i've posted this video before but it's fits well with this day and the post below.
.
Sep 30, 2010
honey and agony
last night, i went to bed feeling pretty happy and satisfied; and today, i woke up feeling the exact same way. i wonder if it's the tea and honey?
i started doing a bit of research on honey because i got scared i was somehow thwarting my own attempt to kick as much refined sugar out of my life as possible (mainly, all that delicious hazelnut creamer i dump in coffee). turns out, honey is super healthy for us. as is tea. and i totally had my limited knowledge about tea and coffee all mixed up and backward- i though tea had more caffeine in it than coffee. nope! coffee has twice, some times 3 times, the amount of caffeine that tea does. though i wasn't at all concerned about caffeine consumption when i decided to step away from coffee and i'm still not concerned. it's a myth that caffeine is dehydrating unless you're consuming mass quantities of it in one sitting. but excess is excess, and even water can kill a human if they drink too much of it all at once. which was a very strange thing to learn.
it's mainly all about sugar for me. and the natural sugars inside honey are totally healthy and packed with antioxidants (cancer preventative) and every single bit of honey is put to use by the body. and, even though it's got calories, the calories aren't empty- they are easily converted in to heat and energy for the body and it's even recommended that people eat a spoonful of honey before working out. not just for the energy boost, but it also prevents muscle fatigue. as a runner, this is really good to know!
all this to say, my decision to get away from coffee and all the sugar-cream i dump in it has provided a very happy accident! a positive faux-pas! yay!
and another reason this is all so exciting to me is that i wasn't really taught that many healthy behaviors and decision-making skills growing up. i really wasn't. and i'm not mad about that- most people truly are doing the best they can under their particular set of circumstances. and the circumstances of my childhood were pretty heavy. and what that means for me now is that i have to unlearn certain behaviors and attitude and figure out how to teach myself how to treat myself well and with respect. especially when it comes to my body.
i was never involved in any type of team sport when i was in school. i was not at all interested. NOT. i thought those girls were jerks. haha! (sorry girls. i was angsty and shy.) i though high school was the worst place on earth. and it kinda is for a lot of kids. high school sucks. it's probably always sucked and i couldn't wait to graduate so i'd never have to go back. and for anyone in the audience who might still be in high school and hating it- my life got so much better after high school. so much better! and my teenage notion that high school society is ridiculous was instantly confirmed once i left and was out in the work world and on a college campus. the point being: if i didn't have to participate in something i hated, i didn't. and, though that sentiment is actually a pretty good one, i never really took (or saw) the opportunity to take care of myself in meaningful ways when it came to my body. i was much much MUCH more focused on taking care of my brain and my spirit. it didn't occur to me until much further down the road that the brain is a body part like any other and that, on days when i felt incapable of taking care of my brain, i could choose to take care of my body... and thereby get myself in a much better mood and a much more creative place as well. a rush of oxygen to the brain makes us more alert, more focused, and more creative. had i known that back then, i might've had a different opinion about exercise.
but, truth be told, i'm just not that in to sports. i'm just not. i've tried to be and i've failed. it's just not something that has ever come close to capturing my heart.
and then the other morning, my sweetheart was watching Sports Center before heading off to work and a program about running came on. the reporter described running as a "sport of agony". that phrase definitely captured my heart. ha! first, i was wrapped up in this idea of agony. is it agonizing? do i feel like i'm in agony when i run? am i an agony glutton? an agony addict? OH, all the lovely masochistic questions! ;) and then my mind turned to the other word: sport. running is a sport??? i had never thought of running that way. not once. but on my runs since, i've been thinking about it... how when one runs, one is competing with/against oneself. how it is only dedication and willpower that makes you finish the run. how i put myself instantly in to a measured and rhythmic cycle of breathing, get myself inside a day-dream, and ignore whatever pain or discomfort that might be taking place in my legs. the zone, as they call it. time falls away. i look at the light of the day. i dream as i breathe. ideas float in and out. and some of the best ideas i've ever had come to me while i'm running. and if i can stay locked inside those great ideas, i do not notice any pain in the body. it's when i don't let my mind go that i become cognizant of the agony of the run. it's when i focus on my legs rather than on my life or letting my imagination spin, that it becomes an agonizing thing to do. and that is the competition itself. to overcome oneself and keep moving. one more stride, one more stride, one more stride.
this is a metaphor (and practice) i am trying to apply to art as well.
do i feel agonized by art? sometimes, yes.
can art be talked about in terms of the phrase "a sport of agony"? yes! it definitely can be!
especially when i think about art as competing with/against oneself. when i think of how painful it can become, how agonizing, how hard, when i focus on the wrong thing. when i don't allow myself, for whatever reason, to get locked in to an idea i love. when i look somewhere else instead. when i compare my stride to the stride of others.
when i compare my stride, i'm not doing what i should be doing. i'm no longer competing with myself, i'm competing with someone else. i've made someone an adversary. someone i could be choosing to learn from or even just be excited for. but instead, seeing it as a competition leads to jealousy. envy. all sorts of self-mockery and hate and disillusionment. and all that amounts to is becoming Unfocused.
my stride is my stride. my breath is my breath. my work is my work.
i noticed a long time ago that when i am diligent about running, i'm diligent about art too. it's scientific for sure. a biological event. that rush of oxygen to the brain making me more creative, more alert, more excited. it is a spoonful of honey that way. it keep the fatigue at bay and i can just go.
i love the connections between things. i love that they are everywhere. and i love that i'm getting to a place where they are easier to see. i'm teaching myself some very healthy things. things that are tailored to me and the type of life i'm attempting. it takes time but i'm on my way. and on days when i'm feeling disappointed in life, this is all very good stuff to remember. that even making the decision to eat some honey is a healthy one and that i've done something good for myself. a small action that can lead to tremendous benefits if i just find ways to keep doing it.
and the same thing goes for all our paintings and poems too, friends. it really does. it's hard to keep my eyes on that fact some days but i'm learning, now, how to do that. and if an art practice is anything, it's learning how to keep coming back to the ideas we are compelled by and locking ourselves in to them and not measuring ourselves by the ideas of others. it is teaching ourselves how to sustain a Mighty Run.
find some honey. ;)
i started doing a bit of research on honey because i got scared i was somehow thwarting my own attempt to kick as much refined sugar out of my life as possible (mainly, all that delicious hazelnut creamer i dump in coffee). turns out, honey is super healthy for us. as is tea. and i totally had my limited knowledge about tea and coffee all mixed up and backward- i though tea had more caffeine in it than coffee. nope! coffee has twice, some times 3 times, the amount of caffeine that tea does. though i wasn't at all concerned about caffeine consumption when i decided to step away from coffee and i'm still not concerned. it's a myth that caffeine is dehydrating unless you're consuming mass quantities of it in one sitting. but excess is excess, and even water can kill a human if they drink too much of it all at once. which was a very strange thing to learn.
it's mainly all about sugar for me. and the natural sugars inside honey are totally healthy and packed with antioxidants (cancer preventative) and every single bit of honey is put to use by the body. and, even though it's got calories, the calories aren't empty- they are easily converted in to heat and energy for the body and it's even recommended that people eat a spoonful of honey before working out. not just for the energy boost, but it also prevents muscle fatigue. as a runner, this is really good to know!
all this to say, my decision to get away from coffee and all the sugar-cream i dump in it has provided a very happy accident! a positive faux-pas! yay!
and another reason this is all so exciting to me is that i wasn't really taught that many healthy behaviors and decision-making skills growing up. i really wasn't. and i'm not mad about that- most people truly are doing the best they can under their particular set of circumstances. and the circumstances of my childhood were pretty heavy. and what that means for me now is that i have to unlearn certain behaviors and attitude and figure out how to teach myself how to treat myself well and with respect. especially when it comes to my body.
i was never involved in any type of team sport when i was in school. i was not at all interested. NOT. i thought those girls were jerks. haha! (sorry girls. i was angsty and shy.) i though high school was the worst place on earth. and it kinda is for a lot of kids. high school sucks. it's probably always sucked and i couldn't wait to graduate so i'd never have to go back. and for anyone in the audience who might still be in high school and hating it- my life got so much better after high school. so much better! and my teenage notion that high school society is ridiculous was instantly confirmed once i left and was out in the work world and on a college campus. the point being: if i didn't have to participate in something i hated, i didn't. and, though that sentiment is actually a pretty good one, i never really took (or saw) the opportunity to take care of myself in meaningful ways when it came to my body. i was much much MUCH more focused on taking care of my brain and my spirit. it didn't occur to me until much further down the road that the brain is a body part like any other and that, on days when i felt incapable of taking care of my brain, i could choose to take care of my body... and thereby get myself in a much better mood and a much more creative place as well. a rush of oxygen to the brain makes us more alert, more focused, and more creative. had i known that back then, i might've had a different opinion about exercise.
but, truth be told, i'm just not that in to sports. i'm just not. i've tried to be and i've failed. it's just not something that has ever come close to capturing my heart.
and then the other morning, my sweetheart was watching Sports Center before heading off to work and a program about running came on. the reporter described running as a "sport of agony". that phrase definitely captured my heart. ha! first, i was wrapped up in this idea of agony. is it agonizing? do i feel like i'm in agony when i run? am i an agony glutton? an agony addict? OH, all the lovely masochistic questions! ;) and then my mind turned to the other word: sport. running is a sport??? i had never thought of running that way. not once. but on my runs since, i've been thinking about it... how when one runs, one is competing with/against oneself. how it is only dedication and willpower that makes you finish the run. how i put myself instantly in to a measured and rhythmic cycle of breathing, get myself inside a day-dream, and ignore whatever pain or discomfort that might be taking place in my legs. the zone, as they call it. time falls away. i look at the light of the day. i dream as i breathe. ideas float in and out. and some of the best ideas i've ever had come to me while i'm running. and if i can stay locked inside those great ideas, i do not notice any pain in the body. it's when i don't let my mind go that i become cognizant of the agony of the run. it's when i focus on my legs rather than on my life or letting my imagination spin, that it becomes an agonizing thing to do. and that is the competition itself. to overcome oneself and keep moving. one more stride, one more stride, one more stride.
this is a metaphor (and practice) i am trying to apply to art as well.
do i feel agonized by art? sometimes, yes.
can art be talked about in terms of the phrase "a sport of agony"? yes! it definitely can be!
especially when i think about art as competing with/against oneself. when i think of how painful it can become, how agonizing, how hard, when i focus on the wrong thing. when i don't allow myself, for whatever reason, to get locked in to an idea i love. when i look somewhere else instead. when i compare my stride to the stride of others.
when i compare my stride, i'm not doing what i should be doing. i'm no longer competing with myself, i'm competing with someone else. i've made someone an adversary. someone i could be choosing to learn from or even just be excited for. but instead, seeing it as a competition leads to jealousy. envy. all sorts of self-mockery and hate and disillusionment. and all that amounts to is becoming Unfocused.
my stride is my stride. my breath is my breath. my work is my work.
i noticed a long time ago that when i am diligent about running, i'm diligent about art too. it's scientific for sure. a biological event. that rush of oxygen to the brain making me more creative, more alert, more excited. it is a spoonful of honey that way. it keep the fatigue at bay and i can just go.
i love the connections between things. i love that they are everywhere. and i love that i'm getting to a place where they are easier to see. i'm teaching myself some very healthy things. things that are tailored to me and the type of life i'm attempting. it takes time but i'm on my way. and on days when i'm feeling disappointed in life, this is all very good stuff to remember. that even making the decision to eat some honey is a healthy one and that i've done something good for myself. a small action that can lead to tremendous benefits if i just find ways to keep doing it.
and the same thing goes for all our paintings and poems too, friends. it really does. it's hard to keep my eyes on that fact some days but i'm learning, now, how to do that. and if an art practice is anything, it's learning how to keep coming back to the ideas we are compelled by and locking ourselves in to them and not measuring ourselves by the ideas of others. it is teaching ourselves how to sustain a Mighty Run.
find some honey. ;)
Sep 29, 2010
morning
the light on the other side of the window has shifted from blue to yellow.
in an hour, i will run.
my long mornings begin to move quickly now.
it stays dark a bit longer: the earth on its axis. seasons shifting around each other. the grapes are dying. the odd resurgence of summer heat as we hit the turn in to autumn.
the harvest this year will be a bad one.
but it is no less beautiful.
and i own no vineyard.
i have the freedom to run through a deep stretch of their winding leaves. the man who owns the land says the bright red NO TRESPASSING signs do not apply to me. he is kind and a gentleman. i take the paths as my own. i sweat.
i have the vultures and crows. they are the deepest, most luxurious black. they shine, perched on the stakes at the ends of the rows. they don't move as i approach and i can feel the pull of their black eyes. eyes so black they become absent. and i can feel the pull of their absent fear. a fluttering non-chalance. regal, unconsumed. other.
big black birds are not daunted by this world. or this girl. i love them for both those reasons and more.
earl grey with honey in my cup.
the light goes on bending.
in an hour, i will run.
my long mornings begin to move quickly now.
it stays dark a bit longer: the earth on its axis. seasons shifting around each other. the grapes are dying. the odd resurgence of summer heat as we hit the turn in to autumn.
the harvest this year will be a bad one.
but it is no less beautiful.
and i own no vineyard.
i have the freedom to run through a deep stretch of their winding leaves. the man who owns the land says the bright red NO TRESPASSING signs do not apply to me. he is kind and a gentleman. i take the paths as my own. i sweat.
i have the vultures and crows. they are the deepest, most luxurious black. they shine, perched on the stakes at the ends of the rows. they don't move as i approach and i can feel the pull of their black eyes. eyes so black they become absent. and i can feel the pull of their absent fear. a fluttering non-chalance. regal, unconsumed. other.
big black birds are not daunted by this world. or this girl. i love them for both those reasons and more.
earl grey with honey in my cup.
the light goes on bending.
Sep 28, 2010
life's work
i've been thinking a lot about limits lately. and art.
perceived limits.
how all the artists and writers i admire have highly multi-faceted practices. they don't just write or just paint. they embrace a wide definition of what art is and can be. and what it can be made with. and i'm so attracted to that. i'm so compelled. just turned ON but that expansive, inclusive, generous view.
and then a few nay-sayers arrive and start trying to infect me with all sorts of dualities that i simply don't agree with, that i find no real foundation for. the nay-sayers that shout oil paintings are better than drawings and why would you waste time crocheting when you could be painting and writing? i thought you were a painter?
for awhile, these interferences accomplished just that: interference. but i've decided that part of being an artists is simply being yourself and ignoring all that chatter. because those nay-saying remarks, those limits, those expectations are not critique. and therefore need to be thrown out and turned a blind eye.
the really wonderful, happy circumstance of my life at present is that i have no one to answer to, no one to argue with about these things, no one to sell my ideas about art to. i can sit, alone and quiet, and hear the crunch of the road i'm on. i can find a site of stillness where i know, beyond any doubt, that i am moving in the right direction for me, for my practice. and it's become important to track down like-minded people who really do truly care about the job artists do and believe in its relevance. this blog has been absolutely wonderful in that regard. completely. my instances of fear and doubt are becoming less and less frequent as a result of this practice, this weird electronic landscape.
but is it weird? it doesn't feel weird. i take it back. it feels good. it feels happy.
thank you for travelling over to Gaga Stigmata yesterday. i hope you liked the work. i hope they are good images regardless of what your art opinion is of Lady Gaga. she's become very interesting to me in the passed few months. very compelling. the image she's made. the images she continues to make. and there's just something about that Hair Bow.
also, when it comes to music, anytime someone gets labeled "poison for the minds of our youth", you can be sure i'm going to take a better look at what they're up to. ;) and it's especially scary to me that she's been labeled as such when her dominant message is to love oneself.
but i guess that is a dangerous message somehow... if we all loved ourselves a little bit more (love, the opposite of indulgence) we probably wouldn't waste time caring about the kind of car we drive or who has the hottest boyfriend or how thick our wallets are. if we all loved ourselves a little bit more, our social values would definitely begin to shift. education and culture and walking through life with respect and kindness... ethics... would become much more prevalent and important within our society. maybe even come to be viewed as necessities?
somehow this all leads back to DIY culture in my mind. how it shatters a lot of those perceived limits. how it is the best antidote to consumer culture available to us right now. relying, every step of the way, on buying survival puts me in a very weak position. and i'm talking about the basics- food, shelter, clothing. i have to buy a place to live and buy the food i eat and buy the clothes i need to cover my body. i have no choice but to participate in the system.
wrong.
after making the most recent banner, i realized that i already have a skill that can be used to satisfy one of my basic needs- clothing. and with autumn's arrival, i decided that rather than buy sweaters and scarves, etc, etc, etc... i'll make my own. i'll buy yarn instead. and lead a more artful, more creative, more compassionate life that way. i want the objects in my life to have some type of meaning... and i just don't find the meaning i'm looking for in mass-production. can i find a way to love myself enough to figure out how to be less reliant on a system that keeps artists down? yes i can. i totally can. it takes time but i've become willing to spend my evenings with my crochet hook (and learn to knit too!) so that i don't have to buy a blanket or buy a pair of mittens. i'd rather give cash to the people who make the supplies with which i can use to build (truly build, with my own two hands) a life that i love and feels good. making my own sweaters is a good way to begin. it's a start. it's a start that takes a stand too. and i think artists and craftsmen who do this need to be supported as well. i think it's wonderful to buy t-shirts and stuff like that from the artists on etsy and places like that. a t-shirt can carry a lot of meaning sometimes.
i'm not going to choose between painting and drawing and crocheting and writing. i'm going to do them all. i love them all and they all feed each other. having a wide practice makes life more interesting, more beautifully complex. it erases dualities and strictures and just opens the world up. a sweater could be Art, for sure. a sweater can operate as a billboard. just like the banners do. fashion is Art, so why not?
one of my favorite art pieces ever is Jenny Holzer's t-shirt project. body as billboard, clothing as a warning label. i love it.
talk about a ton of bricks, right? t-shirt as Art.
thanks Jenny. :)
perceived limits.
how all the artists and writers i admire have highly multi-faceted practices. they don't just write or just paint. they embrace a wide definition of what art is and can be. and what it can be made with. and i'm so attracted to that. i'm so compelled. just turned ON but that expansive, inclusive, generous view.
and then a few nay-sayers arrive and start trying to infect me with all sorts of dualities that i simply don't agree with, that i find no real foundation for. the nay-sayers that shout oil paintings are better than drawings and why would you waste time crocheting when you could be painting and writing? i thought you were a painter?
for awhile, these interferences accomplished just that: interference. but i've decided that part of being an artists is simply being yourself and ignoring all that chatter. because those nay-saying remarks, those limits, those expectations are not critique. and therefore need to be thrown out and turned a blind eye.
the really wonderful, happy circumstance of my life at present is that i have no one to answer to, no one to argue with about these things, no one to sell my ideas about art to. i can sit, alone and quiet, and hear the crunch of the road i'm on. i can find a site of stillness where i know, beyond any doubt, that i am moving in the right direction for me, for my practice. and it's become important to track down like-minded people who really do truly care about the job artists do and believe in its relevance. this blog has been absolutely wonderful in that regard. completely. my instances of fear and doubt are becoming less and less frequent as a result of this practice, this weird electronic landscape.
but is it weird? it doesn't feel weird. i take it back. it feels good. it feels happy.
thank you for travelling over to Gaga Stigmata yesterday. i hope you liked the work. i hope they are good images regardless of what your art opinion is of Lady Gaga. she's become very interesting to me in the passed few months. very compelling. the image she's made. the images she continues to make. and there's just something about that Hair Bow.
also, when it comes to music, anytime someone gets labeled "poison for the minds of our youth", you can be sure i'm going to take a better look at what they're up to. ;) and it's especially scary to me that she's been labeled as such when her dominant message is to love oneself.
but i guess that is a dangerous message somehow... if we all loved ourselves a little bit more (love, the opposite of indulgence) we probably wouldn't waste time caring about the kind of car we drive or who has the hottest boyfriend or how thick our wallets are. if we all loved ourselves a little bit more, our social values would definitely begin to shift. education and culture and walking through life with respect and kindness... ethics... would become much more prevalent and important within our society. maybe even come to be viewed as necessities?
somehow this all leads back to DIY culture in my mind. how it shatters a lot of those perceived limits. how it is the best antidote to consumer culture available to us right now. relying, every step of the way, on buying survival puts me in a very weak position. and i'm talking about the basics- food, shelter, clothing. i have to buy a place to live and buy the food i eat and buy the clothes i need to cover my body. i have no choice but to participate in the system.
wrong.
after making the most recent banner, i realized that i already have a skill that can be used to satisfy one of my basic needs- clothing. and with autumn's arrival, i decided that rather than buy sweaters and scarves, etc, etc, etc... i'll make my own. i'll buy yarn instead. and lead a more artful, more creative, more compassionate life that way. i want the objects in my life to have some type of meaning... and i just don't find the meaning i'm looking for in mass-production. can i find a way to love myself enough to figure out how to be less reliant on a system that keeps artists down? yes i can. i totally can. it takes time but i've become willing to spend my evenings with my crochet hook (and learn to knit too!) so that i don't have to buy a blanket or buy a pair of mittens. i'd rather give cash to the people who make the supplies with which i can use to build (truly build, with my own two hands) a life that i love and feels good. making my own sweaters is a good way to begin. it's a start. it's a start that takes a stand too. and i think artists and craftsmen who do this need to be supported as well. i think it's wonderful to buy t-shirts and stuff like that from the artists on etsy and places like that. a t-shirt can carry a lot of meaning sometimes.
i'm not going to choose between painting and drawing and crocheting and writing. i'm going to do them all. i love them all and they all feed each other. having a wide practice makes life more interesting, more beautifully complex. it erases dualities and strictures and just opens the world up. a sweater could be Art, for sure. a sweater can operate as a billboard. just like the banners do. fashion is Art, so why not?
one of my favorite art pieces ever is Jenny Holzer's t-shirt project. body as billboard, clothing as a warning label. i love it.
talk about a ton of bricks, right? t-shirt as Art.
thanks Jenny. :)
Sep 27, 2010
wanna know a secret?
a sneak peek at my secret drawing series is up at Gaga Stigmata today! go have a look-see! :)
Sep 24, 2010
work
i have to start doing the paperwork end of being an artist soon. artist statements and letters of intent, that whole bit. it never gets any easier. as the work changes, the statement changes. and cutting it all down to 2 paragraphs is hard. i wish artist statements could be these sweet little chapbooks where i could just sort of ramble about all the stuff i care about. kinda like i do on this blog. :) it'd make writing an artist statement sooooo much easier.
but i must reign myself in and do it. there are a few things on the horizon that i'd absolutely love to be a part of. and though the deadlines are still a few months away, i'd like to get going on it now. months are short. time moves faster and faster. and so i've brought all the little icons of current work out on to my computer desktop where i shuffle them all around in to different collections, trying to see what gels, what works best. for a while i had all the paintings together and all the drawings together and did not mix and match them. but, as a Looker, i think mixing up the media is way more interesting that just ALL paintings or ALL drawings. unless that's ALL you do. and since i work in a couple different medias, i think it's best to let my portfolio represent that somehow. to let the work be married by concept rather than what it's made with. it's a good way to play with building a brand new portfolio.
and the portfolio is the most important part. it always will be. when i'm feeling down about how far i have to go or when i start feeling shaky about what i'm capable of, i go back to the portfolio job. it is king. and if it shines, you shine. it will always come back to the work. and the more i look at the way crochet paired with drawings function, the dialogue that is created, i am so fascinated and compelled by it. and paintings paired with textile work. it's amazing. and such wonderful conversations begin to happen between the pieces. it just feels good. it feels relevant.
so... keep playing, keep shuffling it all around. and keep working. i'm letting one idea bleed in to another, birth new ideas and directions and just not question it. just follow the impulse and don't look back too often. it's been good.
i have a ton of work that i haven't posted here yet. i guess i needed to keep it to myself for awhile. i still do. in the beginning of this blog, i posted every single painting i made that was even slightly good. and i want to be more thoughtful than that now. let the work sit. let me sit with it. see if it's an image i want floating around in the world. if it's an image that needs to be in the world. because a lot of what we do as artists is process work. work that you do in order to get to a new place. catharsis. and that work doesn't always need to be put on display i'm realizing. some of it should be allowed to live a quiet life behind the scenes. just like the scribblings in my diary. plus, i want there to be a few surprises when i start showing again. :) and i'm thinking sooner is better than later in regards to that. i think i should find a way to jump back in to the mix here pretty soon. it's been a month since i stopped showing, but i'm creeping up quickly on the end of 2 new bodies of work and a 3rd is well under way. that's a lot of work i'm storing. i need to get my confidence up, chew my finger nails, and push a few portfolios out the door. find the people in the world who adore that lovely black graphite as much as i do, reach out, and say hello.
today, i'll paint and see where i go. the work itself is pretty good at pointing out the road that feels true and best.
but i must reign myself in and do it. there are a few things on the horizon that i'd absolutely love to be a part of. and though the deadlines are still a few months away, i'd like to get going on it now. months are short. time moves faster and faster. and so i've brought all the little icons of current work out on to my computer desktop where i shuffle them all around in to different collections, trying to see what gels, what works best. for a while i had all the paintings together and all the drawings together and did not mix and match them. but, as a Looker, i think mixing up the media is way more interesting that just ALL paintings or ALL drawings. unless that's ALL you do. and since i work in a couple different medias, i think it's best to let my portfolio represent that somehow. to let the work be married by concept rather than what it's made with. it's a good way to play with building a brand new portfolio.
and the portfolio is the most important part. it always will be. when i'm feeling down about how far i have to go or when i start feeling shaky about what i'm capable of, i go back to the portfolio job. it is king. and if it shines, you shine. it will always come back to the work. and the more i look at the way crochet paired with drawings function, the dialogue that is created, i am so fascinated and compelled by it. and paintings paired with textile work. it's amazing. and such wonderful conversations begin to happen between the pieces. it just feels good. it feels relevant.
so... keep playing, keep shuffling it all around. and keep working. i'm letting one idea bleed in to another, birth new ideas and directions and just not question it. just follow the impulse and don't look back too often. it's been good.
i have a ton of work that i haven't posted here yet. i guess i needed to keep it to myself for awhile. i still do. in the beginning of this blog, i posted every single painting i made that was even slightly good. and i want to be more thoughtful than that now. let the work sit. let me sit with it. see if it's an image i want floating around in the world. if it's an image that needs to be in the world. because a lot of what we do as artists is process work. work that you do in order to get to a new place. catharsis. and that work doesn't always need to be put on display i'm realizing. some of it should be allowed to live a quiet life behind the scenes. just like the scribblings in my diary. plus, i want there to be a few surprises when i start showing again. :) and i'm thinking sooner is better than later in regards to that. i think i should find a way to jump back in to the mix here pretty soon. it's been a month since i stopped showing, but i'm creeping up quickly on the end of 2 new bodies of work and a 3rd is well under way. that's a lot of work i'm storing. i need to get my confidence up, chew my finger nails, and push a few portfolios out the door. find the people in the world who adore that lovely black graphite as much as i do, reach out, and say hello.
today, i'll paint and see where i go. the work itself is pretty good at pointing out the road that feels true and best.
Sep 23, 2010
sweetly
i've been very much inside myself lately... very much inside the work. wandering. wondering. not worried though. just a space of deep contemplation where only the stitches between my fingers exist, only the pencil in my hand, only the spilt glitter matters.
i started work on a new textile piece yesterday and managed to twist away the majority of the day without realizing it. it was wonderful. and then suddenly, a bit of oil painting in the evening. it's funny how unexpectedly oil painting returns to me. out of nowhere and for a few days a time, and then i dive back in to my luscious black graphite. i have absolutely nothing to complain about. :)
my tea is steeping. it feels weird to write that. i've never been a tea drinker so this is all quite odd. and i wrestle with feeling a bit bourgeois over this whole tea drinking thing. ha!
i started work on a new textile piece yesterday and managed to twist away the majority of the day without realizing it. it was wonderful. and then suddenly, a bit of oil painting in the evening. it's funny how unexpectedly oil painting returns to me. out of nowhere and for a few days a time, and then i dive back in to my luscious black graphite. i have absolutely nothing to complain about. :)
my tea is steeping. it feels weird to write that. i've never been a tea drinker so this is all quite odd. and i wrestle with feeling a bit bourgeois over this whole tea drinking thing. ha!
Sep 21, 2010
my body will be my billboard
i will activate the books i read as they have activated me.
.
+esther+greenwood,+personal+banner+project,+crochet,+angela+simione+2010.JPG)
(i am) ESTHER GREENWOOD
personal banner project
crochet
2010
.
i will definitely wear this ALL around this fall.
p.s. also- check out that sweet piece up top! graphite baby! ;)
.
+esther+greenwood,+personal+banner+project,+crochet,+angela+simione+2010.JPG)
(i am) ESTHER GREENWOOD
personal banner project
crochet
2010
.
i will definitely wear this ALL around this fall.
p.s. also- check out that sweet piece up top! graphite baby! ;)
connecting
last night i finished reading The Passport by Herta Muller and then immediately started reading The North China Lover by Marguerite Duras. this is a lucky and perfect pairing of work. the forms involved! Muller's non-chapter way of writing, the whole work broken up in to fragments. tiny short stories with a title centered over-head. and the entire book worms this way. back and forth between the present, memories. persistent memories. and sorrow. sorrow so deep, so confusing, reality bends. a clock on the wall becoming an evil portent. delicious writing. all the more delicious due to her use of simple words. fragmented sentences that make your breath irregular. and then Duras. lovely, aching Duras. no chapters here either. just spaces in the page. and some paragraphs are written in poetry forms rather than paragraphs of prose. back and forth, winding through tempos, such perfect companions. i'm on page 72.
this morning is cold. i have a cup of english breakfast tea with nothing in it. but it is hot, naturally sweet, a beautiful and simple taste. completely different than coffee. and an unforeseen welcome change in my morning routine.
yesterday, i crocheted almost all day long. there is something about the soft black of yarn paired with the soft black of graphite that has caught my heart. it has my complete attention. and maybe the action of these modes of making too- one mark at a time: drawing. one stitch at a time: crochet. some sort of very personal, very intimate mapping. and although the textile work hides the "hand" of the maker, the anonymity of the stitches seems poignant to me. when i hang a drawing next to one of the crochet pieces, a very beautiful dialogue erupts. something unexpected and i feel so compelled by it. not only to follow this route, but as a looker. when i look at the work, i feel compelled to keep looking at it. there is a mystery in it maybe. or some type of honest land being built. or navigated through. and this is a wonderful feeling. it feels like finally telling the truth. like letting go of an old, hard secret.
a few days ago i was driving and decided to listen to Post by Bjork. i hadn't listened to it in years and it used to be one of my favorite cds. i popped it in the cd player and turned the volume up loud. music has become important to me again. out of nowhere. for a long time, music stopped being important to me and i felt very sad - almost ashamed - of that fact. and it was also a Loss. music was my very first love as a child. music and words. i found opportunities to sing in secret every chance i could. singing- a safe room. and song 2 on the disk began. it had always made tears well up in my eyes and make my throat tighten. something about this song had always called up a swell of deep emotion. so deep, i have no clue the origin. and it happened again, like no time had passed. i steered the car with tears in my eyes and a runny nose. i didn't try to stop myself. i let the song reach in and pull out whatever it wanted to. and when the song ended and the next began, i felt wide open and unafraid of the world.
then i thought the line that calls up all that emotion is my most perfect artist statement:
i go through all this
before you wake up
so i can feel happier,
to be safe up here with you.
play it loud. this is the song:
.
this morning is cold. i have a cup of english breakfast tea with nothing in it. but it is hot, naturally sweet, a beautiful and simple taste. completely different than coffee. and an unforeseen welcome change in my morning routine.
yesterday, i crocheted almost all day long. there is something about the soft black of yarn paired with the soft black of graphite that has caught my heart. it has my complete attention. and maybe the action of these modes of making too- one mark at a time: drawing. one stitch at a time: crochet. some sort of very personal, very intimate mapping. and although the textile work hides the "hand" of the maker, the anonymity of the stitches seems poignant to me. when i hang a drawing next to one of the crochet pieces, a very beautiful dialogue erupts. something unexpected and i feel so compelled by it. not only to follow this route, but as a looker. when i look at the work, i feel compelled to keep looking at it. there is a mystery in it maybe. or some type of honest land being built. or navigated through. and this is a wonderful feeling. it feels like finally telling the truth. like letting go of an old, hard secret.
a few days ago i was driving and decided to listen to Post by Bjork. i hadn't listened to it in years and it used to be one of my favorite cds. i popped it in the cd player and turned the volume up loud. music has become important to me again. out of nowhere. for a long time, music stopped being important to me and i felt very sad - almost ashamed - of that fact. and it was also a Loss. music was my very first love as a child. music and words. i found opportunities to sing in secret every chance i could. singing- a safe room. and song 2 on the disk began. it had always made tears well up in my eyes and make my throat tighten. something about this song had always called up a swell of deep emotion. so deep, i have no clue the origin. and it happened again, like no time had passed. i steered the car with tears in my eyes and a runny nose. i didn't try to stop myself. i let the song reach in and pull out whatever it wanted to. and when the song ended and the next began, i felt wide open and unafraid of the world.
then i thought the line that calls up all that emotion is my most perfect artist statement:
i go through all this
before you wake up
so i can feel happier,
to be safe up here with you.
play it loud. this is the song:
.
Sep 20, 2010
blah.
i am sitting here with a cup of cold ginseng tea. one of my neighbors gave it to me. he said it's from japan. and it's good, i guess... but not satisfying at all. at least not as a morning beverage. no sugar or honey in it. it is not my beloved coffee. and that is exactly the point: not coffee.
i'm excessive when it comes to coffee. super excessive. and it isn't even really the coffee itself, it's the sweet, sugary hazelnut cream i dump in it. YUM! i can easily drink an entire pot of coffee all to myself each morning. for the passed few months i've been feeling pretty ridiculous about it. because it isn't even caffeine i'm trying to pump myself full of, it's sugar. my old nemesis.
in high school and the early days of college, i was a soda addict. a HARDCORE soda addict. to a very gross degree. so gross, in fact, i'm surprised i didn't rot my teeth. i'd stop at the convenience store in the morning before class and get a humongous BIG GULP... which i would buy refills for periodically throughout the day. this practice went on for years. i loved the burn of Dr. Pepper and was completely gluttonous about it.
after moving to the bay area, i kicked my soda habit during summer break one year. but when classes started back up in the fall and i was working full time and going to school full time, i got in to drinking coffee. and eventually, i got just as excessive about it as i had been with soda. for the passed couple months, i've realized that it's all about sugar. i am a total sugar addict. and i get so much of it in my coffee that i never crave any other sweets at all. never. none. not one. i never think cake sounds good or ice-cream or candy or pies. never. and this is a good thing but it's also no wonder- i load up on sugar right at the beginning of the day!
all this to say- i'm not drinking coffee this morning. my hope is to get through this entire week without it. reign in my addictive personality a bit. if i could be one of those people who practiced things in moderation, this would be no issue at all. but i seem to go full-tilt with things i enjoy. i do not sip, i GUZZLE. i know nothing of temperance. ha!
so... i'm on guard against crankiness and sarcasm today. geez.
i'm excessive when it comes to coffee. super excessive. and it isn't even really the coffee itself, it's the sweet, sugary hazelnut cream i dump in it. YUM! i can easily drink an entire pot of coffee all to myself each morning. for the passed few months i've been feeling pretty ridiculous about it. because it isn't even caffeine i'm trying to pump myself full of, it's sugar. my old nemesis.
in high school and the early days of college, i was a soda addict. a HARDCORE soda addict. to a very gross degree. so gross, in fact, i'm surprised i didn't rot my teeth. i'd stop at the convenience store in the morning before class and get a humongous BIG GULP... which i would buy refills for periodically throughout the day. this practice went on for years. i loved the burn of Dr. Pepper and was completely gluttonous about it.
after moving to the bay area, i kicked my soda habit during summer break one year. but when classes started back up in the fall and i was working full time and going to school full time, i got in to drinking coffee. and eventually, i got just as excessive about it as i had been with soda. for the passed couple months, i've realized that it's all about sugar. i am a total sugar addict. and i get so much of it in my coffee that i never crave any other sweets at all. never. none. not one. i never think cake sounds good or ice-cream or candy or pies. never. and this is a good thing but it's also no wonder- i load up on sugar right at the beginning of the day!
all this to say- i'm not drinking coffee this morning. my hope is to get through this entire week without it. reign in my addictive personality a bit. if i could be one of those people who practiced things in moderation, this would be no issue at all. but i seem to go full-tilt with things i enjoy. i do not sip, i GUZZLE. i know nothing of temperance. ha!
so... i'm on guard against crankiness and sarcasm today. geez.
Sep 17, 2010
keep on relishing in the Goodness!!!
national arts in education week continues! i give you the amazing Zoe Leonard.
i've been staring at her images a lot lately. A LOT. there is a quality... a roughness, a thoughtfulness, a diaristic sort of awareness taking place in her documents. there is a quality in her work that i want for myself, for my own work.
she makes me want to read more Susan Sontag.
.
i've been staring at her images a lot lately. A LOT. there is a quality... a roughness, a thoughtfulness, a diaristic sort of awareness taking place in her documents. there is a quality in her work that i want for myself, for my own work.
she makes me want to read more Susan Sontag.
.
Sep 16, 2010
:)
on tuesday, i burned through my remaining pencils in a hot and dedicated round of drawing. yesterday, the fire was still burning high and i (painfully) managed to make a drawing using the pencil stubs- whittling them down until they were ridiculously short and impossible to control. ha! but the gnarly hand cramp that resulted was entirely worth it. not only because the drawing i made is really cool (pics soon), but also because it taught me something about dedication and perseverance. two things i really need and deeply prize.
growing up, the only thing that was consistent was instability and chaos. problems were solved by moving. and we moved a lot. the longest span of time i've spent under one roof is 4 years. and that particular roof is a fluke in the group. 2 years seems to be the average when i look back. and that's even been the case since i moved out on my own. not a lot of stability there. and, more and more, i recognize that stability is a necessity when working toward goals that require a tremendous amount of dedication and focus. daily focus, daily dedication, daily effort in a single direction. persistence and commitment become near-impossible without some sense of stability or confidence that world will not fall apart later this afternoon.
and so i've been supplying stability and consistency to myself. it isn't easy and, some days, it isn't fun either, to tell you the truth. but the benefits are fun. and i'm becoming completely focused on maintaining a deep consistency within myself from here on out, to the absolute best of my ability. it is the only thing i know will get me to where i want to go.
i want to experience positive, joyful, lasting changes in my life and the only way to achieve that is with hard work. dedication and unshakable confidence in the value of art and its governance of my life. i'll get where i'm going one day. i can't really control how much time it takes or how long i might walk down a particular road. but i can control my own levels of dedication to the work. practice. practice. practice. and to truly make a deep, 7 day a week, commitment to art-making, learning, reading, writing, struggling, etc, etc, etc. and to a very large extent, i've already done that... but there's been a lot of second-guessing myself along the way. lots of waiting for the other shoe to drop... because, growing up, there always was another shoe and it always did drop.
but i don't live there anymore and all the shoes here are my own. i know nothing is going to fall apart later this afternoon and that it is entirely logical for me to trust the safety and security of my life at the present moment. i'm the one in charge and i supply my own level of encouragement, safety, and stability. and looking at my life from the outside, i can see i'm pretty good at that stuff. :)
the daily run, especially, has become a very active metaphor for how i want to live my life in general. with faith in The Practice. total trust in its Goodness. some days i catch myself trying to make excuses about why it might be alright to take the day off and just laze around. i'll tell myself oh, i did so much great work yesterday. i deserve to take it easy today and just clown around. it's a cutesy way of living in the past. yesterday is a wonderful memory. nothing more. if it does anything for Today, it lets me know that Today i can accomplish a great deal. but it isn't an excuse to take the day off. it's a brick to build with. today, i can keep building.
aren't i sickening!!!!! hahaha! but i tell ya, my winding daily affirmations are working for me! working wonders! i'm trying for tunnel vision these days. :)
BURN, BABY, BURN!
growing up, the only thing that was consistent was instability and chaos. problems were solved by moving. and we moved a lot. the longest span of time i've spent under one roof is 4 years. and that particular roof is a fluke in the group. 2 years seems to be the average when i look back. and that's even been the case since i moved out on my own. not a lot of stability there. and, more and more, i recognize that stability is a necessity when working toward goals that require a tremendous amount of dedication and focus. daily focus, daily dedication, daily effort in a single direction. persistence and commitment become near-impossible without some sense of stability or confidence that world will not fall apart later this afternoon.
and so i've been supplying stability and consistency to myself. it isn't easy and, some days, it isn't fun either, to tell you the truth. but the benefits are fun. and i'm becoming completely focused on maintaining a deep consistency within myself from here on out, to the absolute best of my ability. it is the only thing i know will get me to where i want to go.
i want to experience positive, joyful, lasting changes in my life and the only way to achieve that is with hard work. dedication and unshakable confidence in the value of art and its governance of my life. i'll get where i'm going one day. i can't really control how much time it takes or how long i might walk down a particular road. but i can control my own levels of dedication to the work. practice. practice. practice. and to truly make a deep, 7 day a week, commitment to art-making, learning, reading, writing, struggling, etc, etc, etc. and to a very large extent, i've already done that... but there's been a lot of second-guessing myself along the way. lots of waiting for the other shoe to drop... because, growing up, there always was another shoe and it always did drop.
but i don't live there anymore and all the shoes here are my own. i know nothing is going to fall apart later this afternoon and that it is entirely logical for me to trust the safety and security of my life at the present moment. i'm the one in charge and i supply my own level of encouragement, safety, and stability. and looking at my life from the outside, i can see i'm pretty good at that stuff. :)
the daily run, especially, has become a very active metaphor for how i want to live my life in general. with faith in The Practice. total trust in its Goodness. some days i catch myself trying to make excuses about why it might be alright to take the day off and just laze around. i'll tell myself oh, i did so much great work yesterday. i deserve to take it easy today and just clown around. it's a cutesy way of living in the past. yesterday is a wonderful memory. nothing more. if it does anything for Today, it lets me know that Today i can accomplish a great deal. but it isn't an excuse to take the day off. it's a brick to build with. today, i can keep building.
aren't i sickening!!!!! hahaha! but i tell ya, my winding daily affirmations are working for me! working wonders! i'm trying for tunnel vision these days. :)
BURN, BABY, BURN!
Sep 15, 2010
in the shop!
now available through black fence.
the first 3 pieces in an on-going exploration of loss and memory...
especially how the experience of loss itself persists through the act of remembering.
remembered (1)
10" x 22"
mixed media on paper
2010
,+10x22,+mixed+media+on+paper,+angela+simione+2010.JPG)
remembered (2)
10" x 22"
mixed media on paper
2010
hint
9" x 15"
graphite on paper
2010
.
the first 3 pieces in an on-going exploration of loss and memory...
especially how the experience of loss itself persists through the act of remembering.
remembered (1)
10" x 22"
mixed media on paper
2010
,+10x22,+mixed+media+on+paper,+angela+simione+2010.JPG)
remembered (2)
10" x 22"
mixed media on paper
2010
hint
9" x 15"
graphite on paper
2010
.
Sep 14, 2010
divine excuse!
i just found out that september 12 - 18 is National Arts in Education week! YAY!!!! this is a great excuse to fawn all over your favorites, research their work and ideas, or just bask in the awesomeness of painting, drawing, sculture, needlework, film, photography, performance, fashion, poetry, fiction, dance, etc, etc, etc!
ART GEEK IT UP!
here's 15 favorites of mine. i could've easily hit 100. 15 seemed a bit more fair. hahaha! i leave the research to you and your very capable hands. :)
kasimir malevich
annette messager
tracey emin
yuken teruya
vanessa beecroft
kiki smith
henry darger
ed ruscha
banks violette
sally mann
gerhard richter
anselm kiefer
anna gaskell
jenny holzer
artemisia gentileschi
ART GEEK IT UP!
here's 15 favorites of mine. i could've easily hit 100. 15 seemed a bit more fair. hahaha! i leave the research to you and your very capable hands. :)
kasimir malevich
annette messager
tracey emin
yuken teruya
vanessa beecroft
kiki smith
henry darger
ed ruscha
banks violette
sally mann
gerhard richter
anselm kiefer
anna gaskell
jenny holzer
artemisia gentileschi
Sep 13, 2010
BURN, BABY, BURN!
i spent next to no time online this weekend. i holed up with books and papers and pencils instead. phone calls from old friends and lots of soul-searching, excavating existentialism. ha! i read Helaine Posner's long and beautiful essay on the work of Kiki Smith and rolled around in the ideas of Trust it contains. very much a "believe in yourself and trust the work" refrain. and then saturday, my birthday present arrived. while we were at the grocery store, the mail lady dropped off a big fat book at our door that jared had ordered for me. the huge Henry Darger book by Klaus Biesenbach. and so i spent the bulk of saturday afternoon and evening looking at the absolutely gorgeous reproductions of Darger's work, getting absolutely lost in the drive his work materializes- absolute faith in "the call"... the answering of that call, the reward. last night, i finally started reading the text of the book and am anxious to get back to it. and in between all this, tons of drawing. tons. i burned through so many pencils this weekend and will soon be left with only the stubs. which i'm saving for something a la Arman:
:) i've always admired his accumulations.
and this morning: i obeyed the MIGHTY RUN - 3.5 miles - came home, ate fruit and greek yogurt, read Malevich's treatise on Suprematism (which i will have to read again and again until it sinks in deep and i understand well enough to agree with half and dispute the other half), and have already gotten a good hour of drawing under my belt. this is a fantastic start to the new week. and most welcome after last week's recurrent disillusionment and deflated attribute. oh, the joys of the artist ego! FRAILTY! ha! but i have resurfaced and am thinking a lot about my own values and ideas... finding ways to keep the fire stoked and high. it is all about maintaining one's own passionate commitment to this thing. answering the call is the reward.
every single day, i must find a way to answer it.
my twisty education has lit back up.
:) i've always admired his accumulations.
and this morning: i obeyed the MIGHTY RUN - 3.5 miles - came home, ate fruit and greek yogurt, read Malevich's treatise on Suprematism (which i will have to read again and again until it sinks in deep and i understand well enough to agree with half and dispute the other half), and have already gotten a good hour of drawing under my belt. this is a fantastic start to the new week. and most welcome after last week's recurrent disillusionment and deflated attribute. oh, the joys of the artist ego! FRAILTY! ha! but i have resurfaced and am thinking a lot about my own values and ideas... finding ways to keep the fire stoked and high. it is all about maintaining one's own passionate commitment to this thing. answering the call is the reward.
every single day, i must find a way to answer it.
my twisty education has lit back up.
Sep 10, 2010
revision
i spent the entirety of yesterday going back and forth between two drawings and an essay on Revising Poetry. the day went by in a quick breeze of graphite and pages turned. the same few pages, over and over again, looking for an answer... but really, looking for an easy answer. the quick fix.
and then a very close friend of mine called crying. nothing tragic... except the tragedy of life itself... disillusionment. and feeling so pitifully unequal to the task before you. that horrible sigh that sweeps through your entire body. the sigh that says it's just so much work.
and though our daily circumstances are very different, the root issues that make up my and my friend's struggles are pretty much identical: tremendous worry and confidence that seems to fail too easily.
while we were talking i heard myself say: if i could just stop worrying so much, i'd get so much more done. all the time i spend worrying, all the time i spend trying to unearth myself from all this worry, could be spent actually working toward the goals i'm trying to reach. my own words sort of slapped me in the face. here i was, trying to build someone else up, trying to give them stamina for the fight, and i ended up saying exactly what i needed to hear. in fact, it's something that i need to hear on a fairly regular basis. that one step, one day, one drawing at a time, one word either read or written at a time, one thing learned, one thing gained, one inch at a time, i will end up building a life that feels right. it comes down to faith. belief in oneself... to keep the dream tight while the big bad world outside, rife with status symbols and expectations, screams NO in your face. to keep going, keep moving, no matter how short the ground i've gained is, in spite of the nay-sayers outside my window. to beat back my own disillusionment and truly believe in myself and the meaning i'm trying to create within my own life. do i really need re-assurance in order to do that? or even praise? those things sure do feel good, but are they really necessary?
i have always written. i have always made drawings and paintings. i have always sung in the shower. i think that as a result of being such a shy child, and also the massive tragedy that found my family so early, i clung to particular talents in an attempt to feel safe. these things became a sanctuary. they were the only site i had where i felt safe and was truly myself. opening up those talents to include the eyes and opinions of others is a very scary thing. basically, i don't want my sanctuary demolished or laughed at or called "flawed". and so i have to beat it in my head, over and over and over again, that my sanctuary is MINE, it's for ME, it is OF ME, and the words and eyes of others don't destroy that. it either welcomes them or it doesn't. and if my work fits well with the life of another human, it is a grand and beautiful thing. i can feel connected and strong and encouraged. i can feel less alone. but even if no one liked what i do, i'd still do it. i know this because that's always been the case. i've always written. i've always made pictures. i've always sung in the shower or some dark corner where no one could hear.
i guess becoming an artist is also about leaving the dark corner. finding a way to make that safety mobile. finding a way to carry the sanctuary with you, on your back like a hermit crab... a bookcase in the brain, all the bibles lined up one right after the other, and just say it matters to ME.
consistent, sustained action in a single direction. and if i come up against a wall and have to chip it down with my own toe-nails... well, that's exactly what has to happen then. and Revising Poetry feels pretty much just like that. this search. this wanting everything to work out... and work out RIGHT NOW. this dark road, no answer, except just keep going.
just keep going. just keep going. and don't make it bigger than it actually is. i have a very bad habit of that. i build things up to be so huge and scary and important in my own head... that nasty perfectionism that really only serves to silence me. that's where all this ridiculous worry originates. fear of my own imperfections. fear of being disappointing. fear of not being good enough. all the common worries of artists. of people in general.
part of maintaining my practice is learning how to trust the process of the thing itself. trusting that yesterday's activities of reading and drawing were, in fact, WORK and that i did move forward... whether or not i can actually feel it. a lot of the struggle of being an artist is overcoming a shit ton of really bad social and cultural lessons- definitions of what constitutes success, what constitutes value.
a lot of this is simply going my own way and not worrying about it so much.
and so... like revising poetry, it's going to take lots of time and effort and somehow managing to acquire fresh eyes every now and then. gaining a new perspective, a fresh perspective, and not giving up. and when i get stale-mated, put it in the drawer and come back to it later when i've learned more, experienced more, and have a better attitude about the task at hand... when i'm not so worried about "what it all means!" and "but is it even any good?"
sometimes, i have to try to let the joy of the act be enough. because it is. it really really is. and to wrap my mind around the fact that, YES, even "work" can be joyful.
and then a very close friend of mine called crying. nothing tragic... except the tragedy of life itself... disillusionment. and feeling so pitifully unequal to the task before you. that horrible sigh that sweeps through your entire body. the sigh that says it's just so much work.
and though our daily circumstances are very different, the root issues that make up my and my friend's struggles are pretty much identical: tremendous worry and confidence that seems to fail too easily.
while we were talking i heard myself say: if i could just stop worrying so much, i'd get so much more done. all the time i spend worrying, all the time i spend trying to unearth myself from all this worry, could be spent actually working toward the goals i'm trying to reach. my own words sort of slapped me in the face. here i was, trying to build someone else up, trying to give them stamina for the fight, and i ended up saying exactly what i needed to hear. in fact, it's something that i need to hear on a fairly regular basis. that one step, one day, one drawing at a time, one word either read or written at a time, one thing learned, one thing gained, one inch at a time, i will end up building a life that feels right. it comes down to faith. belief in oneself... to keep the dream tight while the big bad world outside, rife with status symbols and expectations, screams NO in your face. to keep going, keep moving, no matter how short the ground i've gained is, in spite of the nay-sayers outside my window. to beat back my own disillusionment and truly believe in myself and the meaning i'm trying to create within my own life. do i really need re-assurance in order to do that? or even praise? those things sure do feel good, but are they really necessary?
i have always written. i have always made drawings and paintings. i have always sung in the shower. i think that as a result of being such a shy child, and also the massive tragedy that found my family so early, i clung to particular talents in an attempt to feel safe. these things became a sanctuary. they were the only site i had where i felt safe and was truly myself. opening up those talents to include the eyes and opinions of others is a very scary thing. basically, i don't want my sanctuary demolished or laughed at or called "flawed". and so i have to beat it in my head, over and over and over again, that my sanctuary is MINE, it's for ME, it is OF ME, and the words and eyes of others don't destroy that. it either welcomes them or it doesn't. and if my work fits well with the life of another human, it is a grand and beautiful thing. i can feel connected and strong and encouraged. i can feel less alone. but even if no one liked what i do, i'd still do it. i know this because that's always been the case. i've always written. i've always made pictures. i've always sung in the shower or some dark corner where no one could hear.
i guess becoming an artist is also about leaving the dark corner. finding a way to make that safety mobile. finding a way to carry the sanctuary with you, on your back like a hermit crab... a bookcase in the brain, all the bibles lined up one right after the other, and just say it matters to ME.
consistent, sustained action in a single direction. and if i come up against a wall and have to chip it down with my own toe-nails... well, that's exactly what has to happen then. and Revising Poetry feels pretty much just like that. this search. this wanting everything to work out... and work out RIGHT NOW. this dark road, no answer, except just keep going.
just keep going. just keep going. and don't make it bigger than it actually is. i have a very bad habit of that. i build things up to be so huge and scary and important in my own head... that nasty perfectionism that really only serves to silence me. that's where all this ridiculous worry originates. fear of my own imperfections. fear of being disappointing. fear of not being good enough. all the common worries of artists. of people in general.
part of maintaining my practice is learning how to trust the process of the thing itself. trusting that yesterday's activities of reading and drawing were, in fact, WORK and that i did move forward... whether or not i can actually feel it. a lot of the struggle of being an artist is overcoming a shit ton of really bad social and cultural lessons- definitions of what constitutes success, what constitutes value.
a lot of this is simply going my own way and not worrying about it so much.
and so... like revising poetry, it's going to take lots of time and effort and somehow managing to acquire fresh eyes every now and then. gaining a new perspective, a fresh perspective, and not giving up. and when i get stale-mated, put it in the drawer and come back to it later when i've learned more, experienced more, and have a better attitude about the task at hand... when i'm not so worried about "what it all means!" and "but is it even any good?"
sometimes, i have to try to let the joy of the act be enough. because it is. it really really is. and to wrap my mind around the fact that, YES, even "work" can be joyful.
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 8, 2010
ahh
anytime someone says God has a plan it's never a plan anyone is very fond of.
in fact, that statement is in no way a comfort and i really wish people would just stop saying it to me. all it does is make the person on the receiving end feel completely alone, completely helpless... completely hopeless too.
i understand they're really only attempting to comfort themselves when they say that. and i can be sympathetic to that. and if it does work to calm the speaker of that horribly inept sentence, then they should just repeat it inside their own head, to themselves, where no one else has to hear it.
because we have plans too.
the same plans everyone has.
we have good, wholesome, beautiful plans.
simple plans. simple times. simple hopes.
don't tie my hands behind my back so i can't hold those dreams anymore. why can't i just be allowed to hold them just a little while longer? don't take my hope from me. i'm someones daughter. i'm someones child. just let me hold on to the remainders of my daughterhood. just a little while longer. the good remainders. the ones i want to keep. the ones that are long hugs and back scratches. the ones that let me feel like i belong somewhere. the ones that make me feel like i do have a place to call home. is there any place in the world that feels more like home than when your parent hugs you? is there really a person on the planet that doesn't long for that feeling to claim them again? that feeling when you were little and you were held up high. held up and laughing. held up and protected and warm.
i'm just so angry. everyone who is going through this is angry. but i'm not angry at god. i'm not angry at anyone. i'm angry about the threat of time, the loss of time, and all the things that i haven't gotten to yet... as if a parent even needs a very big reason to feel proud of their child.
it's such a slow, horrible fear.
such a dawdling anguish. the spin of sorrow and regret and not knowing what to do.
there are so many days where i have no clue what to do with myself. i try to write it out and plug this in to the work... but i just end up feeling as inept and ridiculous as that damn statement.
fucking cancer.
the only sentence that feels at all close to the reality of all this is i just want my mama.
most days i just feel like begging.
.
i'll probably end up deleting this.
in fact, that statement is in no way a comfort and i really wish people would just stop saying it to me. all it does is make the person on the receiving end feel completely alone, completely helpless... completely hopeless too.
i understand they're really only attempting to comfort themselves when they say that. and i can be sympathetic to that. and if it does work to calm the speaker of that horribly inept sentence, then they should just repeat it inside their own head, to themselves, where no one else has to hear it.
because we have plans too.
the same plans everyone has.
we have good, wholesome, beautiful plans.
simple plans. simple times. simple hopes.
don't tie my hands behind my back so i can't hold those dreams anymore. why can't i just be allowed to hold them just a little while longer? don't take my hope from me. i'm someones daughter. i'm someones child. just let me hold on to the remainders of my daughterhood. just a little while longer. the good remainders. the ones i want to keep. the ones that are long hugs and back scratches. the ones that let me feel like i belong somewhere. the ones that make me feel like i do have a place to call home. is there any place in the world that feels more like home than when your parent hugs you? is there really a person on the planet that doesn't long for that feeling to claim them again? that feeling when you were little and you were held up high. held up and laughing. held up and protected and warm.
i'm just so angry. everyone who is going through this is angry. but i'm not angry at god. i'm not angry at anyone. i'm angry about the threat of time, the loss of time, and all the things that i haven't gotten to yet... as if a parent even needs a very big reason to feel proud of their child.
it's such a slow, horrible fear.
such a dawdling anguish. the spin of sorrow and regret and not knowing what to do.
there are so many days where i have no clue what to do with myself. i try to write it out and plug this in to the work... but i just end up feeling as inept and ridiculous as that damn statement.
fucking cancer.
the only sentence that feels at all close to the reality of all this is i just want my mama.
most days i just feel like begging.
.
i'll probably end up deleting this.
Sep 7, 2010
:)
ahhhhhhh. the long weekend is behind us (and what a beautiful weekend it was), and a short week is ahead of us. and good thing- i am worrrrrn out! on friday, 2 very close friends of mine from back home showed up on my doorstep! SURPRISE!!!! ahahahahah! and it was the most wonderful birthday surprise ever. we stayed up late, drank a ton of chai tea, and laughed our heads off for two days. absolutely wonderful!
i miss living in the same town as they do - it's 500 miles between their front door and mine - and having them here in my home was such a big gift. they went around my small home and looked at all the art (it's jam packed in here these days), and ohhhed and ahhhhed at all the work, pointed out their favorites, and told me what the images conjured up for them. i love hearing that kind of stuff- how a piece activates someone else's memory and experience. and we talked a lot about moving in to the 30s: how everyone i know tells me that it is a wonderful decade of living. especially for women. a time when we really start coming in to our own and develop a deep sense of self-assurance, resolve, and fire. a time when life really starts taking off. and i've been sensing that that's the case for at least a year now- becoming more bold, more brave, more secure in my own ideas and desires and needs.
when they left on sunday, i got teary eyed for sure. i miss those days when i could just call them up and ask what they were doing after work, pop on by, and stay up late giggling. friends are a beautiful thing. and GOOD friends are gorgeous and stunning and priceless. i made sure they left with a piece of art to love. truly: it's the least i can do for these two. :)
and now here we are at tuesday. i'm planning an fairly easy week for myself. the BIG 3.5 mile RUN every day for the next 4 days, lots of reading, and lots of drawing in bed. that's it. and maybe doing a few dishes every now and then. i've been working on a secret series of drawings for the passed few weeks and i finally hit the half-way mark last week. i want to pick up a bit more steam and get the project finished up as quickly as possible because it is giving rise to a ton of great ideas.
lately, i've been feeling the need to work very fast, not get hung up by perfectionism at all. just do my best, take what i've learned, and keep moving. when i am snared in a whirlpool of ideas is when i feel the most alive. the happiest and warmest.
i miss living in the same town as they do - it's 500 miles between their front door and mine - and having them here in my home was such a big gift. they went around my small home and looked at all the art (it's jam packed in here these days), and ohhhed and ahhhhed at all the work, pointed out their favorites, and told me what the images conjured up for them. i love hearing that kind of stuff- how a piece activates someone else's memory and experience. and we talked a lot about moving in to the 30s: how everyone i know tells me that it is a wonderful decade of living. especially for women. a time when we really start coming in to our own and develop a deep sense of self-assurance, resolve, and fire. a time when life really starts taking off. and i've been sensing that that's the case for at least a year now- becoming more bold, more brave, more secure in my own ideas and desires and needs.
when they left on sunday, i got teary eyed for sure. i miss those days when i could just call them up and ask what they were doing after work, pop on by, and stay up late giggling. friends are a beautiful thing. and GOOD friends are gorgeous and stunning and priceless. i made sure they left with a piece of art to love. truly: it's the least i can do for these two. :)
and now here we are at tuesday. i'm planning an fairly easy week for myself. the BIG 3.5 mile RUN every day for the next 4 days, lots of reading, and lots of drawing in bed. that's it. and maybe doing a few dishes every now and then. i've been working on a secret series of drawings for the passed few weeks and i finally hit the half-way mark last week. i want to pick up a bit more steam and get the project finished up as quickly as possible because it is giving rise to a ton of great ideas.
lately, i've been feeling the need to work very fast, not get hung up by perfectionism at all. just do my best, take what i've learned, and keep moving. when i am snared in a whirlpool of ideas is when i feel the most alive. the happiest and warmest.
Sep 2, 2010
the forest is not to blame.
yellow leaves spin. screeching hinges. the pig-sounds
of wind snared in tall trees.
my breath goes a loose white.
swaying.
limbs are coming down.
yellow leaves spin. an awful determination.
sparks radiate. crack my palms. catch in a crescent, this
lowly rabbit. the transparent virus.
last night i lay awake a long time. my thoughts were angry.
polluted and skittish.
the scent of too many deer.
i want to think of the forest.
i want to think of my mother and
the forest behind her,
behind her roses. her roses
behind her iron rods:
deer-bitten.
slowly frozen.
the cracking-sounds, her upturned palms.
my mother will not die in concrete.
the death of frozen things- people
held down, cars
flipped on their side.
i wake to find things on the ground that weren't there before.
black branches, black burl, bits
of litter flung from the highway. i wake
to check the calendar. i wake
and well up my Fear Traditions.
the silver and the shards dug in.
the moon is white. full in the little window between the tall trees.
full-blown. this cold, unclouded thing.
yellow leaves spin.
there is a gaping eye to push through. a solid white.
the wind is to blame.
it wants our doors. splits its knuckles.
toys with our hair-delicate hinges. fingers creeping
against the dry seal of so many mouths.
fingers like thermometers. cold. cold. and sharp
against our fevered pink.
first thing, i look up to the little window
i am lonely. it is a black morning.
aching. windless. an awful veil.
stolid as a dried out fish belly.
apples fall out of the trees, thickly black.
no time to cut the bruises out.
wrinkled and twisted. i lock my eye
on the tiny shimmers of gold below the cracks,
wilting on the inside.
my mother will not die in concrete.
yellow leaves spin.
limbs are coming down.
here
is the thread end
and the needle cut loose.
a solid eye to push through.
.
yellow leaves spin. screeching hinges. the pig-sounds
of wind snared in tall trees.
my breath goes a loose white.
swaying.
limbs are coming down.
yellow leaves spin. an awful determination.
sparks radiate. crack my palms. catch in a crescent, this
lowly rabbit. the transparent virus.
last night i lay awake a long time. my thoughts were angry.
polluted and skittish.
the scent of too many deer.
i want to think of the forest.
i want to think of my mother and
the forest behind her,
behind her roses. her roses
behind her iron rods:
deer-bitten.
slowly frozen.
the cracking-sounds, her upturned palms.
my mother will not die in concrete.
the death of frozen things- people
held down, cars
flipped on their side.
i wake to find things on the ground that weren't there before.
black branches, black burl, bits
of litter flung from the highway. i wake
to check the calendar. i wake
and well up my Fear Traditions.
the silver and the shards dug in.
the moon is white. full in the little window between the tall trees.
full-blown. this cold, unclouded thing.
yellow leaves spin.
there is a gaping eye to push through. a solid white.
the wind is to blame.
it wants our doors. splits its knuckles.
toys with our hair-delicate hinges. fingers creeping
against the dry seal of so many mouths.
fingers like thermometers. cold. cold. and sharp
against our fevered pink.
first thing, i look up to the little window
i am lonely. it is a black morning.
aching. windless. an awful veil.
stolid as a dried out fish belly.
apples fall out of the trees, thickly black.
no time to cut the bruises out.
wrinkled and twisted. i lock my eye
on the tiny shimmers of gold below the cracks,
wilting on the inside.
my mother will not die in concrete.
yellow leaves spin.
limbs are coming down.
here
is the thread end
and the needle cut loose.
a solid eye to push through.
.
dream
last night i dreamt that someone who is no longer in my life (but someone i very much admired) stole a whole bunch of paintings and drawings from me. they stashed them in a glass building and when i learned of the theft, i went to the glass building and looked in through the dark windows. there were all sorts of beautiful, fashionable people inside, milling around looking at art, and i could see my work spread out on the floor in the rear of the building. i was waving my arms on the other side of the glass but no one looked at me. i could hear them talking and laughing. they were all smiling and drinking wine. and i stood on the outside, feeling entirely helpless, unable to collect my babies.
Johnny Depp showed up and he had hardly any hair. all patchy, like a symptom of disease or maltreatment. and he hugged me and said, "i know how bad this feels."
when i woke up, that horrible feeling of realizing you've been robbed was still on me- the horrible realization that you trusted the wrong person and that, as a result, a sick violation found you.
the dream was a very accurate mirror of reality. and it's no accident that my paintings and drawings were the sacrifice. the symbolism is an easy one to figure out. even the thing about Johnny Depp... which is odd and funny to me because i never dream about celebrities. ever. but i suppose he would know what that feels like: being used by people he had trusted to govern his career, having his image twisted in to something he couldn't stand, and his own naivety being shoved in his face.
and that was the dominant emotion in the dream: embarrassment. feeling so embarrassed of my naivety, my trusting nature that took me down a bad path, a path away from who i truly am... such a sick feeling. horribly sick.
i woke to find myself slowly growing angry about the whole thing. i went to my notebook and wrote fast and hard. now, with my coffee and the sun moving high, i feel thankful to not only have found my way out of that dream, but out of the reality it so perfectly symbolizes... that i am free and i have open doors all around me.
Johnny Depp showed up and he had hardly any hair. all patchy, like a symptom of disease or maltreatment. and he hugged me and said, "i know how bad this feels."
when i woke up, that horrible feeling of realizing you've been robbed was still on me- the horrible realization that you trusted the wrong person and that, as a result, a sick violation found you.
the dream was a very accurate mirror of reality. and it's no accident that my paintings and drawings were the sacrifice. the symbolism is an easy one to figure out. even the thing about Johnny Depp... which is odd and funny to me because i never dream about celebrities. ever. but i suppose he would know what that feels like: being used by people he had trusted to govern his career, having his image twisted in to something he couldn't stand, and his own naivety being shoved in his face.
and that was the dominant emotion in the dream: embarrassment. feeling so embarrassed of my naivety, my trusting nature that took me down a bad path, a path away from who i truly am... such a sick feeling. horribly sick.
i woke to find myself slowly growing angry about the whole thing. i went to my notebook and wrote fast and hard. now, with my coffee and the sun moving high, i feel thankful to not only have found my way out of that dream, but out of the reality it so perfectly symbolizes... that i am free and i have open doors all around me.
Sep 1, 2010
here we go!
September! eeeeeeek! the big 3.0. is right around the corner! 2 days away and i am totally looking forward to collecting it.
i am (weirdly?) one of those people who hate their own birthday. i didn't think i was in that crowd but, about 5 years or so ago, i noticed the pattern of letting the day roll by without any sort of real celebration or acknowledgement. it was more than enough to get the obligatory 'happy birthday' phone call from friends and family. i'd take the day off from work (i am a firm believer that no one should work on their birthday unless you've got a jobby-job you absolutely adore) and usually stay home and paint or write. and get sad. it is the horrible cycle of The People-Pleaser to feel like you haven't "accomplished enough" in your life... especially on traditional markers of time like birthdays, anniversaries, and New Years. this is a habit that needs breaking. because, to put it plainly, it sucks. ha!
and last year on my birthday, the stars aligned in such a way as to show me that there were some pretty deep changes i needed to make in my life... that for all the wishing and crying i'd done, the only way to move forward was to go inside, clear the bullshit out of the way so i could actually see the path i was standing on. and i had to be able to see it in order to know which direction to head in. i made the decision on my 29th birthday to get re-acquainted with myself and to stop worrying about Time so much. not an easy thing. and i realized that my path is specific to me and that i make a mistake when i compare my life to other people's. i decided to do the clean up that was so clearly necessary.
the first thing to go was drinking. i had a glass of champagne last year on the night of my birthday. i was at an art reception for a show i had some work in. and i haven't had any alcohol since. it isn't that i thought i had a drinking problem, i though i had a thinking problem and i've wrestled my entire life with Sadness. for me, drinking compounded those issues in a way that was pretty much dangerous. and insofar as my practice was concerned, it stalled me in my tracks. and that made the level of depression i was living under all the more heavy. a depression i had been living under for 2 years straight and was only getting worse by the day. in fact, September 2nd (tomorrow) is the anniversary of a total Collapse.
my birthday seemed like a pretty opportune moment to start digging myself back out of that pit and that's exactly what the last year of my life has been all about.
The Almighty Jog, re-learning how to trust my instincts again, trust my own internal rhythms, focus on my own loves, my own values, my own beliefs. and to let my wrestling take place there. and i found a ton of out-dated maps and notions and ideas that i desperately needed to abandon.
i made the decision to approach my practice with love and gratitude, to take it day by day, and to locate images and words and the work of other artists and writers that resonated with me and what my life had been. i began to see what my true values were and how long i had been shelving them in order to "help" other people. i had had it drummed in to me that that's what you do when you really love someone. after making the decision to confront myself, i saw what a load of horseshit that actually is. and i spent a long time feeling alternately mad and sad about having been taught such an extremely damaging lesson. very mad. very sad. and rather than hide my sadness (which is what i typically did) and put on a Happy Face, i allowed my sadness to sit on the surface of my being. you can see it even here on this blog. i'm not ashamed of that. i don't think struggle is something a person should ever be made to feel ashamed of. ever. and so i don't allow myself to be ashamed or be shamed by others anymore. and that's probably the biggest step i've taken this year. shame had become quite a nasty habit. the only thing i've found that conquers Shame is Honesty. hard Honesty. Honesty about myself.
the passed year has gone by so unbelievably quickly. and here i am- a runner, an artist, a writer, a lover. from the outside, my life probably doesn't look very different today than it did a year ago, but it is. it is deeply different. i still get sad a lot... but life, at the moment, within my family, is pretty effing sad. and so it's normal. and i won't say i've figured everything out or that i have all the answers. i don't. what i do have is the knowledge that no one has all the answers and that that's actually a really great thing. i was thinking about that when i woke up today- answers and questions. and that maybe that's what art is? a practice of nailing down our questions rather than answers. and i like that. i like that a lot. :)
i'm excited to see where the next year goes. the only plan i have is to keep doing what i've been doing. keep running, keep writing, keep drawing, painting, making, exploring, excavating. keep trying. truly trying. and to not measure myself against other people's rulers. to live by my own standards and to practice a very brave, compassionate Honesty. i am removing the gag that i've lived with for soooo long. and though it is a very scary thing, i choose to be myself and to not writhe in silence anymore. i choose to be an artist and to let the expressions of my humanity be complete. i choose bravery.
anyway... GOOD MORNING! and HAPPY SEPTEMBER!!!!!! <3
i am (weirdly?) one of those people who hate their own birthday. i didn't think i was in that crowd but, about 5 years or so ago, i noticed the pattern of letting the day roll by without any sort of real celebration or acknowledgement. it was more than enough to get the obligatory 'happy birthday' phone call from friends and family. i'd take the day off from work (i am a firm believer that no one should work on their birthday unless you've got a jobby-job you absolutely adore) and usually stay home and paint or write. and get sad. it is the horrible cycle of The People-Pleaser to feel like you haven't "accomplished enough" in your life... especially on traditional markers of time like birthdays, anniversaries, and New Years. this is a habit that needs breaking. because, to put it plainly, it sucks. ha!
and last year on my birthday, the stars aligned in such a way as to show me that there were some pretty deep changes i needed to make in my life... that for all the wishing and crying i'd done, the only way to move forward was to go inside, clear the bullshit out of the way so i could actually see the path i was standing on. and i had to be able to see it in order to know which direction to head in. i made the decision on my 29th birthday to get re-acquainted with myself and to stop worrying about Time so much. not an easy thing. and i realized that my path is specific to me and that i make a mistake when i compare my life to other people's. i decided to do the clean up that was so clearly necessary.
the first thing to go was drinking. i had a glass of champagne last year on the night of my birthday. i was at an art reception for a show i had some work in. and i haven't had any alcohol since. it isn't that i thought i had a drinking problem, i though i had a thinking problem and i've wrestled my entire life with Sadness. for me, drinking compounded those issues in a way that was pretty much dangerous. and insofar as my practice was concerned, it stalled me in my tracks. and that made the level of depression i was living under all the more heavy. a depression i had been living under for 2 years straight and was only getting worse by the day. in fact, September 2nd (tomorrow) is the anniversary of a total Collapse.
my birthday seemed like a pretty opportune moment to start digging myself back out of that pit and that's exactly what the last year of my life has been all about.
The Almighty Jog, re-learning how to trust my instincts again, trust my own internal rhythms, focus on my own loves, my own values, my own beliefs. and to let my wrestling take place there. and i found a ton of out-dated maps and notions and ideas that i desperately needed to abandon.
i made the decision to approach my practice with love and gratitude, to take it day by day, and to locate images and words and the work of other artists and writers that resonated with me and what my life had been. i began to see what my true values were and how long i had been shelving them in order to "help" other people. i had had it drummed in to me that that's what you do when you really love someone. after making the decision to confront myself, i saw what a load of horseshit that actually is. and i spent a long time feeling alternately mad and sad about having been taught such an extremely damaging lesson. very mad. very sad. and rather than hide my sadness (which is what i typically did) and put on a Happy Face, i allowed my sadness to sit on the surface of my being. you can see it even here on this blog. i'm not ashamed of that. i don't think struggle is something a person should ever be made to feel ashamed of. ever. and so i don't allow myself to be ashamed or be shamed by others anymore. and that's probably the biggest step i've taken this year. shame had become quite a nasty habit. the only thing i've found that conquers Shame is Honesty. hard Honesty. Honesty about myself.
the passed year has gone by so unbelievably quickly. and here i am- a runner, an artist, a writer, a lover. from the outside, my life probably doesn't look very different today than it did a year ago, but it is. it is deeply different. i still get sad a lot... but life, at the moment, within my family, is pretty effing sad. and so it's normal. and i won't say i've figured everything out or that i have all the answers. i don't. what i do have is the knowledge that no one has all the answers and that that's actually a really great thing. i was thinking about that when i woke up today- answers and questions. and that maybe that's what art is? a practice of nailing down our questions rather than answers. and i like that. i like that a lot. :)
i'm excited to see where the next year goes. the only plan i have is to keep doing what i've been doing. keep running, keep writing, keep drawing, painting, making, exploring, excavating. keep trying. truly trying. and to not measure myself against other people's rulers. to live by my own standards and to practice a very brave, compassionate Honesty. i am removing the gag that i've lived with for soooo long. and though it is a very scary thing, i choose to be myself and to not writhe in silence anymore. i choose to be an artist and to let the expressions of my humanity be complete. i choose bravery.
anyway... GOOD MORNING! and HAPPY SEPTEMBER!!!!!! <3
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