fifty two: before the art and after expression

untitled, 2011

Expressing ultimate discontent, discomfort, which clouds clouds and swirls
twirling
see that object, I didn't make it
enough, enough I saw enough

I argue for no objects,
I argue for that, which will express, immaterial and material: plus visceral
that, which swirls and twirls

Gertrude Stein

Left and right I said believe it,
mask your face
go your own way, go your way, go your, way go
Tough mess seeping through:
my slightly adjusted scowl

Scowling at it all: grow down, and up you jump
Once I get going I will not stop:
for nothing: not even anything: things to do
thing for nothing, there are no things here
Face away, away you face the wall
badly cornered in your bad corner

girls are doing better
better they are

listen and behold or behold nothing, thing again
that means I have no idea
I am not interested at all whatsoever at all and no one to blame for it all
trust me: no one to blame
you did it all
yourself
woman, face the wall
they will not win
you have strong arms, which lift you
above and beyond the rest
strong legs which carry you far far further on and further away you run
running and standing still suddenly, stopping
look look looking around
soft struggle and slight change in atmosphere, time to flee the nest
those who flee, survive

centuries , it has been that long
and the end, has come
and it is a pink bed sheet and a blanket flying into the air

fifty one: one word, criticism and realism

Social Realism, USSR, internet

Una noche...

One word,
who.
who,
why
what?
this partial testimony of an existence, is for?
my audience? the need to write, document. exist. at least if I am here?
what is this necessary freedom of expression and must, I ?

((but...Deep in my heart there is a fire
but...Deep in my heart there is desire))

One word, criticism, good, bad, good, great, feeling good.

Feeling bad. Bad is in terrible, bad as in legally inhibited by nightmares,
terrible as perhaps I'm sick, bad as in feverish, bad as in who and where, feeling sorry for mybody?

Writing as an once upon time-event,
event as a gesture, gesture as effort, effort as life, life as struggle, struggle as forgiven.
One word...accumulation.

One word,
criticism.
In terms of cool.
Cool.

Cool is a name. Cool as in you, cool as in cold and unapologetic. Cool is as cool does.
who cared?
never get one of those real lives.
It's not worth the struggle, the effort. Not forgiven.
what?
The despised reality. The testimony. Bother little.
Hands down. My pen and ink. Down they lay, down they lay. Onto bed of insecurities of a little girl. Tears?
Killing them, seething, my teeth shattering.
Who do you think?
Leading the battle?
winner?

"what is there is my name for you?
it will die out, like sad waves sounding
their last, on distant shorelines pounding.
as in deaf woods night's sounds ring through." Pushkin

Russian restaurants
live pop music
terrible singing
awful backup amateur dancers and singers
their short skirts and leopard fake pleather thigh high boots
that nightclub cage,
tight dresses

Oh the breaking of hearts and male egos
she leaves

unprofessional, uncivilized, unorganized, unstable, hysterical, feeling too much,
saying too little, oh woman, woman

anger.

skip and hop
to Bunnyville
you'd say
you'd stay
cream and sugar in your morning coffee

chocolate pudding with your coffee?
giving me a push out the door
rain rain- stopping for your seconds
clocks I do not own.
Nobody wins.
The long and tired race is not over, not yet, not yet

(( you are my heart,
deep in my heart there is desire for a star,
you are my soul))

whisper it a thousand times, into her/his/their ear.
Valentine's special.

Who said you have the authority to care?
To question.
Uncool and cool.
Plaid, velvet and crucial moments at the right angle.
organic honey.
Curry, coconut milk .
I like soy beans.

((keep that candle burning,
living in my dreams))

I'll be holding you forever
My soul
My heart
My.
Oh my that's the only thing I really know.
How dated you seem. I go, there you are, shining, holding you forever, feeling like I lost control, that is the envy, oh my , good, thing I know, at last.

I lost: will loose: already gone - control.
Control over your actions, all actions.
That is the only thing I actually know about.

The blue dress.
People.
Mambo for me.
Italian

Oh boy,
do I like all that.

I will keep writing.
One word: ?

fifty: timing perfect: I CAN CAN

Timing
Sometimes it's all about timing
and the question of what if
You cannot spend your life thinking about what if
What if
What if I never migrated to Australia
What if I continued my St Martin's Fashion Degree and became a fashion designer in London or Paris: as planned
What if I married my first great love and had children at the age of 25 in Paris?
What if I never came back to Australia to study for my second degree and never have met my Australian artist family ?

What if I never decided to continue My education and throw everything at my MFA?
What if? who would I, be where would I be?
would I be at all?
would I be the I, I am NOW?

For all this, what if I never came to being in the first place? The darkness of the abyss fascinates and calls forth all fears of never-everness, which used to plug my consciousness in childhood. Right before going to bed, I plunged into the fear and looped dread. Heavy thoughts, blanketing my tired limbs.

I messed up. Those clothes need to be thrown out. Perhaps one day I will learn to appreciate the fact that I am alone, or not alone.

I so CAN CAN,
I can !
I CAN CAN
slowly, lifting heavily
what the hell is wrong now?

Orange juice, apple cider and Smirnoff vodka...
Cure the cold, this cold of heart
once again
I forgot what I lived and loved
fluid in my head
Lonely thought, whatever happened to it all,
approaching spring
Timing
Perfect
or not
ready or not
here it goes
a week summed up in 6 word novel exercises:

Exhausted, attempted to try and failed.
Not enough love, she yelled louder.
Vodka, blood and tears, her vices,
Tears behind her eyelids, hidden, forever.
Do not escape this memory, now.
Fearing him, she started dancing faster.
Flowers, puppies, photographed in sepia tone.
The song is calling her to act.
Power lost, sunny world gained again.
Need to remain on the edge.
Traveling and remaining still, at times.
He cried for her, she laughed.
Damn it all, I am yours.
Running and forgetting, across the world.


work in the exhibition: Communicative Commonality



trip to NYC, CAA
MCA Chicago: Every house has a door

forty nine: status update

Katya Grokhovsky, Status Update, 2011, photo: Andrew Green

Burn my body, scatter my ashes
perhaps make a small diamond
update my status

a story of her existence
they don't give your computer password to your relatives when you die

shouting and trusting grey loving green drinking red feeling soft lying eating
purple cabbage
time tickles, pressuring me, I dive hastily into deep, irrelevant thoughts
whatever
I am hungry, so hungry

across the world, into light
your ascending star has no idea
having thickened doe
itching all and everywhere
imagine us imagine
parents: variety and perverted sense of humor
writing with black cheap acrylic on canvas
feels great
feels so good
I feel so great
I feel so good
You were not there

Remembering something, I'm trying extremely hard to remember something
Something was there
Someone was there
Lurking, pretending not to notice, testing, smirking, laughing
Laughing into tears

Bursting into luxurious song
That song, that's it
I remembered now
I think , I believe, I do believe, I remember now

That song
My mother sang it to me, before I fell asleep, or when I was extremely sick, which was so often, a tiny bundle of bones
hardly breathing, with a forever-blocked nose and painfully swallowing
hot milk, mixed with honey, I listened intently, alert, not sleepy at all, trying to remember the moment. Capturing it. Somehow, aware of the upcoming future, incoming pain
For later, I guess
why was I trying to remember those moments, that song....

How does it go? That song...
Soft voice, soft voice, I can't I can't
It's a dream
no, it happened, it did, really did, truthfully did
It was real
All real
You were there, yes you were there
A small, skeleton-like child, you never ate
never grew somehow for a long time
smallest and weakest

the song....
there was a young boy in the song, he was standing near the fountain
I see his soft, grey silhouette
that's how it went
young boy holding a young girl's hand
and there was a fountain
I have an image of the fountain
it is blurred
then there was an old man holding a hand of an old woman
the young boy, grew into an old man
still holding her hand
and still near the fountain
the same fountain

The melody slowly drifts into my present

I do remember now
The words escape me, they escape me
It is so difficult to remember them

I just can't seem to place them
Mother
mama do you remember the song?
Can I hear it again?




....

forty eight: Whiteout Poetry or just snow '11

Katya Grokhovsky, Snowday, 2011 , (not home not love 2008)

I'd like to make a snow bunny

Putting hands together she laughs out loud

Dance harder. No, wait stop. Stop right NOW

You have no right, no idea and no breath

Jump up and down: see, I had a flash of a storm

Behind you: The madmen laugh and your joy or was it terror?

Bloody awfully terrific Hot chocolate

Somewhere into the future: Officially engaged to nothingness

Energy suddenly, red wine flowing through me to them

Hangs on, hang on: I haven’t said it all yet

I propose to glow: actually, I learn faster

Believe or not: I dream bigger

Generating heat: Blanket one

It comforts softly: Bunnies, add some feathers

Sequins, my pants are falling

Heels clicking on concrete floor: Click:Click

Everything along the Lake: Has fallen

Tragically living and bestowing it on you

Hope it works. Hope it works out, gathering myself, pressing my burning cheek to the cold, shaking window, let's fly, Chicago: I, Margarita!

Over you, with grown wings, I slather the oil of youth and foster forth over your magnificence! Notes to self: do not forget to blink once in a while, and fly a little

My heart hearts your heart: remember: Year of the rabbit

Playboy Bunny Ears, I want them: oh no, I want a burger all of a sudden

With pickles on the side, those dill Kosher ones

Oh, I have sausages, I cook

Playfully I move my coins, contained in a jar

Hanging laundry, watching cycles, spinning my waist-length-hair (phantom limb)

Running on one spot, loving those trifles, caramel filling, oh yes

What are you talking about

Grey skies, lavender, sickly yellow, messed up pallette

Lightening strikes twice

My heart pounding against nobody's skin

Skin to my ear, I press: oh harder, I push extremely

Those blue sparkling, two of them. Eyes

Bless the storm and: Shuffle. Jump to that amusing radio station

Dry it all out. Warm it up: A plate of tomato soup, home cooked

Nowhere, along the line of small miracles

I forget. New York and Chicago and Los Angeles and Melbourne

Odessa, you are there too: I visit Rome

I propose the memories, they shriek away from my glance

Nowhere to run. Here I - snowbody. Out there: The whiteness, witnessing it

Oh this was childhood, ships and rolling snowmen and sliding down, breaking fragile limbs, screaming: Tumble down down the road, it just won't matter

Loving whatever and thinking of sex

Coffee. Again

Listen....

Not one thing is uttered. Music into air

The conclusions are reached and members notified

You will be recalled, in time for revenge

Read Primo Levi " The Periodic Table"

Perhaps, my own very system devised for YOU: See this. Watch this SPACE

Roads traveled, cookies and tea, Proust

Read all about it: EXTRA effort needed

Announcing periodically: Fashionably cute and exhausted

How beautiful, don't you think? The twirling poetry, bouncing there

The wind throwing it's magic ball to you. To me

Catching fire and in flight, I imagine this: I do not return: Never

Ever. And forever once again: Looping, linking major events of my life

Crushed under the weight of methods and blushing so sweetly:

Oh, I don't really blush, I turn unpleasant red all over

Roses and Roses, thorns and knees

And at the end of the day, do you think, the smallest gesture of my smallest finger on my smallest hand falters, altering the motion of the sea?

Perhaps it does

At the end of the day

The snow DAY>