Serious synchronicity~


Last weekend, while in NYC, I stumbled upon an image and knew I needed to dig deeper into Robert Motherwell. Today, a week later, I decided to go to the Kucera Gallery website to see what is on exhibit.

On view is Robert Motherwell - The Studio Editions (1972 - 1991).
Yes! I am so going to spend some time there.

After experiencing Brice Marden at the MoMA and now Motherwell...I know there is something in there for me...studying both Marden and Motherwell.

They inspire me.

Now that I think of it, back in '95 & '96, my harshest, most brilliant prof...the only one who never let me coast yet would push intensely, was into Motherwell. Quite a bit. I would try and try to understand...to see what he saw. I never could. It would leave me frustrated and even bereft.


Yesterday I fooled around with ink and rice paper.

Playing...


...playing...


...and more playing.

I woke at 5 am with a clear decision regarding ideas bantered around last night about my work. There is more than enough exposure right now. My heart is stripped. I am working on strengthening where I'm at. Any more revealing would be foolhardy. Time enough for that later on. Then returning to sleep, I slept deeply for another 4 hours.

It's now almost noon and I've yet to have breakfast. Instead, I had an idea about how to work this weekend. I've begun exploring rice paper with the ink. Remembering I have a piece of bamboo in my drawing box, the end cut to make it pen-like, I was anxious to see how this crude tool would take to the paper.

It glides. The movement and feel is a happy one. So, although I'm still not hungry, I'll choke down some food and then blatantly engage in mimicry. Copying an artist I saw at the MoMA last Friday. My art needs to move.

(Whoa, nice slip. I meant to write "My hand needs to move." I prefer "art").

A non-thinking time. Motion. And possibly copying from books. Simple. I'm excited that I don't care what it looks like. There is comfort in that place. The freedom to be. A way to allow light to enter.

Day off. And I'm at work for a few hours. A project needs to be completed before I can enjoy the long weekend, not having to return until Tuesday.

Walking in the door last night, I sat in my chair and almost fell asleep. It took everything not to be in bed before 9pm. So tired. No drawing.

Brushes are out. Paper pulled out of the tube. It's all waiting for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"This much we know: The human race progresses in fits and starts and heaves and spits. While many of us like to envision some sort of big epiphanic transcendental whoop that will wake everyone up in a flash and a gulp and an orgiastic squirt, in fact, change comes in lurching sidelong waves, in oddly torqued perspective shifts, two steps forward one and step back and three steps sideways and eventually praise Jesus hi Allah thank Buddha, we get there. Maybe. If we're lucky.

And really, given our wicked fun-loving deeply conscious stupidly bipolar natures, that's probably the best we can do."

That's the end of Morford's column for today.

Morford's words remind me of a past conversation. A few years ago Bryan asked me if I believed in progress.
"No."

My answer not only surprised him, but it surprised me. Yet I went on to explain that we may appear to move forward in one arena to then move back in another. In looking at the whole, the overall seems to balance out. We become enlightened in an area and there's a greater backlash of hate and/or ignorance in another. To me, it always seems to be a fluid dance.

Feels cynical, I know.

I'm not sure what I believe now except that if I worry too much about the overall state of humankind, I get depressed. The most productive thing I can do is focus on how I live my life. Am I remaining vulnerable? Am I honest? How can I best connect with others? And even those questions are big questions...at times requiring mammoth execution.

Thick fog today.

Although I had truly hoped to work yesterday afternoon, it was not meant to be. We had an intense meeting, very difficult for me, that lasted until after lunch and it wiped me out. I left the office not even able to speak to anyone. At home, I needed to sit in total silence for a few hours. No music. No tv. No drawing.

Tonight. I have to work tonight.


A little pimping. For those of you who haven't checked out Uppity Faggot...do it. In addition, if you're a foodie, UF has begun writing about food there as well.

(photo of a piece of sculpture done by one of our scholars and gifted to our scholarship manager.)


I returned from NYC with many gifts, one being a new fire in my belly for my work.

This afternoon I look forward to returning home and standing at the drawing table. The doubt and hesitancy I've carried for weeks is gone. My hand hungers to move. The sensations in my being long to be released on paper.

Right now I no longer care if my work is understood or liked.
There is a fearlessness inside and it will be tapped.

My spirit is thankful.


Here is this week's Freewill Astrology and Mark Morford with Gift Giving for Dirty Contrarians.

Memory.

A photo taken while at breakfast Monday morning.


Today was a challenging day. Although tired and jet-lagged, I managed to work the full day. Well, somewhat work. A good part of the morning was spent fidgeting and catches glimpses of the weekend. By afternoon, it seemed everyone in the office needed something different, all at the same time. My current workload was put on hold to accommodate last minute requests.

Yet still even in that frenzied time...a memory would quietly return and then resound throughout my being.
A look. A word. A smell. A sensation.

There is so much to take in from my time away.

I'm at JFK, waiting for my flight home.

It's been a full weekend away, returning to Seattle with an abundance of sweet, luscious memories, growing awareness into some old wounds, greater knowledge about my duty as artist and much, much more.

I enjoyed becoming a birthday surprise for a good friend on Friday and meeting some new friends on Saturday. Some of this weekend's glorious sex consisted of good foods, viewing the work of a few powerful artists which forced me to honestly look at my experience, attending a wonderful play and many other intimacies. I received a great gift which played a huge part with healing around my love of leather service.

Four days of stepping into darkness to reach the light...touching pain and fear to then rise up from the gutter. Seeing the impact of my falsely perceived inadequacies only to overcome and feel the strength. Immersion in the redemptive power of two.

Closing my eyes I can feel a multitude of emotions.

Yes, I am blessed.


(You...you were perfect. Thank you.)

I saw some art yesterday.

It fucking pissed me off. I didn't know what to do with it. Let's make matters worse. By chance I happened to be introduced to the artist. He said something about coming to view his work hoping for a revelation.

It made me very angry.

How dare you produce and have a major show that consists of very abstract work and as creator not know the secrets contained within? How can you impart any wisdom to others when they in turn attempt to take it in?

I don't know where I'm going with my work. I don't know what it is. I don't know what I'm doing. But I sure as hell would hope to have some fucking revelation of sorts before showing the work.

It seems not to be the case.

We are all made to be fools.
Life demands it.

As it was explained to me, our creations are our children. In raising kids, we don't know who they'll become. It about the day to day discovery. The same with art.

This does not sit well with a strong analytical capricorn.
Yet I know that my feeling side is equally as strong. Therefore the continual battle.

My work and my heart are in the same place. I'm trusting and digging. Opening. Taking risks. I'm terrified most of the time. And I haven't a fucking clue what I'm doing, where I'm going, what it all means.

I am stretched so thing. So raw. I feel overly sensitive. And a part of me wishes I never began this journey. This awareness crap is for the birds.

Sometimes I feel trapped because I can't do anything else but move forward. It's a continual steady motion into unknowing.

Thinking of my painting...I am angry.
I'm angry that what I'm learning I wasn't dealing with 10 years ago while in school. I'm angry that I'm blinded to the energy in work. I'm angry that I can't see my work for what it really is.

Yes, I am most angry that I can't see my work for what it really is. I'm angry that my demons blind me to what is in front of me.

My art. My heart. It's all the same.

And it makes me sad.

I'm almost 47 fucking years old and I'm just now beginning to learn this stuff? Where am I going? What does each mark I place on paper mean? Where does it go? Why is it there?

Why should I care?

Yeah. I'm really scared today.

Yesterday was a pivotal day and it shook me.

Standing in the Museum of Modern Art, looking at these paintings, my face was wet and this time...I wasn't sure why I was crying other than I was carrying a buttload of emotion.

But I do know why. If I close my eyes and am honest with myself, I know another reason for the tears. In these paintings...I saw my work reflected back at me. I saw my potential.

And I don't understand it.
And again, it scares me.

Art needs to be done from the belly...the cunt...the cock. I always thought I had. But it's from my head. Slowly over the years I've opened to creating from the place the fire resides. In these last few months, it's heightened. A frenzied push to that edge. What are limits? The edge. That non-negotiable place we dare not step over. Maybe the edge continually gets pushed. The stronger we become, the more we see, the larger our heart...the edge moves.

The work.

My insight last week occurred while I was at work. I was looking at this and it struck me. At work, and again tears. Isn't there a day that goes by without tears? Not anymore.

I stared at the image and saw the truth. I knew it was truth because it was a familiar voice I first heard during my thesis year. At the time it felt too big and too terrifying so I silenced it. I chose to rest in my current laurels. The comfortable place. I was loved. My work was adored.

My epiphany is that I have been dumbing myself down with my work all these years. I've known that I needed to go to the ledge. Seeing the view, I dared not go. I already knew I was a fucking freak. If I pushed my work in the direction it ached to go, my freakiness would be cemented and I would never be able to run from it.

If I chose not to play it safe, no one would like my work. No one would know what to make of it. What if I couldn't understand it myself? What if we all were puzzled and made to feel uncomfortable by my paintings? What if, as I saw yesterday, there were no revelations to attain or offer up?

So I took the road most travelled knowing it would please everyone else. My work has been a milkshake, gulped easily through a straw. No chewing involved. In doing so, I would access the false feeling of fitting in. For a little while, in the midst of my paintings, I would feel loved.

Fear. I speak of fear often. It seems I carry it on my shoulder. Fear has become a part of my life. I can't deny it. I fight it. And at times, I succumb to it.

I don't think we ever get rid of fear. Maybe it is as crucial as the blood coursing through our arteries. Fear drives us to do what we may not do otherwise.

One of the most pivotal lines (out of a few) in Shortbus that still haunts me is at the end of the film, Justin Bond performs "In The End" written by Scott Matthew. He sings "in the end, you'll find your demons your best friends."

To embrace those demons that carry the fear...maybe life is all about learning how.

Yesterday afternoon I noticed that a portion of our little fountain and pond in the apartment courtyard was frozen. It was quite lovely.

The sockmonkey and the snowman.



I saw these two on my way home from work yesterday. They look happy. The snowman has eyes made of yellow leaves and a flattened green peapod mouth.

An excerpt from Space For Reality by Eric Francis:

"People wonder nervously what would happen to civilization if society were really free. Art is an experiment in freedom of thought, feeling and concept within a defined space. Sure, there are rules, and the rules are different everywhere. But they are easy to break, and part of making art is breaking some rule that pertains to art, but doing it in a creative way.

True, sex has yet to find its rightful place in the world of art, so instead we get porn (I include advertising here, and music videos), which lacks mainly in imagination, and in feeling. And we get romance, where you think you know the ending before it happens.

Art is an empty space wherein the synapse of reality illuminates your inner landscape."

Read the whole thing. Good stuff. The photo he posts is sweet also.

Speaking of sex and art, I just checked personal email and am now hornier than I've been in a while. My whole body is in tremors. It's going to make for an interesting day. I was going to write about my big art insight from last week but now it needs to wait until I compose myself. If I can.

So for now, here is this week's Freewill Astrology.
Morford in Sex Will Make You Go Blind writes:

"I think I get it now.

The latest pitiable GOP plan, from what I can tell, goes something like this: To make it all so absurd, to make the remaining Bush administration proposals and doctrines and cultural stratagems so outlandish and silly and degrading and insulting to your mind and your heart and your very own beleaguered genitalia that you cannot help but take note of their existence and laugh and cringe and sit back and go, Oh my God these people have got to be kidding."

My walk into work was slick and slow. Ice everywhere. I arrived at 6:15 and saw an email that because our schools are closed today, so is the office. It means I'll have a quiet day to work on my pile of tasks. Maybe there will even be the opportunity to really organize my desk.

And...make a list. It feels as if I have much to do in the next few days and it's all jumbled in my head…little things such as pick up new shoelaces. refill a prescription, pay some bills...etc. It's all prep before leaving town for a long weekend.

I worked again last night...ink on bristol board.

In yesterday's therapy session I relayed the 3 big breakthroughs from last week. He was surprised and very pleased...in his understated way. When I spoke of my art…I informed him that right now anyway, I'm letting go of the idea of showing, selling or being able to do art fulltime. There is some sadness to that. And maybe it will happen. But it seems that at this time, my job is to simply work. Keep dumping. It feels like I'm weeding.

Huh.
Garden metaphor.

This reminds me of an encounter a couple days ago. I bumped into someone who I hadn't seen in almost a year. Their first question, "so how was your sabbatical?" It was 9 months ago and I had almost forgotten about it. It was a painful time. I so looked forward to 6 weeks off, paid, to paint. And I couldn't. Instead, because circumstances worked out, I spent most of the sabbatical, in therapy 5 days a week. I remember a coworker meeting me for lunch during that time and when I told him I was stuck in concrete with painting, and so instead was seeing my shrink everyday, he reminded me I was painting...in a different way. In his words, I felt grace wash over me and I could relax in it.

That conversation came back to me last night. But even now, thinking about those 6 weeks, there still is sadness and a little shame. I noticed it in the recent conversation about my sabbatical. And I know there shouldn't be. Why do I still feel a little strange about expending energy working on my internal stuff instead of "producing"? I need to remind myself that the sabbatical, as well as all the months before and after, were my winter. The bulbs and seeds were in frozen ground. The energy is still moving underneath.

The garden needs the winter.

And at some point, my garden will need the winter again.

Longer. Harder. Deeper.

That is how I slept last night. I woke rested.
I don't remember sleep like that in over two months. Since Sunday, there is a calmness residing inside and it coats me.

On Friday night, all the desperation that had clenched my gut and my heart had vanished. In breaking through and laying responsibility where it needed to be, neediness disappeared, and I've watched patience begin to take its place. Fucking refreshing.

Today my face feels the bitter cold of the air while my belly, the warmth.

Yesterday evening we noticed flurries. Of course it didn't stick. This is Seattle.

Today, I woke to a mix of snow and rain which turned to rain. I spent a couple hours with Badfaggot, and then he and I met a few others for dim sum. On my way home, it was snowing. Tonight it is sticking.

Tomorrow morning is going to be a messy commute...an icy, treacherous trek to work. From my house, it's all downhill. Where is my sled?

Very pretty.

Remaining open is terrifying.
Today I realize there is nothing to lose by doing so and maybe everything to gain.

In spite of tiredness, in spite of feeling shell-shocked...I had to work. Do a few pieces until too wet to continue and then play many rounds of spider solitaire. Go back to the table and work some more. First one, then the other. Back and forth.

The first 3 pieces were with black ink, and again, let my hand move to what I was feeling inside. The last 3 pieces are a little different. When I purchased ink a few weeks back, I accidentally bought walnut. Today I'm using it with the black and I see it's not an accident. The photo is a detail. It's not a good quality image because I'm currently using cheap drawing paper. It buckles badly and creates glare. I've decided that even though I'm just dumping with ink, it's time to return to bristol board.

It has been a week of catharsis, with the latest and deepest coming a couple hours before meeting the gang for a film and dinner. What a journey. This work, although encouraging, is exhausting. And it is taking its toll.

The first...regarding invisibility, the second touched my painting, and the last, a biggie...no longer protecting my parents.

It is layer upon layer. Pulling one off because it's the only way to get to the other.

I am tired.

Here are a few other images from Tuesday's walk home.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Warm hugs, cozy petting and some hot kisses mixed with great food, much booze and luscious company made for a delightful afternoon/evening. With people in from NYC and SF to join the Seattle posse, we were 18 for dinner.

The festivities began with hot apple cider laced with tequila and something else. Power-packed and delicious. Cockle-warming.

Dessert consisted of apple pie, pumpkin tart (designated as such because the pie pan wasn't found and therefore baked in a tart pan) served with a coffee whip cream, pecan pie, chocolate cake, cheesecake with strawberries, and spice cake with orange cream cheese frosting.

I somehow managed to retain a sense of balance. I imbibed, but didn't drink too much, tasted everything, including a little of each dessert and wasn't uncomfortably full when I left. That's a first (the not eating too much part).

Tomorrow afternoon, 9 of us are going to see the matinee showing of Shortbus which has moved from the Egyptian to the Harvard Exit.

Heading back up Broadway tonight, I noticed there were stars made of little white lights on the lampposts. It's very pretty.

All in all, a nice evening.

My office is in an area of the city that is one of the most troublesome. Gunshots have been heard. At times, used syringes are found in the grass as well as discarded pieces of aluminum foil. The dealers and the crackheads are huddled together on the corner.

On tuesday when I left work, I turned the corner and found a wonderful surprise, tucked away near leaves and a rock, right near the sidewalk. It delighted me.



There are a few more shots, even nicer. I'll post them in the next couple days.

Yesterday morning, I received a huge insight regarding my art. Although I shared it with someone close, I'm still sitting with it and therefore not ready to open up publicly. In time. Nor could I work last night. This lightbulb moment took much of my energy.

It seems my big lessons lately all involve living in the unknown. I wonder if I'll ever become comfortable with it.

Whatever you do today, I hope you all have a good day.

Here are our today guys...Brezsny's Freewill Astrology and Mark Morford.

In Gratitude Not Dead After All, Morford writes:

"It is time to be giving up some thanks, good and juicy and now. It is time -- somewhat shockingly, somewhat unexpectedly, mostly beautifully -- to take this crazy new opportunity to say, Oh my God I can't believe it and I didn't think it was possible but here we are again, in a thanks-giving mood. Who woulda thunk?"


Foggy-headed today. Late start this morning.
I have photos for you but it will have to wait until I get home. After work, I'm finally getting my mop chopped and then a trip to REI to pick up a few things.

Snippets from the day~

A coworker opened a bag of chips in the kitchen. Within 30 seconds, 4 people from all over the office, ran in clamoring for chips because they had heard the sound of the bag tearing.

I was incredibly productive. Zoomed through a large pile of mishmash problems. Now, I'm down to one stack of work on my desk instead of two.

While cleaning off the pile I found a check made out to me for $200! I thought it was at home but must have gotten shoved in a pile of bills I brought to work. I had paid the bills and it seems the check just got hidden. The sad thing is, I received this about 2 months ago. Yes, I finally deposited it in my account.

To kill some vacation time, I'm doing short days this week. So again I was home by 2pm.

Painted for a bit. Short work session today because I'm meeting friends for dinner and a movie. While painting, I realized I was almost out of ink. I'm low on paper as well. So before dinner, it's another trip to the art store.

Today, for the first time with these studies, I found myself painting without looking at the subject matter. My hand was moving to the music that filled my apartment. I really didn't care what it looked like. Again, I was using my right hand instead of my left. I felt I was painting. It was a free joyful moment. I was playing! The feeling of not having any seriousness while working was amazing.

I look forward to more tomorrow.

And...I feel lighter and happier than I've been in a while.

These are just a portion of what I've been doing the last 4 days. My living room floor is strewn with studies. I am trying to keep a pathway clear from the door to the kitchen.

Banishing the invisibility demon, albeit temporarily, assists with working. It's not such a chore and tonight I really began to find a little joy in painting. I still don't know what I'm doing but it's okay.

I spent the latter part of the afternoon painting. 4 pieces. Then, after a bite to eat I decided to try something new. I worked two more pieces with my non-dominant hand...my right hand.



The two on the left were done with the right and it feels somewhat better that way. Maybe part of it is fooling my brain. Seeing I don't know how to paint the way I used to anymore, working with my right hand is a good excuse to feel inept.

After looking at the pieces...I prefer them to the others. And I'm really trying to take in the fact that it's alright for them to be what they are.



Have I said lately how much I love my camera?

As I mentioned last night, although the old voices are screaming at me, I can see them for what they are.

On one hand, it makes it easier to go through because I know it's not forever. Yet it is an arduous trip. I am tired.

The oldest, biggest demon I struggle with is invisibility. It's a 46 year old recorded message. That's why stereotypes have bothered me lately. I can touch and appear to fit in various groups for a bit and the reality is I never will really fit. Trying to be part of a group mentality requires amputation.

When this particular monster awakes, it makes it difficult to realize that I love my individuality and see the strength in that.

What excites me is the increasing awareness to old voices. Both sides of the battle. I'm no longer blinded to what is happening and therefore, instead of attacking everyone because I perceive they are out to hurt me, I can pick up my weapon and go after the real enemy.


Walking to my therapy appointment this morning, I felt really close to beaten down. Tired. I began repeating to myself "I don't want to be invisible any longer. I don't want to be invisible." Over and over and over, With each step I repeated the words. Defiantly, I was going to silence this bastard.

Approaching the office a huge wave of nausea came over me. Stepping into the building I ran to the bathroom and proceeded to throw up. A few times.

Purging the poison.

Then I cried.

Up until that moment, my left shoulder (the drawing arm) was so painful I needed to hold it while walking. The pain had been increasing over the week.

I walked into my session and relayed everything.
We talked.
We sat.
We were quiet.

On my way back to work I noticed the pain in my arm had disappeared.

So, how was your morning?

Uppity Faggot is back.

This makes me very happy. The man is a wonderful writer and I've always wanted him to write more.

Originally, Uppity Faggot began as a group blog. We were all Bruce. It was more anonymous with each entry signed by Bruce. It was a place where I thought I could really rant and go off. After a while, I realized that it was difficult doing a second blog. There was a feeling of being split. It's the same reason I don't have an art blog, a sex blog etc. It's all connected. So...posting in UF faded with time.

A couple weeks ago, UF emailed and checked in with us about the group blog going solo. Seeing he created the space and more importantly, it would mean he would be writing...I was very excited.

Check him out. Really good stuff.

Today I'm feeling...



In spite of that I opted to...



and begin once again...




Earlier I was going through some of my old blog entries and found a piece titled Don't Listen To Me from March 2005. I had forgotten all about it. It was perfect reading for today...a day when I feel too broken for anything worthwhile.

Today...regardless of how I'm feeling, at least I'm actually going in and working for a bit, which is a very different state than a year and a half ago. Today, I'm taking my time and slowly working two images, trying to figure out the medium. It's not a happy dance at the work table and maybe my skills will never come back. But I am working.

Although there is no good reason for their appearance, these old demons will periodically pop in. And today I realized that when they do, I should treat it like the flu. Just take it slow, pamper myself, be quiet, work at least a little, and it will pass. They can't kill me. In taking care of myself I'm taking away their power.

So maybe I'm not too broken.

Nothing exciting today.

It's after 10 and I'm still trying to wake up. Strange, because I was out early grocery shopping, picking up coffee and taking pictures in the neighborhood and yet it hasn't done much to hasten alertness.

It's another beautiful day and I want to spend a good part of it working drawings. The only other plans are to attend a friend's house warming.

If there's energy tomorrow, I want to make pork chops cooked in cider with sauteed apples and onions. I'll play that one by ear.

All in all, a non-stressful weekend. This will be my last quiet weekend for about 3 weeks and so will take advantage of it.

I've noticed a shift in my orgasms lately. When masturbating, they've reach a whole new level of potency. It's not a matter of jacking off simply because I'm horny yet instead has become a powerful space of connection. Strong stuff.


This week I have been less patient with stereotypes. I was getting to a point where it wasn't bothering me too much. I figured if folks wanted to immerse themselves in such generalizations and see it as truth, it's their business. They just get to miss out on the joys of individuality.

But bumping up against them lately, I bristle. It has taken great effort not to blow out a massive rant and declare the whole world is filled with idiots. The irony doesn't escape me.

I keep checking myself because the heightened sensitivity makes me wonder why...pushing me to ask what is going on inside that causes such irritation.

When I can honestly look at what pisses me off, then I can get down to the hurt.
In sitting with that...a little more healing.

Wild day.


A coworker brought a few big bunches of flowers into work this week to spread around the office. That's where the latest shots come from.

This morning was spent in the office and then it was an afternoon of errands. Lots of running around including another new watercolor brush. I look forward to using it tomorrow because although the intent was there, I didn't have the chance to work today.

Emotionally, in an odd way, things have been good. Last night, I was going through some older writings I had received, rereading and letting myself feel the warmest sensations. The corner of a veil had lifted and I began to see what few others see. Layer after layer of grey was being peeled away. I was almost giddy. It's curious how it happens. And wonderful. Because of this, I haven't been very clear-headed today. One could almost say stupid. It seems most of the energy was focused in my chest, belly and other places instead of my mind.

Now off to bed. The idea of burrowing under the covers just feels like heaven.

"I have right here in my hot little hands that actually aren't all that little and are only slightly warm at the moment a brand new lick-ready smooth-as-love Apple MacBook Pro Core 2 Duo Super Orgasm Deluxe Ultrahard Modern Computing Device Designed by God Herself Somewhere in the Deep Moist Vulva of Cupertino Yes Yes Don't Stop Oh My God Yes.

I believe that is the actual name of the product. I might be wrong. I do not really care.

This machine, this silky hunk of aluminum and wire and divine Chinese factory-made love, was recently delivered into my hands by a squad of naked cooing angels who all happened to look exactly like Jenna Jameson or perhaps Eva Green and who also gave me a free foot massage and four hits of premium Ecstasy and a complimentary 3-hour tongue bath, all at the same time."


That, my friends, is Mark Morford drooling over his new computer.

I've been very busy since yesterday morning, but will be back later on today for an entry and a photo. In the meantime, enjoy Morford's column.

Thoughts.

It was very strange walking outside this morning and notice that everything was dry. Not one raindrop to be found. Right now, I see a large patch of light blue in the sky.


Why is it that the day after I stop procrastinating and make a hair appointment, my hair finally looks fabulous?


Ink drawings~
When it comes to brushes and paper, I know better. I should have splurged on a couple new sable brushes instead of synthetic. Even when working with a new technique, the last thing I need is to be fighting with the materials.

When taking photos, I can go in and crop tight with the camera, but I fail miserably in doing the same thing with drawing. It's in my head, and yet I still try to capture the whole world instead of a snippet. Again, I know better. Just need to remember that. By showcasing details of the work and in comparing my drawings to the photos, that's the big message.


Food~
There is a new food project out where you pledge to publicly document what you eat for 6 days. It's brilliant. And…I can't do it. And because I can't, I think I should. We'll see.

Food is funny. My approach to food runs the gamut from healthy to destructive. And in those harmful moments, I'm a closet eater.

Or…there are times when I simply can't be bothered and I'm exhausted but know I need food to keep my blood sugar up. I tend to live on Lean Cuisines or Healthy Choice frozen dinners. Many packaged foods. Not healthy when it's all processed. There is much shame in that.

In my best moments, I enjoy finding healthy, fresh foods. I tend to keep away from the grease and white sugar stuff. Or I'll be happy with a taste. Just a sample. In that, I don't get the impression of deprivation. When I'm feeling strong, physically and emotionally, there is balance.

I love the sex in food - that feeling in my cunt when I've just tasted the most surprising, incredible amazing flavors. Or the glistening sensation that comes to sitting down to dinner with loving friends.


My Eye Guy.
There's a little eyeglass shop on Broadway where I've purchased glasses for the last 6 years. I haven't seen the owner in a couple years, until yesterday when I brought my glasses to get them fixed. Not only did he remember my name, but he gave me a discount on the repair.

Near 15th, a block from my apartment, is a small shoe repair shop. I've been told the shop has been there for 65 years. The landlord once again raised his rent, which now makes it more difficult for him to stay in business. He's in danger of closing. Very sad.

The large corporate machines will never offer what these small companies do. The little shops have passion, commitment and loyalty. They offer service. Service - on its way to extinction...pushed aside and getting lost by capitalistic greed.

This photo came from the window of the shoe guy.

That's all for now.

Detail:



This evening I've been working drawings in brush and ink. There is a definite lack of control. It's not a medium I know. Getting used to new brushes, a different paper and how the ink moves and soaks in is a treat. That is, in a strange, masochistic kind of way.

It feels like play and work at the same time.

I didn't sleep well last night.

It was a night where I was awake more than asleep…dozing off for a half hour then waking for longer. On and off. All night long.

At 9:30 I was falling asleep in my chair and so went to bed thinking it would be a solid night. Yet once I laid down, my mind starting whirling. There is so much I need to do in the next few days. Not really, but in the black of night, it feels like it. The to do list gets magnified. Get my glasses fixed because I noticed a chip in the right lens yesterday. Have to get my hair cut and the Tattoo'd Bear moved down to SF last month. So it's time to see another bear who used to work with him. A trip to the art store is needed. Finish the logistics with swapping bank accounts.

On top of it, my body was vibrating. The energy swirling around me. I was inundated with massive sensations, all sexual. And memories.


My head is foggy. We'll see how long I last today. If I need to leave early, I'll make up the time on Friday.

This week's Freewill Astrology and Morford is still wondering what is really so evil about gay marriage. And he's still waiting for an answer.

I'm tired tonight.
This is the extent of my creativity.

Notes-

No photos this morning. Although I have the camera, the cable to download is sitting at home.

Thoughts from yesterday's workload:

~If you are going to leave a number for me to return your call, don't ramble it off quickly.

~Again, if you want to be added to our mailing list, don't take the time to do it and scrawl your contact info so it's illegible.

~If you leave me your new address with your donation, please reference the old address somewhere. With a large database, there are many duplicate names and I want to credit the gift to the correct person, and now I can't. If the calls I've made to the possible donors aren't returned, the gift will be considered an anonymous donation.


I've been fairly calm. Very happy inside, although it's showing itself in a different way because of the calmness. I carry a little discomfort because, in this blog I'm not as open about my life as I used to be. There are so many changes and it's somehow all connected. Makes it a little challenging to write.

A season for everything.

The shrink has been driving me crazy for the last few weeks. It's troubling. We don't seem to have the smooth, easier relationship that once was there. Everything he says irritates me. It's more how he says it. Just not feelin' the love lately. It makes me sad. I think there's some transference going on and I'm dumping my father on him.

There's a letter to my family that I've been putting off writing. Just the idea of sitting down to do it is exhausting. The intent of the letter is not necessarily to send it, yet to get the words out. I'll get there. At some point. I need to trust that it'll happen when it's supposed to.

The more I immerse myself in this newness, the more I see I don't fit with my world around me. And oddly, it's getting easier to let go of the fantasy of fitting in. Yeah, I still have difficult times around that, but can move through it a little quicker than before.

Last night I cleaned off my drawing table and began working in a new way.

Looking at the calendar, I will be working 3 days a week until the end of the year and it still leaves me with 20 hours of vacation time to burn through. And this in my busy season. There is juggling in my future. I'll have to see if the ED will let me carry a some of this time into the new year. Apparently, the sabbatical year makes it tough to go through regular accrued vacation time.

I've been singing at work lately. Haven't done that in years. I used to sing all the time.

Lately I've noticed a strong similarity between what I shoot and how I draw.
It's kind of a duh statement, isn't it? But I am enjoying the connection. This greater awareness is now pushing me to study my photos more. Maybe there are answers in the photos that can assist the drawings.


A happy feeling: waking at 6 am with the realization that you've actually, really and truly slept all the way through the night.

A part of my drawing frustration lately has been because I believe I should be able to do it.

If there's something I want to work on, if it excites and challenges me, I ought to be able to do it. Just damned do it. If we put our minds to a goal, remain diligent and apply enough sweat, we can achieve it. Right?

There have been two pieces kicking my ass for the last month. My attempts have all felt futile, leaving me to wonder if maybe some things can't be captured. But that doesn't feel right.

So I pulled myself away, believing I couldn't draw anymore. Instead, I jumped into drawings filled with nothingness. No expectations.

The last couple days, due to tiredness, I worked very small pencil sketches of faces from photos and poses from a book.

This afternoon I knew I was procrastinating. It was time to get back to the drawing table. With hesitancy and a little sadness, I approached a big piece. Again.

I wondered if maybe I was working it too large. Or maybe I'm using the wrong medium. Maybe this one needs to wait until I return to oils. Or maybe it needs to be a small, delicate pencil drawing.

But shouldn't I be able to do something with it, in any medium..any size?
I think so.

I'm stubborn. And maybe it's ego but I won't let an image win out, laughing at me, telling me I'm shit, refusing to allow me to pull something from it...anything. Anything that I can look at and be satisfied with. Even for a little while.

While dwelling in a large puddle of impatience, frustration and determination, I went to the table and worked.
I think there is something now.
Something beginning.
The piece as a whole still feels amateurish...but something is clicking into place.




It doesn't escape me that challenge excites me. If these drawings were easy to do, I'd wonder what the point was. But sometimes, I like those times where it easily falls into place. The magic moments.

An ordinary day.

It will be filled with laundry and some house cleaning. My space has gotten away from me these last few weeks.

I wonder if I've begun grinding my teeth at night. When I woke, this morning at 3;30, the left side of my jaw and teeth onthat side were sore. Sleep eluded me until I got up to take some ibuprofen.

Sunday Morning did a piece on the new Bobby Kennedy movie. They showed an old clip of him talking about how we need to embrace compassion. I cried. Why is it so threatening for us, our culture, to work toward compassionate living? Stepping into the shoes of another. Feel their pain.

It feels safer to hold onto anger. Anger seduces us into believing we are in control. Anything reminiscent of old wounds brings on the anger and distrust. In feeling the anger, I need to strip it back and look at the original pain.

It is a daily struggle.
I refuse to remain victim.


Today I'm feeling more introspective than usual. Lately, there is such a complexity of emotions. All at once.
I'm still feeling private as well. Protective of the newness.



Here are some more photos from the p-patch:

A slow Saturday


For the last month and a half, I've been waking about 4ish every morning...to return to sleep within the hour. So much is happening emotionally that I think my body is still playing catch up with my insides. Major adjustments are being made to my psyche - silencing of old voices and messages and taking on new ones. Reprogramming, so to speak.

I've been tired these last few days. My creative spark has pooped out. Very little drawing. And no guilt. Instead, gentleness was called for. And rest.

These changes are good and at the same time, they feel almost surreal.

This afternoon the sun was coming out so I grabbed my camera, threw on my coat and went for a walk. It was a brisk day, and my denim jacket was a little thin. A winter coat and scarf would have been more comfortable. I decided to embrace the cold and enjoy the lack of rain.

Walked through our neighborhood p-patch, took a buttload of photos, most of which I've since trashed, and then turned onto Broadway. There he was, on the second floor, putting up the bank sign. He looked like he was posing for some shoot.



A little further down the street I bumped into Auxugen. We went into Septieme to warm up for a half hour and then I followed him home to borrow cd's and a couple dvd's. Upon leaving, the sky opened up. 10 blocks uphill in pouring, cold rain. I was drenched.

I've had food, a hot bath in a bit, throw on some music and pull out my little sketchbook. It's a quiet Saturday. And it's perfect.

Mark Morford begins with:

"Chant, in happy sing-song voice, while holding bottle of wine, Astroglide and copy of Rob Brezsny's Pronoia"

and then goes on to list Eleven New and Happy Things.

Looky, NYC'ers~

Another Brooklyn/Seattle connection, including the Invisible District of Brooklyn in Seattle.

And here is the link for the East River Project - Being In Two Places At One Time.

Today is a day off, in lieu of Veteran's day. 4 day weekend.

After driving friends to the airport, I'll come back, and do some drawing. We had a one day break and it is raining again. Now that I have this new camera which I'm still totally in love with, I ache to take photos outdoors. It's been too many days.

In spite of my uncertainty, I am still drawing. Much calmer now. I still can't do what I was previously doing, but I am settling into the not knowing. It feels like resignation but maybe I'm just submitting to what is in front of me right now. Submission is an active state.

This place with my art, I am viewing as an adventure. There is a deep curiousity to see what happens to the drawing with time.

Voters serious about change:

Dead woman wins county commissioner's race.

S.D. candidate gets 100 votes; official says voters knew she was deceased
The Associated Press


PIERRE, S.D. - A woman who died two months ago won a county commissioner's race in Jerauld County on Tuesday.

Democrat Marie Steichen, of Woonsocket, got 100 votes, defeating incumbent Republican Merlin Feistner, of Woonsocket, who had 64 votes.

Jerauld County Auditor Cindy Peterson said she believes the county board will have to meet to appoint a replacement for Steichen. Peterson said she'll check with the state's attorney to be sure that's the process.

Peterson said voters knew Steichen had died.

"They just had a chance to make a change, and we respect their opinion."

Another little critter from my cubicle. This is pig. It lives in shackles.


Happy Day After The Election for most of us.

Here is Freewill Astrology and Mark Morford asks Will Pastor Ted's love of hot man sex open the narrow mind of the religious right?

From the NYTimes, New York Plans To Make Gender A Personal Choice.
"The plan would let people alter the sex on their birth certificate even if they have not had sex-change surgery."

Today, my mood has grown fiercely foul. Walking into my coworker's office, I began to spout. He laughed at me. The whole time.

After giving him my best evil eye...he did try to explain. He said that everything is sitting on my skin. He can feel it. I still don't understand how he can find that amusing. But, I love him...and will let him have his pleasure, albeit at my expense.

Yesterday I drew. No expectations, no intent. No paints. No charcoals. I opted for woodless pencils and a hunk of graphite. Just move marks on the page. I worked my hand over a few...whatevers.

It helped calm me a bit for the time I was working, but that's it. It's official. The joy in drawing has left me.

Tonight I tried again. First, I demolished a piece I began. Then I attempted to work on a second one. Now back to the graphite. I can't even draw a penis to save my life. And that's not like me.

It's all gone.

I'm sure it will all come back at some point. But right now, everything is ugly. I'm ugly. My insides are ugly. There isn't an ounce of grace to be found in my being. It's been mounting for over a week. I've been so emotionally raw and fragile. It's difficult finding the patience to let myself be in this state.

Sanvean: I am Your Shadow by Lisa Gerrard is playing right now. The music feels like me. Except it's more cohesive.

Inside, it feels like I'm drying up.
I am thirsty.

No time for a real entry. Nor am I in the mood.
There is a lot inside and haven't been able to clarify my thoughts. I can say I've been quite productive these last few days.

But, GO VOTE today. Otherwise I won't tolerate your bitching afterward.
Yanked from The Slog, here is a Republican Bingo card that you can print out and cross off the faces as they go down.

For some not so happy reading, check out Americablog for stories on voting issues and some general GOP nastiness.

I am done with rain. This is not our sweet, little, Seattle on and off drizzles and mists.
It is the pouring down, get drenched kind of rain. For days. And days. The weather guy just informed us that today's rainfall was greater than the total of the first 5 days of the month. In addition, the sum of these 6 days is more than what we normally get for November. And...November is traditionally the wettest month of the year. Sigh.

Yeah...too much wet.

I am SO over therapy right now. I thought I knew what challenging was. Silly me.

Today I was informed that I have 61.67 hours of vacation time to use or lose before December 31st. I thought I only had about 20 hours to take before the end of the year. Not sure how I'll split all this up. I can only carry 80 hours over to the new year.

Will it stop raining inside if it stops raining outside?

One upside: someone left a 12 oz plastic cup in my office, filled with gold-foil chocolate coins.
I was good. Only had two today.

Good morning.

It's going to be a full day, so I'll just leave you with this:

A wonderful evening.
And needed.

Tonight, I spent the evening over a wonderful dinner and wine with the bunny. We both ordered the beet salad with grilled chicken (a half size for me). Interestingly, it came with yellow beets this time. I had no idea there was such a thing. Still tastes the same. Delicious.

We topped it off with sambucas in our coffee. We haven't had the opportunity to be alone together in probably two months, due to the new business that he is working at, run by his partner.

The bunny called on Friday while I was in therapy. Surprisingly, because even though he is so safe for me, I couldn't return his call. My gut was kicked in from the session. This afternoon I finally called him back and lo, he was free in a couple hours. So he came by and we walked down to Septieme for a leisurely, quiet dinner. It was so good playing catch up. I love this boy. Our connection is deep.

Considering I've been holing myself up for the last 5 days, this is the first person I've spent more time with in that time frame that consisted of more than ordering a cup of joe from a barista. Yes, things are clearing up.

Life, although difficult at times, is still good.

It has been a heavy week. Not only the rain, not only the difficult therapy stuff, but all over. Speaking with neighbors last night, they too mentioned that this past week has been seriously out of whack. Nothing quite right. Everything difficult.

There has been a low-pressure system that has not only affected our weather but our internal climate as well.
By yesterday afternoon this pressure weighed heavy on my chest, creating an inability to take deep breaths. I could feel the thick air closing in on me.

Last night, it began to lighten up. Nothing has changed in circumstances. But there is now a clearness that will assist in picking up the challenge presented to me by my shrink. The dense fog has dissipated and I am prepared to deal with more of my past.

Somehow. Someway.

Last night I reached out to a friend. The friend has done exhausting therapy work and lived to come out on the other side of hell. I needed to hear reassurance from a civilian, not my shrink, that I could continue to do this and be okay.

It's been a strange week. The last two days have been filled with almost nonstop rain. That is, except for the 20 minute window of clear sky which I took advantage of yesterday morning to walk art to the mailing place. This morning was clear and the sky filled with salmon. Then, it began to rain again. Everything feels out of sorts. Is there something going on with the planets?

I've been hibernating.

Thursday night was a major breakthrough. Long time coming. Needed. Since then, the shrink has ramped up his approach and is pushing hard. I've never before seen him so determined and...brutally toppish.

My balm, for years, has been hot baths. Anytime it hurt, I'd get into a bath as soon as possible. When immersed in hot water, there are no more tears and no more pain. This week I've watched a change. Although still taking advantage of soothing baths, drawing is becoming my consolation. Even when garbage happens on paper, it is becoming a greater place of solace.

The other comfort is a little token gifted to me a month ago that I've been holding and carrying with me.

I've forgotten how to draw, how to paint.
It's been coming on for a while.

I approach the paper and don't even know what to do after I wet the surface. Do I pull pencil? Charcoal? Paint? I'm at a loss.

I know it's still somewhere inside me. Right now, I just can't seem to find it. My stubborness is increasing because I have to dig it out. Frustrating.

In addition, the greater the longing, the stronger the desire to work.


My latest messes....






I've gone out for coffee, bought a banana and now back to the drawing table.

Mark Morford's column for today - Dick Cheney Totally Hates You

Today was a day to rest and regroup. It rained all day.
I'll work a little on drawings at some point. Drew yesterday afternoon as well.

My poor little beat up christmas cactus is beginning to bloom.

Photo of me by Bill. Yes, this photo was posted in September, but for today, it's appropriate.







I'm in a really bad space today. It came upon me last night, over dinner. I needed to leave quickly because I thought I was going to get sick.

We spoke of costumes. I was asked what costume would I wear if I could wear anything. I didn't know. I've never known. Coming up with costume ideas has been pretty impossible. Last night it came to me.

Although not in costume, I walk through life as if in costume because I'm not seen. Not really.

It makes sense that the last thing I'd want is to cover myself with a costume. People can't see past my flesh. Assumptions are made because of my skin. If people dared look deeper, they'd be surprised. Thing is, even a glimpse challenges all the suppositions and paradigms that we've set up to live an orderly life. So it's easier to look at skin and follow the manual.

Last night, for the first time in many, many months, I desperately needed to shrivel up and disappear.


I sobbed and knew I didn't have the courage to escape in the way I desired. Then over and over, like a mantra "who am I?"

"Who am I?"

If no one sees me, I must not exist.

Who the fuck am I?

Only one thing came to mind. Quietly.

Artist.


I still don't know what that means. It's not supported. Art is a luxury. We need to remember to get real jobs and carry health insurance. Living a sexual and artistic life requires going against all we know. It's a leap of faith into an alternate reality.

I'm already not seen. And I am more than artist.

And I wonder if the snippets of being seen were only fantasy in my frenzied, desperate dreams.


This morning I again woke at 4am. This time I couldn't return to sleep. Gloomy thoughts haunted me. In the shower I mourned the small child who needed so desperately to be seen. The toddler who knew the world was so much larger than what they were being taught. The baby who needed touch.

Dried and clothed I went to my drawing table and pulled the tape away from 3 drawings I had worked on Friday. I studied them. And continued to wonder.

Who the fuck am I?



Here are our Wednesday columns.

Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology.

Mark Morford writes about sex while sleeping.

And Eric Francis' monthly horoscopes:
Planetwaves
Inner Space

From Brezsny's email:
A Spell to Commit Pronoia, by psychotherapist Jennifer Welwood:

Willing to experience aloneness,
I discover connection everywhere;
Turning to face my fear,
I meet the warrior who lives within;

Opening to my loss,
I am given unimaginable gifts;
Surrendering into emptiness,
I find fullness without end.

Each condition I flee from pursues me.
Each condition I welcome transforms me
And becomes itself transformed
Into its radiant jewel-like essence.

I bow to the one who has made it so,
Who has crafted this Master Game;
To play it is pure delight,
To honor it is true devotion.