i have given myself the pleasure of a long easy morning today. i am brewing a half-pot of coffee and cutting out moth shapes from a large beautiful sheet of shiny pewter colored paper. i am very much a crow: attracted to shiny things. :) i am planning on making a huge wreath out of them to hang in the front window. i'll let you know if it works out of not. at any rate, it's fun and joyful and simple. freeing. and the little moths... i think of them as prayers. as hymns. and so i dedicate myself to them like a child: convinced my voice is heard, that my small utterances float off to wherever small utterances float off to- a landscape where such thing plant themselves and grow in to something wild and beautiful.
and also, i am now a free agent.
it feels good to be in a moment where i can just be alone with the work. no plans for it other than to simply do my best and be as honest as possible. the work that's at the gallery now will be there for another week and a half or so before i'm able to pick it up. if there's something you want, please go grab it. i'm going to take a little break from businessy things and not put any pressure on myself to make the work do or be something it is not. financially, i'm taking a pretty big risk right now but it's the right decision to make... the honest decision to make. money shouldn't be allowed to be too big a factor when it comes to doing the right thing. and besides, i'm pretty accustomed to the starving artist lifestyle anyway. :) everything will work out. i have total faith in that. and the gallery believes in me too so i'm feeling very encouraged and hopeful today.
again, the e.e. cummings quote comes in to my head: it takes courage to grow up and be who you really are. the time for courage has most definitely come and i am at an entirely new beginning now. it is scary and exciting at the same time... but i feel very lucky to have this moment. i will enjoy my easy morning and let it morph in to an easy afternoon. there are books i want to curl up with and more moths to cut out.
life is strange and good and crazy, my friends. thank you for returning to this space and listening to me ramble, watching the struggle, and encouraging me to follow my heart. you are absolutely stunning and i appreciate you so much. <3
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 29, 2010
LET'S PLAY DRESS UP AND BE SISTERS!
.
i'll be kathleen. you'll be kathleen too. <3
(please do not let being biologically male stop you from playing. everybody's welcome. grab your magic marker.)
i'll be kathleen. you'll be kathleen too. <3
(please do not let being biologically male stop you from playing. everybody's welcome. grab your magic marker.)
plug away
i very rarely gaze at the ceiling anymore. this is a major proof that i am no longer 15. i looked at the ceiling a lot when i was 15. but when i was 15, i really had no other place to be or go, so laying in bed, laying in my sadness and anger was the thing to do. music loud and tears and yells (if i was home alone). or laying silently. focused on the small horrors, looking for a way out, making pictures from the ceiling stucco.
yesterday i noticed there were cobwebs up there so i grabbed the broom. and then i cleaned my bedroom. top to bottom. and beautified it.
i would love to become one of those productive people who undertake a massive cleaning rampage when they are feeling upset. i would love that. and i'm thinking that response to Upset has more to do with nurture than nature... but maybe not.
i was a horribly sloppy child and there wasn't much my mom could do to get me to clean my room other than "You're GROUNDED to your bedroom until it's clean!" ha! and of course, i didn't want to be locked inside my room at that age, i wanted to be outside playing, so i'd start cleaning my room and get distracted by a toy and it would take all damn day to get that room clean. i became a bed-shover-under. and i think that is an inborn reaction. no other little child planted that idea of cleaning in my head and i definitely never saw my mother shove the mess under the bed, so imagine my surprise when she poked her head under there and said "what's all this?" i was like how'd she know to look there????? hahahaha!
i didn't shove anything under the bed yesterday. i put everything away and then i re-arranged, hung different paintings on the walls, even washed the walls with windex. i had to lose myself in something and cleaning seemed a much better thing to lose myself to than laying in bed staring at the ceiling. and afterward, i felt so much better. the room is gorgeous again. plus, a friend of mine from back home is coming up on sunday. she'll be here for a week. we've been friends since we were 14, met walking home from junior high. she is my longest friend. we've never even had a fight.
and so of course i want my little home to be as perfect as possible for her. not that she even cares about that sort of thing and, generally, neither do i... but my little cottage is so packed with paintings and big drawings and projects at this point that i must find a way to establish some kind of order. even if it's only a semblance of order.
today i will dust and straighten the bookcase. this is a major undertaking. MAJOR. my bookcase is actually two HUGE bookcases, side by side, taking up an entire wall. and, in some places, the books are two rows deep. sigh. i'll pretend i am 15. or partially 15, and blast some angry music. while the day away in loud guitars and yelling and cleaning. :)
for the 15 year old girl within you:
yesterday i noticed there were cobwebs up there so i grabbed the broom. and then i cleaned my bedroom. top to bottom. and beautified it.
i would love to become one of those productive people who undertake a massive cleaning rampage when they are feeling upset. i would love that. and i'm thinking that response to Upset has more to do with nurture than nature... but maybe not.
i was a horribly sloppy child and there wasn't much my mom could do to get me to clean my room other than "You're GROUNDED to your bedroom until it's clean!" ha! and of course, i didn't want to be locked inside my room at that age, i wanted to be outside playing, so i'd start cleaning my room and get distracted by a toy and it would take all damn day to get that room clean. i became a bed-shover-under. and i think that is an inborn reaction. no other little child planted that idea of cleaning in my head and i definitely never saw my mother shove the mess under the bed, so imagine my surprise when she poked her head under there and said "what's all this?" i was like how'd she know to look there????? hahahaha!
i didn't shove anything under the bed yesterday. i put everything away and then i re-arranged, hung different paintings on the walls, even washed the walls with windex. i had to lose myself in something and cleaning seemed a much better thing to lose myself to than laying in bed staring at the ceiling. and afterward, i felt so much better. the room is gorgeous again. plus, a friend of mine from back home is coming up on sunday. she'll be here for a week. we've been friends since we were 14, met walking home from junior high. she is my longest friend. we've never even had a fight.
and so of course i want my little home to be as perfect as possible for her. not that she even cares about that sort of thing and, generally, neither do i... but my little cottage is so packed with paintings and big drawings and projects at this point that i must find a way to establish some kind of order. even if it's only a semblance of order.
today i will dust and straighten the bookcase. this is a major undertaking. MAJOR. my bookcase is actually two HUGE bookcases, side by side, taking up an entire wall. and, in some places, the books are two rows deep. sigh. i'll pretend i am 15. or partially 15, and blast some angry music. while the day away in loud guitars and yelling and cleaning. :)
for the 15 year old girl within you:
Jul 28, 2010
the facts
i've been a good girl since last october when the diagnosis came. resisted the urge to go online and freak myself out by reading the research available about pancreatic cancer.
but i've stopped being a good girl. it's a member of my immediate family. i am reading it. i know what the statistics are.
relatives have been calling, getting in touch through Facebook, reaching out to me and my siblings.
based on what i've read, surviving this since october is, itself, a miracle.
i am so grateful for that.
and also, for as hard and painful and scary as this whole thing is, i'm grateful for being forced to look at mortality close-up, in a new way- a way that is biological, not theoretical. it's easy to expound upon the horrors of the world from a safe distance. theories show their holes when you get up-close and personal. the importance of love and hope starts to shimmer. the shimmer builds in to a beautiful shine. we begin to twinkle in our moments together. we begin to feel thankful. certain histories finally find a resting place.
other histories don't. beasts i thought had been conquered, or at least put in to a deep, unbreakable hibernation, have come slinking out of their caves. the beasts awaken. writhe. scream. blood in their mouths and caked to the claw.
i feel lost some days. i spend a lot of time feeling afraid of the world but, somehow, still loving it. somehow, still wanting to help. somehow, not sarcastic. still... this weighty fear. fear that i will make the wrong decision, the wrong turn, waste my time, waste the time of others, and staring with my gaping O of a mouth at how horribly short Time is.
all i can think some days is hurry hurry, get the paintings out so she can see them. so she can see i accomplished something. so she can be proud of me.
there are lots of mornings when i want to ignore the alarm clock. i hear it and think what's the fucking point? plenty of mornings where i wake up feeling so stunted and small, just like a little girl. floundering and frail and just so bent up by fear. the dark. no night-light. no angels. no open door. there are mornings i wake up crying.
i reach for my notebook. i reach for my pencils. i make drawings.
the amazing/odd thing about it, is that i'm doing the best work i've ever done. at least that's the way it looks to my eye. somehow this fear has armed me with an unexpected drive to push the work further, go deeper, take chances, be brave in a way i hadn't yet learned to do.
there is a lot of anger in it. there is a lot of sadness. but i think there's also a lot of hope.
it's the hope that lives in these pieces that are the most important part. it is the portion of the work that i am most proud of. it is the site i try to lay down in. i live so far away from her.
since the beginning it seems, our little family has been a magnet for tragedy. i know we're not exceptional in that. tragedy is not as rare as people like to believe it is. nevertheless, the division and splintering and unfixable things that have resulted are really hard to look at some days.
the divorce. the swimming accident. my father. ambulances. hospitals. halo bolted to skull. poverty. ugliness. abuses. falling in with a bad crowd. bad mean boyfriend. scary situations. and then the work of repairing one's mind, one's broken heart, one's dream of life. and now cancer. now chemo.
these are the things i'm writing about in The Letter- the 9,000 words that have been typed out and are morphing in to something else. i have no clue what yet but it just keeps on pouring pouring pouring on days when i'm strong enough to be a vehicle for it.
this is the well that all the new work is rising from.
and the new work brings me closer to the kind of artist i want to be. the kind of human i want to be. to find a way to create some sort of beneficial, hopeful thing out of all this. but it also leads me away from certain ideas, certain places. it has to. it's unavoidable. the lineage has become clearer.
it's time to take certain risks.
it's scary and sad and overwhelming, but it's also a very positive action. ask any baby bird about the terror of the free fall when they are first urged out of the nest. that's the stage i'm in. it is a necessary stage.
because if i say i mean it and i say i believe in the power and worth of art and i say art saves lives, then i am charged to follow a particular road. a road that has all sorts of barricades across it and all sorts of pitfalls and potholes, a road that has no caution signs, a road that will be dark and lonely at times. but i must follow it. i must. i have to try to be brave. and so i cut away my safety net, in spite of all the things that are going on within my family... or maybe because of them. maybe it is because i see how short and uncertain a single life is. how full of opportunity, how full of chance, how full of the inexplicable...
i've asked to be released from my contract. the gallery agrees it is time. it is sad for both of us even though it is best for both of us. we've been building toward this moment for a year. it's time for this baby bird to jump. it's good to have support in this. it's good to find myself in the position to take a good hard look at my work and the kind of artist i am. this is an opportunity for me to get very specific about my goals as an artist, to work and struggle as hard as i can. i'm lucky to have so much encouragement from the people in my life. i'm lucky for the open door that remains. i'm lucky to have the friendship and support i've received. i'm very lucky.
and mostly, lucky to have art in my life. this outlet. this desire to make maps out of all these things. maps and poems and portraits. documents of hope. documents of desire. documents of my passage through this world. i am not joking when i say ART SAVES LIVES. it does. it has saved mine, over and over again, since the very beginning. and i am blessed.
i am very very very blessed.
but i've stopped being a good girl. it's a member of my immediate family. i am reading it. i know what the statistics are.
relatives have been calling, getting in touch through Facebook, reaching out to me and my siblings.
based on what i've read, surviving this since october is, itself, a miracle.
i am so grateful for that.
and also, for as hard and painful and scary as this whole thing is, i'm grateful for being forced to look at mortality close-up, in a new way- a way that is biological, not theoretical. it's easy to expound upon the horrors of the world from a safe distance. theories show their holes when you get up-close and personal. the importance of love and hope starts to shimmer. the shimmer builds in to a beautiful shine. we begin to twinkle in our moments together. we begin to feel thankful. certain histories finally find a resting place.
other histories don't. beasts i thought had been conquered, or at least put in to a deep, unbreakable hibernation, have come slinking out of their caves. the beasts awaken. writhe. scream. blood in their mouths and caked to the claw.
i feel lost some days. i spend a lot of time feeling afraid of the world but, somehow, still loving it. somehow, still wanting to help. somehow, not sarcastic. still... this weighty fear. fear that i will make the wrong decision, the wrong turn, waste my time, waste the time of others, and staring with my gaping O of a mouth at how horribly short Time is.
all i can think some days is hurry hurry, get the paintings out so she can see them. so she can see i accomplished something. so she can be proud of me.
there are lots of mornings when i want to ignore the alarm clock. i hear it and think what's the fucking point? plenty of mornings where i wake up feeling so stunted and small, just like a little girl. floundering and frail and just so bent up by fear. the dark. no night-light. no angels. no open door. there are mornings i wake up crying.
i reach for my notebook. i reach for my pencils. i make drawings.
the amazing/odd thing about it, is that i'm doing the best work i've ever done. at least that's the way it looks to my eye. somehow this fear has armed me with an unexpected drive to push the work further, go deeper, take chances, be brave in a way i hadn't yet learned to do.
there is a lot of anger in it. there is a lot of sadness. but i think there's also a lot of hope.
it's the hope that lives in these pieces that are the most important part. it is the portion of the work that i am most proud of. it is the site i try to lay down in. i live so far away from her.
since the beginning it seems, our little family has been a magnet for tragedy. i know we're not exceptional in that. tragedy is not as rare as people like to believe it is. nevertheless, the division and splintering and unfixable things that have resulted are really hard to look at some days.
the divorce. the swimming accident. my father. ambulances. hospitals. halo bolted to skull. poverty. ugliness. abuses. falling in with a bad crowd. bad mean boyfriend. scary situations. and then the work of repairing one's mind, one's broken heart, one's dream of life. and now cancer. now chemo.
these are the things i'm writing about in The Letter- the 9,000 words that have been typed out and are morphing in to something else. i have no clue what yet but it just keeps on pouring pouring pouring on days when i'm strong enough to be a vehicle for it.
this is the well that all the new work is rising from.
and the new work brings me closer to the kind of artist i want to be. the kind of human i want to be. to find a way to create some sort of beneficial, hopeful thing out of all this. but it also leads me away from certain ideas, certain places. it has to. it's unavoidable. the lineage has become clearer.
it's time to take certain risks.
it's scary and sad and overwhelming, but it's also a very positive action. ask any baby bird about the terror of the free fall when they are first urged out of the nest. that's the stage i'm in. it is a necessary stage.
because if i say i mean it and i say i believe in the power and worth of art and i say art saves lives, then i am charged to follow a particular road. a road that has all sorts of barricades across it and all sorts of pitfalls and potholes, a road that has no caution signs, a road that will be dark and lonely at times. but i must follow it. i must. i have to try to be brave. and so i cut away my safety net, in spite of all the things that are going on within my family... or maybe because of them. maybe it is because i see how short and uncertain a single life is. how full of opportunity, how full of chance, how full of the inexplicable...
i've asked to be released from my contract. the gallery agrees it is time. it is sad for both of us even though it is best for both of us. we've been building toward this moment for a year. it's time for this baby bird to jump. it's good to have support in this. it's good to find myself in the position to take a good hard look at my work and the kind of artist i am. this is an opportunity for me to get very specific about my goals as an artist, to work and struggle as hard as i can. i'm lucky to have so much encouragement from the people in my life. i'm lucky for the open door that remains. i'm lucky to have the friendship and support i've received. i'm very lucky.
and mostly, lucky to have art in my life. this outlet. this desire to make maps out of all these things. maps and poems and portraits. documents of hope. documents of desire. documents of my passage through this world. i am not joking when i say ART SAVES LIVES. it does. it has saved mine, over and over again, since the very beginning. and i am blessed.
i am very very very blessed.
Jul 27, 2010
dear ariana reines,
for what it's worth, i really like what you're about. i saw a person talk some shit to you online in the comments section at Everyday Genius. i like the way you handled that. i liked it as much as i like your work and your blog, which is VERY MUCH. there's just something about what you do that gives me a lot of hope and i'm really appreciative of that. it makes me want to be more courageous and more attentive to ethics.
i like how you tell the truth. i like the words you use. i like your eyeglasses.
i like that you know you don't owe anybody anything and so all the work you make has a Gift function. i especially like that you MEAN IT- this art thing. again, it gives me a lot of hope.
thank you.
angela
for what it's worth, i really like what you're about. i saw a person talk some shit to you online in the comments section at Everyday Genius. i like the way you handled that. i liked it as much as i like your work and your blog, which is VERY MUCH. there's just something about what you do that gives me a lot of hope and i'm really appreciative of that. it makes me want to be more courageous and more attentive to ethics.
i like how you tell the truth. i like the words you use. i like your eyeglasses.
i like that you know you don't owe anybody anything and so all the work you make has a Gift function. i especially like that you MEAN IT- this art thing. again, it gives me a lot of hope.
thank you.
angela
try
yesterday i started writing at 7am and didn't knock off til after 3 in the afternoon, completely worn out. at one point, writing a childhood memory, my eyes welled up with tears. the only thing that stopped me from crying was the need to keep banging my fingers down on the keys. the click click click of the act. and once it was done, i felt like i was in a trance- not really seeing anything or thinking anything. hypnotized. half asleep. limbo.
then i made dinner, relaxed with my sweetheart, and we both climbed in to bed a bit early to read. i finished the 2nd volume of Persepolis. i am amazed by Marjane Satrapi. amazed. this chronicle of her life is just astounding. not just the events these books contain, but her knack as a writer to tell an entire story with such few words! the comic form doesn't lend itself to wordy writing. it is so paired down! efficient. i'm way at the opposite end of that spectrum! ha! and the books, from start to finish, are just gorgeous and heart breaking and important. also, i continue to be amazed by writers who aren't afraid to use their own life story to produce an artwork. especially an artwork whose basic material is language. such exposure! such a brave, compelling act. seriously. this is definitely Required Reading. in fact, this should be required reading in high school. it really should be. it would make the world a better place if it were. no joke.
and in the pages of her story, a truism was presented; one that i've been thinking myself lately. "one must educate oneself". coming across this statement within the text shook me hard. it is the exact right answer, coming at the exact right moment, a moment when it is absolutely needed.
i must read. i must study. i must TRY. and i have to, simply, just keep doing what i've been doing- writing, reading, drawing, painting. all in a big loop. a huge web. my constellation.
keep plugging away.
i have plenty of coffee and paper.
then i made dinner, relaxed with my sweetheart, and we both climbed in to bed a bit early to read. i finished the 2nd volume of Persepolis. i am amazed by Marjane Satrapi. amazed. this chronicle of her life is just astounding. not just the events these books contain, but her knack as a writer to tell an entire story with such few words! the comic form doesn't lend itself to wordy writing. it is so paired down! efficient. i'm way at the opposite end of that spectrum! ha! and the books, from start to finish, are just gorgeous and heart breaking and important. also, i continue to be amazed by writers who aren't afraid to use their own life story to produce an artwork. especially an artwork whose basic material is language. such exposure! such a brave, compelling act. seriously. this is definitely Required Reading. in fact, this should be required reading in high school. it really should be. it would make the world a better place if it were. no joke.
and in the pages of her story, a truism was presented; one that i've been thinking myself lately. "one must educate oneself". coming across this statement within the text shook me hard. it is the exact right answer, coming at the exact right moment, a moment when it is absolutely needed.
i must read. i must study. i must TRY. and i have to, simply, just keep doing what i've been doing- writing, reading, drawing, painting. all in a big loop. a huge web. my constellation.
keep plugging away.
i have plenty of coffee and paper.
Jul 25, 2010
i am smiling
after my mini-crisis the other day about career stuff and what to do, where to go, and how to organize a body of work, i gathered up all the images on to my computer desktop and started weeding things out, pairing things up, pairing the pairs, and taking it slow. i woke up yesterday feeling fantastic and immediately went to work on a drawing. i worked on it until my hand locked up and then reached for it first thing again this morning, still feeling fantastic. and i poured all my anxiety out in black graphite. scratch scratch scratch and dig. i sat in bed, under my black quilt, with my drawing on my lap, and let go of all the recent worries. and here she is- beautiful and true. my heart is warm and i am calm and happy.
untitled secrecy portrait
30" x 45" diptych
graphite on paper
angela simione, 2010
untitled secrecy portrait
30" x 45" diptych
graphite on paper
angela simione, 2010
Jul 23, 2010
yes please!
"I am for an art that takes its form from the lines of life itself, that twists and extends and accumulates and spits and drips, and is heavy and coarse and blunt and sweet and stupid as life itself."
-Claes Oldenburg
-Claes Oldenburg
the investigation continues
oh me, oh my... i'm such a fucking nutcase sometimes. ha!
(i have to laugh at myself.)
i woke up feeling remarkably lost and somewhat defeated today. it's wearing off now that i've ranted and raved inside my notebook and discovered that the root of the issue is that i am simply afraid. simultaneous fear of failure and success. they are probably actually the same thing. and not knowing what to do with myself, which direction to go in. i'm talking about the business end of things. career concerns and all that. which, honestly, i'm sick of thinking about because that's something artists have little control over anyway. all anyone can do is know what they value. that's it. and then work hard based on that set of ethics. nothing more, nothing less. the world spins and things come as they may. the conciliation there is that Quality attracts attention. as does devotion, staying power, refusing to give up. and that is, across the board, true for everyone. and that's something i've only recently learned to how to actively trust.
this season of self-discovery has been hard and strange. and it remains hard and strange. it isn't a process that ever really "ends". like art, it is a life's work. and as i proceed, i see how completely necessary it is to being/becoming an artist that one undertake self-investigation. and pairing that with going through the portfolios and taking pictures and really looking at what i've got, seeing the progression that has taken place over the passed two years, seeing how much growth has been had during that short amount of time, and realizing how naive i can definitely be, is exhausting. but it's also pretty encouraging too.
but it's also fairly daunting. anxiety producing. we live in a culture that demands we KNOW what we want. in the 6th grade you're expected to have a career chosen already. that's ridiculous. and almost everyone i know is on Plan D at this point. i'm one of the lucky few that figured out what i truly wanted to do with my life pretty early. but that doesn't make things any easier necessarily.
certain questions have been put in my head recently. questions that i'm simultaneous thankful for and a bit pissed off about. but that's just fear talking. fear of taking risks, fear of the unknown, all that stuff everyone deals with to one degree or another. i'm still too green to KNOW what kind of career i'm going to have. that seems like something you can only see when you look back over the course of a life. there's no way to know that at the beginning. and i am still very much at the beginning.
and so i am wrestling with wants and needs and dreams. and i look at my drawings and paintings and poems and see a definite lineage emerging- the influence of particular artists and writers whose work has hit me so hard, left such a deep impact on my heart and mind that their whispers stand strong in my ear. i'm attempting to listen to them... draw courage and poise from them. persistence is a necessity.
i got some really good advice from an artist friend of mine who told me to not only look at The Work of artists i admire, but also their resumes so i can see how they got from point A to point B. it's helpful and overwhelming at the same time. so many residencies and programs and grants. this is the Competition end of things and i feel anxious about leaping in to that pool. i want to leap in... i guess i just don't know how to. and there's no other way to learn how than by doing it and to accept the fact that there are no promises and no safety-net.
the drawing in the post below and the work pinned over on the side-bar to the right is work that i feel very connected to. committed to. love.
and so that's the road i must go, the road i must trust, the road i must protect. it is the work in this grand array of modes and styles that needs a wall other than my own.
and so the question becomes one of place. and how to catch those eyes.
or if i even want to catch them right now...
.
the thing i like most about this blog is that i can throw all the work out in to the world in the form of a JPEG, show my process and meanderings, talk about my concerns and fears and attractions. it's a notebook. but the actual items are still here with me. not everything is "show worthy". and this morning i realized that that's a great thing: i have them. at least some of them. and i can look at them, hold them in my hands, spend time looking at the real thing. they function as maps. documents of the questions i ask. they help me define my values as an artist and as a human being.
i also went back to the beginning of this blog and looked at the work i was making at that time. the change is glaring. the work has undergone a huge metamorphosis- a deepening. this is something i can be proud of. i can look at these images and see progress, see the struggle, see the moments of "failure", and then see that i didn't give up as a result. proof of life. proof of love. proof of seriousness even if/when the work wasn't "serious".
i've been thinking a lot about that e.e. cummings quote: it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
(side note and digression: i don't write in all lower case as a nod to him or bell hooks. it started in high school when i wanted to be a writer and wanted capital letters to emphasize importance rather than the beginning of a sentence. i didn't even know who those two people were at the time and then felt very smart when i finally stumbled across them. ha!)
and that quote has become extremely important to me this year. extremely.
i think it's important to have good manners and be friendly (to me personally as a mode of interacting with others) but i don't want to make polite or friendly art. i don't want to make Shock Art either but i want to be able to do it if the work requires that of me. i want to be a person who is courageous and passionate and brave enough to make mistakes and risk failure. i want to be dedicated to art. and diligent. and faithful. i want to make smart art, concerned art, passionate art... art that has a function and can offer a site for discussion and hope. even if it is angry hope. that site is what makes Art a necessity.
check out Claes Oldenburg's lovely manifesto on this.
ahhhhhhh. fucking bootstraps. sigh.
but this stage is important.
i know it.
i won't deprive myself of it.
onward. upward. trembling... but moving moving moving.
(i have to laugh at myself.)
i woke up feeling remarkably lost and somewhat defeated today. it's wearing off now that i've ranted and raved inside my notebook and discovered that the root of the issue is that i am simply afraid. simultaneous fear of failure and success. they are probably actually the same thing. and not knowing what to do with myself, which direction to go in. i'm talking about the business end of things. career concerns and all that. which, honestly, i'm sick of thinking about because that's something artists have little control over anyway. all anyone can do is know what they value. that's it. and then work hard based on that set of ethics. nothing more, nothing less. the world spins and things come as they may. the conciliation there is that Quality attracts attention. as does devotion, staying power, refusing to give up. and that is, across the board, true for everyone. and that's something i've only recently learned to how to actively trust.
this season of self-discovery has been hard and strange. and it remains hard and strange. it isn't a process that ever really "ends". like art, it is a life's work. and as i proceed, i see how completely necessary it is to being/becoming an artist that one undertake self-investigation. and pairing that with going through the portfolios and taking pictures and really looking at what i've got, seeing the progression that has taken place over the passed two years, seeing how much growth has been had during that short amount of time, and realizing how naive i can definitely be, is exhausting. but it's also pretty encouraging too.
but it's also fairly daunting. anxiety producing. we live in a culture that demands we KNOW what we want. in the 6th grade you're expected to have a career chosen already. that's ridiculous. and almost everyone i know is on Plan D at this point. i'm one of the lucky few that figured out what i truly wanted to do with my life pretty early. but that doesn't make things any easier necessarily.
certain questions have been put in my head recently. questions that i'm simultaneous thankful for and a bit pissed off about. but that's just fear talking. fear of taking risks, fear of the unknown, all that stuff everyone deals with to one degree or another. i'm still too green to KNOW what kind of career i'm going to have. that seems like something you can only see when you look back over the course of a life. there's no way to know that at the beginning. and i am still very much at the beginning.
and so i am wrestling with wants and needs and dreams. and i look at my drawings and paintings and poems and see a definite lineage emerging- the influence of particular artists and writers whose work has hit me so hard, left such a deep impact on my heart and mind that their whispers stand strong in my ear. i'm attempting to listen to them... draw courage and poise from them. persistence is a necessity.
i got some really good advice from an artist friend of mine who told me to not only look at The Work of artists i admire, but also their resumes so i can see how they got from point A to point B. it's helpful and overwhelming at the same time. so many residencies and programs and grants. this is the Competition end of things and i feel anxious about leaping in to that pool. i want to leap in... i guess i just don't know how to. and there's no other way to learn how than by doing it and to accept the fact that there are no promises and no safety-net.
the drawing in the post below and the work pinned over on the side-bar to the right is work that i feel very connected to. committed to. love.
and so that's the road i must go, the road i must trust, the road i must protect. it is the work in this grand array of modes and styles that needs a wall other than my own.
and so the question becomes one of place. and how to catch those eyes.
or if i even want to catch them right now...
.
the thing i like most about this blog is that i can throw all the work out in to the world in the form of a JPEG, show my process and meanderings, talk about my concerns and fears and attractions. it's a notebook. but the actual items are still here with me. not everything is "show worthy". and this morning i realized that that's a great thing: i have them. at least some of them. and i can look at them, hold them in my hands, spend time looking at the real thing. they function as maps. documents of the questions i ask. they help me define my values as an artist and as a human being.
i also went back to the beginning of this blog and looked at the work i was making at that time. the change is glaring. the work has undergone a huge metamorphosis- a deepening. this is something i can be proud of. i can look at these images and see progress, see the struggle, see the moments of "failure", and then see that i didn't give up as a result. proof of life. proof of love. proof of seriousness even if/when the work wasn't "serious".
i've been thinking a lot about that e.e. cummings quote: it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
(side note and digression: i don't write in all lower case as a nod to him or bell hooks. it started in high school when i wanted to be a writer and wanted capital letters to emphasize importance rather than the beginning of a sentence. i didn't even know who those two people were at the time and then felt very smart when i finally stumbled across them. ha!)
and that quote has become extremely important to me this year. extremely.
i think it's important to have good manners and be friendly (to me personally as a mode of interacting with others) but i don't want to make polite or friendly art. i don't want to make Shock Art either but i want to be able to do it if the work requires that of me. i want to be a person who is courageous and passionate and brave enough to make mistakes and risk failure. i want to be dedicated to art. and diligent. and faithful. i want to make smart art, concerned art, passionate art... art that has a function and can offer a site for discussion and hope. even if it is angry hope. that site is what makes Art a necessity.
check out Claes Oldenburg's lovely manifesto on this.
ahhhhhhh. fucking bootstraps. sigh.
but this stage is important.
i know it.
i won't deprive myself of it.
onward. upward. trembling... but moving moving moving.
Jul 22, 2010
this is why rants and blogs are good:
i re-read the post below and realized i answered my own question: sit here and look at the work and shuffle it all around and see what narratives arise as a result. patience patience patience. curation is tough stuff. the worst thing i can do is rush and start forcing things together.
anyway, for all the writers in the room, here's a portrait for you. ;)
writer
15" x 12"
graphite on paper
angela simione, 2010
anyway, for all the writers in the room, here's a portrait for you. ;)
writer
15" x 12"
graphite on paper
angela simione, 2010
wondering, wandering, wondering...
yesterday, i had the same conversation with three different people about how to define a "body of work". what is the criteria?
materials? concept? aesthetic? serial? a combo?
one friend offered up the word Time as part of her personal approach to grouping work together and calling it a Body- that the work in the collection is representative of a particular time in her life... a time (or era, moment) defined by particular concerns... not necessarily whether or not the work LOOKS a certain way. another friend offered up the phrase "themed accumulation" which i really like. and again, nothing really about the LOOK of individual pieces but rather the concerns of the work. there is freedom in that. i like it. but it also starts complicating my already complicated issue.
my practice is, by nature, full of multiplicity. though i speak to the same concerns in all my work, the voice changes. multiple personality disorder, for sure. and though i joke about that a lot here on the blog, when sitting down to the task of putting things in order, i get lost pretty easily at first.
right now, as i continue to wind my way through all my portfolios, taking pictures and seeing what i've got, i find recurrent themes or modes or LOOKS that guide me in putting all this work in to Bodies... but i also see how these Bodies are really body Parts... and how they relate to one another and how i got from point A to point B, shifting through voices, making the issues deeper, more complex and multi-faceted. like Sharon Olds' book "Satan Says".
i see how i do not stand firmly in either camp: critical vs. emotional. my work is a blend of the two. i care about both spheres equally. i think both are necessary. the union is necessary.
and so... how to group things? since the aesthetic i operate in is so strong - black and white - i have to be very careful when putting things in a line. they all LOOK good together because they are unified by palette. but just "looking good together" isn't enough. we black and white artists run the risk of looking "slick" if we go off looks alone. and, in art-speak, SLICK is not a good thing to be called. it means the work is superficial.
and so grouping work based on looks alone isn't going to work for me.
also, i very rarely stumble in to a "series". when i try to force a series, the inspiration for it dries up pretty fast because i start feeling like i'm just making the same painting over and over and over again and not really investigating anything. i'm much more interested in artists like Banks Violette who create collections of work rooted in concept, who trust the intelligence of the audience, who understand that the audience is entirely capable of seeing (or even making) the lines that connect one piece to another... that the audience can see the corollary between a painting and a drawings and a quilt and a found object thrown on the floor. it doesn't need to be ALL drawing or ALL painting or ALL sculpture. the audience does not need everything spelled out to them that way. to me, it's so interesting to see artists working across disciplines, embracing different modes and means of creating an image or object... giving substance to an idea by whatever means suits it best.
when i was first at CCA, i said that to a teacher and the teacher said "if you attempt to be a jack-of-all-trades, you'll be master of none". at the time, that statement was definitely warranted. definitely. i was all over the place in a very uninteresting way at that point. the work looked amateurish and floundering. and that's a stage everyone spends a pretty big hunk of time in. also, i didn't have any real conception (at that point) of what art is good for, how it can be harnessed, what its Past has been, and what it is up against now (thank you critical theory!). also, i really had no clue what I wanted to use art for... what I cared about and wanted to speak about and wanted to wrestle with. now, i do. and 2 years later, that same teacher totally encouraged me to let a painting be a painting and a drawing be a drawing and YES go ahead and nail a rope to the wall and a doll head and a rope of my own hair and see how these things function together. see how these seemingly "disparate" items speak to one another, see what dialogue arises. and it is so compelling (i think) to work that way. i love seeing other artists take that approach within their practice. it creates multiple layers of meaning. so much meaning that everyone, no matter what camp they belong to, can get something out of the work. it's an inclusive way to work.
the audience trusts the artist. artists who reciprocate that trust, artists like Banks Violette and Kiki Smith and Jordan Kantor, create spaces for experiences that are amazing and deep and i admire that so so much.
and so, as i go through this huge documenting phase, i continue to make new work too, getting inspired over and over again by having artwork spread all over the house. and i see that the lines connecting one piece to another are totally there, that the audience will see them too, and that my job is to not overload the issue... to not appear slick, the keep it sincere and meaningful and to really wrestle with the ideas i investigate by not compromising the work to any degree. especially not by sticking to the easy connections: all drawings on one side of the room, all paintings on the other. it feels false for me.
but tell me- how do YOU define a body of work? what criteria do you use? what assumptions do you discard? and how big must a collection be? could a collection consist of only 4 pieces? can it be small? do writers allow themselves the luxury of saying "these 4 poems or pieces are all it takes. finished!" visual artists do that all the time. if it is cohesive, it's cohesive. does size really matter in that regard? "narrative" will occur no matter what when you put two pieces of art side by side, whether or not they are similar.
so how do you group things? how do you define a body of work? what strictures do you impose? what is your governing logic? tell me. i am eager to learn.
materials? concept? aesthetic? serial? a combo?
one friend offered up the word Time as part of her personal approach to grouping work together and calling it a Body- that the work in the collection is representative of a particular time in her life... a time (or era, moment) defined by particular concerns... not necessarily whether or not the work LOOKS a certain way. another friend offered up the phrase "themed accumulation" which i really like. and again, nothing really about the LOOK of individual pieces but rather the concerns of the work. there is freedom in that. i like it. but it also starts complicating my already complicated issue.
my practice is, by nature, full of multiplicity. though i speak to the same concerns in all my work, the voice changes. multiple personality disorder, for sure. and though i joke about that a lot here on the blog, when sitting down to the task of putting things in order, i get lost pretty easily at first.
right now, as i continue to wind my way through all my portfolios, taking pictures and seeing what i've got, i find recurrent themes or modes or LOOKS that guide me in putting all this work in to Bodies... but i also see how these Bodies are really body Parts... and how they relate to one another and how i got from point A to point B, shifting through voices, making the issues deeper, more complex and multi-faceted. like Sharon Olds' book "Satan Says".
i see how i do not stand firmly in either camp: critical vs. emotional. my work is a blend of the two. i care about both spheres equally. i think both are necessary. the union is necessary.
and so... how to group things? since the aesthetic i operate in is so strong - black and white - i have to be very careful when putting things in a line. they all LOOK good together because they are unified by palette. but just "looking good together" isn't enough. we black and white artists run the risk of looking "slick" if we go off looks alone. and, in art-speak, SLICK is not a good thing to be called. it means the work is superficial.
and so grouping work based on looks alone isn't going to work for me.
also, i very rarely stumble in to a "series". when i try to force a series, the inspiration for it dries up pretty fast because i start feeling like i'm just making the same painting over and over and over again and not really investigating anything. i'm much more interested in artists like Banks Violette who create collections of work rooted in concept, who trust the intelligence of the audience, who understand that the audience is entirely capable of seeing (or even making) the lines that connect one piece to another... that the audience can see the corollary between a painting and a drawings and a quilt and a found object thrown on the floor. it doesn't need to be ALL drawing or ALL painting or ALL sculpture. the audience does not need everything spelled out to them that way. to me, it's so interesting to see artists working across disciplines, embracing different modes and means of creating an image or object... giving substance to an idea by whatever means suits it best.
when i was first at CCA, i said that to a teacher and the teacher said "if you attempt to be a jack-of-all-trades, you'll be master of none". at the time, that statement was definitely warranted. definitely. i was all over the place in a very uninteresting way at that point. the work looked amateurish and floundering. and that's a stage everyone spends a pretty big hunk of time in. also, i didn't have any real conception (at that point) of what art is good for, how it can be harnessed, what its Past has been, and what it is up against now (thank you critical theory!). also, i really had no clue what I wanted to use art for... what I cared about and wanted to speak about and wanted to wrestle with. now, i do. and 2 years later, that same teacher totally encouraged me to let a painting be a painting and a drawing be a drawing and YES go ahead and nail a rope to the wall and a doll head and a rope of my own hair and see how these things function together. see how these seemingly "disparate" items speak to one another, see what dialogue arises. and it is so compelling (i think) to work that way. i love seeing other artists take that approach within their practice. it creates multiple layers of meaning. so much meaning that everyone, no matter what camp they belong to, can get something out of the work. it's an inclusive way to work.
the audience trusts the artist. artists who reciprocate that trust, artists like Banks Violette and Kiki Smith and Jordan Kantor, create spaces for experiences that are amazing and deep and i admire that so so much.
and so, as i go through this huge documenting phase, i continue to make new work too, getting inspired over and over again by having artwork spread all over the house. and i see that the lines connecting one piece to another are totally there, that the audience will see them too, and that my job is to not overload the issue... to not appear slick, the keep it sincere and meaningful and to really wrestle with the ideas i investigate by not compromising the work to any degree. especially not by sticking to the easy connections: all drawings on one side of the room, all paintings on the other. it feels false for me.
but tell me- how do YOU define a body of work? what criteria do you use? what assumptions do you discard? and how big must a collection be? could a collection consist of only 4 pieces? can it be small? do writers allow themselves the luxury of saying "these 4 poems or pieces are all it takes. finished!" visual artists do that all the time. if it is cohesive, it's cohesive. does size really matter in that regard? "narrative" will occur no matter what when you put two pieces of art side by side, whether or not they are similar.
so how do you group things? how do you define a body of work? what strictures do you impose? what is your governing logic? tell me. i am eager to learn.
Jul 21, 2010
hear ye! hear ye!
well... the book idea seems to be a good one. but i need a new camera before i can make that happen. in the meantime, i'll start playing around with zines and stuff. it's so much fun! i've made a few for myself in the past and to hand out to friends... nothing too impressive, just playful and sweet and i'd like to get back in to that. i think it's actually a very important practice. it's a really wonderful thing to just get the work out in to the world and not worry so much about whether or not something is Perfect. it is a practice of bravery, for sure. maybe i'll start working on that today.
it's cold here this morning and i need some more coffee before anything else. i ran out of my delicious hazelnut cream yesterday and so i've been dumping brown sugar in my coffee this morning and it tastes like ASS. no good. time to put my jeans on and run down to the store. :/
in other news, i'm letting go some of the work i've been hoarding. i've spent most of the morning updating the shop. take a peak! and there's more on the way. here's a few of my favorite that are up right now at black fence.
Lineage
monoprint with hand painted elements
22" x 15"
angela simione, 2009
untitled
10" x 8"
gouache and graphite on paper
angela simione, 2010
untitled (silence)
5" x 3 1/2"
gouache and masking tape on paper
angela simione, 2010
it's cold here this morning and i need some more coffee before anything else. i ran out of my delicious hazelnut cream yesterday and so i've been dumping brown sugar in my coffee this morning and it tastes like ASS. no good. time to put my jeans on and run down to the store. :/
in other news, i'm letting go some of the work i've been hoarding. i've spent most of the morning updating the shop. take a peak! and there's more on the way. here's a few of my favorite that are up right now at black fence.
Lineage
monoprint with hand painted elements
22" x 15"
angela simione, 2009
untitled
10" x 8"
gouache and graphite on paper
angela simione, 2010
untitled (silence)
5" x 3 1/2"
gouache and masking tape on paper
angela simione, 2010
YO!
our beautiful and sassy ana c has put out a chapbook! YAY ANA!!!!! it's called make-believe love-making and i've already ordered my copy and you should go order yours too because there will only be 69 copies made (and YES, i think that joke is on purpose). GO! GO! GO!
Jul 20, 2010
collections...
seems i have an affinity for repetition. :) and dolls.
doll collection
30" x 22"
mixed media collage
,+30x44,+angela+simione+2010.JPG)
falling apples, falling dolls
30" x 44" (diptych)
ink on paper
Anonymous Girls (4)
34" x 31"
ink on attached paper
doll collection
30" x 22"
mixed media collage
,+30x44,+angela+simione+2010.JPG)
falling apples, falling dolls
30" x 44" (diptych)
ink on paper
Anonymous Girls (4)
34" x 31"
ink on attached paper
Jul 19, 2010
advice???
as i go through the portfolios and photograph all the work, a certain dream of mine starts to tug tug tug at my brain. for the passed several months i've been playing with the idea of putting together a book of drawings and i'm thinking the self-publishing route is the best route to take. check out amy king's essay on the subject here. so...
where to start??? and what has your experience been? enjoyable? futile? worthwhile? easy? can a novice do it? and what about templates? any and all experience/advice/critique is totally welcome. in fact, it is BEGGED FOR!
and in the meantime, here's a nice little pair of drawings. :) one thing that keeps happening during this documenting process is i keep finding things that are really great as diptychs and triptychs! it's so exciting!
where to start??? and what has your experience been? enjoyable? futile? worthwhile? easy? can a novice do it? and what about templates? any and all experience/advice/critique is totally welcome. in fact, it is BEGGED FOR!
and in the meantime, here's a nice little pair of drawings. :) one thing that keeps happening during this documenting process is i keep finding things that are really great as diptychs and triptychs! it's so exciting!
we will erect a barricade of our own.
oh strange, oh chaotic, oh insipid madness. where have you come from?
impromptu visit to southern california this weekend. family madness. this time from the other side. normally, it's my family that calls with the RUSH RUSH NOW NOW (and for very good reason lately), but this time it was my partner's and i owe him one. to tag along, at least, really is the least i can do. and that's exactly what he asked me for so that's exactly what i did. threw my jeans and notebook in a bag and grabbed the dog food. 500 miles in a car going down the horrible I-5 just to find out the situation isn't exactly what was told to you on the phone. madness, madness, madness. and MEAN. was anyone dying? no. were we told that death was on the horizon? yes. was that the real reason for the call? apparently not. CON. SCAM. and then the massive agitation, the sweep of deep sadness: learning that the people you haven't seen in 7 years haven't changed one bit... that the reason for such tremendous, unbreakable distance is a good one and obviously still necessary. but that is A Past that isn't mine to chronicle. suffice to say- sometimes even family must be cut away. i've had to do it too. for as much as it hurts, for as much as it offends common notions of "family", not all of us come from those kinds of families. not all of us were born with roses and white fences and kisses on the cheek. not every baby gets told 'i love you'. some families must splinter. some relations must be severed. it is a hard reality and not fun for anyone. some homes have to break so that there is at least the chance of survival, the chance of escape, the chance to find The Beginning of your own life, that site that so many people seem to take for granted, as a given. it isn't given to us all.
and so there we are, in the horrible heat of southern california. 110 degree (plus) weather and a black dog who only wants to pant in the shade and eat ice-cubes. the heat down there is dangerous for rottweilers and i was worried over my little one the entire time.
but it wasn't all bad. i got to see a pair of my old friends, some of the best i've ever had, some of the best people on the planet, people i count myself extremely lucky to know. we talked talked talked and she showed me Sweeny Todd (the one with Johnny Depp because i hadn't seen it yet) and The Mighty Boosh and lent me her copies of Persepolis and Embroideries. I will mail them back with my copy of A Child's Life by Pheobe Glockner.
we are friends that get nerdy together- graphic novels and musicals and lots of chips and salsa. :) and it felt like no time had passed. none at all. that's when you know you have a real friend, a real and true bond. and i said 'i love you' when i left and so did she and that feels wonderful and sweet and good. i think friends should say 'i love you' more often. i will make a point of doing that, for sure.
and then back up the I-5, me driving this time so that J could sleep. and he slept pretty much the whole way back. lots of cops on the interstate so no one was going 90 miles an hour through the Dust Bowls out there. no one sped past the Cow Killing Floor at Coalinga. for as desolate as it is out there, there's a lot to see if you travel a bit slower. lots of sad stuff to see. it is a horrible drive. and half the rest areas are now closed and barricaded.
i left the radio off and drove in silence the entire way back while my man and my little baby girl dog slept off the heat and agitation of southern california. i thought about what life has been, what it is, how it twirls. and with every mile gained closer to home, watching the temperature fall, and thinking of my paintings and my poems and my blog i was just so thankful. when i passed CalArts i thought NO as an option for grad school one day. too many bad memories in southern california for me and my little family. i don't ever want to live there again, even though CalArts holds some wonderful memories for me, one of the few places down there that do.
we got in the door at 11 last night and tumbled quickly in to bed. when our alarm went off this morning, i had to peel myself out of bed. now, here with my coffee and a new sun up in the air, i feel safe and happy and calm. tired, but no less happy as a result. glad to be home, glad for the life we've built, glad for the simplicity of it, the strength of it, and a renewed commitment to keep going, keep trying, and leave The Past where it belongs.
impromptu visit to southern california this weekend. family madness. this time from the other side. normally, it's my family that calls with the RUSH RUSH NOW NOW (and for very good reason lately), but this time it was my partner's and i owe him one. to tag along, at least, really is the least i can do. and that's exactly what he asked me for so that's exactly what i did. threw my jeans and notebook in a bag and grabbed the dog food. 500 miles in a car going down the horrible I-5 just to find out the situation isn't exactly what was told to you on the phone. madness, madness, madness. and MEAN. was anyone dying? no. were we told that death was on the horizon? yes. was that the real reason for the call? apparently not. CON. SCAM. and then the massive agitation, the sweep of deep sadness: learning that the people you haven't seen in 7 years haven't changed one bit... that the reason for such tremendous, unbreakable distance is a good one and obviously still necessary. but that is A Past that isn't mine to chronicle. suffice to say- sometimes even family must be cut away. i've had to do it too. for as much as it hurts, for as much as it offends common notions of "family", not all of us come from those kinds of families. not all of us were born with roses and white fences and kisses on the cheek. not every baby gets told 'i love you'. some families must splinter. some relations must be severed. it is a hard reality and not fun for anyone. some homes have to break so that there is at least the chance of survival, the chance of escape, the chance to find The Beginning of your own life, that site that so many people seem to take for granted, as a given. it isn't given to us all.
and so there we are, in the horrible heat of southern california. 110 degree (plus) weather and a black dog who only wants to pant in the shade and eat ice-cubes. the heat down there is dangerous for rottweilers and i was worried over my little one the entire time.
but it wasn't all bad. i got to see a pair of my old friends, some of the best i've ever had, some of the best people on the planet, people i count myself extremely lucky to know. we talked talked talked and she showed me Sweeny Todd (the one with Johnny Depp because i hadn't seen it yet) and The Mighty Boosh and lent me her copies of Persepolis and Embroideries. I will mail them back with my copy of A Child's Life by Pheobe Glockner.
we are friends that get nerdy together- graphic novels and musicals and lots of chips and salsa. :) and it felt like no time had passed. none at all. that's when you know you have a real friend, a real and true bond. and i said 'i love you' when i left and so did she and that feels wonderful and sweet and good. i think friends should say 'i love you' more often. i will make a point of doing that, for sure.
and then back up the I-5, me driving this time so that J could sleep. and he slept pretty much the whole way back. lots of cops on the interstate so no one was going 90 miles an hour through the Dust Bowls out there. no one sped past the Cow Killing Floor at Coalinga. for as desolate as it is out there, there's a lot to see if you travel a bit slower. lots of sad stuff to see. it is a horrible drive. and half the rest areas are now closed and barricaded.
i left the radio off and drove in silence the entire way back while my man and my little baby girl dog slept off the heat and agitation of southern california. i thought about what life has been, what it is, how it twirls. and with every mile gained closer to home, watching the temperature fall, and thinking of my paintings and my poems and my blog i was just so thankful. when i passed CalArts i thought NO as an option for grad school one day. too many bad memories in southern california for me and my little family. i don't ever want to live there again, even though CalArts holds some wonderful memories for me, one of the few places down there that do.
we got in the door at 11 last night and tumbled quickly in to bed. when our alarm went off this morning, i had to peel myself out of bed. now, here with my coffee and a new sun up in the air, i feel safe and happy and calm. tired, but no less happy as a result. glad to be home, glad for the life we've built, glad for the simplicity of it, the strength of it, and a renewed commitment to keep going, keep trying, and leave The Past where it belongs.
Jul 16, 2010
process process process
i am deep inside the documentation end of things and will be locked up taking pictures the entire weekend. whhhoooooweeeeee! i did not realize i had this much work to photograph! most of it is on paper, tucked away in one of my many portfolios that are all over the house, hidden behind the paintings that are leaning against the walls. and as i go through each portfolio and pull the work out, i see how strongly rooted my entire practice is in the act of drawing/writing.
maybe drawing and writing are similar in more ways than simply being on paper? i think so. definitely so.
there's an intimacy in both practices. a very deep degree of Search and Explore. paper, being a common and humble material, fosters an amazing level of privacy. and that privacy, as an experience, encourages a ton of bravery. paper is easy to hide. easy to lock away. and i think the diaristic attribute of that is something so valuable and courageous that, as i go through all this work, i bounce back and forth between opposing shudders of elation and embarrassment. ha! but embarrassment in a good way- a necessary exposure. work that does not pull it's punch and risks humiliation in order to go all the way. and that makes me feel great.
it helps me to see the all the work together. how, in spite of extreme shifts in stylistic approaches, all the work is rooted in the same concepts. whether it be oil on canvas or shoe prints on paper, it all comes up from the same well. it all grows in The Blackland and i think each piece lends itself to every other piece in a very nourishing, substantiating way. a very very VERY interesting conversation ensures when all this work is allowed to rub elbows with one another, for sure.
here's some "diary pages". the more i look at this sector of my practice, the more i like it and the more i want to lean deeper in to it. none of this work is titled yet and i'm not sure what i'll do with it. maybe nothing. maybe everything.
the 2nd one down has been following me around for 2 years now and, originally, i thought of it as some sort of sign for myself. i had it hanging in my studio and it would fall off the wall and i walked all over it a few times because i didn't think of it as art. but i guess getting a few pale shoe prints on it added something to the piece, gave it a new layer of meaning along with the dirt. :) i like it.
the 3rd piece was originally an art poster i got in the mail promoting an exhibition that i quickly redacted.
and the first piece was finished just yesterday. a mono-print of silver blowing leaves that i wrote all over. is it a drawing or a poem or a diary page? having those kinds of questions come up is exactly why i like it and why i like ART in general.
maybe drawing and writing are similar in more ways than simply being on paper? i think so. definitely so.
there's an intimacy in both practices. a very deep degree of Search and Explore. paper, being a common and humble material, fosters an amazing level of privacy. and that privacy, as an experience, encourages a ton of bravery. paper is easy to hide. easy to lock away. and i think the diaristic attribute of that is something so valuable and courageous that, as i go through all this work, i bounce back and forth between opposing shudders of elation and embarrassment. ha! but embarrassment in a good way- a necessary exposure. work that does not pull it's punch and risks humiliation in order to go all the way. and that makes me feel great.
it helps me to see the all the work together. how, in spite of extreme shifts in stylistic approaches, all the work is rooted in the same concepts. whether it be oil on canvas or shoe prints on paper, it all comes up from the same well. it all grows in The Blackland and i think each piece lends itself to every other piece in a very nourishing, substantiating way. a very very VERY interesting conversation ensures when all this work is allowed to rub elbows with one another, for sure.
here's some "diary pages". the more i look at this sector of my practice, the more i like it and the more i want to lean deeper in to it. none of this work is titled yet and i'm not sure what i'll do with it. maybe nothing. maybe everything.
the 2nd one down has been following me around for 2 years now and, originally, i thought of it as some sort of sign for myself. i had it hanging in my studio and it would fall off the wall and i walked all over it a few times because i didn't think of it as art. but i guess getting a few pale shoe prints on it added something to the piece, gave it a new layer of meaning along with the dirt. :) i like it.
the 3rd piece was originally an art poster i got in the mail promoting an exhibition that i quickly redacted.
and the first piece was finished just yesterday. a mono-print of silver blowing leaves that i wrote all over. is it a drawing or a poem or a diary page? having those kinds of questions come up is exactly why i like it and why i like ART in general.
Jul 15, 2010
me and louise
my buddy rebecca snapped this of me, scruffy and make-up-less, at SFMOMA and i'm so grateful for the token, for the archive of this experience. it serves as a reminder that i truly do need to follow my own heart and do this thing my way, a way that feels right for me.
it's about honesty.
when i look at louise bourgeois' work, her honesty and bravery radiate right of the surface of her objects. it radiates from the core on out. and standing so close to one of her sculptures, i felt the deep buzz of her love for her work and it was very hard not to touch it. in fact, i should have touched it. the only reason i didn't is the security team at SFMOMA are fanatical and watch every move you make so that they can tell you NO PENS ALLOWED! ONLY PENCIL!
and since the beginning of the year, i've been crawling deeper and deeper in to my own values and ethics when it comes to art and life. and the two subjects are so connected that they are basically the same thing. i want to be a smart artist. i want to be a brave artist. and honorable too.
the passed few days i've been trying to photograph finished drawings that have been hiding in one portfolio or another for quite some time. the grunt work of documentation, but also a very necessary step in the process of curation. because i live with the work and it isn't caged away in a separate studio space, i can easily lose track of what i've made. and this experience of going through the work piece by piece, laying it across every inch of my small cottage, crowding myself with all the black and white and nebulous greys is such an inspiring thing. i can see the lines that connect one work to another. i can see how far back these fault lines run. that i've always made portraits of some kind. the only thing that has changed is my idea of what a portrait is.
in a nut shell, each piece of mine is a portrait- of loss, of desire, of anger, confusion, longing, struggle, failure, and love.
the work is personal and the work exposes things that even i am surprised by sometimes. even the work i consider to be not "good enough" for public consumption, has such a steep value to it. the pieces that i struggled hard with, the work that never came easy and never really became what i wanted it to be, is the work that supplied the best learning curve. it's the work that taught me the most, showed me the most, and, like a good teacher, kicked my ass all over the place when i needed it. my Learning is evident in those pieces and, because of that, they are Good.
it's interesting how one's eyes change.
and i feel lucky that those pieces can have a voice every now and then here on the blog. there's really no such thing as "failure". it's a false construct. it's a lie. Learning is not failure.
.
.
.
i'm learning a lot these days... and sometimes i get tired, sometimes i get mad, sometimes i am totally frustrated and confused. and then the next morning arrives and i scribble away in my notebook and some sort of answer or brightness falls out of my pen and i find a way to proceed. when i feel especially lost, i spend time with the work of artists i admire. louise is at the top of the list. i am currently trying to leech some of her bravery, some of her gnarly french fuck-off attitude. i love the way she lived her life. i love the way she never gave her power away. i love how she stood, secure and strong, on the foundation of her beliefs- the things she believed to be important about art and life. she was unshakable and didn't give a shit if anyone agreed with her.
talk about faith.
talk about courage.
what a gift that woman is.
it's about honesty.
when i look at louise bourgeois' work, her honesty and bravery radiate right of the surface of her objects. it radiates from the core on out. and standing so close to one of her sculptures, i felt the deep buzz of her love for her work and it was very hard not to touch it. in fact, i should have touched it. the only reason i didn't is the security team at SFMOMA are fanatical and watch every move you make so that they can tell you NO PENS ALLOWED! ONLY PENCIL!
and since the beginning of the year, i've been crawling deeper and deeper in to my own values and ethics when it comes to art and life. and the two subjects are so connected that they are basically the same thing. i want to be a smart artist. i want to be a brave artist. and honorable too.
the passed few days i've been trying to photograph finished drawings that have been hiding in one portfolio or another for quite some time. the grunt work of documentation, but also a very necessary step in the process of curation. because i live with the work and it isn't caged away in a separate studio space, i can easily lose track of what i've made. and this experience of going through the work piece by piece, laying it across every inch of my small cottage, crowding myself with all the black and white and nebulous greys is such an inspiring thing. i can see the lines that connect one work to another. i can see how far back these fault lines run. that i've always made portraits of some kind. the only thing that has changed is my idea of what a portrait is.
in a nut shell, each piece of mine is a portrait- of loss, of desire, of anger, confusion, longing, struggle, failure, and love.
the work is personal and the work exposes things that even i am surprised by sometimes. even the work i consider to be not "good enough" for public consumption, has such a steep value to it. the pieces that i struggled hard with, the work that never came easy and never really became what i wanted it to be, is the work that supplied the best learning curve. it's the work that taught me the most, showed me the most, and, like a good teacher, kicked my ass all over the place when i needed it. my Learning is evident in those pieces and, because of that, they are Good.
it's interesting how one's eyes change.
and i feel lucky that those pieces can have a voice every now and then here on the blog. there's really no such thing as "failure". it's a false construct. it's a lie. Learning is not failure.
.
.
.
i'm learning a lot these days... and sometimes i get tired, sometimes i get mad, sometimes i am totally frustrated and confused. and then the next morning arrives and i scribble away in my notebook and some sort of answer or brightness falls out of my pen and i find a way to proceed. when i feel especially lost, i spend time with the work of artists i admire. louise is at the top of the list. i am currently trying to leech some of her bravery, some of her gnarly french fuck-off attitude. i love the way she lived her life. i love the way she never gave her power away. i love how she stood, secure and strong, on the foundation of her beliefs- the things she believed to be important about art and life. she was unshakable and didn't give a shit if anyone agreed with her.
talk about faith.
talk about courage.
what a gift that woman is.
Jul 14, 2010
my love. my beloved. for you. a testament.
.
,+15x11,+mixed+media+on+paper,+angela+simione+2010.JPG)
precious violin (for Louise Bourgeois)
15" x 11"
mixed media on paper
silver gouache and graphite. lovely. and after standing with her "spider" at SFMOMA last week, my heart opens with such gratitude for her work and to have come alive in an age where she was working. such ferocity and beauty. she is a force like no other.
,+15x11,+mixed+media+on+paper,+angela+simione+2010.JPG)
precious violin (for Louise Bourgeois)
15" x 11"
mixed media on paper
silver gouache and graphite. lovely. and after standing with her "spider" at SFMOMA last week, my heart opens with such gratitude for her work and to have come alive in an age where she was working. such ferocity and beauty. she is a force like no other.
Jul 13, 2010
two days
or three... if you count the rest of today. that's what you've got if you want/need to submit work to the Plath Project poet Christine Hamm in putting together. check it out here.
this is an awesome project. one that really needs to happen. submit! submit! submit!
this is an awesome project. one that really needs to happen. submit! submit! submit!
okay okay okay
time to get back to the regularly scheduled program.
i must. my routine is too damn precious to be allowed to spiral. it really is. i'm the kind of person that needs structure within a day... even if i don't like it, even if that structure is easy and joyful, i need it. i need to get out of bed at the same time every morning and go make coffee, go write in my notebook, obey The Almighty Jog, and then go to work. too many days spent away from the schedule tends to make me feel like i'm lacking something. and of course, when hard hours hit, the schedule seems to be the very first thing sacrificed.
sometimes, that's necessary. but sometimes, it's caused by sadness and fear. and when the latter is the case, abandoning The Routine makes a day more chaotic than it might have been.
the weird and inexplicable events of late were definitely a bit distracting but, after touring SFMOMA with my friend, everything felt right in the world again. i felt such a deep joy and freshness within myself standing in front of those gorgeous, gorgeous paintings. and it gave me the strength to look at my own work with a stiffer resolve... and also the direction i need to move in. there's an un-fun business decision on the back-burner, on the horizon, that, though based in positivity, is never the less sort of daunting and sad. and on the heels of this, comes some very scary, very serious news about my family member who is currently fighting cancer. the great sweeping wind of resolve that found me when i was standing in that cathedral of a museum, effectively blew off somewhere else and yesterday i was pretty much derailed and depressed. i went running. i took a shower. i working on a drawing for a few hours. that was pretty much it. when J got home, we vegged out in front of the TV and watched a harry potter movie. not normally my cup of tea, but it did the trick. i was distracted from the hard hours and allowed to feel something other, something lighter, than this weight of fear- the weight of The Unknown. and i'm all the better for it this morning.
i have my cup of coffee and i've done my scribbling and i'm picking up my schedule. i wrote 15 minutes on my forearm to remind me how to proceed today- 15 minutes at a time, if need be. i am no longer feeling crushed and sucker punched. i am surrounded by paintings that i care about, paintings i believe in, that i can see are Good, and i am sitting inside faith today rather than fear.
i'll take a long, long run this morning. it has become such a private and beautiful act. completely like prayer. i will let it do its good work so that i may do mine.
good morning.
i've missed you. :)
i must. my routine is too damn precious to be allowed to spiral. it really is. i'm the kind of person that needs structure within a day... even if i don't like it, even if that structure is easy and joyful, i need it. i need to get out of bed at the same time every morning and go make coffee, go write in my notebook, obey The Almighty Jog, and then go to work. too many days spent away from the schedule tends to make me feel like i'm lacking something. and of course, when hard hours hit, the schedule seems to be the very first thing sacrificed.
sometimes, that's necessary. but sometimes, it's caused by sadness and fear. and when the latter is the case, abandoning The Routine makes a day more chaotic than it might have been.
the weird and inexplicable events of late were definitely a bit distracting but, after touring SFMOMA with my friend, everything felt right in the world again. i felt such a deep joy and freshness within myself standing in front of those gorgeous, gorgeous paintings. and it gave me the strength to look at my own work with a stiffer resolve... and also the direction i need to move in. there's an un-fun business decision on the back-burner, on the horizon, that, though based in positivity, is never the less sort of daunting and sad. and on the heels of this, comes some very scary, very serious news about my family member who is currently fighting cancer. the great sweeping wind of resolve that found me when i was standing in that cathedral of a museum, effectively blew off somewhere else and yesterday i was pretty much derailed and depressed. i went running. i took a shower. i working on a drawing for a few hours. that was pretty much it. when J got home, we vegged out in front of the TV and watched a harry potter movie. not normally my cup of tea, but it did the trick. i was distracted from the hard hours and allowed to feel something other, something lighter, than this weight of fear- the weight of The Unknown. and i'm all the better for it this morning.
i have my cup of coffee and i've done my scribbling and i'm picking up my schedule. i wrote 15 minutes on my forearm to remind me how to proceed today- 15 minutes at a time, if need be. i am no longer feeling crushed and sucker punched. i am surrounded by paintings that i care about, paintings i believe in, that i can see are Good, and i am sitting inside faith today rather than fear.
i'll take a long, long run this morning. it has become such a private and beautiful act. completely like prayer. i will let it do its good work so that i may do mine.
good morning.
i've missed you. :)
Jul 10, 2010
weird world
we spent the evening with the work of some our favorite artists: our beloved ed ruscha and anselm kiefer and gerhard richter and barbara kruger and louise bourgeois. we stayed at the museum until closing, bought postcards, and i whispered to my friend "see. i, too, have a church." and she emphatically agreed. and we left as opposite selves, totally cleansed of the stress we had carried in with us. we left calm and light.
museum trips are amazing things.
and on the freeway heading home around 2am, 3 car-loads of cops pulled a man over right in front of me. pulled him over in such a way that they blocked the freeway so i had to stop too. and before i knew what was going on, all the cops were out of their cars, using the car doors as shields, weapons drawn, all of them screaming. and i was right there. right behind them. right in the spot where a stray bullet would go. so i hunched over sideways and peeked up just a little. this went on for 10 minutes or so. more and more cops showed up. once they got the man out of the car and in cuffs, they waved us through. and at the next 5 exits, i noticed there was a squad car at each and every one. i have no clue who that man was but he obviously commands a lot of attention. it was all strange and sad and a bit scary. i've never seen that many cops yelling all at once before. and i've definitely never been in a situation where a cop had to get a rifle out.
that was the wee hours of friday morning.
freakish.
a very odd pairing of events inside the same day.
museum trips are amazing things.
and on the freeway heading home around 2am, 3 car-loads of cops pulled a man over right in front of me. pulled him over in such a way that they blocked the freeway so i had to stop too. and before i knew what was going on, all the cops were out of their cars, using the car doors as shields, weapons drawn, all of them screaming. and i was right there. right behind them. right in the spot where a stray bullet would go. so i hunched over sideways and peeked up just a little. this went on for 10 minutes or so. more and more cops showed up. once they got the man out of the car and in cuffs, they waved us through. and at the next 5 exits, i noticed there was a squad car at each and every one. i have no clue who that man was but he obviously commands a lot of attention. it was all strange and sad and a bit scary. i've never seen that many cops yelling all at once before. and i've definitely never been in a situation where a cop had to get a rifle out.
that was the wee hours of friday morning.
freakish.
a very odd pairing of events inside the same day.
.jpg)
Jul 7, 2010
here she is!
.
,+66x30,+mixed+media+on+paper,+angela+simione++2010.JPG)
middle child (2)
66" x 30"
mixed media on paper
angela simione, 2010
you can sort of see the sky sparkles. glittery paint is hard to capture in a photograph! but the rest of the work is all graphite.
p.s. the larger the work, the smaller the picture. :/ i need to invest in a better camera soon.
,+66x30,+mixed+media+on+paper,+angela+simione++2010.JPG)
middle child (2)
66" x 30"
mixed media on paper
angela simione, 2010
you can sort of see the sky sparkles. glittery paint is hard to capture in a photograph! but the rest of the work is all graphite.
p.s. the larger the work, the smaller the picture. :/ i need to invest in a better camera soon.
waking
i need to finish my essay about kate zambreno's book soon. all the weirdo hoopla around here lately has been very distracting. and then the long weekend of sirens sirens sirens, drunk people driving off of cliffs or smashing in to trees. wine-country is the land of the road-side memorial. it is sad. it is heart-breaking. it makes me want to hug everyone all the time.
but i am finally shrugging off the new tensions and getting back to my regularly scheduled program of writing, reading, painting, drawing, writing, reading, painting, drawing. i finished a big ice-berg drawing yesterday. it's the same size as the tire-swing. i'll photograph it soon. i've been bad about documentation lately. and tonight i'm going to go have a slumber party with my friend becca in the city. she's back in town, up from the southern california beaches, and ready to laugh and laugh and laugh and suck up that wonderful san francisco fog. and so am i. i think it's been almost 6 months since we've seen each other. and i absolutely love being in the same room with other artistic women. love. i love the friendship that arises out of that dynamic. a friendship based in crazy discussion. ethics and aesthetics and belief in the power of art. a friendship born of the shared belief that art is important and meaningful and relevant to daily life. it's amazing. and that's the part of going to art-school that i miss the most: daily conversation about aesthetics and relevance and the push/pull of images and words. ideas everywhere. that's probably why i like the blogging community so much- the continued engagement with ideas and aspirations and loves and The Struggle.
it's a cold morning here. my finger tips actually feel a little numb. the seasons have been strange this year. but i have my coffee mug to warm them by and soon a long, loved run to take. my dreams from last night are still very much on me. odd feelings and a light anxiety. i will jump in to a painting or a book for a few hours before i head out to the city. lose myself in my love for these things. swim.
but i am finally shrugging off the new tensions and getting back to my regularly scheduled program of writing, reading, painting, drawing, writing, reading, painting, drawing. i finished a big ice-berg drawing yesterday. it's the same size as the tire-swing. i'll photograph it soon. i've been bad about documentation lately. and tonight i'm going to go have a slumber party with my friend becca in the city. she's back in town, up from the southern california beaches, and ready to laugh and laugh and laugh and suck up that wonderful san francisco fog. and so am i. i think it's been almost 6 months since we've seen each other. and i absolutely love being in the same room with other artistic women. love. i love the friendship that arises out of that dynamic. a friendship based in crazy discussion. ethics and aesthetics and belief in the power of art. a friendship born of the shared belief that art is important and meaningful and relevant to daily life. it's amazing. and that's the part of going to art-school that i miss the most: daily conversation about aesthetics and relevance and the push/pull of images and words. ideas everywhere. that's probably why i like the blogging community so much- the continued engagement with ideas and aspirations and loves and The Struggle.
it's a cold morning here. my finger tips actually feel a little numb. the seasons have been strange this year. but i have my coffee mug to warm them by and soon a long, loved run to take. my dreams from last night are still very much on me. odd feelings and a light anxiety. i will jump in to a painting or a book for a few hours before i head out to the city. lose myself in my love for these things. swim.
Jul 5, 2010
grace
my heart changes pace and structure quick the passed few days.
taut and then slack. taut and then slack.
full of thanks, full of longing.
full of confused desires and wants for the world to be a better place...
for people to be kind and compassionate and just.
and honest.
mostly, i wish for honesty. and the courage to be that every step of the way.
and right now, as my heart twists and becomes anxious, i go and read Ariana Reines blog, the story that is there right now and the running theme of mortality and i am overcome by her gentleness and jagged love.
and our fair liege Radish King, has here incredible poems up today at Everyday Genius. go see! go see! and get racked by her fearlessness. her true and honest and unafraid hands on the pen. she goes where few writers do and it is always tremendous, always full of the ache of the world, the ache of our hearts.
and then all the hearts that grace my path here.
the electronic hands that come and tap out beauty on my life.
i am grateful for all the good you bring. it is beyond welcome, beyond gorgeous.
taut and then slack. taut and then slack.
full of thanks, full of longing.
full of confused desires and wants for the world to be a better place...
for people to be kind and compassionate and just.
and honest.
mostly, i wish for honesty. and the courage to be that every step of the way.
and right now, as my heart twists and becomes anxious, i go and read Ariana Reines blog, the story that is there right now and the running theme of mortality and i am overcome by her gentleness and jagged love.
and our fair liege Radish King, has here incredible poems up today at Everyday Genius. go see! go see! and get racked by her fearlessness. her true and honest and unafraid hands on the pen. she goes where few writers do and it is always tremendous, always full of the ache of the world, the ache of our hearts.
and then all the hearts that grace my path here.
the electronic hands that come and tap out beauty on my life.
i am grateful for all the good you bring. it is beyond welcome, beyond gorgeous.
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 2, 2010
done.
today has been a running, writing, reading, thinking day:
thoughts about 'writing'.
thoughts about 'reading'.
i ran 3 miles and have been yawning a lot.
i feel quiet and tired.
i want to lay in bed under the day shade and day-dream awhile. look at my paintings on the wall and flip through my notebooks. rest. wonder.
this week was a wearing one. i feel worn.
and i am wearing one of jared's big t-shirts. i look like a little kid. i want to wear it because it is his.
yawning and stretching
this always-a-little-bit-older body.
this is a perfect evening for books in bed.
thoughts about 'writing'.
thoughts about 'reading'.
i ran 3 miles and have been yawning a lot.
i feel quiet and tired.
i want to lay in bed under the day shade and day-dream awhile. look at my paintings on the wall and flip through my notebooks. rest. wonder.
this week was a wearing one. i feel worn.
and i am wearing one of jared's big t-shirts. i look like a little kid. i want to wear it because it is his.
yawning and stretching
this always-a-little-bit-older body.
this is a perfect evening for books in bed.
Jul 1, 2010
my practice has multiple personality disorder
today is all headless dolls and glitter...
fixed stars
22" x 30"
mixed media on paper
angela simione, 2010
the little dots all around their feet are orbs of gold and black glitter on a velvet ground of black gouache. their shoes are bright, sparkling silver.
shining things are hard to photograph.
i'm thinking of sylvia plath and wanting to read The Bell Jar. again. :)
the title comes from her poem "Words".
fixed stars
22" x 30"
mixed media on paper
angela simione, 2010
the little dots all around their feet are orbs of gold and black glitter on a velvet ground of black gouache. their shoes are bright, sparkling silver.
shining things are hard to photograph.
i'm thinking of sylvia plath and wanting to read The Bell Jar. again. :)
the title comes from her poem "Words".
poem
*
she wants to know about the wings we hide.
she wants to know if there is blood involved.
(her question is a speculum)
-
she asks questions.
the whole world goes
black and white
like a photograph,
like a Victorian.
-
once a month i find
blackberries on the inside.
-
when i'm thirsty, i drink my milk
straight from the gallon jug.
let it spill across
my face. my entire life
trying to suckle, stains
reaching down the front of my shirt.
-
she asks questions.
i want to take my clothes off.
show her
the Daughter Body.
hair growling
at her rosy hope. her
misty concern.
-
thin lines etched in white
across skin stretched too hard
around and across
new hips during puberty.
the marks i hide.
the marks i am ashamed of. surfaces
i know are ugly.
-
she asks questions.
when i'm sad, i can't keep the wings hidden.
-
there is blood and yellow
milk stains. accidents
drying toward black.
i wash and wash and once
a month i find
blackberries crushed
on the bread of my thighs.
*
she wants to know about the wings we hide.
she wants to know if there is blood involved.
(her question is a speculum)
-
she asks questions.
the whole world goes
black and white
like a photograph,
like a Victorian.
-
once a month i find
blackberries on the inside.
-
when i'm thirsty, i drink my milk
straight from the gallon jug.
let it spill across
my face. my entire life
trying to suckle, stains
reaching down the front of my shirt.
-
she asks questions.
i want to take my clothes off.
show her
the Daughter Body.
hair growling
at her rosy hope. her
misty concern.
-
thin lines etched in white
across skin stretched too hard
around and across
new hips during puberty.
the marks i hide.
the marks i am ashamed of. surfaces
i know are ugly.
-
she asks questions.
when i'm sad, i can't keep the wings hidden.
-
there is blood and yellow
milk stains. accidents
drying toward black.
i wash and wash and once
a month i find
blackberries crushed
on the bread of my thighs.
*
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