circled the yard. Must have been only 4 blocks when I had to stop, stretch my arms, rest, and switch hands. I had to give myself a talking to. It already felt long - and I needed lots of pepping already to keep myself going.
next: Came upon an opening in the gates across from the Fog. Started to think about the pain I was already feeling. Thought about the gallon of water I had in one bag. For drinking, for watering seeds, but also for dead weight. 5 blocks in and I snuck around in to a grassy area by the gate and poured out all the water. I had bought the water. I kept the container. I felt more conspicuous doing that than walking with suitcases. I felt week, a bit, for having to pour it out so soon. My arms also hurt.
next: Switching hands a lot. By the time I got to Mass Ave, I was feeling hot spots on my hands. One suitcase had a spongy pleather handle; the other had a plastic handle. Both were rubbing my hands quite a bit. Muscles ached a bit, but my main concern was my hands. I walked slow, tried not to rest. Lots of people passed -- I remember a big group with a baby carriage. I started to hope (or maybe dare) some of these folks to pass. I couldn't tell if I was conspicuous or not...
next: Arrow St. and Mass Ave. My jaw is set and I'm not exactly having fun. Not not having fun, but feeling more determined than anything. A cab driver, possibly Haitian -- African -- stops and asks if I need a ride. I say "No thanks." I remember thinking that he looked kind of concerned, but still drove away. I thought I should have given him a seed packet. But he was on the road and on the clock. And I didn't really think of it soon enough.
next: Dana St. and Mass Ave. Hands burning like somethin' else at this point. A black man with a stroller walks. Still moving he smiles and says to me as he strolls by: "those look heavy."
"They are."
I think about how he just kept on moving. I didn't know how to stop him. I worried about not engaging both these people in any sort of conversation. I started to feel anxious that what I was doing was not spectacle enough. Switched hands. Definitely burning. Muscles felt sore... Made a commitment to make it as far as the hardware store in Central Square so I could buy gardening gloves to protect my hands.
Kept setting mini-goals: I'll make it to that bus stop and then rest. I'll make it to the YMCA and then rest. Some of these were even too ambitious. I'd set goals, and then I'd give myself permission to stop if I needed. Kept up a constant inner banter which was mostly a mantra giving myself permission to stop if I needed. I still didn't feel great stopping. I also wasn't doing a lot of smiling.
next: Hardware store. I had to cross the street to get to it. I pondered lots of sets of gloves. Looked at ones with sticky plastic on the palms thinking this would help. A young white man behind the counter gave me some tips. He was very nice. Asked me what I was doing -- if I was going on a trip. I felt relieved that he asked and I said something along the lines of "I'm walking to Dudley Square." He didn't ask why. I wondered why. I didn't say why. I was glad he urged me to get the most expensive gloves. He wished me luck.
next: Prospect St.: A white woman passes me from the front. She looks over and says: "Heavy, huh?" with a sympathetic smile. I say "Yeah." I keep walking. I think that next time I need to challenge myself to engage some of these casual comments more. Not sure how. I find I don't really want to do it but promise myself I'll try.
next: Right by the Central Square bus stop. Gloves help my hands, but do not completely take away the pain. I start to feel muscle exhaustion and bad pain in my elbows and wrists. At this point I'm thinking a lot about pain, about why I've set this up to involve pain, about how much is worth it, and about whether I am on the road to serious injury and whether it's worth it. I notice a woman look at me strangely and feel more conspicuous with the gloves.
next: I pass a restaurant in Central Square. I know the chef. He's standing outside. He says to me - "Those look heavy". "They are" I reply. I take it as a chance to push the comment more. I say "I'm going to Dudley Square" and actually feel weird and wilted about how I said it. It felt strange and false - like I was forcing further commentary. "Good luck" he says. I walk off, not feeing great about the interaction.
next: I pass teenagers outside All Asia. I didn't know it turned into a hang out for teens during the day. A fun discovery. I'm definitely tired and worried about the pain in my elbows. I don't stop in front of them.
next: In front of a Salvation Army. A Latino man passes in front of me and says "Have a great trip!" smiling. I say "I'm not flying. I'm walking -- to Dudley Square". He doesn't hear me so I say it again. He says something like "Alright honey. Have a good trip." And keeps walking. I feel weird about the interaction again. Like I'm baiting help. Like no one really is ready to speak beyond the short comments. I'm not frustrated with anyone else but myself.
next: 3 blocks up I decide to dump out the bag of dirt that was dead weight in one of the suitcases. I dump it out under some bushes by a parking lot near Vassar St. and MIT. I have to give myself a talking to in order to feel okay about lightening the load. I'm thinking a lot about pain, about injury, and about why I've set the walk up to involve this. About how much is necessary, how much is too much. I'm stopping twice per block at this point.
next: I give myself permission to stop more. I find that putting my bag between one arm right under the elbow helps with some of the pain. The lightened load helps for the other side, but my elbows and hands feel so delicate that even the light suitcase spark more 'bad' pain. Very worried about injury.
next: Nearning the Mass Ave bridge and the Charles River. Stopping a lot.
next: Once on the bridge, I set new goals: go to a lamp post. stop. stretch. walk to another lamp post. These are only about 15 feet apart. After resting, I pick up the bags and they feel okay. 5 steps in they're heavy. By about 5 feet before the next light I'm swearing under my breath. Something along the lines of "Jesus fucking-a christ".
next: At the middle of the bridge a couple passes me. A few feet ahead they stop and turn around. The man says "do you need help with that? At least to the end of the bridge". The told me they'd seen me struggling along Mass Ave. I gratefully accept! I ask him where he's from. "Obviously not here because I'm helping you"
He's from France. The woman he is with has been in Boston for a year. She commented to him about the unfriendly street culture and he's seen it when he visits. We spoke a little bit about it - he said: Bostonians don't help. A car pulls up along side the sidewalk on the bridge.
next: A woman sticks her head out and asks me where I'm going. "I'm from Boston, and I can help". She says she heard the French guy say that Bostonians aren’t' helpful and wanted to prove him wrong. She'd also seen me struggling. Before she puts my bags in the trunk I ask the French couple if I can give them something. They say yes and I pot a squash seed for them. I refer them to the blog for planting instructions and say goodbye.
next: I'm nervous -- I'm in a car. I'd told myself I would walk the whole way. I hadn't expected this at all and don't know how to react. The woman in the car (white, young -- maybe early thirties) asks me where I'm going. I tell her Dudley Square. She's on her way to Mission Hill. I try saying "drop me off anywhere"... She says she wants to take me where I need to go.
But, she's also in a hurry. We spend some time coordinating -- she calls the people she's meeting in Mission Hill and tells them she'll be late. I try to take this as a chance to let her know that she can drop me off anywhere along Mass Ave. She seems rushed. She says - no, it's fine, I can bring you where you need to go. I'm not sure if I want to go all the way to Dudley Sq. I'm not sure if I'll have really 'done' the piece if I do that. I also feel like that experience still is the piece. I try to urge her to drop me off wherever.
I tell her what I'm doing... say I'm an artist, that it's art, that that's why I can really be dropped off anywhere. She hears the story - and then says something like: "but I still want to take you where you need to go. You need to go to Dudley, I'll drive you there. " So, I need to agree. I wonder about the art. I wonder (as I had been all along) about how different it was than I expected. Wondered how I would document this when I go to Chicago and talk about the experience. I feel pretty disgruntled.
She hears my story - - I worry I blurted it out in such a way as to limit conversation. It was the first time I talked about race and class and my relationship to the bus line. The way it was delivered, it didn't spark further conversation, so she shared her story. She's part of a Christian intentional living community and was on her way to fix up one of the homes. She'd been living in a convent, was a PhD student at MIT in something health and medicine related. This particular community is of people in the health and medical industry who are also Christian.
We get to Dudley - - she's rushed, I don't want to waste her time, and she swings around and drops me off. I pot a seed for her as fast as I can. I can't tell what she thinks about it or me. She puts the seed pot in the passenger seat and drives off. I'm right in front of the bus station.
next: I'm at Dudley, kind of in awe. Glad I'm no longer walking and hurting. Smiling at the turn of events (and how it maybe saved me from injuring myself.) A Jamaican cab driver asks if I need a cab. I say no, but ask if I can give him something in thanks for offering to help. We proceed to have an odd conversation. He's flirting, or at least I think he's flirting. I try to talk more about the concept behind the piece. The artist space in Dudley I work with. My relationship to race and class and the site. I start to feel that the conversation seems driven more by white guilt and an eagerness to be 'taught' by him who lives the experience of otherness. Here I am just passing through. It doesn't help that I can see my cleavage reflected in his sunglasses.
He talks about living in some communities where he's felt like an outsider. Says that sometimes it's nice to be surrounded by people like you. Then he talks about different women he's dated, white women he's dated. The conversation is long and I feel weird about taking his time, about the flirtation thing, about my confusion about how to bring up the concepts that I thought were the groundwork for the piece -- which I thought I knew how I wanted to talk with people about. He asked for my number, offering to get together and talk more about these things. I referred him to the blog and went to the bench of the number one bus to wait for my friend who was helping to take photographs of the whole thing.
Definitely felt full of frustration, self-criticism, and confusion about everything that transpired. Worried about how I'd been treating people on the street like objects to be interacted with or provoked, adversaries almost?, but not subjects, collaborators, or dynamic participants. Wondered about the involvement of pain, risk and injury. Wondered at the fact that I was picked up by a car right at the edge of Boston, the edge of where I thought I'd start having different interactions and experience different communities that were much more unfamiliar to me than Cambridge -- out of my comfort zone. I thought it oddly appropriate (or just intriguing) that this particular thing happened right at the river dividing Boston and Cambridge. It reminded me of my usual way of getting to Dudley and through Roxbury - protected. By car, bus, or bike. Funny how the one time I was trying to be connected, be on foot, and be really about taking a risk and traveling beyond my comfort zone I was picked up and dropped off instead.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Walking Blog 2007: Background
The project crosspollennation was inspired by own reflections on the way the urban landscapes in Boston and Chicago are divided distinctly along race and class lines. As an artist and a college-educated white woman, I've noticed how I am implicated within this system and how my movements around the city of Boston (my home base) support, refute, challenge, and are challenged by the cultural and community divisions that come about as a result. My goal with these walks is to reflect on my relationship to these cities through dialogue, experience, compassion, and exhaustion. My hope is that the experiences that result create an alternative model for community building: through walking, through offering and receiving help, and through growing and gardening.
I will share news of my conversations, experiences, and growing information here. If you've encountered me on a walk and would like to learn more, take a look at the process writings. If you helped out with the baggage, received a seed, and have a question about how to grow your squash seed, growing information is included below. And lastly, if you would like to share your impressions of the city and your walk experiences, please add your comments!
I will share news of my conversations, experiences, and growing information here. If you've encountered me on a walk and would like to learn more, take a look at the process writings. If you helped out with the baggage, received a seed, and have a question about how to grow your squash seed, growing information is included below. And lastly, if you would like to share your impressions of the city and your walk experiences, please add your comments!
Growing Information for your Squash
Put your newspaper pot in a warm and well-lit area, either outside or on a windowsill. Water the pot often, though it is best to let the soil dry a bit in between watering. When the seed sprouts, it will have two oval leaves – each starting seed looking exactly the same when it emerges from the soil. The third leaf will be your first clue towards what kind of squash plant you have as it will look different from the others.
Let the seed start grow to 3-4 inches high before planting in a pot or in the ground. You can plant the newspaper pot and seed together – the newspaper will biodegrade. Or, you can tear away the pot, massage the plant’s roots, and put it in the ground that way.
Squash plants all take between 50 – 100 days to mature and bear fruit. They will either be viners or bush plants. Some of the vining varieties like to sprawl and can extend up to 15 feet! Bush squash, often zucchini and summer squash varieties, grow between 3 -5 feet in diameter.
To grow squash at home, you can grow them in pots, in rows or in hills. If you are growing in a pot, make sure it has a very large diameter. When planting in mounds or rows, leave at least 2 feet apart for vining plants, and four feet between bushing plants.
Whether planting in pots or in the ground, these plants like aerated, sandy soil. It is helpful to add compost to the dirt to keep it light and keep the plant happy. Water it often, place it in an area that gets a lot of sun, and enjoy watching it grow!
Let the seed start grow to 3-4 inches high before planting in a pot or in the ground. You can plant the newspaper pot and seed together – the newspaper will biodegrade. Or, you can tear away the pot, massage the plant’s roots, and put it in the ground that way.
Squash plants all take between 50 – 100 days to mature and bear fruit. They will either be viners or bush plants. Some of the vining varieties like to sprawl and can extend up to 15 feet! Bush squash, often zucchini and summer squash varieties, grow between 3 -5 feet in diameter.
To grow squash at home, you can grow them in pots, in rows or in hills. If you are growing in a pot, make sure it has a very large diameter. When planting in mounds or rows, leave at least 2 feet apart for vining plants, and four feet between bushing plants.
Whether planting in pots or in the ground, these plants like aerated, sandy soil. It is helpful to add compost to the dirt to keep it light and keep the plant happy. Water it often, place it in an area that gets a lot of sun, and enjoy watching it grow!
Monday, May 21, 2007
Squash Walk One: Saturday, May 26, 2007
On 5/26/07 I will be walking the length of the number 1 MBTA bus route in Boston. Traveling between Harvard Square in Cambridge to Dudley Square in Roxbury, this route is one that I frequented from 2004-2006 when I lived in Cambridge and worked with an artist-run organization at the end of the line in Dudley.
If you see me on the street, please say hi! In exchange for help carrying the suitcases, I will plant a squash seed for you to take home and cultivate.
If you see me on the street, please say hi! In exchange for help carrying the suitcases, I will plant a squash seed for you to take home and cultivate.
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