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“DIRECTION”, 1999, 6′ x 3′, m/m
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I gave my talk last Saturday evening: “THE SHATTERING, THE RECONCILIATION AND THE RETURN”.
50 people attended.
I looked out over the shining faces and saw the most stellar group of dear friends and those I had yet to meet.
The purpose of the event was to come away with a DVD which represents the style and content of my speaking
Which I can use for future marketing.
Every single thing went without a hitch;
I was supported on every level.
I felt great in my skin.
I held to the podium for awhile
Then sat down for the remainder of the talk.
I used a few notes which I looked at once or twice.
Mostly, I told stories
Of what it has meant for me to re-make my life.
I was bordering on ecstatic as I spoke.
Strange, I thought…
People fear speaking in public so much.
Why should this bring me pleasure?
I realized that at the end of a very long road
Taking up space as a truly INAUTHENTIC person..
I now have little to hide
And the relief quotient gives rise to deep pleasure.
The thing I did not expect
Was the dry and wrenching weariness
I felt
After I shared my soul
In such a generous
And transparent way.
I will not say I am sorry
For the extended hiatus from posting here
Because you are privy to the hills and valleys
As I meet them, myself.
I understand now
That many of my precious supporters at this event
Had not seen me in too long.
I have led a fairly insular life
The last few years in order to RE-ORDER my life.
Mixing that energy with the kind it takes to give a speech with cogency
Was too much for me
And I crashed.
It was a great thing to learn for future reference.
I will keep the social separate from the professional
As best I can.
I have not seen the final film yet
But I am thrilled to have done what it took to put it together.
Many have asked about the availability of it.
I’m working on that and will keep you posted…
xxxxx.
Tomb Time
untitled, 1985, 5′x5′, m/m
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A friend who knows more about ecclesiastical stuff than I do
Mentioned that today;
The time in the Bible between Christ’s
Crucifixion
And the return
Is called: TOMB TIME…
The metaphor intrigues me
As today, I am giving a talk
Entitled: THE SHATTERING, THE RECONCILIATION, AND THE RETURN.
These three words were mysteriously downloaded into me
A couple months ago.
The words came first,
Then the work of deciphering the thing as it applies to me,
As a person in relationship with disability.
The SHATTERING part is clear.
The TOMB TIME or RECONCILIATION
Is a crucial part
Most of us would rather skip altogether.
I think, because this is all about the unknown, the Mystery, gathering ourselves
Before we return to the world
Essentially new,
Albeit, a bit tattered.
I have spoken before about Santa Fe
On Easter weekend
When hundreds of ‘pilgrims’
Walk many, many miles
As their own crucifixion, I imagine,
Arriving at the SANTUARIO DE CHIMAYO
For the Easter celebration.
Suffering,
Whether self-inflicted
Or visited on us unbidden,
Has the capacity to bring us to our knees.
And there,
The landscape is often unfamiliar.
You won’t find it in DWELL magazine
And when you DO find it
It’s pretty hard to tell someone else how to get there.
But, today…
That’s the topic of my talk, essentially.
I’ll let ya’ know how it goes..
Getting Dressed
textile designs, 1987,silk
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I have a few embroidered coats I wear
To bridge the gap
Between the disabled world
And the other one..
These coats are power tools for me.
Each time I wear one
Without a doubt
Some person will see the coat before they see my walker and leg brace
And tell me how beautiful it is.
It IS beautiful…
But the beauty of it for me
Lies in it’s inherent bridging quality.
It helps me feel less isolated,
Less weak
And more engaged with the party…
Who practice the ‘MEDICINE OF ADORNMENT’
As a testament to their relationship
With ALL THAT IS.
Elk!
detail of painting,m/m
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What, exactly, was eating like
When we, women
Did our version of the queen’s wave
At the entrance to the cave
As our scantily clad men
Turned their bows like a cheerleeder’s baton
And headed out to the veldt
For the hunt?
Ok…Ok… I doth go on in my fantasy world..
But, really:
I had a dinner that inspired such…
Vegetarians: BEWARE.
A friend and I shared an entree’ that truly sent me.
Tender, fall-apart tender Elk, poached pears, sweet potato mashed and three perfectly green sweet pea pods.
This was served on a triangular curve of simple,white dish ware
With the thinnest of wine glasses
Carrying a liquid: deep mohogany and leggy on the glass.
Ok- I AM a hedonist
And live in borderline deprivation most of the time.
So the girl needed a bit of sass in her life
And this dinner was IT!
There were miles and miles
Of distance
Between a plastic-wrapped-grocery store-bought piece of protein
And this slightly gamey
Delicacy which left me a bit less domesticated
In spirit
As we prevented ourselves (only just)
From licking the plate.
Daffodil Hill
detail of painting on textile
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When I was in High School
There was a place on the grounds I would go called DAFFODIL HILL.
I went there to reclaim myself
During days of mind-numbing
Classes
With too many girls (girl’s school..)
I smoked pot there,
Laid down alone
Or with a boyfriend
But mostly alone.
I stretched out
And closed my eyes
To let the fragrance
Of yellowness
Take me.
Hiding in the middle
Of this riot of
Harbingers
OF SPRING!!
I let dogs
And their owners pass me by.
I kept still and held my breath
So not to be discovered.
I let English class,
Math
And History
Survive without me
And the most movement I could manage
Was to cross my legs
At the ankle
And prop my head up
Away from the damp. dark ground.
I became yellow.
And hummed the tune
I thought the bendy stems
Might enjoy.
I was happy then..
And now am still..
Remembering the liquid sunlight
Pouring on me,
Holding my hidden self
There, in the new dirt
And innocent grass
Long ago,
On Daffodil Hill.
Hierarchy of Loss
“CHERRY TREE”, 1999, 30″ x 50″, m/m
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Yesterday, I gave a talk to a group of people
Who were negotiating the loss of their spouse.
I watched myself mired in nerves
The night before I was to speak.
I have not had the experience of a great love
Let alone the loss of one.
I worried that I would be able to make a bridge
Between our different kind of losses.
I needn’t have concerned myself
As the losses we each had/and were experiencing
Have more in common than not…
The core of loss is the human experience
Of living in a self-created tapestry
Of experience so familiar and trusted
That it feels TRUE;
Walking, waking next to a beloved, putting on a sock without struggle, calling home and expecting an answer.
When some sort of shattering occurs
And the status quo
Is no longer,
We meet the VACUUM.
Empty. (at least of what was..)
Foreign. (because it used to be filled with streets we knew by heart)
And unwelcome. (because we want what we want when we want it).
It takes years of negotiating the shattered shards of mirror on the floor
To see that our reflection
Is dependent solely on our point-of-view.
So…
When we’re done with the dirty and damp sheets
We’ve pulled over our heads
All the mornings we didn’t have it in us
To do the re-entry,
We get up
And chance a sideways glance
Into a different mirror
And perhaps dab on a bit of perfume
And see what’s out there.
‘Round a corner we’ve never travelled…
Stop at a pub and feign confidence…
Buy a hat with a feather
And feed the ducks in the park.
A moment, an hour, a day..
Whatever we can hold.
And onward we go…
And onward we go….
A slight nod to the person we pass in silence
As we see the carefully concealed tatters in her coat
That look just like our own.
Fit
textile design, 1987, silk
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Survival of the fittest…..
Reckoning with a disability
Allows some deep conjecture on this topic.
(At least, in my lovely, curious mind…)
What, exactly, does “FIT” mean?
Am I ‘un’FIT because I can’t do the thing the guy is doing in the photo above?
Does being fit mean walking without support?
Being able to run from a Tsunami should I need to?
Bear children?
Forage for dinner in the forest?
Grocery shop?
Plant a tulip bulb?
On NPR this morning I heard a 100 year old woman sparkle in her love of life.
The reasoning behind her longevity (109 years old…God, please spare me)
Was called ADAPTIVE COMPETENCE:
The ability to bounce back from stressful situations
By getting up and dusting one’s self off.
I recognize that capacity in myself
And because of that blessing
Consider myself quite “FIT.”
Really,
I’d rather this gift
Than running a 4 minute mile.
But I wouldn’t turn it down
If it was offered………………………………..
Harvesting Breath
“WOMAN and MAN”, 2001, ceramic, 14″ x 4″ x 2″
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Breath, breathing, song, snoring are all themes asking me for their attention these days.
A flock of meadowlarks is visiting my neighborhood.
They make me stop in my tracks and drop my jaw
Because they carry the antithesis of winter with them
Under each wing. Listen…
I woke yesterday in the half-light of dawn to catch my dog, Olivia
Curled at the small of my back
Snoring in utter surrender
To sleep and dreams.
Today, I noticed my voice caught up in my throat
A bit too high
And reducing me to more of a ‘child-woman’
(in the not-good’ sense).
This phenomenon usually occurs
When I am worried or scared.
I also came across this YouTube video
Of a visionary man
Who is a composer/conductor/musician by trade.
He filmed himself silently conducting a choral piece he had written
And posted it on his blog along with an invitation
To all who were moved to,
To send in a film snippet of themselves giving voice
To his creation.
The result is this compilation of 2000 voices
From around the world
Edited together
To form a virtual choir!
I watched myself
Have to ease into a slowed down version
Of my customary eagerness to do ‘stuff’ fast
And close my eyes
And breathe slowly
In order to give myself
The gift of a proper listen
To this miracle.
It was the very best thing I have done for my sweet self
In a very long time.
I wish for you, the gift of the preciousness
Of shared breath
Which is right there for the taking..
A bountiful harvest always in season.
Dragonfly Medicine
monoprint, 1991, 30″ x 22″
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In the ZUNI NATIVE AMERICAN tradition
This symbol represents the dragonfly.
I had no idea why I was drawn to this design when I created it.
It was almost like I was craving a cross but couldn’t quite get solidly behind it
And came up with my own.
For a long time, I wondered if this represented the devil
Or the anti-christ.
This is how deeply our culture has imbedded itself in me;
Just fooling around with three lines in a composition
Can leave one waiting for a thunderbolt.
The other day; Monday, in fact,
I was shopping for a gift in my favorite store, KESHI,
Which hosts a veritable treasure trove of fetishes carved by local Native American tribes
Out of river rock, precious stone and everything in between.
Bronwyn, the owner, just casually offered up the information I needed about the real reason I was guided to create this symbol.
The DRAGONLY symbolizes transformation, a bridge to the Divine, the breaking of illusions.
Whichever pathway we choose to get ‘there’
Seems to give us just what we need
In the nick of time
Cloaked in the language we can hear most easily
And trust it was meant just for us.
The Ride
untitled, 36″ x 36″, m/m
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Thank you for your patience (or not) as I took an extended break.
I know, having been an artist for so many years,
The process of ANYthing
Occasionally needs some of what I call “GATHERING TIME.”
In my life, it looks like the water spigot
Just has a mind of it’s own
And no matter how much I coo and coerce
It just ain’t happenin’.
That is how I was left following my brother’s visit
And I am well aware this is a signal
SomeTHING is brewing in me..
Family is a great catalyst…
Welcome or not-
None of us are neutral in this department.
Honestly..
At this point, I am still unaware
Of what, exactly, is making it’s way toward consciousness
But I do know enough
To pay attention
And give myself a break
In the ‘YOU SHOULD’ department.
In the news today,
There appears a Japanese hero who rode the tsunami in his little boat called: “SUNFLOWER.”
If he had wavered in his decision to meet the unknown thing
And let the boat slide to the side even a little bit
The end result would have been quite different.
Where does the courage come to ride the wave?
And is it like a cat with nine lives?
Do we run out of the stuff at some point?
I actually have the sense
It has little to do with us
And everything to do with GRACE.