Monday, June 13, 2016

Orlando

I danced with my son this morning.

I laughed this morning.
I felt guilty for my joy,
wondering how many beautiful souls were laughing when the first bullet struck home.

I hugged my child this morning.
I wept for all the mothers who will never have that chance again.

I kissed my husband goodbye this morning, and felt my heart swell at the thought of all the lovers lost. What if it were him?

I made a silent promise to 50 strangers today. That they would be remembered. That they would live on in my daily thoughts. That I would take action to try to save others. That I wouldn't let their deaths be a source of anger or hatred. That I would never be invisible for the sake of convenience. That I would carry on in their honor.

I laughed this morning. I felt the guilt of my continuance. I felt shame at my own joy.

I danced with my son this morning.

Saturday, June 13, 2015

Eagle Eye

Butterflies and sand
The warmth of your hand
The love of a child
As we view sea and land
They collide like lovers
I blush in my knowledge
Think of last night
Look at your eyes in our child's face
Long for renewed innocence
And prolonged joy
The eagle watches knowingly from his perch
Our kind and his kind go back
Way back
Countless generations
We are the hope they broke themselves for
We are the fruit of sown seed and hand-tilled soil
We are the waking dreams of our grandmothers' youth
We are picnic basket auctions and ice cream socials
We are the plums picked on a working wedding day
We are the sweat on exhausted brows
We are linens on the line
We are endless piles of firewood, split
We are the sum of all that love
And still the eagle watches
wondering if we'll cave under the weight of time

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

WTF?

When last I took the time to ask the questions that mattered, I was too scared to face the answers. I never got to the answers because the questions themselves scared me beyond reason. They say question everything, but where does that get you when answers are elusive, or when the answers leave you with more doubt? I don't even know where to begin. There are infinite questions, and one just leads to more. But the time is now. I must ask, and I must answer...

Friday, November 21, 2014

Disconnected

She sits silent in her darkened room
     wild-eyed, staring at the wall like a distant mirage
     eating her lower lip as if
     she hadn't had a proper meal in weeks

She feels the rain as it begins to drum on
     the roof; her toes nervously keep time
     on the old oak floor as her gaze shifts
     to the dark void that was once a TV
     screen; she is missing her stories...

She twitches occasionally as the electric
     tension she holds in her shoulders
     fires lightning bolts down her limbs;
     her anxiety could power a small
     city, if only she could plug into the grid

She is frozen in time, the fearlessness of
     childhood poverty now melted into the
     powerless-ness of adult desperation

She forces herself back to reality, picks up
     the pen, and writes the check
     she knows she can't cover

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Prison

I've been in prison since the day I was born. It has taken on many forms. It is an ever-shifting, ever-evolving, and ever-present state of being, more than an actual physical prison. At times, I have been tricked into entering without the slightest idea that's what I was doing.
I have been in the prison of poverty all my life. I've also been locked in due to intelligence; loneliness; physical differences; differences of opinion and belief; love, and the loss of it; abuse of many kinds; and yes, actual, physical prison.
It seems that the fight is never-ending. There is a constant struggle to break free of whichever prison is most restricting at any given moment in my life. I just begin to think I am free of one form of prison, that I have finally stepped out of the gate into the sunlight of the free world, when I suddenly realize I have just traded one cage for another.
I realize that most of the walls that keep me in are of my own creation and exist purely through my choice to keep them in place. And yet, often, it seems that I have little control over this aspect of my life. In fact, I am often not even aware that the walls are there until they begin to close in so quickly I fear I'll be crushed. It seems that I am completely oblivious until the moment I find myself completely overwhelmed and aching to break free...
Some days, I fear I will never be free.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

A fragment from my fragmented mind...

The world faded away...

Distilled itself into a mist of nothingness and drifted off...

Left me as I was making love to myself in the mirror of my internal void...

As I contemplated homicide, suicide, angelcide...

As I made love to myself by the righteous light of the television screen, computer screen, pipe screen, smoke screen, eternally screaming inane creatures finally disbursed to their respective asylums.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Help! I need somebody...

OK, so I'm in school, I have finally figured out what I want to do with my life, now I am in a hurry to get down to the business of living. Call it making up for lost time! I know what I want, and I know what I have to do to get it.
Beyond school and my career path, I have known what I want in my personal life for a long time. I want to settle down with an incredible woman, make a home, have babies (four-legged ones, that is!) and live some slightly-altered version of the American dream. Yep, that's right, I want to be a housewife! :) And you may think I'm crazy, but I think it sounds great! Let my partner be the breadwinner! (You didn't think I was getting a degree in photography to be a 9-5er, did you?!) In between cooking and cleaning and laundry, I would have plenty of time to go places and take incredible photos... Especially since Western Oregon has so much so close... There are enough incredible landscapes around here to keep a photographer busy her entire life! And of course, the plan is to sell all these incredible images, so I would be making my financial contribution, as well...
So it sounds like I've got it all figured out, right? What's the problem, you're wondering? I'll tell you...
The problem is that I have a picture in my mind, and I know exactly the life I want to live, but I have, as of yet, been unable to find a woman who shares my vision. There is a void in my family portrait. I know she's out there. I have felt I have come close to finding her, and yet she seems to always be just beyond me...
I have an incredible amount of love to give. I long to find a woman I can really romance and pamper and spoil rotten! I am a little perplexed to find that none of the women I have met in my life seem to be ready for or open to being loved...
I have been learning recently that if I want something, I have to really go out and get it, work for it, and I suppose love is no different. So here's what I'm asking of you, friends... If you think you know an incredible, creative, intelligent, open, bi or lesbian woman who is also ready to find love... I would love to meet her! Yes, maybe it smacks of desperation that I am now seeking to be 'set up', but frankly, life is too short to sit around waiting for love to somehow magically fall from the sky. It just isn't going to happen. And really, can you expect to find anyone of quality at a bar? NO! Online? Not likely. So I'm going the old-fashioned route. I figure if my friends like her, she must be something special, because I have some really awesome friends!
So introduce me, already! That's all I ask... Just an introduction, and I will take care of the rest! (Oh, and redheads rock! Just sayin'!)

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

For Phoenix

I wrote this for my niece, Phoenix, as I sang her to sleep and gazed into her baby blues. I am so in love, and miss her so much!

Phoenix
I sing you down into the deep
And just before you drift to sleep
I see myself reflected in your wondering eyes
As deep as the ocean and as wide as the sky
And there within I see the beauty that can be
The love that lives in you
And the hope that lives in me...

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Basquiat

The following is my American Art History term paper from spring term. I could Have written 20+ pages about Jean-Michel Basquiat, but given the time frame I had to work in, I chose to fulfill the assignment requirements, and not much more. I hope you find the paper informative and interesting, if not as flush with detail as this incredible artist deserved. Thanks for reading!

Basquiat

Early Years

Jean-Michel Basquiat joined the world in Brooklyn, New York, December 22, 1960, the child of Haitian-born Gerard Basquiat, and Matilde (Andrades) Basquiat, who was born in Brooklyn to Puerto Rican immigrant parents. He had 2 younger sisters, Lisane, born in 1964, and Jeanine, born 1967.

From a very early age, Jean-Michel showed an interest in and a talent for art. He often drew and sketched alongside his mother, who had a passion for fashion design and drawing.  They often visited the Brooklyn Museum of Modern Art, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Matilde did all she could to support, develop, and encourage her son’s talent and interest in the arts.

When he was just 7 years old, Jean-Michel teamed up with a friend from school to create a children’s book. It was written by Jean-Michel, and illustrated by both boys.

By the age of eight, Jean-Michel was fluent in 3 languages: English, French, and Spanish. He later learned German and Italian.

In May of 1968, Basquiat was hit by a car while playing ball in the street. He broke his arm and required multiple surgeries for internal injuries. He eventually had to have his spleen removed. While in the hospital, his mother gave him a copy of Gray’s Anatomy to help him understand what was happening and give him something to keep busy. The impression this made on him was profound, and the lingering effects can be seen in works throughout his career. Many of his works include anatomical drawings and medical terms.


Adolescent Years

In 1977, Jean-Michel dropped out of high school, left his parents’ Brooklyn home and moved to Lower Manhattan. “Papa,” he said, “I’m going to be famous.” A dream declared.

In the beginning, he was essentially homeless, supporting himself by selling postcards and t-shirts he had painted, panhandling, and couch hopping from one friend’s apartment to the next. He was also well loved by the ladies, and was known to have several girlfriends (sometimes at the same time) that would help him to feed and clothe himself.

In an interview, Jean-Michel recalls this time with a sense of sad nostalgia. “I walked for days and days without sleeping, living like a bum, drinking wine with winos, panhandling. I thought I would be a bum forever.”

Before leaving home, Basquiat met Al Diaz, a fellow graffiti artist, and they would later collaborate on the ‘SAMO©’ project. SAMO© is believed to stand for ‘SAMe Old shit’ by some, but this continues to be debated. In 1976, graffiti bearing the SAMO© tag began to appear around the streets of Manhattan. Poems, riddles, and multiple choice questions poked fun at the ‘problems’ of the masses, and promoted the panacea ‘drug’ SAMO©.  One SAMO© tag read, “SAMO© as an end to mindwash religion, nowhere politics, and bogus philosophy.” SAMO© was well known around the city by 1978. The Village Voice even included an article about the artwork in a journal published the same year. 

The SAMO© series ended in late 1979, with the words ‘SAMO© is DEAD’ appearing in multiple locations around the city.


The Breakthrough and the Career

In June of 1980, Basquiat's art was publicly exhibited for the first time in a show sponsored by Colab (Collaborative Projects Incorporated) along with the work of Jenny Holzer, Lee Quinones, Kenny Scharf, Kiki Smith, Robin Winters, John Ahearn, Jane Dickson, Mike Glier, Mimi Gross, and David Hammons.  The show – sometimes called the ‘Times Square Show’ – garnered much attention from the art world, and Basquiat’s work was an instant ‘hit’ with art critics, artists, and art dealers.

I don’t think this came as much of a surprise to Jean-Michel, who had always been fascinated by fame, and had once said of himself, “Since I was seventeen, I thought I might be a star.  I had a romantic feeling of how people had become famous.”

Jean-Michel was then swept up almost immediately into a whirlwind of gallery shows, interviews, and photo shoots. He truly was an ‘overnight success’ and everyone wanted a piece of him. Over the next year or so, Basquiat continued to exhibit his work around New York City and in Europe, participating in shows alongside contemporaries like Keith Haring and Barbara Kruger.

In December of 1981, poet and artist Rene Ricard published the first major article on Basquiat entitled "The Radiant Child" in the magazine ArtForum. This was the breakthrough that shot him from notoriety within the art world, to flat-out superstardom and a much wider audience.

In late 1981, he joined the Annina Nosei gallery in SoHo, Manhattan. By 1982, Basquiat was showing regularly alongside Julian Schnabel, David Salle, Francesco Clemente and Enzo Cucchi, involved with the Neo-expressionist movement. He was represented in Los Angeles, California by the Larry Gagosian gallery, and throughout Europe by Bruno Bischofberger. He briefly dated then-aspiring performer Madonna in late 1982. That same year, Basquiat also worked briefly with musician and artist David Bowie.

Basquiat was known for his extravagance. He often painted in Armani suits, and would appear in public in these same paint-splattered $1,000 suits. He would buy expensive gourmet foods, and let them spoil in his refrigerator. He would bring gourmet pastries to gallery shows, take a bite, then throw them on the floor. But perhaps his most expensive habit was heroin. He was widely known as a user, and never tried to hide it. Those close to him often became concerned and tried to get him to kick, but the few times he got clean, it was short-lived.

 In 1983, Basquiat met Andy Warhol, and the two became fast friends. They had lengthy discussions about things like white patrons buying black art, the pros and cons of segregation and integration, and whether or not art should be judged differently based on the artist’s ethnic perspective. They also collaborated on several paintings, none of which were received very warmly by critics.


The Art

Jean-Michel’s work is known for it’s amalgamation of racial and political themes with humor, a sense of the plight of the every-man, the cry to awaken from our national (and sometimes global) apathy, and sometimes, a re-examination of the work of other artists. 

He famously ‘retold the tale’ of Mona Lisa, painting her in his unique childish, scribbled style, with details of a one dollar bill in the background. It was this very child-like style that captured the attention of art critics and dealers. Basquiat often gripped his paintbrush or paintstick like a young child would. He wanted to capture both the child-like wonder and the fears and joys we all experience in childhood. He would sometimes use crayons or chalk in his work as well, to try to tap into his inner child. But, as he famously said, “Believe it or not, I can actually draw!”

Most of Basquiat’s work features written text. He would often repeat the same word several times within the same piece, sometimes crossing them out, or crossing out individual letters within the words. He said he did this intentionally, to call more attention to the words or letters that were crossed out.

Crowns also became a recurring theme in his work, as well as becoming his personal trademark. He said the crown stood for the holiness and royalty of all men. That all people were kings or queens in their own life, and that we should all celebrate ourselves. The crown also stood as a symbol of the triumph of the black man over slavery. It was a reminder that many slaves had been important people to their tribes in Africa before capture, and the struggle of the race to recapture that sense of importance after slavery ended.


The End

When his great friend, Andy Warhol, died on February 22, 1987, it took a great toll on Jean-Michel. He became somewhat of a recluse, and began using even more heroin. In early 1988, he attempted to kick his heroin habit. He left the tempting world of New York behind and retreated to his ranch in Hawaii.

He came back to New York in June of ’88. He claimed he was drug-free, and many said he seemed to be happier and calmer than they had ever seen him.

On August 12, 1988, Jean-Michel Basquiat died as a result of a heroin overdose. As his one-time girlfriend Madonna once said of him, “He was too fragile for this world.”

 

Conclusion

I’m sure there is much more to write about Basquiat. Although his candle was snuffed out much too soon, his light shone brightly. He left a mark not only on the art world, but in the hearts of all of those (like myself) that have been inspired by him.

Time constraints did not allow me to paint as complete a picture of the man as I’d have liked to. Before I began writing this paper, I thought I knew quite a lot about JMB. But the more research I did for the paper, the more I learned, and the more I became aware of just how little I knew about him. There is just so much to know. He made quite an impact in this world, for a man who only lived 27 years.