.
i am awake and alone inside a silent house. the light is beautiful and i had no bad dreams.
i booked a room at The Jane in new york for a few days in mid october before heading up to Montreal and then back down to Vermont for the residency. less than 2 weeks now until i board my plane. last week, i was full of excited anxiety and it was incredibly hard to go to work. this week, i'm calm. i'm trying not to think about it much, only in terms of what needs to be handled before i leave my life here in Oakland for 6 weeks- the packages that need to be shipped, the day i'll need to spend at the DMV replacing my lost driver's license, bill payments that need to be scheduled, etc etc. when i start thinking about anything beyond these types of regular responsibilities, my blood runs too hot too quickly and i return to that semi-afraid state of elation that finds me so easily at the mere mention of travel.
but this is more than travel. this is Time. it's been years since i've had the time to just curl up with a book for three days straight if i want to. it's been years since i've had the time to curl up with a drawing for three days straight if i want to. it's been years since i've been surrounded by other artists on a daily basis. not since art school. and i'll tell ya, hanging out with other artists is what i miss most about that experience. it's one of the things i'm looking forward to most about going to this residency. i'll be one of 50 artists and writers. i'm so excited for the conversations that we're going to have.
i've been reading Keith Haring's journals the last few days and his descriptions of art school, going to painting class and poetry readings, putting together shows, and his own ideas about his practice are so intoxicating. i revel in it. i turn the pages hungrily, grateful for each word and insight. i'm comforted by his texts, so full of casual language. that's how i write in my diary. i am no Anais Nin. my eloquence finds me after a flood of slang and swear words. i've always sort of felt bad that my diary is not a place of eloquence. until now. perhaps the eloquence is simply of a different variety? perhaps my aims are totally different, totally my own. i'm looking forward to traveling with Keith Haring's diary pressed against mine, two of the best travel companions i can think of. i'm looking forward to walking around new york city and seeing the places he describes in these pages. those that are still there. i'm looking forward to going to the Guggenheim for the first time and central park. funny i've yet to do such quintessentially new york things on past visits.
but there i go dreaming. :)
it's important to me to stay put in The Present the next 13 days. i don't want to slide off into reverie just yet. i want the realities that surround me. i want to enjoy the peace and quiet of a slow morning at home before work. i want to enjoy the sounds of the street and the screech of the train. i want to enjoy walking in to a neighborhood bar at midnight after a long day at work and seeing my lover sitting on a bar stool waiting for me. i want to see him turn and smile at me. i want to hold his face in my hands and kiss it. and i want to stay in that moment. i want to laugh with him. i want to laugh with my friends and fellow waiters and roommates. i want to enjoy every single thing about the simple goodness of my life right this second and not slip off in to dreams. the future will find me. i am creating it. there is no need today to loll inside such images. there is a need, instead, to be gratefully happy for the day i'm standing in.
i am a very lucky girl.
.
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Oct 5, 2014
Sep 24, 2013
Nov 26, 2012
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.
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.
Mar 3, 2011
beauty
it is a grey and drizzly morning here but i will not be stopped. soon, i will head off to the city and open the doors of the gallery. freya managed to wrangle one last magical week for us. do come by if you're able. it's been such an amazing, unexpected, joyful experience and the more people i can share it with, the better. besides, the space itself is just so gorgeous. it's been awesome to have a room of our own this way. the white cube is a crazy, wonderful place. to have had one extended to us so generously is a gift beyond compare. i know that it has saved me these passed few months. it really has. and i know that one day when i look back on this moment, i will see just how well-timed it all was. if not for this... who knows where i might have slid off to. i'm glad to have had such a beautiful anchor. or crutch. or stilt. or cathedral.
(when i'm alone in the space, i sing. the acoustics are fantastic. it makes me sound beautiful. i can't describe the massive wave of happy pain that finds me. is it Exaltation? or Honesty? either way, a gorgeous sensation. tears in my eyes. maybe it's just good ol' Freedom.)
today i'll be there from 2-6pm, crocheting another sweater and studying my German and reading Bataille like a good girl. ha! and sunday will be our last day. there will be cheese and wine and ME and freya and launa. come by and collect some hugs.
(when i'm alone in the space, i sing. the acoustics are fantastic. it makes me sound beautiful. i can't describe the massive wave of happy pain that finds me. is it Exaltation? or Honesty? either way, a gorgeous sensation. tears in my eyes. maybe it's just good ol' Freedom.)
today i'll be there from 2-6pm, crocheting another sweater and studying my German and reading Bataille like a good girl. ha! and sunday will be our last day. there will be cheese and wine and ME and freya and launa. come by and collect some hugs.
Dec 21, 2010
Jul 15, 2010
me and louise
my buddy rebecca snapped this of me, scruffy and make-up-less, at SFMOMA and i'm so grateful for the token, for the archive of this experience. it serves as a reminder that i truly do need to follow my own heart and do this thing my way, a way that feels right for me.
it's about honesty.
when i look at louise bourgeois' work, her honesty and bravery radiate right of the surface of her objects. it radiates from the core on out. and standing so close to one of her sculptures, i felt the deep buzz of her love for her work and it was very hard not to touch it. in fact, i should have touched it. the only reason i didn't is the security team at SFMOMA are fanatical and watch every move you make so that they can tell you NO PENS ALLOWED! ONLY PENCIL!
and since the beginning of the year, i've been crawling deeper and deeper in to my own values and ethics when it comes to art and life. and the two subjects are so connected that they are basically the same thing. i want to be a smart artist. i want to be a brave artist. and honorable too.
the passed few days i've been trying to photograph finished drawings that have been hiding in one portfolio or another for quite some time. the grunt work of documentation, but also a very necessary step in the process of curation. because i live with the work and it isn't caged away in a separate studio space, i can easily lose track of what i've made. and this experience of going through the work piece by piece, laying it across every inch of my small cottage, crowding myself with all the black and white and nebulous greys is such an inspiring thing. i can see the lines that connect one work to another. i can see how far back these fault lines run. that i've always made portraits of some kind. the only thing that has changed is my idea of what a portrait is.
in a nut shell, each piece of mine is a portrait- of loss, of desire, of anger, confusion, longing, struggle, failure, and love.
the work is personal and the work exposes things that even i am surprised by sometimes. even the work i consider to be not "good enough" for public consumption, has such a steep value to it. the pieces that i struggled hard with, the work that never came easy and never really became what i wanted it to be, is the work that supplied the best learning curve. it's the work that taught me the most, showed me the most, and, like a good teacher, kicked my ass all over the place when i needed it. my Learning is evident in those pieces and, because of that, they are Good.
it's interesting how one's eyes change.
and i feel lucky that those pieces can have a voice every now and then here on the blog. there's really no such thing as "failure". it's a false construct. it's a lie. Learning is not failure.
.
.
.
i'm learning a lot these days... and sometimes i get tired, sometimes i get mad, sometimes i am totally frustrated and confused. and then the next morning arrives and i scribble away in my notebook and some sort of answer or brightness falls out of my pen and i find a way to proceed. when i feel especially lost, i spend time with the work of artists i admire. louise is at the top of the list. i am currently trying to leech some of her bravery, some of her gnarly french fuck-off attitude. i love the way she lived her life. i love the way she never gave her power away. i love how she stood, secure and strong, on the foundation of her beliefs- the things she believed to be important about art and life. she was unshakable and didn't give a shit if anyone agreed with her.
talk about faith.
talk about courage.
what a gift that woman is.
it's about honesty.
when i look at louise bourgeois' work, her honesty and bravery radiate right of the surface of her objects. it radiates from the core on out. and standing so close to one of her sculptures, i felt the deep buzz of her love for her work and it was very hard not to touch it. in fact, i should have touched it. the only reason i didn't is the security team at SFMOMA are fanatical and watch every move you make so that they can tell you NO PENS ALLOWED! ONLY PENCIL!
and since the beginning of the year, i've been crawling deeper and deeper in to my own values and ethics when it comes to art and life. and the two subjects are so connected that they are basically the same thing. i want to be a smart artist. i want to be a brave artist. and honorable too.
the passed few days i've been trying to photograph finished drawings that have been hiding in one portfolio or another for quite some time. the grunt work of documentation, but also a very necessary step in the process of curation. because i live with the work and it isn't caged away in a separate studio space, i can easily lose track of what i've made. and this experience of going through the work piece by piece, laying it across every inch of my small cottage, crowding myself with all the black and white and nebulous greys is such an inspiring thing. i can see the lines that connect one work to another. i can see how far back these fault lines run. that i've always made portraits of some kind. the only thing that has changed is my idea of what a portrait is.
in a nut shell, each piece of mine is a portrait- of loss, of desire, of anger, confusion, longing, struggle, failure, and love.
the work is personal and the work exposes things that even i am surprised by sometimes. even the work i consider to be not "good enough" for public consumption, has such a steep value to it. the pieces that i struggled hard with, the work that never came easy and never really became what i wanted it to be, is the work that supplied the best learning curve. it's the work that taught me the most, showed me the most, and, like a good teacher, kicked my ass all over the place when i needed it. my Learning is evident in those pieces and, because of that, they are Good.
it's interesting how one's eyes change.
and i feel lucky that those pieces can have a voice every now and then here on the blog. there's really no such thing as "failure". it's a false construct. it's a lie. Learning is not failure.
.
.
.
i'm learning a lot these days... and sometimes i get tired, sometimes i get mad, sometimes i am totally frustrated and confused. and then the next morning arrives and i scribble away in my notebook and some sort of answer or brightness falls out of my pen and i find a way to proceed. when i feel especially lost, i spend time with the work of artists i admire. louise is at the top of the list. i am currently trying to leech some of her bravery, some of her gnarly french fuck-off attitude. i love the way she lived her life. i love the way she never gave her power away. i love how she stood, secure and strong, on the foundation of her beliefs- the things she believed to be important about art and life. she was unshakable and didn't give a shit if anyone agreed with her.
talk about faith.
talk about courage.
what a gift that woman is.
Jul 5, 2010
grace
my heart changes pace and structure quick the passed few days.
taut and then slack. taut and then slack.
full of thanks, full of longing.
full of confused desires and wants for the world to be a better place...
for people to be kind and compassionate and just.
and honest.
mostly, i wish for honesty. and the courage to be that every step of the way.
and right now, as my heart twists and becomes anxious, i go and read Ariana Reines blog, the story that is there right now and the running theme of mortality and i am overcome by her gentleness and jagged love.
and our fair liege Radish King, has here incredible poems up today at Everyday Genius. go see! go see! and get racked by her fearlessness. her true and honest and unafraid hands on the pen. she goes where few writers do and it is always tremendous, always full of the ache of the world, the ache of our hearts.
and then all the hearts that grace my path here.
the electronic hands that come and tap out beauty on my life.
i am grateful for all the good you bring. it is beyond welcome, beyond gorgeous.
taut and then slack. taut and then slack.
full of thanks, full of longing.
full of confused desires and wants for the world to be a better place...
for people to be kind and compassionate and just.
and honest.
mostly, i wish for honesty. and the courage to be that every step of the way.
and right now, as my heart twists and becomes anxious, i go and read Ariana Reines blog, the story that is there right now and the running theme of mortality and i am overcome by her gentleness and jagged love.
and our fair liege Radish King, has here incredible poems up today at Everyday Genius. go see! go see! and get racked by her fearlessness. her true and honest and unafraid hands on the pen. she goes where few writers do and it is always tremendous, always full of the ache of the world, the ache of our hearts.
and then all the hearts that grace my path here.
the electronic hands that come and tap out beauty on my life.
i am grateful for all the good you bring. it is beyond welcome, beyond gorgeous.
Jun 27, 2010
secrets and Kate Zambreno and DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR DAUGHTERS ARE?
i have now read Kate Zambreno's book O Fallen Angel twice. both times, in one hot shot all the way through. both times out loud. and i'm going to tell you how wonderful it is very soon but i'm still letting it run through me, digest it and see the connections: Wal-mart and Wife Swap and Baudelaire. yes, Baudelaire! because your book finally slung that in to place, it now makes sense, the imaginary land we traverse. yes. "the banality of evil". these pervasive horrors. horrors with a little h. it's like trying to see the air. it's all around you, it's in you. how do you stop gulping it down?
but for now... the best thing i can give you, Kate, by way of endorsement and appreciation, by way of showcasing gratitude is to show you what you've inspired. because isn't that the best testament of how wonderful your work is? that you made me think and you made me feel and you made me laugh and you made me read your book TWICE IN ONE DAMN WEEK and you made me write write write. because it's important to let you know that i know that Mommy too. i've met a lot of Mommies. and i know the horrors that twist through the suburbs, the creeping gross things that are ignored, minimized, squelched, the OH, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF! IT'S NOT THAT BAD! and all the deceptions that smear a person's face. all the tragedies that get swept away, filed away, because the community's standards of decency will not tolerate such words. because THIS IS THE SUBURBS! NOTHING BAD EVER HAPPENS HERE!
as pervasive as air.
this is an excerpt from The Letter i'm writing... part of what i wrote today. still raw, still running in so many directions at once, but it is a purge. the broken dam. i'm sure you'll see your touch on it. it is my tribute to your ideas and fearlessness. it is a huge, huge THANK YOU!
buy her book.
excerpt:
and they'd say L.A. IS JUST A SHINIER VERSION OF EVERYWHERE ELSE and WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO GO TO SEATTLE? SEATTLE IS A DIRTY HIPPIE MESS! and THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE IN NEW YORK BUT BUMS DYING ON THE SIDEWALK and SAN FRANCISCO IS WHERE ALL THE FAGS ARE! WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO GO THERE? ARE YOU A FAG TOO? FAGS ROT IN HELL!
and so in San Francisco, i saw the films of Sadie Benning. and i wasn't at all impressed. not one bit. none of this was News to me. because i was poor and i already knew all of this. i had already SAID all of this. i had notebooks full of it. and i was poor and in a class that wasn't really built to hold that particular wealth of knowledge, and i knew all the hate all the anger all the injustice all the everything Sadie Benning was talking about. i already knew what it was to be Outside- because poor people burn in hell too, just like a pack of FAGS. especially in high school. HA! HA! HA! YOU'RE WEARING THE WRONG SHOES! HEY EVERYBODY, LOOK AT ANGELA'S SHOES! SHE'S GOT FAKE DOC MARTENS! DID YOU GET THOSE FROM PAY-LESS? HA! HA! HA! and OH MY GOD! IS YOUR SHIRT HOME-MADE? HA! HA! HA! but i looked around the classroom. i looked around at the faces of the other students and the face of the teacher and i saw how taken aback they were that a young girl would say such things, such unpleasant things, so full of spite and resentment and refusal. i saw the sweep of astonishment spread across their faces and their mouths drop down in long O's when she said YEAH, I AM GONNA DITCH SCHOOL AGAIN TOMORROW. WHO'S GONNA STOP ME? and the Horror! the Amazement! and they said there is eloquence and honesty here. and all i could think was but but but. because i had said these same words. i had made identical statements. over and over again. and i assure you, my mother did not think it "eloquent and honest" no. and even though i wasn't lesbian, i sure was accused of it a lot. baggy clothes and combat boots and NO MAKE-UP and NO BOYFRIEND. and they threw food at Jose during lunch time because he was A FUCKING FAGGOT and none of the teachers ever put a stop to it because he was A FUCKING FAGGOT and because he was A FUCKING MEXICAN and this was all going down in a lily-white republican suburb in California. and WHY ARE YOU HANGING OUT WITH HIM? ARE YOU A FAGGOT TOO? ARE YOU A NIGGER LOVER? HE'S A FUCKING SAND NIGGER. ANGELA IS A NIGGER LOVER! ANGELA IS A NIGGER LOVER! HA! HA! HA! and in the suburbs: friends getting fucked by their daddies, friends getting raped by their daddies and their mommies ignoring it, friends getting ignored by their mommies, their mommies deserving a little F-U-N, young girls sleeping with full grown men for small bags of speed, friends stealing other friends TVs for small bags of speed, 15 year old girls getting pregnant and losing their babies at the 8th month because their parents were doing speed too. and the poor girl (god bless and keep you, Jackie) couldn't quit with her parents snorting lines right in front of her scared, sweet face. couldn't quit with those lines those lines those lines stacked up so nicely on a dirty tabloid magazine on the dirty coffee table:
i heard the ambulance coming and it turned up the road and it stopped in front of Jackie's house.
Jackie and i had met in the 6th grade. both new kids. both poor kids. both unbearably shy and sweet and never ever talking back. and then the day came when all the little children had to line up and get their head checked by the school nurse. LICE OUTBREAK! and one by one, the little children filed out. and one by one, they came back. unless they had been INFESTED WITH LICE! the dirty person's disease! you knew who had it because they didn't come back to class. and Jackie did not come back to class that day. and i wanted to cry. i kept watching the door, hoping to see her, hoping hoping hoping no no no. and she never came back and the refrain began: ANGELA, WHERE'S YOUR FRIEND? HA! HA! HA! ANGELA IS FRIENDS WITH THE DIRTY GIRL! ANGELA IS FRIENDS WITH THE DIRTY GIRL! ANGELA'S DIRTY TOO! POOR GIRL! POOR GIRL! POOR GIRLS GET LICE! SHOW US YOUR LICE, ANGELA! HA! HA! HA! and it was worse for Jackie on Monday when Jackie came back to class. we played together until Christmas break, way out at the far edge of the play ground, by ourselves. Jackie didn't come back to school after Christmas.
i met her again when we were 15 and i was so happy! her smile was just the same. we were 15 and both still so poor, both still so sweet. we were 15 and out came Jackie on a stretcher, oxygen mask over her face. flat on her back. huge pregnant belly. still as a corpse.
no one said a word.
weeks had passed. i saw Jackie on the street. stomach flat. no baby. i waved at her. she waved back and kept walking. she was wearing a blue sun dress with little white flowers on it. no baby. she was heading back home. no baby. no one said a word.
and so- in the suburbs: 15 year old girls getting pregnant and being sent to continuation school. yanked out of regular school because they weren't allowed to be there in their "delicate condition". there was a Clause at the normal High School. WE MUST PROTECT THE IMAGE! WE HAVE PRIDE IN OUR COMMUNITY! WE HAVE PRIDE IN OURSELVES! and so the careless girls were sent to continuation school, yanked out of their classes with their friends and the teachers grown to love and trust. yanked out and hidden, sent to the BAD KIDS SCHOOL, for deciding against abortion. because ABORTION SENDS YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL! but your swollen belly offends! your swollen belly will not be tolerated! your swollen belly is an attack on our good, lily-white, Christian values! and so we will hide you until you look Normal again, until you LOOK All-American again, until you can PASS for being one of US.
and so i was a 16 year old scrunch-face with no one to talk to- talking to my notebook the way Sadie Benning talked to her video camera. only i wasn't tough like Sadie Benning, i only looked like it because of my scrunch-face. i was shy and afraid and i kept to myself, one blue eye risked toward the world, i kept to myself and i planned to go on keeping to myself until the day came where i could finally get the fuck out of this fucking place.
but for now... the best thing i can give you, Kate, by way of endorsement and appreciation, by way of showcasing gratitude is to show you what you've inspired. because isn't that the best testament of how wonderful your work is? that you made me think and you made me feel and you made me laugh and you made me read your book TWICE IN ONE DAMN WEEK and you made me write write write. because it's important to let you know that i know that Mommy too. i've met a lot of Mommies. and i know the horrors that twist through the suburbs, the creeping gross things that are ignored, minimized, squelched, the OH, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF! IT'S NOT THAT BAD! and all the deceptions that smear a person's face. all the tragedies that get swept away, filed away, because the community's standards of decency will not tolerate such words. because THIS IS THE SUBURBS! NOTHING BAD EVER HAPPENS HERE!
as pervasive as air.
this is an excerpt from The Letter i'm writing... part of what i wrote today. still raw, still running in so many directions at once, but it is a purge. the broken dam. i'm sure you'll see your touch on it. it is my tribute to your ideas and fearlessness. it is a huge, huge THANK YOU!
buy her book.
excerpt:
and they'd say L.A. IS JUST A SHINIER VERSION OF EVERYWHERE ELSE and WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO GO TO SEATTLE? SEATTLE IS A DIRTY HIPPIE MESS! and THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE IN NEW YORK BUT BUMS DYING ON THE SIDEWALK and SAN FRANCISCO IS WHERE ALL THE FAGS ARE! WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO GO THERE? ARE YOU A FAG TOO? FAGS ROT IN HELL!
and so in San Francisco, i saw the films of Sadie Benning. and i wasn't at all impressed. not one bit. none of this was News to me. because i was poor and i already knew all of this. i had already SAID all of this. i had notebooks full of it. and i was poor and in a class that wasn't really built to hold that particular wealth of knowledge, and i knew all the hate all the anger all the injustice all the everything Sadie Benning was talking about. i already knew what it was to be Outside- because poor people burn in hell too, just like a pack of FAGS. especially in high school. HA! HA! HA! YOU'RE WEARING THE WRONG SHOES! HEY EVERYBODY, LOOK AT ANGELA'S SHOES! SHE'S GOT FAKE DOC MARTENS! DID YOU GET THOSE FROM PAY-LESS? HA! HA! HA! and OH MY GOD! IS YOUR SHIRT HOME-MADE? HA! HA! HA! but i looked around the classroom. i looked around at the faces of the other students and the face of the teacher and i saw how taken aback they were that a young girl would say such things, such unpleasant things, so full of spite and resentment and refusal. i saw the sweep of astonishment spread across their faces and their mouths drop down in long O's when she said YEAH, I AM GONNA DITCH SCHOOL AGAIN TOMORROW. WHO'S GONNA STOP ME? and the Horror! the Amazement! and they said there is eloquence and honesty here. and all i could think was but but but. because i had said these same words. i had made identical statements. over and over again. and i assure you, my mother did not think it "eloquent and honest" no. and even though i wasn't lesbian, i sure was accused of it a lot. baggy clothes and combat boots and NO MAKE-UP and NO BOYFRIEND. and they threw food at Jose during lunch time because he was A FUCKING FAGGOT and none of the teachers ever put a stop to it because he was A FUCKING FAGGOT and because he was A FUCKING MEXICAN and this was all going down in a lily-white republican suburb in California. and WHY ARE YOU HANGING OUT WITH HIM? ARE YOU A FAGGOT TOO? ARE YOU A NIGGER LOVER? HE'S A FUCKING SAND NIGGER. ANGELA IS A NIGGER LOVER! ANGELA IS A NIGGER LOVER! HA! HA! HA! and in the suburbs: friends getting fucked by their daddies, friends getting raped by their daddies and their mommies ignoring it, friends getting ignored by their mommies, their mommies deserving a little F-U-N, young girls sleeping with full grown men for small bags of speed, friends stealing other friends TVs for small bags of speed, 15 year old girls getting pregnant and losing their babies at the 8th month because their parents were doing speed too. and the poor girl (god bless and keep you, Jackie) couldn't quit with her parents snorting lines right in front of her scared, sweet face. couldn't quit with those lines those lines those lines stacked up so nicely on a dirty tabloid magazine on the dirty coffee table:
i heard the ambulance coming and it turned up the road and it stopped in front of Jackie's house.
Jackie and i had met in the 6th grade. both new kids. both poor kids. both unbearably shy and sweet and never ever talking back. and then the day came when all the little children had to line up and get their head checked by the school nurse. LICE OUTBREAK! and one by one, the little children filed out. and one by one, they came back. unless they had been INFESTED WITH LICE! the dirty person's disease! you knew who had it because they didn't come back to class. and Jackie did not come back to class that day. and i wanted to cry. i kept watching the door, hoping to see her, hoping hoping hoping no no no. and she never came back and the refrain began: ANGELA, WHERE'S YOUR FRIEND? HA! HA! HA! ANGELA IS FRIENDS WITH THE DIRTY GIRL! ANGELA IS FRIENDS WITH THE DIRTY GIRL! ANGELA'S DIRTY TOO! POOR GIRL! POOR GIRL! POOR GIRLS GET LICE! SHOW US YOUR LICE, ANGELA! HA! HA! HA! and it was worse for Jackie on Monday when Jackie came back to class. we played together until Christmas break, way out at the far edge of the play ground, by ourselves. Jackie didn't come back to school after Christmas.
i met her again when we were 15 and i was so happy! her smile was just the same. we were 15 and both still so poor, both still so sweet. we were 15 and out came Jackie on a stretcher, oxygen mask over her face. flat on her back. huge pregnant belly. still as a corpse.
no one said a word.
weeks had passed. i saw Jackie on the street. stomach flat. no baby. i waved at her. she waved back and kept walking. she was wearing a blue sun dress with little white flowers on it. no baby. she was heading back home. no baby. no one said a word.
and so- in the suburbs: 15 year old girls getting pregnant and being sent to continuation school. yanked out of regular school because they weren't allowed to be there in their "delicate condition". there was a Clause at the normal High School. WE MUST PROTECT THE IMAGE! WE HAVE PRIDE IN OUR COMMUNITY! WE HAVE PRIDE IN OURSELVES! and so the careless girls were sent to continuation school, yanked out of their classes with their friends and the teachers grown to love and trust. yanked out and hidden, sent to the BAD KIDS SCHOOL, for deciding against abortion. because ABORTION SENDS YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL! but your swollen belly offends! your swollen belly will not be tolerated! your swollen belly is an attack on our good, lily-white, Christian values! and so we will hide you until you look Normal again, until you LOOK All-American again, until you can PASS for being one of US.
and so i was a 16 year old scrunch-face with no one to talk to- talking to my notebook the way Sadie Benning talked to her video camera. only i wasn't tough like Sadie Benning, i only looked like it because of my scrunch-face. i was shy and afraid and i kept to myself, one blue eye risked toward the world, i kept to myself and i planned to go on keeping to myself until the day came where i could finally get the fuck out of this fucking place.
Jun 14, 2010
:)
could it have been the waves? or reading Art & Fear, there, at the edge of the world? a shore where the water is too cold for humans but just right for dogs. and i made a pile of river rocks, beautiful grey stones flat as pancakes. and another pile of soft-looking, impeccably white stones with the intention of bringing them home and putting them in glass jars on the window sill. but i left the piles there. smiled, as i walked away, that a child would probably be the person to notice the piles and think it an act of magic. :) i was that kind of little kid, for sure.
and so this sweep lately- bits of my childhood-self beginning to show up again in my daily life. innocent, trusting actions. simple and sweet and so endlessly enjoyable. the warm lure of the potential that exists inside a regular day. maybe this is the One Day at a Time philosophy in action. i've been trying to harness it for months and i finally feel like i've got my hand in the mane of that particular horse. it is soft and exciting and today i woke with such a pleasant sense of possibility.
this morning, i will run as if i am already a marathon winner. and i will write as if i've already published a novel. and i will paint as if i am already welcomed in to a museum. because it relieves the pressure to look at those things. to get back in to the single moment, be present in the action, and not look outside for encouragement. what could we accomplish if we did not worry about markers of success? such greatness! such happiness and capacity for joy. such long, hefty laughter.
looking back, i see that the last year of my life has been a kind of process of elimination. moving things out of the way so that i could move forward. so that i could see. clear out the clutter. the world begins to brighten again. i have painted and read and wrote more since january than i have since i was in school. my life gets fuller and fuller, built with (and on) only the things i truly care about. art, writing, laughing, running, reading, dancing, singing, dreaming, digging.
some days, i have to live in 15 minute increments in order to not become daunted by the task (or dream) in front of me. it works. i feel like i've finally cleared out enough clutter, swept out enough confusion, to really be able to identify the road i'm on. it's a good road. one that has brought such wonderful people in to my life (you and you and you and you and). and all the ideas you bring. all the toys we share. who would've thought that the seemingly geeky act of blogging would have dumped such a strong feeling of gratitude and connection in to my life! it is amazing and i learn so much from this community of people who, like me, deeply believe that art and words and ideas matter. that they are powerful and necessary.
it is an odd time in life. but also rife with wonder and possibility. it is a creative time. i'm happy to be here to share in it and offer whatever small kernel i can.
good morning. :)
and so this sweep lately- bits of my childhood-self beginning to show up again in my daily life. innocent, trusting actions. simple and sweet and so endlessly enjoyable. the warm lure of the potential that exists inside a regular day. maybe this is the One Day at a Time philosophy in action. i've been trying to harness it for months and i finally feel like i've got my hand in the mane of that particular horse. it is soft and exciting and today i woke with such a pleasant sense of possibility.
this morning, i will run as if i am already a marathon winner. and i will write as if i've already published a novel. and i will paint as if i am already welcomed in to a museum. because it relieves the pressure to look at those things. to get back in to the single moment, be present in the action, and not look outside for encouragement. what could we accomplish if we did not worry about markers of success? such greatness! such happiness and capacity for joy. such long, hefty laughter.
looking back, i see that the last year of my life has been a kind of process of elimination. moving things out of the way so that i could move forward. so that i could see. clear out the clutter. the world begins to brighten again. i have painted and read and wrote more since january than i have since i was in school. my life gets fuller and fuller, built with (and on) only the things i truly care about. art, writing, laughing, running, reading, dancing, singing, dreaming, digging.
some days, i have to live in 15 minute increments in order to not become daunted by the task (or dream) in front of me. it works. i feel like i've finally cleared out enough clutter, swept out enough confusion, to really be able to identify the road i'm on. it's a good road. one that has brought such wonderful people in to my life (you and you and you and you and). and all the ideas you bring. all the toys we share. who would've thought that the seemingly geeky act of blogging would have dumped such a strong feeling of gratitude and connection in to my life! it is amazing and i learn so much from this community of people who, like me, deeply believe that art and words and ideas matter. that they are powerful and necessary.
it is an odd time in life. but also rife with wonder and possibility. it is a creative time. i'm happy to be here to share in it and offer whatever small kernel i can.
good morning. :)
Jun 1, 2010
repair
i am still thinking of louise bourgeois. i have become warm and still, comforted by her face, her smile, and the awesome fortitude and courage she showcased in her work and life. i think of the fact she was 70 before critical attention and acclaim found her. late recognition but she kept going going going and, by the time her due came, it was beyond earned, beyond deserved, and her fire was charged, endless, heartbreaking, and something so tremendously special that our language has not yet birthed words to describe.
my tribute today is that i will not beat myself up with the things i have yet to accomplish. i will enjoy the pace of this day. i will draw and be present and not torture myself with worry and fear and uncertainty, those assassins of aspiration and joy. i will relish in the fact that my hands are black with graphite. that my scent is covered by the dust of the pencil. that the scribbles and scratches have meaning.
her work is here.
the comfort of it.
she left us with such a strong, capable cradle.
i am drawing a huge spider today. all day. for her. for myself.
my tribute today is that i will not beat myself up with the things i have yet to accomplish. i will enjoy the pace of this day. i will draw and be present and not torture myself with worry and fear and uncertainty, those assassins of aspiration and joy. i will relish in the fact that my hands are black with graphite. that my scent is covered by the dust of the pencil. that the scribbles and scratches have meaning.
her work is here.
the comfort of it.
she left us with such a strong, capable cradle.
i am drawing a huge spider today. all day. for her. for myself.
May 17, 2010
hello monday!
it was my sweetie's birthday weekend and it was actually really wonderful to unplug from digital life for two days and just be present in the day with him, in celebration, and our dreams and hopes and happy outlook on the future. it was the big THREE OH. 30 years old. and i'm right behind him. i am not at all nervous or weirded out by it. only that it feels so young. i thought i'd have a lot more answers than this by the time i hit 30. ha! who knew! adults don't have all the answers! hahahaha! but we had a lot of fun and a lot of delicious eats and a lot of laughter too. a lot of snuggles and hugs and deep, wonderful, playful conversation. and also a lot of relaxed down-time. he's earned it. he works hard and never complains and is always so gentle with other people. i've not ever really seen stress get the better of him. he's very solid that way. i really appreciate that. the stability of personality and emotion. there is no chaos that exists in him. no chaos he creates. and i love that. tragedy needs no helping hand in life, that's for sure. it will find each and every one of us. it needs no assistance. i admire his ability to remain positive and calm in the face of even the hardest circumstances. he has found balance and i admire that. a warm balance. i'm very proud of the man he is. i hope he is too. :)
and so it is a rainy monday. a built-in excuse to hole up with my oils and scoot around light and shadow. :) i think i'll watch A Clockwork Orange again today too so i can keep rolling with my essay on its importance. it is eerily timely. totally contemporary. brilliant. and i'm so glad i waited this long to watch the film. i think if i had watched it when i was 14, the message of this work would've been totally lost on me. i would not have caught its significance.
i'm even going back and re-reading books i read as a teenager, knowing that my first go-round with the work was almost completely surface. i'm almost finished with Catcher in the Rye- stunned by how simultaneously funny and sad it is. the heart-break inherent to growing up. the struggle of knowing one's self. of feeling separate from the world and its ways. the crazy-making. the confusion. the desperation. the need for love and to feel understood by another human being. the search that we all participate in and undertake...
art and literature are such good friends. :) what windows they are. such hard beauties. my days glow because of them and i feel so so so lucky.
and so it is a rainy monday. a built-in excuse to hole up with my oils and scoot around light and shadow. :) i think i'll watch A Clockwork Orange again today too so i can keep rolling with my essay on its importance. it is eerily timely. totally contemporary. brilliant. and i'm so glad i waited this long to watch the film. i think if i had watched it when i was 14, the message of this work would've been totally lost on me. i would not have caught its significance.
i'm even going back and re-reading books i read as a teenager, knowing that my first go-round with the work was almost completely surface. i'm almost finished with Catcher in the Rye- stunned by how simultaneously funny and sad it is. the heart-break inherent to growing up. the struggle of knowing one's self. of feeling separate from the world and its ways. the crazy-making. the confusion. the desperation. the need for love and to feel understood by another human being. the search that we all participate in and undertake...
art and literature are such good friends. :) what windows they are. such hard beauties. my days glow because of them and i feel so so so lucky.
Apr 23, 2010
smarty pants! :)
my reading list swells and swells. thank you to everyone who commented on yesterday's post! VERY VERY helpful and insightful and encouraging and greatly appreciated. THANK YOU!
p.s. the conversation continues over at Roz's blog! come on over if you'd like to keep talking. ;)
p.s. the conversation continues over at Roz's blog! come on over if you'd like to keep talking. ;)
Apr 6, 2010
education:
mine has been an odd one, that's for sure! full of corkscrews and resistance and anger and ecstasy.
and it absolutely continues to be that way.
did you know i graduated from continuation school? ha! it's true! i was in honors classes prior to that and it was pretty hilarious to see my old class-mates pop up there too. ha!
it was there however, at the school for "bad kids", that i read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, the first 1000 page book i'd ever read, the first book that i felt really did leave an indelible mark on my life... it changed everything.
and it was while i was enrolled there, after having read that book, that i became a california state art scholar. which made everybody do a double-take! hahaha! one day i was a step away from dropping out and the next, i had a medal in my hand. very odd!
i can't tell you how long i lived as a statistic, how close i was to always being a statistic. and i think it was my hatred for that "statistic" that made me hungry for something more, something else, something Other. that, and a teacher who believed in me.
it was then that the dream and act of writing, of being a writer, really really woke up. woke up hard and fast and burning and searing and flailing. wild! and totally uncontrollable. i always had my notebook with me. always. and i held that dream tight. i decided to follow it. i decided to believe in myself the way my teacher had: my lovely, lovely Mrs. V.
after graduation, i spent 7 LONG YEARS at the same junior college, plugging away and trying to devise a plan for somehow finding the money to go to a university. it absolutely took that long for certain doors in the financial aid department to open up for me. and so in the meantime, i decided to keep in practice, keep going to school, keep working, keep trying, keep searching for a way out of my circumstances.
7 years of life-drawing. of every single art class the school offered. every writing course. and religious studies and history and literature and math and psychology. everything that i had even the fainted interest in. and at the time i hated it.
i felt caged and ridiculous. i felt like a fucking loser. i spend a lot of time feeling entirely lost and completely helpless and utterly stupid... full of anger and regret and despair. of course, despair. like most teenagers, my dreams where way too big for my little town and it was soul-crushing to have to stay put that long.
but now, i couldn't be more grateful for the weird meandering line my education has followed.
during those 7 years, i worked too. some really un-fun jobs. i wasn't just hanging out (though i did a fair amount of that too and had all the horrible experiences everyone has). a couple times i held down two jobs while going to school. and there was one really, really bad relationship tucked up in there too. and for awhile, i double-majored in english and fine art. after a year and a half, art won out. at the time, i figured that if art wasn't what i ended up doing for the rest of my life, it would at least lead me to what i would be doing and i've been following it ever since.
i was 25 when i got to art school. the first day of class was my birthday, in fact. best present i ever got. and the best thing about it- i got it for myself. my circumstances had changed. it took a lot of heartache to get them to change, i won't lie. it took a lot of persistence and failures.. but they did change. and i changed my life with my own two hands.
that memory in particular is the one i lean on most when i'm feeling defeated. that i did it once, i can do it again. all i have to do is keep trying. and that fighting spirit is what i lost during the big bad 2 year depression. i completely lost it. gone. and being without that strength of will was so damn painful, so scary. that little spark of rebellion, of refusal to accept one's circumstances as THE RULE, is so important. amazingly important. because until i die, the struggle and shit of the world will be mine too. the ability to believe in myself is the only thing that got me through the shit thus far. to have that spark back feels so amazing and securing and valuable. like a gem... or a childhood relic that has been saved from the yard sale.
and it was the dream and act of writing that kept me from slipping back in to the hated "statistic".
and so my education continues. it has not stopped. even that depression is part of it. even that has value now that i'm on the other side of it. if anything, my education has gotten deeper as a result. it's so much more personal and fiery, full of such exquisite twists. it is scary and angering and beautiful... this search, this reaching out. it's even embarrassing sometimes but it makes my life so full and alive and buzzing. i've never read so much in my life as i am reading right now. and i am actively seeking more things to read- things that are definitely not at Barnes & Noble, things that have to be hunted down, wrestled with, slept with, fought with. things that piss me off and offend me sometimes, things that really do challenge my ethics and force me to look inside myself and see why i believe the things i do. sometimes, my beliefs have changed. other times, they've been made stronger. trial by fire, to be sure. and all the while, i maintain a certain level of fresh naivety because naivety keeps you from feeling intimidated in a lot of ways. when you don't know any better, you're more able to just be yourself. you're open and interested and, in some ways, entirely fearless. just like a little kid. and since i was a shy child, always so full of fear, this fearless playfulness feels wonderful.
this is one of the reasons i get a kick out of things like National Poetry Month- a built-in excuse to be playful, to be a "nerd", to take charge of my own education, to make the rules up for myself, to cater to my own interests, to lavish in adulthood this way, to decide for myself what is worth-while. i love it!
education has a very broad definition... or, at least, it should. it is a life's work. at least i think so. and it doesn't stop after the degree is in your hand. in fact, in the 2 years since i got mine, all the stuff i read has really started to sink in... and it has made me so hungry for more. it's like i've learned how to see. lived experience is what all the theories and studies and ideas are derivative of. when we study, we're studying life in all its forms- all its beauty and weirdness and atrocity. if i have a definition for what "education" is, it's that: learning how to see. just see.
anyway, i'm feeling sentimental now. ha! i'll be back later with today's poem. there's more coffee to drink and more ideas to play with and it's still early. good morning. :)
and it absolutely continues to be that way.
did you know i graduated from continuation school? ha! it's true! i was in honors classes prior to that and it was pretty hilarious to see my old class-mates pop up there too. ha!
it was there however, at the school for "bad kids", that i read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, the first 1000 page book i'd ever read, the first book that i felt really did leave an indelible mark on my life... it changed everything.
and it was while i was enrolled there, after having read that book, that i became a california state art scholar. which made everybody do a double-take! hahaha! one day i was a step away from dropping out and the next, i had a medal in my hand. very odd!
i can't tell you how long i lived as a statistic, how close i was to always being a statistic. and i think it was my hatred for that "statistic" that made me hungry for something more, something else, something Other. that, and a teacher who believed in me.
it was then that the dream and act of writing, of being a writer, really really woke up. woke up hard and fast and burning and searing and flailing. wild! and totally uncontrollable. i always had my notebook with me. always. and i held that dream tight. i decided to follow it. i decided to believe in myself the way my teacher had: my lovely, lovely Mrs. V.
after graduation, i spent 7 LONG YEARS at the same junior college, plugging away and trying to devise a plan for somehow finding the money to go to a university. it absolutely took that long for certain doors in the financial aid department to open up for me. and so in the meantime, i decided to keep in practice, keep going to school, keep working, keep trying, keep searching for a way out of my circumstances.
7 years of life-drawing. of every single art class the school offered. every writing course. and religious studies and history and literature and math and psychology. everything that i had even the fainted interest in. and at the time i hated it.
i felt caged and ridiculous. i felt like a fucking loser. i spend a lot of time feeling entirely lost and completely helpless and utterly stupid... full of anger and regret and despair. of course, despair. like most teenagers, my dreams where way too big for my little town and it was soul-crushing to have to stay put that long.
but now, i couldn't be more grateful for the weird meandering line my education has followed.
during those 7 years, i worked too. some really un-fun jobs. i wasn't just hanging out (though i did a fair amount of that too and had all the horrible experiences everyone has). a couple times i held down two jobs while going to school. and there was one really, really bad relationship tucked up in there too. and for awhile, i double-majored in english and fine art. after a year and a half, art won out. at the time, i figured that if art wasn't what i ended up doing for the rest of my life, it would at least lead me to what i would be doing and i've been following it ever since.
i was 25 when i got to art school. the first day of class was my birthday, in fact. best present i ever got. and the best thing about it- i got it for myself. my circumstances had changed. it took a lot of heartache to get them to change, i won't lie. it took a lot of persistence and failures.. but they did change. and i changed my life with my own two hands.
that memory in particular is the one i lean on most when i'm feeling defeated. that i did it once, i can do it again. all i have to do is keep trying. and that fighting spirit is what i lost during the big bad 2 year depression. i completely lost it. gone. and being without that strength of will was so damn painful, so scary. that little spark of rebellion, of refusal to accept one's circumstances as THE RULE, is so important. amazingly important. because until i die, the struggle and shit of the world will be mine too. the ability to believe in myself is the only thing that got me through the shit thus far. to have that spark back feels so amazing and securing and valuable. like a gem... or a childhood relic that has been saved from the yard sale.
and it was the dream and act of writing that kept me from slipping back in to the hated "statistic".
and so my education continues. it has not stopped. even that depression is part of it. even that has value now that i'm on the other side of it. if anything, my education has gotten deeper as a result. it's so much more personal and fiery, full of such exquisite twists. it is scary and angering and beautiful... this search, this reaching out. it's even embarrassing sometimes but it makes my life so full and alive and buzzing. i've never read so much in my life as i am reading right now. and i am actively seeking more things to read- things that are definitely not at Barnes & Noble, things that have to be hunted down, wrestled with, slept with, fought with. things that piss me off and offend me sometimes, things that really do challenge my ethics and force me to look inside myself and see why i believe the things i do. sometimes, my beliefs have changed. other times, they've been made stronger. trial by fire, to be sure. and all the while, i maintain a certain level of fresh naivety because naivety keeps you from feeling intimidated in a lot of ways. when you don't know any better, you're more able to just be yourself. you're open and interested and, in some ways, entirely fearless. just like a little kid. and since i was a shy child, always so full of fear, this fearless playfulness feels wonderful.
this is one of the reasons i get a kick out of things like National Poetry Month- a built-in excuse to be playful, to be a "nerd", to take charge of my own education, to make the rules up for myself, to cater to my own interests, to lavish in adulthood this way, to decide for myself what is worth-while. i love it!
education has a very broad definition... or, at least, it should. it is a life's work. at least i think so. and it doesn't stop after the degree is in your hand. in fact, in the 2 years since i got mine, all the stuff i read has really started to sink in... and it has made me so hungry for more. it's like i've learned how to see. lived experience is what all the theories and studies and ideas are derivative of. when we study, we're studying life in all its forms- all its beauty and weirdness and atrocity. if i have a definition for what "education" is, it's that: learning how to see. just see.
anyway, i'm feeling sentimental now. ha! i'll be back later with today's poem. there's more coffee to drink and more ideas to play with and it's still early. good morning. :)
Apr 4, 2010
Easter Sunday
and i think (in paraphrased ways) of my favorite part of the bible: if they'll not receive you, shake their dust from your feet.
and today also strangely (fittingly?)- the anniversary of Martin Luther King's assassination. a day that always makes me sad. always always always. but thankful for his life, short as it was, as a proof of the absolutely gorgeous potential for nobility in man.
two "poems" for you this day:
and today also strangely (fittingly?)- the anniversary of Martin Luther King's assassination. a day that always makes me sad. always always always. but thankful for his life, short as it was, as a proof of the absolutely gorgeous potential for nobility in man.
two "poems" for you this day:
Mar 19, 2010
happiness is adrenaline
i have a dentist appointment later this morning and then all sorts of running around to do afterward. businessy type things that get my adrenaline moving. it is the business end of this business that lights a fire under my ass in a way that i absolutely appreciate. and tomorrow it will be the same- dropping off 5 of the recent pieces to the gallery :)
having an out-side schedule is a wonderful thing. left to my own devices, which is usually the case, i judge myself too harshly. i think that i'm not doing enough and that, what i have done, is total shit. isn't that just the way it goes. shooooot. ;) but then the business end of things decides it needs attention and it gets me out of my own head to a place where i can see things a bit more clearly, a bit more accurately. a place where i can see i'm not all bad, that every now and then i find myself with a reason to give myself at least a small pat on the back. and so i'm grateful for it.
i'm just at the beginning, poverty stricken and wondering what to do next, and these confirmations arrive that give me the boost i need right when i need it most. and also, this blog. this weird digital land. i get such encouragement and a spreading warmth the longer i maintain this space. i'm just so welled up with gratitude this morning. i'm thankful for everyone who comes here, everyone who gives me a smile and a nod and says 'you're doing alright, kid". so so so thankful. :)
having an out-side schedule is a wonderful thing. left to my own devices, which is usually the case, i judge myself too harshly. i think that i'm not doing enough and that, what i have done, is total shit. isn't that just the way it goes. shooooot. ;) but then the business end of things decides it needs attention and it gets me out of my own head to a place where i can see things a bit more clearly, a bit more accurately. a place where i can see i'm not all bad, that every now and then i find myself with a reason to give myself at least a small pat on the back. and so i'm grateful for it.
i'm just at the beginning, poverty stricken and wondering what to do next, and these confirmations arrive that give me the boost i need right when i need it most. and also, this blog. this weird digital land. i get such encouragement and a spreading warmth the longer i maintain this space. i'm just so welled up with gratitude this morning. i'm thankful for everyone who comes here, everyone who gives me a smile and a nod and says 'you're doing alright, kid". so so so thankful. :)
Mar 10, 2010
a bit more sunshine
also, i wanted to take a moment to thank the blog-o-sphere for not only giving me a space to work out my ideas, but for exposing me to new ideas and perspectives that i might not have stumbled across otherwise. i find myself right smack in the middle of such a wonderful and twisting education as a result. i've found so many thoughtful artists and writers and thinkers. i've been turned on to authors and poets and artists that i didn't know of prior to really attempting to engage in a daily blogging practice. and the more i read and think and wrestle, the more well-rounded i feel... and that feeling is very happy. i've got quite the reading list complied and just feel so thankful that this space we're in, whatever it is, is very much like a classroom. sometimes it gets heated, sometimes arguments erupt, but the struggle itself is good. i feel more and more inspired and excited simply by taking the time to read the thoughts and opinions and research of others. and to all the people who leave comments, whether it be here or on other blogs, i really appreciate your insights too. sometimes a comment spins my entire perspective around and i can see very clearly the thing i've overlooked inside my own thinking. and i'm very thankful for those moments. i think education, in whatever form it comes in, is a wonderful thing. it definitely isn't easy sometimes, especially when a clash of ideals happens, but even those instances give me pause- room to really consider what my personal/artistic philosophy is and where it comes from... and if it needs to be amended. it does need to be challenged ever now and then in order to grow.
i'm choosing to leave my embarrassing posts up for awhile... especially the ones in which my fervor or empathy or passion may have run a bit wild and i turned away from seeing the grey areas of life. i'm leaving them up for now as a way to chart my own learning, my own growth in terms of building a more open mind, a more inclusive set of ideals and approaches to the world. i do truly want to be as compassionate and thoughtful as i possibly can. it's a big priority. sometimes i get really embarrassed over not having all the answers and that's just something i'm going to have to get over. ha!
all this to say- THANK YOU for participating in my education! thank you for writing and commenting and struggling with ideas too. i learn so much from you. :)
i'm choosing to leave my embarrassing posts up for awhile... especially the ones in which my fervor or empathy or passion may have run a bit wild and i turned away from seeing the grey areas of life. i'm leaving them up for now as a way to chart my own learning, my own growth in terms of building a more open mind, a more inclusive set of ideals and approaches to the world. i do truly want to be as compassionate and thoughtful as i possibly can. it's a big priority. sometimes i get really embarrassed over not having all the answers and that's just something i'm going to have to get over. ha!
all this to say- THANK YOU for participating in my education! thank you for writing and commenting and struggling with ideas too. i learn so much from you. :)
:)
the sun is out and it's so bright and beautiful today! yay! it's damn cold though but i'll bundle up and spend as much time outside today as i can. i want spring back so bad and it is well on its way. the mustard is growing wild and tall and gorgeous already. there are orchids and daffodils peaking up at the low line of the forest and birds singing like crazy. it is beautiful. absolutely beautiful. and i talked to my mom this morning and she sounded so good- happy and healthy and it such a happy moment to hear her voice full of appreciation for this world and the simple beauties it contains. she always reminds me of those "small" wonders that are so easily overlooked. i am grateful for the reminder. endlessly. it is a good day and i feel renewed and inspired and content to be just where i am, doing what i do, and i know i am in the exact right place. maybe it's a day to make more moths. lay off the heavy shit for a bit. ha!
Mar 8, 2010
HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY!
yay!!!! celebrate!!!! however you can! think about the work of a female artist you admire, learn a bit about their life story, help a female friend accomplish something, listen to another woman's story, sit back and feel calm and accomplished, take a moment to see how far we've come, how far you've come, and be thankful to be part of such an amazing lineage of women (and men) who have pushed the legal, political, and artistic boundaries wide enough to allow the important contributions of women to be seen, honored, and take root.
check out this video
check out this video
Feb 19, 2010
that was FUN!
the most interesting thing about yesterday's exercise in PRINT-ON-DEMAND/NEED/WANT is that everyone who sent me an email about it is female. and this is a wonderful, wonderful thing! also, all the females are artists. writers, poets, makers, painters. again, this is SUCH a wonderful, wonderful thing! i couldn't be more pleased and honored and it was just so much fun to reach out to others through art yesterday. i know it's just a simple woodcut - basically, a stamp - of a simple sentence but there was something about that sentence that really resonated with me and it's such a wonderful, wonderful thing to know that it resonated with others too. beautiful. absolutely beautiful. thank you so much, ladies. you are all so stunning and funny and talented. thank you for participating in a heartfelt/conceptual exercise. i like it that it's a girl's club. ha! the prints will ship monday.
p.s. the poems about expiring are officially expired.
the poem is dead.
long live the poem.
p.p.s the offer below has also expired. i'll do it again in the near future.
viva la resistance.
p.s. the poems about expiring are officially expired.
the poem is dead.
long live the poem.
p.p.s the offer below has also expired. i'll do it again in the near future.
viva la resistance.
Feb 15, 2010
i realized just now that i don't need to be afraid of anything.
i have a good life. tubes of silver and gold at my disposal. availability and opportunity and such a shimmering, such a great glittering storm. and i can look at my own life and self and say 'i approve!" this is a good feeling. and so much happy wonder. my friends are doing well. they are happy and on fire inside their work. they are making things and loving things and this builds up such a fiery appreciation in me, such a deep inspiration and gladness. people are making art and people are making their way and i just feel so lucky to be here, now, watching the whole big beauty of it unfold. i have a good life.
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