Schooling, More Gifting, Ever The Unknown

 More art gifts, photographed in the homes of recipients by said recipients. Made of Spanish clay & other materials. And now I commit to further education in the panhandle, August.

February End

 Getting serious. (Just that. Re-reading the writing on my last blog post I'm like ugh Needs an editor.)

 I'm taking a hiatus from social media (again haha), & thus yea sucked into CNN online more but so the eff what. Now: Here! Lookie me! White hairs coming in strong & feral. Each one earned & no I don't wanna go back everrrrr. Attuned more every day to my inner guidance system. Exploring a new technique of accessing the unconscious through dream-dancing. Now on that: It's a type of somatic therapy, a way to locate basic cellular info, a retrieval system even if the dreams are shoved down past easy recall. Hoo. 

Anywayses. I have a beach rock I saved cuz it looks like the face of a lost love. A year lost now. (He looks like a werewolf.) Here, my face shape echoes his face shape. He still has high marks for a couple sweet things said, the most erotically charged moment of my life...if these things endure marking. & I look more & more like a wunderbar girlfriend here, who makes me laugh & laugh & I hope you know how valuable THAT is. She's got the Hungarian deadpan thing & yea: she's Hungarian. Echoing the shape of another lost love, his sense of humor. That of his mother. They're Hungarian.

These are dots in a constellation. Connect them & there's a starseed origin tale. 

Old writings, newly jostled

You are wise to be wary

of me who walks

reckless, heart

unhinged,

whose face must say "desperation"

though I try to 

play it poker. 

I'll erase it again,

find my feeling,

bind up a bit.

Where is soft fall, or lilt?

Only old swollen fruit,

good for smash crashing on

concrete, or otherwise giving back to

the earth?

Better to keep me at bay

(I'd stray), and point me toward other,

less tender prey.

2000/2021

Turkeys susurrating

nights, if

indeed that's

what they were;

the bounty of

shooting stars

seen from the balcony

I didn't know I had;

the phantasy that 

kept me going.

I seem to have

forded a river,

time two, its

frenetic flow

not long gone.

Do I dream?

Am I stone 

insane? it IS

to suck stone 

when hungry,

but today,

sweet today--

Fresh figs

off the tree.

2011

Morning, March

Daytime slips balm breath

over through all my     skin.

Bird feathers thrustle.

Veronica offers truth in blue.

Rough wintry layers peel

if you help them.

I have no handmaiden

in any season.

The bones set to rush

from this present,

lost to further jollies.

The earth always asks

Where are you, my    pip?

I am more moss,

bubbling brook,

than pair of pants.

This is nothing new,

or unique.

I could kick in your teeth.

I could spit back.

What is a need?-----------------

Wound? Adventure?

Normalcy?

Dispense with dialectic.

I'd ruther a dildo for my time, or a 

lusty lover. Tender, too.

I have something to give.

It's all mine.

It pushes through typical 

dirt.

It has nothing to say,

as no one cares, or they

find thrift in their

tales only.

This must be enough,

everything.

2013

Proverbial soft and hushed

comes the snow this night.

Will anyone believe me

in feeling our spark, steam and simmer

brought it down?

It was a Thursday.

Common to nod THAT right.

(interruption by irate roommate)

(lapse of seven months)

I plan on lemon

raw

to flavor my nether,

bank on

all rushing swift-winged

AND simultaneous nose-cleaning. 

We have been angel 

each to the other,

a never-before for this one.

May the dream

lift tender,

dripping

from its mud

to balmy mid-range,

to heights,

remembering

roots.

January/August 2014

Gifted Etchings & Monoprints+

 

 Mercury is retro and no one will understand this anyway, so here goes. 

Three Fingers, Four Plaid Shorts, and Counting

A plank of wood. With a round hole cut out. And two matchy circles each side for ears. A face. The nth male to present his 2D self. From the mouth escapes a stream of toxic waste. I'm seeing it and thereby affirming it. Some contract earlier made has brought me here.

I stepped into my cheering section. Thus I now see from the most luscious plank-not plank, in my rearview mirror: Concern; nerves; more nerves. I'm a phat fish slithering through fingers. By whose carelessness or other lack? About as relevant as Rumi said. I'm talking about the field.

I slime into my shadow. Teacher said to go, and so. I am loved for this. And my fleshly housing. And my force. Thank you Don Miguel. Cheshire Cat smile too. A toothy grin lives forever, somewhere.

Once electric I turned to see. Couple more times likewise but more mellow. Surprised into my own spirit. The Great Swirl works in this way. I don't want it this way. I want more of it this way. I want whatever I have.

It's electric and sheer and regular and lite beer-style and I'm seeking. The deep, rich--no not pecuniary. The wide humble embrace that can meet and match. Receives this bunt and thereby affirms it. Happenstance at the first. Chooses it at the second. And the rest.

With thanks to my (mercury filling spilled?) sick molar

Seven Years Sober

Anniversary eve & here is a skritch based on pulled Motherpeace Tarot cards (in which the limbic system is turned on its ear):

1) Yep you're shutting him out

2) & bringing some heavy energy to bear

3) Overthinking again...drop into the heartspace, sissy

4) There's that false belief trying to horn in, the one that says You're No Good

5) Yes he's working hard. It's part of his identity, gender makeup & genetic code doy

6) & he's working for YOU

7) You've manifested some honey, little missy

8) He's digging deep!

9) That question is flawed. Drop it like it's hot

10) So is that version of it. Desist

11) You're a pressure cooker, aren't you?

12) To pester would be depressive, create misery, flatten things...

13) ...while an astral letter mightn't do the trick (what? what?? WHAT WILL?)...

14) ...the choice must be made in freedom. Trust yourself indeed

15) That goal-oriented stuff? Bosh. Sitting still & doing nothing gets the goods

& so it was a piece of garbage was befriended & the sense of accomplishment was rich. But we're prizing the paces, aren't we?

With special thanks to the pastor at The Keys Vineyard, Tara Brach, Lee, Suzanne, Hana, Lynn Nesseth, Jim, Linda, Kari, Roger & especially Joseph Driggers

Thinking of Bas Jan Ader. I just read that he began his infamous sailing voyage on my first birthday. And in response to his piece ["I'm too sad to tell you"], there are those things too horrible to tell anyone really. They might have that secondary trauma thing, besides. Uck. There is the need to share a burden so that it is lessened. But today, processing some particularly foul first-hand trauma, I was advised to experience it, release it, get some divine help.

The latter could slip into the abstract, but fortunately for me I have excellent mentorship. A wise wise lady has been teaching me the basics at last. Here's to being a late bloomer!

widdershins

Senryu

She looks sexy
and I have to break up with her





for Mary Constantina Zogzas

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.  

Two weeks ago today I pulled off no small feat, with PILES of help. I made my debut as a bellydancer. I'd been wanting to study the form for two decades, but was simply intimidated. Partly because it's overtly sensual/sexual, but also earnest in its attempt at beauty. For about three weeks before the show I was triggered all over the place, due to prior trauma. Now I have for years applied myself diligently to the healing of these traumas, yet evidently I still had much more work to do. Previously my method for circumventing this kind of presentation as a dancer/performer has been to be hella goofy. And it has served me fairly well, in its way. One thing not commonly advertised about bellydance is its roots in birthing, and

how women did it alone for each other. As a dance of seduction? A secondary consideration. Unless we take into account this saying :"The loving that got the baby in gets the baby out." So I came back around to potential agency embedded within female sexuality, seduction, performance/presentation, the male gaze. Oh the anxiety! But by two days before curtain I felt strong and prepared. Despite some personal stuff going on, unsurprisingly, threatening to drag me into a dump. (These things always echo each other. I guess I'm rather integrated an artist--)

So here are four pix I like, taken by Carol Tedesco. There are some really bad ones out there but I'm being vain today and honestly don't give a hoot! Zurima Cisneros and I choreographed it together, though she helmed it and was completely my coach. It is an Egyptian saidi cane dance. One other minor detail: I'd just finished reading THE RED TENT around this time too. Braids were an Egyptian hairdo then & apparently still are. Something cosmic is going on, as I chose them unknowingly.

Zinc-plate etchings. "Seaweed" on 100% cotton, & "Fritillaria" on Rives. 10 1/2" W x 13 1/2" H. Details following. 2017. ***ALL RIGHTS RESERVED***

Last of the four monoprint/mixed media jazz. "Cup Flowers 2". ***ALL RIGHTS RESERVED***

More monoprint/mixed media situation. Same size as last post. "Men". ***ALL RIGHTS RESERVED***

"Triple A". Also monoprint/mixed media situation, & same size as last blogpost images. ***ALL RIGHTS RESERVED***

"Under the Sea." Monoprint & mixed media. About 20" W x 30" H. My artist statement had to do w/embracing wabi-sabi. These relatively bad pix are an extension!! ***ALL RIGHTS RESERVED***