ART: { the balloon } / STACY ELAINE DACHEUX

In 2006, I picked out a yellow balloon from a grocery store. The woman behind the counter slapped it onto the tank, blew it up, pinched the end, then stretched the latex out and around her fingers, before twisting it into a knot. “Pick out a ribbon.” I pointed to a pale white one.

Is it a birthday?

She handed it over to me for 68 cents. I tugged on the ribbon and shrugged.

* * *

I used to know this guy. With brown curly hair and blue eyes, he resembled Ben Stiller and so did his name, ironically, which was Ben Siler.

Similar to his famous counterpart, Ben was awkwardly nervous and this made him hilarious. He wasn’t a big talker, but that didn’t really matter. We once bought shitty cappuccinos from BP, hid them in our pockets and cruised around the college library, sipping and sharing favorite reading spots with one another—like that was our date, and when I say sharing, I don’t mean chatting, but actually sitting there looking at books, being quietly playful with one another.

Our intimacy was museum-level quality. We received astute attention from one another, but for whatever reason, we never physically touched.

* * *

* * *

On January 28th of 1986, The Challenger Space Shuttle was set to launch.

A few days prior, my elementary school teacher instructed us to write a note to the sky. We were to express our dreams for the future.

Everyone in class did this. We wrote what we felt.

Then, she gave us each a helium balloon, showed us how to tie our note to the base, and walked us outside to the playground.

It was breezy and the sun was warm but not hot.

* * *

Without talking much or touching, Ben and I shared things we deeply believed in.

I played a Ween song for him, admiring one track, which mentions Kafka and sounded like a literary bed I wanted to sleep in.

Ben pointed me to a short story called “The Balloon” by Donald Barthelme, in which a narrator describes a large balloon the color of “muted heavy grays and browns … with walnut and soft yellows” that hovers over 45 city blocks.

At first, it is not certain what the balloon is a concrete representation of or why our narrator built it, but its existence is explored in relation to the people who live below it.

* * *

* * *

Our elementary school teacher wore large jewelry and an oversized jumper. She explained that releasing a balloon was more about us than the balloon.

Similar to the pending Challenger mission, it was about discovery. She stopped for a moment, “I want you to remember that.”

In the spirit of Christa McAuliffe, who was to be the first teacher in space, we excitedly prepared our balloons in celebration.

“At the count of 3 … .”

I clenched the balloon’s string, ready to let go.

* * *

* * *

CLOUD PIECE by Yoko Ono

Imagine the clouds dripping.

Dig a hole in your garden to

Put them in.

1963

* * *

Scientists fill latex balloons with hydrogen or helium to measure the movement of clouds. Weather. Christopher Lavery adds, “An artist makes clouds or bunnies or abstract representations of their grandparents for the very same reasons … I believe they are biological urges that we hold and have evolved through and with.  Sometimes these things are to attract mates and sometimes they are to impress the neighbors, with whatever motivation we have, the primal instincts hold a pretty strong responsibility for why we make stuff.”

Chris built representational clouds off of Pena Blvd. for Denver International Airport’s Public Art Program. Made of steel, polygal, LED lighting, solar panels, and standing 42 ft at its tallest, Chris’s landscape is partially manufactured but mostly emotionally complex. Echoing urban industry with dreaming, his work is akin to wordless  billboards: thought bubbles quietly waiting to be filled by us.

I ask Chris for his thoughts on Yoko Ono’s “Cloud Piece” (1963).

* * *

I am interested in this relationship between story making and art making. In college, I wanted to do both at the same time. I wanted to make challenging work, but lacked certain skills and execution.

There was one play that I swore was my opus. It chronicled a mentally handicapped boy and his love/hate relationship with radios. Several of the boy’s monologues were interrupted by a “clever” emotional refrain: him being slammed in the face with a radio. It makes me cringe now just remembering some 19-year-old kid  “do the voice” of the handicapped character in our class workshop.

Ben Siler’s writing, however, was phenomenal. He wrote nuanced pieces almost effortlessly. One was about a girl who liked to strip down naked, stick Post-Its to her body, and walk around campus like a chicken. He was a conceptual thinker and his work avoided wordy melodrama. Instead, it was sparse and beautiful.

So, I spent hours reading and re-reading Ben’s gift— “The Balloon.” I explored sentence structure, pacing, word choice, and critical theory.

I asked myself this question:

What is more important to me— art we make, art we don’t need to make, or the complex and quiet story of art itself which unravels between us?

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

At the end of Barthelme’s story, our narrator discloses that the balloon was built in response to a certain absence, “your absence”—  he uses the rare second person, and welcomes us in.

* * *

In 2006, I picked out a yellow balloon from a grocery store. The woman behind the counter slapped it onto the tank, blew it up, pinched the end, then stretched the latex out and around her fingers, before twisting it into a knot. “Pick out a ribbon.” I pointed to a pale white one.

Is it a birthday?

She handed it over to me for 68 cents. I tugged on the ribbon and shrugged.

My father had just died of brain cancer. I bought a yellow balloon with the idea of releasing it up into the sky with a note for him attached to the base.

I walked outside the grocery store. I felt very apparent to be the girl with the yellow balloon. I didn’t account for the wind, which had begun whipping my balloon around as I turned off Hollywood Blvd. and trekked up Western.

My intention was to hike up the trail in Griffith Park, but I could not find the strength to do so. My insecurity and sadness won out over ritual. I released it prematurely while standing outside a stranger’s house— they were having wine and watching television. I could see in through their front bay window. From their point of view, I was not a mourner, but a psychopath wanting to be let in.

I thought about Barthelme. I thought about Ben.

* * *

Although I called the act of releasing my balloon “making art,” I’m pretty sure it was really something more like a manifestation of my loneliness … a desperate reaching … and even as I write this down, I’m not sure I completely understand the difference.

I just unclenched my hand, and felt the ribbon slowly glide away.

* * *

Stacy Elaine Dacheux writes articles for Flavorpill with Paris Lia, one of which was mentioned in The New Yorker’s Book Bench. She is also the co-founder of Slack Lust, which you are reading right now. Other publications include: BUST Magazine, Venus Zine, Thuggery & Grace, Versal, and Past Simple. Her short story, “The Sociology of Containers” was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is also a visual artist .

***All videos used in this collage originally derived from www.youtube.com.

*** “Cloudscape” (2010) image courtesy of visual artist Christopher Lavery. To learn more about his art, read the full interview or visit  his website.

***”John Lennon Balloon” (2010) image, taken by photographer Anne Terada, c. Yoko Ono, is courtesy of Yoko Ono’s flickr account. You can also follow her on twitter.

***John Lennon and Yoko Ono outside Robert Fraser gallery (1968) image was found during an Internet photo search. I am unsure of the rightful owner, but would love to give credit or mournfully remove it if the owner is unsatisfied with its usage here. If you are just a reader and curious to learn more about this photograph, visit this website.

***Allan McLeod took the above portrait of Stacy Elaine Dacheux & her balloon (2011) in Los Angeles, CA.

***No profit is turned from the usage of any images here. All copyrights are reserved & preserved for the original artists who created them.