Reviewing IQF Houston 2013

Yes, I took pictures. I’m never very logical about it. Sometimes I take pictures because the piece speaks to me…sometimes it’s because I want to complain about it. I try to stay away from the latter, but there are a couple in here. I don’t take a whole lot of traditional quilt photos, mostly because I find them boring. I suspect there are traditional quilters who walk right past the art quilts in the same way. So this is Kathy’s highly selective (I take fewer photos when I’m tired!) reconstruction of maybe 1/32nd of the International Quilt Festival at Houston, 2013, remembering that she had already seen West Coast Wonders and the Dinner @8 exhibit in Long Beach, and somehow she missed the placemats completely…I SAW them…I just didn’t have the mental energy to photograph any of them. My bad. But since most of you don’t come here for my quilt-show reporting, I’m not going to worry too much about my lame-ass reporting style.

Caryl Bryer Fallert-Gentry (sweetie, it’s too many names…I get why you’re keeping all of them, I really do, but please…maybe just calling yourself Caryl would be good) has created a series of thirty 30-inch-square pieces that celebrate her thirty years of quiltmaking, referencing her past work, themes, etc., and using her fabric collections to complete them.

So. Here’s what I think. First of all, the more power to her. She has a strong body of work that is well-liked by many, the exhibit already has 8 venues it’s traveling to, and she definitely has the technical ability to be showcased like this. I liked being able to look closely at her insane stitching…

(Electric Ellipses #2)

Especially in the more cellular-looking pieces and the two beach sand pieces.

(Casting a Long Shadow #2)

That said…why redo ideas from the last 30 years? I don’t get it? I know it might be hard to put a retrospective together if a lot of your work has sold, and I do get what you’re saying about the exhibit being pulled together by all of them being the same size, but…eh. Make New Work. Put some old work in the show. I don’t understand. It was popular, though, so apparently I am in the minority. I want to see new work, though. You have a new life…how will that change your art?

Bodil Gardner had at least 4 pieces in Houston…with two in the SAQA: People and Portraits exhibit with mine. I’ve always liked her work…it’s quirky and graphic and slightly off, but Martha Sielman mentioned something in the People and Portraits Walk and Talk that I’d never really thought about…her work is inordinately cheery. There’s never a sad moment. It’s just nice and joyful and chaotic and happy (unlike my own work).

This is Santa Lucia and that is one BIG and happy spiral-eared dog. Maybe I need to channel some Bodil. Maybe she’d let me come stay with her for a while. One of the pieces in the People and Portraits exhibit had a large central female figure, like her pieces (and mine) often do, and there was a coffee cup balanced on her shoulder, like I often do. Sielman said that Gardner says it refers to how women often share a cup of coffee (or tea) together as part of their socializing, and that if she were doing men, she would probably do a beer stein instead.

Another featured artist in People and Portraits is Sonia Bardella, whose faces have a particular quality to them.

This is Venice’s Carnival, which takes place near where she lives.

The best part is the detail she puts into the clothing in contrast to the skillfully painted faces.

Dianne Firth made four elements pieces for an exhibit, with Wind currently showing with the traveling Quilt National exhibit. This is Fire…

Which, like Wind, is much more stunning and vibrant in person…and was based on the volcanic eruptions in Iceland in 2010.

Betty Busby curated an exhibit of quilts called A Walk in the Wild, a SAQA exhibit of artists from New Mexico. Below is Busby’s piece, Desert Fox.

All the pieces were similar sizes…this is Where Earth and Sky Meet by Susan Szajer.

Her work deserved a detail shot…there are even tiny beads in there…

This one…Eight Ravens by Judith Roderick…was one of my favorite quilts in the show.

Her silk-painting technique adds a lot of interest and depth to her pieces, which have that graphic quality that I love, coming out of the printmaking world.

And the subject matter of the ravens is also a favorite. This piece glowed in person.

There were two dinosaur pieces by Shannon Conley that I liked…S Is for #4 is below…

Coelophysus bauri is the dino depicted in both quilts, apparently was thought to be a cannibal until recently. In the quilt above, Conley shows him in his Triassic-era habitat, with S Is for #3 below showing him in modern-day New Mexico.

Conley is a scientist who put real teeth on that first quilt…hopefully not valuable fossils (naw, they’re polymer clay). Here’s a link to her posts about these quilts.

Kathy York is one of my favorite brightly colored artists…you’ll notice I photographed lots of bright-colored quilts (a dream? hope? wish?). I posted York’s video of populating this quilt, Park Place, a while ago…

You can see it here on her blog post where she writes about making this quilt…

This is Stella in Yellow by Joanell Connolly.

Stella is the dog in the raincoat, rescued from the animal shelter. I love the contrast and the pattern, with the pitiful-looking dog off to the side.

Both Stella and this one were part of a pet exhibit, It’s Raining Cats and Dogs, bringing awareness to saving animal lives. This is One Cat, Two Cat by Laura Bisagna.

Bisagna had been feeding a stray gray cat, and every day it would come out and eat, then go behind the house, and seemingly come out and eat again…until she realized there were two gray cats.

This piece was deceptively simple-looking until you studied it up close. This is Winter by Laurie Weiner.

The piece is whole-cloth, hand-dyed, and trapunto, but the quilting is what drew me to it…

Intense pattern and texture makes up this piece. I saw a lot of this close, patterned quilting and I’m always attracted to it, which is amusing, because I so don’t quilt like that…but it’s true that type of quilting would not lend itself to the images I create…so I am happy to admire it in other people’s work (and call them insane behind their backs…while they say the same about me and my 2000-piece quilts).

The sky drew me to this piece…In the Bleak Midwinter by Ruth Powers.

Being a Southern Californian, we rarely see winter landscapes such as these.

I always like to show Tanya Brown what pieces hers are hanging with…so there’s Under the Gingko Tree…

featuring her painted whole-cloth work and crazy tiny stitching…

As well as her boy actually standing still…a minor miracle in itself.

This one drew me to it with all the crazy detail…It’s a Crazy Life by Gail Thomas.

Gail’s own beautiful, long white hair was used to quilt this piece as she recovered from health issues…

Her painting on the fabric is very colorful and detailed.

This piece drew my eye because of parts of it…overall, I wasn’t sure I liked it, but I liked the faces. This is You Are Here by Victoria Findlay Wolfe…

The people are from digital photos manipulated in Photoshop and printed on fabric.

It’s an interesting use of a traditional pattern with modern tones to it…I’m not sure I like the whole thing (the silver lamé really bugs me), but I liked those parts.

This quilt had lots of funky details in it…and I kinda like how it’s just all globbed together…

And the use of pattern in the fabrics is really interesting too…

This is Japanese Calendar by Fumi Kido. The Japanese do often have a certain feel to their quilts…

I’m not sure what that’s about…because they often use American patterns, and it STILL feels Japanese to me. This one has a different appeal to me, though…very stylized but with those details.

I do hail from an applique background…and this one was beautifully done. This is Four Loons and Friends by Patricia Sellinger.

The symmetry and design in this quilt are stunning…and she embellished the birds with beads as well.

This is an original design.

I liked this one because of the flame-like blobs wandering across the design. This is May Your Burdens Be Light by Kazuko Covington. This is an original design using New York Beauty blocks, made after the tsunami that destroyed her hometown.

Those blobs now look like tsunami waves…

This one won best of show…Chihuly’s Gondola by Melissa Sobotka. That’s $10,000, people. It’s a beautiful quilt, but it is from a photograph of Chihuly’s installation in Texas from a few years back.

So tell me this…is there a difference in the art applied between Sobotka’s copy of another artist’s work (is this a Sobotka or a Chihuly?) and the Jane Sassaman (original design) below? I think yes…but I wasn’t a juror in this show (and probably never will be invited to be one either). I think Chihuly deserves a healthy percentage of the prize.

This is Jane Sassaman’s Illinois Album, also an award winner, but in my eyes, a much more deserving one.

You decide.

Another Bodil Gardner happy piece, this is I Arise from Dreams…

Sheila Frampton-Cooper had two of her graphic, colorful pieces in the show…this is Lair of the Amethyst Deva…

I see legs…Sheila’s another tight, detailed quilter, which suits her big, bold, abstract work.

Nearby was another somewhat controversial piece…yes, it’s abstract; yes, it’s colorful, even pretty…Roses in the Window by Carol Morrissey. On the surface, an original design from a photograph she took…but how did she get all those circles? Is it the same place my mom gets her circles? Where is her hand in this quilt?

Does what equipment we use to create a piece make it more art or less art? You’ll notice I have no pictures of quilts with digitized photos where the artist has printed it out full size and just stitched over it. I need to see the artist’s hand in the work…I need to see what they’ve changed or made their own. Feel free to BE a photographer (there was a great photography show at IQF), but if you’re going to put it on fabric, make sure there is a purpose to that. Why fabric? Why not just print a photograph on paper and frame it and be done with it? It’s something to think about…

Another Kathy York…this is You Are What You Eat…

Speaking of having your hand in your artwork, York made the batik flowers herself.

This piece…I still need this one explained. The graphic nature explains why I like it, but there is some weird stuff going on in this quilt. This is Alice’s Kitchen (obviously Alice in Wonderland) by Miki Murakami…I love that this is so NOT typically Japanese.

All she says is that this is how she imagined a kitchen in Alice’s story, even though there wasn’t one. I think I want to talk to this woman.

Sue Bleiweiss makes wonderfully graphic and deceptively simple pieces. This is Tutti Frutti City.

This one intrigued me…it was just plain weird, yet cool. This is The Birders by Suzanne Marshall, an original design inspired by a 1565 manuscript…ahhh…there’s why it’s weird.

I’ve taken pictures of her work before…liking the weird medieval qualities to her work…

Just look at that unhappy face.

This one caught my eye because I couldn’t (at first) figure out what it was…I thought maybe it was leaky tubes of paint. Silly me…it’s just Oregon Buoys by Jane Haworth.

I like my idea better…but I guess it caught my eye. Chaos and color.

Another Frampton-Cooper piece, this is Venus in the Garden, named by her sister, who saw Venus Flytraps (I see an angry parrot…that wouldn’t be a nice name though).

This one had a stunning use of color…this is Antelope Canyon by Kimberly Lacy.

And another winner, Tuning Fork #11 by Heather Pregger.

It’s a very graphic piece…she does lots of pieces like this, though. I wonder about that. I guess it’s a different challenge to work abstractly with the same shapes than to do what I do. (It would drive me bonkers though!)

OK, so there were all these cow quilts…something to do with a book. I liked this one because?

Come on. Guess. OK. It’s a cow skelly. How can you not love a cow skelly? Actually, I was walking past this part of the exhibit when someone pointed to the earrings on the cow and said, “Honestly, some of these quilts you cannot use as a QUILT!” Oh my. No ma’am, you can’t (she wasn’t old…younger by far than I am). So. There you have it. It’s a MooSkellyNotQuilt. Actually, it’s Dia de los MOOertos by Patricia Ward.

This one…it’s cute. It’s tiny. It’s beautifully made. It’s a prize winner. This is Masanobu Miyama’s Wind, a picture of the artist’s dog.

The statement talks about an original microfused applique technique. I do not know what this is, although micro means small and those pieces are freakin’ small (I should know).

This one caught my eye because of the fabrics…in the US, we are so into our cotton and occasionally a silk or two…this piece, The Berlin Bear by Marjan van der Heijden, was made completely with leftovers…

That were stitched together sort of haphazardly, but in a beautiful way…

Truly amazing use of fabric.

This Japanese landscape is so Japanese because of the taupe, but the imagery is so American…I wonder what the Japanese countryside actually looks like and why this appeals to them. This piece is A Place to Long For, by Aiko Yokoyama.

The fabric and design is beautiful…I just wonder why it’s so appealing.

So that’s my take on IQF 2013…there were probably quilts I didn’t photograph just because I was tired or in a mood (I was in a mood a lot), so don’t take it badly if yours isn’t here…mine is just one set of slightly jaded, tired, and miserable eyes among 60,000 viewers. I do know that I will miss IQF coming to Long Beach, California, because it was cheap and easy to get to, and I don’t think I’ll be going to Houston again for a good, long while, but I did enjoy some of the quilts quite a bit. I’ll talk more about the experience in general at another time. I do provide artist’s links when I can easily find them and confirm that they belong to the artist. If your work is here and you have a link you’d like me to use, please let me know.

Don’t Think Too Hard…

Some days it’s like I’m watching myself from a distance moving through life. I shake my head, thinking, she should be more careful, she should slow down, she’s not thinking about what she’s doing…as I watch myself walk here, move there, drive over here, go to the gym, buy groceries. Nothing of import. Nothing that has meaning…just the chores. Today was one of those days. I got up at 2:45 AM San Diego time, although it’s possible my brain was on Texas time…hard to say. Then rode two planes, ate some food in between, read a long book and started another, slept a little…and I was home.

Home didn’t feel good…well, it did and it didn’t. It’s my bed. My stuff is here. My fabric is here. I can make a cup of tea without having to hunt down ingredients. Those are all good things. I came home, though, to a pile of laundry, a bunch of dirty dishes, cat vomit (fun stuff), an empty fridge, an empty life.

Well, it’s not totally empty. I make art. I have my kids (I did not see them today…I only saw my exhusband…twice…weird). The cats were glad to see me (lovely to feel needed). But there is too much of the stuff that feels like drudgery and not enough of the stuff that makes my heart soar…mostly because I don’t know how to do that any more. The quilt show…it was OK. I wasn’t comfortable being there. I wasn’t interested in a lot of what WAS there. I had some good moments, but…I wasn’t in the right mindframe to enjoy myself. I don’t know how to shake the grief long enough to enjoy myself. I get to a point where it feels like I’m trying to climb out of my own skin. The closest I get to anything resembling enjoyment is at the gym or when I’m doing art stuff, but even that today was an issue. And that’s not enjoyment…it’s not a rush or a soaring feeling…it’s just like taking a deep breath at the top of the stairs, getting some air.

My emotions are very distant today…a combination of travel and tired and overwhelmed, I think. Mr. Meditation says to be less critical of my feelings…don’t identify with them. It’s not MY feeling or I FEEL LIKE, but just labeling it. That? That is sad. That over there? That’s angry. I recognize those. Even using the words ‘pleasant’ or ‘unpleasant’ is not meant to be judgmental of the feeling…just a label. I couldn’t get my brain to label anything during meditation tonight. And is SAD unpleasant? I guess so. I don’t like being sad, so I guess that’s unpleasant. Anger is definitely unpleasant. Sad just seems like it’s there. It has a purpose, it seems, as long as you don’t wallow in it forever. I’m sure some people think I am wallowing. I’m not. I’m just not capable of jumping up and yelling Happy! right now. And fuck you for thinking I should be able to do that right now.

I’m thinking way too hard about this. When I feel like that, bogged down in the thinking, I go to the gym, I draw, I read. I did two of those today.

Then I had a choice after the grocery shopping (because shopping on a Saturday night doesn’t make me feel like a total loser…OK, it does, and it’s even worse when you run into your exhusband there, who is buying stuff to feed at least one of your kids…). I could work on school stuff or I could work on art stuff.

I bet you know which one I chose…the one where there is some hope of mental rest, of peace…maybe…some days. I cleaned up a little in the office to make room, putting away fabrics etc…and then I started ironing…

I’m missing two toenails…they will probably show up eventually.

Most missing parts do. I had to cut one missing rug piece because it went above and over another piece…so of course, I found the missing piece AFTER I had done that…it was in the next box by accident (I sort them into boxes by 100s before ironing).

This really is a rather simple quilt after the last beast…

I have about an hour 40 minutes in, and there’s about 150 pieces ironed down. A couple more nights like that, and I’ll have it done. That would be nice. The colors are a bit more subdued than normal…at least so far. Interesting. I never really get to see how the colors work together until I get to this stage, since I don’t really have a color pattern…I just sort of color it in my head and hold fabrics next to one another to see if they’ll work.

I knew I would be grading at two soccer games tomorrow, so that helped me make the decision to blow off work for yet another day. I’ll be grading at games for about 5 hours tomorrow…that seems plenty. I should be allowed to do stuff besides work and clean and cook.

I do have pictures from Houston and will get to them eventually. I didn’t take a ton of pictures, though…not inspired, I guess.

I hope some day there is some feeling besides all this sad and blah. It’s wearing on me. I want to be able to just go out somewhere and laugh and enjoy myself, but I can’t get there. The sad is always looming over me, poking me in case I forget about it. Sounds like there will be more drawing this week…let this muggy emotional mess solidify into a drawing and vomit it out on the page. Then I’ll feel better maybe…as long as I don’t think too hard.

Deep Breaths

I don’t even know if I can put a coherent post together tonight. Long conversation helped my mind settle…realizing that when I make art, whether it’s the drawing, tracing, cutting, ironing, or sewing, that one of the reasons I feel peace then is that I am in the moment right then…I’m not worried about the future or diving into the past and hurt and regrets…I am just right there, right then…and that is the closest to normal (Kathy normal, not your normal) that I have been in months.

So it makes sense that I should do more of it, right?

Things I took away from the quilt festival today:

Quilters help well. They like to gather forces together and fix things that need it. Case in Point: Libby Lehman suffered a stroke some months ago and paying for her treatment has been an issue. You can read updates here on her Caring Bridge Libby Lehman site. I like to think of most quilters as people who share information (and fabric and thread), but they do also seem to take care…whether it’s taking care of their own, or homeless animals, or what’s for dinner.

The Japanese: does the Japanese countryside look like that? I’ll have to post that picture later…but much of their work seems so Americanized that it makes me wonder what Japan is really like. I think I will have to go back there some day (last time I was there was when I was 9 months old…don’t remember much).

I apparently have a crazy brain, but not in a bad way (more than one person told me this after either hearing me talk or seeing my quilts). I do not consider this a problem. I tried to have mom record my little talk, but technology beat her and we have no video. We should have practiced more. Apparently the app is not intuitive. Enough.

Waiting at the end of every aisle. Mom is like an errant bug, illogically traveling based on some unseen pheromones that drag her here and there. I stand in one place, waiting for her, and people keep wanting me to move around and get out of their way. I am like a post, an immovable column. I lose her multiple times. She is not following directions.

My view of Houston from the gym…

My view of the Convention Center from the gym…

My view of life from the gym? Cannot contain in photo.

Fabric…the only thing I bought…or was gonna buy, until mom jumped in…

All hand dyed stuff by Frieda Anderson and Laura Wasilowski.
The iron set up by the window (for the view)…

And messing with sewing on the floor (a logical place to sew, if you ask me)…

Writing this post…

Home tomorrow. Hope to bring back some of the wisdom and peace that came from tonight’s conversation, but know my brain will do what it does…even when I try to remind it what’s best, it does not always listen. But I will get there eventually. Deep breaths.

It’s Not Easy

First of all, I’ve been awake since 3:30 AM, so anything I write should be suspect. Second of all, I’m in Houston, Texas, home of the International Quilt Festival, where approximately 60,000 people (yes, mostly women) will attend the quilt and vendor show.

Why the hell am I here? I have two quilts in one of the special exhibits, so I came for that. I’ll be doing a Walk and Talk of the show (I will only be talking about mine) tomorrow at 11AM (tomorrow is Friday, in case that’s confusing, because honestly, I don’t what time it is at the moment).

Mom came with me…she will try to record me tomorrow, but we haven’t persuaded her phone to DO such things yet, so I don’t hold out great hopes. I did much better this time…I actually talked to people at the SAQA Meet and Greet (be impressed…I think it’s because I am seriously sleep-deprived).

I woke up this morning thinking, “Normal dreams?” I’m having dreams of a normal life, perhaps even MY normal life…like not sad and stressed and walking in a fog (I have now typed ‘dog,’ ‘fig,’ and ‘fof’), but like normal-feeling. Maybe that’s why waking up is so difficult. Reality doesn’t feel normal. Reality feels bad.

Everything is tainted by associations with the past nine…twenty-two (??) years. I can’t go anywhere or do anything without feeling it resonate with something that now hurts. Airports, airplanes, sitting on a plane, sitting by the gates. Bloody hell, some peace please??? Can I just have something that’s just mine and not attached to all this crap?

I sat there on the plane as mom talked to some other quilter, and I hurt. I read, I stitched, I tried to sleep, and the hurt tied my guts in knots until I couldn’t sleep. Or eat. I turned the music up louder and worked on my stitching callous.

Sigh.

I’m better now. A lot of the quilt show doesn’t interest me…there are lots of quilts that just don’t even touch me (and I’m not being very open-minded at the moment…it needs to seriously catch my eye for me to even get closer). We’ve only made it through half the quilts (saw mine!) and skimmed a portion of the vendors.

One woman told me I should exhibit in Europe because they’re not prudes like the Americans (not her exact words). Another woman told me never to lose my unique style (I don’t think I could do that if I tried). I met some people I already knew and some I’d never met but had known for a while.

I need to go to sleep (mom was down for the count an hour ago). We’re getting up to go to the gym in the morning before the show opens (so virtuous). It’s not easy being here, but it’s not easy being anywhere at the moment, so I might as well be uncomfortable here. It’s not fun, but it’s a change, and change can’t be bad at the moment.

Tensity Tense Tense

The Dad taxi is picking me up in 5 hours and 20 minutes. I really should be in bed…but it’s so freakin’ early (for me) that I don’t think I can fall asleep. So I’m meditating first and then writing quickly, because it helps me leave the day and all its stupid-ass emotions behind, in here, on the screen (apparently out in the world, but I usually forget about that part). Mr. Meditation keeps talking about letting the emotions go, but I must absolutely suck at that. They’re all still here, dammit. He also says I will become more aware of others’ emotions…holy crap! I don’t need MORE of that. I’m already way too in tune with that, probably more than the person actually having the feeling, which is thoroughly annoying.

Anyway. I’m tense. Tensity tense tense. Hate traveling. I have books, food, sketchbook…I spent about an hour this afternoon trying to organize the last three months’ worth of Sue Spargo’s crazy birds, because it was all just a giant mess…I hadn’t been keeping up (shockingly) and I needed to get it under control because I find it really relaxing to stitch on the plane…plus the high-school soccer season is coming up, and I can’t grade at night in the stands (but apparently I can embroider…don’t question it). So I prepped the last three months and organized all the patterns and embellishing threads and found all the wool bits and pieces and cut out about 50 1/4″ circles of wool (with a hole punch…I’m not totally insane…just mostly so). I’m ready! OK, I’m so not ready. But I have stitching!

Once that was done and I’d ferried the girlchild here, there, and everywhere…ferrying her these days means I sit in the passenger seat and try not to squeal too loudly when she brakes later than I think she should…she doesn’t have her license YET…and pulled the dinner out of the crockpot (rejected by boychild for containing THIGHS, which reminds me of the THIGH GAP, which holy crap! I did not even know existed until today and am now thoroughly horrified, yet again, by the world I live in)…I had a choice…I could grade papers (thumbs down) or cut out the last bits of the Love quilt (thumbs up). So I did that and finally finished, after almost 6 hours. Started September 19, then blew it off until October 17…then finished up this week. Then I spent 20 minutes sorting them…

(there are only 505 of them…this one is kind of an easy quilt for me), so when I get back from Houston, I can start ironing them together. Three and a half weeks to Thanksgiving Break, and I would like this at least ready for stitching down, if not ready for quilting. I can hope. Let’s not think about grades being due or the end of the trimester or any of that other silly work stuff that just bogs me down. Or the boychild’s soccer tournament, which might mean driving to the OC at 5 AM later this month. Shoot me now.

Yesterday I was trying to clean out my photo files, sort at least the month of October into the appropriate files for various quilts, kid stuff, etc…but got completely bogged down and sideswiped by October pictures from LAST year that still weren’t handled. Fucking balls. I can’t even handle photos. So many things to avoid or to tread carefully around…because I’m so damn in tune with my freakin’ emotions, I guess. But I can’t let them go.

Anyway. I tried. I will try again later…looking only for the 2013 photos maybe. Perhaps in 2020 I will be able to handle previous years or months. Fragility sucks.

Finally, after a million years of dealing with an ancient beast, we got new teacher computers at school…

It’s so pretty. But we can’t use it yet, because it doesn’t work with our daily broadcast. Of course. Oh well. I’ve never trusted my school computer enough to store stuff on it anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

Stupid tenseness. Is tensity a word? TENSION. Duh. Brain is completely melting down at this point. Might have something to do with the purring clawbeast on my lap. Or the lateness of the hour. Or the TENSION.

Deep breaths (all day it’s been deep breaths). Girlchild was almost having a nervous breakdown. Someone thought it would be a good idea for her to be Treasurer of Key Club and organization is not her strong point, but I think we got it under control…and then Girl. Teen. Drama. Yikes. Major shit going down. I may have to call someone’s mother. I leave all that in the trusty hands of my exhusband (who looked terrified as I explained the situation). I’m sure he will handle things just fine…plus she might text me 700 times. Oh well. It’s nice to know I’m needed.

Emotional life is pushed out of the way by stress, tense belly, gut. I hear it…yelling in the distance…but it will stay away. It knows I’m on the edge and need a break. I’m hoping to maybe even enjoy the quilt show. What a concept. Enjoyment. Walking around and looking at quilts and fabric and not having to be at school on Halloween or the day after, when the average blood sugar level of a middle-school student hits dangerous levels. I’m OK with not being there. Although I’m a little antsy about starting the ironing on this quilt. I think it’s going to look good…but it will make me sad too. Sigh. What’s new.

OK. Wish me luck. Short sleep. Planes. People. Not my strong points.

Paying Attention…

I’m supposed to pay attention to, label my feelings, pay attention to my movements…going from stopped to moving, from seated to standing. I think too hard about the latter…wait, am I moving now? Am I stopped? When does movement start? Trying. Not breathing right this morning. Irritated. Stressed. Too much to do before I leave for Houston. Work raises its ugly head and demands more attention. Fuck you…you have too much of my life already, you bastard. I’m ignoring you. Hard to do with the sound of hundreds of middle-schoolers outside my door.

I started typing this in the morning, before school. I was trying to get everything set up and my brain was vibrating, it was working so hard to push emotion down and out and away. So I stopped. I typed. I cried. I cried with kids right outside the door. Better than inside, right? It’s OK. It’s under control most of the time. Or is that OK? Would less control be better? I don’t know. I have to function. I have to do my job, pay the bills, take care of my kids.

Tension. Nausea. Tweaked one part of my back. Bloated, tired. Wanted to stay home and read my book. Still want to do that. (got to read at the gym and during dinner…having dinner by yourself? Or having dinner with the characters of your book? Sad either way, but at least I semi-enjoy one version.)

Here’s the core problem to paying attention to your feelings: mine get overwhelming pretty quickly, and that’s not OK at work. I try to draw from positive interactions at work, especially with kids, but they seem more heavily weighted in the morning hours, and then I try to check in with my team at lunch for their collective strength and with my science coteacher between classes, in the space between our doors, but some days I just can’t get enough mental and emotional space from all that crap that swirls around in my head, making soup out of my control and logic and planning. Mr. Meditation doesn’t probably deal with what I deal with…he looks too damn calm. Give him my life for a week or so and see if he changes his tune. I spent all day breathing and paying attention to how I felt (you are about to duct tape a student to a chair…how does that make you FEEL?). Not really. But maybe it worked, I don’t know.

He says, “Experience overtakes the intellectual understanding of your feelings,” like that’s a good thing. OK. I guess it is. It’s just not good in the context of work or the gym or the grocery store or wherever I’m standing that isn’t in my room, a closet, in my car, in a big field in the middle of nowhere (can I be transported there now?). I am very good at experiencing my feelings. I am also good at understanding them. That unfortunately does not help them leave me alone for a while. Or even control them enough to feel like I’m in control.

Speaking of control, tomorrow’s dinner is already prepped and in the fridge for the slow-cooker tomorrow (I’m getting the hang of this. Praise my efficiency, dammit). My sub plans for the two days I’m gone were done this morning. I did extra laundry today for the trip. I’m not packed, but that’s OK…I’m doing that tomorrow night. I have food for the trip. I’ll be running on very little sleep (hey, what’s new?). Expect me to fall into a closet and cry at some point. I have books on the iPad and in real life (just in case), I have a couple of sketchbooks (have to make a decision about those), and I spent time tonight prepping the last two months’ of Sue Spargo’s birds to take with me…

I needed to iron and cut things out…

and sew a few things down with the machine. Tomorrow night I will put the bags together for stitching on the plane. I’m hoping we aren’t in terminals for long…if we are, it’s because we missed a flight. I’m prepared if we do. I have food, books, and stitching…materials for drawing. I hate being bored. Headphones for music. I will need music.

I’d like to say I’m excited, but mostly I’m nervous and apprehensive. I don’t travel well. I have to talk about two quilts, and I don’t really have anything logical to say about one of them, although girlchild approved my rambling explanation from last night. I’m worried about being around people. I know, that’s lame. I’m hoping to hold it together without my routines of exercise, meditation, reading, and drawing in a safe place. There are no safe places in a hotel or on a plane. I have my gym clothes. I have my meditation app. I have headphones.

I had to grade tests tonight, so I didn’t get any time for real art, but I did interact with fabric. During school, I needed to do a cover page for the new unit…

So I even got to draw at school. And color! You wonder why I draw what I draw…or maybe you don’t. I wonder if I were an English or Math teacher, what would I draw instead of body parts? Or was I fated to be a science teacher? Who knows.

I had 17 ideas today for drawing uterine-related stuff, women and their periods, women and menopause, women and their uteri, the pain, the blood, the mess, the annoyance, as you age, having to deal with the vagaries of the female body deciding to ignore routine and just mess with you on a regular basis. Cramps so bad it hurts to stand, it hurts to sit…and yet, there you are, doing both, in front of 35 kids who have no idea what you’re feeling or experiencing. This is your teacher…she is basically hemorrhaging AND suffering from depression. And you think YOU have it bad? Really? Deep breaths. It’s like my inner emotional world is being wrought upon the physical body. I can draw that.

I need to draw more of that…you know, because it will be so accepted in the art or art-quilt worlds. Yeah. Whatever. I obviously don’t pay much attention to acceptance in either. I just do what’s in my head and rail at the world when it causes issues.

I’m going to Houston for the opening of the Art Quilt Portfolio: People and Portraits exhibit that SAQA is sponsoring to go along with Martha Sielman’s book published this year. I was one of 21 featured artists in the book (if I’m smart, I will find my copy and take it with me for signatures). They are exhibiting two quilts from each artist. I got to choose which two out of the book (oh my…what were they thinking, letting me choose?). I chose Fully Medicated and I Was Not Wearing a Life Jacket. I’ll post them later this week (although they are on my Current Shows page). My mom will be there too…be nice to her. It must have been hard to raise me to be the crazy-ass artist that I am today. I’m sure it was hard.

When I get back from Houston, it’s race race race to the end of the school trimester and getting two quilts done and the stupid fucking holiday season (hate the holidays) and the high-school soccer season and family stuff and maybe some free time. And maybe some mental space, who knows. Probably some pain and hurt as well. That seems to come with the holidays, whether I like it or not. Lots of have-to’s and shoulds and not a lot of enjoying the moment. I will have to work on that. More exhibits to enter, some to get into, some to reject me (I can handle that…it’s disappointing, but it’s a rejection that I’m used to and can deal with). If I had my choice right this second, I’d be working on a quilt right now, instead of trying to persuade my brain it’s bedtime.

I don’t often have a choice, though. Paying attention. Sigh. I really wish someone had been paying attention. That’s part of my test, now. You need to pay attention. If you can’t? Fuck off. You’re not worth it.

Half Asleep with Its Tongue Hanging out

How to distract a grieving mind? Just give it stuff it likes…the gym, a good book, some fabric, time with kids, a task so close to being finished, tracing Wonder Under. Then try to bring it back and focus it on itself? Not happening. I wonder how healthy it is to constantly be trying to distract my mind from its work, its pulling apart the grief like a stuffed dog toy, going after the fluffy insides to spread them all over the carpet. Everyone’s had a dog like that, right? It’s Christmas, you give the dog a new toy, and an hour later, it’s all over the floor and they look perturbed…and they’ve probably swallowed the squeaky mechanism.

Pulling the grief apart is taking much longer. Sometimes I have to distract the mind from its task just so I don’t feel like I’m sinking under. Sometimes you just have to get stuff done…I am a highly functional depressoid, apparently. I have a couple of books I’m reading about loss and being and stuff like that, but my brain gets so tied up in them, and one of them, while I’m reading it, I just cry. So I can only take it in small amounts. I still need escape…art, music, movies (not many of those lately), books, the gym.

The meditation app is talking about feelings, about labeling them like yesterday with a type, but also deciding how we are dealing with that particular feeling. It’s easy for me to pick the feeling…I really only have one or variations on it: sadness. I guess there’s loss and grief, a variation, and sometimes misery and often tension is there, but that’s a much more physical feeling. When he says to check in with the physical body, from the head to the toe, my gut automatically tenses up multiple times, not something under my control, some psychological thing. The counselor asked me to name it once, name the feeling, and I called it loss. And as soon as my gut tenses up in that physical check-in, here comes the sad, sweeping over me, through my chest, my eyes, that’s when I start to cry. Sometimes it’s sobbing and sometimes like today, it’s more like a convulsive uncontrollable thing, and maybe only a few tears make it out. I cried at the gym today. Can’t remember why. Some thought, some song on the iPod, some random-ass thing as I beat myself up…physically and emotionally.

He asks about the feelings: do I want to prolong them? I don’t think I do. I don’t know. Maybe it’s too hard to let go of being sad. I know I’m trying to, but the girlchild says there are things I should be doing, things that are hurting me that I could get rid of or avoid, and I don’t. I don’t think I am trying to prolong anything…I am just having a hard time letting go. When I am ready, I will. I don’t know when that will be. I’m aware of it, at least. Do I hold on to feelings? I don’t think I’m allowed to…I often have to cut off a feeling so I can get things under control wherever I am or wherever I’m going. I can’t sob at the gym. When I get to work, I have to wipe my face and get out of the car and go to my classroom. I don’t cry all night. Am I resisting the emotion? I don’t think I resist them. I think I let them be. I don’t think I could resist them. I am beyond the days when I could push emotions down into a box and squash them down there until they explode outwards. That’s not really me. I’m not sure I’m letting the emotions go when I sit with them like he wants me to. I think I let it go in the moment, like releasing one balloon, because in reality, there are 50 trillion balloons and releasing one isn’t a problem…there are still 49 trillion and blobbity blobbity left. So even though I’ve let the balloon go, the emotion is still there, looming above me.

It was a physically painful day. Being a woman…sometimes it just hurts physically and emotionally, and you have to wait for it to be done and move on. It makes the days sometimes more difficult simply because the body is going to do what it needs to do, and you will just have to wait on it, be with it, deal with it…like childbirth…you relinquish control to the process and just do the work…and at the end, if you’re lucky, you will push that baby out…but it’s not something you ultimately have control over…which includes the child once it’s out. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. Today…even standing and sitting were painful. Deep breaths.

Today things were just painful. So it was easy to distance myself from emotion and physical pain. I did what I needed to do. I’m good at that. I can be relied upon for that.

You can hear how distant I am, can’t you? Everything that is so painful is over there…way over there…by the river. I’m standing up on the hill looking down on it. The river is sparkling in the morning sun, and there is a breeze, and everything is washed clean by the rain. It’s not exactly pretty or enjoyable…but it has promise. At least for now.

I finished the Wonder Under on the Celebrating Silver quilt. Eleven hours and seventeen minutes.

Looks to be about 5-6 yards of Wonder Under…I started October 13, finished October 28. I didn’t work on it October 24 or 25, but I worked on it every other day. The shortest amount was 24 minutes in a day; the longest was an hour and 16 minutes. I get to do art for about an hour a day, on average, during the school year. Sad but true. Next I get to cut them all out…that should take less time, but not by a lot.

I like that there is progress, that I am creating, making things from nothing.

I’m a little over 5 hours into cutting out the fabrics for the Love quilt…I’m almost done with that. It’s got fewer pieces…and it’s smaller too. I think I’m going to try to iron it together before I cut Wonder Under on the other piece…I’m just looking at due dates and trying to be logical. I know, me? Logical? What the fuck for? I am pretty organized, though…that’s how I get done as much as I do. Plus writing makes me accountable to myself for getting stuff done. If I didn’t write it here, I wouldn’t feel as much pressure to get it done. The second bit of pressure comes from not feeling so useless in my life…if I can get some art done, get a bit done every night or most nights, and I can see progress over time with that, then I feel better about my own existence…it’s not a purpose…or maybe it is? I don’t know. It gets me off the couch. It gets me away from the computer, which isn’t really a source of happiness for me at the moment. I can look back at all this trauma and think, well, at least you made a shitload of art, eh?

Anyway. The girlchild sent me this…

and this…

they took the dogs on a hike and Calli’s tongue tried to take over the world. That’s kind of how I want to leave this rambling post…half asleep with its tongue hanging out.

Something the Darkness Couldn’t Take

Hi. Do you see me? I’m that person crawling into a hole. Do you see me? I’m crawling into the hole and pulling all the dirt in after me? Can you see me? I’m crawling and pulling it after me.

I’ve been hearing this in my head all evening. I don’t know why. It’s just repeating. Like a whisper. Do you see me?

Sometimes the stupidest things hurt me right now, things I would have found funny or even cute before the tidal wave hit, they hurt…and not a little…the hurt I feel in my gut when I meditate, the hurt that feels like aliens climbing out, or is it zombies climbing in? Doesn’t matter. Either way, it’s pain, pain caused by others…but it’s also my reaction. I can’t disconnect…I can’t harness enough anger to disconnect. The anger is there, but so often I direct it at myself, even though I know I shouldn’t, that the fault is not there. Girlchild rails at me, speaks of vengeance, tries to understand how 9-plus years of connections are harder to break, to escape, to destroy…well, for me they are. She is so angry too…and I didn’t do that. I understand her anger. I would be angry too if I were her. She is my Mama Bear at the moment, because I can’t be. She’s protective, standing out in front of me, fists half-cocked, ready to go at someone on my behalf.

I made it through the gym. I don’t even remember working out. I was only half there. My muscles were there. Enough of my brain was there to go through the workout, and not in a half-ass manner…full throttle. And that part of my brain got me home and dealt with prepping for school and prepping dinner for the slow cooker and dealing with kids and getting in the car and going to pick up my passenger and driving all the way to Oceanside and holding my own in conversations and then driving back. It fractured in between, at the meeting, but I kept cutting out little bits of fabric and kept it under control.

But by the time I finished meditation, which was all about labeling feelings, and I realized that my brain was screaming at me, “FEELING! UNPLEASANT! FEELING! UNPLEASANT!” (the choices for labeling your feelings were ‘pleasant,’ ‘unpleasant,’ and ‘neutral’), I was already grabbing the sketchbook, even before meditation officially ended. He told me to open my eyes and have a stretch, and I stretched right over and picked up the book and opened to the first blank page (I say that so many times a day at school, I can’t tell you, in answer to “what page?”) and took the pen and it was moving across that blank expanse of white toothy beautiful page before I could even wipe all the tears from my face and neck and down onto my chest, where they fall when they reach the end.

When I reach the end.

I thought I was going to finish tracing Wonder Under tonight, but no. My brain had a different plan. I did try grading earlier, but I could tell my brain was fighting it…fighting the mundane, the work, the drag-you-down-further-into-the-fucking-muck feeling I was getting, the one I’ve been fighting all week, since last Monday. It gets worse and then better but never very good.

B. B for be? B for broken. B for bamboozled. B for bad. B for breaking. B for bastard. B for bearing…bearing it. I was thinking The Scarlett Letter…or a branding.

I’ve always put symbols in my work…the symbols are changing. Some of them.

So I am a bit more at peace, now that I’ve drawn. It’s not a happy peace. Just a distancing peace. That’s what labeling the feelings is supposed to do…to help me distance myself from the emotion and not wallow in it or make it worse, but maybe, at some point, to just let it wash over me while I be, and then maybe I won’t have to be that emotion any more. I’m not very good at the distance. Or maybe I am…because if I really wasn’t very good at it, I would be crying all the time, no matter where I was, and I do seem to hold it together for hours at a time when necessary.

At the meeting, I saw this out the window…

I think everyone else was socializing and eating and being friendly and I was staring out a window at a foggy grey sky and watching this beautiful bird and trying to just Be in the moment even though I wasn’t connecting to the moment at all.

Birds are often in my work. I need to draw more types of birds. I usually just make them up.

I’ve told you that both kids worry about me because of my braindeadness…my uncharacteristic mindlessness at times, my loss of memory, my inattention to detail.

Girlchild pointed out that I didn’t need to buy more ground mustard, that I must have just bought some in the last few weeks. I didn’t remember. She thinks we will never use it up…so now I have to come up with all-mustard recipes from now until we use it up. Just to prove her wrong. I really only have two recipes that use ground mustard, and neither in large quantities. We’re fucked. I’m going to die and have ground mustard left over.

Speaking of dying, I finished World War Z today…

It was OK…a little on the dry side. A little truncated. Not really a story, per se, but an interesting take on a story. I guess I could watch the movie now, if I wanted to. Do I want to? I don’t know. I’m currently immersed in all the PBS Mystery shows I have archived on Tivo. I’ve been watching Wallander and Endeavour…I like Endeavour better. He is more caring, less of an asshole. Wallander cares, but he’s an asshole. I don’t need more assholes right now.

I wrote this down from Endeavour tonight: “You go home and put your music on, and with every note, you remember that’s something that the darkness couldn’t take from you.” DI Fred Thursday

Yeah. That. That’s why I draw. That’s why I make art. That’s why I get out of bed in the morning. That’s why I don’t just give up. That’s why I’m writing every day. Almost every day. Because of that.

At the meeting (yes, I realize my brain is jumping all over the place, hence the multiple mustards), I cut out pieces for the Love quilt. I need a plan. I can get it cut out this week, and when I get back from Houston, I can start ironing it. If I can get it ironed and maybe even stitched down (that might take more mental energy than I have at the moment), then maybe I can quilt it over Thanksgiving. Maybe. Then at the same time, I can be cutting out the Wonder Under for the Celebrating Silver quilt, aiming to pick fabrics for it either over Thanksgiving or the first few weeks of December. Either way, it’s a plan. I need plans at the moment, even if I keep fucking them up.

So I cut out lots…

because it kept my brain from wandering off into the mists…

Someone please do something about the cat that is trying to be a scarf around my neck. Please. It’s literally perched up there between the back of my head and the back of the chair and trying to hold on. The stuff in the bag is all the scraps. I save them until the quilt is ironed down, because occasionally I toss a piece in there instead of into the bin. The way my brain’s working, though, I’ll probably forget I have them and I’ll just recut another piece. Or I’ll toss all the good pieces in the trash by accident.

Whatever. It’s progress. Movement anyway. No one knows in what direction. Taking my headache to bed right now. Hopefully it will let me sleep. Unless it’s an asshole. Don’t need more assholes.

It’s Complicated. It’s Messy. It’s Me.

While tracing the crone tonight, I feel the brain anxiously scrabbling at me, trying to draw me in to its worry and pain, but I focus on each piece, drawing it as accurately as possible. I wonder how I would have drawn the crone if I had drawn her before all the bad happened. Would she look so worn, so world-weary? Would I have made her eyes so bagged and wrinkled? Would the cracks in her exterior have shown up? Is she a better piece of art (in progress), a more accurate depiction because of my own recent suffering?

I hate believing that artists have to suffer to make good art. I would like to think that our suffering often draws us (or drags us, as someone recently wrote me) toward creative endeavors as a way of dealing with…processing the pain. Then again, there must be artists who never suffer, right? I don’t know the answer to that.

I am close to the end. I am on piece 1145. There are 80 more pieces to trace. Then it will be on to a different type of meditative act, that of cutting all those pieces apart. I might need to divert some time and energy to the cutting out of fabric pieces for the other piece, the one that needs to be done by the beginning of January, which is drawing closer. The time of year that I hate so much is also drawing closer, the holidays. No break from that this year.

Speaking of breaks, I realized I had been avoiding staying home on Saturday nights…that I had spent over 9 years going out every Saturday night, although usually just to movies and dinner, but money is tight and I spent my weekly budgeted allotment for entertainment on Thursday night, plus I have a lot going on this weekend, lots of stuff that has to get done, and I was feeling overwhelmed, especially since I didn’t do any real art stuff two nights running. And then I was trapped here for 4-plus hours because the oven has been seriously malfunctioning (again) and I was waiting for the fixit guy to show up…luckily, it was the same goofy guy from two years ago who put in the last known thermostat for my oven in the entire world (seriously), and he took it upon himself to MacGyver a solution…

Yup. He didn’t have the right type of screwdriver to adjust the thermostat (long skinny tube with a tiny adjustable screw at the end of it), so he borrowed a wire coathanger from me and made one. Seriously. In my kitchen. And then he tutored me on how to use it and left it with me, and didn’t charge me for labor (I provided the metal). Worst-case, this will be a short-term fix and we’ll have to find some other ghetto option (he wanted to make sure I understood the after-market options would make my kitchen look ghetto…really? More ghetto than it already does?). Because the alternative is $1800-3000 that I don’t have to get a new one in that space. Or just build a fire in there, but that will upset the girlchild, and we don’t want that. Her dad’s oven is also on the fritz and he won’t get his fixed, so she can’t cook anywhere at the moment.

I did the grocery shopping on a Saturday night, like a loser. Yeah! I bought radishes. Exciting. I mailed my nephew’s birthday present, finally. I found incentive stickers for my classroom. These were all things that had been on my list. Tomorrow is my quarterly California Fibers’ meeting, as well as two soccer games, both of which I will miss due to the meeting. I have to plan for school and find my way to the gym.

So I decided when I got back from the grocery store that the best thing I could do for myself tonight was to just slowly experience the evening…do things I wanted to do, and maybe some I needed to (I wrapped all the UK Xmas gifts while he was calibrating the oven…they need to ship out soon)…

I knew I needed to prep the last three month’s of Sue Spargo’s birds to take with me on the trip to Houston (lots of hours on planes). I kind of stopped working on them when I almost burnt the house down with the August package. Whoops. But I need to get going on them. I don’t really NEED to. It would just make me feel better, and they’re easy to work on when traveling, unlike some of the stuff I’m working on at the moment. So I took a few minutes and did that…

I ate. I made dessert. I didn’t eat enough today, so it was OK to eat dessert (I ate real food too, don’t panic). I exercised (I cried during that because of the book I’m reading while on the bike). I meditated (cried during that too, but that’s OK and normal). It’s been a sad day, week…full of loss and realizations and things that are just hard to process…like a bad British pub meal sitting heavy in your gut. Either direction it goes, it’s going to hurt. Cry it out. That’s all I do. Once you’ve cried it all out, though, there’s a quiet sense of peace. It’s not happy, it’s not joyful…it’s just quiet. And some of the sadness is just gone for a while. It’s not overwhelming any more.

I also spent a lot of time petting cats (and dog) today.

That one sat on my lap for a while and I spent some concerted effort smoothing its fur and scratching its head. It was very appreciative.

That one asked for attention, rubbing around my ankles until I petted it…coming up near me while I was tracing and head-butting me until I paid her attention. Kitten is waiting for me to come to bed so she can curl up next to me and vigorously clean her nether regions, and then wake me up at my school-alarm-clock time, which is too early for a weekend wakeup, not that she cares. Close attention paid to the fur-creatures seems to soothe me for a moment. Plus they don’t care if I’m crying. Midnight will even help by cleaning my face for me. She often sits by me while I’m meditating, if I’m in the living room. She cleans herself to the sound of the meditative guy on my app. If I’m in my office, it’s Babygirl who’s listening, perched on the back of my chair, behind my neck.

I wonder what they think about my meditation. Or my crying. The food giver is sad. We love the food giver. She pets us. We must sit close to the food giver and purr on her (shades of Margaret Atwood’s Crakers). Then she will give us more pets and more food. And it will be good.

I got this huge long spam comment on my blog the other day…it was all like this…

Your {story-telling|writing|humoristic} style is {awesome|witty},
keep {doing what you’re doing|up the good work|it up}!|
I {simply|just} {could not|couldn’t} {leave|depart|go away} your {site|web site|website}
{prior to|before} suggesting that I {really|extremely|actually} {enjoyed|loved} {the standard|the usual}
{information|info} {a person|an individual} {supply|provide} {for your|on your|in your|to your} {visitors|guests}?
Is {going to|gonna} be {back|again} {frequently|regularly|incessantly|steadily|ceaselessly|often|continuously} {in order
to|to} {check up on|check out|inspect|investigate cross-check} new posts|
{I wanted|I needed|I want to|I need to} to thank you for this {great|excellent|fantastic|wonderful|good|very
good} read!! I {definitely|certainly|absolutely} {enjoyed|loved} every {little bit
of|bit of} it. {I have|I’ve got|I have got} you {bookmarked|book marked|book-marked|saved as a favorite} {to check out|to look
at} new {stuff you|things you} post…|

Like I could choose the words I really wanted to read and come up with my own message. I was amused. It’s almost like poetry. Love poetry of a sort. OK. Not.

I read this blog from start to finish…I think she liked one of my posts and I read one of hers, and then I read the rest. It’s not a lot, but it’s an interesting read. Things like that always make me question my OWN depression though…we always wonder if we have the right to be depressed, doesn’t someone else have it worse? I know people who have actually SAID that to me (not this time around), but I write them off pretty quickly. There’s a lack of understanding there. I think most people around me are trying to be understanding and supportive, and I don’t give many guidelines on how to do that, because I honestly don’t know…and yes, dear counselor, I’m pushing people the fuck away because it’s people that hurt me and I don’t want to be hurt. Everything I do is self-protective and based on years of practice in protecting myself, but there hasn’t been a lot of experience I’ve had with not needing that protection. It’s not my self-protective behaviors that caused this. They certainly didn’t help, but they weren’t the source of the problem. The source was not in me. My issues…well, I’ll get to them. When I can handle everything else, then I will get to them, and I will peel off the armor again, maybe, a little, and honestly…if you want to see the fucking armor peeled off, look at my art. There it is. It’s all hanging out and in the open…this is probably why I find it so hard to STAND next to my art and explain it. Because that IS the deep core, the inside, the painful emotional part. And you want me to own it? (I do own it…I just don’t want to explain it to you. You look at it. You get something out of it. You react to it. I put it out there. Don’t make me explain it.).

One of the things I like about the Fifty2Letters blog is that she posts art, really interesting art, as part of every post. And she writes well. And her story is compelling.

Reading other people’s stories…ideally it helps us suss out our own? My story…it’s complicated. It’s messy. It’s me.

Mob Rules

Thursday nights…once a relaxing night nearing the end of the week, things to look forward to…now a tangled web of exhaustion and apprehension and tension. Lots of “sions” (no offense to any sion). I get notices for lots of local art stuff…often blow it off and delete it. Occasionally go to some of them. During the week is harder…I’m lucky to get done with the Have-To’s early enough to feel like doing anything, but getting my sad self out of the house is a priority (well, sort of). So I got a notice for a So Say We All Vamp called Mob Rules (I just figured out what VAMP stands for…duh…”video art, music, performance”). There’s a lot of words there. I didn’t really know what to expect, except it had something to do with storytelling, and honestly, that’s what it turned out to be: a bar full of people quietly listening to storytellers tell…

I find myself standing in a bar with a million young things and about three people my age (art professors or pedophiles, take your chances). They’re videotaping and the bar is all beer and hard alcohol, which is bad for the diabetic in me. So when do I ditch this place and head next door to the Station Tavern for some tots and a glass of lonely whine errr wine with my sketchbook? I guess I should give it a minute…maybe if they actually start? They start late.

Apparently to get a chair I had to be here much earlier. Like noon. Starting!

Nathan Young is hosting; he’s the So Say We All production director. As I’m typing all this AND listening, my WordPress app keeps randomly deleting shit. Seriously. I type, I save frequently. It decides not to save. I guess it could be the connection, but it seemed random. So I would type impressions and quotes, and then it would delete them. Frustrating to say the least. Nathan says the world of a writer can be lonely…he wants us to feel a little less crazy and a little more connected. He asks us to turn around and introduce ourselves to someone around us. AACK. I wave at the lovely young thing next to me. She manages a “Hi.”

There are seven storytellers…starting with Jennifer Corley. OK, it’s even harder to find writers online to link to than it is to find artists. I tried. She tells a story of an old friend (male) who is getting married and invites her to be his new love’s bridesmaid. Sounds like a problem already. The new love paints the Virgin Mary holding kittens and talks about mixing spit into her paint. Everyone tells Jennifer that she has to stop this wedding. There’s the quote “poo gradient topped with hair posies” describing the bridesmaids’ dresses, while the groomsmen had black armbands. All in all a good story, well read.

Story number 2 is Erin Peterson. She tells the story of sibling rivalry and support and her first teen love, Blake, who wrote Primus on his backpack with Whiteout. He had shimmering hair, but his brother went on a machete rampage and ruined her chances with Blake, because Erin’s younger brother was the snitch who told their mom about the machete. The phrase “chubby bitch” was thrown around and an 8th-grade chubby girl punched Mr. Shimmering Hair for going after her 5th-grade brother. “I’d fallen for a jerk, but at least I saw it now.”

Story number 3, who might have been Alexandra Schlein (they didn’t announce names really well, and then my app deleted stuff) started with a strange tale of Bob eating a tuna fish sandwich over a chest open for surgery, and continued with stories of scientific experiments confusing our pleasure and pain centers. Apparently the pleasure center is easily stimulated by rubbing a BBQ brush on the arm, who knew? She tells of Rhonda, with a barbed-wire tat on her biceps, and gently basting her arm with the brush and then showing her pictures while she decided “like,” “neutral,” or “dislike.” Meth equipment was instantly dislike. She was “confounding her pains and pleasures,” showing vulnerability to the dislikes.

Story number 4 is a preschool teacher who prefers her name is not used. She starts with a profanity-laden rant from a 5-yr old frat boy pointed at a honeybee (“Shut the fuck up, asshole!”) and continues into the depths of preschool from there. She calls one group of boys her League of Villains, and after a trying time of reading The Giving Tree and surviving a possible gun on campus, she says, “Dylan was right. That boy did kill the fucking giving tree.” She should teach middle school. There’s less urine on the floors.

They take a break. I should have eaten…more. They should announce names more obviously. Now I notice there are other older people here, even older than me. They’re in the seats in front; that’s why I couldn’t see them. It’s the in-between moments that suck, that drag me down, can’t afford a drink, empty stomach bad anyway. I donated $5 because I’m old and I know art groups need money,. I’m standing by myself, no one to connect to; the stories are good though. Is that enough?

The next batch of storytellers stands by the sound booth, nervously rolling their stories or reading through them, anticipating. Reading in front of people. “I swear to God, I have a boyfriend who lives in Canada.” I’m totally stealing that line. The 10- to 15-minute break seems like an hour.

Story number 5 is Julia Evans, stay-at-home mom, talking about “feeling peaceful, alone, and not needed” while her daughter is at a playdate, but after she goes to pick her up, gone for maybe 45 minutes, her house has an attempted break-in. She doesn’t clean off the forensic dust-covered handprints. They get washed off by the rain.

Story number 6 is Laura Condi buying a David Sedaris book in Target. She talks about having to move back home, hipsters shopping, and the torture of small talk. Rosa, the nonthreatening young Latina who is checking her items out at Target, challenges her about the book (I’m wondering why you would be embarrassed to buy a Sedaris book at all?). Condi claims she is buying it for a friend, so she won’t have to explain herself, but Rosa throws a gift-receipt curve ball. Condi says, “Everyone in San Diego has nothing in common with me.” I feel that way sometimes about El Cajon.

Story number 7, the last one, is Craig Oliver, who announces he is there to offset all the estrogen. He tells a local mob story, something to do with the Gardner art heist, and who might have been involved, which someone got him into videotaping people who might kill him. He claims, “I’m a whore for experience.” I don’t follow his story, but his method of telling it is engrossing.

Many of the storytellers (most?) have pictures on the screens behind them that change as they speak…the pictures add to the stories, giving them humor and depth.

Here’s the story on the Vamps from the So Say We All website: A highly produced multimedia variety showcase, VAMP (visual art, music, performance) presents artists and their workshopped material in a polished monthly show.All participants are chosen by blind online submission, all pieces are given a free workshop to further improve the material, and then the final product is curated in a featured capacity. Currently hosted at The Whistle Stop bar in Southpark, VAMP has been likened by Pacific Magazine to a, “This American Life without begging for money,” and has been packing the house and treating writers like rockstars since 2009.

Was it good? Yes. I didn’t realize two hours had gone by. Will I go again? Yeah, I think I will. I wish it wasn’t in a bar; I’d drag the kids along. Watching this reminded me that I am actually a writer as well as an artist. Certainly writing 1000 to 1500 words a day is writing. Would I get up and speak it in front of people? Yeah, I probably would.