Voting
detail of ceramic sculpture, 2002
_______________________________
I have food issues.
My body is very sensitive to certain things and I try to avoid wheat, dairy, corn, sugar, grains, soy, alcohol and there are probably more I’ve forgotten.
I have experienced myself move into and out of malnutrition as I : 1. Try to eat in a way that supports my healing and 2. Fill up an insistent empty hole in me (both stomach-wise and the psychological kind) by polishing off a dessert or something else known to affect my weakness level.
Back and forth..
Back and forth.
I am hungry.
I feel deprived.
I ate that ganache’ and I’m unable to lift myself out of this chair.
I really have most of the information I need at this point to eat a diet that is fully supportive of my healing but watch myself falling off the wagon just like an alcoholic.
I AM HUNGRY AND I WANT THAT CHEESE!
NO! YOU MAY NOT HAVE IT!
Well, watch THIS! I’M EATING IT ANYWAY.
Does this sound like a well-balanced woman? No, it does not.
There’s a little girl in here that is hungry and she wins out sometimes and when she does, I can’t walk.
So, I talk myself into VOTING FOR MYSELF once again…
The big ‘S’ in Self.
And I try to find other ways to take care of the hungry girl in me..
The point is, I’m still trying to find ways to walk away from crackers and relish the access I get to muscular strength.
You’d think it’s a no-brainer..
But I ain’t got it down as yet..
And back I go to the voting booth.
Eclipse
untitled, 2003, 11″ x 11″ x 4, m/m
__________________________________
Tomorrow we have a lunar eclipse to look forward to.
I am peripherally interested in astrology and those guys say: “TRUST CHANGE.”
Well, I’m pretty dang tired of change these days, truth be told.
My nights and days are full of giving myself grief over undone life things like messy closets and projects and bills and phone calls and unwashed dishes and dry cleaning needing to be picked up.
Yes, there are meadows dotted with wildflowers and bunnies scattered in the midst of my days.
Sleep used to be a respite but lately, even those realms are tainted.
Oddly, I am finishing up a book proposal and the writing of it is the solace in my life at the moment.
That and a flirty-thing going on.
Sometimes I want to throw in the towel.
But I haven’t the strength to make the toss.
Pathetic but real.
This season of change we are ALL INSIDE is horrible.
And necessary.
And anger-provoking.
And patience-making.
I hate change.
And I need it.
We all need it.
Sometimes, I feel as if my body acts as a little microcosm of the out-in-the-world frustrations of collapse and rebuilding.
I am tired.
So very tired.
But we don’t have a choice.. not a one of us.
We get up and handle the stuff shoveled our way.
Make a neat pile or toss it in a messy heap.
The key seems to be action.
No matter how large or small.
It acts like a ballot put in the voting box of LIFE, I think.
So, today, with this small act of writing my truth, I cast my vote for life.
God, give me the strength to keep moving through my day and participating at a healthy and vibrant level.
And forgive me if I can’t.
Secret Color
When I was living in Boston in the 80’s, I worked as a textile designer for my company called BETES de COULEUR (Beast of Color).
We sold very expensive hand-painted mens and women’s wear.
We didn’t sell too many actually, so the life of the business was short.
But we did do great stuff.
And got oodles of good press.
We made things like this robe from a vast and filthy loft in a bad part of town.
It was a very alive place, that loft.
My partner loved heavy metal music and I learned to tune it out and hunker down in my area focused on color and pattern and dye and brushes and color…
I have always known how to create my own world.
Initially out of necessity and then as I got older, out of necessity again.
This robe is the last remaining piece from our collections.
It hangs in my closet.
I love how it just looks like a fairly plain blue robe until you open it up.
In my own life these days I watch how I am very judicious about when and with whom I show my own colors.
I used to splash them around all over the place.
SEE ME! SEE ME!!
Invisibility? NO! … SEE ME!
How funny that these days invisibility is not an option as I wobble around town with my walker and wheelchair.
Not really funny but how weird that life has given me what I wanted.
The thing is that I now choose very consciously where and with whom I show my colors.
They are hard won and precious.
There is nothing about me that even resembles splashy these days.
But I am not without the spontaneity of a water balloon toss..
It’s just that it isn’t an everyday event.
You never can tell when the wind might catch the hem of my robe and turn it such that you think you see color but aren’t at all sure that you saw anything at all.
Hectic Heart
untitled, 22″ x 30″, 1992, monoprint
_____________________________________
It is scarily hot here.
For too long now.
Yesterday I got caught without any liquids with me and stopped into the golden arches for an iced tea.
They were a beacon of light when I saw them there.. I was beyond thirst and heading into MS heat shutdown fast.
So, I waited in the drive thru but it was lunchtime and too many others were there with me in line.
I felt myself crossing over into ‘borderline-human’ status as the heat worked on me.
I start to hate everyone and my tolerance level hit zero.
Finally, with oversized cup in hand I pull away toward the exit.
There are cars coming and going at an alarming rate; they’ve got a mini window of time for lunch and they NEED it BAD.
And so.. mayhem ensues as each is out for themselves; getting into line FAST!
I’m waiting there at the exit to try to do just that.. EXIT this damn place and get what I need: peace and liquids in me.
BUT NNNNNNNOOOOOOO…
NO ONE WILL LET ME EXIT.
I can’t get out of there.
Panic peeks around the corner with a knife in her hand, a very ugly mask and my heartbeat runs too fast.
I call up a smidgeon of humaneness and say a prayer of pure supplication: “Dear God.. Please have someone see that I have to get out of this parking lot immediately and let me go before them. Please let civility be alive and present.”
And there it was… the miracle at McDonalds.. a white (of course) Honda with dark glazed windows paused to let me leave.
Somehow, when angels appear to help, we never seem to get to identify them so a proper thank you can pass between us.
They appear, then they’re gone on their way to help another needy human.
I pulled onto a shady street and drank down my iced tea and felt the slow return of my sanity.
I finally remembered myself and was glad.
And there was peace and a quiet and grateful heart.
Woman Becoming
“WOMAN BECOMING”, 6′ x 45″, m/m
___________________________________
This is likely the most pivotal piece of art I ever created.
I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to create that day and this arrived unbidden.
I was a little afraid..
The process of bringing her to form was tumultuous and other-worldly as I lost touch with time and place and just stepped out of the way.
My intention that day was to create a wedding gift for my husband to be I was to marry in the next few months.
Having set that purpose it was up to me to set all ego based wanting to the side and watch to see what wanted to come forward.
She was so insistent and fierce and vulnerable at the same time.
The piece took my breath away as it was nothing like anything I had ever created before.
My husband loved it and we both enjoyed her company for the years we remained married.
When we divorced he generously asked if I’d like her back.
I look at this photo of her and see the giant red schism running down her middle and the fact she has no discernable legs.
She was so much wiser than I at the time.. the bride- to-be enchanted by endless wooing with fine wine and status gleaned from the attentions of the company president.
I slipped so terrifyingly easily into the ’serve-your-man’ job description.
I entertained with sparkly dinner tables and took second seat as he attempted to sell his business.
I lost my legs.
Forgive me if it sounds as if I am blaming him.
That, certainly is a seductive road.
But the truth be told, the schism was ‘Cathy created” pure and anything but simple.
How weird is it that now, as I have MS as my companion, I get my legs back?
In reality, each day I seem to lose a bit more muscle strength.
They are untrustable, my legs.
But the ground I’ve covered since way back when!
Now, THAT takes my breath away!
And she was all the wiser, that girl who appeared as the unbidden wedding gift..
All raw and halved and yet-to-be-formed.
Such a gorgeous gift she was. IS.
Her voice still, to this day, sings to me. A whispered reminder.
Authority of Descent
“MAYA”, 1998, 5′ x 3′, m/m
____________________________
I remember being on vacation once and the sea tossed me hard and long as I scraped the bottom and lost track of the direction I needed to go in to breathe.
I was down there too long and suddenly I realized I no longer needed breath; I was absolutely fine. More than fine.
When I did make it up for air I thought: “Did I breathe underwater? What the hell just happened here?”
I never did answer that question.
I think because the mystery of it all was bigger than the urge to have an answer that was right.
I see now it was a dollop of grace.
One I’ve used repeatedly over the years since.
There are those of us with the draw to dive deep.
No matter what the outcome, we continually go after the pressure that builds and the work it takes to remain conscious as we explore depths unknown to but a few.
Down there we see stuff.
Feel things.
Change to meet the unfamiliar depths.
We resurface different.
Our whole being wraps itself around the challenge of uncharted territory and we push aside the loneliness of each step because we can.
My own proclivity has always been to move toward the deep.
Now, as I have the companionship of a chronic illness it takes me a bit longer to suit up but I continue to dive and be glad of it.
The weight of the illness actually helps me go deeper faster and stay there longer.
Sure, there are hardships to endure and exhaustion; overload of new information, decompression and the constant effort to reacclimate to everyday life as I rejoin the land lovers.
But I still go in. Have to go in. And see what I can effect by doing, thinking, being different.
I think it is worth the effort.
I don’t honestly know how to do it differently.
So should you ever need to know how to breathe underwater, gimme a call and I’ll tell you everything I know.
You’ll likely be disappointed as the stuff I know doesn’t come easy to the telling of it.
But if you close your eyes for a moment you likely can feel a bit of the chill of the deep.
It feels good I’m told, on a hot and humid day.
Great Day
detail, textile design
___________________
Went gallivanting yesterday.
I called an old friend I hadn’t seen in a few years as his relationship with another woman precluded ours.We had separated on good terms but there seemed no room for me in his life after that so I let it be.
I got gutsy the other day and called him up.
I broke our silence recently and called him. I asked if he still wanted to be my friend.
There are people in life with whom I have formed a secure and satisfying bond and neither distance nor time seems to have any effect.
This friend is one of those gifts; too valuable to toss into the corner with an “Oh, well…”
He told me that yes, indeed, he would like to be my friend.
Interestingly, he is in the process of unweaving his prior relationship but I had no notion of picking up where we left off.. I want him solely as my friend.
When I look to my inner circle these days, safety (physical, emotional, spiritual), an ability to see outside ones self, a good dose of irreverence and the capacity to swim in deep waters are hallmarks of those I keep close to me.
I listen to myself say “feeling safe” over and over in my life. What does that mean?
In the case of yesterday it meant that when he drove my car I trusted his skill.
I felt he kept his eye on me all day in an unobtrusive way, watching out for my well being.
We drove away from Santa Fe and felt the static of the city stayed behind us as we found hidden red dirt roads that looked like good picnic possibilities.
He found a great spot but it was over hill and dale and outside my normal comfort zone of navigating my walker.
I started to go into my default “NO.”
He said, “Just piggyback. Grab hold my neck and I’ll carry you.”
At first, I balked but his offer sounded so normal and without any weirdness attached to it that I said ok.
We sat in this great spot by the river for awhile till the bugs got us and decided to find a better spot.
It was time for me to get up from the ground.
I didn’t know how.
Usually, I have something to push up with but not here.
“I don’t know how to do this, ” I say.
We try a number of different solutions and start laughing.
It all felt so natural (almost) and fun.
I finally made it up and piggybacked to the car while squealing like a schoolgirl.
That whole thing felt safe.
I am so damned uses to the gravity of being CAREFUL and truncating my life in so many ways because of disability.
Yesterday helped me see and feel options.
I certainly DID NOT ‘look good’ as I struggled to get to the picnic place or try to stand up.
NOTHING WAS NORMAL.
I have a new normal.
And I saw it can be fun.
In order for me to settle into my new normal, I will keep those around me I feel I can test untried territory with and risk failure AND success.
I know it’s all an inside job but the company one keeps helps open sticky doors.
Self Portrait
“SEED”, 48″ x 48″, 2004,m/m
_____________________________
Most of my art tends toward self portraiture in the sense that I do my best work when I don’t know what I’m doing.
Rather, instead of DECIDING exactly what I think the piece should be I ALLOW it to emerge and in that way I always learn something about myself by letting the work teach me.
Sometimes this happens immediately as I am completing a piece or it could creep up on me years, even decades later.
Certainly, there are themes that have arisen over the years in varying colors and forms.
This is one such theme; that of striated layers with a seed-like form in various states of gestation.
So much of my work has included layering and a sort of hierarchy evident in the obvious ‘below and above’ the horizontal orientation.
What I have learned over these many years intimately entangled in a tempestuous relationship with a chronic illness is that it is all relative.
The climb and the energy output in trying to reach the summit always held such a gleam.
The physical test and the sweat outpour involved in putting one foot still higher on the ladder when the air was too damn thin.
Now, I can’t lift my leg high enough to clear just one measly rung on the thing.
But, funny enough, I am so much stronger.
Not the physical kind at the moment but the sort of strength inherent in the seed; the force that makes us burn through the rocks and weight of earth and keep doing it until we can’t.
And take a rest to gather ourselves gaining strength from the most mundane of things; reviving ourselves with the slow sensuality of water seeping through the dry ground and the impossibly rich smell of ready earth.
And we press on..
These things are my church. This is where I pray.
The small and weak and silent and threadbare..
How loud they have become to my ears.
And how very satisfying their song.
And I press on…
Slight Obstacle
untitled monoprint, 1990, 22″ x 30″
_________________________________
It seems after a certain amount of time on the planet one would be quite sure that any less-than-fabulous emotion or bump in the road would likely be different an hour from now or tomorrow would find the situation a distant memory…
So then why is it when a new symptom adds itself to my list or I find myself mired in foggy territory do I KNOW THE SITUATION IS PERMANENT??????
I find it utterly ridiculous that I do not know at this point that depression lasts for two days max in my world (mostly) and symptoms are often ghost-like in their arrival and departure.
It is quite unacceptable that I lock down into these states of being leaving all thoughts of possibility and reality checking behind.
MS is scary shit, no doubt about it.
Just pause, Cath, and let the twitching eye have it’s day or the renegade toe curling likely will unfurl tomorrow.
I want so VERY much to remember when the demonic iron gates of hell go up that I am quite sure I saw a faulty join in the grid; easy enough for a girl my size to slither through.
I think I could still make it with a vagrant toe and a hyperactive eye.
Yes, I am quite sure I can.
Newness
“EGG”, 1997, 30″ x 20″, m/m (see handprint in lower right)
_____________________________
“My life closed twice before it’s close.”
Emily Dickinson wrote that.
It makes me think of all the little deaths and births that I am privy to of late.
Traveling with disability is probably a bit like childbirth in that you’d never be able to describe it to anyone who hasn’t experienced it.
There’s the cushy side of sailing past long lines of irate people waiting for security.
You flash your ID and whoosh! You take cuts with no shame at all…
Then you get patted down by a rubber gloved security agent in places where no one has touched you in too long.
After that, you educate the (in my case TOTALLY STONED) wheelchair pusher guy about what to do as far as which thing I need next to re-adorn myself; the brace, the shoe, the jacket, the walker, etc..
He’s freaking because he knows he’s screwing up and my voice gets tight and his tip is quickly becoming a token of what’s left of my generous spirit but no more. He’s working on the drug-induced time delay of lazy brain firing.
There is time till take off so positioning near the bathroom is key.
I like this time of watching humanity.
People are kind.
And not.
Mostly, I fade into my witness-mode.
A very great thing about disability is the fact you get the best seat in the plane w/ legroom and, in my case, no one next to you.
On my return to Santa Fe, when my energy reserves were spent and I looked like shit and only had it in me to be borderline civil, THAT STONED WHEELCHAIR PUSHER GUY PICKED ME UP AGAIN!
As he dropped me off at my friends car I gave it to him.
The animal came out and stayed out.
I will write a letter to the airline but I pretty much scared the bejesus out of the droopy-panted guy.
My tone, body language and searing half-masted eyes said: “YOU HAVE GOT TO PAY ATTENTION HERE… I FEEL UNSAFE AND AM TOO TIRED TO MAKE UP FOR YOUR SLOPPINESS. WAKE UP!”
Yeah.. I knew that undomesticated girl was in there somewhere.
It felt good to want to make it home alive.