shut up

kermit

I wish they would shut up, those talking heads, those jabbering radio mouths, those cluttered thinkers, predicting crap about the polls and what the elections are going to be like. They have hard-ons for liking one candidate, disliking another, backtalking and walking backwards, and contradicting and spitting. It’s all such a waste of air time and moving pictures to guess about what may or may not happen. Is this what it’s going to be like for a whole year? Yup.

Today is Tuesday

Remember when I said I woke up from a dream and there were those loud, migrating birds in the sky? Well, those were not just any birds. We have quite a few flocks of naturalized parrots all over this area. Since I moved here to NELA, I hear these parrots and see them in flocks, jumping from tree to tree, flying in crazy patterns. They are all so loud and beautiful, and frankly crazy to watch. There’s been a lot of Hitchcock moments where I could swear there were millions of birds about to swoop down on me in the yard. They scream and caw like they are on fire.

I started planting a cactus garden last week. That’s what I do to relax, even though it absolutely kills me. My legs are like lead weights now, with electrical currents running through them. Or maybe it’s more like those hot coils inside of a toaster running through my thighs, only I don’t feel the heat, I just feel the electricity. Neat, huh? When I walk I’m all wobbly with shocks zapping down from my hips into my feet. I’m one electric bitch! But you should see my garden. Very meditative and hippydippy cute.

Luckily, I can sit around the ERL lab and take it sleezy while I conduct my Frankenstein experiments, and shop around for some film equipment on Craig’s list for the next project I’m working on. Life is sure changing. There’s lots of new up my sleeve.

I’m also messing with a wood carving that will become the frame for the collector that purchased my painting called, Forgive:

Tonight is the opening of Salty: Three Tales of Sorrow, a solo show by Edith Abeyta at El Camino College Gallery in Torrance. There’s an artist’s talk that starts in about an hour, but I am certain I won’t be able to make that. I’m still trying to make arrangements to go down there for the reception tonite. I think I’d have to take my chair with me if I go, and I just hate being seen in it. So, I may bring an actual chair instead of one on wheels. No matter what, it makes me feel like a spectacle. A walker, a cane, a wheelchair, having to answer to people I don’t know very well what my problem is. Sometimes I sit behind a desk (where usually the only chairs are in a gallery) and have people think I work there, or appear to be some kind of prima donna that’s too good to stand. OR I can just do what I normally do: stand there as if nothing is wrong with me while screaming in writhing pain inside my head! If you are ever talking to me at these things and I’m standing there – I am not listening to a word you are saying! While I lie in bed recovering from this in the days that follow and I ask myself, “is all that agony really worth it?” The answer is no. If I can remember all that beforehand, this is usually why I missed your reception…

Anyway, Edie invited me to be a part of one of her three installations called, Cry Me a River. There are about 50 women artists in total. Each of us decorated a hankie provided by Edith, along with a souvenir blue ball point pen. Everyone did a great job, and each piece is very original. This show is running from November 19 through December 14. Here are some great captures of the installation process from Marshall Astor’s blog. It’s a great idea to have such thorough documentation along the way of an important artist’s career. Edie is a big inspiration.

Here’s a list of some of the other artists in the hankie project:

Kim Abeles, Rheim Alkadhi, Katrina Alexy, Claudia Alvarez, Abbie Bagley-Young, Sunny Buick, Alison Casson, Suzanne Coady, Shannon Collins, Susan Crawford, Hope Dector, Anne Devine, Irana Douer, Rebecca Ebeling, Beth Elliott, Christina Empedocles, Elisabet Ericson, Carol Es, Georgina Fineman, Betsy Lohrer Hall, Christine Hawthorn, Peregrine Honig, Lindsay Jessee, Denise Johnson, Marnia Johnston, Mary Kilvert, Mung Lar Lam, Miriam Libicki, Hilary Lorenz, Allison Manch, Susanna Meiers, Merry-Beth Noble, Saelee Oh, Susie Oh, Naoke Okabe, Ahndraya Parlato, Martha Rich, Lisa Romero, Charlene Roth, Isabel Samaras, Colleen Sanders, Yong Sin, Jessica Newman Skretny, Lisa Solomon, Syl Tapetentiere, Michele Theberge, Deborah Thomas, Rebecca Trawick, Sarah Wagner, Megan Whitmarsh, and Kate Williamson.

I’m pretty sure they’re all for sale too? But ask the director of the gallery to be sure.

out of hiding?

I guess I’ve been in hiding, or something. I’m not sure. For anyone who’s interested in knowing, moving was a double bitch. Although I have to admit that I love being back in the fold, close to all the stupid conveniences of life and amongst the living. Everything is close by: downtown, restaurants, freeways, old friends, museums, galleries. You’d think I’d be out and about this last weekend to see the opening of Jorge Santos at George Billis, or Souther Salazar at Giant Robot, but I went to neither when I planned to go to both. I guess I am still recovering from all the change and physical work. Or maybe I just wanted to be alone and relax this weekend.

My dreams have been vivid lately, last night I dreamt I was seeing an art show of my friend Tina Ng who made a video installation of all the TV footage of her childhood and I was transfixed on Ronald McDonald and the gang, along with old Matel and Hasbro commercials from the 70s. Weird dream, man. Then I woke up early to the sounds of migrating birds, way high up in the sky. Hundreds of them. It was crazy, loud but peaceful.

On Friday, I did manage to finish the drawing on a handkerchief for Edith Abeyta’s Salty project that will show at El Camino College next month. Apparently I am still in mourning for San Pedro, since I wound up drawing the Vincent Thomas Bridge.

crymeaharbor2

oh yeah, my trip to Houston:

In the days before I moved, I had an opening in Houston at Koelsch Gallery that went damn good. The gallery was stuffed with patrons and gallery supporters, all whom seemed genuinely interested in the work. I met lots and lots of wonderful people, which includes the gallery staff. They were special peoples who cared deeply about their jobs and the beauty of art. I have to say I love the South. It’s lush with green landscape and sweet hearted people. The food was 10fold better than LA and no one was full of shit. It was an extremely comfortable setting and a perfectly relaxing. I hope to be back there sooner than later.

I saw the most incredible lighting storms from my hotel room. One storm hovered over the buildings in the Museum District for hours and it was a perfect show. I’ve never seen lightning bolts that enormous or that close. You could feel the hairs on your skin stand straight up.

The first 3 days I arrived I spent in the gallery mostly, installing a large 49-piece drawing display from my Journal Project which went over great. I never talked to so many people about my work before. People really related to it and I was actually delighted to connect like that, especially because I was so nervous about not only being a stranger in a strange land, but to be putting something so severely personal out in the public. Now I am very glad I did it. Koelsch is taking the installation to Flow Miami in December and I am curious to see how it will go over there amongst the art fair frenzy.

My friend William Betts showed up at the opening and his wife purchased one of my pieces. (William just has a big opening in NY at Margaret Thatcher Projects on Saturday.) My friend Debbie from Austin also drove in to see the show. She is the founder of Imagine Art, where I show some of my older work and who helped me get my start.

love october

it is late and my head hurts so bad, and my neck too: neck in neck with the rest of my body. putting away is a lot of work. …and i love my new home, but i miss the birds and sea lion sounds at angels gate. luckily my memory has been blurry and bad, as are my eyes. what is sharp as shit is my brain, too focused, too obsessed, and not unlike curly fries.

my office is still a catastrophie, but i see a beautiful garden. how odd to experience happiness, yet here it is. i made it.