The View From Here
hand-painted wool flannel upholstery, 1990
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Been busy filling out forms
With the hope of accessing some support from various places.
There is a veil of toxic smoke
Which literally circles my beloved Santa Fe
As wildfires burn willy nilly.
The general read on the consciousness
Of the population here
Is skittish and snippy and fearful.
And I am right there with them.
Until I’m not.
This girl is getting pretty darn practiced
At shifting her point-of-view
To a life-enhancing one
As needed.
It really has come down to this:
Fear, drama, shakin’-in-your-boots-mentality
Utterly bores me.
It is SO EASY to go there.
So seductive.
Like a religion, almost.
It is what we know best.
There HAS to be another way..
And I’m out to find it.
And find it again..
And again….
….
…..
Somewhere Special
monoprint, 1996, 22″ x 30″
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Last evening another fire broke out near Santa Fe.
Actually, this one is so close to Los Alamos Lab that they began evacuating voluntarily.
“Been here. Done this… ” they must be thinking.
A wildfire came dangerously close to the Lab a few years ago.
Last evening brought all eyes to the sky
As we saw ourselves smack in the middle of fires burning all around us.
30,000 foot plumes of smoke
From our precious
And now toasted
Forests.
And a small patch of blue
Just above Santa Fe.
One could almost smell the panic
Beginning to grab hold
Of Santa Feans used to basking
In the sweet fantasy
That we live in a ‘protected’ place here in central New Mexico.
By ‘protected’ I mean: “Nothing can hurt us because this is a SPECIAL place.”
Honestly… I am not sure there is room for the idea of ‘specialness’ anymore.
By way of this shared experience of
The impossibly blue skies of Santa Fe
Rendered sooty and roiling with smoke,
We begin to feel not so special after all…
As we stand there in the middle of the dirt road
With neighbors we’d never met
A sense of connection arrives
And we are surprised
At the gift of it.
The Very Sight of You
detail of monoprint
___________________
Seeing as we all are having a challenging time
Finding our way through the threshold at hand,
I often find an odd sort of peace
When I look at crop circles.
The religion of rationality
Isn’t really cutting it, is it?
Don’t get me wrong, here…
I’m all for the solace of order.
It feeds me. Keeps me grounded.
Inspires me. Taunts me.
I say ‘taunt’ as an ‘ordered’ existence is not my natural state.
I get caught in thinking I ‘should’ do this-n-that
Because, culturally speaking, we seem to have chosen the linear mind
As our favorite.
It is essential to me, sure.
But not to the point of exclusivity.
We really can’t afford to be exclusive on any front anymore.
The strange sense of hope,
Confusion and wonder
I get when I look at the perfection of geometric etchings
In the barley fields of a distant farmer
Help me to open
Into ‘something other’ that what I know.
And for that chink in my societal armor
I am grateful.
Damsel Ephemera
1991, monoprint, 30″ x 22″
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One of the best feelings in life
According to Cathy
Is the knowledge I have truly been HEARD.
And ‘heard’ without the filter of another’s desire or expectation about they WANT or NEED to hear..
I’ve spoken here, about my love of dragonflies.
Recently, a dear friend and I sat at a table together
And he presented me with a box.
I opened it and found a fossil
Of a DAMSEL FLY;
100 million years old found in Brazil.
The delicate, glassy wings
And her small, lively little body
Imprinted in limestone
For me
To appreciate
100 million years later.
Makes one stop to think:
What impression do I think I will leave
As my tailing…
To be held, perhaps,
By some curious and maybe wonderstruck creature
100 million years from now?
Will my essence be revealed
There, in the limestone?
Will my bones reveal my strength
And fragility?
My desires?
My dreams?
When I hold this fossil in my hand
The sense of time evaporates
And an almost unbearable intimacy
Rushes in
To suggest
That the purpose
Of this whole ‘thing’
May very well be
What seems at first like the small act
Of noticing GOoDNESS.
Red Saab Sun-Fun
“EVENING”, 2000, 11″ x 11″, m/m
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One of my favorite things to do is drive around New Mexico and look at stuff.
My friend has a Saab convertible.
The three of us (one chihuahua) went exploring yesterday.
We stopped to buy fresh cherries.
Spit the pits out as we went.
Sank into long silences.
Swooned over seeing that our beloved river, the Rio Grande, was still there
Considering it is burnt toast dry ’round here.
We found dirt roads that whispered “Come this way”
And we listened.
We saw some cool and creepy stuff
That will get woven into stories years from now.
I love my friend.
But not enough to have him watch me pee at the side of the road.
So I kept sending him off into the wilderness with the dog
While I supported myself on the side of the red Saab.
What I am about to tell you is the mark of a truly good friend.
This may be too much information so consider clicking off right here..
Peeing in the wilderness is a really satisfying activity in my book.
It has the taut quality of;
“Hurry, Hurry! Someone may come!”
But also, birds are singing and the pine needles are fragrancing
And you just look around
And appreciate the scenery.
Following ‘THE CROUCH”
One needs to arise once more…
And I could not.
I was humbled beyond any cool cover
And yelled for my friend.
He is strong.
And laughed at the whole predicament.
Then he helped me up- the girl with her pantaloons down..
All I could say was “LIFE IS SO WEIRD”.
And the three of us continued on our journey.
I got too much sun.
And I am glad.
I Got humbled.
And then I wasn’t anymore.
I got space in my heart from the land, the company,
The impossibly fresh air.
Space in my heart.. Space in my heart..
SPACE…………..
The River Enterer
detail of monoprint
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My life has been filled with taking the path less trodden.
These choices I’ve made come with costs, to be sure.
I can’t seem to stop leaving the house without a map.
Why is this?, I ask myself.
There are easier ways.
Paths with porta-potties along a manicured and tended forest trail..
But I seem to find it more interesting
To crawl over that boulder (metaphorically speaking)
To see what’s on the other side.
You see- I am bored by what I know!
Which makes the shadows and unknown terrain
My friends.
Sometimes I wish for a palanquin;
Because I can no longer go
All the places that call me.
I might surprise you
One day,
Phoning you up
To take hold
Of a corner of the thing…
My curiosity
Grabbing me by the scruff
Of my neck,
Stretched taut
At a whiff
Of a white flower
Over there,
Beyond my grasp.
Maya Angelou
“DEEP NIGHT”, 5′ x 4′, 1985, pigment on wool flannel
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I love Maya.
Everything about her;
Her GRACE, wisdom, compassion, fierce loyalty to her beliefs in the innate goodness of people, the fact she does not let people who practice false modesty remain in her home because she wants to be around those who know their gifts and are unapologetic about them…
Here is a gift for her:
.
A POEM FOR MAYA ANGELOU –
THE GREAT WAVE
Big.
Booming.
Blooming
Blackness.
A wave born somewhere
With no name
We know.
SHE RISES.
In the impossibly dark,
Irresistable dark
Curl of the wave;
HER
Stray hairs mixed with moonlight,
Damp and unruly
Tended by MOON;
We had to wait
Until we were ready
To bear
HER BLACKNESS
With NO thought
Of turning away.
The Mystery
Did not yet speak
A familiar language
To us
And
We were afraid.
***
She rode that wave
In the rise
And the FALL
Until
We could hear her,
Approach Her
To ask Her forgiveness
For our tardy
Arrival.
Perhaps the secrets
That came
With those roiling and watery waves
SHE rode
Would stick
To us
Like pollen.
And we
Could try
Once again
To LOVE.
Only
Better now.
****
That VOICE -
Holder of each
And EVERY sound
Ever sung,
Is too big for us.
The largest part
We know
Of ourselves
Stuck in our throat
When SHE speaks.
We are yet young.
Our balance
On the surfboard
Wobbly,
At best.
We Do
Keep going…
Out.
Further out.
Testing
Our
New
Skills
On
The Wave.
SHE,
All ready
At the shore,
Guiding us
Safely in.
***
The salve
Which
SHE IS:
Made of whispers
And crooked,
Beckoning fingers
Is
Inviting
All of Us
Into that dark
Of Mystery
And a dawn
-With new air and birdsong.
Rather
Like to a tea party
Fit for royalty (Us).
The manual
For sweet change
Is to read
Between the lines
Of
Her life. Her breath.
Poetry,
HIGH
Wisdom
And impossibly precious threads
Of The Tapestry
Ready
To Be
Worked.
Our summons:
Handwritten
By HER
To roll
And s-p-r-e-a-d
On to the beach
At Dawn.
(but not alone as She had to.)
***
She asks us
Never to lose sight
Of the rightness
Running in the blood
Of those who took
The ‘us’
Out of RIGHT ous NESS.
We should look,
(I think she would say)
For our tribe;
They’re home
May well be hidden.
Down some scrubby, dusty path
Traveled by few.
But find them
We must.
***
We will
All
Begin
Crafting a spanking new
Stepping stone path
With Her pearls
And Grace
And impossibly large
And ready
Smile
Decorating
Our New
Host
Of meeting rooms
Open to those
REAL – ly
Ready
To ride
The Great Wave.
.
.
.CA 2011
My Radio Interview
“SWIMMING”, 5′ x 5′, 1985, pigment on wool flannel
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Here is a podcast of my recent radio interview with the fabulous Desiree Cox, MD.
This is something different than the recent talk I did in Santa Fe
But I thought you might like to have a listen.
It is an hour long and works in bits and pieces if you haven’t the time for the whole deal..
We had fun.
Gifts of the Mother
hand painted terry cloth robe, 1986
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I fell the other day.
It happened in a dirt parking lot which was rutted and sandy.
I was not hurt.
I slipped in the gravel next to my car as I was negotiating the narrows I had left between a railroad tie and the car in an attempt to give my dog some shade.
Needless to say, it was not a handicapped parking spot.
As I sat there in the dirt, I looked at Olivia who was sitting in the driver’s seat with a mixture of confusion, compassion, impatience and love on her face.
We chatted, my beloved dog and I as I sat there in the dirt.
“Well, Livvy… here I am sitting here and I can’t get up.”
Her eyes go half mast as they do when she feels love toward people.
I tried to turn myself over but my feet kept slipping underneath the car, not able to get a foothold in the dirt.
“Let’s try this again… hmmmm… if I hold on here and twist here, I might be able to do it..”
This went on for 15 minutes without a tear in sight.
Yes, I was swimming in humility.
Yes, I was frustrated.
Yes, I wanted to be ‘saved.’
But most of all it felt like a challenge far from the spiral of darkness it could easily have attached itself to.
What does this have to do with MOTHER?
I am the eldest of four.
I saw an old family movie recently where I was impossibly innocent and cute.
There was light there in my eyes.
I lost that at 5 years old when I got buck teeth and a new, blonde sister.
Something happened, then, that put me on a very gritty road I actually am not sorry about.
I was… believe me..
But not now.
Because I really am enjoying who I am these days and know she came forward BECAUSE OF choices I made in the midst of a challenging childhood.
My mother and I parted emotionally supportive ways early on.
Pretty much at birth.
She wasn’t ready to be stripped of the possibility of getting her own enormous needs met.
Forgive her? No.. not there as yet.
My sister got to ‘have’ her.
I have sometimes hated my sibling for the injustice of it all.
My sister became my mother’s confidant and ballast and empty space-filler-in-er.
They gathered in the kitchen whispering and judging.
A covert comment.. then the weird ‘cover’ of silent cooking or cleaning or: “Just LOOK at that crabapple tree in bloom.”
Needing a place of my own, I learned how to change myself around to charm, entertain, soothe and mollify my alcoholic FATHER.
She got mom; I got dad.
This arrangement served us well in the ability to survive a very dysfunctional family.
But my sister and I lost each other in the process.
I became a juvenile delinquent as I spun around, trying to finding a place in the world that felt free and mine.
I spent hours and days in the woods behind our toxic house, soothed by nature and the blessed non-humanness of it all.
I smoked cigarettes, pot, did drugs and skipped school.
I got a semblance of the attention I was so hungry for.
My mother and I got so far apart that when I was raped as a college student she did not show up at all.. a cursory “I’m so sorry” on the phone was the extent of support.
I asked her why? years later and she said: “I just didn’t know what to do or say.”
My sister and other siblings have created healthy and happy families, marriages and lives.
I am so proud of us all for surviving what we did without hurling our unhappiness outward toward whoever was there at the moment and creating good lives for ourselves.
I see that my sister knows how to be in relationship in ways I don’t.
Watching her in family and marriage inspires me and instructs as well.
This ability she has is the thing I envied for so long and can only happen as a transmission from ‘the mother.’
When I was struggling in the dirt of the parking lot after my fall, I was using all the skills I learned as an independent and rebellious forsaken child:
I know how to work my way through challenge by entertaining myself with a shift in point-of-view.
My movement toward Life includes the ability to NOT COLLAPSE and trust myself to know I can figure a way to achieve the thing.
I find myself and Life eternally interesting as I watch the ways in which people (and I) negotiate the shadow; society’s and their own.
I have learned to find solace and inspiration in the smallest of things.
We protect the things we love.
I grew up without that sense of safety that should have been a given.
I have had to learn to lick my wounds and choose now to enliven in each moment because it feels good.
This is an EARNED skill and truly one of my greatest achievements.
These abilities are the things I love and protect.
Here’s where duality comes in:
I know what LOVE feels like BECAUSE I also have been privy to it’s absence.
I can get over myself and love my sister,
And keep those away from my sphere who want what I have without putting in the work.
Because work it is
And truthfully, I’ve had enough.
I open myself now,
As a healthy, emotionally sturdy
LOVER OF LIFE;
Albeit a bit grimy on the backside.
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.