City, State & Country of Birth
Year of Birth:
City, State & Country of Current Residence:
Email Address:













What is the meaning and origin of your name—first name, middle and last? Who named you? Was it a collaborative effort, or the bestowal of a single individual? Are you named after anyone or any thing in particular?













Please describe one thing about your current physical state.

























When was the last time that you were physically harmed at the hands of another person?

Please describe the circumstances and the environmental factors of the memory and, if possible, please attempt to describe the feeling of pain and the look upon both your face and the face of the assailant, in that moment of harm.













What (and/or where) are your culture’s “holy places”?













When—if ever—did you start taking yourself seriously? What did it mean to do so?













Morality is violence. An invisible violence at first. Love is a supreme violence, hidden deep in the darkness of our atoms. When a stream flows into a river, it’s love and it’s violence. When a cloud loses itself in the sky, it’s a marriage. When the roots of a tree split open a rock it’s the movement of life. When the sea rises and falls back only to rise again it’s the process of History. When a man and a woman find each other in the silence of the night, it’s the beginning of the end of the tribe’s power, and death itself becomes a challenge to the ascendancy of the group.

Etel Adnan, Sitt Marie Rose











Where and when—under what circumstances, and on what occasion—have you been made startlingly aware of your own voice as an objective entity outside and independent from yourself?

























Where or what has been the most far-flung, illogical or unpredictable LOCATION or PLACE that you have been lead to specifically by your art?

























In what kinds of spaces do you most regularly gather with other artists?













You said to a questioner, a hostile questioner who said why should I sit here and listen to unintelligible nonsense, you said because it could be important to you, and he said why, and you answered, because it’s important to you in your life or something like that, and he protested. Then he went on to say something about, you put it very politely, ‘If I may say so, our intolerable world.’












Do you, as an artist or writer, represent a particular group of people or community? Please explain.













War is strange. Terrible, useless, devastating, but war like poverty brings human beings back to their true dimensions. In war violent people are revealed and emerge right before the eyes of the entire society—while during peacetime they’re hidden, operating underground in history, often appearing as righteous promoters of peace. Human beings are pitted against each other, and not at all in terms of the lie of “enemy,” but among each other, in daily life. Poverty is not only social injustice, while I have always hated. But there is a poverty of wishes, therefore a poverty of the word, of gestures, of intense desire and therefore of violence. Saint Francis talks about “sister poverty”: this is one meaning. It has to do with understanding the extent of our needs and of the actions we take to satisfy them.

FRANCO LOI, interview with Franco De Faveri in Milan, Italy, 1997












Please describe one thing about your current physical state.
























[Please consult question #4 in answering this question]:

Why do I see a peacock, this aging peacock, tottering with his ivory stick, armed with two revolvers, puffed up with pride, drunk with scorn, and fascinated by a crown of spittle? Why do I see this aging peacock, thief of colored feathers, bribing me with an inhibited smile while planting a dagger in my spine? Why do I see this aging peacock flinging the scent of sweat and arak at me, trying to kiss my shoe to slip a grave under it? Why do I see this aging peacock reaching for a chair and the wall, to give a view over my heart, steal the sadness of lemons, and smuggle it to the captain of a ship that never arrives, mistaking it for Noah’s ark, which has not yet arrived? Why do I see this aging peacock adorned with the shoe of a slaughtered horse, taking it for a medal of honor? Why do I see this aging peacock armed with two revolvers: one for killing me and the other for his own greedy butt? Why do I see this aging peacock?











As an artist and/or a writer, what would be the most absurd way to resolve a conflict? Please explain.







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