reverie and residue.

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i was feeling all GUNG-HO industrious and shit, pulled out the boxes from the back of the closet, fully intending to throw away whatever was inside in order to make way for a new life, in order to lighten my load and get myself in a new york state of mind.  i pulled back the cardboard covers and found a huge artwork i'd made for my mother-  a deadbed/rosebed i made in the weeks after her death; a huge collection of crocheted roses in varying sizes and shades of red, displayed on a piece of dark red felt on the floor which was cut to the exact dimensions of the bed she died in, a bed which i layed down next to her in and crocheted red roses and lay them on her thin chest the last day she was alive.

there's no fucking way i can get rid of something like that!  there's just no way!  it's impossible!  i texted my sister in a panic because there's also really no way to bring my entire art collection to the east coast (at least not initially) and asked her if she had any space at all in the back of a closet in her house where i could store some art for a time.  sweetheart that she is, she said yes immediately and told me not to get stressed out about this stuff; "i'll make room for whatever you want to keep, sweet sister" she wrote.  i breathed a deep sigh of relief but still this strange anxiety.  it takes a lot out of me to go through these boxes, these memories, these secrets, the evidence of a life...  of lives.

i went through the red suitcase that houses tons of saved photographs and postcards.  there were some old scraps of paper with messy notes to self scrawled across them that i easily tossed in to the recycle bin, and a few books given to me by a long-forgotten acquaintance that i never got around to reading due to sheer lack of interest which are now sitting on the sidewalk in front of my house. then, i came across my 23 page poem-thing/manuscript that i haven't worked on since i left my last relationship.  i shoved it into this suitcase and then the suitcase was shoved into a tiny storage unit where it sat silently for close to a year.  i couldn't bare to read it once i brought it home.  i sifted through the pages tonight, skipping the intensely sad parts, but thinking that i really should go back to it, dive in, see if i can finish the thing...

going through all this...  it's an entire life!  it's who i've been and where i've come from.  it's the residue and evidence of my growth, of my Becoming.  it's the maps i've used.  it's the maps i made for myself with words and images and the sweet postcards that came to me from friends. how do i get rid of these things?  and should i even be trying to do such a thing???  they are not trinkets and baubles, they are meaningful objects.  objects which contain the spirit of a Past, a Family, a Mother, a Daughter, and the puzzle of love and loss. it's a diary.

and then there's THAT.  my diary!  it's humongous!  i've been keeping a daily diary for more than 6 years. i don't even dream of parting with these volumes of scribbles and rants.  not for a second.  but they definitely pose a bit of a predicament for someone who was hoping to move by airplane with two bags of luggage.  hahaha!  that's certainly beginning to seem a bit unrealistic. i'm feeling a bit like Anais Nin right now wondering what the fuck to do with a diary that needs a suitcase all to itself.  :)  i'm glad i still have almost 6 weeks to figure it out but that's not really much time at all.  6 weeks is nothing.

sigh...

and i'm not even complaining.  not at all.  i'm looking forward to this change so much!   i am exhilarated!  i'm ecstatic!  i've been wanting to do this for so long and i am overjoyed that the day when i can hop on a plane with a one-way ticket to new york in my hand is almost here.  and the fact that brian and i are doing this together makes it even better.  i'm so glad that i'm doing this with my best-friend.  now, if i could only find a way to shrink all these things down and make them miniature-sized!   i truly do want to make room for a new life, a new world.

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my mama (what do they know about this love anyway?)

i get home, i take my shoes off, i pour myself a drink,  i take my drink to bed.  it sits on the night stand and i think: "maybe i should write?"  i have nothing important to say, it's true.  and maybe i never have.  maybe i just like to talk.  in fact, i wake up wanting to talk.  that's why i'm a diarist.  i've learned how to channel my waking need for conversation into a literary habit.  i remember walking into my mother's bedroom when i was 18 or 19 years old and instantly gabbing at her about the dreams i had or whatever i had planned for the day.  she'd be there, lazy eyed with her coffee, rubbing her feet together, one over the other, and she'd say, "Angela, i am not awake enough for this yet.  go away. "  hahaha!  and it would hurt my feelings so bad!!!!  but then i met other people who are like that too.  i no longer take offense.  how can i when i have a diary?  a page is always open to what i have to say no matter how boring or insignificant.

but god...  my mama.  damn, i miss that woman sometimes. she had a funny way about her.  a goofiness tempered with the allure of her height and thinness and full lips that was so endearing.  she could be so silly in such a brilliant, life-affirming way.  she really did love the world...  all the little secret, forgotten things that no one pays any mind to.  if you ever wanted to go thrifting or poking through flea markets, she was the woman to follow.  she had such a big love for the forgotten things in the world; the things other people considered to be junk or thrash.  she would take those things and arrange them, just so, on a mantle or on a window sill and it would be such a beautiful thing.  high design.  she should have been an interior decorator or just a straight up artist.  she should have never listened to the crap her husbands told her or the rest of the world either.  she should have listened to me.  really, she should have.  she should have just painted and written poetry and played her guitar and sang.  she should have been as wild as her curls.  as wild, but just as soft.  she was such a sensitive woman.  beautiful.  aggravating sometimes, but nevertheless charming.  i had the health of her spirit in mind every step of the way.  i loved her and i wanted the best for her.  i wanted her to find the strength to tell everyone to Fuck Off. i wanted her to be herself.  and damn right!  i wanted her to ENJOY being a curly-headed mess, rambling around in yummy plummy lipstick, melissa etheridge on the radio as she bumbled down the highway in her bouncy Wrangler.  i wanted her to flip people off and smile as her huge gold hoop earrings dangled against her cheek, her huge smile flashing and that damn cigarette pinched confidently between her fingers of her left hand.

how did i get on this subject?

oh, yeah, i wanted to talk.

i'm telling ya, i am the worst girl in the world to bring home or attempt to seduce.  my chatterbox ass just won't shut the fuck up. before you know it, it's 4am and i've barely taken my shoes off  :)

i know what my mother looks like driving a jeep through the southern california sun down the 10 freeway singing this song.  i know how the light catches her curls.  i know how the light catches her lips.  and i know how she sounds when she sings, "i'm coming home!"  i know how beautiful we both were in that windy, bumpy moment...  all the times we drove through the rich neighborhoods looking at big houses and dreaming together, smoking marlboro reds, and trying to hold tight to the small ache inside of each of us that told us we weren't nothing...  that we weren't born wrong...  that it isn't a sin to want something better, or at least something fitting... 

that it isn't a sin to want love not to hurt.

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. 

;)

execution

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for the passed few days i've been hunched over projects, pulling things together that have sat, unattended, far too long and bringing them to completion.  and hunched is exactly the right word.  an old back injury has woken up as a result and i've spent the last several hours lying flat on my back in bed.  i should be good as new by morning but it made today an utter pain in the ass.  pun intended.  still, i got out for a bit and took some lovely photographs of a broken mirror on the side of the road.  the walking helped but i've been in a shitload of pain for the majority of the day.  and actually, it's been kinda nice to just be in bed with a book.  it's something i don't do enough these days.  funny to think i used to curl up with a book nightly.  was it really so long ago? a year.  damn.  a year...

as if the cycle of the seasons weren't enough to get my ritualistic brain humming.  the new year finds us and 12 days later it's the 2nd anniversary of my mother's death.  a week later on the 19th, it's her birthday.  all these personal holidays.  all these snaps of the leash.  these markers of time are serious.  and so...  i've been thinking about grad school again.  wondering about it is more like it.  should i? shouldn't i?  is it necessary for my practice?  is it necessary in order to have a career as an artist?  what constitutes a "career" for an artist anyway?  i'll go on making things and writing things until i go blind and my fingers fall off regardless.  and i haven't looked to any system to supply value to my work in a very, very long time.  i'd just as soon climb poles and wrap my crochet around them or write poems on abandoned mattresses.  i return to dreaming of New York; the Bowery, the Lower East Side and how magnificently at home i felt there.  lately, i look at myself in the mirror and ask "what the fuck is stopping you?"

the big news is that i'm traveling to Europe for the first time this summer and i must squirrel away alottttttt of pennies between now and then in order to make it happen.  no bouncing off to NY until after i have bought a passport and a plane ticket to Frankfurt.  after that, who knows?  i have a storage unit where all my books and art will be safe until i can collect them.  i can go wherever i want to go because the truth of the matter is that i can both make art and wait tables anywhere.  this is a fact i've been thinking alot about lately.  A LOT.  a fact that simultaneously makes me feel exquisitely free and exquisitely lonely.  freedom is a barbed thing.  still, i'd rather have the scars of liberty than the pristine surface afforded by security.  i'd rather run this body in to the ground through love and action and adventure than preserve it needlessly through neglect as an atrocious shrine to Safety and Obedience.  the only obedience i feel is Moral is to be myself.  it is the pinnacle of honesty and truly the only thing any of us really have to offer anyway.

but i'm getting away from myself.  the point was my slipped disk and how it fucked up an entire day. while laying on my bedroom floor, i read the first two essays in Chris Kraus's 'Video Green'.  i like reading her thoughts on contemporary art paired with her exploration of BDSM.  seems an unlikely pair at first but it's something i feel intrigued and comforted by.  her level of self-exposure in what is technically an article/essay is astounding.  it widens my view on what "serious" writing can be.  the body is given primacy.  especially the female body and female desire.  it makes me think about blogging in an entirely different way too.  the level of self-exposure i've attained here in the blackland is nothing compared to what i want to achieve in my art practice (of which this blog is very much a part) but it is leaps and bounds beyond what it was just 2 years ago.  i suppose the answer is to simply keep pushing.  whether it be grad school or simply relocating, i need to push harder at the seams of my practice, at the seams of myself.  it is a lonely endeavour sometimes.  painfully lonely.  but then i think of all the artists i admire and i leaf through their books.  i think of my mother at her sewing machine.  i think of my brother on his motorcycle and my sister taking care of animals on a farm.  i think of you reading these words and how much i'd rather be sitting on the arm of your couch, cocktail in hand, a laugh ready to burst and saying all of this directly to you and waiting for the heated breath of your response to find my ear, my neck, my heart. 

remember what Jack said: to be an artist is a privilege.

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change:

lately i have tucked all of myself in to my notebook and twists of yarn. there are no left overs.

and i also no longer have internet at home. this is a scary thing and very inconvenient but also fantastic. i get so much more done in a day now that i cannot run to check my email every 15 minutes when i am at home. i am forced to sit with the work in an old way, the way i used to before all this technology became the norm. i used to pace in the living room while i wrote. i used to wait and wait and wait to have the house to myself so that i could be crazy in it, pace around in it, take my clothes off, be naked in it, cry a little, or maybe cry alot. it is a way of working that i haven't enjoyed in so long it seems and i feel lucky to have it back. i wrote 500 words today in between rounds of German vocabulary and grammar. also, i have an excuse now to go to the library at CCA and look through the fancy art periodicals and fashion magazines from other countries. i am given the gift of Another Reason to Leave the House. still, i miss the blogs i used to frequent daily. i miss the electric words of others. other women typing their magnificent Love Letters To Self in to the glowing white rectangle. our own tiny art galleries, these spaces. our own surging, unapologetic diaries.

i can't stop thinking of francesca woodman. i know this might make me obnoxious but i don't care. she matters. i keep her book in my bed. i want to be near her images all the time. the world she was making. today i thought that at a certain point the line of our lives and the line of our work converge and become one. our art starts building a new world for us to inhabit somewhere over there, off to the side of the reality we know, and little by little we get closer to it, are pulled by its magnets and hooks. i wake every morning eager for my notebook and coffee. i am working every day and i can tell you honestly i haven't felt this much like myself in years. it is a beautiful and exciting feeling.

blah.

i am sitting here with a cup of cold ginseng tea. one of my neighbors gave it to me. he said it's from japan. and it's good, i guess... but not satisfying at all. at least not as a morning beverage. no sugar or honey in it. it is not my beloved coffee. and that is exactly the point: not coffee.

i'm excessive when it comes to coffee. super excessive. and it isn't even really the coffee itself, it's the sweet, sugary hazelnut cream i dump in it. YUM! i can easily drink an entire pot of coffee all to myself each morning. for the passed few months i've been feeling pretty ridiculous about it. because it isn't even caffeine i'm trying to pump myself full of, it's sugar. my old nemesis.

in high school and the early days of college, i was a soda addict. a HARDCORE soda addict. to a very gross degree. so gross, in fact, i'm surprised i didn't rot my teeth. i'd stop at the convenience store in the morning before class and get a humongous BIG GULP... which i would buy refills for periodically throughout the day. this practice went on for years. i loved the burn of Dr. Pepper and was completely gluttonous about it.

after moving to the bay area, i kicked my soda habit during summer break one year. but when classes started back up in the fall and i was working full time and going to school full time, i got in to drinking coffee. and eventually, i got just as excessive about it as i had been with soda. for the passed couple months, i've realized that it's all about sugar. i am a total sugar addict. and i get so much of it in my coffee that i never crave any other sweets at all. never. none. not one. i never think cake sounds good or ice-cream or candy or pies. never. and this is a good thing but it's also no wonder- i load up on sugar right at the beginning of the day!

all this to say- i'm not drinking coffee this morning. my hope is to get through this entire week without it. reign in my addictive personality a bit. if i could be one of those people who practiced things in moderation, this would be no issue at all. but i seem to go full-tilt with things i enjoy. i do not sip, i GUZZLE. i know nothing of temperance. ha!

so... i'm on guard against crankiness and sarcasm today. geez.

hello monday!

it was my sweetie's birthday weekend and it was actually really wonderful to unplug from digital life for two days and just be present in the day with him, in celebration, and our dreams and hopes and happy outlook on the future. it was the big THREE OH. 30 years old. and i'm right behind him. i am not at all nervous or weirded out by it. only that it feels so young. i thought i'd have a lot more answers than this by the time i hit 30. ha! who knew! adults don't have all the answers! hahahaha! but we had a lot of fun and a lot of delicious eats and a lot of laughter too. a lot of snuggles and hugs and deep, wonderful, playful conversation. and also a lot of relaxed down-time. he's earned it. he works hard and never complains and is always so gentle with other people. i've not ever really seen stress get the better of him. he's very solid that way. i really appreciate that. the stability of personality and emotion. there is no chaos that exists in him. no chaos he creates. and i love that. tragedy needs no helping hand in life, that's for sure. it will find each and every one of us. it needs no assistance. i admire his ability to remain positive and calm in the face of even the hardest circumstances. he has found balance and i admire that. a warm balance. i'm very proud of the man he is. i hope he is too. :)

and so it is a rainy monday. a built-in excuse to hole up with my oils and scoot around light and shadow. :) i think i'll watch A Clockwork Orange again today too so i can keep rolling with my essay on its importance. it is eerily timely. totally contemporary. brilliant. and i'm so glad i waited this long to watch the film. i think if i had watched it when i was 14, the message of this work would've been totally lost on me. i would not have caught its significance.

i'm even going back and re-reading books i read as a teenager, knowing that my first go-round with the work was almost completely surface. i'm almost finished with Catcher in the Rye- stunned by how simultaneously funny and sad it is. the heart-break inherent to growing up. the struggle of knowing one's self. of feeling separate from the world and its ways. the crazy-making. the confusion. the desperation. the need for love and to feel understood by another human being. the search that we all participate in and undertake...

art and literature are such good friends. :) what windows they are. such hard beauties. my days glow because of them and i feel so so so lucky.

big and beautiful life changes on the horizon...

for the past several weeks, my sweetheart and i have been talking A LOT about quality of life, goals, dreams, plans, etc. and the time has come to make a move on these things. we are currently at our two-year anniversary of moving out here to napa valley. and though many positives have come out of living in such a beautiful landscape, the truth is that there simply aren't many opportunities for artists out this way... or anyone really who isn't connected to the wine industry. i have to drive an hour and a half to participate in the san francisco art world. and it has definitely been an uphill battle to get to openings, be involved, be supportive of my own community, and be a recognized face in the scene. i'm actually amazed i've been able to get as much done as i have being this far away. and i miss my art school buddies more than i can say. gas money to the city isn't something i have to burn every single day. and so the decision has been made to get rolling again, get back to the hustle and bustle, back to the land of the living. i am so excited and happy that i almost can't stand it. i am relieved and hopeful. i miss my beautiful city by the bay. i miss having close access to museums and galleries. i miss everything about living close to a cosmopolitan place. every single thing. and so i've already been sending out resumes this morning. i can stand the long commute for a couple months until we have the cash saved up to move. besides, if everything is going well right now in new york at AAF, i'll have most of the money we need to make the transition. i'm just thankful we have a plan now, something to work toward together that we both want, that we both need.

and so in the spirit of hope and change, if you're in the SF bay area (or even near it) and you catch wind of something, please think of me and let me know. it doesn't need to be art related. i am quite the skilled custom framer though and also a very effective research assistant. i'm aiming for jobs that i actually want, first. it's always best to aim high rather than settle for what you know you can get... though, if need be, i will. i want to move back so bad that, if it comes down to it, i'll suck it up and wait tables again. it's worth it. completely.

in other news, i spent the entire day painting yesterday and the next 5 footer is almost done. i hope to get it wrapped up today after The Almighty Jog and a breakfast of raspberries and coffee. :) i must say... this recent wave of painting and drawing that has flooded in to me, out of me, all around me, clogging up the living room, makes me feel so good and alive. and writing writing writing too. life is good and i am soooooooo anxious to move forward again.

good morning. :)

take a load off

my mind is full of ideas and images and bendy twisty itchy, in love with so many things. i spent most of yesterday in research mode and so i'm a bit worn out now but it's the good kind- the soreness that lets you know you worked hard and that it's okay to take a little break, which i'm really bad about, and so today i will. there is a huge value in remembering to do the "normal" things... taking the night off to watch a movie or go picking through antique stores or taking a walk. the sun is up and shining, it's not too cold, and i feel happy and hopeful. it's a good time to let go of abstract thoughts, give my brain a break, enjoy this beautiful day, and do a bit of grunt work maybe instead: priming canvas... washing the dishes... or maybe simply enjoying the light outside. happy friday, everybody! you earned it!