fifty nine: 15th April 2010 - 15th April 2011

Katya Grokhovsky, Status Update, 2011

"As a woman I have no country. As a woman I have the whole world", Virginia Woolf

I must, must I?
CONTRACTUALLY BOUND to my body of work:
this body I own,
Body I bend this way, diagonally and that way, perpendicular, LOOK: it has been a joy,

Bound:
and to enjoy freedom, I shall control myself:
Bound:
by own self-made system and manufactured love of writing,
auto-criticized fictionalized prose and bedtime art story,

let me release you:

If I could Turn Back Time
Time shall be ours
Ours once again: I'll do it all again
over again

oh, painfully and sentimentally aware:

where does this fall
which side do you take?
Where do you stand, shaking violently from all fears?
Perhaps a certain hopelessness falls on my shoulders,
perhaps one more spoon of the deliciously sweet dark honey of art instruction,
one more
one more
perhaps, once more

what have you re-learned?

I touch the keyboard:
another fleeting thought, another crowded day, another limitless life, another limit I mistake for a hat:

Remember:
A contract has been made
A year ago,

Approaching =

Oh, let it be a lyrical journey,
a poetic world of my microtopia
As an alien in a magical land of stars:

No love can Match the Beauty of Their faces
Carry away with my Love Song

OH, Amore

Whisper so sweetly, softly, whisper, whisper a half and half, word, word to me, no words
Come color , come all colors
Come to me: baby blue

OH, do not ever keep me waiting
It is between us
all
There is no her place
No world
This and That and Art and I conceptualize and idealize
stagnating ever so slightly, sometimes, on purpose

Let me grow my Universal from My personal,

And towards passion! Yes, passion! Remember?
This passion I buy into.
Oh, boy! Feminist I am after all, and angry and hungry and all there is, to it:

I stand and slowly DANCE to it and let's get Faster, yell and laugh out loud and let us get loud and
rejoin the living and the memory of this!

keep at it: love me, love my art

What's in a year?
the numbered days, the short hours, the lengthy minutes, the prolonged seconds, the split hairs of time of my time, time forgotten, time lost , time gained, time gone, time found

Time has been Money
Money Time
Timed Perfectly and arranged in rows

trickling: slowing down and speeding my pulse
blood of stones
short, brief, and fictional, factual, actual
closing, opening, flying south
North, I haven't yet

The thoughts, the ideas, the monumental, the minimal, post-critical
I am exhausted, my mind is swollen, my eyes flicker
I, a machine, Oh, my Machine, keep at it, keep working hard
Working Hard

And She has dealt the blows
And she has been given All
Heaven and Hell, she made her own
And then there were many more

Many more of her of them of what

Art: Once MORE !

and kindly words of gratitude:

THANK YOU TO MY FELLOW GRADUATE FAMILY AT SAIC
THANK YOU TO ALL MY ADVISERS, VISITING ARTISTS , INSTRUCTORS AND PROFESSORS AT SAIC
THANK YOU TO MY PARENTS
THANK YOU TO MY READERS

SAIC 2011 MFA Thesis Exhibition:
Opening: 29th April, 2011, 6-10pm
30th April-21st May 2011, Sullivan Galleries, SAIC, Chicago

Book Signing Performance
MFA Sculpture Group Exhibition
May 6th-11th, 2011
Zhou B Art Centre, Chicago

SAIC 2011 Graduation ceremony:
21st May 2011, Frank Gehry's Jay Pritzker Pavilion, Millenium Park, Chicago
Commencement Speaker: Patti Smith

"NOTHING HAS REALLY HAPPENED UNTIL IT HAS BEEN RECORDED"
Virginia Woolf


THANK YOU......
............................

fifty eight: Almost and fulfilling and sugary satisfaction on the Day of Birthday

Katya Grokhovsky, 2011, Untitled(heroic)

Constructed illuminations, whilst I blow that candle of my Birthday.
Another.

Post-relational automatics and I contrive this to be all:
tiny wishes coming true, everything is riding on this one small plastic candle, the light of which highlights my unspoken gratitude. A piece of cheesecake, on the house, it tastes of the years full of opportunities: smallest details and extreme loveliness of the future, promised and forgiven.
Thank you for all and to be and to come again, and to feel once again for all your true roaming hearts. Once upon a time, once again and surely, neverending, the fairytale starts.

A NEW PLACE TO Fulfill
cherish
behold

Critical and subjective, whilst I softly whisper:
so lucky so lucky

And the desire to jump out of my glowing skin smelling like Dior, Miss
Auto-love, auto-addiction, I blame self for I am,

Addicted

memorial to multiplicity and others: hopefully
hopeless monuments
the altar of my sacrificed and treasured past
undefinable nation
flickered lights of theories
heavy sounds

historical and heroic classicism of unimaginable passions
you posses nothing
gently gently
your red balloon
your ornamental present
careful careful
they suffer hard
they play strongly against your will
Liberty leading the people: she said, impending doom foreboding
said to be true
to what end this happens to be true
did I find
Did I find a place for us: for you ?
our father and parental guidance have been extreme and I build you a gold platform to stand on and be treasured and trash your senses to the streets
the streets full of music
yours mindfully
sound of, Oh Russia,
talk to their souls
Yes, souls, I utilize the word here as necessity of my Romantic hope.

in the buildings, they camp and nest

wait, touch, look, LOOK at me, look, stare, I accept
fearful, slight, greedy, impatient, I open the book
mine....


http://www.katyagrokhovsky.com

fifty seven: Standing

Katya Grokhovsky "Untitled (heroic)", 2011

"The women on Death row have murdered, in most cases children, in most cases, their own.
The men have murdered in most cases, women." Julie Carr, 100 Notes on violence.

Feeling great or not at all, fatigue and words, as such, per reasonable doubt. Bones, skull, hair, blood. Rooftop and vodka and cigarettes and sometimes no Body is perceived per se.

Here we are, at your graciously built station, in an elegant city of precious ideas, not letting go. A single second away, a second of a second of your time, let me gather an eyelash and blow. Away. Critically acclaimed work and I will not show you my flesh.

Standing. Effecting the breath of world.

Missing softest feathered touching your fingertips allowing to introduce and forgiving stale smells, plasticine wings, heavy.

Ask me. What to do?
what to learn and to know and how shall I know anyway?

Internalized patriarchy, they told me. Feminist affect?

How much and WHO? Directly at death, stare and realize. This is you. And this is me.

And perhaps, that is exactly how it is. And that is all.
WHO needs to say this again? Sex has become the enemy, don't intrude.
I came upon this article" how to collect female artists for a new collector".
Let's begin.

Anger is not my answer.

Doing and looking and observing and doing again.

Perhaps it matters perhaps it will not and does it occur and does it roll off your tongue when you say my name. No no it doesn't, I guess it doesn't. It catches it in mid air: mid letter: mid word and you jump high and rule out and screen for mistakes and hop to it and rule out failure. Fail you must at something and winning is an option. Achieving the highest and appropriate, my lyrical writing isn't good enough. The turns and postings and my own discomfort. Here we are, leaving behind a sense of learning and newness. I must be gone and then I just continue.

Who keeps it rolling?

who makes a stance? who runs? who lies?
where to go?

why?

Standing.
Academically?

My words are falling, and pausing against the tidal waves of the mud. Always, UP THE CREEK, WILLING TO breathe. reward me or not.

Katyushka, Katenka, Katrusya, little bit.
being itself, being let it be, in the being of it, let it be.