SCORE 6:
Take a moment to reconnect with the text that your wrote in relation to the first score.
Silently read it to yourself noticing the resonances and differences.
REFLECTION - 5 mins
Take a moment to recall the experience of the morning – writing some thoughts, observations, reflections.
Option – to distil into a key word or phrase or sentence to share.
FOCUS FOR THE SESSION: Positionality/Embodied Situatedness/Spatial Orientations/Transitions.
Gradually becoming more sensitised to the relation of the individual/collective in space. Sense of gathering and dispersing. Reminder of the project enquiry: collaborative writing/reading in public space; use of scores for writing, embodied/bodily basis; situated/relational aspect of writing together; translinguality.
SCORE 5:
LOCATION: In the green open space with benches
FOCUS: Attunement – transition between the senses – 5 mins
Period of looking (with ears covered optional), period of listening (with eyes closed optional) – alternating between looking and listening.
SCORE 6:
LOCATION: In the green open space with benches
FOCUS: Negotiation/Choice/Shifts of attention (What do we attend to/care for) – 30 minutes
Part 1: Continuously looking/observing - writing without looking at the page (10 mins)
Part 2: Listening only - only looking at the page as you are writing or with option of eyes closed? (10 mins)
Part 3: The dilemma of observational writing: to write you have to look away. Awareness of this transition between observing (looking away from the page) and writing (looking away from what is observed) (10 mins).
INTERVAL: Take time to walk back towards our initial starting location (green space near benches) in silence – again, noticing/observing your surroundings with all of your senses. Gather in a group at the centre of the square (5 mins)
SCORE 1:
LOCATION: In the green open space with benches
FOCUS: Attunement / sensorial sensitizing – 5 mins
Noticing your surroundings. Take some time to slowly walk around the space in silence - looking and listening. Periodically, come to stillness - looking and listening. Moving between walking and observing / standing and observing. Come back to gather as a group.
SCORE 2:
LOCATION: In the green open space with benches
FOCUS: Observational writing (sensorial body) – 15 mins
Find a place to write from – could be sitting, standing or some other position.
Attend/observe with all of your senses.
What is noticed?
What is observed?
INTERVAL: Take time to walk towards the bandstand in silence – again, noticing/observing your surroundings with all of your senses (5 mins)
SCORE 4:
LOCATION: Main open square
FOCUS: Stillness/Movement/Writing with the space – 15 minutes
From the centre take time to walk towards a point at the edge of the square (we define an area for our practice). Once there, face towards the centre. Take a moment to attune to the others. Once the last person is in ‘position’ and have become still, take a moment to acknowledge each other with a glance – and then the writing practice can begin.
Focus for writing: Stillness and movement within the square – transit, trajectories.
After 15 minutes writing, regather in the centre of the square.
SCORE 3:
LOCATION: in the bandstand structure
FOCUS: Near/far ||| self/world (spatiality/embodied situatedness) – 15 minutes
Assemble around the edge of the bandstand – looking out. Writing - attending to the range of near and far – observing the furthest distance and closest proximity. Movement of attention from close to the body (even inside one’s own body/thoughts) to external world. Exploring moving between (transitions)
INTERVAL: Take time to walk towards the centre of the open square in silence (perhaps as a line?) – again, noticing/observing your surroundings with all of your senses. Gather in a group at the centre of the square (5 mins)
I lusthuset
10.40-10.55
Score 3 near/far, self/world (spatiality and embodied situatedness)
vi är alla vända utåt på den runda övre delen av paviljongen
står högt upp
händerna på räcket
kanske 5m ovanför markytan
höjden tillåter mig att se långt bort utåt (ifall detta är ett centrum)
likaså är jag närmare fåglarna i trädkronorna strax ovanför
känslan av att vara högt upp och se långt
golvet är stabilt
taket skyddar från det starka solljuset
att flyta med blicken
se långt
låta blicken segla iväg
eller skicka iväg den
och samtidigt ha en egen plats
vinden sveper över
former ter sig annorlunda sedda uppifrån
större båtsjärt - detta namn och denna fågel
score 6 in 3 parts, main focus negotiation/change/shifts of attention
first part continuously looking and observing and writing without looking at the page
sitter på en bänk framför paviljongen
nämner först paviljongen eftersom den blockerar synfältet
känner vinden i nacken på den bara huden och ser vinden i vimplarnas rörelse
(oläsbart)
mot röster
på en bänk
rörelse
mänskor
gräsklipparen låter
en hund utan halsband springer vid sin familj
en person med hjälp
ljuset som reflekteras från kyrkans vita vägg möter himlens ljus
overkligt
en fjäril
en flöjt
ett barn får hjälp i trappan
någon tittar på mig
skratt och
en person som hälsar på en annan som promenar emot
de sitter på bänken nu, pratar och gestikulerar
(oläsbart)
second part listening only – only looking at the page as you are writing, option of closing you eyes
gräsklipparen
röster som skiljer sig från varandra
till höger nära mig ett mobilsamtal
en telefon ringer
annalkande röster
två personer går förbi mig
en näpen fågel
steg utan prat
ljuden ger anvisningar om platsen
får lust att titta på röster till höger
diskussion
murmel, bakgrundsljud
kyrkklockan slår 12
röster bakifrån
6.11.2024
Varmt, lätta moln
22°
På en bänk vänd mot torget
10.20-10.35
Score 2 observational writing (sensorial body)
bänken i gjutjärn med texten San Pedro Cholula på ryggstödet
hade sällskap
nu finns det plats för 2 till på bänken
bänkarna är svängda diagonalt, ger en känsla av rymd
vilar
parken är planerad i olika fält som skiljer sig från varanda,
de avdelas med stråk, både räta och diagonala
ett lusthus i två våningar
Zócalo
11.05-11.20
Score 4 (what is in) stillness / movement
Nära ett hörn vid kyrkan mittemot arkaden
diagonala rutter korsar torget
kortsidan upphöjd trottoar
stilla
kyrkan till höger
någon kommer kvickt in på torget via hörnet till höger
en person som korsat torget håller en väska för satt skyla huvudet och ansiktet från solen
en grupp på 8 på trottoaren, lugn takt
personen som dök upp via hörnet fortsastte i rask takt och är redan utom sikte
de som korsar diagonalt går raskare än de som följer trottoaren
de flesta är i arkaden skyddade från solen
en del trafik
motorcykel
vespa
bil
cykel
ett block under armen
barn springer vid fontänen
två personer i blå uniform springer till ambulansen
third part, observing the writing
sitter åter framför lusthuset
jag kan se parken, kyrkan, lusthuset
barn och vuxna i grupper
barn i famnen med dinglande ben
gräsklipparen bakom mig
solen går i moln
de lägre träden är i skuggan och ter sig mörkare än de som sträcker sig uppåt
gul och svart fjäril
det luktar nyklippt gräs
Score 3
Bandstand
Welcome shade
10.40
At first, it is not the far distance that calls, but the ground.
My eyeline follows a diagonal from this elevated position, past my writing hand, and the edge of my notebook, towards the floor, dappled with light and shade cast by the overhead leaves.
As someone walks into view, my eyes are drawn to follow. Yet this is not that score.
It takes time to tune into the specificity of this invitation towards writing.
My breath feels shallow, my notebook pages flutter in the breeze.
I try to relax the tension in my back that has accumulated through standing.
Letting my knees soften – my shoulders drop.
From here, I spot a group gathered on a rooftop in the distance, chatting in the shade.
New perspectives open differently from on the ground.
We are almost in the canopies of the trees.
A person climbs the stairs to the bandstand to join our platform – I am curious how our writing circle might appear.
A car alarm sounds.
From here, the activities of the maintenance workers become more visible – sweeping of leaves into neat piles.
The car alarm is insistent.
I have lost it.
I have lost the score.
My attention has scattered.
I close my eyes and take a deeper breath.
I feel the contact of my feet on the floor.
Several feet below come into view.
Our writing is calling the attention of others.
Are we becoming spectacle?
It feels like our writing is a ripple – like we drop a pebble in a still lake.
Rip and ripple?
We are only writing, only watching.
This central area of the park is still – people sit in the shade in couples, or alone checking their phones. Beyond there is more movement …. Already I am jumping ahead to another score.
This elevated position feels separated from the ground below.
It is a cartographic perspective, almost like the earlier drone.
I doubt the weave can be felt from here.
Doubt – the creep of doubt into the score, into my writing.
Doubt in my capacity to enter the score, to feel its specificity, respond to its call.
To pause first.
Hold the score in body.
Not to rush.
I have a tendency to begin like a shot, as soon as the score is set.
Yes, to remember to linger.
At times this time-frame creates a sense of urgency – like the time is running out.
To hold back, perhaps, even to delay.
And only in the last second commit to paper?
Or rather, that is, not to try so hard.
Here, it is gold that shows beneath the peeling green paint. At one time, this bandstand would have gleamed gold, and before that a paler green.
Score 6: Part 1
Not looking at the page.
It is the feel of the wind that I notice.
Somehow this looking without looking (at the page) makes me almost feel a little blind.
My page is my anchor – there is something in this process of coming back, back to page, back to self, back to the thought again and again as it emerges on the page.
I need to soften my eyes – they have assumed a quality of dumb openness, neither searching nor receptive. Just open.
My eyeballs are becoming dry and strained.
There is no reprieve for the eyes in this observation.
I welcome the punctuation of looking away.
Looking away is the rhythm of writing.
It is the movement that somehow enables the writing.
Maybe I can take the chance to just slow and look.
Do I need to write?
A person approaches – I feel self-conscious of my gaze.
The page is a refuge.
I involuntarily look towards it for safety.
I am now exposed to the world.
The page offers a kind of withdrawal at times.
I now have nowhere to hide.
Relentlessly open, relentlessly looking, relentlessly externalising into the world.
The page is a threshold between me and world, and now my writing is too much in the world.
I feel unmoored from the page and the thoughts that comes of it.
To soften the eyes,
let them be more receptive.
I close them to ease the strain
Again, I feel the involuntary pull of the page.
As I tire, the pull of the page becomes stronger.
It feels like I am ignoring it, refusing to engage.
Can I not feel the page – be there with my fingertips and writing nib?
Do I have to always see it?
What is it with the eyes about seeing the letters unfold?
Seeing the words emerge – it is more than a matter of illegibility.
I need to see the words unfold.
Legible.
Illegible.
Seeing or feeling the writing.
To feel the words.
To visualise them.
It is like I have to make them appear in my mind’s eye – as if on the page.
The words are somehow being written in the middle space ahead of me.
Floating, wayward.
The thoughts are not tethered to the page, even if the writing is.
Where is the writing?
It feels like writing exists in this meeting point between my engagement with the world and my engagement with the page.
I think of Cixous – my thought needs the paper: it is not written in my head.
It is like I have a sheet of paper behind my eyes.
I need the physical paper; I need to see the emerging words.
Or rather, my writing is endlessly folding back to glimpse the writing that has already folded.
It needs this tether point to continue somehow.
SCORE 6 – PART 2:
Listening – and looking at the page.
11.48
My eyes still feel the resonance of the last practice – seem strained and a little wired.
I cannot keep the world (as seen) at bay and focus only on listening. At the edge of the page, my eyes are pulled to the floor, the footsteps passing, the leaves.
I close my eyes.
Closed eyes stalls the pen.
My urge to write subsides, stills.
Can I come closer to the page, seeing only the writing.
How to exclude the visible register of the wider world around.
Closer, closer – the words blur as I bring my eyes closer to the page.
My eyes what distinction, they want something to hold onto.
To focus on the nib of the pen.
A concentration practice.
Let the visible world blur and dissolve.
Yet I am not reoriented to listening – I am still looking, just looking with a closer frame.
I close my eyes to better listen.
Soft loss.
Continuity of the motor.
My eyes are pulled involuntarily from the page.
I feel the effort of this practice at the back of my neck.
I close my eyes so that I can raise my head without seeing.
This writing is without soft edges.
My writing requires the intervals – soft thresholds in the negotiation between.
This single focus feels unrelenting – like I cannot breathe.
With eyes open, it is the world that I enter.
It is the word not world that calls my attention from the page.
Wor(l)d.
Word and world.
Writing existing somewhere between.
Word and world.
World as word plus ‘L’.
Plus language.
Plus letting.
Plus longing.
Plus love.
Plus life.
World – word and life.
I could disappear into this space that the word opens.
But what then of the “L” of life, of love, of living, of listening….
Word and life = world.
My eyes involuntarily raise – like I need to take my eyes skyward to think.
To let them rest in the world.
In order to access the thought space of writing.
To look into space.
Writing requires a different gaze at times.
To let the eyes rest in space – to quieten them, to see the words emerge.
WEDNESDAY 6 NOVEMBER
Sun is hot, blue sky
Gridded floor, green space - in front of the church
Score 2
10.25 – 10.35
There is a display stand by the edge of this space which calls my attention. I imagine at one time it presented information about the plant-life directly in front – the cacti, succulents, agave, short palms and plants I do not know the names of, the plants that fill this small corner of the park/square.
Now the information has long since faded or has been worn away and all that remains is a worn plastic surface scored with cracks. The edges have completely peeled away to dark green. The white centre looks like an island in a pool of green sea – an imaginary cartography of a place riven with pathways and riverbeds signalled by the cracks.
For now, this stand is a good place to lean my notebook to write, standing.
The shadow of myself writing is somehow larger than when I sit.
I see more of my whole upper body cast as an image on the page like I have a witness standing next to me watching as a write. No, this is not quite right, rather we two write together: my shadow-body and my flesh-body writing together, meeting of our hands together as we both hold the pen against the page.
Standing here, at this stand, it feels like I have my back to the world, at least, to this green-space within the square. I sense an aliveness behind my back – in sounds of engines whirring, and footsteps that pass by.
Though I look onto the ‘main’ square through the trees, it is this back-ness, this turning of my back on a space, that registers most strongly in my awareness.
A kind of yucca plant is propped with a forked stick to help keep it upright. The leaves of some of the plants are scored with tears and scratches. I wonder for how long these plants have lived here – what they have witnessed. Small white insects float in irregular patterns, almost like flecks of dust. I search for the hoverflies that had earlier reminded me of the drone.
I am searching.
Can I allow instead what comes.
The warmth of sun on my left shoulder and down the nape of my neck.
There is something in this repetition, like I am revisiting a friend.
The flap of wings behind me.
Bike wheels on paving stones whirr past.
The letter ‘M’ inscribed in the trunk of the tree in front.
The hum of maintenance work.
Leaves signal a faint breeze.
I see the breeze also in my shadow, witness the movement of my hair.
The sound of petrol tools overrides the potential of quiet.
Through the leaves, the fountain sprays in the centre of the square.
I can feel it getting warmer.
A spider web links between the sharp points on the leaves of a yucca.
The tree branches frame small vignettes of life.
Two people in t-shirts – one smokes and scratches their head.
In the distance, empty café tables.
My cheeks begin to burn a little, the sun’s heat now extending down my back.
Through the branches – small glimpses of life unfolding.
Reflection
I notice my tendencies in writing.
The call of the page – how writing does feel a solitary activity.
Or rather, not so much solitary, as highly collaborative – in collaboration with the materiality of writing.
I feel I withdraw a little from the world or rather a different space does open – that I rest in the world whilst writing, whilst my commitment is to this other place.
Towards a more ethical kind of writing – writing that is relational. That stays in touch with the world.
That notices.
That cares.
To extend the space of thinking – or to better recognise that is it not that the writing is in ‘me’ but part of and dependent on the world.
The dependency of thinking on being able to open into the world.
How looking around, looking into that middle space, is a precondition for this writing.
Looking into space to find a language.
Where does thinking happen?
The senses open a wider frame in which it happens.
Alive.
Word and life = world.
World = word and life.
World gives language life.
World breathes the word.
World lets the word breathe.
(Inter) dependency.
Dependency on this middle space in front of the eyes and behind the eyes.
Score 4:
By the pillar in the arcade, sun high and hot to my right.
The arced flow of the fountain sprays
A yellow butterfly.
The surface of the still pillar is smooth, as if touched over time by many hands.
Stillness is not the same as inanimate.
The different of this pillar against which I write and the stillness of the trees.
Their stillness belies the movement of their life within, the whirr and hum of insect life sheltering in their creases and canopies.
The crack that stretches away from me on the paving floor reminds me that even the most solid things are susceptible to movement, to change.
The floor beneath is not as stable as it seems, can always crack and fissure.
A child runs towards the green.
Two people stroll past arm in arm.
Heading somewhere.
I notice the movement of the floating particles on the surface of my eyes.
The shadow of my hand, writing.
Your hands too – moving writing across the page: still bodies, moving hands.
Moving thoughts too perhaps, or have they stilled to silence?
Stillness and silence.
Stillness and silence – often these two terms appear paired.
How is this relation between stillness and silence?
Between stillness and writing?
Between silence and writing?
Silent of a certain kind of thinking to leave space for another to emerge.
Like preparing a room by cleaning it, for writing to guest.
Stone and dust.
Almost the same matter and yet so different in duration or movement it might seem.
The stone persists, persists, withstands, endures, immovable.
The dust will no doubt be swept away, in the breeze, or washed away in the next rainfall.
Movement in state, not only as trajectory.
Slow movements seem harder to see.
It is easier for me to see the movement of human walking.
This anthropocentric bias – to be drawn to notice movements that I can empathetically feel.
Even in the stillness, I notice my tendency to conceive of transformation: the slow wearing away of surface, accumulation of time, the movement of time.
Is movement spatial or temporal or can it have a sonic texture, like the melody in the air?
Movement in time as well as space.
Aging.
Nothing really stays still.
My thoughts are unsettled, a little distracted.
I am preoccupied with the clock and the time remaining.
Does it really need to be filled?
Can it be left unplanned and open?
Two children play at the base of the statue.
Statue – being like a statue.
Epitome of stillness.
Solid as rock.
Unmoved, unmoving.
Immovable.
The immovable.
Is stillness and immovable the same?
Still, unmoved, unmoving?
I see you at the far end of the arcade.
Are we like the two statues in the square?
I raise my arm to touch the pillar echoing the statue with arms aloft.
I check the time on the church clock.
The writers are beginning to move –
our score is coming to an end.
SCORE 6 – PART 3:
Dilemma of writing
It is the word ‘aversion’ that I carry with me from the introduction to this score. To avert the eyes, to avert the eyes from the world, from observation, towards the page, towards the writing.
I feel my eyeline involuntarily pull to the side as I search for a word.
Not to see the world, but to try to see the word.
The word I search for, a word, or a phrase, that is not quite ready to come, that feels at the edge of my thought.
My eyes search in space for the word that has not yet come.
I could just stay in this space of writing – not looking up to the unfolding of the world.
Looking and looking away – is the rhythm of observational writing.
The look into the world was brief – a minute seed of a glance, that stimulates the thought a little further, which then pulls me back to the page.
It feels like diving.
Almost like I hold my breath as I dive into the page.
Diving, diving – then suddenly looking up, like coming to the surface to take a gasp of air.
Looking as surfacing.
I am not looking, not observing, but surfacing – letting the thought rest, letting the words settle, before diving back into the page.
Yes, the writing needs the world – but this is not to say it is necessarily observational.
Rather the world offers rest, a space to rest … no, not quite to rest.
The eyes raise on their own as I try to find the words.
The middle space in front calls me.
Not looking at things as such, but into this emptiness in the middle space, where I might find the words.
The words are not found in my head.
They are found somehow in that space there in the world in front – a liminal space that is in the world but somehow also belonging to the page.
A thinking space exists in this middle ground before me.
Like a mindscape that stretches from ‘inside’ my skin, behind the eyes, all the way into the world-space in front.
At times, my glance goes further like certain thoughts need a wider frame, like the words are not close by but might be found in the distance, away from here.
I am looking up and down but I have foregone the practice of observation.
It is not that I notate the world, but rather that it has become part of my page, part of my thought.
How to engage more receptivity to the world?
Observation pulls me out of myself, to attend to a horizon wider than my own thinking-writing.
There is an inherent ethics in this caring for the world.
World not only as an extension of my page, and writing – but a space that lives and has its own call.
Calls me out of my own writing and into relation.
10:11
Cucú
10:18
Zócalo San Pedro, Cholula
Hace más calor, está más despejado (yo tengo más frío; resfriado seguro)
El escenario es el casi mismo que ayer
mismo pabellón, plantas, árboles, estructuras, casas, edificios, bancas, fuente, quiosco, iglesia.
Diferentes personas, hoy hay perros, niños jugando, dos amigas hablando chismeando
Se siente más tranquilo que ayer, seguramente por ser relativamente temprano.
Escucho la patineta del nino, quiere dominar un truco, aún no le sale eso es obvio
Solo puedo escuchar a las amigas, siguen en el chisme ( Nota: no lo escuches, está aburrido)
Estoy sentada en un árbol, pensé en su sombra, que está del otro lado
Me da TODO el sol
No me quiero mover, se siente como quema
calienta
quema
estorba (vista)
refleja
acurruca
asa
asfixia
Ya van casi 5 perros, 2 de ellos se me acercaron, uno grande, sin dueño, otro pequeño lo contrario.
La señora del chisme tose, ya van varios. Yo estoy igual.
Hoy sí me pregunto por las demás
Hay un tour, “Africam Safari” dice la playera que trae la chica/guía. Llegó tarde, le reclamaron. Es un grupo, parece una familia -no niños-, son ruidosos. Suena uno de los teléfonos Bob Esponja, casi segura que es el tema que tiene su teléfono.
Se van.
Cucú
11:35
Zócalo
San Pedro CholulVista hacia el kiosco
6 noviembre 2024
Veo sin mirar
Pasa una señora
grande con un
bolso rosa fucsia.
el kiosco se ve más grande de lo que pensé
su estructura
me encanta, tiene ocho lados octágono
y abajo
una ventana en forma de
octágono.
Sube un papá con
su hija, parece de tres años, le
cuesta subir, le tiene paciencia
le carga su mochila; se ve
chiquita a comparación del
tamaño estándar
de adultos.
Ella juega. feliz.
La señora regresa,
parece estar
buscando algo.
Hay varias personas
sentadas al rededor
del kiosco,
así están puestas las bancas.
Siento impotencia al querer
mirar lo que escribo, puede
que ni se entienda esto.
Supongo que no es importan te
( qué lo es? ).
Bajan del kiosco , ella se
detiene, tiene dos coletas
y dos moños tres moños.
Pasa un señor con gorro,
suéter y audífonos, se
sienta en una banca, no pasan dos segundos para que
vea el celular.
Es impresionante. lo conectados y
adictos que somos.
se saludan dos señores,
parecen viejos amigos, estoy
casi segura que -
los vió, no se sabe si lo
escribió.
A lado del señor en la banca
con sombrero está otro señor
en el cel.
Me apuro a escribir. una familia
lo que parece un abuelo con su
esposa y nieta exclama, se queda
fascinado de una ardilla subiendo las
escaleras, se me hizo tierno, puro
cálido. la niña me ve
Cucú
10:40
Kiosk, Zocalo San Andrés, Cholula
Ambient: warm
I’m/we are in a kiosk, the view is a little bit higher. I can see we’re I/we were before. Choose not to.
Choose the view with the fountain. I like this view, I can hear the birds and a cutting grass machine ( don’t know the name ).
I can see a lot of squirrels climbing the trees.
I’ve always loved kiosks.
People are walking by, some look up and see us, they don’t stop.
A car is hunkying? really intense. I could swear everyone hears it. kind of annoying.
It stops.
I can feel the bris, hear the birds and the people talking. Even if it’s not the calmest place, I like it.
I’ve always loved kiosks. It’s decorated with papel picado all around. In the floor there's graffiti “LUIS AGUIRE <3”, in the ceiling there’s a chandelier, I think it's made with (hojalata). Still pretty
people are talking, the grass is being cut. There are bikes, and someone's taking a nap in the grass. a family passing by, tree sisters with their mom, two playing, one is a baby. She (the mom) hits one. They walk off.
I’ve always loved kiosks. I can lay my head in one of the eight columns.
Can’t help to go back to my childhood for a second
Remembering playing in one
Dancing
Feeling like a princess
like Julieta, so my sister could be Romeo
-Cucú- sounds. I have to go back to reality.
Cucú
11:04
Zócalo San Pedro, Cholula
November 6, 2024
Weather; same.
Middle.
I chose the middle of the square/perimeter that was given.
I feel like I can see everything. I’m in the middle of the perimeter, not in the center
The center is almost empty, the sun hits, no one stays there.
I sat down, almost on the ground. I know it’s filthy and my back is almost touching (encajándome) the leaves of the bush. I have a tree shadow and the breeze hits in a nice way.
In front of me, the third line/perimeter of the square given is a plaza. cafe, and a restaurant, a hotel, but all you can see are the little tables sitting in front, in the bridge (costa, casi, límite) limit of the plaza. It’s a traditional Mexican plaza of one floor, a space between the doors and the limit/end of it. They have columns and a wall decoration ( Nota: dibujé los arcos de la plaza ) where pigeons build their nests.
Would have been easier to draw it.
The fourth side of the perimeter is where the street begins. Parallel - across is a church, you can hear the sound of bells
it closes to the first side of the square. I’m here (that’s why it’s the first, not to sound too arrogant, but )
This one has bushes all over and trees. If you go deeper in this side you’ll find the kiosk.
Cucú
The second side could not be described; ran out of time.
Cucú
11:48 diferente hora
Mismo lugar
Mismo día
Se escucha la cortadora de pasto, es el ruido más fuerte y escandaloso.
Para por UN segundo. sigue.
Se escucha como un niño va pasando, habla y no camina, suena como mueve los pies de forma no recta, ni continúa; algunos pasos brinca, otro arrastra y mientras todo habla.
Un grito (parece de una Mam o señora a su bebé, se escuchan que juegan) -weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee- pausa -weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee- risa del bebé.
Pasa un carrito, algo con ruedas
Pájaros cantan
Pasto se corta
Niños se quejan
Papás regañan
La campana
Algo se cayó (sonó a madera)
Pasos de personas (dos, al unísono)
Teléfono
Charla indistintiva
Coche (el freno, para ser específico)
Pasos de alguien en tacones o pisadas fuertes
Mueven sillas
Charla
Pájaro
Pisaron una hoja seca
Alguien trae prisa
Pájaro grita (parece de playa)
La máquina se pasto sigue
Perro (creo)
Se repiten, aunque estoy segura que no son ni los mismos pájaros, ni los mismos pasos, charlas, etc.
Campana, porta pasto PODADORA (había olvidado el nombre momento feliz) sonidos constantes que no cambian
Pausa
Cierro los ojos, me siento perdida. Intento escuchar algo más, se escucha como un juguete de perro
Cucú
12:01
Zócalo, San Andrés Cholula
November 06, 2024
A squirrel, the lady with the big pink bag gives the squirrel some nuts. The squirrel eats them. It/he/she looks fluffy, I want to touch it.
The sun is hitting me, not too much to be annoying p, it feels nice. I feel present, in the moment, feels weird.
A child screams, doing a tantrum. He continues to talk, asking for something.
Feeling present it’s kind of overwhelming
There is too much going on.
I hear the birds, a plane, music, a child, flying birds, cars hunkying, steps, and conversations. And looking at the silent things like the grass, benches, trees, people who aren’t producing sounds, the buildings and how everything looks.
The lady walking, I’m hearing her steps. Mid size with curly hair, a blue sweatshirt and a big red bag.
While describing her, at least three more people walked past me, one on a bike, two friends in a nurse uniform, and a family of three.
Come to the realization it’s impossible to see, hear, feel, smell everything, always, all the time WITH the SAME IMPORTANCE. at least for me.
Cucú
The dilemma of writing - 10min
Hay una ardilla en el árbol
La ardilla agarra con sus patas las comida, muerde y mastica
Una persona extiende su mano y deja comida en el árbol
Una persona se detiene para sacar cosas de su bolsa del mandado
Recoge algo del suelo y lo avienta lejos
camina , se vuelve a detener saca algo de la bolsa y lo avienta hacia el jardín
Pájaros vuelan de árbol en árbol
La banca tiene un emblema grabado “Construyendo una mejor sociedad, San Pedro, Cholula. 2011-2014”
Encuentro otro emblema debajo “Funpimet 3675171 222 367 5175 Puebla, Pue”
Un algodoncito levita por el aire.
Una nube ha escondido la luz del sol.
6 de Noviembre 2024
X time
Zócalo de San Pedro, Cholula
Foro música (abajo)
To notate without looking the paper - 10 min
Banderas ondeando
Ladrillos acomo
dados
Sombras
La gente habla
sola
Agua, viendo,
movimiento, mirada,
mordida, steering,
caminar, hablar
proteger? Reir, malvaviscos
ventana arco,
sonido, ruido, amarillo
rojo, café o crema
Lentes de sol, audífonos
Escalera pequeño
Modula, fleco
figura escultura
abombada con
antena, luz, sol, escultura,
platicar, menos en los
bolsillos, menos a los
Costados. Perro,
Sandalias, silla de
ruedas, sombrero,
sueter, bolsa,
Zapato.
bicicleta y flores
sin manos
círculo, torre,
amarillo, árbol,
detrás. Lámpara, pájaro,
Pepitas, salsa, chichurrinos,
verde, verde, amarillo
café, azul, rojo,
amarillo, azul, morado,
sombrero, bigote,
gorra, tenia, verde,
rojo, uniforme
ardilla, gris,
café
La gente habla
sola
zapatos:
4 de noviembre 2024
Soleado calor 11x
Portal Guerrer
Zócalo de San Pedro, Cholula
Stillness - Movement - 15 min
CCCCCC
AAA
M
S
S
P
B B B B B B
PP PP PP
B. B. B. B. B.
L. L. L. L. L. L. L. L.
L. L. L. L. L. L. L. L.
6 de Noviembre 2024
11:50 am
Looking at the paper, not seeing (sound) - 10 min
El jardinero y su máquina
Una persona grita juguetonamente
Un teléfono suena
Humming
Voices
Conversación
Conversación
Ruedas
Hair. Hand sensing hair
Podadora
Chirrido
Chanclasos rítmicos
Uigññ uigñññ uigñññ
gñññ ññi ññi
cogrgh
dun-dun dun-dun dun-dun
DUN DUN
DUN DUN DUN DUN
DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN
DUN
Reflexión - 5 min
It has going and coming, going and coming, going and coming.
A constant negotiation with the senses, the awareness, the being with oneself, with the other, with the mere act of existing, with paying attention.
With time, movement, location, crea, space, life and objects.
Actions and forgetfulness.
Wondering and wandering
Bewilderment. Familiarity.
And the constant sound of the lawn mowing.
6 de Noviembre 2024
10:20am
Zócalo de San Pedro Cholula
Soleado con un poco de viento
Observational writing - 15min
Una persona habla al teléfono mientras la otra escucha y mueve la cabeza.
El teléfono suena con la voz de una persona.
Una patineta rueda. Se desliza, se levanta y se estampa de regreso en el piso.
Dos perros cruzan. Uno con correo. Otro sin correa.
Una persona se limpia la garganta.
Los pájaros anuncian su presencia.
Viento
Sol
Brazos
Vellitos
Un automóbil
Un celular
Sombras sobre el piso
Pantalones amarillos
Las partes de un camión rechinan y liberan aire
Alguien arrastra los pies al caminar
A dove hops
A skateboard slides
Three dogs. Two without a leash. One on a leash
Bells
Truck
.
. . . . .
……………………..
.
. . . . . . . . . .
.
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Una caida
Both expected and unexpected
A chain shines
ññññññññññññññññññññññññññññññññññ
ñññññññññññ ññññ ñ ññññññ ñ ñ ñ ñ ññ ññññ ñññ ññññññ ñ ñññ ñññññ ññññ ñ ñ
ñ ñ ñ ññ ññ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ
Palabras
A fall in the gall
Is a fall in the fall the is of the fall?
El sol quema
Stings or burns?
Probably both
4 de Noviembre 2024
10:41am
Soleado
Zócalo de San Pedro, Cholula
Foro de música (arriba)
Near-far / self - world - 15 min
Pesadez, tensión, chocked-up, construction, body.
bodily rhythm in and out of just being
Hyper awareness
Contact with the metal
Contact
Contact
Altitude
Floor
Share
Shadow
Shape
Wetness
Return to the body
La cabeza, the oblivion of the being in the space
Sounds llegan con urgencia. Hay una urgencia. Urgencia. Urgencia. Urgencia. Se detiene.
Focus and awareness center and ground.
Un sonido camina de afuera para dentro
De lejos para cerca
Ángulo de 90°
Círculo
Ángulo de 100°
Ángulo de 350°
Ondulación
Regulación. Negociación.
La gente habla con objetos.
La gente habla sola.
ñ ññññ ñ ñ ñ ñ ññññññññ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñññññññññ ñ ñ ñ ñññññññññññññññññññ ñ ñ ñ ñ
ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ññññ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ññññññññññññññññññ ñ ñ ñ ñ
diiiiii ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ ñ
trajectories
periphery.
the breeze of wind.
deep green.
lose the grip. Soften
what a relief.
Be here, be me.
The shadows are moving , just like
my thought pulsating in my brain. Slime mold of
колокола a forest I grew in my head.
A cicada brood, a cicada brood, the lawn, the steps, all letters, questions, questions. The pulsation of writing, of thoughts, of blood in my head. The page is bright and white, like the surface of the ocean right below the sun, like the church on the square. And the motion the motion I cannot stop. Being me.
I am listening.
In the shadow of a tree
A subtle scent of lavender
I am writing in a foreign
language, I am wearing a
fragrance of my past life.
of my past lives? The autumn
Here is ephemeral, a few yellow
Leaves here and there. I guess
the only sound I miss is -the
church bell chimes- when you
Step on them, this crisp sound
I am watching the leaves falling
Someone is watching me writing
Someone is waiting for my reply
I am waiting for her to come back
But right now all this doesn't matter
the leaves are falling and the scent of lavender
The bright sunlight is reflected by the whiteness of the church. It is a cloud I might see from the window of a plane. An enormous bright white cloud. It is a cloud I can reach. I can reach out and touch that tree which might still remember the colony, I can walk and stumble upon the city vanishing into a suburb. I can see a fountain, I cannot hear it though. The horizon, a vanishing point, further, the volcano, further, the end of the continent, further. If I cannot sense it, I can imagine it. The lawn is neatly cut, it bears the abstraction of the tree shadows, the arches are jumping one over another. I wish I could reach out and hold your hand.
The river cannot be stopped. the springs are nurturing it: I can hear, I can see, I can feel, I can miss, I can remember, I can think, I can write. I can share it without naming it. I can decipher a breeze of wind, I can encode a scent of lavender in the shadow of that tree.
The page is smooth. The day is long. The sun has moved; it is my skin that senses this, all these changes here at once, noticed and unnoticed, are passing through my body.
No centre, no periphery.
I can cross a square, it is easy. I can cross some borders, it is not that difficult. But crossing it out of my memory seems impossible. The square has its rhythm; the plane has its route, crossing the ocean. Can we cross paths? I miss you, ruminating in circles -in circles- in the form of clouds, tree shadows, a scent of lavender.