December 18th, 2010
September 18th, 2006
|10:29 pm - to my lj friends:|
at the end of this day i am turning off my computer for two days.
September 17th, 2006
|01:14 pm - slave to the pollen|
there's always a task.
a direction -a journey.
the reason?? "BECAUSE"
if i were smarter...maybe then i'd get it. but as i am, the buzz of that gnat, the glowing ember i know as "the sun," the ebb and flow of the tide...it all eludes me.
i am a bee.
slave to the pollen
slave to the queen
slave to the flesh.
i am driven by a hundred and one forms of instinct...i sleep and wake on a schedule deterined by the weakness of my flesh. my breathing is something i cannot help. i flirt and fuck and call it "love" but love is nothing more than a way of disguising the truth...that for reasons beyond the scope of my understanding, all i really wanna do, is BE.
* * *
and now: a forest. saw palmetto and live oak and the smell of salt in the air. i am so much meat, climbing on all fours...ground-low...and through vertical slits, the rush of root & rock, as high on the horizon, through thick, waxen leaves, i see it:
the crystal home.
that's the task...the direction and journey.
* * *
"hay, girl!! where ya goin? the condo's THAT way!!" my sister, gold rings clacking, points in the opposite direction: down the hill toward the beach.
"yeah, i know where the condo's at, ding dong! can't we just go for a walk?"
"sissy, it's fucking hot, koda's thirsty and tired...let's go back."
"no. i need to go up there" i gesture up the hill, through the plants.
"but, sissy, there's not even a path there, i'm going home. you can come or not."
"well, then. NOT. i'll see ya in a few hours, k?"
"whatever...see ya for dinner. we're going to charlie's crab. so don't be late."
i veer off the path.
guilty...i should leave shit alone, follow the rules, stay on the path. poor deer having to dodge mindless tourists like me, as we tread onto their turf. oh well, i make a silent oath to self: "tread lightly." and lightly forward i tread.
i move towards it and discover that it's a form of transportation. there's one seat in a little car. and a sign that says,
THE CAR KNOWS WHERE TO GO.
GET IN; IT WILL TAKE YOU BACK WHENEVER YOU ARE READY"
i get in.
and all around me becomes like a blur. like a sea of memories processed in a cuisinart...i recognize random sensation-fragments as they whiz by. i taste honey; i feel the sussrrrrrush of fur and whiskers...and now, my feet on the ground: bipedal primate. smith. forest. the car vanishes, and it's me and trees and rocks and roots. i look up the hill and see the thing i'm supposed to see: the ice house.
it is my destination.
i'm there. and i realize...i've paid my dues: i've already climbed that hill. i've climbed it time and time again. i've climbed it alone, and i've climbed it in pack.
i stand at the doorway of the magnificent earth-and-glass structure. to my left, on the ground, i see a broken biological form. it is humanish...no blood, but it's torn and bruised.
i open the door and walk into a vast room jammed with cages. there are hundreds of them, all sizes and shapes. the cages are sitting all helter skelter atop gorgeous, hand-knotted tapestries. in the center of the room, amidst the cages, i spy a series of horizontal rungs: a ladder rising from the floor to a platform far above, encircling the space...i walk to the ladder. there's a sign on it that says:
THIS LADDER KNOWS WHERE TO GO.
GET ON; IT WILL TAKE YOU BACK WHENEVER YOU ARE READY"
i climb the ladder.
it disappears, just as the one-seater did...and i peer over the railing and see that the tapestries are more than decorative designs. together, they create a symbol...but there's some missing, and whoever laid the tapestries put it together incorrectly...it looks like this:
and then suddenly there are animals in all the cages. an elephant crammed into a large cage...i can't figure how she got into the hole. a mouse stuffed into a tiny cage...and i think, THIS IS EVIL SHIT. i need to let them out. my ladder is gone, but it doesn't matter. my desire puts me there. and i disassemble the walls of the elephant's cage and let her out...she leaves through the wall. i disassemble the walls of the mouse's cage, and a horse's cage and let them out...they also leave through the wall. and i simply set about disassembling cages.
i turn around and realize that the cage i just disassembled has somehow magically reassembled itself...and there is another squashed elephant...i know i can let him out, too. but once out, there will be another and another...
and i am crying. and i know it's too late for supper...i want to go home. i don't even know where "home" is anymore.
i am standing at the entrance of a tunnel. there is a sign that says,
THIS TUNNEL KNOWS WHERE HOME IS.
GO IN. IT WILL TAKE YOU BACK ANY TIME YOU WANT."
i go into the tunnel.
it's dark and i'm scared to shit. there are windows in the tunnel wall. they are dirty. i try looking thru them, but can just barely see form and color. i think i see an elephant in a glass case...i wipe my tears onto a cloth and use them to clean the dirt from the window, but as i do so, what is removed is NOT the dirt, but any semblance of form that existed BEHIND it. it is now smeared beyond all recognition.
i allow myself to imagine that it was not an elephant.
there is a light ahead. i am going to that.
i know it is "home"
i think of my sister. i remember her clutching her stuffed tiger to her chest as a little girl. i remember her at 13, with pimples all over her face: big trauma. i think, too, of my brother, of what he went through at the hands of my father, and in my mind i encircle him with a warm light. i think for some reason of james g and of my mother and of summer corn, of heat and water and the sensation of simon, purring on my chest. i remember -a wrinkled, ancient hand dropping a single peach onto the conveyor belt at jewel...the checker, passing him thru without charging him a penny...throwing 2 quarters into the till from her pocket as i paid my bill. i think of the hammering next door as my neighbors love their delapidated house into a home. i think of scott and david and of mike roig. and finally, i think again of georgia, sitting alone at charlies crab. and hope she will forgive me for not showing up to dinner.
September 14th, 2006
'The truth about childhood is stored up in our body and lives in the depth
of our soul. Our intellect can be decieved, our feelings can be numbed and
manipulated, our perception shamed and confused, our bodies tricked with
medication. But our soul never forgets. And because we are one, one whole
soul in one body, someday our body will present its bill.'
first, the fun stuff -another image from the shoot with river
and now, the life-stuff:
i've been working pretty hard on the dammasch show in november. i'm making huge image files for the new printer, and on tuesday, i had a get together in my back yard to stuff a bunch of little sewn forms i made out of the curtains gathered from dammasch. i had a great time with those who came and also really appreciated the help. i will probably have another "come and help me stuff it" party in october; i hope it's as much fun as this one was.
i woke up today and knew i was going to cancel my april show if i don't get the grant. i see it this way:
1. i spent 10 years busting my ass making installations, have received maybe 5 good sized reviews (not a ton, but enough) and a whole bunch of silly one-paragraph deals. meaning: i have a proven track record of doing well, following through, etc.
2. i have never made a penny on any of my installations.
3. i'm 50. meaning: i'm tool old to be PAYING TO WORK.
4. the dammasch project scheduled for april will cost a butt-load and NOT BE MARKETABLE. it is intellectual property/sociopolitical commentary, as opposed to being "beautiful" artwork fitting for display behind someone's couch.
5. i just got another show in may at guardino gallery. THAT will also cost both time and money and promises some return. i will be showing with a glass artist named andy paiko. look how kewl his stuff is:
this is a "spine jar". kinda works with my images as i have bones in a number of them. he's also created functional measuring devices, all out of glass. a seismograph, for example, and a balance.
anyhoo...thoughts before beginning work...
Current Mood: busy
September 13th, 2006
|05:24 pm - river...|
September 10th, 2006
|10:36 am - because mia asked...|
here are two starts from the film. they're not spotted. and the prints are not done. i want to print at a lower contrast, tone and lightly hand color. don't give me shit for the hand coloring, i already know you don't like it. i do.
i hope you see these before photobucket freaks out about the breast in the one image. between this model and the last one i had, i had a hard time keeping the clothes on them!!! a couple of times i had to tell river to put it in the dress, please!!! BUT. . . i actually like some of the nudes. so i might use them anyway.
i'm playing around with doing my next november show on mythological figures. only, i want to tell the other side of the story...to re-write / re-right the woman who is traditionally
cast as the "bad guy". the title of the top piece, and the title of the show would be "redeeming eve"
i was so excited to print the contacts and a few test prints from the film i shot of river. so. i wandered into the darkroom last night and poured from the container of developer concentrate, a dark brown glop...yes, i got the contacts out, but i just can't see spending all that cash on nice paper to dunk it into a pool of butt-brown developer. so the real prints have to wait til tomorrow night. i hope the store's open tomorrow. i think it is.
i love film.
it is just so sexxie!!
September 8th, 2006
|08:43 am - erg...many, many muddy hands|
whenever i get an image like this, that i crop:
muddy hands (2)
and then crop again,
muddy hands (3)
it's obvious that i don't have a perfect deal. well, I WANT A PERFECT DEAL. in fact, whenever i go out on a shoot, that is exactly what i'm looking for. i want something perfect -something that achieves its own sort of escape velocity. i am not a great lover of images that require neighbors for context. or of "small" pictures. of course, i have thousands of "small" gems: i have rubies and saphires and emeralds by the dozens. and i stash them in folders on my desktop. sometimes i just throw them out. why? because they're not diamonds.
a month ago when i got the acceptance from calyx, one of the images they chose was an image i have always loved, but don't consider "perfect". it's the image of the one-eyed woman holding the crow. they chose that image OVER one i think is perfect. it got me to thinking of this:
my perfect isn't your perfect.
small things are perfect in their own way; there is amazingness in non-perfection.
i tend to approach my entire life way i approach my artwork. i don't really allow for imperfection. i don't really allow for things like vacations. i want things done correctly right NOW...etc. in my race for the the perfect thing, i miss or squander piles of experiences that add depth and substance to life.
about the image i posted here, what i like about it is the light and the gesture. it doesn't look like a photo to me, but more like a painting. like a modern rendition of a caravaggio...at least in the treatment of the light relations.
I WILL BE 50 YEARS OLD TOMORROW.
the magic moment when we become aware that there is more life lived than left.
September 6th, 2006