Break
detail of ceramic sculpture, 14″d x 12″h, 1977
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I have a wise friend.
Yesterday, we spoke and she shared something with me about narcissism.
I happened to have had the queen of narcissists for a mother.
It was always all about her. Always. Always.
But each and every one of us began thinking we were the center of the universe until we were rudely awakened to the fact that THERE ARE OTHERS HERE WITH US WHO HAVE THEIR NEEDS TOO!
Yuk..
My friend was speaking of how each of us chooses a tactic for survival at that pivotal point.
When dealing with the NARCISSISTIC WOUND we either inflate ourselves as a counter-attack or we deflate.
We carry this tactic along with us into adulthood, long after the threat experienced in childhood is gone.
I tend to DEFLATE.
It looks like this:
I beat myself up all the time for perceived mistakes.
If something is ‘off’ in any way I tend to look towards my self for the cause.
I don’t make use of my full vocabulary in order not to put someone off.
I ‘dumb down’ in order not to shine too bright and take attention away from others.
An example of INFLATION might look like how my father used to cover up his wound.
He worked for General Motors and because of his position, could bring home new cars to test out for a few months at a time.
We all knew the script to pull out for these moments: ‘DAD IS GREAT AND GOOD AND THIS IS SO EXCITING AND HOW LUCKY WE ARE!’
He charmed everyone at family gatherings with his shiny good looks and easy sociability to such an extent he had people lined up to get a bit of the heat.
We got the dregs of his drunkenness.
I think this way of looking at myself and others is so interesting.
In the theater-of-it-all I can now begin to distinguish my own and others PRIMARY ESSENCE before we picked the INFLATION or the DEFLATION card.
It is so easy to see now and so much easier to forgive.
I watch myself going: “Oh yeah.. he’s feeling scared so he wants me to know how great he is.”
Or: “I feel really insecure on this date so I’ll try to connect by telling him a fault of mine (mistaking this for intimacy)”
This is a GREAT piece of information my friend shared.
It feels so freeing to me.. uncomplicated and true and practical.
Today, I’m going out there to try and keep my tires road trip-ready.. not too much air nor too little..
So they can take the bumps as they were meant to.
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.
White
“WHITE SANDS”, 2008, each piece = 14″ x 14′ X 7″, gypsum, wood
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Yesterday, I pulled a sage green sweater from my closet and put it on.
I went about my morning and noticed I was getting really irritated and depressed.
There was a pile of clothes on the floor and I watched myself keep looking at a violet shirt I had worn the previous day.
It wouldn’t let me go.
Finally, I realized the green of the thing I had on was NOT WORKING FOR MY WELL BEING.
I tore it off and put on the violet shirt.
Immediately, I began to feel more myself and as the day progressed I lost all memory of the depression.
SO…….. WHAT HAPPENED THERE?
If you look in my closet you will see a lot of black, white and variations on red.
I seem to be particularly sensitive to color on my body.
I have learned which ones let the essence of me shine through without their own overlay of agenda.
Doesn’t this sound very ‘Santa Fe’?
But really… color affects me deeply and I think, all of us to varying degrees.
It is a powerful tool.
Just watch women in the political realms staking their claim to power.
They wear a horrible shade of orange-red suit.
Someone told them red is a power color.
And they take that to the bank without a modicum of finesse.
What SHADE of red works for me?
IS RED EVEN A POWER COLOR FOR ME?
How do I know?
All very good questions, indeed.
For me, WHITE happens to serve me best when I want and need all my ducks in a row. It is a power color for me.
BLACK is purely neutral in my case and I understand why I have so much of it in my closet.
On my way toward discovering my authentic self I could have nothing that distracted me from my task. The vibe of bright yellow, for instance, might’ve sent me to the loony bin.
Yesterday, I was heading in that direction but caught myself in time.
I love sanity.
And knowing some tools to keep me there.
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…
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.
Church Ladies
detail of ceramic sculptures, 1995
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My girlfriend has a 10 year old son.
He wanted to go to church.
She, not being ‘organized religion savvy’ looked on the internet for Santa Fe possibilities. (Good techie mom she is..)
The UNITARIAN-UNIVERSALIST people won.
Yesterday, I went too.
I usually am really put off by the initial barrage of false-feeling, bug eyed strangers heading in my direction as I walk into a church for the first time.
‘She has done this before’, you say….
Yes. I am drawn to ritual. I like the feeling of singing with others. I do enjoy a bit of faith-en-mass.
Incense, candlelight, humility and hope and mystery seem like good companions sometimes.
Yesterday, I was surprised by sincerity.
No push to join the group.
No one asked for my vitals.
Just a bunch of regular folks setting aside some precious time to come together and turn their hearts toward something other than themselves.
Homage to the ‘larger than us’ we tend to tuck away at the back of the drawer.
I loved sitting with my friend.
We judged people.
(We talked about this later)
And we sang.
My voice was so small. I took note of that.
We all sat in the midst of the tailings of a theater performance the church had put on; painted scenery and make-shift changing rooms and other flotsom from the previous night.
The only real prop added to the actual service was a chalice with a candle and flame in the center.
All the makings of a very human existence were well represented and had a place reserved for them: sorrow, hope, meditation, voice, order, chaos, questions and there were even a few answers.
I was left with the calm and pleasure in my friends company.
And the strangers who I didn’t need to armor myself against.
I liked the whole thing a lot and may go back.
So precious this human journey as we try to make sense of it all.
I feel the need here to tell my version of a church I’d love to attend:
Gospel choir.. very black and sort of wild, the event held in a wood down a secret path somewhere in the high desert at dusk or dawn, rocks and hay bales for chairs, a 10 year old kid next to me and a Native American teenager on the other side. No words read from any book. A chance to speak if moved to do so. Flowers, flowers everywhere. Animals, animals everywhere. Unlikely characters pouring out of the half-dark. And at the center of it all just a simple fire. And the unmistakable presence of the ‘all-that-is.’ And the sound would be one I had never, ever heard before. And everyone I have ever loved or ever wanted to would be there.
Amen.
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.
Bellybutton
detail of sculpture
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A contemplative life could very well appear as navel gazing.
As my large installation-creating abilities drop away they are being replaced by an inward turn.
My nature has always been such that I wonder and muse and put my attention on systems.
Oftentimes those systems are things like this: how does all the produce sold at a grocery store get from the plot of farmland to the truck to the right road to the warehouse to the packager to the store to the right isle?
Stuff like that.
It is just the way my mind works. Loving the connections hidden from us that get the trains where they should be at the right time, all shiny and ready to take us where we want to go.
I find it intriguing.
These days, going in like I am, I look in directions like these: What actually creates health? What is a rich life? Is this what God feels like? Why do I get this weird feeling when I am with this one person? I feel crummy this morning. Is it something I ate or something I thought or something that belongs to someone else? My heart is wide and open here but protected and armored in this circumstance. Why?
You think about things like these which at the outside seem self indulgent, but as answers start coming clearer, guideposts appear for a thriving existence.
All the dross of a me-centric life starts shifting toward a BE-centric one.
It seems to start out like an endless array of self-centric psyche-diving but somehow along the way it moves into a wide and open place where I start leaving the ME behind.
I feel it beginning to happen and the solace of it keeps me riveted.
My ‘ME’ was/is so damn jam packed with ‘other-than-space’ that the little I’m privy to at the moment is very, very good medicine.
I guess the thing that is getting me here is the call to follow a particular system of thought, being, doing and keep following like a perfect dance partner.. giving myself over to the slight brush of a thigh or a pressure directing me left and moving into a turn and then a titillating pause..
When I think of it like that; as a call to follow rather than an ego based decision to do this or that, I see it is God’s language that is the main event and I am rapt with intrigue at the thing unveiling itself.
New Territory
installation untitled, 1991, ceramic, earth, coal
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I feel inclined to mention the fact I have felt pretty ‘off’ the last week.
It shows up as less-than-great writing and sort of threadbare thinking.
I could beat myself up for my ‘less-than-perfectness.’
But I’ve done so much of that over the years that it positively bores me.
I know by now that when my life (mind, emotions, connection to God, housekeeping-inner and outer) starts becoming messy it likely means I am in the midst of big change.
And I am.
This territory I am moving into is new to me and negotiating it means making a lot of mistakes as we come to learn each other.
The best I can do is allow the messiness and forgive myself.
And I can.
And I do.