20170703

Sabine Miller & Carole Kim


Of Music Stands and Mushroom Breaths



I imagine Arvo Part gestating in a church bell and raised by a village of solemn angels. John Luther Adams in a mushroom patch. Annie Lennox at the airport. Nina Simone, the slow current of a cypress grove. Beethoven in the foreshadow of the bomb.
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My neighbor’s mother grew up in Northern Germany during the war. When she was seven, her school was hit during an air raid. The teacher took most of the kids down to the basement shelter. My neighbor’s mother ran the other way, toward where her mother worked, toward where her mother was running toward her, a small grey figure amidst the leveled landmarks.
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There’s that grainy video of a group of men in Syria digging out a tiny, buried child: They’re shouting directives and Allahs, swiftly clearing around first the head then the arms…It takes about six minutes, and the child touches his eye and whimpers and is whisked away. The men cheer, a birth from and to the brotherhood of dust.
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I think James Brown was the magic bean planted in magic soil. Snarky Puppy came from democracy; Miriam Makeba, magma; John Lennon, our collective dream. The girl and her mother lived long, rarely apart after that day. Ghandi said something about becoming humbler than the dust. I want to be carved by a river. Ink lines fuse and spore.




Carole Kim is an interdisciplinary artist with a long track record of mounting media installation performances that incorporate live visuals, music and dance. A love for drawing often permeates her work.

Sabine Miller lives in a relatively peaceful suburb of San Fransisco. Her chapbook, Branch to Finch, is available from Ornithopter Press.
 
 
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