Posts tagged ‘love’

July 5, 2010

word on the street

so tenderly detached / in contrapposto stance

we came

we saw

we burned

and we took names

chelsea lights

a bergamot embrace incinerating old spice
a hollow glance

following the spiders and pianos surrounding the city

speed painting in acrylic but not that kind

ilhu does union square

word on the street is i am not a painter

earl grey ice cream for lunch

the heat is pervasive

even upon my return

every step into sunlight is a constant reminder of my life there


in B R <3 <3 K L Y N

from across

speaking in ghost hands
these monsters know what’s in store
it is lemonade
it is burning

the false herbs return

it is not the same

word on the street is we are lonely for strangers

May 18, 2010

18 May 1980

30 years ago he died and yet has thankfully never disappeared entirely.
he was 23.

Someday J.S.
When you tell me everything
It will make me want to take it too far
And when you ask me everything
I will take it too far
The twenty-hundred private loops making up my
Ian Curtis, I can’t believe I said it, wishlist
Via heave and via gasp
Will seem like and will actually be
Just wicked stupid pride
Oh, what will happen
Oh, what will happen
Will you ever bleep out
Do you love me Jamie Stewart?
J.S., I am kidding

I’m just kidding

ian curtis wishlist // xiu xiu
January 2, 2010

NYC, My Love

just not ready

i have returned from a place of light and hope, one that i could slip into so so easily and establish a closer self than i think i could here.  at 16, i gave myself 5 years in mtl to figure things out and move on [in 2003 the plan was russia, oh small and slavophilic self], and now it seems i’m 23 and pushing 7 years of social incest.

cortlandt lives

anything that is anything is here. i didn’t even know cortlandt was a real place until a few days ago. behold, the city of dreams, love, and architecture.



and i thought i held the amazing ability to create aggregates out of seemingly unrelated things – here is the entire population of canada pieced together snugly on an island making it happen.

sensor overlord

the cold ripped us but we traversed, champed, stomped it out, semi transient life forms we were. the sun was bright, so bright i think me sensor took a little holiday and gave me lemonade.

industrial brilliance

industrially speaking, most brilliant. no one would be able to survive a zombie infestation here, but dying in nyc vs rotting in mtl is an easy decision.

return is a matter of time

my return to my new home is only a matter of time – a short time, thankfully. i have plans – waterside plans, gin on the bowery plans [a la magnetic fields], brooklyn plans, and museums and viral public art.


once in a blue moon, you’ll find your soulmate.

once in a blue moon

i heart ny

i am starting a new blog GIRLS OF BEDLAM – poems for the goofy girl. maybe there’s a market for it. there are countless poems for the goth girl, the punk girl, the exotic girl, the girl next door. for we are none, yet all of these things.  and always starting new things as a form of frantic ability.

pod pod pod

i resolve to enter that strange tower.

there's where he went

December 25, 2009

Seasoned Gratings

Seasoned Gratings

from all of here at the industries, we would like to wish you, my dear reader, my eternal friends and lovers of the evolution, a most seasoned gratings.

be they juniper, jasmine, bergamot, cinnamon, heather, rosemary, or thyme – let them be the spiciest and sweetest times of our lives.

this year, this summer of 903 and supposed suaveness – full of hope and failure, and peppered with sighs of success, i certainly could not have done it without you.  a very large and sincere thanks to all those who shared beluga with me, and HI to all those new visitors to my corner of the internet.

in other news, i haven’t been working on any projects to show, other than 8 million octobunnies and crustmas gifts for the fam [including a corn on the cob pencil case, a knit hat, waterbottle socks, a necklace, a brooch, and some drawings]

all of which must be finished up and wrapped – and soon enough i’ll be on the road to new york city!  i’ll most likely post a few quick photos from the hotel, so keep your eyes as peeled as tangerines.

keep it glossy glossolalia, lovers.
ilhu of the industries.

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November 27, 2009


first up :: i would like to thank all 1 person for contributing to the bummer mix!  i am telepathically giving them an invisible ice cream come.  anyone else who wants to help out please do leave a comment!  you will be doing me a great favour and you will be loved for it!

on to business ::
fence drawing and other massacres

among other things, i’ve been revisiting this space again and again because i do and it is one of the few places in mtl that i can trick myself into being reminded of home [tho it isn’t really home]

there is a strange disappointment in relation to it, to a large proportion to my work.  i feel that one of the main reasons for my making is that it is a coping mechanism for disappointments, loves, unloves, heartbreaks and art school.  it is ridiculous, the amount of spoiled self loathing of privilege i carry.
i am not an artist.

one night after a futile attempt at a human relationship i took the sugar skulls i wanted us to have made and wanted to throw them, i wanted to throw them at THEM but they were not there – they were never really there but that is another story.  instead i took them to the grave and watched them melt in future rain and fog.


extending REST was absolutely integral; this place is more than i think it is, i am always finding something new.  it is always changing i am human and heather and never quite on top of things anyway.


i hadn’t really noticed this path before, and i blatantly did not even see the gate at the top of the hill.

gate full

i also worked quite a long way of the fence but i am really not satisfied at all with it and will remove it sometime in the very near future, hopefully tomorrow if life permits it.

gate work better

hi hand.

one day i will get the hang of it, living, that is.  knowing my practice, my abilities without constantly short changing myself.
i would say we all got some insightful criticisms and ideas today, though i should stick to speaking for myself.

i am thinking of writing + posting an homage to elisabeth belliveau because i recently splurged and bought ‘the great hopeful someday’ with my babysitting money [yes, i am 14 – what of it?] and it is my new bible.  i’ve read it 3 times since tuesday and it is making me so much more aware of the smallest things in life.

like the finding of a quarter on the street and the action of putting it in an old icing tin that is now my nyc fund [$59.19 and counting!!!!]
like the house on waverly that reminds of michigan in 1979 tho i’ve never been there and i was only born in 86.
like my plan to touch every qat on the island of mtl
and the futility of existence that i am going to feel for the rest of my life because being 23 doesn’t solve anything.

i really thought, when i was younger than 22, that i was going to find ~true love at 22.  why 22?  well it was my champagne year – and it most certainly was, the most beautifully bittersweet bubbly i’ve ever experienced – without a doubt the best year of my life thus far, and i miss it very dearly.  maybe 23 will be getting better soon but nothing falls into place.  it is constant effort and rejection and reeffort and i don’t even know what i’m trying to achieve.  in any case, i didn’t find it and now i think i am doomed.  doom doom doom is what i feel in my chest when i wake up, sighing, entertaining the thought of dropping school.  but what for for what?  there is no back up plan.  i am here because i have no better place to be.

good gourd why divulge so much information?  context?  i am producing because i have to, like pulling teeth and blood from a stone.  i have been emptied.  there is nothing left to project[ile vomit] but we go on.  like a zombie empire of art without meaning or need or desire.


we went to joliette and the only engaging work of art there was in the children’s studio.

let that be a lesson for you.

November 5, 2009


as a testament to my inability to follow directions and desire to be an artist, i am performing and documenting the burial of the shrine of former ghosts.

in this piece entitled REST, i, heather utah, am returning to the median between st urbain and clark streets to bury the shrine.  i have chosen this location as the final resting place and resolution of this piece as i have gathered most of my materials and inspiration from this spot.

having worked in the public realm multiple times beforehand, i have learned that public space and private property are one and the same.  and i have learned that behaviour in these spaces dictates the public’s reaction to the presence of the artist.  most space must be appropriated and claimed for the doer and maker.

no one is going to give you space.  do no expect space to appear.  go and find what you feel is real.  do not hesitate to break laws.  legal and illegal have little to do with right and wrong.

my having done anything else with this piece would result in frustration and my having performed an act that does not coincide with the teleology of my artistic process.  i do not want to make art for school.  i make art to resolve art and emotive needs.

i would have preferred to perform the burial on the traditional day of the dead but circumstances beyond my control occurred and postponed it until november 5th, 2009.
i am in many ways poisoning the earth with this performance but i have retrieved most pieces that are toxic and replaced them with the pods and seeds that were residual to my spinning the milkweed silk to make the shrine cage.

maybe what i am doing is wrong.  i don’t know.  i take responsibility for my actions.


this is all that is left.

this ones for you

a silk among stars


my first hole


beat the devil

my tree


self made


October 16, 2009

Former Ghosts

after a week + of pure, unadulterated, incommunicability i was early because i didn’t know any better


a lesson in waiting
an act of doing nothing in passing time
so often i have something to do to pass it
but here i had nothing
for once

severest faces alit by contraband light


what do you think comes after ghosts?

i will grind you into my fingertips

i can’t go with you
hello again

bike home
the milkweed is blooming






fill every pocket with silk
a midnight endeavour under railyard tracks of memory

the cold wind night protects me from this solitude
but i’ll never tell

how to build a shrine
bury it by the ocean sky



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