THE ARCHEOLOGY TAPES 1: WHAT DIRECTION SHOULD YOU FACE A BUDDHA?

THE ARCHEOLOGY TAPES 1: WHAT DIRECTION SHOULD YOU FACE A BUDDHA? 2017,
HDV, 3:03 min. color, sound.

THE ARCHEOLOGY TAPES 1: WHAT DIRECTION SHOULD YOU FACE A BUDDHA? takes place on a parcel of land in the Mojave Desert, where over time, past residents had used the property as a private landfill for both household and green waste. Using both collected and constructed footage, the video blends fact with fiction to create a poetic narrative about a modern-day homesteader in the process of building a large nest and bioswale out of the yard debris left behind. THE ARCHEOLOGY TAPES series continues my investigation into domestic space, the everyday, and the absurd, while leaving behind in real life, a site-specific environmental arts piece that will facilitate land rehabilitation in the damaged area. 

Oct 9, 2017.

Test shots of Ground Nest in progress. The area behind my house was used as a dumping ground for burning dead pines and oleander, along with detritus left behind by owners, past. I’m working on a rehabilitating the areas that were scorched and composting into sculptural habitats for desert creatures. There’s also the amateur archeological aspect to the project as I catalog the household items I find buried and scattered on the ground. 

OCTOBER 2, 2017

OCTOBER 2, 2017
Before we found out about Las Vegas, before we found out about Tom Petty, it was just another day.

Desert Housekeeping, PB&J Detail, video, 2017


Giant Rock (Screen Test 1, Agnes), video, 2017

Russian Roulette

She avoided doing the repair because dark, cramped spaces reminded her of the four years she lived in a cave and ate scorpions while waiting for the new regime—but then she got an estimate from a licensed contractor and put on a pot of Oleander tea. 

Tales From the Dump: Casual Friday

Casual Friday was his favorite day of the week but the summer had been stressful for us both. He took a long inhale and said he was taking off again- didn't know where or how long. As he exhaled he smiled and blew a ring of smoke in my face. I picked up my Heineken and took the last sip. No need to let good beer go to waste. They never found his other shoe.  

Tales From The Dump: The Man in the Blue Polo

Pretend like you're holding an invisible knife, I said. Otherwise it looks like you're fidgeting with your bandana.  A few days later I found his vision board in the garbage along with a receipt from SkyMall and an ode to polo shirts he had written the summer we first met. It was a doomed relationship from the start. 

SEPTEMBER 2017

Mary Addison Hackett, Concrete Jetty (after Robert Smithson), installed at Jemez Homestead, Flamingo Heights, JOSHUA TREE, California,  summer, 2017. Photo by Sierra Delgado.

While watering plants at Jemez Homestead, I discovered pieces of broken concrete strewn about. Spiral Jetty came to mind and I spent some time imposing my sense of order. "Jetty" from the French word, jetée, meaning "thrown," signifies something thrown out. The lack of a local body of water, did not deter me. 
Mary Addison Hackett, Concrete Jetty (after Robert Smithson), installed at Jemez Homestead, Flamingo Heights, JOSHUA TREE, California,  summer, 2017. Photo by Sierra Delgado.

Desert Nights

When I was a kid I asked my mom whether she liked day or night the best. She said night. Being around 5 years old, the full spectrum of nighttime was over my head but it struck me as an adult answer, full of mystery and a little dangerous. Every time I pull in my desert driveway late at night, I feel like I'm in a David Lynch film.

Hi-Desert Breadbox

7:48am. 

Because it’s Sunday, I decide to sleep in. I still have yesterday’s headache. I let the dog out and go back to bed.

8:03 am. 

I’m unable to sleep in. I boil water for coffee. Based on experience, this is day 2 of a 3.5 day migraine. I made fresh guacamole yesterday for Michelle and Caroline, but forgot to offer it to them. I also forgot that I was testing out my breadbox. Inside was a new loaf of store-bought bread still wrapped in plastic, an opened bag of tortilla chips, with the top folded down a couple of times to seal in freshness, and a small cup containing a few tortilla chips basking sans wrapper in the tidy confines of the breadbox. 

8:04 am.

I open the breadbox and scream. Inside was a legion of ants crawling all over my breadbox test subjects. In succession, I douse the entire counter and breadbox with organic ant killer, vinegar, peppermint soap, cedar oil, and more vinegar. Next I wipe the floor down and take the party outside. Lighting fast observations: The cup of exposed chips is covered in ants. The bag of open, but loosely sealed bag of chips, is also creeping me out. I scrutinize the six dollar loaf of unopened bread thoroughly. I transfer the sliced bread to a Ziploc bag and place the bag in the fridge. Fuck freshness. I mist the counter with cedar oil once more and vacuum. 

10 am.

I re-boil my water for the 3rd time and finally make coffee. I still have a migraine. The coffee tastes funny, but I am ant free for now. I burn sage and wave it over the killing fields. The breadbox sits empty and open. Outside by the trashcan there's a hermetically sealed trash bag full of ants gorging themselves silly on fucking chips.

11 am.

I open the six dollar loaf of bread and carefully look for any signs of life. Satisfied there is none, I decide guacamole on toast will help my migraine. The toast is fine. The guac is fine, but I still have a migraine.

1:38 pm

I try recuperating in every room of the house. Currently I’m on the couch tucked away from the sunlight. It’s dark even though it's a beautiful day outside. Since the morning coffee tasted awful, I’m having iced this afternoon. I’ve never had my taste buds affected by a headache, but it could have been the combination of organics this morning. Fun fact: ants have a chemical compound that can cause blindness. I rub my eyes a lot these days. Floaters, ants. I take nothing for granted. 

2:35 pm. 

Earlier in the week I rsvp’d to a film screening to be held tonight. I was looking forward to this event, but it requires I use my eyes. Why can’t migraines affect your elbows or little toes? Because: 

migraine. late 14c., megrim, from Old French migraigne (13c.), from vulgar pronunciation of Late Latin hemicrania "pain in one side of the head, headache," from Greek hemikrania, from hemi- "half" + kranion "skull" (see cranium).

2:47 pm.

Latin class is over. Time for another nap. I try a yoga mat on the floor. Child's pose, then Shavasana, also known as corpse pose. I use an eye pillow, but my body is restless. I backtrack and try and pinpoint what triggered the migraine. 

4:28 pm

I change out of my pajamas. Sort of. Switched tops. I've eaten most of the guac and five slices of six dollar bread by now. Coffee's not doing it today, so I've been hydrating  with water in between naps. The migraine is still there, but knowing I'm possibly over the worst of it, I feel like I can stay in an upright position for 30 minutes at a time. The eyes are tired though and I can't focus. 

4: 35 pm 

I feed Agnes and eat the remaining guac on toast for my own dinner. 

7:15pm

I miss the film screening. One day I will rip out that granite counter top that camouflages the ants. I don't know what wlll become of the breadbox. 

Metaphor

I can’t do much today. I live in the desert and have a major ant colony about 20 feet from my door. If that were the only one, I’d be chill, but it’s not. Agnes is small and blind and I’m a helicopter mom, so I look at swarms of ants with distrust. I’m also a buddhist, so technically I don’t kill things. Instead, I have a bag of organic insect stuff that I sprinkle around the exterior of the house. It smells like spearmint. The word “kill” is on the package. Even so, I’m not sure there will be a day when I’ll be able to camp outside under the stars. I notice when I try and keep them at bay, more ants rally around. It's freaky. 

I dug holes today. I started early. I’m not an archeologist by training, but the mounds on the other side of the fence have gotten the best of my curiosity. 

Green plastic beads

Rusty tools

Roofing material

Bricks

Astroturf remnants

A small plastic stake identifying a plant 

Golf ball

The previous owners used the back of the property as a dumping ground for downed trees and limbs. I’m working on rehabilitating it. It will take some time, but some of the debris has turned to mulch and maybe I can plant things. 

JULY, 2017

Mary Addison Hackett, Sweeping in Wonder Valley, Amboy Road, Wonder Valley, California, July 6, 2017. [Photo by Meg Madison]


This past summer I relocated my home and studio to Joshua Tree, California. June was spent looking for a place to live and work. I purchased an average size parcel just large enough to engage with my immediate environment on a daily basis. Priorities have included home repairs and learning the ways of the desert. While painting has been a major part of my studio practice—video, writing, photography, and time-based works have become increasingly important as ways of communicating and interacting. Maintenance, both absurd and practical, has been a theme in my work for 25 years and the desert does not disappoint with regard to source material. The desert does not lend itself to being domesticated, and yet…

The Desert is Inconvenient.

Day 32. Welcome to the Wild West.

I've lost track of how many miles I'm putting on my car per week, and I work from home. To be fair, for the last few weeks I was traveling from Point A to Point B two to three times a day, with side trips to Home Depo where I keep returning stuff: (crawlspace vents- yes, I measured, and no, they don't stock my size; light bulbs that are too garish for desert nights, and some thing I would have eventually smashed with a hammer trying to open had I kept it.) A trip to the local grocery store requires strategic planning, and a trip "down the hill" to Trader Joe's entails emergency supplies and an itinerary. There's a battalion of ants colonizing my land and I've already had a close encounter with a baby scorpion [See above about crawlspace vent.]

I could go on, but here's the thing— inconvenience is a wonderful teacher and I couldn't be happier.

What goes around comes around

The house needs a few repairs and we're still negotiating the details. Today I learned the current owner would like to leave all the furniture and the contents of the house. I'm simpatico. I did the same more or less two weeks ago. This move has been loaded with symmetry and synchronicity.

I'm still in awe of the landscape. The physical contrast is, of course, striking and when I look at old (two weeks old, to be exact) photos of my former house, the emotional distance is equally stunning and poignant. Like looking at an open casket. I can't really stare too long.

Joshua Tree.

Agnes and I finally made it to the high desert. We're crossing our fingers and toes that we'll soon be moving into a little home on five acres in Joshua Tree with a backyard view of the Little San Bernadino Mountains and just enough, but not too much, city lights in the distance to remember we're connected to humanity.