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.

Apr 8, 2010


my brain is mush. i spent pretty much all day writing yesterday and i am burned down to a stump as a result. lethargic in almost a cold way... and so i'm priming canvas. work work. and oddly enough it makes me miss my oils. the scent of them. maybe it isn't the material that i feel loathsome toward but the image itself? i know i was trying to force it in a direction it didn't want to go, and me with it.

the grunt work is cleansing though. the aching shoulder muscle. the pains of progress. ha! and possibly a nice long break from technology today. i need the outside air and commonplace objects and regularity today. the "regular" of the world outside.

of Images, my Roland says-

"In the amorous realm, the most painful wounds are inflicted more often by what one sees than by what one knows.

4. What wounds me are the forms of the relations, it's images; or rather, what others call form I experience as force. The image - as the example for the obsessive - is the thing itself. The lover is thus an artist; and his world is in fact a world reversed, since in it each image is its own end (nothing beyond the image)."

perhaps i need a little break from all the images today?


Alesa Warcan said...

Velvet soft, autumn breeze bright, gorged with sun light
Soothing ray, upon bed of leaves where I lay at ease
Unworried by winter ahead or the life that I’ve lead
I gaze upon a cloud, single and slowly drifting through the sky
Through shroud and sky, my thoughts yonder fly, on swift wing
On swift wind winging away on sun’s ray, hearing silent heart sing
Listening to meaning of mental meandering… I lay, resting.

Elisabeth said...

I had trouble understanding point 4, here, Angela.

I'm not surprised, if you've been reading dense sentences such as this for a few days now, no wonder you need some fresh air and regular perspectives.

It's good stuff though, when you can take it in.

angela simione said...

thanks for the poem, alesa. i spent almost the entire day outside- bright and cool and sanding down canvasses with my dog under my feet, triping me evey now and then. a very good day. :)

angela simione said...

hi elisabeth,

yeah... it probably would've made more sense if i had put up the three points he made prior to point 4. ha!

i take it to mean: be weary of mistaking an image for reality- sight being an easily tricked thing. and this is kinda hard for us artists! we live a LIFE of images. "a world reversed" seems an accurate observation some days.

it was definitely good to have a break. very good. very very good. :)