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.
Hanged (Wo)Man
untitled monoprint, 1993, 30″ x 22″
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In the tarot deck there is a card called THE HANGED MAN.
It is a card that keeps coming up for me whenever I have had my cards read.
It always used to send a chill through me.. sort of like the kiss of death or something dire..
But that is not it at all.
THE HANGED MAN key words: yield, suspend, surrender, sacrifice, non-action, submission, in between.
From the image I linked to above, you can see he is not in a struggling mode.
He looks almost beatific as he hangs there, content in his suspension.
I look at this image as a sort of bridge when it appears in my life, as it did this morning for some unknown reason.
The thought of it just passed through my mind.
I spent most of my weekend horizontal.
Reading a great book and passing from sleep to waking and back to sleep again.
It is a good thing I like my own company so much as this healing path has alot of solitary time built in.
After the marathon rest-a-thon, I awoke from that suspended state feeling new. Different. More, somehow.
Yielding to WHAT IS is a challenge for me.
I still seem to hanker after some ‘type-A’ American cultural awards..
Non-doing still feels slightly grating and anti-purpose.
But really, when I think of it, this ‘non-action’ is really jam packed with stuff.
I’ve been writing this blog for almost a year and still seem to have things to say.
This enforced’ slow-it-down’ is really a GATHERING TIME for me.
The cultural imperative of DOING, WILLING, MAKING is suspended in me.
Who does that make me now?
Less than I was when I created art-in-form?
I think not.
I seem to be sculpting emptiness with the same skills I used with clay.
The trick is not to be attached to the outcome, isn’t it?
Alive
“BLUE”, 1998, 40″ x 6′, m/m
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I can’t remember who said this but it’s close to: ‘If something does not bring you alive then it’s too small for you.’
I watch what enlivens me.
Because if I don’t choose that path then the downward spiral’s got me.
When I woke this morning the world felt alien and dark.
I laid in bed until I felt the slightest invitation to once again rise and greet the day with my usual cricks and spasms and numb limbs.
My dog was curled at my back and she contained her frustration at my lethargy and deviation from her normal morning of early rooting around in her yard.
That compassion she afforded me brought me alive.
The wind chimes at my door break up the static of the outside world of chaos pressing in and allow a gentler threshold for me.
THAT brings me alive.
These things seem so small but I am being thrust into the present moment as I do my day as a disabled woman.
The word DISABLED is so weird…
I don’t FEEL disabled at my core but my physical self seems to fit that definition for the time being.
Disabled means that a thing loses the capacity to function in the way it used to.
I always thought that the feeling I got from adjusting myself to someone else’s needs and desires and thereby feeling some sort of CONNECTION was what feeling ALIVE was all about.
NOT.
And would I have learned this crucial key to thriving had I not been faced with this health challenge?
Would I still be the girl who was voted ‘most congenial’ in high school?
Or have people in my life with whom I feel safe and truly supported to be the best I can be?
I would never have known what was ‘too small for me’ had I not done the work to find my AUTHENTIC BASELINE and therefore have the clarity to FEEL CLEARLY WHAT DOES BRING ME ALIVE.
And that, right there, ladies and gentlemen, is the road to healing in my book.
Healing in the sense of taking FULL advantage of this precious gift of life; a truly MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL RELATIONSHIP with the essence of life.
Yes, the old patterns I held in me which kept overpowering the simple act of soaking in life without prodding or guiding or herding it onto a path trodden by the masses
ARE disabled now.
And I am glad. So very glad. And alive.
Bullish
“ATTITUDE”, 1980, 5′ x 5′, wool flannel, pigment
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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.
Christ and Us
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Here, in Santa Fe, this is a holy time of year.
The time of Good Friday, when the Bible tells us Christ was crucified and Easter Sunday; the day the rock was moved and it was found empty of Jesus’ corpse.. resurrected it is said.
Many, many people make long pilgrimages from miles away carrying heavy crosses on their backs or crawling on their knees to a place called The Santuario in Chimayo.
I go there often myself during off-season just to sit and meditate in the old adobe walls,
It is a sacred healing place somewhat like Lourdes in France.
The earth there is said to carry healing power and people come with bags large and small to dig from a little hole and take some earth home with them.
I am intrigued by the space of time between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.
Some major stuff is said to have happened following Christ’s crucifixion and his revival, so the story goes.
We, humans spend most all our time in that very space between, it seems to me.
No one gets a pass in the suffering department.
And that very suffering is the key to the emperors new clothes.
By that, I mean we can have no possible idea or experience what NOT suffering feels like until we have done some of it ourselves.
It seems to me that this epic outpouring of inviting suffering which all the pilgrims walking in the snow and sleet and windy weather outside my door are yearning for, may be the accelerated version of:
.
1. Take me and my masked ways of being. Kill the false self I cannot kill on my own.
2. Grace me with time to sink humbly into my nakedness. The me I have known is no more.
3. Wake me dressed in authentic and true clothes fit for a radiant being such as myself.
4. Call me to a higher order than my self-centric past.
5. Hear me as I give thanks for the right just to BE.
.
For me, that right there is the gist of Easter.
Illness can get you there right quick.
With that in mind, God: give me the strength and Grace to bear this burden and try to control my involuntary salivating waiting and hoping for the rock to be moved and the light.. the light let in…
Grit and Grace
My brother Scott is a pilot for Southwest Airlines.
When I spoke the other day about living in a ‘whole-hearted’ way, his name comes to mind.
He has the gift of a true and count-on-able balance between his rational mind and his heart intelligence.
These qualities make for a great pilot.
You may wonder,and wonder often, I suppose, why in the world I have a blog with the words MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS in it and insist on holding forth about anything BUT most of the time.
For me, the fastest and most sure healing track involves NOT TAKING ON THE IDENTITY of ‘a woman with MS’,
But rather watching and listening for what it is that BRINGS ME ALIVE.
What / who do I have true affection for?
And it is THAT path I choose to take.
Using my precious and faltering-of-late attention and life energy and moving toward healing of ALL OF ME..
Not just my body.
So, yesterday was my brother’s birthday.
The first time I flew with him was into and through the Grand Canyon inside a tin can of a plane with two Germans.
He said: “Cath..don’t tell them I’m your brother.”
Well, that promise lasted about a nanosecond as the pride I had in my brother swelled to a dangerous level and I could contain myself no longer..
Against all odds, he followed his call.
He carved his way through the ranks of those others bowing and scraping toward a secure position with a respectable airline.
He held his ground and persevered until those who mattered couldn’t help but notice he was born to wear a uniform and they gave it to him.
He’s a guy who can stand there just owning the piece of ground he walks on and you just want to hand over your trust.
That’s the guy you want to be standing in the cockpit greeting you as you enter the airplane on a thundery, windy flight through black clouds.
Actually, I’d want him seated in his proper place in the cockpit doing the stuff he needs to do to keep me safe..
But no matter.. you get the drift.
The point here is pride.
I feel my boundaries swell when I think of what he has overcome to become who he is.
This feels whole-hearted to me…
For me, who gets to witness him..
And hopefully for my brother, who carved this life for himself.
I have learned a lot about persistence from him.
Never say die.
‘Cause on the other side of the muck and mire is often the gold we seek.
Mrs. Spencer
I remember sitting in history class taught by a very unappealingly dry Mrs. Spencer.
She was a woman in need of, shall we say, some FUN?
That class was torture for me.
I did not know it back then but my learning style needs to have LIFE of some sort attached.
If you give me just numbers and dates and a test, you will be sorely disappointed.
Last night, I finished watching the JOHN ADAMS HBO series.
The subject of hidden disabilities interests me.
As a short segue, I recently completed a public speaking course.
At the close of it, a man approached me who many considered the heckler of the group.
His displays of inappropriate commenting were tiresome at best.
What he said to me was this:
“You have a very visible disability. I have diabetes which is not apparent to others.
There is a good chance I will need my leg amputated.
I am no longer afraid since I met you and heard you speak.”
Now, this floored me…
First, because I had my opinions about him and they were pretty well set.
Second, my heart cracked open at the covert vulnerability this man gifted me with which was all covered up with bravado.
Our John Adams was an unspectacular specimen to look at.
He lacked grace in dealing with the French hotties at their fancy displays of pomp and sensual forays into pleasure-seeking frivolity.
He was scorned by his compatriots for a relentless and void-of-humor mission to corral feisty egos into a manageable and purposeful government.
He abandoned his children for the cause and asked his magnificent wife, Abigail, to test her patience beyond any human capacity for most.
And yet..
We are here, now..
Here, within the flawed but radiantly inclusive and foundationally inspired bedrock of the United States of America.
Mrs. Spencer’s disability was her inability to translate life to us, her students.
Likely, because she hadn’t touched it yet..
My disability is MS in it’s very visible ransacking of a vital and graceful physical self.
John Adams’ disability was his lack of the ‘cool factor.’
He HAD to be coarse and insistent and relentless to be heard through the din of the common denominators which ruled the day.
He tried the patience of many.
I see that my disability allows a very different kind of ‘listening’ from people I am in contact with.
I take this very seriously.
I could easily give you whining and complaint.
The religion of the wounded.
A sense of belonging, yes, but communion.. no.
This very disability has ushered me into a life so full and rich that it would make Mrs. Spencer’s toes curl from the intimacy and humility of it all.
LIFE! Raw and trying and rugged and always the new thing asking for it’s place in the car.
How much can we bear?
How much can we lose?
How do we know what is there, behind the things we lose?
Until we lose them?
The Man
"CRITICAL MASS", 22" x 22" x 4", matches, earth
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Since I will be off line a few days, I wanted to leave you with something special.
I have tasted the teachings and miracle-mongering of many revered teachers in my lifetime.
In the end, all the trying we might do hoping for answers to ease our shared suffering and ponder pesky questions like: “What is the purpose of life?” urge us inward, not outward.
It is kindof a longish interview but you can take in in in stages like eating a warm and gooey chocolate cake…
The focus in the interview is yoga but you can substitute any old thing: illness or frailty, relationship, politics or choosing an apple from the grocery store..
The point being to access that still place inside us and ask for prompting regarding how to better negotiate this sometimes rugged road we all walk.
Open, listen, receive, trust, move.
Red apple or green one?
See you soon in my new home.
Mission Statement
"PORTRAIT OF RICARDO", 22" x 22", 2003, earth,nest,shell,rattlesnake rattle,feather,mica,ceramic,pearls,dice,fish spine
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“To live content with small means when need be; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy not respectable; and wealthy not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly… to listen to stars and buds, to babes and sages, with open heart; await occasions, hurry never…. this is my symphony.”
-William Henry Channing
Power vs. Force
"GEOMETRY", 2007, 30" x 30", earth, ceramic, mica, gold thread, pearls
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I am a very poor dog trainer.
Olivia is confused.
She loves me and wants to protect me from all harm.
Her giant spirit in a little, little package pulls out all the warrior paraphernalia when men approach my door.
If the man wears a cap.. forget it.
Yesterday, David came by.
I met him on my first trip to New Mexico in 1989.
He loves rocks and fossils and is the perfect roadside geology man.
If dinosaur bones get you all atwitter.. he’s your guy.
We began our 20 year friendship watching the world with witness-glasses and enjoying an easy commentary together.
We still do that witnessing thing and still enjoy one another in a ‘chosen family’ sort of way.
He is a painter. Has always gone out into the wilds and moved the pleasure of his intimate connection with nature from his heart to the canvas.
Yesterday he brought me a few paintings to see.
They were spare and and ‘haiku-esque.’
So accomplished in the removal of EVERYTHING non-essential.
The two of us had not seen one another in quite awhile.
So the movement within us both was apparent.
He is far less than I remember.
I am emptying out as well.
What I SAW yesterday, was a man approaching my door.
My friend.
He looked quite the same.
But he was less.
Olivia sensed him and knew he was good.
I had prepared him to be patient as I had my dog at the door, on the lead and ready to make the corrections I am learning to train her away from barking and nipping at strangers.
She wagged and squeaked and wriggled as I opened the door.
No barking…
She had no need or desire to protect me from this person.
I just stood there as he came in and watched the two of them enjoy the recognition of a mutual ’something-or-otherness.’
My sense is that she noticed his pure heart, emptiness and lack of type A ‘I want a particular outcome and I’ll do anything to get it’ kind of human tactic (read: Cathy in the dog training process).
He has POWER in this instance. A quiet and undefended approach.
I think I see that where she is concerned, I am mistakenly going after FORCE.
Little jerk here, a push-away there..
YUK..
Something about this equation is wrong.
Today, I am going to try to translate what I learned from their interaction into my dealings with my health and well-being.
Instead of attempting to force feed my body with health enhancing activities by rote, I will court spaciousness.
I will let that innate thing come forward without the costuming of effort.
Those clothes are worn and tattered anyway.
Familiar at best, but threadbare and spent.
I am tired and bored today with the ever-so-purposeful-and-incessant-hand-on-the-tiller navigation of life.
The intelligence of emptiness .
This is intriguing territory to me.