tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7936822071111904482024-03-13T17:20:52.340-07:00Talula's Tales and Terradoodles: The Asheville Conspiracy Talula Love Bottoms is the artist that resides in all of us. She is reckless. She is passionately fearless.
She is all of the things you are....that society has convinced you - is not the norm.
Inside Talula...we embrace our faults and flaws and spontaneity defines us.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.comBlogger159125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-86468844425352761862015-09-13T19:05:00.003-07:002015-09-13T19:10:47.210-07:00The offshore sure thing - Your hook, unhooked. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvsJlh8IdUQC6PQT2sIq2YXknIj61LhJPVE42v8o9pe6WMYkgol2G58RJGyQSOuwTgRIno0odNf2-kiFjS_SCkLQVzSofL0VSJPqLEkHRhgfSMIsXjaOSldDW_4zj5e61XIB9XP_RJELj/s1600/EHT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvsJlh8IdUQC6PQT2sIq2YXknIj61LhJPVE42v8o9pe6WMYkgol2G58RJGyQSOuwTgRIno0odNf2-kiFjS_SCkLQVzSofL0VSJPqLEkHRhgfSMIsXjaOSldDW_4zj5e61XIB9XP_RJELj/s400/EHT.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #444444;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">4 years. </span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">I've been angry with you.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">You rolled me under.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">Shifted my tide....</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">spit me out into the mountains...</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">salted,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">dehydrated,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">unforgiven;</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">I return.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">I anticipate your altered shoreline...</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">you've raged </span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">I can smell your rush...coming in, coming out</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">The last time you pulled at me</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">I begged for you to take me, pleaded...</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">you refused. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">Stopped short. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">Leaving me the lone survivor of your shipwreck. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">4 years.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">I haven't seen the sights of you. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">The distance of your swell</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">The offshore sure thing</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">Your hook,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">unhooked. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">Tossed back, washed up </span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">seaweed tangled</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">secondary drowning; drowned. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">We're about to settle up</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">O' Captain! My Captain.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-23707112321070418872015-05-08T10:52:00.002-07:002015-05-08T10:56:12.872-07:00I've completely avoided doing anything to help me deal with my Dad's death. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6yfL_zPLNAv6dR5PtxbHw1BRivSYfnKDf8AbSW9PlcGzhDKVyhJfUmHmYIjqg6gvotw6Rb5XxDTl6rOkEr_THlPR3Mjc8QcWcnpabrE_Un6PP1Va5Dx1_7q6eq42kc4NjSh5scYsx_f4G/s1600/mermaidchairlrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6yfL_zPLNAv6dR5PtxbHw1BRivSYfnKDf8AbSW9PlcGzhDKVyhJfUmHmYIjqg6gvotw6Rb5XxDTl6rOkEr_THlPR3Mjc8QcWcnpabrE_Un6PP1Va5Dx1_7q6eq42kc4NjSh5scYsx_f4G/s1600/mermaidchairlrg.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I haven't written much lately.<br />
In fact...I haven't done much of anything lately except work.<br />
..and drink.<br />
I've completely avoided doing anything to help me deal with my Dad's death.<br />
This I know.<br />
I know I've been doing everything BUT try to deal with it. Despite the nightmares that constantly remind me of what happened. I don't talk about it.<br />
I don't even really have anyone to talk about it to so I just go about my days pretending like<br />
it didn't. Or, idk - that if it did happen...it didn't happen to me.<br />
<br />
That other girl. The one sobbing in the corner. It happened to her; she's a fucking mess.<br />
<br />
I do keep trying to find things to occupy my inability to deal with ANYTHING in my life.<br />
The smallest things, any even remote attempt at slowly readjusting into society in ANY way get's completely thwarted by my inability to find it in me to actually do it.<br />
<br />
I hide behind Pinterest quotes that make me look like I'm inspiring and positive but the reality of it is that; yup...<br />
I'm sobbing in the corner raging like a completely insane person.<br />
<br />
No I'm not. I'm inundating myself with work. I say YES to everything other than myself. I've been trying to meditate but all I seem to really do is lament in my own anger.<br />
<br />
Why have I designed for myself this cage where the bars are easy enough to slip out of...but still; I am trapped.<br />
<br />
I do try to get away from patterns of negativity only to see the same fucking repetitive behavior I have been engaging in for years.<br />
<br />
I've been really hung up on the fact that my ex didn't message me and tell me he was sorry that my Dad had died. It has been enough of an anger crutch for me to not have to deal with my Dad actually having died.<br />
<br />
Until today, and a book. It ALWAYS shows up in a book and as I write this, my face still stained with tears. I'm still in disbelief that the universe works this way. A fucking book.<br />
<br />
I don't really read that much. I love to read and I am constantly distracting myself with Goodreads quotes until I have convinced myself that I at least LOOK like the smartest person I know on Facebook. (*still in the corner sobbing).<br />
<br />
The Mermaid Chair. Those of you that know me are laughing. You know the satire I have played myself into. I hate paintings mermaids. There I said it. Why do I hate painting mermaids? Because half of my life has been spent in the water and since my divorce I can barely look at the ocean without losing my shit. There...I said that out loud too.<br />
Here I am hiding in the mountains. *Cage.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
So, I start reading the book. I'll try to describe it as briefly as possible as to why this is relevant.<br />
The main character is a woman from South Carolina. She makes art boxes(assemblage). Her Mom cuts off her finger (amputation). Woman now goes home to help her mom (beach next to Monastery that houses said Mermaid Chair). Falls in love with a Monk (unavailable man). Separates from her husband because she needs to be alone (has lots of sex with Monk). In the meantime is asked by a local shop owner to start painting MERMAIDS for her shop.<br />
<br />
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<br />
She doesn't really want to paint mermaids because she really loves making ART BOXES.<br />
<br />
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<br />
While on the island she revisits her Fathers death and how it is somehow connected with her mom's desire to cut off her own fingers.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
The Monk and her are in love he suggests that they move to ASHEVILLE. (As I was reading this I kept looking around like someone was watching me. (Anyone who knows my movie director boyfriend story doesn't find this part of this that unrealistic either). *Thanks Chusy for the permanent installation of paranoia. Muah.)<br />
<br />
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<br />
The plot unfolds and the woman realizes that she came back to the island to try to come to terms with her Father's death. REALLY??? Now? right now? *loses shit.<br />
<br />
That all these years she has been putting herself inside of a box because of her inability to deal with it. Thus her art.<br />
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<br />
Fuck you stupid fucking mermaid book. Fuck you.<br />
I'm taking the weekend off. I'm really sad about my Dad and I'm tired of pretending and hiding under this pile of work.<br />
<br />
I should have known when I started reading it...but what I didn't know was how hard this was all going to be. How would I?<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-44542166605866146962014-10-19T18:09:00.002-07:002015-02-05T16:53:33.402-08:00The Glory Hole SundayI wanted to take the violin apart.<br />
<br />
I couldn't play it. I just sat there looking at me in it's mockery.<br />
<br />
...but I could take it apart and make it something that I understood.<br />
Then I could play it.<br />
<br />
I wasn't given the same list of rules. I wish I was.<br />
<br />
I was given the short skirt blow job list...<br />
do this.<br />
do that.<br />
<br />
I got finger banged on the bus in my catholic school girl skirt in 7th grade.<br />
It stopped after I put his head thru the window.<br />
<br />
<br />
Shattered.<br />
<br />
Yeah. I got the fuck it bucket list.<br />
<br />
The Glory Hole Sunday.<br />
<br />
Funday. ha.<br />
<br />
I took a chance.<br />
These fucking days all blend together anymore.<br />
<br />
It's a Sex Wax Sunday without the surf.<br />
Blown out.<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-21468642210996540262014-10-05T17:04:00.000-07:002014-10-05T17:10:31.517-07:00....seems to be the story around here.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_iI7Z2VQyCMz6pcqX5x5tmWm4UdvMybg1Stt0l645LA82Qbjs5wldNcKjQsY-ZAukxDwTmtGpy1D4QETB3OWOrSCTkBCJ5JvUxsd5aMbnkOQwQh4tFDN7gq6Z-mPGDGuTe9OZteMLJbY/s1600/0dd25950be91e6121b0a7f7e5b683568.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_iI7Z2VQyCMz6pcqX5x5tmWm4UdvMybg1Stt0l645LA82Qbjs5wldNcKjQsY-ZAukxDwTmtGpy1D4QETB3OWOrSCTkBCJ5JvUxsd5aMbnkOQwQh4tFDN7gq6Z-mPGDGuTe9OZteMLJbY/s1600/0dd25950be91e6121b0a7f7e5b683568.jpg" height="430" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's time to reel it back in.<br />
Hana Pa'a.<br />
<br />
I'm often surprised at how far gone kindness is.<br />
How self absorbed most people are.<br />
How saying what you mean and meaning what you say seems like a lost language.<br />
<br />
There's a walk that I frequently take my dog on in the woods near my house. It's a healthy loop so we both spend some time frolicking and kicking dirt. After a recent storm that downed a few trees I found and saved a pinned sapling.<br />
<br />
Each time I would walk Lunar I would be sure to make the loop, check on the tree - give it some love and energy (trees are said to be able to absorb a lot of our problems if you touch them; years of experience dealing with us and our poor decisions I suppose).<br />
<br />
Shortly after the storm, the park service came and cut up the fallen tree that had originally pinned the sapling; and for the second time I found the sapling stuck under a cut log. I picked it back up - realizing that twice down was a much harder recovery (having visited that metaphor many times in my life). Still I continued my due diligence to my woodland family member. The chosen one.<br />
<br />
Today...I really needed help.<br />
I asked for help and then shortly after I realized that it was time to stop asking for help.<br />
I need to pick myself back up. Somethings been pinning me down lately too.<br />
Not that I was asking for anything huge. I just needed a break and some time to work and<br />
my time is not someone else's time. It is only my own.<br />
<br />
Because of this I needed to run Lunar. He's still a puppy and although we had already been on a huge walk it just wasn't enough for him to relax or for me to be able to get any work done.<br />
<br />
I did the loop angrily. I thought it would calm me down but each step was only upsetting me further since the only thing I really wanted to do/needed to do was work today. Here I was in the woods. You would think I would have been able to enjoy it. I stayed longer than usual just in hopes that Lunar would exhaust himself and not vibe off of my negative energy.<br />
<br />
I do the same loop about 5 times a week. Today....<br />
it just wasn't going to let me get out of there the same.<br />
<br />
The sapling was dead. When I ran the last trail to where I normally stop and give love to this little tree that I so desperately tried to save. I realized I had failed.<br />
<br />
I'm failing.<br />
<br />
Needless to say I lost my shit, crying in the woods, hoping no one would come by and try to understand how fucked up my relationship with this situation was.<br />
<br />
I just really wanted it to live. I really thought that I could save it.<br />
I really think I can help people.<br />
<br />
I try so hard to be selfless and help people and I just needed a break today.<br />
I needed the tree not to be dead but it's dead.<br />
<br />
...and I need to stop helping people and start helping myself because soon enough<br />
the story's gonna be the same. I've been putting everyone and everything first and the only thing I keep seeing happen is that my art is suffering.<br />
<br />
I'm suffering.<br />
I'm no different then the pinned sapling. It never asked me to save it - I just really believed I could. Perhaps it was happier in the down.<br />
<br />
Seems to be the story around here.<br />
I'm just not interested in that ending.<br />
<br />
Hana Pa'a.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-67778805777755900542014-08-09T20:36:00.003-07:002014-08-09T20:37:05.586-07:00Soon the waves and I found the rolling, soon the waves and I found the rip Soon the waves and I found the rolling<br />
Soon the waves and I found the rip<br />
<br />
Tide<br />
<br />
In the quiet comes the crashing<br />
the pulling<br />
pushing<br />
choking<br />
drowning<br />
<br />
Empty arms<br />
I wish I still had your soul to hold<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5Iru4YR7OA-YvpHgXbIN4d1sGYqeiD1BSxbUn689ZCYDmP_UGSIN3kdwbrLKwKwnsGILvJzBFqukBLLtw4q5ilwaOEYqtkANeUFHS7nR7gSdENUoDhYTW8NvujX8-qSHzUr8VM1f5Ji4/s1600/DSCF1657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5Iru4YR7OA-YvpHgXbIN4d1sGYqeiD1BSxbUn689ZCYDmP_UGSIN3kdwbrLKwKwnsGILvJzBFqukBLLtw4q5ilwaOEYqtkANeUFHS7nR7gSdENUoDhYTW8NvujX8-qSHzUr8VM1f5Ji4/s1600/DSCF1657.JPG" height="320" width="250" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
...even though you pulled me under.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-81493206268252010342014-08-03T06:37:00.000-07:002014-08-06T11:15:10.692-07:00I think about someone every single day...our relationship hangs by a thread - literally<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I think about someone every single day...our relationship hangs by a thread (in my head), literally.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT5eDMgiCZNnzgqJSqUJXwnxu66vLyyjkUl0wtj2wAypsHfcScBIg20HTMc8eYSzwIw6iuzICR3NJfPDqK0BV5DVMrHgMzK2qgT6c4I-DHFaj5suFIXEua4kB7GEmG-a0WvXbhyphenhyphenNH2CCz/s1600/req1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT5eDMgiCZNnzgqJSqUJXwnxu66vLyyjkUl0wtj2wAypsHfcScBIg20HTMc8eYSzwIw6iuzICR3NJfPDqK0BV5DVMrHgMzK2qgT6c4I-DHFaj5suFIXEua4kB7GEmG-a0WvXbhyphenhyphenNH2CCz/s1600/req1.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The things we do. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I try really hard to be transparent.</span></div>
<div>
<div>
<div>
<br />
trans·par·ent<br />
tranˈspe(ə)rənt,-ˈspar-/<br />
adjective<br />
-(of a material or article) allowing light to pass through so that objects behind can be distinctly seen.<br />
-easy to perceive or detect </div>
<div>
-having thoughts, feelings, or motives that are easily perceived. <br />
<br />
<br />
I have worn these two bracelets daily for over a year now. One represents my sister..the other represents someone I love and respect dearly. I made matching bracelets for both of these people. Friendship bracelets..I know I'm a dork but I was revisiting my youth and it really had a symbolic meaning for me. </div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One hangs on by a thread and has for the past three months. One is as solid as the day I made it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two days ago I was out and I was at a outdoor bar that I love chatting with a guy that I like. We just talk when we run into each other - never exchanging numbers or social media. He's from Philly so I think maybe it's just that we feel like old friends. I won't say that I'm not interested though; because I am. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As I'm talking to him I look down and the bracelet is gone. I panic..without trying to look like I'm panicking - and look around me for it realizing that was foolish; I sat with it for a moment. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I've been gauging my hearts attachment to that relationship by this bracelet btw...and I let go.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I let him go. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday morning I woke up - and the bracelet was back on my wrist; still hanging on by its thread. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
..and I wonder what part of this story I'm making up.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQpi_IL4ds9nWfqoqqiwyhYGa5PunkvUhyHkJxvPWdPauUIZYKlSYprZtCs54NTb8nAMQskOIB1I6PaffmEy_6fvJATfDV16WmNDIOru-3umANIfPJTUlObexR7SNipK6C0i-6uOf5IUG/s1600/574a97c7668232051e5a95e262e422f9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQpi_IL4ds9nWfqoqqiwyhYGa5PunkvUhyHkJxvPWdPauUIZYKlSYprZtCs54NTb8nAMQskOIB1I6PaffmEy_6fvJATfDV16WmNDIOru-3umANIfPJTUlObexR7SNipK6C0i-6uOf5IUG/s1600/574a97c7668232051e5a95e262e422f9.jpg" height="400" width="297" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-43129166004929787702014-07-20T19:57:00.001-07:002014-07-20T19:57:19.643-07:00Without the vessel, there is no beat. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJBDIWoSMYxuIHFuhIZpo6O5Yt9-MxLEZFcOcqmAT14QToZck2N6EUAZEnJw31dHJtyAzPUlOCfHZb1ajGTCsUkvCP8Ghd7jaPB0S_B4-PBikSYd3lzNIFqwpJcYbFiorikoNh6bOnxYY/s1600/stringless.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJBDIWoSMYxuIHFuhIZpo6O5Yt9-MxLEZFcOcqmAT14QToZck2N6EUAZEnJw31dHJtyAzPUlOCfHZb1ajGTCsUkvCP8Ghd7jaPB0S_B4-PBikSYd3lzNIFqwpJcYbFiorikoNh6bOnxYY/s1600/stringless.jpg" height="262" width="320" /></a></div>
Boy with Horse<br />
Picasso<br />
"String Less"<br />
<br />
I search for the pulse<br />
the shudder, the thump, the faint<br />
slow<br />
push<br />
<br />
In the moment of climax, crash, impact<br />
disrepair..<br />
I just want to feel<br />
<br />
again<br />
<br />
I remember the first time it happened -<br />
it was a three sixty<br />
a spin out, a thrust, a jolt, jagged edge and<br />
a gasp of air; you would think -<br />
not<br />
<br />
nothing<br />
<br />
Each time I reach for it<br />
I scream for it<br />
I rage for it<br />
<br />
Apparently,<br />
without the vessel<br />
there is no beat.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPSXPytija1eGPJE63SL02n8rrIcZEG8VlNMu9CuAKfu6rGhYSLwa_tjVUPcv22gmfeX6_rhMxjmD17q_k0n79IiKtzQPoFrivmdp7GuI04nav-Vhyphenhyphen871CAnx4m70iLSW_ICTZb4nb0fGG/s1600/1529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPSXPytija1eGPJE63SL02n8rrIcZEG8VlNMu9CuAKfu6rGhYSLwa_tjVUPcv22gmfeX6_rhMxjmD17q_k0n79IiKtzQPoFrivmdp7GuI04nav-Vhyphenhyphen871CAnx4m70iLSW_ICTZb4nb0fGG/s1600/1529.jpg" height="640" width="408" /></a></div>
Boy with Banjo<br />
Donated<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-69214525630632102692014-06-21T11:41:00.001-07:002014-06-21T11:41:54.564-07:00The 7th door on the Psych Ward FloorI am sympathetic rage. I am a swollen nerve, a paper cut, an unfinished Sunday Crossword.<br />
I am the un-used crayon. The sinner. The broken record. Repeating. Spitting. Swallowing. Choking on the splinters. I'm a wood whore. A back door. A fast exit and a quick swing. I am screaming the loudest silence. I am smiling back the tears. I am the crooked pavement hop scotch accident. I am involved and unavailable. The hole that the glue can't squeeze out of. The 7th door on the Psych Ward Floor. The misguided criminal. The backwards chalk line. The cocaine sneeze and the hitchhiked sleeve. I am crisp. Snap Happy. Fuck all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh4KPRef7lSXzPmu2BJcBG5uZWwqLtv_rmQwmwsaf25BaGKu06Qw-Q3c2wlovknSI05_ETDzWSYPoXRim_rtc59n54x9pTVRfo_DTSIkhaHf6htv01V3qa4MIUczNwLzBWJru87lCwWM60/s1600/1428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh4KPRef7lSXzPmu2BJcBG5uZWwqLtv_rmQwmwsaf25BaGKu06Qw-Q3c2wlovknSI05_ETDzWSYPoXRim_rtc59n54x9pTVRfo_DTSIkhaHf6htv01V3qa4MIUczNwLzBWJru87lCwWM60/s1600/1428.JPG" height="162" width="320" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-28318310700624928902014-06-17T21:11:00.000-07:002014-06-17T21:31:34.343-07:00My blog about a blog about me....The Fox and The Howl<a href="http://www.thefoxandthehowl.com/">http://www.thefoxandthehowl.com/</a><br />
<br />
Nice Feature about my show True North, at The LAB - Asheville, NC.<br />
<br />
Here's an excerpt:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQpCuIVuqod6pL2bE6kcnuehpoIynkO9RvtKw-P2YRcyy1mdCnesiZDqgXUvhWraKecXfTWIqIvHanmUd55Q41SPVKUACTM2GGYJUdoh3nd_IcIhI9_UPB2PXz5bpgKe9rPBvwtecv2R7/s1600/book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQpCuIVuqod6pL2bE6kcnuehpoIynkO9RvtKw-P2YRcyy1mdCnesiZDqgXUvhWraKecXfTWIqIvHanmUd55Q41SPVKUACTM2GGYJUdoh3nd_IcIhI9_UPB2PXz5bpgKe9rPBvwtecv2R7/s1600/book.jpg" height="640" width="516" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Can you tell us about the little map book and what it means to you?</b><br />
<br />
<br />
My dad is a collector, that is what we lovingly call him. He is also a product of the Great Depression so the modern day term would be hoarder. I grew up surrounded by treasures..this is one of them. My childhood home is on a tributary off the Delaware Bay; a ship port. In the town I grew up in the only commerce was a boat yard that salvaged and remodeled old ships, often large ones. We had an old boat yard house on our property that housed my dads antique collection and at one point was an antique shop called the Dusty Dowry. Ohhhhh…the treasures in this old house; from the cherry stairs to the bookshelves stocked with history. I was enamored as a child. This book fell into my hands as if it wanted me to tell it’s story. It has been a model of inspiration since the day I first held it. The journey of a young sailor in the 1920′s and his artful sketches across the map. I fell in love with the ink and verse on paper. It has never left my side since the day I found it. It also defines for me the love my father had for ephemera. Old maps, books, post cards – it is such a part of my childhood to revitalize it into art is my story.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>What inspired you to start working with maps and to do this show and how do you go about creating your pieces in thought and process? </b><br />
<br />
Maps have allotted me travel on a budget. I so want to visit the small towns with big names, the vintage gas stations on an unknown route thru Mississippi. Conversation with locals about what they love and their family routes/roots. They really tell our story and my art is so much about that; about a place in time that has a location that is near and dear to our hearts that defines us in a way. We can’t escape where we are from or where we go no matter how far the distance from each point. Maps give us that defined line. I love that story and it’s so unique to each of us that have traveled a marked path.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Click the link at the top (you may have to scroll over it..it's kinda dark) to read more. Much thanks to Terrah and Christian - the creators of The Fox and The Howl for allowing my story and show to grace their pages. Love what these two are doing creatively for the arts community here in Asheville! xo Make sure you follow their blog...so much incredible art, music, venues and ideas in the mix.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-43236561931344839742014-06-10T02:33:00.001-07:002014-06-10T02:57:33.245-07:00Graphite Girl<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">I will be your graphite girlfriend</span><br />
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">
Your pin up perfection </div>
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Lines - </div>
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Sketched over </div>
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Re drawn </div>
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Striped tights I never wore again</div>
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Fall in love with my charcoal thighs</div>
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My un-drawn eyes</div>
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Put me in a box </div>
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Nail me up</div>
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A prisoner to your walls</div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">
And forever your...<br />
<br /></div>
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Graphite girl</div>
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<br /></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-23019228114143746082014-05-28T15:14:00.000-07:002014-05-28T15:14:33.565-07:00True North? What is the meaning of this show? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AMip4KH__ebmDhtsp6YeTuamaSxDDQNMmWMUY8XDFGJ5NQhFHpyG69-jHCgmt8XgiMgNxn8XXU4LyCM9_uc3vwkj_mDVAwqYt9WO9rOzQqmRo2uCMM7z8OdHxdGHRsvAS-6Lar4fwIoC/s1600/pirate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AMip4KH__ebmDhtsp6YeTuamaSxDDQNMmWMUY8XDFGJ5NQhFHpyG69-jHCgmt8XgiMgNxn8XXU4LyCM9_uc3vwkj_mDVAwqYt9WO9rOzQqmRo2uCMM7z8OdHxdGHRsvAS-6Lar4fwIoC/s1600/pirate.jpg" height="640" width="616" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
True North.<br />
<br />
What does this show mean to me? It has been such a struggle trying to figure out what I'm doing with this art. I still don't know. Honestly, when I think about this month, these past few months, this past year I often feel bad for handling it as well as I have. For finally getting to the point where I have enough information that I finally understand how to choose happiness.<br />
<br />
I did The Artists Way January until April of 2014.<br />
I didn't talk about it - (and I talk about stuff because as an artist, a public figure, someone who really cares and wants to make a difference in the goodness that exists (at least in my world - daily) I think that my art and my voice have a visual connection. It's important to me that I use these two things to share the love...)<br />
<br />
You see, you aren't allowed to talk about The Artists Way (aka Fight Club..I swear). I did it because I needed something to keep me focused off of what was going on with my dad. I needed guidance and it fell into my lap and it made me do the work. I did the work; it was really hard but I found a few things out about myself that have been holding me back from my purpose, my intent. Obstacles that come my way are always extreme and constant. I've been pissed off for years throwing blame into the sky...the whole why me thing.<br />
<br />
Losing the baby last June (note the month) really showed me what it felt like to have a broken heart. It also really made me question this body. It's hard not to put blame somewhere when bad shit happens. I decided, after doing The Artists Way - that I had blamed this body; this amazing creative machine for so much of the pain in my life. The reason why I am a blocked artist is because I haven't honored my body..I haven't always treated it kindly. I've compared my West Coast body to my East Coast body for years.<br />
<br />
The Artist Way taught me to take myself for walks and look at the trees, and to spend sweet moments with myself, to spend time on acknowledgement and forgiveness.<br />
<br />
After 16 weeks; sure enough - I felt open. I literally had a moment where I felt my heart chakra burst wide open (sorry if I'm being too Asheville for you, but it's the truth). I embraced the opportunity that I had for love...but mostly to give love.<br />
<br />
It doesn't always go easy for me...as quickly as I open up I close back up. I decided I wanted to do a fast for the month of May. To finally put into action a system of honoring my body for its creativity. Strengthen the core. Last May was the only full month of my life I was ever pregnant. (Of course..you know where I was when I realized I was pregnant - on a 15 ft. ladder cleaning the top of a vintage bus.) I wanted to stop blaming this body for it's failure to carry a baby and honor it with it's ability to carry this creativity. I told someone this and their reply was "So, you are punishing yourself?"<br />
<br />
...and that stopped me.<br />
<br />
I thought...am I?<br />
<br />
Am I doing it again..without even knowing it am I repeating the behavior that I have been engaging in for years? It kinda put me down for a few days because it's a hard thing to know when you are being an extremist - and as an Aries; I've been known for extremes to say the least. Was I punishing myself..good question. Better answer -<br />
<br />
No. Not at all.<br />
<br />
This is how I figured it out. True North. What is the reason of this show..this art? I sat here and stared at these maps more than I made art on them this month. I had nothing. I thought the fast would give me the restful time and space to be creative but instead it made me crazy(er). I was foggy, distracted, moody...etc..ALL of the things that come with fasting. In this struggle though and dealing again with heartbreak on a different level I realized something...<br />
<br />
because of The Artist Way that there didn't need to be a story about why this is True North.<br />
<br />
It really is my True North. Making art is the only thing I need to do. Creating, engaging in creating, looking at art, making art, being art, that's all. True North is exactly that...just doing it. It's right now..I was involved in the meaning of my show...who cares about the show.<br />
<br />
Who cares if it's my best work ever, or not, or even if it makes sense to anyone but me...it only matters that I do it. Everyday, all of the time. This body, and treating it kindly, is the only way I can make this art.<br />
<br />
"You take care of the quantity, I will take care of the quality". -The Artists Way or God or True Source..whoever it is for you - Mr. Fucking Rainbow.<br />
<br />
Yes. I did this for me. All of it. So that I can be better for you. YOU.<br />
Universe. I am inviting love into my life with open arms...and if it doesn't come these arms are strong enough to wrap around and hug myself.<br />
<br />
When the hurt of the loss comes in - in any situation now; even the most recent on with Lunar - I let myself revisit crazy fuck all Maryanne and then I pass it thru me and out pops this courageous, kind, amazing person I'm just getting to know.<br />
<br />
It's an adventure - True North; my everyday is my best art show. xoAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-76872958285675541592014-05-22T13:38:00.001-07:002014-05-22T13:42:35.203-07:0014 miles away from a landfill grave <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Hammer<br />
Nails<br />
<br />
Open the door, shut the door<br />
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Nail the fucking door.<br />
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Jump out the window.<br />
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Queue "Emergency Exit"<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">14 miles away from a landfill grave </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Never pawned my watch and chain </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">To the landlord living inside my head </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Never paid my rent till the lights went dead </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Then I saw my sign comin' up the road </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A dead ditch waiting for to bury my load </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On the avenues in the plain of day </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I threw a Roosevelt dime in a bucket of rain </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Now hold your hand onto the plow </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Work your body till the sun goes down </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">What's left of death is more than fear </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Let dust be dust and the good lord near </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's a little too much to ask of faith </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's a little late to wait for fate </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So tell the angels what you seen </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Scarecrow shadow on a Nazarene </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="border: 0px none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Kindness will find you </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When darkness has fallen </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Round your bed </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Kindness will follow </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Children will wander </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Till </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The end</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">-Beck </span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-82147575611035228112014-05-15T04:51:00.002-07:002014-05-15T04:51:40.328-07:00I'll wear this skin suit to the masquerade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"> " Masquerade"</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"> Available </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">*serious inquiries only</span><span style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"> </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">I've crashed into a million pieces </span><br />
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Every bit as broken as before </div>
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I'll wear this skin suit to the masquerade </div>
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I'll dance Black Swan</div>
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Blue</div>
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Consequently I'm engaging in disengaging </div>
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If you hadn't noticed me noticing you </div>
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and the pauses in between </div>
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My body shook over and over </div>
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Repeatedly repeating </div>
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And over again</div>
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And then nothing</div>
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More pauses</div>
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Springtime came and went and the pounding in my skull was resolution for the new</div>
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Idk lol omg ok, wait for it</div>
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.........<br />
<br /></div>
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Insert eye roll.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-27955805820999782662014-05-09T08:15:00.002-07:002014-05-09T09:38:23.266-07:00Despite not being heard, I will not start screaming. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Desole" Available<br />
Serious Inquires Only<br />
<br />
I don't always feel heard. It is the one thing that frustrates me to the point of disappearing.<br />
I'm trying to learn how to be transparent.<br />
How ego is pointless and serves no purpose.<br />
<br />
How to selflessly love with no expectations.<br />
To feel hurt and then to put it away.<br />
<br />
How to deal with the feeling of intuition when it presents itself.<br />
To say what I mean each and every time I speak.<br />
<br />
Despite not being heard,<br />
I will not start screaming.<br />
<br />
..and I'm not going to disappear because I want to be here.<br />
I want to be exactly where I am...making art.<br />
<br />
You are more than welcome to stop by but I will not ask.<br />
<br />
My door is as open as my heart...<br />
but my mouth is shut.<br />
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<br />
"Thoughtless" SOLD<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The National<br />
"Slipped"<br />
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I'm in the city you hated<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />My eyes are fallen<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Counting the clicks with the living dead<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />My eyes are red<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I'm in the crush and I hate it<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />My eyes are fallen<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I'm having trouble inside my skin<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I try to keep my skeletons in<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Is it weird to be back in the south?<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />And can they even tell<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />That the city girl was ever there<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Or anywhere?<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I'm having trouble inside my skin<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I try to keep my skeletons in<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I'll be a friend and a fuck-up<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />And everything<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />But I'll never be<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Anything you ever want me to be<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I keep coming back here where everything slipped<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />But I will not spill my guts out<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I keep coming back here where everything slipped<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />But I will not spill my guts out<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I don't need any help to be breakable, believe me<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I know nobody else who can laugh along to any kind of joke<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I won't need any help to be lonely when you leave me<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />It'll be easy to cover<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Gather my skeletons far inside<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />It'll be summer in Dallas<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Before I realize<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I don't want you to grieve<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />But I want you to sympathize (alright)<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I can't blame you for losing<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Your mind for a little while (so did I)<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I don't want you to change<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />But I want you to recognize (that I)<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />It'll be easy to cover<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Gather your skeletons far inside<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />It'll be summer in Dallas<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Before you realize<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />That I'll never be<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />Anything you ever want me to be<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" /><br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I keep coming back here where everything slipped<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />But I will not spill my guts out<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />I keep coming back here where everything slipped<br style="font-size: 13.600000381469727px;" />But I will not spill my guts out</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-401147494158974192014-05-05T10:35:00.001-07:002014-05-05T10:35:03.436-07:00True North - I hope this finds you on a similar journey...I do hate to travel alone. xo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbRJTb9QKRx2iHLQyd_w_UMqsOkTnyAshfDU_b_b0auaIMzfpiVxm2n3pVHXSeQAk3GYSduqFHd9uMnD5XGxP3OYsBL80EHqfn_2XV_vJn6_FvCfVTVwUpomucRtD9hNThJfd1JNrlSqK/s1600/StoneCompassRose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbRJTb9QKRx2iHLQyd_w_UMqsOkTnyAshfDU_b_b0auaIMzfpiVxm2n3pVHXSeQAk3GYSduqFHd9uMnD5XGxP3OYsBL80EHqfn_2XV_vJn6_FvCfVTVwUpomucRtD9hNThJfd1JNrlSqK/s1600/StoneCompassRose.jpg" height="400" width="267" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
I'm just going to close my eyes and let it all come out. <div>
I'm 25, packing my car to drive across the country to an unknown. </div>
<div>
California.</div>
<div>
The only thing I knew back then was that it was where the art world was....it was where my heart strings (sinew, fiber, heart) pulled me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was successful there. I was in love. I got married. I was happy.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I suppose it didn't really matter to me so much that I wasn't making art. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Fast forward to a few years later and I'm suddenly in New Jersey, failing, unsuccessful and unhappy. </div>
<div>
Depression introduced itself into my life for the first time. I spiraled out of control. </div>
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Drug addict, psych ward, rehab, reckless, divorced, unhappy, sad, lost, lonely. </div>
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I started making art. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I've spent years pulling myself out of that black hole; but it was in the black hole that I found myself. </div>
<div>
It's funny how the two worlds collide and where you end up...</div>
<div>
Asheville:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Happy, successful, grounded, healthy, open, kind, strong, independent, still a little lost, still a little lonely. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Making art. It's been 6 years. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here I am in the throws of creating my first collection of Map Artworks for Asheville. This is why I came here. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I work with maps because I relate to the lines that intersect, cross over and pull us in different directions. My own life has that grid. This body of work needs to tell that story. I-40, I just turned 40 - it's the hardest number I find myself having to write. It has it's own map, it's own direction, it's own compass rose. True North. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgvItJ4Ya0L6CzMUvdH_1qsXMuXDVWuy2rv_FqGGmeI8Ot6I__z0SSE28R1pXsaIHN_IosdLx4o3W68bmhDeox5f3ELhTaAjs5QUNNSU3TihkYbfrWeseH3z3sPO8BPAIhuaS4bYQpCi_/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgvItJ4Ya0L6CzMUvdH_1qsXMuXDVWuy2rv_FqGGmeI8Ot6I__z0SSE28R1pXsaIHN_IosdLx4o3W68bmhDeox5f3ELhTaAjs5QUNNSU3TihkYbfrWeseH3z3sPO8BPAIhuaS4bYQpCi_/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></div>
<div>
True North - intuition. The direction your intuition pulls you is your True North.</div>
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<div>
I have worked really hard to get to this place where the art, the intent, the intuition and the act of creating are all connected. A 4 way stop where everyone smiles and waves at each other. I am so grateful for the highways and byways, the pit stops and the pot holes that have gotten me here to this amazing mountain. To this body of work; however it may unfold in front of me. I surrendered into the darkness to finally see the light. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I hope this finds you on a similar journey...I do hate to travel alone. xo</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-44972511330548863412014-04-26T03:26:00.000-07:002014-06-10T02:51:57.549-07:00*despite the lack of sleep I'm not tired. I'm driven. I'm erotic. I'm insane with lust. I want this.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXpzfSeDUls1Tci6QObdThN5HUoloz6eosTp3jSSIATu5qqx7T5VPHdosnJra2Py1xHnt8h0vh8ZjbIw5DhGLSO1Q4G-RlgST8Ga956ElbNRLs7XQPwxMpjGeL0yuv_S2YKLtIHlpOMGY/s1600/stripes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXpzfSeDUls1Tci6QObdThN5HUoloz6eosTp3jSSIATu5qqx7T5VPHdosnJra2Py1xHnt8h0vh8ZjbIw5DhGLSO1Q4G-RlgST8Ga956ElbNRLs7XQPwxMpjGeL0yuv_S2YKLtIHlpOMGY/s1600/stripes.jpg" height="400" width="285" /></a></div>
<br />
It wakes me up in the middle of the night (3am to be exact)<br />
a blanket of insecurities pulled tight<br />
around my throat<br />
constrict<br />
unconstrict<br />
block<br />
unblock<br />
write.<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“Are you paralyzed with fear? That’s a good sign. Fear is good. Like self-doubt, fear is an indicator. Fear tells us what we have to do. Remember one rule of thumb: the more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it.” </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/867.Steven_Pressfield" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Steven Pressfield</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/722104" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles</a></i><br />
<br />
There are only a few things I am certain of (currently). - I can't not.<br />
A double negative when drawn abstractly can be a positive. A cross. +<br />
<br />
1.) I am certain that I am not alone.<br />
<br />
This 3am calling, the lists I write in my head, the artworks I draw over and over<br />
are taking (over). It's maddening.<br />
..and exciting.<br />
Waiting for the chatter of the birds to bring me upright.<br />
Write.<br />
<br />
2.) I am certain that the universe (myself) has very specific intent for me (universe).<br />
<br />
3.) I will continue to give it all away, day after day - to make art.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“We must do our work for its own sake, not for fortune or attention or applause.” </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/867.Steven_Pressfield" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Steven Pressfield</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/722104" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles</a></i><br />
<br />
*despite the lack of sleep I'm not tired.<br />
I'm driven.<br />
I'm erotic.<br />
I'm insane with lust.<br />
I want this.<br />
<br />
I'm an addict again. (transference)<br />
<br />
I'm a wife again.<br />
My wedding dress - a white canvas (wood).<br />
<br />
I drew you in. (Youniverse)<br />
<br />
4.) At the end of my arm there is an extension of myself that must create daily. It's often hard for others to understand (assumption) and I try to blend into the normal (society) but I'm removed. I am in an artwork that I have yet created.<br />
Every blink is an eyelid full of potential. An assemblage. A collection of what I've lost (found).<br />
<br />
5.) I'm only writing this to pass the time so that I can get up and start to work. (play)<br />
6.) I try to be interesting on paper (monitor)..because in real life I try really hard to be dull and it's a shame that I have to market myself like this...I hope that someday I don't have to anymore.<br />
7.) I wish the world (myself included) wasn't so obsessed with social media; and that they would take the time they spend online in a community garden or volunteering. (The extension of positive energy into the universe is the only shit that stops war(s)).<br />
<br />
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“The working artist will not tolerate trouble in her life because she knows trouble prevents her from doing her work.”<br />
― <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/867.Steven_Pressfield" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: underline;">Steven Pressfield</a>, <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/722104" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles</a></i></div>
<br />
8.) I love. I am certain that I love. (I wasn't always certain of that). xo<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-30981661574678594122014-04-24T12:09:00.000-07:002014-04-24T12:13:37.769-07:00There's a science to walking through windows..<br /><br />"I am not my rosy self<br />Left my roses on my shelf<br />Take the wild ones, they're my favorites<br />It's the side effects that save us"<br /><br /><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUy_paWW155B8HITrxWq6Iua_WmNMBrm1rMtJQB4vNO5bpY5wUTf_Mp6Ak3Eydsj_mLx8qOzOwEJLSgkuWfQ-F5cETrVJ8TzF7XOhUrnFeq-k7HsKm0rN0O2o3pUio36le2GMk7JRHY79/s1600/448.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUy_paWW155B8HITrxWq6Iua_WmNMBrm1rMtJQB4vNO5bpY5wUTf_Mp6Ak3Eydsj_mLx8qOzOwEJLSgkuWfQ-F5cETrVJ8TzF7XOhUrnFeq-k7HsKm0rN0O2o3pUio36le2GMk7JRHY79/s1600/448.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br />It's been a year. I think back to it often enough but the months surrounding it are a blur. How my body got from that state to this state is a complete unknown. Years of pain piled up on a skeleton that resembled a shattered mirror of itself. I don't talk about it a lot...if at all - but it's a constant. The things we do to protect ourselves. I've decided to honor myself and the temple that carried you for a sacred moment by returning to the skin I was in then. I don't want to carry around your ghost anymore in the holes of my pockets.<br /><br />It's time.<br /><br /> "I'm trying, but I've gone<br />Through the glass again<br />Just come and find me<br />God loves everybody, don't remind me<br />I took the medicine and I went missing<br />Just let me hear your voice, just let me listen"<br /><br />You gave me the strength to decide that I was worth it...thank you. I've forgiven myself for the failures and for the flaws. I now wear only a decorated crown of your memories. A cloak of the hurt hung at the door.<br /><br />It's time.<div>
<br />I used to always know when I was on the right path by the appearance if a downy woodpecker, a symbol of fertility - my spirit animal. You showed up today in so many ways. Last year it was in the form of a cross.<br /><br />I have the power of rhythm in my blood. The grand cardinal crossing is happening right now and I've done the work. I put crystals in the woods and allowed the light to pass thru me and onto you.<br /><br />Freedom.<br /><br />I will adorn with nourishment and love. I will feed you nothing but potential. Thank you for staying strong enough to carry the weight of loss and for recognizing that it's time to shed your skin and fit back into the you that is strong enough to carry the lightness of love.<br /><br />Grace.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />(Lyrics from Graceless by The National)<br /><br /><br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslLUbm0vHyTcNWS9wNBm2Hhgee5nTRCkR7kGNfCmY8VFk3n5ODZps14QbqMuL_dG8WYDQFeujMqjL98RTEEidnYQvzwf-OmXo9YJTpKtgi1r2ldQTWvdevCn5-ZLNFkvP0togY3ajM4HF/s1600/IMG_1081-003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslLUbm0vHyTcNWS9wNBm2Hhgee5nTRCkR7kGNfCmY8VFk3n5ODZps14QbqMuL_dG8WYDQFeujMqjL98RTEEidnYQvzwf-OmXo9YJTpKtgi1r2ldQTWvdevCn5-ZLNFkvP0togY3ajM4HF/s1600/IMG_1081-003.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The day after taking down a show is always a weird day...I wanted to wait until it was over to share the meaning of the one assemblage that I created specifically for this show. Not having a lot of time to prepare for this installation and trying to find a reason, a source of substance and inspiration - I thought to myself...god, do you do a show about your dad losing his leg? Shaking my head "no"...Do you do a show about a miscarriage? Shaking my head again, "NO!".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's the deal; since I started this journey to be "the artist" I haven't really failed. I also haven't taken a lot of risks. Having been in the business as a Gallery Director for so many years I've had such an upper hand on the business. NOT that I'm boasting success etc..etc..but just that I'm informed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is where the other voice, the voice that wants so desperately to get to the next level says, "Go ahead, tell THAT story Maryanne; you know - the one no one wants to hear about. The one that makes people cringe....what does that look like?" I'm pretty sure I'm the one who really doesn't want to see it the most; or deal with it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">See, that's the thing. That's what pushed me to do it. I thought; what if it works? What if you start to feel better...what if you start to heal? Hell - you preach enough about the healing energy of art; fucking walk the walk.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, I wrote the letter...and it started there:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"I wanted to make you paper dolls. Handmade from vintage
paper, cut outs; parts put together by your tiny little hands. Perhaps you
would make an arm a leg, a shoulder a shin; just like your mom. Awkward and
peculiar. We would string them together and give them glitter dresses, crowns,
suits of armor. I would have let you color on the walls. I would have colored
with you. I wanted to bring you flowers from our garden and tickle your nose
with fairy dust.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">I wanted you. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">The thought of the pain of losing you exhausts me. How no
one understands what that feels like. How suddenly you are alone in the biggest
loss of your life. How rage makes you want to rip your skin off, bloody your
veins, tack your arm flesh to your shoulders and run around screaming like a blood
soaked angel. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">You are my angel. The only angel I’ve ever had…for a moment.
I was almost your mom. A mom. Then I wasn’t. Then I was me, again, alone, again.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Lie to me. Tell me you love me. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Take my limbs, rip them off; give them away. Leave me alone.
Please. I just want to sit here in the dirt digging with ghost arms until the hole fits what’s
left of me." </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That was the first letter I had written about it..no draft; it just fell onto the paper just like that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Paper dolls. The image just kinda stuck with me...I kinda thought about myself as a kid and the things I loved. I would have loved to draw on the walls. I didn't realize it until the show started to go up all of the connections to what I wrote...to the artwork. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The artwork combines both events in my life...the image of the paper doll has it's limbs floating; they are stitched down onto transparency paper, the heavy metal ring hovers above the missing torso - or where the womb would have been, the swollen belly, the lost baby. The reflection shows what could have been...the hands suspending a very thin string holding the weight of it all...the bullet dropped into a cup below the paper doll...nearby rolled dice. #7; nails floating around the figure; one specifically dance on the rim of the glass holding the die. Everything is barely holding on. Sinew. Fiber. Heart. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I often wonder if anyone gets me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The key was added by a friend who actually does get me. Maybe too much. The show also resulting in a pretty major healing event. To all who shared your equally devastating losses; I hope you felt the healing energy of art...because I can now, also, talk the talk - and believe it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In conclusion..and with out going on too much about it all - "leap and the net will appear" is a phrase I have hanging in my work space and is often the push I give myself when I'm on the edge. I am so grateful for this experience, this artwork, this creative journey, the people who believe in me, in their own voice, in the importance of art. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much. xoxo</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-9003226323511482762014-02-25T08:42:00.000-08:002014-02-25T08:42:17.677-08:00Morning Phase - West Coast hum and East Coast eager<div class="MsoNormal">
I just wanted to be very present in this moment I am having
with music. I've so longed to be back here…where I wake up to you; where you
are in sync with my heartbeat; where I again, know my intent and purpose
through the beating of your drums. I want to wake up with you everyday, like a
marriage that I actually believe in. I want to fall in love with your morning
phase – with your West Coast hum and East Coast eager. Sit, listen to the
birds. It feels like the way I feel when the first cool wash of the ocean
touches my skin. Salted, yet hydrated. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-14794411746369694222014-01-05T15:33:00.002-08:002014-01-05T15:37:42.681-08:00After the bedding was pulled back or pulled tight? <br />
<br />
It's a modern adaptation<br />
as in, I've been there before.<br />
It was not a claim but a fact.<br />
The book, missing a chapter<br />
and in that, misleading - not misread.<br />
Would you have leaned in and told me over<br />
appetizers or dessert?<br />
After the bedding was pulled back or pulled tight?<br />
Perhaps I'll never know?<br />
It isn't I that is presumptuous I assure you.<br />
I am the stranger accident. Heartbreaker.<br />
<br />
Talula.<br />
Talula.<br />
<br />
"Ran into the Henchman who severed Anne Boleyn".<br />
She said 1 + 1 is 2 and 2nd is a place I'm never in.<br />
We are involved.<br />
It's Word Play. A feud. To slay or be slain?<br />
I thought you wiser than the 2nd line of your message;<br />
all along.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-45847579967249122962013-11-29T14:40:00.000-08:002013-11-29T14:49:43.032-08:00 Tie off the tornado. Stop the spin. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The spirals unwind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the un-twist </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">here I am</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Talula</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Talula. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">HERE I AM (screaming)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Maryanne. The girl before the rabbit hole. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The girl who draws the fastest black hole. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I sourced Inferno.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Hunter S. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Salinger</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tie off the tornado. Stop the spin. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Sandtrap</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div id="textblock" style="z-index: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">When you leave us through the patient doors</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">That rattle in you ear will be the sound of our applause</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">raptuous, considered and due.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">Oh the nasty laughter and desperate smirks</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">are tangled in the boredom where out brittle kisses lurk</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">well how can i believe you, when you can't believe your luck</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">and the </span><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.76041603088379px;">shards</span><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;"> of past attraction lie visible</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">but shy and blunt and weak and worn</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">away by whining in the emery paper voice you use to speak</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">oh the </span><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.76041603088379px;">shards</span><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;"> of past attraction lie visible</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">but shy and blunt and weak and worn</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">away by whining in the emery paper voice you use to speak</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">in the trap</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">you only want to be the first to laugh</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">you only want to be the first in the sandtrap</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">you only want to be the first to laugh</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">and your climbing holes and cinder claws</span><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">ring out the ?</span><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;"> all towards</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">Farewell, Farewell, Farewell</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.765625px;">*</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Feeling trapped in the norm, but so needing to be quiet in it for just long enough that the nausea goes away. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.142857551574707px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-41626858447506315922013-10-29T13:16:00.000-07:002013-10-30T10:45:00.482-07:00The hardest thing I've had to write to date...and the dead baby paintings. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I keep trying to write this down, say it out loud, deal with it; but every time I try I find a good old excuse not to. It shouldn't be this hard. We should be allowed to talk about it. I find it creeps into my everyday like a slow moving fog. I want it to lift. I want to see the brighter side of the cemetery stone.<br />
<br />
I had a miscarriage in June. I have spent countless hours mourning the loss of the baby I always wanted.<br />
<br />
No, I wasn't in a serious relationship - in fact the morning I had the miscarriage the guy took off for two weeks to NY with nothing more than a kiss on my forehead. If that didn't suck - in the next two weeks I lost my home and had to leave my dog as well.<br />
<br />
Dominoes.<br />
<br />
For many years my life has read like a falling stack of dominoes. I accepted it; much like a accepted this miscarriage and then the constant state of loss I allow myself to stay in.<br />
<br />
Key. Words.<br />
<br />
Allow myself.<br />
<br />
Changing the conversation (the dialog) I have had with myself for a long time has been key to getting me to this point. Saying what I mean to MYSELF. (IE: being able to write this down)<br />
I'm not looking for attention of any kind of sympathy when I write this - I know how many of us woman (and men) have gone thru this; what I have wondered this whole time is what defines this great loss? What story do I walk away telling myself everyday?<br />
<br />
I tell myself I'm ok. Over and over. That I'm strong. That maybe the reason for all of this to happen was to give me the time to reconnect with my sister and HER kids. Kids that already exist that I love dearly. I am not being punished. I did not deserve to experience yet another great pain or loss in my life.<br />
It just happened. I'm ok. For that short amount of time I felt what it might have been like to be a mom. Initial fear, amazement, a miracle!!! It just didn't stick.<br />
<br />
I believe every soul has intention. I also believe that this is an important time in our lives that we are able to accept universal energy and allow it to change our path and our beliefs if we so chose...or if we just simply need to make a different choice than the one we have been making for many years.<br />
<br />
I chose to not let this sad and emotional loss rule me. I will no longer let any kind of loss define me. I am ok. I am strong, beautiful, creative and independent. I didn't need the baby to make me whole; I already am. I did love the baby. Love should always be enough. As long as you give it for free; even if it is not returned.<br />
<br />
A gift. This loss was a gift. Every moment is a gift to give yourself love. I pulled thru this heartache without hurting anyone - especially myself.<br />
<br />
There are two paintings that sit next to my bed that I painted while I was in the throws of losing the baby, the "boyfriend", my home, and having to leave a town that I love and my dog. Art has always been a way to tell my story without me (trying) to be obvious. I look at these paintings and I'm so grateful that I was able to make art out of it all. That I have these two beautiful reminders of this one very small part of my bigger story. I hope you have art in your life that gives you this. I really do. It is one of the bigger reasons why I do what I do - I believe that art heals.<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading and for sharing in this with me. It means a lot that I am more than an "artist" or someone who incessantly posts art on facebook, or pics of my dog...or that my internet personality paints a good facade without telling the truth.<br />
<br />
Here it is....the hardest thing I've had to write to date....and here is that painting (and the artwork above) that tells of that heartache. I call them the dead baby paintings. I know...parts of my internet personality are true; just the sick one's mostly.<br />
<br />
The true test will be if I click Publish...if you are reading this; then you know I just gifted myself with a fog lifting ceremony. Cheers.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5o6ZlPVVCYwzUvtqlcbW-yncN1ySwyrw8CXtoNZjYTiHd1v1WBZAunEOpEf3zv7PmA-A_v0D4_IBvrH0Jf1P_cCF6-jlDu3tj7mY5AN91d2rNdl53H1fNJxAjet4uuZ8noDqPdU8SiKn/s1600/photo+(12).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5o6ZlPVVCYwzUvtqlcbW-yncN1ySwyrw8CXtoNZjYTiHd1v1WBZAunEOpEf3zv7PmA-A_v0D4_IBvrH0Jf1P_cCF6-jlDu3tj7mY5AN91d2rNdl53H1fNJxAjet4uuZ8noDqPdU8SiKn/s640/photo+(12).JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-61224224262520481472013-09-27T21:18:00.002-07:002013-09-27T21:18:43.567-07:00Same story, different day<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_42GNJAsRPPfgaQ-JIVigHQRuIOZQwQ7fy4ramr9Vgc96hH3U2p2GKcPJTVWLN0GqFoRf5Q0suVCeFq3eeBQq2WzfnhtZ49Bah2ODbAvG2nj4cKyibw56qa6BXyACC4FHlf-3jIjyJdb/s1600/IMG_1042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_42GNJAsRPPfgaQ-JIVigHQRuIOZQwQ7fy4ramr9Vgc96hH3U2p2GKcPJTVWLN0GqFoRf5Q0suVCeFq3eeBQq2WzfnhtZ49Bah2ODbAvG2nj4cKyibw56qa6BXyACC4FHlf-3jIjyJdb/s400/IMG_1042.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Juggler and my Dead Cat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So I kinda just sat there juggling the faces and the names<br />
Nothing was really moving besides my arms, circling, circling<br />
and circling again<br />
waiting for one to drop off, out, bump off to the side but<br />
my hands kept moving and the heads and faces kept spinning<br />
out<br />
in front of me.<br />
<br />
No one looks me in the eye.<br />
<br />
They eventually became fuzzy and blurred a bit<br />
maybe it was the tequila or maybe it just was<br />
<br />
I thought...one of these heads will stop spinning around in<br />
this vicious washing machine world<br />
this endless Ferris Wheel of people who's mouths move<br />
but they don't mean what they say<br />
around and around<br />
same story each circle<br />
every now and again I think one is about to roll out<br />
but they just keep on<br />
<br />
same story<br />
different day<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-91187208167287619282013-09-17T09:29:00.001-07:002013-09-17T09:29:41.978-07:00 Suck back the spit, Swallow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthT1w3XmbcSVVH-nTGqhFgqFTRLdEX-s11MNWTSM7N_sQS14bZK4w7Em0s1rXiXXqhPbs6KyIgLyv3C_iAGKBWK1NtChuH0qrbHGvrMHBiF3SOORBuYvT1E7bqjyqHagHlRUoJjdXh1x2/s1600/photo+(25).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthT1w3XmbcSVVH-nTGqhFgqFTRLdEX-s11MNWTSM7N_sQS14bZK4w7Em0s1rXiXXqhPbs6KyIgLyv3C_iAGKBWK1NtChuH0qrbHGvrMHBiF3SOORBuYvT1E7bqjyqHagHlRUoJjdXh1x2/s640/photo+(25).JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Negative space(s)<div>
Place(s)<br />Trace(s)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
the line I used to love. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
White chalk. </div>
<div>
Scratch(es)</div>
<div>
Snatch(es)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Surrounding the figure(s)</div>
<div>
Person(s)</div>
<div>
Moment(s)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The study, the sketch</div>
<div>
the first impression(s)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
wipe(s) off</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-----------------------------</div>
<div>
<br />Where there once was rage(s)</div>
<div>
replaced page(s)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Suck back the spit</div>
<div>
Swallow</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She start(s) over. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-793682207111190448.post-59979346476766585632013-09-12T19:32:00.001-07:002013-09-12T19:32:41.943-07:00 Window shopping my own reflection <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOMk3Lg80a7G5SZZhpHQFcls0Dgy5fcFx8_sf9vR78YiRl_adS9rlGlshyphenhyphen6hkMXLwjD2qZtTYiZgDeK2aqfpj27d-7dZpE9aCNF0Ehke5c91RC1SdLLx1f1C4zPsll86YYFQQL4oRDBuwh/s1600/IMG_0210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOMk3Lg80a7G5SZZhpHQFcls0Dgy5fcFx8_sf9vR78YiRl_adS9rlGlshyphenhyphen6hkMXLwjD2qZtTYiZgDeK2aqfpj27d-7dZpE9aCNF0Ehke5c91RC1SdLLx1f1C4zPsll86YYFQQL4oRDBuwh/s640/IMG_0210.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
how many times am I going to come to this place,<br />
space<br />
vacancy<br />
void<br />
<br />
Window shopping my own reflection<br />
<br />
the negative space that snaps between nothing<br />
slowly<br />
softly<br />
simply<br />
allowing the faint slip of silence<br />
cross over me<br />
<br />
shhhhhhh<br />
<br />
Pressing my finger against the line of his lips<br />
tracing the lies<br />
erasing<br />
pacing<br />
<br />
I don't remember how I got here<br />
because I don't know where I've been<br />
if fate has me cornered<br />
and I'm back inside the box<br />
let it be known<br />
I've since learned how to draw<br />
a thousand exits,<br />
a drop floor<br />
and a blackhole<br />
<br />
and the line I used to draw you in<br />
is as easily erased<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05543207988536475953noreply@blogger.com0