This is still another photo from the Volunteer Park Conservatory. Wednesday's photo time there was quite the successful treasure hunt. Now why can't I do a drawing or painting like this image?

For the first time in 3 weeks I woke without struggling to cough and clear my chest. Very nice! Also sweet is the fact that this is a quiet, slow morning. I'll head to the studio in a couple hours to work some more on a new piece I began Tuesday evening as well as tweak the large painting a bit.

I'm in awe of some changes that have been slowly evolving. Last week I made a difficult and scary decision and once I did, similar questers have been coming into my life...those who seek or are more comfortable with honesty and being present. Present not only to joy, but also have a courage and willingness to go through the ick because it's important. A few were already in my circle and yet after I moved on, a veil seemed to lift.

I needed to work past the past to step into my future and see the present in a new way.

Another image from the Conservatory...a large gorgeous bell.

I'm doing a little consulting for a data person from another nonprofit. This morning when we tried to make an appointment for next week she reminded me that Monday was a holiday. Big huge score!

In the last month, it seems I've had something (work and/or fun related) booked every single day but one. And that was while hit with the cold from hell. So now, not only am I looking forward to Sunday because I'm keeping it fully open, but Monday as well. Yeah, I'll go in and paint, but that's different. Maybe in those two days I can actually rest enough to finally get rid of the remnants of this chest crud. It will be good to have a few "no plan" days.

Last night a few of us joined Bill and Daniel for their last supper in Seattle. It's always hard saying goodbye to them.

Tonight, dinner with another good friend, tomorrow it's a movie & dinner with someone who has a part of my heart and Saturday I'm helping Phil move.

The winter is moving quickly and no, it's not a complaint.

Looking back at what I've written I see I've created noise when maybe quiet would have been perfect. It's interesting...considering the bell from the conservatory induces silence in me whenever I sit near it.

It was a bright blue sky sunny day and a perfect one for some time spent in the Volunteer Park Conservatory. The light inside was was lovely and dramatic enough that I was never tempted to shoot in color. It was a feast for the camera. I'll be posting a few others over the next week.




Light to dispel the darkness, be it from the sun or from a close friend...always makes for a good day.

Remember this? It's the painting I destroyed on Feb 1st. And that version came from this one.

Here is where it currently stands after this week.




It's not done yet...or it is and I'm simply uncomfortable with parts of it. See? I'm not the sure artist all the time. Honestly, I'm not sure most of the time.

I like the background but wonder if it's cheating - cheating because I question if I marked it up because I'm not comfortable with large plain spaces. Maybe it needs to go smoother...less painting marks. Regarding the blocks, they very much need to be played with some more but I believe I'm on the right path. Finally.

And here is this week's Freewill Astrology.

I'm home for a bit before heading over to the studio and then to a studio visit a few blocks away. Tomorrow I'm off again and am looking forward to some quality time with a good friend.

It feels as if it's been a month of sickness and much busyness between work and outside projects. It'll be nice to get back into my routine where I can settle into a regular practice again. I really miss it.

Crazily, it's still snowing and has been all afternoon. It's not sticking on the streets and that's a plus.

I came home during the middle of the day to grab lunch that I'd forgotten and realized I had put it in the fridge last night instead of the freezer. It bummed me out because I really was looking forward to Stouffer's corn souffle and didn't dare eat it because it had spent the night thawing.

There are so many changes and being all new, I'm not ready to write about some of them. They need to settle in my heart a wee bit longer. Yesterday afternoon at my desk I was in tears. It was tears of joy because I saw my former leather mentor's desire for me beginning to manifest itself. Although over the last few years I have been really, understanding what he taught me, yesterday I had an experience where it all became so much clearer.

I was honored to spend time with someone who emanated the very thing my teacher would talk about. It's a quieter way of being a leather person that goes beyond play parties, boots and cowhide. It has nothing to do with the public face of kink. It was a more private and very cherished way of living. It's not better or worse, but clearly different. I was shown a living example filled with graciousness and the values I strive toward. Today I'm still floored that I was invited to touch it.

Lastly, I feel so incredibly fortunate to have the therapist I do. I really lean on him to tell me when I'm being foolish or am in denial of sorts. Because of all the work we've done these past 7 years I trust him to be upfront with me, even when it stings. And sometimes it will. But in those moments, I love him more because I know he's not afraid to tell me.

About 3 months ago I told him I didn't want him to be Mr. Support Guy unless I explicitly asked for that. I don't want the therapist who sits and listens thinking "well they just need to go thru it and will learn later." I said I was paying him to be blunt and brutally honest with me. If I want support guy I'll ask for it and in the past, I have...for a specky bit.

I'm mentioning this because I've been actively working on changing my spending habits and redoing my monthly budget. I spoke with him about it in our session today. I don't know what the future brings but would rather be somewhat prepared. And one of the things I need to look at is cutting back the $350/m I spend in therapy. But until I surround myself with a few others I can fully trust to tell me the truth, I'm so keeping my shrink, even if it's only once a month. He and my studio rental are the best things I spend money on right now.

So...life overall is good. It is really challenging at times, but those painful moments make the good ones even more magical.

The pantry in the home of a very dear friend. Yesterday afternoon was filled with closeness, wine, food, and watching Funny Face. It was a good, much needed relaxing time, comprised of love and laughter.

Yesterday was my first productive day in the studio for a while. Between a cold that feels it's lasted 2 weeks, and dealing with the pain and pus of a very infected finger this past week, time has passed with no painting. The large painting I showed you Sunday or Monday has undergone another complete transformation. I think...I think I'm finally getting somewhere with it.

Thursday night's Art Walk was crowd-filled and wonderful. I showed the new pieces, interspersed with some older ones. Thanks to Bill, I met another painter in my building. This man works one floor above me and has been painting abstractions for over 20 years. He's a gentle, wise soul and we had a few wonderful conversations. One when I popped into his space after Bill's prompting and another when the painter came down to mine later in the evening.

A second artist who walked into my studio saw my little pink tree and offered to give me his seashell collection for summer tree decorations. Yeah, I think I may be leaving it up all year round. It makes folks happy when they walk in and see it. And it makes me happy whenever I go in and turn it on before working.

Today it's back to the studio. I'm not sure how much more I can do on the big piece because it's quite wet, but I look forward to seeing it again with fresh eyes.

The size has been a massive challenge. I've notice a major discomfort in leaving all that space plain. My reaction is to break it up with marks of many colors. But I'm forcing myself to let the minimal take charge.

This was Thursday night's wall~

Art, sex and a bucket.


For me, art and sex not only come from the same place but is the same thing. It’s been that way pretty much all of my life, first in an unconscious fashion, and then, in the last 15 years, with an increasing awareness. It's the reason why "sex art" subject matter is not more titillating or erotic than what could be considered the mundane. Sex comes from the connectedness, the openness and the intent.


My art and sex are are born of a oneness. And yet for almost a couple years now, I’ve watched, to my great discomfort, a widening chasm.

I haven’t felt sexual for a while. An experience had cut off my sex and left me feeling sexually broken. I still feel that way – so very disconnected from my erotic self that it hurts beyond belief. Masturbation and sex would be used at times to comfort myself and now, it feels as if its disappeared. It leaves one part of me a weakened child.

Surprisingly in spite of this, in the last few years, I’ve had some delicious, spontaneous, very powerful and amazing sexual experiences that have reassured me that my disconnect doesn’t come from a self-imposed wall, yet intead a grieving soul.


During this time the art has increased. My creative foundation is strengthening, and it’s filtering into my core. No matter how much I hurt, who discards me, how alone I feel…each day brings a deeper strength that there is a space that no one can damage. It is mine.

It is my heart. Its blood is made up in part, of paint.

And yet the more my artistic and core self unifies and solidifies, the more remote I’ve felt from my sexuality. I couldn't understand what was happening.

This week I mentioned it to my therapist. He said it made sense. Each mark of the brush is a cut with a scalpel, opening wide the old, scabbed over wounds. The pain felt by my sex comes from the paint. And it is good. The infection and pus must come out before it can heal. It needs to be splayed open.

So I continue to cut and dig.


The bucket has become my saving grace.

Whenever the grief would arise, I’ve learned to dive in and allow it to wash over me. In not fighting, one moves through. But each time this pain would come, I saw it as an infinite black ocean, with no horizon. It would disappear with submission, but while in it, it was seen as a never-ending, forever-happening experience.

A month ago, I had an insight.

It was a bucket, not an ocean. All the pain of my past was in a bucket. Each time the grief hits and the sobs push their way up past my throat, I now immediately see a bucket being emptied.

The bucket is filled with tears. The tears of abandonment, of isolation, of rejection, of loneliness. It’s filled with the tears of hearing “you are too much.” The bucket holds the wet salt of never fitting in and feeling one was born wrong....the waters of being told “you’re incredibly amazing and brilliant and sexy and I want to be a part of your life, but I don’t want to touch you.”

Yes…the tears of being untouchable.
My core wound.

It is all in a bucket. The paint draws up the hurt and each time hurt is felt, the bucket is being emptied a little more. No longer are my old wounds seen as an infinite source of pain yet the knowing of a finiteness...affirming an actual healing is happening.


Art, sex and the bucket.

I'm slowly sorting through a bunch of photos shot during Wednesday's adventure.

"The artist must train not only his eye but also his soul." - Wassily Kandinsky

Wise words indeed. This quote was in my weekly email from Rob Brezsny, along with this week's Freewill Astrology.

I'm getting better but still not up to par. The office is a fondue pot of germy sickness with about half the staff sick and out. I've been able to do about 6 hours each day at work before my head lands on my desk and all I want to do is sleep. But today was better than yesterday and yesterday better than the day before.

I'm taking vacation time for the next two days. Tomorrow is a trip to the Biennial at the Tacoma Art Museum and also the Museum of Glass with the guys. It should be fun, even if I'll need to nap in the car periodically. I'm looking forward to it.

What I truly miss about feeling sick is being able to work in the studio. Other than about 20 minutes of painting on Sunday, I think it's been almost a full week of not touching the canvas. Thursday night is Art Walk and I really, really wanted to tackle the big painting some more as well as attempt to rectify a few other pieces that are alright, but not quite there yet. It didn't happen and I have to let it be okay.

Sunday, while dropping off a rent check I grabbed a brush because I couldn't stand it anymore and had to mush paint around. So the big piece is now pretty much destroyed at this point and that's what folks are going to see. I think I'll tack a sign above it saying: Wicked In Progress

Here's a decent before before shot and a pretty bad after shot of the large painting. The painting in the first photo went through a whole change before I tackled it again on Sunday. I'm excited about painting over the whole thing because I haven't been happy with it. The surface doesn't speak to me. The light...bleh. So Sunday's frenzy can only offer a new beginning.





I am so determined to create something good from this large canvas. It's been kicking my ass bigtime, but it will not win. If I have to I'll keep destroying it until it...it springs forth.

From the ashes...

I am so sick today. Yesterday I thought the cold was getting better and went on a gallery hop. By last night, I was depleted. Today, my boss contacted me and told me not to come to the day long staff/board meeting, yet instead, rest.

About 5pm I needed to get out of the house for a bit and met a couple friends for dinner. The walk back up the hill after dinner was one of the most arduous walks I've taken in a while.

Ugh. I'm close to whining.

Regarding yesterday, I had a profound and most holy experience while in the Kucera Gallery, immersing myself in Michael Dailey's paintings. You can see some of the work here but it doesn't come close to the real work. The magic, strength and impact of his work does not show up in jpegs. The luminosity doesn't even glimmer on screen. If you have a chance, go see these paintings.

Topping off an almost "too much" experience was being able to walk into another room in the same gallery and surround myself in Motherwell. Between Dailey and Motherwell, I had to fight back the sobs.

At this point, I am more determined than ever to expose myself in my work. I have to break through whatever it is that prevents me from full artistic freedom. It's fucking frustrating, especially after what I witnessed yesterday.

We began our gallery tour with a very special photo exhibit at the Gibson Gallery. From their website:

"An exhibit of the clear vision of 20th century master photographers, including works by Hector Acebes, Ansel Adams, Diane Arbus, Ruth Bernhard, Manuel Alvarez Bravo, Wynn Bullock, Walker Evans, Imogen Cunningham, Yousuf Karsh, Jacques-Henri Lartigue, Ruth Orkin, Aaron Siskind, Brett Weston, Minor White, and Marion Post Wolcott."

It was a powerful beginning to a potent afternoon.

Today, in addition to being sick, I'm feeling the effects of being so moved by the work. It's also touched other parts of my heart, the devastated, wounded pieces - the pieces that have been so broken and feel that the whole world is mean. So all in all...today I'm a fucked up mess.

I woke about 5 am (after a seriously great 8 solid hours of sleep) and laid in bed for a while. Just before 5:30 my bed began to rock. It was gentle, similar to the sensation of being in a waterbed. Immediately I thought "earthquake" and yet was surprised that the row of colored glass on my very narrow windowsill, weren't hitting against each other or had fallen.

It's only the second quake I've experienced, with the first being the big Nisqually quake in February of 2001. That one was jarring and did cause damage. I remember getting phenomenally sick just before it - a headache that surpassed most of my migraines tied in with a nasty sense of nausea. All symptoms immediately disappeared when the quake hit.

This morning's shake up had an almost soothing element to it and in that, a surreal quality.

The cold took over and although I went in to pull some needed reports, I was home before 10 am.

Today's mushed, fevered thoughts centered around finances and what I spend on my art each month. Since I've been renting the studio space, about once every three months I need to dig into my credit line to pay a bill or two. And that's not a good way for me to live, considering I was pretty much credit card debt free by 2005.

So I've been thinking about budgets and where I can cut. Also I've been mulling over different ways to work less expensively. While walking home from the grocery store this afternoon I remembered how 13 years ago I would do my oil studies on nice quality thick drawing paper that I'd tear into various sizes and cover with many coats of gesso. I remember the enjoyment and freedom in working quick oils on paper.

It may be time to return to that practice.

In addition to everything else in my life that's had me hopping, today I discovered why I've been exceptionally tired.

It's a cold.

I'm working my butt off trying to fight it because there is so much that needs to get done, sick or not. And I vote for not. So today has been filled with lots of Traditional Medicinals teas and popping loads of Zicam although I fear that it would have been more effective if I began this regime a day earlier.

But, I refuse to concede defeat.

My coworker's shoe.

Busy time at work. It almost feels like Santa's workshop.

I've been sleeping well...but for the last week I've been waking about 4am and can't always return to sleep. It makes it difficult to head into the studio after a long work day because by 4 pm I feel like a fizzled out little wind-up toy. So this evening is early dinner and early to bed.

Spent a good chunk of time painting the entire weekend. On Sunday, I was in a groove. After a few hours, incredibly committed to begin resolving the really large painting, attacking the canvas, mixing gobs of paint and then...nothing. The lights went out, not only on our floor but all six floors of the entire south side of our building. I attempted to work by window light but needed to pack it up after a half hour. It was too difficult to see what color was being mixed.

Great conversation with one painter on Saturday and another on Sunday. The connections are good.

Took part in a memorial of sorts for a good friend's friend which involved driving over 20 miles to hit a specific fast food fish joint. It was a nice evening.

I'm really thrilled a few good friends are in town for a while.

The lack of words in the last few entries came from a shyness that came over me after the article came out. Shy and a little exposed. I needed to curl in for a specky bit but am coming out of it now.

I've been sitting on some news for over a month and today am happy to share it with you. The Stranger does a yearly auction to raise money for various nonprofits. This year, the money raised went to Treehouse For Kids. In addition to some amazing donations from various businesses, The Stranger also auctions off reviews, profiles, news features and their front cover.

After checking in with my therapist because it felt like a crazy idea, I ended up bidding and winning the artist profile. Jen Graves, the arts writer, came by my studio last week where we spent a wonderful few hours talking and showing her my work, spanning the last decade.

Graves was a joy to speak with. I was pretty nervous but after a few minutes her presence put me at ease and gave me the space to open up. Having enjoyed her writing for quite a while, I sensed I was in good hands.

The profile came out in this week's issue. You can read it here.


For a painter who, even 4 years ago had come to a place where it became difficult to share my paintings, this has been a risky and yet thrilling ride.

It was a very grey morning, the city covered in a thick coat of fog. I noticed the first sign of color at 7:30 am as we approached the theater and saw theater guy placing the last letter up on the marquee. The red light radiated the warmth and joy in the hearts of all who waited to enter.

A powerful day.

New painting begun on Thursday evening.

These paintings are my teachers. In them, I've been learning greater patience...sitting, looking, and when least expected, a solution arises. Other lessons have to do with trust and a major mental readjustment of what constitutes work ethic and what makes a piece valid.

Each studio session reveals a greater depth in what these paintings are trying to say. It's eye opening. I'm slowly watching the story unfold and in this, it doesn't surprise me that in the last month, getting to the studio has become an immense challenge.


These paintings exemplify something I struggle with...a way of sharing my heart, exposing myself, when words fall short.

Sign of the times

Next month, I'll have been in my apartment 4 years. It's a neighborhood of homes and apartment buildings. There are a few apt. buildings that I have NEVER seen For Rent signs out...until last month, or last week, such as the one depicted. 3 of them within a half a block. 2 other buildings, I've only seen vacancy signs maybe 2 or 3 times in 3 1/2 years, and they each have had openings a couple different times in the last two months.

Reading about the various hits from the state of our economy is always sobering. But thus far, none more than seeing a major university close its doors to new students for the next term. You can read about it here.

Of course, athletes will be able to begin the spring term. I get it. Athletics bring in the dollars and it's another example of how fucked up our personal values are.

The whole thing makes me cringe.

I'm tired and that means a short, highly uninspired entry for you.

It's only Thursday but it is the end of my work week. It has been a full week, physically and emotionally. The weekend is packed with some planned quiet time, studio painting time and play time. If things work out, although one of my favorite play partners won't be around, I may have some happy remembrances Monday. Next week is also a big week.

Holiday on Monday (hope to paint and regroup), Inauguration Day on Tuesday, and I will be watching and celebrating here with 3 of my coworkers, enjoying sausage egg strata and "Blanquette de Limoux". On the day after...I'll share some other news.

Now I'm looking forward to a glass of chianti and a plate of spaghetti and meatballs at a little place around the corner from my house.

Yesterday was very busy and today has become another time-flying kind of day but I did want to put up a little something. So here is an image of a belated birthday treat gifted to me last night from one of my favorite restaurants, Table 219.

Yesterday, in about 2 weeks, was the first day with no plans. I considered going into the studio but by 1pm, decided to have a very lazy day, curled up in my chair. A half hour later I knew I had to get down to my work space, threw on my painting clothes and was at the studio before 2pm.

It was a fairly dark day…misty, low ceiling. I'd decided to keep the pink feather tree up until the light comes back in the spring so I had the tree lights on as well.

I began three new paintings. About 3:00 my studio mate came in, very excited to see I hadn't removed the tree yet. KPLU's jazz was playing on the radio and we each quietly worked away. The heat strangely kept coming on which left us comfortably toasty. Normally it only comes on about 3 times a day and so you can feel a slight chill in between those times. An hour later, I couldn't paint anymore due to very wet canvases. Cleaning my brushes, I announced I was leaving.

"Already?"

"Yeah, not sure what else I can work on."

Sitting down, I stared at the new paintings and although I couldn't paint, wasn't ready to leave. The energy in the room created a cozy blanket. It felt as if I was sitting in a living room in front of a fireplace on a cold winter's day. In that moment, I mentally craved a hot mocha. A few minutes later my studio mate said "I really want a hot chocolate."

"You too? I was literally just thinking about it. Why don't I run out and get some?"

I returned with 2 drinks and decided to prep three more canvasses. Then I sat some more…staring at the large 3foot by 5 foot painting. I had dreamt of that painting a week or two ago and had seen it complete. But the crazy thing is all of a sudden I knew what needed to be done and it meant going an entirely different direction.

So I pulled out the brushes I had cleaned an hour earlier, mixed more paint and painted vigorously. By the end, I stood back and realized it is very close to complete. I am still going to do a new painting based on the completed dream painting, but it wasn't destined to be this large canvas.

It was a magical afternoon in the studio. Even my studio mate commented a few times on how delicious it felt. "I don't know if it's the weather, the heat, the jazz or the tree lights but it's snuggly" she said. And it was. We each felt wrapped in down comforters, painting and drinking our chocolate.


This painting you see is one I began a few days before the end of 2008 and completed it last week. After struggling with it for the last few weeks, it's character has changed quite a bit.

I learned a big lesson on my birthday...

For the week before, opportunities arose and I jumped on them. Plans were made. It was a very full week of being social.

Underneath, I could feel much pain but decided to plow through and not give it space. I'm exhausted...tired of hurting and of working on the hurt. So I ran by staying busy and having fun. Thing is, you can never escape what you need to face. All you can do is postpone it. The longer it's kept at bay, the harder it hits.

Over the last 4 or 5 years, I've learned to let myself feel the pain when it comes up. And a few times, I even dove in...head first. From experience, I know that when the waves of hurt come, if I go into it, it'll wash over me. I may feel out of control...as if I'm drowning. It does get scary and at times downright terrifying but if I don't fight it, it will pass.

An ebb and flow.


When pain would arise, if possible, I would cancel plans...be with myself and honor what needs to be experienced. This time, I wanted no part of it. So instead, I stayed busy. Played. Had fun. The whole while, everything was bubbling up underneath.

It only took three glasses of wine in 3 hours at Tuesday's birthday dinner to bring it up. As soon as I walked into my home after dinner, I was overtaken. Everything came crashing down...consumed with grief, pain and embarrassment. I felt so much shame to still be hurting. Utter mortification.

I connected in a long email with a friend and let some of it out.

When wounds are deep...traumatic, healing is not a quick fix. Pills or meetings or even therapy are not going to work by themselves. I have to be willing to feel the extent of the loss...the abandonment, the isolation. The more substantial the cuts, the more layers of pain one needs to go thru. Cycles. Peeling each away...

Going deeper into a wound a little at a time.

In a world that's used to instant messages, fast food, and quick fixes...there is no way to twitter through healing.

And yet, for my birthday, I attempted to shield myself from some harsh memories because I felt enough was enough. I was/am so over doing this emotional work, so fed up with flashes that arise and am tired of feeling a hurt heart, even when it's not a moment of crippling pain. In doing so, I made myself physically ill. What felt like a surprise hangover turned into a vicious 24 hours of body rebellion. On Wednesday, the more I opened myself to the grief that had to be felt, the better my physical self became.

I need to be diligent to letting myself feel it all and not be ashamed of the size of the wound or the amount of the pain it brings forth. It is what it is. My shrink still attempts to drive the fact home that it is not my fault and at the same time, I am not a victim. It's just life. The more I'm willing to really sink my teeth into the deeper parts of life, the greater the chance of being banged up.

Partaking of life in such a risky way carries responsibility...a duty to one's self - a heightened need to remain brutally honest and remain open, as well as tossing out fictitious time limits and working to trust the journey. Patience.

In other words, really loving myself.

Last night's Art Walk.

Because First Thursday fell on a holiday, Art Walk was postponed for a week. The information didn't really get out and so some studios were open last week and others, like mine, this week. It made for smaller crowds which was fine. I was really tired and didn't plan on staying long but ended up in a few fun conversations and hung out for about three hours.

I met an artist, who had just picked up his work from a previous show. We fell for each other's stuff and he kept suggesting we do a show together.

And, I finally had the opportunity to meet Sharon who I've been slowly getting to know via blogland. I've really enjoyed some of the work she's shown in her blog and tomorrow night I'll have the opportunity to see it in person in Georgetown. She walked in, recognized me from my photos and introduced herself. We clicked immediately and look forward to having longer conversations.

There is a painting I've been working on and didn't think it was finished. Last night, I propped it against the big easel, just beneath the big painting that's still in progress. Something happened. During the evening, I kept glancing at the little canvas and realized...the painting is complete. It won't be touched. Other than the day I began it, I haven't taken photos of it. Each painting session would bring drastic changes. It's returned to a simpler state...with a rawness in some of the line. And in that, it will remain.

One of my birthday gifts from a good friend. He signed the birthday card in a unique way...by making a print of his penis for me, in paint. (The dark circle is where I blacked out his initials...and did check in with him first before posting).

This is definitely getting framed. It's quite lovely in person. And you can feel the variation in paint texture when running your fingertips over it.

If you click on the photo, you can even see his hair on his balls.

A really busy day at work but here's a quick post.

This morning I went to renew my drivers license, not looking forward to sitting and waiting. An older gentleman, 62 years old, sat next to me and we began talking. He spoke of the weather and politics. Although I didn't agree with some of his views, I was enchanted with his energy. There was a peace and warmth that radiated from him.

After a bit, he began to speak of his love for the piano and how he plays everyday.

He said his mother always played. She had the talent and a fine ear. He wanted to play when he was little but wasn't allowed to because he was a boy and was told the piano was for girls.

He then ended up in a series of foster homes, each with a piano. At each new home he'd try to sit and play, hungry to learn, again told, over and over, the piano was for girls. I looked at him, puzzled, and he said that at that time, in the african american community he was from, piano was seen as a feminine act.

He ended up in reform school and they offered music classes. He went to sign up for the piano and was told he couldn't. It's for girls. One time, he went into the piano room to sit down and play. He was caught and thrown into an isolation room for 24 hours. Then he was told that if he wanted to learn music, he could learn the saxophone.

At 21 years old...in his own apartment, he scraped together the money for a piano...actually an electric keyboard and he's been playing every day since.

Listening to his story, his words uttered so calmly, brought first a sadness and then joy into my heart. At that point, my number was called and I was a little annoyed that our conversation needed to end. I stood up, grabbed his hand and thanked him for sharing his time with me.

He's been on my mind ever since. A wonderful little moment with a stranger. And upon walking back into the office, somehow, his story inspired me to do a new painting project in addition to my current series.

We never know how or where our muse will appear.

The image is chocolate from Spain, brought to us by a coworker who spent last week in Europe. It is some type of cracker coated in this deep, dark, chocolate. Think of chocolate covered pretzels...more refined. Divine.

A photo from last night's fabulous dinner for 8 at Racha Thai on Mercer before we attended the performance of You Can't Take It With You at The Seattle Rep.

Today, a studio tour with Lisa and Alan, followed by brunch and then tonight, off to Central Cinema for a screening of Fight Club, complete with food and drink service at our seats.

I've found it important to document my activities this week, in a way to publicly reclaim my birthday. For some long time readers, you know that I came to a point where I couldn't celebrate this time. About 3 or 4 years ago, I even called my birthday a recognition of the day I wished I hadn't been born.

With much blood, sweat and tears, it's slowly changing. And although it wasn't an intentional planning, this week has become an event-laden one, with something very different and festive each night.

Last night was a late night and so I've been feeling pretty wiped most of the day. It was a wonderful evening but I have no time to write about it because I'm headed out the door. Tonight, is You Can't Take It With You at the Seattle Rep with another group. We had tickets for a show the Monday before Christmas but with the storm, travel was near impossible. We managed to switch them for this evening's performance.

Have a good evening.

Just a few things...


~I woke yesterday morning with the big painting in my head...completed. It's been a really difficult piece and so it was a wonderful surprise to have it finished behind my eyes. Today, I went in to attempt the vision and realized it's going to take days of building up paint. But I've begun.

~Still with painting...working the new more minimal paintings for the last few months made me wonder if I had the right tool for the job. I use natural bristles and they've been wonderful. But with these I feel I've been fighting with the paint. I purchased new brushes recently and finally tried them out this week. These synthetic hair brushes make all the difference in the world. I wouldn't use them for all my paintings, but with large planes of color, the paint glides. Nice.

~Packed week coming up. I have plans every night between now and my birthday, next Tuesday. Films, plays, dinners...busy girl. Tonight I get to meet Lisa of Cinekink and her husband Alan. Cinekink is in Seattle for 2 nights. Yeah!

~I so have to clean my house.

~Life is hard. Although I try to be excessively diligent at maintaining a certain level of integrity and mindfulness...sometimes I just step in shit. What's worse are the times when I'm the one who has thrown the shit in my own path.

~Back to work next week. This week off has spoiled me.

~I'm really grateful for the people who have come into my life this year as well as for my older friends. J from the northeast just sent me an email as I was writing this entry. Her kindness...her gentleness...floors me. Having her back in my life is like being wrapped in a down comforter while sitting in front of a toasty fire. I know I'm not easy to be with, and also know I've really pulled away. It comes not from a stuck up place but a wounded one. I'm not sure of my footing nor am I sure where I fit at times. Some days I feel so broken. And other days...so strong.

~Speaking of strong, something happened on one of those feeling strong days and because of it, I'll have something cool to share with you in a few weeks. It was a ballsy move on my part.

~I've been thinking about sex a lot.

I heard a familiar sound this afternoon...and smiled. It was the annual neighborhood bagpipe brigade. Each New Year's Day while in this apartment, I've seen them, marching and playing. Today, they walked into the building across the street, stayed for about 5 minutes and walked out, again, continuing their fun.