Braver than Before

Some shit dick made some comments on my last post about how much my art sucks. …As if i didn’t already know.

But anyway, i went to Joshua Tree yesterday to get some peace and molecular regenerations in my soul and all I got was this stupid t-shirt. Then I spent 50-cent on a local newspaper, but there wasn’t any news in the “all good news” Desert Star. There were few real estate ads. I’m so used to our papers being saturated with that kind of thing in LA, so i was surprised. I was looking for vacant land, which sounds a little boring, but on the way back I drove through a wind storm, a dust storm, a rain storm, a mud storm, and a rainbow.

we rented a house near Joshua tree called Space Rabbit Ranch. It’s on a 5 acre property and we were allowed to bring the dog. We saw bunnies, lizards, Eddy Izzard, dirt devils, and dancing stars.

So many stars, it’s a sin to try to describe them.

This morning I woke up just before sunrise and shot a picture of the well in the yard. It looked like a movie set. Something unsettling about it.

I filmed a little bit of nothing while I was there too. A little bit of desert schtick. I’ll edit it into something eventually.

Michael and I went back and forth between a couple of properties that we would like to try to buy and pay on for a while. We have a dream of one day building our own mud house on it and living off the grid when we’re 64. I will dream this until I get hit by a bus.

Before I left, I completed 1/12th of the painting I’m working on. The rest of the painting is the underpainting for your information! Not that I’m defending it, I’m just noting it here you bastards!

Well, I better get back to work. I have to prep for a lecture I’m giving this Wednesday at Cal State University Long Beach about my unsophisticated art that said meanie-commentor was apparently doing at age 14. I sure hope my lecture won’t be as grotesque and pathetic of a disservice to academia as my disgusting art has been to the genius world of anonymous art bloggers.

I will wear a plastic bag over my clothes just in case of any flying tomatoes.

If I sound mad at you, I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m mad at ghosts, not you.

Tomorrow I’m calling Mel Benson. I’m pretty sure we want the land that’s bigger and closer up to the park than the smaller one with all the incredible boulders on it that’s a bit too close to the highway. I’ll put in my very low, and possibly insulting, bid. All we can do is try, right?

Good night everybody. Goodnight Horsey.

PS: My friend Judith Hoffberg send me this today. Pretty funny!

Wake of the Flood

Well, I have been in a giant funk for the last couple of months. A deep depression came over me while I was visiting my parents (duh!) in Las Vegas. I went out there with many goals in mind, and became disappointed at nearly every turn.

Firstly, I had recently purchased a mini DV cam so I could begin documenting interviews with my family members. I don’t know what I was going to do with the footage, but I thought I’d better get something on film since they weren’t getting any younger. They are plenty old enough as it is, and they are both in bad health. As a matter of fact I also went out there to take care of my mother because she had foot surgery and was not able to walk on it for several weeks during the healing process. She has needed to have both her feet totally reconstructed because they have been badly abused throughout her life as a dancer, stuffing her feet into tiny high-heeled shoes. And not that kind of dancer… She taught everything from ballroom dancing to the Cha-cha – while taking wild amounts of speed to stay skinny and compete all night at the clubs. Needless to say, it took quite a toll on her feet throughout the late 1940s and 50s.

Anyway, I never did interview either of them. I filmed nothing.

I also brought them my old computer, hooked it up, bought them a desk and a printer, and 6 months of high-speed Internet access, so that my mom could learn the computer while she was laid up. I also hooked up a new DVD player for them, and bought them the first 2 seasons of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Showing old people how to use the computer is not fun or easy, but I went through it with both of them a little at a time. I wrote out easy instructions on how they could check their email and compose messages to other family members, as well as going through it with them several times. As for the DVD player, I had to draw them a diagram of the TV and the remote and circle the buttons so they knew how to watch their TV. I went through that with them too. But did they pay attention? Yes, yes they did. Can they do it all without me telling them what to do? No, they just can’t do it.

[Mom & Dad (right). From my moleskin notebook.]

They really can’t do much of anything other than what they are used to doing. I guess they have some excuses though. They are old. They are on plenty of medications that make them less brainy than the average senior. My mom has a severe mental illness that requires a large cocktail of meds, and she’s been on pain killers for the surgery. But really I think they are both just stuck. They are stuck on the Game Show Network.

They are stuck in hating each other. Stuck in enduring time together. My father’s life consists of counting his medications and sleeping 18 hours a day. My mom has a routine of getting up in time to watch the Price is Right and staying glued to the TV unless either one of them have a doctor’s appointment.

In the meantime, back in LA there were other family dramas going on that I shouldn’t disclose, but my brother wasn’t in good shape at all. He has since come back from his own black hole and is doing well, but for a while there, it wasn’t pretty.

I was just trying to get settled into my new place after a big move from San Pedro to the northeast end of LA. I lost my studio at Angels Gate and I’ve been in mourning ever since. It finally occurred to me that I’m not prepared to rent another studio for a while, and so I was to work out of my home office and had to resort to the garage, so I hadn’t been working on anything really art-wise since I moved. I’ve just been sewing these things. The change of the Everything was just eating at me and my brain chemistry began to go very very bad. The OCD got so bad, it was almost impossible to leave the house. My depression and anxiety kicked into high gear and one thing led to another and before I knew it, I was in a deep black hole so dark, it wasn’t easy to come out of it. In the midst of this, I was there in Las Vegas, without Michael, and with my parents who had me doing chores for them around the clock. I have MS and can sometimes hardly walk myself, but I was walking their poodle around their apartment building 4-6 times a day when it was 33 degrees out.

Somewhere along the line, I don’t even know where, I wound up 40 miles outside of Vegas looking for a deserted place to just be alone in the night. This is not a good idea when you are as depressed as I was.

Somehow I got back to LA after a week, and after dying my hair purple, and after being in some altered state of being, from a handful of Ativan. I felt like I was a subject to be filmed for the TV show, Intervention. I had to get my shit together back in LA and let my parents get on with their odd lives by themselves. Since then, my father went into the hospital for congestive heart failure, my mother fell and nearly broke her hip, and the caretaker person that has been doing their cooking and cleaning and shopping for them, decided to just up and quit associating with the two of them (who can blame her?) but it was just the shittiest timing you could think of. Now I’ve been looking for some assistance for them there from here, which is a royal pain in the ass. And ontop of it all, neither of them even try to make one positive change in their lives. It’s difficult to watch.

It’s when I got back to LA is when I found out that my book was accepted into the National Museum of Women in the Arts. That was some excellent news. In the same breath I was told this (by the director at George Billis Gallery) she also told me she was leaving her job and going back to Gallery C, so that was a bummer to hear (for me). But I rode pretty high on the good news about the book and that was about the only thing that got me to slowly but surely crawl out of the hole.

Then Saturday, I went to a meeting at Self Help Graphics in East LA, where I met with the Master Printer José Alpuche, along with the President and the Vice President of the Board of Directors, Artist/Curator Yolanda Gonzalez, and a group of women artists about the Maestra’s Atelier – an all-female silkscreen workshop that is about to start in late February. I was so excited hearing about the program and the process of silkscreen, something I’ve been very interested in for a while. So I think I’ll be chosen for this residency (I hope so anyway). There will be 10 women in all and I think my chances are pretty good. We’ll see.

[Happiness, 2008. In progress.]

Since then, I’ve been inspired. Meeting with my friend James Scott helped me a lot too. Seeing his work at his studio always makes me feel free and inspires me to pay better attention to my artistic feelings, so I finally started my first painting since I’ve been in this new house. Perhaps things are looking up now for my work and my soul.

A new painting by James Scott (size: big!)

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.