Aijung Kim
Richmond, Virginia
September 2016
Benevolence
The view from my patio at the Rensing Apartment.
Today is my last full day at the
Rensing Center. I leave tomorrow morning for Richmond, Virginia - an
eight-hour drive to the city for a slow driver like me. For the last
few days, I've been moving through the hours slowly, my mind already
in the future, my heart trying to let go of this place so I can be
ready to move on. My heart is sad.
Within a few hours of arriving at
Rensing in early September, I knew this was a good and right place
for me. I felt comfortable enough to allow myself to wander through
the first week – taking naps, playing the piano in the library,
painting the shed for my work-study hours, and working
intermittently, while my energy started to gather. I napped a lot
throughout the first week and a half, and realized that my body and
spirit needed the rest after a busy summer. Ellen was supportive of
this, encouraging me to feel less fretful about my lack of
productivity.
Me, after I painted the shed! Photograph courtesy of Hannah Lee Jones.
Even though my ego wanted me to
produce, I knew that something deeper was forming within me.
Originally for this residency, I meant to work on carving linocuts to
accompany some fairy tales and fables I had written over the past
several years. I had planned to edit and polish the writing before I
arrived so I could work on the artwork while I was here. But after
taking a couple of writing classes earlier in the year, I realized
that my writing still needs a lot of work and practice. I was not
going to polish the stories before coming to Rensing.
Gathered gifts.
Instead, I came to this nearly
three-week residency with a number of projects in mind: I wanted to
finish the lengthy zine I'd started in June at my previous and
first-ever artist residency, called ArtLab, at Mountain Lake
Biological Station, take an online class to work on a picture book
manuscript, start some short comics, and spend a little time on
certain aspects of my art business – prepping digital files,
photographing and listing products in my online shop, and carving
some linocuts to sell at upcoming craft shows. And perhaps create a
zine about Rensing as well. I was overwhelmed before I arrived at the
residency.
Adorable young goats at Chad and Jon's farm.
Affectionate mamas.
I ended up working on a little bit of
everything, except for making comics and carving linocuts. In fact, I
mostly wrote during this residency, something I felt a bit
self-conscious about because I have much less experience with words
than with images. I outlined and wrote a draft of my experiences at
my previous ArtLab residency, worked on a picture book manuscript,
and took notes on daily happenings at Rensing. I learned what it
feels like to write everyday, to write as a practice. And without
planning to, I wrote poems in my notebook. Poems about what I saw and
felt and dreamt: the goats, the wild persimmons, the piano, the dead
rabbit that Bob the cat left for me in the bathroom on my first night
here, the strangely similar dreams Hannah and I shared on the same
night.
Some unfinished spreads from my forthcoming Rensing zine.
As I realized that the writing and
illustrations for my ArtLab zine required more time than the Rensing
residency would allow, I switched gears and focused on making a zine
about Rensing instead - a zine of the moment, one that I could finish in
time for the Richmond Zine Fest where I am tabling next weekend. I
told myself I'd keep it simple. Use the words I had already begun to
write. So I did. It's going more slowly than I had hoped, as
everything does, but I've decided I will finish it by next week no
matter what, even if that means leaving out a few pages I had
previously planned. I want this zine to be spontaneous and impressionistic. And I want it
to be finished. One thing the two residencies from this year have
taught me: in the ebb and flow of the creative life, it's best to
catch the comet and not let go until it burns out. I work by
obsession, and if I don't have proper time to indulge in the
obsession, it's hard to put myself back into the mindset I had
before. With my horrible memory, past experiences turn into a milky
haze of pure feeling, with no detail or knowledge of where things
begin or end. That's why the zines are so important to me. They help
me to capture a place on the page. They anchor me to the ephemeral
and prompt me to look deeper.
Hannah and her horse-love, Rocky, from down the road.
Rocky eats an apple while I laugh.
During these final days at Rensing, I
find myself counting out each of the last things I'll do here: this
is the last time I'll visit the horse down the road, the last time
I'll wash this cutting board and oil it, the last time I'll scrub the
cast iron skillet. I can't let myself forget to bring home the sheet
music from my high school piano lessons that my dad mailed to me from
Rochester, NY. I don't have a piano in Richmond. Tonight will
probably be the last time I play on it and sing, sing as loud as I
want with no one hearing me. I need to make sure I feed the goats
persimmons one last time before I leave.
From left to right: Ellen, Hannah, Ron, and Evelyn.
Ron made the delicious Meyer Lemon Meringue pie they're all eating!
I will miss this place and I will miss
the people: Evelyn, with her pure white hair and clear voice, coming
by on her golf cart to feed Bob, Ellen with her ruler-straight
posture, warm eyes, and wise words, Hannah Lee Jones, my fellow resident, with
her eloquent poetry, diligent work ethic, and healing conversations,
who has been a kindred spirit through our time here and will be lucky
enough to stay through October to watch the foliage brighten.
Neighbors Ron, Jon, Chad, Eric, and everyone else who stopped by the
property to talk or work or share dinner with us. The goats, the
cows, the swallowtails on the patio, Bob the cat. I have deeply felt
the role of community during my stay here: why it's good and
necessary to share knowledge, resources, talents, friendship.
Full Moon night.
Though I have a few things to show from
my stay here, and more to come when I finish my zine, what I mostly
benefited from here was the magic, the poetry of this place. Not
magic in a vacuum apart from worldly problems and concerns. But magic that
reminds you there is more than what we can see in the physical world.
There is waiting and right timing, connection, acceptance, the ebb and flow of energies, coincidence. And benevolence: that's what true
artists impart to each other. The benevolence of respecting and
giving (to ourselves and to each other) the mental, physical, emotional, and
spiritual space we each need to function as creative individuals, as
humans.
I know I needn't feel so sad. This
place feels like home to me, and home is a place that will always
welcome you back.
Bob, the best company to have while you're working.
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