The Fall
detail of ceramic sculpture
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As a gymnast in my youth my events were the balance beam, floor exercise and uneven parallel bars.
These are not team sports. Success in each depends on a laser-beam confidence and will.
I think back on what it took to walk, spin, leap and roll on 4 inches of wood standing 5 feet off the ground.
The action and spiritual quest of harnessing interior worlds to behave and serve me in a desired outcome is territory I have never tired of. Back then, a fall was humbling. These days it is life threatening.
It’s all the same, though.. same quest for balance.
The language of the act has had to shift from willing a personal result to the symphony of inter-dependance.
I am beginning to find this territory far more intriguing than my private worlds in the gymnastic realm.
My ‘win’ was dependent on my personal map-making. I went where I wanted, how I wanted and designed a routine I lived inside and performed that in front of the audience.
The response I received was either apathetic or loud and electric depending on whether the witnessing of my tricks left my world and infected the audience.
Below me and my balance beam there was the floor… the enemy, really.
‘Do whatEVER you must to stay off the floor’ was my credo.
These days, my entire life is lived on that floor which is the great equalizer in life, I think..
I took a fall, metaphorically speaking.
The choice of the image above from a sculpture of mine came from the response it gets from people: “It is scary!” or this: “It looks like a sea anemone in the ocean.”
All boils down to point of view…
I see myself using the acuity of a gymnasts’ world to inform my current life as I negotiate getting from a chair down to the floor in yoga class or even just getting out of bed.
I am blessed with muscle memory from my competition days but the skill I lean on the most is my inherent knowing of what an elegant, self-posessed TRANSITION looks and feels like; the shift from a willful woman to one who embodies more patience, mercy and kindness for herself and others.
These gifts from ‘the floor’ I value highly. They are my trophy.
How To Be With A Disabled Person
untitled, 1993, 4″ x 1″, ceramic
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1. I HAVEN’T STOPPED LOVING YOU- I JUST HAVE TO LOVE MYSELF MORE
I know that people who care about me want so much to let me know they are here for me in whatever way I might need. The thing is: I often DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS because this is such uncharted territory; for both me and my compadres. I have had to pull into myself and rearrange my values, needs, desires, finances, spirituality, social life, closet, pet care, diet, exercise and living situation. IF I have any juice left over- you will get it, I promise. Believe me, this takes a big dose of “BE NICE TO YOURSELF, CATH…” I beat myself up because I am so much less available to you and I don’t really like it.
2. THINGS YOU COULD DO TO HELP ME
When you ask me “What can I do?” it puts an extra burden on me to come up with something to take care of YOUR desire to ease my way. Think about it: If your own life were to feel more narrow in physical ways; say you had little energy and couldn’t get out in the world as much, what things would bring life to your door and ease your way?
Things I love:
a. My sister sends me books she has liked.
b. Magazines make my world wider: spirituality, design, nature, science, smart women’s mags. DVDs from SAM’s (cheap!)
c. bring me soup or stew to last a couple days or food from a restaurant I love.
d. beauty (flowers, girly stuff I can no longer afford, great DVD on art, nature, ANYthing you think I’d like.. book on tape)
e. offer to fix stuff in my home
f. ask if you could do an errand for me- mail p/u, drugstore, office supply
g. tell me about a great website you think I’d like
h. offer to take me on a drive in nature
i. take my dog for a walk if it snows and I can’t get out
j. tell me you love me no matter what
k. one friend lets me know she is thrilled when I get really bitchy and really let it rip. we laugh and I feel released.
3. I CARE THAT YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WHAT YOU DO MEANS TO ME AND WORRY YOU DON’T FEEL ACKNOWLEDGED ENOUGH
It is human nature to want a good deed acknowledged and to feel better about yourself after an effort expended on someone else’s behalf. Know that I try my best but won’t always get it right.
4. DON’T STAY TOO LONG
My cut-off point for a visit from you is an hour- maybe an hour and a half on a good day. I love our time together and need it but I get tired quickly. Sometimes just dropping things at my door works better (always with a ‘heads-up’ call first) so I’m not forced to make myself presentable if I haven’t the energy. Email works great for me as opposed to phone conversations. I can choose when I can be most present and connect from there. Lacking in intimacy but a sacrifice I seem to need.
5. OPEN DOORS FOR ME (even bathrooms if you are near and see I could use the help)
Just say: “May I help you with this?” gives me the opportunity to decide. I always love the little (sometimes big) opportunity to connect with someone in this way. There aren’t really that many times to safely feel like we can offer assistance to someone in need in our culture. Sometimes homeless people look a little scary though we might want to ease their way. When someone offers to open my door, I look them straight in the eye and say: “Thank you so much. I appreciate that.” I feel good. They feel good.
6. I KNOW YOU WANT TO FIX ME
Don’t forget this is my journey with horrors as well as miracles along the way just like yours. You may be very sure you would know how to do my journey differently and better were it you in my shoes.
Perhaps so. I pray you’ll never know. I am doing the very best I can; making mistakes, having success… Please don’t feel sorry for me. My road has treasures strewn about every which way I look… Now if I could only bend down to get them!! Honestly- I love my life even with all this challenge. Really.
7. I COULDN’T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU
Just knowing you are there and care about me eases my way like you will never know.
The Gift Of Tears
detail of installation, 1990, porcelain, 5″ x 3″
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I wonder why I don’t cry more often
With these challenges on my plate.
A good ‘tear-washing’ feels so darn good
In the end.
I don’t seem to weep in pain
Or weakness.
Sometimes abject humility
Or frustration and anger can get me going.
But seldom fear.
I find this odd.
I had an occasion years ago
On a visit to my favorite
‘Gotta find God fast’ spot I know:
CHRIST IN THE DESERT MONASTERY.
I go there for the experience of beauty and peace.
Those monks surely knew how to pick some killer real estate, I tell you..
Anyway, they have a small gift shop there
Attended by one of the monks.
He seemed primed to be a witness.
I said: (in a courageous and transparent moment during a conversation we were having on music):
“I cry at the oddest moments.
My tears often surprise me
With their suddenness and velocity,
Their inopportune arrival most times.
I can’t hold them back.
They embarrass me.”
He replied: “Have you ever heard of THE GIFT OF TEARS
In the Bible?
Yes, it is a real thing- the heart becomes so filled with beauty or joy or love or appreciation or connection or revelation
That it can not hold it all
And must spill over.
Those are your tears.”
And so..
My embarrassment lifted
And my tears have seldom felt like the enemy
From that day forward.
Black Whole
Untitled, 1992, 14″ x 9″, ceramic
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Let this photo stand to prove I made some scary stuff in my art career!
Interestingly, people have often used the word ‘scary’ to describe my work.
I think it is because I allow very primal places to be visible.
Today’s return to posting marks the longest hiatus I’ve taken from this blog.
There is a reason and I’d prefer to stay mute.
But I won’t.
This virtual place you’ve come to
Is about healing
Which, as we know, can be messy.
I am smack in the center of the new realities of my life:
I know what I’ll receive from Social Security Disability
Which is minimal as I never worked for anyone else but myself most of my life.
I’ll receive Supplemental Security support as well.
My family has stepped up to make sure I am not on the street.
It embarrasses me to say that until all ‘this’ started happening in real time
I really DID NOT GET IT;
‘It’ meaning the severity of the situation.
It is one thing to intellectually understand that your life is about to change
And quite another to negotiate the waters themselves.
By ‘negotiating’ I mean recognizing my new means,
Re-prioritizing to food and shelter,
And sitting with what feels very empty, at first.
Absolutely no more making casual decisions regarding money.
I remember my mother on her incessant quest for treasure through all the thrift stores in town.
Her soul was hungry from neglect.
Finding a designer ‘something’ filled her.
For me: I have done the same
With buying books, coffee, clothes, eating out…
All in the name of filling in empty places
With unconscious acquisition
And vague accounting.
By reconciling my financial life
And taking a real look at where and how I have used money
I begin to sense the reversal of
My lifetime of leaking life energy.
I sense that my heights of creativity
Allowed a balance point for the see-saw;
The life-force generated by my art-making
Did a good job of veiling the reality of a vague and untended relationship to money.
So now- I get an opportunity to life differently.
I say that with deep weariness in my bones, yes,
Because I am so damn tired of life-lessons.
People are whispering behind my back: “I wish her life was easier.”
And I wonder about that as well…
I HAVE had what seems like a lion’s share of challenge.
And yet..
The largest part of me keeps dusting her Self off
And putting lipstick on to begin another day.
Truth be told,
I don’t know WHAT I would do at a spa!
All the ‘hard’ stuff I have negotiated in my life
Has allowed my soul to feel lighter somehow,
And quite shiny, in fact.
It is a mystery to me, this phenomenon;
Shouldn’t there be more ease and glide in a life?
I have never once asked myself the question: “WHY ME?”
Because my experience of challenge
Has ALWAYS opened previously closed doors of my Self.
I see my courage, resilience, nod to the Sacred, and an intimate relationship with that which is larger than us, after all.
My heart is more porous and not so guarded.
I know better what Life is because I have the raven of Death on my shoulder.
My tears are wetter and my smile very real.
You are vital to my existence when before, I was sure I could go it alone.
The ‘shadow’ is my very good friend.
She has always spoon-fed me when I didn’t know where to go to feed myself.
I am not afraid.
(For the moment).
I can do this.
Today.
With support.
And gratitude.
That, there is the leavening agent.
Not That Interested In The Fruit
Untitled, 2002, 30″x 7″ x 11″, ceramic
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Summer ends.
We age.
Physical bodies grow tired and weak.
SomeTHING is spent.
We had a currency.
And now there is less of it.
We had the heat and plump greenness of full and long days..
Of white linen blouses.
And suddenly (to us),
We are folding that material and sensual pleasure.
With a bit of grief,
We lay her in the box
Marked “SUMMER CLOTHES”
And close the closet door.
My body is like that.
All the elements are there:
The endless waiting for summer, the luxury of carefree languishing and trusted outcome of pure and sensual pleasure in a body.
I had a physical experience
Of a tuned and shimmering instrument.
Not too very long ago, really.
That currency I spent.
Like a summer in white.
I have grief, surely.
I do.
It’s just that the harvest
I enjoyed
In that girl’s teeming collection of cells
And muscle and dreams
Is no more interesting to me
Than this woman’s
Humility
And reverence
And capacity
To Love.
My basket used to be brimming
With impossibly ripe fruit.
Now,
The basket
Is quite empty.
And yet…
This particular harvest
Is so much sweeter.
Because
NOthing
Has become
THE thing.
Rolling In Coyote
detail of ceramic sculpture
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My dog, Olivia has moments
Of shunning domestication, altogether.
We’ll be on our morning outing;
My wheelchair bedecked with orange safety flag, orange scarf tied behind and me wrapped in an elegant
And orange
Paisley shawl
In order to avoid death-on-the-dirt-road.
You see, where I live is fairly rural.
Wild enough to host a few brave, non-human critters.
(I did see an elk with a macho- looking rack one year..)
In the cover of night
Coyotes stalk their prey
And yip frenetically
As they chew someone’s beloved cat..
I know… It isn’t fair.
But it IS..
When Olivia comes across
An olafactory motherlode
Some satisfied coyote has left behind
In the dirt,
She rolls…
She rolls in utter ecstasy and slight bewilderment.
There is a haunting recognition afoot
Of a genetic link
Between the two.
She WANTS that wildness!
Witnessing this always makes me laugh.
It also has me wonder where I left my own.
Wildness, that is.
Where is that girl?
I have been too busy doing the work
Of keeping myself upright;
Mentally, physically and spiritually,
And I’ve all but forgotten the wild girl.
I miss her.
I have become far too domesticated.
And left that lifeline to ‘other’ unattended too long.
My very physical life as an artist making stuff
Helped me connect to that place.
Now my right hand lies curled awkwardly in my lap.
‘On hold’ as I think of it
Because I can’t bear the thought
My strong and capable limb
Got the ultimate pink slip.
And so.. I see Olivia roll
And my chuckling has a tinge of regret
Amidst the overt pleasure of seeing her so happy.
I roll on in my power chair;
(Is this to be the extent of my own rolling??)
With wantonness
In my chest.
And I just let it be there
Instead of leaving it
By the side of the road.
We Are So Beautiful And Terrible…
“FACE”, 1997, 12″ x 5″, ceramic
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We are so beautiful and terrible,
Broken and resilient,
Inspired and bored.
We are full of wrath one moment
Only to wipe a tear from a child the next.
I know light
And I know shadow.
How could it be
That we hold all of these things
Right next to one another
In our hearts?
In my wider moments
I love all of it.
Because if I don’t
I know I am armoring-up my heart once again..
(Something like: “You can have my attention because you feel good but if you don’t- leave me alone..”)
That hardness is now becoming intolerable.
This is one of my favorite photographers.
His ‘eye’ helps me make room for it all, somehow..
The Elevator Is Stuck
UNTITLED, 1999, 20″ – 25″ x 3″ (varies), ceramic, steel
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I was brought up in the suburbs of Detroit.
I never learned how to be a neighbor
Because I didn’t have to.
We lived in ‘auto-executive-manicured-lawn-land’
And I took cues from my parents as they slid
Conveniently behind trees
At the sight of another human
In order not to connect.
I realized that I now know exactly how to gather my TRIBE.
I know what a tribe is
And I know who is in mine.
The startling recognition of tribal members
Can come in an instant
Or after years of tending a relationship.
These are people
I would still be curious about;
Spiritually, emotionally or mentally fed by
Even after spending a week with them
Stuck in a tiny elevator.
These are people I remain ever interested in.
Could never know all there is to know.
Believe me, my tribe is quite small.
How does one gather a tribe?
For me.. I notice how my body feels when in the company of a person; defended? safe? electric? familiar? open? wary?
Then, over time, I gauge the distance between their heart and mine;
How far have we moved together?
Are they friends with their own shadow so I can trust them with mine?
Can they see the largest part of me and remind me of her when I forget?
If I tell them my truth about something, can I count on the intent to give a thoughtful reply or will I get a ‘reaction’ we may never recover from?
Do they know their own worth and share it generously with me and others?
Is an intimate sense of the sacred in all Life of value to them?
Can I cry and laugh with abandon in their company without reservation?
Is there a distinct feeling of luxury in their company? Gratitude?
Very, very occasionally someone will appear
Who I recognize instantly
As a part of my clan.
A meeting such as this
Has the feeling of ‘everything of significance known’
And all that’s left to do is enjoy the theater of the thing.
My tribe includes humans, yes.
But also a dog and a particular tree I adore which is very alive to me.
(Did I just lose you?)
I’ll offer no apology.
If the elevator should become stuck
I’ll have no regrets, what so ever…
Frailty Quotient
“LOWE INSTALLATION”, 2007, 56″ x 72″, earth, ceramic
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I have been thinking about the word: FRAILTY recently.
We tend to use it for the elderly and infirm.
It’s use marks a serious decline.
The ‘backstory’ of using the word
Carries visceral sensations of curling inward
Out of fear and desire not to hang with the concept too long.
We think it might be catching
And so we give it lip service
And move on to a heated tennis match or a rugged workout at the gym
To assuage the possibility
It could be us someday.
If you did not know me
The label: ‘FRAIL’ might be your first choice.
My physical balance is very compromised.
I walk with a walker and hold onto walls when navigating without it.
Long distances require the support of a wheelchair.
And there are too many pills on my countertop.
If you ask me to describe myself
FRAILTY would never be a part of our conversation.
I would say that my physicality is extremely compromised, yes.
But that admission covers only one part of me.
Am I spiritually frail? No.
Am I mentally frail?. No.
Emotionally frail? I’d have to say I am one of the most emotionally healthy people I know.
Yesterday, I went to a wedding.
I knew there would be too much ground to cover for me just using my walker.
If I wanted to go, I’d have to use my wheelchair
But I had never been out in a very public place with it where I’d have to negotiate a crowd.
I’m not really that great at driving the thing
As it is so acutely sensitive to any tiny move of the joystick.
I went to the gorgeous wedding.
I went solo.
I did what it took to make the evening work
Which meant arriving into the assembled crowd as a single woman in a wheelchair decorated with one rose
And having people adjust themselves to the height difference by stooping.
There were curbs to negotiate
And I asked strong men to help me.
And they did.
I found a place to sit for the reception
But how would I manage the buffet?
I asked for help, again.
All this I did and kept my center close to me and alive enough
To participate authentically in the evening.
When push comes to shove
And we are asked to enter unfamiliar waters,
These times are a good litmus test for
The ‘FRAILTY QUOTIENT.”
Can I do it?
Can I do it without losing mySelf?
I see that I am so very able.
And when that is the case..
Everyone wins.
The Smallest Thing
“TREE OF LIFE”, 1999, 30″ x 18″ x 3″, ceramic
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The other day, I was just BEING
As I tend to do
Because my physicality
Prohibits any fussing around
With pretense
Or trying to be cool.
I has been HOT here this summer.
Recently, I accepted an invitation to lunch from two neighbors who have interested me for awhile.
I drove there and come to find the way to the house is all gravel and there are stairs too
And I am already wilting from the heat.
I use this ‘adventure’ to practice educating people how to be with me
As I know there is always a conundrum as to whether to assist; ‘Will she take offense?’ “Does she want to do it herself?’
The thing is that in new situations I have to figure out on the spot what I need.
That day, I needed a strong arm, bent at the elbow
Offered to me to help pull me up the steps.
I needed to sit down once as my hosts took pleasure in telling me stories of their fruit trees and wisteria (spectacular!)
I almost let myself slip into embarrassment at the awkwardness
Of my apparent physical frailty.
But I didn’t.
I did not go there because I felt safe enough to just BE with these two people.
That, right there, told me a good deal about them.
I settled into a soft chair under an umbrella and the three of us shared a gorgeous and lovingly prepared meal.
I didn’t even have to act like ‘a weird food person’ with all my dietary restrictions
As the table was filled with pure and healthy sumptuousness.
I felt so happy,
Easy in my body and grateful for the inspiring and charged conversation.
I was smiling.
Which I tend to do quite often.
It is a small thing.
In my past, I used smiling as a cover;
Shadowy corners of my being needed tending.
And I had not given them their due.
These days, my smile is genuine.
It has a clear and present energy to it.
There are many, many variations of the thing.
I use it to make sure people know I have ‘seen’ them
And their very beingness has made a difference to me.
I use it to let people know they matter.
I do it because it feels so good.
I have voluntary and involuntary ones..
It seems a very small thing
And yet, I see it’s reach is farther than I realize.. Read here:
Be sure to check out the Charlie Chaplin video at the end.