#transformationalorangesculpture

#transformationalorangesculpture

 

(i.e., a gift regarding the dense interconnectness of you, me, and everything; transformations of matter/transformations that matter - meaning through resonance; or, how we learned to stop worrying and eat the orange; or, how 1 and 1 is not 2 is not one and not one and not two and not one and two: To echo the vibrancy of all things; I love You…

 

 

 

 

 

 

a gesture.)

 

 

 

 

Becoming/Belonging

 

 

I pushed my finger into half of an orange he held in his hand, extended towards us, and the three others standing with me followed suit. Together we stood, our fingers in the same fleshy pulpy hole. He stood there, the other half of the orange in his other hand, which he lifted to his mouth and sucked, and we all felt it, all together: our fingers, his mouth, his tongue, his hands, the orange, Becoming an interconnected fleshy mass. The orange, not a conduit, but an active agent.

 

 

#transformationalorangesculpture

 

  1. Peel the orange. Introduce yourself to strangers by giving them a segment.
  2. Peel the orange and consume it in its entirety. Become the orange/the orange becomes you.
  3. Keep the orange until it rots. Give it encouraging words each day. Absorb your own encouraging words.
  4. Collaboratively digest.

The orange: sometimes the fruit, sometimes the color, sometimes connection with the universe, self, and others, sometimes the scent of the residue on your skin after peeling open, sometimes sky, sometimes breath, sometimes rot, sometimes love…

  1. Peel the orange. Segment. Collect the seeds. Distribute the pulp. Plant the seeds.
  2. Peel the orange. Dig a hole. Put the peeled orange in the hole. Bury it.
  3. Do not peel the orange. Dig a hole. Put the unpeeled orange in the hole. Bury it.
  4. Hold the orange outstretched to another.
  5. Hold the orange, quietly, to yourself. Embrace.

The orange: a ritual, an offering, a sacrifice.

       10. Be a seed.
       11. Sleep with the orange next you on your pillow. Ask the orange about its dreams    in the 
             morning.
       12. Dream about the orange as it sleeps next to you. If you don’t remember in the morning,
             don’t worry about it. 13.       
       13. Release your dreams like seeds into the dirt, to grow.
       14. Be open to the orange and all of its experiences. Empathize with the orange. Practice
             compassion.
       15. Begin to take notice of oranges in their natural habitats. Document every orange you
             encounter.
       16. Write poems to the oranges you encounter. Everyday. The same poem 1,000 ways. 

            her grandmother taught her the right way to peel an orange
            here I clumsily paw off chunk after chunk of flesh, falling
            juicing to dribble on my shirt
            hands sticky like blood drying
            pithy,
            typically I am not—
            rather, rambling,
            wandering:
            The right way to peel an orange, or whisper secrets in its navel
            shhhhh… I’m learning

      17. Learn how to peel.
      18. Whisper secrets in its navel.
      19. I love you. I’m glad you exist.
            I love you. I’m glad I exist.

(List not exhaustive. Tentative. Subject to change. In fact, expect change with no notice. Make change, please. Exhaust this list. Explore every iteration. Find what feels good. Roll it over in your mouth with your tongue and let it dribble down yr chin and find yrself in the sunshine with too many oranges. Just kidding. Never too many oranges. Practice enthusiastic consent with yr friends, all the oranges in the world.)

 
I didn’t find the oranges/they found me. I started noticing them and then they were everywhere, ie, an exercise in listening… can’t capture it, cuz it will rot, but you can hold it gently with an open palm in the meantime, breathe in the mist as it spritzes while you peel.