“Inner Dialog of an Artist.”

Hard work, is an investment. More than the price of supplies; time is priceless. The creative reservior in the mind is an ever evolving shuffle. Everything becomes a steam of consciousness flowing from one project to the next. Process at times is unexplainable. One only hopes that is makes sense to nameless strangers looking to grow their personal collection in honor of artistic expression. That is, if you sell your original art.
I have given so much art away. Many times to those probably undeserving for lack of appreciation. I have no record or picture left of that creation, it exists only in my memories and now lives a life of its own. But like an over zealously whorish mother, perhaps I have even forgotten some of the faces of creation I have helped design. And hopefully this does not mean they have found themselves in waiting at the Salvation Army… though some cool things come from there, and admittedly I own many things from them. Only once a piece of original art. A 7 in by 9 in framed stipple of two eyes done in black pen. It looks like it took a while, I appreciate stipple because I once did a 2 ft by 4 ft panel of an Angel coming out of a pit of flames in the same style. It came in a nice silver industrial metal frame with glass, a good buy for $2.99. But to think of my own art in the thrift store, when each one was given out of so much love and personal conviction. I guess a buyer of fine art would never take it to the thrift store, would they?
Not true! There are stories of clueless owners of art all over the place. Not to toot my own horn, but I believe one day people will be happy and astounded to own something I did. Not because I have elevates hopes of grandeur, but because I love what I do, and life itself. I travel, and socially I get around. It is how I try to live and what I feel I have been put here to share. I have been blessed in my young age to have the ability to be told by many people that I have positively influenced their lives. I can not say if that would be a consensus of those who knew me earlier in life or not. But I believe that many of us get multiple chances in this life to share the joy of living with those around us. And many people are too caught up in the petty parts of living to ever fully engage in that way.
In the beginning for me I experienced this overwhelming “push me, pull you” effect. To be social vs. apart from society in my expansion of art. To work alone or in a crowd. I am somewhat of a loner as it is. I realize I enjoy good beer, good music, happy people, tasty food and stimulation. Not all the time, but when I am around it, even if I am not talking to anyone, I am engaged in this artistic expression. Not every piece is that way. I ask, “Is this piece calling for audience participation, or is this an object of unconscious; manifesting through a tool called ‘alienation’?” Sometimes I create art to participate (sometimes painting most times writing), and sometimes, I do it to avoid people. Every piece has it’s own fuel and organic process.
This at times, I realize is a direct and clear channel of the collective.
Recently I have looked at art from artist near my age and with similar beliefs, our colors reflect one another, our minds are meeting somewhere, but I don’t know these people. I specifically ignored looking at other artists work because I didn’t want to be influenced or to copy. I wanted to just experiment and see what I came up with. I didn’t even know who Jackson Polluck was until I was twenty-five.
As a collective when we further understand art, and artists who create; we become more clear about ourselves, and the facets of imagination meeting facets of reality. Either way it usually persuades you to let go a little or to take more action in your life. There is a style for everyone, whether it is the darker shadow elements or the lighter etheric reality encompassed through visionary art. Each finds and sustains its medium in the endless process of creative and inner growth.
So many people own commercial art. And the renaissance for the artist is in its beginnings. Worn out are the cheesy posters and the over industrialized “generic print.” Creative types like muralists and tattoo gurus are showing us how art can be a part of day to day life. Accentuating the home through art is the next step. Art should not have to have high price tag on it to be considered good. It is idealistic and nice to think that one can sell a couple of paintings a year and get by well enough, but what about art as a living, pumping it out because people need what you do and the medium you work in doesn’t take days to dry? Graffiti artists do it, and some of them eventually get paid for other artistic endeavors. Some local artists find their niche in photography and are able to make it by capitalizing on the every day things they are able to capture about their local area. Perhaps visionary artists are popping up all over with the same vision because we need change, and the artist are the just the people to bring it after this long oppression.
In tribal communities artists would trade their wares,it kept the tribe stocked with things of artistic necessity like blankets and pipes, but also things to trade with other tribes. What if some how, some way this visionary art is a local necessity as it goes about expanding minds, activating hearts, and making people thing beyond their normal bubble? I think it is. And before you know it, it going to be unavoidable.
Thank you to those who own and have influenced my art; those who hold it sacred, and realize your life is a little bit brighter because we have shared something beautiful. A lot of people look for one person to have babies with. I have taken a different route to loving those around me by allowing them to inspire a different kind of co-creation. I want to see us live in a better future, one giggling with bright colors of change. One we are appreciative of, and in awe to participate in. A life with Truth and appreciation of the experience. Each of you, in your own way have helped me become who I am through this process, and no words can express that gratitude I have for you in the sake of life and art!
May each of you receive the returned blessing of sharing your gifts with those waiting for what you have to offer. Each one of you does, it’s just a matter of figuring out how you can make it work. This always means committing to a certain degree of risk. But if you know me, than I know you can handle a little risk. Never be afraid to give the best parts of yourself in service of humanity, Each moment is priceless, each life is an investment, and each of us in our own way, is a necessary artist.

Ride the station

I am amongst the Ponderosa again

ready to revel with long lost friends,

only i was the one who wandered away

they keep living day to day, while i live 1200 miles away

And the sun called me, showing an open road

so I left for a moment, I knew the way to go

Now I try to formulate words and picture

to explain this state of mind

but what is growing here is hard to define

and I know lessons are evident, not soley mine

I just need to loosen up and allow the sun to shine

This body is bruised from hours of travel

soaking away in a moment of doubtful

and I know sleep will lull away the confusion

tomorrow brings another solution

the universe brings brilliant resolution

and I am flowing like the water

blowing like the breeze, sturdy as a mountain

flexible like the trees

goddess within me, master with out

child of curiosity, town crier waits to shout

and this is just the wayside brige stop to where

who knows

just a rambling, gambler, midnight singer

riding an open road

just an artist, writer, with no real destination

eager and willing to learn these lessons

lonely but fine, I get what is mine, each is divine

sharing and caring with this love of mine I find timeless

this world makes no sense to the senseless,

i carry senses in abundance, they dance with anticipation

Tell me whats right

Is it proper to retreat at the first sign of defeat and oppression
When attempting domestic relations
I seem to find in this life of mine, every time I try to intertwine
Something is inherently lacking;
Usually trust and communication
Breaking relation in situations fated end
I ask why I even bother;
I’ll be happier alone tomorrow
Instead of walking the thin line again
I’m granted ‘monthly excuse’, but really whats the use
When truths radiation is bright
I am a freedom fighter, resistant to all forms of control
I go where I choose to go
I leave when my heart makes the call
I don’t want to fight, but you need to know
I am not tied by your strings
If you try and consume me, you’ll find me unwilling
I need space to think
Your suffocating me, and I’ve wondered where my life has started to go
Is this my path or am I on a detour;
On someone elses road
I think I am learning the lessons and completing my tasks
At least it appears that way when I take a look back
But this moment, feels so uncertain
I have worked hard for less stress
Now your testing these buttons
My means of escape and grounding are minimal
Sucked inside this stress filled hole
Suddenly I see boundaries around the life I use to know
I’m not use to calling a soul when I board the late train
You seem my actions as some lame game
But we are only responsible for ourselves
I apologize if I compromise the life you are use to
But if examination is taken;
You’ll realize I ‘m the one making all the changes
I am asking for compromise
Your balanced life meeting with mine
Neither of us deserves to be forsaken
You’re use to running the show
This is respected, and now I am asking for similar consideration

sparklin’

I am sparkling like a star in a deep blanket of blue
There is a sense of growing, getting to know myself through knowing you
and it’s a feeling of mind-gasm
I have internal heart spasms at this evolution within me
Motivation through integrity, Enjoying the moment it’s hard to see the future
Not that it matters, it’s just that psychic connection again
I am blessed to have such friends, they push me to the ends of existence and back
My heart is under attack by demand of love’s arrow
it’s been punctured deep, how far it goes is unknown to me
Regardless I am finding freedom through love
learning to move, grooving on a whole new vibe
These thoughts remain, taking me from morning to night
it’s an ecstasy of unexplainable proportions; at times fading to return to me renewed
I have a slew of emotion, I am not bold enough to show
I only know what’s happening on this internal plane
attempting to show this love with no shame
no time for games in the play of appreciations
no time to delay external satisfactions
Overwhelmed, gushing inside
excited I have you in my life.

Who does this?

Remember the great writers of the most recently retired generation. The Kerouac and Thompson era. Those journalist trippers taking to the road, ( and not always the high one) making a story as they went along. The intricate weavers of an American subculture. Remnants of their lives describe eternal youth and  the adventure of virility few in this day and age can experience without some hindrance.  Even those books were riddled with hurdles and nay-sayers, but these writers weren’t necessarily writing with the mindset of being the voice of their generation. Instead, these creative minds were merely taking time to observe the human condition from a new perspective; brilliantly commenting on the social climate. They are the record keepers, the traveling linage of pioneers ready for change and personal breakthrough.

The karmic struggle of a writer, is to conveying a worthwhile message. Anyone can write, but few can write well enough to captivate audiences for years to come. Those literary artists stepped beyond the front stoop and took a bounding leap into the unknown. These are the characters found to be the most inspirational.

Who will be the next great writer of my generation? Who will take the open road exposing eyes to things unseen, and yet there all along. Which one will stand up with vigor and enthusiasm for the new paradigm, a master of words and action? Why will masses follow along the journey, what will make it profound and worth recommending to a friend? What is it, as a growing society, that we still need to learn and assimilate? Who is worthy of such a task? Could it be a woman?

Few know author, Joyce Johnson. She wrote the memoir “Minor Characters,” a journey of her evolution as a writer and her love affair with Jack Kerouac. Joyce, was indeed, a minor character in the underground life of some of the most recognized writers of that time. She was amongst one of the few women allowed into the inner sanctum of those well known beatniks, Burroughs and Ginsburg. Her accounts of the time she spent learning, loving, and living in the shadows is poignant and captivating. “Minor Characters,” brings to mind the question as to how; with her writing skills, keen observation, and warrior spirit, she remained overlooked as a complimentary commentary on the day and age. Perhaps we have been so caught up in the taboo stories of fierce and flagrant men; as is common in American culture, that those softer voices have been drowned out. Just as the admired men of her time were openly defiant to the social norm, tagging along the ranks was Joyce. In a time when women were expected to get married, stay home and have babies, Joyce was expanding her mind and sexuality. Her involvement with Kerouac never turned into marriage, and though he was 12 years her senior, he highly respected her as a writer and confidant. Still, few recognize her impact on Kerouacs’ musings… truly a minor character.

I took the leap into the unknown some 10 years ago now. I have traveled the open road, and talked with strangers. I have stayed in the homes of people met merely hours ago, only because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I have observed the bizarre and beautiful array of life bleeding behind closed doors. Empathy is more prevalent in my life due to scenes so heart-wrenching and real, no script could do them justice. Trickles of poetry and sketch have formed from the surreal nature of observational participation. What is it I am destined to convey?

I have been treated with love and disgust, invaded and ignored. The path has been dirty but rewarding. Perhaps the only rewards are stories. Maybe it is the ability to slip into the personal lives of others. To walk, invited into all the swells of struggle that humans desire to share, and yet feel too ashamed or isolated by, to know how to. I have been there in one way or another. Crying with strangers, sleeping with soul mates, laughing at nature, embracing the sunset. The fabric of our lives is a quilt work of words and experience, a colorful co-creation in a constant state of evolution. Each of us, without knowing, are active in our participation. The blessings of momentary meetings, the rush of brilliance shown through Truth. You may not know it, and you may never realize the silent impact you can have on a writer. I could write poems about a certain strangers’ smile. Those things may never be published, the muse may never know they were influential… and yet, words however private spill forth like a fountain of expression. A writer’s “full release.” Just as life force spills forth from every man until his death, words worth writing fill the page of eager hands. Some times in life are less inspirational than others, and still it is only a sign that the wellspring is in the process of change and revitalization.

I am on the adventure, you are each adding to the journey, the goal is unseen. The struggle is to learn how to really LIVE a life of expression and integrity. Each interaction bring to light a new concept or facet of totality and unity within our humanity. May the words of sages and wise women be a spark into the flame of greater creativity in each mortal soul. Eagerly we await a greater acceptance of our bond as humans, our Universal Minds and Hearts. Each time you read words of inspiration, contemplation, revelation and resonance, heed the message, though mass produced, it was written specifically for you at that time. There is no time in Truth, and Truth is timeless. May your soul recognize your journey no matter what time it is.

Easy come Easy go

The constant shuffle of this world is one that requests our undivided attention and ever evolving flexibility.
People come and go at their own pace. It must be accepted that they will and do as they please.
We are each granted that gift.
No need to tarry when direction is evident.
Assimilation of lessons is fast when recognition is made at the soonest point of action.
One step in front of the next. Leads one closer to certain destinations and farther from others. This is the way we live, this is the way we move.
At some point it is asked that roots be made, that growth up and down coincide.
That flexibility comes from the branches rather from aimless tumbling.
I will tumble until I find the grove of my admiration. A spot worth rooting in.

Once Upon an Abscess.

Once upon a time, a bad nasty thing happened between this girl and some guy. They once were madly in love, but then the ruins of Truth set it… it was a pheromone attraction full of lessons in abandonment and respect. All escalating in to a night neither would forget, but he would never mention… and I, well, I would use it as a good bar room ice breaker.

The night in question, was tinged in inebriation. As sometimes things go, an after work cocktail poured strong, and a long conversation with a co-worker, biding time as to not go home to an angry beau. One drink turned to three, before I felt the need to leave.

The drive felt so sober. I obeyed all the laws, and pull up next to our lawn, it was about 2 in the morning. I left the lights on in the car, and opened the door, when a blue suit pulls up. He questions me about my connection to the car, smells liquor on my breath and issues a sobriety test. I fail to spell my own last name correctly… luckily he is easy on me, unable to prove I was driving.

The beau of my home exits, and admits this is my residence, the police bid me good night, and warn to stay inside. Then my “lover” walks me to the threshold. He tells me to sleep on the couch, disappointed in my behavior. I am warned not to bother this one who is to wake up early. I lay on the couch, somewhat blacked out and all I can guess is my contacts needed removal, and my bladder needed empty, but when I enter the bathroom, he yells at me “TO LAY DOWN OR I WILL LAY YOU DOWN” but none of that is on the 911 call.

Somehow, some way, this starts a brawl. I hold on to his hair tightly, afraid he will hit me, and all is a tussle until he pulls away. Tufts of hair lay on the carpets and on the tile. It gets crazy, and the dog goes wild. My man says, I need to leave, but not in my car, not with my keys. He says he is going to pull the plugs, and I am raging, blacked out and dumb. I pull at his shirt and boxers in the January rain, I fall of the stoop and he stumbles onto my face.

I crunch, my nose, broken, eye sockets shocked. I am bleeding and he retreats to the house, locking me out. Picks up the phone, dials 9-1-1, and this is when the fun really starts. I am pounding on the double pane window, asking to be let in. My eyes are swelling, and there is blood on my chin. I am scared, adrenaline filled, I know someone will go to jail. Eventually that pounding on the window is enough to break both panes. Glass dispersed, and yet a piece remains.

In my chest. the side of my left breast, over my heart. The last shard of all of that chaos and love. Somehow since 2005, that tiny piece of glass has survived in my tissue, and now it is starting to abscess. I am ready to get rid of this last piece of him and me. Tucked ever so violently in to a sacred place. His face I only see in dreams.

I hope he is on a path with truth and love, I hope he understands what we both have done, and is working at becoming a better man. I know daily I strive to be a better woman, and a better lover, to consciously enter into communication.

So as this wound sort of blisters and breaks, I take back a piece of my heart that was breaking for him, and all of our mutual sins. Final stages of healing bring me free wheeling into my personal reality, it’s finally good to be home.

A portal of inner exploration