Theater of the Absurd
“FACE,”, 2002, 14″ x 14″ x 4″, m/m
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The other day I went to the Social Security office to re-apply for disability having been turned down previously.
The first time I applied I made the dire mistake of presenting myself as is…
Meaning: a woman challenged by this ‘thing’ but not caving to it.
Carrying herself with a careful nod to the ‘I can do this,’ camp.
That was a big ole’ mistake for Cath..
Seems I just looked too good.
Too able.
Made too much money (I reported $6000.00).
DENIED!
In my recent approach I had the benefit of counseling from some people in the know and these are some of their suggestions:
1. Dress like a bag lady.
2. Do not shower for three days before the appointment.
3. Only speak when spoken to.
4. Push your infirmity to the max so they see you are really disabled.
Well…
I had a difficult time with these suggestions.
I truly recognize that there are so many people in economic fear at the moment that security is stepped up in order to weed out the posers.
But as far as I could go was not to wear makeup and borrow a torn coat from a friend.
I answered 2 hours worth of questions geared toward trying to catch me in a falsehood.
The intake person was a well-oiled example of doing her job well.
I had nothing to hide which is just as well because I’m just plain bad at that activity.
The two of us connected well and I do believe I noticed a bit of relief from her,
Recognizing my true need and easy honesty.
Anyway..
What’s done is done and now I wait….
High Line
detail of painting, m/m
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I woke in the early dark..
And read the news. The most recent WIKILEAKS are the headlines today.
The world feels teeming with the fear and awkwardness of paradigm shift.
I felt myself going into a muddle.
It is what I do sometimes when big things are happening and I have no control; in this case, the domino effects we can expect from these new and unveiled security leaks which seem to make all too visible the ineffectual and subversive communication we are ALL pretty much guilty of..
What to do to make what I call ‘THE RETURN?’
For me, that means an action directing my consciousness toward something life-filled, creative and inspiring to me.
I went to THE HIGH LINE.
If you are unfamiliar with this recently completed architectural and horticultural jewel of NYC, let me introduce you.
And envisioned it as a raised park for New Yorkers to enjoy.
Imagine! Two guys with an idea and a couple years later, we have a sophisticated testament to vision, moxie, sweat and probably quite a bit of debate.
The thing that gets me is the fact that this gorgeous achievement rose up from the tangled and weedy leftovers of our old selves.
The beauty, to me, is not in it’s newness,
But rather the fact that the thing that WAS shifted into something re-purposed and ALIVE in a very different way.
I see myself that way; the challenges of this body re-purposing ME into someone more beautiful, I think.
And our culture is no different..
We, also are being re-purposed.
Tangled and needing a makeover so badly.
Our wheels are rusting from too much static : “I know it all..”
Change is gritty.
And usually unwelcome in it’s foreignness.
Because there is grief in letting go of the known.
But without that step, no room is created for the new thing.
So the tears and confusion are all core ingredients,
We need to fuel the butter churn.
Small
detail of textile, pigment on wool flannel
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NOTHING – a poem
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The small of my back
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Hosts a creature with tan fur.
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I need nothing more.
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-CA
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Mongolian Sheepskin
detail of sculpture, ceramic
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My friend bought a new coat.
It sports a collar made of white Mongolian Sheepskin atop a cable knit in white as well.
It takes my breath away to see her in it;
She’s a woman who knows how to dress.
Strong and feminine and inviting yet those who meet her know ‘she got the power..’
Women of history like Cleopatra and the like knew these things about adornment.
How to present ones’ self in particular situations as a fully feminine creature,
Not overly tipped toward the seduction side.
You can tell true women-of-beauty sometimes, by the way they wear things but never let THINGS wear them.
And a strong woman can carry a coat such as my friends’ and still allow you to meet HER first…
And only then, the coat.
When I see a woman teetering on stilettos and painted up past a particular point..
I cringe at the effort to attract some thing/one.
The thing is that I know she’s forgotten entirely about herself in the equation.
And that being the case, when the lure has been taken..
There’s absolutely no one there to bring in the wriggling and golden, live thing
Who is letting their interest be known.
A Beginning
untitled, 5′ x 5′, pigment on wool flannel, 1986
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When I went to pick up my mail yesterday, my Native American friend was behind the desk.
I asked him what he was going to do for Thanksgiving.
His eyes went a bit dead and he told me that his tribe doesn’t really celebrate that day.
I left thinking that of course, the day was not a celebratory one for him..
Duh….
It was MY forefathers who arrived at Plymouth and began to do their viral spread.
Each of those people began a relationship with a cautious hope,
But it was hope just the same.
Here is what they probably ate that day:
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The First Thanksgiving Menu
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Seafood: Cod, Eel, Clams, Lobster
Wild Fowl: Wild Turkey, Goose, Duck, Crane, Swan, Partridge, Eagles
Meat: Venison, Seal
Grain: Wheat Flour, Indian corn
Vegetables: Peas, Beans, Onions, Lettuce, Radish, Carrots
Fruit: Plums, Grapes
Nuts: Walnuts, Chestnuts, Acorns
Herbs and Seasonings: Olive Oil, Liverwort, Leeks, Dried Currants, Parsnips
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The idea that we saw, we liked, we took, makes my heart sting a bit.
And yet, the essence of giving thanks on the third Thursday in November each year remains a high holy day for me.
But a good life at the expense of another causes me pause.
And I do not choose to forage ahead toward the fine wine and golden turkey tomorrow
Without a low and honoring bow of my head toward those nicked and tumbled
In the greedy wake
Of our fast and shiny boats.
Educating Others
untitled, 40″ x 30″, 2001, m/,
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One of the things about my particular kind of disability is that I can’t hide.
There are those of us in partnership with other disabilities like diabetes or emotional, mental challenges or sporting a prosthetic leg who can ‘pass.’
Pass for perfect (cultural definition).
As for me, I’m hard to miss; awkward gait, walker and all..
I used to be able to ‘pass’ but not now.
And I am sort of glad, actually..
Hiding in any form is pretty uninteresting to me anymore after a lifetime of cover-up; I was voted most congenial in high school ((great cover for depression), had no idea who I really was so took on the identity of a juvenile delinquent in school so at least I had a clan ( Chanel #5 is now my signature rather than dirty and torn jeans).
I smell better, feel better and am a real, live disabled woman with a great life.
And yet… I see the fear.
I see the people who look away from me.
They want to look but can’t.
One thing I know about disability is the fact that I remind people of their own frailty.
You know… “By the grace of God, there go I,” kind of thing.
I get that in my bones because I am no different.
I see a scary looking homeless person with vacant eyes and matted hair..
And I look away.
And because I understand the very humanness of some peoples’ response to me,
I make myself a community service.
By that, I mean I take it upon myself to educate people about how to be with me.
I take the initiative and ask for someone to open the door.
And then the important part comes:
I turn to them and look them in the eye with a genuine smile and good jolt of presence and I say “THANK YOU.”
Another example is the time I asked the kitchen to cut up my steak in small pieces before they served me because my hand was not working that day.
I dress up a little in order to represent my demographic to the best of my ability.
All these things I do for my own pleasure, first and foremost,
AND I am acutely aware that my high level of non-scary or depressed presence as someone opens the door or cuts up my steak or sees me moving with some grace through the world,
CHANGES THEM.
People are decidedly relieved when I ask for help without a “WOE IS ME” tune playing in the backround.
Folks are hungry… no STARVING for the opportunity to make a difference in the world in a safe way.
I give them a modicum of that, I am seeing.
And so…it is me who must step up as best I can and let people know what I might need.
And this is a challenge for us all…
We aren’t really SUPPOSED to need…
We’re supposed to be capable, strong, almost invincible…(key word: ABLE)
And when we’re not, the acrid green room in some ‘home’ set aside for us is the repository for a cultures’ inability or disinterest in entertaining a reminder of the frailty innate in all humanness.
After a lifetime of pretty high functionality in my sweet humanness,
My own frailty has softened my heart.
It has humbled me.
Forced me out of all the identities I thought were the bedrock of an upstanding representative of the human race: artist, walking woman, independent, doesn’t need help, steak cutter and door opener..
And here I am finally loving myself; wonky walking and all.
And so.. I take it upon myself to shine this light of a different color,
Spread it around a bit,
And see how it softens others,
As they walk away slightly surprised and easier in their own Selves,
Because I gave them an opportunity to make a difference,
In mine.
Coming Up
“FINE LINE”, 1996,11″ x 11″ x 4″, m/m
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Sometimes, I hover dangerously close to a guilt complex.
I watch the news and look hungrily into the eyes of those we’ve entrusted to govern,
And I cant find them…
Guarded, hidden, wiggling around in a mire of untruth attempting to remember the last one they expressed to keep the story cogent.
To write the next fat chapter.
And the next.
What in the world are we leaving our kids?
What WORLD are we leaving as our legacy?
And so.. I feel the tug toward reaching out my one steady arm to our kids.
Assuaging the effects of my misplaced guilt of our generation,
By pushing my voice beyond a whisper,
Perhaps singing AMAZING GRACE in their not fully formed ear.
(OH my.. I do carry on… my voice shouldn’t be heard beyond the shower stall!)
They have a new anthem and it sounds like this: TEDxYOUTH DAY SONG
Pass this by at your own peril..
The light in the eyes you’ll see is quite available and bright and eager and ready.
The gift we can give is to keep our foundation strong and whole, impenetrable and ready;
Ready for new shoes and bare feet to step forward to take their place.
I’ve no doubt their recipe will look quite different than ours.
Oh…I’d love a taste of that….
Change Has Come
“ALEXANDRA’S INFLUENCE”, 24″ x 24″, 1999, m/m
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My mission at this time in my life is to change the paradigm of disability.
Disability is one of the last strongholds of old thinking that still supports cultural backpedaling, fear stemming from ignorance and the essence of IMPOSSIBILITY and VICTIM-mentality.
The woman writing you this today is a testament to another way.
Life has been peppered for me with experiences no one should have had to go through.
Since I seem to be blessed with the ability to articulate our very humanness in honest and vulnerable ways many people can relate to..
The ‘powers that be’ keep asking me to do so.
These ‘stand up and be seen’ jobs are often not what I ever dreamed for myself.
But my ‘ Self ‘ is far and away more important to me now than my ‘self’ if you get my drift….
And so I do it.
Because I can.
I honestly have no idea what my life is to look like in the next 5 years.
I do know that the beginning is to step into the shoes,
That seem far too large at the moment.
I am unfamiliar with their style or fasteners, ties or zippers.
But try, I must..
And perhaps cover enough ground as I break them in,
That they have the chance to be come my favorites; worn with a sheen turned to patina.
Funny, when you can listen into life and FEEL yourself projected into the future,
Sort of like it is already done……
Except for the doing of it.
The Awe Factor
detail of sculpture, ceramic
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What do you get when a cellular biologist takes a workshop at PIXAR animation studios?
THIS! “THE INNER LIFE OF A CELL” an animated short film produced by Harvard University.
This is the kind of thing that just sends me..
Even as most of what we know and trust in the world is crumbling and shifting into something we know not what…
Exciting things like the above are happening.
I love being able to feel into my body differently after watching this.
A miracle, we are…. I am.
Cyber-stuff n’ Me
untitled, 20″ x 4″, ceramic
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I wrote a whole post this morning..
And it disappeared somewhere into the country where computers grow and thrive..
And so…
Instead of having a drink at this early hour..
I sit down,
Calm myself,
And begin again….
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THE KNIFE- a poem
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Self-criticism
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Is a worthless meal to make.
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My knife is too dull.
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-CA 2010
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