My friend left today...

Due to life stuff, I've been taking a break by pulling back from the computer for a bit and drastically cutting my surfing time. In doing so, I've discovered a renewed focus without the incessant mind-flittering that wouldn't let me tackle anything at length. It's changed the time I spend in the studio as well as my day gig, making each more productive.

I'm not sure if and how this will change my blogging habits. Time will tell.

It's been a time of stepping away. Regrouping. Thinking. Sensing. Enjoying wonderful moments. Grieving. Feeling immense sadness. And anger. Anger at a culture that doesn't allow a natural space for grief, yet expects people to get over it quickly. We've become a society that needs to live at a hyperspeed pace, consuming distraction after distraction. In that, we lose the organic process of living because it's become easy to feed the need to manufacture happiness.

I am trying to find my place...and footing in such a world.

This week's Freewill Astrology.

Yesterday was a full and pleasant day.

I left the office just after 10 am and didn't get home until 9pm where I promptly peeled off my clothes and crawled into bed. It was a really nice time with Ian, visiting from Boston. We spent many hours in the Seattle Art Museum and then wandered Pioneer Square. I wanted to show him the Gee's Bend quilts at the Greg Kucera Gallery and we immersed ourselves in them for a while. It's my third visit to the quilts and each time, I am deeply moved.

Normally, while hitting the galleries or walking around I'll receive ideas for future work. Yesterday, I was inundated with visions for new projects. It was almost overwhelming, and very exciting.

This afternoon is spent sitting on a panel for a public art project for a local school and then Saturday, supposedly, is a photo shoot in the studio. First Thursday is next week and there is much I want to accomplish with the current batch of new paintings.

It's a very busy time.

For a while yesterday, troubling thoughts remained at bay. I know I could fully distract myself and in that, never deal with what needs to be tackled, but that's not how I'm made. Normally, I'll go to the other extreme. Yet these mini-vacations are needed and so I attempt to balance out the time to work...on my art, on me, and take little breathers.

After the Kucera Gallery yesterday we popped into the studio. Ian was curious to see the progress the big painting has made. While there, I began pulling other pieces out...scattered in the space. In looking and talking, I saw two pieces that need to be pursued further...the Schoolyard Paintings. These two are done, but in that moment realized that I put them down because it was much too painful to return to that little series.

I can't hide from them and will have to begin again, knowing that in moving the paint around, even without a clear conclusion in my head, pieces...the blocks, will fall into place. I've said it before but it's so true - painting is really becoming my greatest life teacher. My therapist told me last year that painting was my meditation...my zazen. It is becoming so.

Somewhat underexposed photos of my latest work in progress...

The first three are 12"x16"







12"x24"



Remember the 3'x5' painting I'm still toiling with? I haven't documented all the changes but this was from the beginning of January, and here again at the beginning of February, and then it changed to yellow in early March.

This is where it's now headed...



And here is a detail...





I'm curious to see where they all end up.

Sometimes I don't know how to live in this world or connect to people when much around me feels so cruel. It makes me afraid and I pull back. I come to a place where everything feels dangerous and I don't know who to trust.

For over a month now I've been feeling my insides slowly shut down and have had to push myself to attempt a semblance of openness. I don't want to be a robot nor someone who performs on command. And yet, it's what I feel is happening in those times where I need to be with others.

I don't know how to keep my heart open and not wall myself up right now. I don't want to become what I've been on the receiving end of in my past...and yet I understand how it can happen because I'm really fighting it, trying not to let frozenness overtake me.

I don't want pain and grief to leave me cold yet really need to learn how to love...in the midst of it.

And as I'm wrapping up this little entry, Calling All Angels performed by The Wailin' Jennys is playing on Radio Paradise.

Late Saturday afternoon at Golden Gardens Park near Shilshole Bay...

Friday's sunset from the corner of my street.

Another question answered.

Russell, one of my favorite contemporary artists and you can check out his work here, asked:

"here's a twofer:

which currently informs your artwork more; content or form? why? has this always been the case?

if we assume it's true that all artwork, regardless of content, is political, can you show or describe for us an example of your work that you feel is the most unassuming yet politically subversive piece you've created in your life as an artist since you first became a politically aware adult?"

Two questions and I need to create two separate entries. Here is the first answer.

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I've been mulling your question over for almost 3 weeks. I would have answered "content" with an addition. I don't really see content and form as two different things. Even if it's form wouldn't the form be the content?

And then I think about my answer to Holly's question "what am I trying to express in my art?" And I answered honesty.

Honesty would be the content, no?

Last week in the studio, I returned to something I hadn't done in a while. With a fresh canvas, I picked up my brush and just moved my hand, hoping an idea...the form, the content would develop from the marks that appeared. And thus it did.

After a brilliant 4 hour conversation with Sharon last Friday, she gave me a new thought. Process. Process informs my work. It's something I hadn't considered. Process is content.

This week, Bill posted a photograph that reminded me of one of my favorite painters, Giorgio Morandi. I've been thinking a lot about Morandi these last few days. He worked the same objects over and over. To me, this seems to be about process. The determination to capture that elusive something...it's process.

Last September I returned to still life, determined to paint the same pitcher over and over. It lasted about 3 weeks, and then the pitcher turned into a rectangle. A window. A door. A block. Me. The Inuit myth of Sedna...whose limbs were cut off by one she trusted and cast out of the boat to fall into the dark cold ocean where, while in the midst of hell, she is required to create life or die.

The lone rectangle would morph and morph again. Now there are jars in boxes, in windows. Matt, upon seeing the latest work two days ago...called them iconic. An elevation of the vessels we each are. And what do we hold inside? Or are we empty?

I was struggling with words. When painting rectangles it felt I was working in unknown territory. Abstraction. Last week I saw how my rectangles are still lifes. Morandi stated "Nothing is more abstract than reality." It's all the same.

Viewing my abstractions as still lifes allows me a more solid grasp and in that, I can return to the ethereal. Or I try.

But, it's all process. What am I feeling? How do I bring my entire self to the work? Does it really matter what the physical subject of the painting is or is it more important that I paint?

What I've always found unsettling about my work is when I spend too much time comparing myself to other artists. I know, it's not a good thing to do. I see others, driven by a single vision. They decide they'll paint X, and work through it until it's manifested whereas I may have a vision and begin in that frame but more often than not, if it's not a first shot painting (complete within the first or second sitting) it will change dramatically with almost every studio time. I felt I wasn't a real artist because I didn't have the discipline to plod through yet instead feel distracted and unfocused.

Russell, in churning your question over for the last few weeks, and in the thoughtful discussion with Sharon last week, I've come to the realization that process is my content and as such, it offers the gift of grace for my practice...my art. It's all about the journey. Exploration. Each painting is a chapter and every inhale and exhale leading up to a completed piece is the text that fills the pages.

This was a really tough question for me to answer because although I'm 49, as an artist I feel like a baby learning to walk. I don't yet have the luxury of years of constant, intense practice that would assist with an answer. So, my answer is based on the now and the recent past.


Thank you so much Russell. And now, extra mulling time for your second question!

This photo of one of my happy hour companions, was taken last week at Barrio's, a new restaurant on 12th and Madison. It has nothing to do with this entry but I've meant to post it because I like it.

Yesterday, I left work in the late morning to take some needed quiet time...without deadlines or expectations. At 2 pm, I found myself in the studio and didn't get home until 7ish. It was wonderful spending that length of time painting...with an hour for a surprise dinner with Matt, Chris, Shannon and Ian who is visiting from Boston. They were a block away from the studio, headed for food before the Sounders opening game down the street. So they came up, and we spent a wee bit of time in the studio before we walked around the corner for killer bbq.

10 minutes before Matt called me for dinner, I almost called him to see if they had food plans before the game. Then, I figured they had and chose not to call. So when the cell rang it was a really nice surprise.

By the way, our weather finally began to warm up to spring-like temps the evening that Ian flew into town. I've decided he's our spring good luck charm and it's wonderful having him in town for a while.

The studio time was amazing. It's the first time in months where I didn't feel fidgety and distracted. A new painting begun, a second reworked, and I finally went in a tackled the really large painting that hasn't been touched in a month. The entire thing is now different, including it's now a vertical instead of a horizontal piece.

I am trying to document the evolution of this really big painting. It's the one painting that keeps changing pretty drastically each time I've gone into it.

The big painting has been a real challenge because of the amount of surface. I haven't been pleased with how I've been laying large quantity of paint and so it's an ongoing exploration.

My office...



...or more accurately, my Pez with a peek into my office.

See? Although my photo passion is b&w I do have lots of color in my life. Color is very important to me. So much so that I become emotionally affected by color. Some soothes me, others make me gleeful, and there are even certain colors, in context, that rub me wrong and leave me feeling anxious or unsafe.

Color is a powerful tool.

And there is a lot of color in black and white.

This week's Freewill Astrology.

From the Brezsny email:

"Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's need, but not every man's greed." - Mahatma Gandhi

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It's a crazy month of many social events. My calendar is filling up and each time I mark it, I work to balance it with painting, being driven with studio time. You see, I've wasted most of my life not painting. And I want to be good. Really good. Not sure if I can be, but I can't not try. It's going to take a buttload of discipline and work.

Lately I've been losing focus quickly and so it's even more important to get myself into the studio on a daily basis, regardless of the duration.

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I picked up the photograph for SEAF from the frame shop last night. Between the exceptional printing job from Moon Photo and the fabulous framing from Gallery Frames, I was dumbstruck. In that moment, my photo felt like a professional piece. It put me in a difference perspective regarding my photography. When the thoughts are more cohesive, I'll share here.

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Had a brilliant dinner experience with an old friend. We only get together every 3 months or so and it's always a pleasure. The first time I met him was while I was a leather student, back in the summer of 2001 (I think). My teacher was hosting a wedding for dear friends of mine.

During the reception, I walked down into the dungeon and noticed a naked boy locked in the cage. I think he was hogtied.

Walking up to the cage I looked at him and put my face close to the bars. "Hi".
He looked up at me "You have beautiful hair."

My hair was coppery and down to the middle of my back at the time.

That was our first meeting and pretty much the extent of our conversation. And although there was an element of the surreal, it also felt perfectly natural.

After the reception I spent the remainder of the weekend locked in that very cage and B was moved back to the cell. I only saw him when he was let out for play.

If I remember correctly, he extended his one week in the dungeon to two.

Those were hot times. And B, has been my godsend each time we get together. We feed each other's strangeness and have similar levels of intensity. He's one of those rare people that I can have a yelling, screaming match with and still love each other because we aren't threatened by each other's anger.

And although it's been years since we've played (due to life stuff for each of us), I still have fond memories. Our play would happen spontaneously in the kitchen with whatever he could grab. Most of the time it was the Italian wooden rolling pin.

To this day I can't pick one up without getting turned on. There was definitely a love/hate relationship with that heavy piece of wood.

A little painting from about 10 days ago. Painting has been really rough for the last week. I'm working and in that, it feels like nothing else is. It's one of those "I'm crazy to think I can paint" times but I persist.






Things are busy at work...getting ready to pull a massive, complicated query, or queery as my coworker calls 'em. But I figured lunch was in order before immersing myself in a spreadsheet. So here I am.

Spring is taking it's sweet time. Where are the blooms and the warmth? By now, the streets would be filled with flowering trees. It's definitely been an odd winter.

Dan Savage is going to run for mayor...with reasoning that is pure Savage.

It's sugar central in the office today. Our networks guy (from an outside company) decided we needed two birthday cakes left over from a weekend party and they are now sitting in our refrigerator. They are quite delish. Well the lemon cheesecake was. It makes good breakfast food. When I'm through typing I'll have to sample a small piece of the chocolate with truffles on top.

A coworker brought in a buttload of Top Pot Donuts this morning.

There are still dark chocolate covered macadamias from someone's Hawaii trip.

Another coworker handed out Pez's last week. My yellow duck Pez is currently glaring at me, taunting me to eat him.

The sun is shining...and I received some of the best, deepest, and longest hugs this morning.

For a friend...

An interesting weekend...one of connections.

It began with a brilliant and much needed dinner with another artist. We ended up spending 4 hours talking about art. I didn't realize how hungry I was for that until she and I immersed in talk. It was amazing. It doesn't hurt that I'm in awe of her work. Check out Dimensions Variable. Part of our conversation was discussion of the next March question I need to answer, regarding content and form. Hopefully, in the next few days I'll have the words.

Then Saturday and part of Sunday was spent in an odd space, feeling a continued unsettling old connection. Powerful stuff.

I did manage to paint a bit (not as much as I intended) and today was a D&M day. We do those once every few months and it's always special. Today's was the best thus far. Unplanned, it was history day.

I went with him to see Milk, because he hadn't seen it yet and he was living in the SF area during that time. After the film, we ate, drank and talked a bunch...about the mid to late '70's in San Francisco (it was wonderful to listen to his stories), our creative process, and then about sex.

For some reason, a few personal memories came up that I hadn't really spoken of previously. They were/are part of my leather history and D is someone I can share those with. Today I did. Although our sexual cultures are close, we are almost a generation apart (culturally, not chronological years). But being more similar than they are with others, we always connect in this sense and each had tears in our eyes while listening to each other.

D was the first stranger I met that upon meeting, saw the ambiguous sexual me and it wasn't a big deal, yet instead an is.

And today was one of those rare afternoons where I didn't feel like a sexual freak because there is someone who gets where I come from...leather-wise. It was wonderful walking down memory lane, through the happy and sad times. It doesn't happen often but when it does, it reminds me of the legacy I carry, and reaffirms that just because it's different from a lot of what we see now, it doesn't mean it's gone. As long as we continue to adapt, it will never disappear. The substance of our leather is embedded in our spirit.

And...that is one of the lessons of my former mentor that has been making itself known for the last 6 months...in a powerful way.

In case anyone begins to get their panties into a twist because I've been hearing the same song and dance for the the whole time I've been a leatherperson, this has nothing to do with old/new guard. I don't believe in those but am acutely aware of differences in sexual cultures...each unique with a few similarities and all perfect for those drawn to whatever they are drawn to. There is no "better than thou." And yes, we can play nice together.

So...it was a weekend that began with a bang, turned head-banging, and ended with an up beat.

Chris asked: What makes you happy? What THRILLS you?

Many, many things. Here are a few:


kindness of strangers - a smile on the bus
awareness we aren't one but more of an us
touches and cuddling - red wine and friends near
providing a warmth and a sense of good cheer
the water, and boating and walking the shore
it gives calm and pleasure, I always want more
the studio windows, the light and the view
noguchi's black sun and the viaduct too
painting away or hands dusted in charcoal
the magic art moments when I'm on a roll
attached to the cross hearing cracks in the air
feel the leather slice into my back that is bare
the dogs in the neighborhood walking their owners
and anytime I can feel somebody's boner


Thanks Chris. This was fun.

Another question answered...

Allan asked:

Do you find that your sexual and artistic/creative drives ever synchronize?
That is, if you're having a tough time in the studio, does that necessarily translate to a tough time when it comes to play sessions?

Finally, if there IS a link between the two ... does one tend to follow the other?

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My art and sex drives aren't so much about synchronization. The word I would use is synergy.

Normally, my libido is always pretty high. And when I paint or draw, it jumps even higher. They feed into each other and it's a thrilling place to be. A total rush. It is strange answering this question now because the grief I'm dealing with has left my libido shot. I feel sexually repulsive…and incredibly ugly. I'm disconnected from my sex but not from the art. It feeds me. I have no doubt that my sex will be raring to go once I heal more...and in the last week, I've noticed it coming back a little at a time. It'll get there. So this current time in my life is…well, it just is.

I wrote about this in Art, Sex and a Bucket.

Yes I believe that not only is there a link between sexual and creative drive, but I fully believe they come from the same source...the same deep fire within my belly, which is why I can't compartmentalize or have contained, limited fetishes.

I can list off boots, cigars, belts, rope, black skin, etc, but it's all of that and SO much more. It's the quick smell of salt in the air or the way the sunlight hits a shadowed corner. It's a surprising taste treat shared with a group of friends. It's letting my body be used as a safe place for someone to experiment with their sex. It's feeling the tension as I scrape old paint off the glass palette or squeezing fresh color out of the tube. It's the shared space of service and feeling another joyfully accept my service.

It's...well, sex/art is infinite. And it's sacred.

Normally, as long as I'm really open and present, there is so much that turns me on. Attraction/creative inspiration/sexual excitement can appear anywhere. Of course right now I have walls up and am slowly working on rebuilding trust. Therefore, I am shielding myself from most of the sex that life has to offer. In time, it will come. And then, so will I.


Thanks for asking Allan!

First, here is this week's Freewill Astrology.

March is questions month, although I'm happy to answer questions any time of the year.

I received a few questions regarding my art and, although each different, are somewhat tied together. So I wasn't sure how to answer and deliberated throwing 3 of the questions together versus keeping them separate. I've been mulling them over for the last 10 days and finally decided that even though each speak to the other, I'll answer them individually.


Holly asked:

"...I'm looking at the intersection of abstraction and spiritual content, and wondering how it's different for you to work this way-- the big swaths of nuanced color, the rectangles. i'm reminded of yves klein's BLUE MONOCHROME at MoMA, the last time i saw it, i just stood there and wept quietly for about 15 minutes. i still don't know why, but it was a profoundly moving experience of pure color. i'd seen it before, and it hadn't made much impression. then, a few years ago, pow!

i'm curious whether you know what you are trying to express as you move through the process of abstract expression."

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Delving into abstraction is still new for me and so the answer is based on my young experience. I wonder if and how it would evolve 5, 10 and 20 years from now.


In addition, since I've begun playing with figurative painting again (such as the still lifes in the last entry), I see how that has changed as well, regarding intent.

Whether I choose to paint abstractly or with more representation, what I attempt to express is the same - honesty.

Standing at the easel with a fresh canvas, the first thing I do is look within, try to be acutely aware about what I'm emotionally feeling in that moment and wonder how it can be pulled out in paint, whether it's rectangles or jars. From there, I'll make choices of composition and color in an attempt to convey my inner world.

This more conscious approach to painting is fairly recent, having begun in 2006 with the cancer scare.

What I have noticed is that the deeper and greater the wound, the more challenging it is to touch it and then attempt to bring it out on canvas. There were a few paintings that were pivotal regardless of whether it may appear to outwardly be a weak piece. I judge them as highly successful because of what they drew out of me. If I can continue a discipline of working toward greater exposure on canvas, then it is another step toward self-mastery.


Regarding your experience at MoMA, I've had a few of those over the years. Sometimes with figurative work and other times abstract. But yeah, it hits you like a ton of bricks. :-)

The first time was in the MFA in Boston. I walked into a room and saw Carmelina painted by Matisse and immediately began to cry. That was back in the mid nineties. The second was in April 2006, in Chelsea, walking into a gallery that was filled with Amy Sillman's work. Incredibly intense.

Then, with Lauri Chambers at the Francine Seders Gallery a few months back.

(sidenote: as I opened up the web page with her paintings, I was once again transfixed and my breath caught in my throat).

And the most recent powerful experience was in January while gallery hopping with Bill and we walked into the Kucera Gallery and were enveloped in Michael Dailey's brilliant, massive, glowing abstractions. The jpegs don't even touch the power in the paintings.

What is it that resonated and touched my soul in such a profound way? They all felt like home.


I believe that spiritual...of the spirit, is the place that touches deepest. Again - it's home.

Who are we? Dare we touch not only the joyful but the scariest, blackest spaces that actually inform our actions? How intimate can we become...first with ourselves? How intimate can I become with my painting? And with that, attempt to learn greater techniques that will enhance the openness I attempt to convey. That's my challenge.


Holly, thanks so much for asking. Your question has really pushed me to delve into my intentions and find a way to articulate it. It was a wonderful gift.

Clocks moved ahead and that means longer days. It didn't begin to get dark until about 7:30 this evening. The day was mixed with flurries and bright sun.

This afternoon, I stopped into the bookstore to pick up an art book that I've coveted for 14 years. I first saw this book back in '95. One of my painting profs would always bring out a bunch of art books during our studio classes. At that time I fell in love with the book and since then would always think about it. Interestingly, I wasn't into all the paintings depicted, but there were a few that spoke to me.

The bookstore called and told me my book was in and so I picked it up late this afternoon between the studio and dinner. While waiting for Phil and his D. at Septieme, I looked at all the images. Each one now resonates strongly with me. And it was an interesting thing to begin reading, considering I worked 2 new paintings this weekend...in a new direction.

The book?
Bay Area Figurative Art 1950-1965

God I love, love, love this book.


Being emotionally spent after this big week, I needed to take a break from the harshness of working the abstracts. I had a couple 9x12 canvases that I'd been using for color studies. Each had one rectangle on it.

Although I was still working 2 larger abstracts yesterday I decided to also return to still lifes because I needed light and playfulness without having to dig deep.




Even though it is still work, it also felt like a painting vacation.

It's a bright sunny March morning.

I wanted a little more than my bowl of oatmeal for breakfast and wasn't sure what to have. A while later I remembered there were some hard boiled eggs in the refrigerator. The thought of an egg brought simple joy.

It needed to be captured before it was devoured.

The Violence Within

Huge insights...

Emotionally, it's been an exceptionally interesting and challenging month. Painting "The School Yard" really brought a lot to the forefront. The work I've been doing since has upped the stakes and sliced even deeper into wounds.

I've said this over the years and it's incredibly true - when we choose to take the time to work on ourselves, it really is like peeling an onion. We strip away a layer, see something new and rest in it a bit thinking "aha, that's it". But if we continue…there is always another layer. Down and down we go.

Over the weekend I felt something new. Unsettling. Scary. And very real.

9 years ago, when I began training with my leather Teacher, he saw the anger in me and attempted to push it out. I didn't even feel it at the time. Yes, I'd get angry at circumstances, but he tried to tell me of a deep anger.

Since then, with all the work in years of therapy, I've been able to begin recognizing that anger. With each passing month I saw with greater clarity when a button was pushed and how it really was rubbing something ancient, not only the situation in the present.

This past Sunday I woke and felt the depth of my rage. Rage isn't really a good word for it. It was violence. Red, hot violence.

When pain hits, I know to move through it. But the violence is inside and not a thing on the outside I can pass through. Despair began to take over because I wondered how I'd remove this fiery ball of hell. Monday, I was getting ready for work and out of nowhere I burst into tears. I recognized another harsh truth: I truly, utterly hated myself. And it confused me. It was real but also felt in contradiction to the strength I've been acquiring. The assuredness that yes I can paint and in that I was discovering strength in other areas of my life. I didn't know how the immense hatred could coexist with the knowledge I now carried. In the last few months, for the first time in my life, I recognized and accepted that I was a strong being and no longer despised that aspect of self. Yet I saw the level to which I really hated myself.

I sunk.

This was all good food for my therapy session on Wednesday. As I was speaking with my therapist a huge, glowing grin came over his face. "I have been waiting for you to get to this moment!" He said the violence comes from all the hurt in my life, and it's on a cellular level…now a part of my marrow. He said "you've been wronged, over and over…and the violence comes from the built up rage. Violence is a perfect word for it." He then said "You aren't going to like what I'm going to say." I knew then exactly where he was going. "You will never get rid of the violence. It's just like the melancholy you carry. It is a part of you."

He went on to explain that the difference is, instead of not being aware of it and living life unconscious and pretending…fearful of really seeing the beast within, I can make it work for me. He added that I can use that violence and sadness in my art, my sex, my meditation and it will find expressions of joy and peace. Even richer sensations.

Then something really special happened. He said again, "you were wronged". I had been feeling like I had been such an evil person and so I asked him to repeat those three words. "Say it again please." He would and then I'd ask him to repeat it. Over and over. Each time he said it, it stung inside because it was bumping into my paradigm of "I am bad and that's why I've been hurt". Also, which I love, in those words I didn't feel like a victim at all. It was simply a fact, just an "is". I didn't see enemies. I didn't see others as bad. Instead, great compassion came over me. First for myself and from there, I felt it filter outward. In that, there was massive sadness and love for all who had hurt me.

It was an intense session. I felt lighter and at the same time beat up. I asked if I could see him again the very next day and so we booked it.

Yesterday I returned, not knowing what we'd talk about but aware I needed the safety of his presence and the couch. That space.

I made a glib comment about how I was glad I could pay him to be there for me. It's not the first time that I've said it to him but this time he jumped on it and began to really push. I believe it's because he knew I was still open from our session the day before. Oh...have I said that he is a sadist? He was incredibly insistent and continued to probe. "What is it you're really paying for?"

A few weeks back I wrote about how I was paying him to be honest with me because I needed brutally honest people in my life. So I threw that back at him. "Yes it's true but that's not the core reason." He kept pushing. I was beginning to get angry because I really couldn't see what he was getting at. I wanted clues and then wanted him to give me the answer while at the same time I knew I needed to figure it out for myself. He taunted my competitive nature. It was a really uncomfortable session. Stuff was moving.

Finally, in a small voice I said "I'm paying you for intimacy because I don't believe I can get it any other way." In essence, because I'm not worthy of sharing in intimacy.

An exhale and he quietly said "Yes…that's right."

The impact of that great truth began to hit me. He added that I had very good reason to have such a belief because I had sought intimacy my entire life and people could never meet me there but my past need not be my present and definitely not my future.

In the last couple months I've experienced times with a few folks of that scary, deep, revealing intimacy and holding on to that, along with the words of my therapist does make it feel that it is possible.

Today I am in awe. Looking back over the years and seeing the onion layers, each one was a truth but only a truth on that level because there is always something deeper lurking. And I've touched another layer.

Things are really crazy at work and in my life right now. Here are some quick links:

This week's Freewill Astrology.

Horrific gay bashing story out of Spain.

I will be showing a piece in the Seattle Erotic Art Show.

Thursday night is Art Walk. I am so not ready.

The DCCC has put up an apology generator on their website to facilitate apologies to Rush Limbaugh.

(The light is wonky. Click for bigger image)

Art walk is coming up this week and I had hoped to nail the large painting by then but I've resigned myself to not having it finished and letting it be okay. Over the weekend I changed it again...fairly drastically. The yellow is really not as bright as in the photo. It's more ochre.

Before leaving the studio this afternoon I had to put it side by side with the other two pieces I'm still working.

Sometimes I think being a painter is a fucking crazy thing to be. This is one of those times. These paintings have sent me into a tailspin.

And yet it needs to be done. What I find interesting is how my palette is changing...brightening up.