A focus on trees as ubiquitous living things

2006-Present.

This is a tree-focused international research initiative, intended to explore the relationship between the largest things in the world, and climate change. Artists and musicians work with technologists and scientists to reveal the biogenic interaction of trees with the changing atmospheric chemistry of cities. The intent of the project is to reveal a tree’s role in atmospheric exchange, while trying to understand the potential for human-nonhuman empathy, and its relationship to imaginative and responsible human response.

For more, read the Eden3 Project website.

Water cress on a cloth

5’ x 5’
Sand on a wooden board
2005

This mandala is a metaphor for human responsibility for nature. Drawing with sand over two weeks, a fragile and complex map of recovering ecosystem is revealed. This is a natural environment which has been lost, then recovered. Human values and actions will either undermine or sustain that recovery.

The creation and destruction of the mandala occurred during the GROUNDWORKS exhibition at the Miller Gallery, Carnegie Mellon University, Pittsburgh Pennsylvania in 2005. The darkest brown sand for the floodplain areas is actual sand from the Monongahela River, and the reddish brown areas are from the banks of stream effected by acid mine drainage. The construction took several days, and was then ritually dismantled shortly after completion.

Mandala is a Sanskrit word meaning “cycle.” It consists of many symbols and layers of meanings. Mandala supports A meditation about the Universe, its energy, and life and death. The dominant image in the mandala are the bright blue rivers and streams in Allegheny County, PA. It represents the three rivers (the |Allegheny River and the Monongahela River which drain to the Ohio River.) as well as streams, floodplains, watersheds boundaries, and forest along the rivers.

Forbes Ave. & Wood St. in Pittsburgh Reiko Goto and Noel Hefele, 3 Rivers 2nd Nature, a project of the STUDIO for Creative Inquiry at Carnegie Mellon University, and Christine Brill, GroundZero Action Network, a point of convergence for creative people, information and communities, present an art exhibit entitled “Japanese Knotweed at the skinnybuilding” in the heart of downtown Pittsburgh. The upper two stories will display potted Japanese Knotweed ( Polygonum cuspidatum ), transforming the skinnybuilding into a greenhouse from August 9 through September 3 , 2004 . Japanese Knotweed is considered an invasive plant species. Originally introduced to the United States from Asia as an ornamental landscaping species, knotweed has aggressively spread throughout the northeastern United States, and its local prominence threatens the habitat of native plant communities. The Knotweed Project seeks to raise awareness and provoke dialogue about the plant and its impact on the region. Knotweed may be a permanent part of western PA’s “natural” environment. Through art, this project hopes to generate free discussion and mutual respect about Pittsburgh’s diverse ecosystem and environmental culture. Visit the website for more information.

Join Us for a Free River Boat Ride and Knotweed Dialogue!

What: View knotweed along the riverbanks while experts give presentations on the plant.

When: Saturday, August 28 2004 from 5:30 – 7:30 pm

Where: Allegheny Riverfront Trail between the 7th and 9th Street Bridges near the convention center in downtown Pittsburgh

RSVP: By Tuesday, August 24 to Christine at 412-443-4210 or via e-mail: bkworks@earthlink.net

Exhibit Closing Party: Thursday, September 9, 6-8pm @ 1029 Fifth Avenue.

Tim Collins and Reiko Goto 2004

Annyong Haseyo!

Our work in the forest consists of small flags suspended from over 100 trees in a small valley. We intend to encourage an experience with the landscape and the often overlooked life-cycle relationship that moths have to specific tree’s and places. The flags display detailed images of native moth species. Printed using water based inks on light fabric, each flag depicts an image of a moth, a visual analysis of its dominant color patterns, and the Latin name of its species printed in black. The flags are attatched to trees which sustain the larval form of the depicted moth. The work is intended to disappear over time. The flags will loose their color and the natural materials will slowly begin to decompose.

Poetics The forest moths of Kongju, are a metaphor for spirit.

We Intend to do no harm to this place, we seek to engage a forest community, to instigate and sustain a dialogue. We try to respect the social, ecological and hydrological constraints of the place. Our goal is to create artwork that functions as interface rather than artifact. We seek to compliment human expression through creative inquiry, and to encourage the restoration of human culture in relationship to ecosystems.

Our Study We spent months working with Dr. John Rawlins, studying the moths of S.Korea at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History. We were seeking to know and act upon the ecological relationship between trees and moths in the forest.

Details of the Performance

A reading of BREATH by Birago Diop
for the Geumgang Nature Art Biennale
Organized by YATOO, in Gongju, South Korea
Curated by Anke Mellin

Artists

Tim Collins , USA and Reiko Goto, Japan, with,
Soon-im Kim, South Korea, and Shai Zakai, Israel

Place

Gongju Communication Arts College in Kongju, South Korea .
A small wooded mountain valley, with small streams.

Date

August 16, 2004 , the opening of the exhibition and the beginning of the new semester at the university. A classical musical event was planned.

We planned a performance with moths. We carefully prepared a light trap, which would attract but not harm the moths of the forest. We chose this night creature because its life cycle was related to the plants in the forest. The forest was once heavily logged by the Japanese who occupied Korea . Native oaks and pines have returned, amid the introduced species in the area. We felt reading his poem out loud would make an engagement a physical and spiritual interface between people and the forest.

We asked Soon-im Kim and Shai Zakai to join the performance , and translate the poem into their languages . The performance occurred in the Korean, Japanese, Hebrew, and English languages.

At 6 A.M. , on the day of the performance, it was clear that a typhoon was coming.

At 6 P.M , the rain had begun. I asked myself, “Can we still use the light trap?” Moths will never show up in this weather. I did not see the value of the performance without them.

At 8 P.M. , the rain was pouring. The new semester celebration event was already in progress, despite the pouring rain. The audience was captivated by the classical music concert, as the rains poured and the night set in. Soon-im and I spoke to the curator about the rain, we decided with her to cancel the performance. As we walked back to the performance site to tell our friends, the announcer spoke, and Soo-nim screamed, “They just announced our performance.” We started running.

At 9 P.M. , as people started to walk toward us, I had to decide very quickly about the performance. The screen was drenched, and the water was seeping through it. But, the raindrops hit the surface of the light below, and created concentric patterns on the screen. It looked like a well of light and shadow. Then I saw a tiny moth fly into the center of the well, and it stayed there. How could this be possible? I heard hundreds of cicadas singing in the rain. The rain was no longer a problem its rhythm on our bodies and the leaves of the forest let us concentrate and focus. We were ready to begin.

Tim spoke to the audience in a very loud voice, “ Annyong haseyo!” (Hello in Korean.)

He turned and spoke to the forest the same way. We then began to read the poem one by one in Korean, Japanese, Hebrew, and English. Our voices were trembling, the rain was pouring. The words of the poem were fading, the ink was

I have been thinking that my relationship to nature is too easy, too casual. I have, there fore, decided to befriend a very special plant. Toxicodendron, the plant is better known as poison ivy. Despite its reputation, poison ivy provides shelter and food to insects, birds, and mammals. I am intrigued by the strength of this life form and its resistance to human attempts to control, manipulate or manage it.

I expected poison ivy to reflect a mean emotion. The more I learned about the plant, the more I realized it had no meanness or hateful feelings. Toxicodendron is mysterious. Homoeopathists use it for rheumatism, ringworm and other skin disorders, and they consider it to be one of the most useful remedies*. The Japanese uses Toxicodendron to produce a lacquer called Urushi. The Golden Pavillion (Kinkaku0ji Temple) in Kyoto, is undercoated with black Urushi paint. Its surface has the smoothness and texture that is perfect for the application of gold leaf. I asked Dr. John Rawlins, and entomologist at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, about the relationship between insects and poison ivy. He said,

“We have three species of moths here in Western Pennsylvania that ONLY FEED ON THE LEAVES OF POISON IVY. Specifically, they are Eutelia pulcherrima , Marathysa basalis , and Paectes oculatrix .”

Poison ivy reminds me to respect nature. Human are a part of nature, but nature doesn’t benefit only humans. Toxicodendron is common in urban landscapes. I noticed that people often don’t know much about common things. I would like to spend time with common plants and creatures which people don’t know much about. Someday, I would like to live closer to their world than to our human world.

Ivory-billed woodpecker, Picus principals currently has a possibly extinct status. It is about 20 inches long, and one of the largest woodpeckers in the world. The bird historically inhabited the ancient forests and swamps of Cuba and southern part of the United States: eastern Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, southeastern Missouri, southern Illinois, western Kentucky, Tennessee, Louisiana, Florida, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and the Carolinas. The species preferred riparian corridors along rivers but did also occur in pine woodlands, if only to feed.

There is not a specific reason why the species has become nearly instinct, but several factors have contributed to the species’ problems.

• In general, people had a misconception about swamps. For example, they thought that swamps were filled with poisonous snakes and disease-carrying insects, that humidity and heat were too oppressive for humans.

• Surrounding the swamps, the forestry industry obtained valuable trees: Sweetgum ( Liquidambar stryractiflua ), Bald cypress ( Taxodium distichum ), and various oaks ( Quercus sp. ) People cut not only these trees but also demolished the entire environment.

• Early forestry practices encouraged ridding forests, woodlands, and swamps of useless or unproductive species, especially of dead, sick, or damaged trees. It was believed that such trees would merely encourage insects and disease that would, in turn, infect healthy trees if left standing.

• A large insect-eating bird with a socialized feeding technique needs a lot of space. A pair of ivory-billed woodpeckers, for example, needed three square miles or even more to meet its needs. Destroying the swamps began taking the birds habitat away.

• In the heyday of museum collecting, specimens were to be taken at all cost. Rarity or the possibility of extinction only made the last specimens all the more valuable.

A small population survived in Cuba. In 1986 a group of ornithologists searching portions of eastern Cuba found three ivory-bills. The Cuba government responded immediately with appropriate protective measures.

Alexander Wilson, 1766-1813, the author of the first American ornithology which was illustrated with plates, engraved and colored from original drawings taken from nature. Wilson describes ivory-billed woodpecker, “This majestic and formidable species, in strength and magnitude, stands at the head of the whole class of Woodpecker hitherto discovered. He may be called the king or child of his tribe; and nature seems to have designed him a distinguished characteristic in the superb carmine crest.”

In the swamps of North Carolina, Wilson captures a member of this species, and decides to keep it alive to use as a model for his drawing. The bird is inconsolable, however, and its screams in captivity “exactly resemble the violence crying of a young child.” Carrying his miniature captive “under cover,” Wilson soon arrives at Wilmington, North Carolina. As he enters town, the bird’s “affecting cries surprised everyone within hearing particularly the females, who hurried to the doors and windows with looks of alarm and anxiety” (Ornithology, Jardian, 2:13). When Wilson arrives at his “hotel,” the landlord, “alarmed at what he heard, asked whether he could furnish me with accommodations for myself and my baby.” The American ornithologist quickly relieves everyone’s anxiety: he produces his “baby,” withdrawing the bird “from under the cover,” while “a general laugh (takes) place.” But the ivory-billed woodpecker himself comes to a less-than-humorous end. Left in Wilson’s hotel room, the woodpecker wreaks havoc, breaking a fifteen-inch hole through the wall, covering the bed with plaster and nearly escaping. Wilson tries tying the bird to a mahogany table—upon which it likewise “wreaked his whole vengeance,” nearly destroying it. While he was taking drawings of the woodpecker, Wilson reports, the bird “cut me severely in several places” and “displayed such a noble and unconquerable sprit that I was frequently tempted to restore him to his native woods…

Our story of this beautiful butterfly ought really to begin with that one of the most successful plants in the world. Now a plant is successful from its own point of view when it is able to multiply abundantly in many different sorts of situation and to spread easily over a large area. The plant I have in mind is the thistle, which from time immemorial has been one of the commonest neighbors of man. It is found over the whole habitable globe, as well as in many advantages in its struggle for life. The roots penetrate deeply into the soil; the thickened, spiny leaves are so protected by their juices and their spines that they are molested by very few enemies; the flower stalks and also clothed in a similar armature; and the great needs of flowers are surrounded with prickly involucres that generally prevent their being eaten by browsing animals or even by phytophagous insects. The brightly colored blossoms are abundantly provided with nectar and pollen and they attract great number s of bees, moth, and butterflies, in order to bring about cross-fertilization. But all of these advantages are of little significance so far as wide distribution is concerned, compared with the feathery seeds which are produced in such abundance and so generally scattered by the slightest breath of wind that the word thistle-down has come into general use to express a lightly moving object. These airy seeds have riding on the wings of the wind all over the surface of the earth for untold millions of years. Doubtless during severe storm they may be carried thousands of miles, and it is easy to think that one of them might readily, and it is easy to think that one of them might readily go half-way round the world before it found a resting place. Wherever such a seed alighted and found the condition of a moist soil and slight protection, it would be likely soon to spring into growth and to start anew the development of its ancient race. The thistle, however, has not been entirely unmolested during its eons of existence. There has been developing along with it one of the most beautiful of our butterflies which has received various scientific names and the common name of the Painted Lady Vanessa cardui , although it is often called the Thistle Butterfly. This butterfly, however, can scarcely be considered a troublesome enemy of its host plant, for it is seldom sufficiently abundant to injure the thistle appreciably. The relation between the two is rather suggestive of that mutual toleration by which two living things develop together with advantage a least to one and without serious disadvantage to the other. The universal distribution of the food plant has led to a like distribution of the butterfly.

Butterflies Worth Knowing , by Clarence M. Weed, 1992

My work Inseparable is based in part on my experiences while observing lovebirds for six years. During my caring for the lovebirds I gave them some nesting materials (wood, straw, and paper.) Soon I discovered they embellished the materials with interesting markings. I present six books. As you see each book has carved differently.

The audio piece I entitled improvisation is an interactive piece. When the glass tube is spun end for end, the movement triggers the switch of the audio. Two lovebirds feathers fall very slowly while accompanied by the improvisational efforts of two accordions and 6 lovebirds.

The final work involves my husband my collective memories of our lovebirds. Placed in a small basket on a stool, the audience is encouraged to take one of these tiny scrolls home.

Music: Joe Zarnich
Electric consulting and fabrication: Robert Kollar
Assistant: Bjorn Hausner

Inseparable

Inseparable

Tim and I have been living with lovebirds for over six years now. Ever since I saw a pair of blue masked lovebirds at a bird store in San Francisco, Their striking appearance never left my mind. Their wings and feathers were many shades of turquoise blue, even their legs were pale blue. Their face and head were black with pale pink beaks. And their large round eyes were curiously encircled in a ring of white. It is not a good idea to make a life commitment with birds based on their appearances. But it is too late now.

Lovebirds recieved their name because of their affectionate nature; the French and German, in fact, refer to them as inseparable , although the females are the dominant sex, as they select the nest site and defend it against other birds. They even snap at their mates! Mutual preening in these species is rather one-sided, the female gets the bulk of the attention.

Scientifically know as genus Agapornis is; they are found in the tropical parts of Africa and on the island of Madagascar. Lovebirds live in small groups in forests, plains, and swamps. “A pair of lovebirds spend the better part of the day together, much of the time on a twig or branch observing the activity all around them in the aviary. Even those lovebirds that enjoy the freedom of the wild always go to roost in pairs and go off together when searching for food.” (Dr. Matthew M. Vriends, Lovebirds .)

I named my two young birds Tristan and Isolde, and called them Tori and Iso. They were relatively untamed quite able to bite us with what Tim describes as “can-opener beaks.” I built a series of large wooden cages for them testing various sunny spots and high and low positions, attempting to make them feel comfortable and “at home.” Eventually they seemed to settle in, they started making rude little nest like piles of newspaper and scraps. I built them a nest box. They were very young couple, and seemed to be discovering what we all assume comes naturally. The way of mating looked very clumsy. Once when I was watching them, they were doing it for five minutes straight! We found five eggs, then ten, and a lot of eggs in their nest box. Soon little piles of eggs were all over the cage, and they did it all the time. However, the eggs never hatched. After while, it became clear to us that the “mated pair” we paid so handsomely for were a happy pair of young gay-birds. They were both female. Then, what were they doing for five minutes? They seemed to be a perfectly happy couple.

Unfortunately two years after they started laying eggs, Iso died suddenly. We worried about Tori, a single young untamed lovebird. I called many bird stores to try to obtain a mate for her. All of them suggested I shouldn’t get a new bird. Lovebirds supposedly mate for life. I was told that introducing a new bird to the cage would most likely end up in bloody fights. They also suggested Tori would be all right as a single bird. Initially she became depressed. Looking at a mirror all day long without moving. Her dropping became a small mountain cumulating in the single spot that marked her depression. Other time she laid eggs, and sat on them forever. She tore her chest feathers. Once we clipped her wings to attempt to handle her and make her friendly to us. It was a big mistake. She became more frightened and miserable. What will a single bird do if the other one dies? Lovebirds could live for fifteen years easily. I hoped she would be happy again. What is happiness for a lovebird all alone?

I started reading many books to find the answer. I came across this statement that describes their life in the wild; “…many times I tried to creep up on them and take photographs with a 500 mm telephoto lens, but they discovered me too soon every time, then emitted loud, shrill warning cries and flew off amidst high pitched twittering…in cereal, millet, corn, and rice fields lovebirds may gather in flocks of 100 to 200 birds and become serious pest. Far worse than the damage they cause through eating is the incidental destruction of crops. Because of their intelligence, alertness, and speed, they usually manage to escape unhurt when the farmers go after them” (Handbook of Lovebird by Dr. Manfred Heidenreich.) I used to think our birds had an evil spirit. They bit us, made shrill call when we were talking (we could not hear our own conversation), they chewed things that were important objects for us such as a payroll check and new window trim. Dr. Manfred’s statement made me understood they were not evil but wild and smart.

Five years later, our neighbor gave us a single lovebird that he had found in the local park. Coincidently the bird was blue masked lovebird. Our neighbor kept him for a while, but gave up because of its strange biting behavior. It was half tame, liking people, readily flying to your shoulder. We could touch it with any part of our body except our hands. We decided to keep the bird, but in a separate cage. The new bird looked at and called Tori, but she neither looked nor called back. Once in a while, I opened the cages, and let them fly in our studio. They flew opposing course, never becoming friends. However, Tori’s behavior became much more normal and less depressed. Tim named the new bird The word Ai had two different meanings in Japanese; one was indigo color and the other one was love. It soon became obvious that our little new friend was indeed a he. Ai was a very mischievous and curious bird. He landed on us, and ate food with us except from our hands.

In the summer 1994, we moved to Pittsburgh Pennsylvania for a job. We drove a large truck across the country. I made a special birdcage that had a division wall between Tori and Ai. According to Tim, they seemed to enjoy the travel. They chirped and sung all way through the journey. After Tim emptied the truck, he flew back to San Francisco again. This time, Tim and I drove our station wagon with a rabbit, a pigeon, and tree frogs. Tori and I had to be in the new place by themselves with a pile of birdseed and bowls of water for five days.

I decided to put them in a cage together. I felt after the trip they might be friendly to each other. Indeed, they became a couple. We placed their cage temporally near the windows that were facing to West. Every evening, they were watching the sunset side by side. Tori and Ai had one female and five male babies. One was caught by a cat, and died. Another, the female baby, was died all the sudden just like Iso. One was hit by a ceiling fan, and died. One was also hit by a ceiling fun, and broke his wing. One became Tori’s favorite. We named him Coronus. Coronus and Ai became rivals. Four lovebirds were in a fairly large cage: Tori, Ai, Coronus, and Aila (who had a broken wing.) The boys fought daily. Occasionally they were injured, but never seriously. Sometimes I saw Tori control their fight. I didn’t understand how exactly she did this, but she was strong and firm. Once she became very irritated by Aila’s attacking behavior. She grabbed him by his beak and swung his entire body from her perch. It was a shocking scene. Tori was supposed to be the oldest. She sat between Ai and Coronus to keep herself warm but also to keep the peace. Ai and Coronus gave her great care; pruning and giving her special food mix from their crops. When Tim and I had to go away for many days, we asked a local pet store to keep our birds. The place was full of parrots, parakeets, and lovebirds. I believe they enjoyed spending time with other birds once in a while. Our birds seemed to be social.

In the summer 2005, we were ready to move again to England. Our birds spent long and cold winter in Pittsburgh ten times. They stayed on the floor of the cage most of the time. Tori could no longer fly very far, probably could not see well either. But she seemed to be content. She has been dominating her entire her families in the finest caring matriarchal tradition. It made me think deeply about what feminism means. Almost every night they spent time singing and talking. Our place was filled with happy sounds. When I covered their cage with a cloth, Ai always made a special call to me. One morning, I noticed Ai was not doing well. I took him to a veterinarian emergency clinic. The doctor could not do anything. I came home with him, and placed him on my hand. He did not bite, but made sounds with a soft sweet voice. His body was much colder than usual. He seemed to be comfortable in my hand. A few minutes later he died there. I sentimentally felt Ai probably could not stand Tori’s death. I could not imagine Ai and Coronus could be alone without Tori.

People named the bird lovebird despite their daily fighting. Because they remind us what love means in life. Love is neither just a word nor a feeling. It easy to say love, but life is not a moment. Life is not always romantic and sweet conditions. Love is a commitment and providing for the other through out the life together. Ai was a true lovebird.

Reiko Goto

Why butterflies?

Because they are messengers from the insect to the human world. Not because they are here for us, but because they are among the only insects to which we feel any positive response, when we notice them – and most people don’t.
•  Roberty Michael Pile, butterfly conservationist

In 1988 I collaborated with Jeff Brown, a landscape architect, on a temporary public art installation using fennel as a major element of the design. Jeff suggested using fennel because it is a non-native invasive plant found everywhere in the bay area, including rocky hills, vacant lots, sidewalks, and old railroad tracks.

One day after our installation, I noticed a big green and black striped caterpillar on a fennel leaf. When I touched the caterpillar, orange horns emerged from its head and a strong aroma of fennel was emitted. This moment brought me back to my childhood in Japan. My parents’ yard had an orange tree that was home to large, beautiful bright green caterpillars. They had artificial eyes on their backs, and when I scared them, orange horns came out of their heads and they too emitted a strong odor. Sometimes I saw large yellow and black swallowtail butterflies near the tree, and every year they would return.

I have been in America since 1981, and did not realize how much I used to love viewing the butterfly cycle until I saw the caterpillar on the fennel leaf. The discovery made me very happy, for I realized that something familiar to me was always nearby; I found myself wanting to be closer to butterflies. I started collecting caterpillars and rearing them. I called the San Francisco Insect Zoo to learn more about the type of butterfly. Its name is anise swallowtail, and the female butterfly is believed to come back to her birthplace to lay her eggs.

My husband Tim and I lived in a place that used to house a community arts center called Crossroads Community/ the Farm. The Farm was on five and a half acres, under and within a freeway system. Even though much of the Farm’s area has been converted to other uses, there are still some surviving plants, including fennel. I was able to find many anise swallowtail caterpillars close to home. In 1988, I was an artist in residence at the Headlands Center for the Arts in Marin, California. I presented two installations, Haru and Natsu, involving the metamorphosis of the anise swallowtail butterfly. An essential component of both of these installations involved the release of the butterflies. I never detained the butterflies in the exhibition space unless they had broken wings or would have had to be released into bad weather.

The Yerba Buena Garden Project

In 1991 the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency sought artists to implement a site-response to a garden area of the expanded Moscone Convention Center. One of the initial requests of the artists was to ”contribute to the project’s overall sense of place and to one’s sense of orientation within the place.”

The redevelopment agency became interested in the idea of a butterfly garden after they saw a slide show of mine which include the two Headlands butterfly installations. However, I felt that inviting butterflies into the downtown roof garden would not be an easy job for either the butterflies or myself. I decided that even though the propability of creating a quality habitat experience in the Yerba Buena Gardens Meadow was nearly impossible due to location constraints, I could promote my ideals by introducing the type of plant materials that would nurture insects and animals.

I spent a year submitting different possibilities for the project to the redevelopment agency. During this period, I began an extensive study of local butterflies and their habitat needs. I met Leslie Saul, Director of the San Francisco Insect Zoo, and asked her about common butterflies in San Francisco. She gave me lists of butterflies and their host plants, and also took me to the Nature Trail in Golden Gate Park. There I met Donald Mahoney, Ph.D., who works as a nursery coordinator and Nature Trail supervisor for the Strybing Arboretum. Don suggested my meeting with Barbara Deutsch, who had been rearing butterflies and creating a butterfly garden on a slice of what is left of wild hillside on Portrero Hill. She has been developing her garden, a small trail, since 1984.

I will never forget my first meeting with Barbara. She showed me a few kinds of larva plants that looked like weeds, and explained what kinds of butterflies use them. After returning from Barbara’s house, I found many of these plants and different kinds of caterpillars near my home. They were always near me – I just hadn’t noticed! Leslie, Don and Barbara truly introduced me to the world of butterflies. Their knowledge is based on active experimentation and observation, rather than on books.

I will never forget my first meeting with Barbara. She showed me a few kinds of larva plants that looked like weeds, and explained what kinds of butterflies use them. After returning from Barbara’s house, I found many of these plants and different kinds of caterpillars near my home. They were always near me – I just hadn’t noticed! Leslie, Don and Barbara truly introduced me to the world of butterflies. Their knowledge is based on active experimentation and observation, rather than on books.

Finding the right plants for the garden was not a simple task. Books were of little use, since many of the plants that the butterflies traditionally used have been lost to development. Decreasing the habitat of native plants threatens wildlife, and butterflies are no exception. Some of the species have had to find other food sources: red admiral found pellitory; anise swallowtail use fennel rather than cow parsnip; painted lady, west coast lady, and the gray hair streak use malva.

I felt the garden design needed to be reviewed by an entomologist and a botanist to give it a firm footing in reality. Also there was concern that the concept of the urban reintroduction of butterflies would get lost in the stronger visual element of the garden design. I talked the dilemma over with Barbara, and she offered to help with the project. She also suggested that I work with Leslie and Don before giving my final proposal to the redevelopment agency.

My final proposal for the Yerba Buena Garden involved creating an urban garden for butterflies. The garden provides a convenient and well stocked rest stop for butterflies as they traverse the urban landscape of the Bay Area. To accomplish this, I introduced larva and nectar plants as hosts for the butterflies. In addition, I devised a system to protect the vulnerable larvae, and established a program of nurturing maintenance.

I have developed a maintenance plan to train garden workers in proper butterfly garden care. They need to be aware that the plants and composition of the butterfly garden are in some cases directly at odds with traditional areas in the garden. Many of the larva plants are considered weeds, and their appearance seems somewhat unkempt to those more familiar with the controlled techniques of the classic garden. In addition, the garden workers need to develop an awareness concerning the life cycle of the butterfly, and adapt gardening methods to accommodate the creatures’ habitat. Finding alternatives to pesticides will be an important issue, since herbicides and pesticides will be prohibited in order to protect all life throughout the garden both insect and human. The maintenance plan explores these important issues.

In addition to creating a welcoming environment for butterflies, the garden provides an opportunity for audience awareness and education. Rather than focusing solely on the end product, the garden directs attention toward all aspects of the butterfly life cycle. To further educate the public, four plaques were installed, each illustrating the stages of metamorphosis for a different butterfly species.

The butterfly garden must be viewed as an ongoing project. That is, the site will need to settle in for a year or so, giving the plants time to get established. Following this, continuous study will be neccessary to determine which butterfly species are attracted to the site and how the garden may be adjusted to accommodate their needs.

Recently, while visiting my favorite butterfly garden with a group of grade school teachers, one of the major questions I heard asked was, ”What are we supposed to be looking at?” It is a good question, indicative of our cultural need for immediate gratification, as well as our impatience with all things natural. But the most telling part of the question is the notion of looking at something. Standing away, we see things based on our intellectual and aesthetic training. We compare, contrast, criticize and appreciate a display. I hope this butterfly garden becomes something more, an oddly kept amalgam of weeds and plants, piles of clippings stacked near their source, an obvious sense of unmanicured chaos, which under close inspection is filled with life and purpose. A place where the inquiring mind can search and discover, where careful and present awareness is rewarded by the flash of a caterpillar’s colorful coat or the camouflage of a chrysalis.

By briefly introducing simple concepts like larvae plants and nectar plants, the garden will whet the appetite of the curious. A tour of the undergrowth ”belly down and nose in the dirt”, may nurture a visitor long after he or she has left. The garden is meant to be experienced, not just looked at.

My partners and I envision for the future a wildlife corridor of interconnecting green spaces designed with habitat needs in mind. It will promote the propagation and movement of wild creatures, and encourage awareness of Nature’s wonders, even within the heart of the city.

Capp Street Project Artist in Residence: Reiko Goto & Joanna Haigood
May14 – June 26, 1993

Cho-Mu is an installation / performance work by choreographer Joanna Haigood and visual artist Reiko Goto performed by ZACCHO Dance Theater. Cho-Mu, which translates loosely from Japanese as “butterfly dreams”, uses movement and naturally occurring elements such as common urban butterflies and their host plants to suggest a metaphorical relationship between human growth and spiritual evolution. With an original score by Chicago composer Lauren Weinger, the work highlights the butterfly’s metamorphosis as a transformation common in our everyday environment yet hidden amidst the distractions and fast pace of 20th Century urban living. Reiko Goto is a San Francisco based artist who has created installation throughout Bay Area that take their inspiration from the observation of and interaction with animal life. Joanna Haigood is a dancer and choreographer who co-founded ZACCHO Dance Theater, a company that challenges formal notions of theater and creates an awareness of environment, nature, and situations that are evocative of human experience. ZACCHO dancers include Paul Benney, Joanna Haigood, Jo Kreiter, Sheula Lopez, Andy Meier, Jose Navarrete, Carmen Rodenstraten, and Shakiri.

Cho-Mu was commissioned by the Capp Street Project, San Francisco; Walker Art Center, Minneapolis; Dancing in the Street, New York; and Jacob’s Pillow , Massachusetts. Special funding for this project has been provided by the Rockefeller Foundation, the Lila Wallace-Reader’s Digest Fund, the Harkness Foundations for Dance, Arts Midwest/Dance on Tour, the Flintridge Foundation, the LEF Foundation, and the National Endowment for the Arts.

Program

1. 1000 Different Bodies (house) / Shkiri
2. The Egg (water tank) / Sheila Lopez
3. Balance and the Caterpillar (shelves) / Jo Kreiter
4. Meditation (stone circle) / Jose Navarette
5. Leaving the Chrysalis (shadow box) / Paul Benney
6. Return / The company

California Dreaming Against a Manhattan Backdrop

By Anna Kisselgoff

The New York Times; THE LIVING ARTS, Tuesday, August 3, 1993

Summer comes and along with it a host of dance companies whose members feel compelled to perform out of doors. What a surprise then to see something as imaginative as the Zaccho Dance Theater from San Francisco persuasively turning an overgrown garden on Roosevelt island, in New York City, into a beguiling fairytale setting on Friday night.

“Cho-Mu,” choreographed by Joanna Haigood, the company’s director, in collaboration with the visual artist, is very California in its message: Love the earth and revere the connection between all things, from butterflies to mankind.

Happily, the tale is couched in a style that has the refinement and indirectness of Japanese Haiku. Each of the six sections came across as a poetic image that drew upon archetypal resonance. The vivid movement was integrated with Ms. Goto’s ingenious and simple sculptures and installations. These ranged from a vertical water tank to a square of shelves for a soloist balancing at the top.

Dancing in the Streets, which presented “Cho-Mu,” translated the title from the Japanese as “Butterfly Dreams,” Ms. Haigood was the Wanderer, a dreamer who was a followed by the audience from site to site on a spiritual journey. Andy Meier, as the Tall Man, marched around on stilts under his Persian attire, appearing at crucial moments like a heavily messenger to release some butterflies from a box strapped to his chest.

At the very end, it was Ms. Haigood who released the last of the butterflies and watched them fly out against the ready-made backdrop of the trees and the 59 th Street Bridge.

A strong text, composed by Ms. Haigood and Shakiri, the dancer who recited it, introduced the theme of reincarnation and transformation. Shakiri embodied the life force (“I was born again in one thousand different bodies…I had been strong and frail…I am energy flowing from one life to another.”)

Leaving the outline of miniature house before which Shakiri had performed her priestly dance, Ms. Haigood led the audience across abandoned vegetable and flower plots to the water tank. Sheila Lopez, tumbling and weightless, her long hair floating upward, made this section, “The Egg,” as pure as it was surreal.

From water to plant life, Ms. Haigood came upon Jo Kreiter, a wonder of equilibrium who stood on one foot of did the split atop the bookshelf structure. Jars containing plants were ranged in rows on each shelf. Lauren Weinger’s sophisticated electronic score was thematically apt to each section. Joese Navarette twirled a pole and spun in place during a ritual dance inside a circle of stones.

Paul Benny was seen inside a shadow box, his nudity projected in silhouette. He grew more agitated and finally jumped through the translucent paper into the arms of Ms. Haigood standing below. It was a spectacular moment that left the audience gasping. “Leaving the Chrysalis” was the section’s understated title.

The fenale was daring. Each cast members stood atop a stepladder, gesturing. The butterflies, which had accompanied every evolutionary transformation, were all released. Well done.

Installation and computerized performance for Intersection for the Arts,
San Francisco, CA, 1992

The images and ideas of the exhibition “If I were a pigeon” came during my observation and taking care of pigeons at the California Wildlife Center of Marin as a volunteer for seven years. The installation consisted of seven pieces.

1. 1992 : 457 pigeons were accepted at a wildlife rehabilitation facility in 1992. 50% of the pigeons were released. The others did not recover. Candles represented the plight of these unlucky birds.
2. 1000 : The number 1000 represents fulfillment of desire within my native Japanese culture. The 1000 wish bones image was created by computer graphic.
3. Broken Toes : 9 photographic images of broken pigeon toes
4. What I like : Many people feed pigeons bread crumbs. The nutritive value of bread crumbs is minimal in comparison to the grain an seeds: corn, peas, millet, sunflower, flax, buckwheat, alfalfa, wheat that are parts of their natural diet.
5. Feed Correct Food for the Bird : The printed text said, “SECTION 486: FEEDING BIRDS AND WILD ANIMALS IS PROHIBITED” Breaking open the bag to feed the hungry creatures on city streets transforms an act of kindness into an act of civil disobedience.
6. If I were a pigeon : A computer graphic (38”x23”) combining a pigeon and the artist’s faces.
7. If I were a pigeon : A performance with a blind pigeon. The movement of the pigeon created a shadow play and sound through the mechanical system.

*Computer programming: Richard Reed
*Engineering: David Nelson

Artweek Review

Goto’s If I were a pigeon , at Intersection for the arts, features installations that transform the artist into an urban bird. In her translation of the plight of these often unwanted city creatures, Goto sets up an eerie parallel to the homeless humans of American’s metropolitan areas.

When Goto approaches her thematic material in a way that might be construed as exacting or scientific, the effect is calculated and clinical. In What I like , a series of jars featuring such contents as birdseed, water and gravel, or 1992, rows of birdseed piles alternating with candles placed on thin planks that symbolize the log of an animal rehabilitation facility, almost nothing is left to the viewer’s interpretative imagination. Feed Correct Food for the Bird , a sculpture that incorporates a basket full of seed bags labeled with a city ordinance that states “feeding birds and wild animal is prohibited,” humanize the cosmopolitan wildfowl, as does 1000 , a series of multiple computer images of wishbones, and If I were a pigeon , an electronic portrait that melts the artist’s face with that of a bird. The interplay of identities of person and pigeon conjures up a disturbing analogy with the other fellow urban “pest” – the homeless. The effect is chilling

By Reena Jana

Artweek, March, 1993

Rats with wings? This artist beg to differ

Yes, they are messy. Who doesn’t dread that unexpected slat while riding on a ferry or sitting on a park bench? But artist Reiko Goto, a woman of limitless compassion, has taken lowly pigeons under her wing.

She has even erected a shrine to the common birds at Intersection for the Arts, a San Francisco gallery.

Goto grew to love pigeons while working at the California Marine Wildlife Center. Last year alone the center took in 475 injured or abandoned baby pigeons. “During summer, the pigeons, they don’t have any place to go, and that means they have to euthanize pigeons,” she says.

To rescue them, Goto welcomed the birds into her warehouse home. What the heck, she already has tree frogs and other small birds; and summers she baby-sits opossums and young squirrels. She used to take care of laboratory rats.

“I’m interested, always, in living things, especially animals and insects that live close to humans,” Goto says. “Some people might change a little their notions to see the pigeons. They might learn something, some different things they have never thought about.”

One wall of the gallery is lined with narrow shelves. Logs denote where Goto found a pigeon, its condition and its release date. There is a pile of birdseed if the bird lived; a snuffed-out candle if it didn’t.

Photographs point out prime pigeon hangouts – Civic Center, Chinatown, Japantown, and their all-time favorite, Union Square. The “What I Like” display informs visitors that pigeons couldn’t care less about dried Wonder Bread – they prefer grains.

Little seed packets are offered to go, sealed with a copy of a San Francisco ordinance that prohibits feeding any wildlife, including pigeons. “Many, many people feed pigeons on the street, but you could be arrested,” Goto says.

Opening night, he blind pet pigeon, Oedipus, stole the show with a musical performance. He scooted across a synthesizer keyboard, mixing up bars of the song “Feed the Birds” from “Mary Poppings.”

A computerized portrait fuses Goto’s face with a pigeon’s. “The notion of the pigeon is very negative,” she says. “But I am Japanese. In a way I believe after I die I might become a plant or insect, or bird. I might become a pigeon, too.”

Karen Hershenson

Calendar, February, 1993

Two Pigeons

During the summer of 1995, my husband and I were working on the Anchorage Program in Brooklyn, which was organized by an art organization called Creative Time. We were staying at Hano Ahrene’s studio at Hudson and Spring in Manhattan. I stayed there from June 17 to July 15, but Tim was there a little longer.

On July 5 th we were walking towards Soho, and I saw a pigeon in the middle of parking lot right across from Hano’s studio. It was already dark, and very few cars were there. I went near the pigeon to check whether it was injured or not. The pigeon could move, but it didn’t fly. A couple of hours later the pigeon was still there. Why was the pigeon all alone during the night? Why didn’t it fly? Was it sick? If it were sick, what could I do? I could not answer these questions. I also felt that if I rescued the bird, it might put stress on Tim. Construction was taking place near by, and I saw rats running around. I was worried the pigeon would be harmed.

I asked Tim about the pigeon. “The pigeon might be very ill, and waiting to die. But don’t you think it deserves a better death than to be attacked by rats? Don’t you think Hano’s studio will be a better place than the parking lot for the dieing pigeon?” Tim said he would be willing to help catch the pigeon, so we brought an old blanket to the parking lot to catch the bird. But it was not necessary, because the pigeon did not panic as we approached it. I set a milk crate up side down to create a temporary cage. The pigeon was placed in it with water and birdseed. The next morning the pigeon was still alive. I checked him carefully in the morning light. He still had a baby voice, but was fully grown. His feathers were oily, but there were no lice on the wings. The pigeon was not eating a lot, but pecked sporadically at some seed. We soaked dry dog food in water, and force-fed him morning and evening. The bird was calm, and got used to us very quickly. I felt we could release him soon.

The Anchorage Program had an exhibition opening. Joan Bankemper, one of the artists in the Anchorage Program, told us that her pit bull found a baby pigeon in her piece medicinal garden. Joan tried to find the nest, but she could not find one nearby. She asked us about the other pigeon, and if we wouldn’t mind adopting the new one. This pigeon was smaller, darker, and more nervous than the other. I didn’t mind taking care of two pigeons, but our schedules were complicated. I had to go to San Francisco for a week to install the next show. Tim was driving to Cape Cod to see his parents and sister’s families, where they had rented a summer-house near the beach for a of weeks. I could not imagine how Tim could take care of the birds without bothering his family. I had three days to help the birds adjust to living together. If one had a contagious disease such as Trichomoniasis or Coccidiosis, it would be wrong to put the two birds together in a small cage. I had good tablets for Trichomoniasis at home in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but not in New York.

A week later Tim picked me up at Boston airport and drove to Cape Code. The two pigeons were doing well together. Tim’s family was very kind in allowing us to have the pigeons in the middle of their vacation. We talked about where to release them. We considered releasing them in Brooklyn on the way home, but Harry, Tim’s father, suggested that winter might be milder in Rhode Island, and pointed out that many pigeons live by the old mill grounds in his neighborhood. A few days later we went to Tim’s parents’ house in West Warwick, Rhode Island. The place was surrounded by woods, which was probably an unusual location for pigeons. We opened the cage to let the pigeons go with the expectation that the pigeons might not leave immediately. In the mean time we planned to support them by providing food and water. We were surprised to find out they didn’t fly at all. When the sun became hot, they stayed under the bushes, and ate and drank water from the dishes. In the evening, they came to the screen door, so we had to put them in the cage in the house during the night. They were very comfortable being in Tim’s parents’ yard and house. Every day, they stayed in the yard, walking around like ducks, and came back home in the evening. Sometimes, we tossed them in the air to see how they could fly. I noticed the older one was not doing well, but the younger one became bigger and stronger. I also felt as though the younger one was taking care of the older one. I told Harry I would mail some tablets for the pigeons when I got home.

Every weekend Tim’s parents would tell us about how the pigeons were doing. A few weeks later we heard that the older pigeon was caught by a cat. After the incident the younger one still hung around, and a neighboring pigeon started visiting. Tim’s parents went to travel, and when they came back the pigeon visited them once, but after that it stopped coming.

Reiko Goto 1996

Washington Art Commission, Art in Public Places

Artwork for the Edmonds Community College, Lynnwood, WA, 1991

A permanent project for the Edmond Community College, project funding and management by the Washington Arts Commissionn art in public place program. Nestled on a hillside, amongst firs and aspen the project appears to be an old timber framed structure (6′ wide x 10′ deep x 8′ tall) with a stone foundation. The title is a translation of a Japanese Haiku poem by Ikkyu. The project was intended to help support what was left of once prolific tree frog community that had been compromised by aggressive local development. Inside of the timber framed house, the artist crated a small pond with native aquatic plants. The sculpture was designed to house sapling of indigenous trees as well as a habitat for tree frogs in the area.

Review

New sculpture on campus dedicated

By Carol Ann Lindley

The Review An ASEdCC Publication, Tuesday, Nov.26,1991

Have you noticed the 6′x10′x8′ cedar structure in the northwest corner of the heating plant plaza at the west end of the pedestrian bridge of Mountlake Terrace Hall? Have you wondered what it is?

It is a sculpture – environmental art created by artist, Reiko Goto, based on a Japanese Haiku poem by Ikkyu.

The artist statement says, “The structure was designed to house saplings of indigenous trees as well as terrarium for the tree frogs abundant in the area, thus providing a link or bridge between the human visitors and animal inhabitants,”

The name of the sculpture is, “No walls, no roof, no anything my house, doesn’t get wet, doesn’t get blown down.”

It may not seem like a sculpture according to traditional concepts, but as President Tom Nielson mentioned during the dedication Friday, November 14, “Art takes many forms.”

Ravens and crows are the natural enemy of tree frogs, and EdCC Office Administration Instructor Jil Siano had noticed an unusually high amount of crows hovering over the area above the structure the day prior to the dedication. The two frogs which had been put in the pond within the structure the previous day were not visible during the dedication. Once there is more greenery within and around the structure, there will be more protection for the frog.

Reiko’s idea was to create an atmosphere which if maintained and further development (by planting more plants for protection) could re0create a home for the tree frog and cause their population to flourish again. When she had visited the college in 1989 to start this project she had noticed an abundance of tree frogs, which seem to have diminished since the recent development of our golf course.

The sculpture was completed in June of 1991 at a cost of $20,000. The original proposal for the piece had changed three times during the course of its creation, due to safety and vandalism hazard concerns.

An advisory board was set up for this project, including Sharon Cavender, Stan Linder of the Horticulture Department, Eileen Soldwedel, Don Bloom, Margaret Hayes, and Steve Hanson.

Whenever a new building is built on State property one half of percent of the applicable building costs (about 80% of the actual construction costs) are appropriated to the Washington State Arts Commission for public art. The Commission then selects an artist based on a proposal of a theme (not on a specific piece of art.)

The sculpture was funded by the Percent for Art Program through the Arts Commission with the funds appropriated from the construction of Alderwood Hall.

Funded by the state, it is part of the State’s public art collection.

• Wooden panel with a figure that resembles “Man Is The Perfect Measure And Pattern Of All Things” by Leonardo da Vinci. Holes in the wooden panel held flashlights.
• All the flashlights were put in place and lit on Earth Day.
• The flashlight figure reflected on the opposite wall with the names of animals, insects, birds, and plants.

Nezumi / Rat (in Japanese) represented a collaborative effort with many small friends. Nezumi was also a result of my interest in spaces that were created by animal life. The idea came from my volunteer experience at the California Wildlife Center of Marin in San Rafael. The center takes care of injured wild animals. Rats are used for captured predators. One of my volunteer jobs was feeding the rats and cleaning out their cages.

In summer 1989, there were about 50 rats at the center. Small towels were placed in the each cage to provide protection and warmth for the baby rats. The rats chewed on the towels to limit the length of their teeth. Oddly, every rat created a different pattern on the towels by chewing. For example, one towel was meticulously shredded as waste threads, while another was completely torn apart. I imagined how the rats were bored in their cages. The towels made me understand how they lived.

For the annual exhibition at San Francisco Art Institute in 1989, I decided to observe the rats at the center for three months. I provided 200 white face towels(12″ x 12″ each) for them. The focus of the installation was 200 small white cloth “rug” which the creature had manipulated, altered, and otherwise “designed” in the course of their normal daily and nightly activities. Nezumi also represented a sharing of perspectives: while the size of washcloths were small by human standards, they were very large and rug-like from the animals’ point of view. To facilitate an understanding of this difference between life-size and scale, a replication of the creatures’ habitat, built to human scale, was included. I transformed the gallery space (11.5 feet high x 25.5 feet wide x28.5 feet deep) into a human-sized rat box. I covered the walls, windows, and ceiling with brown cardboard. Viewers entered the installation through a hole in one of the cardboard walls. I used wood shavings to cover the floor. There was an old chest of drawers that held metal dishes of water and dry animal food. No living creatures were part of the installation, aside from the human viewers.

Special thanks to The California Wildlife Center of Marin for their devotion to the wildlife of the Bay Area. By offering a unique rehabilitation center for injured native species, the Wildlife Center is dedicated to increasing human understanding and respect for wildlife. The philosophy and actions of the Wildlife Center have provided me with inspiration in the development and execution of this project.

Also, Nezumi could not have been made possible without the gracious help and support of Bruce Brodie, Tim Collins, Brian Moss, and Nadia Scholnick.

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Headlands Artists in Residence Program, Marin, CA, 1989

Spring Open Studio

Fennel is an introduced species from Europe. It is also called Anise. Anise swallow tail butterflies use the plant as a larval plant in the Bay Area.

In my small studio at the Headlands Art Center, I created a field of Fennel with 16 penny nails, version of the traditional Japanese flower arrangers needle mat, to form bunches of standing Fennel. I carefully placed 38 pupas of Anise swallowtail into the room on the Fennel stacks and walls. (The pupas were all collected the previous fall in San Francisco.) The window was kept open allowing the adult butterflies to fly out when they emerged from their chrysalises.

Story of a Butterfly

Once a mischievous boy tortured a butterfly in front of a little girl. As he tore the butterfly’s wings, the little girl cried and begged him to stop. But he didn’t stop, and the butterfly died. After the boy went away, there was nothing for the little girl to do, she tearfully gathered the broken wings and body parts, and buried them with flowers.

Many years later, the child was no longer the little girl. But she never forgot about the incident. There were so many mischievous boys and girls she had encountered in her life.

There for she always chose to be isolated from other people.

One early in the morning, she found a newborn butterfly near a large metal garbage container. The butterfly was bathing in the morning sun, preparing to try out its new wings. It looked very fragile. She feared that the butterfly might be hurt. She said to the butterfly, “Please don’t be afraid. I just want to move you to a safe place.” Then she slowly stretched her hand out to the butterfly. At first the butterfly didn’t move, but then it climbed into her hand.

She carried the butterfly to a grass yard that was shining with thousand of morning due. Then she tried to placed it down on a piece of old bark. The butterfly remained on her hand for a while, then climbed on to the wood. The hope between the butterfly and the little girl made long time ago was at that moment fulfilled, and the grass yard became a holy ground.

After the “Haru”, I wanted to complete the butterfly metamorphosis for the summer open studio at the Headlands Art Center. I collected 50 larvae of Anise swallowtail butterfly. I sat a tall bookcase like structure to hold 50 grass jars, fresh Fennel and caterpillars.

Installation: Tim Collins and Reiko Goto
Performance: Tim Collins and Mat Thayer
Fall Open House
Headlands Center for the Arts, Marin, CA
1988

A collaborative project with project with Tim Collins, FLY was presented at the Headlands Center for the Arts. The Headlands has a long history as a base for military defense against airborne threats. The Headlands also functions as a stopover for hawks and birds of prey on their north south migrations. The history of flight is full of wonderful stories of fanciful dreamers and their designs for flying. These stories are usually tempered by immediate military interest upon any sign process. Our hope was to re-capture some of that feeling of magic and wonder which flight can inspire.

FLY consists of 25,000-30,000 flies, 470 mason jars, a large light-filled room and a screen door. The mason jars are laid out in a airplane like form. The day the project opened, we presented performance featuring Matt Thayer reading an original story about flight. When the audience was listening to his reading, they could hear the sound of a small airplane just above the building. Tim and I circled over head in a small plane for the performance.

“Reiko Goto and Tim Collins have installed a piece called “The Fly” that attempts to set the Headlands’ military background against its immemorial natural history. On the floor of a large empty room, they have set dozens of identical glass jars in a tight array that forms the shape of a decidedly pre-jet-age aircraft. More than it resembles an airplane, the figure suggests the shadow one might cast on the ground, a figure for the terror of air warfare and – once you know the jar’s contents – for the conflict of humanity and nature. The array has a shadowy quality because swatches of gray plastic screen cover the jars’ mouths. Inside the jars are the slowly hatching eggs of flies, permanent denizens of the area and (from our point of vie) age-old pests.”– Kenneth Baker, Chronicle Art Critic

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A group exhibition, “ARTISTS AT THE ROCK”
Alcatraz Island, San Francisco, CA, 1987

The size of the wooden structure is the same as the each cell for a prisoner in Alcatraz prison. The 1,000 Japanese origami cranes were facing outside. Their wings were snipped and pasted on the horizontal bars.

• 5′x 11′x 8′high
• wood and paper

Goto has long been using origami cranes in installations, performing the breathtaking unlikely feat of making the crane a profoundly appropriate emblem for an Alcatraz sculpture. She has built a kind of horizontal-barred cell of lightwood, and in neat rows on the bars are a thousand cranes, each with its wings snipped off and pasted down. Birds symbolize freedom; paper cranes hope and, in Japanese tradition, the number one thousand-fulfilled desire. And so these mutilated ones convey the immense despair of incarceration (the first sight of all those clipped wings is a shock). The piece is as strong visually as symbolically: from a distance the neat rows of birds look like a part of the enclosure-the barbs on barbed wire, perhaps-and close up, recall the regimentation of institutional life-the rows, lines, squares, bars, lists and cells. The tremendous deftness of means and sensitivity to meaning in everything that Goto does never cease to awe me.

–Rebecca Solnit

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