Secret Lives
“TERRITORY”, 1997, 50″ x 40″, m/m
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There are those of us who, when ill, demand care.
Others pull into their cave and use any and all energy to tend to themselves.
I fall into the later category.
It is a little bit of my upbringing; the be seen and not heard thing.
Sometimes it gets a bit extreme and I spend days in bed sleeping and reading.
A friend of mine who also deals with MS has a husband who wants a life, too.
She tells me of the extra strain on her to make sure his needs are taken care of.
I recognize that because I live alone, I am able to make ‘drop out’ choices as I see fit in my own healing.
Sometimes I am just hiding and I do tend toward isolation at times.
It really is a privilege I claim at this point.
I often feel that full out participation in this culture of excess and noise and blaming the other guy is a good reason I now deal with my health challenges.
Not all of it but part.
My nervous system is not tuned toward the lowest common denominator we all tend to move toward when more than one of us are gathered.
My intermittent ‘cave-time’ leaves me markedly ready to rejoin society from a stronger position.
One from which I see I can make a difference.
So, in the end, my disappearances are a vital part of my ‘get healthy’ tool kit.
I have to be vigilant with myself to avoid the trap of denial.
When to PUSH THROUGH the utter weakness and depression and when to do cave time?
I really have not the answer as it is a moment-by-moment thing.
But I am getting pretty good at leaving the shame behind as I do whatever it takes to reclaim health even if it looks antisocial.
I love people.
And it seems possible I am being given the grace of time and space to do a little make-up homework in the ‘loving Cathy’ department.
Not Neutral
“DANCE”, 1992, 4′ x 3′, m/m
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The deadliest mode of being I am aware of is that of NEUTRALITY.
For me that means you haven’t even picked up the sword let alone walk the razor’s edge.
In the case of illness as well as anything else in life, the Gods need SOME kind of direction.
Because I lived for so long attempting to smooth out wrinkles and load up the room service trays of various hungry people, I could not distinguish a sword from a 2 x 4.
This does not a warrioress make…
One marker for health, in my book, is the ability to walk on that finely hewn metal edge as a fully electric being as you keep your wits about you enough to bob and weave according to the shifting balance point.
It pays to have some training in yoga and breathe deeply into your belly.
And also take a few liberties like having a good friend below with the mattress unfurled should you need a soft place to fall.
But Albert Camus said: “LIVE TO THE POINT OF TEARS.”
And I have begun to appreciate the salt content in the recipes I use for living.
My Wheelchair Is Fast (finally)
untitled, 1980, 24″ x 5′, pigment on wool
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Ok.. I know I was moaning about my wheelchair’s capacity to go faster than a crawl.
Number one: Did I ever in my wildest dreams imagine I would use the words ‘my’ and ‘wheelchair’ in a sentence in my lifetime?
NOT!!!!!!!!!
Number two: Is it really fun to have figured that out ? By gum… the damn thing really goes at a clip!
YES, Indeed………..
I figured out that there were different ‘modes’ one could set the chair to and I inadvertently had mine set to the aged and decrepit mode.
AND NOW!!!!!!!!!!! NOW I GO FAST!
I drag the dog behind me… (not really).
I went online and found a cool safety flag because, interestingly, I think I want to stick around for awhile.
I am taking my own advice and tuning my point-of-view towards adventure instead of some weird and ‘take-me-down’ kind of experience.
The best advice someone gave me when it was time for me to get a walker was this: “Cathy, just look at it as support, not a sentence.”
And I see now that I very much like the feeling of support after a lifetime of trying to do it (the life thing) alone.
Allowing support is a fine thing, actually.
I am looking at myself as part of a mangrove forest.
One small part of the whole with the knowledge that without me, the symphony and perfection of the root system would ring a sour tune.
Undefended Heart
“DIVIDED”, 1984, 5′ x 5′, pigment on wool flannel
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My body feels bad when I move through my life defending myself from stuff like the bad man staying with my landlady who kicked my dog yesterday (because she bit him on his shoe),
Or when I look at all the stuff I have to do and make excuses,
And then there’s the whole ‘MS thing’ that I defend myself against constantly.
Food is another issue for me as I am sensitive to so much that I now live in a borderline malnourished state because I am pretty much afraid to eat.
And I take pills to fend off symptoms that put a crimp in a life of freedom.
Then there’s the people that want to ‘fix’ me and know someone who has MS who was cured by traveling to Bolivia.
I’ve defended myself against the reality I needed a wheelchair for a long time.
And the amount of support I DO need is a constant source of alarm until I actually relax into it and receive the gift.
Does all this sound bitter?
Perhaps..
My heart feels so broad and able to recognize benevolent energy coming toward me when I put all the armor in the closet.
One benefit of dealing with a chronic illness is the fact that I haven’t the energy to keep my armor all shiny and ‘at-the-ready’ anymore..
And so.. I am rendered undefended.
And so have a better chance at love…
Layers
“SNAKE IN THE GRASS”, 1980, 4″ x 6′, pigment on wool flannel
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I remember creating this piece as a sort of record of my day.
A diary entry if you will.
Revisiting it after all these years I see that things are not all that different.
There is still that snake in the grass in the form of MS which, back then, was probably something like a headache keeping me from a date. (bottom layer)
Still have attention on various relationships which need work or are doing great. (man, woman, ladder)
All my primary symbols making early appearances: ( turtle, 4 directions, ladder, bullseye)
And all the big questions are still rolling around in my brain. (spirals at top with opening toward the heavens ready to get the answers)
So, what IS different?
Mainly my point-of-view.
I can shift it fairly easily these days into a place which feels full-of-life instead of living at the effect of all the cultural and personal overlays we are all at the mercy of.
Until we’re not.
MS = death sentence and incurable… OR… MS = change to be addressed and managed while holding hands with POSSIBILITY.
For goodness sake.. aren’t we all a little bit bored by all the stuff WE ARE SO SURE WE THINK WE KNOW?
The state of boredom is a very powerful one if we let it be and not cave into abject lethargy.
Making a Mark
detail of painted wool flannel, 1990
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Cave paintings have always enchanted me.
I am drawn to the idea that people almost have it hard-wired into them to leave a mark of some kind.
I was here.
Just in case there was ever a question.
I have witnessed myself painting my own hand and spreading my fingers wide as I pressed down and held the palm there for a moment as I pressed.
I have left my handprint on more than a few works of art I’ve created.
It just feels good to do it.
As you see here, I added a stigmata.
I remember doing this fairly regularly under the guise of; ‘I like how it looks graphically,’ but of course, the underlying reason was surely that there was a part of me in pain whether I was admitting it or not.
Leaving some sort of mark on the world has always been a desire of mine.
I see now that it may not be through my creation of painting or sculpture as I no longer have the physical capability nor the desire, actually.
So, I wonder.
Not incessantly, but I am curious how my creativity and desire to be the person long ago in that dark cave intent on leaving her mark will surface now in my life.
For all my talk of remaining in the present moment I should take my own advice.
And why? WHY, oh why is it even a subject I lean into?
Who can know these things….
And who wants to?
Best to just let the mystery unfold as it will and watch with interest.
Mark or no mark.. I am here.
Friendly Skies
untitled, 1999, 30″ x 40″,m/m
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My brother Scott, the Southwest pilot, had an overnight in Albuquerque yesterday and drove his sweet self up to see me.
He arrived in his fabulous captain’s uniform, all white and proper and responsible.
He looked so great.
I had that puffed-up, proud feeling I get when people I love are standing smack in the middle of life in ways they’ve fought hard for and were born to, it seems.
He wanted to know if there were things he could do for me.
1. Tie up recyclable cardboard boxes and take to trash.
2. Put pot of pansies outside.
3. Unbox new toaster oven and cut down boxes.
4. Sharpen knives.
He says: “Are these the same knives I sharpened the last time I was here?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Cath.. I’m not going to sharpen these. You need new knives. (20 years old..) Do you have a ROSS DISCOUNT store in this town?”
“Well, yes we do.”
“I will buy you some new knives. Maureen (sister-in-law) bought some the other day for $5.00. REALLY good ones.”
My brother NEVER refuses to do things for anyone when they ask so I know that it is time for me to get new knives.
I love how people in my life who love me keep me modern.
Perhaps it is more to assuage their own horror?
Whatever..
Doing life alone would be a sorry state of affairs.
And no fun what-so-ever.
Precious Humanity
“GOOD GIRL”, 11″ x 11″ x 4″, 1997, m/m
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I’ve been practicing forgiving myself the last few days; for not being more fit physically, financially, spiritually, etc, etc..
It is those moments of doubt that I seem to totally forget my own courage and resilience.
My interior theater-of-life is peopled with a wide array of characters.
I know I am in good shape when I start to get BORED by particularly overdone and overused scenes.
The costumes are decidedly threadbare in the scene where Cathy doesn’t trust herself to go out and be big in the world; be seen, make a difference, GET OVER HERSELF!
There is an exhibition at MoMA right now that should not be missed.
The artist, Marina Abramovic’, is a master in performance art.
In this, her current work, she sits in a chair in the middle of a gallery with an empty chair opposite her.
Anyone in the audience may choose to sit in the chair opposite her for as much time as they desire.
Not a word is spoken.
Just two human beings being together in silence.
The photographs of the participants are worth their weight in gold as they are all of US.. all the precious players in the big theater of life.
See how magnificent we are…
The Practice
“TEMPLE”, 1994, 60″ x 40″, m/m
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Getting healthy is a practice.
I’ve made it my spiritual practice as it seems fitting and that’s usually what I do with conundrums I can find no reason or rhyme for.
Here’s how it goes in the densest of times:
I had a beer last night.
Because I FELT GOOD and it is SPRING and the evening air was soft and intoxicating.
So… I took it further and imbibed.
And then I had another because it was so fun.
And today I cannot walk.
I already know the results that come from alcohol and sugar in general but does it seem to matter that I have already learned these things?
They say the definition of INSANITY is knowing the outcome of a situation but going back in expecting a different result.
It is easy and familiar for me to let the BIG FAT JUDGE out of his room at times like these.
But at this point on my road FORGIVENESS is the thing.
TENDERNESS and FORGIVENESS.
And onward we go..
A good poem:
“The Practice” by Kim Rosen
Not the high mountain monastery I had hoped for
The real face of my spiritual practice is this…
The sweat that pearls on my cheek when I tell you the truth.
My silent shriek in the night when I think I’m alone
The trembling in my own hand as I reach out,
through the years of overcoming,
to touch what I hoped I would never need again.
Voice
“PERCEPTION”, 40″ x 60″, 1992,m/m
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THE COYOTE
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A coyote howled.
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My chihuahua growled in sleep.
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I want that rawness.
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CA 2010
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