Fine Art by Virginia Erdie

2012-02-14T07:57:00.001-08:00

New Work

2012-02-05T07:55:00.001-08:00

New Work

2012-02-05T07:50:00.001-08:00

New Work

2012-02-05T07:44:00.000-08:00

2011-11-10T18:34:00.001-08:00

Stepping off of the canvas slowly...evolving into 3-D. I am a tiny creature, but size is relative.

2011-10-30T15:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the very same people who cannot be cohesive during times of ordinary living can be the very same people who can be extremely cohesive during times of extraordinary living. The human psyche is unpredictable.

2011-10-06T07:10:00.001-07:00

2011-10-06T07:02:00.001-07:00

2011-09-30T19:31:00.001-07:00

2011-09-30T19:30:00.001-07:00

2011-09-05T08:38:00.003-07:00

2011-09-05T08:38:00.001-07:00

2011-09-02T13:36:00.001-07:00

2011-09-02T13:35:00.001-07:00

2011-09-02T13:33:00.001-07:00

2011-09-02T13:32:00.001-07:00

2011-09-02T13:31:00.003-07:00

2011-09-02T13:31:00.001-07:00

2011-09-02T13:30:00.001-07:00

2011-09-02T13:25:00.001-07:00

2011-09-02T13:20:00.001-07:00

Jack Art Gallery - Interview with Virginia Erdie

2011-08-12T09:07:00.000-07:00

City Link - ArtMurmur

2011-08-12T08:31:00.000-07:00

City of Hollywood Stifles Entrapreneurship

2011-08-02T07:16:00.000-07:00

I wanted to clarify for myself today that the City of Hollywood DOES encourage private residents to buy a Business License/Occupational License for your home. You are not, however, allowed to utilize this for any purposes other than fax and phone. As an artist, I can buy the license, but I cannot create anything in the home that I hope to send to galleries to sell. I went over and over this with the person on the phone to be certain that this was the intent. I asked her if she ever made anything at home and she said, "No.". I asked her if she ever made pies or cooked and she said, "I don't have time."

I consider this to be fascist and I am looking for a higher level to voice my complaint. If anyone has any helpful feedback, please let me know. I have never heard of a city that encourages the purchase of tax licenses that cannot be utilized. They say you can't fight City Hall, but I'm thinking they are not Gods who dictate when I can make something in my house.

Studio 18 - Miami Herald

2011-07-24T06:43:00.000-07:00

http://www.miamiherald.com/2011/07/24/v-print/2324362/studio-18-in-pembroke-pines-offers.html

2011-07-13T07:07:00.000-07:00

Simultaneous, Infinite Realities

2011-01-11T08:38:00.000-08:00

Holograms can be cut into an infinite number of pieces and each piece will maintain all of the elements/pieces of the "original".

Photons are known to exist in more than one place at a time. We are comprised of photons. Parallel realities exist side by side of another reality, taking into consideration that our photons are in more than one place at a time.

As a hologram can be cut into an infinite number of pieces, each piece retaining the original qualities before it, so can our individual realities and the collective reality be many and infinite. Example: You wake up in Chicago and go to a cafe for breakfast. Another you has not been born yet. These examples are not my own. My example would be, in another reality the land masses have not separated and there is not need for different world powers or war.

Fractal measurements are the human method of measuring that is also infinite. They are used to measure the crevices and irregular shapes of the shorelines...or never-ending corners of the Universe? In the fractal world, there seems to be nothing that is the "smallest" and nothing that is "the largest".

Infinite, simultaneous realities: As a hologram can be cut into an infinite number of pieces, each piece retaining the quality of the "original", so does our reality contain an infinite number of existences that are bigger and smaller but of the same content. Unfortunately, our brains are not programmed to interpret anything outside of what we see in this reality. Yet, I think if we stretch our "minds" to think outside of our brains, we could see beyond this reality.

Is there an almighty power manipulating us to only see what they want us to see, keeping the truth a secret? I believe that if we could stretch our minds to think beyond and if we didn't have to spend most of this living reality surviving and doing stupid stuff like creating reasons for war and poverty, we could break out of the matrix.

How do Cities Evolve?

2010-12-02T13:08:00.000-08:00

Every City has is corruptness but usually there is something good for the people in return. I see very little for the good of the people in Hollywood, Florida so far. Hollywood will never evolve as long as money is thrown to tourists only. By that I mean that to attract true residents who want to live and evolve in a City you have to put some effort and thought into the neighborhoods - there is little thought put into neighborhoods here. I'm a professional artist who wants to paint a simple mural and beautify the neighborhood and they want over $1000 from me to present to some Design Review Board but no one will tell me how that money is actually spent - especially since my design is posted for the entire world to see:

Here's our house on the slummy, drug-infested alley:

http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/broward/holl...

And here is my simple sketch posted for all to see, that they want over $1000 just to look at in person:

http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/broward/holl...

Believe me, it doesn't stop here. I will do what I have to make downtown Hollywood a liveable place.

Murals discouraged in Hollywood Florida

2010-11-25T15:39:00.001-08:00

Sun Sentinel - Hollywood Florida bans murals

2010-11-25T15:37:00.000-08:00

City of Hollywood, Florida, bans creativity

2010-11-25T15:36:00.000-08:00

Like-minded minds

2010-10-08T11:28:00.000-07:00

Normal

2010-09-19T06:38:00.000-07:00

I was an art therapist for the criminally insane and schizophrenic population for 6 years. In my opinion, there is no such thing as a normal person. The DSM makes up guidelines pertaining to one's successful ability to function in society as being normal; but society is insane.

So I hung up my therapist's hat and now paint from my unconscious and my experiences in this reality.

Palm Paint & Hardware

2010-08-29T08:46:00.000-07:00

Does anyone remember the local hardware store? Palm Paint & Hardware, located at 501 S. 21st Avenue in Hollywood, Florida (corner of Monroe Street & Dixie Highway) provides such a nostalgic journey for those who remember shopping at the independent hardware stores when they were young.

Steve, the owner, is always there and is a very interesting guy who is well informed on most every topic. He supports his local neighborhood and even shows some of the local's artwork. I have a few smaller paintings there myself, on which I have incorporated some the the store's hardware to make mixed media artwork.

So stop in at Palm Paint & Hardware and talk to Steve and support your independent businesses.

Shed Vac SCAM

2010-08-26T09:53:00.000-07:00

Shed Vac called me to confirm my order and told me I had won $100 in gas coupons and was eligible for another program. I declined the latter but wanted the first offer. I was told there were no obligations and that I would be transferred to a "Quality Assurance" person to make sure I was happy with the way my phone call had been handled. He told me congratulations on ordering the Shed Vac and asked for my credit card number. I asked why he needed that number again, as I had already disclosed it when I purchased the Shed Vac. He proceeded to bullshit me and tell me that I could not receive my Shed Vac unless I disclosed the information again. When I confronted him again about not wanting to give him my info, he told me I would no longer receive the $100 gas coupon.

Clearly a scam and I am posting for other possible suckers...beware.

I wrote to the BBB but Shed Vac's reply was bullshit also, so I will make their scam known on the Internet.

Crazy and Mean

2010-05-13T15:47:00.000-07:00

When I was younger I was told that women who go through menopause are kind of crazy and mean because their hormones change. Being post-menopausal, I have concluded that the reason women are so crazy and mean during menopause is that a part of their brain that has never functioned properly before is activated - the part that makes them realize what the truth is about reality...that all the pretty fairy princess stories they were told when they were younger are not true.

When they realize and accept the big illusion, they get very angry at the deception of having lived a lie. To keep their sanity, they must make their own fairy tale come true by acknowledging the truth about life and creating a fantasy world of their own all over again.

GPS

2010-05-10T12:36:00.000-07:00

For decades I have driven around lost, expending much of my energy and crying whilst lost in areas untravelled by "outsiders".

I was diagnosed by a psychologist back in the early 1990's as having a learning disability pertaining to my sense of direction. I worked with him as an art therapist with the criminally insane. Go figure.

I remember driving from my hometown in WV to The Maryland Institute, College of Art in Baltimore in my little Pinto hatchback painted baby-poo green with a roller brush. I drove straight down Mt. Royal Avenue and into a gas station, asking the attendant (they had attendants back then) where is MICA? He pointed directly across the street. It is a huge building and I felt only a moron could not have seen it whilst driving by.

I digress.

This year a good friend of my husband's purchased for us a GPS to show his thanks for our hospitality during his and his son's stay as our guests in our house in Florida. I read the manual 3 times and finally figured out how to put the thing in the cradle. After taking the same route to work for 3 years, I discovered this morning, via the GPS, that there was a faster route to work and arrived about 10 minutes earlier than usual. The Catch 22 is that my car is not used to that freeway driving anymore and the front wheel wobbles horribly when tryng to brake at that speed.

Can I still remain humble now that I own a GPS? What happens after over 30 years of driving around lost...I can now depend on technology to find my destination? Does that mean that I don't have to leave at least 1/2 early anymore to arrive at my destination? Is this too much for my ego to handle?

I really wish the GPS lady would speak up a bit so that I can listen to my 8-track tapes in the morning (kidding).

Average or Warrior?

2010-03-13T08:57:00.000-08:00

An average man cares that things are either true or false, but a warrior doesn't...Carlos Castaneda "Journey to Ixtlan".

Be Yourself

2010-03-02T12:41:00.001-08:00

I tend to be who I am regardless of to whom I speak because I am too fatigued to juggle being more than one person at a time!

A hole

2010-02-23T14:54:00.000-08:00

How can I assist you in your constant endeavor to not be an "A" hole. I'm here to please.

Stopping the World

2010-02-21T13:41:00.000-08:00

Don Juan stated that in order to arrive at "seeing" one first had to "stop the world."....:one had to learn the new description in a total sense, for the purpose of pitting it against the old one, and in that way break the dogmatic certainty, which we all share, that the validity of our perceptions, or our reality of the world, is not to be questioned...

...after "stopping the world", the next step was "seeing"...By that don Juan meant what I would like to categorize as "responding to the perceptual solicitations of a world outside the description we have learned to call reality.

Journey to Ixtlan
The Lessons of Don Juan
Carlos Castaneda

Does Memory Reside Outside the Brain? By Leonardo Vintiñi

2010-02-03T11:54:00.000-08:00

"...the brain is just a decoder..."

Nature's Mind: the Quantum Hologram: Edgar Mitchell, Sc.D.

2010-02-03T11:49:00.000-08:00

"...ubiquitous appearance in nature across distances, scale sizes and species, of similar processes, organs and sensory systems. This certainly conforms with the fractal geometry of chaos theory..."

http://www.edmitchellapollo14.com/naturearticle.htm

Kitschy

2010-01-31T16:44:00.000-08:00

I always admire artists who are so good at depicting this reality in such a realistic/surrealistic/kitschy manner! I never had the attention span nor the patience nor the interest to paint reality or an interpretation of it, outside of art school, where it was required. But I always admired the focus and skill of the real painter. I am not a "real" painter; I am not a surreal painter; I am an "other-worldly" painter.

Reality

2010-01-10T14:24:00.000-08:00

I think this reality thing is really starting to wear on me.

War

2010-01-08T12:45:00.000-08:00

"A democracy which makes or even effectively prepares for modern, scientific war must necessarily cease to be democratic. No country can be really well prepared for modern war unless it is governed by a tyrant, at the head of a highly trained and perfectly obedient bureaucracy."

...Aldous Huxley

Chase that WaMu Money

2009-12-29T11:18:00.000-08:00

I got a letter dated Dec. 25, 2009, from Chase, announcing that I had until March 2010 "...to claim or arrange to continue [my] account(s) with Chase..."

I had just received a statement from Washington Mutual the week before, with my usual $8.42 balance, which I had been unable to close.

When I went to the bank to close out my account with Chase and take my piddly $8.42, I was told that Chase had already taken that money for their service fees.

Folks...it is only $8.42...but it is the principal that counts here. Why did I not receive a statement from Chase asking me to collect my money before they took it? Is it a lack of communication between Chase and its former Washington Mutual customers, or is Chase CLEANING UP during this transition because they do not inform WaMu customers properly?

If their letter to me states, "...According to federal law under 12 U.S.C. 1822(e), on March 25, 2010, Chase must transfer the funds in your account(s) back to the FDIC if you have not claimed your account(s) with Chase. Based on the records recently supplied to us by Chase, your account(s) currently fall into this category..."

"...This letter is your formal Legal Notice that you have until March 25, 2010, to claim or arrange to continue account(s) with Chase..."

Does it not read as though the customer has until March 25, 2010 to claim their monies? How much money has Chase claimed from Washington Mutual customers to date because they were not properly informed about losing their balance to service fees in a timely fashion?

Ownership

2009-11-17T11:17:00.001-08:00

Since we now own our own home...a triplex actually...I wondered if I would feel differently about things. I wondered if I would feel pride and status in ownership.

I feel no differently about my own home than I did my own apartment because we don't really ever "own" anything. All of the property and land disputes dating back centuries and centuries were based on the ludicrous notion that anything can be owned. If there's any ownership at all, Mother Earth owns all of us. Our delusions that we can buy land and other things and that those things belong to us has caused so many ruthless, pointless wars and fights.

I do feel pride in that I am allowed to paint the walls my color and that the only one who can throw me out of my home now is the bank, who also thinks that they "own" my home.

Ownership is null and void.

Satisfying our Insecurities

2009-11-16T11:12:00.000-08:00

It's better to know little or nothing at all about why we are here, where we came from and other things about this existence, than it is to pretend we know something and make up some doctrine or religion that we manipulate through the centuries to satisfy our own insecurities.

Stating the Obvious

2009-10-16T18:09:00.000-07:00

"Sometimes the obvious needs to be spoken out loud to rejuvenate the dying souls of the herd."

The Meaning of Life

2009-10-09T19:13:00.001-07:00

I am very afraid of bees and wasps because I was stung badly as a child when my father, brother and I happend upon a huge nest.

Last week at the pool there were several bees flying into the pool and stinging people. I learned later that the apartment complex hired someone to tear down a bee nest and that there were some angry bees looking for their home, and I equated it with how the Indians must have felt (and any other indiginous peoples) when they were murdered, raped and deprived of their homeland - angry and stinging like a bee.

So today I went swimming in the pool and saw a drowning bee. I put it on a leaf after much apprehension that it would fly back and sting me. I thought about it a lot, as I often think too much, and about how I should not discriminate just because it may fly back and sting me.

I watched it as it regained its composure and started to move around a bit. Then it suddenly turned over on its back and died.

Speculation

2009-08-15T17:06:00.000-07:00

It's all speculation anyway. Whether there is a heaven or a hell...whether we should eat only meat or plants...whether there are other realities that exist simultaneously with ours...whether global warming will kill off humans thereby making the planet more hospitable to less hostile creatures (or more hostile creatures)...whether anything at all can be taken at face value...it's all speculation anyway.

ArtSlant comment by Diane Leon

2009-08-15T17:04:00.000-07:00

Dear Virginia, I read your statement on The Mind of the Artist and looked at your profile. I love your work because it is definitely not part of the herd. Your art is unique. Glad you now have the strength to call yourself and artist and live according to your own dreams, goals and feelings. I think being an artist and living true to yourself makes you whole. It is the driving force in my life and thank God I have never considered myself a part of the herd in a way that it made me feel restricted or not myself. Life is too short and the one thing I have learned all my life is to be true to myself, surround myself with people who understand and nurture what I do and always make the time for my work. I have seen so many students create and a few years after they graduate no longer do their art with the passion they originally had. Those are the people who have joined the herd. Creating is not about being the next 'art star' or making a ton of money. It must be something you need to do or else you don't feel complete. Virginia, are you still working in art therapy? I have been teaching at NYU since 1995 and hold a full time job at NYU as an administrator. I do what has to be done at the day job, but my office looks like a gallery and I still paint 4 nights a week and all weekend. I refuse to have outside forces ruin what is so important to me. Stick to what you love and your own holistic ideas. It's your life and you are responsible for the happiness you can attain. Go for it. diane

Artist's Statement

2009-08-05T16:33:00.000-07:00

I do art partly for my own therapy because my unconscious mind is insisting that I try to capture that which cannot be interpreted by the brain onto wood or canvas. Each piece starts out with a frantic little sketch that is burned into my minds view (the third eye).

For all the art that I do, I cannot say any of it has been done with a preconceived notion. I do not trust my brain to make wise decisions - only my mind...the unconscious. My brain ruins everything...says the wrong things, makes the wrong decisions, makes the wrong interpretations. My mind (as all humans) is connected to something greater and more intelligent.

My brain is jealous of my mind. My brain tries to create the same pure, intelligent scenario on canvas as my unconscious mind but it cannot. So I do not paint portraits or anything else which our brains interpret in this reality - they bore my mind to tears.

I do have a portfolio of life drawings and reality drawings somewhere in my brother's house in West Virginia. The Maryland Institute, College of Art taught me realism but mostly creative, intelligent art. The The School of the Art Institute of Chicago gave me that raw, direct edge, I think. Sometimes there's a little folk in my art from my West Virginia upbringing. London taught me subtle humor and a little sophistication, though I would have done well to live there a little longer.

I think the unconscious mind and the brain are much like oil and water - existing in the same reality but their physical properties incompatible.

I struggle to understand that which cannot be understood.

Scapegoat or Martyr

2009-07-30T10:23:00.000-07:00

Scapegoat or Martyr....that is the question.

Whether tis nobler to be a free thinker and be resented by the herd, thereby becoming the receptacle for all their insecurities and darkness; or to be a dead free thinker, thereby a hero/heroine to the same herd.

Get It?

2009-07-26T18:50:00.000-07:00

You know what I don't get?

It's that, when I initially don't "get" something, it's a sure sign that its extremely imperative that I need to "get" it...yesterday.

The Collective Unconscious

2009-07-18T07:40:00.001-07:00

Well put about the challenges...and if you observe and pay attention, you can really see each of those challenges.

Take fractal measurements; it is a form of measurement that they use to measure stuff like the circumference of a shoreline...that shoreline's circumference contains so many cracks and crevices that it cannot be measured with a straight line. The fractals are infinite.

We cannot measure things - we only make up our own rules to edify our own egos and false sense of security. The way this entire planet is run is based on rules made up over centuries. These rules have gotten more and more ludicrous as time goes on. But we have progressed enough to know that the Earth is not flat - other than that, our brains cannot evolve enough to move from that one perfect moment of realization to the next without causing some kind of meltdown (i.e. how can the Earth possibly be round - I just cannot believe that!).

So I guess if you "train your brain" more and more every day, you can gt outside of the collective unconscious and break out of the herd - but don't draw too much attention to yourself unless you are an artist.

That's what is great about being an artist. It's like a license to think outside of the herd!

My Thoughts for Peace

2009-07-15T11:19:00.000-07:00

Thoughts for Peace

I wonder if humans have always been war mongers? A lot of humans really don't want war but those in power keep it going for some reason. Without sounding paranoid, I feel that those in power who want war have a few issues going on...they are afraid of their own darkness and project that onto their "enemies".

These enemies are really the enemies within us that we cannot own as our own selves, so we make someone else the scapegoat by making them look like the bad guy, creating unnecessary wars. Also, there is a lot of money to be made in war, so it is important for the war mongers to keep the general societies angry and disillusioned so that they will support the war. The fact that, in America, the only way an average citizen can afford to go to college is to join some part of the organized army/navy/marines, etc., is also evident that those in power have manipulated the system so that they are sure to always have their puppets who will die for their own misguided darkness and greed.

How do we break through the collective unconscious to expose the propaganda so that the long-learned rituals will end?

The only way I can perceive any enlightenment is through the arts. Here is where all the "weirdos" hang out and produce the stuff that we Americans are so lucky to have the freedom to pursue. We are "weirdos" because we are not part of the collective unconscious. Many of us work in the mainstream to afford our art, and we try to maintain a low profile and not be affected by the mundaneness and propaganda that takes place in the organized "herd". A few of us make art that is not pertinent to our individual evolution but caters to the "herd" for marketing...hopefully we keep our own souls intact while doing so and produce innovative art that will enlighten others. Others of us hit it lucky and find a great agent or gallery that can sell our work so that it gets out there and possibly has some positive effect on the "herd", allowing them to throw aside their preconceived ideas that perpetuate war and violence.

The balance of the artistic achievement in the "fight" against war may sometimes seem way off, but sometimes it is the weight of one imperative, original idea from the artist that can offset the weight of the shallow, limited ideas of the "herd".

Western Philosophy

2009-07-12T15:56:00.000-07:00

Western Ideology - you have to admit - it's a melting pot of ambiguity.

Gravity

2009-07-10T18:53:00.000-07:00

Let's get rid of this gravity thing...it's starting to weigh me down...get it?

The Magic Tree

2009-07-06T16:22:00.000-07:00

The Magic Tree

There's a tree outside my balcony that I have always thought special. You see, I've lived here for over 7 years; longer than I have lived anywhere since leaving home over 25 years ago. That tree has morning doves and squirrels and all the typical kinds of life of a South Florida tree.

The reason the tree outside my balcony is a "magic tree" evolved like this:

About a decade ago I was squandering about on Miami Beach, where I lived, having fun and whooping it up at the local bars. One night I was at a particular local dive bar with a so called "friend". I guess she thought some guys at the bar should hook up with me (she wanted to be alone with her pirate guy) so she told them my name. We were all sitting at the bar and these guys kept saying my name "Virginia....Virginia...Virginia". Each time I turned around, they just said "Hi" and didn't really have anything of interest to say.

Later that evening my "friend" wanted to be alone in my apartment. She recommended that I phone up the guy at the bar who was interested in me. He had put his cell phone number on my phone so I did call him up. He said to come downstairs and meet him; he would be waiting outside in his car. I felt especially weird...things were slowing down considerably and I really only remember leaving my apartment to go meet him outside but nothing else until the next morning when I put my key into the apartment and opened the door. My "friend" was there with her pirate guy and asked where I had been.

I went to the Police Station later that day because I noticed that I was completely bruised all over my body and the woman at the police station told me it appeared that I had been beaten up. I thought perhaps I had had too much to drink and had fallen down the stairs, but she said the bruises appeared to be inflicted by someone else.

So I called the cell phone of the guy with whom I was supposed to meet but he hung up and that cell phone number was no longer available after that. It then occurred to me that he had probably drugged my drink in hopes to rape me.

I was having horrible nightmares so I went to a shrink, who gave me Seroquil, a drug used for many purposes, one of which is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I did, in fact, remember a significant part of that experience in a dream where I was struggling to get free of this man in his car. In the dream I remember telling him that he could not rape me please because I had inside of me a tampon. I remember (in the dream/reality/repressed memory) him telling me that it didn't matter to him about the tampon and that he didn't care that it was still inside of me while he raped me. I dreamed that I was screaming so loudly that some people came over to the car...he must have let me go at that point, as there was no evidence on my body of rape - only of terrible bruises as if a struggle.

One night, after taking my Seroquil and while sleeping on my couch, I woke up and looked out at the tree outside my balcony. There were smiling faces in it. The faces did not disappear until well after I had been awake and had been staring outside the sliding glass doors for some time. They just faded away slowly, but they were very cool and I like them. I suppose it was an hallucination brought on by the Seroquil. They were spirits to protect me, living in the tree.

Ever since then, when I look at the tree outside my balcony, I feel the energy of something outside this tangential reality. I think the cats feel it too, for they love to go out onto the balcony and stare into the tree. This evening I noticed a huge dragonfly buzzing around. It hovered before me as if to say "hello". Dragonflies used to frighten me but I learned that you have to learn to recognize that what was initially appealing may be truly frightening, and what is frightening-looking may be an angel.

Koko Taylor

2009-06-06T17:14:00.000-07:00

As it turns out, Lexi Zehren performed with Koko Taylor in Chicago and I was there. She and I discussed it tonight. She and I discussed Koko, and that night when Koko asked Lexi to sing with her, though neither of us remember how or why she got up on the stage.

I'll never forget that night. Though Lexi and I don't remember at what club we were visiting that night, I do remember how my best friend --little, skinny Lexi -- got up on stage and wailed with Koko Taylor. Koko was so humble and inviting to the only 2 white girls who were so "ballsy" to come to that club. I remember that Lexi was so nervous but so had the passion and soul equivalent -- in some ways -- to do a duo with Koko.

And so a legend was created and will continue.

And so we honor and appreciate our icons and role models, as they shed light onto what and how we should conduct ourselves as carriers of the lantern for the wisdom of the artists' evolution.

Virginia Erdie
http://www.virginiaerdie.com

Life

2009-04-30T20:14:00.000-07:00

That's the thing about life, Wednesday, it just drags on relentlessly but in retrospect each day is jam-packed with interesting details.

Neurosis and the Minority Report

2009-03-20T10:41:00.000-07:00

I had a dream about Ruth last night. I worked with her 26 years ago at a utility company. She seemed to idolize me. I didn’t know why. I was so unhappy then. I didn’t know why.

I worked for this incredible woman, Alma, who was eons ahead of her time. I worked as a personnel records clerk, recording the statistics for the minority report. I saw everyone’s salaries – everything was very confidential, as you can imagine. I saw educated, experienced women making much less than men of equal stature. I saw the red dot on the minority report when a black person was hired and a quota was met.

Ruth and I ate lunch together often and she always commented about how she admired my trim figure. Oh, I was very trim indeed. It was after my father died and after my divorce. I was living on Birds Eye vegetables, scotch whiskey and one-night stands. I had lost a lot of weight and my menstrual cycle had stopped. I worked a second job at night as a cocktail waitress, waiting on drug addicts that snorted cocaine with huge straws at my waitress station. Often the college kids would then go to the back (also my waitress station) and throw up. I got sick and was finally hospitalized. I asked for apples and soup and they gave me mashed potatoes and pecan pie. I had some neurological tests done, since one leg was an inch thinner than the other. I gained some weight after 10 days, my menstrual cycle resumed and I was released from the hospital.

I showed the neurology report to Alma. I knew would she would keep it confidential and she was so smart, too. She pointed out the word “neurosis”. I did not know the meaning of that word. It is common that a person does not know the meaning of a word that describes them succinctly. When studying the dictionary, I looked further to the word “neurotic” and began to understand my dilemma.

I left for art school soon after that.

I finally get it. I wish I could talk to Alma – maybe I should look up Ruth and give her a call.

The Trip Home From Baltimore

2009-03-18T13:06:00.000-07:00

I made very few trips home from art school in the 80’s, partly because I really didn’t want to go home and partly because my pinto hatchback could hardly make it home each time I took the 4-1/2 hour drive.

I am recollecting one particular trip home from The Maryland Institute, College of Art, driving home in the ice and snow through the Appalachian Mountains. The roads were cut into the sides of the hills and they curved around the mountain. Elevation levels varied greatly and oxygen levels waxed and waned, as well as the ability of the 4 cylinder hatchback to make it up and down the hills.

On this particular evening, it was very dark, very foggy and my night vision was limited due to the fact that the Pinto had one headlight, no heater and the windshield wipers didn’t work. I had tied the muffler on at a previous point, so the car was vibrating wildly.

Digressing, I tell you that on the previous trip home, my muffler fell off and I stopped alongside the road, grabbing a coat hanger to twist around the pipe and the muffler. A nice gentleman stopped to help me – told me he was a Chaplain. I was still sitting inside the car and suddenly got creeped out by some bad karma. I told him “thanks anyway” and he tried to get into the car. I drove off, him still holding the car door handle, dragging him along a little ways.

Back to the trip home, I could see nothing ahead of me and the roads were curving sharply so I became some kind of intuitive machine, following only the reflectors on the edge of the highway, knowing that the drop-off of the edge of the mountain was infinite. I could see my own breath since the heater was broken. The steering wheel was rattling and vibrating. When another car approached I slowed way down and hoped for the best. It was a 5-1/2 hour trip that night.

When I got home, my mother and her best friend were very angry that I was late. They were sitting at the small kitchen table at the house that my father had built. He was not there anymore, having passed away before the kitchen cabinets could be completed. My mother and her friend finally calmed down and asked me, "How was the trip?"

"Oh, it was fine." I said as my clattering teeth forced out the words.

2009-03-14T11:04:00.000-07:00

The Mind of an Artist

An artist is born with a particular kind of mind, a mind that thinks outside the box…not just some of the time - most of the time. They are not given to the occasional “ah-ha” that many people experience when their defensive armor accidentally falls off for a moment and they are able to experience something outside the “norm”. They are given to constant “ah-ha’s” and yet somehow try to focus on the here and now and think inside the box so that they can make enough money to survive in this physical reality.

Many artists barely survive and are true to their calling, giving in to their real identities and living on ideas solely. I felt a neurosis to “fit in” the herd and be “normal” and so pretended much of my younger life to be a “normal” person. I never felt normal and anything that I thought about or talked about was seen as “she has such an imagination, that one”, as though that was a bad thing. So I tried to keep quiet and do all the stupid pet tricks and go along with what the herd was discussing. I felt more and more “different” as time went on and eventually could deny who I was no longer. I “came out of the closet as an artist”, so to speak.

I may still appear normal (I don’t know – do I?) these days but I am admitting to my true identity as an artist and embracing it now. Though you may not see me standing outside in the war protest groups or spending time with activists groups (they can be herd-like too), you will see my own signature on expressing my futuristic, spiritual, mind-bending ideas in my artwork, which I exhibit only in the most creative and holistic venues – venues without pretension – that are not making breaking news by mimicking some idol or fleeting idea of the “herd”.

Business As Usual

2009-03-14T09:12:00.000-07:00

Hollywood Animal Hospital CEO, Dr. Larry Gene Dee, refuses treatment - business as usual.

Hollywood Animal Hospital, in my opinion, has some of the finest veterinarians/doctors in South Florida. It is a very busy, popular animal hospital. I hear that the Hollywood Police take their police dogs there for treatment. The veterinarians, technicians and other employees of this facility are very caring and thorough in their care. Unfortunately, the financial policies of the hospital are unethical.

I took my cat there just recently, and after spending $1400 was told there was no apparent cause for my cat’s refusal to eat. Many tests were run and many medications prescribed and administered with no improvement. As disheartening as that was, it was more disheartening to learn that I had run out of money and all further treatment would be refused, such as the life-sustaining food tube that could get my cat back to health by providing the necessary nutrients.

After giving the vet an earful about how I felt about the refusal of treatment after I had already provided them with $1400 for services rendered, I apologized for displacing my anger onto her and decided to write about it, since that may be the only way to expose the unethical policies of these so called animal “hospitals”.

I asked the vet how she would feel if she was “refused treatment” by a hospital. Evidently the CEO of Hollywood Animal Hospital, Dr. Larry Gene Dee, sees his facility as a “business” and not a “hospital” (I could have sworn I saw the word HOSPITAL in the title of their “business”). I wonder how Lucille Dee, Dr. C. E. Dee, and Dr. I. C. Frederickson, original founders of the hospital in 1947, would feel about the fact their animal hospital is now turning away those who cannot afford to pay the entire thousands of dollars up front, forcing the pet owners to take their pets home to die. I was referred to Care Credit, which is basically a credit card that charges you interest – so you end up paying the phenomenal amount for treatment without diagnosis plus the exorbitant interest. As I stated to the vet, “I’m not buying a car or house, so why am I paying interest? Since when did health care services rack up interest like the purchase of a car or a mortgage?”

Business as Usual.

Time

2009-02-19T18:22:00.000-08:00

Time just keeps on re-writing itself.

Grow Up

2009-02-16T09:18:00.000-08:00

"Grown-ups" aren't necessarily wise - we should "grow wise", not "grow up". Actually, the larger they are, the harder they fall. The "bigger" someone thinks they are, the harder is the fall when they are brought to their knees by truths larger than themselves.

Nothing

2009-02-13T16:25:00.001-08:00

It's not that I think nothing (everything) matters; it's just that I think matter is really nothing (everything).

Slumdog Millionaire

2009-02-08T14:54:00.000-08:00

It's not about the love story as much as it is about the things that happen before the happy ending.

Choices

2009-02-08T13:59:00.000-08:00

Life treats everyone differently, and the manner in which we choose to conduct ourselves varies greatly also.

Woe is Me

2009-01-16T18:29:00.001-08:00

Ah! Woe is me! To be ahead of time without any knowledge!

If Trees Could Talk

2008-12-21T05:26:00.000-08:00

If Trees Could Talk, they'd probably tell us a thing or two.

Capitalism Today

2008-12-19T04:08:00.000-08:00

"...I'd gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today..."

Rebelling Against My Own Ignorance and Fear of Money

2008-12-08T10:07:00.000-08:00

My whole life I was told, "When in Rome do as the Romans do" and, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em".

Such oppressive advice....always insisting on conformity which compromises the mind and soul. I always thought money was evil and have spent decades hating what it does to people and what happens to people who don't have it; therefore I have none.

The government can no longer give you a comfortable retirement or even health care benefits. "Currency" is no longer backed by anything.

My saying today is, "If you can't join 'em, beat 'em". If the rich control all the rules and won't let you join their club, educate yourself and break the code. There are loopholes that are not considered white collar crime - find them and outsmart them.

When you break the code and crash the rich club's party, you can make your own money and you can contribute it to charities and other just causes, and the so called "trickle-down effect" might actually happen.

Symmetry

2008-11-21T11:05:00.000-08:00

Symmetry sucks and symbolizes severe insecurities among the stooooopid...

...only in nature is it pure and interesting.

Belden – Xanax and My Crush

2008-10-18T19:08:00.000-07:00

I had finally found a job with my Master's degree in Art Therapy. Beggars can’t be choosers so I got stuck working with the criminally insane…sex offenders, murderers, pedophiles and all the misfits who were not capable of fitting into the grid of a “normal” society because part of their minds were tuned into a different station (like me). I drove into the city every weekend from my boring, suburban ranch house rental to join the night of the living.

I spent many weekends at that loft space, perhaps due to an anti-anxiety medication I was taking to get over a physically abusive boyfriend who was stalking me (luckily he did not have a car and I could outrun him). The medication sure did loosen me up a bit. I came out of my reclusive, depressed state and flowered into a hot socialite. Wow! I had been missing all of this action all the time! I couldn’t believe how exciting life had now become! And I was getting so skinny, running on empty and sucking up the Chicago urban life.

I had a huge crush on this short boy who was a genius. I used to go to the open mic nights at Estelle’s in Wicker Park and listen to him play guitar and sing. Once in a while he really nailed it and sounded pretty good too. His mother was this manipulative, controlling and emotionally abusive woman whose husband had left her in the 60’s for heroin. My friends couldn’t figure out my attraction to him and they were correct in the end - you know how it goes…can’t see reality for the clouds. He also lived at the Belden loft space. He lived in his own little world and I wanted to intrude. The other loft mates had a hard time with him because he didn’t pay the rent and used the only bathtub as a sink, which was always filled with dirty dishes. His part of the loft kept piling up higher and higher with “stuff” that he found on the street. Sometimes he would find a hooker on the street and bring her home – he had such a huge heart. He had rigged up this swing from the ceiling of the loft and it was so much fun to swing with him…like I was floating on air; except when it broke and we crashed….always crash and burn! He would never give me his heart because of “old girl”, who I guess was a girl he had a few dates with who wouldn’t give him the time of day. That’s how it was then – Jack loved Jill who loved Dave who loved Jill but loved heroin more and all that.

I guess when short boy was pining away for old girl and crushing on prostitute, I decided that I did not, after all, have any special hold on him so I finally let go and went looking for another “wounded soldier” as my brother would say.

Belden – Diamond in the Rough and Lou-Lou

2008-10-18T19:06:00.000-07:00

I was so skinny and wild then; just out of art school during the recession, when art therapists were not appreciated (still are not). I bartended 4:00 a.m. bars and went out partying at 6:00a.m. bars after work with the gang….can you say, “Jagermeister”? I didn’t eat and couldn’t get food stamps because I was white. I was always living on the edge, looking for excitement and denying reality (still do, the latter).

He was the most gorgeous guy living in that loft building in Chicago. His eyes were almond shaped, emerald green, and he was tall and thin and so sure of himself. He wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone…he was an outlaw. I guess I turned to him because of all of that and because he was the only one who was mostly sober; and he was crazy about me or perhaps competing for attention because I crushed on two other guys there who never paid any attention to me. All of the others in the building were hooked on heroin or crack. Even my best friend, who was a fabulous photographer, didn’t come out of her room for days while doing heroin, playing the Cheryl Crow CD over and over and over - that kind of put a damper on our best friendship.

The usual Friday and Saturday evenings would find about 10 of us sitting on the rooftop of the Belden loft building, which was inhabited by mostly artists and musicians in preparation for the yuppies that were soon to throw us out and do some rehab on the building. There were so many starry nights with kick-ass music being played by real musicians. There were real artists there…myself included…talking about philosophy and life and death and love. Sometimes the girls would sit around the long table and smoke dope and do shots and talk about their issues and their lives. Though I didn’t partake of most of their drugs, I did drink (my grandfather being American Indian and all and I being a bartender and a certified soak), but I figured I would never make it back from any kind of hallucinogenic drug trip so I did very selective choices and experiments with the popular drugs.

One night, while my “diamond-in-the-rough” boyfriend and I were trying to sleep while everyone else was up “cracking”, playing loud music and acting like what they had to say was so important, Lou-Lou, the bipolar girl, came downstairs naked and said, “Who’s next for a B-J? I need some crack”. I loved that she was so honest. I used to go out with her because she was so gorgeous and had all the guys around buying us drinks. I stopped doing that after she “borrowed” my leather jacket with my car keys one night and disappeared – with my car - for a few days. Anyway, one night Lou-Lou slid onto the couch with me, naked. She professed her love to me. I was flattered and tried to let her down easily. I felt bad for her. Immediately afterwards, she slid into bed with my rough boy and begged him to have sex. He was a rough boy but was very gentle then, picking her up while she was kicking and screaming, and physically removing her from the loft. She stood outside the door, banging, screaming and kicking for about 15 minutes but probably was off to greener pastures soon after.

Tank Girl (Afterthoughts)

2008-10-05T07:17:00.000-07:00

Thankfully I was ignorant of my own fear; that's the only way I accomplished anything in the early 90's. I was the dark-haired girl with low self esteem that Lori Petty beat into sensibility with her ignorant brevity. "Lexi Quay" showed me all there was to know about Chicago City Proper and it's rich and dangerous ways...famous musicians,underground smart bars, penthouse S & M clubs. I showed her all about the oppressed neighborhoods where I lived and bartended after graduate school (during the recession), and introduced her to my gang-banger boyfriends and shiftless boys who liked to beat on women. She was the icon for courage and the metaphor for emotions. I was the icon for the stereotype of the starving artist, sacrificing any remnants of normality and comfort in the pursuit of the meaning of reality. We drove around town in my baby-poo, green hatchback Pinto to all the finest nightclubs. We usually came away in a fine limo with "wanna-be's" who threw us out for drinking their fine champagggggnee. She was from an "upper-class" background, dying for a breath of fresh air from the mundane, and I was from a farming and now starving-artist background, seeking sanctity in the Magnificent Mile. It was a match made in heaven. Why did we not pursue the path? Perhaps too many nights begging for the Pinto back from the local impound lot.

Regardless, Lexi and I have remained friends for decades and I'm still on that journey, trying to figure out the meaning of reality while she has since lived the American Dream of raising a brilliant child and managing a brilliant family...

Interestingly enough, my best friend from Chicago is back in the recording studio again,writing and producing music as though she never left her role in "Tank Girl" and I continue to make "fine" art, forever hoping to sell it to the kind of affluent folks who frequent the Magnificent Mile.

The Bail Out

2008-10-05T07:12:00.000-07:00

It's all monopoly money anyway...there's no gold to back it anymore...what makes gold so damned important anyway? It's a piece of the Earth that is shiny and glitzy. Someone decided that it could be used to determine wealth. But somewhere along the way things got out of control and the "Fat Cats" decided they no longer needed any valid "backup" for their wealthy existence. They kept printing up more monopoly money and have created another "recession".

A ludicrous illusion.

The Camp

2008-09-17T13:30:00.000-07:00

Love Shak Baby! The camp: swimming, frolicking, eating Maryland crabs on the pontoon boats while anchored in the shallow waters, corn on the cob, listening to 8-track tapes. All the kids, teenagers, adults, boating, water skiing, boyfriends, girlfriends, fishing, sunning, funning in general. This was the camp that my father built on the Tygart River long ago, where our family and friends spent every summer of the every year of my remembered childhood.

My brother and I learned to swim practically before walking. We learned to ride an innertube before skiing, but once we learned how to ski, we exhausted our little yellow motorboat and the skies and ski ropes. We skied all day long until there was no gas money for the boat.

Years and years of fun. Love shak, baby!

One day I finally mustered up the courage to slalom ski (ski on one ski). My dad drove the yellowbird and was so patient while I continually sank down into the water when my knees buckled at the tug of the boat. I finally got up on one ski when the top to my green-and-white polka dot bikini broke. I fell to the water, cursing and smacking the surface of the gentle river with my fists. My dad was sad for me but it was funny for all viewers of course.

That night while we were all in bed at the our new house that my dad had just finished, I heard my mom knock at the door and I knew. I don't know how but I knew. I knew that my dad was dying. He had a pacemaker and was doing so well with it for so many years that I had forgotten how vulnerable he was. We went into his room while he lay dying. We could not get in touch with the doctor, the ambulance had a power failure down the road...seemed like hours while he lay there, winking at me ever so often when I asked him if he was in pain. He told the three of us that he loved us and he said to me, "I'm worried about you"....little did he know or maybe he did know what a tumultuous journey I would have. Finally we could hear the paramedics shouting "Erdies!" down the road and they were on foot with the cot. Mom rode with dad in the ambulance and my brother and I rode in his car. He was almost out of gas and I wanted to scream at the gas station attendant (they had those back then), "You stupid moron! My father's dying! Move your fat ass!" Everything was in slow motion. Dad was gone when we got to the hospital, I guess, but it was so traumatic (he was only 51 years old) that I always get that part wrong.

When he died, I lost all my marbles for many decades (I was 19 going on 15 emotionally) but somehow managed to do a lot of interesting stuff. My life would never be the same...you know how the story goes...

But after all these years, I always hold the fondest memories of the camp.

Love shak, baby!

Thinking

2008-09-12T18:52:00.001-07:00

Humans make more sense when they aren't conscious of their thinking, don't you think?

2008-09-09T10:09:00.000-07:00

I understand that, not only do we create our own realities by calling a rose a rose and saying that it is red, we only see what our minds allow us to see. When one observes a shadow, the shadow may be shaped like the silhouette of a monster when it is really the light shining outdoors throwing the shadow of a tree limb onto our wall. When one observes this reality, we think we see solid forms of matter like houses, cars, people, but it is actually all fluid and constantly moving and changing. It is only our minds that interpret the fluidity in a certain way…and most human minds are geared in a similar fashion as to interpret shapes in a similar way. The schizophrenic person my see things that we do not see; we call them hallucinations because they are the only one experiencing their reality. Because their reality is different, we say it is not real.

I have been in a room with students who were over-worked, working very late one night, when a train went by a block away from the studio. Simultaneously, a car's headlights shone into the room, moving across the wall. The entire studio of students were frightented and shocked, thinking that the train was coming through the studio. This is a type of mass hallucination. Given the right "twist" in circumstances, the general audiences' reality can change.

The super hologram theory suggests that we may be part of a “projection” of some kind….like a movie or something. This is not to say that there is one God managing the movie or writing the story. This is to say that we are all writing the movie/story and projecting our images. If you divide a holographic image into billions of pieces, each piece supposedly contains the entire image. Each piece is a complete replica of the main image and, even though smaller, just as
complete. So what we observe is actually a smaller piece of the whole when our minds are observing. So everything is part of everything else. Everything is embedded into a larger whole and so on infinitely. Our minds interpret it in a specific way yet other types of minds could interpret it entirely differently. So that is why, if there are other beings or thinking life forms in other dimensions, they are not aware of us because they cannot see us. They cannot see us because their minds do not interpret us as being solid matter in the space in which they live. We are part of their dimension though and they are part of ours. They are us; we are they.

Memories are now known by some scientists to not be stored in any certain area of the brain and in fact they travel across the synapses of the brain much as an electrical impulse or a “projection” if you will. Let’s say I have a memory of something that happened to me long ago….did that "long ago" actually ever happen? Is our memory really based on something that happened to us in the past or is it a projection of our own story that we are writing constantly? What if there is really no past but only a storyline that we create every moment to validate our existence? We are only projections and our memories are projected by ourselves to create a story line. How can we project our own reality? Do we function separate from one another? How could I make up a story as sad as this one where people are suffering and dying and hurting? Am I solely making up the story or am I part of a conglomerate making up the story in this reality?

Starting with a world without boundaries would mean desegregating the countries and there would be no world leaders or countries or people in power. To do that one would have to encourage all others writing their stories to look outside of their reality and humans do not do that…it is not important to them…they do not question this reality because they have devised specific cults and gods and sciences that explain their reality. No one really knows what this reality is yet no one really cares….I find that odd.

So the next time you look at a red rose, think about the first time a human looked at this flower...did they call it "red"? Did they call it a "flower", or did they call it "ugh"? Beliefs are created by humans and these beliefs keep building and building until an entire story is created; the story continues as the masses write it. We each have our contribution, but be careful if you think "outside the universe"...people are not ready for that yet.

Whoops

2008-08-31T08:25:00.000-07:00

Why can't anyone just say, "Whoops", instead of passing the buck?

"Whoops" should be the international language for admitting to oneself and others that a mistake was made so that the mistake can be acknowledged, consequences (if any) dealt with, and everyone moves on.

This word can only be used with sincerity during moments when a true slip-up has occurred; not as an excuse for premeditated stupidity.

Universally Symbolic

2008-07-18T17:34:00.000-07:00

...the picture is only correct if it works upside down...

If we cannot understand the big picture as it exists from our limited observations, then we need to turn it upside down and get a different perspective. Chances are our original thoughts that created the picture are pure and any afterthoughts are baggage and must be discarded.

Composition on the canvas and of the psyche is a universal balance that can be turned upside down, right side up, backwards and whatever way you wish, and still make sense. It is prudent that we try to see all aspects of the big picture.

Mean and Meaningful

2008-06-07T07:42:00.000-07:00

There are 2 paths you can take if your spirit is broken. You can get mean or you can get meaningful. If you get meaningful, you are in for a long, arduous journey to maintain that state of being. You will go out of your way to try and understand your fellow human so that you can forgive them, thereby not imitating their unhealthy behaviors. If you go overboard, you become a selfless martyr, which you think is a good thing. You start robbing yourself of happiness and the riches of life so that you can accommodate everyone else. Pretty soon, everyone will expect you to sacrifice your soul so that they can project all their neediness onto you. You will become the "scapegoat" for the world. They will become more and more dependent on your selflessness.

If you get mean, you'll harsh everyone else's mellow. If you're the "meanie", you think you've simplified your life by protecting yourself from harms way...if you're mean first, then how can anyone hurt you? In fact, the "meanie" ends up expending way too much energy on protecting themselves from things that aren't even there much of the time. They're always on guard for that moment when they need to attack first. They often times end up the predator of the selfless martyr.

It's a codependent world.

Hologram or Technogram - Which are We?

2008-06-07T07:28:00.000-07:00

Do you remember what it was like before we were "techno-grams"? We were merely holograms...clones of other humans given a lifespark - a soul. We were only just then beginningto imitate life.

Technology is a fabulous thing...it provokes a type of evolution.

Having just watched VH1 - Led Zeppelin...do you remember the synchronicities of the band members as they put together a jammin' show that seemed disproportionately cool?

Do you think original art will ever be cool again? Will there ever be a unification of techonology and humans...or will we become the technology that we have developed?

I know....a boring and overdone subject; but what I am asking is, "Will the technogram draw upon the hologram?"

WE ARE AT WAR WITH OURSELVES

2008-06-06T19:26:00.000-07:00

We are at war with ourselves. We are at war with the different aspects of ourselves. Other aspects of ourselves are out there, experiencing different realities that could make us whole. These unconscious experiences threaten the illusion of our safe, mundane existence in this self-contained matrix we call existence. This seemingly safe existence is, in fact, a tragedy. It is a tragedy in that, while we are playing along with the rules of its existence, we are denying the other aspects of ourselves that might make it possible to live an integrated life.

Joey

2008-06-01T07:02:00.000-07:00

My mother's youngest sister had 3 boys; they were as different as night, day and pancakes. Joey, the youngest, was the most special. He was the most sensitive and had the most unusual sense of humor. He died in a car crash in his forties.

We were inseparable as children. One day while my family was visiting his family in town (we lived out on a farm, at least 45 minutes away), Joey and I decided to go on an adventurous journey through the neighborhood. No one noticed that we had left, since the grown-ups were indoors having a splendid time talking about things they thought were important. Joey and I visited all of his neighbors. One neighbor was an only child. He was rich and had a maid. We played with his toys until he started crying because he didn't like to share. We left and went to another neighbor's house, Jan, who made homemade snowcones and we marveled at the different colors even though they all tasted the same - pure sugar. All revved up from the sugar, we journeyed along to many places, having much fun.

When we returned, the grown-ups had stopped having fun and were waiting for us. They all looked so worried and angry. I guess we forgot to tell them that we were leaving. Joey's father made him go pick a switch off a tree or bush, as was his usual punishment, and whipped him in front of everyone. Joey slinked away and hid, humiliated and angry. My father only had only to frown at me and I cried.

Joey was an extremely sensitive child whose spirit was broken at a very young age. He was dyslexic and back then dyslexia was not a "diagnosed" problem; everyone made fun of him. Joey and I used to make fun of life and laugh all the time. My mom and my aunt would drive us around and we would laugh nonstop - they would look at us with perplexed expressions but were happy that we were entertaining ourselves. Many years went by and I saw Joey less and less. When I did see him, he was hanging around boys who were not always making decisions based on common sense. But very few boys that I knew then made wise decisions, to my recollection, as is the state of being a young adolescent.

Joey got married very young and had a beautiful child who was born with a hole in her heart and needed more than one operation in her young life. He was drinking a lot back then, as were we all at that fun-filled river summer place, and he and his wife used to argue a lot. They separated and later divorced. Joey was always so proud of his daughter. I wasn't around much then, and later I left for good to go to college. Joey continued to drink a lot and I felt a hole in my heart, missing the young Joey that I grew up with who was so psychologically bright, sensitive and creative. He seemed to not care about himself anymore. I got to see him about a month before he died that evening in the car crash. His eyes were such a bright blue and he looked so alert...not like the Joey I had come to know. I thought, at that time, that I would get part of him back, but that is not how it played out.

I always wondered how his daughter managed with the very special father she had, who was not the typical father role model. I hear she has her own baby now and I want her to know that her father was just too special for this world. I hope to spend some time with her and her family one day, should I ever get a proper vacation in my hometown.

In Your Dreams!

2008-05-30T16:57:00.000-07:00

I was walking down the road. It was a sunny day. I heard a dog barking. I turned around and there was the dog, running down the road, barking at something up in the sky. It was a purple dog...not only that, it was a large stuffed animal, animated, barking, as it flopped its legs back and forth, somehow maneuvering down the street. I thought to myself...this must be a dream...dogs aren't purple! Guess what? It was a dream. I woke up.

I was talking to some people about what they thought reality meant. They did not care. I asked them more questions and got them to thinking a bit about it. They told me that it really didn't matter if we were just one of many aspects of ourselves, experiencing this life. I asked them where they thought new ideas such as cutting edge technology, etc came from. They didn't know. They didn't care. I asked them if they ever considered the possibility that new ideas and technology come from aspects of ourselves that have already lived in the future or in another reality where things such as carplanes already exist. They didn't care. I asked them if they thought that, if more people cared, we might figure some things out and evolve psychologically as well as intellectually, thereby eliminating the redundancy of famine and strife. They didn't care.

Suddenly it occurred to me that my entire conversation and this entire thing I'm experiencing now must be a dream...it's just as crazy as the purple dog, an animated stuffed animal, running down the street and barking up into the sky at the blackbirds up high. How could we all be living in this reality and not question it? It seems absurd to me. It seems as though at any second I could wake up and say to myself, in another dream called reality, "wow, that was some crazy dream!"

Texas Legalizes Pedophilia

2008-05-30T09:42:00.000-07:00

http://www.correntewire.com/texas_supreme_court_rules_in_favor_of_returning_flds_children

TEXAS LEGALIZES PEDOPHILIA

"Extra! Extra! Read all about it!"

"Texas legalizes pedophilia!"

THIS IS THE LATEST HEADLINE NEWS IN A SOCIETY THAT JUST GAVE WOMEN THE RIGHT TO VOTE IN THE 1920'S.

Are we surprised by the decision of the Texas judicial system?

Where else could a sexist, psychologically reppressed male go to live out his fantasies -- Texas! And perhaps the rest of the United States would do the same for the sake of religion? But wait....this isn't about religion! As usual, crafty, monstrous minds hide behind the guises of religion to get what they want.

The fact that the Texas judiciary system sent the little girls back to the convicted pedophile and his zombies is indicative that that state is living in the dark ages. But doesn't the decision of one state affect the image of the entire country? What do the other countries in the world, who already despise us for our unecessary meddling in other countries, think of us now? Why don't they just put burqas on the young girls' heads? Did you see their dress and hair? Their hair and dress was uniform, as is a child's dress in a school system because these women will never be adult enough to make their own decisions.

Their religion and customs are their own business you say? If we meddle in the affairs of one religion what is to stop the State from meddling in all religious affairs?

Has this country gone mad? How are we to explain that religion is more important than individual freedom? These girls did not have a choice...they were brainwashed. Most other cults are stopped because of the amount of abuse that goes on but the State of Texas is claiming there is no abuse until it happens...so the young girls that are being sent back to the cult won't be abused until they are impregnated at the start of their menstrual process (so they say). The men continue to hide behind the laws of their God, who is apparently a sexist and a pedophile.

With all the "freedom of choice" and "freedom of religion" that America espouses, I am ashamed and embarrassed to be an American when this type of illegal crap happens in the name of religion.

BREAK UP THE CULT. Send the girls to a school system where they are able to learn what goes on in the real world. They can come home to visit their brainwashed mothers, but only if supervised by a social workerto make sure their "daddies" don't impregnate them on home visits!

Let us Question Our Realities

2008-05-23T09:45:00.000-07:00

When I was an art therapist, I worked for about 5 years with the criminally insane. These were people who had committed crimes and who were evaluated to be either “not fit to stand trial” because of their mental state or “guilty by reason of insanity” because they were suffering from psychoses caused by different types of disease. Often times the people were indigents, out on the street, doing drugs that worsened their mental states. Regardless of the reason, the people were housed in locked facilities and I provided art therapy as an adjunct treatment and would share the drawings and paintings with the treatment teams to shed light on the person’s disabilities. The artwork also gave the person/group a chance to communicate nonverbally.

This was a dark, dark world. Sharing 8-10 hours a day with these people was hard on the soul.

The important thing about this reality in which I lived is that I did not understand the relevance of my experiences while I was living the reality. I could not observe my reality as being any different from anyone else’s reality. The fact that I watched the disabled scream, cry, try to harm others, talk to themselves, hit me, spit on me and other staff and often times be restrained in an isolation room seemed normal to my reality. The fact that many of the staff started acting out by playing power trips and that my immediate supervisor had all of his “subordinate” females cow-towing to his sexual harassment (except me--I sued him), seemed awfully depressing to me but I accepted this reality as being the only reality.

MY POINT is that when you are in any certain reality and experiencing certain things, THAT will be YOUR REALITY. You often times will not question it because you know no different.

WHY SHOULD WE NOT QUESTION OUR REALITIES? Why should we feel limited to the reality in which we live – globally? Just because the entire planet seems to accept certain things like war, wealth, greed, famine, etc. does not mean that this has to be so. Our planet is only one part of everything else – why should we not look to the seemingly unknown to seek enlightenment about ways to improve our global reality?

The Big "C"

2008-05-23T09:42:00.000-07:00

The big “C”. The “C” word was whispered discreetly until lately when so many people have so many types of cancer that being discreet would be outdated. My mother and her two sisters had cancer…let me rephrase that…my mother had cancer on her larynx, her youngest sister died of a cancerous brain tumor in her early 50’s and, her only living sister, had cancer on her lungs, her breast, and is now dying of 2 inoperable, cancerous brain tumors. I spoke with her the other day. We have always been able to be frank with one another, as was always the style of the “magic 3”. I say "magic" because when all three sisters were together, they created their own world of fun and laughs. I always felt highly privileged to be a part of their special gatherings because it was the only time I felt like I was a part of something larger than this universe. A day on the Tygart River with those 3 on the pontoon boat, anchored in the shallow, water was like taking a trip to Disneyworld without spending any money (well maybe money on hot dogs and hamburgers). A simple leaf in the river became the topic for a private world. The 3 of them would push the leaf around on top of the silky surface of the then pristine Tygart River and make boat sounds while laughing. Aunt Jean would pick up a few twigs and call them “trees”. Mom, the oldest sister, would make the boat sounds, while Aunt Jo, the middle sister, would go looking for more twigs and leaves.

I spoke to Aunt Jo two days ago, after her son and daughter-in-law told me she was given 4-6 weeks to live. I asked her if she would come and visit me after she was gone. The sisters and I have an understanding that this is not impossible, as we always shared ghost stories and supernatural experiences based on our experiences in Appalachia, where natural laws played out more than the laws of governed societies. I told her that she was very brave.

Long ago, when I was younger and struggling with much angst as a poor artist, I asked my Aunt Jo if she could recommend a good book. She recommended “The Oldest Living Confederate Widow”. I could never remember the title long enough to buy the book but finally one day I wrote it down, bought the book and read it. The book, in a nutshell, was about a very young lady (girl) who was married away to a retired Captain of the war. It was about her struggles leaving her family at such a young age and dealing with the gruff, jaded character of the war veteran. I asked my Aunt Jo if she felt like that girl in the book and she said “No”. Yet I thought there were some parallels.

When I spoke to her on the phone the other day I told her that I was speaking to The Oldest Living Confederate Widow and she laughed.

Last night I cried all night and I haven’t cried in years. I could feel the presence of my mother and her sister, come to take away my Aunt Jo. They were trying to comfort me as I was cursing about the fact that I would have to close those chapters of my book. I even tried to bargain with them that I should go with them but no deal. Truth is, this reality of mine has gotten to be pretty enjoyable for the most part and I best not leave it yet. Besides, I still need to figure out the meaning of reality.

I supposed I stand a pretty good chance of dying with cancer like many of my family members. I hate pain and suffering so much and think it is so inhumane that I don’t know if I will be as brave as the magic 3. I wish they didn’t have to leave me alone to deal with it. I guess they might be around then, though, and take me with them to the next reality.

Still 50

2008-05-04T05:47:00.000-07:00

Waking up this Sunday morning was special because I realized that, just like yesterday, I am still 50 and still alive. After writing my List of Intentions for the New Reality at 8:14am, 24 hours before the New Moon, I brewed some expresso and cleaned up cat vomit.

To perfect the Sunday morning, I gave all 4 cats some catnip and watched them writhe with pleasure, perhaps not fighting each other for just one day. To further perfect the morning, I put on the Bread CD and danced around the small, 2-room apartment that we are soon to leave for our new home. As I stared at my paintings in progress, I imagined what our new home would be like...perhaps more space would allow for more of my imagination, thereby calling up evolutionary ways to express my ideas for a new reality where no one and no thing ever suffers.

Those Were the Days

2008-04-30T11:47:00.000-07:00

Oh, those were the days...when my good friend and I had time in the afternoons to meet at the beautiful ocean, and we had still the physical strength and determination to walk its shoreline, pulling vigorously our feet from the sinking sand with each step...all the while the wind blowing stubbornly at us, challenging our stamina...all for the sake of experiencing physicality at its best...

...oh, that was just yesterday.

Reflecting at 50

2008-04-30T11:43:00.000-07:00

Without saddle and bridle, I rode my friend, Chase, around the back hill of the farm, across the high grass, around the knob of the hill. It was a slow journey…not rushed, no particular destination…and it was a shared and mutual experience…no hierarchies…no goals or determinations. Eventually, my young, skinny inner thighs could no longer tolerate the sharp spine of the pony and I lazily fell off, leaving Chase to graze the fields without me.

I then descended the back hill and returned to the farmhouse which, in my opinion, was haunted by souls of the dead, pre-emancipated slaves of the Civil War.

The New Reality

2008-04-09T12:29:00.000-07:00

The New Reality

Humans do not eat, digest, excrete…physical nourishment is not necessary...there are animals and fish and birds and we share concepts with them…there are flowers but no need for rain or snow or cold or hot…there is no gravity or magnetic field…there are no sexual relationships or reproducing that way…family is not important…we love but we don’t control or need to control…we don’t feel the need to stay connected with just one person because there are no relationships like that…relationships are conceptual and there are no highs and lows or roller coaster emotions…we don’t talk a lot and there isn’t a lot of noise…we communicate conceptually without language…we don’t work to make money to live….there are no hierarchies or leaders of religions or politics…humans are not humans anymore…they may have sort of a docking station in a physical reality on the beautiful, self-sufficient planet, but they are mostly non physical, traveling without the need of vehicles or planes or ships…visuals are still important and so is music but we hear it only ourselves unless we ask to share and we can project it without picking up a brush or using an instrument…looking good is not important…no clothing or houses or “things”…there is no disease or ill health or mental instability because there is no brain…only mind or concepts…always fast psychic evolution that keeps the entity satisfied and learning, always learning…no need to be famous or make money…need only to evolve and achieve extreme high levels of conceptual communications with others and other realities….no such thing as time…no being late or on time or clocking in or meeting deadlines because those things do not matter…no more tasks and chores and getting things done, which monopolizes our time that could be spent travelling and exploring…no more upkeep on bodies and cars and houses, which monopolizes our time that could be spent discovering and evolving....MORE LATER.

Reality

2008-04-01T18:09:00.000-07:00

For centuries I have been trying to tangentialize the impact of the non-realities that I perceive. I have always had an insatiable thirst for truths beyond this reality and have balanced myself between the acceptable, hard-working, abide-by-the-book human being and the over-the-top, unacceptable eccentric (such are artists, I suppose). Why am I not the proper, respectable person with schizophrenia, who fits the DSM categories in such a way that they are medicated and given a proper milieu, meds and activities with which to follow? Would it not have been easier if I had accepted some specific God or Cult, thereby validating my existence; but my intelligence and my parent's unfathomable insights and diversity would not have that. For how easy is it to follow a book, depending upon one's God, in which all your actions and thoughts are decided for you by the leader/leaders of that particular cult/religion. It is not that I do not believe in God, it is that we are so miniscule compared with the rest of the dimensions and realities that the term "God" is so completely removed from anything we can possibly imagine. It is utterly egotistical and desperate that we have to choose a particular god/cult created by humans and to follow the book that is written and worshipped by that particular god/cult.

So I will continue to struggle, much as a mad scientist given fragments of an equation, with the ongoing concepts about the truth about the truth about the truth for whatever that means.

The road I travel is not easy and there are no laden rules for me to follow. But you can be sure that I may treat you with more respect and dignity, biases and preconceptions absent, then someone of an opposing religion...who would have you put to death for believing something that is important to you.

As an artist, I continue to explore the unconscious and to go where no woman has gone before, while maintaining an acceptable level of insanity.

My Story

2008-02-27T17:04:00.000-08:00

I wrote science fiction short stories when I was a child, one of which was published in Readers Magazine. I did art and won a few State contests. My parents devoured science fiction and I read most of Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov and other short stories at a very young age. This saturation of sci fi lends itself to some pretty “interesting” imagery in my artwork.I read Sylvia Plath’s only novel, The Bell Jar, before age 14. I picked it off the shelf from the big room that existed only to house the hundreds of books that my mom and dad read. This book caused me to think very seriously about life in general and brought my attention to my immediate environment, where women were often treated as second-class citizens and people of color were hunted during deer season. My coal mining hometown offered little to no promise for anyone who, at such a young age, had read The Bell Jar. After I graduated high school, I went to the hometown college to study typing, lost my father, joined a sorority, drank a lot, lost my virginity to a frat boy/jock, caught him cheating (but it was okay because he was religious and would be forgiven), married him anyway, but then it wasn't okay and I and divorced him, looked for love in all the wrong places, and contemplated suicide. My mother was so shattered after my father's death that she was unavailable to attend to my demand for an explanation to "why is life so cruel". My brother stayed home and had children and I, with my angst and thirst for all sorts of closures, went out to conquer the world. I recollect now that it conquered me!Then I had a brief affair with a brilliant, narcissistic film producer who broke my heart. He also introduced me to a world outside of my hometown while he was a grip for a famous producer on a well-known horror film. With a broken heart and ample angst, I started living in a fantasy world, fantasizing that I would move away and go to art school. I took my small portfolio with unharnessed drawings to an interview at The Maryland Institute, College of Art, in 1982 and graduated in 1986. Then I went on to The School of the Art Institute of Chicago to obtain my Master’s degree in Art Therapy in 1989. I worked as an art therapist with the criminally insane for about 6 years in hopes of understanding the dark side of humanity. These experiences shed light on the truths of oppression in our society and the difficult journey the less fortunate have in adhering to the parameters of the law. Much to the chagrin of the wealthy, who’s philosophical view is that “anyone can make a million dollars”,…from my experiences and observations I would say it is not so easy when you can only think about your next meal and cheap-ass drugs are always there for you, giving you the illusion you can escape the nightmare of your so called “life”.After that and much mind-opening experiences in England, Amsterdam, Scotland, Baltimore, Chicago and Miami Beach, (many of which I would never disclose here), I decided it was time to get down to business and start painting before I die – after all, most people in my immediate family died before age 54 – so I had no time to waste; plus, I wanted to give my husband some type of insurance policy since I was told that my life is not worth insuring.I live in South Florida with my husband and paint and exhibit and work part time in a bank so as to keep my left brain somewhat stimulated enough to remember to take my vitamins each day. It seems that I am obsessed with painting now and am very driven to continue my unconscious journey on the canvas. My husband is a plaintiff’s civil rights attorney with a Master’s degree in psychology so we are both "psychologically savvy", as he says – two peas in a pod.