Despite not being heard, I will not start screaming.

                                                                                                            "Desole" Available
                                                                                                             Serious Inquires Only

I don't always feel heard. It is the one thing that frustrates me to the point of disappearing.
I'm trying to learn how to be transparent.
How ego is pointless and serves no purpose.

How to selflessly love with no expectations.
To feel hurt and then to put it away.

How to deal with the feeling of intuition when it presents itself.
To say what I mean each and every time I speak.

Despite not being heard,
I will not start screaming.

..and I'm not going to disappear because I want to be here.
I want to be exactly where I am...making art.

You are more than welcome to stop by but I will not ask.

My door is as open as my heart...
but my mouth is shut.

                                                                                                    "Thoughtless" SOLD



The National
"Slipped"

I'm in the city you hated
My eyes are fallen
Counting the clicks with the living dead
My eyes are red

I'm in the crush and I hate it
My eyes are fallen
I'm having trouble inside my skin
I try to keep my skeletons in

Is it weird to be back in the south?
And can they even tell
That the city girl was ever there
Or anywhere?

I'm having trouble inside my skin
I try to keep my skeletons in
I'll be a friend and a fuck-up
And everything

But I'll never be
Anything you ever want me to be

I keep coming back here where everything slipped
But I will not spill my guts out
I keep coming back here where everything slipped
But I will not spill my guts out

I don't need any help to be breakable, believe me
I know nobody else who can laugh along to any kind of joke
I won't need any help to be lonely when you leave me

It'll be easy to cover
Gather my skeletons far inside
It'll be summer in Dallas
Before I realize

I don't want you to grieve
But I want you to sympathize (alright)
I can't blame you for losing
Your mind for a little while (so did I)
I don't want you to change
But I want you to recognize (that I)

It'll be easy to cover
Gather your skeletons far inside
It'll be summer in Dallas
Before you realize

That I'll never be
Anything you ever want me to be

I keep coming back here where everything slipped
But I will not spill my guts out
I keep coming back here where everything slipped
But I will not spill my guts out

True North - I hope this finds you on a similar journey...I do hate to travel alone. xo

I'm just going to close my eyes and let it all come out. 

I'm 25, packing my car to drive across the country to an unknown. 

California.

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. 

I was successful there. I was in love. I got married. I was happy.

I suppose it didn't really matter to me so much that I wasn't making art. 

Fast forward to a few years later and I'm suddenly in New Jersey, failing, unsuccessful and unhappy. 

Depression introduced itself into my life for the first time. I spiraled out of control. 

Drug addict, psych ward, rehab, reckless, divorced, unhappy, sad, lost, lonely. 

I started making art. 

I've spent years pulling myself out of that black hole; but it was in the black hole that I found myself. 

It's funny how the two worlds collide and where you end up...

Asheville:

Happy, successful, grounded, healthy, open, kind, strong, independent, still a little lost, still a little lonely. 

Making art. It's been 6 years. 

Here I am in the throws of creating my first collection of Map Artworks for Asheville. This is why I came here. 

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. 

True North - intuition. The direction your intuition pulls you is your True North.

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. 

I hope this finds you on a similar journey...I do hate to travel alone. xo

*despite the lack of sleep I'm not tired. I'm driven. I'm erotic. I'm insane with lust. I want this.

It wakes me up in the middle of the night (3am to be exact)
a blanket of insecurities pulled tight
around my throat
constrict
unconstrict
block
unblock
write.
“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.” 
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

There are only a few things I am certain of (currently). - I can't not.
A double negative when drawn abstractly can be a positive. A cross. +

1.) I am certain that I am not alone.

This 3am calling, the lists I write in my head, the artworks I draw over and over
are taking (over). It's maddening.
..and exciting.
Waiting for the chatter of the birds to bring me upright.
Write.

2.) I am certain that the universe (myself) has very specific intent for me (universe).

3.) I will continue to give it all away, day after day - to make art.

“We must do our work for its own sake, not for fortune or attention or applause.” 
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

*despite the lack of sleep I'm not tired.
I'm driven.
I'm erotic.
I'm insane with lust.
I want this.

I'm an addict again. (transference)

I'm a wife again.
My wedding dress - a white canvas (wood).

I drew you in. (Youniverse)

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.
Every blink is an eyelid full of potential. An assemblage. A collection of what I've lost (found).

5.) I'm only writing this to pass the time so that I can get up and start to work. (play)
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.
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)).

“The working artist will not tolerate trouble in her life because she knows trouble prevents her from doing her work.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

8.) I love. I am certain that I love. (I wasn't always certain of that). xo

There's a science to walking through windows..

"I am not my rosy self
Left my roses on my shelf
Take the wild ones, they're my favorites
It's the side effects that save us"





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.

It's time.

"I'm trying, but I've gone
Through the glass again
Just come and find me
God loves everybody, don't remind me
I took the medicine and I went missing
Just let me hear your voice, just let me listen"

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.

It's time.

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.

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.

Freedom.

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.

Grace.







(Lyrics from Graceless by The National)

"Go ahead, tell THAT story Maryanne; you know - the one no one wants to hear about."

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!".

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.

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.

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.

So, I wrote the letter...and it started there:

"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.

I wanted you.

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.

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.

Lie to me. Tell me you love me.

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." 

That was the first letter I had written about it..no draft; it just fell onto the paper just like that.

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. 

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. 

I often wonder if anyone gets me. 

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. 

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

Morning Phase - West Coast hum and East Coast eager

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. 

After the bedding was pulled back or pulled tight?

It's a modern adaptation
as in, I've been there before.
It was not a claim but a fact.
The book, missing a chapter
and in that, misleading - not misread.
Would you have leaned in and told me over
appetizers or dessert?
After the bedding was pulled back or pulled tight?
Perhaps I'll never know?
It isn't I that is presumptuous I assure you.
I am the stranger accident. Heartbreaker.

Talula.
Talula.

"Ran into the Henchman who severed Anne Boleyn".
She said 1 + 1 is 2 and 2nd is a place I'm never in.
We are involved.
It's Word Play. A feud. To slay or be slain?
I thought you wiser than the 2nd line of your message;
all along.