LIMBO

I wish it were Sunday already

/ RCRuiz

It’s been quite a hectic week as we head towards the closing event for the LIMBO workshops. FramerFramed is hosting LIMBO for this event and Maison the Faux has invited LIMBO to make use of their podiums. When we first talked about this closing event, we thought of creating a similar atmosphere to the LIMBO workshops–intimate and cozy, with time to check in individually and converse. But as the programme bloomed and volunteers raised their hands, we now have a full-blown programme complete with a Waacking Dance Workshop and a pole dance presentation from one of LIMBO’s participants.

I do hope that there will be space for cozy conversations as being in FramerFramed does mean that it’s always possible to wander away from the main space for a tete-a-tete.

I heard back from one of the PhD students who visited LIMBO sometime ago with the hope of creating a space with a similar vibe to LIMBO. I remember that we had a lovely call where we talked about possibilities and what can be done to make the space feel welcoming and safe and how presence and intentionality are key elements to such spaces. It was lovely to hear about the success of their project and also to hear that this particular student was able to complete their thesis. I’m hoping we meet again as I would love so much to hear what it was like for them and also to compare notes.

LIMBO’s future is a bit up in the air at the moment as the last grant request wasn’t successful, but I’m sure that whether it’s in this form or another form, LIMBO will continue on and the people who make up the community will find ways to keep meeting and supporting one another.

I also think it’s good for facilitators and organisers to have room to self-reflect, to recuperate and to think on what kinds of spaces we might want to be in and how we would like to continue working and supporting communities in the future.

While I am looking through the fiction work that I have on my drive, my main thought at this period is thematising and gathering together the nonfiction writing that I’ve done. Part of which is almost done as I finally managed to divide the themes into five sections. There remains the matter of collecting the pieces that belong with each theme and then perhaps editing/expanding/completing them.

There have been times when I’ve felt like I was less than because I haven’t completed my novel yet. I sometimes felt that my voice was of less value than the voices of those who had won awards or been recognised as great authors. But a beloved friend of mine sent me such a heartwarming message reminding me that it’s not writing a bestselling book that makes our voices matter in the world. Dear reader, I cried listening to that audio message.

I was reminded of the joy that blossoms in my heart when I hear someone share a story or a poem or a piece of art accompanied by story. There was this one woman who shared how they’d never imagined they would be able to write and express themselves because they’d constantly been told their grammar was always wrong. I was like: “screw grammar. That part you can worry about if your objective is getting published. But now, at this point where you only want to share a story, just write.”

Often, we believe that we can’t because we’re told we haven’t mastered the language well enough. But I can testify to how if you can write in the same way that you would say it, a good editor will help you polish and refine your work so what you want to say comes across in the way you meant it. Don’t use chatgpt or whatever google translate. It won’t get your meaning across. Write it in your own words. We keep talking about decolonisation, but we still keep wringing ourselves into spaghetti forms to fit into something we are not.

Let language (esp the English) flow in the way it flows in your head. When I’m writing in the space of my stories, I’m not thinking English the way USians or British people think or write English. I’m thinking and writing English the way I hear the people in my head speak it. And that’s English that reflects the different influences on my tongue. Like how my son will say: You have a very Filipino accent. But my brother will say: your accent is no longer Filipino. And a Dutch friend says: Oh, you sound American. Lol. Yes. I have a mongrel tongue and I also do have a tendency to absorb the way friends who have grown up in different non-white settings speak. Those are the people on my tongue and in my ears. So yeah. It’s different.

At the first workshop I gave for LIMBO, I said to the participants–as we all do not come from the same language stream, don’t make yourself write in English. Don’t make yourself write in Dutch. Write in the language that comes to you naturally. We will understand the emotion. And we always do.

Anyway, I was intending to write about LIMBO’s upcoming booklet launch and somehow this post has turned into an all out discussion of me with myself as I think about writing. During the Spring School Co-creation Lab at the VU (Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam), I asked Saba Hamzah who is a Yemeni poet to read to us from work she’d written. It was a memorable moment to be listening to her read a piece she’d written in the three languages in which she lives. Yemeni, Dutch and English. To me such work is a reflection of the world we live in. We are multi-language, multi-culture, multi-faceted. Our work reflects that too. (Please click on Saba’s name to get to her website.)

Thank you for taking time to read this “hak op de tak” post. May you find joy in the small moments of everyday.

LIMBO’s booklet launch is this coming Sunday, 20th of July. Click on the image to get to the announcement.

This cover for LIMBO’s second booklet was designed by the wonderful visionary artist Ariya.

**I’ve picked a new book to read and possibly write about. Check the sidebar.

Create and co-create

/ RCRuiz

On my wall, there’s a postcard with the words: Create the things you wish existed. It’s a card that came with an order of art supplies and I loved the words so much I pasted it up where I can see it as a reminder.

From one of the mailing lists that I subscribe to, there’s a link to the work of an amazing artist named Leilah Babirye. If you have time, click on the link leading to the video as it’s so inspiring and a great reminder that when we are engaged in art, we can’t be afraid.

I’m thinking about this as I think about LIMBO and the participants who come to share and create together. More than the things that we produce or make during the time together, it’s about how we hold space for one another and create together the kind feeling that exists in that time. When it’s my turn to give the workshop, I step into the space and think about who’s here and what do they need. Where Leilah talks about reading and listening to the piece, facilitating means listening to the space and reading with the heart. I bring to the workshop all the things that I have learned from other practitioners and I bring also what I have learned from my own journey.

Yesterday, we engaged in making rhythmic combinations, dance steps and improvisations as well as song. I had in mind this idea that we needed to give an answer to the wishlist that had been presented by participants sometime at the start of the season–the wish to create a LIMBO dance as well as a song that comes from us and expresses us.

There was laughter, there was singing, there was lots of body movement and dancing and there was a beautiful musical rendition gifted to us that afternoon by one of LIMBO’s participants.

I love how moments like these give rise to spontaneous sharing. It’s a testimony to how participants feel safe to talk about what they’re going through and what they’re feeling in the moment. To me, it’s this precious quality that we need to take care of when we talk about community.

Today, I am thankful for the privilege of being invited and included in this community. One of the things I’ve learned and continue to be reminded about in LIMBO is how it doesn’t matter that there are moments of discomfort and unease–that sometimes topics can become fraught–that people will have differences. But this is okay. I think of Aminata Cairo talking about family gatherings and how there may be that uncomfortable relation who can get argumentative and you think: Oh, I will just keep a distance. But even so, if we believe we are all connected, then there is still space for discomfort. We don’t always need to resolve it, but we can acknowledge it.

(I want to note here that I do think it’s important to draw a line at abusive and harmful behaviour.)

At present, I’m already looking toward our next gathering which will be on the 1st of June. I’m thinking of how to approach this workshop as we prepare for the launch of LIMBO’s second booklet. For the launch, which will be on the 20th of July, we’ll be going back to FramerFramed as a podium has been offered to us for use against the backdrop of an exhibition about transformation. It’s so very apt. I’m thinking of festive feelings. Of glitter make-up and shiny clothes, of dancing and singing and color and joy. We’ll be creating this programme together, creating this launch, creating this space and holding it for one another.

To you who read this, take time to listen to a beat and move your feet. Thank you for stopping by. Blessings and peace be with you.

The joy of LIMBO

/ RCRuiz

On Sunday, we marked the close of this season with LIMBO and the close of our partnership with FramerFramed. Framer Framed has been home to LIMBO since the first workshop took place in 2022. When we start up again in September, it will be at a new place.

Sunday was a celebration with food, music, dance and presentations from different participants in the group. As part of the celebration, we put together a mini-exhibition to show off what we had done together during the LIMBO sessions.

Looking back at the season, I am thankful to be part of this space. Bearing witness to how participants take ownership of the space, makes me feel incredibly happy. We had a mini-workshop on self-defense (more practical than I had imagined), a workshop on Iranian dance, and a small open stage with a q&a with one of LIMBO’s budding artists, as well as sharing of poetry from a budding writer, and also a sharing of journey reflections.

Sahar, who is a friend of LIMBO, made a wonderful comforting dish called Ash Reshte. I am googling recipes to see if we can try to make it home ourselves.

When I see how participants are flourishing, it makes my heart expand. I think of one of LIMBO’s participants sharing with us how they’d forgotten what they had in their self, until they came to LIMBO. They remembered that they were an artist, that they had this capacity and capability not just to make art, but also to share it with others.

In conversation with some visitors who expressed a wish to create a space like LIMBO, we talked about what it means to establish such a space and how we need to change the way we look at organising and leadership. How at the beginning, we need to change our mindset from: I am helping you to I want to serve and understand your needs and I want to discover how to support you so you can see the power that you already have inside you. To say: “this space is created by all of us together and belongs to all of us together and my voice doesn’t carry more weight than yours, but all our voices are equal in weight”. That also requires a different kind of seeing and a different kind of discipline.

Spaces like LIMBO allow us to be vulnerable. In such a space where we don’t need to fear being judged, where we don’t have to be perfect, we can become as we were meant to be. No pressure. No “you must be”, but simply free.

We break bread together, we share our joys and sorrows, we laugh and we dance, and we give thanks even as we acknowledge that life is challenging and hard.

Blessings and peace to you who read this. Agyamanac Unay for stopping by.

What does it mean to flow without borders?

/ RCRuiz

I have had in my mind this thought which I came back to me and seems to become more concrete as I try to put it into practice: what do we mean when we talk about a world without borders? Or what do we want to see? Or how might that experience be like if there were only superficial restrictions in place and if we could — as Glissant expressed it, move through to taste the atmosphere of a place. I have to go back to reading Glissant because a lot of things are mixed up in my memory (chemobrain) but this definitely stuck and remained with me and I was reminded of it again when in one of our latest LIMBO meetings, some of the participants asked why is it that we have to put borders in place? Why all these restrictions? Doesn’t the world belong to all of us?

I went home thinking about borders. How do we see borders? Are they protection? Who is protected by these borders? And who are we protecting ourselves from? And why do we need to keep others out in order to feel protected or safe? What do we mean by safety? What do we mean by security?

I asked these questions of myself because I live in a country to which people from other countries migrate to or flee towards to ask for asylum. I live in a country in which the discussion around migrants and asylumseekers is so fraught that one actually risks losing friendships in the process.

I don’t have the power to make change happen on a big scale and I don’t have the power to go out into the large arena and make discussions happen but I thought on how to bring that practice of flowing through borders into a very small space.

For this month’s LIMBO, I thought of asking participants to work together to fill up white space with writing or drawings, with lines or curves or symbols, with whatever they can think about to express their presence in the world. The invitation being this: if someone puts down a mark, how will you interact with it? How will you cross the borders? How do you enter space where you didn’t put a mark first?

It’s an exercise that I find myself wanting to repeat with others. Without our realising it, we have our own concept of borders, even on something as small and simple as a piece of paper. Creating on a space reserved and marked yours feels different from creating in a space that says–this is for all of us. Leave your marks, interact with other marks, there is no one artist, no one author, no one creator, it belongs to all of us.

There are questions that arise from this exercise that I also want to think about and which I find myself curious about: how does it feel to cross over into another space? What changes once you make that decision to leave a mark there? To interact with something that’s there? How does it change the way you perceive the work?

I didn’t get to ask this of the group, but I find myself wondering: How do exercises of collaborative creation change the way we see the world and the way we interact with one another?

In talking about this with a dear friend who is a fellow artist, activist and also a writer in the field, I expressed a vision of a room that becomes filled with doodles and maps and words and drawings. And how, it would be interesting to discover how willing we are to layer on top of what is already there and how that space would not be a work attributed to any one person but it would be attributed to all who collaborated whether the person is invited or comes upon it by happenstance, where those making marks can also be living creatures that we take care of.

Writing this, I realise that I am writing about the world we live in. We are all in the process of creating or re-creating, making or re-making, building or re-building–perhaps we layer over what is already there–we bear witness. We see how systems put in place have shaky foundations and how those who benefit from these systems try to prop them up. We bear witness, we offer criticque. But is offering criticque enough?

Marking the empty page to make something together can involve some risk. Stepping out into the world, making a decision to make or leave a mark involves much deeper and more thoughtful movement. What kind of mark do I want to leave? How will the mark that I leave affect those whose spaces or whose lives I live a mark on?

In any case, for me, the question strikes closer to home and makes me think that if I have marked my children with love and care and the ability to be thoughtful and considerate of others, then some of what I am meant to do has been done.

I wish I could share the picture of our collaboration, but it belongs to the group. But perhaps it’s an exercise some of you who read this blog might want to try on your own. Just take the step. Make the invitation and see where it takes you.

Agyamanac Unay for stopping by. Blessings and peace to you who read this.

Fluidity and freedom

/ RCRuiz

After the first LIMBO of 2024, I find myself eager to see how future LIMBO’s will unfold. We started the first LIMBO with some discussion and reading and from that discussion and reading we went on to write our own letters inspired by some readings from The Letter Q: Queer Writers Notes to their Younger Selves. For those interested, some of these letters are available on poets.org.

The letter writing was a divergence from the workshop theme/plan which I had in mind, but in coming to LIMBO, I felt what was important was to find out first where the discussion would lead us. Every announced aspect of the session was a placeholder for what might come up as being more important or beneficial to the participants at the moment. I think the fluidity of conducting meetings in this way might be more helpful/fruitful than creating a set program with activities we nudge participants towards. I think of how participants might come up and say: can we do this instead? Or can we work together on something? I’m curious as to that last part as I do want to try something at a future meeting.

For me, LIMBO is an ongoing process and it’s one that I find quite joyful. I do wonder how workshop culture would change if we shifted our approach and started asking ourselves: what is it that those coming to the workshop need in this moment? Is it be possible to make room for a different approach and would a consumer-minded society be willing to embrace a workshop that doesn’t clearly label itself from the get-go?

For all the complexity that comes with it, I find LIMBO to be freeing. No doubt there will be difficult moments but LIMBO is about working together to hold and keep this space wherein we can all just be (as one of the participants so beautifully put it) just be human.

Here’s a challenge that mirrors what we did: Read one or two letters from the Letter Q out loud. Give yourself 30 minutes and write a letter to yourself: could be your younger self, your present self or your future self. No editing. No passing judgment on yourself. Just write. Afterwards, read out loud. Ask yourself: what surprised you?

Blessings and peace to you who read and may you find yourself joyfully surprised.

Perhaps a magic carpet

/ RCRuiz

For tomorrow’s workshop with LIMBO, I thought of making use of textile as a medium for storytelling. I thought of how using canvas can sometimes be confronting and how facing a blank page can freeze us instead of invite us into the act of creation. So, I went back to my one of the first dummies I made and thought of how the use of simple unbleached cotton can be so freeing. Some of my favorite pieces are in that first dummy and are made from mixing different textiles and textures and coming to a point of joyful release. The thing I love about artmaking is the conversation that takes place between the medium and materials used and the person who is engaged in the act of making. (At least, this is how it works for me.)

I love the intentional act of preparation which includes me engaging with the material first. It’s like this conversation I have for instance with this piece of cloth. Measuring them out, cutting them up, applying a layer of gesson, and laying them out to dry, had me thinking of how the participants are now part of my preparation. I may not know who shows up, I may not have spoken to them yet, but in this process of preparing they are already in my mind.

So why choose textile? Laying these pieces out on the grass to dry, I thought of Aladdin inviting Jasmin to climb onto the magic carpet and it made me think of how Jasmin might later have told this story to her descendants. Disney gives us a romantic version of the tale, but I wonder if the carpet was as intricate or as ornate as in the fairytale. It also makes me think of a princess confined in a seeming state of limbo and what it must mean to someone in that state to be invited to climb aboard a magic carpet. How did the teller of Aladdin come to this story? And what’s the real story? Is it about the genie? Is it about Aladdin? Or is it about the possibilities that unfold when we choose to climb onto the magic carpet?

This thinking lead me somehow to thinking about AI and creativity and the complex and necessary conversations that need to be had around theft of intellectual property and the indiscriminate use of it. It also had me thinking about what it means to make art and what makes art valuable to us and how the true value of art lies beyond monetary value.

All these thoughts pass through my mind as I prepare these pieces of cloth. What is useful to me as an artist? What is useful to me as a writer? What is useful to me as a person occupying a world that seems to grow more complex as time passes (or maybe I’m just getting older–haha.)

My thoughts on art and what makes something art are complicated because I tend to rebel against formal definitions. I like the idea of life as art which means an artist is someone who makes deliberate choices in the way they step out into life. The form–whether it is painting or sewing or sculpting or writing or cooking–the form is not important. What’s important is the artist’s choice to be deliberate. Perhaps I am making something for tomorrow, but I am present in this moment deliberately thinking on what I am making. It doesn’t matter what medium one uses, it is the deliberate action that goes into choosing that medium that differentiates the artist from the machine.

Thinking on this brings me to thinking about care which was presented to us by my LIMBO partner, Lana Jelenjev. An artist approaches and deliberates with care. Can a machine duplicate that approach and that care? Can another artist reproduce the same deliberation and care to the letter?

It’s a lot of thinking through. It’s all mulch and fertiliser for future work and clearly I still have lots of thinking to do. So, I decide to focus on the now and what I am preparing for.

I go back to the magic carpet and I think of how vehicles like the magic carpet are useful for people who may be going through periods of uncertainty. The magic carpet is an invitation to leave behind what binds you and keeps you from moving forward. It is an invitation to discover and remember and from that discovery and that remembering, create and hopefully in doing so, find your strength.

To you who reads this, go find your magic carpet. Climb aboard and discover for yourself where it takes you.

Blessings and peace. Agyamanac Unay.

A new season

/ RCRuiz

Perhaps the most surprising thing is coming back to life. In the season when cancer was very much at the forefront of our lives, I made the choice to just let go of everything and focus on doing what needed to be done in the moment. Get through surgery, recover from surgery, go through radiotherapy, recover from radiotherapy, go through chemo, survive and recover from chemo. We are in a post-chemo period as my oncologist has determined that chemo is more harmful to me than helpful and so I have been taking immunotherapy once every four weeks for the past two months and will continue to follow this schedule of treatment for the next two years.

I think of how there are reasons for all circumstances that we encounter in life. We won’t always find ourselves in pleasant places. Finding ourselves in the midst of adversity, having to combat things like financial uncertainty, loss, uprootment, illness whether it be of ourselves or someone we love–what we make of that adversity can determine the story of our lives.

I said to my oncologist at the start of this entire trajectory: my life is not cancer and I do not want my life to be about cancer. My life is more than cancer and because I can, I determined in my heart that I would just keep living and being alive. (Also, my surgeon said: actually, except for those tumors, you’re super-healthy.)

Where I am now offers me the chance to reflect on how I want to continue living. I lost words and stories while going through treatment. For a good while, I couldn’t even remember the names of characters or the titles of stories or even the words to describe a thing. I couldn’t piece words together to make a proper story even. But in that season, I learned to make pictures. To draw, to paint, to collage, to work with different mediums–something I’d never thought I could possibly do when I was so focused on writing words. I learned there are no boundaries in art-making and story making and the only thing that keeps us from making is because we think we can’t or we’re afraid we’ll make a mistake (or someone told us we aren’t talented or good enough at it).

This coming season, I will be taking part in LIMBO which is a wonderful life-giving project under the hat of the beautiful Fabian Holle. I can’t think of an adjective that fits them more than that word. Because Fabian is Fabian, it doesn’t surprise me that LIMBO has become this space that is also wonderfully life-giving and inspiring. Working together with my good friend, Lana Jelenjev, we hope to contribute, plant and water seeds, speak life and hope as we facilitate this season with LIMBO.

I’m thinking about all these processes as I prepare for a season with LIMBO. Thinking too about all the different things I’ve learned in the various seasons of my life and thinking of how story isn’t just about words you write on a page. Story is intertwined with life and art and making and sharing and composting and living. It’s crying and laughing and howling with rage and shaping a space in the world for what you have to share.

There are no borders between the different ways of telling or working through or sharing. There is no right or wrong way to go about sharing what has lived and lives and what you hope will continue to live inside and outside of you. There are no limits–not even the space to share is limited because there is enough space for everyone and if we think there isn’t, then we just have to enlarge our circles and make more space. We are limited only as we allow ourselves to be limited.

And yes, we live in a world that’s polarized, where hatred and malice abound. But we can expand the circles filled with light and kindness and love until there’s no more room for hate.

LIMBO occupies a special place in my heart and I invite anyone reading to visit the following links.

Framer Framed Presentation: LIMBO – queer exilic narratives (definitely read Fabian’s beautiful speech as well as the interview with LIMBO co-creators

May lovingkindness always surround you. Agyamanac Unay.