.
i went to my little storage unit earlier today for the first time in 10 months. so many of the objects seemed like they didn't belong to me. or couldn't. but they did. they do. and i've been paying rent for them to be kept safely somewhere for the passed year.
it is a strange time-capsule. an odd window in to a different era, a different heart. after i turned my key in the padlock and swung the big, white door open i felt as if i was looking at someone else's belongings. in so many ways, i was. i am. i took one small carload of boxes and artwork back to my house. as i unpacked, i came across such a funny and weird assortment of shit from my past. numerous lives! it made me laugh joyfully to pull a two dollar bill (with red and black ink print) from the lowest drawer of my black Japanese jewelery box. i dumped the contents of the entire thing on to the floor, cleaned the drawers and hinges of a year's worth of dust, then rooted through the tarnished pieces.
i made a massive pile of trinkets i'm definitely not interested in wearing anymore, i'll say that much! ha! i looked at the glittering heap on the floor in front of me and felt next to no attachment to any of it. i'll keep the pieces of jewelery my mother gave me even though it's of a style i no longer wear. there is the necklace she gave me for my 16th birthday. here is the necklace she gave me when i graduated from High School. and here, the necklace she gave me when i graduated from college. when she died, i took a few of her necklaces. not because i wanted to wear them, i just wanted them near. like a Bible. amulets. talismans. and who knows? maybe the future will give me occasion to wear these necklaces again.
but i digress.
i didn't remember how much stuff i'd managed to cram inside such a tiny unit. i rented the smallest one available! my crap is really shoe-horned in, let me tell you. it's going to take a few more trips to get this all sorted out. most of which will be left on Oakland street corners or given to the Goodwill. i don't want it. i don't identify with it. i have no feeling for most of what i've saved. i want to be rid of it and have a clear, wide expanse in front of me upon which i may build a new life, a new future, a better, more honest Self. i don't want the anchors of The Past pulling at the corners of my eyes, the corners of my heart. i don't need the barbs and burrs. i don't need or want the attachments. it's truly just stuff. and mostly annoyances.
but my books. god, my books!!! i've missed them so much! i brought two boxes home with me today. i found the boxes that held my kiki smith and louise bourgeouis monographs and also my collection of jean genet's writings. i've been wanting to re-read The Theif's Journal since i embarked upon an idependant life a year ago. i need to have it around me, again, like a Bible. i need the reminder of his fearlessness, the illustrations of his philosophic bravery and poetic swagger.
right now, i am uploading my cd collection in to my laptop. soon, i'll be able to relish in the sounds of my brilliant music collection as i stomp back and forth across Oakland and San Francisco. i've been without Fugazi and Tori Amos and En Vouge and TOOL for a year! a fucking year! it's so good to have my music collection here in front of me. it is an ecstasy, truly.
.
the future grins from its dark corner. change is afoot. there is no reason to think his grin is sinister. he is merely chuckling at the surprises he knows are in store for us and of which we will be amazed and glad - these same things which we (i too) are afraid of now. the Unknown is a scary motherfucking thing, but i feel the fear and barrel forward anyway. like my friend said "get busy living or get busy dying".
it's easier now that i have music to do it to. ;)
let's live, kid.
Showing posts with label self-knowledge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self-knowledge. Show all posts
Mar 10, 2013
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.
Dec 27, 2012
while i'm young i wanna have FUN FUN FUN
and cry cry cry. i want to think of your body, so far away, the way it lay shivering beneath my lips, my hot hands, my wishes for a better future.
but what of the future? the new year is so close. she presses against me like an invalid needing to be carried, needing to be seated on some cold throne; needing milk or meat or salt. and i want to please her. i do. i want to be obedient and diligent. i want to be thoughtful and poetic. i want to be ABLE. the new year breathes against my neck and i wish it were the hot breath of a lover. that hunger. that dire need. that ache. maybe it is. while i listen to Lou Reed and drink the apple/vanilla/peppermint vodka my beautiful Annie gave me for Christmas, i think of the year about to be born. what sheets lay waiting to be tangled beneath my body? what fist might in catch my hair? what page might catch what horribly hot poem, what anxiety ridden wish, what letter to my mother written far far far too late? can i bend beneath your heat, sir? can i bend beneath your lips? because i have enough Truth within me, i am not seeking it from you. i want only the external, the expression, the slip of sweat and spit. you owe me nothing and i would love to bear witness to that fact. let my body and face be a record of all that you DO NOT OWE ME.
(it is always a slightly scary moment when one wonders if a lover has yet googled their name.)
but what is it i am after, exactly? what is it i long for? every day i hunger after something. i ache and ache and ache. i type the words, i let my ink spill, i twist my wool and fashion myself a new poem, a new blanket, a new prayer. and yet? and yet? and yet? i am without. i am hungry. i need a new scene. a Poetry i can curl below as if it were a man. i need a Poetry i can be afraid of. a Poetry with some weight.
i need a Poetry with a fist.
we count down the days. we pour the alcohol in to our cups. we wish for the best. do we think of our mothers? we think of ourselves. we bend to the wind of desire and wait to be kissed. we hang up our clothes and pretend to be good.
but what of the future? the new year is so close. she presses against me like an invalid needing to be carried, needing to be seated on some cold throne; needing milk or meat or salt. and i want to please her. i do. i want to be obedient and diligent. i want to be thoughtful and poetic. i want to be ABLE. the new year breathes against my neck and i wish it were the hot breath of a lover. that hunger. that dire need. that ache. maybe it is. while i listen to Lou Reed and drink the apple/vanilla/peppermint vodka my beautiful Annie gave me for Christmas, i think of the year about to be born. what sheets lay waiting to be tangled beneath my body? what fist might in catch my hair? what page might catch what horribly hot poem, what anxiety ridden wish, what letter to my mother written far far far too late? can i bend beneath your heat, sir? can i bend beneath your lips? because i have enough Truth within me, i am not seeking it from you. i want only the external, the expression, the slip of sweat and spit. you owe me nothing and i would love to bear witness to that fact. let my body and face be a record of all that you DO NOT OWE ME.
(it is always a slightly scary moment when one wonders if a lover has yet googled their name.)
but what is it i am after, exactly? what is it i long for? every day i hunger after something. i ache and ache and ache. i type the words, i let my ink spill, i twist my wool and fashion myself a new poem, a new blanket, a new prayer. and yet? and yet? and yet? i am without. i am hungry. i need a new scene. a Poetry i can curl below as if it were a man. i need a Poetry i can be afraid of. a Poetry with some weight.
i need a Poetry with a fist.
we count down the days. we pour the alcohol in to our cups. we wish for the best. do we think of our mothers? we think of ourselves. we bend to the wind of desire and wait to be kissed. we hang up our clothes and pretend to be good.
Aug 28, 2012
LOVE.
can i tell you how good it feels to choose the thing we are discouraged from choosing? can i tell you how good it feels to choose exactly that, which as females, we are told is selfish and bad and wrong? god, are there even words? is there a way to highlight this sweep of ecstasy, this central pleasure? is there something i can compare it to? the divinity of the first prime number? the excellence of music? the wholesome quality of that innocent moment when, as a child, you would lay yourself down across your mother's lap and she would lovingly scratch your back? can i tell you, now, how good it feels to have chosen my Self? to have spent these last 6 months looking only into my own eyes? can i tell you how absolutely unlonely i am?
there is no loneliness within me. i long for nothing except to be an artist. if i crave anything it is to be left alone with my work. if i crave anything it is to wake, alone in my own bed, with my diary well within reach and a pen in my eager hand. the voices i wait for are the voices of my best friends. i lean in to their love and back away from the other expectations and exploitations of my faith, of my natural willingness to help and please.
6 months.
and in a day and a half i will be on a plane to new york.
when i was 7 or 8 years old i had a poster of the NY city skyline all in silhouette. it was pinned next to where i slept. i would lay in the top bunk and gaze at the image and dream of a place i had never seen. i will be 32 years old on september 3rd and i will see our great american city for the very first time a few days before that. a life long dream is actually coming true.
can i tell you how good it feels to live life exclusively on my own terms, making apologies to no one, and void of the need to fashion excuses for a goddamn thing?
lovely.
there is no loneliness within me. i long for nothing except to be an artist. if i crave anything it is to be left alone with my work. if i crave anything it is to wake, alone in my own bed, with my diary well within reach and a pen in my eager hand. the voices i wait for are the voices of my best friends. i lean in to their love and back away from the other expectations and exploitations of my faith, of my natural willingness to help and please.
6 months.
and in a day and a half i will be on a plane to new york.
when i was 7 or 8 years old i had a poster of the NY city skyline all in silhouette. it was pinned next to where i slept. i would lay in the top bunk and gaze at the image and dream of a place i had never seen. i will be 32 years old on september 3rd and i will see our great american city for the very first time a few days before that. a life long dream is actually coming true.
can i tell you how good it feels to live life exclusively on my own terms, making apologies to no one, and void of the need to fashion excuses for a goddamn thing?
lovely.
Oct 18, 2011
i found this on the street in san rafael, california
yesterday. i read it aloud to my friend, her brother and mother, and shivered over the words, below the touch of facts, the music of pain and hope. i folded it up and put it in my back pocket and took it home.
.
.
Mar 17, 2011
a small return to Self
this morning, under a grey sky, i cracked the nut that holds the distributor in place on my 1973 super beetle (bright yellow, thank you very much), moved it ever so slightly to the right, cranked the ignition and she fired right up. this is the first time i've heard her gorgeous rumble in a year. i was thinking i might sell her but not now. nope. no way. i love this little car and i feel like such a jerk for not driving her this passed year. this passed year that was so full of hard transitions, hard lessons, constant learning, a strange flux. and life is still that way. it will probably continue to be that way for a while longer too. 2011 has not been very kind thus far.
elisabeth is right. her comment on the post below is so accurate and true. so helpful. it offered a much needed clarity and gentleness. i haven't factored it in enough... the hard hit of my mother's death and how this has impacted who i am... how it will continue to impact my life and personality for years to come. it is a rough road i'm on but it is not without Goodness and Love and all varieties of Hope, big and small.
and then, in the rain, i washed a years worth of dust off her. my Bumble Bug (that's her nic-name).
this is a powerful symbol. very.
elisabeth is right. her comment on the post below is so accurate and true. so helpful. it offered a much needed clarity and gentleness. i haven't factored it in enough... the hard hit of my mother's death and how this has impacted who i am... how it will continue to impact my life and personality for years to come. it is a rough road i'm on but it is not without Goodness and Love and all varieties of Hope, big and small.
and then, in the rain, i washed a years worth of dust off her. my Bumble Bug (that's her nic-name).
this is a powerful symbol. very.
Dec 22, 2010
i am smiling at you.
work work work work work. and with it, a return to my true self. an embrace of a previous piece. something i lost or was stolen or slipped away without my notice or was just plain ol' beat the fuck out of me during the passed few rough years. because haven't the passed few years been exceptionally rough for all of us? it sure seems like it. and there was some damage to acquire and then some damage to repair... and now, such a deep, soothing sigh in my day. and elation! i wake up and make myself a super hot english breakfast tea and head back to bed with my notebook. i wake up early just to luxuriate in the divinity of The Long Morning. i write and write and write.
there, on the page, is where i catch myself. it is where i create myself. those crisp blue lines have held me for years. ever since i learned to write. and even before that! as a very small child i use to scribble loops across the lines of my father's yellow legal pads. i'd pretend i was writing a magnificent novel. i'd daydream of waterfalls and falling stars and all those romantic things children daydream about as i scribbled my way across line after line, page after page.
paper is my birth place. it is my origin. and so i minimize the role The Long Morning plays by calling it a luxury. it is, in fact, a necessity. i need it and appreciate in ways i cannot even begin to describe. it is one of the few things i can simply not go without at this point in my life. and now, this season of busy labor and steep activity finds me, but i have not lost the pleasure/necessity of The Long Morning. i make time for it. always. i wake up as early as i need to. and that's where i am on days when i have nothing to say publicly here. on days when i put up a photo or video, know that i am still smiling at you and that these images are themselves an extension of my exploration. this Return i am experiencing... this Renewal (?????) is full of unknown corners and foreign sounds, songs, images, whispers, echos. my fingers are flying across pages and strings of yarn and sticks of graphite. i feel like i am in love with so many things. ecstatic and curious and unapologetic. it feels so damn good- this high level of freedom inside my practice. scribbling my way toward something better than what i've had. maybe... better than what i've allowed myself?
busy is good. i find a piece of myself that i haven't had in years. like a hug from an old friend, i rush toward this Return, this girl, this life. this! this! this!
there, on the page, is where i catch myself. it is where i create myself. those crisp blue lines have held me for years. ever since i learned to write. and even before that! as a very small child i use to scribble loops across the lines of my father's yellow legal pads. i'd pretend i was writing a magnificent novel. i'd daydream of waterfalls and falling stars and all those romantic things children daydream about as i scribbled my way across line after line, page after page.
paper is my birth place. it is my origin. and so i minimize the role The Long Morning plays by calling it a luxury. it is, in fact, a necessity. i need it and appreciate in ways i cannot even begin to describe. it is one of the few things i can simply not go without at this point in my life. and now, this season of busy labor and steep activity finds me, but i have not lost the pleasure/necessity of The Long Morning. i make time for it. always. i wake up as early as i need to. and that's where i am on days when i have nothing to say publicly here. on days when i put up a photo or video, know that i am still smiling at you and that these images are themselves an extension of my exploration. this Return i am experiencing... this Renewal (?????) is full of unknown corners and foreign sounds, songs, images, whispers, echos. my fingers are flying across pages and strings of yarn and sticks of graphite. i feel like i am in love with so many things. ecstatic and curious and unapologetic. it feels so damn good- this high level of freedom inside my practice. scribbling my way toward something better than what i've had. maybe... better than what i've allowed myself?
busy is good. i find a piece of myself that i haven't had in years. like a hug from an old friend, i rush toward this Return, this girl, this life. this! this! this!
Dec 15, 2010
Nov 4, 2010
reading Simone Weil's Gravity & Grace
.
the chapter "Attention and Will" has got me by the hair. in fistfuls. i cannot look away. i cannot look away from my own face in the mirror. the indictment. the lesson.
"We have to cure our faults by attention and not by will." (p.169)
"Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. It presupposes faith and love." (p.170)
"Love is the teacher of gods and men, for no one learned anything without desiring to learn. Truth is sought not because it is truth, but because it is good.
Attention is bound up with desire. Not with the will but with desire. Or, more exactly, with consent." (p.171)
like 3 gunshots right in a row. boom. boom. boom. or my face slapped. or maybe kissed? 3 kisses on the cheek. and then that fist in the hair that holds my head immobile and forces me to take a better, closer, longer look at what i assumed Attention and Will (and Love) are.
i have known that place. i have been there. that place, akin to prayer, that raises itself up (and my self along with it) when i am truly attentive. when i am absolutely engaged. the wonderment that courses through a body. i have experienced this while reading, drawing, running. i have felt it while singing in the shower. i have felt it in so many classrooms and while scribbling away in my notebooks.
but also: the result of heart break. the result of brutality. the result of devastation. just as wonderment has coursed through my body, so has an amazing despair. not all exaltation is pleasurable.
good does not always equal fun.
i say that to myself and see that there have been so many times when i have been a spoiled brat, kicking a screaming, because the Good Work i needed to do was also Hard Work and not fun at all. and i only see that, now, that i have been questioned about Attention and Will. i see that i have not been as attentive to myself as i thought. it is not the same thing as self-indulgence and it is not the same thing as self-abasement.
how to turn that focus, that attentiveness, toward myself in the way it is called for in the first quote?
thinking along these lines, this switch in lingo, gives me a new perspective on how to think of struggle and learning. i must pay attention to myself, see exactly what i am focusing on, discern if it is "good" and, if it isn't, (if it is horrible for me, wounding me, if i am only beating myself up) to refocus (attend) to the Good. the good i haven't given myself because it comes in a package i do not recognize or do not like. the good that finds me only through hard work. the good that is hard work itself. i must somehow love myself enough to learn how to do this... how to break the old, bitter habits.
i think that even something as horrible as self-hate is a habit. that malicious routine of pick pick pick and point point point: berating the self, attacking, snarling. as routine as brushing your teeth. it signals a corrupt notion of love.
maybe practicing Attention can teach me a new notion of love? a new notion of faith? maybe i have not yet truly "consented" to learning certain things? i have feared the lesson. maybe i have been afraid of looking at particular realities? seeing them, as they truly are and without any consolation, the realities alive in me.
the chapter "Attention and Will" has got me by the hair. in fistfuls. i cannot look away. i cannot look away from my own face in the mirror. the indictment. the lesson.
"We have to cure our faults by attention and not by will." (p.169)
"Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. It presupposes faith and love." (p.170)
"Love is the teacher of gods and men, for no one learned anything without desiring to learn. Truth is sought not because it is truth, but because it is good.
Attention is bound up with desire. Not with the will but with desire. Or, more exactly, with consent." (p.171)
like 3 gunshots right in a row. boom. boom. boom. or my face slapped. or maybe kissed? 3 kisses on the cheek. and then that fist in the hair that holds my head immobile and forces me to take a better, closer, longer look at what i assumed Attention and Will (and Love) are.
i have known that place. i have been there. that place, akin to prayer, that raises itself up (and my self along with it) when i am truly attentive. when i am absolutely engaged. the wonderment that courses through a body. i have experienced this while reading, drawing, running. i have felt it while singing in the shower. i have felt it in so many classrooms and while scribbling away in my notebooks.
but also: the result of heart break. the result of brutality. the result of devastation. just as wonderment has coursed through my body, so has an amazing despair. not all exaltation is pleasurable.
good does not always equal fun.
i say that to myself and see that there have been so many times when i have been a spoiled brat, kicking a screaming, because the Good Work i needed to do was also Hard Work and not fun at all. and i only see that, now, that i have been questioned about Attention and Will. i see that i have not been as attentive to myself as i thought. it is not the same thing as self-indulgence and it is not the same thing as self-abasement.
how to turn that focus, that attentiveness, toward myself in the way it is called for in the first quote?
thinking along these lines, this switch in lingo, gives me a new perspective on how to think of struggle and learning. i must pay attention to myself, see exactly what i am focusing on, discern if it is "good" and, if it isn't, (if it is horrible for me, wounding me, if i am only beating myself up) to refocus (attend) to the Good. the good i haven't given myself because it comes in a package i do not recognize or do not like. the good that finds me only through hard work. the good that is hard work itself. i must somehow love myself enough to learn how to do this... how to break the old, bitter habits.
i think that even something as horrible as self-hate is a habit. that malicious routine of pick pick pick and point point point: berating the self, attacking, snarling. as routine as brushing your teeth. it signals a corrupt notion of love.
maybe practicing Attention can teach me a new notion of love? a new notion of faith? maybe i have not yet truly "consented" to learning certain things? i have feared the lesson. maybe i have been afraid of looking at particular realities? seeing them, as they truly are and without any consolation, the realities alive in me.
Oct 26, 2010
tuesday morning art and politics with William Kentridge and Riot Grrl
William Kentridge: charcoal and torn paper and opera... the man is amazing. i fell in love with his work, with his mind, the very first time i saw it. i am lucky that my first experience with his work was in the flesh, face to face at LACMA. i was 20 at the time, i think. my mother and i decided to drive out to LA and see what was going on one day, completely spur of the moment, and that's when i learned of William Kentridge. immediately, i was at home with his images and aesthetic. i was working primarily in charcoal at the time. black charcoal and white acrylic together on a page- ghostly swirls of grey. and the second i saw Kentridge's work, i looked at my mom and said: SEE! someone else who loves charcoal! art can be made this way, it doesn't have to be oil paint! i was so excited! overjoyed! and then when my friend Daniela and i accidentily stumbled across his show in San Francisco when she was up here visiting a few months ago. gorgeous etchings based on Gogol's short-story The Nose.
over the weekend i watched the new Art:21 documentary about his current work and he seems like such a playful man. seeing his work is an experience that i can only really describe as Home Coming and it's so heart-warming to watch him in the studio. in the documentary, he speaks briefly about "the seriousness of play" and it reminds me of what poet Rebecca Loudon stresses- finding the site of deep play and there is where the poetry grows. and then later in the film, he says (and i am paraphrasing), "my life and work changed when i started seeing the world as Process rather than Fact". something about that statement hit me so hard. in the face, in the heart. it is still hitting me hard. it's so damn smart it makes my head spin. and i try to catch it so that i can hold it, apply it, trust it, such a brilliant tool! and of course, when i think i've managed to catch it i lose it again. isn't that always the way. ha! but there is something in that statement that is so inviting, so opposite what dominant american culture espouses... process rather than product. the Means rather than the End. a life's work, always UP UP UP. not climbing in the hopes of finding a pleasing plateau, but climbing because that is the job... to climb. and i know this is all romantic and beautiful and so i run to it as fast as i can! these kinds of ideas are so attractive to me. the idealist in me flings her arms wide open to embrace all this beauty of thought and action. my americanism snaps me back and squeezes my face, forces me to look at the goals that are permissible for me to have, the desires i am supposed to chase. the money plateau. green and leisurely. and then just sit there, just coast, do nothing but spend...
it is uncomfortable and lonely to be Outside but i must be Outside. i must remain Outside. in my sketch book, i have a quote written and i have no clue who said it but here it is: Becoming aware of your power to make choices and not go with the status quo is a huge first step.
last night before bed i read Joanne Gottlieb's and Gayle Wald's essay "Smells Like Teen Spirit: Riot Grrls, Revolution and Women in Independent Rock" about zines and music, power, how girls can create their own agency by resisting the cultural allure to stay inside, stay quiet, sit down, and continue the practice of minimization and silence within themselves... that something as seemingly simple as making a zine or t-shirt or stitching your own scarf is an act of resistance to the Status Quo... a dominant culture that still, right now, prefers everyone to fall in line, do what they're told, and do not make waves. this is definitely still the case. and right now, with all the economic worry and hardship and fear, i think it's an even scary proposition i'm making to ask myself (or anyone else) to ignore the status quo, basically forgo safety and security, in order to establish a bit of freedom for myself; a bit of agency, a bit of happiness. but look where the Status Quo got us! i mean... come on! the president cannot do a damn thing about individual levels of greed and feelings of entitlement. he just can't. that's my job and that's your job. it comes down to not only a re-evaluation of what we hold dear culturally, but also individually within our own homes and families. i simply cannot fall in line with the practices that led us to this place of completely unethical levels of spending and wanting and grabbing and enslaving others to our desire to collect as many status symbols as possible. i just can't do it. and ofcourse the temptation is there. it always will be. yes, money is a necessity in this era... but does the necessity of money mean it must be worshipped as a God?
in the William Kentridge documentary he relays a funny story about a friend of his who basically made fun of him for always trying to figure out what he should do, like, for a job. ha! and the friend told him, look, you're 28 and you're unemplyable. no one is going to give you a job. so stop arguing with your trajectory. success or failure, you're an artist. that's when William Kentridge decided to say fuck it and just be himself.
and so i had a hard time falling asleep because i was so excited and encouraged by the film and by what i had just read, but also a bit afraid. it's hard not to feel afraid once realizing that i am completely in control of my own life and it's really just a matter of what i'm willing to put myself through in order to build a life that feels right for me and is respectful of who i am. this comes back to what Kentridge said about seeing the world as Process rather than Fact: that the world is malleable, changeable, able to shift. and so i must somehow become ready to make a shift as well. it is the world in me that must change first. my body and all that it contains. my perceptions must shift. i must identify them as process, not as fact, and establish my agnecy through acts of art-making and writing and crocheting my own sweaters and running along the highway regardless of the perceptions of others. and somehow i must become okay with all this... to stop worrying about whether or not anyone understands what i'm doing and why it is relevant.
over the weekend i watched the new Art:21 documentary about his current work and he seems like such a playful man. seeing his work is an experience that i can only really describe as Home Coming and it's so heart-warming to watch him in the studio. in the documentary, he speaks briefly about "the seriousness of play" and it reminds me of what poet Rebecca Loudon stresses- finding the site of deep play and there is where the poetry grows. and then later in the film, he says (and i am paraphrasing), "my life and work changed when i started seeing the world as Process rather than Fact". something about that statement hit me so hard. in the face, in the heart. it is still hitting me hard. it's so damn smart it makes my head spin. and i try to catch it so that i can hold it, apply it, trust it, such a brilliant tool! and of course, when i think i've managed to catch it i lose it again. isn't that always the way. ha! but there is something in that statement that is so inviting, so opposite what dominant american culture espouses... process rather than product. the Means rather than the End. a life's work, always UP UP UP. not climbing in the hopes of finding a pleasing plateau, but climbing because that is the job... to climb. and i know this is all romantic and beautiful and so i run to it as fast as i can! these kinds of ideas are so attractive to me. the idealist in me flings her arms wide open to embrace all this beauty of thought and action. my americanism snaps me back and squeezes my face, forces me to look at the goals that are permissible for me to have, the desires i am supposed to chase. the money plateau. green and leisurely. and then just sit there, just coast, do nothing but spend...
it is uncomfortable and lonely to be Outside but i must be Outside. i must remain Outside. in my sketch book, i have a quote written and i have no clue who said it but here it is: Becoming aware of your power to make choices and not go with the status quo is a huge first step.
last night before bed i read Joanne Gottlieb's and Gayle Wald's essay "Smells Like Teen Spirit: Riot Grrls, Revolution and Women in Independent Rock" about zines and music, power, how girls can create their own agency by resisting the cultural allure to stay inside, stay quiet, sit down, and continue the practice of minimization and silence within themselves... that something as seemingly simple as making a zine or t-shirt or stitching your own scarf is an act of resistance to the Status Quo... a dominant culture that still, right now, prefers everyone to fall in line, do what they're told, and do not make waves. this is definitely still the case. and right now, with all the economic worry and hardship and fear, i think it's an even scary proposition i'm making to ask myself (or anyone else) to ignore the status quo, basically forgo safety and security, in order to establish a bit of freedom for myself; a bit of agency, a bit of happiness. but look where the Status Quo got us! i mean... come on! the president cannot do a damn thing about individual levels of greed and feelings of entitlement. he just can't. that's my job and that's your job. it comes down to not only a re-evaluation of what we hold dear culturally, but also individually within our own homes and families. i simply cannot fall in line with the practices that led us to this place of completely unethical levels of spending and wanting and grabbing and enslaving others to our desire to collect as many status symbols as possible. i just can't do it. and ofcourse the temptation is there. it always will be. yes, money is a necessity in this era... but does the necessity of money mean it must be worshipped as a God?
in the William Kentridge documentary he relays a funny story about a friend of his who basically made fun of him for always trying to figure out what he should do, like, for a job. ha! and the friend told him, look, you're 28 and you're unemplyable. no one is going to give you a job. so stop arguing with your trajectory. success or failure, you're an artist. that's when William Kentridge decided to say fuck it and just be himself.
and so i had a hard time falling asleep because i was so excited and encouraged by the film and by what i had just read, but also a bit afraid. it's hard not to feel afraid once realizing that i am completely in control of my own life and it's really just a matter of what i'm willing to put myself through in order to build a life that feels right for me and is respectful of who i am. this comes back to what Kentridge said about seeing the world as Process rather than Fact: that the world is malleable, changeable, able to shift. and so i must somehow become ready to make a shift as well. it is the world in me that must change first. my body and all that it contains. my perceptions must shift. i must identify them as process, not as fact, and establish my agnecy through acts of art-making and writing and crocheting my own sweaters and running along the highway regardless of the perceptions of others. and somehow i must become okay with all this... to stop worrying about whether or not anyone understands what i'm doing and why it is relevant.
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
Jul 23, 2010
the investigation continues
oh me, oh my... i'm such a fucking nutcase sometimes. ha!
(i have to laugh at myself.)
i woke up feeling remarkably lost and somewhat defeated today. it's wearing off now that i've ranted and raved inside my notebook and discovered that the root of the issue is that i am simply afraid. simultaneous fear of failure and success. they are probably actually the same thing. and not knowing what to do with myself, which direction to go in. i'm talking about the business end of things. career concerns and all that. which, honestly, i'm sick of thinking about because that's something artists have little control over anyway. all anyone can do is know what they value. that's it. and then work hard based on that set of ethics. nothing more, nothing less. the world spins and things come as they may. the conciliation there is that Quality attracts attention. as does devotion, staying power, refusing to give up. and that is, across the board, true for everyone. and that's something i've only recently learned to how to actively trust.
this season of self-discovery has been hard and strange. and it remains hard and strange. it isn't a process that ever really "ends". like art, it is a life's work. and as i proceed, i see how completely necessary it is to being/becoming an artist that one undertake self-investigation. and pairing that with going through the portfolios and taking pictures and really looking at what i've got, seeing the progression that has taken place over the passed two years, seeing how much growth has been had during that short amount of time, and realizing how naive i can definitely be, is exhausting. but it's also pretty encouraging too.
but it's also fairly daunting. anxiety producing. we live in a culture that demands we KNOW what we want. in the 6th grade you're expected to have a career chosen already. that's ridiculous. and almost everyone i know is on Plan D at this point. i'm one of the lucky few that figured out what i truly wanted to do with my life pretty early. but that doesn't make things any easier necessarily.
certain questions have been put in my head recently. questions that i'm simultaneous thankful for and a bit pissed off about. but that's just fear talking. fear of taking risks, fear of the unknown, all that stuff everyone deals with to one degree or another. i'm still too green to KNOW what kind of career i'm going to have. that seems like something you can only see when you look back over the course of a life. there's no way to know that at the beginning. and i am still very much at the beginning.
and so i am wrestling with wants and needs and dreams. and i look at my drawings and paintings and poems and see a definite lineage emerging- the influence of particular artists and writers whose work has hit me so hard, left such a deep impact on my heart and mind that their whispers stand strong in my ear. i'm attempting to listen to them... draw courage and poise from them. persistence is a necessity.
i got some really good advice from an artist friend of mine who told me to not only look at The Work of artists i admire, but also their resumes so i can see how they got from point A to point B. it's helpful and overwhelming at the same time. so many residencies and programs and grants. this is the Competition end of things and i feel anxious about leaping in to that pool. i want to leap in... i guess i just don't know how to. and there's no other way to learn how than by doing it and to accept the fact that there are no promises and no safety-net.
the drawing in the post below and the work pinned over on the side-bar to the right is work that i feel very connected to. committed to. love.
and so that's the road i must go, the road i must trust, the road i must protect. it is the work in this grand array of modes and styles that needs a wall other than my own.
and so the question becomes one of place. and how to catch those eyes.
or if i even want to catch them right now...
.
the thing i like most about this blog is that i can throw all the work out in to the world in the form of a JPEG, show my process and meanderings, talk about my concerns and fears and attractions. it's a notebook. but the actual items are still here with me. not everything is "show worthy". and this morning i realized that that's a great thing: i have them. at least some of them. and i can look at them, hold them in my hands, spend time looking at the real thing. they function as maps. documents of the questions i ask. they help me define my values as an artist and as a human being.
i also went back to the beginning of this blog and looked at the work i was making at that time. the change is glaring. the work has undergone a huge metamorphosis- a deepening. this is something i can be proud of. i can look at these images and see progress, see the struggle, see the moments of "failure", and then see that i didn't give up as a result. proof of life. proof of love. proof of seriousness even if/when the work wasn't "serious".
i've been thinking a lot about that e.e. cummings quote: it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
(side note and digression: i don't write in all lower case as a nod to him or bell hooks. it started in high school when i wanted to be a writer and wanted capital letters to emphasize importance rather than the beginning of a sentence. i didn't even know who those two people were at the time and then felt very smart when i finally stumbled across them. ha!)
and that quote has become extremely important to me this year. extremely.
i think it's important to have good manners and be friendly (to me personally as a mode of interacting with others) but i don't want to make polite or friendly art. i don't want to make Shock Art either but i want to be able to do it if the work requires that of me. i want to be a person who is courageous and passionate and brave enough to make mistakes and risk failure. i want to be dedicated to art. and diligent. and faithful. i want to make smart art, concerned art, passionate art... art that has a function and can offer a site for discussion and hope. even if it is angry hope. that site is what makes Art a necessity.
check out Claes Oldenburg's lovely manifesto on this.
ahhhhhhh. fucking bootstraps. sigh.
but this stage is important.
i know it.
i won't deprive myself of it.
onward. upward. trembling... but moving moving moving.
(i have to laugh at myself.)
i woke up feeling remarkably lost and somewhat defeated today. it's wearing off now that i've ranted and raved inside my notebook and discovered that the root of the issue is that i am simply afraid. simultaneous fear of failure and success. they are probably actually the same thing. and not knowing what to do with myself, which direction to go in. i'm talking about the business end of things. career concerns and all that. which, honestly, i'm sick of thinking about because that's something artists have little control over anyway. all anyone can do is know what they value. that's it. and then work hard based on that set of ethics. nothing more, nothing less. the world spins and things come as they may. the conciliation there is that Quality attracts attention. as does devotion, staying power, refusing to give up. and that is, across the board, true for everyone. and that's something i've only recently learned to how to actively trust.
this season of self-discovery has been hard and strange. and it remains hard and strange. it isn't a process that ever really "ends". like art, it is a life's work. and as i proceed, i see how completely necessary it is to being/becoming an artist that one undertake self-investigation. and pairing that with going through the portfolios and taking pictures and really looking at what i've got, seeing the progression that has taken place over the passed two years, seeing how much growth has been had during that short amount of time, and realizing how naive i can definitely be, is exhausting. but it's also pretty encouraging too.
but it's also fairly daunting. anxiety producing. we live in a culture that demands we KNOW what we want. in the 6th grade you're expected to have a career chosen already. that's ridiculous. and almost everyone i know is on Plan D at this point. i'm one of the lucky few that figured out what i truly wanted to do with my life pretty early. but that doesn't make things any easier necessarily.
certain questions have been put in my head recently. questions that i'm simultaneous thankful for and a bit pissed off about. but that's just fear talking. fear of taking risks, fear of the unknown, all that stuff everyone deals with to one degree or another. i'm still too green to KNOW what kind of career i'm going to have. that seems like something you can only see when you look back over the course of a life. there's no way to know that at the beginning. and i am still very much at the beginning.
and so i am wrestling with wants and needs and dreams. and i look at my drawings and paintings and poems and see a definite lineage emerging- the influence of particular artists and writers whose work has hit me so hard, left such a deep impact on my heart and mind that their whispers stand strong in my ear. i'm attempting to listen to them... draw courage and poise from them. persistence is a necessity.
i got some really good advice from an artist friend of mine who told me to not only look at The Work of artists i admire, but also their resumes so i can see how they got from point A to point B. it's helpful and overwhelming at the same time. so many residencies and programs and grants. this is the Competition end of things and i feel anxious about leaping in to that pool. i want to leap in... i guess i just don't know how to. and there's no other way to learn how than by doing it and to accept the fact that there are no promises and no safety-net.
the drawing in the post below and the work pinned over on the side-bar to the right is work that i feel very connected to. committed to. love.
and so that's the road i must go, the road i must trust, the road i must protect. it is the work in this grand array of modes and styles that needs a wall other than my own.
and so the question becomes one of place. and how to catch those eyes.
or if i even want to catch them right now...
.
the thing i like most about this blog is that i can throw all the work out in to the world in the form of a JPEG, show my process and meanderings, talk about my concerns and fears and attractions. it's a notebook. but the actual items are still here with me. not everything is "show worthy". and this morning i realized that that's a great thing: i have them. at least some of them. and i can look at them, hold them in my hands, spend time looking at the real thing. they function as maps. documents of the questions i ask. they help me define my values as an artist and as a human being.
i also went back to the beginning of this blog and looked at the work i was making at that time. the change is glaring. the work has undergone a huge metamorphosis- a deepening. this is something i can be proud of. i can look at these images and see progress, see the struggle, see the moments of "failure", and then see that i didn't give up as a result. proof of life. proof of love. proof of seriousness even if/when the work wasn't "serious".
i've been thinking a lot about that e.e. cummings quote: it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
(side note and digression: i don't write in all lower case as a nod to him or bell hooks. it started in high school when i wanted to be a writer and wanted capital letters to emphasize importance rather than the beginning of a sentence. i didn't even know who those two people were at the time and then felt very smart when i finally stumbled across them. ha!)
and that quote has become extremely important to me this year. extremely.
i think it's important to have good manners and be friendly (to me personally as a mode of interacting with others) but i don't want to make polite or friendly art. i don't want to make Shock Art either but i want to be able to do it if the work requires that of me. i want to be a person who is courageous and passionate and brave enough to make mistakes and risk failure. i want to be dedicated to art. and diligent. and faithful. i want to make smart art, concerned art, passionate art... art that has a function and can offer a site for discussion and hope. even if it is angry hope. that site is what makes Art a necessity.
check out Claes Oldenburg's lovely manifesto on this.
ahhhhhhh. fucking bootstraps. sigh.
but this stage is important.
i know it.
i won't deprive myself of it.
onward. upward. trembling... but moving moving moving.
Mar 31, 2010
tick tick tick tick
more and more, i've been thinking about philosophy- its relevance. its importance. philosophy as necessity. philosophy as NEED.
and like art, philosophy in this country is perceived as a pastime. something frivolous. something to take part in if you've got some spare time on your hands but not at all integral to daily life.
and how sad. how lost. ethics as an exercise in frivolity. it knocks the wind out of me.
and just as i think that an arts education should be mandatory; mandatory in the same way as literature and science and math, so too should be philosophy. how much cooler and progressive a world, a more humane world, if philosophy was part of standard education in high school. if philosophy was welcomed in to daily life.
i think philosophy is absolutely necessary- the ethic, well wrestled, well thought out, hard won code that governs a life. academia seems to be the only situation in which philosophic conversations are taken seriously. or the pockets it lives in when in discussion with close friends or colleagues who have a similar desire to live in a more conscious way, not just "go with the flow".
it is sad to me that in our common day-to-day existence, we are routinely asked, EXPECTED EVEN, to drop our philosophic code when it makes things even the slightest bit harder for others. and by 'harder' i mean less fun. what are ethics good for if i drop them when the tough times find me? isn't that when i need them most? when the temptation arises to skirt the hard responsibilities of my life and run? isn't that when a set of ethics is most needed?
but the trade is that sometimes you will walk the road alone. sometimes you will be Outcast. sometimes you will be Other. sometimes you will be Cruel or Crazy or Arrogant or Selfish. these are all titles that get applied in improper ways a lot of the time. it is not selfish to obey an ethical code. it's cowardly to not.
and all this is on my mind more and more. the more i read, the more i draw, the more i expose myself to the outside world, the more i find these deep pockets of discussion where art and philosophy are appreciated, nurtured, encouraged. and there is no rule that i must have all the answers RIGHT THIS SECOND... just that i try to head in a better direction. just that i am curious and open. just that i rinse the dust out of my eyes. just that i think.
and like art, philosophy in this country is perceived as a pastime. something frivolous. something to take part in if you've got some spare time on your hands but not at all integral to daily life.
and how sad. how lost. ethics as an exercise in frivolity. it knocks the wind out of me.
and just as i think that an arts education should be mandatory; mandatory in the same way as literature and science and math, so too should be philosophy. how much cooler and progressive a world, a more humane world, if philosophy was part of standard education in high school. if philosophy was welcomed in to daily life.
i think philosophy is absolutely necessary- the ethic, well wrestled, well thought out, hard won code that governs a life. academia seems to be the only situation in which philosophic conversations are taken seriously. or the pockets it lives in when in discussion with close friends or colleagues who have a similar desire to live in a more conscious way, not just "go with the flow".
it is sad to me that in our common day-to-day existence, we are routinely asked, EXPECTED EVEN, to drop our philosophic code when it makes things even the slightest bit harder for others. and by 'harder' i mean less fun. what are ethics good for if i drop them when the tough times find me? isn't that when i need them most? when the temptation arises to skirt the hard responsibilities of my life and run? isn't that when a set of ethics is most needed?
but the trade is that sometimes you will walk the road alone. sometimes you will be Outcast. sometimes you will be Other. sometimes you will be Cruel or Crazy or Arrogant or Selfish. these are all titles that get applied in improper ways a lot of the time. it is not selfish to obey an ethical code. it's cowardly to not.
and all this is on my mind more and more. the more i read, the more i draw, the more i expose myself to the outside world, the more i find these deep pockets of discussion where art and philosophy are appreciated, nurtured, encouraged. and there is no rule that i must have all the answers RIGHT THIS SECOND... just that i try to head in a better direction. just that i am curious and open. just that i rinse the dust out of my eyes. just that i think.
Feb 10, 2010
pep talk
i've been thinking about valentine's day.
i want to participate.
i've always wanted to participate in it but didn't or couldn't because of cultural mandates and expectations and blah blah blah. lame stuff like that. i don't eat candy and never really crave it. and i like roses but that's really not necessary.
i don't really want anything... except to honor my own values. from here on out, i'm going to make the holiday my own.
it's a topic i've been thinking about a lot for the last few months. pages and pages of notebook scribblings dedicated to VALUE- what it is, how to get it, and then, how to keep it. much easier to write about in your little notebook than find opportunities inside your daily life in which to express it. i realized yesterday that, as a teenager, my values were very much linked to ideas of justice and fairness. i was highly idealistic, yes, but i've always thought the world can benefit from a little idealism now and then. somewhere along the line during my huge 2-year long depression, i stopped thinking about justice and fairness in the correct way: that these things are mine to give... not mine to expect. and somehow this is linked to valentine's day in my mind this year. the need for some sort of heartfelt ritual. the need for at least a little bit of sentimentality and mushy appreciation for the good things in one's life. and having a day set aside for this when it's okay to get mushy and dote on things or people or projects is totally what i need right now. no apologies, no excuses, just a little bit of wholesome fun. anything that aids a person in discovering who they really are... who they were as a child and embracing that person again, i'm all for. sweetness, kindness, curiosity, playfulness... these are qualities to admire. they are qualities to pursue and hold on to. a code.
and so i spent the bulk of yesterday cutting out heart-shapes and drawing and trying to come up with an image that would hurt and haunt and cut but also spin and play and cry with joy. i'm still searching for it but i'm well on my way. i will participate.
there's a saying that goes, "fake it til you make it". basically, a game of pretend but not as horrible as that may sound. maybe "walk the talk" is a better expression.
when i think about the kind of person i want to be, why not just start behaving like that person. if i want to be the type of person who makes valentine's day cards, what am i waiting for? same thing goes for everything else. if i want to be a writer, i have to write. and write first, write long, write hard before i assume that title. i learn to paint by painting. i can learn patience by being patient. i can believe i have value if i practice value... if i manage to find the strength of character necessary to guard my own life and path and choice and goodness with every ounce of grace and resilience i've got.
i'm rambling but what i really want to say is that little by little i'm seeing how absolutely necessary it is to be myself. really, truly, unapologetically myself. because a person's true self does not need to be apologized for. i'm attempting to recover from the horrible things i threw at myself while i was locked down at the bottom of a very deep, dark well. the horrible things i told myself... the horrible things i believed.
cutting out heart-shapes helps.
"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."
-Theodore Roosevelt
i want to participate.
i want to participate.
i've always wanted to participate in it but didn't or couldn't because of cultural mandates and expectations and blah blah blah. lame stuff like that. i don't eat candy and never really crave it. and i like roses but that's really not necessary.
i don't really want anything... except to honor my own values. from here on out, i'm going to make the holiday my own.
it's a topic i've been thinking about a lot for the last few months. pages and pages of notebook scribblings dedicated to VALUE- what it is, how to get it, and then, how to keep it. much easier to write about in your little notebook than find opportunities inside your daily life in which to express it. i realized yesterday that, as a teenager, my values were very much linked to ideas of justice and fairness. i was highly idealistic, yes, but i've always thought the world can benefit from a little idealism now and then. somewhere along the line during my huge 2-year long depression, i stopped thinking about justice and fairness in the correct way: that these things are mine to give... not mine to expect. and somehow this is linked to valentine's day in my mind this year. the need for some sort of heartfelt ritual. the need for at least a little bit of sentimentality and mushy appreciation for the good things in one's life. and having a day set aside for this when it's okay to get mushy and dote on things or people or projects is totally what i need right now. no apologies, no excuses, just a little bit of wholesome fun. anything that aids a person in discovering who they really are... who they were as a child and embracing that person again, i'm all for. sweetness, kindness, curiosity, playfulness... these are qualities to admire. they are qualities to pursue and hold on to. a code.
and so i spent the bulk of yesterday cutting out heart-shapes and drawing and trying to come up with an image that would hurt and haunt and cut but also spin and play and cry with joy. i'm still searching for it but i'm well on my way. i will participate.
there's a saying that goes, "fake it til you make it". basically, a game of pretend but not as horrible as that may sound. maybe "walk the talk" is a better expression.
when i think about the kind of person i want to be, why not just start behaving like that person. if i want to be the type of person who makes valentine's day cards, what am i waiting for? same thing goes for everything else. if i want to be a writer, i have to write. and write first, write long, write hard before i assume that title. i learn to paint by painting. i can learn patience by being patient. i can believe i have value if i practice value... if i manage to find the strength of character necessary to guard my own life and path and choice and goodness with every ounce of grace and resilience i've got.
i'm rambling but what i really want to say is that little by little i'm seeing how absolutely necessary it is to be myself. really, truly, unapologetically myself. because a person's true self does not need to be apologized for. i'm attempting to recover from the horrible things i threw at myself while i was locked down at the bottom of a very deep, dark well. the horrible things i told myself... the horrible things i believed.
cutting out heart-shapes helps.
"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."
-Theodore Roosevelt
i want to participate.
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