Dirty jean mess. (Today.)

The human quilt (and my silly Love).

Everything, everything post.

First this: CONGRATULATIONS JESSIEH!!!!!!
(Jessieh has been accepted to many colleges but just found out yesterday she got into the one she most wants to go to.) So CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!!!
Lloyd loves you like crazy and so do the rest of us!
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Here are a few photos documenting the complex feelings Stefano has regarding the fact that I am just a little bit taller than him. (Taken a couple of weekends ago at Piazza San Marco.)

Here is a drawing on a t-shirt that I just made today.
Ew. Painful. I don't really even want to look at it.
Here is a little 'work in progress'....

"The great enigma of human life is not suffering but affliction."

Ok.... The video quality is of course not good here but the actual file is huge so I am just posting this very small, one minute of video. Just so people can see some of it. :-) (This is about one hour of drawing compressed into one minute.)
((The t-shirt I am wearing in this video reads THE GREAT ENIGMA OF HUMAN LIFE IS NOT SUFFERING BUT AFFLICTION.))

Picture of pictures (far away; too near).

Last night was the 'open studio' here at the foundation. Everything went really well and the video of the wall drawing project came out in a great way. Above is an image I took one day after I drew on the wall. This was the pile of images that I had just put together to draw from on one of the days- and the imagery is such a painful and strange and hard but a little beautiful mix... I sort of like the way it looks... but it is also really painful. Anyway....
The last five images here are new.

Poem for today and ever other.

Poem on a Line by Anne Sexton, 'We are All Writing God's Poem'

by Barbara Crooker

Today, the sky's the soft blue of a work shirt washed
a thousand times. The journey of a thousand miles
begins with a single step. On the interstate listening
to NPR, I heard a Hubble scientist
say, "The universe is not only stranger than we
think, it's stranger than we can think." I think
I've driven into spring, as the woods revive
with a loud shout, redbud trees, their gaudy
scarves flung over bark's bare limbs. Barely doing
sixty, I pass a tractor trailer called Glory Bound,
and aren't we just? Just yesterday,
I read Li Po: "There is no end of things
in the heart," but it seems like things
are always ending—vacation or childhood,
relationships, stores going out of business,
like the one that sold jeans that really fit—
And where do we fit in? How can we get up
in the morning, knowing what we do? But we do,
put one foot after the other, open the window,
make coffee, watch the steam curl up
and disappear. At night, the scent of phlox curls
in the open window, while the sky turns red violet,
lavender, thistle, a box of spilled crayons.
The moon spills its milk on the black tabletop
for the thousandth time.

The final drawing on the wall.

Here is the final drawing I made on the wall yesterday. I just now uploaded 12 images from when I drew on it Friday, 12 images from Saturday and 24 images from my work yesterday. (Since yesterday was my last day of drawing on the wall, I worked for two hours instead of my usual one.) Anyway- the newest 48 images (and the last!) are all HERE.

Quick update. (Today I finished drawing on the wall.)

Today was my last day of working on the wall. I need to upload images from the last three days and I will try to do that later tonight or on Monday. There is a lot going on here right now. Wednesday is the Open Studio night. And I have two weeks left of my residency here to finish my drawing on the clothing project. I will write more and upload the images soon.

Wall. (Just three more days to work on it!)

12 images from today are HERE. Sunday will be the last day I work on the wall!

Wall today.

12 images of the wall from today are HERE.

That does not even look real.

New tattoo on my hand.
These are the absolute worst and most painful and also best days I have had.

A car, a gun, a map of Austria.

SICK.

Opening-me.

I am going to live in a TINY HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tonight I was just writing in my journal/sketchbook. This is something I have been doing for the past few weeks and everyday that I do it- every time that I write ANYTHING... I always feel better. I did not write on Friday though and I did not write on Sunday. Today was good though because I wrote that I can not write everyday if I feel like I have to write a certain way. There are things I need to 'work on' in my therapy and I start feeling like I had better be writing about those things... and then I stop writing... skip a day or two anyway and then I start to feel even worse and then it all just snowballs. Today I wrote that I needed to be able to write about anything and then I went right on to write about something that falls into the category of 'things I need to work on to heal'. So that was good. I think if I just tell myself I need to write- but it can be about ANYTHING or written in ANY WAY.... that will be enough and whatever I feel like I need to write most will probably mostly get written. So the title of this post is making me smile because after I was writing to myself about feeling pressured (by my self(ves) ) about the writing... I was writing about how I really need a good place in my mind where I can start to imagine/picture all of the different ways of being me. My doctor brought this up for the first time SEVERAL YEARS AGO and had mentioned it several times in the past few years but I have not been wanting to deal with my SEVERAL ways of being... so I have not made it a point to imagine a good place in my mind where all of the different ways of being me are. But sometimes (often, more often than I would usually like to admit...) I do imagine the different ways of being me and when I do I always imagine a plain white room with a big table and a lot of chairs. BORING. BORING AND NOT COMFORTING OR SOOTHING IN ANY WAY. So tonight I was thinking again (I started thinking about this a few days ago) that I need to come up with a place in my mind... I always try to imagine first houses where I have been, places I have felt comfortable... but in the past I always felt a lot of pain- in one way or many- wherever I was. So I started thinking maybe I could imagine a new house. I started thinking maybe I could look for images of rooms that look comforting; put together- 'build' a new house- in my mind- where I can imagine all of the different ways of being me- safe and together and in 2009. That is when I thought of Tiny House. I have been obsessed with the Tiny House blog for a long time... probably for this exact reason, really. Anyway- this is what I am going to use. I am going to pick out one of my very favorites and print out several pictures of it. I am thinking I can make a little 'artists book' about my 'tiny house'. Eventually I could add images of the people that live there..... Oh... my therapist is going to be so proud of me when he hears about this stuff. :)
Anyway... I feel really good about this and I can already imagine the front door of the house in my mind. I am going to get a picture of a good front door or draw a front door and I am going to put the address right over the top. So if you are looking for me you can find me here, at the following address: 2009
:-)
p.s.- NOTE TO JESSIEH: If you are in need of a 'tiny house' or other accommodations, Lloyd says he is willing to build. ;-)

Details Bleeding.

As the shit pours out. (Waking up, Jenny.)

I especially love the first part of this video- the stop motion images and the music. I am loving all of the Art 21 videos right now.

poem

here is another poem by Catherine Barnett

Site, IV

At the bottom of the ocean—
even there—
the bones are picked clean.
I suppose this must be common,
this relentless cleaning,
and the tiny sequin
tossed into the bin of dirty water
and our eyes gouged out with looking.
Oh.
Child.
When did the child die?
And how white are the whale’s bones.
There, down there.
How did you wait for me this morning.
Oh sequin.
Eye.
Our hearts evolved
from our throats—

I go forward and describe what was my hell on earth.

The above image is my new desktop picture. I made it tonight. I feel sick and sad and furious in a way that makes me want to destroy things. Stefano was here today and we were out walking this afternoon and I pointed out the fact that I and also he and I have been 'doing a lot better these past few weeks'. I have been able to communicate better with my own different ways of thinking/being and so I have been also able to better communicate with Stefano and thus he has also been better able to communicate with me. ALL of that would be just wonderful wonderful... but for ONE THING. ALL OF THIS WONDERFUL WONDERFULNESS HINGES UPON THIS ONE THING: I have been feeling better because I have been accepting the truth about my past. And I do not even know how to write about it here or explain it or try to describe it- but really acknowledging the reality of the past and the truth and the fact that I have different ways of thinking/being and listening to those ways of thinking/being and letting some of the 31 years of held back feelings be felt... it is all making everything about the abuse COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY REAL. I want to hide behind food, cigarettes, drinking too much and I have thought often lately that maybe I need to go back on an anti-depressant. And I could do that... but at some point I am going to have to FACE THE TRUTH. And I can not and will not and just won't won't won't wait any longer. But the truth about the past is huge and sickening and enormous and grotesquely painful and it leaves me feeling physically sick and desperate to remember that it is 2009. Every sound, every smell, every everything that is real is 'bothering' me. 'Waking' me. 'Making' me know about the reality that is now and the reality as it was when I was young. And I want to run but there is not a single place to hide. I feel like I am on fire. I felt like I was living and BURNING ALIVE for all of those years that he was raping me. My skin feels like a torture. The reality about my past makes me howl.

Apple therapy and a whole lot of sad.

Yesterday morning I went into the foundation early and worked on the wall drawing for an hour. The images from that are HERE. Then I took an early train and went to Stefano's town. I got there just in time for lunch, then he had to go back to work for the afternoon so I took Apple out for a big walk on the beach. I also went to see the apartment that Stefano and I will be moving to in just three weeks (when I leave Venice). It looks really nice and it is about 20 steps away from the sea. :-) So that is good. I feel sad today- but I am ok. Stefano is here and we are just doing small things; walking and talking and eating good food. Being present in 2009. Sadness and all.

Two t-shirts and the wall.

Prayer for Lily (with rabbit shadow)

Cloud

And the images from the work on the wall today are HERE.

From today.

I finished this t-shirt today and below is an image of the wall.

12 images of the wall from today are HERE.

Panda Wednesday.

Hi.  Sorry for the lack of posting/blogging.  Yesterday I never even left my apartment.  I stayed in bed with Lloyd and Winston and we all had a lot of good crying and napping together.  Today I am already at the foundation and I plan on getting a lot of drawing done.  I will post some images here later.  PTSD and DID and abuse and rape and incest.... enough to make me want to stay in bed crying EVERY day.  But no chance of recovery that way....  Anyway- more later today.  And in the meanwhile... here is a site I just found and the picture for today is something I like about Venice (watching everything be brought in on boats).  

AHHH.

6 images from the wall today are HERE.

Baby Lloyd.

Bloodletting.

12 images from the wall are HERE

A screaming pain. (Sick)

Last 12 images from today are HERE.

Working it out now.

12 images from today are HERE.

I still want to paint it black. But I can not.

I just woke up and the first thing I read in the morning is the poem of the day on the Writer's Almanac page. Here is today's:

The Pleasures of Hating

by Laure-Anne Bosselaar

I hate Mozart. Hate him with that healthy
pleasure one feels when exasperation has

crescendoed, when lungs, heart, throat,
and voice explode at once: I hate that! —


there's bliss in this, rapture. My shrink
tried to disabuse me, convinced I use Amadeus


as a prop: Think further, your father perhaps?
I won't go back, think of the shrink


with a powdered wig, pinched lips, mole:
a transference, he'd say, a relapse: so be it.


I hate broccoli, chain saws, patchouli, bra—
clasps that draw dents in your back, roadblocks,


men in black kneesocks, sandals and shorts—
I love hating that. Loathe stickers on tomatoes,


jerky, deconstruction, nazis, doilies. I delight
in detesting. And love loving so much after that.

by Laure-Anne Bosselaar from Small Gods of Grief.

I like that the title of her book is "Small Gods of Grief". And the great last line: "...And love loving so much after that."

I have started dreaming again- although I am not sure when it stopped before it recently started again. I had a dream four or five nights ago but it was not a nightmare- just a clear dream. A clear dream reminding me that I can and often do have clear dreams. Every night since I have dreamed again and they have been building in their nightmare status. Last night's the worst so far but still just barely a nightmare. It really feels like my mind preparing me for more news it will send back to me folded up in my sleep. Last night it was something about my family- my father sleeping in his own room, my sister sick or trying to sleep in hers and then my mother entering my room and when she did I knew it was her- even though it was night and totally dark and I screamed when she entered- long and loud and my very first and next thought was, "She is going to be furious that I just screamed." But just like the past, my mom did not care. Or at least she did not RESPOND anyway.

On Monday I had therapy and though I did not even think it was possible I have felt even more war-torn since. Yesterday I felt angry at my therapist (so much easier (in some ways, anyway...) than the real anger that I really have) because I felt like he 'pushed me' and TOO MUCH during our session over Skype on Monday. He asked me to touch my own mouth. I was talking about my father- him raping my mouth. And about how I can not FEEL my own mouth and lips and tongue and my doctor asked me to just 'touch my own mouth'. First I said no and then said that I could not and on and on and then I finally did and just putting a finger to my own lips and barely touching them... I was reminded of the feeling of my father inside of my mouth. And I have been on a tear ever since. After therapy I cried (more) and then struggled all day Monday and then yesterday made what was for me an insanely painful drawing on the wall. Last night I was on the phone with Stefano and I was crying- about other things- people who were bothering me and any other tiny thing I could think of until I just broke into the truth about being scared and mad and hurt and terrified and overwhelmed and in pain. The other day I read something over on Parasites of the Mind- about 'healing not being a straight line'. It was this, to be more exact: "The will and desire to heal are not a straight line. We will be pulled toward healing just as we’re pulled toward not healing. Healing is frightening. Healing asks us to go into the dark believing we’re going to come out into the light. What we must do is have faith that the healing process will bring us to a better place."
Last night I was telling Stefano that even though I can see now- or some parts of me anyway- that talking helps me to feel better... I keep not wanting to do it. I start... I start talking and writing... but then I get scared or mad and scared and mad by those feelings and then I shut back down and have to restart again- reminding myself that I need to negotiate, listen to myself, write and TALK TALK TALK about the past and about all the feelings of trappedness that I have.
My own freedom terrifies me.
I still think of the story of the little boy in the emergency room who had been covered with gasoline and lit on fire and he was SCREAMING for his mother... even though she is the one who burned him. That is how I am feeling for a lot of the days right now... like I know I am howling about wanting to get back to not knowing and I know it is not better- but it was all I knew for so long and having it taken away... it is still so painful, even if I know it is the only way to recover.

After therapy on Monday I thought about this poem that I have loved for a long time. It is by Li-Po and was translated by Ezra Pound:

The River-Merchant's Wife

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.

I was thinking on Monday that I love it because of the ending- because of the 'I will come out to meet you' and because that is what I have to do with myself now.

Also from today:

Seduction of the Aggressor (DAY 1).

12 images of the wall from today are HERE.

TODAY I FEEL TERRIBLE.

Today I had therapy and spent most of my session talking about my mouth and how I can not feel my own lips or tongue. This is because I LEARNED how not to feel my mouth when I was really really little and my father was orally raping me. I want to cut my hair off, cut my lips off. BUT THOSE ARE JUST HARD AND PAINFUL AND TERRIBEL FEELINGS AND I AM NOT GOING TO DO AN Y OF THOSE THINGS. I am going to drink tea and put on my pajamas and hug Lloyd and talk to Stefano and go to bed a little early and let myself cry and feel HORRIBLE. And tomorrow morning I will make a drawing on the wall and work on my drawing on clothes projects. On I go. THIS FUCKING HURTS. THE TRUTH HURTS. But it is the past and I am going to ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS keep going. I keep writing and deleting it.... I am in pain and my thoughts are confused. I am just going to take good care of myself and tomorrow keep going and work on writing more and talking more and feeling more and making my art more.

Talking makes me feel better, but today I just CAN NOT.

HERE are 12 images of the wall from today and the last 5 images HERE are new.

new t-shirt idea...

INCEST IS NOT A TABOO.
IT IS A CRIME.

I just spent far to much time figuring out how to add a 'navigation bar' to this blog. Anyway- I am just glad that I got through another evening without feeling 'terrible' or hurting myself. I will write more tomorrow. I just wanted to post my t-shirt idea here. If you have ideas or suggestions for my 't-shirts too many people do not want to see' series (I just now made that little title up)... :-) Any thoughts or suggestions would be greatly appreciated. Please feel free to leave comments or contact me by email. (Just click the above link that reads 'contact'!!!)