last night i read 'The Lover' by Marguerite Duras from start to finish in one sitting. and how timely. how absolutely perfectly timed! and my head and body felt all floaty afterward, the way a person feels after being exposed to High Honesty... a religious experience almost. the story, the imperative, of coming in to your own, your way, without conditions or expectations, this perfect acceptance of self regardless of attack or time or family. and also the sadness of it. the knowledge that curls down, curls around your head and reaches in through your eyes down to your heart, the dreadful vine that twists that soft redness, squeezes it until it ruptures, the regret, the wish that it was somehow possible to be something you are not because it would be so much easier! but she doesn't do this to herself. she knows herself... ahead of time and walks in to the whole shebang willingly, with open eyes, a confidence beyond lived experience... her school-girl braids, the gold shoes... and then, her dream to write... just write. and i responded so powerfully to that. it has been how i have felt my entire life. this pull to JUST WRITE SOMETHING. and the deep level of trust she extended to herself, to her need, to her dream- that when the book in her was ready to spring out, it would. and i think that deep level of trust is the only way to get the job done. i think it is the prime ingredient. alpha and omega. art is so religious in some ways. the tenants we keep, the sacrifice and the faith and the blood rushing rushing rushing. the ecstasy! i am so deep in love with art, with all these books i've been reading, all these ideas and images and shades of darker darkest grey. in love in such a deep way as to feel myself, see myself, as i truly am and for a moment, inside that love, to feel no hint of shame. this mode is completely right. this way of being. this way of thinking. this catalogue of life. these vignettes. these offerings. a photograph never taken. a photograph laid on the alter. a human story of love and need and expectation... the large desire that won't be kept still, won't be left in silence, will not be ignored. gorgeous!
and right there on the first page : I often think of the image only I can see now, and of which I've never spoken. It's always there, in the same silence, amazing. It's the only image of myself I like, the one in which I recognize myself, in which I delight.
is this not what an art practice is? finding this image? the record that was never made, the photograph that was never taken... the absent image that is perfect and true and complete because of its absence.
i highly recommend this book. :)
and good morning!
these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.
thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.
my artist website is here.
my artist website is here.