Wednesday evening, March 21st. Jesseca invited me to one of her Pagan meetings, and I thought it was a good idea to meet her crew. I'm glad I went, being an atheist with a spiritual bent. This meet was dedicated to Eostre, so there was immediately a resonance for me: my life is approaching or arriving at a metaphorical Spring. We did a drawing of runes, I draw Thurisaz, the thorn rune. It can be seen as a warning rune or an affirmation - keep my defenses up as I am in the eye of chaos, of forces beyond my control. Anyone who's read other blog entries knows that's spot on. We did a meditation central to Spring...I did some meditation exercises as a teen including some for a drama class but since then I've never been able to manage it. I'm too easily distracted let myself into that space. Still hoping. So I didn't get there tonight either, just felt a shade of it. Having been an actor helped, though, I could relate each visualization\to aspects of my life or memories. Passing moments of the evening echoed the painting I'm preparing and an impressively old and gnarled tree in a children's cemetery in Portland that my family feels has spiritual properties. Some think it acts as guardian, and one niece captured some impressive orbs and streaks on camera in its presence. I named the tree Gnarls Barkley and offered it libation and bread.
Note to self: do a search on a gallery named Moonlight Reflections. (Searched: it's called Full Moon Reflections, in Camden).
WOW. The sky here at night is so clear. the stars and crescent moon are so gorgeous tonight.
!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!
Thursday, 22nd. Five hours sleep and fitful after that. I can't recall the dream Dana was in except that I wasn't present myself, only a witness... I remember the very end (it's like catching only the tail end of a movie) in which Dana had written a number of books, and she was telling someone the name of her most recent is "Banned From my own Book".
That might have more meaning to Dana than it suggests to me. The word 'book' means something else to me in connection with Dana: really long personal letters. Why banned??
!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!
Friday. In one of Brian's books on faeries I found reference to Mami Wata, an African water deity. She (usually a she) is known for being sexy and seductive, she can be loving at times and dangerous at others. Sometimes a mermaid, sometimes a snake charmer. I would love to dive into her as a subject. I can get quite earthy, too - I've always wanted to do erotica. This is a good launching point.
It gave me pause to wonder over cultural appropriation. I'm quite to the left and have never felt the excesses of political correctness disproved it's usefulness or aims...but I have to confess I'm a doubter of the outcry in appropriation. Yeah, I get how infuriating it can be to be misrepresented. Even so, so-called "appropriation" happens and has since we were living in caves. It's how cultures develop and evolve. Complain all you want, there;s no stopping it.
So what of an African deity? I held a conversation in my head this morning with a devil's advocate. What business does a white guy from America's Northern coast have representing Mami Wata? Who, for instance, wants to buy artwork of her in a gallery if the artist is not of African heritage?
I turned the question around. Who has the right to tell Mami Wata which people she can claim as adherents and who not? Granting that I have done no more research yet than perusing various online sites about her, I can report that she has already long claimed a place cross-culturally and across other faiths. I don't believe her inspiration of artists falls under cultural appropriation even if my interest in her is less than spiritual. After all, she exists to inspire.
!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!
I've just looked again at the art of Bob Peak and realized that if the color intensity I want is from Chagall (I had that in mid as soon as I began putting this notion together), the look I'm reaching for my be more inspired by Peak. Go me!! Might be best not to study him too much for now, I want my own look to develop.
Meanwhile, Jesseca has had a brainstorm and suggested a project for me that could also go somewhere. I don't have any images in mind yet, nor a look, but I do have a subject that's rich.
!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!^!
Is it Monday already? I'm fighting off a cold, sinuses acting up and triggering my cough. Must be more cautious in choosing these entry titles from now on...
Monday, March 26, 2018
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Sketch
I'll need to download GIMP again and figure out how to use it so that I can edit photos. I have one that was taken in poor lighting and - well, let's see how it comes out without lightening it up.
This was a small set of sketches for the color scheme I want. I still haven't settled on a pose. I'll also have to struggle with my training for realism when I want something less so - should be interesting to see what I come up with, whether a personal voice or signature will emerge. Colorwise I'm inspired by Chagall for this image and would like something of the sort, though I don]t want to mimic him for style.
As of late yesterday I want a pair of images. I want Mina in midair, a little more surreal. This is because I have never seen Dana dance. I'm spending the morning looking at search results for images, and few of them really communicate dancing to me. They all look more like acrobatics. I want something that really does look like something in motion. I may have to watch YT vids and freeze them at appropriate moments.
Monday, March 19, 2018
New York
Friday, March 16th
I am here. Oswego, New York. My computer works if it's plugged in but refuses to start otherwise. We have yet to figure out the internet connection (this comp wants something besides the usual password), so I have not been able to update anyone except by phone. Need to contact Kris to get my diabetic test strips. Hit a thrift store and get me some shirts. or have Lore or Kat send some of mine from Portland. Some pics I want to use are on the computer in Portland. I saved them to my blog as a draft post, once I can reach it I'll download them here. Want to catch up on reviews, I've rejoined the discussion group. They are ding two shows at once now, on episodes 5 and 6 respectively, I think, as of today.
The trip was full of moments both auspicious and inauspicious. I had eaten unwisely the day before the flight, and the food I took in on the day of...well, I just shouldn't have. At all. Anything.
Lore came over to help with last-minute stuff. Scott picked me up a bit ofter three. My first task was to drop off Kathy's key at the front office...which was locked shut. Sign in the window said they'd be back ion 90 minutes. Or so. After unpacking my phone I rang Lore to drop the key off with her. On leaving her place for the airport, I got ill from the travel and the food. Scott got off the highway, and I threw up at a corner we pulled into. We had intended to have a last meal together at the airport - he ended up with a cola while I munched Pepto Bismol pills. He left me at 7 as I went through security, flight was at 11:20. A small bag of bugles and a Coke Zero helped quite a lot, for a while.
I had a window seat to Chicago. Cloud cover eventually cleared. There were a few cities I thought were pretty from the air but nothing like Chicago when we landed in the dark. It was breathtaking, beautiful. Lights to the horizon...the city looked like Christmas. Some amazing realm of gold.
Ohare is one big-ass airport. I walked most of it, and some of it twice, before finding my gate. The covering on the handles of my carry-on disintegrated into a fine dust that was all over my clothes. Then I found my computer was apparently dead. Oh, yes, and I was half-deaf: because of my precarious gastro situation, I didn't dare chew anything on the way down. The pressure on my inner ears!! (Insert a quote from Dr. Smith here)
There was a concern about the snowstorm in Syracuse, the woman who struck up a conversation with me (or tried to, my hearing being funky), was on her second attempt to reach Syracuse airport. Her flight had been diverted the night before. Our flight was almost delayed.
We took off just before the sun was up Wednesday morning, and flew right into a sunrise looking like a tropical drink. Deepest cherry and orange. Gorgeous. Soon we were up over a spectacle of white with the kind of rolling cloudbanks you see over deserts. These rolled over a blanket of snowclouds far below, and beneath those was the actual snow. Sometimes we'd fly over a contrail. The sun hit the ice crystals and formed part of a rainbow that would curve inward toward the ground - I'd never seen an upside-down rainbow before.
Auspicious? These area few of the things I'd always wanted to do. Fly at night, oh hell yes. The landing in Chicago was more than I coluld have imagined. Landing in snow, check. Crazy, maybe, but soince I have a thing for snow I'd always wanted that too. Intellectually I was aware that it's meant to be hazardous, and I finaally felt wahy oin descent. The storm gave us a lot of turbulence even as the rapidly approaching ground kept disappearing from view for far too long at a time. Exciting, exhilerating.
No one was there to meet me inside the airport gate, and I took a long time finding where to go to pick up my luggage. Someone walked me to the right spot, after which I had to decide whether or not to stand outside or wait indoors. I tried the snow. Ina few minutes one of the passing cars began honking. It was Jesseca. The airport was undergoing construction and was no easier to navigate outside than it was inside. No one knew where to park!
Now, it's chilly here but I'm loving the snow. I am advised that I am loving it because this aint' nothin' yet as new York winters go.
I'm in a nice-sized room but it's not currently set up for artwork - I need a surface, a chair, and brighter lighting for that. For now I'll be helping Jesseca with hers. She has an established market, I don't.
(oooh - my hearing has been back since Wednesday evening but my right ear started hurting again last night.)
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Sunday, 18th Listening to Inspector Morse Vol. III
Dana appeared finally in a dream. Karla was steps behind me, Dana and I sitting at a desk together, a few others (not identified). Karla started on some racist rant, which was embarrassing for me. Dana expressed sympathy for me, said she understood some people can't help the thoughts they were raised with. I said thank you, and touched my hand firmly on her arm. I think that touch was significant though I've no idea why. At least it was Dana herself, and she was being a friend.
I haven't stopped missing Dana, nor am I any closer to falling out of love with her. My heart is still broken.
I'm not online yet. We'll have to call the net provider, none of us can figure out what PIN number the computer is asking for.
Need to find out how much is left on my debit card. We went shopping, I bought a few necessities including art supplies, and no I am loath to spend any more at least until I find out what I have left. I've been helping jesseca with her own pieces (I can do transfers, add graphite to the designs) and have done a few more sketches for Mina and the Moon. I'd thought about a panorama instead of portrait, but that's the wrong direction. What I need is to decrease the amount of negative space, not increase it. I've bought some acrylics (that set had the colors I need) and a book that will help with anatomy both in drawing and in sculpting. Bought brushes, bought some clay to try out. Brian has some books here on angels and fairy folk, they may help with a pose and are a good source for studying the basic color scheme I want. I had a three quarter pose in mind but it feels unnatural. Now I may want her face-on. I do not want her head bowed.
Buddy (the resident feline and dreamwalker) is getting used to me. He won't let me pet him for long, but he doesn't shy away.
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I am here. Oswego, New York. My computer works if it's plugged in but refuses to start otherwise. We have yet to figure out the internet connection (this comp wants something besides the usual password), so I have not been able to update anyone except by phone. Need to contact Kris to get my diabetic test strips. Hit a thrift store and get me some shirts. or have Lore or Kat send some of mine from Portland. Some pics I want to use are on the computer in Portland. I saved them to my blog as a draft post, once I can reach it I'll download them here. Want to catch up on reviews, I've rejoined the discussion group. They are ding two shows at once now, on episodes 5 and 6 respectively, I think, as of today.
The trip was full of moments both auspicious and inauspicious. I had eaten unwisely the day before the flight, and the food I took in on the day of...well, I just shouldn't have. At all. Anything.
Lore came over to help with last-minute stuff. Scott picked me up a bit ofter three. My first task was to drop off Kathy's key at the front office...which was locked shut. Sign in the window said they'd be back ion 90 minutes. Or so. After unpacking my phone I rang Lore to drop the key off with her. On leaving her place for the airport, I got ill from the travel and the food. Scott got off the highway, and I threw up at a corner we pulled into. We had intended to have a last meal together at the airport - he ended up with a cola while I munched Pepto Bismol pills. He left me at 7 as I went through security, flight was at 11:20. A small bag of bugles and a Coke Zero helped quite a lot, for a while.
I had a window seat to Chicago. Cloud cover eventually cleared. There were a few cities I thought were pretty from the air but nothing like Chicago when we landed in the dark. It was breathtaking, beautiful. Lights to the horizon...the city looked like Christmas. Some amazing realm of gold.
Ohare is one big-ass airport. I walked most of it, and some of it twice, before finding my gate. The covering on the handles of my carry-on disintegrated into a fine dust that was all over my clothes. Then I found my computer was apparently dead. Oh, yes, and I was half-deaf: because of my precarious gastro situation, I didn't dare chew anything on the way down. The pressure on my inner ears!! (Insert a quote from Dr. Smith here)
There was a concern about the snowstorm in Syracuse, the woman who struck up a conversation with me (or tried to, my hearing being funky), was on her second attempt to reach Syracuse airport. Her flight had been diverted the night before. Our flight was almost delayed.
We took off just before the sun was up Wednesday morning, and flew right into a sunrise looking like a tropical drink. Deepest cherry and orange. Gorgeous. Soon we were up over a spectacle of white with the kind of rolling cloudbanks you see over deserts. These rolled over a blanket of snowclouds far below, and beneath those was the actual snow. Sometimes we'd fly over a contrail. The sun hit the ice crystals and formed part of a rainbow that would curve inward toward the ground - I'd never seen an upside-down rainbow before.
Auspicious? These area few of the things I'd always wanted to do. Fly at night, oh hell yes. The landing in Chicago was more than I coluld have imagined. Landing in snow, check. Crazy, maybe, but soince I have a thing for snow I'd always wanted that too. Intellectually I was aware that it's meant to be hazardous, and I finaally felt wahy oin descent. The storm gave us a lot of turbulence even as the rapidly approaching ground kept disappearing from view for far too long at a time. Exciting, exhilerating.
No one was there to meet me inside the airport gate, and I took a long time finding where to go to pick up my luggage. Someone walked me to the right spot, after which I had to decide whether or not to stand outside or wait indoors. I tried the snow. Ina few minutes one of the passing cars began honking. It was Jesseca. The airport was undergoing construction and was no easier to navigate outside than it was inside. No one knew where to park!
Now, it's chilly here but I'm loving the snow. I am advised that I am loving it because this aint' nothin' yet as new York winters go.
I'm in a nice-sized room but it's not currently set up for artwork - I need a surface, a chair, and brighter lighting for that. For now I'll be helping Jesseca with hers. She has an established market, I don't.
(oooh - my hearing has been back since Wednesday evening but my right ear started hurting again last night.)
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Sunday, 18th Listening to Inspector Morse Vol. III
Dana appeared finally in a dream. Karla was steps behind me, Dana and I sitting at a desk together, a few others (not identified). Karla started on some racist rant, which was embarrassing for me. Dana expressed sympathy for me, said she understood some people can't help the thoughts they were raised with. I said thank you, and touched my hand firmly on her arm. I think that touch was significant though I've no idea why. At least it was Dana herself, and she was being a friend.
I haven't stopped missing Dana, nor am I any closer to falling out of love with her. My heart is still broken.
I'm not online yet. We'll have to call the net provider, none of us can figure out what PIN number the computer is asking for.
Need to find out how much is left on my debit card. We went shopping, I bought a few necessities including art supplies, and no I am loath to spend any more at least until I find out what I have left. I've been helping jesseca with her own pieces (I can do transfers, add graphite to the designs) and have done a few more sketches for Mina and the Moon. I'd thought about a panorama instead of portrait, but that's the wrong direction. What I need is to decrease the amount of negative space, not increase it. I've bought some acrylics (that set had the colors I need) and a book that will help with anatomy both in drawing and in sculpting. Bought brushes, bought some clay to try out. Brian has some books here on angels and fairy folk, they may help with a pose and are a good source for studying the basic color scheme I want. I had a three quarter pose in mind but it feels unnatural. Now I may want her face-on. I do not want her head bowed.
Buddy (the resident feline and dreamwalker) is getting used to me. He won't let me pet him for long, but he doesn't shy away.
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Sunday, March 4, 2018
Needle in the Groove
Sunday March 4th. 8:30 PM
In low spirits, to understate the matter. It feels as if nothing is changing. I'm till tied to it all. Feeling harried by the same loss of time, the same pressures. John's little rant has sat with me now, and it stings worse. That was a very personal moment, leaving my home, a sacred moment and my brother felt licensed to shit all over it. I don't get a do-over. The moment came and went.
Dana I just feel sad about. I wish to god I could hate her but it's never been in me. I'm certain she sees past her own demons now, which she couldn't before...but she must have made a promise to herself years ago that she would never speak to me, and that promise is more important to her than our friendship. All I have asked of her is to speak with me as a friend. She won't even acknowledge that she means something to me. That is a coldness I cannot thaw.
I have been staving off suicidal fantasies. I refuse to go there - and to that end it's good to have had the experience so that I know what to watch out for. If one allows those, it increases the chemical imbalance causing the depression. As I've said before.
The album of my life is skipping.
(Sigh. Fuck. Fucking hell.)
I've added some Milliput Green to the figure, though a little of it was not well mixed, didn't cure, and had to be scraped off again. I've added to the torso, built the collar bone, and begun the shoulders. Now, here's the beginner's temptation: pushing too far and getting discouraged. I told myself going in that I would settle for something simpler in order to just get the shapes right. It would not have to be realistic, I wouldn't worry about musculature. Now here I am doing just that, I couldn't resist. I think I've got the collarbone too low, or the sternum too high. But that's still okay as I'm copying an exaggerated comic book aesthetic anyway. Not sure how far I'll get on the head or whether to attempt it separately and then attach it. See, the attitude of the head will determine the neck muscles. Will I have her facing forward, to the side, head cocked at an angle? Haven't decided. I'll keep the arms straight out and do her palms open and up in a defiant stance, "Look at me, I'm here and I'm not going away." Wonder how well I'll be able to do her face, or what her features will be like. I can do a little more before I pack her for the trip, but not much. I've some sandpaper to smooth her out, no modelling putty (Testors or Squadron) to fill in gaps, no tools. Wire for fingers but - owing to shortsightedness - no wirecutters. I do have an artist's blending tool, a pencil-shaped thing made of paper, which has been perfect for smoothing the Sculpey I used initially. Epoxy putty has a different texture though. Pretty sure the putty should not be baked, so there will be no more clay on this one.
I have some of those 'artist's trading cards', wondering if that's still a thing or if the fad passed. Little 2.5" x 3.5" cards. I started two of them with shots of Sharon Mitchell I snapped off a screen once, from old blurry tapes, no clear detail. Nothing sexually explicit, one profile and one with a hint of nudity as she lies in bed. The profile I think I want to do in watercolor pencils. Not sure I have a brush still unpacked, though...
I've got 'Cloudbusting' stuck in my head, from Kate Bush. Lore took me to her house and we played some of the records I gave her. Might have been a kind of 'saying goodbye' afternoon for her.
We listened to Stevie Nicks, as she'd never before heard the album 'Trouble in Shangri-La', one of my favorites. (well, I say that, but I have four or five Nicks favorites...) I had to listen to Fall From Grace. That one follows what I feel in my heart for Dana - the angry part of it - even if the lyrics don't follow my head. Read the lyrics, but listen to the song: it's in the way Stevie sings it, the pissed-off anguish and caring. Listen to her voice. That's exactly what my heart fucking feels, always.
"Maybe I am calmer now, maybe things are fine
Maybe I made the whole thing up, maybe it isn't a lie
Maybe the reason I say these things is to bring you back alive
Maybe I fought this long and this hard just to make sure you survive"
The only part that's off is that I believe Dana is a survivor. A hardened one, maybe, but I know she can get by without me. I don't really fear that...but damn her for not even wanting me there.
Actually, I did dream that she was suicidal one night in...late 90s? Early 00s? I felt called to her side...I was a disembodied spirit and I realized what was about to happen..she was alone in her house in the hills late in the night, all the lights on, in her living room. She was writing a goodbye letter to me, and although she didn't realize I was there I was able to make her hand stop moving. Prevented from saying goodbye to me, she couldn't go through with the rest. The dream had the distinct feel and intensity of being "one of those", but I'll never know if it was just a dream or if it was psychic - if I really was there and it happened.
In low spirits, to understate the matter. It feels as if nothing is changing. I'm till tied to it all. Feeling harried by the same loss of time, the same pressures. John's little rant has sat with me now, and it stings worse. That was a very personal moment, leaving my home, a sacred moment and my brother felt licensed to shit all over it. I don't get a do-over. The moment came and went.
Dana I just feel sad about. I wish to god I could hate her but it's never been in me. I'm certain she sees past her own demons now, which she couldn't before...but she must have made a promise to herself years ago that she would never speak to me, and that promise is more important to her than our friendship. All I have asked of her is to speak with me as a friend. She won't even acknowledge that she means something to me. That is a coldness I cannot thaw.
I have been staving off suicidal fantasies. I refuse to go there - and to that end it's good to have had the experience so that I know what to watch out for. If one allows those, it increases the chemical imbalance causing the depression. As I've said before.
The album of my life is skipping.
(Sigh. Fuck. Fucking hell.)
I've added some Milliput Green to the figure, though a little of it was not well mixed, didn't cure, and had to be scraped off again. I've added to the torso, built the collar bone, and begun the shoulders. Now, here's the beginner's temptation: pushing too far and getting discouraged. I told myself going in that I would settle for something simpler in order to just get the shapes right. It would not have to be realistic, I wouldn't worry about musculature. Now here I am doing just that, I couldn't resist. I think I've got the collarbone too low, or the sternum too high. But that's still okay as I'm copying an exaggerated comic book aesthetic anyway. Not sure how far I'll get on the head or whether to attempt it separately and then attach it. See, the attitude of the head will determine the neck muscles. Will I have her facing forward, to the side, head cocked at an angle? Haven't decided. I'll keep the arms straight out and do her palms open and up in a defiant stance, "Look at me, I'm here and I'm not going away." Wonder how well I'll be able to do her face, or what her features will be like. I can do a little more before I pack her for the trip, but not much. I've some sandpaper to smooth her out, no modelling putty (Testors or Squadron) to fill in gaps, no tools. Wire for fingers but - owing to shortsightedness - no wirecutters. I do have an artist's blending tool, a pencil-shaped thing made of paper, which has been perfect for smoothing the Sculpey I used initially. Epoxy putty has a different texture though. Pretty sure the putty should not be baked, so there will be no more clay on this one.
I have some of those 'artist's trading cards', wondering if that's still a thing or if the fad passed. Little 2.5" x 3.5" cards. I started two of them with shots of Sharon Mitchell I snapped off a screen once, from old blurry tapes, no clear detail. Nothing sexually explicit, one profile and one with a hint of nudity as she lies in bed. The profile I think I want to do in watercolor pencils. Not sure I have a brush still unpacked, though...
I've got 'Cloudbusting' stuck in my head, from Kate Bush. Lore took me to her house and we played some of the records I gave her. Might have been a kind of 'saying goodbye' afternoon for her.
We listened to Stevie Nicks, as she'd never before heard the album 'Trouble in Shangri-La', one of my favorites. (well, I say that, but I have four or five Nicks favorites...) I had to listen to Fall From Grace. That one follows what I feel in my heart for Dana - the angry part of it - even if the lyrics don't follow my head. Read the lyrics, but listen to the song: it's in the way Stevie sings it, the pissed-off anguish and caring. Listen to her voice. That's exactly what my heart fucking feels, always.
"Maybe I am calmer now, maybe things are fine
Maybe I made the whole thing up, maybe it isn't a lie
Maybe the reason I say these things is to bring you back alive
Maybe I fought this long and this hard just to make sure you survive"
The only part that's off is that I believe Dana is a survivor. A hardened one, maybe, but I know she can get by without me. I don't really fear that...but damn her for not even wanting me there.
Actually, I did dream that she was suicidal one night in...late 90s? Early 00s? I felt called to her side...I was a disembodied spirit and I realized what was about to happen..she was alone in her house in the hills late in the night, all the lights on, in her living room. She was writing a goodbye letter to me, and although she didn't realize I was there I was able to make her hand stop moving. Prevented from saying goodbye to me, she couldn't go through with the rest. The dream had the distinct feel and intensity of being "one of those", but I'll never know if it was just a dream or if it was psychic - if I really was there and it happened.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
Forward Motion
Trying to reconfigure in Hillsboro. I'll only be here about a week, then it's New York. This can't become a stall.
Let's see if video will load this time...
Let's see if video will load this time...
Hmm. The video option for Blogger may be useless. That's the sculpt-in-progress I reported two posts ago.
...and that's the old man puppet from Peter and the Wolf at YMA, the vid that would not upload t all a few months ago.
These are appearing before me as still images in the text box. I hope that when I post they will become playable vids, though it looks like all detail will be scrubbed out. Well, I put the first one on Facebook. (edit - ah, yeah, they can go fullscreen if you click. Nice!)
As said in an earlier post, the sculpt is being taken from the comic book figure market, which explains the proportions and high heels. I'll learn from that and then find my own voice The old man was made back around '81, and there's a love story behind it.
I'm going to try to work out a few small cards for quick images. I have a really rough prelim sketch for Mina and the Moon, enough to have figured out the flow I want, a forward sweep fro Mina and the overall direction I want to leas the eyes. I still have the crayons with me, and a tablet. I can do a test of the colors but I haven't the body language yet. I've a box of figures and a poseable model that might help.
Between Kris and Lore, I have way too much stuff I'm trying to keep. How the hell all this can be shipped I don't know. Still don't really have the time to relax I was hoping for in the interim.
John took an unnecessary swipe at me yesterday, for no fathomable reason. Lied, too - he's mad at me for following his own goddamn instructions? Or for not cleaning up his mess as well as my own, when he's not done with the house and is gonna keep making a mess? "The house is trashed" or some such - I saw the message. That's an outright lie. And he saw the trailer and approved, now he acts surprised that things in it got wet (what did he think was going to happen??) - or that I didn't use larger garbage bags which he knew weren't there. Fucking god, some people can't be pleased but at least don't lie about me. Seriously, why post that kind of bullshit hostility at me?
He never lived in that house. To him it's just a house. I just lost my home.
Thursday, March 1, 2018
The Last-Minute Box
Monday, Feb. 26th.
Kat says everyone who moves has a Last-Minute Box. It's the last minute and mine needs a couple more boxes.
Today is my last full day in my home. Saw Annihilation last night and then hit Rimsky Korsakoffee House (Scott's GPS pronounces it 'KOR-suh-k'-FEE'... it also turns Flavel Drive - flay-vell - into flavvle). So I finally got to visit RKH before leaving Portland. I like it a lot, and Jesseca would love it. Great desserts, delicious coffee...it doesn't just have a home-spun feel, it's genuine. Quirky, extremely playful sense of humor, too, exactly my kind of thing, and if you get there at the right moment they often have live music. I had the Borgia Cafe (coffee and orange) and Rasputin's Vice (home-made espresso ice cream with coffee sauce and raspberries). I wanted to leave some art under one of the glass tabletops but didn't have any prepared as all my stuff already went to Kathy's. I'm way disorganized about this. Any number of things I'll be needing are packed away, I may not see them again for a year or more. No master list of which box anything is to be found in. My sculpt will not be refined without the right tools but even left crude it's the best one I've done so far.
Tried to make it this morning to the used DVD shop I found on Foster but didn't have time...had to get to the pharmacy and then the PO to register a change of address. Went on the bus, used two of my four remaining tickets, time ran out. Had to get home. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll have time to try again. Hope so, my last shot at it. Not that I have money to buy more than two or three discs but I want to have been there and searched the place. Could take a couple of hours ( Joy! : D ) and they're likely to have something I haven't picked up that fills in one of my collections.
A few more cups of coffee and I can pack my coffee maker. Trying to use up the food, and I'm not gonna achieve that. Never even got the boxes for tapioca or pancake mix opened. There's a really nice glass bottle for oil I'm tempted to keep. Karla took everything she wants, John wants to just haul off whatever is left to a dump, and no one else has a key to get in. Not sure what I'll need for cookware for the next two weeks. One of the covered pots, presumably, for rice or barley.
Visited Scott's house and saw his parents again for what I could guess is the last time. Damn. Really, really nice people, I've known and been friends with them forever. Scott drove past the house that used to be Kris Burley's home, It's empty, up for sale. I used to pass it sometimes on the way to or coming home from school. Felt a pang that I'll never see Oaks Park again. Never did get to see that dedication plaque at Franklin. The Little Store is closed, has been for several weeks. Candy's Kwik Shop is it's actual name, at the corner of Clatsop and 72nd. Someone ran their car into it, the wall right behind the teller. Looking in the glass doors, it seemed even the cashier counter sat askew. It's a nice family that's been running the place for two or three years now, every member of the family takes a turn in there. I left a note in the grated security door hoping no one got hurt.
Scott just brought over a day's worth of firewood! He wanted my last night here to be warm. I've had my heavy Winter coat on for the last two hours since I got back, used the last of the scrap wood from the garage but the house is still freezing. Figure out dinner, and hope I can relax tonight and watch a movie. Don't know which one to go for. Probably be gone early evening tomorrow. Almost 5:30 PM now, maybe take a nap. Been falling asleep during the day and not able to enough at night, but what the hell - my fight's an over-nighter and I want to be awake to enjoy it. I can't relax waiting at the terminals but once I'm on board I'm fine. What's the use of a window seat if you're too tired to enjoy it?
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8:58 AM, Wednesday Feb. 28th. I've stayed one extra night, and this is the morning of my last day in my home. Trying not to think about it, unutterably sad. Just want to cry if I think about it. Finally got the fire going in the woodstove. Final move is tonight, maybe late afternoon or early evening. Still have some items to eat, to get in order for the move. TV still set up, might be able to relax and watch something. Hoping no one arrives to fuck that up.
I made it through the entire series of Six Feet Under, under a family that runs a funeral home. The DVD set had belonged to my niece, Kat. I awoke this morning from my last dream in this house. It began with me and three other going to bed together - not sex, just laying side-by-side in some last effort to communicate, heal...I lay down as Nate from 6FU, next to Nate's love Brenda (who doubled for Dana). Look them up, it's too much to explain who the characters are now. As we fell asleep I took Dana's hand in mine, to hold as we slept. I tried to feel every inch of her skin, of her hand's structure, her wrist, the smallness of it. The dream segued, and now I was her walking away the next morning - this morning - walking away for the last time...walking against the sun's cold glare through a parking lot as a gleaming white hearse pulled away, remembering the feel of my hand in his. The word "addiction" flashed though my head a moment later. I wanted to go back to sleep for an hour or so, dream something better, but that felt like the one I'm supposed to have last in this house. Tonight I travel to some existential weigh-station. New York is still two weeks out.
In one of my resurrection dreams of so long ago, Dana was struggling with talking to me against a conviction that she was ill. It turned out in the dream that she was but that it did not destroy her, and she really did turn to me finally. Illness, addiction, I'd stand by her through whatever if she had the courage to let me. More, if something like that were true, I would be crushed at the threat that she would rob from me the days I could spend with her. But I can't make her want to share that burden or threat, and I don't know how to convince her I want to be there, that I'm up for that.
"Open Arms', song from my high school years. Journey. Keeps going through my head, keep hoping it's going through hers as well. Heard it on the radio too a few days after it played in a hypnogogic flash.
Should go make breakfast but not hungry. Wish time would stand still.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
Thursday, March 1st. Left my home for the last time last night. Traffic kept Lore from arriving for a while, and I felt right sitting in mom's chair relaxing, watching out the front picture window. Had to fight back tears when I left. It's not a house to me, it's my home. I feel like I'm abandoning someone I should be protecting. I can't let myself think about it, just go forward.
Didn't sleep until today, late in the morning. In Hillsboro now until the 13th. Maybe now I can at least draw a little. Today was spent still resituating. Finally get to watch Rachel Maddow again. I don't think Jesseca has MSNBC at her home in New York so I'd better get it while it lasts.
Weary, don't have anything to say (oh shut up).
Kat says everyone who moves has a Last-Minute Box. It's the last minute and mine needs a couple more boxes.
Today is my last full day in my home. Saw Annihilation last night and then hit Rimsky Korsakoffee House (Scott's GPS pronounces it 'KOR-suh-k'-FEE'... it also turns Flavel Drive - flay-vell - into flavvle). So I finally got to visit RKH before leaving Portland. I like it a lot, and Jesseca would love it. Great desserts, delicious coffee...it doesn't just have a home-spun feel, it's genuine. Quirky, extremely playful sense of humor, too, exactly my kind of thing, and if you get there at the right moment they often have live music. I had the Borgia Cafe (coffee and orange) and Rasputin's Vice (home-made espresso ice cream with coffee sauce and raspberries). I wanted to leave some art under one of the glass tabletops but didn't have any prepared as all my stuff already went to Kathy's. I'm way disorganized about this. Any number of things I'll be needing are packed away, I may not see them again for a year or more. No master list of which box anything is to be found in. My sculpt will not be refined without the right tools but even left crude it's the best one I've done so far.
Tried to make it this morning to the used DVD shop I found on Foster but didn't have time...had to get to the pharmacy and then the PO to register a change of address. Went on the bus, used two of my four remaining tickets, time ran out. Had to get home. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll have time to try again. Hope so, my last shot at it. Not that I have money to buy more than two or three discs but I want to have been there and searched the place. Could take a couple of hours ( Joy! : D ) and they're likely to have something I haven't picked up that fills in one of my collections.
A few more cups of coffee and I can pack my coffee maker. Trying to use up the food, and I'm not gonna achieve that. Never even got the boxes for tapioca or pancake mix opened. There's a really nice glass bottle for oil I'm tempted to keep. Karla took everything she wants, John wants to just haul off whatever is left to a dump, and no one else has a key to get in. Not sure what I'll need for cookware for the next two weeks. One of the covered pots, presumably, for rice or barley.
Visited Scott's house and saw his parents again for what I could guess is the last time. Damn. Really, really nice people, I've known and been friends with them forever. Scott drove past the house that used to be Kris Burley's home, It's empty, up for sale. I used to pass it sometimes on the way to or coming home from school. Felt a pang that I'll never see Oaks Park again. Never did get to see that dedication plaque at Franklin. The Little Store is closed, has been for several weeks. Candy's Kwik Shop is it's actual name, at the corner of Clatsop and 72nd. Someone ran their car into it, the wall right behind the teller. Looking in the glass doors, it seemed even the cashier counter sat askew. It's a nice family that's been running the place for two or three years now, every member of the family takes a turn in there. I left a note in the grated security door hoping no one got hurt.
Scott just brought over a day's worth of firewood! He wanted my last night here to be warm. I've had my heavy Winter coat on for the last two hours since I got back, used the last of the scrap wood from the garage but the house is still freezing. Figure out dinner, and hope I can relax tonight and watch a movie. Don't know which one to go for. Probably be gone early evening tomorrow. Almost 5:30 PM now, maybe take a nap. Been falling asleep during the day and not able to enough at night, but what the hell - my fight's an over-nighter and I want to be awake to enjoy it. I can't relax waiting at the terminals but once I'm on board I'm fine. What's the use of a window seat if you're too tired to enjoy it?
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8:58 AM, Wednesday Feb. 28th. I've stayed one extra night, and this is the morning of my last day in my home. Trying not to think about it, unutterably sad. Just want to cry if I think about it. Finally got the fire going in the woodstove. Final move is tonight, maybe late afternoon or early evening. Still have some items to eat, to get in order for the move. TV still set up, might be able to relax and watch something. Hoping no one arrives to fuck that up.
I made it through the entire series of Six Feet Under, under a family that runs a funeral home. The DVD set had belonged to my niece, Kat. I awoke this morning from my last dream in this house. It began with me and three other going to bed together - not sex, just laying side-by-side in some last effort to communicate, heal...I lay down as Nate from 6FU, next to Nate's love Brenda (who doubled for Dana). Look them up, it's too much to explain who the characters are now. As we fell asleep I took Dana's hand in mine, to hold as we slept. I tried to feel every inch of her skin, of her hand's structure, her wrist, the smallness of it. The dream segued, and now I was her walking away the next morning - this morning - walking away for the last time...walking against the sun's cold glare through a parking lot as a gleaming white hearse pulled away, remembering the feel of my hand in his. The word "addiction" flashed though my head a moment later. I wanted to go back to sleep for an hour or so, dream something better, but that felt like the one I'm supposed to have last in this house. Tonight I travel to some existential weigh-station. New York is still two weeks out.
In one of my resurrection dreams of so long ago, Dana was struggling with talking to me against a conviction that she was ill. It turned out in the dream that she was but that it did not destroy her, and she really did turn to me finally. Illness, addiction, I'd stand by her through whatever if she had the courage to let me. More, if something like that were true, I would be crushed at the threat that she would rob from me the days I could spend with her. But I can't make her want to share that burden or threat, and I don't know how to convince her I want to be there, that I'm up for that.
"Open Arms', song from my high school years. Journey. Keeps going through my head, keep hoping it's going through hers as well. Heard it on the radio too a few days after it played in a hypnogogic flash.
Should go make breakfast but not hungry. Wish time would stand still.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
Thursday, March 1st. Left my home for the last time last night. Traffic kept Lore from arriving for a while, and I felt right sitting in mom's chair relaxing, watching out the front picture window. Had to fight back tears when I left. It's not a house to me, it's my home. I feel like I'm abandoning someone I should be protecting. I can't let myself think about it, just go forward.
Didn't sleep until today, late in the morning. In Hillsboro now until the 13th. Maybe now I can at least draw a little. Today was spent still resituating. Finally get to watch Rachel Maddow again. I don't think Jesseca has MSNBC at her home in New York so I'd better get it while it lasts.
Weary, don't have anything to say (oh shut up).
Definitive
Sunday, February 18th) Saw Black Panther last night. I've seen some coverage of the movie off antenna-based TV, and one thing I've yet to hear mentioned is how gender-positive the film is. The movie is wall-to-wall with women and almost every one of them has a position of power and honor. I really enjoyed that. On a personal note, I've never seen a movie before with so many gorgeous women (and I adore those sexy shaved heads!).
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Oh, missed opportunity. I posted a review of 'Taste the Blood of Dracula' with only one screencap (due to a problem getting decent screencaps, don't know the right software). This is the movie with the awful dialog for Chris Lee, wandering through England counting his victims. "The fuhhst...", "The second...", "The thuhhd..." I should have included a picture of The Count from Sesame Street.
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Feb. 19th
Watching the news. One of the Florida student activists just said "We plan to be so brazen...". Hear fucking hear. It's funny, I have always known the word yet I never run across it - no one uses it. Ever since seeing Dana's painting, though, I keep running across it. Really, I've become very fond of "brazen". If I were online I'd grab a dictionary definition and quote it, but the Florida students have put it in proper context quite nicely. And, yes, I do admire Dana for embodying the spirit of it whatever her problem is with reaching out to me. Dana, you out there? McNamee. Yes, you're brazen. I take it from your painting that you embrace it. You should, you should be proud of it. If you've ever wondered what I'm talking about when I say I'm proud of you...that's a lot of it. It's not any particular thing, it's just you. I've always wished I were more like you in some ways. And in other ways, I think I have always been more like you than you have the courage to know.
Why can't you be brazen with me and just talk?? Is it only me you have no bravery for? : ( What scares you about talking to me, Dana? I've always been on your side. Why wouldn't I be now?
I love you, Dana. You can talk with me.
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Tuesday, 20th. Had a couple of dreams, Dana wasn't in them but they could be interpreted as her reaching out. Okay, but I've had those before so I have to assume that it's not true this time either. She still can, it's in her hands. I'm here and I don't see how she could doubt that I want this. If I had even a clue what she was afraid of I might know how to help. I'm not going to scoff at whatever it is...I just don't know what it could be. There's gotta be something or it wouldn't be that big a deal to her to just talk to me as a friend. Could she really be so cold to hurt me this cruelly by choice? The person who would do that isn't the person who tried to reassure me last October. I just don't understand. This is fucking cruel.
I wrote a letter to Jesseca a few days ago. Addressed the envelope and realized I will never again write this address as the return. : (
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Wednesday, 21st. Mood is especially low and mournful today. Few days left in the house, this weekend and a day or so more are it. My home. Mom's home.
Listening to the scores for Futureworld and Westworld, Fred Karlin synth and orchestra.
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(edit, interjection to say that last night I wasted an evening on a bad idea that, as bad ideas go, was an idea that was not good. Now I'm tempted to excise everything I wrote below. Instead I'm rearranging, cutting, editing. That's how these things take me, the urge to create something. I was watching Oregon Art Beat on PBS.)
Thursday, Feb. 22nd, 8:55 PM. Relatively speaking this was one of the better days I've had lately but is quickly becoming a Reverse Midas (in which everything I touch turns into a substance recognizably not gold). The bleeding beneath the bandage has slowed down (I was making dinner), the fire in the woodstove is finally catching, and the soup has stopped exploding. I shall endeavor not to push my luck.
This may have been the universe's way of warning that the idea that just in the last half hour has fevered me is an extraordinarily bad one, which...eh, I already kinda knew, thanksverymuch. (pausing to crumble some crackers). You see what I've done here, I've utilized humor to...er, cushion against...umm. Something. So I'm not a bad writer provided my work remains within the confines of the strictly unpublished. No worries there, so the cosmic caution is a little unwarranted. Besides, I'm writing about it here now, anyway, thus sublimating the creative energy that would have been needed to follow through. I'm thinking of fiction, but fiction that's highly personal.
I wrote a story once about a character named Beth. Really bad short story, weakly conceived and worsely composed though it had two or three worthy components. I'd had Dana in mind but more the way you'd write a role someone, nothing to do with her factually. I also came up with a science fiction story for her (astronaut Mariel Andrejevski, named after a part Dana wanted in Time of Your Life) about tentative contact with an alien race and involving an android in love with her
(unrequited), and I tried a treatment of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein where I imagined her playing a more progressive Elizabeth who learned Victors work at his side. Had a nice twist at the end, that one, never been done before in a Frankenstein movie as far as I know. You see by their absence how far those progressed. Was never a strong suit, coming up with stories and characters. I'll be too busy pursuing projects that have a chance of getting somewhere. This current brainstorm is one of those 'what-ifs' that all artists have lists of, the things they never do. But it would be a hell of a story, and I think there are people out there like me who would have an "Oh wow" moment or two relating to it.
This time Beth would be a lot more like the Dana I have invented in my mind over the last thirty years. (Damn, it really has been thirty years almost to the day that I first wrote to her. Somewhere in March 1988, that's when she wrote back to me.)
A few weeks ago I rewatched Henry & June, a fine and unfairly forgotten movie by Phillip Kauffman about the relationships between authors Anais Nin, Henry Miller, and their shared love June. This is not a review, so I'll limit my comments to a simple aside that June is a singularly unlovable narcissist and her being the center of artistic, romantic, and sexual obsession dampens a movie I'd otherwise watch much more often. Maybe everyone else felt the same way and that's why it's forgotten. Then again, I was out of the loop on the whole Uma Thurman infatuation thing. She's good, I just don't get the allure.
Henry & June is based on a true story as journaled by Anais Nin, although June would argue the point. I say 'true story' but truth is a matter of perception. June was already Henry Miller's muse when Anais met the pair, and June soon became the same for Anais. Both authors wrote about June, but June was incapable of seeing herself in their work. What's revealing and beautiful is that the two portraits themselves were not in agreement: each author had their own voice and vision. June, meanwhile, had her own vision of her self. Not allowed in that self-reflection was her nature to torment and damage the people she inspired.
(My interest in the film was Anais Nin. Her place as a pioneer in literature comes not just as an important female voice in what was considered a man's realm but for her emphasis on the essence of experience over the mechanics of plot. She was a sensualist, after my own heart.)
June did not fear being written about. Far from it, she was desperate to be the subject of everyone else's conversation and art provided she was recognized by all as a humble, selfless, unflawed human being worthy of being hailed as a natural goddess. Henry & Anais failed at the task, being more concerned with the integrity of their work and honesty in their art, and so for June their writings sullied her own truth. Not big on the artist's voice, June.
Authors - artists - have an overwhelming need to express. It's how they define themselves. I am feeling that keenly tonight, though not necessarily over the subject I'm on about at the mo'.
Thing is, communication is kind of a Holy Grail with me. I have failed with Dana. I can't think how else to put out there the things that are at issue for me, the particular wounds at heart or the things I value. On my blogs I have to self-censor. The loss, the tragedy I see in our friendship even if my brain conjured it from nothing but dreams and miscues...there's a humanity at stake in this tale involving issues vital to who I am, and I've no way else to address it. I suppose I'd have to publish under a pseudonym. Maybe by then I wouldn't care about her as a real person anymore, she'd have passed into the invention of memory.
The story would end as it has in real life (so far, anyway). The man who loves Beth writes her a letter revealing that there is nothing for him to learn about her. She burns it unread because she is too afraid of what he has to say to face reading it. So great is her fear that they are irreconcilably different that she never learns how alike they are. I'd rather the ending be a happy one but I can think of no other way to end the story that is honest.
My cut has healed. The blood beneath the bandage's central padding stopped in a pattern suggesting a beehive of maroon wax, with only two hexagons complete. The mind completes the pattern from the evidence given.
9:58. I could go watch a movie but maybe I'll try to begin a simple sculpt based on some small figures I have before me. I watched a Sion Sono movie (Suicide Club) last night with an eye to writing it up, won't be immediate as part of it still escapes me. Watched Catherine Breillat's Romance which didn't inspire much in the way of a review, I'm lukewarm to this fairly cold and mistitled movie but the bit with a BDSM master is fascinating for defying cultural bias. Working on a review of Kolchak: The Night Stalker (Horror in the Heights, maybe the best ep of the series). I gave John the finished biker/Nazi skull, he was happy with the job I did on it. The helmet has a high-gloss hammered metal look in sable brown metallic, not where I expected to take it but it looks wicked cool.
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3:58 Feb. 24th, Just took some stuff to Kathy's. Lore was here yesterday, I totally forgot to use her net connection to post the Kolchak review. Will have to register a change of address on Monday, put that off too long too but I never get mail anyway. Still haven't packed the last minute stuff like my coffee maker, some of my clothes. Should have done it last night but I had to take a break and make something. Using the last paper model I still have, and some small figures to copy, I have sculpted a small female torso and legs in Premo Sculpey and got it baked. It's at Kathy's now with what supplies I didn't box up and store already, and that's where I hope to progress on it. I have some wire for fingers, hope it's not too flimsy and that I have a wirecutter in my toolbox. It's the best attempt I've made so far. Have so many choices if it gets that far - what if anything to clothe her in, what hair, face, expression, attitude, colors to paint (that last will wait 'til NY as I gave away all my primer). Pumps or boots? See, I have to learn musculature first. If that doesn't look so hot then I'll definitely hide my lack of skill under clothing. I want to learn to sculpt feet, but the figures I'm using for reference have high heels and it's easiest to copy that shape until I get the hang of this. Simple wire frame wrapped in tissue hardened with Mod Podge, small so it doesn't need bulking up. I could have just flat-out used Milliput. I really want to do figural work, always have. I believe Jesseca can help me with the practical side which has always escaped me. The talent I have (not to brag), it's the materials and processes I never learned. Never could find a class. Oh - hell, already packed the camera-to-computer cable. Damn. Got pics I can't load. Wonder how much one costs?
My last few days here haven't even happened yet and they're already full. : / Scott should get a video of me at the airport leaving Portland. He wants to get one of me leaving this house, and that's the one that I don't wanna do. Way more painful.
I wonder if Dana has done more artwork. I hope so.
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