just the beginning

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over a year in production, The Blanket of DOOM is finally finished.   mostly.  a few small tweaks here and there, a few loose yarn ends to be woven in to the grain of stitches, and a ton of photographs to take before i can legitimately refer to this project as Done.  in fact, it could be quite some time before i see the end of this particular piece.  the photo up top signals what i envision for The Blanket: a life prior to finding itself on display in a gallery.  we'll see where we end up together.  :)

but it is a happy moment to see her in all her good glory.  so many long hours and evening spent hooking away at this piece.  it is an expression of dedication and faith that, even if imperfect, the idea was a good one and to chase it to the end.  there were plenty of times at the very beginning of this massive undertaking that i wanted to give up, unravel the entire thing, and focus on smaller projects.  there were plenty of weeks when i didn't touch her at all.  couldn't.  even hated the idea of working on her.  there were plenty of times when i dreaded the work that needed to be done.  it seemed so endless.  impossible. 

when i finally reached the half-way mark, my hope and strength returned and i felt committed to seeing the project through to the end regardless of how it turned out.  i no longer needed it to be any good and i just wanted to make the blanket for me.  i began to see it as a landscape...  a road...  a way to learn something deeper about who i am and the type of artist and human i want to be.  a poem to wrap myself in.

Lea had said to me once, "your work is so devotional."  her voice came back to me so many times while i worked on The Blanket.  what is Devotion?  what is it to devote oneself to something?  what does it require?  it comes down to an unspeakable trust.  i trust my work with all that i am and all that i've got.  i entrusted my entire life and self to it a long time ago and haven't questioned it since.  my road through this world might very well be different from others but it is a good one and my work has proven itself to be the very best map and guide.

the picture of me laying on top of the Blanket of DOOM was taken this morning in my kitchen.  she takes up the entire floor.   i'm 5'6".  each letter in DIE is taller than i am.   but the work has always been, and always will be, bigger than me and that has nothing to do with physical scale.  :)

 

so happy i could DIE

crochet

kingsize blanket

angela simione, 2013

okay okay okay

time to get back to the regularly scheduled program.

i must. my routine is too damn precious to be allowed to spiral. it really is. i'm the kind of person that needs structure within a day... even if i don't like it, even if that structure is easy and joyful, i need it. i need to get out of bed at the same time every morning and go make coffee, go write in my notebook, obey The Almighty Jog, and then go to work. too many days spent away from the schedule tends to make me feel like i'm lacking something. and of course, when hard hours hit, the schedule seems to be the very first thing sacrificed.

sometimes, that's necessary. but sometimes, it's caused by sadness and fear. and when the latter is the case, abandoning The Routine makes a day more chaotic than it might have been.

the weird and inexplicable events of late were definitely a bit distracting but, after touring SFMOMA with my friend, everything felt right in the world again. i felt such a deep joy and freshness within myself standing in front of those gorgeous, gorgeous paintings. and it gave me the strength to look at my own work with a stiffer resolve... and also the direction i need to move in. there's an un-fun business decision on the back-burner, on the horizon, that, though based in positivity, is never the less sort of daunting and sad. and on the heels of this, comes some very scary, very serious news about my family member who is currently fighting cancer. the great sweeping wind of resolve that found me when i was standing in that cathedral of a museum, effectively blew off somewhere else and yesterday i was pretty much derailed and depressed. i went running. i took a shower. i working on a drawing for a few hours. that was pretty much it. when J got home, we vegged out in front of the TV and watched a harry potter movie. not normally my cup of tea, but it did the trick. i was distracted from the hard hours and allowed to feel something other, something lighter, than this weight of fear- the weight of The Unknown. and i'm all the better for it this morning.

i have my cup of coffee and i've done my scribbling and i'm picking up my schedule. i wrote 15 minutes on my forearm to remind me how to proceed today- 15 minutes at a time, if need be. i am no longer feeling crushed and sucker punched. i am surrounded by paintings that i care about, paintings i believe in, that i can see are Good, and i am sitting inside faith today rather than fear.

i'll take a long, long run this morning. it has become such a private and beautiful act. completely like prayer. i will let it do its good work so that i may do mine.

good morning.

i've missed you. :)

rappers, comic book artists, painters, musicians, and actors agree:

today...

morning coffee in southern california. my brother's big ol' beautiful house. a couple more days of hugs and we'll be back on the road home. my sweetheart came too. and inga is in tow as well. my whole kookie little family. :) i feel much lighter and easier now that i've hugged my sweet mother. there aren't any answers but there's a lot of love and that's something to feel safe inside. sometimes love is better than knowledge. love is always warm. knowledge can be quite cold at times. and i prefer faith to worry.

hope and F-bombs aplenty...

jim carroll's death is still heavy on my mind this morning in spite of the bright day or because of it. it is a strange low call that pushes, pushes, pushes to be good, to write, to mean it, every line, each word, the weight considered, endless, endless, a strange low call and the pen, toward something better than i am. and i don't care how cliched it sounds, it's the fact and the truth-

a voice whispers out of the slept-in sheets that says, "fuck it. it doesn't need to be 'good', it just needs to be done. fuck it if it's bad and fuck it if it's stupid, just do it. the point is in the ink and the pages turned and all the fluid that spills and leaks and seeps. be brave. be restless. say 'fuck it'. because fuck it if no one likes it and fuck it if they think it's useless and fuck it if people say poetry has no point and is stupid and indulgent. they're wrong. fuck em. write and write til your pretty little hands turn gnarled and useless and then learn to write with your teeth because that's what poetry needs, that's what poetry IS so just say 'fuck it' and go. go."

the light comes in all patchy down from the trees and the air has no weight to it and i wrote 12 pages in my notebook this morning. i am drinking coffee, my blessed hazelnut, and already i know the day is good. i can feel it. it has already been so kind to me. there is no touch of deception anywhere and there aren't any reasons to fear an ugly head rising out of the blankets. the newness is beautiful. the light spills and spills, the color of lemonade, the color a whisper might be. i am cooled. i am called to my books and my little puddles of black gouache. i have been making sweet little things these passed two weeks because that's what i needed around me. i haven't taken their picture because right now i need then all for me, no documents. i will share soon but for now the playful, easy work of investigation takes precedence. it is all process. it is all discovery. it doesn't matter if it's 'good' because it is GOOD. a tool of gentleness. a means to kindness. a way to practice sensitivity and thoughtfulness, a way of reaching toward delicacy. i will share, i promise. but today is for walking and looking and breathing hard, all wrapped up in good light and because i can, endless, endless, and a strange low beautiful whisper that says "fuck it".