Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Paradoxes (?) of the faith: Corban


Paradoxes are one of my favourite things. Working them out - how two things that cannot coexist do. When I was in year 12, my physics class accidentally got energy from nowhere during an experiment. We sat, utterly confused and trying not to burn holes in the magic Styrofoam cup.

Turns out our teacher had confused the exchange rate between calories and kilojoules.

So, usually when there's a paradox, it's because we're missing part of the puzzle. I love paradoxes because they remind me that there is always going to be things out there that I don't understand. They prove that my mind isn't the greatest that exists, and that there's a limit to human knowledge in a world that was built by hands without limits.

With that in mind, let's jump in to something I've chatted with a few friends over last year about.

Corban.

Corban is this weird word that turns up in the New Testament - I'm pretty sure it's a thing that was invented by the Pharisees (teachers of Jewish law). Rather than try and explain it, I'll just upchuck the relevant block of scripture and we'll go from there.

Obligation > Gospel


"The Pharisees and some of the teachers of the law who had come from Jerusalem gathered around Jesus, and saw some of his disciples eating food with hands that were defiled - that is - unwashed. (The Pharisees and all the Jews do not eat unless they give their hands a ceremonial washing, holding to the tradition of the elders. When they come from the marketplace they do not eat unless they wash. And they observe many other traditions, such as the washing of cups, pitchers and kettles.
So the Pharisees and teachers of the law asked Jesus, “Why don’t your disciples live according to the tradition of the elders instead of eating their food with defiled hands?”
He replied, “Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you hypocrites; as it is written:

“‘These people honor me with their lips,
    but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain;
    their teachings are merely human rules.’
You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions.”

And he continued, “You have a fine way of setting aside the commands of God in order to observe your own traditions! For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and mother,’ and, ‘Anyone who curses their father or mother is to be put to death.’ But you say that if anyone declares that what might have been used to help their father or mother is Corban (that is, devoted to God)— then you no longer let them do anything for their father or mother. Thus you nullify the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down. And you do many things like that.”

Mark 7:1-13

It's worth paying attention any time Jesus gets stuck into someone about a thing, because it'll usually reveal something about the human heart. We encounter the paradox when we also look at another command of Jesus.

Gospel > Obligation


"Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple. And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple."

Luke 14: 25-27

The first conversation I had about Corban last year was with a friend. We were discussing the scenario of choosing the obligations of ministry life over, say, taking care of a chronically ill family member. He pointed out the Luke verse - that we as Christians are called to forsake everything for the gospel.
I asked what he thought about Corban, and how that was supposed to fit. And he stopped. And we thought some more.

Jesus wants us to love him and the gospel more than anything. To be willing to give up everything for the gospel.

But.

He also feels pretty strongly about caring for the needy. About caring for people who are supposed to be under our care. The reason why he'd gotten so stuck into the Pharisees was that they were inventing rules that at face value were for serving God, but were really just for serving their own ends.

I'd posit that these two things aren't opposites, but that they work together. Let's run through what happens to someone who clings to one concept and abandons the other.

The person who only follows through with the obligation to care for the physical needs of those around will forget the urgency and gravity of the gospel. They would prioritise physical care over spiritual need. Eventually, that need to care would consume their faith, and altruism would become their god.

The person who only follows through with the obligation to preach the gospel at the cost of all else rows out into the endless sea in a tiny lifeboat. They would sacrifice all ties that exist, abandon anything that would slow them down, and eventually burn out, their gospel burning out with them, never taking root because those preached to were never cared for properly.

You can't have one of these things without the other.

Gospel = Obligation


Here's what I want to posit.

We show that the gospel matters most when we care for those God has placed under our care. How we care shows that what we believe is alive in us, and not just merely lip service.

"What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.
But someone will say, “You have faith; I have deeds.”
Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds."

James 2:14-18

Sometimes caring for those we are obligated to is teaching them the gospel. Sometimes it is feeding them, washing them, dressing them, and teaching them the gospel, whatever their age or capacity might be.

Two things to Consider

Firstly, the matters of the physical realm will always play second fiddle to the matters of the spiritual realm. I'm occupying meatspace for the next fifty-sixty years, tops. I've already taken up tenancy in the New Creation, and I'm gonna be there for a lot longer. Consequently, I should keep the needs of each realm in proportion. Eating each day is still important, and it's more important now, but it pales in comparison to where I plan on spending eternity. If that sandwich keeps you alive long enough to hear the gospel, or to preach it to someone else, then it is the best sandwich you'll ever eat. But it's a sandwich with a purpose. So watch it.

Secondly, it's a wise move to keep a wary eye on the parts of our lives where we might be tempted to call Corban, and who we might call Corban on. The reason why Jesus was so mad about the concept was not only because the Pharisees were gaming the system to not help out their parents, but also because they'd use the income they declared Corban however they wanted.

That'd be like taking on extra ministry responsibilities at church so you didn't have to help out your family with important things, and then bailing on said responsibilities to do your own thing.

Let's face it, we've probably all done this once or twice. I remember doing something similar when I was seventeen and skipping out on bible study to study for school, and then doing fat nothing during that time. But it's not a wise move. It's certainly not a mature thing to do.

Things I'm Thinking About This Week


Who am I obligated to love? How am I obligated to love them? 

How is the gospel evident in how I love them?

Is this an easy or a hard thing for me to do?

Am I trying to get out of it?

How am I doing that? By justifying? Ignoring? Claiming that I'm too busy with things?

How can I change to be more like Jesus in how I practically love people?

"Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law. The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery,” “You shall not murder,” “You shall not steal,” “You shall not covet,” and whatever other command there may be, are summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” 
Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law."

Romans 13:8-10

(I have few hard and fasts here. I find that thinking about the how and why tends to have a deeper impact. Happy to chat about it - I'm far from a closed case on the riddle of the-thing-that-sounds-like-Cornbread)

Brooke out.

Thursday, June 16, 2016

The Fear


I was seventeen when we first had the talk. The subject matter was our bodies, but it wasn't about how we were to change from children to adults. It was far more terrifying.

We were on year eleven snow trip. I remember the muted cold that followed us, even in the tiny cabin that the handful of us had occupied. I remember the tension, the revelation. I remember it suddenly making sense why one of my teachers and friends had taught us how to hold your keys between your fingers, and how to use different improv weapons.

One of the girls had been groped by a stranger on the ski lifts. So the female teacher who'd come with us sat us down and explained to us how we needed to be on our guard, all the time. It covered picking your seats on trains, watching your drinks, dealing with creeps, and where you should park your car at night.

In retrospect, the only reason why we had this talk at sixteen and seventeen was because we were from a conservative town, and a conservative school. They didn't know that I'd been catcalled from passing cars at thirteen. They didn't know I already had felt and known that fear. But there it was. We sat in that cabin, in the quiet, until it was time to go, and we left to have pizza. The fear stayed, though. It's still there.

I've been meaning to write about this for a while. A few months back, I had a conversation with a bunch of people about the rise of the 'strong female character'. The topic was concern, that the rise of such an unrealistic character would set women up for failure, frustration, and an inability to conform to a certain standard of womanhood. My addition to the noise was a need for such female characters, because of this fear.

What is this fear? It's probably important to define that now, after all.

As a woman, I am aware of my smallness. I am aware that in a fight against a man, unless there was a significant factor to tip the scales, I would lose. I am aware that I live in a world that is not safe. I am aware that I could be attacked, could be overpowered, could be raped. I am aware of my vulnerability, and I am aware of how in a lot of assault cases, the blame is placed on the victim for the incident.

This is not an irrational fear, that you could dissect. This is not an irrelevant fear, that you could dismiss. This is a very real fear, that follows you. I feel it resting on my shoulders, tickling the back of my neck, as I walk back to my car in the dark by myself, after work. Can I run in these shoes? Should I throw my first punch with my right or left? Would I be able to start my car if I've just used my car key to stab an attacker? Do I wear my hood up and hope that my over-sized coat disguises my gender, or do I wear my hood down so I can use my peripherals to track any incoming movement? Where can I put my hair so they can't grab it?

I once shared this with a guy. The look on his face and his response were genuine, unscripted. He'd never even considered that women had to think like this. He apologised that I had to feel like this. He held my hand tightly when we walked through a night-shrouded shortcut that I wouldn't have gone near with a six-foot barge pole. But it was a naive outlook at best, and a myopic one at worst. Because it doesn't solve the problem.

I'm not always going to have a bodyguard. I can't rely on there always being some dude around to fix my problems and save the day. Because there's not. That's not even a post-breakup cynical stereotype thing - it's a reality. Sometimes, you might have someone nearby. Sometimes it'll be another girl, sometimes it'll be a guy, sometimes you'll be hanging out in a pack of people. But that fear doesn't go away. It lingers in the back of your mind, like a rank aftertaste, reminding you that you are small in a bad way, and that you have to stay on your guard, all the time.

So.

What is there to be done?

I don't think the fear will ever go away. There are times when it is safer, but for the most part, my brain will always check exit routes, the blown street lamps, and where I'll be when the sun goes down. When I'm on the train, I'll scan for the solo seat, because there's no room for someone dangerous to sit nearby. Despite how I'd love to go walking at night outside by myself, I know that it'll nearly never be safe to do so in the city, so I won't. And I won't wear shoes I can't run in. I'll blend, as much as possible. Then, if they can't see me, I might be safer. It's a lie we tell ourselves. But it makes things easier.

When we were in school, the girls had restrictions placed on our attire. Rash shirts or one-pieces on swimming excursions. Board shorts, if you got 'em. No thin-strap singlet shirts, low-cut tops, or short shorts on mufti days or camps. They told us it was for sun safety (a valid thing in Australia), but in retrospect, the choice was rooted in the same decisions that controlled our skirt length. I understand that the decision might have been made for our safety, but I don't think they protected us from danger all that much.

So what can be done?

I'll never stop being guarded. But making the in-between spaces safer for the vulnerable can be met from both sides.

I'm sharing this, so that the folk who've never had to consider what it might be like to feel the fear, to understand that it's there. That it doesn't go away, ever.

I'm sharing this because I want to teach the kids growing up now that people are to be respected and valued. That we're not just a collection of body parts for the amusement and use of each other. I want for us to raise a generation of protectors. And for them to raise a generation of protectors. But I'll teach kids how to be safe, too. Because I know that even if I taught every kid I met to look after other people, I know that I'd miss plenty who've grown up with the mindset that it's okay to use people. And I know that sin depraves the best of us to the lowest level.

In the meantime, I think it's okay for us to have well-rounded, female characters in our fiction - in case you were wondering about that still. I might have worked out where to park my car for my new job that isn't halfway down some nothing road with no lights, but there will be other car parks to navigate. There will be other train carriages to assess. There will be more creeps. And this will be true for others for a long time. So I think it's important for women to feel like they're allowed to be brave and powerful too. Because feeling vulnerable and powerless in a situation where you're so aware of it sucks.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

The Legend of Angry Brooke


Story time. If you'd met teenage Brooke, you'd have met a very different person. I mean, all the nerdness was there, but there was a lot of other stuff too. Stuff which I'm glad I don't really have any more. Most of the time.

There's not really a greater purpose to this post. It's more or less just telling you about the years I spent as a Super Saiyan and how I try not to be like that now.

The Beginning: Granny Weatherwax and Nynaeve

I've always been a fairly rambunctious person. My darling mother mused out loud last year about how I 'used to be such a confident kid', before asking what happened, because that's not who I am now. (Which is a whole other topic, but we'll leave that for later.) But yes. You put me in my field, and I'll be a happy camper.

When I transitioned from homeschooled year 6 to mainstream school in year 7, there were a lot of things to work out. How to do schoolwork in a group environment. How to deal with the incredibly slow pace everything happened at. How to mesh with other people who understood the rules of social interaction better than I. And since I always was super serious, how to deal with the teasing. I was a tall poppy in my early years of high school, and didn't understand the 'teasing as standard action' thing. I had a fairly short fuse too. So, it didn't take much to get me riled up or upset. That and my general naivety were some pretty good reasons why I got bullied.

So, a short fuse, and a lot of fear, because there was all this stuff I didn't understand.

About 2005, I found two very interesting outlooks from different fictional characters. Since books were how I learned anything, I found the concept of anger interesting when it was presented in The Wee Free Men, by Terry Pratchett.

In it, the wise and cantankerous Granny Weatherwax teaches Tiffany Aching, the protagonist, how to use anger to combat threats. When something threatens you, you can get scared, or you can get angry. If you get angry, you're more likely to do something about the threat. At least, that was the logic, as I'd perceived it.

The other outlook I'd encountered was that of Nynaeve from the Wheel of Time series, by Robert Jordan. Nynaeve is a mage, capable of mighty things. Only issue is, the only way she can use her power right at the beginning is if she gets mad. She's kind of like the hulk, but with waaaay more irritated braid tugging.

I learned anger as a way of coping with and responding to issues, especially when, in the same year, I learned that my friend group had invited me into their circle so they could 'adopt a nerd'.

The Heyday: Little Dog Syndrome

During my middle and senior high school years, I established myself as she of the short stature and short temper. I hung out with a bunch of guys in the year above, and since I was head and shoulders shorter than everyone else, it just meant that I made a lot of noise in order to be heard.

It was my niche, my slot, and I dug it. If you irritated me (which wasn't hard), it'd be easy for me to yell at you. I talked a lot of smack. I'd also kicked people who insulted me and slapped someone who'd called me just about the worst thing you could call someone. In retrospect, I was scared of being forgotten, of having people not take me seriously. I never wanted to be the butt of the joke, for people to laugh at me for being a maladjusted, naive little girl again. I just hid that fear under aggression.

In what was one of my more questionable moves, I remember challenging the biggest guy in my year to a sparring match, so certain I could win because I 'knew how to handle myself', despite the fact that this fellow was about 6ft and weighed twice what I did. My ambition and aggression went for it. Fortunately, this guy was wiser and more chill than I, and what would have been the smackdown of the year never came to fruition. Honestly, even looking back at that one, I'm not sure what my goal was. Some kind of 'beat the largest one, become the alpha' logic. 17 year old Brooke wasn't incredibly sensible.

The Decline: 2010

Getting out of school was a good thing. I went from the school environment to a TAFE course that was 100% women. Sure, there was still drama, but it was different. I couldn't solve my issues by yelling at them. I still solidly enjoyed sparring with a few close friends - these were titled 'poke fights' and were exactly what they sounded like. They were less frequent, since all of us were getting older and we were less on an even playing field. Plus, the one I versed the most had the same limb-to-body ratio of a daddy long legs. Or thereabouts.

But I'd started looking back on how I'd tried to use my anger to be treated like an equal during high school, and had realised that it wasn't that effective. The guy I'd challenged to a match? We never spoke. To this day, I've got no idea how he's doing, and that's either because we weren't all that close as buds by the end, or because I've felt too embarrassed and awkward about hunting him down on Facebook since. It's probably a little column A, a little column B.

2010 came to an end, and while I could still be counted on to hulk out in a pinch, I'd mellowed out significantly from what I was.


At Present: The Girl With Something To Prove

If you know me know, you'd probably know that I'm still fairly driven. I've got a few friends who enjoy antagonising me as well as any sibling. I've at least managed to learn how to take some of it with a pinch of salt.

I mean, I still have a lot to prove, but that's because I set insanely high expectations for myself (something which I am - with help - currently taking steps to disassemble, because it's about as healthy and sustainable as throwing a brick into a washing machine.) At least now, I don't flare up like touch paper. Comparatively.

The only issue I have with this now, is that it feels like in dissipating my anger, I've lost something. Angry Brooke didn't take crap from anyone, and wouldn't let herself be walked over. She had the resolve to get things done, and took risks that needed to be taken.

In disassembling that, it feels like when things arise, I just let them happen. I avoid conflict instead of seeking it out or headbutting it into submission. I miss that, to a degree. Angry Brooke got stuff done. 

At least, that's what it felt like. 

Angry Brooke was respected. 

Except, I don't think she really was. You know a kid with a short fuse in your class as a teen, you're going to find it funny to throw things and keep your distance. You stay away from her.

Thing is, in looking back on Angry Brooke, she was a person I wouldn't want to be friends with either. In the middle of my anger, I did things I wish I hadn't. (See: Challenging my 6ft classmate to a wrestling match and losing his friendship.)

I Also Said A Lot Of Stupid Things. (Which, when you capitalise all the words, sounds like a song by Fall Out Boy.)

So, hulking out meant that I got things done, but in the process, I messed a lot of things up. Because I wanted to stop burning bridges and having all the stupidity coming out of my mouth, I stopped. Or at least, I've mostly stopped.

There are times when I still feel the fire, still feel the urge to raise my voice properly - let the world be wreathed in flames and fear of the legendary Super Saiyan Brooke. But, those are the times I usually cope by sitting somewhere and listening to aggressive music really loudly. It's hard for me to make friends. I don't want to lose any more of them. Plus, I don't think that wanton fury is incredibly God-honouring. And I want to be doing that better. Honouring God with my whole life, that is. I can't lose control over something so small. So I won't.

Perhaps there will be a time and a place for this fire sometime in the future, when I've learned to refine it down to the white-hot flame of righteous fury. That way, the drive and the expression could work in harmony to achieve the goal, rather than skewing each other into a sixteen year old girl's aggression.

I want to get stuff done. I just...have to work out when is the time to fight to the last and when is the time to kneel. (That's another blog post in the waiting, really. Another conundrum that is a question I don't have the answer to - I just think it's a good argument to work out. Anyway. Spoilers.)

That's about it for this post. I can't think of a conclusion. I should be blogging more regularly soon. We'll see how that goes.

Brooke out.

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

The last two years: In retrospect



Hi. You could be just reading my blog for the first time, or you could have read all of my posts, or you could have seen that I posted a new entry on my Facebook and followed it through because sometimes words come out of my mouth and sometimes they are interesting.

This is a little bit of a reflection on the last two years, those being 2014, and 2015. If you've been reading my posts for a while, you'll probably notice that that's about when the regularity of writing on Gone Aerial started going out the window, and there's a few reasons why.

I figured it was time to write something again. I've always had more to say, but when the jobs you're working have you either physically or mentally exhausted at the end of the day, there's not a lot left for writing. Still.

Here's a brief rundown of the last two years.

I finished Uni at the end of 2013, and my hopeless optimism thought that finding a job straight after WAVE of 2014 would be easy. I wanted to work after I finished uni, because I knew I didn't have a lot of life experience and I probably needed it. When I hit 22 in 2013, I realised that I was the same age as Mum when she'd gotten married, and it was probably time to start thinking of myself and acting like an adult.

What followed was a steep learning curve. I threw resumes at anything that moved. I picked up work in a local Chinese restaurant, but it wasn't enough hours or income to support myself, so I started falling behind on rent, and eating my way through the strange cans of food my Pop had given me a few years before, because all I could afford to buy was milk and apples and mi goreng. I'd fill up my car, not knowing if I'd be able to buy more fuel when I ran out.

This went on for a bit more than a month, before all the forms I'd submitted to request a bit of welfare subsidence kicked in. I was also helped out by my parents and some folks from church. Even then, there wasn't much of a rest. I'd spend a few nights a week working at the restaurant and the rest of the week, I pretty much lived at the Hub - the warehouse in Broadmeadow that doubles as my church's office/headquarters/place for things that aren't Sunday meetings. There, I continued applying for jobs.

I can't remember how many I applied for. There was a lot, and sometimes I'd get a rejection letter, but most of the time I'd never hear back. At this stage, I was pretty grateful for Centrelink, even if there were a lot of forms to fill out. I was able to buy food. I could pay rent. When the registration of my car came around, I was able to do that myself - something that really counted when you consider that I was trying to be a responsible adult.

About halfway through the year, I picked up some contracted writing work, and this eventually turned into my second job - writing blog posts for a marketing firm. Once this piece of information comes into play, you can kind of see why I didn't do a lot of writing of my own material - it's a little hard to write all day and then be motivated to come home and write some more.

So that was 2014. There were some hard bits, and some good bits, and some other pretty important lessons learned, but I'll get to those in a minute.

2015 has also been a pretty turbulent year, but for different reasons.

Because I had had a lot of spare time in the year prior, I'd started a few different types of ministry. I had time, so why not? Problem was, I was nearly working full time hours on top of part time hours spent in ministry.

I got sick, and stayed physically sick, for about three months. It was debilitating on my body and my mind, and I burned out. Recovery took longer, and I have to check in even now and still consider if I'm back to fully operational.

Burning out was problematic for more than just that reason though - it opened up a whole new can of worms, one which was marked 'mental health'. Although I don't know if there's anything in particular that has become my problem, I can testify that the inside of my head has not been a pleasant place to be at times during this year.

But, there were still really good things, and really challenging things, and things to learn from.

At the moment, my hours have changed, for both places, for a variety of reasons. Things are definitely going to change next year, not in the least because I'm planning on moving out of my house. Living alone is fine if you are mentally stable. Which I am not. So, some housemates are in order. I'm a little anxious about how things will go, not in the least because I've lived by myself for the last two years, so my house skills have gotten a little lax. But. Housemates. That's important. Need stability.

Where does this lead to? There is indeed a purpose for this blog post - not just telling you how my last two years have been. There's been a few hard-learned, but important-learned lessons I've picked up along the way, and thought they were worth sharing. Hence, post. But like, I don't want it to be like the posts I write for work, so it's not a numerically listed thing. But, uh.

The Rest Of The World Cares Less About You Than Your Lecturers And Teachers

I'm talking secular, working world. My church body has been highly valued and I'm so very thankful to them for looking after me. But the others?
When you're in school, your teachers have some degree of care about you. In uni, if you build a good rapport with your lecturers and tutors, they'll generally want you to pass a subject.
The same isn't true of the working world. The manager you just talked to doesn't know squat about you, and doesn't have a reason to care about what you can do unless you give them a reason.


It's Easy To Feel Entitled

And why shouldn't we? If you're a first world kid, growing up in a first world, cushy life, it's easy to feel like you're owed a job that you like. Whether or not you can find one of those jobs is another matter. I work in the service industry and you will never find another job where the people you meet will feel like making your life miserable is well within their rights and duties as a customer. It's even easy to try and use my sense of entitlement to try and rise above all of that. "I've got two tertiary qualifications, therefore I have the right to a better job," kind of thing. It...it just doesn't work like that.


Some Things Are Just Hard Work

In the last few weeks of my uni study, my church sat the students who were graduating down over dinner and we talked about what life would be like as a worker - the things we'd need to be aware of, and the ways we'd be challenged. One of the most helpful things I was told was "The first two years will just be hard work". They were right. No shortcuts. No cheat codes. Just a lot of honey chicken and oil burns.


Nobody Else Has It Together Either

I'm now a worker. I still have nights where I don't have enough energy to do anything. Weekends are a joke. But, I was raised with this crazy impossible standard where the things are supposed to be clean and I'm supposed to have it all together. After all, I'm the oldest, and I'm supposed to set and example and not be a bitter disappointment and blah blah blah. No. Nobody else my age seems to have it together. Which is a bit of a relief, because it's honest and it's real and it makes me able to admit my fears and weaknesses to other people, and ask for their help, because there's a lot of things I cannot do by myself.


Take One Day At A Time

Rolling with it is something I've had to get used to. It's not my favourite, but it's helped me see beyond the insurmountable hill of responsibility and just get down to putting one foot in front of another to keep going. If I can keep moving forward, then things have the opportunity to get better.


Celebrate The Small Things

You found your keys? Throw both arms in the air and yell in adulation. You survived another shift? Give yourself a pat on the back. There's still a lot of things I can't do. So when something goes right for a change, no matter how small, I remember that it's a good thing, and that we should celebrate victories, no matter how small.


Set Some Boundaries

This is important.


Remember To Rest

So is this. Like I said earlier, secular world isn't obligated to care for your shocking day prior. They only want to know that you can work. I have one night a week where I am home, and that's because I vigilantly protect it as The Evening I Am Home To Rest. If you're a people-pleaser, it's easy to keep saying yes to things until you collapse. I've done that once, and I don't ever want to do it again. So, make sure that your lines in the sand on what you can do, and what you can't do, are drawn, and maintain them, not because you are selfish, but because you need to keep functioning.


Remember The Gospel

As a Christian, the gospel is what keeps me going. Knowing and remembering and dwelling on it is what means I can come back for another round of work even though I was in tears over work the night before.
It's easy to gloss over it - be like, 'yeah, nah, I know this. I need some deeper theological truth to look at'.

No. Noob.

The gospel is where we start and end. Theology only serves to enhance our understanding of the gospel - of knowing and understanding that here is God, the creator of the universe, who would send his Son Jesus to bear my sins and failures to bring me back into a right relationship with him and make me into something better.


Know Your Value

Here's the kicker. I end up with this problem where I feel like my value is attached to what I can do. Or what I am. Problem is, when you take away my capacity for doing things, or make me feel like I can't do anything, the perceived value is going to go down the gurgler pretty quick.

But, here's the thing, and it fits into the gospel. Nothing I can do can attribute to my own value. (Therefore, I can end up feeling like I have no value).
But, the Creator God trades his Son, who has Infinite Value, for my life.
And here's the thing about this trade, about this purchase.

You don't pay for things you don't want. And you don't pay more for something you think has less value.

So even though intrinsically, I have no value, my life - my future, and my eternity - have been purchased with the most expensive thing there is.

Therefore, I am valued at Infinite, by the King of the Universe.

And he's the biggest power there is. There's not another power, bigger, who can say otherwise, or usurp that authority or purchase. This is what happens when you start dealing in absolutes - either things are or they are not.

I still have problems with remembering that I have value on a regular basis. When you're taught that everything else is more important than you, this can be a hard thing to shake. Which is why I keep coming back to the gospel, and why I have to keep remembering that I have value because of the gospel.

So yeah. that's where I'm at. Hopefully next year will be easier, (although I have my doubts). I'll just have a little more experience, and a better understanding of the grace that is sufficient for keeping me going.

I hope your new years are bright, and full of promise.
Happy New Year, guys.

Brooke Out.

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

First Sight and Second Thoughts

In the Discworld books about Tiffany Aching, Terry Pratchett did something that all authors can do, and he did it wonderfully.

He put into words things that people feel and can't articulate.

First sight and second thoughts are abilities that the character Tiffany possesses. First sights is an ability endemic to the witches of the Discworld possess. It's the ability to see what's really there, instead of what your brain tells you should be there (that's Second sights, and is what normal people have).

First sights lets characters spot inconsistencies in the world, and the willpower that anyone who's encountered Granny Weatherwax before has experienced is usually enough for said character to step in and stop the elves from conquering the world/the hiver from eating minds/winter from destroying the world/whatever happens in I shall wear midnight.

Second Thoughts is defined as 'the thoughts you think about the way you think'.

Tiffany also possesses Third and Fourth thoughts, which are thinking about the way you think about the way you think, and thinking about the way you think, about the way you think, about the way you think. Tiffany also sometimes walks into doorposts, according to the wiki.

Why does this warrant conversation?

I would like to know if second/third/fourth thoughts have a real world equivalent.

Because that's something I do and it's useful and terribly inconvenient at the same time.

See, I'll want to do something, but will be thinking about how many people that will impact, and how they'll think and feel about the situation, and what that will mean, and then how I should act as a result.

And I'll think more about every action, which the ripple effect will have impact the people around me, and how they think, and what they do, and how I'm supposed to think about that.

It's an endless analysis. On the one hand, it allows me to care for and look after people in small ways that might not be considered otherwise.

On the other hand, I can't ask for help because I'll be aware of how much it inconveniences people, or just be aware of how much of an impact any action makes, as though I'm trying to navigate my way across a floor covered in eggshells, and I'm trying not to break any of them.

Second thoughts also leaves you slightly disconnected from any interaction with people. You're always thinking about how you're thinking, and often are too busy trying to decipher someone else's facial expression and words to actually respond the right way in the right amount of time.

I don't say 'right way' from a manipulative or insidious perspective. Not at all. It just takes a while to process stuff, and because you're thinking about how you're thinking and how you're acting, you become aware that there is in fact a proper way to react to any situation.

So if you ever notice me lagging in a conversation, just bear with it. I'll get there eventually.

Where it becomes more important is when I get overwhelmed with things or need to ask for help. The knowledge of how I'll impact and inconvenience people becomes paralyzing, and I'll end up trying to do everything myself rather than bug someone else.

So yeah. That.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Being okay about things ending



So in the second week of January, my very favourite band Anberlin posted this video to their twitter feed:

http://youtu.be/Xa7RabbuOTA

Blogger is giving me grief with embedding the video, but at the very least, hopefully, the link is live. Go click it. You'll need to know what's in it for context.

Anyway.

I have very clear memories of the first viewing of the video, because it instilled a great feeling of sadness, and I wasn't able to indulge in that sadness for very long, because it was either the second or the third day of WAVE, which is my church's week-long kids club, and I had to get there and be geared up to work with kids from 7:45am. So the case of the sads went into the back of the head, and I went back to being a magician for four-year old kids.

But there was this feeling that was returned to later - processing in entirety that my very favourite band was finishing, and this was their last year. There was some consolation in knowing there was going to be one more album published, and one more world tour, so odds were high that I'd get to see them again, but still.

Anberlin was ENDING.

Now, this was all stuff that happened at the start of the year, my copy of Lowborn, the last album, arrived on Monday. It's still sitting on my couch, inside the packaging, because I want to listen to it properly - with enough time to sit and just listen through, once or twice, and then play it over and over again, and then go back to my moderate-rotation music. I don't have a lot of time this week, and suspect I'll be a useless pile of emotions afterwards anyway. Knowing that this is the last to hear from their recorded efforts.

"If I don't open it, maybe it won't end."
But then, I have since realised that this was a thing I'd been thinking through last year, and I'm grateful for the way Anberlin have chosen to finish - a lot of bands you see go through fights, or wander into the territory of the Infinite Hiatus, and it's sad to see something you loved so much tear itself to pieces.

I had been aware that they wouldn't be able to produce music forever, and I wouldn't want them to - it's all very well to spend all your time touring as young adults, but the guys have been producing music for twelve years. They started out as teenagers and twenty-somethings, and they're all married, with families of varying sizes now. Their wives and kids (if they have kids. I don't know.) deserve to have them around the house more often.

Their music has meant a lot to me not just because of the style, or the sound, or the lyrics, but because they were introduced to me when I was trying to figure out who I was, asking a lot of the same questions and working through a lot of the same problems presented in their songs. They covered love, loss, confusion, euphoria, blame, depression, and a bunch of other things. I spent as many evenings being useless on my bedroom floor as days spent lost in the heady emotions of joy listening to their music. And it wasn't just these perspectives that helped - knowing that the members of the band profess the same faith is pretty cool. It means when they say 'hope' that I know we're on the same page in terms of understanding.

The interest in their music didn't just leach into helping me understand the chiaroscuro of life either. I mean, it helped a lot, because I'd not been taught any other coping mechanisms, or even what to do on the bad days aside from mope. Anyway.

Their music has been hugely influential in the stuff I write and make - if you've been following my blog for a while, you might have seen a post detailing an entire body of work (in film photography) built around the album Cities, for example. It didn't stop there - I'm fairly certain that the music video for The Unwinding Cable Car got referenced as an inspiration source at least once a semester during my uni degree.



So, given that you can now see a couple of reasons why I like their music, you might be able to see why I was a bit sad about them ending. I guess, it's been understanding that there's a time and a season for everything, that helps. All things end, sooner or later. It's how they end that's important.

And I think Anberlin have done a good job of that.

They could have kept on even after most of the band left, having the name of the band eventually equate to one guy. They could have dropped into obscurity, vanishing without a word or a trace. They could have stretched things out until it was obviously more about the money than the love of music. But they didn't. They've chosen a time and a place, and you can tell that they're keen to see us all off in style and with love.
So while I'm sad, seeing that things are happening in this way is alright. It's garnered a huge amount of respect in my book (not that they need that, but hey), and I want to wish them the best in the future.

You hear that, guys?

Dear Steven, Joey, Chris, Deon, and Nate,
Thank you for having such a positive impact on my life, and the lives of others, with your music.
You're gonna be missed by a lot of people, myself included, but that's okay. You got things going on in your lives aside from Anberlin, and it's cool that you're choosing to pursue those things now. I hope that they're good, and fun, and that you get to be a blessing to the people around you because of your involvement.
Thank you for your kindness to us as your fans. Thank you for twelve years and seven albums of excellence. I wasn't there for the beginning, but I'll be there at the end.
See you in September.
Stay cool.
From Brooke.


Sunday, July 6, 2014

Essay: Concept of the Post-Human in Modern Art

Hey guys, I wanted to let you know that I wasn't dead, but I don't have quite enough time to write up a full post at the moment. Please know that I'm warming up to continue the saga of pursuing Full-Time Ministry.

In the meantime, have an essay I wrote last year on the concept of the post-human in modern art.

Hopefully it still makes sense. This was one I wrote on not much sleep, and in one go. Hmm. Enjoy.

AART 3105: Contemporary Issues in Art

What is the ‘post-human’ and how is it expressed in art? Discuss using the work of at least 3 contemporary artists, showing the social, political and philosophical implications of each artist’s work.

From the literal definition of post-human, it is understood that the subject refers to a state beyond that of the regular or presently-defined human. The manner in which this ‘post-‘may yet to be defined, but there is certainly the connotations of a modification or addendum to the understood human.
This essay will discuss the works of artists Lee Bul, Phillip Toledano and Eduardo Kac, and their comments through their art practise on the role of the human and the post-human. Centering on the inherent value of the human, this essay will discuss the ramifications of blending with technology, enhancing through science and the required response to these actions.

The concept of a cyborg is one familiar to the general populace, mostly through science-fiction and speculative fiction. It is a frequently recurring character, and for a variety of reasons. The seamless blend of machine and man grants the character a new set of abilities and life goals, albeit with a very different set of problems and rules in conjunction to those of a human character. The cyborg in fiction becomes a projection of the self with a different set of rules to live and behave by. Are they human? Are they something else? At which point does the presence or absence of human tissue in the cyborg pronounce them human or android?
Lee Bul, a mixed-media artist from South Korea, creates works that investigate this blending of organic and artificial with surgical precision. Working in industrial materials such as silicone or resin, the artworks tend to explore the polarised concepts of cyborg and monster, dwelling on the results of blending opposing ends of the spectrum between the perfect and the imperfect.
Immaculately finished, with exaggerated proportions reminiscent of typified Japanese anime characters, Bul’s forms hang in suspension. Bearing the appearance of the human form, and yet lacking heads and limbs, their incomplete appearance quietly comments on the role of the human in this technically-augmented realm, and whether there would be a place for the human in this new environment. Perhaps more important though, is the query offered by the artist on the right of mankind to engage in the act of augmenting what is already in existence.[1]

Figure 1. Lee Bul, Cyborg W6 (2001). Hand-cut polyurethane panels on fibreglass reinforced plastic, polyurethene coating. 232 x 67 x 67 cm
If the opportunity is made for the cyborg to exist in the real world, to the degree that is understood in the realms of fiction, then Bul has made it a point in her work to understand the relationship that current humans would have with this post-human. She says,

“I’m always concerned with ideas about the extension of the human body, substitution of the human body, transcending the flesh, and the desire for immortality,”[2]

Her works always appear as incomplete forms, hinting towards the inability of the human to create a whole and perfect replica of itself[3]. Her interest in the blurred line between the human and the mechanical is echoed in fiction, and is a keystone theme in many cyberpunk stories. An appropriate example would be the character of Motoko Kusanagi from the landmark manga series Ghost in the Shell (figure 2 below), and its adapted film released in 1995 under the same name.

Figure 2. Ghost in the Shell theatrical movie poster. Produced by Bandai, Directed by Oshii Mamoru. Original Story by Shirow Masamune.
Kusanagi’s role in the storyline is that of a Major in a top secret task force, but the personal demons driving her through the series relate directly to the definition of the human within the cyborg. Only possessing a small amount of brain tissue, with the rest of her body comprised of state-of-the-art technology, it is this character who is constantly wrestling with the questions, “Am I human? What proof exists that I am not a computer program designed to think it was human?”
Fiction reflects the thoughts of the day, and the relatory points between the cyberpunk anime story told by Shirow Masamune (The creator of aforementioned series) and Lee Bul’s deliberately incomplete cyborg bodies become clear upon observation. Both creators, Bul and Masamune use their work as vehicles to question the value of the human, especially when this living creature is able to be changed and edited so effortlessly.

Similar in thought but different in output is the photographic series A New Kind of Beauty, a series of photographs captured by Phillip Toledano. Taken between 2008 and 2010, A New Kind of Beauty is comprised of portraits of people who have undergone radical plastic surgery. For some of the subjects, the changes are hard to detect. Others wear features so different from the accepted norm that they cannot help but draw the eye; their alien countenances conveying this strangeness with a self-possessed and quiet dignity.


Figure 3. Phillip Toledano, Angel (2009)
This kind of alteration deviates from the idea presented by Bul in that the change is administered first and foremost for aesthetic reasons. Toledano’s series of portraits showcase a type of beauty that is able to be controlled and shaped by choice, resulting in subjects who appear vastly different from the general populace. This kind of human is one augmented and changed beyond a natural circumstance, and it is the artist’s interest in this reshaping that draws the concept and thought for the series.

“In 50 or 100 years’ time, I think humanity won’t look like it does today because of technology. …We will be able to redefine what it means to look human and I think these people are the vanguard of that type of evolution,”[4]

Toledano’s statement on the project stands as an interesting observation on the present and a curious look into the future. With the tools at humanity’s disposal, the question of augmentation for aesthetics becomes not an ‘if’ but ‘when’, and ‘to what extent?’
This pursuit of aesthetics in itself presents as a fascinating subject; the definition of what is aesthetically pleasing having changed many times over years. Is then the accepted aesthetic presently given subject to change? It would appear so, if the cyclic nature of trends and fashions are anything to go by. Concepts and aesthetics remain subject to time and the ability that plastic surgery bestows in changing the human face and body at will brings to mind another series of thoughts. Will the definition of beauty still be subject to change when the alteration of a surgeon can cause change in the subject instead? And how will the spectrum of beauty be changed by this artificial intervention? [5]
It would seem that the rising popularity of plastic surgery allows the individual to pursue their concept of beauty to the finest degree. One of the models of Toledano’s photographic series, Justin Jedlica, is part of the niche ‘living doll’ aesthetic.

Figure 4. Phillip Toledano, Justin, (2009)
Jedlica, along with the ‘human Barbie’ Valeria Lukyanova, are examples of humans who have taken to the optical illusions of makeup and the more extreme alterations offered by surgery in pursuit of their ideal of beauty – that of the impossibly proportioned and shaped dolls Barbie and Ken, childhood doll toys manufactured by Mattel.

Figure 5. Justin Jedlica and Valeria Lukyanova. Photo copyright of Inside Edition.
This aesthetic, offered by a doll company, is what inspired Jedlica and Lukyanova to alter their bodies to fit. According to Jedlica, ‘Children play with Barbie and Ken all the time so it’s fed to us from a very young age that that is the epitome of what is beautiful or what is handsome.’[6]
This thought is echoed in Toledano’s artist statement on A New Kind of Beauty – one of his many queries centering on the recent ability to completely reshape the aesthetic appearance of a human; ‘When we re-make ourselves, are we revealing our true character, or are we stripping away our very identity?’ [7]The artist does not bring about a conclusion to the rhetoric, but instead invites the public to interact with the photographic series, composed and laid out in a style deliberately referencing 16th century artist Hans Holbein the Younger[8], a landmark portraiture artist of his time.
This new and potentially unsettling method of pursuing perfection can have a variety of ramifications for the unsuspecting member of public. So different is the drive behind this thought pattern, it almost certainly warrants a different method of interaction between the altered and the unaltered. There is also much to be said for an individual’s identification to the rest of society when so much about them can be changed, permanently. How would the uninitiated relate to the individual capable of such an extreme morphing? They are clearly not the same as they were before, and yet it is only the physical appearance of the individual that has changed. This interaction of opposing concepts often leaves the general public with the difficult task of relation and navigation amid a maze of social conforms and expectations that is defined by the individual.
What then can be said of the post-human in this environment? It now appears that the human is granted the ability to determine their own shape, and set of physical aesthetics. These personal aesthetics in turn are influenced by the time in which the individual lives, and the amount of change possible is limited only by the current range of techniques and surgeries marked as ‘ideal’ or ‘safe’ by medical practitioners.
This ability to determine the countenance of the individual brings with it a new set of thoughts and arguments in turn – what can be said of the face that people were born with? Society is given the ability to obtain more than what was given at birth, and there are those who would grasp it in pursuit of their own aesthetic. It brings into question the inherent value of the appearance of an unaltered human. In a society where so much of the value of an individual is determined simply at face value, the post-human has the potential to change much of what is valued in the current and future generations.

The advent of this change affects clearly the environment of not only those who partake in it, but those who inhabit the same sphere. This outfall of change, like everything that happens in the known world, has to be governed by a certain power, and it is this governance that allows the change to cohesively blend with society. Simply put, there must be an entity or entities that are called to responsibility as a result of this introduced set of ideas.
Enter Eduardo Kac. Kac’s art focuses on the puzzle of genetics and deliberate mutation, of working on a basal level with the building blocks that determine the physical and physiological makeup of living things. Particularly brought to attention is his genetic work from 2000, the GFP Bunny (also known as Alba).

Figure 6. Eduardo Kac, GFP Bunny (Alba) 2000

Of the creature, Kac has stated, 

‘transgenic art is a new art form based on the use of genetic engineering to create unique living beings. This must be done with great care, with acknowledgement of the complex issues raised and, above all, with a commitment to respect, nurture and love the life thus created.’[9]

The year before, Eduardo Kac had proposed the concept of a dog with the GFP gene to the symposium ‘Life Science’ presented by Ars Electronica.[10] It was met with a variety of responses, ranging from outright refusal to complete support, but was limited by technology available at the time[11]. Kac’s desire had been to investigate new methods of breeding in dogs, the well-associated closest animals to humans. This initial plan was adapted to the GFP Bunny, known to the general public as ‘Alba’.
After the birth of Alba, Kac had requested to take the laboratory-born animal home, and was met with refusal. Subsequently, he began to raise awareness of the situation, sensationalising his request and bringing it into the public eye.[12] This compounded the unique creature’s situation, as her creation just months prior had created a stir all over the world in various forms of media.[13] Whether the motive for the artist to personally obtain the rabbit in order to possess the fame that came with the animal or to properly care for the creature is not sure, but Kac’s statement pertaining directly to the creature seems to indicate that he had a deep-seated desire to take personal responsibility for the animal he had manufactured.
This sense of obligation towards the created was not limited exclusively to Alba the rabbit; as Kac’s other works indicate. Natural History of the Enigma was a work created by Kac between 2003 and 2008 and was focused on a ‘plantimal’ created by the artist. Named an ‘Edunia’, the creation was a genetically modified petunia, which had been modified to incorporate the artist’s genetic pattern for immunoglobin.[14] A component of blood commonly known as ‘antibodies’, the immunoglobin was encoded into the plant’s genetic makeup, and its presence in the finished product was made evident by the bright red veins lining the flowers of the ‘plantimal’[15]. Kac dubbed the creation as ‘plantimal’, citing it as a mix of plant and animal, something which would never grow in the wild. In naming the plant an ‘Edunia’, he gave it his own name, and as a result extended his ownership and subsequent onus of responsibility to it as well.

Figure 7. Eduardo Kac watering Edunia, 2009. Photo: Joy Lengyel
Somehow, Kac manages to inhabit two seemingly opposing trains of thought when explaining the concept of Natural History of the Enigma. On one side, the conceptual reach of the artwork was designed to show off the ability of genetic splicing in creating a relation between the classified kingdoms Plantae and Animalia. On the other, the artist states that ‘all life, no matter how similar, is fundamentally different. All life is singular.’[16] These two concepts find correlation in the artist’s desire to take responsibility for what is created; something that is made evident through the events surrounding both GFP Bunny (Alba) and Natural History of the Enigma. It is seen that in both cases, the artist tries to take as much responsibility as can be held for his genetic creations.
This overarching theme of responsibility is also addressed by Australian artist Patricia Piccinini, although the application of said action is rather different. Piccinini’s works are nonliving, hyper-realistic creations, resembling genetic creatures altered to a much greater degree than that used by Kac.
An example in point would be the mixed-media sculpture Surrogate for the Northern Hairy-Nosed Wombat. The work is of a theoretical creature, designed for the purpose of breeding back from endangerment the rare wombat, whose declining numbers can be attributed in part to human error.[17] The artwork raises thoughts among its audience of what extent society could use biotechnology to undo damage done to flora and fauna of the environments we inhabit.[18]
Figure 8. Patricia Piccinini, Nature’s Little Helpers –Surrogate (for the Northern Hairy Nosed Wombat) (2004) (rear view) Silicone, fibreglass, leather, plywood, hair. Dimensions variable
In this case, Piccinini is absolutely nodding to the question of responsibility. Would we hold ourselves responsible for errors or actions done in the past? And would we be willing to do something about the situation as a result? Her work contrasts to that of Kac in the degree of which this theme is employed. Kac for a large part seems to allow his statements and actions to speak quietly of the responsibility inherent in creating life. Piccinini’s works by contrast take the responsibility required and petition the viewer to take it up. This petitioning usually comes across in her artworks through their uncanny resemblance to humans, in spite of their often animalian features.

Figure 9. Patricia Piccinini, The Young Family, (2002) Silicone, polyurethane, leather, human hair. Dimensions variable.
In The Young Family, one of Piccinini’s most well-known works, the resemblance of the creatures to human inspires both familiarity and revulsion. It is like us, and at the same time very much not like us. How should we react to it? It has an appearance completely different from any creature we know of, and therefore would be considered artificial; a result of genetic tinkering. Who then takes responsibility for the creature and its offspring? The clear mother of the scene has by extension of her motherhood taken responsibility of the creatures; of her offspring.  She challenges the viewer, and yet does not need to be taken to task for the same challenge; she already has something to care for.
Piccinini is less subtle in her thematic use of responsibility in creating life, but is no less interested in the concept than Kac.

What then can be said of these artists when relating to the post-human? Each has a different manner in which their art and conceptual work is expressed, but all boil down to one particular idea: the inherent value of the human.

For Bul, her fascination centres on the blurring of lines between the human and technology in pursuit of perfection. Her fragmented cyborgs ask quietly what it would mean to be human and why it is that the cyborg cannot holistically exist without the human (although by definition, a cyborg requires interface with a human to exist). Bul investigates the right of mankind to intervene and right ‘human imperfection’[19] through technology and its incorporation into the human body.

Toledano presents a different look at the inherent value of the human; similar to Bul is the incorporation of foreign materials into the body, but the focus lies in aesthetics and the pursuit of beauty, even boiling down to the individual definitions given for beauty among society. In this self-defined world, the natural body is subject to alteration and augmentation, to a point where it is no longer recognisable from its native state. The desire is not for the base human form, but for the capturing of ‘a particular part of beauty from our time’.[20]

Overarching and yet still very much related then, is the practise of Kac. Focused on the reactions to the post-human, Kac’s evidenced desire for responsibility taken for his creations reflect a different outlook on the augmentation of the human form or the forms seen in the environment of the human. The concept is understood as taking responsibility for the creation, no matter what is actually created.

This concept of responsibility relates strongly to the value of the human on two levels; firstly, it acknowledges that the post-human is something entirely different from the human, and thus cannot be given the same set of rules for interaction with society as given to its predecessor. Secondly, if the human is to be credited and held responsible for the creation of the new creature, the post-human cannot be credited as greater than the human. They co-exist, equal and yet different.

The concept of the post-human and its reoccurrence in modern art often raises questions. It’s a relatively new concept, and can be very confronting. This stems from a very simple source: by creating the post-human, we are changing something intensely personal to society and to the human race, calling into question something that is unequivocally shared by everyone. By changing the makeup of the human, we create a new set of rules required to correctly engage with the subject. This is not limited to the social circle, as this new set of rules overflows into how the post-human must be governed and cared for by society, and how the human and post-human would value each other.

The definition of the post-human, it would seem then, is the augmented human. The human that blurs the defining lines between themselves and their environment, creating change for the sake of change, but at the same time taking responsibility for their alterations, concurrently existing as human and post-human: progenor and progeny.



Bibliography

Art Gallery of South Australia. “Patricia Piccinini: education resource” Last accessed 06/06/13 http://www.artgallery.sa.gov.au/agsa/home/Learning/docs/Online_Resources/Piccinini_online_resource.pdf
Bul, Lee. Lee Bul. Sydney: Museum of Contemporary Art, 2004
Dixon, Joan Broadhurst & Cassidy, Eric J, editors, Virtual futures: cyberotics, technology and post-human pragmatism. London and New York: Routledge, 1998
Eduardo Kac. “Natural History of the Edunia” Last modified 06/06/13 http://www.ekac.org/nat.hist.enig.html
Gautherot, Frank. ‘Supernova in Kareoke Land’ Flash Art International, no.217, March-April 2001, Kac, Eduardo, Signs of Life: Bio Art and Beyond. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2006
Masamune Shirow, Mamoru Oshii, Ghost in the Shell (motion picture), Bandai Entertainment, 1995
Mr. Toledano. “A New Kind of Beauty” Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.mrtoledano.com/a-new-kind-of-beauty
The Slate. Rosenberg, David. “Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”. Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.slate.com/blogs/behold/2013/04/04/phillip_toledano_a_new_kind_of_beauty_examines_people_who_redefine_what.html




[1] Lee Bul, Lee Bul (Sydney: Museum of Contemporary Art, 2004). p8
[2] Lee Bul quoted in Frank Gautherot, ‘Supernova in Kareoke Land’ Flash Art International, no.217, March-April 2001, p82
[3] Lee Bul, Lee Bul (Sydney: Museum of Contemporary Art, 2004). p8
[4] “Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”. Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.slate.com/blogs/behold/2013/04/04/phillip_toledano_a_new_kind_of_beauty_examines_people_who_redefine_what.html
[5] “Artist’s statement, A New Kind of Beauty” Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.mrtoledano.com/a-new-kind-of-beauty
[6] “Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”. Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.slate.com/blogs/behold/2013/04/04/phillip_toledano_a_new_kind_of_beauty_examines_people_who_redefine_what.html
[7] “Artist’s statement, A New Kind of Beauty” Last modified 06/06/13. http://www.mrtoledano.com/a-new-kind-of-beauty
[8] “Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”
[9] Eduardo Kac, Signs of Life: Bio Art and Beyond (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2006), p165
[10] Kac, Signs of Life: Bio Art and Beyond. P165
[11] ibid. p164-165
[12] ibid. p165, 170
[13] Ibid. p166-169
[14] “Natural History of the Edunia” Last modified 06/06/13 http://www.ekac.org/nat.hist.enig.html
[15] “Natural History of the Edunia”
[16] “Natural History of the Edunia”
[17] “Patricia Piccinini: education resource” p13. Last accessed 06/06/13 http://www.artgallery.sa.gov.au/agsa/home/Learning/docs/Online_Resources/Piccinini_online_resource.pdf
[18] “Patricia Piccinini: education resource” p13
[19] Lee Bul, Lee Bul (Sydney: Museum of Contemporary Art, 2004). p8
[20] “Classical Portraits of Extreme Plastic Surgery”. Last modified 06/06/13.