Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Back rub foot Rub

i cant write any more tonight. i just cant.
these are the thoughts that ran through my head after i finished a bio essay for this grant application.

formal writing can be so exhausting. i'm listening to japanese parisian and its like pouring warm liquid all over my soul. like drinking a glass of water after your mouth has become dry like the inside of a cabinet.
i love the way this material shines. i bought it at a fabric store for two dollars a sheet. it doesnt do much but sit in my room. sometimes i tie it around my neck so i can show you. victor came up to the little nest that is my room today. he looked around slightly fathomed, most people react this way to my space. he touched the corner of this and said, "its nice".
i agreed. simple english is beautiful. having friends from france here make me realize the ability to express things with only a few words at times.

i've had to think of so many words today.
i want to detangle them all like the tattoe on my left arm, the one that also looks like a spread open paperclip.
someone pointed that out at a museum, i loved this new perception of it.

my song from gk just came on. he wrote it when i was 18. oh the timeless sound of my heart. love changes but i dont really. no, no thats not true. i change every minute. but some sounds, somethings,..well..its like you can see a million sunsets, but no sunset is the same.
i can hear the same song that was written for me, but every time it is different. so my appreciation for the thing doesnt seem to change or waver.
it comes back and hits me like the day i was 18.
back rub- foot rub

yes please.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Its peculiar i cant ever remember feeling as sad as i drew myself two weeks ago.
and then at the same time i can.
its like when you catch the cold . you don't realize how bad it is until you're in it. until you really have it. right now i'm laying in my bed listening
to a record called music from vietnam. I rented it from the library
with Vince before we went and saw a film called Great Directors at the Gene Siskel Film Center.
I stumbled across some beautiful things in there.
Agnes Varda who created Cleo 5 to 7 says "As an artist you will have doubt, will experience pain. sometimes you lose it, and you just want to watch and experience other artists work, (films), but even when you lose it, it comes back."
adored that.
Then the other notes i jotted down in my journal that i had to decode after from the dark theater light were as follows;

- Dreaming is not dead, just forgotten.
-Sometimes in leadership people are taking quick answers instead of following through. (-dont do that bird)
-Being alive in terms of an artist is a gift.
-Fashion changes all the time.
-Reality interests me less than truth.
-Even in a dream one keeps looking for a solution.
-Film like other art, reflects the world.
-I did what I wanted, good or was me.
-Van Gogh made art/paintings to look for a truth, not for an audience - remember that.

this middle image is from a 69 cent photo i found in a box in a store called JUNK in New York.
i think its one of the most beautiful things ive ever found. i wish this copy could do the real thing in my journal justice.
that boy, he's just looking, in disbelief, the curiosity of age. of greying, of time.

jan 25th. a morning bike ride

i did visuals at a show again last night.
its always changing. never know how i feel about it because i get very wrapped up in it when i'm doing it.
have the taste of morning in my mouth now. my body feels tired and a bit sore, more from living than anything else. the way its been clenching itself in the snow.

i feel a bit like this right now. kept trying to wake myself up this morning. the alarm clock would sound, the invisible nudge of morning would push my shoulder, the whisper of the day would say. c'mon its 10:30 am, there's a lot of living to do.
but i found myself gliding in and out of sleep. watching myself pass by like houses on either side of a bike ride.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

the 23rd.

i love the things you can see and read just from the small of someone's back.
from the way there hair lays, the posture in which they carry themselves.
its this language of self.
its universal.

its time to disappear into sleep.

as usual.
i took this in new york when i was there, all this beautiful, bizarre, what the heck imagery there.

the answers are in the palm of your hand

searching. searching.

Monday, January 17, 2011

jan 17th

i read the other day that..your eyes show the strength of your soul.

its interesting how easy it is to trust someone who is able to look you fully in the eyes.
someone that when you talk to them they can really look into you back.

it is that strength.

its important, i find the more rooted i am, the more grounded i become i can really allow someone to look into me. and how that trust forms, how that person believes in what i'm saying, what i'm doing.

whether it simply be someone on a train, to a friend i've known for years.

"when something evolves, everything around that thing evolves as well."

Sunday, January 16, 2011


i'm in boston

theres not much more i can say

it was impulsive and needed

life is strange

bizarre and beautiful

im learning to swim again

in this sea of life

forgot for a bit
started to get lazy

let my face fall underneath the water

i'm knowing and hoping this season will pass
like they always do

and i'll find myself in swtizerland this summer

Sunday, January 9, 2011

old work. new work. repetitive work.

pauline and tragic beauty.

2. 2006

3. hiding


5. the

5. looking off # 3

6. this one time in france

7. looking off # 4

Friday, January 7, 2011


i woke up from my dream this morning feeling like this.
it was so dark, the dream that was.
it was like this painting i made ages ago. there's so much light around
the images in my head felt so dark.
cloudy.i was in a car. my car. my red old mustang. the 65. its chicago and its snowy. i'm over near the 6 corners going to damen avenue. My breaks are a little faulty. and as i try to push nothing happens. Well no, they start to slow but not nearly enough in time. I think maybe i wont hit the car in front of me.
but i do.
then that car hits the next and that one the next, and that one rear ends the next til the 4th car hits an electrical wire. There are lots of children and people around the intersection, but noone's hurt.
i close my eyes.i leave. i'm worried about all the lives i've screwed up in the processes. but the light turns green as this happens and i just go.
it feels better to disappear.
but i cant really disappear.
i find myself at a bar later with my friend Ricky. Ali has text me to tell me he's in town. I feel so relieved. I just need to talk to him, to someone. There's something about his calm outlook on life that I adore. Something about this peace in him that anyone would thrive off being around.
i see him. i remember looking at his face for awhile. trying to discern it, its like a dali painting though, slightly moving, melting but not really.
the next minute he's just him again.
and after whats been awhile, people have come and gone, surrounded us and then left us alone he says,
"so then it was just a dream?"
i think hard for a moment and say. well i dont know. the line between my real life and dreams are so blurred these days.
but then i wake up here in thousand oaks and it is.

i breathe for a little while. the taste of that dreams makes me want a coffee. something to completely erase it. ANd then This, above. It's a photo i took with Delaram in LA a few days ago, but it's that light, that moment. I received in an email from a friend in New York.
Who spoke of pleasure, guilt, and all things in life worth living for.
and i let go of the dream. the fear of accidents that may affect too many people.
the sort of accidents i want to create are like these.
these lights that illuminate one thing to the next.

i fell asleep with a bit of too much wine last night.
i felt like an old widow, but it was cozy all the same.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011


i really cant get enough of this image. and enough in the sense of little sister staring down the camera, older sister blowing nose, and old friend feeling awkward.i love capturing these moments.

explosions in the sky "greet death" just came on.
all i can think about is that dream i had a little while back. the one i was telling nina about earlier tonight.
i was falling off a stairway outside my back porch, i was all clenched up. that initial moment i realized i'm falling to my death. and then i'm falling, for what seems like longer than i should be, and something in my ear just whispers.
let go.and i'm falling, and it feels so
there's no fear really, it just feels so good to fall. and to not care.
to not worry about the crash.
in death there is no fear.
so lately i've been falling.
so softly and so nicely, falling towards my slow death.
and loving every hazy minute of it.

on new years i ended up at this place called the convent collective in san francisco. a bit like the collective i live in but is 4 stories, with roof top musicians for this and an abandoned church next door.
after the magic hour of midnight i found myself in the top of the bell tower of the church looking out at the bay bridge and the tiny lights covering the city.
i attempted to ring the bell as silently as i could, it let out this tiny echoe. like the lap of a lake, like a bell you might here in the morning. in the distance, unsure if you made it up in your head or not.
a friend who i hadn't seen since time spent in Berlin was there.
we watched cars pass, i asked him where they were all going.

he said it's after midnight so probably home. i smiled to myself and thought simply, well yeah, i guess that is the place you find yourself at the end of the night.

nina asked me tonight where that was for me.
home that is.
it took me a minute.
i finally told her there is not one place really.

i am kind of my own home.and the people that i find myself around, the people i adore, that make that place for me, are my home too.
whether that be san fracisco, paris, chicago, or new york.