.
you fall asleep with your glasses on.
i turn off the movie you suggested.
i make a little film of myself dancing in the mirror:
black dress, swaying hips.
i send the film to jose because it's not out of the ordinary for him to be awake this late.
he sends me a film in return:
girls dancing in short skirts and my art on his walls.
i should send him more. what do i need all this art for?
sometimes i wonder about who i am
vs. what i was taught...
i think about that a lot lately.
maybe it has something to do with the time of year? the slant of the sun?` the yellow cast catches my eye- the way it drips from the leaves, the way it oozes through the blinds. i think of home... days when i'd come home from school to find my mother standing in the kitchen, days when i'd drag my body home so begrudgingly... always feeling at odds, always feeling the pull toward something else, always unable to just get along...
i look at myself in the mirror and i can see that i'm older but i don't feel as old as i am. really, i feel like i've just begun. maybe i'm just a late bloomer? i was simply getting ready all this time. i was simply gathering wool. i was only learning the vocabulary i'd need.
.
i walked down shattuck ave in the late afternoon and it felt so much like the late afternoons i spent in my hometown. i'll never hate oakland the way i hated redlands. i could never hate oakland at all, it's just that i've been here too long. i lust too hard after other sunrises. i lust too hard after other winds echoing across other avenues. i've drempt too hard for too long of far off places. the residency sealed it. i belong elsewhere. i've known it for quite some time. it feels good to have finally made the decision to click the BUY NOW button on a plane ticket and choose a new adventure. i need to walk down streets i'm inspired by again. i need to welcome the next phase.
i tried to throw away old art supplies today and couldn't do it.
there's so much to get rid of.
i cleaned the toilet instead.
i want to give myself the gift of a fresh start but it is horrendously painful to part with certain things. i'm leaving the contents of my bookcase until last. it'll break my heart to have to part with certain books. today, i looked at my copy of the collected novels of Jean Rhys and thought of Kate- those old days of writing back and forth to one another through email and the comment boxes of our blogs. i read all of Jean Rhys' novels during the 8 days i had to wait before i could board my plane to tennessee to go watch my mother die. then kate mailed me a copy of Roland Barthes' "Mourning Diary" after i returned home to california after the funeral.
i shouldn't have become so distant after all that (with everybody) but i honestly couldn't help it.
i couldn't help it.
sometimes i still can't
but i'm glad to not need such a deep silence now.
.
brian is curled up under my white quilt.
i love him and i'm glad he is here.
tonight while we walked home from the bar, i looked at him and said, "hey, brian elder, you're my best friend!"
he looked at me and said, "oh yeah? you're my best friend!"
i'm happy as fuck. :)
.
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Feb 17, 2015
Nov 21, 2013
ugly little angela
.
tonight, the last thing i want is to be your goddamn pillar of strength.
take a deep breath and well up the courage to ask the question you already know the answer to. i don't give a fuck about your preferences or respect. my heart is too damn broken for that.
i know who my friends are by the way they walk; those who don't pretend to know what it's like for me and don't pretend our shoes fit the same. my friends are those few sweet souls who don't say they understand. they love me enough not to degrade my history with thin sentiments of faux camaraderie. do not deny me my obvious singularity. do not deny me my status. i am separate and i know it. my best friends don't pretend to know the nuances of my pain- the atrocity of a dead mother, demolished by cancer, looking like motherfucking Mussel-manner, like a decrepit 90 year old man, disintegrating at 55, right the fuck in front of my eyes, right in front of my baby sister. i cannot for the life of me describe for you the total pain of witnessing the horror that seized my sister when she saw our mother ravaged by pancreatic cancer and deformed by tumors, looking to me for an explanation and mouthing the words oh my god and not being able to do a fucking thing to stop it or change it or ease it.
i walk home through dark streets, wet with recent rain, hands in pockets and wondering if the people i pass can see it- the pain in me; the horrible crack in me that makes me incapable of believing in FOREVER but in such dire need to at least try. the stupidity that results from abuse and abandonment. and so i decide, instead, to be a disappointment. i make myself another cocktail and attempt to nourish myself with my own disgust. i climb in to the scorch of my shower and let my mascara run. i drink my delicious poison and i think of my mother and i think of all the pages of her own poetry she lit on fire. she left no record. everything is burned, including her body and the thought alone makes me want to throw up all over myself. it makes we want to vomit into my own hands and hold it up like a proof that is begging to be seen, a proof that must be reconciled, a fucking reckoning. hold up my insides, my putridity, my horror, my total innocence and naivety and expectation for this nightmare to fucking end so that i can look at my sister and not see the vast horror that found her too soon. too goddamn soon.
let me slip tonight, my love, back to being ugly little angela. ugly little angela. ugly little angela. 15 years old and failing tests on purpose because she was so fucking sick of being such a goodie goodie, all those fucking AP classes and bringing an apple for teacher. for once, let me fail. let me fail and love me anyway. motherfucker, love me anyway! show me you love me by saying you don't understand.
.
tonight, the last thing i want is to be your goddamn pillar of strength.
take a deep breath and well up the courage to ask the question you already know the answer to. i don't give a fuck about your preferences or respect. my heart is too damn broken for that.
i know who my friends are by the way they walk; those who don't pretend to know what it's like for me and don't pretend our shoes fit the same. my friends are those few sweet souls who don't say they understand. they love me enough not to degrade my history with thin sentiments of faux camaraderie. do not deny me my obvious singularity. do not deny me my status. i am separate and i know it. my best friends don't pretend to know the nuances of my pain- the atrocity of a dead mother, demolished by cancer, looking like motherfucking Mussel-manner, like a decrepit 90 year old man, disintegrating at 55, right the fuck in front of my eyes, right in front of my baby sister. i cannot for the life of me describe for you the total pain of witnessing the horror that seized my sister when she saw our mother ravaged by pancreatic cancer and deformed by tumors, looking to me for an explanation and mouthing the words oh my god and not being able to do a fucking thing to stop it or change it or ease it.
i walk home through dark streets, wet with recent rain, hands in pockets and wondering if the people i pass can see it- the pain in me; the horrible crack in me that makes me incapable of believing in FOREVER but in such dire need to at least try. the stupidity that results from abuse and abandonment. and so i decide, instead, to be a disappointment. i make myself another cocktail and attempt to nourish myself with my own disgust. i climb in to the scorch of my shower and let my mascara run. i drink my delicious poison and i think of my mother and i think of all the pages of her own poetry she lit on fire. she left no record. everything is burned, including her body and the thought alone makes me want to throw up all over myself. it makes we want to vomit into my own hands and hold it up like a proof that is begging to be seen, a proof that must be reconciled, a fucking reckoning. hold up my insides, my putridity, my horror, my total innocence and naivety and expectation for this nightmare to fucking end so that i can look at my sister and not see the vast horror that found her too soon. too goddamn soon.
let me slip tonight, my love, back to being ugly little angela. ugly little angela. ugly little angela. 15 years old and failing tests on purpose because she was so fucking sick of being such a goodie goodie, all those fucking AP classes and bringing an apple for teacher. for once, let me fail. let me fail and love me anyway. motherfucker, love me anyway! show me you love me by saying you don't understand.
.
Nov 3, 2013
nothing in particular
.
let me begin. for however unsure i am, let me begin. i've been aching to write here, to feel the pleasing click of these keys beneath my fingers but then i clam up. there's some really strange shit happening in my private life. or, to say it better, some really disgusting shit... and i don't know how to keep it from bleeding out here. i don't know if speaking about certain things related to my family and our past should be spoken of here. i still war with the urge to keep the humiliating things secret, with whether or not my feelings even matter... just like a child.
my sister and i speak often these days of our childhood and formative years. we trade memories and see how our perception and recollections square up. it's interesting to be an adult now and to look back, to actually be successful at seeing things from her point of view, to be able to listen more as a sister rather than a Big Sister. we're only 3 years apart. at this point, we're really just the same age- 30 and 33. it feels so strange to think of my baby sister that way... weirder still to realize that our brother is now the same age our father was when he dove into that swimming pool and broke his neck. 35.
35 has never seemed so achingly young.
i come home and stick my tips in my mama's black and white striped teapot. i dream of germany in the summertime. i dream of france, of standing below the Eiffel Tower in june. i'll hardly be able to communicate in french by then but that's not going to stand in the way of the explorations i must make. more and more, i see the luck of my life and try to stop thinking of my age. i try to focus on this great romance i'm living, so far from the life that came before, the life which surrounded me just a year and half ago... a life i was not meant for and how inadequate the world felt as a result. now, i open my eyes to Hope. i open my eyes to Beauty in spite of the horrors we confide in each other about.
tonight, Amanda said "i'm sorry" when i mentioned that the holiday season makes me sad. i saw it in her eyes that she was thinking of my dead mother and absent father, the fact that i work every holiday because that's exactly where i prefer to be. my siblings each live no less than a 8 hour drive away. there is no one's home to skip off to on thanksgiving. not that i'd even really want one after all that's happened. i don't. i'm finally learning how to walk passed smiling families and not bat an eye. i'm finally becoming okay with all the normal things normal families have and do. little by little, we heal. little by little, i catch sight of myself standing tall regardless. fucking regardless. :)
this isn't a pity party. i don't feel sorry for myself. i feel a bit horrified at times and very confused, but never sorry. i laughed all night with my coworkers and friends and the guests to our restaurant. i walked, one foot in front of the other, with total assurance and power through the darkened Oakland streets, to my humble little home. i have a roof over my head tonight and a white russian on the bedside table. i'm wearing the matching Marc Jacobs rings Annie and i bought in late july in new york. i am snug below my white quilt. i look up at the postcards Becca sent me tucked in the corner of the armoire mirror and the ones i sent myself from Berlin. more often than not, i feel so impatient with myself and think i should be doing more than waiting tables and making yarnbombs and drawings. but lately i've somehow managed to feel privileged- it is a privileged to be an artist and it is a privilege to be learning other languages. lately, the sweetness of my life wells up before me and it becomes hard for me to complain. i sit back and try to relax. i tell myself "you're good enough, little girl. you're doing just fine." more than fine.
on Halloween, i danced all night long with my beautiful friends. i drank hard and shook my sequins even harder. i felt alive and beautiful and happy in a way that is sometimes hard for us orphans to feel- i felt normal.
the thing i like most about restaurant life is that it gives me a place where i can feel like i belong.
.
let me begin. for however unsure i am, let me begin. i've been aching to write here, to feel the pleasing click of these keys beneath my fingers but then i clam up. there's some really strange shit happening in my private life. or, to say it better, some really disgusting shit... and i don't know how to keep it from bleeding out here. i don't know if speaking about certain things related to my family and our past should be spoken of here. i still war with the urge to keep the humiliating things secret, with whether or not my feelings even matter... just like a child.
my sister and i speak often these days of our childhood and formative years. we trade memories and see how our perception and recollections square up. it's interesting to be an adult now and to look back, to actually be successful at seeing things from her point of view, to be able to listen more as a sister rather than a Big Sister. we're only 3 years apart. at this point, we're really just the same age- 30 and 33. it feels so strange to think of my baby sister that way... weirder still to realize that our brother is now the same age our father was when he dove into that swimming pool and broke his neck. 35.
35 has never seemed so achingly young.
i come home and stick my tips in my mama's black and white striped teapot. i dream of germany in the summertime. i dream of france, of standing below the Eiffel Tower in june. i'll hardly be able to communicate in french by then but that's not going to stand in the way of the explorations i must make. more and more, i see the luck of my life and try to stop thinking of my age. i try to focus on this great romance i'm living, so far from the life that came before, the life which surrounded me just a year and half ago... a life i was not meant for and how inadequate the world felt as a result. now, i open my eyes to Hope. i open my eyes to Beauty in spite of the horrors we confide in each other about.
tonight, Amanda said "i'm sorry" when i mentioned that the holiday season makes me sad. i saw it in her eyes that she was thinking of my dead mother and absent father, the fact that i work every holiday because that's exactly where i prefer to be. my siblings each live no less than a 8 hour drive away. there is no one's home to skip off to on thanksgiving. not that i'd even really want one after all that's happened. i don't. i'm finally learning how to walk passed smiling families and not bat an eye. i'm finally becoming okay with all the normal things normal families have and do. little by little, we heal. little by little, i catch sight of myself standing tall regardless. fucking regardless. :)
this isn't a pity party. i don't feel sorry for myself. i feel a bit horrified at times and very confused, but never sorry. i laughed all night with my coworkers and friends and the guests to our restaurant. i walked, one foot in front of the other, with total assurance and power through the darkened Oakland streets, to my humble little home. i have a roof over my head tonight and a white russian on the bedside table. i'm wearing the matching Marc Jacobs rings Annie and i bought in late july in new york. i am snug below my white quilt. i look up at the postcards Becca sent me tucked in the corner of the armoire mirror and the ones i sent myself from Berlin. more often than not, i feel so impatient with myself and think i should be doing more than waiting tables and making yarnbombs and drawings. but lately i've somehow managed to feel privileged- it is a privileged to be an artist and it is a privilege to be learning other languages. lately, the sweetness of my life wells up before me and it becomes hard for me to complain. i sit back and try to relax. i tell myself "you're good enough, little girl. you're doing just fine." more than fine.
on Halloween, i danced all night long with my beautiful friends. i drank hard and shook my sequins even harder. i felt alive and beautiful and happy in a way that is sometimes hard for us orphans to feel- i felt normal.
the thing i like most about restaurant life is that it gives me a place where i can feel like i belong.
.
Feb 21, 2013
hello again
i've been so busy since the new semester started a few weeks ago. unbelievably busy. it seems that suddenly my life has come full circle and i spend the vast majority of my time working and studying, waiting for a free moment that i can give to art-making. i reel in my desire to stay out late drinking in bars and embrace my time-honored affection for long nights of reading and drawing at home alone on my bedroom floor. my old, gentle habits return. my quiet self, my thoughtful self emerges. it's the right time of year for such a return.
a few days ago i celebrated my first anniversary of being single. an entire year has elapsed. 12 solid months. it's so strange; it seems like it's been so much longer than that. i've done so much living since the day i walked out the door, taking only my white leather jacket and book bag with me last february. that moment seems like a dream. the life that followed on its heels feels real.
i've been reading back through last year's diary. it is a surreal experience. i look at my own handwriting and am boggled by the words on the page. i stare at the sentences, at the expression of such degraded loneliness and my small squeaks of hope, and wonder how it was ever possible that that life was really mine. we humans often find ourselves in situations we didn't intend. the years get away from us so quickly. our naivety blinds us. our fear of pain delays decision after decision. we ache for something better than what we have but we feel guilty for wanting it. we assume that wanting something other than what we've got means we're bad, wrong, or selfish. i wasn't leading a bad life, i was simply stuck in a life that wasn't right for me. i'm thankful to have this level of understanding at my disposal. it feels good to be able to understand the lives and motivations of others as a result of having had such an experience. i am more compassionate today that i was a year ago. i am stronger and more able to give respect, tolerance, and understanding to other people. i have a greater capacity for love than i have ever had before.
still, i'm in no rush to couple-up. i was in a relationship for 7 years. i'm enjoying all this ME TIME. it's nice to be able to plan trips and not have to worry if another person approves or not. it's nice to be able to spend money on whatever the fuck i feel like spending money on without having to worry about what judgement may befall me as a result. it's nice not to have to cook dinner every night. it's nice to cook whatever i want for dinner and not have any discussion about it whatsoever. it's nice to simply be myself. it really is. i like who i am. i like not having to amend my self or argue for my own interests and desires. i like not being confronted with the "necessity" of concession and compromise. and i'm hopeful that there are other types of relationships possible in this life aside from what i just described. i'm hopeful that in the future i'll stumble in to a situation that feels good, feels respectful of who i truly am, and encourages me to be my best. in the meantime, i'm doing a pretty good job of encouraging myself.
it feels great to return to a deep degree of dedication when it comes to language acquisition and study. i have two german classes this semester and am currently saving money for a trip to germany in summer. i come home to my books and my art after work rather than heading off to a bar. don't get me wrong, i love bars, it's just time to be a bit more measured when it comes to how much time (and money) i spend in them. i've got dreams to chase and tons of lessons to learn. this little waiter needs a clear head, an open heart, and money for plane tickets. and it's amazing to see myself come back around to ideas and interests i had this time last year but that i necessarily had to put on hold while i tended to the very real concern of my own survival and building a life for myself. it's fantastic to read how excited i was to attend the Francesca Woodman retrospective at SFMOMA last year and relive the profound affinity i felt toward her work. it's wonderful to read about my budding enthusiasm for photography and streetart and then to realize that now, a year later, i'm participating in both art-forms in a serious manner. so many things seem to be coming back around to degree zero and i feel refreshed and recharged by that lucky occurrence.
all this to say, it's nice to be back. life sure gets good every now and then and there's a hell of a lot to look forward to.
;)
a few days ago i celebrated my first anniversary of being single. an entire year has elapsed. 12 solid months. it's so strange; it seems like it's been so much longer than that. i've done so much living since the day i walked out the door, taking only my white leather jacket and book bag with me last february. that moment seems like a dream. the life that followed on its heels feels real.
i've been reading back through last year's diary. it is a surreal experience. i look at my own handwriting and am boggled by the words on the page. i stare at the sentences, at the expression of such degraded loneliness and my small squeaks of hope, and wonder how it was ever possible that that life was really mine. we humans often find ourselves in situations we didn't intend. the years get away from us so quickly. our naivety blinds us. our fear of pain delays decision after decision. we ache for something better than what we have but we feel guilty for wanting it. we assume that wanting something other than what we've got means we're bad, wrong, or selfish. i wasn't leading a bad life, i was simply stuck in a life that wasn't right for me. i'm thankful to have this level of understanding at my disposal. it feels good to be able to understand the lives and motivations of others as a result of having had such an experience. i am more compassionate today that i was a year ago. i am stronger and more able to give respect, tolerance, and understanding to other people. i have a greater capacity for love than i have ever had before.
still, i'm in no rush to couple-up. i was in a relationship for 7 years. i'm enjoying all this ME TIME. it's nice to be able to plan trips and not have to worry if another person approves or not. it's nice to be able to spend money on whatever the fuck i feel like spending money on without having to worry about what judgement may befall me as a result. it's nice not to have to cook dinner every night. it's nice to cook whatever i want for dinner and not have any discussion about it whatsoever. it's nice to simply be myself. it really is. i like who i am. i like not having to amend my self or argue for my own interests and desires. i like not being confronted with the "necessity" of concession and compromise. and i'm hopeful that there are other types of relationships possible in this life aside from what i just described. i'm hopeful that in the future i'll stumble in to a situation that feels good, feels respectful of who i truly am, and encourages me to be my best. in the meantime, i'm doing a pretty good job of encouraging myself.
it feels great to return to a deep degree of dedication when it comes to language acquisition and study. i have two german classes this semester and am currently saving money for a trip to germany in summer. i come home to my books and my art after work rather than heading off to a bar. don't get me wrong, i love bars, it's just time to be a bit more measured when it comes to how much time (and money) i spend in them. i've got dreams to chase and tons of lessons to learn. this little waiter needs a clear head, an open heart, and money for plane tickets. and it's amazing to see myself come back around to ideas and interests i had this time last year but that i necessarily had to put on hold while i tended to the very real concern of my own survival and building a life for myself. it's fantastic to read how excited i was to attend the Francesca Woodman retrospective at SFMOMA last year and relive the profound affinity i felt toward her work. it's wonderful to read about my budding enthusiasm for photography and streetart and then to realize that now, a year later, i'm participating in both art-forms in a serious manner. so many things seem to be coming back around to degree zero and i feel refreshed and recharged by that lucky occurrence.
all this to say, it's nice to be back. life sure gets good every now and then and there's a hell of a lot to look forward to.
;)
Jan 2, 2013
DAY 2
.
let me reiterate: maybe it is true that i am less afraid of you than you are of me. maybe i have far less to lose?
as one who understands the total figment of security, i can afford an uncommon brashness when it comes to certain things. i understand the reality that, daily, i must eat and that, in our culture, that means i must make money. but that's where my concern for money ends. i truly don't give a fuck about retirement plans and home-ownership. the less cages i lock myself in to, the better. i prefer the wild ache of artistry and philosophy. i prefer the torture of thinking and living to scrimping and saving. give me pardon if this apparently youthful outlook offends you. i don't mean to attack or jibe. it's only the case that i watched a certain someone plan for their retirement and then die 2 years in to that solitude. i assure you, she would've much rather kept working and kept experiencing the world if she had known what was coming. and so i expect an unexpected death as well. i expect to work right up until that day, like ma mere, louise bourgeois, sculpting in her studio all day long and then dying in her sleep after a full day's work in the studio. let that be me. let that be my end. how sublime. how ecstatic. how necessary! let me move my pen right up til the end. let me dribble one last blot of ink as i suck in that last, rattling breath. i don't plan on letting up until that exact moment... whenever it may find me.
sometimes pleasure and beauty become the most important things. i remember my mother saying in her sickness, "suck every last ounce of joy out of this experience you can, little girl" and i parrot her voice inside my heart every chance i get.
sometimes, i am thoughtless. sometimes, i am no where near as diligent as i should be, as i am capable of being. there was an era of such prolific artistic production in my life not too long ago and i miss it. but today, i went running down Shattuck Ave in Oakland and it occurred to me that i was so prolific because my self-worth depended upon it. the sad fact is that being stuck in a bad relationship has the effect of sapping one's idea of self-worth. i made so much fucking art because i was actively warring against a life that told me i was next-to-nothing. it had been that way for years. and before that relationship too.
but i'm not blaming anyone for my decisions or my mistakes. at this point, i am glad to have walked this particular road. it is the thing that makes me able to look at you and smile. it is the thing that makes my gaze soften with understanding. i look at you with such warmth, such light, such appreciation for every awkward moment, every fantastically beautiful gesture and movement. i look at you and know that i will never have all the information. there is an entire story, an entire life behind you, within you that i know nothing about. there have been such beautiful moments and such horrors. there has been poetry and atrocity all around you. these things, whatever they are, have made you capable of certain actions. these secrets have made you long for certain things. i will not judge you: the same thing is true about me.
i come to realize that i am not a simple human being. i am not difficult either, but i am complex. as such, i gravitate toward complexity. i like complex people. i like complex art. i like complex emotion. i like complex thought. why did i ever think a simple life would be the right life for me? we are taught to pursue certain avenues. it is after going far enough down the dictated path that i reached a primary truth about myself: i don't want a simple life. i never have.
let me reiterate: maybe it is true that i am less afraid of you than you are of me. maybe i have far less to lose?
as one who understands the total figment of security, i can afford an uncommon brashness when it comes to certain things. i understand the reality that, daily, i must eat and that, in our culture, that means i must make money. but that's where my concern for money ends. i truly don't give a fuck about retirement plans and home-ownership. the less cages i lock myself in to, the better. i prefer the wild ache of artistry and philosophy. i prefer the torture of thinking and living to scrimping and saving. give me pardon if this apparently youthful outlook offends you. i don't mean to attack or jibe. it's only the case that i watched a certain someone plan for their retirement and then die 2 years in to that solitude. i assure you, she would've much rather kept working and kept experiencing the world if she had known what was coming. and so i expect an unexpected death as well. i expect to work right up until that day, like ma mere, louise bourgeois, sculpting in her studio all day long and then dying in her sleep after a full day's work in the studio. let that be me. let that be my end. how sublime. how ecstatic. how necessary! let me move my pen right up til the end. let me dribble one last blot of ink as i suck in that last, rattling breath. i don't plan on letting up until that exact moment... whenever it may find me.
sometimes pleasure and beauty become the most important things. i remember my mother saying in her sickness, "suck every last ounce of joy out of this experience you can, little girl" and i parrot her voice inside my heart every chance i get.
sometimes, i am thoughtless. sometimes, i am no where near as diligent as i should be, as i am capable of being. there was an era of such prolific artistic production in my life not too long ago and i miss it. but today, i went running down Shattuck Ave in Oakland and it occurred to me that i was so prolific because my self-worth depended upon it. the sad fact is that being stuck in a bad relationship has the effect of sapping one's idea of self-worth. i made so much fucking art because i was actively warring against a life that told me i was next-to-nothing. it had been that way for years. and before that relationship too.
but i'm not blaming anyone for my decisions or my mistakes. at this point, i am glad to have walked this particular road. it is the thing that makes me able to look at you and smile. it is the thing that makes my gaze soften with understanding. i look at you with such warmth, such light, such appreciation for every awkward moment, every fantastically beautiful gesture and movement. i look at you and know that i will never have all the information. there is an entire story, an entire life behind you, within you that i know nothing about. there have been such beautiful moments and such horrors. there has been poetry and atrocity all around you. these things, whatever they are, have made you capable of certain actions. these secrets have made you long for certain things. i will not judge you: the same thing is true about me.
i come to realize that i am not a simple human being. i am not difficult either, but i am complex. as such, i gravitate toward complexity. i like complex people. i like complex art. i like complex emotion. i like complex thought. why did i ever think a simple life would be the right life for me? we are taught to pursue certain avenues. it is after going far enough down the dictated path that i reached a primary truth about myself: i don't want a simple life. i never have.
Nov 25, 2012
maintenance
i have lay sick for 2 days in my bed. sick as a dog. only during the last few hours have i begun to rise from this mean little virus. the other night i actually lost my voice (for the very first time in my life) at work. this evening i wrote in my diary for the first time since falling ill. i had so much to describe, so much to recount but, suddenly, a moment found me when i couldn't seem to identify with my
human frailty, when i couldn't manage to forgive myself for even the silliest of
mistakes. the last few months have been tremendous fun and i've enjoyed myself so much but i feel like i've definitely fallen off the wagon when it comes to maintaining a dedicated art practice and that makes me feel really bad. i haven't read as much as i used to, as much as i need to, want to. i know it's normal to be a bit explosive for a moment after reclaiming one's freedom but i worry that i've allowed myself to be a bit too distracted from my goals and dreams. i haven't actually thought about my long-term goals in at least 6 months.
is that bad? or just foreign to me? my path isn't something i doubt or question but i still need to make time to tend to it.
i spoke with my sister the other day about my seeming need to confess in order to feel at ease with who i am. "i'm making you my confessor!" i laughed. but the joke of it belies the truth of my condition. the immense guilt i feel over such normal things, mistake or not. it is the fact of certain horrors i've been taught to believe. the horror of certain teeth caught in my pink, making me so afraid and so ashamed of so many things...
which is weird to write. my friends tell me i seem so brave. maybe i am and i'm just not used to thinking of myself that way. one of my friends recently told me that the veiw i hold of myself is horribly outdated and it's time i get a new mirror. i'm trying to trust his analysis. because the truth is that there is very little i am actually afraid of. there are things that make me nervous and there are things that make me uncomfortable but that's not the same thing as Fear. my Fear is that i'm a bad person. i've talked about it so many times here. it's amazing how ingrained this thought-pattern is. it's amazing how easily it can be awoken and allowed to roam across my heart. it's amazing how easy it is to forget the good things about oneself. it's amazing how easy it is to believe the worst...
and the untrue.
all this to say, it's time to start thinking about new year's resolutions again. it's time to spend a bit of time reading this year's diaries and reflecting on all that's changed and all that needs to change. making more time for reading is definitely high on the list. i miss talking about literary things. i miss the influence of other writers in my life. i miss that lofty, inexplicable, heart-rending connection.
is that bad? or just foreign to me? my path isn't something i doubt or question but i still need to make time to tend to it.
i spoke with my sister the other day about my seeming need to confess in order to feel at ease with who i am. "i'm making you my confessor!" i laughed. but the joke of it belies the truth of my condition. the immense guilt i feel over such normal things, mistake or not. it is the fact of certain horrors i've been taught to believe. the horror of certain teeth caught in my pink, making me so afraid and so ashamed of so many things...
which is weird to write. my friends tell me i seem so brave. maybe i am and i'm just not used to thinking of myself that way. one of my friends recently told me that the veiw i hold of myself is horribly outdated and it's time i get a new mirror. i'm trying to trust his analysis. because the truth is that there is very little i am actually afraid of. there are things that make me nervous and there are things that make me uncomfortable but that's not the same thing as Fear. my Fear is that i'm a bad person. i've talked about it so many times here. it's amazing how ingrained this thought-pattern is. it's amazing how easily it can be awoken and allowed to roam across my heart. it's amazing how easy it is to forget the good things about oneself. it's amazing how easy it is to believe the worst...
and the untrue.
all this to say, it's time to start thinking about new year's resolutions again. it's time to spend a bit of time reading this year's diaries and reflecting on all that's changed and all that needs to change. making more time for reading is definitely high on the list. i miss talking about literary things. i miss the influence of other writers in my life. i miss that lofty, inexplicable, heart-rending connection.
Nov 5, 2012
oh, fucking hell...
i see stars...
i've been drinking...
what else is new?
my pleasure becomes my primary concern and today my primary pleasures were writing in my diary and catching up on sleep. i bought this tingly eucalyptus body wash that sends my skin into shivery convulsions and i took my time rub-a-dub-dubbing as a result. it was nice. now, at 11pm i begin to wonder the fuck i did with my day. in a week i fly to new york and there are so many things to take care of between now and then. it is seriously long list and a jam packed schedule that i must contend with. most of which is fun as fuck but, by nature, i am a dreamy and somewhat lazy human being who prefers to spend her time star-gazing and looking out the window day-dreaming with her chin resting solemnly on her palm.
my mind turns to romance:
weren't we just talking about God? weren't we just talking about how i wish i could believe unmistakably in Him? weren't we just talking about warmth and sex and saliva and the diseases that live behind our knee caps?
fuck it all.
i'm in love with life and i have no answers. my morality shrunk to the pathetic remains of a cat's maggot-ridden carcass by the side of the road in the wake of my mother's death. mama, what am i to believe in now? your soul doesn't just escape me, it escapes us all. where did you go? i do not feel you and i have not felt that you ascended to anything, anywhere.
i see you in my dreams and sometimes they feel so fucking real... what am i to do? what am i to believe? it only means that i miss you horribly and i wish i could talk to you. i wish i could pick your brain. who else can i be honest with and still be loved by?
everyone else has too many superstitions and closed morals in the way. all these other people hate me for having feelings and for having caught the short end of the stick. i'm still standing, mama, but they don't know what harm they do when they espouse their beliefs... such closeted, mean beliefs that leave no room for frailty and the normal bumps and bruises that come along simply from living. seriously, mama, who are they to judge? they have no idea what i've been subjected to. they have no idea who you were. they have no idea what i've endured. and i never told you, mama, because i didn't want to hurt you and, what's more, i didn't want to complicate your religion. we've all been taught such stupid shit.
i listened to the Lost Highway soundtrack over and over again today. i painted and i crocheted. i tortured myself with the ideas of Right and Wrong. i have no clue what is best or what is good or what i owe other human beings. i try my best not to hurt others but i know that i will inevitably fail.
we all will.
we should not make the stickiness of living a crime.
i've been drinking...
what else is new?
my pleasure becomes my primary concern and today my primary pleasures were writing in my diary and catching up on sleep. i bought this tingly eucalyptus body wash that sends my skin into shivery convulsions and i took my time rub-a-dub-dubbing as a result. it was nice. now, at 11pm i begin to wonder the fuck i did with my day. in a week i fly to new york and there are so many things to take care of between now and then. it is seriously long list and a jam packed schedule that i must contend with. most of which is fun as fuck but, by nature, i am a dreamy and somewhat lazy human being who prefers to spend her time star-gazing and looking out the window day-dreaming with her chin resting solemnly on her palm.
my mind turns to romance:
weren't we just talking about God? weren't we just talking about how i wish i could believe unmistakably in Him? weren't we just talking about warmth and sex and saliva and the diseases that live behind our knee caps?
fuck it all.
i'm in love with life and i have no answers. my morality shrunk to the pathetic remains of a cat's maggot-ridden carcass by the side of the road in the wake of my mother's death. mama, what am i to believe in now? your soul doesn't just escape me, it escapes us all. where did you go? i do not feel you and i have not felt that you ascended to anything, anywhere.
i see you in my dreams and sometimes they feel so fucking real... what am i to do? what am i to believe? it only means that i miss you horribly and i wish i could talk to you. i wish i could pick your brain. who else can i be honest with and still be loved by?
everyone else has too many superstitions and closed morals in the way. all these other people hate me for having feelings and for having caught the short end of the stick. i'm still standing, mama, but they don't know what harm they do when they espouse their beliefs... such closeted, mean beliefs that leave no room for frailty and the normal bumps and bruises that come along simply from living. seriously, mama, who are they to judge? they have no idea what i've been subjected to. they have no idea who you were. they have no idea what i've endured. and i never told you, mama, because i didn't want to hurt you and, what's more, i didn't want to complicate your religion. we've all been taught such stupid shit.
i listened to the Lost Highway soundtrack over and over again today. i painted and i crocheted. i tortured myself with the ideas of Right and Wrong. i have no clue what is best or what is good or what i owe other human beings. i try my best not to hurt others but i know that i will inevitably fail.
we all will.
we should not make the stickiness of living a crime.
Oct 19, 2012
some nights, a girl can't help but think: FUCK IT ALL.
God... sometimes i hate your creation. do i even believe in You? sometimes i hate everyone. what good comes of humanity? at its most basic, is there anything to experience joyfully?
i guess i'm just pissed off.
who knows me? no one knows me. they think they do but they don't. maybe my brother. maybe my sister. everyone else thinks they have an accurate read on my number but the card they hold is upside-down. tell me, show me: where is your dead mama and all the prayers whispered in her name? where is your absent father and his absent strength? where is the lover who rejected you, totally? where is the love you've always needed, just out of reach, so close you could feel the eyelashes and still denied? so please. judge me to my face. call me "bitch" and act like i'm some spoiled little girl who doesn't know how to pay her bills on time.
does the context really matter? does the impetus? because when it comes right down to it the fact is that i feel alone, destroyed and singular in the worst way. there are nights when i feel so happy to go to bed alone... and there are nights when i feel so enormously alone and come face to face with the realization that, in spite of appearances, i've been going to bed alone for years. no one is going to be my rescuer. there is no knight in shining armor to wait for. it's all bullshit, i promise you. the fairy tales that have infected me are criminal and i hate you all for spilling them across my flesh. stop taunting me with your soft phrases. stop irritating the soft corners of my heart with your romantic hope. i am not encouraged, i feel devoid. the lack i feel is enormous and indescribable. i want nothing from you but your warm hand. if you would deny me this, deny me all and go on your merry way. find a girl less enthusiastic, less passionate, less likely to get her hair in a twist. i care too much to be silent. i care far too much to look at the flesh of another and not want to combat death to the inth. i will wage such wars as you've never seen and i will wage them, gently, across your skin with my lips and breath. i will make you feel alive and taut and tender. i will understand you in a way you've yet to be understood.
i can be loyal...
if only you would raise a hand to my face and be loyal to me.
i honestly can't believe what i've been subjected to. i can't believe what i've tolerated. i look in the mirror at my budding crow's feet and wonder , "what the hell have you done to yourself? what took you so long, girl, to stand up for yourself?"
it isn't often that i cry in my white room. when this shit hits, it hits hard.
ignore me.
i am impatient and silly and i have a big bleeding heart.
i guess i'm just pissed off.
who knows me? no one knows me. they think they do but they don't. maybe my brother. maybe my sister. everyone else thinks they have an accurate read on my number but the card they hold is upside-down. tell me, show me: where is your dead mama and all the prayers whispered in her name? where is your absent father and his absent strength? where is the lover who rejected you, totally? where is the love you've always needed, just out of reach, so close you could feel the eyelashes and still denied? so please. judge me to my face. call me "bitch" and act like i'm some spoiled little girl who doesn't know how to pay her bills on time.
does the context really matter? does the impetus? because when it comes right down to it the fact is that i feel alone, destroyed and singular in the worst way. there are nights when i feel so happy to go to bed alone... and there are nights when i feel so enormously alone and come face to face with the realization that, in spite of appearances, i've been going to bed alone for years. no one is going to be my rescuer. there is no knight in shining armor to wait for. it's all bullshit, i promise you. the fairy tales that have infected me are criminal and i hate you all for spilling them across my flesh. stop taunting me with your soft phrases. stop irritating the soft corners of my heart with your romantic hope. i am not encouraged, i feel devoid. the lack i feel is enormous and indescribable. i want nothing from you but your warm hand. if you would deny me this, deny me all and go on your merry way. find a girl less enthusiastic, less passionate, less likely to get her hair in a twist. i care too much to be silent. i care far too much to look at the flesh of another and not want to combat death to the inth. i will wage such wars as you've never seen and i will wage them, gently, across your skin with my lips and breath. i will make you feel alive and taut and tender. i will understand you in a way you've yet to be understood.
i can be loyal...
if only you would raise a hand to my face and be loyal to me.
i honestly can't believe what i've been subjected to. i can't believe what i've tolerated. i look in the mirror at my budding crow's feet and wonder , "what the hell have you done to yourself? what took you so long, girl, to stand up for yourself?"
it isn't often that i cry in my white room. when this shit hits, it hits hard.
ignore me.
i am impatient and silly and i have a big bleeding heart.
Jul 16, 2012
oh dang!
i just bought my very first plane ticket to new york. i feel shaky in such a happy way. the way one feels after a first kiss. i have no clue what to do with myself. i will be counting the days. this is my birthday present to myself. september will be here before i know it. summer is already half over. in a few weeks i'll be back in class studying german and the history of photography. there are books i need to buy and a new schedule to devise. i'm looking forward to getting back in to the swing of things, the rhythm of study and solitude. i haven't studied at all to the degree i would've liked to this summer. the last few months have been such a wild blurr of transition and change. i work late and stay out dancing even later. sometimes all i want to do is dance, sweat and sing and drink greyhounds. i decided this morning to simply enjoy the freedom that the summer months provide and feel grateful for receiving the life of a waiter. we have such a fun time. we have such a high degree of freedom and flexibility. i have no idea where i will be a year from now but i plan to travel as much as i possibly can from here on out. if i died tomorrow my big regret would be not having seen the world. i have a month and a half to save for my trip and even though i'll only be in NY for four days i plan to live as fully as i possibly can during that time. please feel free to send me lists of places to eat. i will be dining out every night and every morning. and definitely let me know where a girl can dance the night away.
my previous life remains tucked away safely in a storage unit. i miss certain books but i like it this way- things filed away in a tiny room that i never visit. i think i'll keep the unit through to the end of the year. i am busy with the pleasure of discovery and the work of rebuilding. i like having a space free of the old objects, the previous obsessions. i miss certain drawings but i need to make new ones. i need to remain ungoverned and untethered. i am scared sometimes and have no idea what to do with myself, what to do next, what direction to pursue... and so i write in my diary and go out dancing and try not to worry too much about the future. art begets art, and so i know exactly what i will spend my life doing. my work will never reach its end until i reach mine.
my previous life remains tucked away safely in a storage unit. i miss certain books but i like it this way- things filed away in a tiny room that i never visit. i think i'll keep the unit through to the end of the year. i am busy with the pleasure of discovery and the work of rebuilding. i like having a space free of the old objects, the previous obsessions. i miss certain drawings but i need to make new ones. i need to remain ungoverned and untethered. i am scared sometimes and have no idea what to do with myself, what to do next, what direction to pursue... and so i write in my diary and go out dancing and try not to worry too much about the future. art begets art, and so i know exactly what i will spend my life doing. my work will never reach its end until i reach mine.
Jul 4, 2012
dying portraits
who cares. no apologies for art.
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,+digital+photograph,+angela+simione+2012.JPG)
dying portrait 1, 3, and 5
digital photograph
angela simione, 2012
Aug 11, 2011
crux
the fact is that the 6 month mark of losing my mother undid me in ways i couldn't have expected. there is no way to know how this thing will manifest in me. how it will spill and slide. my life has become a strange, winding thing. daily, i can change. shift. one glance, a breath, can change the entire world.
tomorrow marks month 7 and only now is the angry, confused fog i've been living in for the past month beginning to lift. no one would guess it had they bumped in to me on the street. i've become quite good at ignoring myself until i am entirely alone. i have become quite good at limiting the ripples that belie the chaos of my interiority. i am straight-faced. i am smiling. i am a happy person. i wear dark glasses and water-proof mascara. no one is the wiser that i'm crying while driving down the freeway. i have been on a hamster wheel for an entire month chasing the same horrible vapors, the same unnameable longing. i haven't returned the concerned emails people have sent. i haven't had the stomach for it. i contain my vomit to my diary. i put my sorrow in the stitches of my sweaters. i store my massive, unyielding anxiety and fear in the Worry Roses. i am making a new garden.
i put on my ripped jeans and note the date. i've been without cigarettes for 10 months today. i stumble toward this new animal, this new person i'm becoming, this new girl. whoever she is.
tomorrow marks month 7 and only now is the angry, confused fog i've been living in for the past month beginning to lift. no one would guess it had they bumped in to me on the street. i've become quite good at ignoring myself until i am entirely alone. i have become quite good at limiting the ripples that belie the chaos of my interiority. i am straight-faced. i am smiling. i am a happy person. i wear dark glasses and water-proof mascara. no one is the wiser that i'm crying while driving down the freeway. i have been on a hamster wheel for an entire month chasing the same horrible vapors, the same unnameable longing. i haven't returned the concerned emails people have sent. i haven't had the stomach for it. i contain my vomit to my diary. i put my sorrow in the stitches of my sweaters. i store my massive, unyielding anxiety and fear in the Worry Roses. i am making a new garden.
i put on my ripped jeans and note the date. i've been without cigarettes for 10 months today. i stumble toward this new animal, this new person i'm becoming, this new girl. whoever she is.
Aug 2, 2011
Jul 16, 2011
Jun 30, 2011
greenery
the light this morning is beautiful.
i stumble around, undressed, enjoying the simple fact of where i am: the hard wood floor under my feet and the empty stretcher bars leaning against the wall, a huge drawing in its infancy laying on the living room floor. the only furniture we have are two huge bookcases - one in the living room and one in the bedroom - and the chest of drawers and hope chest i inherited from my mom a few years ago when she was first thinning out her possessions in preparation for her move to tennessee. other than our massive collection of books and all the art and art supplies that follow me around, it is pretty spare here. i must say i rather enjoy it. i like having less.
yesterday, i ran a round The Lake again. 3+ miles of sweat and hard breath, hopscotching around and over huge piles of goose shit. i had no idea canada geese were so filthy but they are. canine sized shits only green from all the horrible algae they slurp up. and EVERYWHERE. my god. nevertheless, a beautiful place and an amazing run. it is the perfect distance. it is just a bit longer than what my endurance likes and that's a good thing. i have to push myself to finish and i feel happy as i make my way back around to my starting place. i feel happy as i run, lost in all my daydreams and plans, turning over each thought like a stone. i will run again this afternoon. this morning is for crocheting roses and drinking lady grey tea.
i sit here with kate's postcard from scandinavia next to me. the smooth design of the postage stamps make me yearn for an adventure of my own. new languages in my ear and new fruit in my stomach, dusty museums to wander through, words i can't understand and a train ticket in my hand. ahhhh... one day soon, i hope. i am so horribly un-traveled. this must be remedied.
it is the last day of june. we have lived through, miraculously, the first 6 months of this year. we have 6 more to go. i found my notebook from last december and looked at my list of new year's resolutions. i've accomplished a good number of them but most no longer fit who i've become. rather than scratch them off the list, i'll make a new one. a new list for the second half of the year. it'll help me know where i am, where i've come from, where i need to go.
i read kate's book and see myself tucked in the corners of so many words. maybe not as green, but green nonetheless. i'm not ashamed, just surprised. how could it be that i am still a bit naive? still wondering who i am and who i should be? still trying to darken my own outline and distinguish myself from what i was taught to be.
last night i sat and read her book in public when i probably should've been making eye contact and smiling and being approachable. it might've been rather rude of me to sit there with my nose stuck in a book but how does one tear oneself away when they are reading the curve of their own story?
i bounce back and forth between it and volume 3 of anais nin's diary. my lineage flowers in front of my eyes and it is a gorgeous, angry, swirling thing. magical and fantastic, romantic, inspired, and just so damn smart!
where are you, now, 6 months in? are you a list maker too? what do you want to do?
i stumble around, undressed, enjoying the simple fact of where i am: the hard wood floor under my feet and the empty stretcher bars leaning against the wall, a huge drawing in its infancy laying on the living room floor. the only furniture we have are two huge bookcases - one in the living room and one in the bedroom - and the chest of drawers and hope chest i inherited from my mom a few years ago when she was first thinning out her possessions in preparation for her move to tennessee. other than our massive collection of books and all the art and art supplies that follow me around, it is pretty spare here. i must say i rather enjoy it. i like having less.
yesterday, i ran a round The Lake again. 3+ miles of sweat and hard breath, hopscotching around and over huge piles of goose shit. i had no idea canada geese were so filthy but they are. canine sized shits only green from all the horrible algae they slurp up. and EVERYWHERE. my god. nevertheless, a beautiful place and an amazing run. it is the perfect distance. it is just a bit longer than what my endurance likes and that's a good thing. i have to push myself to finish and i feel happy as i make my way back around to my starting place. i feel happy as i run, lost in all my daydreams and plans, turning over each thought like a stone. i will run again this afternoon. this morning is for crocheting roses and drinking lady grey tea.
i sit here with kate's postcard from scandinavia next to me. the smooth design of the postage stamps make me yearn for an adventure of my own. new languages in my ear and new fruit in my stomach, dusty museums to wander through, words i can't understand and a train ticket in my hand. ahhhh... one day soon, i hope. i am so horribly un-traveled. this must be remedied.
it is the last day of june. we have lived through, miraculously, the first 6 months of this year. we have 6 more to go. i found my notebook from last december and looked at my list of new year's resolutions. i've accomplished a good number of them but most no longer fit who i've become. rather than scratch them off the list, i'll make a new one. a new list for the second half of the year. it'll help me know where i am, where i've come from, where i need to go.
i read kate's book and see myself tucked in the corners of so many words. maybe not as green, but green nonetheless. i'm not ashamed, just surprised. how could it be that i am still a bit naive? still wondering who i am and who i should be? still trying to darken my own outline and distinguish myself from what i was taught to be.
last night i sat and read her book in public when i probably should've been making eye contact and smiling and being approachable. it might've been rather rude of me to sit there with my nose stuck in a book but how does one tear oneself away when they are reading the curve of their own story?
i bounce back and forth between it and volume 3 of anais nin's diary. my lineage flowers in front of my eyes and it is a gorgeous, angry, swirling thing. magical and fantastic, romantic, inspired, and just so damn smart!
where are you, now, 6 months in? are you a list maker too? what do you want to do?
May 30, 2011
memorial day
there is a horrible sadness on me today... growing in my sleep the passed few days and during recent rounds of somnambulism too. i have been caught in that state of walking reverie and fantasy. that state where i am only half present, only half listening, standing with one foot only in the current physical reality and the other in my inner reality, far from the horrors and obligations of the later. the moments when physical reality calls me back to tend to it are so sorrowful and painful. the simplest chore becomes a lengthy exercise in tremendous self-control. an exercise in how to not scream, how to not crumble, how to hold one's self together and stand silently while rage and confusion clash like rams beneath one's skin. i can't tell you what it is. it's never just one thing. all this change, all this chaos gets to me sometimes. there are days when nothing is right and i have no clue what to do about it. there are days when i just want to run, days when i just want to cry.
the last time i did this - the big CLEAN - i was alone in the house for three days attempting to convince myself that as i lifted stains from the carpet i also rid myself of stain and corruption... that as i erased the traces of the family who lived there, maybe i could erase the traces of that family within me.
today, we wash the walls and put our odds and ends in the last boxes.
the last time i did this - the big CLEAN - i was alone in the house for three days attempting to convince myself that as i lifted stains from the carpet i also rid myself of stain and corruption... that as i erased the traces of the family who lived there, maybe i could erase the traces of that family within me.
today, we wash the walls and put our odds and ends in the last boxes.
Sep 1, 2010
here we go!
September! eeeeeeek! the big 3.0. is right around the corner! 2 days away and i am totally looking forward to collecting it.
i am (weirdly?) one of those people who hate their own birthday. i didn't think i was in that crowd but, about 5 years or so ago, i noticed the pattern of letting the day roll by without any sort of real celebration or acknowledgement. it was more than enough to get the obligatory 'happy birthday' phone call from friends and family. i'd take the day off from work (i am a firm believer that no one should work on their birthday unless you've got a jobby-job you absolutely adore) and usually stay home and paint or write. and get sad. it is the horrible cycle of The People-Pleaser to feel like you haven't "accomplished enough" in your life... especially on traditional markers of time like birthdays, anniversaries, and New Years. this is a habit that needs breaking. because, to put it plainly, it sucks. ha!
and last year on my birthday, the stars aligned in such a way as to show me that there were some pretty deep changes i needed to make in my life... that for all the wishing and crying i'd done, the only way to move forward was to go inside, clear the bullshit out of the way so i could actually see the path i was standing on. and i had to be able to see it in order to know which direction to head in. i made the decision on my 29th birthday to get re-acquainted with myself and to stop worrying about Time so much. not an easy thing. and i realized that my path is specific to me and that i make a mistake when i compare my life to other people's. i decided to do the clean up that was so clearly necessary.
the first thing to go was drinking. i had a glass of champagne last year on the night of my birthday. i was at an art reception for a show i had some work in. and i haven't had any alcohol since. it isn't that i thought i had a drinking problem, i though i had a thinking problem and i've wrestled my entire life with Sadness. for me, drinking compounded those issues in a way that was pretty much dangerous. and insofar as my practice was concerned, it stalled me in my tracks. and that made the level of depression i was living under all the more heavy. a depression i had been living under for 2 years straight and was only getting worse by the day. in fact, September 2nd (tomorrow) is the anniversary of a total Collapse.
my birthday seemed like a pretty opportune moment to start digging myself back out of that pit and that's exactly what the last year of my life has been all about.
The Almighty Jog, re-learning how to trust my instincts again, trust my own internal rhythms, focus on my own loves, my own values, my own beliefs. and to let my wrestling take place there. and i found a ton of out-dated maps and notions and ideas that i desperately needed to abandon.
i made the decision to approach my practice with love and gratitude, to take it day by day, and to locate images and words and the work of other artists and writers that resonated with me and what my life had been. i began to see what my true values were and how long i had been shelving them in order to "help" other people. i had had it drummed in to me that that's what you do when you really love someone. after making the decision to confront myself, i saw what a load of horseshit that actually is. and i spent a long time feeling alternately mad and sad about having been taught such an extremely damaging lesson. very mad. very sad. and rather than hide my sadness (which is what i typically did) and put on a Happy Face, i allowed my sadness to sit on the surface of my being. you can see it even here on this blog. i'm not ashamed of that. i don't think struggle is something a person should ever be made to feel ashamed of. ever. and so i don't allow myself to be ashamed or be shamed by others anymore. and that's probably the biggest step i've taken this year. shame had become quite a nasty habit. the only thing i've found that conquers Shame is Honesty. hard Honesty. Honesty about myself.
the passed year has gone by so unbelievably quickly. and here i am- a runner, an artist, a writer, a lover. from the outside, my life probably doesn't look very different today than it did a year ago, but it is. it is deeply different. i still get sad a lot... but life, at the moment, within my family, is pretty effing sad. and so it's normal. and i won't say i've figured everything out or that i have all the answers. i don't. what i do have is the knowledge that no one has all the answers and that that's actually a really great thing. i was thinking about that when i woke up today- answers and questions. and that maybe that's what art is? a practice of nailing down our questions rather than answers. and i like that. i like that a lot. :)
i'm excited to see where the next year goes. the only plan i have is to keep doing what i've been doing. keep running, keep writing, keep drawing, painting, making, exploring, excavating. keep trying. truly trying. and to not measure myself against other people's rulers. to live by my own standards and to practice a very brave, compassionate Honesty. i am removing the gag that i've lived with for soooo long. and though it is a very scary thing, i choose to be myself and to not writhe in silence anymore. i choose to be an artist and to let the expressions of my humanity be complete. i choose bravery.
anyway... GOOD MORNING! and HAPPY SEPTEMBER!!!!!! <3
i am (weirdly?) one of those people who hate their own birthday. i didn't think i was in that crowd but, about 5 years or so ago, i noticed the pattern of letting the day roll by without any sort of real celebration or acknowledgement. it was more than enough to get the obligatory 'happy birthday' phone call from friends and family. i'd take the day off from work (i am a firm believer that no one should work on their birthday unless you've got a jobby-job you absolutely adore) and usually stay home and paint or write. and get sad. it is the horrible cycle of The People-Pleaser to feel like you haven't "accomplished enough" in your life... especially on traditional markers of time like birthdays, anniversaries, and New Years. this is a habit that needs breaking. because, to put it plainly, it sucks. ha!
and last year on my birthday, the stars aligned in such a way as to show me that there were some pretty deep changes i needed to make in my life... that for all the wishing and crying i'd done, the only way to move forward was to go inside, clear the bullshit out of the way so i could actually see the path i was standing on. and i had to be able to see it in order to know which direction to head in. i made the decision on my 29th birthday to get re-acquainted with myself and to stop worrying about Time so much. not an easy thing. and i realized that my path is specific to me and that i make a mistake when i compare my life to other people's. i decided to do the clean up that was so clearly necessary.
the first thing to go was drinking. i had a glass of champagne last year on the night of my birthday. i was at an art reception for a show i had some work in. and i haven't had any alcohol since. it isn't that i thought i had a drinking problem, i though i had a thinking problem and i've wrestled my entire life with Sadness. for me, drinking compounded those issues in a way that was pretty much dangerous. and insofar as my practice was concerned, it stalled me in my tracks. and that made the level of depression i was living under all the more heavy. a depression i had been living under for 2 years straight and was only getting worse by the day. in fact, September 2nd (tomorrow) is the anniversary of a total Collapse.
my birthday seemed like a pretty opportune moment to start digging myself back out of that pit and that's exactly what the last year of my life has been all about.
The Almighty Jog, re-learning how to trust my instincts again, trust my own internal rhythms, focus on my own loves, my own values, my own beliefs. and to let my wrestling take place there. and i found a ton of out-dated maps and notions and ideas that i desperately needed to abandon.
i made the decision to approach my practice with love and gratitude, to take it day by day, and to locate images and words and the work of other artists and writers that resonated with me and what my life had been. i began to see what my true values were and how long i had been shelving them in order to "help" other people. i had had it drummed in to me that that's what you do when you really love someone. after making the decision to confront myself, i saw what a load of horseshit that actually is. and i spent a long time feeling alternately mad and sad about having been taught such an extremely damaging lesson. very mad. very sad. and rather than hide my sadness (which is what i typically did) and put on a Happy Face, i allowed my sadness to sit on the surface of my being. you can see it even here on this blog. i'm not ashamed of that. i don't think struggle is something a person should ever be made to feel ashamed of. ever. and so i don't allow myself to be ashamed or be shamed by others anymore. and that's probably the biggest step i've taken this year. shame had become quite a nasty habit. the only thing i've found that conquers Shame is Honesty. hard Honesty. Honesty about myself.
the passed year has gone by so unbelievably quickly. and here i am- a runner, an artist, a writer, a lover. from the outside, my life probably doesn't look very different today than it did a year ago, but it is. it is deeply different. i still get sad a lot... but life, at the moment, within my family, is pretty effing sad. and so it's normal. and i won't say i've figured everything out or that i have all the answers. i don't. what i do have is the knowledge that no one has all the answers and that that's actually a really great thing. i was thinking about that when i woke up today- answers and questions. and that maybe that's what art is? a practice of nailing down our questions rather than answers. and i like that. i like that a lot. :)
i'm excited to see where the next year goes. the only plan i have is to keep doing what i've been doing. keep running, keep writing, keep drawing, painting, making, exploring, excavating. keep trying. truly trying. and to not measure myself against other people's rulers. to live by my own standards and to practice a very brave, compassionate Honesty. i am removing the gag that i've lived with for soooo long. and though it is a very scary thing, i choose to be myself and to not writhe in silence anymore. i choose to be an artist and to let the expressions of my humanity be complete. i choose bravery.
anyway... GOOD MORNING! and HAPPY SEPTEMBER!!!!!! <3
Aug 22, 2010
self
last week was a weird week. a weird week rife with weird feelings and weird dreams and weird weird weird.
i filed away the drawings that have returned to me and that was weird. i left them out for a few days when i first brought them home, wrapped up in plastic sheets, gleaming, lying on their backs. a big oil painting and a fence in a frame are leaning against my bookcase. weird weird weird. to see this work again... some of which i haven't seen in the flesh in a year. weird to have it in my hands. and, that big distance of time sweeps something out of eyes and i can look at them as if i didn't make them... as if it isn't my work. and i can see how good and true they are. but it's a weird, slightly sick feeling to have them here: like i'm a bad mama who failed at finding them their new, perfect home. filing them away in one of the many huge portfolios here at home was a sad moment. i took my time about it, looked at each one, loved each one, slid them in with their sisters and clicked off the light.
weird.
but it's alright. i'm in one of those "transitional" phases and i need time with the work. time to sit with them and see them all rounded up together. see the line they draw. the lineage, the path. see the direction they point. it's no good to rush work out of the house. it really isn't. it's all anxiety and fear and perfectionism and that is definitely definitely definitely bad for an art practice. definitely. i've learned it the hard way.
the lesson isn't a fun one but it is bitterly, beautifully necessary: the value of patience and dedication and not getting in the horrible pattern of RUSH RUSH RUSH. the result is such a terrible loneliness. such a terrible wandering in the dark. such a terrible blinding wind. this time last year i sat in this exact same spot and wondered (in a very painful way) who the hell i am as an artist and as a person. i believed that these titles should be separate, individual, split. and now, a year later, i know there is no way to separate these things. like Popeye, "i am what i am and that's all that i am". and i've chosen to embrace that. i've chosen to let myself flourish and flounder and flail and fail if i need to. especially in the Beckett sense of the word:
FAIL BETTER.
i filed away the drawings that have returned to me and that was weird. i left them out for a few days when i first brought them home, wrapped up in plastic sheets, gleaming, lying on their backs. a big oil painting and a fence in a frame are leaning against my bookcase. weird weird weird. to see this work again... some of which i haven't seen in the flesh in a year. weird to have it in my hands. and, that big distance of time sweeps something out of eyes and i can look at them as if i didn't make them... as if it isn't my work. and i can see how good and true they are. but it's a weird, slightly sick feeling to have them here: like i'm a bad mama who failed at finding them their new, perfect home. filing them away in one of the many huge portfolios here at home was a sad moment. i took my time about it, looked at each one, loved each one, slid them in with their sisters and clicked off the light.
weird.
but it's alright. i'm in one of those "transitional" phases and i need time with the work. time to sit with them and see them all rounded up together. see the line they draw. the lineage, the path. see the direction they point. it's no good to rush work out of the house. it really isn't. it's all anxiety and fear and perfectionism and that is definitely definitely definitely bad for an art practice. definitely. i've learned it the hard way.
the lesson isn't a fun one but it is bitterly, beautifully necessary: the value of patience and dedication and not getting in the horrible pattern of RUSH RUSH RUSH. the result is such a terrible loneliness. such a terrible wandering in the dark. such a terrible blinding wind. this time last year i sat in this exact same spot and wondered (in a very painful way) who the hell i am as an artist and as a person. i believed that these titles should be separate, individual, split. and now, a year later, i know there is no way to separate these things. like Popeye, "i am what i am and that's all that i am". and i've chosen to embrace that. i've chosen to let myself flourish and flounder and flail and fail if i need to. especially in the Beckett sense of the word:
FAIL BETTER.
Aug 1, 2010
YAY!!!!!!
my house SPARKLES! i don't think it's ever been this clean and well organized! i even washed the walls! hahahaha! i pick my friend up today at 2 and i am so happy and excited to see her. we haven't seen each other in 2 years! and last night i stayed up late crocheting, too excited to sleep. one of my goals in life is to make myself a blanket. i've attempted it a whole bunch of times and have had no success. none. i finished an afghan once but when i finished it and held it up in front of me it wasn't even close to being square. it was totally triangulated and horrible. i still have it as a time-capsule type thing but i want to try it again. i've been working on it, here and there, for months and made some major headway last night while i was over-run with excitement... in spite of my aching back after a full day of frenzied scouring. :)
my friend is an artist too and we'll have an entire week of drawing and laughing and making funky little things. i can't wait to hear what she thinks of the new drawings and paintings and i can't wait to see what we'll create while she's here. on her last visit we worked on the same canvas together. made a swirling, fantastic painting that encompassed both our outlooks and styles. HAPPINESS!
my posts will probably be pretty sporadic this week but know that i am having a wonderful time and lots of laughter. i wish the same for you. :)
my friend is an artist too and we'll have an entire week of drawing and laughing and making funky little things. i can't wait to hear what she thinks of the new drawings and paintings and i can't wait to see what we'll create while she's here. on her last visit we worked on the same canvas together. made a swirling, fantastic painting that encompassed both our outlooks and styles. HAPPINESS!
my posts will probably be pretty sporadic this week but know that i am having a wonderful time and lots of laughter. i wish the same for you. :)
Jul 28, 2010
the facts
i've been a good girl since last october when the diagnosis came. resisted the urge to go online and freak myself out by reading the research available about pancreatic cancer.
but i've stopped being a good girl. it's a member of my immediate family. i am reading it. i know what the statistics are.
relatives have been calling, getting in touch through Facebook, reaching out to me and my siblings.
based on what i've read, surviving this since october is, itself, a miracle.
i am so grateful for that.
and also, for as hard and painful and scary as this whole thing is, i'm grateful for being forced to look at mortality close-up, in a new way- a way that is biological, not theoretical. it's easy to expound upon the horrors of the world from a safe distance. theories show their holes when you get up-close and personal. the importance of love and hope starts to shimmer. the shimmer builds in to a beautiful shine. we begin to twinkle in our moments together. we begin to feel thankful. certain histories finally find a resting place.
other histories don't. beasts i thought had been conquered, or at least put in to a deep, unbreakable hibernation, have come slinking out of their caves. the beasts awaken. writhe. scream. blood in their mouths and caked to the claw.
i feel lost some days. i spend a lot of time feeling afraid of the world but, somehow, still loving it. somehow, still wanting to help. somehow, not sarcastic. still... this weighty fear. fear that i will make the wrong decision, the wrong turn, waste my time, waste the time of others, and staring with my gaping O of a mouth at how horribly short Time is.
all i can think some days is hurry hurry, get the paintings out so she can see them. so she can see i accomplished something. so she can be proud of me.
there are lots of mornings when i want to ignore the alarm clock. i hear it and think what's the fucking point? plenty of mornings where i wake up feeling so stunted and small, just like a little girl. floundering and frail and just so bent up by fear. the dark. no night-light. no angels. no open door. there are mornings i wake up crying.
i reach for my notebook. i reach for my pencils. i make drawings.
the amazing/odd thing about it, is that i'm doing the best work i've ever done. at least that's the way it looks to my eye. somehow this fear has armed me with an unexpected drive to push the work further, go deeper, take chances, be brave in a way i hadn't yet learned to do.
there is a lot of anger in it. there is a lot of sadness. but i think there's also a lot of hope.
it's the hope that lives in these pieces that are the most important part. it is the portion of the work that i am most proud of. it is the site i try to lay down in. i live so far away from her.
since the beginning it seems, our little family has been a magnet for tragedy. i know we're not exceptional in that. tragedy is not as rare as people like to believe it is. nevertheless, the division and splintering and unfixable things that have resulted are really hard to look at some days.
the divorce. the swimming accident. my father. ambulances. hospitals. halo bolted to skull. poverty. ugliness. abuses. falling in with a bad crowd. bad mean boyfriend. scary situations. and then the work of repairing one's mind, one's broken heart, one's dream of life. and now cancer. now chemo.
these are the things i'm writing about in The Letter- the 9,000 words that have been typed out and are morphing in to something else. i have no clue what yet but it just keeps on pouring pouring pouring on days when i'm strong enough to be a vehicle for it.
this is the well that all the new work is rising from.
and the new work brings me closer to the kind of artist i want to be. the kind of human i want to be. to find a way to create some sort of beneficial, hopeful thing out of all this. but it also leads me away from certain ideas, certain places. it has to. it's unavoidable. the lineage has become clearer.
it's time to take certain risks.
it's scary and sad and overwhelming, but it's also a very positive action. ask any baby bird about the terror of the free fall when they are first urged out of the nest. that's the stage i'm in. it is a necessary stage.
because if i say i mean it and i say i believe in the power and worth of art and i say art saves lives, then i am charged to follow a particular road. a road that has all sorts of barricades across it and all sorts of pitfalls and potholes, a road that has no caution signs, a road that will be dark and lonely at times. but i must follow it. i must. i have to try to be brave. and so i cut away my safety net, in spite of all the things that are going on within my family... or maybe because of them. maybe it is because i see how short and uncertain a single life is. how full of opportunity, how full of chance, how full of the inexplicable...
i've asked to be released from my contract. the gallery agrees it is time. it is sad for both of us even though it is best for both of us. we've been building toward this moment for a year. it's time for this baby bird to jump. it's good to have support in this. it's good to find myself in the position to take a good hard look at my work and the kind of artist i am. this is an opportunity for me to get very specific about my goals as an artist, to work and struggle as hard as i can. i'm lucky to have so much encouragement from the people in my life. i'm lucky for the open door that remains. i'm lucky to have the friendship and support i've received. i'm very lucky.
and mostly, lucky to have art in my life. this outlet. this desire to make maps out of all these things. maps and poems and portraits. documents of hope. documents of desire. documents of my passage through this world. i am not joking when i say ART SAVES LIVES. it does. it has saved mine, over and over again, since the very beginning. and i am blessed.
i am very very very blessed.
but i've stopped being a good girl. it's a member of my immediate family. i am reading it. i know what the statistics are.
relatives have been calling, getting in touch through Facebook, reaching out to me and my siblings.
based on what i've read, surviving this since october is, itself, a miracle.
i am so grateful for that.
and also, for as hard and painful and scary as this whole thing is, i'm grateful for being forced to look at mortality close-up, in a new way- a way that is biological, not theoretical. it's easy to expound upon the horrors of the world from a safe distance. theories show their holes when you get up-close and personal. the importance of love and hope starts to shimmer. the shimmer builds in to a beautiful shine. we begin to twinkle in our moments together. we begin to feel thankful. certain histories finally find a resting place.
other histories don't. beasts i thought had been conquered, or at least put in to a deep, unbreakable hibernation, have come slinking out of their caves. the beasts awaken. writhe. scream. blood in their mouths and caked to the claw.
i feel lost some days. i spend a lot of time feeling afraid of the world but, somehow, still loving it. somehow, still wanting to help. somehow, not sarcastic. still... this weighty fear. fear that i will make the wrong decision, the wrong turn, waste my time, waste the time of others, and staring with my gaping O of a mouth at how horribly short Time is.
all i can think some days is hurry hurry, get the paintings out so she can see them. so she can see i accomplished something. so she can be proud of me.
there are lots of mornings when i want to ignore the alarm clock. i hear it and think what's the fucking point? plenty of mornings where i wake up feeling so stunted and small, just like a little girl. floundering and frail and just so bent up by fear. the dark. no night-light. no angels. no open door. there are mornings i wake up crying.
i reach for my notebook. i reach for my pencils. i make drawings.
the amazing/odd thing about it, is that i'm doing the best work i've ever done. at least that's the way it looks to my eye. somehow this fear has armed me with an unexpected drive to push the work further, go deeper, take chances, be brave in a way i hadn't yet learned to do.
there is a lot of anger in it. there is a lot of sadness. but i think there's also a lot of hope.
it's the hope that lives in these pieces that are the most important part. it is the portion of the work that i am most proud of. it is the site i try to lay down in. i live so far away from her.
since the beginning it seems, our little family has been a magnet for tragedy. i know we're not exceptional in that. tragedy is not as rare as people like to believe it is. nevertheless, the division and splintering and unfixable things that have resulted are really hard to look at some days.
the divorce. the swimming accident. my father. ambulances. hospitals. halo bolted to skull. poverty. ugliness. abuses. falling in with a bad crowd. bad mean boyfriend. scary situations. and then the work of repairing one's mind, one's broken heart, one's dream of life. and now cancer. now chemo.
these are the things i'm writing about in The Letter- the 9,000 words that have been typed out and are morphing in to something else. i have no clue what yet but it just keeps on pouring pouring pouring on days when i'm strong enough to be a vehicle for it.
this is the well that all the new work is rising from.
and the new work brings me closer to the kind of artist i want to be. the kind of human i want to be. to find a way to create some sort of beneficial, hopeful thing out of all this. but it also leads me away from certain ideas, certain places. it has to. it's unavoidable. the lineage has become clearer.
it's time to take certain risks.
it's scary and sad and overwhelming, but it's also a very positive action. ask any baby bird about the terror of the free fall when they are first urged out of the nest. that's the stage i'm in. it is a necessary stage.
because if i say i mean it and i say i believe in the power and worth of art and i say art saves lives, then i am charged to follow a particular road. a road that has all sorts of barricades across it and all sorts of pitfalls and potholes, a road that has no caution signs, a road that will be dark and lonely at times. but i must follow it. i must. i have to try to be brave. and so i cut away my safety net, in spite of all the things that are going on within my family... or maybe because of them. maybe it is because i see how short and uncertain a single life is. how full of opportunity, how full of chance, how full of the inexplicable...
i've asked to be released from my contract. the gallery agrees it is time. it is sad for both of us even though it is best for both of us. we've been building toward this moment for a year. it's time for this baby bird to jump. it's good to have support in this. it's good to find myself in the position to take a good hard look at my work and the kind of artist i am. this is an opportunity for me to get very specific about my goals as an artist, to work and struggle as hard as i can. i'm lucky to have so much encouragement from the people in my life. i'm lucky for the open door that remains. i'm lucky to have the friendship and support i've received. i'm very lucky.
and mostly, lucky to have art in my life. this outlet. this desire to make maps out of all these things. maps and poems and portraits. documents of hope. documents of desire. documents of my passage through this world. i am not joking when i say ART SAVES LIVES. it does. it has saved mine, over and over again, since the very beginning. and i am blessed.
i am very very very blessed.
Jul 10, 2010
weird world
we spent the evening with the work of some our favorite artists: our beloved ed ruscha and anselm kiefer and gerhard richter and barbara kruger and louise bourgeois. we stayed at the museum until closing, bought postcards, and i whispered to my friend "see. i, too, have a church." and she emphatically agreed. and we left as opposite selves, totally cleansed of the stress we had carried in with us. we left calm and light.
museum trips are amazing things.
and on the freeway heading home around 2am, 3 car-loads of cops pulled a man over right in front of me. pulled him over in such a way that they blocked the freeway so i had to stop too. and before i knew what was going on, all the cops were out of their cars, using the car doors as shields, weapons drawn, all of them screaming. and i was right there. right behind them. right in the spot where a stray bullet would go. so i hunched over sideways and peeked up just a little. this went on for 10 minutes or so. more and more cops showed up. once they got the man out of the car and in cuffs, they waved us through. and at the next 5 exits, i noticed there was a squad car at each and every one. i have no clue who that man was but he obviously commands a lot of attention. it was all strange and sad and a bit scary. i've never seen that many cops yelling all at once before. and i've definitely never been in a situation where a cop had to get a rifle out.
that was the wee hours of friday morning.
freakish.
a very odd pairing of events inside the same day.
museum trips are amazing things.
and on the freeway heading home around 2am, 3 car-loads of cops pulled a man over right in front of me. pulled him over in such a way that they blocked the freeway so i had to stop too. and before i knew what was going on, all the cops were out of their cars, using the car doors as shields, weapons drawn, all of them screaming. and i was right there. right behind them. right in the spot where a stray bullet would go. so i hunched over sideways and peeked up just a little. this went on for 10 minutes or so. more and more cops showed up. once they got the man out of the car and in cuffs, they waved us through. and at the next 5 exits, i noticed there was a squad car at each and every one. i have no clue who that man was but he obviously commands a lot of attention. it was all strange and sad and a bit scary. i've never seen that many cops yelling all at once before. and i've definitely never been in a situation where a cop had to get a rifle out.
that was the wee hours of friday morning.
freakish.
a very odd pairing of events inside the same day.
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