I Give Up
untitled, 1991, ceramic objects
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This past weekend I surrendered.
The word conjurs up images of an army hoisting a feeble-looking white flag
And bearing the weight of defeat.
Perhaps, a better word for my actions might be “YIELD.”
I yielded to the fact I can no longer produce art
In the forms it has chosen to arrive
During my thirty year career as a fine artist.
My art-making has been labor intensive
And not….
But I have always had the solace of a ‘thing-in-form’
Which somehow magically appeared
At the end of a string of inspiration, action and completion.
I DID something!
I MADE something!
There is a mark here where there was none before.
I AM.
A great deal of my ‘I AM-ness’ has been derived from a long identity as an artist.
This past weekend two good friends helped me achieve
Another kind of work-in-form
Which far surpassed any fulfillment
I have achieved to date.
I packed up my remaining private collection of art (not all)
And the works fidgiting in the cavern of a storage unit.
My two ‘girlfriends/sisters/family’ helped me orchestrate a spectacular event
In which my remaining work was hung, leaned, propped against the walls
Of a gracious home.
Invitations were sent to collectors
With a real time and date
Inviting them to come by and help me release this long and lovely art-making career
I’ve utterly adored.
You can be sure
That in the hours before the appointed time
My cheeks were wet
With heavy tears
As I did the interior wiggling around
It takes to let go.
By the time we opened the gate
I was sitting there
On the lovely patio
Surrounded by a lifetime of giving birth to beauty.
I felt so beautiful, myself,
As I welcomed the art-lovers
And watched them choose parts of me
To take home and love.
In the end,
I felt no regret.. no clinging.. no ‘if only’s…’
Really, my willingness to surrender this beloved identity
Gave rise to rooms within my self
I’ve yet to choose furnishings for.
They wait patiently
Until my eyes adjust to the light.
This new space in me has a quality of infinite generosity;
It isn’t even hankering to be filled!
And I have left behind a good deal of fear.
So- I won’t have a sculpture or painting
To offer you.
It seems my very life has become the art.
I wonder if, in my smile
You can feel
The tears, the relief, the vulnerability,
The solace, the fear, the faith
It takes to step forward
Once again?
I Am A Boat
“FINE LINE” detail, 1999, m/m
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I am a boat.
Not a Chinese junque. – (my blood is too foreign though I do wish it wasn’t).
Well.. perhaps a gleaming and slippery, “Have a martini”, 40′ ode to speed? – (I’d lose the key..).
Maybe that great outboard motorboat we used up at the lake to go bass fishing as the dawn steam rose and we, wee ones still with sleep in our eyes? – (Oh, I did love the control!)
What about a catamaran? Sliding and cutting so deftly through..intent on getting ‘there’ FAST!.. The constant thrill of capsizing the thing?- (Nope).
I could be a giant cargo ship with all the ballast I’d ever need in rough seas.. (No beauty in all that safety and way too much metal. I’m not that fond of metal, anyway).
A folded paper boat adrift on an even pond? – (Not enough substance or staying power).
I will be a canoe.
My own ship carved of a tree so I will remember dry land should I turn toward forgetting.
It will hold one.
Two or three if I so choose.
My family and friends will have helped me carve the thing.
We will have sung songs and toasted it’s doneness before they hand me two paddles and I pause to bow (to them and it) before I step in alone.
I will push off the beach and settle my frame into the curve of the tended wood.
I will not look back.
I am not sad. I will cut the glassy sheen of the lake
And lean into my direction.
I pull the water to me
And let it empty behind.
Pull.
Empty.
Pull.
Empty.
The rhythm lifts me.
And the work is not.
I am free.
Destination is uninteresting.
I just stay with the impossible beauty.
In raw weather
I huddle in the rain and wind
Sometimes, just yielding to the whim of the lake
Because it is bigger than me.
In the morning with wet and straggly hair
I peek outside my parka.
The way seems clear
Though I do not know where I am.
A loon sets me straight
And my paddle meets the waters.
I sing.
Attention is Our Currency
“GRID”, 1992, 5′ x 5′, m/m
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I had a massage the other day.
He worked on my right side, primarily.
My leg below my calf has become quite numb.
The masseuse I work with has very shiny and clean energy
So I have the gift of not having to shield myself from his ‘stuff’
And just deal with mine.
We worked the full hour on attempting to wake up my leg.
He asked me to send particular kinds of breath there.
My breath shifted from the shallows
To deep and long and wide.
My whole being felt smooth and supported.
A strange loneliness left me.
After the massage I asked him:
“Can you tell me anything that I could be doing on my own
Until I see you next?”
“When we began, your leg was pretty much empty and dark inside. After we worked together, it now registers as ‘dim’.
It scared me when he said that.
WHERE IS THE LIFE IN MY LEG?
And yet.. I participated in just a short hour’s worth of work
And felt the shift
Of light / life / love come in.
It was not a pill.
Nor was it a panacea.
We PAY attention,
Which has always been in our bank account.
Endless supplies, it seems.
We get what we pay for.
I am quite sure that my eagerness to wake up most mornings
And the blessing of an attitude of curiosity
And general gratitude
Even though I could call my life ‘tough’,
Is the threshold to HEALING;
Whatever that ‘looks’ like.
My attention is directed toward a lightness of being
Rather than the dark emptiness I sensed in my leg.
I can tell you in all honesty
That if I hung out for long enough
In that dark place
I would die.
I don’t have the luxury of messing around with other forms of currency.
Attention is ‘IT’ for me now.
I either refine my abilities in this arena
Or I will lie down
And not get up.
You see: it is all a choice.
I CHOOSE LIFE.
I CHOOSE LIFE.
I CHOOSE LIFE.
Popularity and Choice
“RENAISSANCE” (detail), 2008, 10′ x 4′, naturally pigmented earth, waterproof MDF
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When I married a number of years ago,
In preparation for the day
There were choices to be made.
One of the most challenging for me
Was deciding
Who I REALLY wanted there.
It was effortful because I was changing;
Beginning to make decisions from an authentic place
Instead of an ‘expected’ one.
Like: “I should invite this person because she’s so-an-sos’- mother.
I am using this example because as I look back
Some of my decisions were unpopular.
But, the thing is:
I felt infinitely more free
To sink into the day.
Today, I am more practiced at choosing for myself
And I don’t really care
That those choices register as unpopular on occasion.
How, actually do I choose, these days?
Really, it is an innate trust of my body;
DOES THIS DECISION FEEL RIGHT?
Is this decision generated from my mind?
If so… Cathy: try again.
I often close my eyes and let myself sink into the bottom of my belly.
I try to do what it takes to bypass my brain and even my heart.
When I get my consciousness there
I ask the question again
And FEEL the answer.
Often it surprises me,
Or disappoints me,
Or inspires me,
Or scares me, even.
This intelligence I can now tap into at will
Is the one I trust with every cell of me.
Do I always listen? No.
Is my choice always correct? No.
Do I consistently do what it takes to get there? No.
Do I care what you’ll think of me when I act on this decision I’ve just made? Sometimes.
I am a work in progress.
My life is now my art.
I make a ‘mark’ here
And see if it feels right.
If not, I just take the liberty
Of painting over that mark
And beginning again.
And I walk (figuratively speaking) on..
Utterly enchanted by the colors I choose.
Smolder Factor
“LINE IN THE SAND”, 40″ x 30″, 2003, m/m
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I was listening to the radio this morning
As someone talked about survival of the fittest.
I hear that phrase and am continually thrown
Into the tired inquiry:
“Am I fit?”
On the evolutionary scale, is someone like me meant to drop to the side of the road
Because I am unable to keep up in the physical realms?
Well… no.
Period.
Honestly, somebody has got to change these litmus tests we use
To decide who has got worth
And who is not worth the effort.
Today, that someone will just have to be me.
Tell me that your heart is not changed and better
For having witnessed this.
Really, I ask you:
Do you think these people have ‘fitness’
In a way most of us have never even come close to?
I am calling it: ‘THE SMOLDER FACTOR”
Because it isn’t an ‘in your face’ kind of thing at all
But it has the heat
And sort of slow, transformative quality
That gets at ‘ya
When you least expect it.
If you get in there
And really FEEL those people
Can you tell me you’d leave them
By the side of the road
Without knowing in the bottom of your stomach
You missed some sort of treasure
For which there is no name?
Vulnerability
“WHITE TREE”, 2001, 11″ x 11″ x 4″, m/m
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We hear the word ‘vulnerable’
And we wish we hadn’t.
In the deep recesses of our smaller selves
We value power and control
Over communion.
We ARE vulnerable creatures…
Descended from the great apes who had what it took to survive,
We are standing here, now
With only the barest snippet
Of the fur they depended on for warmth.
Because we don’t need it.
Gone are the food gathering skills
And the ‘you stay with me, kid’ uber-nurturing
As well as the intricate tribal intelligence
It took to live so closely together
In peace.
Here we all stand (albeit with a wobble in my case)
Looking so confident
And secure.
And then….
Some THING happens
That shatters the thin sheen
Of manufactured order
We banked on lasting forever.
All of a sudden..
WE ARE IN NEED!!!!
Our shiny costuming
Is dragging through the mud
And we can’t remember the word
For: “HELP!”
Standing there, mute,
By the side of the road,
We let all the cars go by
As we hide in the bushes.
We stay there,
Wet and hungry
Until we are forced to step forward.
With every ounce of pride
Finally dissolved
And replaced by humility,
Someone altogether changed
And so very lovely
Approaches the highway
And asks for a ride.
Choice (re-post)
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Part of upcoming book: “GOOD MEDICINE”
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“Good Medicine” continued..
‘ALEXANDRA’S INFLUENCE’ 1995, 16″ x 16″, m/m
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introduction continued..
.
In three years time, chiropractors and massage therapists and psychotherapists and injections became too familiar as my body slipped into and out of working order at an alarming rate. I became an unreliable friend as I cancelled more often than followed through on plans. Eighty percent of my life energy was going toward worry, pill taking and trying to keep my wobbly balance a secret. Life was getting narrow.
My ability to tame my point-of-view concerning physical illness has been my best medicine. Somehow, I have always recognized that between the lines of a diagnosis etched in stone are possibilities no one ever talks about. These gifts are born of the shadows cast from any illness; chronic or otherwise.
I love my life. This is not pie-in-the-sky denial talking. Of course, I am not thrilled with every second of every day but on the whole, for me, life is very good. My creativity has naturally segued from labor intensive art making into writing which feels natural and satisfying. My values are shifting from ‘out there’ gratification toward cultivating my own garden. I am judicious as to who and what I invite into the new world I am creating. I understand obstacles as challenges and way-showers inviting me into pockets of life that feed me deeply. I cry more and feel washed clean. My laugh is ready and real. I sense a transparent quality about myself reflected in the eyes of others. I am more authentically Cathy than I knew I could be and I like her very much.
My intention with this book is to change the paradigm of disability in our culture; to lift the societal veils surrounding illness and reveal a very new color palate enriched by humor, beauty and an honest look at possibilities instead of the narrow prescriptions of our well-meaning medical professionals.
I can promise you a laugh or two, a tear perhaps and certainly the tools I’ve found to craft a life of possibility instead of the out of control downward spiral all too often offered those of us in partnership with a high-maintenance body.
Balance
detail of monoprint
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How does one create balance?
What does balance feel like in the body?
Mind?
Relationships?
Spirit?
Food?
Aesthetics?
Politics?
Heart?
Fashion?
Self care vs. Other?
Nature?
Food?
Money?
Sex?
For some reason, lately I have thought a lot about my fairly short-lived marriage and subsequent divorce.
Why did I say yes?
Why did I eventually say no?
What was the initial draw?
Why did that change?
Who was I then?
Who am I now?
When I am in questioning mode, I have always found indigenous people to have an intelligence I yearn for when my own ‘go-to’ places are beginning to fray at the edges and lose their initial usefulness to me.
I found a short video explaining The significance of the FOUR DIRECTIONS in the MEDICINE WHEEL
To the Lakota Indians.
It is digestible in a beginner Anglo kind of way.
I found answers to a number of my questions.
It is worth a look.
And maybe another.
Lying Down
Dear all.. I have lost the image upload capacity on my computer for the moment …
XX…
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It has been hot here.
Like everywhere else.
I keep moving through my life
With my edges continually toasted
Just going from car to home.
MS hates heat and weakens me.
They used to diagnose MS by putting the person in a hot bath
And watching to see if they’d be adversely affected by heat.
A couple days ago I lost my balance and fell backward
Hitting my sweet head HARD on the tile floor.
A big flash of white light
And much blood.
I lay there and collected myself
As my dog scrunched her brow
Like a Sharpei.
I didn’t pass out.
But I couldn’t get up.
After about 10 minutes I tried scooting my way to my phone in the next room.
I had an out loud conversation with myself
To test my level of consciousness
And keep myself company, really.
“You can do this, Cath… only a few more feet.”
I knew I had to call 911
And I also knew my dog would try to eat the EMT people
As she protected me.
I called Olivia’s second mom and blessedly, she arrived to help
Before the hunky EMT men got there.
For someone who has never been to the hospital before
(Like me)
The whole gurney-thing
And flashing lights
And concerned, gawking neighbors
Was a bit much.
But I surrendered.
Actually, my injury was very minimal
And I left the hospital a few hours later with 4 staples in my head.
In retrospect,
I see that I have been under a good bit of stress
As I face the changing landscape of my financial state;
Trying to find a new home that suits me,
Becoming TOTALLY transparent with my family
As places previously kept hidden
Come to light by necessity.
And, on top of all that:
THE HEAT.
All of it made for a slightly out-of-body experience.
Things I’ve learned:
1. Get MEDIC-ALERT system in place so I feel safer (that thing you wear around your neck as a panic button) My sister researched this for me and actually CALLED the company and told them to expand their marketing niche to include others besides the ancient examples they currently use as models!
2. I am so loved and supported.
3. My dog needs a vacation from trying to protect me from every darn challenging thing..
4. I am resilient.
5. Look into getting a swamp cooler and STOP ANY KIND OF WASP-LIKE TOUGHING-IT-OUT KIND OF MARTYR EXISTENCE.
6. Pay homage to the gods of insurance who we turn our heads from but grab hold of when in need. (and ask them to please get their shit together).
7. The progressive loss of physical capability does not diminish who I am at the core of me.
8. Asking / needing help feels weird to me still but if I let it, it feels somehow like communion; an unexpected church.
9. The value I once put on extreme independence is shifting into something else which I don’t have a name for yet.
10. In order for me to have the capacity as I do now, to begin receiving support in a grace-full manner, it was entirely necessary for the cataclysmic ‘emptying out’ I have been involved in for the past years.
NO SPACE- NO ROOM