Series Entry 25.6

Liz Harvey

Series Entry 25.6


Description

Series_25

Katia Noyes & Liz Harvey

“Where are you from?” Series 25 between Katia Noyes (poetry) and Liz Harvey (textile / photography) interrogates this deceptive question by contrasting always insurgent, messy versions of the past against more sanitized forms of memory and preservations of place. The results are not cathartic so much as an exercise in snake charming one’s beginnings through acceptance of irrepressible traumas maintained and measured by artful containment. Previous shame and disgust, as well as arrival at thoughts akin to redemption, serve as moves of displacement, rather than providing a means for reconciliation or discovery. Reconfigured bits of the old come to furnish both present representations of the exterior and interior. The ‘you’ addressed in the opening question ultimately arrives at an elaborated abstraction of an unseemly origin now made acceptable, safe, even useful as material for weaving new forms of self.

Set in the stark environs of a drudged up Sioux City childhood, Noyes’ pieces speak to this confused condition as if describing a humanized machine shifting between self-sacrifice and regeneration. The gruesome vividness of “soured pig’s blood” streaking toward the killing floor drain does not turn rancid, but leaves “the carcass now catalyzed, / surging.” Expired loved ones and family can be similarly reanimated in mind through a kind of psychodynamic autopsy: “Rip her open. / Find the pulsing woman inside the scratchy outline.” Still, the desire to “search the currents” further for lingering traces of what came before inevitably converge with “the acrid, wintry rivers.” Nothing leads back to exactly where it started; erosions and substitutions are ever-present.

Acting as both complement to and witty distillation of Noyes’ entries, Harvey’s work records the same kinds of dislocation and dissolution, but contained in the more straightforward emblems of visual narrative. With Harvey’s embroidery of memorialized past scenes implied in Noyes’ poetry, the concept of ‘interwoven’ becomes an ingenious (not to mention humorous) commentarial representation of how we constantly relive, or ‘wind back’ to where we once and always belong. The designs in Harvey’s pieces also perform as almost pictogram-like filing markers employed to distinguish how, through coping deferment to childish simplicity and denial, one can distinguish between eras now gone involving mothers, the ol’ hometown, and fresh appeals to “Wash me good rain.”

As increasingly revealed throughout the exchange between Katia Noyes and Liz Harvey, the differences between ‘here’ and ‘there’, ‘present’ and ‘past’ remain as complex as other issues and possibilities relevant to ideas of identity. For those asking and being asked ‘where they come from?’, the question gives way to a tumult of reflection that requires sifting through compartmentalized token memories and the unrelenting fluid pasts roiling beneath to finally raise hybridized futures from the synthesized remainders: “See her, / dripping out, / the color of pomegranate / or granite. / What is left? / What is. / What is left is us.”

What is left is us.

My mother’s things, her smell— sweet pickled and fucked-up Sioux-town smoky—the little hat, the needlework,

and a past,

years before she met the Porters, married,

and washed up here.

.

Rip her open.

Find the pulsing woman inside the scratchy outline.

Search the currents

before the acrid, wintry rivers.

.

Believe in purity and flesh.

Think sad lost youth,

as if youth was full.

As if the Ndakotahs, native peoples,

knew waters

with no blood.

.

Sioux City turns me morbid.

.

Leave with something,

maybe her handkerchief.

Maybe nothing.

.

Maybe nothing.


Katia Noyes

Series Entry 25.5


Description

Series_25

Katia Noyes & Liz Harvey

“Where are you from?” Series 25 between Katia Noyes (poetry) and Liz Harvey (textile / photography) interrogates this deceptive question by contrasting always insurgent, messy versions of the past against more sanitized forms of memory and preservations of place. The results are not cathartic so much as an exercise in snake charming one’s beginnings through acceptance of irrepressible traumas maintained and measured by artful containment. Previous shame and disgust, as well as arrival at thoughts akin to redemption, serve as moves of displacement, rather than providing a means for reconciliation or discovery. Reconfigured bits of the old come to furnish both present representations of the exterior and interior. The ‘you’ addressed in the opening question ultimately arrives at an elaborated abstraction of an unseemly origin now made acceptable, safe, even useful as material for weaving new forms of self.

Set in the stark environs of a drudged up Sioux City childhood, Noyes’ pieces speak to this confused condition as if describing a humanized machine shifting between self-sacrifice and regeneration. The gruesome vividness of “soured pig’s blood” streaking toward the killing floor drain does not turn rancid, but leaves “the carcass now catalyzed, / surging.” Expired loved ones and family can be similarly reanimated in mind through a kind of psychodynamic autopsy: “Rip her open. / Find the pulsing woman inside the scratchy outline.” Still, the desire to “search the currents” further for lingering traces of what came before inevitably converge with “the acrid, wintry rivers.” Nothing leads back to exactly where it started; erosions and substitutions are ever-present.

Acting as both complement to and witty distillation of Noyes’ entries, Harvey’s work records the same kinds of dislocation and dissolution, but contained in the more straightforward emblems of visual narrative. With Harvey’s embroidery of memorialized past scenes implied in Noyes’ poetry, the concept of ‘interwoven’ becomes an ingenious (not to mention humorous) commentarial representation of how we constantly relive, or ‘wind back’ to where we once and always belong. The designs in Harvey’s pieces also perform as almost pictogram-like filing markers employed to distinguish how, through coping deferment to childish simplicity and denial, one can distinguish between eras now gone involving mothers, the ol’ hometown, and fresh appeals to “Wash me good rain.”

As increasingly revealed throughout the exchange between Katia Noyes and Liz Harvey, the differences between ‘here’ and ‘there’, ‘present’ and ‘past’ remain as complex as other issues and possibilities relevant to ideas of identity. For those asking and being asked ‘where they come from?’, the question gives way to a tumult of reflection that requires sifting through compartmentalized token memories and the unrelenting fluid pasts roiling beneath to finally raise hybridized futures from the synthesized remainders: “See her, / dripping out, / the color of pomegranate / or granite. / What is left? / What is. / What is left is us.”

Series Entry 25.4

Liz Harvey

Series Entry 25.4


Description

Series_25

Katia Noyes & Liz Harvey

“Where are you from?” Series 25 between Katia Noyes (poetry) and Liz Harvey (textile / photography) interrogates this deceptive question by contrasting always insurgent, messy versions of the past against more sanitized forms of memory and preservations of place. The results are not cathartic so much as an exercise in snake charming one’s beginnings through acceptance of irrepressible traumas maintained and measured by artful containment. Previous shame and disgust, as well as arrival at thoughts akin to redemption, serve as moves of displacement, rather than providing a means for reconciliation or discovery. Reconfigured bits of the old come to furnish both present representations of the exterior and interior. The ‘you’ addressed in the opening question ultimately arrives at an elaborated abstraction of an unseemly origin now made acceptable, safe, even useful as material for weaving new forms of self.

Set in the stark environs of a drudged up Sioux City childhood, Noyes’ pieces speak to this confused condition as if describing a humanized machine shifting between self-sacrifice and regeneration. The gruesome vividness of “soured pig’s blood” streaking toward the killing floor drain does not turn rancid, but leaves “the carcass now catalyzed, / surging.” Expired loved ones and family can be similarly reanimated in mind through a kind of psychodynamic autopsy: “Rip her open. / Find the pulsing woman inside the scratchy outline.” Still, the desire to “search the currents” further for lingering traces of what came before inevitably converge with “the acrid, wintry rivers.” Nothing leads back to exactly where it started; erosions and substitutions are ever-present.

Acting as both complement to and witty distillation of Noyes’ entries, Harvey’s work records the same kinds of dislocation and dissolution, but contained in the more straightforward emblems of visual narrative. With Harvey’s embroidery of memorialized past scenes implied in Noyes’ poetry, the concept of ‘interwoven’ becomes an ingenious (not to mention humorous) commentarial representation of how we constantly relive, or ‘wind back’ to where we once and always belong. The designs in Harvey’s pieces also perform as almost pictogram-like filing markers employed to distinguish how, through coping deferment to childish simplicity and denial, one can distinguish between eras now gone involving mothers, the ol’ hometown, and fresh appeals to “Wash me good rain.”

As increasingly revealed throughout the exchange between Katia Noyes and Liz Harvey, the differences between ‘here’ and ‘there’, ‘present’ and ‘past’ remain as complex as other issues and possibilities relevant to ideas of identity. For those asking and being asked ‘where they come from?’, the question gives way to a tumult of reflection that requires sifting through compartmentalized token memories and the unrelenting fluid pasts roiling beneath to finally raise hybridized futures from the synthesized remainders: “See her, / dripping out, / the color of pomegranate / or granite. / What is left? / What is. / What is left is us.”

What is left is us.

My mother’s things.

.

I come back

to Sioux City.

Once Stevensen’s

book and me

in the living

room, crunchy Braeburn

in hand,

an adventure

with each page.

.

What I thought of life. A promise.

.

Tales of bravery.

More like pig blood turned sour.

Or is it simply the course of age? The stink.

I smell it in my mother’s house.

She kept her smell till death.

.

What a town.

.

The years of smoke and meat

and early morning

parking lots graced

by knotted

oaks. In summer

they are at their best, sweet leaf

greens not

dwarfed by industry.

.

Look in the river.

and see the future.

.

Kidnapped.


Katia Noyes

Series Entry 25.3


Description

Series_25

Katia Noyes & Liz Harvey

“Where are you from?” Series 25 between Katia Noyes (poetry) and Liz Harvey (textile / photography) interrogates this deceptive question by contrasting always insurgent, messy versions of the past against more sanitized forms of memory and preservations of place. The results are not cathartic so much as an exercise in snake charming one’s beginnings through acceptance of irrepressible traumas maintained and measured by artful containment. Previous shame and disgust, as well as arrival at thoughts akin to redemption, serve as moves of displacement, rather than providing a means for reconciliation or discovery. Reconfigured bits of the old come to furnish both present representations of the exterior and interior. The ‘you’ addressed in the opening question ultimately arrives at an elaborated abstraction of an unseemly origin now made acceptable, safe, even useful as material for weaving new forms of self.

Set in the stark environs of a drudged up Sioux City childhood, Noyes’ pieces speak to this confused condition as if describing a humanized machine shifting between self-sacrifice and regeneration. The gruesome vividness of “soured pig’s blood” streaking toward the killing floor drain does not turn rancid, but leaves “the carcass now catalyzed, / surging.” Expired loved ones and family can be similarly reanimated in mind through a kind of psychodynamic autopsy: “Rip her open. / Find the pulsing woman inside the scratchy outline.” Still, the desire to “search the currents” further for lingering traces of what came before inevitably converge with “the acrid, wintry rivers.” Nothing leads back to exactly where it started; erosions and substitutions are ever-present.

Acting as both complement to and witty distillation of Noyes’ entries, Harvey’s work records the same kinds of dislocation and dissolution, but contained in the more straightforward emblems of visual narrative. With Harvey’s embroidery of memorialized past scenes implied in Noyes’ poetry, the concept of ‘interwoven’ becomes an ingenious (not to mention humorous) commentarial representation of how we constantly relive, or ‘wind back’ to where we once and always belong. The designs in Harvey’s pieces also perform as almost pictogram-like filing markers employed to distinguish how, through coping deferment to childish simplicity and denial, one can distinguish between eras now gone involving mothers, the ol’ hometown, and fresh appeals to “Wash me good rain.”

As increasingly revealed throughout the exchange between Katia Noyes and Liz Harvey, the differences between ‘here’ and ‘there’, ‘present’ and ‘past’ remain as complex as other issues and possibilities relevant to ideas of identity. For those asking and being asked ‘where they come from?’, the question gives way to a tumult of reflection that requires sifting through compartmentalized token memories and the unrelenting fluid pasts roiling beneath to finally raise hybridized futures from the synthesized remainders: “See her, / dripping out, / the color of pomegranate / or granite. / What is left? / What is. / What is left is us.”

Series Entry 25.2

Liz Harvey

Series Entry 25.2


Description

Series_25

Katia Noyes & Liz Harvey

“Where are you from?” Series 25 between Katia Noyes (poetry) and Liz Harvey (textile / photography) interrogates this deceptive question by contrasting always insurgent, messy versions of the past against more sanitized forms of memory and preservations of place. The results are not cathartic so much as an exercise in snake charming one’s beginnings through acceptance of irrepressible traumas maintained and measured by artful containment. Previous shame and disgust, as well as arrival at thoughts akin to redemption, serve as moves of displacement, rather than providing a means for reconciliation or discovery. Reconfigured bits of the old come to furnish both present representations of the exterior and interior. The ‘you’ addressed in the opening question ultimately arrives at an elaborated abstraction of an unseemly origin now made acceptable, safe, even useful as material for weaving new forms of self.

Set in the stark environs of a drudged up Sioux City childhood, Noyes’ pieces speak to this confused condition as if describing a humanized machine shifting between self-sacrifice and regeneration. The gruesome vividness of “soured pig’s blood” streaking toward the killing floor drain does not turn rancid, but leaves “the carcass now catalyzed, / surging.” Expired loved ones and family can be similarly reanimated in mind through a kind of psychodynamic autopsy: “Rip her open. / Find the pulsing woman inside the scratchy outline.” Still, the desire to “search the currents” further for lingering traces of what came before inevitably converge with “the acrid, wintry rivers.” Nothing leads back to exactly where it started; erosions and substitutions are ever-present.

Acting as both complement to and witty distillation of Noyes’ entries, Harvey’s work records the same kinds of dislocation and dissolution, but contained in the more straightforward emblems of visual narrative. With Harvey’s embroidery of memorialized past scenes implied in Noyes’ poetry, the concept of ‘interwoven’ becomes an ingenious (not to mention humorous) commentarial representation of how we constantly relive, or ‘wind back’ to where we once and always belong. The designs in Harvey’s pieces also perform as almost pictogram-like filing markers employed to distinguish how, through coping deferment to childish simplicity and denial, one can distinguish between eras now gone involving mothers, the ol’ hometown, and fresh appeals to “Wash me good rain.”

As increasingly revealed throughout the exchange between Katia Noyes and Liz Harvey, the differences between ‘here’ and ‘there’, ‘present’ and ‘past’ remain as complex as other issues and possibilities relevant to ideas of identity. For those asking and being asked ‘where they come from?’, the question gives way to a tumult of reflection that requires sifting through compartmentalized token memories and the unrelenting fluid pasts roiling beneath to finally raise hybridized futures from the synthesized remainders: “See her, / dripping out, / the color of pomegranate / or granite. / What is left? / What is. / What is left is us.”

What is left is us.

Our cans, our wrappers,

our refrigerators

buried in the snow.

The Big Sioux River hits

the frozen banks.

.

Smell the soured pig’s

blood, the carcass

now catalyzed,

surging

ammonia rich.

Storm bluffs and

dirty river curves.

.

See the smokestacks,

John Morrell’s meatpacking plant.

The bare

swamp white oaks

gloaming up ahead.

.

Hear the piercing whistle,

the train

hailing

the depot, the moans and

rustling hungry.

Near dead in the feedlots.

.

My town.


Katia Noyes

Series Entry 25.1


Description

Series_25

Katia Noyes & Liz Harvey

“Where are you from?” Series 25 between Katia Noyes (poetry) and Liz Harvey (textile / photography) interrogates this deceptive question by contrasting always insurgent, messy versions of the past against more sanitized forms of memory and preservations of place. The results are not cathartic so much as an exercise in snake charming one’s beginnings through acceptance of irrepressible traumas maintained and measured by artful containment. Previous shame and disgust, as well as arrival at thoughts akin to redemption, serve as moves of displacement, rather than providing a means for reconciliation or discovery. Reconfigured bits of the old come to furnish both present representations of the exterior and interior. The ‘you’ addressed in the opening question ultimately arrives at an elaborated abstraction of an unseemly origin now made acceptable, safe, even useful as material for weaving new forms of self.

Set in the stark environs of a drudged up Sioux City childhood, Noyes’ pieces speak to this confused condition as if describing a humanized machine shifting between self-sacrifice and regeneration. The gruesome vividness of “soured pig’s blood” streaking toward the killing floor drain does not turn rancid, but leaves “the carcass now catalyzed, / surging.” Expired loved ones and family can be similarly reanimated in mind through a kind of psychodynamic autopsy: “Rip her open. / Find the pulsing woman inside the scratchy outline.” Still, the desire to “search the currents” further for lingering traces of what came before inevitably converge with “the acrid, wintry rivers.” Nothing leads back to exactly where it started; erosions and substitutions are ever-present.

Acting as both complement to and witty distillation of Noyes’ entries, Harvey’s work records the same kinds of dislocation and dissolution, but contained in the more straightforward emblems of visual narrative. With Harvey’s embroidery of memorialized past scenes implied in Noyes’ poetry, the concept of ‘interwoven’ becomes an ingenious (not to mention humorous) commentarial representation of how we constantly relive, or ‘wind back’ to where we once and always belong. The designs in Harvey’s pieces also perform as almost pictogram-like filing markers employed to distinguish how, through coping deferment to childish simplicity and denial, one can distinguish between eras now gone involving mothers, the ol’ hometown, and fresh appeals to “Wash me good rain.”

As increasingly revealed throughout the exchange between Katia Noyes and Liz Harvey, the differences between ‘here’ and ‘there’, ‘present’ and ‘past’ remain as complex as other issues and possibilities relevant to ideas of identity. For those asking and being asked ‘where they come from?’, the question gives way to a tumult of reflection that requires sifting through compartmentalized token memories and the unrelenting fluid pasts roiling beneath to finally raise hybridized futures from the synthesized remainders: “See her, / dripping out, / the color of pomegranate / or granite. / What is left? / What is. / What is left is us.”