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 16, 2010

true story.

make it beautiful. make it romantic.

covering it in oil makes it easier to swallow.

private romance (Angela, age 19)
42" x 35"
oil on canvas
angela simione, 2010


Roz said...


[word ver: chess, like the lovely black & white hues here...]

Radish King said...

Exquisite oh such a tender neck. Beautiful Angela. You are a site to see a force indeed. I feel so lucky to see these.

angela simione said...

thanks, roz! and i love the word verification! ha! i'm starting to think those cyphers aren't random at all. eye in the sky!!!!! AHHHHHHH!

angela simione said...

thank you, my sweet friend. i felt sheepish letting this one out to play. especially right below elsie. i'm so glad you continue to stand by me. :)

Elisabeth said...

Beautiful and full of mystery, this words, this image.

My mother says you can tell the age of a woman by the skin on her neck. This neck suggests youth to me, the turn of her chin suggests pain, the bow on her apron suggests servitude, the ruffles on the sheets suggest disturbance.

The truth I do not know. The ideas arise from my imagination as they crash against your exquisite work. Thank you, Angela.

Alesa Warcan said...

@Elisabeth: Interesting... I would have said that it was the hand that were "the telltale part".

That's not a famous Poe story, about a man named Ashley 'Ash' Williams, who goes up to an isolated cabin in the woods... After reading a line stolen from "the day the earth stood still" in a book that should remain unread, after trepidation, fear, and horrible adventures, he finds to his horror that his hand has been possessed and that he has no choice but to chop it off... He locks the offending member in the cellar, under the floorboards. In his madness he hears it creeping and crawling and skittering beneath the floorboards. Finally, he dares fractionally lift the trapdoor to peek into the cellar, and espies his hand thumb wrestling with cousin it...

@angela: For now, her task is done. She rests an instant upon the bed of clouds that is the fruit of her labor. A moment's repose, a moment's communion as her feelings flow from her body and out into the world... there is still so much to do.

I'm no graphic art specialist, but here's my humble opinion: although this piece might not pack the punch Elsie does, it is quite evocative. There's a time for punching and a time for a softer touch. Thanks for sharing your art.

angela simione said...

elisabeth, i love your narration! and this is the funnest part, i think, about art- hearing what surfaces in the mind of another. you are actually very close to the truth of it! :) and that's always exciting! thank you!

angela simione said...

alesa, you are right. not at all the same punch as elsie, and so i appreciate your take on the relevance of this piece. its been floating around in my home for quite some time waiting to be finished while i moved on to darker things. a soft touch is a marvelous thing and i am thankful to be reminded of that. :)