Building a Life
“”REVELATION”, 1996, 24″ x 6′, m/m
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It takes a long time to find a way to make a new and functioning life living with a debilitating illness.
At least it is for me.
I can go into self-criticism fairly easily if I forget that the changes I am working on don’t necessarily show up like: “OK! NOW WE GOT IT GOIN’ ON AND WATCH OUT WORLD!”
No.
Sometimes, even to myself I look like just a progressively disabled woman headed for under the nearest bridge as home.
That is when the ability to articulate what feelings I am having and the courage to get my butt over to where I know wisdom grows, saves me.
THIS IS NOT A SOLITARY PATH!
A hidden life seems comforting in it’s ability to render me seemingly invisible.
But the dragon / angel keeps filing her nails on the screen door and eventually I let her in just to keep my sanity.
The changes in me are ESSENTIAL, meaning ‘of-my-essence.’
But also essential in the way that means PRACTICAL in that my newly crafted life cannot take root without these interior shifts and gains.
When I lose sight, I need someone wise to remind me of my largest self.
For me, this could be a group of trusted people, a sacred (to me) place, meditation or a visit to one of my mentors.
Yeah, the way out is surely through..
And when I am surely through with the ‘through’…..
I pick myself up off the ground and put some great lipstick on and make a call or take an action.
And nobody out there will probably ever know the heroics it takes to push on through.
But that is ok because if someone reminds me, I KNOW..
And it is all right.
Sweet Spot
detail , 2006, 76″ x 54′, ceramic, earth, mirrors ,nails
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My dog, Olivia is my primary healer some days.
The weakness in my legs seems to stem from a specific spot in my lower back.
She knows something is ‘off’ there.
This little creature burrows down under the covers and presses her back into the small of mine and stays there.
When she does this we both heave a huge and audible sigh.
How does she know?
What did I do to gain the privilege of her company and healing?
If I cry, she lays on my chest with a furrowed brow and licks away my tears.
She keeps licking until I am soothed and quiet.
I see her face becoming progressively whiter by the day.
I know part of what she does for me is to take on much of the energy I release as I heal.
We are both working very, very hard.
People tell me they are not sure they could negotiate this terrain I deal with moment by moment.
The truth is we never know what we are capable of until called to the plate.
I do what I do but I am blessed not to do it alone.
Freddy
6′ x 4.5′, m/m
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I went to Fredrick’s memorial the other day.
He took his own life at the top of his game.
He lived a very big, big life for still being in his 30’s.
Lots of people depended on him, looked up to him, had expectations of him.
He was a very smart, giant-hearted, rich and generous man.
He began as a collector of mine.
He had very good taste.
But besides that, he was an extremely refined gentleman and I loved him.
Celebrating him as we did the other day made me think about his choice to throw in the towel.
It shocked everyone and no one more than his beloved wife.
I thought about the various ‘lines’ I have had in my life so far.
Lines I never thought I wanted to or could live beyond.
Peed or shit in my pants? Done that.
Can’t find the strength to lift my body up to sitting from lying down and convinced the weakness was forever? Yep.
So depressed you can’t find the where-with-all to find a glimmer of an appealing future? Uh huh..
The thing is that each time I feel I have reached a line I can’t/ have no interest in going beyond.. I somehow pull it together to stick my toe in the waters beyond the line and find the weirdest thing…
That it was not my real ‘line’ after all.
And that the me who crossed the line is soaking in a new humility that helps me drop some of the hard and angular density of being human and take on a bit of translucency.
I can only imagine that my friend, Fredrick found himself at a line he could not find his way through.
If I love him, I cannot judge him for his choice.
Do I feel gypped because I don’t get any more of him? Yes.
But that is all about me..not him.
I loved you, Freddy. Love you still.
You left your mark on us and we wish you peace.
I am more because you were here.
No Rest
Well…… this here made me pause:
It is almost funny.
But for me, the one who now lives her life from 5-10 am and then again from 7-11pm because of the heat here,
The thought of having to find a dime for the privilege of sitting down is just too much for the girl.
Honestly, is this a commentary on the preciousness of PAUSE or WHAT!!!!!!?????
It is most certainly a cultural thing that puts the fear of god into us at even the THOUGHT of a midday siesta.
Do more, be more, earn more, say more, go more places, read more, accumulate more.
MS is the drill sargent for LESS.
One just has to get used to dropping dreams and capabilities and muscle strength and pride and plans along the roadside.
All of a sudden, after years of unloading, you lie down for a rest and your heart starts beating wildly.
Oh my God!
It is 2:00 in the afternoon and there is so much STUFF TO DO! I can NOT lie down!
I fight this fight in myself almost every day.
It is so very stupid.
I need rest though I can’t seem to allow it.
The heat is really the best antidote for this neurotic wave of ‘cultural norm’ I ride.
What would happen if I gave myself over to the wretched weariness?
Who would I be if I welcomed it as a signal to stop?
Is moving faster and more, BETTER?
For who?
And why is the rest pill so hard for me to swallow?
If I surrendered to it would I ever get up?
How do you make a life in the bench-sitter lane?
Is desirability all about productivity?
Is the space between as valuable as the form on either end?
As I keep dropping coveted stuff by the wayside under the forced discipline of MS, I am being asked to fall in love with emptiness.
It actually has quite an ‘elan all it’s own.
But I’ll probably be asked to drop that too..
Healing
untitled, 1995, 30″ x 40″, m/m
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Yesterday, I had a much needed massage as I fell the other day.
Not hard but enough to weird my body out.
Goodness knows, I have seen my share of body workers in the life of this disease.
I am a discerning client to be sure.
In order for me to glean any benefit from a session the bodyworker, whether acupuncturist or masseuse or physical therapist or chiropractor must possess a few qualities:
1. INTEGRITY…They have handled the sexual boundary issue. I’ll know in an instant if their energy is other than on the task at hand. Healing can only happen supported by an atmosphere of integrity. I don’t have the energy to wade through other people’s ’stuff.’
2. EXPERTISE… Probably all knowledge can be learned but in certain cases I have had the honor to work with people who ARE the knowledge, meaning they don’t seem to have to work to access it; they just embody the essence of healing. Rare birds, indeed.
3. COMPASSION… I am not sure you can be a true healer unless you have been shattered in some way yourself. I am not certain we are born with the oceanic capacity for being with another’s sorrow unless we have experienced some of it ourselves or as witness to someone we care for.
4. ABILITY TO BE A CONTAINER.. Signing up for a healing session can be full of surprises.. tears can come or limbs can tremble.. If the healer does not have the ability to provide a safe place for the healing to happen, healing CAN’T happen.
Yesterday, I was so weak that I could barely get up on the massage table.
When up there, I realized the privacy sheet was crumpled up at the end of the table under my thigh and feet.
I struggled and moaned to try and grab it to cover myself before he came back in the room.
Couldn’t do it.
Because I felt totally safe with him I had some embarrassment but no shame as he came back in the room and there I was.. butt to the wind exposed..
I told him I could not reach the sheet to cover myself and he untangled it from my feet and draped it over me.
The session we had was profound in the level of release that occurred.
The letting go that began yesterday is still happening this morning as I write.
I am so very grateful.. for him as the true healer he is and for myself for having the level of discernment and courage I do and for the GRACE that arrives when everybody has their hat on straight yet tipped a bit in homage toward the great unknown.
Heat
detail of sculpture, ceramic
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Cathy has MS (or whatever it is..)
She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
She is irritable.
50,000 tourists descend on her town in the Summer.
They wear khaki shorts and spanking new cowboy hats to keep off the sun.
They are good because they buy things.
But there are too many.
And it is HOT here!
100 degrees some days.
This makes Cathy very weak.
It is best to leave her alone when she gets this way.
Tomorrow will be coming and that is a good thing.
Convention Center
“RENAISSANCE”, 2008, 10′ x 3′ x 3′, earth,wood
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This large sculpture stands in the center of an outdoor courtyard on the main floor of our local Santa Fe Community Center.
Upstairs on the roof terrace there are 15 more smaller versions of this peeking out amidst gorgeous landscaping of feather grasses.
These were the last works-in-form I completed.
These upcoming weeks are high season in our town.
Many, many people from all over the world will be here for INDIAN MARKET and various other events.
I am proud to be represented so publicly.
And I miss the hands-on work that goes into creating large sculpture.
My body has just moved into different territory.
I try not to hanker after what was but really, IT WAS GREAT WHILE IT LASTED!
And an important piece of me I am proud of.
Onward ..onward we go into territory unseen and calling us to the mystery whether we like it or not.
God, please make it just as interesting and satisfying as it used to be.
Chaos and Order
“BEACH SANDS”, 2007, sand,wood
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This piece is made from sand collected from many beaches.
I have always liked the juxtaposition of chaos and order.
In this case, the idea of tiny grains of sand from various places; tossed in the waves for God knows how many eons and then introducing the geometry on top of that.
It soothes me, somehow.
And so, I wonder how this thread of order and not which shows up in my work so often makes itsself known in my life?
Well, the chaos part is pretty self-evident.
It starts with an M and ends with an S.
The order is the interesting element because I seem to fight it in many ways but see that it is essential for a sense of wholeness for me.
I’m feeling too vulnerable this morning to list all the areas out of order in my life at the moment but suffice it to say they are there.
…and there..
…and there…
What I am drawing attention to this morning is the solace that seems to come from the presence of the two.
Together, they are life-supporting. Chaos and order.
I’m going to wobble over there and clean up my desk…
Mystery
textile design on silk, 1987
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I have the oddest feeling a new life is waiting in the wings for me.
I have certainly had many, many incarnations lived out in just this present lifetime.
And so, it seems another is just around the bend.
There is not too much fear.. some, truth be told, but the pull toward this new thing, whatever it is wins out over trepidation.
In the transition I don’t trust myself in the world.
My fuse is short and my tolerance level low.
I was meandering through my favorite bookstore yesterday looking for solace and a gorgeous amazonian black
woman sat at a small table with a sign offering intuitive readings.
I seldom choose ‘in-store’ guidance givers but I was drawn to sit with her and after all was said and done I left with the knowledge I needn’t look anywhere other than the avenues I now depend on for way-showing.
Illness fosters drawing at straws when answers aren’t forthcoming.
And always, I am asked to return to home base..
Close my eyes and go inside and ask for what I need.
Have the where-with-all to tolerate the stillness it takes to STOP.
Weirdly, this is so challenging for me.. the curtailing of incessant ‘going out there’ for answers.
We all seem to be heading fast and furiously away from stillness what with all the bells and whistles in our techno-age.
Where is our tolerance for silence?
Our ability to sit soaking in the unknown trusting it’s innate intelligence?
Knowing that we don’t know and that has to be ok sometimes even if it makes us wiggle and squirm.
Unbecoming Behavior
untitled, 30″ x 30″, 1999, m/m
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The process of getting well is fraught with bumps in the road.
For me, healing is a process affecting my emotional, spiritual, mental, psychic and physical selves.
Each change I make in one area shifts the others in some way.
Sometimes I am literally flattened and I don’t know why.
The thing I DO know is the more I let go of who I thought I was, the more I become uninterested in becoming.
It has been a life of pushing toward achievement for this girl.
Like a good and true American entity, I TRIED to go for the gold.
But in my art career “IT” eluded me.
Sure.. I made money sometimes and have magazines galore with beautiful spreads on my work.
A resume’ that tells the tale of decades of TRYING.
But is that it?
Is that the gold?
Truth be told, there was always a big MISSING in the life I led of creating art in my studio alone and driving it over to the gallery and sometimes getting a check in the mail.
I seldom knew the names of who took my work home to their living room or how they felt about it or what moved them enough to shell out the cash.
BUT I WAS AN ARTIST!!
With a genuine and shiny identity in my pocket.
And who is this girl who is getting out of bed at noon because her body is in revolt today and she doesn’t know why and can’t find the energy to care?
Instead of being in the process of BECOMING I am UN- BECOMING…
That artist girl is certainly still in here but she’s resting and healing from a lifetime of YEARNING for some damn thing that seems to be closer in to her these days, even as she lies still in the un-doing of it all..