...was fantastic!
I'll put up a portfolio on flickr now that it's over and I can fully document the show. I had a blast afterward with everyone who came and the work was very well received. I flubbed my own dance a little because I was incredibly nervous, but I think the performance was really wonderful -- and Jimmie and Suze and Jack and Frankie and the little girls were all fantastic.
I do have the best friends in the whole world, since they actually helped clean up before departing in the wee hours. I'm a little worse for the pro secco this morning, but I'll drink a lot of water and should be feeling chipper in just a bit. My house is full of flowers and it smells wonderful. And I have an in-home massage at 3. Yay!
Wow. It's over. I really feel as if I've accomplished something meaningful with this show. And I know without a doubt the work in this show is the very best work of my entire life. And, hopefully, all of it, making the work, mounting the show, creating the performances, conveys the meaning to those who witnessed it that it is critical to use the events of one's own life, the really "stripped bare" stuff, as art supplies. No matter how painful.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Anti(dote)Wedding
Antidote Wedding Vows, August 14, 2009
It all seems like a movie to me, this crazy romance of mine that was to have culminated in a wedding this evening. Its seeds must have been planted five years ago in Vienna; we even went to Hotel Sacher, like in The Third Man. Then, as in David Lean’s Summertime, our love affair began in earnest in Italy, and, as in An American in Paris, it continued during a few romantic days there. During the next six months our romance often felt alternately like a Hitchcock movie and a Fellini film. For some reason, tonight the final scene of The Philadelphia Story keeps playing in my head. I feel like Katharine Hepburn’s character, Tracy Lord, apologizing to her family and friends who’d gathered for a wedding that wasn’t going to take place.
Instead of a wedding, tonight I just want to tell all of you how sincerely grateful I am. I want to thank you, my co-workers, family and dearest friends, for your support during those seven months I was madly in love. Thank you for taking care of things at school. Thank you for looking after Buster for me when I was away. Thanks for the rides to and from the airport, laden with luggage full of e-bay purchases and gifts. Thank you for keeping the doubts -- which you surely must have had -- to yourself as I embarked upon what must have seemed like a mad adventure destined to end in heartbreak. As you all recall, I was deliriously happy during the seven months I was in love, and I want to thank you for being happy for me when it seemed I had finally found the soul-mate for whom I have long searched. Thank you, too, for your support in January when the love affair ended miserably in the course of just one day. And thank you for reading the fictionalized account of the romance in my book and for viewing the nearly one hundred drawings that also tell the story of this past year. Perhaps now you have more insight into what was going on in my heart and mind those months of my grand amour fou.
I also want to thank he who was once my love, he who would have become my third and final husband tonight. Louis, I sincerely thank you for your affection and for the tenderness and intimacy we once shared. I am deeply grateful not only for your love, but also for your belief in me as an artist and a writer, which propelled me into one of the most intense periods of creative activity I’ve ever experienced in my life. It’s not often that I produce a hundred drawings, much less a 350-page novel, in the course of one short year. Thank you so much for the energy and inspiration you sparked in me. I hope, in this, at least, that you were not wrong – that my work is important. Thank you for believing that I’ve earned my rightful place alongside Artemisia Gentileschi, Elisabeth Vignée-Lebrun, Camille Claudel, the Louises Bourgeois and Nevelson, Pina Bausch, Frida Kahlo, Simone de Beauvoir, the Brontës, Anne Frank and Anaïs Nin.
I’m grateful to you for proving to me that my heart is still alive, still capable of loving and, evidently, still hopeful. I would not have believed it possible at my age, and with my past romantic failures, that I could once again love so deeply and with such passion as I loved you. I would be lying to you now if I did not admit I miss your intellectual companionship, the quirky, esoteric interests we alone shared, your hands and your kisses. I miss playing Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller with you. Even though we have no future together, tonight I promise to treasure the beautiful, rich memories of our time together. I realize we are like the movies: at the end, I still know so little about you that you remain a mystery, a shadowy character like one written by Patricia Highsmith for Hitchcock – like the talented Mr. Ripley. And I, probably, will remain in your mind your Madelyn from Vertigo: an ideal, an anima projection. When I became uncomfortably “real,” our time together had to come to its inevitable ending and I had to disappear. I am a photograph, removed from your wallet and thrown away. Still, I have no regrets. Everything has turned out exactly the way Fate meant it to for both of us, my old love. Louis, I wish you well. I’ll quote Rick in Casablanca: “We’ll always have Paris.” And to Paris I will return alone to reclaim my city, as an antidote honeymoon.
I had originally planned to perform this piece as part of my wedding vows to Louis. So, in the words of Tracy Lord, “as originally and beautifully planned” I will now do just that to “Face the Music,” sung by Fred Astaire, from his movie Follow the Fleet. As I recall, Astaire sang it to a suicidal Ginger Rogers on the deck of a ship as she contemplated jumping overboard.
It all seems like a movie to me, this crazy romance of mine that was to have culminated in a wedding this evening. Its seeds must have been planted five years ago in Vienna; we even went to Hotel Sacher, like in The Third Man. Then, as in David Lean’s Summertime, our love affair began in earnest in Italy, and, as in An American in Paris, it continued during a few romantic days there. During the next six months our romance often felt alternately like a Hitchcock movie and a Fellini film. For some reason, tonight the final scene of The Philadelphia Story keeps playing in my head. I feel like Katharine Hepburn’s character, Tracy Lord, apologizing to her family and friends who’d gathered for a wedding that wasn’t going to take place.
Instead of a wedding, tonight I just want to tell all of you how sincerely grateful I am. I want to thank you, my co-workers, family and dearest friends, for your support during those seven months I was madly in love. Thank you for taking care of things at school. Thank you for looking after Buster for me when I was away. Thanks for the rides to and from the airport, laden with luggage full of e-bay purchases and gifts. Thank you for keeping the doubts -- which you surely must have had -- to yourself as I embarked upon what must have seemed like a mad adventure destined to end in heartbreak. As you all recall, I was deliriously happy during the seven months I was in love, and I want to thank you for being happy for me when it seemed I had finally found the soul-mate for whom I have long searched. Thank you, too, for your support in January when the love affair ended miserably in the course of just one day. And thank you for reading the fictionalized account of the romance in my book and for viewing the nearly one hundred drawings that also tell the story of this past year. Perhaps now you have more insight into what was going on in my heart and mind those months of my grand amour fou.
I also want to thank he who was once my love, he who would have become my third and final husband tonight. Louis, I sincerely thank you for your affection and for the tenderness and intimacy we once shared. I am deeply grateful not only for your love, but also for your belief in me as an artist and a writer, which propelled me into one of the most intense periods of creative activity I’ve ever experienced in my life. It’s not often that I produce a hundred drawings, much less a 350-page novel, in the course of one short year. Thank you so much for the energy and inspiration you sparked in me. I hope, in this, at least, that you were not wrong – that my work is important. Thank you for believing that I’ve earned my rightful place alongside Artemisia Gentileschi, Elisabeth Vignée-Lebrun, Camille Claudel, the Louises Bourgeois and Nevelson, Pina Bausch, Frida Kahlo, Simone de Beauvoir, the Brontës, Anne Frank and Anaïs Nin.
I’m grateful to you for proving to me that my heart is still alive, still capable of loving and, evidently, still hopeful. I would not have believed it possible at my age, and with my past romantic failures, that I could once again love so deeply and with such passion as I loved you. I would be lying to you now if I did not admit I miss your intellectual companionship, the quirky, esoteric interests we alone shared, your hands and your kisses. I miss playing Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller with you. Even though we have no future together, tonight I promise to treasure the beautiful, rich memories of our time together. I realize we are like the movies: at the end, I still know so little about you that you remain a mystery, a shadowy character like one written by Patricia Highsmith for Hitchcock – like the talented Mr. Ripley. And I, probably, will remain in your mind your Madelyn from Vertigo: an ideal, an anima projection. When I became uncomfortably “real,” our time together had to come to its inevitable ending and I had to disappear. I am a photograph, removed from your wallet and thrown away. Still, I have no regrets. Everything has turned out exactly the way Fate meant it to for both of us, my old love. Louis, I wish you well. I’ll quote Rick in Casablanca: “We’ll always have Paris.” And to Paris I will return alone to reclaim my city, as an antidote honeymoon.
I had originally planned to perform this piece as part of my wedding vows to Louis. So, in the words of Tracy Lord, “as originally and beautifully planned” I will now do just that to “Face the Music,” sung by Fred Astaire, from his movie Follow the Fleet. As I recall, Astaire sang it to a suicidal Ginger Rogers on the deck of a ship as she contemplated jumping overboard.
12:36 a.m. That means it's my not-wedding day!
House is pristine. Floors are done and taped off for the performances. I'm totally rehearsed. Exhibit and installation have been totally installed for days. I think I'm going to bed early tonight, so I can get up and walk Buster tomorrow morning early before I have to go pick up the cake, flowers and do the food. There's a notice the hot water is off from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m., so I guess I better get up and get a bath and shave my legs before then, in case it doesn't come back on by late afternoon. I was planning to take a disco nap about 4 before the performers arrive at 7.
Yes: I am excited. And a little nervous. But I feel really, really good about the work and I'm proud of the show. And I'm looking forward to spending a festive evening with my nearest and dearest. Although this place is going to be as packed as Holly Golightly's apartment during her cocktail party in Breakfast at Tiffany's. I hope no one's hair catches on fire, as in the movie. :)
And I'm looking forward to loads of barefoot dancing and drinking after 10 p.m.! And if I get really crazy, I may go for a moonlight swim to cap it all off. And I have an in-home massage to look forward to Saturday!
Someone said, in essence, "I think it's cool that you're marrying your art, not a man." And I thought: Wait. I may have divorced several men, but two things I've never divorced. My art, and an animal.
Yes: I am excited. And a little nervous. But I feel really, really good about the work and I'm proud of the show. And I'm looking forward to spending a festive evening with my nearest and dearest. Although this place is going to be as packed as Holly Golightly's apartment during her cocktail party in Breakfast at Tiffany's. I hope no one's hair catches on fire, as in the movie. :)
And I'm looking forward to loads of barefoot dancing and drinking after 10 p.m.! And if I get really crazy, I may go for a moonlight swim to cap it all off. And I have an in-home massage to look forward to Saturday!
Someone said, in essence, "I think it's cool that you're marrying your art, not a man." And I thought: Wait. I may have divorced several men, but two things I've never divorced. My art, and an animal.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
One of my friends can't go to her twentieth high school reunion
...because of current work projects. I'm so sorry, since she was looking forward to it.
Then I was thinking: me going to my high school reunion (if it weren't just the sub-set of art and drama people) would be pretty much like asking Carrie to go to her high school reunion. Bad idea.
Then I was thinking: me going to my high school reunion (if it weren't just the sub-set of art and drama people) would be pretty much like asking Carrie to go to her high school reunion. Bad idea.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
ROFLMAO
Ali has done it again: resurrected a 1993 or 1994 "commercial" for Hard Women by Linda Montano.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Unbelievable.
The documentation of one of my most ambitious and largest scale performances, which I have for over a decade believed to be lost, has been, like Lazarus, resurrected by Ali White and all the digital gods and is available for viewing at the link below. "The Death of Orpheus," from Metamorpheus, 1990.
These have something to do with the next project I propose.
More news as it develops.
Hm. La joueuse/les joyeux. Les joueuses joyeux?
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Show's installed and labeled, including installations.
Furniture is moved. House is cleaned. I have four more stray labels to make, then it's completely done. My house looks like an art gallery now, and I kind of like it this way. I may never move the furniture back in, because I have loads of space to dance in now. Now we can ALL drink wine and dance barefoot to gypsy music after the performances are over!
I'm really, really excited now. We rehearsed this morning, and everything is coming along really nicely. Frankie is an excellent musician, but we decided I have to have a mic because the song I'm singing is really challenging to me, range-wise. No, it's not "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," but the first two notes are separated by an octave and it's a stretch for me. It may not sound so great except for Frankie's cello, but it will be profoundly heart-felt.
But the biggest cool thing that's happened this weekend is the choreographer I admire most in the whole world now that Pina Bausch is dead has expressed interest in coming, so I invited her and she accepted. I will be so nervous when I do my dance piece, but I am really happy she's going to be here because I am such a fan of her work. Maybe the whole project will give her some kind of big idea of her own. And, coincidence: drumroll, please. She'll be living in Italy until January.
All that's left for me to do now is DJ in advance -- load up my iPod and iTunes play lists so I've got appropriate music in the upstairs installation room, and downstairs in the gallery. And pick up the things I have to pick up, coordinate the food, get the cake and flowers. With any luck I can lie down and have a disco nap about 4:00, then get up and get ready before the performers arrive at 7:30.
Work is going to seem unbearable this week, with the performance looming...
I'm really, really excited now. We rehearsed this morning, and everything is coming along really nicely. Frankie is an excellent musician, but we decided I have to have a mic because the song I'm singing is really challenging to me, range-wise. No, it's not "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," but the first two notes are separated by an octave and it's a stretch for me. It may not sound so great except for Frankie's cello, but it will be profoundly heart-felt.
But the biggest cool thing that's happened this weekend is the choreographer I admire most in the whole world now that Pina Bausch is dead has expressed interest in coming, so I invited her and she accepted. I will be so nervous when I do my dance piece, but I am really happy she's going to be here because I am such a fan of her work. Maybe the whole project will give her some kind of big idea of her own. And, coincidence: drumroll, please. She'll be living in Italy until January.
All that's left for me to do now is DJ in advance -- load up my iPod and iTunes play lists so I've got appropriate music in the upstairs installation room, and downstairs in the gallery. And pick up the things I have to pick up, coordinate the food, get the cake and flowers. With any luck I can lie down and have a disco nap about 4:00, then get up and get ready before the performers arrive at 7:30.
Work is going to seem unbearable this week, with the performance looming...
Friday, August 7, 2009
Borsa is made, wedding sweets are bagged...
in their cunning little bags, flower girl bags are made, ring pillow is made, artist's book is made and reproduced.
Hell, yeah! This anti(dote)wedding exhibition and performance is going to have every lovely detail I wanted for the wedding. No way I'm going to disappoint my family and friends, who would have enjoyed all these little details. And I'm going to have the party I dreamed of, even without the groom. There's still so much for me to celebrate: the completion of the original book and the epilogue drawings, the fact that so many people love and care about me and are happy I'm still all theirs. It's been good for me to reflect on the events of the last year and realize how very grateful I am for everything, even the dismal ending of the affair. Steep emotional learning curve for me, but unbelievable artistic energy along with it.
I'm cleaning house tonight so that I can mount the show tomorrow and Sunday. But everything's ready to go: labels, etc. It really hasn't been that hard to do it all myself, since I started a couple of weeks ago. Now we all just have to practice our performances...
Especially me, since I'm singing. :)
Thursday, August 6, 2009
I am outraged! Deneuve booed in Italy. What were they thinking?
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/08/06/catherine-deneuve-booed-a_n_252612.html
Deneuve booed in Italy for no Italian subtitles to accompany her French reading at a festival! My poor darling! I rush to your defense! We all know your Italian is flawless, anyway! This is inexcusably brutish behavior on the part of the crowd, and the organizers of the event were idiots. And you suffer from stage fright, anyway. Please, don't be traumatized!
I am so sad!
Deneuve booed in Italy for no Italian subtitles to accompany her French reading at a festival! My poor darling! I rush to your defense! We all know your Italian is flawless, anyway! This is inexcusably brutish behavior on the part of the crowd, and the organizers of the event were idiots. And you suffer from stage fright, anyway. Please, don't be traumatized!
I am so sad!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Sketch for the doll
...I started working on tonight, last piece for my upcoming show.
It's going to be kind of an engineering nightmare, but the head(s) is(are) done and drying overnight.
Monday, August 3, 2009
A seemingly random list of movies, and a space:
Some Came Running, Minnelli, 1958.
This Property is Condemned, Pollack, 1966.
The Fugitive Kind, Lumet, 1959.
Splendor in the Grass, Kazan, 1961.
You win if you can write the essay before I get around to it.
This Property is Condemned, Pollack, 1966.
The Fugitive Kind, Lumet, 1959.
Splendor in the Grass, Kazan, 1961.
You win if you can write the essay before I get around to it.
My Days of Heaven.
If we humans are lucky, during the course of our lifetimes, we'll have a few perfect days. These are mine: sheer Paradise on earth. And, perhaps, I have enjoyed more than my fair share of them. There were even more perfect days, but no camera to record them.
Car broke down at Sun Harvest.
Bad :(
Nice woman parked next to me gave me a jump and it started up. Good :)
Drove it to Firestone and left it for the night. Bad :(
Ali came and picked me up and took me home. Good :)
Boss gave a vacation day while I wait to hear from mechanic so grown-up child doesn't have to take off work and lose income. Good :)
Took dog for hour-long walk in the coolness of the early morning, since I didn't have to go in to work. Good :)
Waiting to hear from garage. Bad :(
Tore down paper for next drawing series. Good :)
Danced barefoot to gypsy music in living room. Good :) Very, very good :)
Eating oatmeal with boiled raisins now. Good :)
Then will draw or scan until I hear about car status. Unexpected bounty: a day off that I wasn't expecting, in this wretched, hellish Texas August heat.
Nice woman parked next to me gave me a jump and it started up. Good :)
Drove it to Firestone and left it for the night. Bad :(
Ali came and picked me up and took me home. Good :)
Boss gave a vacation day while I wait to hear from mechanic so grown-up child doesn't have to take off work and lose income. Good :)
Took dog for hour-long walk in the coolness of the early morning, since I didn't have to go in to work. Good :)
Waiting to hear from garage. Bad :(
Tore down paper for next drawing series. Good :)
Danced barefoot to gypsy music in living room. Good :) Very, very good :)
Eating oatmeal with boiled raisins now. Good :)
Then will draw or scan until I hear about car status. Unexpected bounty: a day off that I wasn't expecting, in this wretched, hellish Texas August heat.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Scanning. And making things for my show in two weeks.
It's been a productive weekend, moving around from task to task. I put a lot of travel photos up on my flickr, now that I've got a scanner working again. But probably I won't feel as if I had a weekend because all I did was projects. That is, I didn't go out and have any "fun."
Friday, July 31, 2009
Friday off! Vacation day! Yay!
Have apparently lost my prescription sunglasses, or they've been stolen from my car. Booh. :( I seem to be incapable of holding on to a pair of prescription sunglasses for more than a few months, whereas I've had my Versace non-prescription ones since 1995. Go figure.
Put up two weeks' worth of clean laundry last night, organized and inventoried my closet for fall, figured out what gets handed down or given to charity. Now, if I can just iron and do my housework today, back to the studio for me and the next drawing series next weeek.
Put up two weeks' worth of clean laundry last night, organized and inventoried my closet for fall, figured out what gets handed down or given to charity. Now, if I can just iron and do my housework today, back to the studio for me and the next drawing series next weeek.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Guilty pleasures
I found a place that sells perfume decants. One can order a teeny-tiny vial of basically anything in the world one has ever dreamed of inhaling, no matter how expensive a full bottle of it would be, and no matter how esoteric the scent. They even have some vintage bottles left of perfumes that are no longer made, or that have had a change in formula (but I wonder how gone-off they may be?). It's a great idea, and also a great way to wear something for a couple of days to decide if you like it before you spring for a bottle.
If you, like me, are into perfume like some people are into wine, check it out:
http://theperfumedcourt.com/
When I got my Hermès twilly they had the good sense to include some Hermès perfume sample vials, two of which I'd spritzed in passing while running through the duty-free of some airport in Europe this summer: Un jardin sur Nil and Un jardin meditérranée. There was another one in the suite I thought might have been the one I loved best, Un jardin apres la mousson. This decant outfit sent me the missing third one, so now I'll puzzle it out. Love all three, but I think it must have been jardin meditérranée that smelled so good as the hours passed and it changed on my skin.
I'd like to write about perfume like other people write about wine. The first whif brings forward all kinds of associations, since, as I've written, for me memory resides in the nose.
I was wanting to try out some perfumes for fall with leather and tobacco notes, so Caron's Tabac Blond has arrived, and Knize Ten. Knize has been intriguing me since Vienna, because Mayerling murder-suicide Prince Rudolf had a scent created for him they still sell to this day. I can't remember now which one it is. Will have to do some research. Knize Ten right out of the vial had a really lovely black flower note -- like narcissus? -- but finished like new tires. Ew. No, not for me. Tabac Blond is much better. Dietrich wore it, but it has that synthetic note in it, like Chanel No. 5, that does not please my nose, but is a hallmark of perfumes of the thirties. What's it called? Aldeyhydes? It's what I can always still smell in what's left in a dried-up vintage perfume bottle and I don't like it.
My nose is overwhelmed tonight so I have to wait until tomorrow to try something I've never had the opportunity to try before: Guerlain Jicky. It's the turn-of-the-century grandmother of my own signature scent, Shalimar. I can't wait to smell what part of it is Shalimar and how it's different. I'm betting much more purple, if it's from the fin de siècle.
I got a tiny Guerlain Vol de Nuit, my old high school favorite, for old time's sake. It's more gardenia than I remembered, but lovely. And a tiny Bal à Versailles, a formerly very popular but now extremely hard to find perfume that smells like baby powder and exquisitely frosted white cakes -- in fact, I wore that one to my second wedding.
I discovered this decant outfit on my mission to find a sample of the perfume Deneuve authored in the seventies. Got it. Not suprisingly, it's related to YSL's Opium, my disco diva period favorite. Very strong, very exotic, an oriental in genealogy. I would never wear it except around midnight to go out. And, surprisingly, it seems like a scent for a brunette, not a blond.
If you like to read about perfume history and search by notes, this decanter has a very well-organized site, and also gives formulation dates, notes and so on for each scent. I could spend a small fortune, tiny vial by tiny vial, on research.
But, hands-down, for me House of Guerlain is it. Every one of my favorite scents is one of theirs. And then, Caron, very, very hard to find in the States.
I must admit, though, I have worn bourbon as a perfume. I love the way a really good bottle smells when you just open it. Or even Jack Daniels, when you first break the seal and inhale.
I smell h e a v e n l y right now :)
If you, like me, are into perfume like some people are into wine, check it out:
http://theperfumedcourt.com/
When I got my Hermès twilly they had the good sense to include some Hermès perfume sample vials, two of which I'd spritzed in passing while running through the duty-free of some airport in Europe this summer: Un jardin sur Nil and Un jardin meditérranée. There was another one in the suite I thought might have been the one I loved best, Un jardin apres la mousson. This decant outfit sent me the missing third one, so now I'll puzzle it out. Love all three, but I think it must have been jardin meditérranée that smelled so good as the hours passed and it changed on my skin.
I'd like to write about perfume like other people write about wine. The first whif brings forward all kinds of associations, since, as I've written, for me memory resides in the nose.
I was wanting to try out some perfumes for fall with leather and tobacco notes, so Caron's Tabac Blond has arrived, and Knize Ten. Knize has been intriguing me since Vienna, because Mayerling murder-suicide Prince Rudolf had a scent created for him they still sell to this day. I can't remember now which one it is. Will have to do some research. Knize Ten right out of the vial had a really lovely black flower note -- like narcissus? -- but finished like new tires. Ew. No, not for me. Tabac Blond is much better. Dietrich wore it, but it has that synthetic note in it, like Chanel No. 5, that does not please my nose, but is a hallmark of perfumes of the thirties. What's it called? Aldeyhydes? It's what I can always still smell in what's left in a dried-up vintage perfume bottle and I don't like it.
My nose is overwhelmed tonight so I have to wait until tomorrow to try something I've never had the opportunity to try before: Guerlain Jicky. It's the turn-of-the-century grandmother of my own signature scent, Shalimar. I can't wait to smell what part of it is Shalimar and how it's different. I'm betting much more purple, if it's from the fin de siècle.
I got a tiny Guerlain Vol de Nuit, my old high school favorite, for old time's sake. It's more gardenia than I remembered, but lovely. And a tiny Bal à Versailles, a formerly very popular but now extremely hard to find perfume that smells like baby powder and exquisitely frosted white cakes -- in fact, I wore that one to my second wedding.
I discovered this decant outfit on my mission to find a sample of the perfume Deneuve authored in the seventies. Got it. Not suprisingly, it's related to YSL's Opium, my disco diva period favorite. Very strong, very exotic, an oriental in genealogy. I would never wear it except around midnight to go out. And, surprisingly, it seems like a scent for a brunette, not a blond.
If you like to read about perfume history and search by notes, this decanter has a very well-organized site, and also gives formulation dates, notes and so on for each scent. I could spend a small fortune, tiny vial by tiny vial, on research.
But, hands-down, for me House of Guerlain is it. Every one of my favorite scents is one of theirs. And then, Caron, very, very hard to find in the States.
I must admit, though, I have worn bourbon as a perfume. I love the way a really good bottle smells when you just open it. Or even Jack Daniels, when you first break the seal and inhale.
I smell h e a v e n l y right now :)
Well, this is cool!
One of my recent drawings got picked up by a flickr group as an icon used to invite other photographers and artists. And supposedly the administrator of this group may use three of my Botticelli Venus images posted recently in an upcoming discussion forum.
It's always gratifying to learn that people you don't even know from all over the world have somehow stumbled upon your work on the internet.
http://www.flickr.com/groups/venus-aphrodite/discuss/72157616218261856/
It's always gratifying to learn that people you don't even know from all over the world have somehow stumbled upon your work on the internet.
http://www.flickr.com/groups/venus-aphrodite/discuss/72157616218261856/
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Was to have been my next tattoo...
or at least half of it was going to be, as a wedding tattoo.
Who knows? Maybe I'll still get my bird. But I need to find a tattoo artist who can work it out totally for me. Those birds are really small on my Blue Willow dishes, so I'm mainly just guessing.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Blah. Stayed up too late last night, sewing and book-binding.
It's hotter than Hades today and boring. Most everyone is on vacation and it's quiet, too quiet. Think of all the millions of things I could be doing if I were at home and free.
My mind keeps returning over and over to Pollock's Toy Theatres and Museum in London today. If I were in London, I would go there and draw all day.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Bring it on, Mack truck.
(Drawing: My First Tattoo, Age Twenty-One)
Because I have spent the last ten hours documenting and mounting in my web archive every single print, drawing, painting and doll I've ever made that I want preserved there. Hundreds of images, neatly categorized. My whole life's work, back to juvenilia. I am covered in charcoal, pastel and paint, and a white sheet may be ruined, but it's done.
I should feel a huge sense of accomplishment, but there are still all those blasted photos to scan. And scanning is much less enjoyable and more time-consuming than tacking huge drawings up and photographing them. But those will be next. And then, finally, I will be caught up with my own artistic output, except for the performance part of my career.
Now I am going to sit outside and enjoy a well-deserved cup of strong coffee!
Friday, July 24, 2009
I'm touched that people are so kind to me.
I decided, since I was buying groceries anyway, to go ahead and order the cake for the Anti(dote)Wedding today. I explained very briefly to the nice baker that I was doing an exhibition and performance on the day I probably would have been married as a ritual end to this chapter of my life. He was a man in his thirties, and his eyes got moist and he told me how sorry he was and that the cake would be beautiful, he promised. I told him not to be sad, that it was fine, really, that I'm an artist and this is just how I have to process my life. But he was genuinely sympathetic and it was so touching!
Same thing happened when I talked to the florist about the wrist corsage I ordered. She promised me it was going to be exquisite and exactly as I had envisioned originally when X and I were making wedding plans.
And when I told a co-worker about having gone ahead and bought the dress I had picked out and that I'm going to wear it anyway (not just for the show, but afterwards, too), and about "performing" my vows for the witnesses gathered just as I would really have done to X at the wedding, she teared up, too. She's getting a divorce, so, of course, she's probably super-sensitive about affairs of the heart right now.
It's all fine! Really. And I am just fine. In fact, I'm more than fine. Look what a period of creative output my heart-ache has fueled since January. But I am so deeply, deeply moved at how sweet, kind and tender-hearted everyone has been with me as I plan this show. Thank you. Vous êtes très gentilles.
Same thing happened when I talked to the florist about the wrist corsage I ordered. She promised me it was going to be exquisite and exactly as I had envisioned originally when X and I were making wedding plans.
And when I told a co-worker about having gone ahead and bought the dress I had picked out and that I'm going to wear it anyway (not just for the show, but afterwards, too), and about "performing" my vows for the witnesses gathered just as I would really have done to X at the wedding, she teared up, too. She's getting a divorce, so, of course, she's probably super-sensitive about affairs of the heart right now.
It's all fine! Really. And I am just fine. In fact, I'm more than fine. Look what a period of creative output my heart-ache has fueled since January. But I am so deeply, deeply moved at how sweet, kind and tender-hearted everyone has been with me as I plan this show. Thank you. Vous êtes très gentilles.
Most of my favorite ghastly dolls...
are now photographed and up on my flickr portfolio.
I love to photograph them in atmospheric light; it's a kind of "playing" with them that I enjoy. And some of them are fairly scary, even if I made them myself.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Now that I have a digital camera and a scanner that works...
I've been spending quality time with my flickr portfolio and my writing archive site on blogger, Somnambulit, for the past couple of evenings. If you're interested, take a look. I've tried to embed slide shows of the photographs and drawings that go along with various written pieces and travelogues.
I'm not there yet, since all the photographs prior to 2006 are prints and will have to be scanned. And we won't even speak of the hundreds of 36" x 28" drawings that must be tacked up outside in natural light to photograph them. Or the lithographs. Or the hundred scary dolls that need special, atmospheric lighting to document.
Bob's death has definitely driven home the lesson that this is the year I must catch up with myself documenting my own work. I resent it, since it takes time away from making new work. But, slowly but surely I will work through the backlogue, and, someday, it will be done.
I must admit it makes me feel a little better about my productivity as an artist to start to see my written and visual archives come together. Once I finish the making of something I'm no longer interested in it and just shelve it or store it as I move "on, on, on to the next one." This archiving process makes it clear to me that I really haven't suffered any long periods without artistic output. While I'm not as productive, say, as Picasso, I have managed to crank out a fair amount of work considering I've always worked full-time and that I raised two children while making the work.
I'm not there yet, since all the photographs prior to 2006 are prints and will have to be scanned. And we won't even speak of the hundreds of 36" x 28" drawings that must be tacked up outside in natural light to photograph them. Or the lithographs. Or the hundred scary dolls that need special, atmospheric lighting to document.
Bob's death has definitely driven home the lesson that this is the year I must catch up with myself documenting my own work. I resent it, since it takes time away from making new work. But, slowly but surely I will work through the backlogue, and, someday, it will be done.
I must admit it makes me feel a little better about my productivity as an artist to start to see my written and visual archives come together. Once I finish the making of something I'm no longer interested in it and just shelve it or store it as I move "on, on, on to the next one." This archiving process makes it clear to me that I really haven't suffered any long periods without artistic output. While I'm not as productive, say, as Picasso, I have managed to crank out a fair amount of work considering I've always worked full-time and that I raised two children while making the work.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Finished the first doll for the show.
I really like it. But I won't entirely document it until the show. It "does tricks." And it is really, really brutal and scary.
Those German Expressionists should have made dolls. But I guess they were mostly men.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Damn! Look what I found...
on some French guy's blog!
Jane Birken and Brigitte Bardot in bed in what appears to be some kind of soft-core vampire porn movie. I have no idea at all what movie this is. Will have to consult imdb immediately.
http://bonjourplanetearth.blogspot.com/2009/06/il-etait-une-fois-brigitte-bardot-et.html
Can't figure out how to embed from the site he nabbed the clip from.
****
Wait! It's (English title) If Don Juan Were a Woman. I've seen it, but forgot this segment of this epistolary movie. And it was Brigitte Bardot's FINAL movie.
Jane Birken and Brigitte Bardot in bed in what appears to be some kind of soft-core vampire porn movie. I have no idea at all what movie this is. Will have to consult imdb immediately.
http://bonjourplanetearth.blogspot.com/2009/06/il-etait-une-fois-brigitte-bardot-et.html
Can't figure out how to embed from the site he nabbed the clip from.
****
Wait! It's (English title) If Don Juan Were a Woman. I've seen it, but forgot this segment of this epistolary movie. And it was Brigitte Bardot's FINAL movie.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Up early,
my dear old friend having departed at the crack of dawn to retrieve her beloved dog and help her adult son move today back home. I had walked Buster by 8 and so sat down to re-read Senso, since I now have done.
Yes, definitely, this is the new series: Senso Furs, somehow combining both Senso and Venus in Furs to make the drawings. Yep, I can definitely get into this. And, much to my surprise, the two boxes of sharp, new pens required to draw and ink another series had magically materialized in my mail box yesterday, when I hadn't had time to check the mail.
I'm going to make two or three new dolls for the August 14 in-house show, make one textile/embroidery piece for the show, and then, the paper for the drawings gets torn down. I'll fester thoughts and ideas while I sew this week, and then, I hope, start drawing the next week.
And I also know what I'm going to write next, which has nothing to do with the drawings, but that I'm not tellin' yet.
Yay! Art ideas!
But I still have to scan all those old drawings and photographs for the archive :(
Yes, definitely, this is the new series: Senso Furs, somehow combining both Senso and Venus in Furs to make the drawings. Yep, I can definitely get into this. And, much to my surprise, the two boxes of sharp, new pens required to draw and ink another series had magically materialized in my mail box yesterday, when I hadn't had time to check the mail.
I'm going to make two or three new dolls for the August 14 in-house show, make one textile/embroidery piece for the show, and then, the paper for the drawings gets torn down. I'll fester thoughts and ideas while I sew this week, and then, I hope, start drawing the next week.
And I also know what I'm going to write next, which has nothing to do with the drawings, but that I'm not tellin' yet.
Yay! Art ideas!
But I still have to scan all those old drawings and photographs for the archive :(
Friday, July 17, 2009
One of my two best friends from high school,
with whom I had a kind of Three Musketeers relationship, is visiting this weekend. We did the math and realize from the current ages of our children it's been twenty-five years since we were together in the flesh. We've written and e-mailed over the years to stay in touch, but this is the first real reunion we've ever had.
She's a minister now. When we were girls, she was a Goth before there was such a thing, a real Wednesday Addams, down to the long black velvet dress she often wore and her torrent of waist-length, black hair. When she was called to the ministry and went to seminary I said, "Seminary is surprising. If she had said she was joining a coven of witches or becoming a Satanist, I would have said it wasn't surprising."
It's so odd to think how our two lives have turned out. And how both of us, viewed as "outsiders" or outcasts as girls, both of us fatherless, have ended up spending a life in service to others: she to the members of her congregations and I to students. No one who knew us in high school or taught us then would, I think, believe this turn of events. Except, perhaps, our art, ballet and drama teachers.
It is rather astounding the way the lives of that bunch of hippie kids from a sleepy, dusty backwater Texas town eaten up with religion turned out: one got another Grammy this year, one was a fashion model, one is a composer who makes works for choreographers, one is an opera singer in Australia, one is a recording artist, one is a recording engineer, one was an actor off-Broadway, one is a famous Egyptologist, one is a world-famous concierge, a few are painters and professional musicians. When all is said and done, I guess, we are all alike in one way: we left and followed our youthful passions and dreams. Tonight I feel a little sorry for everyone we went to high school with who stayed behind. High school may have been the best years of their lives, their golden years. For us, the outcasts, the slow starters, it was a place and time we could not wait to leave far, far behind.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
I Planned to Die in the Arms of my Soul-Mate (La Bohème)
The Epilogue series is complete. Twenty-one drawings. The best work of my life.
And now, perhaps, I sleep again.
And travelogues of Dublin and someplace else -- Assissi? up on Somnambulit.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The final drawing of the Epilogue
...is going just the way I dreamed it. But I had an eerie experience late last night as I drew feverishly. I very distinctly heard my refrigerator door open and close, as if there were a ghost in my kitchen, or as if my own fierce drawing energy had caused a poltergeist to come into my space. My hair stood on end. I had to call Ali and talk for a few minutes, and go outside.
I was having really intense thoughts as I drew about the concept of "soul mate" and I had even been crying a little about having missed mine in this incarnation, and about how very near he often seems to me. I just can't seem to break through to him. I miss him so terribly sometimes. Sometimes my heart hurts for both of us, since we can't seem to find one another this time.
It's probably the sadness of dealing with the very final emotional dregs of my most recent romance's ending that caused this metaphysical event. My mind and my heart are so strong. I was finally able to weep last night, after all these months, and admit to myself how very sad I am that I was wrong, that Felix was not my soul-mate after all, as I had once thought. And to acknowledge that I feel sad that in being wrong I was "unfaithful" to my real soul-mate in giving Felix the love I meant for him.
I probably shouldn't even write such things because it probably sounds like total craziness to everyone but me. But my past-life love is always hovering so near me, and I am so near him. I must have loved him so much I can never escape the vestiges and echoes of our love even in this incarnation. I feel I have long lived my life as his invisible widow, grieving the loss of the love he and I shared.
I know: Goth. 19th Century Romantic. Wuthering Heights. Yes. It is exactly like that, and I feel it, always, keenly, exactly like that. For me, it is always real, always tangible and so, so bitter-sweetly sad.
My darling, if you can read what I write here through the dimension that separates us, please, please be waiting for me at the end of time. I have searched for you for forty years, and I am so sorry about my recent mistake, thinking that, in Felix, I had finally found you again. Please forgive me, my darling. Open the refrigerator door all you want to, to remind me you really are there, loving me always still, and always waiting for me.
I was having really intense thoughts as I drew about the concept of "soul mate" and I had even been crying a little about having missed mine in this incarnation, and about how very near he often seems to me. I just can't seem to break through to him. I miss him so terribly sometimes. Sometimes my heart hurts for both of us, since we can't seem to find one another this time.
It's probably the sadness of dealing with the very final emotional dregs of my most recent romance's ending that caused this metaphysical event. My mind and my heart are so strong. I was finally able to weep last night, after all these months, and admit to myself how very sad I am that I was wrong, that Felix was not my soul-mate after all, as I had once thought. And to acknowledge that I feel sad that in being wrong I was "unfaithful" to my real soul-mate in giving Felix the love I meant for him.
I probably shouldn't even write such things because it probably sounds like total craziness to everyone but me. But my past-life love is always hovering so near me, and I am so near him. I must have loved him so much I can never escape the vestiges and echoes of our love even in this incarnation. I feel I have long lived my life as his invisible widow, grieving the loss of the love he and I shared.
I know: Goth. 19th Century Romantic. Wuthering Heights. Yes. It is exactly like that, and I feel it, always, keenly, exactly like that. For me, it is always real, always tangible and so, so bitter-sweetly sad.
My darling, if you can read what I write here through the dimension that separates us, please, please be waiting for me at the end of time. I have searched for you for forty years, and I am so sorry about my recent mistake, thinking that, in Felix, I had finally found you again. Please forgive me, my darling. Open the refrigerator door all you want to, to remind me you really are there, loving me always still, and always waiting for me.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Working on a four-day drawing...
which I hope to finish tonight. Then one last drawing to go, and the series is finished.
I already know what I'll do next: a series based on Sacher-Masoch's Venus in Furs and on Boito's Senso. I have to re-read both of them to figure out how to integrate the books to do the drawings. But doing so will give me a couple of week's break from incessant drawing and staying up half the night, which I probably need. A change of pace, catching up on my sleep and a battery re-charge is probably a good idea now, and I have out-of-town guests coming until the end of this month.
The Anti(dote)Wedding exhibition and performance plans are coming together really nicely and I'm actually looking forward to performing. Suze's daughter, Frankie, has agreed to accompany me on cello for one piece. It's always natural for me to want to close any cycle with a performative action, a kind of public ritual. And any excuse for a party.
Oh, and just about everything I planned to include in my writing archive is now up at
www.somnambulit.blogspot.com
It may still be a little rough because I haven't given everything a final proofing and polish yet. Desolé.
I already know what I'll do next: a series based on Sacher-Masoch's Venus in Furs and on Boito's Senso. I have to re-read both of them to figure out how to integrate the books to do the drawings. But doing so will give me a couple of week's break from incessant drawing and staying up half the night, which I probably need. A change of pace, catching up on my sleep and a battery re-charge is probably a good idea now, and I have out-of-town guests coming until the end of this month.
The Anti(dote)Wedding exhibition and performance plans are coming together really nicely and I'm actually looking forward to performing. Suze's daughter, Frankie, has agreed to accompany me on cello for one piece. It's always natural for me to want to close any cycle with a performative action, a kind of public ritual. And any excuse for a party.
Oh, and just about everything I planned to include in my writing archive is now up at
www.somnambulit.blogspot.com
It may still be a little rough because I haven't given everything a final proofing and polish yet. Desolé.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Somebody said if they owned both Hell and Texas
...they'd move to Hell. And I know why. It's forecast to be above 100 again today. Maybe not as bad as last week's 105. But not less than 100 either. It's unbearable, and I have to set the alarm for the crack of dawn to even get poor Buster any kind of walk at all without risking his life from heat prostration. I guess, starting this week, I just walk alone. I don't think he can take the heat, even in the stroller, when the air temperature is over 100. Which it still is at 7:30 p.m. these days.
I'm working on the second to last drawing of the Epilogue. I should be completely finished with the series by mid-week. Wow. I think there are twenty-two of them, and most are twice the size of the original LTRH suite and all are in full color. The in-house show and no-wedding performances are definitely happening; Suze and Jack were "in" immediately, as is Jimmie. I need this performance ritual to close the circle and this chapter of my life completely. I think I'm going to call it the Anti(dote)Wedding. And August 14 has always been my very favorite day in the year, for reasons I never knew myself, from childhood on. That's the day I would have chosen for the wedding.
I'm working on the second to last drawing of the Epilogue. I should be completely finished with the series by mid-week. Wow. I think there are twenty-two of them, and most are twice the size of the original LTRH suite and all are in full color. The in-house show and no-wedding performances are definitely happening; Suze and Jack were "in" immediately, as is Jimmie. I need this performance ritual to close the circle and this chapter of my life completely. I think I'm going to call it the Anti(dote)Wedding. And August 14 has always been my very favorite day in the year, for reasons I never knew myself, from childhood on. That's the day I would have chosen for the wedding.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Epilogue Frontispiece Finished.
L'épilogue de Dangerose
Dangerose as Carpacci's Lion of St. Mark's Venice
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Felix, as Dante, Encounters Dangerose, as Beatrice...
Accompanied by Two Spectres
Riffing on a kitsch painting available everywhere in Florence on postcards.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Backstage Maurice.
Backstage photos from my performance as Maurice Brie at "The Collections" premiere, June 27, 2009. Photo: Anna Krachey for Monofonus Press
Dangerose's new heraldry: Mélusine with Dog and Sphinx Salient
L'art pour l'art, l'amour fou. (Art for art's sake, crazy love.}
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Breakfast at Tiffany's.
Well, really, it was the stroke of noon. And I wasn't eating a croissant and toting a take-out coffee.
But I do have something new and sparkly that comes in the turquoise box in the tiny turquoise shopping bag that puts a lilt in one's step for days. Without a wedding to pay for next month, I figured someone owed me a diamond -- and it turns out it's me! I also wanted to celebrate no medical tests until October, and finishing the book, and nearly finishing the epilogue drawing series -- later this week, probably. And I bought myself a white dress. But this one's more like a slip, and from the 1920's, with white embroidery. Now that every day is over 100 degrees here I need something white and light and airy -- the prototypical summer dress -- to wear with ankle-tied espadrilles and a tan. But I think I can wear it in winter, too, over a turtleneck and with black ribbed stockings and short boots -- rockin' that turn-of-the-century Death in Venice look. In any case, it's one of those prototypical dresses that's timeless and like something I draw.
And I wore a hibiscus flower in my hair while I shopped. Happy day. (Smile) Sometimes I do take good care of me.
But I do have something new and sparkly that comes in the turquoise box in the tiny turquoise shopping bag that puts a lilt in one's step for days. Without a wedding to pay for next month, I figured someone owed me a diamond -- and it turns out it's me! I also wanted to celebrate no medical tests until October, and finishing the book, and nearly finishing the epilogue drawing series -- later this week, probably. And I bought myself a white dress. But this one's more like a slip, and from the 1920's, with white embroidery. Now that every day is over 100 degrees here I need something white and light and airy -- the prototypical summer dress -- to wear with ankle-tied espadrilles and a tan. But I think I can wear it in winter, too, over a turtleneck and with black ribbed stockings and short boots -- rockin' that turn-of-the-century Death in Venice look. In any case, it's one of those prototypical dresses that's timeless and like something I draw.
And I wore a hibiscus flower in my hair while I shopped. Happy day. (Smile) Sometimes I do take good care of me.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
The Spoils of Love
Hmmm. Perhaps Hermès should consider this as a scarf design.
Although not figurative, still a three hour drawing.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Another student suicide.
Really, it is simply unbelievable.
Does it seem I must be making all this death up? I keep thinking I'll awaken from a nightmare.
+ + + + + + +
I've continued to keep riding the wave of an artistic high. I'm back to drawing, after taking a couple of nights off around last week's performance. Now I'm back to it. I think there are three or four more drawings left, and then this series is finished.
And I've archived about thirty pieces on Somnambulit, my new writing archive, some dating back to 1972. I need to prowl through my archives again, but I think nearly everything I wanted to share is now posted.
I haven't been sleeping much. It must be the above hundred degree temperatures. But I have been in a kind of artistic tizzy since Bob's death. And my own health issues have definitely added a sense of urgency to the mix. Pina Bausch's death can't help but have the same effect on me. I probably won't sleep much for the next couple of months. If the work is going well, of course I want to keep working. The artistic blocks, the silences, always arrive on their own, and with them, a period of sleep and restfulness.
Does it seem I must be making all this death up? I keep thinking I'll awaken from a nightmare.
+ + + + + + +
I've continued to keep riding the wave of an artistic high. I'm back to drawing, after taking a couple of nights off around last week's performance. Now I'm back to it. I think there are three or four more drawings left, and then this series is finished.
And I've archived about thirty pieces on Somnambulit, my new writing archive, some dating back to 1972. I need to prowl through my archives again, but I think nearly everything I wanted to share is now posted.
I haven't been sleeping much. It must be the above hundred degree temperatures. But I have been in a kind of artistic tizzy since Bob's death. And my own health issues have definitely added a sense of urgency to the mix. Pina Bausch's death can't help but have the same effect on me. I probably won't sleep much for the next couple of months. If the work is going well, of course I want to keep working. The artistic blocks, the silences, always arrive on their own, and with them, a period of sleep and restfulness.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
I, for one, need some movie eye candy tonight.
Death! Death! Too much death!
And I'm listening to new Charles Aznavour downloads. That helps, too.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Afterglowing
from last night's performance. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't come out of retirement. Although it makes me a nervous wreck leading up to it, I love doing it so much in the moment. And reflecting on it the next day.
Got my house cleaned. Got my laundry done. Went out for dinner with my dear friend Megan. Then finished a drawing. Productive weekend!
Got my house cleaned. Got my laundry done. Went out for dinner with my dear friend Megan. Then finished a drawing. Productive weekend!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Stage fright. Jangly.
Can't decide if I'm over-rehearsed or under-rehearsed.
I guess no matter how long I live or how much I perform I will always get nervous beforehand.
If I can just keep it together until about 11 p.m., I'm home free and can just enjoy the film and everyone else's performances. Gonna eat something now and chill out until my call at 7.
I guess no matter how long I live or how much I perform I will always get nervous beforehand.
If I can just keep it together until about 11 p.m., I'm home free and can just enjoy the film and everyone else's performances. Gonna eat something now and chill out until my call at 7.
Finally finished the drawing
Position One: Dangerose, Felix's Martyr/Felix Christian Martyr
Position Two: Dangerose Ascending (Venice)/Felix Christian Martyr
...I've been working on this week, interrupted by the trip to my mother's house and practicing for tomorrow's performance. It's a diptych with two positions. More from the Epilogue of Les Très Riches Heures.
Now, to bed with me because I have a million things to do before my call at 7 tomorrow evening and need to get up early.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Home from my mother's...
frantically practicing now for tomorrow night's performance. My house is a pit. I got a hundred of the dolls I've made back from a friend who'd had them to document for me and they are now added to the chaos in a huge plastic hopper I can't even get upstairs. There are about a dozen new drawings littering up the space, plus the sketches for three others and another huge one that's three-quarters done. I haven't done dishes in a week, and all my stuff from my trip and every pair of shoes I've worn to work for two weeks is in the mix. Plus the pencil sharpener opened up, spilling shavings all over the chair I sit in to draw.
It looks like an art supply store and clothing boutique exploded in here.
But there's always Sunday, right?
A performance matters more than a tidy space when one is an artist and lives alone. Still, I can't find anything and I'm driving myself crazy. Plus it's 104 degrees and I can't take Buster for long walks. Perhaps my normal routine will be restored next week?
It looks like an art supply store and clothing boutique exploded in here.
But there's always Sunday, right?
A performance matters more than a tidy space when one is an artist and lives alone. Still, I can't find anything and I'm driving myself crazy. Plus it's 104 degrees and I can't take Buster for long walks. Perhaps my normal routine will be restored next week?
Monday, June 22, 2009
Somnambulit: An Archive of Writings
Bob's death has really made me realize I have to get my archive act together in the coming months. Linda Montano and I talked about this on the telephone today, since she's having exactly the same impulse. In Linda's and my cases we need to worry about not only visual/video/ephemeral work but writing, too.
So, little by little, I've decided I will put up my writing archive on blogger so that it's stored on the web as a portfolio.
If you're interested, check out
http://somnambulit.blogspot.com
So far, all I have up is four stories from Snapshots from the Landlocked Land, 1995. But as I have time I'll put up more. Most of these old pieces only exist on paper or on floppy disks. Yikes! Just as most of my performance documentation exists only on VHS :(
So, little by little, I've decided I will put up my writing archive on blogger so that it's stored on the web as a portfolio.
If you're interested, check out
http://somnambulit.blogspot.com
So far, all I have up is four stories from Snapshots from the Landlocked Land, 1995. But as I have time I'll put up more. Most of these old pieces only exist on paper or on floppy disks. Yikes! Just as most of my performance documentation exists only on VHS :(
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Music video is wrapped and in the can!
Photos on Cindy's facebook page:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=home#/album.php?aid=17716&id=1643258944&ref=nf
It was hot as hell at the Cathedral of Junk, but we got it on the first take and did it again three times in other set ups. Playback looked fantastic. Yay! One down, then Saturday night's solo performance to go! Much fun! Can't wait to see the edited version, but the dancers were awesome and I really enjoyed playing with Terri Lords, the excellent drummer. We had a little drum, accordion and melodica Balkan jam during one of the breaks. That's me in the costume I was wearing, standing on top of my car afterward.
To the bathtub and to bed with me now! Work tomorrow. Argh.
Diptych: Girl and Boy
It's like a presentiment, like I'm running from the devil. They just keep coming and I have to get them out, and NOW.
Ink, watercolor, Prismacolor on Arches, each 8 x 10"
Saturday, June 20, 2009
There's my girl! Catherine Deneuve, that is.
Manages to eat ice cream WHILE smoking at the Taorima festival in Sicily! God, I love this woman!
Isola del cimitero, Venice.
They just keep coming. Last night's and today's work.
Ink, watercolor, Prismacolor on Arches, 12x 18"
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Damn. I haven't listened to this Amy Winehouse...
CD in about a year. She so called it, all the way. I can't believe these lyrics haven't been ringing in my ears before. But I get it now.
This is exactly how I felt.
I had a thought. When, in the future, the other women in his life are reminding him of our ill-fated romance, I bet they all picture me as Amy Winehouse. I bet our interlude will be known as his "Amy Winehouse affair."
This is exactly how I felt.
I had a thought. When, in the future, the other women in his life are reminding him of our ill-fated romance, I bet they all picture me as Amy Winehouse. I bet our interlude will be known as his "Amy Winehouse affair."
Dreams and sleep have meaning.
Wish Fulfillment? No. But Dreams (and Sleep) Have Meaning
By TIFFANY SHARPLES Tiffany Sharples Tue Jun 16, 4:15 am ET
Dreams may not be the secret window into the frustrated desires of the unconscious that Sigmund Freud first posited in 1899, but growing evidence suggests that dreams - and, more so, sleep - are powerfully connected to the processing of human emotions.
According to new research presented last week at the annual meeting of the Associated Professional Sleep Societies in Seattle, adequate sleep may underpin our ability to understand complex emotions properly in waking life. "Sleep essentially is resetting the magnetic north of your emotional compass," says Matthew Walker, director of the Sleep and Neuroimaging Lab at the University of California, Berkeley. (See the top 10 scientific discoveries of 2008.)
A recent study by Walker and his colleagues examined how rest - specifically, rapid eye movement (REM) sleep - influences our ability to read emotions in other people's faces. In the small analysis of 36 adults, volunteers were asked to interpret the facial expressions of people in photographs, following either a 60- or 90-minute nap during the day or with no nap. Participants who had reached REM sleep (when dreaming most frequently occurs) during their nap were better able to identify expressions of positive emotions like happiness in other people, compared with participants who did not achieve REM sleep or did not nap at all. Those volunteers were more sensitive to negative expressions, including anger and fear.
Past research by Walker and colleagues at Harvard Medical School, which was published in the journal Current Biology, found that in people who were sleep deprived, activity in the prefrontal lobe - a region of the brain involved in controlling emotion - was significantly diminished. He suggests that a similar response may be occurring in the nap-deprived volunteers, albeit to a lesser extent, and that it may have its roots in evolution. "If you're walking through the jungle and you're tired, it might benefit you more to be hypersensitive to negative things," he says. The idea is that with little mental energy to spare, you're emotionally more attuned to things that are likely to be the most threatening in the immediate moment. Inversely, when you're well rested, you may be more sensitive to positive emotions, which could benefit long-term survival, he suggests: "If it's getting food, if it's getting some kind of reward, finding a wife - those things are pretty good to pick up on."
Our daily existence is largely influenced by our ability "to understand our societal interactions, to understand someone else's emotional state of mind, to understand the expression on their face," says Ninad Gujar, a senior research scientist at Walker's lab and lead author of the study, which was recently submitted for publication. "These are the most fundamental processes guiding our personal and professional lives."
REM sleep appears to not only improve our ability to identify positive emotions in others; it may also round out the sharp angles of our own emotional experiences. Walker suggests that one function of REM sleep - dreaming, in particular - is to allow the brain to sift through that day's events, process any negative emotion attached to them, then strip it away from the memories. He likens the process to applying a "nocturnal soothing balm." REM sleep, he says, "tries to ameliorate the sharp emotional chips and dents that life gives you along the way." (See the top 10 medical breakthroughs of 2008.)
"It's not that you've forgotten. You haven't," he says. "It's a memory of an emotional episode, but it's no longer emotional itself."
That palliative safety-valve quality of sleep may be hampered when we fail to reach REM sleep or when REM sleep is disrupted, Walker says. "If you don't let go of the emotion, what results is a constant state of anxiety," he says.
The theory is consistent with new research conducted by Rebecca Bernert, a doctoral candidate in clinical psychology at Florida State University who specializes in the relationship between sleep and suicidal thoughts and behaviors, and who also presented her work at the sleep conference this week.
In her study of 82 men and women between the ages of 18 and 66 who were admitted into a mental-health hospital for emergency psychiatric evaluation, Bernert discovered that the presence of severe and frequent nightmares or insomnia was a strong predictor of suicidal thoughts and behaviors. More than half of the study participants had attempted suicide at least once in the past, and the 17% of the study group who had made an attempt within the previous month had dramatically higher scores in nightmare frequency and intensity than the rest. Bernert found that the relationship between nightmares or insomnia and suicide persisted, even when researchers controlled for other factors like depression.
Past studies have also established a link between chronic sleep disruption and suicide. Sleep complaints, which include nightmares, insomnia and other sleep disturbances, are listed in the current Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration's inventory of suicide-prevention warning signs. Yet what distinguishes Bernert's research is that when nightmares and insomnia were evaluated separately, nightmares were independently predictive of suicidal behavior. "It may be that nightmares present a unique risk for suicidal symptoms, which may have to do with the way we process emotion within dreams," Bernert says.
If that's the case, it may help explain the recurring nightmares that characterize psychiatric conditions like posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), Walker says. "The brain has not stripped away the emotional rind from that experience memory," he says, so "the next night, the brain offers this up, and it fails again, and it starts to sound like a broken record ... What you hear [PTSD] patients describing is, 'I can't get over the event.' "
At the biological level, Walker explains, the "emotional rind" translates to sympathetic nervous-system activity during sleep: faster heart rate and the release of stress chemicals. Understanding why nightmares recur and how REM sleep facilitates emotional processing - or hinders it, when nightmares take place and perpetuate the physical stress symptoms - may eventually provide clues to effective treatments of painful mental disorders. Perhaps, even, by simply addressing sleeping habits, doctors could potentially interrupt the emotional cycle that can lead to suicide. "There is an opportunity for prevention," Bernert says.
The new findings highlight what researchers are increasingly recognizing as a two-way relationship between psychiatric disorders and disrupted sleep. "Modern medicine and psychiatry have consistently thought that psychological disorders seem to have co-occuring sleep problems and that it's the disorder perpetuating the sleep problems," says Walker. "Is it possible that, in fact, it's the sleep disruption contributing to the psychiatric disorder?"
By TIFFANY SHARPLES Tiffany Sharples Tue Jun 16, 4:15 am ET
Dreams may not be the secret window into the frustrated desires of the unconscious that Sigmund Freud first posited in 1899, but growing evidence suggests that dreams - and, more so, sleep - are powerfully connected to the processing of human emotions.
According to new research presented last week at the annual meeting of the Associated Professional Sleep Societies in Seattle, adequate sleep may underpin our ability to understand complex emotions properly in waking life. "Sleep essentially is resetting the magnetic north of your emotional compass," says Matthew Walker, director of the Sleep and Neuroimaging Lab at the University of California, Berkeley. (See the top 10 scientific discoveries of 2008.)
A recent study by Walker and his colleagues examined how rest - specifically, rapid eye movement (REM) sleep - influences our ability to read emotions in other people's faces. In the small analysis of 36 adults, volunteers were asked to interpret the facial expressions of people in photographs, following either a 60- or 90-minute nap during the day or with no nap. Participants who had reached REM sleep (when dreaming most frequently occurs) during their nap were better able to identify expressions of positive emotions like happiness in other people, compared with participants who did not achieve REM sleep or did not nap at all. Those volunteers were more sensitive to negative expressions, including anger and fear.
Past research by Walker and colleagues at Harvard Medical School, which was published in the journal Current Biology, found that in people who were sleep deprived, activity in the prefrontal lobe - a region of the brain involved in controlling emotion - was significantly diminished. He suggests that a similar response may be occurring in the nap-deprived volunteers, albeit to a lesser extent, and that it may have its roots in evolution. "If you're walking through the jungle and you're tired, it might benefit you more to be hypersensitive to negative things," he says. The idea is that with little mental energy to spare, you're emotionally more attuned to things that are likely to be the most threatening in the immediate moment. Inversely, when you're well rested, you may be more sensitive to positive emotions, which could benefit long-term survival, he suggests: "If it's getting food, if it's getting some kind of reward, finding a wife - those things are pretty good to pick up on."
Our daily existence is largely influenced by our ability "to understand our societal interactions, to understand someone else's emotional state of mind, to understand the expression on their face," says Ninad Gujar, a senior research scientist at Walker's lab and lead author of the study, which was recently submitted for publication. "These are the most fundamental processes guiding our personal and professional lives."
REM sleep appears to not only improve our ability to identify positive emotions in others; it may also round out the sharp angles of our own emotional experiences. Walker suggests that one function of REM sleep - dreaming, in particular - is to allow the brain to sift through that day's events, process any negative emotion attached to them, then strip it away from the memories. He likens the process to applying a "nocturnal soothing balm." REM sleep, he says, "tries to ameliorate the sharp emotional chips and dents that life gives you along the way." (See the top 10 medical breakthroughs of 2008.)
"It's not that you've forgotten. You haven't," he says. "It's a memory of an emotional episode, but it's no longer emotional itself."
That palliative safety-valve quality of sleep may be hampered when we fail to reach REM sleep or when REM sleep is disrupted, Walker says. "If you don't let go of the emotion, what results is a constant state of anxiety," he says.
The theory is consistent with new research conducted by Rebecca Bernert, a doctoral candidate in clinical psychology at Florida State University who specializes in the relationship between sleep and suicidal thoughts and behaviors, and who also presented her work at the sleep conference this week.
In her study of 82 men and women between the ages of 18 and 66 who were admitted into a mental-health hospital for emergency psychiatric evaluation, Bernert discovered that the presence of severe and frequent nightmares or insomnia was a strong predictor of suicidal thoughts and behaviors. More than half of the study participants had attempted suicide at least once in the past, and the 17% of the study group who had made an attempt within the previous month had dramatically higher scores in nightmare frequency and intensity than the rest. Bernert found that the relationship between nightmares or insomnia and suicide persisted, even when researchers controlled for other factors like depression.
Past studies have also established a link between chronic sleep disruption and suicide. Sleep complaints, which include nightmares, insomnia and other sleep disturbances, are listed in the current Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration's inventory of suicide-prevention warning signs. Yet what distinguishes Bernert's research is that when nightmares and insomnia were evaluated separately, nightmares were independently predictive of suicidal behavior. "It may be that nightmares present a unique risk for suicidal symptoms, which may have to do with the way we process emotion within dreams," Bernert says.
If that's the case, it may help explain the recurring nightmares that characterize psychiatric conditions like posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), Walker says. "The brain has not stripped away the emotional rind from that experience memory," he says, so "the next night, the brain offers this up, and it fails again, and it starts to sound like a broken record ... What you hear [PTSD] patients describing is, 'I can't get over the event.' "
At the biological level, Walker explains, the "emotional rind" translates to sympathetic nervous-system activity during sleep: faster heart rate and the release of stress chemicals. Understanding why nightmares recur and how REM sleep facilitates emotional processing - or hinders it, when nightmares take place and perpetuate the physical stress symptoms - may eventually provide clues to effective treatments of painful mental disorders. Perhaps, even, by simply addressing sleeping habits, doctors could potentially interrupt the emotional cycle that can lead to suicide. "There is an opportunity for prevention," Bernert says.
The new findings highlight what researchers are increasingly recognizing as a two-way relationship between psychiatric disorders and disrupted sleep. "Modern medicine and psychiatry have consistently thought that psychological disorders seem to have co-occuring sleep problems and that it's the disorder perpetuating the sleep problems," says Walker. "Is it possible that, in fact, it's the sleep disruption contributing to the psychiatric disorder?"
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Another poster about the film and the trailer.
"The Collections" Trailer from turnitloose on Vimeo.
Please come to the opening Saturday, June 27th if you are in the Austin area. $10 admission gets you the DVD or one of Jill Pangallo's books, plus performances by featured collectors and others.
Austin Art Authority is the venue, 10 p.m. start time.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Saturday, June 27 I'm performing...
and I'm one of the collectors featured in the film.
The Collections: Screening and Performance
a delightfully inexplicable meditation on the topic of stuff
Host:
Max Juren, Jill Pangallo, Monofonus Press
Type:
Music/Arts - Performance
Network:
Global
Start Time:
Saturday, June 27, 2009 at 10:00pm
End Time:
Sunday, June 28, 2009 at 1:00am
Location:
United States Art Authority
Street:
2908 Fruth Street (behind Spider House)
City/Town:
Austin, TX
View Map
MapQuest
Microsoft
Yahoo
Email:
info@monofonuspress.com
Description
"The Collections," a new video series by Max Juren and Jill Pangallo is about what people save and why they save it. Inspired by Ann Stephenson's poem of the same name, the series features twelve, short interviews with collectors that provide a jumping off point for Max and Jill's multi-genre video and performance work. Their impulsive and improvisational responses cross-pollinate with the interviews to create a delightfully inexplicable meditation on the topic of stuff. It’s a new, 40-minute collection unto itself, completed from start to finish in just one month’s time.
Conceived, Written, Directed and Performed by Max Juren and Jill Pangallo
Executive Produced by Monofonus Press
Inspired by the poetry of Ann Stephenson
Including the collections of...
Christina Campbell, Juan Cisneros, Michelle Devereux, Kate Hersch, Jen Hirt and Scott Webel, Suze Kemper, Rachel Martin, Haleh Pedram, Michael Smith, Jack Stoney, Josh , and Ross
And featuring…
Elana Farley, Carlos Rosales-Smith, Amanda Joy Venerable as the “Dream Together” cats
Juren and Pangallo will host the premier screening of “The Collections” on Saturday, June 27th at the United States Art Authority in Austin, Texas. The screening event will include a variety of performances by local artists Michelle Devereux, Scott Eastwood, Elana Farley, Rachel Martin, Paul Soileau, Brannon Via, Haleh Padram, Amanda Joy Venerable, and more. The evening begins at 10pm. Entry is $10 with which you receive your choice, FREE, of “The Collections” dvd, Max Juren’s recent compilation DVD release, or Jill Pangallo’s recent book, “Let Me Entertain You,” all published by Monofonus Press. We hope to see you there!
I made Buster an ....
Edward Gorey-esque dog stroller or rickshaw so that I can still go on long walks with him even when it's 100 degrees and he's overcome by the heat. I think it still needs mosquito netting for the total effect I was going for. He is a Goth dog, after all.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Feeling a little sad and vulnerable
I think it's because June 7 last year was the first day of the real-life romance I wrote about in Les Très Riches Heures. And part of it is Bob's death.
And maybe it's because coming to the end of a huge artistic project always triggers a kind of post-natal depression in me. I had been writing since January, then editing feverishly during the past month, and now it's all done and out there and I wait. It's a new experience for me, putting what I've made out there. Usually I just make things and never show them to anyone. Since I put this work out there, I feel a little on pins and needles waiting to get some feedback from someone. Ali was, of course, right there, reading in the first few days and she's already given me notes. I do have to examine how I feel about making and showing vs. just making and never showing. Part of me feels that maybe it's time I do put my work out there. I think maybe some lessons I learned from Bob are talking to me these days...
I do know what I'm doing next, though, and started working on the first color plate for that series Sunday night. And I have too many conceptual ideas to even count. But it seems fairly obvious I am going to have to learn some HTML to pull off most of what I can imagine doing in the future.
And maybe it's because coming to the end of a huge artistic project always triggers a kind of post-natal depression in me. I had been writing since January, then editing feverishly during the past month, and now it's all done and out there and I wait. It's a new experience for me, putting what I've made out there. Usually I just make things and never show them to anyone. Since I put this work out there, I feel a little on pins and needles waiting to get some feedback from someone. Ali was, of course, right there, reading in the first few days and she's already given me notes. I do have to examine how I feel about making and showing vs. just making and never showing. Part of me feels that maybe it's time I do put my work out there. I think maybe some lessons I learned from Bob are talking to me these days...
I do know what I'm doing next, though, and started working on the first color plate for that series Sunday night. And I have too many conceptual ideas to even count. But it seems fairly obvious I am going to have to learn some HTML to pull off most of what I can imagine doing in the future.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Book is done!
I made my deadline, even with Bob's sudden death. It was 98% finished last weekend, but I finished dropping in all the bells and whistles last night and today.
Here's part of what I wrote about it: (there was a lot of other heady stuff about devising a Rhetoric of Love and creating virtual intimate spaces, voice being the evidence that the body still exists in modern art and assorted other art school blah-blah-blah.)
"...In other words, I hope I have created a post-modernist naturalistic feminist transmedia Existential Romance novel, with a family tree extending back to Richardson's 1740 work, Pamela." Of course, I have no idea WHAT will happen next with this work, but making it is what I care about.
Now I can sleep again. When I get in "the zone" there's just no stopping me. But I did finally clean house and do laundry today after one month non-stop burning the midnight oil. I'm going to go outside, stare at the moon and have a well-deserved cocktail tonight before I go to sleep to celebrate. My family and friends will probably be glad when I emerge and rejoin the living.
If I can just learn that song by next weekend, I think I'm still doing a music video with Cindy, Jimmie and some of the Kings and others in their circle. It has three chords; surely, even brain-dead I can pull that off.
*****
Beautiful side-effect of Bob's passing: people from decades ago are suddenly making contact with me, or I saw them at the memorial. That's a marvelous thing to come out of a sad event and reminds me, as an artist, that I am not an island. I am, in fact, a member of a huge, vibrant artistic community.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Dear Bob, We celebrated your life tonight...
as an artist, a dear friend, an old love, a magnificent teacher, a family member. Did you see us at Okay Mountain? We all expected to see your white pickup parked in the neighborhood, and all evening we spoke of how eerie it was that we all pictured you in the same spot in the yard in the same seat, with your long legs stretched out. Suze and I went together, fittingly, and brought a huge bottle of your beloved Bulleit bourbon with us for everyone to toast you, with a tag I made for its neck that read, "For Bob, with love, from Hard Women." Your students from all the way back to the 80's (including Suze and me!) were there. Did you hear the stories we shared, and how I told the crowd how it was you who named us Hard Women in the first place, and how you never missed a single show? (Suze had said earlier, "Maybe we should have shared more men?" And I said, "No." You were enough, separated, even, as you were by fifteen or so years in our romantic histories. But that is a funny shared experience between best friends! We'll always have YOU in common. And she told me about how she left a wedding to go have hot sex with you, while the bride, Malka, went next door and visited your beloved friend, Steve Jones.)
And did you see that Suze and I embraced your beloved Peggy, and she clung to us all evening, sometimes with the three of us putting our heads together? We took care of her for you this evening, Bob. She loves you so much, and it was so wonderful to know that you died at the height of a great love. I am so genuinely happy for the two of you, and so sad for Peggy that she must find a way to live on without you.
Your exhibition was beautiful, and even more so because it was works you gave each of us, not work for sale. Everyone shared their stories of how you gave them the works, and there was a tack-up wall of the drawings you'd always made for each crop of your grad students. You were so generous to us!
And I finally met your sister. She said to Suze and me, "You knew him better than I did." She said, "Now I understand why he didn't want to come to our house for the holidays. He had all of you, and was part of this artistic community." Bob, she finally gets it. She sees what you meant to us, that you weren't some kind of crazy recluse. She finally gets it, by hearing our stories and seeing the crowd there to celebrate your life as an artist. Yours was the biggest opening of the year!
There are so many people who will miss you here. We toasted the sky and talked to you -- could you hear us? Go in peace now, my old, gentle, mad sweetheart. Peggy is afraid you'll hover near her and she wants you to be released and find peace. Please hear her heart and do as she needs you to do now. We will take care of her, and her children are clinging close to her.
I regret I didn't have the opportunity to look into your watery blue eyes one more time and see your crooked grin. I regret what I didn't get the chance to say to you, so I'll say it now: Bob, thank you. Thank you for our brief time together, thank you for your art, and thank you for teaching me everything I know about artistic discipline. You were a great artist, a great teacher and a pure, perfect soul. You are loved, and you are missed. At every party we will miss you most of all because we know you would have loved to be with us; and you will be. Linda Montano sends her love, and as I told her just now on the phone, please go back to sleep now, and sweet dreams, my tall boy, my Ichabod.
Sending you my love tonight,
Rachel
And did you see that Suze and I embraced your beloved Peggy, and she clung to us all evening, sometimes with the three of us putting our heads together? We took care of her for you this evening, Bob. She loves you so much, and it was so wonderful to know that you died at the height of a great love. I am so genuinely happy for the two of you, and so sad for Peggy that she must find a way to live on without you.
Your exhibition was beautiful, and even more so because it was works you gave each of us, not work for sale. Everyone shared their stories of how you gave them the works, and there was a tack-up wall of the drawings you'd always made for each crop of your grad students. You were so generous to us!
And I finally met your sister. She said to Suze and me, "You knew him better than I did." She said, "Now I understand why he didn't want to come to our house for the holidays. He had all of you, and was part of this artistic community." Bob, she finally gets it. She sees what you meant to us, that you weren't some kind of crazy recluse. She finally gets it, by hearing our stories and seeing the crowd there to celebrate your life as an artist. Yours was the biggest opening of the year!
There are so many people who will miss you here. We toasted the sky and talked to you -- could you hear us? Go in peace now, my old, gentle, mad sweetheart. Peggy is afraid you'll hover near her and she wants you to be released and find peace. Please hear her heart and do as she needs you to do now. We will take care of her, and her children are clinging close to her.
I regret I didn't have the opportunity to look into your watery blue eyes one more time and see your crooked grin. I regret what I didn't get the chance to say to you, so I'll say it now: Bob, thank you. Thank you for our brief time together, thank you for your art, and thank you for teaching me everything I know about artistic discipline. You were a great artist, a great teacher and a pure, perfect soul. You are loved, and you are missed. At every party we will miss you most of all because we know you would have loved to be with us; and you will be. Linda Montano sends her love, and as I told her just now on the phone, please go back to sleep now, and sweet dreams, my tall boy, my Ichabod.
Sending you my love tonight,
Rachel
And now David Carradine is dead!
This is eerie! Because David Carradine was the movie star doppelganger of my dead former sweetheart! If I had to cast Bob's life, Carradine always seemed to be the perfect choice to play him!
We have no idea how profoundly connected we are to our movie stars. They act out our issues for us. They are our surrogates. This is so strange, that Carradine had no reason to exist now, without Bob.
We have no idea how profoundly connected we are to our movie stars. They act out our issues for us. They are our surrogates. This is so strange, that Carradine had no reason to exist now, without Bob.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
But obviously life is still worth living with a child and
...daughter-in-law like these two!
And Freak Show A-Go-Go was incredible -- like a queer Cirque de Soleil! And Jimmie's father and wife finally managed to make it to a show after, what? Seven years. I spoke with them for a minute and Jimmie's father made me very happy by saying Hard Women's artistic legacy obviously continues in our child. I was rocking the old Hard Women three foot long pony-tail, Madonna-inspired ringmaster outfit, leopard spats and high-heeled tennis shoes, so I was glad if he was only going to run into me once every six years I was rocking an outrageous look. And he did behave very nicely. I am so glad he was finally able to see exactly what it is his child does as an artist. And I was so proud of all KnT and Jimmie and Cindy had done to pull off this marvelous show.
A dear, old friend of mine has died.
He was also once my love for a few fleeting months five years ago. I am so sad. He was a sweet, gentle, crazy soul, and one of the best and most productive artists I've ever known. He taught me so much about artistic discipline, just as he taught generations of students at school about what it meant to be an artist. I hadn't spent any time with him since October, but I know he had a wonderful girlfriend of a few months with whom he was very happy. It appears he had a peaceful passing in the night. So many more drawings he would have made, so much more fun he would have had.
He will be much missed by so many, including me. Rest in peace, Bob. I will remember you fondly.
I have been constantly surrounded by death since December. When will it let up?
I finished the first final draft of the book and put it out to those who had agreed to be first readers. Now I wait. I would have been high on finishing, but my sadness over Bob's passing has damped down my mood about the book. No one has time to read right now, it seems, so I must be patient. But I stayed on the schedule I established months ago, so I am proud of myself for that.
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