Dogs out on first dates

I promise I tried to write this sooner. There was more life to be lived so here we are finally with a second silly little newsletter for my silly little friends (meant as a term of endearment xxxxx). Again we have a collection of happenings, my favourite way to eat is off an abundant plate of things, so this is how the stories will be fed to you too. Nutritious and delicious - like the first date I went on this last week. 

Many months ago while riding alcohol and weed brownies into a full moon birthday celebration, a friend who I worked with told me every time we would have a work meeting he would always receive updates about my love life and flat dramas. Firstly this is because he is a safe human who I reckon could get anyone talking (love you Connor), secondly I think it’s important for people to be able to arrive as they are. Ground in our human nature and put what’s on top into the world and off to the side so we can get into the important mahi unclouded and connected, understanding where each other is in life at that moment. Especially when the important mahi is setting up a rainbow pickling workshop for students.

In the spirit of this we’re going to start with my dating life. I know last time the title was about dating spiders - which I suppose was loosely related to my dating life at the time, but also genuinely referenced spending time with spiders - I promise not every news letter will be about my love life. But maybe it will because all my life is love! Vomit!!

I went on the most cinematic indie movie first date ever earlier this week. It all started because I leapt right out of my comfort zone and put my number in a cute French man’s vegetable box at work. He texted and after some small talk we decided to meet on Tuesday. His response to ‘what shall we get up to?’ Was ‘Beach? Sunset walk? Picking seaweed washed on the shore by the storm?’ Here is where my melting for the man began. ‘Yes please that sounds amazing. I’m also on the hunt for a large mussel shell.’ 

He comes to pick me up around 4pm. I ask Rhianna if toe shoes on the first date are too much and she laughs in my face. Apparently when she told Stella that I wore them her response was a horrified “WHAT?!” If you’re not getting the dogs out on the first date how else will you know if they’re the one? He loved them. After getting in the car he hands me a bouquet of flowers - useful delicious flowers - lavender, jasmine, rosemary, eucalyptus. I melt some more. We drive out to Mākara learning a little of each others life stories on the way. He’s made lemon ginger tea and banana chocolate chip muffins. We walk, talk, and forage under the burnt orange sunset until the moon lights up the beach for us to journey back to the car. We didn’t find a mussel shell. On Thursday he comes to pick up his vegetable box from work and gives me a whole bag of mussel shells he went and found at Ōwhiro bay. I am basically just a melted puddle of Gen at this stage. Make me into a beeswax candle and keep it lit until I evaporate.

Recently at a dinner table, Pere was talking about schmoozing rich people into offering art residences. Amber asked how one schmoozes. Pere very accurately and visually described taking your soul in one hand, grabbing a grater, and scraping a piece away. Offer the small grated piece of your soul to the rich person with two hands, who will then eat it, and later shit it out. 

I didn’t get the funding I needed to attend a symposium I was invited to speak at. Āe, she was invited to speak at the Costume and Textile Association of New Zealand’s Symposium titled ‘Interconnectedness: Patterns and Diversity’ which on my own dime will cost me at least $1000 to attend. This is the first fancy, offical event I have been asked to be at. I have no clue if investing my own money is worth it. It could be my opportunity to take a grater to my soul like it’s a block of Mainland Tasty. It could very well have me connect with great people. Or it could just be soul grating and bank breaking. I’ve booked my flights and payed the attendance fees - I know, paying to speak somewhere is cooked. I’ve decided to invest in this event, if nothing else to experience the hardcore costume and textile lovers reaction to my ‘fuck permanence’ approach to materials design. It’s really funny hearing people try to justify their wasteful practices to me like I’m the god they’ll meet in death passing judgement over their life choices. 

It was Achille’s birthday celebrations a couple of Fridays ago. What a night. We looked at seaweed art, ate oily salty food, and drank way more red wine than is necessary. One of my favourite memories being Amber and Achille sitting on the floor touching by the soles of their bare feet. After the events I went to take a bus home. I got the 4 to the bottom of Ahumairangi hill and started an adventure upwards. I love lone adventures on this hill. I almost decided to fall asleep on my favourite tree stump. Thank the forest spirits I didn’t though because making the rest of the journey home as hung over as I was the next day would have been grotty as fuck. 

I’m a big believer in considering work towards ones well being as being part of your work (money making or otherwise). I acknowledge that the ability to do so is incredibly privileged, however I still strive to instil this mindset in myself and friends. When you are well in yourself, you are better able to offer your self in service to others. I love being of service to others, and I love being of service to myself. Scampering across Ahumairangi hill is an important part of my being well, and has been for like three years now. Especially in winter when the cold makes the mucus in my face jiggle with the vibrations of the bus. I wander with the fungi after the rain and I’m reminded of the things that I love and what I fight to preserve in the hearts and minds of those who come to experience my art and learn textile skills with me.

I seem to be getting into the habit of spending time drunk in the bush post a social gathering. Last night after a lovely dinner with friends I got dropped off at Ōtari. I was going to travel home from there but decided to go spend some time with my latest artwork in progress. You can find it not too far into Wilton’s walkway. It’s another tapestry, this time in between two trees warped up with muka that I extracted and spun myself. The muka is from plants in the pā harakeke at Ōtari. My feelings about this project are so difficult to contain in words. It’s bizarre that I have funding and support to do this, it is so special and I am such a lucky girl. It’s one of those parts of my life that just doesn’t feel quite real. I get to weave in the fucking bush man what the fuck. Spending time there last night was beautiful. It wasn’t raining anymore but in the fernery droplets were still falling consistently from the canopy. A symphony of water travelling over layers of leaves to the ground. Again I wished I could stay there and be lulled to sleep.

Making domestic labour fun is so fantastic. 9pm on a Sunday evening, post a slow day on the shop floor, Rhianna said to me “have you seen the spice drawer?” “No, did someone label the spices?” My favourite expression to see on Rhianna’s face emerged. The one that is a smile coming out from the eyes beaming down through the mouth - she knows something I don’t and feels elated by the power to bring it into my world. Something has happened in the spice draw that is going to make me feel something. The first thing I notice is black labels adorned with different kitsch typefaces and emojis (classic designer to see the aesthetics first). Jack has labelled the spice drawer, and it brings me great joy. I think I might smile inside every time I open this drawer. It is so silly and I am such a silly girl. These silly, nasty little labels hit my giggle bone. I love you Jack you silly man. 

Recently I’ve been reflecting on work and working. What is work, why is work, how is work, when is work, who is work. The answers are; work is life, we die if we don’t, however works best, always, and everyone. Life is darning socks and darning socks is work. This is intentional work. It is not ‘my sock has a hole I guess you go in the bin and I go spend 30-60 minutes of my time that is now money and 30 minutes of my time that is still time travelling, perusing racks and shelves for the socks that feel most like me, and buying a new pair.’ All under fluorescent lights?! That is silly. To darn a sock is good for your mental health. It is good for your sock, for your feet, for your ecosystem, if you do it with a friend it is good for your relationship. It is just so good. You can do it with an hour of your time that is still time. If you would like to learn how to darn a sock do let me know. 

A mushroom trip memory resurfaced in conversation recently. During my first trip - a blindfolded heroic dose, yes thank you she is hardcore -  at the peak, I was in the void of space looking at ~everything~ manifested as a ring of light. We zoomed in (I suppose the mushrooms and I?) to a portion that looked like spun yarn being untwisted. I knew that’s where we are now in time and space. Feeling a great sense of peace being a disembodied nothing just observing everything that is, was, and will be, I asked, ‘why can’t we be like this all the time,’ they replied with, ‘because it’s hard work being everything at once.’

Thinking you need to be everything and do everything in life, in your ecosystem, community, relationships, is incorrect and overwhelming. We are so many things at once, and we often want to be more. I’m a woman, a weaver, a daughter, sister, granddaughter, cousin, niece, friend, an artist, an arts producer, a mentor, a mentee, flatmate, employee, employer, lover, a love interest?? All these roles require so many different qualities to be embodied everyday and so many qualities to aspire to, to be better versions of these roles! Damn and I want to be a dancer again too but where is the space? It’s hard work being everything at once. I’m pretty stoked to be the pieces of a person that I am, and I’ve become them both intentionally and organically. The present is the destination and the journey getting there is just as enjoyable. Just as enjoyable as darning a sock. 

Now for Rhianna’s 100% reliable advice:

Stella has asked, “How do I be my most authentic self?” 

I'll start with a quote from my friend Gen "that's a great question," she said. 

To find out the answer, you must gather the following materials: 

3 cookies, 1 cup pomegranate seeds (or other fruit seeds if not available), 7 toenail clippings, a handful of dirt (dilute with 1 cup water), and the tears of your flatmate. 

Method:

1. Get yourself as comfortable as a frog would be on a normal day. 
   
2. Turn to the West and do 10 squats over the bowl, before combining ingredients. 
   
3. Take a sniff of the mixture and fill your nostrils with intention, before breathing out a deep moan. 
   
4. Grab a handful of the mixture and throw it in the direction towards the sun or moon (whichever is most relevant). 
   
5. Make a sound. Any sound. Make it loud. Scream it from the rooftops. 
   
6. Put your hands in the bowl and swirl them around in the mixture with conviction.
   
7. Now focus your gaze on what ever draws your attention most, then allow your gaze to soften and fall out of focus. Allow the hazy laziness of your eyes to take over and the sounds of the universe to become blurry. 
   
8. What do you notice? What do you see, hear or feel? Are you drawn to patterns, textures, light, colours? Does anything remind you of when you were younger? 
   
9. Enjoy this moment, connect with what resonates most. There, you will find the authentic you. 

Note: If you're struggling to settle in, do a roly-poly to reshuffle the energy, before returning your hands to the bowl.

Thanks for reading this silly little newsletter! As always write back with words of encouragement, discouragement, or neutrality. If you don’t want to receive it anymore reply with stop pls and I’ll be deeply offended. Just kidding I don’t give a fuck I’ll just go darn a sock about it. 

Love you lots 

Til next time 

Genevieve

xxxxxxx