LOVE LINE week two

Making a Map
I am still trying to find a map to work with, a paper map. Projecting on the wall isn’t working. The projector is too far. Everything is grainy. I can’t make out the streets. Setting up a closer screen would be difficult. The projector is mounted on the ceiling. I am going to look in the archives room. Possibly, but not probably, there is something in there. Research, research. I forewent dinner. I am researching audio poems and sounds related to telephones and love. Is this vintage telephone a diversion? I feel lost. Nothing seems right. I am not sold on the idea of the phone. I am torn between just walking and walking with an object. I’ll try both and see. I have some files now I can play through the phone, sounds of an old rotary phone dialing and ringing, a heartbeat, breath, an audio of my questions, poetry in English & Spanish. Nothing seems right. I downloaded the files, then deleted them. Elsewhere loaned me an ipod and a battery pack. Tonight we all watched the Democratic debates in the Elsewhere co-lab. It is clear to see who has something to say and who has nothing but things to point to. We all laughed at some ridiculous comments by Bloomberg and Buttigieg and cheered for Elizabeth when she stood up for Klobuchar.

Thursday 20 February

Today I went to City Hall and the Department of Transportation to look for maps. I took my old telephone with me just to see. Everyone noticed. Everyone asked about it. It snowed today. The first snow of the winter. I brought a small lock and went to the YMCA. I wore a vintage blue and white striped bathing suit from the collection and swam laps for 20 minutes. I had no goggles. I adapted my technique and sometimes opened my eyes underwater. I sat in the steam room and sauna to warm up. I used a hairdryer to dry myself. They don’t give out towels at this branch. Elsewhere is cold. It is nice to be warm. I thought about the people I have seen in doorways here, cold white and black bodies with no homes, asking for money. I say hello and sometimes give a dollar. I need money for propane, for the bus, for dinner.

Soul Society

My eyes are red and tired from the chlorine. I am missing the GPS forge orientation, but I probably don’t need the wood shop, metal shop or kiln for this work. The downtown library is open until 9pm on Fridays. I broke the gravity at Elsewhere and went out at 6. Still looking for a paper map. On the way, I passed the Greensboro Cultural Center. Perhaps they have a map? I inquired at the desk. The guard showed me what he had. He said I could walk through the building to get to the library. That’s how I came across the Center for Visual Arts gallery, which was open and empty with a sign that said, “Happening in the back.” I went to the back to see and asked if I could join. I was the only white person there. The walls were covered with art. An emcee was introducing an artist.

It was a meeting of S.O.U.L Society, a pop-up gallery at CVA. The group implements a village mentality. Their mission is to motivate people to work together and provide resources to help them prosper. Artists and entrepreneurs are invited to showcase their talents. The house was full with +30 people. Every reference was a reference to a black artist. All night long, with 20 people presenting, there was never a need for a white reference. Amazing! Throughout the night, the emcee offered quiz questions about Black History. Hands shot up. The group knew every answer. I knew none. “What two cities in NC have a Black Wall Street?”

Each artist was given ample time to express who they were. Each performed and spoke casually. Each was asked what they were grateful for. Each was called upon to chose a work of art on the wall and talk about why. That got the artists cross-referencing. Even the vendors--tea, lotion, t-shirts, jewelry--were came forward to talk about their work.

S.O.U.L. Society doesn't talk about community, they demonstrate it. Several times one asked another to collaborate. One artist invited another to a speaking engagement. They showed visual art, told stories, read poetry, sang, rapped and talked. The young farmer was intent on making black farming sexy. He’d recently been offered a full scholarship to study agriculture in Africa.

After the event, the artists and vendors were generous and welcoming. I bought a sweet tea and thanked T Walker and the other organizers. On my way home, I met a man in an alley pushing a towering cart. The blankets were tumbling off. I asked if he could use a hand or a hot beverage. He said yes. I gave him my tea. He said his name was Robin, like Batman and Robin. He said no one likes that name. I said a red-breasted robin is a beautiful, noble bird, a soldier, a harbinger. He said, “Whatever.” His hands were cold. We said good night.

I got back to Elsewhere after 10pm. There were a group of artists in the kitchen. “Has anyone seen Mimi? Oh there you are.” No one had my contact info. I said I’d let someone know when I went out at night again. It’s nice now we’re checking in on one another. Last week it was Klyee Jo we were asking about. She also likes to go out wandering alone.

Check-In
Zach and Thea are the interns. Their stay is 3 months. Zach found me a projector today. That allowed me to make my map. I spent all day working on it. The museum was open. I asked visitors to participate in my project. Many did. I am starting to collect voices with words of encourage, love, friendship, welcomes and hellos. It dawned on me as I was walking to the library. I can ask the questions, but the voices have to come from the residents of Greensboro. The voices will play through the old telephone to other residents in other neighborhoods. I will keep collecting messages.

X is a young black artist from Greensboro. He offered a poem he’d written on his phone. I asked for his feedback about my project. He said he could see this voice archive on multiple phones in multiple locations. We brainstormed a bit. I told him about S.O.U.L. Society. He said he’d check it out.

Walking the "L" in L-O-V-E
I went to walk the L. I planned a full day, 9 hours. I walked out the back door to the train tracks then took Gate City Blvd west to Eugene where Grace Community Church is located. Grace Church serves as an overflow shelter for Urban Ministries and houses 10-12 men through the winter months. There was a group of men on the sidewalk, 10 black, one white, all middle aged and older, two in wheelchairs, waiting. I walked towards them and said hello. A couple listened to my phone. One talked into the receiver. I wasn’t recording. He asked for a job, a house, a wife. He was talking to God. God spoke to him, saying spread the word about me. He hung up and told the group of men on the sidewalk the Lord was real and he was right there with them. Praise God! Sweet guy.

I said hello to Forest, the older white man in a wheelchair. He wanted to talk, but he didn’t want to talk. He was agitated. He wanted to help me find my way, but he didn’t want to look at my map. A white woman with a cane came by and tried to pass. She needed a lot of room. She waited impatiently for me to fold my map. I thanked them all and said goodbye. There is no art in being homeless and very little art to share, but to see and listen and offer recognition. That is the very very least.

I walked south on Eugene by an elegant white church. The lot was filled with cars. I’d planned on going a service every Sunday. I remember Reverend Nelson of Faith Church saying the churches were the most segregated places in Greensboro on Sunday. He and another minister had tried to desegregate their congregations. I am only a short term resident of this community, but I am here now and if I can be where I am, I can play a part in desegregating this service today, and at the least desegregate myself.

It was a Pentecost Church. I have never been to a Pentecost service. I asked a man coming out if there was a service and if I could go in. He said yes. I went in and sat down with a group of women and children in the back. A young black man was standing in a pew in front of them preaching, animated, bobbing up and down, stretching out his arms. In the front of the church, another man was speaking to another group, 30 more people, men and women and children. Later the groups came together and three other preachers addressed us all with microphones. It was a congregation from Ghana. The service was in English and Twi. The first sermon was about love. That’s what drew me in I guess.

The whole time I was sitting with the phone on my lap I felt as if people were viewing me with suspicion, as if I was a there with ill intent, as if there were a bomb in my phone or something in my small pack. I felt it necessary to stay a while to show respect. The children stared at me. I smiled and waved to them. A minister in a suit jacket came to sit near me. He translated what the woman in the front was saying. I thanked him. I left after an hour. Three men by the door said, “Where are you going?” I said, “I have a long day. I am doing an art walk, walking a line of LOVE across Greensboro. Your first sermon was about love. I think that drew me in. Thank you.”

Then I walked south to Florida Street and went into the gas station and bought an orange juice. The people all marveled at my phone, but no one wanted to hear about the project. I talked to the men in the food truck outside, Mama’s BBQ. I told them what I was doing and asked if they wanted to give or receive a message. My iphone was taped under the vintage phone at that time. When they saw the new phone under there they said, “Ah, it’s a trick! We see what you are doing. No. I’m good. I don’t want to do it.” I had the same experience with several people before I realized this what seemed a trick to them was getting in the way. I have used such magic in my world which is a white world. But that does not work when you cross the tracks into the black neighborhoods because I am already aligned with a people who have played tricks on these people and these people have lost every time. I untapped the phone and from then asked people to talk into the iphone and told them their voice would live in a museum on the vintage phone and be heard by people in Greensboro. People responded better to that.

The L is a safe walk. It starts in the Black and Latino neighborhood of Glenwood and goes north through the UNCG campus to the white, upper class neighborhood of Sunset Hills. The railroad tracks cross below the UNCG campus at the halfway point. The houses south of there are one story. The houses north are two stories. The grass is greener to the north, the yards are tidier. If I were harvesting dandelions for tea, I would do it in Glenwood, in the south.

The fences to the south are chain link. There are housing projects in the south, people working on cars, carrying groceries, sitting outside, small dogs yapping, chickens, roosters, muscle cars. To the north, the walkers look like trekkers, athletes, some are walking dogs, men on foot canvassing for a district vote. I met nice people everywhere, at the bottom of the L and at the top. There is a tile at the top of the L on Rolling Street. It says, “Magic is believing. Belief is in the heart. The heart holds the key. The key opens the door.”

I have just put my pen to paper, or rather foot to ground. I am at the beginning of the L in the LOVE LINE. It starts in the Glenwood neighborhood on Glenwood St and Freemill Ave. That is where I met Jakai and Kowan, two black boys playing soccer across the street. Are you artists? Do you want to be part of an art project? They listened and recorded their hellos. I hope I see them again. Then I met Z, the proprietor of Your Neighborhood Grocery Store, on Grove and Glenwood. I laughed about the sign on the front door. “Turn knob.” There is no knob. There is a handle. He joked about my phone, “Are you waiting for a call?” “Ha,” I said. Then I told him about my project. I said, “You are on the L in LOVE.” He said, “We’ll be friends then.”

Then I met Devondia on Haywood & Glenwood. There was a chopped tree in her yard. She chose not to receive or send a message, but she took a call while we were talking. I waited for her to finish and gave “Little Man” some love. He is a short-haired, old, tiny, handicapped dog, with one paw raised. She said to the person on the phone, There is a Caucasian lady here showing her a map.” She told me she comes here with her dog to visit her son. Little Man likes the activity on Glenwood, people walking, kids passing on skateboards. 

Further north near West Gate City Blvd, I met Rio, a student at UNCG who said he had homework to do. Do you know the song Rio by Duran Duran? No. You’ve got to look it up. It’s a ridiculous song, but was popular in the 80s. He said he was new to Greensboro. I said welcome. He recorded a message. We waited for the light together. He said good luck with your project. I said thanks.

I tried to get some students to participate. No one did. College kids can be insular in groups. There is a college sanctioned graffiti rock in the middle of the campus, currently announcing someone's birthday and a wooded area with trails north of the play fields with bridges crossing a clean, bright river. Those two locations seem at odds. A natural prairie is being restored near Market Street. I took the wooded paths to Market and crossed Friendly to Sunset Hills where a stone monument with a water pump greeted me. I met Michael Gaspenny there, an older white man out walking. He asked where I was going. I said, “I don’t know exactly. I am following a funny path.” He was delighted with my project. He gave and received a message and says he has been to Elsewhere.

Walking south on Tremont Street, I met Joel and Jim, two middle-aged white men campaigning for the school board vote. Joel said, “I don’t know what to say. Can you give me a script?” We laughed about that and he thought some more and came up with something. They were educating residents about the school proposition on their district ballot.

As I went south of the UNCG campus, I saw Marianne walking with a cane on Warren St. An older, dark-skinned woman, Marianne was one of the people I passed and went back to. She talked to me reluctantly. “If you walk this round again,” she said, “I’ll probably see you.” I sense she has a daily route. She chose not to receive or send a message this time. I will be looking for her next time I do the L.

I stopped into Sonic on W Gate City Blvd for a milkshake and to charge my phone. A white customer was pretending to harass the young black cashier who was busy with drive-in and walk-in customers. I didn’t think it was funny. He was exercising a kind of humor I didn’t support. I told the girl behind the counter she was doing great. She smiled.

There is a wet, wooded park just across Randalman Street dedicated to a 7-year old girl who was abducted and killed and left in those woods. Upper class neighborhoods to do have plaques and parks marking gruesome deaths. They have parks celebrating victories.

Later, as I was looking at my fold-out, 4’x3’ LOVE map, a man in a truck offered to direct me. Where is Elm Street? He pointed the way. The last person I met was Lee, a tall, thin, black man in the driveway, washing his car. He said, “Hello. Do you live in Greensboro?” “For one month I do.” I told him about Elsewhere. He’d never heard of it. I showed him my map. He came to see. I asked if he wanted a word of encouragement. “Alright,” he said, “Step up.” He listened to two voices. “Oh I get it,” he said, “I see what you’re doing.” Lee is a +65-year-old man taking care of his 85-year-old mother with dementia. “You are a good son. I’m sure it is appreciated.” He said, “Every day is hard in a new way.”

I’m tired. The sun has set. It’s exhausting being on all day, asking people to interact. I hope to see many of these friends again. Perhaps next time more will talk. It all starts with hello.

I was planning to attend the opening of the Greensboro Contemporary Jewish Museum at 6pm, at GPS, a block from Elsewhere. I arrived at 7pm and went straight there. On my way in, I met Yohevet Katz of Tiferet Arts. Tiferet is a Jewish term associated with the heart chakra. It is the force that integrates compassion and strength. These two forces, giving and receiving, must be balance in perfect proportion, compassion with discipline. One cannot manifest the flow of divine energy without the other. o doubt we had to meet. Yohevet’s partner Noe is also an artist and their two children too. A family of artists! I asked if any had their feet on the ground. She said her husband was the most practical one. After I told the story of my art object, the telephone, to the archivist working in the art truck outside, I walked Yohevet to her car and she drove me back to Elsewhere. We talked for a long time. She showed me the catalog for the Alison Saar show at the Weatherspoon Art Museum which closed today.

Yohevet told me about an interaction she had at Whole Foods. She saw two black women together, a mother and a daughter or two sisters. One was plainer and older and crooked in pain. The other was dressed more colorfully. Yohevet said hello to the older woman and asked if she was in pain. The woman said yes. Yohevet offered information about Feldenkrais and said she could find helpful videos on Youtube, but the woman didn’t have a phone. Yohevet involved the sister or daughter who brushed her off sharply and said she didn’t want advice. Yohevet asked if she’d done something wrong. I said we cannot account for individuals within any larger dynamic. There is no right way and no right response. There is only love and the lack of love. There is no telling what any one is experiencing is any time. We all suffer and struggle to find the words to say where we are and what we need. Racially, our society suffers from huge divides. We suffer gender-to-gender violence everyday. The best we can do is to keep trying, continue to open, forgive and listen, knowing every encounter will be asymmetrical. Rife with invisible fears, pains, anxieties and traumas. Yohevet lives in Greensboro. We will no doubt meet again.

Works-in-Progress 

Our group of artists and interns met to share our work thus far. It was nothing like the reflective process I am used to. There was a lot of cross talk and sometimes clapping. I am not a fan of the one who is giving feedback talking longer or louder than the one who is sharing, but everyone seemed chill with what was happening. I was on a schedule and had a phone call to take. I didn’t give the process the looseness it demanded. I was elsewhere. My head hurt. I was cold. Tired. Hungry. I went to bed at 2am and woke up at 7.

Nicole's Project is to make materials for an art store from the crumbling building matter, from the brick and rock and old paper and textiles here. She is making fine paper and drawing sticks. Here are her first samples.  

Monday 24 February

I had an argument on the phone. I gave my life energy to something other than love. Next morning no one looked for me or at me. What is the use of arguing when you’re performing love? One is always in their own backyard. I have nothing to offer. No art. I won’t walk today. Today I reflect. It is growing cold again. I am without a compass.




Anne's project is to clean, organize and curate all the toys. Woah!