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..
Voting
detail of ceramic sculpture, 2002
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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.