.
i was feeling all GUNG-HO industrious and shit, pulled out the boxes from the back of the closet, fully intending to throw away whatever was inside in order to make way for a new life, in order to lighten my load and get myself in a new york state of mind. i pulled back the cardboard covers and found a huge artwork i'd made for my mother- a deadbed/rosebed i made in the weeks after her death; a huge collection of crocheted roses in varying sizes and shades of red, displayed on a piece of dark red felt on the floor which was cut to the exact dimensions of the bed she died in, a bed which i layed down next to her in and crocheted red roses and lay them on her thin chest the last day she was alive.
there's no fucking way i can get rid of something like that! there's just no way! it's impossible! i texted my sister in a panic because there's also really no way to bring my entire art collection to the east coast (at least not initially) and asked her if she had any space at all in the back of a closet in her house where i could store some art for a time. sweetheart that she is, she said yes immediately and told me not to get stressed out about this stuff; "i'll make room for whatever you want to keep, sweet sister" she wrote. i breathed a deep sigh of relief but still this strange anxiety. it takes a lot out of me to go through these boxes, these memories, these secrets, the evidence of a life... of lives.
i went through the red suitcase that houses tons of saved photographs and postcards. there were some old scraps of paper with messy notes to self scrawled across them that i easily tossed in to the recycle bin, and a few books given to me by a long-forgotten acquaintance that i never got around to reading due to sheer lack of interest which are now sitting on the sidewalk in front of my house. then, i came across my 23 page poem-thing/manuscript that i haven't worked on since i left my last relationship. i shoved it into this suitcase and then the suitcase was shoved into a tiny storage unit where it sat silently for close to a year. i couldn't bare to read it once i brought it home. i sifted through the pages tonight, skipping the intensely sad parts, but thinking that i really should go back to it, dive in, see if i can finish the thing...
going through all this... it's an entire life! it's who i've been and where i've come from. it's the residue and evidence of my growth, of my Becoming. it's the maps i've used. it's the maps i made for myself with words and images and the sweet postcards that came to me from friends. how do i get rid of these things? and should i even be trying to do such a thing??? they are not trinkets and baubles, they are meaningful objects. objects which contain the spirit of a Past, a Family, a Mother, a Daughter, and the puzzle of love and loss. it's a diary.
and then there's THAT. my diary! it's humongous! i've been keeping a daily diary for more than 6 years. i don't even dream of parting with these volumes of scribbles and rants. not for a second. but they definitely pose a bit of a predicament for someone who was hoping to move by airplane with two bags of luggage. hahaha! that's certainly beginning to seem a bit unrealistic. i'm feeling a bit like Anais Nin right now wondering what the fuck to do with a diary that needs a suitcase all to itself. :) i'm glad i still have almost 6 weeks to figure it out but that's not really much time at all. 6 weeks is nothing.
sigh...
and i'm not even complaining. not at all. i'm looking forward to this change so much! i am exhilarated! i'm ecstatic! i've been wanting to do this for so long and i am overjoyed that the day when i can hop on a plane with a one-way ticket to new york in my hand is almost here. and the fact that brian and i are doing this together makes it even better. i'm so glad that i'm doing this with my best-friend. now, if i could only find a way to shrink all these things down and make them miniature-sized! i truly do want to make room for a new life, a new world.
.
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Feb 21, 2015
Aug 16, 2014
memory lane can be the road to the Present
.
spent the whole day behind the hook and am now enjoying an over-poured glass of Auslese. this is the very definition of a wonderful day off.
and i've needed it. the passed week or so has been a bit of an emotional roller-coaster. a huge box arrived unexpectedly containing my mother's collection of family photos, more than 3 1/2 years after her death. i opened the box only to be sure of what it was and then closed it again. i wasn't in the mood for that type of upheaval and i wasn't prepared to slice open a cardboard box and be greeted by my mother's face and the dresses she saved that my sister and i wore as little girls in an Olen Mill's portrait so soooooo many years ago. kelly must've been 4 or 5. that would have made me 7 or 8.
a few days later, i reached back inside the box and pulled the dresses out. i remember hating them as a little girl but, now, they look like art pieces. something possibly akin to the Kiki Smith piece, Sisters, or the twins in The Shining. ha!
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i gazed at them in between rounds of digging through the 7 portfolios that are stored in my bedroom closet. it was a strange walk down memory lane. it's amazing what an accurate barometer of emotion art is. looking at my work from just a few years ago, i relived the pain and confusion and longing i was entrenched in during those days. and the sheer MASS of my personal collection is astounding! i've thrown away SO MUCH each time i've moved and i still have such an enormous stockpile of work! it was heartrending to go through it all but there were also moments when i smiled. and smiled wide like a goofy child, at that. in the middle of a portfolio that largely houses work i did during the last year i lived in Calistoga, i came across a self-portrait i drew when i was 21 years old. it was made during one of the happiest times in my life DESPITE the fact that i had yet to leave my hated home town.
it was drawn during the time Jose and i lived together in my very first apartment. we were inseparable and i loved being with him. we smoked way too many cigarettes and drank blended frappaccinos way too often and squeezed our bellies and called ourselves fat just like two silly teenagers would. :) thinking back on all that makes me so happy. we listened to Bikini Kill and dreamed of New York together. what's really special is that sometimes we still do. it's not at all irregular for Jose and i to refer to each other as Rebel Girl more than 10 years later. :)
all this made somehow brought me to the realization that for the last several years i needed a deep round of PLAY. it's no secret that life is hard and it's no secret that my life has been hard. looking at my own work, my own hand smearing charcoal and graphite, the words i'd scrawl sometimes in the margins or on the back of the paper... i realized that in the span of 3 short years i lost all three parental figures and the person i considered to be the closest member of my immediate family, my partner for 7 years. with the exception of my siblings, my entire immediate family basically collapsed. and all the emotion of those days was right there. right in my hands, in the black and white smears and screams of my drawings.
it was hard to leave the house that day. i wanted to hide in bed. i wanted to be dirty and dumb and lounge around in dingy pajamas. i wanted to not give a fuck about anything and just spend the day drinking. i wanted to raise a middle finger to the world and cry my eyes out. sometimes i hear my voice inside my own head and it sounds so small. so painfully small. so heartbreaking. i think of my mother and i think of my father and i think of my siblings and what their pain must be and i whisper inside myself, "this isn't fair"...
but looking at the artwork i made during such a tumultuous era allowed me to see that i have, in fact, healed from a great many pains and that i long to return to a certain type of seriousness again, a particular breed of deep introspection and artistic investigation. basically, it made me want to draw again. :)
we'll see. i sure enjoyed laying in bed all day with my crochet hook and black yarn today, that's for sure.
i'm confident the Future is an interesting place.
.
spent the whole day behind the hook and am now enjoying an over-poured glass of Auslese. this is the very definition of a wonderful day off.
and i've needed it. the passed week or so has been a bit of an emotional roller-coaster. a huge box arrived unexpectedly containing my mother's collection of family photos, more than 3 1/2 years after her death. i opened the box only to be sure of what it was and then closed it again. i wasn't in the mood for that type of upheaval and i wasn't prepared to slice open a cardboard box and be greeted by my mother's face and the dresses she saved that my sister and i wore as little girls in an Olen Mill's portrait so soooooo many years ago. kelly must've been 4 or 5. that would have made me 7 or 8.
a few days later, i reached back inside the box and pulled the dresses out. i remember hating them as a little girl but, now, they look like art pieces. something possibly akin to the Kiki Smith piece, Sisters, or the twins in The Shining. ha!
i gazed at them in between rounds of digging through the 7 portfolios that are stored in my bedroom closet. it was a strange walk down memory lane. it's amazing what an accurate barometer of emotion art is. looking at my work from just a few years ago, i relived the pain and confusion and longing i was entrenched in during those days. and the sheer MASS of my personal collection is astounding! i've thrown away SO MUCH each time i've moved and i still have such an enormous stockpile of work! it was heartrending to go through it all but there were also moments when i smiled. and smiled wide like a goofy child, at that. in the middle of a portfolio that largely houses work i did during the last year i lived in Calistoga, i came across a self-portrait i drew when i was 21 years old. it was made during one of the happiest times in my life DESPITE the fact that i had yet to leave my hated home town.
it was drawn during the time Jose and i lived together in my very first apartment. we were inseparable and i loved being with him. we smoked way too many cigarettes and drank blended frappaccinos way too often and squeezed our bellies and called ourselves fat just like two silly teenagers would. :) thinking back on all that makes me so happy. we listened to Bikini Kill and dreamed of New York together. what's really special is that sometimes we still do. it's not at all irregular for Jose and i to refer to each other as Rebel Girl more than 10 years later. :)
all this made somehow brought me to the realization that for the last several years i needed a deep round of PLAY. it's no secret that life is hard and it's no secret that my life has been hard. looking at my own work, my own hand smearing charcoal and graphite, the words i'd scrawl sometimes in the margins or on the back of the paper... i realized that in the span of 3 short years i lost all three parental figures and the person i considered to be the closest member of my immediate family, my partner for 7 years. with the exception of my siblings, my entire immediate family basically collapsed. and all the emotion of those days was right there. right in my hands, in the black and white smears and screams of my drawings.
it was hard to leave the house that day. i wanted to hide in bed. i wanted to be dirty and dumb and lounge around in dingy pajamas. i wanted to not give a fuck about anything and just spend the day drinking. i wanted to raise a middle finger to the world and cry my eyes out. sometimes i hear my voice inside my own head and it sounds so small. so painfully small. so heartbreaking. i think of my mother and i think of my father and i think of my siblings and what their pain must be and i whisper inside myself, "this isn't fair"...
but looking at the artwork i made during such a tumultuous era allowed me to see that i have, in fact, healed from a great many pains and that i long to return to a certain type of seriousness again, a particular breed of deep introspection and artistic investigation. basically, it made me want to draw again. :)
we'll see. i sure enjoyed laying in bed all day with my crochet hook and black yarn today, that's for sure.
i'm confident the Future is an interesting place.
.
Dec 12, 2012
do you think of me as much as i think of you?
who are you
watching me from way over there?
it'd be nice if you leaned in a little closer. it'd be nice to sit together, your neck an inch away from my lips; your skin, a net for my breath.
but tonight we only have my pitiful words and the glow of my little electric play pen. maybe that is more than enough. maybe it's just as good as candle light.
the passed few days i've spent such lovely mornings with my diary. page after page filled. my handwriting becomes wild and loopy. i write faster and faster. i forget eloquence and choose vulgarities instead. i write with pens stolen from hotel rooms and think of New York. i wish it weren't winter. i'd fly back in a minute if i had the right coat and the right boots. i miss the bowery. i want to walk along the streets there without a plan, notebook tucked in my bag, a map and a couple bucks for drinks. i will be back in the spring.
but here in my little corner of california, i listen to depeche mode and crochet a sweater for my best friend's mother. she is my mother too in very special, specific ways... and also a friend. i lucked out meeting Becca. we met in a color theory class at CCA and have been friends ever since. fuck student debt. if one thing came out of going to art school, it was meeting her and i assure you her friendship is worth ever cent. in fact, i got her at a bargain. when my mom died, she cried on the phone with me. i called her from tennessee and as i cried, she cried. i will never forget that moment. i will never forget that level of spiritual generosity. what it is to cry with another human being... it's something beyond words. there is no way to describe it. thinking of it even now makes my eyes sting with tears. there is no way to thank someone for it. the best i can do is say that Becca endured the torture of that moment with me. she breathed it when i breathed it. she didn't back away. the dark didn't send her running. she stood with me there in that moment and didn't flinch. i recounted my last moments with my mother to her and she bore it with me. when i returned home after the funeral, she sent me my very first tube of red lipstick. NARS red lizard. and just like that she changed my life.
("art witch" indeed, my friend. ;) i miss the hell out of you. if anyone speaks the same language as me, it's you.)
she is such a treasure. i love her endlessly.
so let me spin another song and let me pour another Greyhound. i have the day off tomorrow. like a good girl, i went on a 2 mile run today. i'll do it again tomorrow too. i'm thinking about the New Year and making resolutions. you know i'm too impatient to actually wait until the 1st to get going on my plans but, still, i love the ritual. i love the marker of time. a brand new year finds us again and i am thankful for it. so thankful and so hopeful. for the first time in years i feel like my life actually fits me, that i am not living a lie. it is a fantastic feeling to feel authentic. it is a good, deep warmth.
and here in my white bed, i call up my favorite memories...
oh, i would snuggle up against you if you were here...
but first i'd rub your feet and leave my lipstick on your cheek. and just like last time, we'd look each other in the eye and be sure not to regret a thing.
watching me from way over there?
it'd be nice if you leaned in a little closer. it'd be nice to sit together, your neck an inch away from my lips; your skin, a net for my breath.
but tonight we only have my pitiful words and the glow of my little electric play pen. maybe that is more than enough. maybe it's just as good as candle light.
the passed few days i've spent such lovely mornings with my diary. page after page filled. my handwriting becomes wild and loopy. i write faster and faster. i forget eloquence and choose vulgarities instead. i write with pens stolen from hotel rooms and think of New York. i wish it weren't winter. i'd fly back in a minute if i had the right coat and the right boots. i miss the bowery. i want to walk along the streets there without a plan, notebook tucked in my bag, a map and a couple bucks for drinks. i will be back in the spring.
but here in my little corner of california, i listen to depeche mode and crochet a sweater for my best friend's mother. she is my mother too in very special, specific ways... and also a friend. i lucked out meeting Becca. we met in a color theory class at CCA and have been friends ever since. fuck student debt. if one thing came out of going to art school, it was meeting her and i assure you her friendship is worth ever cent. in fact, i got her at a bargain. when my mom died, she cried on the phone with me. i called her from tennessee and as i cried, she cried. i will never forget that moment. i will never forget that level of spiritual generosity. what it is to cry with another human being... it's something beyond words. there is no way to describe it. thinking of it even now makes my eyes sting with tears. there is no way to thank someone for it. the best i can do is say that Becca endured the torture of that moment with me. she breathed it when i breathed it. she didn't back away. the dark didn't send her running. she stood with me there in that moment and didn't flinch. i recounted my last moments with my mother to her and she bore it with me. when i returned home after the funeral, she sent me my very first tube of red lipstick. NARS red lizard. and just like that she changed my life.
("art witch" indeed, my friend. ;) i miss the hell out of you. if anyone speaks the same language as me, it's you.)
she is such a treasure. i love her endlessly.
so let me spin another song and let me pour another Greyhound. i have the day off tomorrow. like a good girl, i went on a 2 mile run today. i'll do it again tomorrow too. i'm thinking about the New Year and making resolutions. you know i'm too impatient to actually wait until the 1st to get going on my plans but, still, i love the ritual. i love the marker of time. a brand new year finds us again and i am thankful for it. so thankful and so hopeful. for the first time in years i feel like my life actually fits me, that i am not living a lie. it is a fantastic feeling to feel authentic. it is a good, deep warmth.
and here in my white bed, i call up my favorite memories...
oh, i would snuggle up against you if you were here...
but first i'd rub your feet and leave my lipstick on your cheek. and just like last time, we'd look each other in the eye and be sure not to regret a thing.
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