- Where her last thought was
- Boigraphical Notes and Such
- Contact Me
- Juggling Some Affections: a little love story
- The Powdered Wig Series
- Capturing Myself
- Feminist Paper Dolls for March 2012
- Feminist Paper Dolls for March 2013
- Feminist Paper Dolls for March 2014
- Shadow Puppetry
- Gas Mask Series: The Studies and Underdrawings
- Bird Boys
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Friday, July 31, 2015
Sunday, July 26, 2015
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
My son is away at a pre-college summer session so I have been rearranging the house. This also includes my studio.
I can home frustrated the other day and as my studio was in total disarray I took my art out on my car. I had been itching to do it for a while now anyway.
I still have more work to do - the rear end and the roof. I also need to wear a respirator -even outside. Holy paint fumes!
Friday, July 10, 2015
Monday, June 29, 2015
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Monday, June 15, 2015
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Saturday, June 13, 2015
In my dream, the space between between Aldine and the Badlands is only as big as my dream.
I live in a house there that sits on the edge of a dry lake by the ocean. There are scrub pines along the road. The dirt is red. The light is gray and blue and purple and seems stuck in dusk.
I was only really ever in the Badlands for the most brief moment. An eyelash bat of time. I lived in Aldine really never. But the traffic jams on the way to work there were the result of dairy cows on their way to work.
The house in this intersectionality glows. It fills the space and pulls the light. If this light were water it would exist as fog and mist and roll into the places we'd like to forget. The places women with the marmish pursed lips tell us not to speak about. The light like fog rolls in and makes us utter the truths that we have be told we should forget and never speak of. Those truths that fester like cancer. The pursed lipped women only want to hear stories of happiness and sunshine and sweetness even when the cancerous truth they bury and ignore eats away at them.
The ocean should not exist in the middle of the continent...the lake is only just dry.
My house has the scent of roses and ocean and must. The lamp in the corner has turned itself on- old wires...need replacing- and glows yellow, warming the blue and gray light. For a moment the world holds its breath with this new light. Then when life continues, so does the exhale.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Friday, May 1, 2015
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Friday, March 6, 2015
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
|Ursula Le Guin|
Le Guin's books also opened up different ways of thinking: in "The Left Hand of Darkness" she told me about thinking about gender beyond the binary. She opened up the realms of compassion and strength to those concepts beyond the mainstream media. She helped me dive into the subverse.
Monday, March 2, 2015
On February 26, Avijit Roy and his wife were returning from a book signing in Dhaka, Bangladesh. They were attacked by religious extremist and Roy was brutually hacked to death. (She is currently in critical condition.)
Sunday, March 1, 2015
I watched Star Trek and Doctor Who with my Poppy- my mother's father. They were on just after the PBS Nightly News Hour. I loved this ritual with my Poppy. But I hated the news only because I wanted the stories that unfurled on the screen to fill my eyes with far off lands and ideas. The news was reality and my 4 year old mind had had enough of that. The folks on Star Trek and Doctor Who had star ships and they could travel in time. They had world of wonderful exploration at their finger tips.
And Star Trek had "Mr. Kitty Cat Ears"...Spock. I loved him. He did not people down. He was fair. He observed. He understood the use of being quiet. He very rarely displayed anger or rage. He talked through his problems. This was a salvation for my child self.
Leonard Nimoy was not Spock. Spock was dependent on the artistry Nimoy placed into him. This was the same artistry that he placed into his photography and into his understanding of how to use his celebrity to help others.
Thank you Mr. Nimoy.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
This is it in motion:
Only a few folks seemed curious enough to completely engage. One gentleman said that I was a puzzle that he NEEDED to figure out an engaged in "conversation" for almost 2 minutes. The "conversation" was so long that my sweetie (who watches from the sideline to keep me safe) thought that I was verbally talking to him. Eventually, this gentleman figured that he needed to ask to see in the box. He laughed, seemingly delighted when he finally saw the bird.
My point in this piece is not to deal with emotion. My heart is not broken nor am I seeking any spiritual enlightenment for myself or the community. My point is to get people engaged in asking.
Other folks seemed pompous and self important. They seemed to already know everything about what I was doing even though they really couldn't have. Perhaps this was a fear mechanism as well?