mourning good morning

and last night, that big ol' yellow moon. did you see it? it infected me. made me feel less alone than i have in weeks.

it's amazing how specific life is sometimes. how specific and how tragic. as i drove home last night i realized (again) that there is no right answer, no wrong answer, just was IS. the world was destroyed and all the bits of it hang in the air. nothing has landed. just trash in space. i float. i collide.



i am listening to Lykke Li's new album this morning.

narrow

i was looking at the bright sky and the bright leaves. i was thinking of my drawings. i was thinking of my sweater, every panel now finished and only needing to be stitched together. i was looking at the bright sky and as i watched the bright leaves flutter passed, i saw how fast i was running. pound pound pound. legs and lungs. legs and heart. pound pound pound. at the intersection i looked both ways. the woman in the car did not. i watched her not look. i lept, one hand punched down hard on the hood of her car as she absent-mindedly began to drive right through me. i was running fast and, like an action movie, lept out of the way and yelled HEY! i looked back over my shoulder and both her hands were raised in that "oops" pose. she mouthed the word so-rry pathetically. i felt a bit insulted by that. the sing-song sorry. and then i instantly felt a bit embarrassed by the anger that swelled in me. i ran faster and faster and got back to that place where the pound pound pound is all that matters. the pain in my legs. heaving chest. sweaty face. can we call it beauty? at least sometimes. at least in the moment. at least when you go as fast as you can and see the bright leaves and see the bright sky and be thankful for the quickness that bolted you over the hood of a car. here in one piece. here, feeling just fine. and deciding that narrow escapes are more beautiful to watch than wide ones. i'm very happy that accident was avoided. :)

moday monday monday

a new monday. a new week. and it's hard to believe october is already here. it really does feel like we welcomed the new year just yesterday. this year is a steam train.

still: a new monday, a new week. and i welcome it with my own steam and fire. yesterday, an artist i greatly admire came by my place to look at all the work and make happy plans. i'll have more news on that later, but for now- i can't tell you how absolutely wonderful it is to be in the same room with a person who not only appreciates your aesthetic, but believes in the relevance of it because they are a practitioner of that aesthetic as well. us black and white artist girls are in the definite minority so it was so affirming and happy-making to have another woman in the house who knows exactly where i'm coming from. and we talked about painting and drawing and print-making and the glory of oval canvasses and t-shirts and doubled back over the conversation, looping around happy and giddy, discussing every single art related thing and dream that came up. the hour she was here went by so fast. it was awesome.

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.

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. :)

waking

i need to finish my essay about kate zambreno's book soon. all the weirdo hoopla around here lately has been very distracting. and then the long weekend of sirens sirens sirens, drunk people driving off of cliffs or smashing in to trees. wine-country is the land of the road-side memorial. it is sad. it is heart-breaking. it makes me want to hug everyone all the time.

but i am finally shrugging off the new tensions and getting back to my regularly scheduled program of writing, reading, painting, drawing, writing, reading, painting, drawing. i finished a big ice-berg drawing yesterday. it's the same size as the tire-swing. i'll photograph it soon. i've been bad about documentation lately. and tonight i'm going to go have a slumber party with my friend becca in the city. she's back in town, up from the southern california beaches, and ready to laugh and laugh and laugh and suck up that wonderful san francisco fog. and so am i. i think it's been almost 6 months since we've seen each other. and i absolutely love being in the same room with other artistic women. love. i love the friendship that arises out of that dynamic. a friendship based in crazy discussion. ethics and aesthetics and belief in the power of art. a friendship born of the shared belief that art is important and meaningful and relevant to daily life. it's amazing. and that's the part of going to art-school that i miss the most: daily conversation about aesthetics and relevance and the push/pull of images and words. ideas everywhere. that's probably why i like the blogging community so much- the continued engagement with ideas and aspirations and loves and The Struggle.

it's a cold morning here. my finger tips actually feel a little numb. the seasons have been strange this year. but i have my coffee mug to warm them by and soon a long, loved run to take. my dreams from last night are still very much on me. odd feelings and a light anxiety. i will jump in to a painting or a book for a few hours before i head out to the city. lose myself in my love for these things. swim.

another new week

monday morning. again again again. coffee in the pot, coffee in my cup, and The Almighty Jog awaits. the slow traffic rumbles on the 2 lane highway and the sky is only just-now blue. it was white a few minutes ago, aching and sleepy. breath on a mirror. smiley faces on a window pane. 6 months of the New Year gone already. a flung arrow. my my my. and the burn of so many plans. days stacked upon days. aching and sleepy, yes. but happy too. and excited. and not at all worried about stupidity or perfection. not one bit.

good morning. :)

here we are at thursday and i feel happy.

there is a nice, warm calm i've been hoarding for myself lately. lots of writing and reading and drawing and crocheting. soft days. the week has been good to me: ideas, ideas, ideas and coffee and poems and taking my friend to the dentist to get a tooth yanked out. the stuff that makes a life.

i've been practicing being present. not anguishing over the future, just letting the joy flood back in to my practice and letting go of rules and definitions. isn't that what art's supposed to be about anyway? ha! and i must laugh at myself. i must and i do. everyday. and i've also re-invested in the good habit of dancing in the living room. blasting music in the morning and even singing in to a hair brush. silliness! and happy laughter!

and so today i have absolutely no plan for the hours to come. let them come however they want. it's bright and beautiful here. the curtains are open and i've still got a half pot of coffee to get through. there are blackberries in the fridge and bagels in the cupboard. the big spider i'm drawing for louise bourgeois is lording over my bedroom, tacked to the wall, beautiful and creeping.

i think i'll take my coffee to bed and sit with the big spider for awhile. eat breakfast with it and enjoy the calm of this beautiful morning.

start the day off right!

good morning! :D

what fun...

childhood memories are funny. i love hearing them. especially what people thought about the world when they were small.

this morning when i stepped outside a big fat drop of rain splatted on my cheek and it knocked a memory loose that totally explains how i became a RAIN HATER.

i stopped jumping in puddles and playing in the rain pretty early in life because, if you remember, in the mid to late 80s (i was born in 1980) all of a sudden every body got FANATICAL about ACID RAIN. and i was told about this in school. and i have NO CLUE why GROWN UPS thought it was a GOOD IDEA to tell LITTLE KIDS about ACID RAIN when the hot movie at the time was "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?", a movie that included the death of sweet little cartoons by way of THE DIP! THE DIP = ACID and then i go to school, sweet and shy and gullible and full of trust, and hear all about ACID falling out of the sky. and when i welled up the courage to raise my hand and ask if the rain could hurt me, my teacher responded "well... just don't get it in your eyes." AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! how stupid are you????? why would you say that to a little kid? hahahahahaha! so then i became afraid that the rain could BLIND ME. geez. this is worse than being told we're in the "Last Days" and Jesus will return any second so you'll never get to grow up and be an adult and get married and blah blah blah. that tid-bit is directly responsible for all sorts of kids having a strange breed of peter pan-ism because LAST DAYS = NO FUTURE. do people really forget what it's like to be a child???? how scary and weird and big the world seems? how confusing? and how magic is real? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???? hahahaha!

i'm laughing my ass off right now!

good morning. :)

monday monday monday

i hid from all forms of technology yesterday and lay under a hard rain that is still coming down right now. life-long, i've been a RAIN HATER but suddenly, strangely, the hate i feel toward a wet day is thinning out of me. i was so pleased by the sound of it on the roof all day yesterday, and when i woke up and heard it, still here dancing, it made me feel clean and safe. seems, i have changed my ways. ha!

and my coffee steams. the sound of morning traffic begins. my dog is asleep in the spot on the bed that i rose from, curled up in the warmth i left there, snoring. i am in my black and white striped footie pajamas, hair twisted up in a ballerina bun, sitting cross-legged like a little kid, bad posture and all. my paintings look beautiful to me today and i feel a great hope that everything really will be okay.

a flood of writing has been coming out of me- all trapped in my notebook, things i don't have the stomach to type up now that i'm out of the moment when it first came pouring out. and the more i read, the more i write, the more i care about what writing can be and do... what art can be and do. and it's funny how once i gave myself permission to slow down, the work sped up and just comes searing out on to the page or canvas. the self-imposed constraints have fallen away and i am just chasing chasing chasing this thing, hopeful and flailing and hurting, trying my best to keep up with the heavy rush of all these ideas...

but it was nice to stay away from the computer yesterday. it was even nice to not read anything. have a day of rest. have a silly day, a laundry day, a movie day, a day full of cuddles and hugs and funny memories. and then sunday dinner with our neighbors. it has become a tradition. back and forth, back and forth, and so much loud, happy laughter. it feels like family. normal family stuff. and normalcy has become a great and deep comfort to me. whenever and however it occurs. simple pleasures. the small stuff. sitting down to a home-cooked meal, all together at a table, is something i do not take for granted. it is always wonderful. a big big blessing.

and so as the week wakes up, i wake up too; but i am careful not to put too many things on my TO DO list. the rain helps me out endlessly in that regard.

the world is green and grey outside. and cold, cold, cold. i will stay in my footie pajamas for awhile longer. drink coffee. enjoy. be still. be satisfied. the rain beating down. the traffic sounds. a snoring rottweiler named inga. the click of keys under my finger tips.

good morning.

(BIG SMILE)

back on my good grey horse this morning. already already.

it's funny how quickly perspectives shift.

yesterday, a miraculous thing happened: i began a new oil painting. something about priming and sanding and smoothing new canvas made me hungry for it... to revere something. and oil painting is a very reverential thing- the history of portrait painting bleeding through... no matter the subject... it's always a portrait... and they say, in some way, always a self-portrait. i tend to agree with that. all work is, to some degree, autobiographical. even if only in terms of aesthetics. and this is a perfect way to perceive it. a perfect way to proceed. why work on something you're not at all attracted to? that doesn't speak to you? why spend hours deep in the wrestling if you aren't captivated by the image itself?

and this outlook i've given myself permission to cling to - of recognizing, day by day, what image or form or material speaks loudest to me - has unleashed such a rapid love. a quick-moving, diligent, reverential love. and so i slid the black oil all over and kept going, kept going, kept going. and i realized that maybe the thing that has been bugging me specifically about oil painting isn't the material and isn't the image, but rather my handling of it. specifically, my technique. it needed to change a bit. evolve. i had locked myself in to a procedure.

but all the drawing i've been doing has refreshed me... let me see images in a different way... let me see materials in a different way. how painting is an act of honoring. a mode through which we (i) esteem something. and drawing can be that way too, but it's more intimate... full of traces and stains and the sweep of the human hand throughout its entirety. if you look close enough, you will find a finger print. and that's why i am so attracted to drawing lately. the intimacy of it. the imperfections and explorations that are inherent to the media itself.

but yesterday, something shook loose and i remembered that i do in fact know how to paint. that i know how to paint wet-into-wet. that i don't have to stick to the procedure if the procedure no longer aids the exploration as a whole. it was a fast, hard, happy realization and i worked late in to the evening.

it's funny... the things a person forgets. and how frail my ego gets some days. days when i say the worst things possible to myself, convinced everything i've ever done is stupid and pointless and that i'll never get it right. haha! all artists do it. and it feels like hell at the time. but i have to laugh at myself and just keep going.

it is bright and beautiful and green green green outside. maybe i'll paint outdoors today in the good light.

i'll be back later with the poem of the day. i'm enjoying just thinking about painting right now and want to sit with my coffee and look at the canvas for awhile this morning before anything else. it's romantic. :)

work in progress

the days and weeks of this new year are moving faster and faster. spring arrives and so the new year isn't quite so new. usually, i'd be a bit sad about this. about time moving this way. about how quickly change occurs... or the stagnation of one day blending with the day before and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. but not this year. this year's current and quickness have been a pleasure: a burn. the opposite of 'shiver'. quick quick and buzz buzz and as the day goes dark, i do mourn a bit that it went so quick, but i become excited for morning. i become exhilarated by the prospect of waking up and crawling toward my drawings, again and again crawling, like a reverent servant, like a child to its mama, something lasting that way.

the sun is up and the morning traffic has slowed. i drink coffee. my pen flies. all morning all morning and my courage wells up a little. my desire to share and roll around in the same space the same place the same warmth as another. a hug. a breath.
an excerpt. of me.


-------------------------------------------------------

(non-)





the day swings.
slices my face.

my breath gone.
i'll die one day i know it.

cancerd, like mama,

and hollow.



swing swing,

it slices my face.

i strain.
i swell.

i breathe.
the day,


expanding.



-



hidden increments, like hair
lost in the carpet.
lashes tangled and breaking.
the crust.
the crumbs
catching on my lips.
my mouth, a ring of salt.
dislodged sleep.
the muttering. the thin whisper.

i am embarrassed.

i am afraid to walk alone on the street.

i might mutter more places than in front of my own safe mirror.

that face i've got.
that iffy friend, staring staring.

and the words she uses. words like a mallet. mouth like a tool drawer. all that clanging. teeth slamming, words on broken hinges. she holds them flatly on her tongue. she is always ready to spit.



-



knock knock and i hide in the other room. i hate the sound. i hate the way people come knocking on the door. i hate it that i'm expected to open the door. that's what that knocking is. expectation.



-



i have an ugly face in photographs. very ugly like a monster. i am ashamed of photographs that have my face in them. i feel sorry for the rest of the photograph for having to carry the weight of my ugly ugly face. the crushing weight of the thing. the thing. twisted. shadows that must apologize.

apologize or die.

the apology: i am not ugly outside the rectangle. outside the rectangle, i do not have to apologize to the landscape for containing me. there are vultures on the ground. there are baby teeth in the drawer. there is my brother next to the old, deep frog hole, 6 feet tall and speaking: "just like an alcoholic, only with people who are bad for you."

there is a despair.

there is a despair.

don't you know anything!


striving
striving
striving
striving

always




no. i don't know anything.

and i am embarrassed.




-



you are in this room.
it is a safe room.
the lights are off.
or the lights are on.
whatever you like.
whatever you are most comfortable with.
whatever you prefer.

there is no noise
except that of the comforting fan at the foot of the bed.
or maybe there is no bed.
maybe the bed makes you sick.
maybe the bed makes you sore.
maybe you prefer the deep chair.
whatever you like best.

close your eyes.

there is nothing right about it.
there is nothing wrong about it.
there is no structure.
it is okay the dream has collapsed.
it is okay the diamond shards have lodged themselves in your eyes.
the shards are yours. you can make them hurt if you like.
you can make them beautiful.
you may decide to hurt. it is okay.
you can call these things by a name.
you can choose to name it.
you are in a safe room.
the lights are off.
the lights are on.
whatever you prefer.
the bed or the chair.
shame will not find you.
there are diamonds.
who are you thinking of?


my father

what about him?

i love him.

is he the person you love most?

yes.

where is he?

gone.

where did he go?

i don't know.

where are you?

i'm not sure.

do you miss him?

yes.

what does that mean to you?

i don't know who i am anymore.

without your father?

yes.





-




lay me out something nice to wear, mama. lay me out your hair.
give me your pearls. i'll stick them in my ears.
give me your tall shoes
so i can be tall like you.

ever since i was a little girl.
ever since i was a little girl.



-



you have done everything you've been told to do. in motion. but you haven't done everything. you've left the best part out. the piece i want the most. you've done everything you've been told but you haven't enjoyed it. you are still yourself somewhere in there. you haven't enjoyed it and this is why i turn away. this is why you are not loved by me. you have not been my true squire. you are to be "protege". you are to be "daughter". you are to be my MINE. and this is the cloud that drops the angry word. i own the cloud. i will send out swarms to you. the gnats will fuck your face. you won't be able to breathe without sucking them in. down down and horribly, grossly, in to your lungs. you. that body. my MINE. you have only satisfied my orders with movement. with body. with hair. but that thumping thing still utters a desire outside of my MINE. and that squirming grey thing still sends juice in a direction unchosen by my MINE. this is why you are hated. this is what names you BAD DAUGHTER. you have not surrendered the last piece. you have not given me my MINE.


-



the day swings..




-

good morning!

it is cold and blue this morning. shivers and frozen breath. the steam coming off the top of my coffee is bright white.

the first thing i saw this morning when i stumbled out of bed was the big oil painting i worked on almost all day yesterday. what a beautiful sight to behold first thing! it's weird- that might seem like a really egotistical thing to say about one's own work but, the maid portraits in particular, feel like other beings to me... like recognizing and appreciating another person's beauty. i don't mean it as a self-congratulation at all. when i look at them i want to just do my best. slow down, listen, be attentive, and move in the direction they point. it's a series of work that comes and goes and works best when i don't try to make them move in a particular direction... actually, all my work is kinda like that. and it isn't intuition so much as trust. a call toward belief. faith almost. a chase.

i need more coffee.

dark outside

it is raining. cold and heavy. and the sirens have started. someone has slid off the road. someone has run off the cliff. and it feels like someone walked back and forth across my face all night long. it feels like someone made me breathe a tin of pepper as i slept. this little virus will not be moved. and she is a ruthless tease.

good morning!

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

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

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

rise and shine!

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

good morning!

i woke to the smell of coffee and oil paint. delicious.

i got my little make-shift studio set up yesterday morning and got straight to work. i painted all day long, pushing The Almighty Jog back to late afternoon, and each of the 4 big oils are now hanging on the walls, pleading for more attention. the house is permeated with their gorgeous scent. i can't tell you how happy this makes me- to be moving forward again at a healthy pace, serious and excited and playful all at once. and it's a breed of joy i've missed. it's a breed of joy i've needed.

maybe i'll start work on THE BEAST today- a gargantuan canvas that will not fit in the truck. i'll eventually need to rent a moving van to transport this thing. totally fucking awesome! i haven't worked on a canvas this big since my senior year... and actually this canvas is a bit bigger than that. oh, it's gonna be fun! so much room to spread out in, roll around in, root around in like a dog. but first, i've got to prime the monster and that'll take a couple hours. the grunt work. i hate it. but ever since i started stretching my own canvas, i simply can't make do with the pre-fab stuff at the art store. it's just not nearly the same and, now, feels like shit to paint on. the gesso doesn't even feel the same. i am becoming quite a snob about this stuff. ha! but it's true what your teachers tell you... quality materials make your work SHINE!

sick room

an hour after he walked out the door, he walked right back in. my sweetie is home sick from work today. painful puking and all. i'm trying hard to keep my distance. in spite of the icy cold, i'll do my best to stay out in the fresh air. last night i got so many ideas for new paintings. a flood of images shaken loose by all these fairy tales and i'm excited and happy and feeling playful and i have a big ol' stack of virgin canvas just waiting for a little love.

good morning

i need to make myself a pair of mittens. the cold actually hurt me this morning when i went outside to write. in fact, i couldn't stay outside on my little stoop in front of the cottage for more than 5 minutes. and for that 5 minutes, i traded my cup of coffee back and forth between my two hands to warm them up and thaw the hurt. a hard winter has come. i knew it would. and if it's this cold at the beginning of december, january will be a horror.

yesterday after a good couple of hours painting, i rearranged the living room to use an entire wall for the maid portraits. i've got them all together and they look so beautiful. i'm seeing them with fresh eyes. even the problem child of the group (and there's always a problem child) is gorgeous and i can see the direction i must take her in. it feels good to be listening again. to work. it's the moment when i am truly myself. freedom. and love. and i wouldn't trade this job for any other. no amount of money or prestige or possession will ever seem as beautiful, as necessary as this work. nothing could lure me away. this is my life. and it's all i want.