Namaste Whole Education School Project

     Tis the season! Isn't it? For the first time in my life I have so little Christmas "spirit" that I keep forgetting Christmas is less than a week away. This year when I see lights, wreaths and bells, when I hear jingles and Christmas melodies, I don't feel that warm Christmas cheer. It got me thinking...where exactly does this Christmas "spirit" come from? I haven't done much shopping this year but Christmas isn't about shopping, just like it's apparently not about wreaths, lights, and jingles either. Turns out these are just decorative reminders of a season whose purpose resonates on a much deeper level within all of us, and at its core is so darn beautiful.
     The entire Christmas season is essentially devoted to displays of affection, gratitude and love. Albeit, some people believe gratitude comes in the form of $600 gifts. Personally? I believe gift giving isn't about the object itself but the intention and thoughtfulness that motivates someones to give at all. Sometimes people give each other gifts just to make someone smile or show affection. However, more often than not, people give gifts to show someone that they care about them or are grateful for them.

     A good friend of the family recently opened a donation based school in Round Rock named Namaste Whole Education School. NWES bases its curriculum on the individual potential of each child rather than a standard curriculum. With unfathomable strength, courage and faith in her dreams this woman founded her own school based on the ideals she developed in contrast to the regimented public school systems. It is a school based on gifts- the gifts innate within each student, the gift of free education, the gifts that parents are willing to donate in gratitude.

This is my gift to her and her school-

Cheers and warm regards!

Kelly

An Alchemists Life

"To make images is a way of ordering one's world, of exploring and understanding one's relationship to existence... The images we make are often ahead of our own understanding, but to say 'yes' to a subject is also to have recognized, however dimly, a part of oneself; to lie with that image, to accept its significance is perhaps to grow in understanding." -John Blakemore

     For a long time I was under the impression that each person has a special talent or purpose in life that we can eventually channel into a career. This 'pursuit of purpose' claims to be the ultimate journey in life because it promises a destination of success, wealth or happiness. Heck, I bought into the idea at age 10 and was taking charge of my life, vocalizing my gifts to all my friends and family, setting my future in stone. I was a tiny passionate little woman with a grand plan: I would be a famous singer and head my own environmental conservation organization that I cleverly coined E.C.P. (Environmental Care Program). Although I wanted to accomplish all right then and there, I knew I had time. I took my time because at that point in life I believed that I would remain rooted to these dreams like a flower to the same bed of soil from which it blossoms. 

     Low and behold the daughter of an expatriate! I was hardly rooted to one bed of soil. As I traveled I experienced new faces, images  smells, and feelings. Those old dreams were weathered by experience and are now associated to that particular period of my life, not an ultimate purpose. My existence no longer revolved around the dreams I had as a child and yet I made no conscious decision to change them. The world transformed me into a writer, into a traveler, into a more introspective person. As I recognized the changes in myself I realized the temporarily and relativity of everything that we think we know and are. What I once deemed quintessential to my existence became hardly relevant, and every time I moved back to the United States something became increasingly more apparent. This notion of 'purpose' is so intoxicating that it has everyone here worried about their futures and discouraged by the successes of others. Every day I saw people who measured themselves against someone they believed was doing a better job at life!

     I've recently (within the past few years) adopted a new perspective on purpose. Not everyone has one particular purpose. We're all just sentient beings after all. If I didn't know any better, 'purpose' sounds like a deleterious deviation from a much richer quest for a more comprehensive alchemy of life. As Ralph Waldo Emerson states: "I fear the notion of success stands in direct opposition in all points to the real and wholesome success. One adores public opinion, the other private opinion; one, fame, the other desert; one, feats, the other, humility; one, lucre, the other love." 

When I ask myself why so many people fail to believe in the transformative power of their own dreams and passions I wonder... Where do they believe their 'purpose' comes from then? Do chooses their destiny?  Really though...if anyone has a thought on the matter, do explain. Are we strategically jawboned into believing in individual 'purpose' as motivation to pursue careers and successful futures as young American children? It's not too far fetched a concept for an anarchist Anthropologist to pose. 

Now I'm ranting. To the long overdue point! I found a project that allows me to incorporate many of my own passions into its creation: Anthropology, Ethnography, Writing, Design, Photography, Cross-cultural Abridgment, Art, Passion, Philosophy, Innovation, Rebellion, Introspection. As of a few weeks ago I began work on a magazine. It will be entirely web-based, grassroots and local in the beginning. Its subject is people who are following their passions and thus, entrepreneurship. It will begin local at first but eventually I'd like to create international volumes. I specifically want to honor the research I conducted in the Philippines. I've never met a man more devoted to his convictions and passions as Noel Pasco in San Juan. Noel's infinite devotion to his passion for sustainable ecotourist development and community empowerment is nothing less than inspirational. I can't wait to meet more passionate individuals in Austin, Tx.

Warm Regards,

Kelly (Anika) 

picking up the paintbrush and wondering...

Why am I so drawn to palm trees all of a sudden?

Whether it be tattoos, henna, face paint, earrings, jewelry, make-up, or hell, even the doodles we all drew on our middle school notebooks, there's always been an interesting connection between paint and people. My mind immediately turns to the abstract possibility that there is something innately satisfying about taking a sheer intangible dream image and transforming it into something material... mmm... tangible at last. We don't just create a picture from paint and paper, we create a thought in material form. We take the thoughts and feelings that become us and transform them into something more controllable and understandable. Beyond the obvious therapeutic element of this transaction, this creation now seems somber in a sense. What does it say about the human self that it must release its feelings and thoughts to maintain sanity? Or better.... what does it say about the power of thought and emotion that it cannot be contained within the human body without driving it mad?

What is it about the actual materials of ink and paint as well? These objects are particularly engaging for a human in search of release.

Food for further thoughts. 

Warm regards, 

Kelly

the first creative clay endeavor

Rain and Revelations

It rained last weekend. It rained like it should have rained a long time ago. The concrete streets were stained and dampened grey with streaks like tears upon a sooty surface. Meanwhile the earths colors exploded violently in response. I realized how easy it is to admire nature in that state. A tree never looks quite as dashing in all its ubiquitous green glory as when it stands in contrast to a grey sky. 

I never know how to start these entries so I usually start by writing the first thing that comes to mind (rain) and let it progress into a completely new topic. You know, I'm not even sure why I have so much trouble starting each entry. I can think up excuses and reasons but they never seem to strike a chord. Strike a chord, you know, like that harmonious revelational moment when logic and reason meet the emotional undercurrents. 

I started this blog because I was told by popular media and a particular book (Evil Plans) that blogging is a modern step toward doing what you love successfully. Then, whilst bored at work one day, I read some online information on "proper" blogging. Apparently you are supposed to dedicate your blog to something and stick with that theme. Perhaps if you are an artist, you post pictures of your art. If you are a writer, you write. It started to sound more like a visual resume for the creatively inclined. Blogs are like displays for the work you are proud of and what you are proud to share with other people. Here lies my particular (and not so particular...) problem. I haven't found that one practice that I want to not only dedicate myself to, but identify myself with.

Is it possible to have a versatile blog whose purpose goes beyond the weekly wonderings of such-and-such person? I have a private journal for my ranting and I don't see the need to update my facebook status with my sad sob stories. Perhaps its time I consider dedicating this blog to something beyond my ego. After all, what good are good thoughts and feelings if we merely acknowledge their presence as they glide by? Perhaps we should all pause. Pause for those moments of passion. And rather than write about OUR revelations and the impact it has on our lives, perhaps we should remove ourselves from the equation and write (draw, stencil, knit, sing, ect.) about the revelation itself. 

So, from this entry forth I will dedicate this blog to the mystery itself (granted I am a part of it but certainly not the center of it, surely just a mere instrument). 

In this blog you will find all the grandiose, soulful, pitiful, scabby, shattering, cosmic, monumental and irrelevant particles of reality as they are manifested through my creative endeavors. 

Cheers to a new pursuit!  

With warm regards,

Anika

Funny Incident 1- Ode to the 85 yr. old granny

Whilst visiting the Grandmother in Houston last month:

(Grandma on the phone with mom)
Mom: (high pitched loud mutterings on the other end of the phone)
Grandma: Oh yes, very nice! We're just visiting!
(I walk by her in my new york booty shorts)
Grandma: She's got New York written on her butt. I should tell her to change it to Tex-ass!

The Old Man and The Tree

There are so many things on my mind...

I moved into my first post-college apartment. It's a small one-bedroom with a huge balcony. The best part? It's positioned in the back of an older, enchanting, woodsy apartment complex. I plan to paint the walls, stick glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, lights on the porch, perhaps a plant. Being that it's labor day weekend I have an extra day off, I am consciously deluding myself into believing I can accomplish all my plans and errands in a two day holiday break. Plans, plans, plans...

Meanwhile, I am wondering how to pursue writing and art. Both writing and art is a process that takes time and passion to pursue. How exactly can I pursue these pleasures with the few pockets of free time that this sour, unforgiving economy grants me? When I think back to the most stressful periods of my life (last semester of college perhaps?) I realize that no matter how pressed for time I was, everything I needed to accomplish somehow got done. What a relief right? Mmmm, not so much. The days I spent fretful and consumed in my research were also the days that I was mindless to the simplest and truest pleasures of life itself.

A few weeks ago I took a different road to work and now I stand confused. As I drove along the bush-ridden side roads I caught a passing glimpse of a large emerald majestic tree. In that short serendipitous moment I was astonished by all of its glory. The big old tree held up all those branches of life that extended so far and wide. The weight of the branches landed on my mind much like the weight of an airplane becomes strikingly apparent when you're 15,000 ft in the air. How did the tree hold up all this life? It doesn't seem like a burden to the tree. In fact... the size and strength of the tree is what becomes astonishing in light of its majesty and jade beauty. It's no fragile creature admired for its shortcomings and docility. As I drove forth, I began to see a similarity between the character of that tree and the lines on the face of an old man. Now the question I've battled all my life- how do I avoid this hectic, 21st century lifestyle- seems unimportant, insignificant. Perhaps it really isn't about what you do... but how you do it? Or... perhaps it's not really about "doing" at all since "do" itself implies a choice. Isn't life just life (regardless of if you are apathetic, compliant, counter-intuitive, rebellious, artistic)?

I could go on but... All these shades of green have got me feeling a little jaded.

     

Handmade Clay Tiles Everybody!

I had a request to see the latest tiles I made, so here they are! (Although pictures hardly do them justice.)

This is a recently developed hobby so I'm all for comments and questions. Comments or questions anybody?

Peace. 

Say Hello to the Magic.

Check it.

Nostalgia of a Scuba Diver

Here I am in a Starbucks, sipping sugar coffee and browsing the internet for an interesting anthropology article. I woke up earlier than usual today so I could do just this before I work at 10am. While I meant for this to be a fun way to start my day I find myself disappointed by the rapid flight of time. Its 9:21, I have a 30 min drive ahead of me to work, and all I want to do today is read an anthropological articles on yacht tourism in the Caribbean and think of creative ways to incorporate scuba diving into my career and lifestyle. Check it out:

http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/0160738383901147

I love the way Anthropologists think. Maybe until I can gain the liberty to transform my life into the scuba-diving, world traveling, social researching adventure that I want it to be, I'll write myself into that life. Start a book. Creatively visualize what I want using my imagination! That'll sustain me for the time, right?!

Check out this photo my dad (Greg Holt) took while scuba diving in the Philippines:
(He should work for national geographic, am I right?! Priceless....)

The Crux

Dictionary.com defines crux as:
1. A vital, basic, decisive, or pivotal point
2. A cross
3. Something that torments by its puzzling nature; a perplexing difficulty.

     Is it too far fetched to believe that we constantly live in a crux? After all, at what point in life are we exempt from making decisions, from moving forward in time and space? Perhaps the whole concept of time, the whole feeling of some intangible force of nature moving and moving us is truly the feeling of our perpetual return to a crux, a crossroads. Imagine a birds-eyed view of dirt road in the woods. A woman strolls along the path until she reaches a crossroads. She chooses right. The next day, a new crossroads. So on, so forth with varying circumstances. We leave one circumstance to arrive at another. Each circumstance, a new environment, a new travel companion. We're constantly on the move, looking for meaning in our journey, purpose, maybe a flower, maybe a companion. The only thing that remains the same in our journey is the repeated arrival at these crossroads. We are strikingly distracted by the luscious wonders of the forest that we don't realize in the midst of all the wonder, movement, and changes, there exists a very obvious constant that encompasses our version of reality but exists for all intents and purposes outside of our comprehension. The crux that defines our existence that we tread on and encounter at countless intervals in our journey.

     The problem with using a crossroads as a metaphor is the question that arises: (Not only who paved the road, but...) Why don't we pave our own roads? Why don't we take some genius advice and take the road less traveled. Or better yet, take the road never traveled? BUT, then again if paved our own roads...what would become of the forest?
Ugh...metaphors...



    Anyway, Mike Doolley writes:
   "Every single day comes loaded with its own brand new and exciting experiences. Traveling to faraway places like Cairo or Istanbul is fascinating, but even from the comfort of your own home, there's more romance, exhilaration, and challenge in a life well lived. Adding still more to the adventure, each and every day, contains an abundance of the unknown. And isn't it the unknown, the uncertainties, that make an adventure and adventure?"
     In his next chapter, "Getting Your Groove On," he talks about maximizing your adventure. We all have imaginations, we can all imagine how its done. Do it. Throw some rocks in the soil and build a new path. Plant a garden. Paint a wall. Stand up for what you believe in. Make a difference. Contribute. You're at the cusp of the crux of existence. I don't know everything, but based on this particular train of thoughts, I can only imagine that we have two choices. First, embrace the capacity to participate in the mysterious perplexing cycle of existence. Second, refuse to accept the unstable and confusing nature of our existence, and thus create our own sick cycle of fear and rejection in which remain on the cusp of the crux that defines our experiences. Choose already!

Ode to the Inner Anthropologist

(tree vines in the Philippines)

AAAANNNTHROPOLOGY!!!! 

I dedicated the last 4 years of my life to the study of Anthropology. Talk about a discipline that broadens your mind and narrows your capacity to find a post-college career related to it. But, alas, I wouldn't take back one hour that I dedicated to the study of Anthropology. Studying Anthropology felt a lot like walking through the wardrobe into an alternate universe. It strikes close enough to home but is ever-mysterious, surprising and provocative. It felt familiar enough that I wasn't scared to stick around yet mysterious enough to keep me intrigued. On the surface it seems so simple and straightforward, but there is an intellectual and philosophical depth to the subject that is so satisfying to the inquiring mind. I'm finished with college but I'll never be finished with Anthropology. Nu-uh. Bring it on. This is my declaration of commitment to my continued anthropological education! 

Tribute to the provocative Bell Hooks:

"I still think it's important for people to have a sharp, ongoing critique of marriage in patriarchal society — because once you marry within a society that remains patriarchal, no matter how alternative you want to be within your unit, there is still a culture outside you that will impose many, many values on you whether you want them to or not. " — bell hooks

"The transformative power of love is not fully embraced in our society because we often wrongly believe that torment and anguish are our ‘natural’ condition." 
— bell hooks

"as females in a patriarchal culture, we were not slaves of love; most of us were and are slaves of longing-- yearning for a master who will set us free and claim us because we cannot claim ourselves" 
— bell hooks

"In a culture of domination, preoccupation with victimage is inevitable." 
— bell hooks

To all Austinites!

You know the truly wonderful thing about Austin? I do. Austin is a place where you can be, become, or aspire to be whatever you DREAM of. In other words, its a town for people who believe in their dreams and are willing to work towards being the person they want to be. I meet people here who aren't completely settled into a life for the next forty years. No, no... people here are on their waaay somewhere. That is to say... they're part of the only magical process in life that we can choose to participate in or sadly not. The process in general. The finding out, the figuring out, the process of working through the mysteries of life. But better than all of that, get this: They are enjoying the journey. These are the people I want to spend my time with. The ones who walk the path of life without knowing the purpose, without knowing quite what their destination will be, but are content with the journey regardless. Austinites are my travel companions. (Though they might not know it...ahem..)

Since I've moved here, Ive been inspired to be the person I am (and want to be). I've already learned a few lessons and gained a few clarifications. One of which is particularly nagging....

The Post-Graduate Conundrum: Dreamer or Delinquent?

You know... I've always resisted getting a blog for the SOLE reason that by writing my thoughts online I would be essentially pouring my soul into a lifeless computer instead of a personalized traditional journal. I've always noted the differences. The difference between typing my thoughts and writing them on paper. The difference between blogging and journal scripture. My immediate thought: you write blogs for the world to see and write journals for "just you." But... the question I face now is, what is truly worth keeping from the world? And more intriguingly, why, if something is worthless, would I want to share it with other people anyway? Our lives cannot be so infuriatingly boring that we accept the unimportant, commonplace banter that far too many people rely on for brief entertainment value. We're individuals dammit! And that language is moribund.

Jack: "Hey. How are you?"
Jill: "I'm good, how are you?" (What's his name again?)
Jack: "Good. Good to see ya!"

They used less than 10 words to say what they didn't mean...Tisk. Tisk. But...I'm a culprit too. So, I guess that's precisely why blogging is so damn useful after all. Writing my thoughts by hand, in colorful ink, in a journal, when I really need to let out my worst and most pitiful character flaws, has always served as a form of expression and release. But. It never gave me the courage to tell other people exactly who I was and what I felt... even when I really needed to. I knew I could come back and feel better by pouring myself like ink into the vast, never-ending pages of my journals. Not this time.
Here I am world! A post-graduate 22-year old with (excuse the language) no shittin-clue where I'm headed in a no-hope recession for a undergrad grad, and no fucking worry in the world that I can't bag a dead-end office job with the threat of thousand dollar loans looming over my head. Nope!

There's another way to live, and I'm going to start living it today. Am I an idealist? Hell yes. Call me anything but the sad, praised reality of a "realist."