Pippa Bacca

I tend to read the news too often.  Maybe I read it too much to be really hit by anything, but I came across this article today in the NY Times.  I know that people are killed everyday, but reading this I started to cry.

Talked with a friend today, and ironically, about killing.  The difference between killing and murder.  He has to tell himself that killing and murder are two different things, and maybe they are, for the person who ends the life.  For the person who is dead, what did the intention matter? Death is death.  Again I come back to ether, and I am beginning to see how truly difficult it must have been to disprove something so ephemeral.  Without ether, where is God? This all-present substance was God, in a way, and it never existed.

Did the man who murdered Pippa Bacca realize what her mission was, why she was in a wedding dress, and where she was headed? Did she tell him, did he ask?  I don’t know that his intention mattered, she’s still dead.  Is Pippa’s death different than the death of a woman who isn’t journeying on a peace mission?  I’m not sure that it is.  Still, the idea of murdering someone while they attempt to carry a message of peace and harmony seems especially vile.

The article says that hitchhiking was an important part of the performance.  That trust in someone unknown was important.  After her death, fellow artist Silvia Moro wants to continue what they began, but I don’t know if she’ll be able to.  And by that I mean, if I were her, I don’t know that I would be able to.  Each car she gets into, part of her will have to think, what if it’s me this time?  Again, pure speculation, and I can only react as I would react.  That if I were part of this, every car I got into I would wonder if it would be the last.  And what desperate hope and faith she must have if she continues.  I usually think performance art is a bit narcissistic, silly, and pointless.  This performance art is beautiful and important.  If Silvia is able to continue her mission/performance, I hope that those her path crosses will protect her and that she will be able to trust again.

I do not know these artists, and I doubt I ever will.  But they are beautiful and risked everything.  I wish I were so brave, and I wish I didn’t know about this because of Pippa’s death.

(Image from NY Times)

Pippa Bacca



As I’m lately fixated on light and ether, I suppose it makes sense that I’m also fixated on sunprints.  I just ordered more, 4×4 and 12×8 pages.  I’m quite excited about it.  I like the result the wind gives, pushing this away from where I wanted them in the first place and leaving traces.  It’s making me miss making things with my hands, even if this is a sort of remove of photography and not sculpture or painting. I need to get back to it, and I’m starting to really delve into why I walked away in the first place.  sunprint 5


I’m trying to sort through Derrida and Lacan, and getting somewhere close to nowhere. Ah theory. It’s all a bit tangled, and when an essay begins by saying that Derrida’s writing was “dazzling” I tend to think it’s not the most objective.

Instead, distracted by my friend Nicelle’s poetry. Best poet here, hands down. (Jessi says my work is on par, but of course I disagree.) Mythology is so deeply interwoven into her three pieces, it got me thinking. She moves from Babel and Genesis (and Eve) into Persephone and Hades, and ends somewhere in Egypt. A friend here told me how shocked he was the first time he heard the bible referred to as a myth. But it’s always been part and parcel, Basat beside Hera beside Eve. Spokes of the wheel, way to go Eckankar.

Funny that I should be starting my second project investigating the theories of Light and Ether. Eckankar is about achieving Light or some such thing… a very hippy dippy religion that I’m not entirely sure I stand with. It seems what I remember learning was more of the Buddhist and Taoist leanings of Eckankar. I don’t remember all of the Light that I later read about. But here I am, delving into light. Particle and wave theory, the ideas of reflection. Photon telaportation (it exists!) and penumbras. I wonder if it’ll end up connecting back to religion, or only in my oblique way, the only way I can access it really.

We’ll see when the book is done.

Body Language

Lengthy reading about structure and language, and I’m left thinking I ought to control my limbs a bit better.

I’m not sure when it happened, but the University Village Cinema put in a very large flashing sign that I can see from my apartment window.  I think that’s what it is emerging from, or it is a very misplaced freeway advert. Either way, at first glance this evening I thought it was a church steeple, just lighting up.  In florescent pink and baby blue.  Wouldn’t shock me too much, I did grow up going to a church in the Ironbound section of Newark with Cyrillic neon letters behind the pulpit.  (I wonder if that onion domed glory is still standing on its tarnished gold foundations?)  As night fell a bit deeper, the flashing continued.  I thought the steeple was malfunctioning, but now I’m left to assume: marketing.

I’m failing at this “poem a day” challenge.  Ether is too heady for me to wrap around each day, and my little snippets aren’t very elaborate or poetic.  There is a connection here, albeit a tenuous one.  Ether intrigues me, and I think it’s the way I can access writing about (g)od without (G)od. Or the difference between. Similarities.  Something.

How impossible to believe: nothing is really nothing.  Sad scientists disproving ether. It was all an accident, and they were left with no resounding substance filled with (G)od’s purpose. Just the vacancy.

Picture from Baltimore, at a much different time.

Baltimore, forever ago