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***