A self-published zine featuring images of travel and transportation. Examines the banality and wonder that still exists around displacement in an age where commuting and traveling are so common.Read More
<<Another group of tracks for the weekend from HARC DJ CLC >>Read More
HARC DJ CLC has given us this weekend's Five Tracks. This installment of Musings will offer weekly curated playlists for your weekend.Read More
THE LEGEND IS DOPE.
Tiana Attride might just be Chapel Hill's upcoming photography "it" girl, and it's easy to see why. Not only is her body of work striking, but her portraits are somehow both florescent and provocative. They draw in viewers with their clean aesthetic and unique posing and ask questions about identity and individuality. Not to mention that her instagram is straight fire. [Seriously, don't take my word for it, check her out @tian.a] Her website, The Legend of Tiana, is a treasure trove of her distinctive photographs, and it makes this pretty obvious: this kid's got style.Read More
"You're an interesting species. An interesting mix. You're capable of such beautiful dreams and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you're not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable, is each other." - Carl SaganRead More
HARC Collective, which has its beginning in an innocent conversation on the streets of downtown Durham, is founded upon the notion of ephemerality. The fleeting nature of the pop up gallery, the constant change of location and content, encourages one to take inventory of every morsel of meaning presented and pocket it away for days when the lights just aren’t bright enough.Read More
We were back in the garage this morning, a little worse for wear after a Saturday night, but still ready to inhale some more dust and prep the space.
We had hoped to start painting, but a cool night and thoroughly soaked wood from yesterday's power washing put that hope on hold. A quick trip over to the lowes for sandpaper and paint samples and we were back in the garage sanding off mud from beams and masking the windows with painter's tape.
Today might not have been as transformative as yesterday, but that satisfaction of working towards our vision was still there. With each hornets nest knocked off a beam it felt like the space was a little closer to the immaculately clean and white gallery that will exist on the 23rd. Despite this progress we still wavered on our solution to the floor - whether to bust it all entirely and put new concrete or whether to only patch up the small areas.
One area of potential controversy was resolved by unanimous agreement, that ultra white is the way to go for the interior paint. The excitement and conviction with which we have been making these decisions may be the most satisfying part of this whole process. Every decision from ultra white versus cotton white or the merits of ordering a thousand stickers is talked about with this electrifying intensity that swallows me up in the moment. And at the end of the day all I can think about are the future possibilities- the 'what if's' that can become a reality with our project.
See you on Tuesday, Garage!
- James Creissen
"The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the youth translated into practice" -Virginia Woolfe, Orlando
Today was the day our dreams materialized. Finally, sparks between neurons and synapses, and code written within ones and zeros became manifest, latent, fucking real. There is physical evidence of our desires, of that brainchild we nurtured for far too many hours. The crisp, almost sickly sweet spring wind swept through the grove of oaks surrounding the garage in which we will hold the first installation of the HARC Collective, breathing life in to our dream. James, Divya, and I spent the day cleaning & pressure washing the garage on the property of his mother's photography studio. The planks of the garage came back to life, free from their former coating of dust. As each layer of dirt was removed from the old space, a new step was taken towards our aspirations, and thus the opening. It was a cacophony of sounds, the percussion beat of board of wood being dropped against each other, the rhythm of the gasoline powered pressure washer, and the intermittent harmony of tires crunching on gravel.
I can't help but compare today with the days of my youth, spent outdoors under the Carolina sky, our five acres dappled with sunlight. The property that I grew up on had an old barn dating back to the 1940s, and as we moved boards in and out of the garage, preparing to pressure wash the space, I was brought back to the stacks of planks that we kept in the hayloft of that old barn. As light filtered through the windows of the shed and glinted off the falling dust we brushed from the walls, I was transported back to my childhood, to the days my father and I spent in our barn, to the dust that would be brushed off of our horses and glittered in the waning sunlight. The white paint of the Creissen's buildings matched almost exactly the paint on the old barn, reminding me of the sign the barn bore, "Green Acres". I do not know how the barn got that name, it was there long before we purchased the homestead, and remained after we sold it. Remembering it now allows me to reminisce on the unbridled (no pun intended) joy I experienced during those days, the carefree innocence of childhood.
Nostalgia is a funny thing, it simultaneously makes me yearn for days gone by, for the days that I didn't appreciate enough while I had them, and makes me fearful that I will not appreciate the beauty of the present while it is here - that one day, I will be filled with same regret at my own ignorance of my past happiness. For this concept of the present is inherently transient, in that moment in which we pause to appreciate the present, often it has already passed.
This is why the concept of the pop up gallery is so important. At its core, it is innately impermanent. It forces us to confront transience at its most basic level and asks us to pursue the fleeting nature of time to its lair. For one night, we are forced to connect with those around us; confined by the limits of time itself, we must act intentionally, interact with the art, with performance, with each other.
So I guess I am very lucky that I find myself in such good company.
Wishing you and yours a happy weekend.
xx Annie H Simpson