View from the Balcony


Saturday, October 21, 2006


posted by Hana 8:08 AM

posted by Hana 8:05 AM

Poetry Slam

posted by Hana 8:02 AM

posted by Hana 7:57 AM

Sunday, October 15, 2006

posted by Hana 8:41 PM

Poetry Slam Documentation
posted by Hana 8:11 PM

Thursday, March 11, 2004

I haven't been writing here in a while. I have been writing in email, which has drained all my writing energy. But here I am. And writing is the subject of the day, since it is time for me to sort out my writing for this project. So, I am opening up all my old files and wondering how it is that I go off on tangents that can last for years. I become fixated and at the same time paralysed. Disaster. So, I am untying yet another knot...

I went for a walk on the train path this morning, to clear my head and pull myself back into my work. Family, Burkhard's visit and New York City have soaked up my time and energy. Good always to go back to assess how far I have come. I don't feel the same in any area of my life. Time and money have a different value, and what I am deeply attached to has changed. I view Burkhard from that distance, still appreciating all that he is, and our wonderful rapor and feel so far away from it. I moved to the country, and the move, after two years, is now internal.

The news today was devastating. Train bombs in Madrid. I go back to the trauma of Sept. 11 very quickly. Very disturbing, and frightening to think that Europe is now the terrorist battleground.

The best thing about the current political climate is that it doesn't feel as paralysed as it has for the past few years. The election process in the U.S. provides a very open channel for debate and dissent. But we continue to be in a very volatile climate. I seek solace in nature, both emotional and physical.

posted by Hana 8:51 PM

Thursday, October 09, 2003

Here I am at ICP with Eugene. say hello Eugene:

hello all

Eugene is shy. But he's a great guy.

posted by Hana 1:01 PM

Thursday, September 11, 2003

Two years later, New York resonates with a particular echo today and during this week. I have had meetings in the city each day, and at every encounter, have been met with sadness and anxiety in my friends, who attribute it to financial hardship and job frustrations. To my eyes and ears, it seems overshadowed by the memory of 9/11/01.

I hid in my apartment that day, watching TV with fixed attention. I didn't want to let the tragedy in. I certainly didn't want to go out. I was frightened to lose my momentum, always tenuous, and be overwhelmed by sorrow. Yet for all my personal resistance, our world crashed down with the Towers of the World Trade Center. Many lives lost and changed forever.

Alot has changed in two years. I sit at my computer looking out at the Hudson River. Dinner last night with Ellen, celebrating her birthday, at a restaurant on the wharf. A perfect early fall evening, a touch cool, dry and crystal clear, the Tappan Zee bridge lit up in the night sky and boats moored in the water.

Two years ago, I was living downtown, loaning my shoes to Angeline, so she could walk home. Walking with Steven to Union Square park, and seeing the spontaneous candlelight memorial spawn before us, reading the messages posted along each path.
I can feel now what I couldn't feel then. I am always a little behind.

Mayor Guilliani was brilliant. It takes an unbelievable amount of something special to have the strength and presence of mind that he showed then. I couldn't accept that either, carrying resentments from other political differences.

Looking at the photos of my summer trip to Europe, I can see where I have been. My inner monologue drowns out half the awareness of where I am.

I am still in a state of euphoria from living closer to nature, and have let go of the immediacy of my love for New York City. I fear (like before) too great a sense of loss to be able to move on. As I look at the images on TV that have been played over again today - the Towers burning and falling, the dust spreading, I smell the air again and taste the chalky soot on my tongue. With the impetus of sorrow I left, and sometimes it is only that push that can propell me on to a new beginning. Something must always die before a rebirth can happen. I am in the infancy of a new phase, after New York, after 9/11.

My friend Eloise moved out here as well. She was evicted from her Tribeca apartment that day, closer to the Towers, her apartment uninhabitable. It is good to have her here. We eat breakfast together on the beach, and talk over our lives, while we roll our pants over our knees to let the sun shine on our legs. Nature is helping us heal. It will take a generation to absorb the enormity of the attacks of 9/11, for New York City to once again achieve a history that is larger than this tragedy. Right now, the World Trade Center Towers still cast their long shadow even though they are no longer there.

posted by Hana 5:27 PM

Wednesday, April 30, 2003

My Visual Diary class has unofficially extended itself into meeting every other Tuesday at a gallery in Soho. We are a smaller group and I am the only woman other than Susan, who is leading the gathering. It is lovely to be back with these guys. I enjoy talking about photography, looking at each other's work and growing into an intimacy and trust that allows us to reveal more vulnerability and doubt as we hunt around inside our creative processes looking for openings, and new discoveries. That can only happen when a group bonds and becomes a "safe space".

Tonight I suggested we go for something to eat after "class" and six of us went to "Spring Street Natural" - the solid, stand-by restaurant in my old neighborhood. Everything about that neighborhood is still home - every store, sign, window, and building, even though I moved away a year ago. Towards the end of dinner, the young guy sitting to my left, keeled over. As he was doing so, we thought he was joking, but in a second Dante, who was on the other side of him, saw his eyes roll back in his head as I was noticing that his legs were stiff, and he said "This is real". He held the boy's head in his lap and tried to get his tongue which was impossible because the jaw was hammered shut, his body rigid. I held his back while Dante kept talking to him softly. Finally he stopped vibrating and was absolutely still, his face had turned blue and his eyes were in the back of his head. Dante was still talking to him, but I thought he was dead. He was lying partially in my lap and partially in Dante's lap, and I had my hand on his heart because I was trying to feel if it was beating. He felt perfectly still and I thought "We've lost him." I motioned to the others to phone for EMS, but the restaurant had already done that, we simply did it again. Then he coughed and I realized he was alive and he ever so slowly started to come back to life. At first conciousness he was completely beligerant and angry and wouldn't let the EMS workers touch him. He had, as his mother explained later, learned to defend himself against the medical establishment in New York City, which shoves people around at great peril to their health. I sat with my arm around his shoulders, talking softly to him, every nurturing element of myself in full flower as he became in one instant my Mother, my cat Mable and all the other wounded I have ever wanted to shelter by holding them to me.

This young guy has a heart condition, which we all knew. It was not until much later, when he was calm and he had allowed the doctors to load him onto the ambulance, that I was standing on the street and overheard the medical history. He is only 25 but has the failing body of someone 85. I realized that he holds tenaciously onto life and his feisty nature and his quick mind are the threads that pull him through. They are tough threads, because despite the frailty of his body, his will is fierce. I keep remembering the feel of his small back in my hand as he was in the grip of the forces at play in his body. His feistiness turned gentle when he did start to listen to me as I whispered in his ear, "We love you, you scared us, you did have a seizure." He was certain that nothing had happened.

This was such a reminder that life is fragile. I love him for his will. The street cat that will fight even when he is torn from wounds. I go to sleep tonight, my hands still cupped from holding.

posted by Hana 12:11 AM

Monday, April 28, 2003

Tonight I was working on the Information Architecture of the project with Jane Dowling and Karen Haight, both of whom I met at ITP. They are amazing - smart and unusually generous with their time and talent. I sat back and watched them and thought I am so lucky to have such wonderful friends. I want to introduce them to everyone I know, or post them to this web site and say "See, these fantastic, strong, funny women are friends with me!"

The IA process is the core of everything. I have been through it before, two years ago, but the project is more concrete now and I have answers to more questions. I do think, as I do about everything, "Where have I been? I should have been going through this depth and detail three years ago", but I comfort myself by saying, "It goes the way it goes, and it takes the time it takes and I am learning."

Last week I was at the Vectors conference, part of the 10th Anniversary Digital Salon sponsored by the School of Visual Arts The panel on new types of narrative was inspiring and thought provoking and triggered my latest experiment with narrative fragments. I am on fire in so many directions that I feel fragmented. Excited but overwhelmed. Instead of forging ahead, I would be just as happy going out for a long bike ride in this glorious weather and sit on the pier in the sunshine.

But back to work...

posted by Hana 11:17 PM

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