Sebastopol_2020 (aka SPOL)
The Carvings of Northern California Trolls
Origins and “the original us”
We aren't tight and polished braids - bits and pieces that are wrapped up like a tasty sausage or a pleasing Christmas wreath hung upon some door - identifying…something?
We are rather fractured and wondering beings who seek our beginnings outside such neat and tidy narratives. We yearn to be unique. Our parents tell us we belong to them, and we adhere to the tribal stimulus, like determined offspring, ready to carry it all forward!
As our childhood histories evolve, conflicts with common sense develop aside feelings of a deeper connection to the world we encounter. Something seems amiss.
When we venture outside our home, despite immense fear, we find mirrors to us which resemble more archaic cellular siblings than our beloved parents can provide. There are signs and signals sent to maybe-us which beckon us away from home rather than returning…. Why is that? Why (despite significant risk) don't we just go home?
And as our stories open up, it turns out, our history is not merely genetic. Our history extends beyond the address of our parents, and the world whispers that to us beginning at a very early age. Slow as terrified castaways, we start to notice everything. Our friends (surprisingly) are everywhere. And as we gain a sense of security from the unknown, we acknowledge that our vulnerability informs us while insuluation does not.
Inevitably, and dutifully, we are drawn to and seek out the original us, the original material from which we are made.
We live in the forest
The wood we find to make these objects are generally sourced by chance - as we make our beds among the trees, dragging away the undergrowth, certain burls and old fallen bits are more appealing than others. Rather than casting them away, these become, over time, the material from which our expressions are muttered. Our poems are etched out among the detritus of our daily existence - what would make better sense? These old trees provide us with what we need, one way or another.
This wood is squirrelled away - here and there. And as the time comes to tell a story, we wind our way back and recall them, as waking napping uncles to attention.
There are houses about, cottages and proper homes - new folks’ and oltimers' intermittent homes, both historic and modern; belonging to families who just want to be away. It's not hard to imagine why. Here, in our opinion, is the ultimate elsewhere....
As they come and go (or more precisely, go - leave for a primary residence, likely a city), they might leave some tools behind, outdoors aside the shed, or in a box on the porch. There are many weekend whittlers amongst the homeowners in this area. And thanksgod.
It's with these tools that we manage to manipulate the bits to create our needed useful objects, our necessary hard utilities and our poems. Many of these creations exhibit our ethos and heritage. Our neighbors provide for us the pens with which we write our story. Known to them or not (and I suspect a good number of them are well aware), we wouldn’t be able to tell you anything without the dominant culture entering our space - the real world trains our voice and carves the verse upon the solid material surface.
The final result of this is the evidence we provide. It is not an interpretaion. It is what we have seen. Our own eyes have mapped these forms - vivid memories transformed to the material. Everything you see here, be it outlined or literal, exists.
Sharing
We share these things to sustain ourselves. Our culture. Our method of living.
What are Trolls?
We have left home. We are together. It is us. It is diverse. We’re not unlike you.
We live on and mostly off the land.
We are a community - we are a family - and also unique, individually, decidedly singular people - the quality which most unties us, above all.
This is not a club. We don't belong together. We are together. Our aversion to the dominant culture and a return to the original is how we finally stood up and found the view we could live with - a spectacular disengagement with the crib-to-cubicle-to-coffin paradigm to the methods of our predecessors. A necessary devolution determined to write an entirely new folklore.
What exists?
The sky
The earth
Our friends
Our tools
Stuff to still be figured out
A tremendous amount to be entirely ignored
What we see
remnants of the past, not eradicated as intentioned, have a look!
creatures who thrive in the nighttime - frightening at first - but who after a bit, are like us and have become our friends. (This was a happy surprise.)
archeological truths - events, objects, energy which deny accepeted truths, stuff that history has either never noticed or bothered to document (for reasons unknown to us). It's hard to notice, but once you notice it is prevalant - it's everywhere.
occurrences - interactions with life undocumented - living wisdom hiding in plain sight. Moving about and interacting is like experiencing things you have only read about.
massive nighttime interactions of visual and sonic consciousness
the story of our lives
What matters?
The anwer seems to be what comes to mind - in the instant. What is relevant is what your response tells you. That's what matters. It is it.