Here we have an archival image from over a decade ago, a performance I did at Flood Gallery. Its old incarnation in the so-called River Arts District of Asheville, North Carolina, that is. It was a long (memorized!) text-based piece entitled "Portage", later videotaped and posted on flabmag.com.

I'm looking very Frida Kahlo in this image. I have been told about 300 times that I resemble Frida, in face, form and temperament. My parents look like her parents, both sets of grandparents looked like respective grandparents. Lovers look like her lovers, even (eep!). Similar handwriting style, careers, passions, interpersonal challenges, tense relationship with sister, goofiness.

But back to this piece depicted here. I dealt with some interpersonal challenges in its subject matter. Much was vented, transformed. What more could I ask of a creative practice, truly? And I have made commitments recently to apprentice in the Pachacuti shamanic tradition, to explore my Jewish roots in a class with a local rabbi, to be mentored by an amazing singer on the island--but none of it matters much today. As I walk slowly, erratically but resolutely, on this path of I-know-not-what, I am drawn now and at last to be alone with my creativity. I thank Pope. L for clueing me in: I don't know where my creativity will take me either; it's a mystery within.