There is much going on inside. Although I'm not ready to elaborate, it feels as if in sending the letters, a big shift happened within me. I don't trust quick changes but then again, I have to remember all the work, struggle and suffering that led to this point. And I know it's not the end of it.

Life is about change and growth.

Tricycle's Daily Dharma shows up in my inbox every morning. From this morning:

If we do a little of one kind of practice and a little of another, the work we have done in one often doesn't continue to build as we change to the next. It is as if we were to dig many shallow wells instead of one deep one. In continually moving from one approach to another, we are never forced to face our own boredom, impatience, and fears. We are never brought face to face with ourselves. So we need to choose a way of practice that is deep and ancient and connected with our hearts, and then make a commitment to follow it as long as it takes to transform ourselves.
--Jack Kornfield in A Path with Heart from Everyday Mind.

Today I'm giving a small studio tour to another artist. Yesterday at work, someone came in who I hadn't seen in a long time. We tend to see other other about once a year. They had seen some of my work before...and expressed an interest in purchasing a certain painting. Yesterday they too asked for a tour and reminded me of their desire to purchase. He said he wants me to show him everything...and talk about it. We'll set up an appointment after Labor Day.

I haven't painted since Saturday. Sunday, in the studio, I wrote the letter. Monday, I spent time with Daniel in the space. And that was it.

When guilt would try to bust in, I'd remind myself that my creative energy was going to a very different place this week. Today, it's back to work.

On my way down to the space, I need to stop at The Paramount box office for tickets. My coworker (therapy twin), his partner and I are going to hit next Friday's matinee showing of Young Frankenstein. It's the world premiere...before heading to NYC. The Slog came up with a list of fun facts about the musical. I look forward to seeing Megan Mullally in the production.

...I did it.

Yesterday afternoon I mailed out the letters.

Yes, mailed, not emailed.

My shrink made the suggestion with one reason being that there is so much in the letter. Computer screens offer coldness and a sense of distance whereas holding a piece of paper feels more natural. Organic was the word he used. As we continued to discuss it, two more reasons came to light: if they don't respond, I won't wonder if the emails never went through and with a letter there is no way to quickly send off a reply.

Regarding a response from them, I really have no expectations. Yesterday in chatting with Bill when he asked me, I said..."I have no clue. They could argue with me, they could ignore it, they could say they love me anyway, or they could put me out to pasture."

The shrink told me that my answer was even more powerful than the letter and it showed him I was ready to send it.


I returned to the office and emailed my sister for everyone's addresses. She replied within 5 minutes and was preparing to leave for the weekend. So if I'd waited, the letters would have as well.

There were 5 stamps left in my bag. Exactly enough for the 5 letters. At 5pm, very nervously, I popped them in the mailbox.

From there, I needed a drink. Bad. And I didn't want to be alone.

After a few misses with friends, I resigned myself to take out Thai and tv. Craig called and invited me over. He and Daniel were entertaining someone else, who I knew.

So I went over and enjoyed a wonderful evening with a perfect dinner of grilled chicken, a large plate of mixed greens and corn on the cob. (Sir...if you could have joined us you'd see I ate all my greens.)

Two glasses of red wine offered the nice, slow buzz my insides craved in that moment. Good company was balm.

I left with treats. Daniel, while cleaning, found some of his old art supplies. He gifted me with a delicious old metal paintbox that traveled through Europe with him and they loaned me the Firefly series on dvd.

And life goes on...

The Seeing Eye...


About 10 minutes after posting last night's entry, Rob Brezsny's email hit my inbox. The first quote he had in there, which made me laugh, considering what I had just written was~

"A religious person is one who contributes to the world some beauty,
some joy, some happiness, some celebration that was not there before."
- Osho

And here is this week's Freewill Astrology.

Thanks to everyone for their support and kind words regarding yesterday's entry.

Thing is, although the letter literally wrote itself while sitting in my studio, and I know that it will need to be sent to The Family, it doesn't mean that I'm any less terrified. I've just reached a point where I cannot imagine any other alternative.

A perfect moment:
The coworker I call my therapy twin, because he's been through the tough work also, just walked past my office, stopped…turned around, came back in, kissed the top of my head and then headed on his way. No words.

He felt my energy and just knew I needed such kindness and affection right in this instant.

Breaking silence.

When I read the War of Art back in June, I received the first acknowledgment of how fundamentalism is detrimental to art.

Fundamentalists construct and live their lives with fear of freedom whereas artists work to embrace freedom. Two opposing forces. I would add that in both cases, it's a spiritual freedom that is feared or revered. And as I've said before, fundamentalism is seen in many communities...even liberal ones, not only traditional religious organizations.

It's a mindset.

Many times, my therapist would attempt to tell me how I was a freak born into my family. He'd say that even as a baby, my parents could see I was not like them and therefore really didn't know what to do with me. I would toss much of this off because I didn't have a full understanding of what he meant.

When I read the chapter on fundamentalism and art, I cried. The light was beginning to filter through the fog. And then this weekend, it broke through...glaringly. There is no place for me to hide.

On Sunday, I wrote a letter to my family. I've yet to send it. It may change. Tomorrow I have an appointment with the shrink and we'll discuss it. Maybe this letter simply opens the conversation or maybe I need to lay clear boundaries within. We'll see.

Here is the letter I wrote on Sunday.
Another coming out.

-----------------------------------

Dear everyone,

This letter has been in the making for a while and I had to trust it would happen in the right moment.

I need to be honest with you and let you know what's been going on with me....and why I don't come home very often. Not sharing this with you has been painful, and yet I also feared I'd cause more pain with my revelation.

You all know that I came out as gay at 23. I still am. It doesn't matter that a man is currently in my life and in my heart. I am queer.

I also wrote to you back then that I no longer considered myself a Catholic. In writing the letter, it surprised me that it was more difficult for me to reveal that fact than my sexual orientation.


Over the years, with much work, I've been discovering who I am and who I am not. Peeling through old layers and wading through mud has been and still is very cleansing. With this, I'm seeing my potential. In this, I see how critical being a painter is to my life. I could never have had the courage to paint let alone get a studio space without this work. It's all about healing the heart.


I love you all very much.
And I know you all love me with the same intensity.

Yet our mutual caring doesn't prevent the feeling of claustrophobia that hits whenever I go home. The world is so much bigger than what I believed for the first 20 years of my life. There is so much diversity, in lifestyles and beliefs. It's not a black and white world.

What's been the most difficult for me is reconciling my beliefs and be a (insert last name here) at the same time. Unfortunately, because of it, I've built a wall separating you from me. I've created distance.

It is time to chip away at the wall.

I've come to a place where I believe there is no god. Hand in hand with this I still believe that if people believe in god, then they too need to be true to themselves.

My philosophy is that we each need to follow our heart. Doing so reveals our truth. And with that, we need to allow everyone else their own truth.


It's interesting. As I've been coming to this very personal realization, I've discovered that, especially in the United States, if one is seen as believing there is no god, then they are seen as godless (which would be correct). Yet that then takes the next step of being seen as "evil".

I understand where this idea comes from. In a world that consists solely of heaven or hell...god = heaven leaves only one other alternative.

What's fascinating is that people who believe in god believe that god created us in his image. Therefore, following that logic, all of our hearts, our minds and our imagination would be of him as well. If that's the case, I don't understand why differences are scorned, feared, hated, reviled and condemned instead of being embraced and celebrated.

Even the belief of nonbelief.


Whether one is religious or not...whether one believes in god or not...is not a measure of compassion.
Religious differences beget many wars. Killing and bloodshed.


I believe there was a man named Jesus. I also believe he, like Ghandi, was one of the most compassionate beings to walk the earth. Yet I see his followers who call themselves Christians, actually follow the Old Testament or Paul. The most vocal of these say very little about the words of Christ.

He believed in love. Unconditional love. He believed in non-judgement. He believed in social justice. He did not believe in an eye for an eye.

And I believe there are many who are equally as compassionate, yet live quiet lives, where their touch speaks loud in the small day to day actions. We will never know their names yet their energy of peace is what continues to flow through our world and touch every one of us.


When I come home, I am immediately surrounded by a sense of judgement and constriction. It is not intentional on your part, yet it is what I am sensitive to.

I don't expect you to do, be or act differently. My wish is that in revealing more of myself to you through breaking my silence, I will begin to take down the wall I've created. In that, maybe the heaviness I feel will lessen.

I love you. And I believe wholeheartedly that we all do the best we can. My job is to continue to reveal myself and not hide from you...my parents, my family.

With my heart...

For the last few days I've been going thru something heavy, regarding family history. So today is one question and things that made me smile:

A family of four raccoons crossed in front of me on the way to work.

Where can I purchase Stone Temple Pilot's cover of Led Zeppelin's Dancing Days? iTunes doesn't seem to have it.

I literally had to stop in the middle of the street because a baby squirrel became confused and no longer knew which way he was headed. It took a specky bit before he made up his mind.

Syncopation is the way to do massive amounts of data entry. Blasted loud on my headphones, it put me in a groove.

Received a donation at work today with a wonderful comment:
I love what you do and how you do it! Thank you for your creativity, compassion, and generosity!

Spied a woman in her pink chenille bathrobe walking her dog.

Spent some long overdue wonderful time with Daniel.

I don't want a do-over but a move forward.


Today has been the oddest day.
And it's not even 6:00 pm yet.

It began about 11:30 last night. Sound asleep and I was awakened by my cell phone beeping. I looked and saw a message. Opened up the cell...no waiting text message. No missed calls. Nothing.

Strange.
I returned to sleep.

This morning I checked voice mails and found one unheard message. It was the artist who I replaced. So I returned her call and found out her message was from last week not last night.

Walked out for coffee and found a parking ticket on my car. It was my error because I didn't move the vehicle yesterday afternoon. And I left my keys in the house so although my apartment was unlocked I couldn't get into the gated entrance until someone was leaving.

I managed to figure out how to add an extra account to Apple Mail to accept my gmail address. It seemed to be working fine. Except...any new mail from my regular email as well as gmail would no longer show up as new mail. Yes it would still make it to my in box, but not identified as unread mail. I couldn't figure it out.

In addition, any links in email (even older email still in my box) were no longer working. I'd click on it, Safari would open to my homepage and sit there. The url wouldn't go into the browser window.

Then, in testing some more...my gmail account was only working sporadically.

So after an hour of trying to figure it out, I decided to get rid of the new account in Mail and leave gmail on the web for now. The only POP I deleted was for gmail. I didn't touch my regular email. Yet in doing so, I lost everything in my inbox. It was wiped clean.

Before freaking out I googled and discovered it hasn't disappeared permanently, instead it's stored in library. I relaxed and at some point I'll get someone to help me retrieve it. Another day.

During this strangeness, I tried to restart the computer, thinking it was glitched out. It wouldn't restart. So after a bit, I hit the power button to shut the damned thing down. It wouldn't do that either. Definite gremlins! After letting it sit for about a half hour, I was finally able to shut it down and then reboot.

When I woke this morning I was incredibly sleepy. That feeling has lasted all day. With this weirdness maybe painting would be a wise thing to do. First a stop at Utrecht Art and then to the studio. Returning to my car from the art store I saw a black SUV trying to park behind me and scratch up my white bumper.

I sighed...got in the car and went to my workspace. The one utility sink on my floor was all backed up and half filled with greasy water.

While painting, threw on iShuffle which I had loaded with new music yesterday. And I double-checked it. It was all there. Everything seemed kosher. Today, while playing, there was a duplicate of every single song.

Painted for an hour, came home, picked up a couple slices of pizza and I'm staying in tonight.

Before eating, I moved a pile of music cd's back to the shelf. The whole pile slipped out of my hands, hit the floor and two of the cases broke, cd's sliding across the kitchen linoleum.

The strangest thing about all this bizarreness is I never got upset. Or depressed. It was becoming ludicrous, a comedy of errors...of sorts. If I come across as flat it's due to tiredness. Extra hugs are welcome.

So to end on a little better note, here are a few paintings. I haven't touched them this week because I'm not sure if I'll work over them or just move on. They are part of my "I haven't a clue what I'm doing" series.

The first one is a little 8x10. The second is 16x20. The images appear faded but if you click on each painting, you will have a better sense of color and density. I don't know why it changes when it opens in a different window.

Standing outside my studio waiting for C a couple days ago, I looked up and saw it peeking thru the opening. The Smith Tower. It once was the 4th tallest building in the world. Developers have received approval to turn it into condos.

Today is the 100th anniversary of Pike Place Market. There have been celebrations all week, culminating with special events all day today. The Market is only about 6 smaller than NYC blocks from my work space. I suspect the tourist action will be much heavier than usual.

Yesterday I became sick at work and went home early.
Today, I plan on painting.

I could have sworn I purchased a tube of cad yellow last week. But it's nowhere to be found and I'm out. It's unsettling when one's memory goes sour. Must stop into Utrecht on the way to the studio today.

Monday morning while heading back to work after running an errand with a coworker, I noticed a sign for the first time. It was near the Central District. An old Wonder Bread sign. And the "bread" letters were gone. What we could see was "wonder" in big letters, floating in the sky. It was a perfect photo op and verbally noted that I needed to return with my camera. Yesterday, I read that it's now gone.

I lost my chance.

And here is one person's opinion of what are the 10 gayest album covers.

Thanks to The Slog for both links.

Persist with painting.
Yesterday I went into the studio more relaxed. If it is my season for muddled messes, self-doubt and the unknown...so be it. I still don't know what I'm doing but in letting go, the despair disappeared.


I switched out my small little darker than wasabi bag that I carry for a larger canvas mushy bag. A bigger bag was needed to traipse back and forth to the studio. The bag was purchased a year ago and yesterday was the first time I used it. This fact struck me when I had to cut off the tags.


August is a slow month in Seattle - at least in the nonprofit sector. No one holds meetings. Emails have slowed to almost nothing. No voice mails. It's still something I have a hard time remembering and therefore getting used to. People are taking advantage of the nice weather. In my office, we haven't had the full staff together in over 4 weeks.


My shrink moved his office a few weeks back. Last week was so strange seeing him...in a different space. It's cozier, in a good way. And odd.


I have to, have to, have to make time to shop for groceries. My new schedule with painting after work hasn't left me any desire to shop for food or cook. I tend to pick up take out or a protein smoothie. Even something as simple as having some homemade egg salad waiting in the fridge would be a good thing. As would a carton of milk and a bowl of fruit. Why does it feel near impossible to be responsible in all aspects of one's life all at the same time?


My body is happy this morning.


In a few days I will be making my 2nd to the last car payment. This makes my bank account happy.

Going to the studio and painting just about every day after work has made daily photo-taking a greater challenge. Some days there is no creative energy left to shoot. Yesterday I committed to shooting before I began painting.

My life lately is mostly lived alone. Again, it has to do with painting. I've noticed that when I socialize, I can pretty much chalk it up as a no painting day unless I work in the morning as I did on Sunday. Of course that means there's little left of me for large groups. So even in a group, I'm a puddle, sitting in the chair.

Being in the studio is an experience I've never imagined. Last week was about playing and getting to know the space. This week it seems I've stepped into the reality of painting. I can't seem to spend more than 2 hours in there. A great uncomfortableness arises and I need to leave. It's something I really want to push through.

The last 3 days have been challenging.

Last night, after getting home, I could feel a vast unknown. It's been building. I'm sure that it will break at some point but not sure when or how. I'm working and each session seems to be about nothing more than pushing paint around. It's crazy. It's only been 3 days and I know it could go on for weeks...months.

But it's all new for me.

It's interesting that claiming this studio has oh so quickly pushed me into a space I didn't know existed. The landscape is harsh. Unfriendly. The moments of sun are fleeting.

I'm painting fucking mushy squares...over and over. Something is in there yet I haven't a clue what it is. Looking at the current work I see they are the same. They all wear a veil. The color isn't bold. There's no direction. No light.

Each evening when I leave, there are many restaurants where I can pick up cheap eats. Happy hour places with good food abound. I can actually do a nice glass of wine and a great dinner for $5. Yet I'm so raw that I can't imagine sitting alone, dining with strangers. Instead, I walk to the bus and surround myself with an invisible wall...anxious to return to the safety of my home.

Yesterday morning while tearing my house apart looking for something, I stumbled upon a book that N gave me a few months back. Here's a link to a few excerpts.

Flipping through it, I saw these two nuggets:

"Are you paralyzed with fear? That's a good sign....The more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have do to it."

Yeah, I knew that but it helps to hear it again. Especially now.

And this one I really need. It's on resistance and isolation.

"Sometimes we balk at embarking on an enterprise because we're afraid of being alone. We feel comfortable with the tribe around us; it makes us nervous going off into the woods on our own.

Here's the trick: We're never alone. ...As soon as we step outside the campfire glow, our Muse lights on our shoulder like a butterfly. The act of courage calls forth infallibly that deeper part of ourselves that supports and sustains us."

That's my current struggle. I think I'm fighting the aloneness. Even though I am committed to working and make myself go to the studio, I'm afraid of the isolation.

I'm trying to trust and believe that this is all an inhale and then an exhale. Nothing more.


And so...that's why today's Rob Brezsny is so perfect. Last night I was trying not to freak out...even though I kept muttering over and over "I don't know what I'm doing..."

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Welcome to the Season of Temporary Insanity, Capricorn. According to my analysis of the omens, your imminent immersion in lunacy, delirium, and freakiness won't hurt a bit -- and may even stir up exotic varieties of pleasure and amusement. For best results, keep the following advice bubbling and frothing in the back of your mind. (1) "Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things." - Edgar Degas. (2) "Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment." – Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks. (3) "All of us are crazy good in one way or another." - Yiddish saying. (4) "You are either losing your mind -- or gaining your soul." - Julia Cameron.

Here is yours.

Yesterday, I took a couple vacation hours to get to the studio early. While heading over on the bus, sleepiness overtook me. My mind was busy, but my eyes were heavy. And exhausted. It hurt behind my eyeballs.

Stepping foot in my space..."oh!" slipped from my lips. Looking at the work on the walls, I cried.

I was falling in love with the work. Warmth filled me. And still...tiredness. Laying on the couch, I stared at the wall that held my latest pieces. There was a sense of satisfaction.

It took great effort to get up and paint. I worked over two pieces.

In doing so, my skills fell down. I looked at the palette as a foreign entity. I no longer knew how to mix color. Color sense left me. I was the 6 year old, staring at the coloring book, refusing to fill it in because I didn't know what colors to use.

Yes. Although I loved the idea and possibility of coloring books as a child, I feared them. I didn't want to do green trees and blue skies and yet couldn't pull the color from myself and apply it to the page.

There is much intimidation in a coloring book.

Each time I stand before a canvas I am again intimidated. It doesn't matter if I've approached it joyfully or out of duty. Painting is a terrifying proposition.

The only thing that keeps me going is that it is a part of me. After years of running, I can no longer deny it.

And yet, it doesn't make it any less scary.

Very overdue image posting-

A while back, the week I found my studio, I had the pleasure of meeting a new friend from blog-ville. He was in Seattle only for an overnight and we managed to finally get together. It was a total joy spending time with Zev. I picked him up at his hotel and first took him to Alki where we sat in the sun at a picnic table at the beach and enjoyed scallops and fish. From there, after a car tour of Seattle, we ended up at Cafe Septieme where we met up with Roger's hubby.

By using his hanky, this rope top gave us tips on knot-making.



Zev allowed me to take photos. Being quite sympathetic to his discomfort in front of the camera, I was thrilled to see how relaxed he came across.

Hot boy~





The following week I returned to Alki with Daniel and Craig for dinner when Malixe showed up with a friend. It was a fabulous surprise. I don't see Malixe near enough. And many years ago...I was told I should be introduced to Scott.

Oddly, I didn't get photos of Craig.

It was another dinner with lovers of rope.

Malixe and Daniel~


Scott~

Last night's dessert options at Casa de Phil -



Beginning clockwise, all homemade, kickass ice creams: chocolate, mint, strawberry and vanilla bean. The mint, as someone put it "doesn't taste like mouthwash." It was the most incredible mint ice cream made with fresh mint from a friend's garden.

And then fabulous cherry pie and the best chocolate cream pie I've ever had.

Yeah, I had to sample a little of each.

And Gryph couldn't get enough.







Although these recent photos are much milder, they reminded me of another food porn shot from 6 months ago.

Remember this?

Some touristy type photos from Friday night~





I know I posted one of these yesterday, but this one has the mountain.





Maybe my painting palette is influenced by our late afternoon light hitting the buildings?





Now introducing a guest photographer:



Sitting across from me at dinner on Friday night he asked for my camera...and wanted it set to color. I was curious to see what he saw.



I so wish I had seen and taken this one.

Remember this painting from May?



This is what it looks like after this week~



I've been slowing down and reworking overly marked up paintings. The most recent one still isn't complete...but I like where it's going. The color in the jpeg is still off (even after color-correcting in Photoshop) because of the temp of the studio lights.

Yesterday I was bone tired and never made it into the studio. Instead it was a day of laundry, cleaning the fridge, watching movies and then a killer dinner with Phil, D and Phil's brother.

Being tired, the images I was going to post never happened. Hopefully they'll go up today...after some time spent painting.

Yesterday was a very full day. There wasn't any space for blogging until last night. And then I burnt through my camera battery while out and so couldn't import images into my computer until this morning.

Phil's brother is in town and after a small gathering of the Friday Evening Libation Society, Phil, his bro, D and I went down near the water to shoot photos at sunset and then do dinner. I'll be posting a bunch of images later.

In addition, I have a few photos from a gathering last week, and some from Zev's visit the week before. Those will also go up this weekend.

A shot of my studio after yesterday's work session.



On the wall, a bunch of wet paintings...still unfinished. The paintings way in the back are my studio mate's. That's her section and I really enjoy her work. They are window reflections from tall buildings.

I'll get back in there today but first, I have to make myself do laundry. I put it off twice last weekend because I wanted to get into the studio. It can no longer wait.

Nayland Blake asked me for 7 tidbits that people probably wouldn't know.

Here they are:


1. I used to know all the words to all the songs from "Jesus Christ Superstar" and would sing them on roadtrips when we'd go visit memere and pepere in Canada or Berlin, NH. Although I haven't made a point of listening to it since, when I hear something from that show, I still enjoy it.


2. Necked with my first boy at 12. We'd go to an apartment in a creepy building in an even creepier neighborhood. I don't even remember who lived there. But there were a few girls and boys from my 7th grade class at my French-Canadian catholic grammar school. We hung out and necked after school every day. I was crushed out on John, but would kiss his brother Norman, nicknamed "Caveman". Caveman was a couple years older but was in our class because he stayed back a few times. I wasn't fond of him but wanted to kiss. Thinking about it now makes me feel icky.


3. I trust very few women. Although I had been physically raped by a man, it was women, over the span of my life, who had emotionally raped me. I've experienced too much meanness, hidden agendas, and deceit at the hands of women.

Now I do follow my intuition, and if someone feels good...clean, I will welcome them, regardless of gender. If there isn't a clear energy signal, then I lean toward being overly cautious. Although it's not fair, I tend to hold women to a higher standard. I'm actively working on changing this but it isn't easy.

This is one reason why finding my studio space was a powerful moment. I enjoyed the women painters immediately...as soon as I met them. It was a relief because not only did it show me that I don't hate women but also a reminder that my intuition tends to be spot on. And I have been doubting myself a lot recently and therefore desperately needed some affirmation.


4. Other than a short summer drawing class at the museum when I was 10, I didn't take formal art classes until I was about 20 years old. Never touched it in high school. It shows a serious disconnect between myself and my world when I was a teen.

When I was younger Mom would give me tips. Pretty much the only thing I remember from her is: when doing a bouquet of flowers (or any other grouping), do an odd number. It's more interesting than an even number. I stuck to that pretty faithfully until I saw times when rules could be broken.

After my first continuing ed course in painting at the local community college I was allowed to go to school for art. I had to create a portfolio from scratch. I carried lots of shame and felt like a huge imposter because I didn't have the benefit of high school art classes to show work from that. To this day, there are many times I don't feel worthy of painting and feel a huge lack of skills.


5. I sucked my thumb until I was twelve. I had to learn to comfort myself much too early.


6. Oh my. I just remembered something. I had my first cigarette at 12 years old. It seems I traded one for the other. Marlboro's were 45 cents a pack. Just a little orally fixated.


7. My dad told me to leave the house at 18 because I was a bad influence on my brothers and sisters. It seems that my decision to leave the catholic church at 16, and become a non-denominational jesus freak…going to prayer meetings all the time and volunteering with the elderly was a greater offense than the drinking, drugging and sex that my younger sibs were engaging in. Apparently he threw his parenting responsibility on my shoulders. Although I'm working on it, I still haven't let go of that one.

He let me move back in a year later, and then a few years after that, decided I could go to college for art and he would pay for my education.


And a bonus answer:

Even with all the therapy, there are still days where I feel I shouldn't have been born on this planet. I don't understand the rules of this world...and don't know how to play the games. It hurts my heart to see much of what I see.

My struggle is with not closing myself off from the muddiness.

It seems the older I get the more I understand why people choose to become hermits.

-----

And...yesterday I had a fucking kick ass painting session. I went into the studio a total emotional wreck and managed to rise past it, immerse myself in oils, and came out in another place.

All sorts of linkage~

Last night was our neighborhood block party. Spearheaded by Angel, of Angel's Shoe Repair. I think he's been in the neighborhood for over 30 years. There was a danger of his having to move because of skyrocketing rent increases…but I hope it doesn't happen.

Our neighborhood is like a small town. The diversity of cultures is wonderful. There isn't much racial diversity…not like when I lived in Columbia City. But we have regular joes, and more well to do folks such as Microsofties, as well as artists and street/homeless people and queers and freaks and leatherfolk and young and old. There's a little bit of everything. Definite lifestyle linking.

Last night many of us came together. I had the chance to meet some new folks, each very different and wonderful. I could have easily handed out my work and art business cards. Got to meet and speak with a gay male couple about grants and scholarships. One is going to apply for a scholarship while his partner wants to apply for a grant for his organization to continue funding a food program for queer homeless youth.

I received a card from a painter/dancer.

Many neighborhood businesses chipped in with store gift certificates (such as getting the food from the grocery stores), or pizza from Olympic Pizza. The HopVine Pub had a large platter of killer cookies and coupons for happy hour beers prices. There were thick juicy hamburgers cooking on the grill, hotdogs and veggie burgers. Salads and beans were brought in. Neighbors would also bring food. The ribs went fast. As did the pie.

I was taking photos and someone asked me if I had a blog…because I was taking photos. :-)



From Rob Brezsny:

Again and again
Some people in the crowd wake up.
They have no ground in the crowd
And they emerge according to broader laws.
They carry strange customs with them,
And demand room for bold gestures.

The future speaks ruthlessly through them.
- Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell

Here's this week's Freewill Astrology.

This week's Astrobarry 'scopes.

For you funky film freaks...SomethingWeird.com. It's a resource to pick up old, forgotten bizarre films.

From their website:

"Here on your screen is a whole world of film that just a few short years ago was considered lost or worthless. The industry that produced and distributed these films had long since vanished and there was no sign of the men who actually created these bottom of the barrel celluloid wonders. That is until now."



In reading a local art blog yesterday I found a wonderful critique. It reminded me of how my profs would critique back in school.

Regina Hackett wrote:

"…Robb did not deserve that award in 2003. She still doesn't. So far, she's an artist on the brink of something. She has the potential to be huge but that potential remains unrealized. She needs to focus, and she needs to be less in love with her every gesture. If she destroyed most of what she's made, she'd have the beginning of a beginning."

It's fair and very powerful.


Now…about the group show I will participate in -

It's the 7th annual challenge: 30 paintings in 30 days.

I pay $75. For that I receive 30 8x10 canvas boards. The fee covers the supplies and hanging materials.
Everyone picks up the canvas on the same day. Then we have 30 days to paint.

The work gets hung at the OK Hotel Gallery in December. Chuck, who spearheads this, says that our building can hold all the work, but it can't hold all the people who come thru to see it. There's a huge line an hour before the opening!

Every painting is for sale for $40. Affordable art for the masses.
And…people get to take home the art as soon as they pay for it.

The artist receives 2/3.

I love the populist idea behind this. It makes art accessible.

Here's a photo of what it looked like last year.

And this is a short, very interesting blurb about the history of the hotel, including the fact that Nirvana first performed Smells Like Teen Spirit there!

Now, I need to focus on work, although it's going to be tough not to be distracted considering a very hot email that was waiting for me when I arrived at work.

Yesterday, after work, I was so sleepy that I wanted to go home and nap. Knowing that napping rarely happens, instead I forced myself down to the studio and worked another drawing. Just stepping foot in the space rejuvenated me for a couple hours.

Today, after being at work for a bit I opted to take some time from our summer floating use it or lose it holiday hours. I wanted to paint.

After the 20 minute bus ride, I walked in about 11 am. It was deliciously quiet. No one around. I rearranged a little and then pulled out my oils. The last time I worked in oils was before heading to NYC at the end of May.

It was strange. Wonderful but odd.

It's time to purchase a larger piece of glass to make a bigger palette. That was always a constricting factor. Colors muddy up fairly quickly with a smaller palette surface. And now with greater painting space, I need the mixing room as well.

Rough work session today.

I worked for over an hour and then slipped into some of the blackness and almost froze. All I could then do was plop my ass on the couch and sob. It took mammoth effort to get back up, return to the easel and paint some more. Paint something. Paint anything. Just move the paint on canvas.

Being there was the most important. I'm working on developing a routine.

It was bizarre because my heart was busting with love...and then after working a bit I was a very wet, weepy, teary mess. It hurt inside.

It can't all be warm fuzzies, right?
And it confused me. I couldn't understand the change.

I hoped to work a good 4 or 5 hours, but had to go home about 2pm. My skin hurt. I felt so exposed. While on the bus I couldn't wait to return to my apartment where I could be quiet and away from strangers for a while before I head over to our neighborhood block party for burgers.

Now that I'm writing this, I've realized something. Painting is my biggie. More than charcoal or watercolor. It makes total sense that I had a meltdown in the studio today. Not only had I not painted in over two months, but it was my very first painting session in a space where I'm claiming the validity of myself as painter.

No wonder I was raw.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple smiling nods~

Thank you to Susan Mernit for her kind words in her blog entry on Blogher: Surfing the Sex and Relationship Bloggers

And thanks to Capitol Hill Seattle blog for noting my flower power photo from Sunday.

How can I not mark this occasion?

This is the first thing I worked on in the new space. And no, it doesn't look like that anymore because well...I continued to push it. Pushed it past its prime.

And, you're missing all the detail. This shot doesn't pick any of that up. Mostly charcoal, with some black watercolor and graphite.


I went in yesterday to organize my stuff, take down the Thursday showing and hang some of my paintings on the wall. I needed to see certain pieces hung at the same time.

What a luxury.

Sitting on the couch, I kept looking at them. And after a bit, I was hungry to work. I dove in with charcoals because large charcoal pieces couldn't really happen in my apartment. Much too messy.

3 hours and 3 pieces later culminated in a sense of satisfaction. They are all getting tossed because it was simply about working. Working just to work which felt the same as playing. My cunt was so juiced up during that whole time.

It was a time of pushing and pulling and exposing in an environment made for vulnerability. Sex.


And don't worry. I'm not going to go on about my studio every day and forever. But right now, it's my new baby.

Or...better yet, my new home. It's a safe space for my most primal lover and I to get it on...to cry, to sweat, to kiss deep dark kisses, to rest, to fuck.

To fuck long and hard. To push past whatever barriers ego has built up. To step into the blackest pool, terrified yet determined, knowing that healing comes from the connection.

Creation is our job.

And in creation is truth.

Sunday morning posies~



Walking back this morning with coffee in hand, I noticed that someone lovingly created a garden on a little patch. It made me very happy.

Of course I didn't have my camera but went to get it and returned to the spot before the streets filled up with people.

I was simply going to post the full color image, but my old desire to retouch and immerse myself in mechanical detailing came out. When I worked in the photo lab almost 20 years ago (crap...I'm old!) I loved restoring old cracked photographs. It would bring up a peaceful feeling. This had a similar feel.

Very meditative work.

With the kind assistance of Hoss, S and G, I moved easels and paper and canvasses and pencils and tools and stuff into the studio today. It's sitting in a pile in the middle of the floor. I'll go in tomorrow, organize and set it up.

When I walked back into my little house, it felt spacious. Having a living space again is a more wonderful feeling than I thought it would be. I have room to cook. And to tend to my plants. And room to move the vacuum cleaner around.

And yet...at the same time, it seems odd not having my art materials around me. It feels as if I should be down at the studio right now. That's not a bad thing.

(I'm tired today, so am keeping this short.)

Last night's showing:

~Incredible, vibrant creative energy bursting out at the seams of the whole building.
~Totally packed with people, especially after 7:30 pm.
~I've got to get business cards made.
~Had a wonderful time.
~Hoss and his D came by for a while...and assisted with pimping out my work.
~Received great response to the work.
~Was asked to be in a big group show...with a challenge - 30 paintings in 30 days!

I accepted.


It is drizzly and cool. It makes me happy because it slows me down. I will be packing up my stuff to move to the studio tomorrow.

Today is a tomato soup and saltines kind of day.

Tonight is my first First Thursday art walk. In my new, real life studio. This is one of the windows in the new space.
For those who can make it, it's from 6-9 pm at 619 Western, 4th floor south. Look for the studio that has a sign painted above the door. It says: The Sophia Room.

So named...for wisdom.

When I first saw the studio, and the name, it was another powerful affirmation.


I've seen how afraid I really was with sharing my work. It surprised me because in '96, after my degree, I lept at chances to show my work. Yes, there would be a little bit of anxiety but nothing debillitating.

When I purchased my camera last September, I had begun working again. And...the work took a dramatic turn. I was now learning to paint from my belly and cunt instead of only from my head. And I would post images of some of the work. I was proud of what I was doing.

So the realization of the terror I carried surprised me. It happened on Monday when I brought a batch of paintings to the studio. I shared them with a passionate art lover and then two artists. In doing so, anxiety filled me. Each morning since, I wished I could be anything other than artist. I didn't want to do this. The fear weighed heavy on my chest and I couldn't breathe.

My face was breaking out with painful zits...and I have never been prone to them. Not even as a teen.

I wanted to remain in bed and totally wash this art stuff out of my being.


And yet, a part of me was on autopilot. I was doing what I needed to.

By yesterday I was easing into it. My joy and excitement was returning. I had popped over to the studio during my work day, for lunch...spending a bit of time getting to know the space and letting it feel me as well.

After work I returned and tried out ideas for showing the work.

At the last minute I decided to take today off. I'll go in later this morning and leisurely finish hanging my pieces.

What am I showing?

I'm naming it: You're Scaring Me...

They are a few of the ink sketches I did when I was told I may have ovarian cancer. I chose that series because it was the first time I painted through my terror. The first few nights, I'd be working at the table, brush to paper, sobbing, and kept repeating out loud "you're scaring me...you're scaring me..." I was speaking to my cyst.

It's the perfect work to show.

~On Monday I dropped off the first batch of paintings at the studio. While there, I received the keys.


~I was invited by our ABC TV affiliate to a blogger meetup on Thursday night. This is something new they put together. Although curious...I rsvp'd my regrets because it conflicts with my first First Thursday art walk.


~The artist who's leaving the space had a large canvas she had stretched and gessoed. It's about 4 feet by 10 feet. She mentioned that she couldn't take it to the new space with her, and was going to sell it.

I jumped on it.

On Monday I told her my ideas for the canvas. She got chills. Her intention for the canvas was a very similar type of painting. It's a passing the torch of sorts.


~For the space I wanted to find a small couch on freecycle or something. Free or very cheap. Yesterday morning I found a free one on Craig's list. They had put it on the street and it needed to be moved asap. So C and I left work and ran over to Ballard. It was a beautiful loveseat. Amazing condition. Very comfortable.

It JUST fit in the back of his Subaru wagon and we took it to the studio. Returning to the car we found a $44 parking ticket.

So...no longer free. But cheap.


~Last night was a wonderful dinner with Craig and Daniel. We ended up at Duke's...on the top deck, at Alki. Within 10 minutes of sitting there, Malixe was walking in with a friend. D called down to them and they came up and joined us.

What tripped me out was that Malixe's friend, S, is someone that my former Mentor had wanted me to meet about 6 years ago! The man doesn't live in Seattle...and I figured it would never happen.

Life is funny...isn't it?

And...here is this week's Freewill Astrology.