Expand and Contract
textile design, 1987, silk menswear
__________________________________________
I am in love with expansion.
I’m not really that fond of contraction.
That’s my ‘on-the-surface’ thinking.
The cultural overlay that says light is good and the shadows are bad.
Or: happiness is the goal and discontent is to be run from.
Maybe this: Ease is the sought for mode of existence and the bumpy road needs shock absorbers.
The very alive human in me, the concoction of flesh and bones and reason and desire agrees wholeheartedly with those ways of being.
But the ESSENCE of me runs on a different kind of gas.
What if every day I got up and there was the crimson flower I had dreamed of right there at my door blooming and throwing it’s scent my way?
Or we skipped winter altogether and lived inside a constant 75 degree bubble of reliable sunshine and no thunderstorms or flash floods or soft rain of any kind touched our happy but innocent skin?
There is something in me that thrives on the sudden CRACK! of that thunderstorm and the quest for that illusive bloom.
I love sun and thrive on it but wouldn’t give it a second thought if it were my constant companion.
These days, even though I still cower at the contracting part of my life, I know it’s worth.
Having lived within a contracted body for awhile now, I value the stretch and lean into life more than before.
I don’t take the miracles of true connection with people, creatures, the natural world, God for granted as I’ve lived without and I now know the difference.
If I enter challenging territory as I have in the past week, I know it will turn toward the expansive direction at some point (which it has) and I needn’t fear I am stuck inside that place forever.
Truth be told, I often need reminding that the shift WILL take place and the tribe I keep close will remind me when I forget.
I seem to be getting more comfortable with the whole tapestry and not just the even and tidy rows one finds in the very center, but the frayed edges and renegade threads are now elements I call friends.
A little wear and tear makes for an unexpectedly unique and lovely patina that tends to draw me as opposed to the stock item on the shelf.
Tenuous Hold
“HIGHWAY”, 1993, 40″ x 60″, m/m
_______________________________________
Funny, how every single life moment, whisper, kind or cutting word gets stored in our flesh.
Not funny, really, but important to look at as those life impressions break from their weak tethers and run for the hills.
Since I returned from my time with the Dr. in Colorado, old trauma has plopped in my favorite chair.
I remember the sensations in my brain as the frequencies she hooked me up to wiggled their way to wherever they were needed.
I just did not expect to feel this bad.
Bad, in that ‘barely holding it together’ way when social interaction is out of the question.
It looked like (I’m blessedly on the other side of it now) tears and ANGER and frustration and zero tolerance.
It scared me as it seemed there was no cause apparent I could tie my anchor to.
Nope… this was free floating, old and insistent trauma let out after a llllllooooonnnnnggggg run as questionable company in my mind.
I asked for help from a trusted mentor in reclaiming familiar territory and she was there for me.
So I wake this morning with respect for the intelligence of my body to leave things alone until it knew I was up to the visitation.
Respect for the method of healing I have chosen as a powerful tool towards reclaiming my original self.
Respect for myself as someone who could ask for support when she needed it.
And high regard for the physical body to hold and cloister that which innocence could never make sense of.
Because, of course, this is ALL life…
I can almost see in people’s faces and demeanors the drops or quarts or gallons of life they’ve had the courage to drink.
It looks like LIFE on us; lines and chilly stares and caved chests,
And unedited laughter, rippling and wriggling musculature in a full out run or a peachy, blotchy blush in the Spring.
Our body IS the temple which means it holds ALL THE ARCHIVES.
I like that I have the ‘whatever-it-takes’ to pick up the crumpled and torn pieces of paper left in the dusty corners and read them; give them their due and carry on with the privilege of living a rich and multi-textured life.
Healing Hand
__________________________
THE HEALING HAND
.
.
The healing hand is
Not uncalloused or unlined.
It’s slap and sting ready.
.
.
-CA 2010
.
.
Truth Be Told
“RISE”, 1996, 60″ x 40″, m/m
__________________________________
A friend asked me this question last night: “Do you find yourself moving toward being more positive in your blog than you might REALLY be feeling because it is such a public venue?”
Those may not be his exact words but you get the gist.
It is a really important question and I was so very glad he asked me.
I felt that if he had this question, then likely others do too.
Blogging actually helps me STAY HONEST.
I tend to lose some power when in face-to-face conversations as I see fear or anxiety come up in others faces and I change course.
I might think that is to protect them in some way but often it is the result of knowing I am in an unsafe environment which doesn’t REALLY want the truth.
When I get up each morning to write, I do it with a credo: AUTHENTICITY IS THE WAY THROUGH.
If I tell a lie, a sort of interior buzzer goes off and I go back and re-do until I get to what IS true for me IN THAT MOMENT.
And that, there is the key as what’s true changes.
I’m not here saying I write stripped bare with all truths left dangling out for all to see.
I am committed to DROPPING MY ARMOR in life as well as in this blog.
For me, THIS is the way to heal.
To unmask myself as I have the courage to do and thereby create space for a healthier Cathy to emerge.
So.. I give you my word that what you read here is not sugared-up or dampened down for your eyes.
My promise to myself, first and foremost is to SEE WHAT IS HONEST and be pretty sure that if it is there for me, someone else out there is dealing with it as well.
The part of this blogging process that makes it work for me is the WITNESSING that you all do for me.
The kind of healing I am interested in is never a one way thing.
It takes two. And that means you.
And I am forever grateful you have allowed my words into your sphere.
Without you, I am just alphabet soup on the wind.
You help bring me home.
The Line
2000, 11″ x 11″ x 4″ each, m/m
___________________________
As I traveled over the past week I got a snapshot of the state of the union.
Granted, most of my time I spent in a hotel or in the airport.
But I still found myself taking the pulse of the thing; my compatriots at arms: my fellow humans..
And what I found was this…
We are hungry.
Hungry not for the stuff of gardens and grocery stores.
But for the kings’ treasure of a soft smile with eye contact.
Or the recognition of a job well done.
Maybe the extra two bucks added to the tip when the wheelchair pusher guy waits a longer minute for me as I put on my lipstick in the bathroom at the airport and his boss is goading him to “HURRY UP!”
The unabashed “THANK YOU, so very much” to the three guys that chose to stand behind me to catch me if I fell as I climbed the stairs of the little tiny jet we boarded from outdoors.
Each day of travel was a challenge for me as it is for every person.
I saw so clearly that life gets good and fun and rich when I can pull it together to rise above my personal fears (I truly don’t have the strength to get from the hotel room to the airport), and complaints (There is no friggin’ way I can sit next to this person who is wearing this perfume), and beliefs (I am not strong enough to climb that flight of stairs).
To see that a shift in POINT-OF-VIEW is my only real savior.
It is more than ‘take a lemon and make lemonade’.
It really boils down to widening my sphere to INCLUDE OTHER PEOPLE.
In the case of the airplane stairs I needed to climb, one moment I was close to caving into tears but by God’s grace I turned it into an invitation to the three handsome men standing in line with me to back me up in case I fell.
They were on it like heros, all…
What I saw was the fact that those around me had me in their periphery view all along as we do for those more fragile than ourselves.
They just LOVED getting the job I gave them I think partially because it made everyone heave a sigh of relief that all was ok and the issue was fixable AND they were the FIXERS!
I am starting to get it that disability is a no-mans’-land because of fear.
I am afraid because I NEED STUFF THAT I DIDN’T USED TO NEED.
Others are afraid because they don’t know how to offer help without the fear of patronizing me or taking away my freedom.
And so, I saw that life becomes less solitary, sexy, an adventure and the big and fabulous mystery it is meant to be when I CAN EDUCATE AND INVITE others to participate.
I am seeing that it is tempting to cloak myself in a tight little tornado of self-sufficiency and certainly there are times for that.
But the rest of the time it gets more interesting with invited guests.
Threshold
“SELF PORTRAIT”, 1992, 5′ x 4′, m/m
_________________________
I am just getting back from my periodic (every six-eight weeks or so) sojourn to Colorado to see my personal physicist.
I tell her my symptoms and she does something called ‘brain-mapping’ and programs a computer to dispense frequencies my body seems to be lacking.
In my past two trips to see her, the only vibe I actually felt as I received treatment twice / day for 4 days was a pleasant sort of ‘great mother’ buzz..
Infinitely comforting and unfamiliar as this was not a given in my upbringing.
During this trip things registered differently.
She told me that previous work had been to build up my foundation such as digestion and core constitutional strength.
I’ve received marked results each time I’ve seen her that have lasted.
Results are the name of the game for me at this much-progressed point so I keep pulling it together physically and financially and psychically to make the journey once again.
This time, the sensations I felt were all in my brain.
It felt like a peasant and soft scratching or molding inside the brain cavity.
I don’t understand the mechanics of the work she does with me and have little energy to wrap my intellect around it.
What I do know are the tears and anger and irritation that the treatment stirred up in me this time.
They had no recognizable core of origin.
But they wouldn’t stay in their cages.
I slept fitful 14 hour nights comforted by the sound of the TV remote clicking through culturally bereft snapshots in the night of miraculous body-slimming devices and bald undernourished guys preaching the latest multi-vitamin.
I spent too much money on room service as I hadn’t the energy to get down to the restaurant before the next appointment.
She was adamantly trying to get it across to me that I MUST EAT PROTEIN! ORGANIC MEAT!
My body doesn’t really WANT meat these days but I think that is partially because I like eating a clean and mostly raw diet.
BUT YOU NEED FUEL TO HEAL.. she says.
And I try it and see that she is right. My energy level goes up markedly within 5 minutes of eating some organic beef.
But I digress…
The gist of this trip was an inadvertent surrender to shadowlands.
I see my effect in the world.
The hotel staff talked about me in their staff meeting as someone with a great attitude and that I should be treated like a V.I.P. That I touched their hearts and should be recognized as such. There is no false front here. I DO seem to be blessed with the ability to take the high road more often than not.
Hearing that they saw and registered my challenges and efforts to connect in spite of them brought tears to my eyes.
I came away feeling uplifted by the miracle of creating connection where there was none.
And also sobered by the world of pre-verbal angst and the inadvertent archive of salty tears that I see are deadly poison if not unleashed and given air time.
Healing is messy.
Healing is connective.
Healing is gorgeously surprising in it’s twists and turns.
And it sucks in the night, alone in a strange hotel room with trust and faith taking turns with despair and terror as bedfellows.
And yet.. the linens were good and the Pinot Noir was deep and red in the restaurant and the cab driver kept showing up on time and the nice Native American man at the airport told me good stories as we waited for our delayed flight and walked right next to me as we boarded, slow and wobbly as I am; he stayed right there and kept me company as all the others passed us by.
Life is good.
Intriguing Territory
Well… I am off once again to Colorado Springs to work with the frequency medicine I am having such great results with. I spend my days seeing the physicist twice a day then come back to cool linens in the hotel and stay there till I do it again the next day. It may LOOK like nothing is happening but you can be sure I have gratitude I’m not expected to perform any gymnastic feat this week…
I’ll be back online next Saturday.
In the meantime:
Here are some things that have sparked my interest and perhaps they will for you as well:
I tried to keep them fun and short.. xxxxxx
2.
photos that changed the world
6.
Best of YouTube in 4 minutes
SPRING!
“”GROUND SWELL”, 2000, 40″ x 30″, m/m
_________________________
NEW SEASON
.
The window opened
.
Tentatively to the night.
.
I heard birds wake up!
.
.
-CA 2010
Deep
“BLUE VIEW”, 1998, 5′ x 30″, m/m
________________________
I have been watching the series “PLANET EARTH”
I keep going back to the disk about the deep ocean.
The part where they get into the submersible and drop into the black.. miles down to the ocean floor where the sun don’t shine.
It is there they find creatures of astonishing capabilities: complex series of neon light patterns, glowing tentacles to lure a meal, adapted forms of life that thrive in volcanic-broiling waters, lizards with no eyes but highly tuned tactile and olfactory skills allowing them to move slowly and gather a trustable sense of terrain on their way to the restaurant.
The deep.. the deep…
Unknown and scary and visibility low.
That’s how my life looks sometimes.
I must develop new skills to navigate.
To move. To love. To heal.
Sometimes, it feels as if the evolutionary Gods are having their way with me; pushing me beyond where I think I can or should have to go.
“Change faster, Cathy. Put a band aid on that skinned knee and here’s a double-ply tissue to wipe those tears. We KNOW you can do it. You see.. you’re on your way to a different kind of beauty. Capabilities unknown as yet. But trust us… surrender to the deep. We got your back..”
And I have to believe that they do.
Bullish
“ATTITUDE”, 1980, 5′ x 5′, wool flannel, pigment
_______________________
This piece was really the only work I ever did which is this representational.
It must have needed to come forward at that time.
I remember wanting people to take notice of me and my work.
I thought a little bit of ‘in-your-face’ might do it.
(I painted stuff like this instead of stirring up an argument).
For some reason, this textile took FOREVER to sell.
I kept seeing it over the years in my studio when I tackled straightening and cleaning.
Why? I asked myself, does no one want to take this home?
The only reason I came up with was the fact that I had used a photograph as reference to make sure I got the likeness down.
Now, one of the things I learned in art school is never to be afraid to COPY!
COPY, COPY, COPY!
Steal ideas and composition and color choices.
Keep doing it until you have a sense of what is YOUR OWN.
A style you can stand behind and not apologize to anyone for.
Because it’s genesis was YOU.
And you are unique.
Someone else can come close but they’ll never smoke the cigar.
And THAT is why this piece would not sell.
It wasn’t really mine.
I stole the power from another and TRIED to make it mine.
The way I live my life these days is surely informed by such experiences.
I create/live from more of a LISTENING stance than a: ‘I’ll decide this thing and will it into action’ kind of thing.
I WAIT more.
PAUSE till I get prompted to do.
This proves inconvenient in our culture of ‘fast and more’.
It is like the frustration we all (me, too) feel at the airport trying to catch a plane with a baby stroller or handicapped person in front of you.
You gotta slow…..it…..way…….down.
And we have little tolerance for that.
But, really, there’s gold in them thar’ hills…
And limping along as I do, I get to hear the sirens call.
But it likely is more of a whisper.
And if I can manage, I’ll stop and plaster my belly on the cool earth to make sure I catch the tune.