Stale champagne

30 05 2016

On the occasion that you find yourself in a mostly packed and emptied house with nearly all of your possessions sitting in a parked u-haul van while your (ex?)(current?)(significant other)boyfriend? (former[or current] Partner) is away working over time trying to finish up a project because his boss’s brother in-law just OD’d on heroin and died. And his boss’s debut solo show is happening in four days with at least a week’s worth of work to do and so said former or current boyfriend is going to work through the night to dutifully figure out how to mount/frame the photos of the aforementioned boss in the complicated way that even the incompetent yet some how talented boss doesn’t know how to do. ON this occasion, where not knowing the actual state of the three and a half year relationship, that you did not realize had meant as much to you as you thought. Or perhaps that good ol’ patriarchal Christian monogamy still some how haunts you more than you realize. It is on this occasion that drinking the stale champagne that was meant for celebration mimosas, which ended up being merely sad lonely mimosa that you didn’t even finish because you have shown a recent self harming impulse when drinking too much.

This occasion in which you find yourself, baby-sitting the beloved elderly dog of said former or current boyfriend in the mostly empty house surrounded by said former or current boyfriend’s things, because you both deeply love the elderly dog, and some how are still not quite ready to face what your life has become. Sure you finished graduated school, and yes that is awesome. But when you have a meager amount of sanity left, and the relationship that now you realize you are willing to work on is probably ending, but definitely feels like limbo. And you’re having to strongly consider going into some kind of intensive therapy program, oh and you’re broke, while so many around you seem to have their dreams being come true….

It is this occasion in which drinking that stale celebration champagne is acceptable. Check your bank account and order some fucking indian food for yourself and try to not be so fucking sad. Salty stale champagne is just too pathetic, even for you.

Where will I land after graduate school…McLean?

4 05 2016

Sooo, my therapist is worried about me again. Worried that I don’t have the support system that I need in order to do the things that I need to do to get better. I’m starting to feel like perhaps he is right.

He said that I might fall on the BPD spectrum. I feel like a failure. I feel like I will always be broken. That I am a terrible person. I know that isn’t what that diagnosis means, and that he wasn’t diagnosing me exactly. He said that he was trying to give me a heads up for when I checked out the McLean website.

I think I’m going to give up drinking. Well, I think I’ll start with giving up gin, vodka, rum, tequila, sweet red wine, and PBR. I’m going to limit myself to two drinks. Currently I am too depressed and stressed to drink. I get to a really dark place really quickly. And then apparently I do things like: send sexually charged texts to people other than my partner, and slash my arm. It’s already scarring over. And as far as the sexually charged texts….there’s a kind of mutual understanding that nothing will ever happen beyond that sort of thing, as we live super far apart, and other reasons.

Ugh… I wish I could take back so many things. I wish I could take back cutting my arm. Take back sending a photo of it to my best friend and thinking in my psychotic state that I had to share something beautiful with her. For thinking it was beautiful. For being honest with any fucking psychological professional ever.

I probably have C-PTSD not BPD, Borderline is such a grasp at straws of the mind.

I am tired of my bullshit getting in the way of my life. I wish I could figure out a way to at least make money off of it like the Bloggress. That is not shade. I think she is amazing. I have no idea how she has managed to stay in Texas. Seriously they have some seriously fucked up mental health practices down there. Or maybe that’s primarily Abilene.

I want to be better. I know I need patience with myself. But come on! I’m about to finish graduate school and I am barely hanging on.  Like I can get an MFA, but I can’t not sabotage my life? No. That’s bullshit. I’m sick of my own bullshit. I don’t stand for other people’s so why should I listen to my bullshit. I’m done with it.

No more. Starting right now I will do the things that I KNOW help me better myself. I will exercise more, dance, yoga, ride my bike, and swim. I WILL write every day even if it’s one fucking sentence. Every fucking day. I will draw every single day. I will paint every single day. I will cook for myself. I will clean myself daily. I will not be smelly. I will not over shop. I will not pick at my skin. (I just stopped myself when I realized I was doing it! That’s a new thing for me. Usually it takes at least 10 min or more of scoring my body before I notice.) And I will FUCKING kill it at THESIS.

Cuz if I don’t I may end up in a residential institution. I mean I guess I could pick up Yayoi Kusama’s torch. But Ii’d prefer to travel.



Resolute on resolutions

9 01 2013

New Years Resolutions

  1. Draw and Write Everyday
    1.   Try to be in the studio for at least four hours daily
    2. Try to be in the studio for at least six on days off even if you don’t do anything, just be in there.
    3. Write at least one word a day, if nothing else just one word.
  2.  Wake up with alarm.
    1. You like having coffee and taking your time in the morning if you want to do that, you need to wake up.
    2. You enjoy reading and writing in the morning, as well as stretching if you want to do that you need to wake up.
    3. You hate being rushed in the morning, if you don’t want that to happen you’ll need to get up out of bed.
  3. Apply to Grad schools
    1. this is only number three because if you don’t do number one and number two then this certainly won’t happen.
    2. If you want this to happen keep number two and number three
    3. Researching schools is also a good thing to do and save money for applications.
  4. Continue to be active
    1. Continue to ride your bike daily
    2. Try to do more yoga
    3. Maybe find a place to swim during the winter?
  5. Watch less Television
    1. I’m not saying not to watch any television, just that if you want these things to happen, you should probably not spend all day in bed, watching TV and looking at the internet, also can’t be good for your eyes.
    2. It doesn’t make you feel good about yourself when you do these things, so might as well just not do them.
  6. Learn that saying No is a complete sentence
    1. I just read that in a blog and I am so glad to have read it because I thought I was a little silly in trying to learn how to say no.
    2. I need to learn to say no to my negative self, like not giving in to the nest and mopping and watching too much TV, and saying no to that and yes to drawing every day.
    3. But most importantly that it’s okay to say no to other people.  That I don’t owe any one anything. That those gifts that my parents gave me were just that, gifts not bargaining chips.
  7. Go on a trip to a place I’ve never been
    1. Possibly to an artist residency?
    2. Buses are great ways to travel with the right companion.
    3. Maybe even a biking or hiking trip? Yea camping sounds good
  8. Be more patient.
    1. I need to be more patient with myself. In regards to my health, mentally and otherwise.
    2. Be patient with my art.
    3. Be patient with my relationships. Especially with my romantic one. There’s no rush for anything. Things will happen when they do.

* I don’t know why it wouldn’t let me keep my proper outline I had in word when I moved it over here, and I guess I don’t care all that much, but I Just wanted to share that I’m not aesthetically pleased by all the numbers.

Embodiment and leaving the house

20 11 2012

I finally figured out what it is I’m trying to talk about with my art. I’m trying to deal with the fact that I forever have to live in the setting, the vessel of which my most horrible memories took place.

As a rape survivor, I can’t leave this body. Unless I disassociate. But disassociating also is part of the reason I was raped in the second case. The defense mechanism, became the downfall. It happens all the time in nature. The creature freezes in order to not be seen, unaware that the predator is already engaged. Anyway, even if disassociating hadn’t betrayed me, its no way to go about living.

I’ve decided to undergo some other types of therapy, to see if I can perhaps recover the thing that first taught me to disassociate. So that I can finally deal with it, and really learn how to help that part of myself, best. EMDR and Hypnosis, or one or the other, or together, I dunno, but I’m going to find out about them, soon. I have my first appointment with this woman Tuesday. Its cool, she’s smart, she was one of the leaders of the group that I did last spring and summer.

She was also the first person to use the word abuse, when I described my father. Actually I guess she was the second. The first was the towering and broad shouldered co-worker of my father I was sent to talk to, instead of going to a real psychologist. She had this list, of red flags, signs that you were in an unhealthy relationship. A lot of those things on that list described things my dad did. I think all of them were verbal, certainly most.  But now that I think of it I don’t think she did use that word, abuse. Just “unhealthy relationship”

Maybe she can hypnotize me into thinking that leaving the house on my days off in order to do things like, attend a meeting with my psychiatrist, do laundry, or go grocery shopping isn’t so scary.

So with these two new therapies, I hope that I can better learn how to deal with being within my body, and present. I read some things in that masturbation was supposed to help survivors be more comfortable with their bodies. I don’t think that I have a problem being in my body and feeling the pleasure that comes with masturbation, or sex, I think I have a problem being in my body when it comes to feeling the emotions I am or am not having with sex.

Sex, emotions, and relationships are all very different things to me, that possibly have a kind of ven diagram thing happening, but emotion is barely in either of the two, especially when sex enters into the relationship. It seems that the more sexual I am with a person, the further I want to pull away from them emotionally. Until recently. There was one person who was able to break that cycle of mine, and now I realize the benefit of not being so detached.

Anyway I think I was going to mostly write about my art practice…

I think that my work fluctuates between the state of disassociating, victim, survivor, and aggressor. In some works, only one state is showcased or portratited if you will., in others they are battling, in this confused and violated rawness. The strange thing was when I was doing my work last semester, the phrase that has stuck out in my head the most, is “Your anger, is clear.” I thought the work had moved greatly beyond just anger. I don’t know if that’s true.  The gender reduction monsters are my way of talking about society’s way of making rape jokes, and pointing out how narrow definitions, or stereotypes, castrate, and dehumanize people. But they also point out the absurdity and ridiculous nature of this entire political conversation of redefining rape. The fact that, that is even an option, to qualify rape, as legitimate, or forceful, is unfathomable.  The only thing that is worse is if they were to demand the rapist marry the victim/survivor, that and actually stoning the victim.  By turning women and men into these monsters I hope I have created a kind of comedic relief in talking about something that’s horrible and doesn’t make any sense.

By using the skins, or carcass paintings, I hope that I understand my victimized state. By turning myself into a gender reduction monster I hope that I have a better understanding of what I see the male gaze as. Maybe the carcass paintings are the skins of the gender reduction monsters, maybe by merging myself with them, or falling into them, or embracing them, I am reaching out to the victim, the disassociating self, and trying to hold on to it and comfort it, expressing the fluid nature of victim/survivor identity. By tearing paper, and collaging with it, and then white washing it, to me it reminds me of what happened when I told my mother and father. That hazy memory, but more how they look at me so different now but never really talk about why.  How my father doesn’t really look me in the eye anymore.

But the general distress and labor that goes into each work, is as Merleau-Ponty puts it, a birth. And the result is a body, each work is its own body, and its own kind of expression of self, of myself.  Pointing back at me, looking at me, calling out wanting… to be healed, to be whole, to be human again. Embodiment or at least the struggle with it, is a human one. And rape is the ultimate dehumanization. For what is a human with out a body?  And how do I live in and love that body after what happened inside? That is the question that I am looking at, and since I’m a painter, that’s the kind of things I make.

I think I may have just stumbled upon about a half way done artist statement there. Awesome.


Carry it With me

8 04 2012

“You look really sad.”

That’s never something you want to hear some one say… much less the majority of people who speak to you that weekend.

But my counselor did, and so did a couple of my friends.

“Thanks.” I said to my therapist. He then started asking me if I was having suicidal thoughts again, or thinking about death. And unfortunately for me, I had just that very morning. In the waiting room, at breakfast. But it was decided that I could not because of the fact that I owed Micah paper, we had a trade and I hadn’t held up my end yet. So, yea, no drowning myself or making my wrist split open.

That was one of the weird things was it wasn’t that I actually thought about cutting up myself, just that all of a sudden my wrist just bursts open. And blood goes every where.

My counselor then asks if I would ever consider going into a hospital again. And well that didn’t go over very well. He then asked if I would consider partial hospitalization.  I don’t think that I’m that bad off… but obviously if I don’t snap out of this shit then that’s exactly where I’ll be headed. “Not every hospital is like the one you ended up in”

You won’t always feel this way, your depression and all these things won’t always rule your life.

Maybe when school is over.

I have decided to make a list or reasons I can’t kill myself.

1. I would force Allison to learn the dark Arts so she could murder me for being so stupid.

2. Allison  (aforementioned),Robyn, Victoria, Tiffany, Mary, Rebecca, Saybra, Cindy, Aaron, Linda, Dr. Stiver, The Maddoxes, Taylor,  Mom, Dad, Nicki, Chris, Everett.

3. I have not started the artist residency I want to start.

4, Haven’t built a house out of recycled materials yet.

5. Haven’t learned to scuba dived/see if I can really become a commercial diver or oceanographer

6. I haven’t learned to play that one Beethoven song that I started right before I quit my lessons. I think it was Sonitina in D.

7. I  haven’t learned seven languages, and gotten to use them

8. I’ve never been to Bali, South America, Cambodia, India, Nepal, Tibet, or Everest.

9. I haven’t learned to mountain climb

10. I don’t have my mfa, or a doctorate yet (which I could totally live with out, but I do still want)

11. I haven’t canoed down every major river on each continent

12. I haven’t been to Antartica

13. I haven’t met my healthy self yet

14. I’ve never seen the permanent collection of the MOMA

15. I’ve only been to the met once

16. Never lived in NYC yet

17. Never lived any where but USA so far

18. Haven’t seen Gogol Bordello, The Mountain Goats, the Raincoats, or some other awesome punk/gypsy/lo-fi band in concert.

19. I haven’t been in any Biennial yet.

20. I’ve never been to the Congo

Well there’s more I’m sure, and I’ll add it when I think of it. But for now I have plenty of reason’s to live.  I will be sure to continue to add to the list. Write it down in my small notebook, and carry with me the reasons to live, and try to put down my sadness.

Booty Call

2 03 2012

I’m sorry for not updating… like ever. Please forgive me.

I think I’ve come to the comfortable conclusion, that booty calls are my friend. I like the idea of hanging out with a person, ever so often, just to meet my carnal needs. Because, quite frankly I can’t handle much else.

Every time I start opening up…. lets just say things end quickly. Sometimes its me, sometimes its him.

I like the honesty of saying… I like having sex with you, can’t really do/afford much else right now, so want to fuck here and there?

In the past week I’ve had sex with three different people. Each experience was pleasant. And honestly I think increasingly with each one.

Would I be cool with screwing these three people ever so often? Sure. Do I want to get to know them beyond that. Yes, but mostly because I find them interesting, not because of some strange spark in the pit of my stomach.

My counselor said that I have a very blasé kind of attitude towards dating. And he’s right. I’m extremely indifferent. I feel nothing for these men. I think that they’re interesting, and I have fun with them, but when I stop and analyze my feelings… they just aren’t there. Do I want to keep fucking them? Sure. But more because I focus so much better when I get laid.

I don’t really focus very well at all when I’m left to my own devices. I end up masturbating for hours on end… Having a partner, really allows for more of a resolution. A kind of… Okay now time for something else.

Is this what polyamory is? Maybe, but I think its further from the Ethical Slut, and more towards….just something else.

Am I acting out of character? No, I don’t think so. I think in some respects I’m still redefining my character from when I was raped, and from being divorced.

I told one of the guys about my past. Rapes, hospital…you know the whole schtick. But I don’t feel closer to this person. I may never see him again. I don’t know.

Will I see the guy I saw last night again? I don’t know…. And I don’t know if I care. He has a Michael Fassbender quality to him, and I wanted to fuck him. Now I have, and I still want to, but do I need to? No.

The other day I put my kegel cisor in for the whole day. Just to see how that’d go. I think that was a mistake. I mean I didn’t damage myself, but lets just say there might be such a thing as too tight of a pussy.


I just think that maybe I should cool it with the kegels for a minute.

I stopped taking my medicine because it made me sick. And then once I spaced out the dosage, I realized I had become increasingly numb, and a bit suicidal, so no more Effexor. I feel much better, actually….feeling.

I think its also part of the reason that I was having a really hard time in the studio. Like…the medication made me see the absurdity, and frivolity of what I do, and then all my head would tell me is what an asshole I was for adding to the junk in the world. Make me feel guilty for the need to create.  Sooo… fuck that.

With out making art, I am a miserable cunt of a person. It is life to me.  It is my oxygen. I know all my life feeds my work. Lately, due to the nature of my work… sex definitely does.


Start to finish.

13 11 2011

Yoga. I have got to start doing more yoga.

I’m cleaning up my room today finding it nice to see the floor.

In my clean room I can do yoga. I can meditate. I can move beyond just laying on my bed.

Its 12:34 and I’m dressed. Ready to head out the door. One of my favorite movies is playing in the background. Its almost over.

I’m going to walk to the studio today. Or most of the way and then get on the train. I will be carrying a backpack after all and it may get to heavy.

Its rather beautiful outside.

I’m going to finish a drawing today.

I realize sometimes I drop myself because I can’t carry the weight.

Today I’m picking myself back up.


9 11 2011

Today I have decided that I can’t go to school.

Sharing that last bit with you, and I’ve been getting pretty intense with my therapy, on top of making art about all that I’m dealing with…..lets just say I need more than a breather.

My best good friend reminded me that it really hasn’t been all that long ago since everything happened. And even less time for me to actually be aware and dealing.

I wish healing wasn’t so painful.

I’m trying to read about trauma coping techniques for PTSD victims and that seems to be going well, but slow.

I have not mentioned to my counselor that I have been contacting people on craigslist and sending nude photos of myself with out a second thought…until now. Nothing happened- other than getting stood up.

I am starting to think perhaps I’m willing to do this because I remembered that my ex made me take photos. Well, I wasn’t tied down some I suppose some of you would probably say I still had a choice.  But I was scared. Of what, I’m not sure. Him, that I know, beyond that I can’t say. I think that’s part of why it stopped. Why he was okay to leave. I can’t say that I remember really. I do remember saying that he deserved some.

So I guess because my rapist ex-husband has nude photos I’m cool with showing my hoo-hoa whenever I choose. Maybe I’m trying to reclaim something? Or maybe its just nice to know that naked photos of me exist in some one else’s masturbatory collection beyond that of my rapist?

Maybe I’m just too fucking sex obsessed?

But I love sending dirty emails to anonymous people, I can’t tell you how much fun it is. Plus its pretty much safe. I don’t plan on being a politician, or public school teacher, so whatever.

Most of the actual photos I send end up being things I’ve taken of myself when I was bored and I’m trying to figure stuff out for more explicit pieces I want to do.

In the back of my head I hear the upbringing I had screaming at me that I’m a whore, that I have no self respect, that I wasn’t properly loved by my father….but I do have self respect.

And I have thought about getting a sugar daddy, so maybe I am a whore? Who. Fucking. Cares?

I don’t think I will actually seek out a sugar daddy arrangement, just something I had been considering, since I’m so fucking broke.

I was thinking of getting a corset for myself for christmas but now considering all these things above I think I’ll get this.

Or you know I’ll be ultra responsible and use the money to apply to graduate schools and residencies.

It’s Personal

24 10 2011

Things I’ve considered doing if I weren’t an artist.

  • Underwater Welding
  • Non-Sex Dominatrix
  • English teacher in foreign country
  • Art Historian
  • Vagrant
  • Chocolate Factory Worker
  • Farmer
  • Migrant Worker
  • Off the grid self sustainer in undisclosed local

Of course these things I could do as well as being an artist, as my more practical side…except for the las half.

Its unclear if my waning passion is because I’m just tried, I’ve come to realize that my parents were right all along and this whole art thing was just a phase, I hate art school(well mostly the people in it), I don’t like Boston, I’m terribly lonely, or I am not really an artist after all.

What makes an artist, an artist any way? Why make art? do I still have this crazy drive to create things, sure.

So maybe, I’m just a bad artist? If so, then what? Do I care? Do I just keep on keepin’ on and say fuck it? Thomas Kinkade is a pretty bad artist in many ways. But that doesn’t stop him from making millions. Same could be said for several people I suppose. Well…maybe not several, but you know, a few.

I’m not looking for fame. Or am I?

Am I just waiting, longing to be discovered? No, but maybe my work is. I’m not so much interested in the spotlight. But I could be cool with a piece or two being in an Art Forum or Juxtapoze.

I got in free to the MOMA in NY yesterday, because the museum owns a couple of my friends pieces. I suppose I would like to one day get to get in free to the MOMA or some other museum, because they own some of my pieces.

In the grand scheme of things, it isn’t much.

I know I shouldn’t compare myself to my friend…but then why shouldn’t I? Any way compared to where he is, I feel as though I am still inside the womb. I haven’t been birthed. And none of my art has really breathed yet because of it.

He asked me why I wouldn’t want to live in West Texas again. This was my response, “Its like being constipated (really constipated), but also being incredibly full, like just after Thanksgiving or something, AND being nauseous, all at once.  You’re so full and weighted down and on the verge of  exploding every way possible.”

He looked at me for a second and repeated what I said, I clarified a few things and then he paused…”That sounds horrible!

It is horrible. And that’s how I felt living in Abilene. For nearly six years of my life.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that, that’s how I feel about all of Texas really.

So I think about how I’m never going to live there again, how that would be the worst thing for me, ever. And then I pause, process, and think to myself, then realized I need to be more Okay with who I am before I can live there again.

So it’s really more of me needing to learn to deal than anything else. Maybe ‘deal’ isn’t the right word. Maybe accept, maybe I need to learn to accept who I am. Maybe I need to learn to love myself.  It’s a strange contradiction, but it seems like if I really loved myself, I could be less selfish.

Sometimes I wish I had “more” to say in my art. But then I realize that I have too much to say. There are lots of things I could say about the content I’ve been working with. The surplus of meaning within the context of this work is overwhelming.  I think perhaps if I write some of it out, instead of just storing it up inside then I it wouldn’t bother me so much. Also, I need to do more research, to help clarify things for myself.  And I need to organize my research better. Much better.

Sometimes I wish I could be more political and give more of a universal damn, with my art, but then I’m reminded by things that were said to me over and over recently, by people who have little in common other than knowing me. They have said something to this effect, ” It’s good that it’s coming from a personal place, work is always powerful that does that.” And so I think of this. I keep this in mind. I hold this as my security blanket. For this much I know, my work, it’s personal.