I found the puppy hit on a dirt road, while out riding my horse. He was still breathing, just panting, really, but couldn't move. The image that stays in my head is of his staring eye, with dirt and gravel stuck to it...if he didn't have it in him to blink, he just wasn't going to make it. The thing I can't fully remember was shooting him -- it's possible that an adult did, but in my memory it's always been me. It was horrible, but by that time I'd seen animals I loved bitten by rattlesnakes, found them rotting under a tree when they didn't come home from pasture, watched our cow frozen over in the lake all winter long when she fell through the ice...you kind of wind up with this frontier view of reality. It's almost less painful to kill it than to watch the suffering.
I think I was much tougher as a kid than I am as an adult. It's all that therapy -- I was pretty damned shut off to anything as messy as feelings. I was one of those girls that would kick your ass if you pushed me. My family life was pretty shitty and tense, lots of passive AND active aggression going on. At that time, I think my parents were both having affairs, they barely noticed what I did. I could get on a horse and be gone morning 'til night, no one ever noticed. It was a beautiful kind of freedom in a way, but came with the heavy knowledge of absolute vulnerability.
Don't get me wrong -- I think my parents were fundamentally good, but seriously fucked up at the time. Oddly, my brothers' memory of the family is like an entirely different family -- they're 7 & 8 years older than me, so they remember happier times.
It's freaky, but I sort of related to the whole Harris / Klebold anger when they shot up Columbine. I was alienated enough to fantasize about horrific things happening to my peers, but thank GOD I didn't ever seriously consider acting on it. I wasn't crazy, at least.
And I'm also thankful I got therapy before Prozac was so in vogue. I honestly think it saved my life. Having someone to be accountable to every week was almost a new thing. I would have OD'd on some damned substance, or crashed my car speeding, or done some other self-destructive thing until I was dead, at that point.
Wow, where the hell did all that come from? Can you tell I'm bored? Babysitting a rave, which, luckily, I get to do from my studio...but the night after an opening, I just don't feel like workin'!
Only four more hours....
04 November 2007
07 July 2007
Just saw Michael Moore's Sicko
Truly an amazing piece of work. Seeing the 9-11 rescue workers in Cuba was heartbreaking, as they were finally getting decent medical care that they were denied at home. And for THAT, our ridiculous gov't., in all their "wisdom", is investigating Mr. Moore, and very likely may press charges.
Michael Moore has a way of making us laugh at this horrible stuff on the way to the truth, and for that part I think he may probably earn an Emmy. But this film is much more important than that, and the powers that be just don't want to talk about it, because in the end, we are getting SCREWED. Everyone has these horrible experiences with the insurance industry, either themselves or through friends, so it's really hard to refute this film in any way.
The one thing I wish he'd spent more time on is the tax issue, the difference between what we and countries with national health care, because that's what the opposition will most likely talk about. It's a myth, though -- the difference in tax structure often isn't that different, a few countries pay a bit more but mostly it's just that we choose to spend our money invading countries that aren't a threat to us as opposed to taking care of our own people. It's shameless. Michael Moore asks the question "Who are we, as a people?" And after this film you really do wonder. We need to start making some noise; things are really wrong.
I lost a friend to liver cancer a couple of months ago. He went down in about 4 months from diagnosis, all because he didn't have health insurance. He had had hepatitis C for years, untreated, then couldn't afford any kind of real treatment once they found the cancer. One of the big ironies is that 8 years before, this man had been the CEO of a big oil company, and had walked away from it all -- his family, his job -- because of mental illness and depression. He had spent that 8 years on the street, and just recently had fallen in love and been putting his life back together. He had made it his mission to educate every artist he knew about how to financially plan, how to be smart about their choices. Amazing, beautiful, smart man, who would still be alive if not for corporate greed.
This movie should be required viewing for us all.
Michael Moore has a way of making us laugh at this horrible stuff on the way to the truth, and for that part I think he may probably earn an Emmy. But this film is much more important than that, and the powers that be just don't want to talk about it, because in the end, we are getting SCREWED. Everyone has these horrible experiences with the insurance industry, either themselves or through friends, so it's really hard to refute this film in any way.
The one thing I wish he'd spent more time on is the tax issue, the difference between what we and countries with national health care, because that's what the opposition will most likely talk about. It's a myth, though -- the difference in tax structure often isn't that different, a few countries pay a bit more but mostly it's just that we choose to spend our money invading countries that aren't a threat to us as opposed to taking care of our own people. It's shameless. Michael Moore asks the question "Who are we, as a people?" And after this film you really do wonder. We need to start making some noise; things are really wrong.
I lost a friend to liver cancer a couple of months ago. He went down in about 4 months from diagnosis, all because he didn't have health insurance. He had had hepatitis C for years, untreated, then couldn't afford any kind of real treatment once they found the cancer. One of the big ironies is that 8 years before, this man had been the CEO of a big oil company, and had walked away from it all -- his family, his job -- because of mental illness and depression. He had spent that 8 years on the street, and just recently had fallen in love and been putting his life back together. He had made it his mission to educate every artist he knew about how to financially plan, how to be smart about their choices. Amazing, beautiful, smart man, who would still be alive if not for corporate greed.
This movie should be required viewing for us all.
19 June 2007
A Sweet Bug Story
When my best gallery ever was still open in Santa Fe, I used to go down and stay there for a week or so when installing a show, or sometimes just for fun. They had a lovely room above the gallery for the artists to stay in, and you could sit on the roof and smell the pinon and burning hickory from the restaurant next door. It was kind of magical.
I became very good friends (still am) with one of the owners of the gallery, T. She and I were having a swell time hanging my show one night, drinking wine late into the evening and talking up a storm, when her adorable neighbor -- who had just moved in to open up a gallery behind hers -- joined in. P. was this lanky ex-skate-punk opening up a photo gallery in one of the alleys behind Canyon Road, and there seemed to be some chemistry and sparks between them. We stayed up 'til the wee hours getting a little drunk together, and while I felt a bit like a third wheel, I didn't really have anywhere else to go.
T., who had lived in Santa Fe for years, was telling an incredulous P. and I about these bugs called "Children of the Earth" that looked like a fetus from the top. We were all laughing, but P. & I refused to believe it, and accused T. of exaggerating. She described them in detail, but we just couldn't see it.
The next day, while T. was out running errands, I sat and watched the gallery. P. came in carrying a small jewelry box, and looking disappointed that T. wasn't there. Then he said, "Well, maybe it's better that you're here and she's not...do you think she would be totally weirded out if I gave her this"? He lifted the lid, and mounted carefully on cotton with T-pins were the very same "children of the earth" bugs we had doubted the night before. I smiled at him and said, "Any other girl would be weirded out...but T? She's gonna LOVE this."
And she did.
I think it's one of the most romantic things I've ever seen in my life.
And I was really happy to get the opportunity to tell that story at their wedding. Best toast ever.
I became very good friends (still am) with one of the owners of the gallery, T. She and I were having a swell time hanging my show one night, drinking wine late into the evening and talking up a storm, when her adorable neighbor -- who had just moved in to open up a gallery behind hers -- joined in. P. was this lanky ex-skate-punk opening up a photo gallery in one of the alleys behind Canyon Road, and there seemed to be some chemistry and sparks between them. We stayed up 'til the wee hours getting a little drunk together, and while I felt a bit like a third wheel, I didn't really have anywhere else to go.
T., who had lived in Santa Fe for years, was telling an incredulous P. and I about these bugs called "Children of the Earth" that looked like a fetus from the top. We were all laughing, but P. & I refused to believe it, and accused T. of exaggerating. She described them in detail, but we just couldn't see it.
The next day, while T. was out running errands, I sat and watched the gallery. P. came in carrying a small jewelry box, and looking disappointed that T. wasn't there. Then he said, "Well, maybe it's better that you're here and she's not...do you think she would be totally weirded out if I gave her this"? He lifted the lid, and mounted carefully on cotton with T-pins were the very same "children of the earth" bugs we had doubted the night before. I smiled at him and said, "Any other girl would be weirded out...but T? She's gonna LOVE this."
And she did.
I think it's one of the most romantic things I've ever seen in my life.
And I was really happy to get the opportunity to tell that story at their wedding. Best toast ever.
20 April 2007
Why are we still surprised?
School shootings are becoming commonplace, almost. The only thing that shocks us is that each is more horrific, more brutal, than the last.
I think we vastly underestimate how alienating this culture is to anyone who is different at all. The recent shooter's words in the video speak to class difference, and mark my words, there is a LOT of simmering anger in the "have-nots" that can and will explode if not dealt with in some way.
The U.S. used to have a "war on poverty", now it's more like a "war on the poor". Our culture is jamming consumerism down people's throats, and at some point, we're going to vomit it up. If you watch MTV, (and kids do), the message is constantly hammered home that you are NOTHING if you don't have the look, the bling, the car.... People like Paris Hilton are famous ONLY for being rich (it can't possibly be her looks and talent, after all), and all the rhetoric against the poor makes it seem as if it's their fault. We have a sick culture, and a sick culture is bound to breed sick individuals.
When Columbine happened, the earliest reports were saying that Klebold and Harris were "killing jocks". Even then, I said, "well, THAT was bound to happen, eventually". I was never shocked, never surprised, except maybe that it didn't happen sooner.
I don't know, maybe my perspective is skewed because I was violently teased in school. I was spit upon, I was beat up, I had my head smashed into a piece of concrete. Why? Because I was different. Because I was smart, and liked to read, and didn't care about anything but drawing and horses. Maybe because we weren't as rich as the kids I went to school with. (And probably, in part, because I look Jewish, and in the uber-white suburbs of Denver, that was enough.) I learned early on to hate rich kids and jocks, too. I WAS that emotionally disturbed kid in high school, and I DID have liberal access to guns. Luckily, I never confused my fantasy life of revenge with real life, but who knows what could have happened if I were more mentally unstable? I look at these kids, and think, "that could have been me". Everyone focuses on hating these kids that do the shooting, but no one focuses on preventing the next one. No one looks at the root cause, or sees it as a societal problem, all the focus is on the individual.
I think we vastly underestimate how alienating this culture is to anyone who is different at all. The recent shooter's words in the video speak to class difference, and mark my words, there is a LOT of simmering anger in the "have-nots" that can and will explode if not dealt with in some way.
The U.S. used to have a "war on poverty", now it's more like a "war on the poor". Our culture is jamming consumerism down people's throats, and at some point, we're going to vomit it up. If you watch MTV, (and kids do), the message is constantly hammered home that you are NOTHING if you don't have the look, the bling, the car.... People like Paris Hilton are famous ONLY for being rich (it can't possibly be her looks and talent, after all), and all the rhetoric against the poor makes it seem as if it's their fault. We have a sick culture, and a sick culture is bound to breed sick individuals.
When Columbine happened, the earliest reports were saying that Klebold and Harris were "killing jocks". Even then, I said, "well, THAT was bound to happen, eventually". I was never shocked, never surprised, except maybe that it didn't happen sooner.
I don't know, maybe my perspective is skewed because I was violently teased in school. I was spit upon, I was beat up, I had my head smashed into a piece of concrete. Why? Because I was different. Because I was smart, and liked to read, and didn't care about anything but drawing and horses. Maybe because we weren't as rich as the kids I went to school with. (And probably, in part, because I look Jewish, and in the uber-white suburbs of Denver, that was enough.) I learned early on to hate rich kids and jocks, too. I WAS that emotionally disturbed kid in high school, and I DID have liberal access to guns. Luckily, I never confused my fantasy life of revenge with real life, but who knows what could have happened if I were more mentally unstable? I look at these kids, and think, "that could have been me". Everyone focuses on hating these kids that do the shooting, but no one focuses on preventing the next one. No one looks at the root cause, or sees it as a societal problem, all the focus is on the individual.
28 February 2007
ay-yi-yi....
trying to change my evil ways before I make MYSELF physically ill.
My big problem is, I'm neither strategic or tactical; I'm just not a planner. Life happens to me and I say yes to all of it. I've always been that way, sort of a "follow whatever opportunity comes your way" philosophy. The problem is, now there are too many opportunities, too many charities, too many people wanting a piece of me all the time, and I have no ability any more to say no, I lost it somewhere along the way. I'm trying to learn, but sometimes opportunities are too good (or too fun) to turn down.
Case in point, right now: I'm in the midst of a residency, in this little war with the CSO staff, and have 3 incredibly difficult projects on my plate. Also still trying to wrap up the end of the gallery and prevent my business from completely falling apart in my absence while I'm off being an artist. The residency (and the 200 piece installation I'm trying to complete for it) is finished when the show opens March 15, I'll post more about it later when it isn't midnight, if I get time. Okay, THAT I knew about, but then two weeks ago a prestigious new curator called and wanted a piece, which of course, was promised to someone else, so I STUPIDLY told him I was in the midst of creating a similar but much larger piece (which was true, but I had barely begun), so he really, really wants it and I cave. Then the paper fashion show only started organizing and contacting the designers with dates a month ago, and as last-year's champs how can I say no to that? You see how it happens. Last night was the mayor's award for the arts; the place I have the residency won, so of course I organize all the kids to do a painting demo, because I'm asked, and of course it was a blast and an honor (and got my work in front of some very important people), and I'm not saying no to that, of course! And on...and on....seriously, I am leaving stuff out.
Phew...okay, sorry, didn't mean to vent. But jeez louise, I am freakin' stressed right now, and I really only have myself to blame. MUST SAY NO AT SOME POINT!
If you're still reading this (and seriously, a part of me hopes you aren't), thanks for letting me blurt that all out, I needed to.
My big problem is, I'm neither strategic or tactical; I'm just not a planner. Life happens to me and I say yes to all of it. I've always been that way, sort of a "follow whatever opportunity comes your way" philosophy. The problem is, now there are too many opportunities, too many charities, too many people wanting a piece of me all the time, and I have no ability any more to say no, I lost it somewhere along the way. I'm trying to learn, but sometimes opportunities are too good (or too fun) to turn down.
Case in point, right now: I'm in the midst of a residency, in this little war with the CSO staff, and have 3 incredibly difficult projects on my plate. Also still trying to wrap up the end of the gallery and prevent my business from completely falling apart in my absence while I'm off being an artist. The residency (and the 200 piece installation I'm trying to complete for it) is finished when the show opens March 15, I'll post more about it later when it isn't midnight, if I get time. Okay, THAT I knew about, but then two weeks ago a prestigious new curator called and wanted a piece, which of course, was promised to someone else, so I STUPIDLY told him I was in the midst of creating a similar but much larger piece (which was true, but I had barely begun), so he really, really wants it and I cave. Then the paper fashion show only started organizing and contacting the designers with dates a month ago, and as last-year's champs how can I say no to that? You see how it happens. Last night was the mayor's award for the arts; the place I have the residency won, so of course I organize all the kids to do a painting demo, because I'm asked, and of course it was a blast and an honor (and got my work in front of some very important people), and I'm not saying no to that, of course! And on...and on....seriously, I am leaving stuff out.
Phew...okay, sorry, didn't mean to vent. But jeez louise, I am freakin' stressed right now, and I really only have myself to blame. MUST SAY NO AT SOME POINT!
If you're still reading this (and seriously, a part of me hopes you aren't), thanks for letting me blurt that all out, I needed to.
27 February 2007
wot a slacker!
I know, I know, haven't written anything in a while since the depressive past few posts. I'll try to get back to it. In the meantime, please enjoy this short and charming tale of how Squish and I first met:
Okay, how me and the hubby met: I was in choir in college, so in spite of being in the art department all the time I knew a lot of musicians. During a break in a 4 hour evening snooze-fest of a class, I walked into the hallway and started talking to one of my buddies from choir who was also in band, and he was talking to the first trombone, who was kinda cute. When my friend asked me how the class was, I doubled up my knuckle and dug it into my nostril in the universal mock-nose-picking gesture, and said, "it's like this", grinding my knuckle into my face, crossing my eyes, and pretending to drool. Future hubby / first trombone player apparently found it adorable.
Instead of asking me out like a normal guy, though, he asked where I was showing my artwork, and I told him I was in a show that weekend, and maybe I'd see him there? He mistakenly assumed that I was asking him out on a date, and left depressed when I hadn't shown up. I showed up late because I had mistakenly assumed that when I asked the guy who I thought I was dating (mixed signals, I thought he was gay, now he's married to the girl who introduced us but I KNOW he's gay) and he brought another girl.
Somehow it all worked out, and eventually future hubby actually asked me out on a real date.
To which he showed up drunk, after another girl tried to prevent him from going out with me because SHE liked him so she spent the afternoon getting him all liquored up and tried to hijack him and take him to -- of all things -- a GRATEFUL DEAD show. Ugh!
So, he shows up in his Dad's giant car, and proceeds to try to put my bike in the trunk, almost destroying it in the process, and I said, "maybe I'll drive". He had free tickets to Edward Scissorhands, so we went, but of course we both knew EVERYONE there (he worked at the local hipster record store, I worked at one of the only good nightclubs), and I was completely mortified, since he was not a smooth drunk.
By that point, I was just enduring the date, trying to survive until the end, at which point I would be able to furtively avoid him in the hallways the way I did any number of other guys. But in the middle of the movie, when Anthony Michael Hall said, "I'd give my left nut to see that", something happened...future hubby yelled out, "Your left one?!" apropos of nothing, and the front four rows whipped around to see the heckler. At that point, I was hooked.
So, that's the adorable and completely illogical story of our early attraction to one another. Inexplicable, no? Why ask why?
Okay, how me and the hubby met: I was in choir in college, so in spite of being in the art department all the time I knew a lot of musicians. During a break in a 4 hour evening snooze-fest of a class, I walked into the hallway and started talking to one of my buddies from choir who was also in band, and he was talking to the first trombone, who was kinda cute. When my friend asked me how the class was, I doubled up my knuckle and dug it into my nostril in the universal mock-nose-picking gesture, and said, "it's like this", grinding my knuckle into my face, crossing my eyes, and pretending to drool. Future hubby / first trombone player apparently found it adorable.
Instead of asking me out like a normal guy, though, he asked where I was showing my artwork, and I told him I was in a show that weekend, and maybe I'd see him there? He mistakenly assumed that I was asking him out on a date, and left depressed when I hadn't shown up. I showed up late because I had mistakenly assumed that when I asked the guy who I thought I was dating (mixed signals, I thought he was gay, now he's married to the girl who introduced us but I KNOW he's gay) and he brought another girl.
Somehow it all worked out, and eventually future hubby actually asked me out on a real date.
To which he showed up drunk, after another girl tried to prevent him from going out with me because SHE liked him so she spent the afternoon getting him all liquored up and tried to hijack him and take him to -- of all things -- a GRATEFUL DEAD show. Ugh!
So, he shows up in his Dad's giant car, and proceeds to try to put my bike in the trunk, almost destroying it in the process, and I said, "maybe I'll drive". He had free tickets to Edward Scissorhands, so we went, but of course we both knew EVERYONE there (he worked at the local hipster record store, I worked at one of the only good nightclubs), and I was completely mortified, since he was not a smooth drunk.
By that point, I was just enduring the date, trying to survive until the end, at which point I would be able to furtively avoid him in the hallways the way I did any number of other guys. But in the middle of the movie, when Anthony Michael Hall said, "I'd give my left nut to see that", something happened...future hubby yelled out, "Your left one?!" apropos of nothing, and the front four rows whipped around to see the heckler. At that point, I was hooked.
So, that's the adorable and completely illogical story of our early attraction to one another. Inexplicable, no? Why ask why?
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