already

it's not even 9 o'clock yet and i've already spent money i really shouldn't spend but a girl's gotta have a little fun and welcome herself back home properly. 2 new kiki smith books and a pair of yellow rubber rain books. hahahahahahaha! perfect!

and the shop is back up and running. i'm not sure i like the look of the little etsy side-bar thing-a-ma-jig on my blog. it clutters my space up. no likey, no no no.

and i'm full of coffee and rowdiness and eager for everything! i will be heading out to the art store soon for gouache and maybe even some really really big sheets of paper.

it's a drizzly day, full of the beautiful low-lying fog. everything is grey and bright green, the remnants of rain falling from the tall trees. gorgeous. my home.

honeys! i'm hoooo-ooome!

it took 3 hours and 45 minutes to get to the nashville airport yesterday morning. i have never seen such crazy weather in my entire life! it looked like the pictures of alaska i've seen. the highways had not been plowed or salted AT ALL. and there were jack-knifed big rigs every where and cars sliding off in to the countryside and you couldn't even SEE the highway. it was completely iced over and we had to make our own lanes, most of which weren't even close to being right, and at one point we were parked on the freeway for almost an hour because 3 big rigs had turned over and me and my mom got out and talked to the nice truckers who always know what's going on... though one guy told us you can't believe everything you hear on the CB because the story gets bigger and bigger as it travels down the line. ha! and then my flight was delayed (which was good since we were running a bit late and i thought i'd miss it actually) and so when i got to LAX to change planes, i got off my first plane as the second one was boarding so i literally walked off one plane on to another and i'm so surprised my suitcase made it. by the time i landed, i had been on an airplane for 6 hours. add that to the 4 hour trip to the airport and the hour and a half drive back to my little cottage and i had an entire day of travel. geez. but it's always fun. and thanks to the time change coming home, i'm pretty much back to my regularly scheduled program. :) i've got my hazelnut coffee and my sweetie is still snoozing away and i've already written in my notebook and inga is on her first nap of the day.

i feel happy and quiet and soft. the two weeks with my mom made me feel so thankful for so many things. i let go of a lot of things from the past. a few ghosts floated off and i feel peaceful and easy and grateful for what my life has been... and for who i am becoming as a result. my mom is good at softness, at generosity of spirit, at acceptance and forgiveness. she knows the value of really, truly being who you are and working to become better but never hiding yourself from the world or from others. she is wise and beautiful and i feel so blessed to have had her all to myself for two whole weeks. i'll be heading back out to tennessee in a couple months for round 2.

my bags are still in the car. i was much too tired to even care by the time we got home last night. and i hope to have sunday dinner with the neighbors tonight. there is silliness to be had and to propagate. :)

it's drizzling and silent and wonderful. my paintings look beautiful to me. beautiful AND smart. my eyes are clear and full of play again. i love everything.

last day...

and there is snow! real snow, not just flurries. actual, deep, sticking to the road snow! there's gotta be 4 inches out there! and it's still twirling down. gorgeous! me and my mom already went and stomped around in it twice. i love that crunch under my foot and i can't even tell you how many years it's been since i got to feel it and see it and hear it. and the cardinals look like they're glowing against all this white. absolutely beautiful! there's a slight chance my flight home might be cancelled but right now i'm okay with that. it's just so much magic and so much beauty and so much wonder.

rite

well... i found my lady bug. or his body rather. right here on the desk all dried up. :( i'm not going to throw his corpse away. i'm going to leave him right here on the desk and let him degrade at his own pace. poor little guy. and if i had put him outside he would've froze to death. we got flurries of snow yesterday.

expiring

some poems need to die. or at least not follow you around forever. they need a time-line, and end-date. and this is why i like what ana c. is doing. she is RAD! and i was bashful about the idea at first but today while i was running i got a bit brave and thought that maybe it'd be a good thing to do... to let a poem gain mortality. it will expire. they all will expire. these are poems about expiring. i am number 30. you should be number 31. my fair rebecca is number 20. everyone is fair and wonderful: a number counting toward the end. submit.

good

the rain flew sideways last night and hit the windows so hard that i woke up and couldn't fall asleep again until the wind finally blew in the opposite direction. spooky and magical and not at all unwelcome.

my small drawings have become a haven. new languages float and dive through the grey. i make myself a little nest in the big chair by the big window and listen to the storm and the wealth of birds fighting for the washed up worms. i curl in and get warm.

more and more, i am becoming myself.

more and more, i am letting go of the old hurts and horrors of the past. they suddenly seem so dated, so out of place. i nod at the old ghosts and move on, acknowledging their presence but turning off the haunt.

:)

i haven't seen my lady bug again. he probably found an escape route back to the grey forest outside. but on my jog today 3 deer ran with me for a short, startling moment. their white tails up, scared and searching for safe ground. scared of whom? of little ol' me?

i've never been that close to deer before, springing wildly and unsure of direction. for a second i was afraid i was gonna get my ass kicked just like that guy on youtube who tried to box a deer but then they ducked down in to the thick trees and were gone just as quickly as they came.

4 days

i saw the fast-moving clouds and thought "i love you".

the hail dropped down heavy and furious.

i learn words i don't want to learn.

the shattering that follows a reckoning.

wolves among the quail.

we are all mortal here.

the trees and sky and fields are grey white.

i sit as still as a cup. i collect

a dreaded logic.

i open to a hail storm.

i told the clouds "i love you".

we are all mortal here.

learning

kiki smith has been keeping me good company. in between visits with my mom, i thumb through the color plates of her work and re-read the essays and interviews. she talks about trust... trusting the work, the way, the process enough to just make way for whatever dumb idea pops in to your head. it is bravery and insistence and a very poignant self awareness that does not include the barrier of shame.

i've been drawing dumb pictures of stars and, this morning over coffee, i drew a little Alice in a black dress and white apron under a night sky full of black stars. i wish i hadn't forgotten my camera but i did. and i suppose that'll make for a day of fun picture-taking when i get home so it's alright. i rather enjoy secrecy when it's imposed on me by technological limitations. i have no choice but to let the ideas bake and simmer and boil and scorch. there is a big value in that. there is a big value in the slowness of it, of getting off stage, in moving off to the side and finding a quiet bush to hide in...

i used to do that as a child. when i was a little girl i wanted to be a singer. more than anything i wanted to sing. but i was also painfully shy. i had a bush i'd hide in. way out of the way where no one went. we lived in an apartment complex then. my singing bush. my safe little green world full of scrapes and scratches and song.

here, this is what the drawings have become...
such an awesome closeness...
silent, unseen, soft.
black stars scratching their way out of me.
all glitter,
all hope.

mmmmmmm...

the hard rain comes down. the kind of rain that makes a person smile. the kind of rain that makes a person feel surprised. an exuberant rain, pounding pounding pounding and thunder and dogs barking. such a chorus, such a whirl, such a racket and i love it. especially here in the big silence of the country. especially here where wind and trees go suddenly, painfully, peculiarly still. the crash boom bang of a healthy storm. the heft of strong weather. unapologetic and dancing all crazy-like.

i am drawing star fields. black and scratchy. twinkling like little bats. and Alice is perched in the corner of the room.

safe

there is a lady bug on the wall. a big fat one. and i won't smash him or put him outside. it makes me happy he is here. my little pet for today.

tennessee is beautiful. most of the leaves are off the trees but it's still so green somehow. and quiet. silent, really, out here in the country. the houses that spring up are red brick with white trim. is that called 'colonial"?

and my grandma and grandpa came today with a big baked chicken and stuffing and pies and brownies and all sorts of stories that everyone's already heard a dozen times but me and so i laughed and laughed and laughed. stories about the 6 deer that come through their yard and stories about ravens playing with shiny things on the porch. wholesome and good stories like that.

i feel instantly at home even though i've never been here before. i've already learned the kitchen and what's in all the cupboards. i've got my own room to sleep in that (YAY!) has a computer in it! i've got my books from home stacked up against the wall. last night when i got to the house, my mom and i talked about fairy tales and about Alice in Wonderland and she gave me a large, old copy of the story from the 40s, fully-illustrated, and printed on soft paper from italy. a sewn binding and all. she found it in a thrift store out here for a dollar. treasure.

right now the house is quiet. nap time. and so i will write and maybe work up the nerve to go jog in these foreign woods, maybe paint a small watercolor, maybe just sit on the back porch and admire the things that grow here and the hundred birds that swirl here.

good morning!

i'm leaving in less than an hour. i'm drinking coffee and "Big Yellow Taxi" is stuck in my head. ha! just a bit dramatic. hahahahaha!

a new adventure awaits. i've got my notebook and blank pages and faithful ink.

enjoy this wonderful, beautiful day, my friends. :)

packing...

would you like to know how neurotic i am?

i've gotten the majority of my packing done... or so i thought until it came time to choose books. there are certain books that follow a person around no matter where they go and no matter if they will actually read them. they are constant companions. they are part of a person's life. i am in the thick of stupidity and choice right now. who shall i bring along for the ride? it's only two weeks but it's TWO WEEKS! 'radish king' and 'cadaver dogs' by rebecca loudon are on board. also 'ariel' by sylvia plath. my collection of hans christian andersen and a big fat book of kiki smith's work. and 'alice's adventures in wonderland' and the collected short stories and fairy tales of angela carter. but then i saw sharon olds and grabbed 'satan says', 'the gold cell', and 'the dead and the living'. and then i saw molly gaudry's 'we take me apart'. and then i saw 'the baker's daughter' and my big collection of zines and chapbooks and started thinking about the clothes i could do without and that's when i realized i am so neurotic and romantic that i should just take a break and come back to it later. but there isn't all that much time to decide. i'm leaving at 6 in the morning tomorrow and, really, it's just two weeks but IT'S TWO WEEKS! arggggggggg. books.

plans

today is a day for doing the laundry and washing the dishes. i'm making my preparations for my trip out to tennessee. clean underwear and that whole bit. i have to decide what books to take, what projects to bring on the plane, a whole wealth of little things to decide upon. tomorrow is pay day and i need a few tubes of gouache and a big tube to transport big paper in. i need to buy that anti-flea juice for inga so that it's here while i'm gone. one less errand for my sweetie to run. and then of course there's the problem of fashion- a whole different climate. word on the phone-line is that it is cold, cold, cold out there. some snow on the ground too. my sequined shoes are not optimal. maybe this is my excuse to go ahead and buy those yellow rubber rain boots i've so desired for so so long. :) and i am printing out the photo references i'll need and font patterns for cross-stitching and poems i need to keep working on. i'll be gone two weeks and i leave in two days, bright and early sunday morning. it's hard to know what i'll need. and i haven't been away from my sweetheart for so long in years and i've never been away from my baby girl dog like this. but i'm bringing my running shoes and will use the old pick-up truck to trip a mile so i can run run run and keep track of the distance and keep track of my focus and keep a high, bright spirit. my trusty hot pink sports bra is tumbling around in the dryer as we speak. i'm very much looking forward to waking up to my mama and morning coffee and conversation and an icy landscape. i'm looking forward to taking pictures, a practice i've not taken part in really for a couple years ever since reading susan sontag. ha! maybe i'll buy some black and white ilford for my minolta while i'm at it. and tonight at 9, i'll be shutting my shop down so if there's anything in there that is a must-have, grab it now and i'll ship it tomorrow. and there are checks to write and stuff in envelopes and stamps to put on those envelopes. prepare, prepare, prepare. i don't want any nagging thoughts or worries of things i forgot to take care of while i'm away.

morning song

years and years and years ago, i got this cd for christmas and i listened to this song over and over and over again that morning, happy dancing like a flailing child, spinning and whirling. there is a deep hope in this song. simultaneous undercurrents of massive sadness and happiness. empathy is fully present. and maybe a bit of anger too.

not my favorite video but the words in this song are just beautiful. simple, direct, eloquent emotion. there is a universal sentiment and need in this piece.

favorite line: could everyone agree that no one should be left alone?

this song makes me think of my brother.

practice...

unknown daughter (study #1)
30" x 22"
watercolor on paper
angela simione, 2010

morning...

dogs are barking. a second pot of coffee is brewing. oil paint all over. black and swollen. depth between depths. shadows seeping. fraying at the edge. my hair is twisted up in a bun on top of my head. i am still in my pajamas. there are words all over the place. all through me. i go back to the canvas, i go back to the page. back and forth, back and forth. it is all in black. ink or type or paint. black against white. fraying at the edges. a knot loosed. a rope unwound. a net or nest or hope.

like graphic novels?

there's some good stuff in the world! give it a shot!

shake girl - the stanford graphic novel project, 2008


and for those of you who like to have a more intimate relationship with your reading material and prefer to hold your stories, might i suggest 'a child's life and other stories' by phoebe gloeckner. it's hard to read. and by hard i don't mean difficult, i mean it's got some very intense and hurtful, disturbing stuff in it. but it's honest and fearless and important and not at all self-pitying. it is tremendous and necessary work. it was also banned from libraries for a while and if that isn't reason enough to pick it up, i don't know what is.

blah blah blah technique. blah blah blah practice.

the more i work with gouache, the more i love it. absolutely love it! in that dire, swirling, crazy-pants kind of way. and i suppose it's fitting. my practice is a practice of opposites. or an examination of opposites. not quite contradiction, rather a fuzziness of identity- black and white. faceless portraits. and now... water and oil.

the other day i met a friend of a friend and was introduced as "an artist" (always sort of a weird moment. ha!) and the other person asked what i work in, what i do, what my subject is. most artists will tell you that this is an odd moment. there's so much to say in response to these seemingly direct and simple questions... so the trick becomes scaling back, not scaring the person away with art historical references and philosophic meandering and all the stuff that goes in to The Artist Statement. they don't care and that's NOT what they're asking. they want the basics... or, usually, they're just being polite.

i've got my token answer all worked out at this point. usually something along the lines of "oh, i'm pretty much all over the place. a bit of this, a bit of that. mostly painting though. mostly portraits." i learned pretty quick NOT to say "i make headless portraits" because most people start envisioning rather gruesome images which is not at all what my work is. and so i started in with my token response and this time it didn't feel quite right when she asked what my primary medium is and i said oil. at least half the paintings i do at this point are in gouache. and i see no reason not to proceed painting in both mediums alternately, as often as i can or want to or need to; whatever fits the subject and day and mood the best, giving primacy to neither.

and gouache is just so much faster and i've been jump-started again, in love with so many ideas, so many ways to work with a single image, that gouache allows me to proceed with my investigation in a much more rapid way than oil.

i love oil tremendously. everything about it. the look, the smell, the process, everything. but it lends itself better to certain images more than others. the maid portraits for sure. and believe it or not, i've got a ton of paintings crammed in my little cottage right this second that are being given the time to dry so that i can proceed with at least some type of gusto. in order to do that with oil, since my process relies so heavily on glazing and dry-brush techniques, i have to have a multitude of canvasses going at once in order to keep working while i wait for one or another to dry. there's a lot of down time in my oil painting practice. and this is exactly why it's so lovely to be working in an "opposite" medium. water-based paints dry almost instantly by comparison and i can actually get a painting finished in a single day! that's awesome!

yesterday, i spent about 5 hours working on a gouache painting- hair. yep. strand by strand pretty much. thin layers that absorb in to the paper so quickly than i can just keep pushing along with the image unrestricted by waiting-time. it'll be done soon. maybe today. but i'm running out of gouache and payday is still a few days away. another practice in patience, i suppose. ha! the major ingredient in every part of my practice since moving to realism. would you have guessed i started as an abstractionist?

good reads

the high point of my day yesterday was getting joanna ruocco's chapbook 'the baker's daughter' in the mail. i read the whole thing right then out on the front stoop. it's a short little thing. the chapbooks from mud luscious are petite and precious (in that good, closeness-provoking kind of way). it was very much a grim little fairy tale in many ways but in a contemporary cadence that i really loved. i checked out the mud luscious web site this morning so that i could link to her chap so's you can buy yourself a copy - all their stuff is on sale right now - but i didn't see her chapbook there anymore. all gone! but while you're at it, may as well get a copy of molly gaudry's 'we take me apart'. it is awesome! a strange and stark fairy tale told in verse. a seamstress. a heart-broken daughter. just gorgeous and i'd say it belongs high on the list of things to read next.

all this to say... mud luscious is putting out some stuff i really really like! check em out! there are online issues available too. lots of totally cool writing.

rise and shine!

up and at 'em. up and at 'em. but it's raining and dark and i have a dentist appointment later this morning. and i brought my friend home from the hospital yesterday and will set up shop at her house (which is just right next door) when i get home from my un-fun dentistry hour. they put a plate in her leg. and the plane ticket to go see my mom out in tennessee is bought and paid for. i fly out on sunday and will be there for a full 2 weeks. i'm bringing my big Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale collection and she busted out her Brothers Grimm so we'll have lots to talk about... not that there's ever a shortage of words in this family. we're all pretty chatty. i may even get to see my grandparents while i'm out there- weather permitting. it's been snowing out there. the roads are dangerous way out in the countryside when the ice arrives. i haven't seen them in about 5 years, i think. and one of my aunts is coming out for a visit too and i have no clue how long it's been since i've seen her... 10... 11 years? geez. we're a pretty spread out group, that's for sure. it's always interesting to see and get to know extended family members all over again as an adult. i'm planning on taking a landslide of pictures of my mom so i can do a new portrait of her. it's been quite a while since i've done one and i'm pretty sure she's got all of them. i want to do 3 portraits of her, all the same and of the same pose, one for me, one for my sister, and one for my brother. i'll bring a big stack of large paper so i can keep rolling with the gouache paintings while i'm away from the big oils. i was hoping to get at least one of the canvasses wrapped up before i left but... well... you know how it goes. some paintings just won't be rushed, nor should they be. patience, patience, patience. they'll all be here waiting for me when i return. and the rain keeps on coming down. splat splat splat on the glass and shingles. inga snoring and the click of the keys beneath my finger tips.

hmmmmmmmm.

i think a lot about sylvia plath...

her work and how it is routinely overshadowed and discredited by her suicide. nullified.

it's a normal thing to judge her sanity based on the fact she took her own life... and then, i suppose, it's not a very far leap to wanting to rule out her writing as an expression of insanity as well. but it's an angry instinct. a very childish instinct, actually.

have we done the same thing to nietzsche? no, he didn't kill himself, he died of syphilis... which means he hit the crazy stage of the disease long before it took his life. he lost his mind. and yet we still look to him as an authority. we view his thoughts with reverence and respect whether we agree with his thoughts or not. we continue to respect his work and give credit where credit is due in spite of the very logical assumption that his later writings were born inside an insane mind. and he was writing philosophy- the thing people use to govern their lives! codes of conduct based on deep introspection and thought. ideas encouraged to become action.

and poetry does all these things too but doesn't stop there. it doesn't have to deal with rationality and deduction and specifics.

if we can except insanity in philosophy... why not poetry?

why do we not accord sylvia plath with the same respect? why is it that this nullification of her work persists in spite of the fact that a very large quantity of contemporary poets, writers, and visual artists site her work as a major influence? why is enjoying her work still viewed as juvenile, ridiculously teenage, stupidly goth, blah blah blah all because she killed herself. what does that have to do with THE WORK?

the fact that so many people respond so forcefully, so emotionally to her poetry and novel and journals is a testament to her skill AS A WRITER. the impact of her work, the deep level of intimacy, the courage it took to expose such fragility, to speak about levels of love, anger, confusion, rage, and resentment took guts. let's not forget the era in which this work was written. let's not forget what society was like for women at that time. it is minimizing and brutal to do so. give credit where credit is due. reducing her work to an act of hysteria is a slap in the face to the female gender. have we already forgotten how many women were strapped down to hospital beds because they were angry about being beaten or raped? the history of women (well... the history that's been recorded anyhow) isn't a fun one. it isn't nice and i get pissed all over again each time i notice that the degree to which the female gender is marginalized and discredited is still pretty effing deep. and that not even a dead woman who made powerful, exceptional, poignant work is offered due course.

diane arbus gets discredited too. so does anne sexton. maybe not to such a deep degree as sylvia plath, but nevertheless, yes.

shall we now begin the game of discrediting kurt cobain's contribution to music? he killed himself too. why is it that we are able to view his death with so much more compassion? why is it that we all agree what a huge tragedy his death is. none of us rob him of his work, his talent, his skill by reducing it to the ravings of a crazy person. but, as a culture, we allow this to be done to sylvia plath. there is a very discompassionate double standard in effect and it makes me sick. fathers are just as important as mothers. it is no more horrific for a mother to take her own life than it is for a father to leave behind small children. the tragedy of these events is a perfect equal. the value judgements we have made based on gender are disgusting, idiotic, and hateful... to put it mildly. would kurt cobain's child say she suffers less because the gender of the parent who killed them self was male? no, i don't think she would.

whether or not the artist who makes advancements within their field is a bad parent should not enter in to a discussion of said contributions. what does it have to do with THE WORK? what does it have to do with the innumerable lives they saved through the art they made? my life has been made better because of her work. in fact, for however trite and dramatic it sounds, i'll go ahead and make the statement that her work has saved my life in the same manner that music or painting has. art saves lives.

the tragedy is that the art these people made didn't save their own lives.

sylvia plath suffered from an unchecked and undiagnosed illness. same thing with nietzsche. undiagnosed. and illness is illness and shouldn't have a value judgement placed on it either.


i'm getting fed up with the persistant perception that sylvia plath was a mad-woman whom we can't take seriously.


kinda deep thoughts so early in the morning! ha! it's just been on my mind a lot. what are your thoughts?

painting day...

i'm taking a little break to eat strawberries and look at the work of other artists- refresh my eyes a bit so that i can see what's really going on, not merely my intentions, not what i want to be going on. it's a tough thing to move beyond your wishes for a painting sometimes and see where you've side-stepped the opportunity/necessity of risk.

trust.
intelligence.
faith.
patience.
and also a bit of rowdiness.

i have to be willing to fuck up the canvas, turn it to total shit. if i'm not willing to do that, i know i'm holding back, become too focused on the end result not the path, not the learning, not the love, not the need. i've become too precious about the work i've done thus far, not the work i've yet to do. it is a struggle. a good one. a person learns a lot from ruining a work and then finding a way to come back from that- to yank the image out of the cesspool you've created and polish it again, make it golden again.

it's a painting day.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

so.... i went to go vote for myself in the self-portrait competition and i thought i was supposed to click on each star to give myself a 5 star rating (yeah... tacky, i know) and clicked the first star and then it wouldn't let me click any more so i ended up giving myself a ONE STAR RATING! AHHHH! inadvertently sabotaging myself, as well as all the votes i've gotten this far. what a dork! and so now i have to wait 24 hours to go back and re-vote to cancel out my own idiotic actions. geez.

geez.

yesterday i ended up spending about 8 hours at the hospital with my friend. an accident with our rowdy dogs led to a bad fall on to her own ankle, twisted in that unnatural, heebeegeebee direction. yuck. and the x-ray confirmed two breaks.

all day at the ER. she was eventually admitted and they performed surgery this morning. pins. i'm still waiting to hear if she'll be released today. i'm glad it's nothing serious in terms of life and death but my heart goes out to her. life is so screwy sometimes. if it's not one thing, it's another- that whole bit.

she's the type of person who is always taking care of other people. always. i was glad to have the opportunity to give a little back yesterday. all i could do was stay with her while the doctors and nurses ran around and tried to make judgements and plans. my role was to just sit there and bare the horrible torture of WAITING with her.

funny how my new perspective on my art practice spilled out in to my regular every day life yesterday. patience. stillness. no rush toward anger. learning to wait and to listen with grace.

process...

the sky is gone white. the fog will not burn today.

i am painting. black oil all over the big canvasses. all over and the scent fills my home. lovely. luscious.

i am clear today- slow, involved in method, proceeding in increments; thoughtfully. the process is a wise dictator, uninterested in torture. stop trying for control you don't have and just follow the scent.

there are a million nuances to give myself over to. there are shadows within shadows. it isn't scrutiny. i've been using the wrong word this whole time. it is not scrutiny, it is recognition. it is acknowledgement. see post below called ghosts. thank you alanna and elisabeth. black and black and thin layers of sepia.

breathe.

slow.

what is love?

practice it here, girl. practice loyalty... acceptance... acknowledgement... patience... control only your self, find the rhythm, the scent, the burn beneath the fog. and go.

the competition begins!

i am not above begging.

and so i beg you- go vote for me please!

ghosts.

there was a strange hollow in me yesterday. all day. persistent. hard. dark. but i painted and ran and took care of all the little things of a day and now, after a long, deep sleep, i am all the better for it.

there are memories that creep up unexpectedly sometimes. all the sharp things a little girl learns not to touch. but i'm not a little girl anymore and i can make my own rules. not all ghosts are bad... even if they are all scary. some ghosts have love in them or are born of love and come creeping slowly, come as a breath to hug you and sigh in your ear. some ghosts are necessary. some of them want to help.

and another one!

The Good Daughter (2)
30" x 22"
gouache on paper
angela simione, 2010

i love this woman.

oh, Alice!

i started reading Alice's Adventures in Wonderland again last night and oh, i am floored by her! i want to make myself a t-shirt that says 'curiouser and curiouser' on the front of it. i'm sure it already exists somewhere. i'll have to scout around. and also one that says 'twinkle, twinkle, little bat'. i told myself i'm not allowed to buy any related merchandise until i've read the story at least 5 times but i don't think i'm going to be able to hold out that long. :) the story strikes deep enough on the first read to make you a lifer.

the first painting of the new year...

The Good Daughter
30" x 22"
gouache on paper
angela simione, 2010

help

i have convinced myself help is on the way-
i am cleaning up all the hair.

in fear.
for fear.
my mother coming through in my curls.

she shows herself.
falling down, falling long.

and baby girl's got her mama's eyes too.
falling down, falling long.
and black on the inside.

my mother.
my mother.
here, me,
her.

what will happen to baby's eyes
if mama dies?



i convince myself help is on the way-
a starling swarm.
an embolism.
a shattering.
every ocean against the sea. anything.

anything but the charge to carry such a hollow,
such ice.



what will happen to my hair,
to my eyes
if my mother dies?



i try to convince myself help is on the way-
a steadiness.
still as a chair.
still as an eye.
falling down,
falling long.
rimmed in red
and black on the inside.

what will happen in all this empty white?


the winter.
the swinging bells.
our hollow silhouettes.
the cancer curling and curling and curling
and black on the inside.


i am cleaning up all the hair.

in fear.
for fear.


i finger the loose curls.

blackbirds, wide-open.

a nest for the rats.

steady as a chair.

my brother crying.

the horrible expanse of white.

things are going hollow.

there are babies

rimmed in red.



i am trying to convince myself that help is on the way.








angela simione, 2010

love.

i've been thinking a lot lately about love. not in a flowery or sentimental way, more in a bare bones, 'what the eff is it' kind of way.

how do i express it? how do others? what are the things, specifically, that i love?

and the more i think about it, the more varied and fluctuating love seems to be. all sorts of different loves, different breeds of the thing depending on what or whom i aim the word at. the way love feels to me when i think of my family is very different from how i feel when i think of art. my loves sometimes even challenge one another. it doesn't seem to be a static thing.

still, i've been looking for the common denominator. the red thread. and it's forcing me down a strange network of ideas and in to some fairly uncomfortable places where i see it's time now to take a closer look at my values... to update them, tailor them to the life i'm leading now, the life i'm pursuing, rather than the life i once had. a re-examination of my motivations.

i'm no longer a child seeking approval and care. the resentments i sometimes feel over my childhood are running their course. i'm not as angry or as hurt as i once was. i'm learning that the past has importance, has a place... but it can't be allowed tyranny. it can't be allowed to become a dictator. the time has come to relieve these old ghosts of their power to haunt. it's time to translate my experiences in a beneficial, helpful way... not run from them, not hide them, not use them to get my way. use them, if i can, to be a better artist, a better human.

the maps i had 5 years ago no longer get me anywhere. the values i held 5 years ago, or even at the start of last year, have morphed... been polished or corroded by experience. they aren't the same and i need to look at them. i need to find out what they have become. who i've become while i was busy inside the daily grind.

art is a good barometer for these things. i can flip through the paintings i've made during the last 2 years and watch color drain out of my canvasses. the slow progression toward a clearer aesthetic. my own tastes taking dominance.

i can tell you that i love my paintings... i'm hopeful this might mean i've learned to love myself a bit.

smiling

painting, painting, painting away all day, all day, all day. :) and the gargantuan canvas has been primed and sanded. the new year is off and rolling. off to a hot start. there is magic in my calendar. refreshing, renewed, serious magic. and excitement.

i have high hopes.

i have a good feeling.

DANCE i said! 10 songs for 2010