Us

After recently becoming somewhat set free from the knot of perfectionism that has tightened the leash I’ve strapped myself to, I have felt in my throat the source of my most potent sounds. What I mean to say is, I’m totally tired of throwing my head back to catch a glimpse of the peak of the impossible standards I’ve routinely set for myself, as the electric collar triggered by my own critical inner voice shocks me into paralysis. What I mean to say is, I don’t know why I’m hiding, or what (or who?) I’m hiding from. What I really mean to say is, I’m sorry to myself for accusing the work of my hands and efforts of my heart to be silly. little. shams. The definitive analysis is not up for me to conclude, and to assume as much is a result of arrogance, which has been my prison cell disguised as sanctuary. There is no definitive answer for art anyway; humanity is impossible and yet here we are, and what we form into fruition carries a trace of the eternal mystery that is in us, beyond us, because of us. 

Us. That’s a word I like to eat. It’s the knife that cut me from my leash. Us, together, aware of and holding each other in a dance of love, ambivalence, hate- tying the knot that is closer to the point of life than a knot of over-cautious isolation. Us- a chance at reaching out and discovering that yes, someone is reaching back. Us, a delicious word that requires no conjured up prerequisites for trying, for making. If this is a little bit abstract, I’m working through it, promise! My manner of speech and affinity for playing in the Land of Synesthesia can sometimes alienate what I’m trying to convey from the beloved Other; which is You. Remember? I’m reaching out for Us. 

A somewhat personal update:

I don’t know what to make of myself as a painter, although I do know that as long as I am able, I will do it for the rest of my life. However, writing has hijacked the scene for the foreseeable future, something else I will do for the rest of my life. And I know that I will sculpt. Soon. Stay tuned- that is, if your relationship to your perception of me is one of interest; if there is a living link between the us that is Us, then yes. Stay tuned.

I have really come into my own as a reader and it is my favorite obsession. I eat books like I eat the word us, with a craving and a zeal to get a taste of life. We are here to look into each other’s eyes and see a wholly different universe coming from the same source: empathy. Literature is the medicine of empathy. 

I have learned that I am no good at seeing the forest for the trees. I want so much and I want it all right now. I want the money, the glistening black horse, terrifying in her wisdom, the man, the wild mustang man, the gift of motherhood, the children, unafraid to ride bareback and high, chasing the horizon, carrying the torch that their ancestors have suffered for, the home with round windows, the library, the studio with a kiln, the bridge to welcome those who need help and hope because every second, I need help and I need hope. If I’m so lucky to live my dreams, then may I never forget the ones who are braving their nightmares. Good things take time, the damned adage. To get there, I trade in fear for humility. I do not have it all, but I have all the makings for a beautiful life, now and always.

I like attention. I’m not fully comfortable with it, but I like having a microphone in my hands, speaking to earnest ears with power. I like to inspire. I am looking forward to living up to my sun sign’s namesake, at peace with wearing my vanity on my sleeve. It’s dazzling to roar like the regal lion, but I can also change lives with a purr. 

The disqualifying voice within is loud. I carry quite a bit of shame and regret, which somehow is also not regret, which still nonetheless creates narrative horror films in the world of my dreams. I wake most days in defiance of my most troubling visions, and like a patron to Persephone, I bare witness to the Underworld. Overall, I make peace with this, and anyway I don’t want to live on the surface of things. To counter the accusatory voice, I remind myself that I’m not alone. There is still us. 

The nature of my current lifestyle lends itself to an intense solitude. Take a look at all the sentences started with the word “i” and imagine them forming a labyrinth to interrupt me on the path to connection. At my worst, i am a hall of funhouse mirrors held up with iron prison bars of “i.” At my best, i am a poet. 

Also, at my best, I know I love well. I know that I am loved well. 

In my attempt at being somewhat uninhibited, and certainly not meticulously edited, I hope to open up new creative pathways, new points of intimacy, and new levels of understanding in myself and my work. I hope to have reached You, somewhere, anywhere, and whoever. I hope to have formed a new bond between Us.