.
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Mar 10, 2015
Oct 15, 2010
confession
it's 4 am and here i am in front of the computer with my mug of irish breakfast tea...
i couldn't sleep.
i've been having trouble staying asleep all week but tonight i couldn't fall back to sleep for the life of me. the reason is that i quit smoking. yep. the entire time you've been reading this blog, you've been reading the innermost thoughts and aspirations of a damn dirty smoker. ;) until the beginning of this week anyway.
it's something i kept quiet about here because i didn't want to inadvertently encourage someone else to take up the habit or somehow praise the addiction itself, romanticize it. and then there's the fact that smokers are subjected to some pretty crass and ruthless judgment from the general public too. strangers feel completely okay about marching right up to some random smoker on the street and alerting that person to how "disgusting" they are. it's insanely rude. insanely. i've always been blown away by the fact people think it's totally alright to behave like that and i really didn't want any of that rage and weirdness happening here on my blog. and also, to be totally honest, it's something i'd become increasingly ashamed of. i was not proud to be a smoker. not in the least. i felt pretty stupid about it actually. i started smoking as a very young teenager. 14 years old. and a dumb decision i made in my adolescence was ruling my adult life. it made me feel like a pathetic asshole, to put it bluntly. and i'm afraid of chemo. i'm afraid of what this could lead to. i feel bad about how negligent i've been in terms of caring for my own life. i feel bad i let so many things get in the way. i feel bad that i willingly traded my opportunities to lead a positive and healthy life to sit down in the muck and bullshit with other people.
i'm amazed at how quickly time has passed and how distracted i've been...
and there are all the reasons, all the events, stacked one on top of the other. the long line of trauma and tragedy and every single hurdle that gets nailed down in front of you. time moves so damn fast when there is always a crisis to attend to.
and then a member of my family gets cancer. and i turn 30. and i realize how damn sad all this is... that i've spent more than half my life (16 years) living under the weight of an addiction, and that i developed an addiction of this magnitude as a child. it made me so profoundly sad. so sad i felt ill. and all i could see was wreckage. the wreckage of a family. everywhere, everywhere. i think i've been trying to grieve us... what has happened, what was lost, who we've become... for a very long time. and maybe that ball is finally starting to roll? all i know is that a year ago, on my 29th birthday, i decided i'd had enough. i decided to take the time NOW to clean up the mess, clear it off my path so that i could at least see where i was standing. i decided it was time to start building a life that felt right for me... no matter how long it might take to build. i decided it was time to take Time for myself.
that's where The Almighty Jog originated. and no alcohol. and then about a year later, The Almighty Jog graduates to The Mighty Run. No Alcohol turns into No Refined Sugar. and since that habit was way easier to kick than i thought it'd be, i thought: fuck it, girl. do it now. right now. it's time. and so i quit smoking.
and this is not my first attempt, but this is the first time i've ever lived a healthy life. between running and drinking tea and not eating sugary foods, it's a lot easier than i remember it being- quitting. A LOT easier. in fact, every day i feel better and better. i guess i was just completely ready to give it up... a horribly stupid and malicious thread of my childhood.
i need it to be GONE.
all this to say: sleep disturbances are a very common withdrawal symptom. :)
good morning!!!!
i couldn't sleep.
i've been having trouble staying asleep all week but tonight i couldn't fall back to sleep for the life of me. the reason is that i quit smoking. yep. the entire time you've been reading this blog, you've been reading the innermost thoughts and aspirations of a damn dirty smoker. ;) until the beginning of this week anyway.
it's something i kept quiet about here because i didn't want to inadvertently encourage someone else to take up the habit or somehow praise the addiction itself, romanticize it. and then there's the fact that smokers are subjected to some pretty crass and ruthless judgment from the general public too. strangers feel completely okay about marching right up to some random smoker on the street and alerting that person to how "disgusting" they are. it's insanely rude. insanely. i've always been blown away by the fact people think it's totally alright to behave like that and i really didn't want any of that rage and weirdness happening here on my blog. and also, to be totally honest, it's something i'd become increasingly ashamed of. i was not proud to be a smoker. not in the least. i felt pretty stupid about it actually. i started smoking as a very young teenager. 14 years old. and a dumb decision i made in my adolescence was ruling my adult life. it made me feel like a pathetic asshole, to put it bluntly. and i'm afraid of chemo. i'm afraid of what this could lead to. i feel bad about how negligent i've been in terms of caring for my own life. i feel bad i let so many things get in the way. i feel bad that i willingly traded my opportunities to lead a positive and healthy life to sit down in the muck and bullshit with other people.
i'm amazed at how quickly time has passed and how distracted i've been...
and there are all the reasons, all the events, stacked one on top of the other. the long line of trauma and tragedy and every single hurdle that gets nailed down in front of you. time moves so damn fast when there is always a crisis to attend to.
and then a member of my family gets cancer. and i turn 30. and i realize how damn sad all this is... that i've spent more than half my life (16 years) living under the weight of an addiction, and that i developed an addiction of this magnitude as a child. it made me so profoundly sad. so sad i felt ill. and all i could see was wreckage. the wreckage of a family. everywhere, everywhere. i think i've been trying to grieve us... what has happened, what was lost, who we've become... for a very long time. and maybe that ball is finally starting to roll? all i know is that a year ago, on my 29th birthday, i decided i'd had enough. i decided to take the time NOW to clean up the mess, clear it off my path so that i could at least see where i was standing. i decided it was time to start building a life that felt right for me... no matter how long it might take to build. i decided it was time to take Time for myself.
that's where The Almighty Jog originated. and no alcohol. and then about a year later, The Almighty Jog graduates to The Mighty Run. No Alcohol turns into No Refined Sugar. and since that habit was way easier to kick than i thought it'd be, i thought: fuck it, girl. do it now. right now. it's time. and so i quit smoking.
and this is not my first attempt, but this is the first time i've ever lived a healthy life. between running and drinking tea and not eating sugary foods, it's a lot easier than i remember it being- quitting. A LOT easier. in fact, every day i feel better and better. i guess i was just completely ready to give it up... a horribly stupid and malicious thread of my childhood.
i need it to be GONE.
all this to say: sleep disturbances are a very common withdrawal symptom. :)
good morning!!!!
Jun 25, 2010
*
sweet as anything
-the panic first welled up in a train tunnel. i drew a heart-shape on my hand and didn't look at anyone-
when we were little, mama gave us the carrot shaver and we peeled the paper off our crayons in soft, undamaged lengths. we set our nimble papers on the table. we took the naked wax outside.
the curls of their bodies dropped in ribbons, fell sweet as snow as children on a sheet of wax paper held down by our feet. we shaved them down until their thinness made them snap.
-i saw the photograph of her ligature by accident-
-in the photograph, there were bruises everywhere-
periwinkle was my favorite then. burned down to dust-wax clumps on my fingers and dolls. i learned to save it for last. the pointed edge. wished upon waited upon. a star, still possessed of its steeple.
-the skin of her neck, an odd tin blue-
mama laid another sheet of wax paper on top and carried off our anthills to the ironing board.
the iron was ready. you could smell it.
she pressed our curls flat
mottled bleeding blobs, orange flooding green, red
stretching across everything.
-red, stretching across everything-
we couldn't touch them right away. my excitement stippled my pink. burns all over baby fingers. eager as anything.
our curls, ironed out, the wax went hard. we cut out heart shapes. one for you and one for me. these are our pretty things. and mama got out the string.
we put them in the window. mama said kaleidoscope. the shadows centered on our beds. heart shapes scurried from wall to wall to forehead. we held out our hands and grabbed the shadows like butterflies.
-the coroner's report said there was a heart-shape drawn in red ink on the palm of her little hand. she had put it there herself. right in the middle of her left-
-boxes of periwinkle shoved under the bed-
.
-the panic first welled up in a train tunnel. i drew a heart-shape on my hand and didn't look at anyone-
when we were little, mama gave us the carrot shaver and we peeled the paper off our crayons in soft, undamaged lengths. we set our nimble papers on the table. we took the naked wax outside.
the curls of their bodies dropped in ribbons, fell sweet as snow as children on a sheet of wax paper held down by our feet. we shaved them down until their thinness made them snap.
-i saw the photograph of her ligature by accident-
-in the photograph, there were bruises everywhere-
periwinkle was my favorite then. burned down to dust-wax clumps on my fingers and dolls. i learned to save it for last. the pointed edge. wished upon waited upon. a star, still possessed of its steeple.
-the skin of her neck, an odd tin blue-
mama laid another sheet of wax paper on top and carried off our anthills to the ironing board.
the iron was ready. you could smell it.
she pressed our curls flat
mottled bleeding blobs, orange flooding green, red
stretching across everything.
-red, stretching across everything-
we couldn't touch them right away. my excitement stippled my pink. burns all over baby fingers. eager as anything.
our curls, ironed out, the wax went hard. we cut out heart shapes. one for you and one for me. these are our pretty things. and mama got out the string.
we put them in the window. mama said kaleidoscope. the shadows centered on our beds. heart shapes scurried from wall to wall to forehead. we held out our hands and grabbed the shadows like butterflies.
-the coroner's report said there was a heart-shape drawn in red ink on the palm of her little hand. she had put it there herself. right in the middle of her left-
-boxes of periwinkle shoved under the bed-
.
Jun 9, 2010
envy
i walk around with her name on. a sock on the hand. i say 'i'm blonde'. i say 'look at my dress." i collect the tiny tatters turned to glitter against the baseboards. the dust of bodies so old it sparkles. our feet have polished all the crumbs. she wakes up slowly. scratches her eyelashes. i find one on my breakfast plate. i pluck it from the egg. wear it on my cheek. snatch the wish that accompanies such things.
i walk around with her name on. a sock on the hand. i say 'i'm blonde'. i say 'look at my dress." i collect the tiny tatters turned to glitter against the baseboards. the dust of bodies so old it sparkles. our feet have polished all the crumbs. she wakes up slowly. scratches her eyelashes. i find one on my breakfast plate. i pluck it from the egg. wear it on my cheek. snatch the wish that accompanies such things.
Jun 2, 2010
in dreams
this morning, i woke up because i spoke in my dream.
i was on the phone with someone who was yelling horrible things at me about someone i love. i kept trying to hang up the phone but each time i tried to turn it off, the voice on the other end got louder and louder. i resigned myself to listening to things i knew would hurt me. and the very first sentence that flew in to my ears was one of such malice that my courage flared up and i yelled back. my yelling, in the dream, woke me up.
after i got my coffee and sat down to write this morning, i realized that i don't talk in my dreams. if i do, it isn't often, and generally seems to be more along the line of telekinesis. but in this dream, not only did i speak, i yelled. and it startled me awake.
i've had a calm, slightly eerie but nevertheless good, feeling on me all day. maybe something else has been startled awake too?
i started reading some Carl Jung (work i think contemporary art theory should take a dip in) and learned about The Archetypes. especially the Animus. and how dreams factor in to our ideas about the world... all those low-lying, hidden systems of belief and accepted expectations...
generally, i'm not very interested in dream interpretation. most of the time it seems like a horoscope- stretch it enough and you can make it fit. but there's just something about this dream, this speaking, that has held my attention today.
i've also been experiencing an accelerated recall on memories lately. all sorts of things that i haven't thought about in years. and all so clear. i've been writing them down. and the more i write them down, the more i remember. the more details i find. it's both interesting and disquieting. there's a strangeness in it... an over-lapping of time: that i can be here, now, who i am in this present moment, and then a memory sweeps through and i remember exactly who i was and how it felt to be that person... and experience these two states at the same time because i'm writing it down.
anybody else ever experience this as a result of writing or making anything? a surge in memory or a drastic shift in dream environment/behavior? or have i only outed myself as the freak of the week?
i was on the phone with someone who was yelling horrible things at me about someone i love. i kept trying to hang up the phone but each time i tried to turn it off, the voice on the other end got louder and louder. i resigned myself to listening to things i knew would hurt me. and the very first sentence that flew in to my ears was one of such malice that my courage flared up and i yelled back. my yelling, in the dream, woke me up.
after i got my coffee and sat down to write this morning, i realized that i don't talk in my dreams. if i do, it isn't often, and generally seems to be more along the line of telekinesis. but in this dream, not only did i speak, i yelled. and it startled me awake.
i've had a calm, slightly eerie but nevertheless good, feeling on me all day. maybe something else has been startled awake too?
i started reading some Carl Jung (work i think contemporary art theory should take a dip in) and learned about The Archetypes. especially the Animus. and how dreams factor in to our ideas about the world... all those low-lying, hidden systems of belief and accepted expectations...
generally, i'm not very interested in dream interpretation. most of the time it seems like a horoscope- stretch it enough and you can make it fit. but there's just something about this dream, this speaking, that has held my attention today.
i've also been experiencing an accelerated recall on memories lately. all sorts of things that i haven't thought about in years. and all so clear. i've been writing them down. and the more i write them down, the more i remember. the more details i find. it's both interesting and disquieting. there's a strangeness in it... an over-lapping of time: that i can be here, now, who i am in this present moment, and then a memory sweeps through and i remember exactly who i was and how it felt to be that person... and experience these two states at the same time because i'm writing it down.
anybody else ever experience this as a result of writing or making anything? a surge in memory or a drastic shift in dream environment/behavior? or have i only outed myself as the freak of the week?
Apr 13, 2010
what fun...
childhood memories are funny. i love hearing them. especially what people thought about the world when they were small.
this morning when i stepped outside a big fat drop of rain splatted on my cheek and it knocked a memory loose that totally explains how i became a RAIN HATER.
i stopped jumping in puddles and playing in the rain pretty early in life because, if you remember, in the mid to late 80s (i was born in 1980) all of a sudden every body got FANATICAL about ACID RAIN. and i was told about this in school. and i have NO CLUE why GROWN UPS thought it was a GOOD IDEA to tell LITTLE KIDS about ACID RAIN when the hot movie at the time was "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?", a movie that included the death of sweet little cartoons by way of THE DIP! THE DIP = ACID and then i go to school, sweet and shy and gullible and full of trust, and hear all about ACID falling out of the sky. and when i welled up the courage to raise my hand and ask if the rain could hurt me, my teacher responded "well... just don't get it in your eyes." AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! how stupid are you????? why would you say that to a little kid? hahahahahaha! so then i became afraid that the rain could BLIND ME. geez. this is worse than being told we're in the "Last Days" and Jesus will return any second so you'll never get to grow up and be an adult and get married and blah blah blah. that tid-bit is directly responsible for all sorts of kids having a strange breed of peter pan-ism because LAST DAYS = NO FUTURE. do people really forget what it's like to be a child???? how scary and weird and big the world seems? how confusing? and how magic is real? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???? hahahaha!
i'm laughing my ass off right now!
good morning. :)
this morning when i stepped outside a big fat drop of rain splatted on my cheek and it knocked a memory loose that totally explains how i became a RAIN HATER.
i stopped jumping in puddles and playing in the rain pretty early in life because, if you remember, in the mid to late 80s (i was born in 1980) all of a sudden every body got FANATICAL about ACID RAIN. and i was told about this in school. and i have NO CLUE why GROWN UPS thought it was a GOOD IDEA to tell LITTLE KIDS about ACID RAIN when the hot movie at the time was "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?", a movie that included the death of sweet little cartoons by way of THE DIP! THE DIP = ACID and then i go to school, sweet and shy and gullible and full of trust, and hear all about ACID falling out of the sky. and when i welled up the courage to raise my hand and ask if the rain could hurt me, my teacher responded "well... just don't get it in your eyes." AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! how stupid are you????? why would you say that to a little kid? hahahahahaha! so then i became afraid that the rain could BLIND ME. geez. this is worse than being told we're in the "Last Days" and Jesus will return any second so you'll never get to grow up and be an adult and get married and blah blah blah. that tid-bit is directly responsible for all sorts of kids having a strange breed of peter pan-ism because LAST DAYS = NO FUTURE. do people really forget what it's like to be a child???? how scary and weird and big the world seems? how confusing? and how magic is real? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???? hahahaha!
i'm laughing my ass off right now!
good morning. :)
Apr 10, 2010
we were kids
maybe we are all suffering,
grief stricken and sorry and flattened under so much shame.
and all those simple hopes i had when i was child
light up,
bright with hurt.
(video is goth in that bad way but i really like the song)
grief stricken and sorry and flattened under so much shame.
and all those simple hopes i had when i was child
light up,
bright with hurt.
(video is goth in that bad way but i really like the song)
Mar 10, 2010
Apr 14, 2009
when i was little...
it is a beautiful, sunny, windy day. i love the wind. ever since i was a kid, i've loved it. i'd put on my roller skates and a coat, go outside, and hold open my coat like a sail and let the wind wheel me down the street. oh, the perks of being 65 pounds! ha! maybe if the wind gets strong enough, i could take it for a ride like that again. :)
Dec 4, 2008
dolls...
YAY! a partially sunny day! i've been needing to get photographs taken of new work. here's one of the most recent - a throw back to The Paper Doll Project. i've been seeing more and more how closely tied the project is to my "regular" art practice. so close in fact that there's beginning to be almost no distinction between the two bodies of work. both deal with issues of loneliness, isolation, being lost in the masses, and the attempt to find some sort of comfort. in the case of The Paper Doll Project, the comfort that comes from copying an ideal...
doll collection 2
30" x 22"
ink on paper
2008
drawings like this actually take a pretty long time to do. each doll is hand drawn. i did not use a stamp. it's important in this work to have tiny variations between the dolls so that it's more an exploration of the ATTEMPT to copy... and the failure of not being able to really do so.
detail
i'm interested in how the attempt to copy (and the failure to to get it perfect) guides identity construction. we all have role models to look up to, heros, and ideals that we strive to meet. when the model is based exclusively on gender, what is lost in the process of trying to copy or conform? a standardization takes place and complying with that standardization is a loss in and of itself. that loss becomes a significant part/influence of a person's identity and their view of the world.
doll collection 2
30" x 22"
ink on paper
2008
drawings like this actually take a pretty long time to do. each doll is hand drawn. i did not use a stamp. it's important in this work to have tiny variations between the dolls so that it's more an exploration of the ATTEMPT to copy... and the failure of not being able to really do so.
detail
i'm interested in how the attempt to copy (and the failure to to get it perfect) guides identity construction. we all have role models to look up to, heros, and ideals that we strive to meet. when the model is based exclusively on gender, what is lost in the process of trying to copy or conform? a standardization takes place and complying with that standardization is a loss in and of itself. that loss becomes a significant part/influence of a person's identity and their view of the world.
Oct 8, 2008
poems, painting, and the problem of memory...
i've spent the day so far (up since 4:30 am) alternating between painting and reading the complete poems of anne sexton... which means i have also been alternating between moments of exquisite joy and the torture of reliving old, bad memories. nevertheless, a wonderful day!
the oil paintings are coming along quite nicely and should be finished sometime during the next 2 weeks. i also started a new canvas based on this study:
study for 'the fall'
11" x 7 1/2"
acrylic and graphite on paper
2008
the canvas is 3 feet square (so it'll be a few weeks before i'm done) and so much fun to work on. i've been wrapped up in smaller works on paper for weeks now and it feels wonderful to go big.
this image is largely inspired by another painting i'm working on for rana kelly's 'witch of the bayou'. i'm still so struck by her story that i feel compelled to respond to it visually. the task will be to do the story justice. the paintings need to be thoughtful. they need to mirror how gruesome, how beautiful, and how haunting the story is.
the oil paintings are coming along quite nicely and should be finished sometime during the next 2 weeks. i also started a new canvas based on this study:
study for 'the fall'
11" x 7 1/2"
acrylic and graphite on paper
2008
the canvas is 3 feet square (so it'll be a few weeks before i'm done) and so much fun to work on. i've been wrapped up in smaller works on paper for weeks now and it feels wonderful to go big.
this image is largely inspired by another painting i'm working on for rana kelly's 'witch of the bayou'. i'm still so struck by her story that i feel compelled to respond to it visually. the task will be to do the story justice. the paintings need to be thoughtful. they need to mirror how gruesome, how beautiful, and how haunting the story is.
Aug 3, 2008
some new stuff i've been working on...
siblings. shadows.
40" x 30"
oil on canvas
2008
dahlia 1
11" x 14"
oil on canvas
2008
Aug 2, 2008
Jun 2, 2008
Jan 6, 2008
Nov 24, 2007
delicate
+oil+on+canvas,+10+x+10++2007++angela+simione.JPG)
untitled (twins)
oil on canvas
10" x 10"
2007
,+graphite+and+acrylic+on+paper.+9+x+12,+2007+++angela+simione.JPG)
sunday (1)
graphite and acrylic on paper
9" x 12"
2007
my approach is becoming much more thoughtful within this series in regard to paint application. i'm thinking about the differences between textures and mediums, letting the image fall away and hide inside the background or stand in stark contast to it, like a cut out.
lately i've been thinking about what it means to say something, realizing that sometimes what one does not say is louder than what is said.
Aug 30, 2007
untitled
nostalgia,
corruption,
marginalization,
perversion,
purity,
naivete,
exclusion,
mourning,
fear.
10" x 10" oil on canvas 2007
Aug 29, 2007
andy
this is a portrait of my brother as a little boy. again, the work is very small, 12" x 12" (my favorite), encouraging intimacy with the viewer.
when i think of our childhoods, it is my brother's that was cut the shortest. this piece is offered as much as a token of understanding as it is a moment of mourning, and as a recognition of the struggle that takes place when trying to establish an identity other than "son", "brother", and "the oldest".
Aug 16, 2007
Little Miss (portrait of Jon Benet Ramsey)
+12+X+12++2007.JPG)
This painting was pretty hard to do. While I worked on it, I dealt with questions of appropriateness and sensitivity to the subject. It is a portrait of Jon Benet Ramsey. I, in no way, am extending judgement or condemnation toward her family. Rather, I wanted merely to remember her. Because of this, I have a hard time saying the painting is finished.
It is a sad story that was recently brought back in to the public eye through the strange and sick fascinations of John Mark Carr. I started thinking about the violence that beauty can provoke, even if that beauty is held by a child. With television shows like "To Catch a Predator", and the seeming rise in pedophilia in this country, I wanted to remember these victims as actual people... children, not a sound bite and piece of tragic entertainment.
As with the other portraits of children I've been working on, there are no eyes... no identity. Jon Benet Ramsey's identity has been robbed from her in more ways than one; and not only by her killer but by the media frenzy that ensued and clouded her little life with controversy, disputes about religion and parenting, and the pursuit of an unattainable ideal of beauty. Because of these things, she has become an icon in popular culture yet has somehow escaped receiving much representation in art. Again, this is an example of how our society does not view children as being "real" people who deserve a voice or even offer much interest in their emotions and inner-lives.
painting is oil on canvas, 12" x 12" 2007
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