beautiful day

i pulled on the shiny black pants i bought in new york.  i pulled a sweater over my head that i made at the beginning of this year and have never worn.  i stuck little pins in it. one that says R. MUTT and one that says I WILL CRUSH YOU. then, i went walking in the dark and in the cold.  it lit up my lungs and skin.  i feel a bit lighter in spite of myself, in spite of my arrogant pins.

i indulged in some much needed sweater-making time today.  i sipped coffee and wrote.  and last night after my last blog post i stayed up til 2am reading The Maids by Genet.  i truly love that man's work.  i love his ecstatic, passionate engagement with language.  after i get further along in german, i'll dive in to french so that i can read his work in its original form.  but The Maids...  it is a dark, seething play.  it spews the hatred that the poor of this earth often feel.  it tells of the insanity that can grow from humiliation and degradation.  it tells of the insanity that can grow from envy and subjugation.  it tells of the insanity that two sisters can grow together if left alone together too long in too hard a world.  it tells of the insanity we can encourage in each other when we stroke dangerous desires; the dire longing that reduces one to a state of abjection.  or maybe it isn't insanity at all?  i remember feeling the same way when i was very young and growing up poor.  i remember feeling so much less than everyone else.  my cousins and my classmates.  our society encourages it.  it's always been the case that we associate beauty with wealth.  to be poor is to be ugly.  to be poor is to be lazy and stupid.  to be poor is to be lesser.  or so the lesson goes.  it took many years to root that lesson out.  nevertheless, reading The Maids last night i could identify with that hard longing to be seen as an equal, to be valued for something more substantial than what clothes rest on my back.  and the language of the play is absolutely stunning.  cutting.  Genet is as masterful at sarcasm as he is at poetics.  i'm happy i stayed up late last night and read it.  i'm happy i stayed up late last night and read!  i plan to do the same tonight.

i went walking in the cold because i needed to buy a new notebook.  one more notebook filled and one more to go (at least) before the end of the year finds me.  i can't believe winter is already here.  wasn't it just yesterday that i was braving these winds?  did summer and fall already rush by? god, it's all been such a rush of image and breath and dance.  such a flood of music and alcohol and laughter.  i'm glad i took the time to write so much of it down.

i am so lucky to have crossed your path. 

to be alive...

the streets are wet and black.  a slow rain is coming down.  i am wearing one of the first sweaters i ever made.  how strange to think of where i was then, and how i spent my nights and days. even my body is a different size.  george michael sings in my ear (again and again) and a faithful Greyhound rests at my side.  i think this might be the first time its rained since i moved in to my white room. 

what can i give you tonight?  or any other night that might make up for my arrogant absences?  what can i give you that might mend the tear that i can't help but deal with my sad silences?  sometimes i need such a grand depth of space around me, such a deep, abiding stillness.  i slink low in to my warm bath of solitude and i do not surface until i have to.  i languish in it.  i luxuriate.  and then i go to work.  i look at the calendar and think of friends i haven't called and the skin i haven't touched in so long, the hair i haven't brushed and the glasses i haven't raised to the honor of such wonderful people in so long.  i hole up with my own projects and beverages.  and i suppose we all do it.  we all get lost in out own present tenses.

over dinner tonight with new friends i admitted that, now, a little more than 7 years after relocating to the Bay Area certain home-town friendships are finally starting to deteriorate.  it is sad because we've managed to hold on for so long.  we've managed to call each other on a regular enough basis and still say i love you but so much changed when i became single at the beginning of the year.  a renewal of sorts.  and so much changed after going to New York:  a birth that i knew would occur.  so many people have commented on how "alive" i seem since having gone.  so many people have commented on how much happier and stronger i seem.  and what they see is real.  i deal out a lot of my vulnerabilities here in this electric square and i willingly supply evidence of the existence of my own excitable, quavering heart; nevertheless, i have become quite brave this year.  it's an event that surprises the shit out of me.  i've wanted to be brave my entire life.  i've wanted to know the definition of courage for so long. it is totally different from what i assumed it would be.

i am finally myself.  i am finally allowing for change and experience.  i am finally allowing for pleasure, finally able to accept the pleasure of risk.  for the first time in years, i am enjoying my daily life.  i don't feel like crying as i walk closer and closer to my front door.  i don't feel like, with each step, i am telling lie after lie.  i look at the sky and think of my mother and wish she could see me now.  she would be so happy for me.  she would tell me how well i'm doing and how proud she is of me.  she would be envious of my trip to new york and we would talk for hours about it.  she would want to hear all about testing perfume at Lord & Taylor and how delicious the hotdogs are at the food carts all over manhattan.  she would want to hear all about walking through the lower east side at 4 am and the dead pigeon i accidentally kicked.  she would commend me for having found the courage to stake claim to my own life.  she would ask me to speak to her in german just so she could hear the language of her favorite land in the entire world, a place she always wanted to return to.  she had been stationed there when she was 19 years old and always longed to return.  "there's such magic there", she said, and in so many ways, that is where my family begins- our strange, careening story. we've all become so different. we share such similar stories but walk such distinct roads. 

november is coming and, with it, an election, a concert, and another trip to beautiful New York.  i am on pins and needles waiting for the first of the month to arrive.  a new adventure is breathing down my neck and i cannot wait to turn and collect its kiss. 

it isn't hate, i suppose, just the hot temper and surge of being forlorn.

it isn't hopelessness, just fear of pain and of dealing pain.

the world is a strange, unspeakable place. i make myself a blanket. one short stitch at a time.

the things i long for are too hard to name (though i know exactly what they are). i have their textures close at hand. the colors i love best are tucked deep in my heart and folded against my eyelids. certain voices have nailed themselves in side my ear. there are days when their deep purr is all i hear and all i care to hear.

2...

this is my 2009 self-portrait.

in chronological order from first to last, the notebooks...

looking for home...

after dinner last night, we all sat around and talked and laughed on the great big veranda at the neighbors house. they told us about funny and wacky camping trips they've been on, all the little sideways adventures and fun... and it dawned on me that my sweetie and i have been on one big sideways adventure since the day we got together. we've moved every year and a half for the passed four and a half years. and though a couple of those were to seize beautiful opportunities, it always makes for a strange transition and re-ordering of life. and come to think of it... my family moved a lot when i was a kid. i didn't grow up in one house. i didn't go to one high school.

anyway, when we moved here a year and a half ago, i couldn't seem to get up the energy to unpack. i think it took me a good 8 months to set our possessions in order. and of course, every time i opened a new box, i saw all sorts of objects that i no longer wanted, no longer needed, and some ghosts tried to get out too. and for the first year of our stay here, our little home has been in a constant state of re-arranging, removing, weeding through, getting rid of, rotating paintings, etc, etc, etc. and as i was telling the neighbors about this last night and watched their eyes change and heard how chaotic it sounds to most people- moving that often - i realized that maybe it took me so long to unpack the boxes because i feared i'd just have to repack them soon enough. my sweetheart and i have lived an a strange moment of upheaval and change for almost 5 years. some of it good, some of it not so good, but we've managed to be good to each other in spite of all that...

and so when i started feeling nervous about the house we looked at, nervous over what a big decision it is, i realized that i'm sort of scared to put down roots... i don't want to have to yank them back up. i don't want to have to relocate anymore. at least not for a few more years. i want to get down to enjoying my daily life and be free of the feeling of impending DOOM of having to move again. it's been hard on both of us and i'm ready to settle down for awhile. i'm ready to build and grow and change IN ONE SPOT. i want to start putting together a show and making plans and all sorts of wonderful things which is so hard to do in a state of flux. tremendously hard. and the longer i'm here in this area, the more i love it, the more i see the value of living in a place like this. i don't want to uproot again and go some place different just yet. i want to keep running through the vineyards with my dog, writing and drawing first thing in the morning, painting and playing. i don't want to lose these things. i want to keep them safe. i want them to grow and get bigger. i want them to weave in and out of my day and i want to feel secure enough to just be happy where i'm at. my sweetie feels the same way. we want a bit of ease and a bit of consistency and all those adult things that once upon a time sounded so boring.

p.s.

i suppose this is what happens after graduation... the thing everybody warns you about but is of supreme importance: learning how to work without constant access to guidance and critique. i sure do miss crits. i really, really miss crits... for as odd and masochistic as that may seem. it took awhile for me to settle in to the next phase of my work but it's here now and i'm grateful for the struggle that led to it. better to flounder than not work at all- a sad and all too common occurrence for a lot of artists after getting the piece of paper. day-jobs and money concerns get in the way pretty easily and person's art practice begins to take a back seat. i'm lucky i survived that part and didn't fall victim to it. i'm lucky that i went down that road of working full time and working full time before ever going to art school. i'm lucky to be involved with a gallery; especially one that supports my practice completely and is always willing to work with me and offer insight and compassion and help me over the hurdles of maintaining a prolific pace. quite a few feathers in my cap. sometimes, i forget that. i get so wound up in what i think i should be doing and should be accomplishing rather than just trusting the work and respecting the process. the sparkle of things can be distracting but long hours alone in the studio is what really matters. that and getting the work off your own walls and out in to the world where they can actually work their magic. it is a tough, tough road for sure but it's the best road i've ever found myself on and i wouldn't give it up for anything.