Painting again.


Hoss took this last Saturday, during his first painting lesson. I let him use the easel, and so covered my little green french table with lots of plastic and turned it into my work space. I began this little painting that day. Tonight, Hoss came by to paint again, and it pushed me back in the saddle. LOL. Although I do not have a photo of it yet, I finished that little painting tonight.

I think painting is magic.

It helps to know technique. It helps me to know composition and color. But it seems that the painting moves forward when I stop thinking and just paint. That's what happened with the little piece. It reminded me that it is how it always happens. I'll look at a work in progress, try this and try that. The analytical side of me comes out. And it deadens the work. When I finally let go and submit to the brush, move paint around...it comes together. Each time.

It's Wednesday...

...and that means I return to work in 7 days.

It also means the latest Freewill Astrology is up.

Capricorn's 'scope (The bold is my touch, emphasizing how timely this is).

"I am crossing years tonight to light an answer," writes Keith Althus in his poem called "Poem." That should be your theme in the coming week, Capricorn. Take a deep journey into your past, armed with good will. Before you go, inscribe in your mind's eye a vision of something that symbolizes the power to illuminate, like a torch, lantern, or star. As you wander through your memories, becoming reacquainted with all the turning points that helped make you what you are today, pay special attention to lingering questions from the old days that never got properly resolved. With the help of your torch, lantern, or star, light some new answers."

Too perfect. I need to keep that in mind.

Mark Morford, on Rove:
"It's almost too good to be true. It's almost like you can't hardly believe it and it feels like it must be a nasty trick, a scam, some sexy lithe European fashion model smiling all coy and flirty as she offers you her thong underwear only to yank it away just as you reach for it as she instantly turns back into a hairy incubus and dashes away, cackling. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease ... yank."

Yes, I check my work email while on vacation. But I only open up nonwork stuff, such as a NGLTF's first remarks about the nomination of Roberts for the Supreme Court:


July 19, 2005

National Gay and Lesbian Task Force calls President Bush's selection of Judge John Roberts Jr. as his Supreme Court nominee a reason for 'great pause'

WASHINGTON, July 19 — President Bush tonight selected U.S. Court of Appeals Judge John Roberts Jr. to replace retiring Justice Sandra Day O'Connor on the nation's highest court.

Statement by Matt Foreman, Executive Director
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force

"President Bush's announcement that he is nominating U.S. Court of Appeals Judge John Roberts to the Supreme Court of the United States gives us great pause, particularly in light of Roberts' role in the Counsel's office of President Reagan and the Solicitor General's office of President George H.W. Bush.

"In exercising its constitutional 'advise and consent' function, the Senate must take the time necessary to thoroughly review and evaluate Roberts' commitment to individual rights and equal justice under the law, including his record and thinking about civil rights, the right to privacy and the reach of Congressional power under the Constitution.

"We especially call upon our allies in the Senate to determine whether Judge Roberts subscribes to the holdings of Romer v. Evans and Lawrence v. Texas, among other cases, and will affirm that the civil rights and privacy rights of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender Americans are protected by the Constitution.

"And only if Judge Roberts meets these critical standards of qualification, judicial philosophy, fairness, independence and a dedication to protecting the rights of all under the Constitution, should the Senate vote to confirm his nomination to the court."

MEDIA CONTACT:
Inga Sarda-Sorensen, Deputy Director of Communications
(Office) 646.358.1463
(Cell 202.641.5592)
isorensen@thetaskforce.org

Photos...

...and more photos.

I just found a new Seattle photographer. New for me.

She posted a link to her Gay Pride photos. Going through, I expected the standard imagery, which it is...yet somehow with a different viewpoint. I was delightfully surprised. Some are singularly powerful and others add and connect to the strength of the whole. The comment I left in the photographer's LJ:

Year after year I see nice examples of good Pride photographs. But I have to say...yours are captivating!!! The images grabbed me and told a story of diversity and celebration. Some are poignant. I was slowly flipping through...smiling, a couple times a heart wrench...

Evocative.

It seems to me that your sense of composition and selective depth of field assisted in capturing that perfect moment.
I also enjoyed the the choice of b/w versus color.

Thank you!

There are many photos and I looked forward to each one.

-----

Now this link I retrieved from The Padacia. Go to showcase, and turn the pages.

These are absolutely fascinating.

Hey.

I'm popping in to say although I've been silent, I'm still around.

Saturday night, I was slammed and thrown into a really hard place that has yet to let up. Well, maybe it's easing up some because I'm actually writing.

Since Saturday, I haven't been able to write. And...I haven't been able to paint. This is the first time that the blackness has lasted this long and been this intense. In the past...when I couldn't write, I'd find myself posting lots of links. Something. Anything to connect.

Not this time. Just the idea of reaching out in some capacity was/is painful.

Sunday afternoon I opted to go to a BBQ. The Bear and bunny's energy always helps. Until now. I roamed and couldn't sit still. I'd walk from one room to the next, dissatisfied...and angry. The Bear grabbed me at one point. He was sitting on a stool, and pulled me between his legs, holding me and then scratching my back in that way that he has. It feels like steel nails scraping the skin. It's a good pain.

And I still remained dead inside.

Angry with myself.

I'm furious because I feel so broken that overcoming old voices feels truly insurmountable. These are the voices that remind me how invisible I really am. The whispers that tell me everything I do is garbage. The melody that plays over and over reminding me that nothing matters. There is no point.

I do know that it's not a coincidence this enveloped me after painting. Methinks I scared the bejesus out of myself.
I'm really thrilled (or was) with one painting in particular. If I get a good photo of it, I'll show you.

On Saturday, Hoss and I were taking a break from painting. We were looking at the work, scattered in the room. I said to him,
"You know, I think I'm starting to get it. If I really applied myself to my painting...I could be incredibly successful."
He gave me a look that I still laugh about when I think about it.
It was the loudest, nonverbal "DUH" I've ever seen.

"I could make a name for myself." Huh. That's it. I know that. I've written about it. A couple weeks ago I shared my realization that not painting is an act of suicide for me. I do know all this.

What I don't know is how to not get enveloped by old patterns of destruction created from continued messages of:
"She's great...she doesn't need us."
"Look at her. She has it made. Let's focus on someone else."
"She's so smart and talented. She's got it all. She's fine. But...so and so requires our attention, our strokes."

The only thing those ideas did was to implant and cement the idea that I'm not worthy of attention, therefore, a piece of shit.

Yesterday, I went to lunch with another artist. At 43, he wants to return to school for his BFA and then MFA. Talking with him was almost like being in my head. It felt as if we understood each other. One big difference. He's currently self taught, and is continually working. Back east, he has a long list of shows and commissions. He is working. I saw his drive, his fearlessness, and craved it for myself.

In the middle of our conversation, he said something about spelling bees. I saw a quick memory flash with those words "spelling bees."
Grammar school. I remember being spelling bee champ. Many times. I remember my dad bragging to everyone that I was reading the newspaper at 4 years old. I remember winning art contests in school. I remember never having to struggle with homework.

And that's the last positive thing I clearly remember about my education.

I also remember choosing to go to a certain private high school because hardly anyone from my grammar school would be going. By the time I hit 8th grade...I couldn't wait to get away from those kids because I felt we had nothing in common. All the girls (except 3) were going to attend an all girls high school. I opted for a school of 3,000 students. I could get lost in the crowd.

I did.

I stopped doing homework. I stopped reading. I allowed my grades to slide.
It didn't matter.
That's the way it seemed at the time.

I know the only way out of this is to find...somehow fucking find the prized me within myself. Rediscover that person and hold on for dear life. See, feel and believe in my own intrinsic value.

You see, it doesn't matter what others say, if they say anything. Because in my head, I have longtime experience proving otherwise.

Getting out of this is up to me. Seeing myself in a new mirror.

That's the hard part.

The shrink says it's happening. I look at him as if he has three heads.

Maybe sharing all this here will help some.
Maybe it is a way of releasing the poison.

How about one of the questionnaires that is floating around?
Here ya go...!

1. PICK ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?

My knee scar. Driving a 1980 volkswagon rabbit I rear-ended a tow truck because I was fiddling with the radio and therefore not paying attention. The front end of my car almost fully ended up in my lap. Something hit my knee...and left a small scar.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?

Nothing. I'm still waiting for Hoss and Tag to do their "voila" magic to my space. :-)
Now, that's not fully true. In my bedroom, sitting on top of a dresser and leaning against the wall is a large 3' x 4' self portrait of myself in suspension bondage. This is the scene I was doing the night I met Sir for the first time. He watched me play and then afterwards suggested I contact him because he was considering taking me on as a student.
It's an unfinished painting. There are also 3 paintings of mine leaning against the bedroom floor waiting to get hung.

And there are a pile of my paintings stacked neatly in the entry way and another corner also waiting to get hung.

3. WHAT MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?

Whatever I feel like in the moment. Folk. Rock. Jazz. Blues. Classical. Opera.
The only thing I don't really like is country and 99 percent of the rap I hear.

4. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN?

I think it was about 12:30 pm. Still waiting for the accurate time so I can get a good astrological chart done.

5. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?

To see myself as others see me.
Oh yeah, and a really good, draw blood singletail scene.

6. WHAT DO YOU MISS AT TIMES?

Regular play...the way I had it before I went into training. I was doing intense play 3 to 4 nights a week.

7. WHAT IS YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION?

The leather rose Sir gave me. It was my first earned leather.
And my boots...as my second.

And...my laptop because my life is in it and I've yet to back it up. I know. Me bad.

8. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SMELL?

The smell of sex, cum, pussy, cock and piss. The smell of spring, summer, autumn and winter. Also, although I no longer use it in any capacity, there's something about the smell of patchouli that makes me nostalgic for a time that was, which is weird because it wasn't my favorite time period.

9. DO YOU GET CLAUSTROPHOBIC?

Spending a full weekend in a dark dungeon locked in a replica of a vietnamese prisoner of war torture cage, or 8 hours in a full leather hood and sleepsack has pretty much ruled that out.

10. IF YOU DIED TOMORROW?

Phew! I'm glad this is over!

11. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?

Sir. I just bumped into him on a street corner and we talked for a long time. They were the hurting-for-another-person kind of tears.

12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOGNE/PERFUME?

Natural body scent.

13. WHAT KIND OF HAIR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE SEX (or same)?

Whatever the other person is comfortable with on their own person.

14. WHERE CAN YOU SEE YOURSELF BEING PROPOSED TO?

Proposed to? Me? No traditional partnerships for me! I'm a pig. I want lots of people. And everything changes anyway. I don't believe in permanent relationships. If it happens...it happens.

15. DO YOU LIKE PORN?

Yes. But from what I can tell, my idea of porn is different than at least 90 percent of the population.

16. WHAT ARE YOUR FIVE FAVORITE MOVIES?

Goodwill Hunting. Going to see the movie when released was an assignment by my first favorite shrink back east. She said it would speak to me on so many levels...and maybe I'd understand myself better. It was a painful film for me. Still is.

Amelie. The first character (that I can vividly recall) who enjoyed and immersed herself in the sensuality that is life.

Don't laugh - The Pajame Game. Hey, how can you not love "Hernando's Hideaway" and "Steam Heat"?

Mysterious Skin - It really is an edgy film. Especially giving our current political climate. Brilliant.

Can't think of others...love many. And I'm too tired to think about it.

17. WHERE CAN YOU SEE YOURSELF GOING FOR YOUR HONEYMOON?

Nix honeymoon. Bah.
Where would I like to go on vacation?
I miss Martha's Vineyard. I used to spend time there every summer. I'd like to go back. I really miss it. Especially the small fishing town of Menemsha.
The south of France...the Provence.
Greece...for the quality of the light.
Tuscany.

18. WHO IS THE LAST PERSON YOU MADE MAD?

Ha. Probably most people. (Or that's how it feels).

19. DO YOU SPEAK A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE?

I grew up speaking French and didn't learn English until I began 1st grade at 5 years old. It was a Franco-American Catholic School...so masses were in French, French every day in class and even once we moved to the U.S. we still had to speak French in the house. That is, until all us sibs were in school. Then we wanted to speak English at home, but my parents said no. So, we got together and stopped talking...until we were allowed to do both.

It was trippy for our friends who'd visit, because in a regular conversation, we'd flow from French to English and back again...sometimes even within one sentence. Not only wouldn't we blink an eye but we never saw a problem with it until we'd see the confused look on our friends' faces when they lost track of the conversation.

20. WHAT WAS THE FIRST GIFT SOMEONE EVER GAVE YOU (OF THE OPPOSITE SEX)(WHO WASN"T RELATED TO YOU)?

A Takamini 12 string guitar. 1978. I still have it. It had a solid spruce top and rosewood on the side. It was a $400 guitar at the time, brand new. I was saving my money, but only had $100 saved. Unbeknownst to me, my best friend Bruce had saved up the rest...and paid $300 so I could purchase it. He was planning on paying for the whole thing. But I wasn't aware of that and was impatient. I think he got tired of hearing me whine about how it would take me forever to save the money.

I love that guitar. I did not pick it up for a few years and so the Bear has it now...on loan.

21. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE SINGER(s)?
Actually, the singers are my niece and Etta James.

The others are singer/songwriters/

Aimee Mann.
Jeff Buckley
Heidi Stone
Leonard Cohen

My niece who is 16 and is becoming an acclaimed jazz, blues singer. No...I'm not revealing her name unless you email me and ask me nicely. Then I'd lead you to her website. I'm just not comfortable throwing it out here.
Her voice rocks something fierce for someone so young. She's been taking lessons since she was 5 or so. She has "IT", that thing can allows one to succeed.
She's also taking college prep courses, and has considered Harvard for law in addition to her singing.
I wish I had it that much together at that age. Then I wouldn't be where I am now.

Give me the New England folk music scene and I'm very happy.

22. FAVORITE BAND(s)?

Tough one. I'm not a big group/band person because I much prefer the singer/songwriter.

-Nirvana
-Metallica
-Alice In Chains
-October Project
-I used to LOVE The Roches

Again, don't laugh. I really enjoy Enigma, but for one reason only. The only time I listen to them is when I paint. There is something about their music that allows me to step to the side and allow my insides to paint, with no inhibition. I don't know what it is. But if my headphones are on...and their music is cranked...it works every time. Now to use them all the time is a different story!

I seek other groups that do the same thing. Any suggestions?

23. WHAT KIND OF BOOKS DO YOU LIKE TO READ?

Fiction.
My favorite books are the ones that grab me from the very first page and I lose much sleep because I can't put it down. Those type of books don't come along very often. I miss them, and cherish it when I have one in hand. So much so that I begin to mourn the book about 20 pages before the end...knowing the story is coming to a close.

24. FAVORITE DESSERT:

Tiramisu.
Chocolate mousse.
Bananas Foster.
Creme Brulee.
Really fucking good cheesecake (with no damned fruit on the top!)

To be fair, I have yet to meet a dessert I did not like.

25. HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR COFFEE?

Light and sweet. like me.

26. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE PHRASE ?

"Whatever." ( I know. It 's not good because it's such a dismissive statement.)

27. WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE KNOWING THAT THE PERSON IS LEAVING :

Yes. And have and even pushed that person out the door when I knew and they knew it was the best thing for them. Sometimes you both realize that their journey is in another direction. It still hurts and breaks your heart but in a different way, because it's not rejection based.

28. WHAT IS THE BEST WAY TO TELL SOMEONE HOW MUCH THEY MEAN TO YOU?

Listening.
And hugs.

29. BLONDES, REDHEADS OR BRUNETTES?

And, and, and and. Although I do have to say... that at a glance, I've never been attracted to blondes. It's really odd because my first two partners happened to be blondes. So I didn't hold their hair color against them.

30. WHAT IS THE ONE NUMBER YOU CALL OFTEN?

The Bear and the bunny's cell phones. Okay...those are two different numbers, but the only difference is the last digit. So it pretty much counts as one number.

31. WHAT ANNOYS YOU MOST?

Arrogance (this is a biggie but I think that's because I can see arrogance in myself many times. It's a mirror thing. Also it's one of my defense mechanisms.)
and
Lack of common sense.
and
Not thinking for oneself
and
no imagination
and
no compassion
and
someone who doesn't question
and
sheep

Do I have to choose one?

32. HAVE YOU EVER DONE A PRANK CALL?

No. But I've done a prank kidnapping. When I was about 25, a good friend wanted but was afraid to go into a gay bar. So one evening, when there was a group of us, out of the blue I set up a prank and ended up abducting my friend. They experienced their first gay bar that night. And yes, once they got over being pissed, they had a blast.

33. WHO IS YOUR CURRENT CRUSH?

You think I'm going to tell you? Here???

34. WHAT IS YOUR WORST FEAR?

That I'm not really seen for who I am.

35. SAY SOMETHING TO SOMEONE YOU HAVEN'T SEEN/TALKED TO IN A WHILE:

I missed you.

36. HAVE YOU EVER SAID "I LOVE YOU" AND NOT MEANT IT?

Once. Three weeks later I took it back. It was a big lesson for me. Just because I'm fucking someone and they say it to me does not mean I have to reciprocate. That was when I learned to hear "I love you" and not say it back unless I really mean it.

Taking back the "I love you" and explaining why was one of the hardest and most painful things I've had to do with another person. But it was the most honest.

Gee...that was back in '94. Time flies, doesn't it?

37. WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED THIS SURVEY

Getting ready to go to bed.
And why aren't I there now????


38. IF YOU COULD GET PLASTIC SURGERY, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

Liposuction. Thing number 2 I hate about being female. Cellulite.

Well, I am painting. It's not going as intensely as I'd like, but I'm trying to cut myself some slack. Since Wednesday, I've worked on something new each day. If I had a camera...I'd post pics. It's a serious case of ADD painting. Not bad. It's just the way it is.

Wednesday, working from my head only, I began a small self portrait. Once the paint was thick and wet, I had to put it down which led to frustration. I wanted to continue. But lines were mushing into blurry marks and it needed to stop.

I picked up another canvas and began a second piece. This one is a full dead on abstract, totally from my head. I've never done such a thing before. In the past, I've abstracted the seen. But I stood in front of the canvas and just painted. I didn't even have a mental image to guide me. It wasn't about feelings. It's a painting of nothing. Created from a vision of nothing. The only requirement was to continue laying the brush, loaded with paint, to canvas. It's a very unsettling experience. I wasn't grounded to anything. I didn't really have a direction. I didn't know what I was doing. But I did it. I may go back and work on it once it's a little drier.

It felt like I was flying without a plane. Although there was a small sense of freedom, I was too freaked to really enjoy it. It was one of those "I can't believe I'm doing this" moments. And yet it was happening. I'm going to do these more often. I think it's a good exercise for me.

Yesterday, I changed tact completely and began a small painting of a corner of my kitchen counter. It's the pitcher, jar and a couple apples. After the one in my head painting and the no mind painting I was hankering at the bit to work from life. The subject matter was irrelevant.

For some reason, while working on it, I became afraid. I started to feel the preciousness of what I was doing and put down my brushes. When it comes up, I can't let go and paint. Each mark after that would be born of fear. So I stopped.

And then, I thought I'd spend the day reading, writing and walking...but didn't. I was exhausted. Purely, totally exhausted. I hated therapy. I hated what it did to my energy. I hated that the least amount of exertion drains me. I did manage to get out and down to the cafe for dinner and read a little of Frankenstein...but that was it.

This morning, before painting, I began a pro and con list of psychoanalysis. There are about 10 cons and no pros yet. I have a few in my head, but at this point, although positive, the steps seem so small as to not even begin to outweigh the cons. I was also reading up on the differences between regular therapy and what I'm currently doing.

Although I'm glad to have learned all I have, if I had to do it over, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't have shifted gears from therapy to analysis. When I mentioned that to the shrink today, he smiled. He said he remembered telling his shrink the same thing at one point in his process. That is my one saving grace right now. He had to go through years of his own analysis before beginning to do this work with others. He's the only one who really understands. That is, unless there are others who've done it as well. But I don't know of any.

It makes for a big con. The loneliness and isolation. I am sure that I'll feel much differently when I come out on the other side. Obviously I'm not there yet.

Anyway...

...today I pulled out the last painting I worked on, before I stopped for all this time. I just found the journal entry I wrote the night I began the painting. April 6, 2004. So not quite a year and a half.

It was a still life, in the first stages. Very minimal color. It was greys, created out of alizarin, ultramarine, sap green and much white thrown in to achieve the values. More cool. Much cooler than I've ever worked before. I spent a few days on it, and then my painting was halted.

This was the painting I began one morning when I left work to paint. After being in the office about an hour, a fierce horniness rose up within me. I was at my desk and I couldn't stand it. The urge to get off was powerful. Then the desire to paint hit me hard. I emailed the staff, told them I was going painting, and left the office. That was the last painting I worked on. Until today.

I pulled it out of the closet, dusted it off and threw it up on the easel. Being cold as death, it needed to be revived. So that's when I filled my brush with medium, and a drop of ochre mixed with a speckybit of alizarin. I washed the lights in the painting. From there, I went into the shadows with a glaze of alizarin, and then a deep, dark neutral that was floating on my palette. As I wrote earlier, the painting was set on fire. I watched it come to life.

What's happening now?
I don't know.

There are 4 wet canvasses hanging out. Each so different from the next. And it doesn't matter.

Auxugen asked me the other night "Is it art yet?"
Nope.

But I'm fucking painting, man. And right now, that's the only important thing.
Also, I can't go into the studio with the idea of doing art. It won't work for me.

I wish I could paint for longer times each day, but as the shrink tried to remind me this afternoon, it's tiring. He said I had a huge backed up pool of creative energy, and the pipe it needs to go through has been corroded for a while. We're chipping away at it, allowing a trickle. With time, the opening will get wider and it will come back.

In his office today I also spoke of the color thing that frustrates me.

I love color. I can paint from observation and even concoct new colors from what I see. I do not limit myself to what's there. Yet when I don't have the seen color, I can't create it.

He gave me good food for thought. We were talking about the coloring book thing. How I hated those things. I refused to color how everyone did because I found it boring. I mean, we know that the sky is blue, the grass green and an apple is red. There was no way I was going to follow in those footsteps. The coloring book was a place to imagine a world in the colors I wanted. Yet I was frozen. Still am. And it's a bigger freeze than the small one I've been through with my painting.

The shrink reminded me I was taught that my way of seeing the world wasn't the right way. My imagination squelched. My viewpoint silenced. The coloring book issue - creating colors from thin air - made perfect sense to him. As I rebuild myself and regain my voice, the color imagining will manifest itself. I'm letting that one sit.

So I've noticed that my big plans of what I was going to paint has been blown to bits. I don't care. I get up each day and decide in that moment what feels right to paint.

The only important thing right now is that I paint.
And I am.

Yeah...I'm pleased with myself. Very much so.

Love/Hate

I love underpaintings and glazing. Pulling out an old fairly just begun painting, the first thing I did was apply a warm glaze to the very cool, very minimal colored base painting. That small act set the piece on fire. Gawd it gets me hard.

What I hate is the fact that I don't know how to use color. If I'm reacting to something in front of me, I'm fine. I can see the subtleties and exaggerate or even pervert it. It's play time with my palette. That's where I see the colorist in myself.

But when working totally from my head, I'm fucking lost! I didn't like coloring books for that reason. I never knew what colors to use.

Gotta go. I have an appt in 20 minutes...and then it's back to this painting.
I'm stockpiling painting thoughts. They'll come out soon.

New Identity?

Spurred on by Boymeat, I ask:

If you were easily able to dump your life, disappear and come back with a new identity...would you?

What prompted my question was his entry - and then my comment to his post:

"I love the idea that someone possibly did this. It lets in all sorts of feelings from discomfort to fascination to sexiness (think James Bond fantasy type stuff).
Also, as soon as I read your entry, a question popped into my head (looking at a couple different sides..) ...what if someone just wanted to mess with the readers and it's not true?
Mindfuck turns me on as well."

Now this is my favorite referral thus far.
It was a google search which somehow led them to my blog:

plastered with bandaids to keep my soul in

It's gorgeous. I tried googling for it myself, in quotes, to see if it was a song lyric. Nothing really came up.

My second favorite is:

pentacostal panic attack

I used to have a word doc on my desktop where I'd save all the interesting searches that led to girlfag. One day, I planned on making haikus out of them...using some of the basic characteristics such as season words to set the space, keeping it in the present tense, the 3 line format, the juxtaposition of two images...
Yeah..remember I said I like challenges?

Well I had a wonderful list. In my first hard drive crash last September, I lost it. So I never began again. Maybe I will now. That bandaid line is beautiful.

I worked on two paintings yesterday and will blog about it. Something interestin' happened to my work. But, I need to wake up more before you hear from me. And I look forward to doing more painting today. I realized, when I'm in a good emotional space, I have no problem with discipline, regarding painting. It's not a chore to get in there. It's a joy. Although I'm sure that if I had vast amounts of time to paint, there would be days where I'd be dragging my ass, kickin' and screamin' into the studio.

Anyway, be back later. See ya!

Crap.

I thought I had a 1pm appt. with the shrink today. And being in the mood I was, I couldn't wait. My phone rang at 9:10 am.
It was the shrink asking me about our 9am appt.

Shit.

He wondered if I'd like to run over then, but I opted out. I hadn't showered yet, and was in such a foul mood that I either wanted my full 50 minutes or nothing at all. So we rescheduled for 2pm today.

Maybe it's a good thing. I've worked through some of what I was pissy about. And I began a painting. The carpet is covered with an old shower curtain. My apartment reeks of medium (which isn't a bad thing). I do have all the windows open and the fan going.

Logistically, it's awkard. Being an old building where everything is crooked, including the floors...my little table is wobbly. It's at the wrong height. I need to set up better light. But I'm painting dammit. In spite of the technical difficulties, I'm laying down paint.

Now, time for lunch, a shower, the shrink and then back to painting. I'm making a mess but it's an exciting mess.

First some Mark Morford. In Beer & Porn & Guns & Manicures he writes:

"It's a confusing time, not just for men, but for marketers as well as they try to target and depict men meaningfully," he continued, his bare chest glistening under the hot sun, pectorals flexing madly as he squeezed the iron exercise bar in numerous glorious reps while simultaneously smoking three Marlboro Reds and curling a small paperweight with his penis. Ahem."

And now, from me, some bitchiness and possible whining-

I hate people today. No, you don't understand. I REALLY hate people today. Yeah, I'm in a foul mood. I couldn't fall asleep until early this morning, and even in that...I swear I woke every hour to toss and turn. 5 am rolled around and staying in bed was useless. At 5:30 I conceded and got up.

The shortsightedness of people freaks me out. The arrogance of religion never fails to astound me. Knowing that I will be painting in a very restrained fashion infuriates me.

My place is too small and too pretty to paint in. There's damned carpeting on the floor! Yes, it's now covered by an old shower curtain. My easel is up against nicely painted walls. I can't do larger paintings. I knew this, and even prepared for it by stocking up on smaller canvasses. The largest may be about 16 x 20. Most are 9 x 12. But I have no place to tape ideas and photos to the walls...and lay out my large drawing board so I can work on drawings and paintings simulaneously. I have to choose. One or the other. That's not how I'm wired. In addition there's no real room to really step back and look.

I love my apartment. As it has morphed, it's become my haven. My respite. But it is not a painter friendly space.

Yes, this creates a challenge and I do love a challenge. Yes, I still plan on painting today. Yes, I'm fully aware that maybe some of my fears around painting have made my setup feel wrong. Yes I know that there's no reason to have a larger painting space when I wasn't painting. I also know that once I'm regularly painting, I'll manifest more room for myself. Yes, I know it will be fine once I get going. But that's not how it feels now.

I'm furious. And I know that when I'm feeling liike this it really means I'm terrified. Scared shitless.

From the "Rapture" series, untitled - marc 1999
Photo by Frank Yamrus

Once again, thank you Padacia for another treat - Frank Yamrus.

This week's Freewill Astrology by Rob Brezsny.

Just found this and love it -

Labels Are For Jars

Unabashedly, I've extracted from the website to convey that it's really about all of us, not only what we see on the streets.

"It’s a state of mind. Do you look at a person and automatically, consciously or unconsciously, label them as a... (pick a label).
If so, you’ve just made a judgment about them without knowing what’s inside. That works fine for jars, but it doesn’t work so well for people. People deserve better than that.

...Labels create distance between “us” and “them,” making their problems seem less and less like our problems. Close the gap. It is your problem."

Now, check out the website.
Labels Are For Jars

It's a brilliant idea.

Hey there.

I didn't rush out of bed or anything. But once I got up I finally strolled down the block for coffee, came back and enjoyed being lazy for part of the morning. That is, in between picking up my apartment. Afterwards, I tackled the closet. It's my art closet. Everything is in there. I pulled out boxes, an easel, a tarp and my toolbox of paints. Before going too crazy I vacuumed and took stuff out to the trash.

I'm creating my two week retreat space.

Throughout this, I found myself getting nervous. It began as I pulled my easel and paints out. So I'd periodically step back and breathe. At one point I decided that I wouldn't hold myself to all I had planned for today. It was a way of showing myself grace for what I already accomplished.

When the pressure was off, it allowed me to continue. The space is set up. I've inventoried my supplies.

Opening my box of paints was an emotional act. The heavy scent of oils hit my nose. I reached my hand in and pulled out each tube, caressing them. A few times I brought them closer to my face. I'd open caps and squeeze...looking at the vibrant color. Some new....others much used. My fingers were stained by the time I'd finished. Staring at my hands..."yes faggot, you do have the hands of a painter. Don't ever think otherwise."

I've been to the art store and picked up 4 more brushes, a new large drawing board because I can't find the one I had, a tube of cad yellow, glass and foam core.

The brushes and paint were a splurge. I wanted to try a better quality cad yellow. A rose is not necessarily a rose with paint. It was a small way for me to begin taking myself seriously as a painter. The brushes were an impulse buy. I realized the more brushes I had (although I have quite a few), the more likely I'll use different brushes for certain colors and therefore another attempt at cleaning up my palette.

Right now I'm at Septieme, sitting in the cool restaurant, near the wall of doors that are opened to the street. I can feel the breeze and easily call out to anyone I know who walks past.

I've had a huge craving for tiramisu. Septieme has never carried it - not when I've been in there. Today...they had tiramisu. Isn't that a perfect thing for a warm summer day? The odd thing is, I wanted to ask the baker if he could make it sometime but I hadn't the opportunity. Lo! He must have read my mind. And it's really good. I'm a tiramisu snob and I've noticed in most places, it is average. Tutta Bella has the best I've ever had. And today's slice is wonderful. A little way to celebrate vacation. I'll thank the baker the next time I see him.

Just a lazy, regular kinda day...

From Common Dreams

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
JULY 8, 2005
6:51 PM

CONTACT: Fairness & Accuracy In Reporting

New York Times Suggests Bisexuals Are "Lying"
Paper fails to disclose study author's controversial history

NEW YORK - July 8 - In a lead article in the New York Times' July 5 Science section, headlined, "Straight, Gay or Lying? Bisexuality Revisited," Times writer Benedict Carey reported that an upcoming study "casts doubt on whether true bisexuality exists, at least in men." In suggesting that men who claim a bisexual sexual orientation are liars, the Times relies heavily on a single study whose senior researcher has a career marked by ethics controversies and eugenics proposals--facts that were not presented to readers.
According to the Times, the study "lends support to those who have long been skeptical that bisexuality is a distinct and stable sexual orientation. People who claim bisexuality, according to these critics, are usually homosexual, but are ambivalent about their homosexuality or simply closeted. 'You're either gay, straight or lying,' as some gay men have put it."

In leaping to dramatic conclusions from a single study with a small population, Carey echoes the study's authors, who seem equally eager to generalize from scant evidence--and to confuse the study's assumptions with its conclusions. Carey quotes the study's senior author, J. Michael Bailey of Northwestern University, who acknowledges that bisexual behavior exists, but argues that "in men there's no hint that true bisexual arousal exists, and that for men arousal is orientation."

But that arousal equals orientation seems to be assumed, not proven. The study measured men's self-identified orientation against their physical arousal while watching various kinds of pornography; bisexual men's self-identified orientation did not correspond with their physical arousal, according to the study, with some being aroused much more by on-screen men and a smaller group responding much more to on-screen women.

This finding could just as easily be read as evidence that arousal in bisexual men does *not* equal orientation--that simple measurement of arousal does not predict people's behavior or identity. But the Times reporter himself uses the phrase "true bisexuality," which suggests that people with bisexual behavior and identity might still not qualify as "true" bisexuals.

Well into Carey's piece, some cautionary or critical viewpoints were aired. None of those viewpoints, however, gave readers any hint of Bailey's controversial history. In 2001 Bailey co-authored an article that argued that, if it became possible for parents to determine the sexual orientation of their fetus, "selecting for heterosexuality seems to be morally acceptable.... Selection for heterosexuality may tangibly benefit parents, children and their families and seems to have only a slight potential for any significant harm" (Archives of Sexual Behavior, Vol. 30, No. 4, 2001). The fact that a researcher has promoted the eugenic elimination of homosexuality would seem to be relevant background for gauging the credibility of his studies of bisexuality.

Bailey more recently came under fire for his 2003 book, "The Man Who Would Be Queen: The Science of Gender-Bending and Transsexualism," which defended the discredited theory that transsexual women are not female-gendered people born with male bodies, but "are extremely feminine gay men or are sexual fetishists who are 'erotically obsessed with the image of themselves as women'" (Chronicle of Higher Education, 12/10/04). Bailey profiled a handful of transsexual women for his book, many of whom filed complaints against him for not getting their consent to be studied (Times Higher Education Supplement, 5/28/04).

The book shares remarkable similarities to Bailey's new study on bisexuality: In both, the researcher denies people's own evaluation of their identities, suggesting that bisexuals and transgender people are lying about who they are.

In fact, the Times' headline could have been taken from the press release for Bailey's book, which was headlined, "Gay, Straight, or Lying? Science Has the Answer." A new study by the same author, peddling a very similar theory, should have been a red flag to journalists, and readers should have been informed of the author's controversial history in order for them to better evaluate the study.

When the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation asked the Times to retract its inflammatory headline, the paper argued that "gay, straight or lying" is "a commonly used phrase among many gay people" (GLAAD.org, 7/7/05). It's unclear why a derogatory stereotype about one group--bisexuals--should be more acceptable in a headline because it is attributed to another group--gay people.

ACTION: Please ask the Times' new public editor, Byron Calame, to examine the Times' report on bisexuality, particularly the lack of relevant information about the senior researcher's controversial background and the headline's suggestion that an entire sexual minority is "lying."

CONTACT:
New York Times
Byron Calame, Public Editor
mailto:public@nytimes.com
Phone: (212) 556-7652

As always, please remember that your comments have more impact if you maintain a polite tone.

Read the Times article here: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/07/05/health/05sex.html

See also GLAAD's action alert: http://glaad.org/action/write_now_detail.php?id=3827

It is here!

Yes...I am officially on vacation!!!

I changed my voice mail and turned on my out of office message for email. Then I shut down my computer and yes...began to cry. I'm so thrilled to have these two weeks. It was about 3:30 and after stopping by everyone's cube for hugs, I left the office. Tonight, I'll christen my vacation with a dinner at Septieme with the Bear...and possibly the bunny.

A much needed break has begun.

Tomorrow, I'm taking it light. I'll clean my house...prepping it for the next few weeks. For painting, I will set up a painting corner, pull out my easel, go through my supplies and pick up whatever is missing. It's also time for a new palette. Since I've been in Seattle, I've used disposable paper palettes. It's easy. No storing. But I don't like them. I never have. So I'm making a new one tomorrow. I love using glass for a palette. I use glass, foamcoam under that and then cardboard beneath it. I tape off the edges and seal it with duct tape. And it's going to be 16x20. I think another reason my colors weren't clean is because I wasn't allowing myself enough palette space.

Those are my plans for tomorrow.
Oh yes...and a stop at the Cafe to sit in the sun with a book.

One step at a time.

Press Release
July 11, 2005

Task Force denounces New York Times story promoting bisexual stereotypes

MEDIA CONTACT:
Task Force Communications Department
Roberta Sklar, Director of Communications
media@thetaskforce.org
646-358-1465

National Gay and Lesbian Task Force denounces New York Times story, 'Straight, Gay or Lying? Bisexuality Revisited,' promoting bisexual stereotypes

WASHINGTON, July 11 — The New York Times published a story July 5 titled "Straight, Gay or Lying? Bisexuality Revisited," covering a forthcoming study on bisexuality in males. The article, which concludes that the study "casts doubt on whether true bisexuality exists, at least in men," fails to note several serious and obvious questions about the study's methodology and underlying premises; fails to report the serious controversies that have plagued one of the study's authors in the past; misstates some of the study's conclusions; and fails to reflect the views of any leaders in the bisexual community. The study’s senior author, J. Michael Bailey, maintained that "there is no hint" that bisexual orientation exists among men. The Times failed to note that Bailey's past research has been roundly criticized and that he has been accused of misconduct by some of his research subjects.

Statement by Matt Foreman, Executive Director
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force

"We remain stunned that the New York Times Science section would carry such a shoddy, sensationalistic and downright insulting story. It — and the profoundly flawed 'study' it purports to cover — are laced with biased premises, misstatements and inaccuracies. It equates sexual orientation with sexual arousal, as supposedly measured by a crude device — considered highly suspect by researchers — in the hands of an individual with a long history of controversial research. It defames the truth in the lives and loves of millions of bisexual men. The Times should be ashamed."

A fact sheet detailing some of the problems with the article is available at http://www.thetaskforce.org/downloads/NYTBisexualityFactSheet.pdf. The Task Force has also been working with bisexual leaders and the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD) to consider a coordinated response to the Times article.

Additional Media Contacts from the Bi Community:
Sheri Kritzer, Bisexual Resource Center 857.205.9786 brc@biresource.org
Loraine Hutchins lorainehutchins@starpower.net
Paula Rust paularust@comcast.net
For assistance with letters to the editor: www.glaad.org/action/write_now_detail.php

To paint or not to paint...

"...that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and, by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished."
William Shakespeare, "Hamlet" (1600-01)


Clarke Lane said "Now, go make more!"
Nayland Blake, a while back, said something like "go paint!" And...Hoss and Auxugen and Lydia and the Bear and...and...and...

...and I haven't painted in over a year and a half.

The deeper I went with therapy, the closer to the wounds. The closer to the wounds, the greater the sense of nothingness and invisibility. The hurt was more intense. I was really carrying a "what's the point? It doesn't matter. I'm not really seen...etc." mind.

Now on one level I knew it was not true. But on another, it was very true. With my painting, it manifested itself in paralysis. I couldn't. I was frozen. The hurt kid inside was winning. And for me, not painting is a passive form of suicide.

Painting is who I am. As is my s/m.

Sophie's Choice.
If I had to choose between the two, I wouldn't. I couldn't. They work together, in different ways, to create my wholeness, and give me my strength.

But back to painting.

I decided to spend two weeks in July to grab my gutts and get back into painting...no matter what else happens. So isn't it interesting that after I made that decision, Blogger hosts images, and so I've been able to share them with you? In doing so, I give extra thought to the featured painting. Really thinking and looking. Isn't it interesting, that I've longed for a queer painter to share with in Seattle and one reached out to me a couple weeks ago? No..I hadn't told you about that yet. But it's someone I've known for a while...yet didn't know he was a painter. I saw him and his Top last night and again this morning at brunch. The painter and I are going to spend time over coffee while I'm on vacation.

And, most importantly, isn't it interesting that about a week before my vacation, memories come flooding back and I'm dealing with the ugly core?

Isn't it all interesting?

I think so.

It again reminds me of the power we each carry inside to heal ourselves.
I've had no other good choice but to trust the path I'm on.

And so...yes, I'm going to paint again.
Yes...I'm really scared. Especially since I have been looking at my older work. Part of me is afraid I won't be able to even achieve the level I did then. Yeah, it's silly. I'm out of practice! I can't go there just yet. But with perseverance, I'm curious to see what comes out with time. I'm coming from years of working with my pain. It has to affect my painting. So that's exciting.

I do not have images of anything I've done in the last 7 years. It's work done here in Seattle. I did notice that except for a series I did 6 years ago, everything else is drab. The colors are greyer, muddier. They aren't as clean. And before you think it, it has nothing to do with the weather! Our summers are known for a couple months of brilliant sun. And the winters aren't really greyer than back east.

I know I wasn't taking care when mixing. I wasn't using medium.
I had become the lazy painter because I rarely had time and energy to paint. So when I did...I just hungered to slap the paint down quickly and wasn't as meticulous with my materials.

That needs to change.
It is time.

My vacation begins Tuesday.

Ohhh...I'm seriously tired and sore this morning. Everything has a price. And, this is my price for going out and engaging with so many. I am not complaining, nor judging. It's simply the other side of the coin.

There is something I relish in this. It's a reminder that I'm not holing up, yet instead putting out (ha...in a few ways).

The sun streamed in so bright this morning, I couldn't remain in bed. It is time to get curtains up in my bedroom. Blinds aren't enough.

I really enjoyed being the backstage person last night. It's something I've never done before and therefore didn't go into a second guessing space. Instead, I stayed present and anticipatory. Made sure the water pitcher was filled, assisted with props, helped the men get dressed, did whatever was needed in the moment, and worked through the few tense times where unexpected disaster almost struck. I was in my element. There was no anxiety.

Patient, I watched the evening evolve and went with the flow. I noticed that calmness filled the area. The contestants didn't appear nervous. I felt a compassion and love pour out of me for each one. Hugs, kisses and touches were given. I'd place my hand on the chest of a man just before he stepped up on stage. It wasn't about the contest for me. I personally don't care about contests. It was being there for them...seeing each their sexiness, uniqueness and strength. It was one of those rare times I was acutely aware of my power. My inner strength. And definitely one of the times where I did not feel one bit invisible.

I know the world can make us all feel individually invisible. We can all get lost. I also know that it happens to me when I allow it, which is quite often. It's my creation. The time with my shrink is focused on the origins of why I sink so quickly into the abyss of invisibility and how to work with it into through it. I know I can use many excuses to keep me in a victim mode. And yes, there are times I succumb to that. But I also know...without a doubt, that energy tops everything.

I know it ultimately doesn't matter if I don't have a cock. I know it really doesn't matter if I don't have an M on my driver's license. I know it doesn't matter if I don't own the right clothes or belong to the right clubs. Honestly, it's all surface stuff. Shit, you can have the whole package and still not be into others or others not into you. The "right" stuff may increase the odds...but that's all.

Yeah, I won't lie to you. There are some things I truly want. And yes, a dick is one of those. I want to know what it feels like when I stroke it. I want to know what it feels like to have my balls tied and tortured. I hunger to know what it feels like the split second my throbbing purple cock rams itself into a sweet tight ass. I can imagine, but it's not the same.

I've considered learning how to do CBT, and the Bear has offered to teach me. Although a part of me wants to, I hesitate because there's no way I can empathize with the bottom I'd be playing with. Whereas when I was fisting that boy a few years back, or I strike someone...I know. I can feel it in my belly and it allows for a deeper connection.

I'll never have some things I crave.

That's life. It isn't fair. It will never be fair. And yes, most times it sucks. But I guess my job, my purpose, (at the risk of being pollyanna-ish) is to take what I do have and create a life of prosperity and abundance from what I have to work with.

I also know that my situation allows me to weed people out in a clearer fashion. I don't get as lost in the outward and so don't waste energy on lots of wrong turns. There may not be as many connections, but the ones I share in tend to be surer.

When I'm feeling weak, small and unsure...it all feels so big. I wonder "what the hell do I think I'm doing? How dare I attempt to step out of what our society has created?" The questions and doubt tangle me.

Coming from a family where I was essentially invisible from day one...and morphing into a person who has a twisted sexual orientation that doesn't even fit in the Kinsey scale...it requires continual vigilance on my part to not allow the blackness to consume me en masse.

(In regards to Kinsey, he did a good thing. A big thing. But it isn't the definitive response. There is so much more to learn and it cannot be placed on a neat little scale.)

Yet I know, when I can gather my strength, and trust in the energy, magic happens. It always does. Walls come down. Hearts are changed. Including mine.

Why am I thinking about this?

There were some very surprising moments last night. I watched and found myself a part of a few 180 degree flips in the viewpoints of some of the men. It's not the first time I've experience this. It is these small instances that keep me going. And, each time it happens, I am still in awe...and do not take anything for granted. Those are the times I feel I've stepped into the holiest of places. It is this that allows me to peek at the vastness of possibility that resides within me.

What do I believe?

This I believe:
God be damned.
There is no such thing as a god.
It is all about us. Each and every single one of us.
If one would choose to use the word god...then I would say, I am my own god.
You are your own god.

And our own energy is the ultimate Top.

Here's a quickie.

Spent most of the day at The Cuff, assisting with the setup for the WA State Leather Sir/boy/community bootblack competition.

I arrived at 10 am and worked until about 3:30, only to go home for a few hours and return at the bar at 6 pm because I was backstage mom for the evening. After the contest I hit my social wall...and although received an invite for a bar crawl with the contestants...I opted for home. Tomorrow, I'll see them all at the brunch.

I wanted to help because a good friend was running and another good friend produces the contest. So, it gets me out socially and more importantly, gets me out of my head. And, as I wrote to Hoss this morning "maybe I'll get me some sex."

I invited Auxugen, who had other plans, and Hoss' boy, who not only came but gave me a hand backstage. He was a great help.

Highlights:

Being physical - moving chairs, setting up staging, etc.
Being physical - introducing a bunch of boys to the joys of a certain type of rubberband play.
Being physical - Hair pulling that led to me on my knees going down on a beautiful pair of boots.
Being physical - which led to 2 offers of play dates with men I know but previously only done quickie play with.

That was all in the afternoon during the setup.

In the evening:

Being physical - corralling the contestants...fetching things...etc.
Being physical - showing more guys about one of my favorite toys (that specific rubberband). My right arm currently has nasty welts.
Being physical - playing Vanna for the auctions and so had to be the bottom for testing toys...opening wide for a dildo...tit play.
Being physical - my nips were mauled by many. I lost count. One desired to hear me scream. Twice.
Being physical - which led to another offer of a play date with some guy I met at the last contest in March.
Being physical - sucking long delightful face with another guy I had briefly met a couple months ago. Almost 3 hours later and my mouth and tongue are still sore. It was definitely one of the hottest kisses I've taken part in.

I always have a good time when I go out. But I won't do the bar thing often. My lungs can't take it.

All in all...it was very good. I'm really tired. And sore. Sore from hauling stuff and sore from some hot play. It's a good group.

The good, the bad and the ugly.

This painting was saved from dumpster fate by my upstairs neighbor, just before I left the east coast to move to Seattle. Yeah, I was tossing it, along with many other pieces. But Sam saw it and really wanted it. He even wanted to pay me something. I refused the money and gladly gave him the painting. You see, Sam had helped me out a few times...such as when I blacked out in my shower from a nasty blood sugar drop, to then come to on my couch (no memory of how I got there). Afterwards, still shaken, I knocked on Sam's door and asked if he could take me to the ER. He not only kindly drove me over, but I noticed he brought a book with him. He was staying for the duration. Nice guy. And very hot.

At that time I used to go to the laundrymat on Sunday mornings. While the clothes were doing their thing, I'd grab a cup of joe and my Boston Globe and NYTimes Sunday crosswords which I'd work on at the time. No, not in pen, but in pencil. Much erasing on my part. Although one of my best friends could complete the NYTimes Sunday puzzle in blue pen, in one afternoon. Anyway, sometimes Sam would join me...and we'd work the puzzles together.

Huh. I had forgotten about that until now. I was a faithful, very dedicated puzzle doer. I'd carry those things around all week...and work on them whenever I had a free minute. I was always amazed at how I could stare at a clue for days and draw a blank, only to what felt like out of the blue know the answer when I wasn't agonizing over it. For me, it was an insight to everything our minds have tucked within its dark recesses.

Since I've been in Seattle, I've picked up the puzzle a few times...and felt lost. Just out of practice.

Now that was a tangent!

Back to this painting.



At the time I called it "Out of the Garden". Yeah, fuckin' cheesy. I hate titles.

Why did I want to throw this one away? Because I didn't like parts of it. And I loved other parts. And the whole thing just wasn't working for me. If I wasn't moving, I would have held onto it only to study how I did the more successful parts. But space was at a premium. There is only so much one can pack into an '89 Ford Escort.

Anyway...I LOVE how I painted the vacuum cleaner. And the little red pitcher. And the corner of the green frame. Somehow I captured dancing light. This painting was also pivotal in the sense that I discovered my love of tailpipes. Yeah...this was a class still life set up by the prof. I became so captivated with those tailpipes that from then on, whenever I was driving and I saw pipe pieces on the side of the road, I'd stop and pick them up. They became part of my thesis series. The color, the texture of the rust, the curves, the length. It was really hot to me. Still is, actually.

I don't feel the piece works in a cohesive way. It just doesn't flow or make sense to me. The composition sucks because it feels fragmented. Also, the drapery and the tailpipes are painted quite clumsily. Overall the painting feels awkward. What I didn't think of at the time was...I could have pulled the canvas off the stretchers and chopped it up into smaller paintings. That would have worked.

The end of a very long week.

There was no other place for me to be right now but Cafe Septieme. I needed the dark blood red tattered walls and the smile of my favorite waiters.

I almost didn't come down - I was so tired. But I remembered that in times like these, the Cafe rejuvenates me in its quiet, magical way.

Tonight is a treat. The soundtrack of Amelie is on the sound system. It fits so perfect in this space. I think I'll delight in red wine and red meat tonight. Steak is calling my name.
(edited later - I opted for Piedmont Pasta - rigatoni with fennel sausage, long strips of fresh basil, red peppers and tomatoes. Yeah, not steak).

So last we left our heroine, she was too afraid to open her mouth in that small room that holds comfort and makes one nervous at the same time.

There is an important little tidbit I keep forgetting. At times, something will feel so big that I believe the only way to dispel it involves much energy and possibly some drama. Internal drama.

Thing is, each time I've hit a wall, been immersed in such fear, or been so low and hurtin', the drama comes from my own resistance. Once I breathe and take the next step it all seems to quietly dissipate. Sometimes it's almost disheartening because I think there should be fireworks and choirs in the sky reveling in the new dawn of my being. Then I have to laugh and remember that, as the shrink has said over and over "Talk it out." He'll continue with "you know it, I know it, and you know I know it. But the healing comes in saying it." And it's not dramatic after all. The drama is always in the resistance.

Pain is caused by resistance. I know this. I know this in an emotional aspect and in my s/m play. When I let go and breathe into the strike of the singletail, the cane or the wooden rolling pin, the pain transforms itself into another sensation.

Pain is caused by resistance. Mark it in my mind.

Yeah, I finally opened my damned mouth yesterday, with regards to the movie on Monday. Although there was a battle with actually verbalizing everything, overall it felt like an uneventful session. Yet afterward, I felt lighter. Stronger. See? No lightening bolts. No trumpets.

Today...I felt more of my resistance wear down. I didn't want to fight anymore. And so, I submitted and returned to the couch that I had left a month before. It was a big step for me in trusting again. How did it feel? Well the shrink asked me as well.

"It felt like home."
"Good home or bad home?"
"The way home should be."

Back in the saddle again although maybe I never left it. The terrain just got bumpy and then mountainous.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Today is the first day of my vacation.

Well...it was the first day of my vacation. I'm at work for a few hours to make up some time from Tuesday. On top of it, my summer assistant who comes in to relieve me is on jury duty this week. She called Wednesday and told me it was extended...until today. So now I have to come in Monday and spend the full day getting her up to speed.

Tuesday will be the first day of my vacation.

One viewpoint...

...from an Englishman, of today's events.

I stumbled upon this post by Mark Eris and really like what he has to say.

Here's a snippet:

"They want Terror. Give them never going to bed on an argument. Give them never letting a kind act left undone. Give them the hateful sight of you remembering to share your love with everyone you care about. Give them your turned back whilst you share the beauty of life with your nearest and dearest in the fullest way possible."

Now, go read the post in it's entirety. It's short, sweet and definitely to the point.

From my inbox this morning. And no...it wasn't sent by my shrink...

"Imagine a very poor man living n a decrepit little shanty, the only thing he owns in the world. What he does not know is that just beneath his shanty, but hidden in the dirt, is an inexhaustible vein of gold. As long as he remains ignorant of his hidden wealth, this pauper remains in poverty; but when he attends more closely to his own dwelling, he is bound to discover his own fathomless wealth. Similarly, all we need to do is unveil our own nature, and we will find an inexhaustible source of wisdom, compassion, and power. It is nothing we need to acquire from anywhere or anything. It has always been there. Seen in this light, the Buddha-nature requires no additions. One does not have to memorize sutras, recite prayers, or accumulate virtues to create it. All one needs to do is unveil it."
- B. Alan Wallace


A few things. First...this is what I do like about this philosophy – Zen. It's not about memorizing and rituals. It's about unfolding. It's not about clearing your head. It's about learning to embrace every second without freaking out over a painful thought or angry or fear. We're human. And until we take our last breath, we aren't going to be free of uncomfortable thoughts. The freedom that can be found, is where those feeling and thoughts no longer have the same power over. Aware that it's all a part of life and find new ways to deal with old patterns and voices.

Over the weekend I read a line in Thoughts Without A Thinker that summed it all up. It's brilliant.

Mark Epstein wrote:
"From a Buddhist perspective, there is really nothing but resistance to be analyzed; there is no true self waiting in the wings to be released. Only by revealing the insecurity can a measure of freedom be gained."

Both of those describe my situation. With Sir's training first, and then the shrink analysis, I've been intently focused on peeling it away and stepping through. Within this, I received glimpses of who I am. Some days they are much stronger than others. On rare days, I can actually see, taste, smell and feel my own unique power.

But it's work. And it's work because of the old stuff. The first messages we heard or concluded are the ones that stick like glue. That's what affects my perception of myself which in turn affects my relationships with people. Therefore, when something happens...reminders of what was...that is the mirror I pull out. I stand in front of it and see...nothing.

The recent big reminder of my religious past...a small snippet oh so accurately portrayed, just sent me into the tailspin where I don't even have a mirror to stand in front of.

I'll never get rid of my past. My memories. Instead my belief is that with all this work, I can remain stronger in the face of reminders. Hopefully I won't slip so far. As I wrote the other day...the demons won't be so loud.

What I need to face...courageously...is the hurt that came up. I know that I have to verbalize it...to another. Once I can get it out in the open, it loses its venom and unclenches its grip on my life. That is my latest struggle.

Going to three days a week with the shrink has been interesting. It really picked up the pace of the work I've been doing because I didn't have as much time to wall up after a session before walking back in there - especially the weeks where appointments would fall 3 days in a row. Like this week. Yesterday, today and tomorrow. This week I'm glad for it. It's pushing the work I need to do. I can't run from it.

Today's been another hard day. Since Monday...seeing the movie that ripped my insides open and brought everything to the forefront...each day has gotten tougher.

This morning I saw the shrink. Although we spoke about it that day on the phone...today I couldn't open my mouth in his office. I wasn't brave enough. When I finally found the courage to let words out, I spoke of art...Freud...philosophy...other ideas regarding buddhism.

Just before our time was up I finally came close by almost whispering "I know there's a big white elephant in the room that I'm not discussing."

I couldn't go there. And I know I have to.

Because, until I do...the enormous and truly mammoth feelings of invisibility that flooded out on Monday will continue to grow. Have you ever felt like a total non-person? That's what it feels like. I don't exist. I'm not really here. Yeah, wickedly discomforting.

This is one of those times I wished I never began this particular journey.

BUT...I'm going to see this fucker through. I refuse to allow the fear to beat me.

About 11 am I told the staff I was leaving for the day, and would make up my time on Friday. You see, as the day progressed, my heart became heavier. I couldn't stay.

I called the Bear and the bunny for some loving and spent the day with both of them.

Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology just came through and so I'm posting it early.
Once again, Capricorn's blurb feels like it's right on the money:

"Sometimes we have a strong sense of what our destiny is calling us to do, but we don't feel quite ready or brave enough to answer the call. We need a push, an intervention, a serendipitous stroke--what I call fate bait. It's a person or event that awakens our dormant willpower and draws us inexorably towards our fate; it's a thunderbolt or siren song or stage whisper that gives us a good excuse to go do what we know we should do. I suspect that you, Capricorn, are about to meet your fate bait."

Look for yours here.

Good morning. I think.

Yeah...today I can say...although shaky, I know I'll be fine. The shrink did say last night that it doesn't get harder than this. I've gotta trust that.

I'm feeling raw this morning. And guess what? Yesterday was my dad's birthday. Being a little bit, well consumed with other things...I forgot to contact him. I'll have to do it today...and right now, just the idea feels well...ick.

Last night I walked to the corner of my street and had a great view of the fireworks. About 30 people had gathered and were sitting all over the sidewalk and street. One had brought a bunch of cigars and passed them around for others to enjoy. The smell of cigar smoke was thick and sweet.

I met another of my neighbors at the corner. We'd periodically see each other coming and going, but never took the time to formally introduce ourselves, until last night. We spent some time talking. He's from India. Worked on films with the Candian film bureau. Now he's a work from home editor.

It seems that my building has a good share of artists, musicians, photographers, etc. One night I heard the gorgeous strains of someone playing their cello on the first floor. I sat in the courtyard to continue listening. The next week, it was someone else with a sax. Then a guitar.

Another of my neighbors, a former professor from UW, left a note on my door yesterday. He'd like to get together, talk some more...and really wants to see my paintings. We'll get together while I'm on vacation.

I'm beginning to babble...so I think I'll stop.

Hit by a truck.

Yeah...that's me. Slammed by an emotional semi.

At the almost last minute, I decided to see a matinee at The Harvard Exit. My Summer Of Love. The title is cheesy...and I thought it was a chick flick about young lesbian romance. It's been playing for a while now and I didn't have the desire to see it. Except today. Something drew me to the film and all I knew is I HAD to go, in that unconscious way we have of knowing yet not fully knowing why we have to do a certain thing.

Overall...it's a good film. And for me, the overall view wasn't profound.

This was.

In the movie, Mona brother's just found religion. One of those born again, slain in the spirit, appear to be genuine and excited about their path, therefore they have the drive to save their world, kinda people.

At first, I smirked inside because it was familiar. I've been there. Yes I was one of those slain in the spirit, speaking in tongues, watching miracles, preaching and praying, charismatic Catholics who after 3 years of that discovery left the church to do the same in a non-denominational church, much to the chagrin of my parents.

But that's not what slammed me.

What did it was a scene where Mona is telling her brother that she misses him. He keeps reassuring her he's here...and she says no. He's not the same. Her brother agrees, and continues with the idea that he's better than before. Now he's not dangerous. He's saved. She keeps repeating "but you're not real. You are not being real. I miss you. I miss the person you were. This isn't real."

He doesn't get it. She sobs and he wraps her in his arms, comforting her. You can see the genuineness of the love.

And then it happens.

While holding her...after she's gone on about how he's changed (and not in a good way)...he begins praying for her. She's in his arms and he's praying for her.

My heart began pounding. It took all my strength to stay in my seat. All I wanted to do was run out...cry, scream and call my shrink. There were a few other moments that had the same effect.

I remember sitting there and made the conscious painful choice to see this through. I just knew I HAD to sit through it. Although I wanted to run, I chose to stay.

Nothing like this and with this intensity, has ever happened to me before.

The brother felt, in his excitement and passion...he believed he had the answer for her. So much so that he had to pray for her...in front of her...against her wishes. She'd already said what she believed. He invalidated it and violated her spirit. Yes...it was rape.

I've sugar-coated my past. I don't share the details because it's not appropriate. But even with the shrink who knows the back story, I've tried to make it less than what it was.

After the movie Auxugen and I stepped outside. I went and leaned against the edge of the building, all my feelings desired to pour out. There was so much tightness in my chest. I began breathing hard and tears fell. Auxugen asked "are you okay?" Normally, I would have said "yes" or "I will be"...but not this time. Instead, "no" slipped from my lips.

I spoke a little...then worked to compose myself. "I need a drink. Now."

So we headed to Septieme's where I had two margueritas. I knew I needed a break from the hurt.

After we parted, I walked home. As soon as I stepped into my apartment I left a frantic message for the shrink. He's out of state for the long weekend. Within an hour he returned my call and we spent some time talking.

I relayed everything, including the need to self medicate afterwards.
"Bravo" he responded. "I'm so proud of you."
"Why?"
"You made yourself go through it and then took care of yourself afterwards, to ease up from the pain."
I was a little confused that he'd say that, and so he explained:
"If would be one thing if you ran as soon as it became uncomfortable...and hit the tequila at that time. Instead, you approached it in a smart way."

I'm letting that sink in. All of it.

Want to know what I believe? Or...a portion of my belief?

We, as humans, each hold different things sacred and precious. We are entitled to that. We each have our own religion and ideas. But, we do not have the right to push those ideas on anyone else. There is the line.

We all speak of independence and personal freedom. The freedom to fuck, to pray, to think, to say and to live how we choose. We HAVE to allow others the same freedoms. Ignorance or not. If someone wants to know more, they will ask. When we begin to determine what is sacred for all, we have stepped into dangerous territory.

I grew up in a family where, out of good intentions and unknowingly, they devalued the essence of who I am. Each time they attempted to gently guide and educate me, they robbed me of me. And they robbed me of support.

I am fully aware of the other side of the coin. Giving them the benefit of the doubt. What is profound is that, because of the peeling away of layers with all the therapy...I actually allowed myself to feel the hurt I couldn't feel when it was happening.

It rang loud when the brother held the sister...and while she is crying that she misses her brother, the way he used to be, he utters prayers that she may find her consolation in Christ. It's absolutely perverse.

Before you go jumping all over me...I do know he has every right to pray for her...but silently...without throwing it in her face.

This is still all fresh to me. And I may have jumped around with my entry.
It brought back memories I had forgotten. But I had to get it out. Why here, you ask?
Because I'm feeling pretty alone right now and I wanted to connect in some way.
Even if it's only a virtual thread.

Drift Away.

It just came on and I chuckle each time I hear it.

"Oh, give me the beat, boys, and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away..."

This song, for me, has come to mean something so different than what I think Dobie Gray intended.

Now I'm happy.

It's 4:40 pm. How have I spent my day?

Walked for coffee this morning. Sat in the courtyard, sipping my java and counting the goldfish in the little pond. There are 14 fish. I've picked my favorite. He's all orange with black fins and black eyes. He likes getting punched as well.

Went inside, ate breakfast...ate lunch, skanked around and watched a few movies. Sir received the Josephine Baker collection - newly released on dvd, and loaned them to me yesterday. I decided to watch them in order. So this morning it was Siren Of The Tropics. It's a silent film and her first one. Fun old movie. I love the drama. And drama is for film and the stage.

Tonight I'll pop in Zou Zou and tomorrow, Princess of TamTam.

I've always been intrigued by Josephine Baker and essentially know nothing. My education begins.

I never made it to Hoss' for chocolate cake because I'm running on really low energy today. Now because it is sunny and Seattle picks up its pace in the sun...one would think the sun never comes out considering how everyone enjoys it in town, but I too feel the pull of "you oughta be OUT there...", I'm currently at Septieme's, with my foot up on the other chair, sitting at a sidewalk table, large ice tea, listening to jazz that's playing in the restaurant and talking with you.

I also brought a book to read and my sketchbook.

A bus just slowed down across the street so the driver could yell out to the guy sitting at the table next to me. "Hey that's a great hat!"

My waiter just dropped off the dinner menu and there's a special for tonight:
Grilled pancetta wrapped prawns served on mixed greens tossed with organic red grapes, vine tomatoes and fried leeks in an apricot vinagrette.
Okay...I'm intrigued.

The sun is filtering through the leaves of the tree in front of me, and dancing on my table. There's an easy pace on the street as well as some nice cruisin'.

This is definitely an 'ahhh' moment.

I'm having a tough morning. It's a hurting heart kinda day.

When these times manifest themselves, they tend to begin as I wake up instead of starting in the middle of the day. Does that happen to you? I know that much happens to us while we sleep. Stuff churns at night and the leftovers spill out at daybreak.

Today's deal.
I hear my old, familiar voices of not being seen. My ghosts that walk in the night. I no longer believe that I can exorcise them but maybe their howling will quiet over time. The emotions trap me between the sheets and make it difficult to face the day. Laying in bed I wished that it would get dark again so I could sleep through and therefore have the possibility of waking the next day in a different space.

What I was longing for were people who could see beyond the femaleness. People who see that my biological sex is no different than having brown hair or eyes. My life isn't segregated or judged by using my left-hand so why is it because I happen to be born female?

I have a large circle of friends. There is so much love within that circle. I cherish each one.
And...I want someone to see me beyond my skin. Maybe some do and I just can't believe it.

My demons.
I have to shake them off.

I wondered what brought this to the surface again and then thought of the page of small paintings I posted last night. When I paint in that manner, I seek out the energy, the lights and darks. I may be painting a corner of a windowsill, or a branch jutting into the sky. But I go past the surface, and really look at seeing...not what I think I see which is chock-full of assumptions. Everything is constructed from within. That's what I seek when I paint. It is a matter of seeing with my eyes and not my head.

No...it's not easy. I know this. Sometimes I can get in a groove and it flows. Other times...not so much.

This morning I saw that what I explore in my little zen paintings is how I desire people explore me.

Today...

...and a painting.

Yesterday I popped by Utrecht's to pick up a cheap, large portfolio so I could sort out my drawings. While there, it reminded me I need to inventory my oils. I know I'm out of a few colors and need to replenish them before my vacation.

Today, I took Sir to Gallery Frames down in Pioneer Square. He had a few large pieces to frame. If you need framing done, I highly recommend this shop. In addition to being family, Larry, the owner is really great and does good work. While in Pioneer Square, we hung out afterwards and grabbed some food. I like this neighborhood but don't make the time often enough to get down there. We ended up grabbing a table on the sidewalk of a bar called Central Saloon. What we didn't know until we checked out the menu is that it's the oldest bar in Seattle. 1892. The link has the history of the bar. Good food. Sir had a rack of ribs with some of the best shrimp I've tried in a while whereas I had blackened chicken and greens. New Orleans type food. It was fun.

Afterwards we both headed up to Volunteer Park to see Waldo. The bloom is diminishing, but there was still a slight smell. It's a gorgeous flower...surreal. It's 5 feet tall. One article states the flower is 80 lbs while another says 180. Typo somewhere. There was a measuring chart in back which documented growth with dates. From the 19th to the 21st it grew almost a foot! Nature is amazing, isn't it? This article has a photo which gives a good idea of size.

On the way up to Volunteer Park, we stopped in at Beyond The Closet books, on Pike Street. This is Seattle's gay bookstore. Granted, many bookstores now carry gay sections...but it's not quite the same, is it? The sad thing is, Beyond The Closet is closing on August 1st. They can't compete. I think, if they could have relocated on Broadway (although rents have gone up so much it's tough for small businesses), they would have had more foot traffic which would lead to impulse buying. Although on the Pike/Pine corridor, still part of the ghetto, and just up the block from the Eagle, the bathhouses and Toys In Babeland, it's not on the heavily foot-travelled retail strip. I hate to see it go. The end of an era.

I promised you a painting, didn't I?

This is something different. Black and white watercolor done on 11x14 paper. The fall of '96 or '97 I took a week's vacation to paint. I was going to do outdoor painting. When I got out to the site, I was so tired from work that I didn't have the energy to do oils so I opted for watercolor. I then saw that even the idea of working in color was still exhausting and so I had the idea of only pulling out one tube. Black.

I plopped down on the curb, masked the sheet into different shapes, and wherever my eye would land, I'd paint. For the first few days, I wouldn't even think...only react to shape, light and dark. Because each image is really small and it would get wet quickly, I'd work on the whole sheet, many images simultaneously, not allowing myself to spend more than 20 minutes on the whole page. Afterwards I may or may not go in with pencil, add a little structure...etc. Briefly.

That was the week that I created a new way of painting for me. At the time, I called them my little zen paintings. To this day, the last one being for an LJ friend's birthday, because he requested we create something. I still work in this manner. It's great for loosening up, relaxing etc. I did notice though, that the last time I painted this way, it was tough. Still dealing with so much fear around painting...that I couldn't even settle into the playfulness of it.

Anyway, this shot is from that very first week of doing those paintings. I was sitting on a corner of Bow Street in Portsmouth NH, trying not to let the passersby bug me too much.





I worked on pages of these that week. It was freeing. Since then, I've cut them apart, matted and framed some...and have a small pile of others waiting to be framed. I did show them in a black and white show I had a year later. It consisted of these small watercolors and very large charcoal drawings.

I could now have another show with the newer ones and have considered it...but the damned cost of framing slows me down.

One day.

Amorphophallus

Look out Audrey II, Waldo's here!

Corpse flower bloomed Wednesday night and I missed it. Seeing I'm only a few blocks from the conservatory, had I know, I would have checked it out. Although, according the article the bloom may be gone by now, I'll still walk over and see the plant.

From Wednesday's Seattle Times:
Raise a toast but hold your nose. Waldo, the gigantic and smelly botanical wonder, is in bloom.

"From the symptoms, it's going to be tonight," said Doug Ewing, who cultivated the plant, considered to be the largest flower in the world...

...But don't wait if you want to see it; the flower's bloom collapses in just a few days.

The plant is an Amorphophallus titanum, which produces what's considered to be the largest flower in the world. Bloomings in cultivation are especially rare - and thus always draw a crowd.

Part of the fascination is a stench produced as the plant blooms. The smell has been described as similar to rotting flesh, which, in the wild, is believed to attract carrion beetles.

Waldo is likely to be at its smelliest at about midnight Wednesday, when it is expected to be fully opened. The stench then dies down hour by hour. and the bloom will collapse in just a few days.

It has taken 10 years for Waldo, raised at the University of Washington by greenhouse manager Doug Ewing, to reach this milestone. In order to best accommodate the public, the plant was loaned to the conservatory, where staff have been ready with gas masks just in case.

"We're in labor," said Stephanie Johnson-Toliver, the conservatory's senior gardener, when she called at 4:26 p.m. to announce Waldo's blooming.
Copyright © 2005 The Seattle Times Company

"Have confidence in your own spiritual potentiality, your ability to find your own unique way. Learn from others certainly, and use what you find useful, but also learn to trust your own inner wisdom. Have courage. Be awake and aware. Remember too that Buddhism is not about being a Buddhist; that is, obtaining a new identity tag. Nor is it about collecting head-knowledge, practices and techniques. It is ultimately about letting go of all forms and concepts and becoming free."
- John Snelling

After a few weeks of busyness, I'm playing catchup on many of my regular reads and found the following...

Mondrian anyone?

Thank you Padacia for the link. This is fascinating!

myData = myMondrian

"Where a human is reduced to data,
data is converted to values,
values are transformed into art."

Will hockey and tapas survive?

From Mark Morford's column for today:

"In other words, Canada and Spain are now essentially much like any major American city that happens to be home to world-class universities and actual culture and decent bookstores and progressive ideologies, places where people seem to understand that, at least while we're all trapped in these odd human shells for such a brief, glimmering eyeblink of time, allowing love to progress and evolve as it sees fit does not, somehow, equal epic doom, decay or moral annihilation.

In fact, the realization is now more apparent than ever that allowing such delicious evolution equals, well, the exact opposite. Wild kudos to Spain and Canada for welcoming it. And what a deep and pathetic shame that most of the U.S., despite claims of spiritual freedom and tolerance, isn't even close."