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.

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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."