Some housekeeping

If you are in New York, please COME AND SEE ME PLAY:
TONIGHT! Tuesday, January 31st! 8pm!
Summer Pierre playing her songs at CBGB's Gallery
313 Bowery
NY, NY
between 1st and 2nd.

If you're not in New York, send people who ARE in NYC! I will play my heart out!

Also: It has been made known to me only blogger people can post comments. Call me THICK, but I didn't think I had a choice--but after some investigating, I changed the settings. If you can read weird, warped letters, you can post your comments here! Thank you oh so much!

AND: I have officially SOLD OUT of my Great Gals Calendars. Thank YOU so much for ALL your purchases. It has helped me more than you know!

Setting Goals, Investing, and Prosperity; Otherwise Known as Totally New Concepts in my Career as an Artist

On Friday night I started taking a class at the School of Visual Arts entitled, "So, you Want to Be an Artist." The description began saying, "Designed for people who are sitting at their desks and wondering if giving into their dreams of being an artist can become a reality..." So aptly did this describe my every day existence, I looked around to see if there were any cameras. I almost expected to turn back to the screen, only to see the words THIS MEANS YOU, glaring back at me.

I signed up because I am at a new phase in my life. I'm in the "I want something different than I've been able to provide myself, but am finally able to admit that I don't know jack about how to get it" phase. This class seemed like a good start. One of the first things we talked about was a strange little thing called GOALS. You mean people who have careers SET GOALS? I was totally ROCKED. I couldn't BELIEVE IT. This very small (and obvious) direction shifted something in me. Of course, I've read about goals in the Artist Way and done lots of creative recovery, but I never had a real human being sit down with me and ask: What do you want in the next 3 months? How often are you going to work to get it? Have you thought about making a commitment to your art FIRST? That means making arrangements with your full-time job to go down to 4 days a week or coming in an hour later every day?

Part of the homework was a chapter from Caroll Michels' How To Survive and Prosper as an Artist. While Michels is mainly talking about fine art, I found her ideas to be REVOLUTIONARY and true to anyone who wants to make a living at art in any medium. She complained how no one is supported, either by training or by society to go into the field of art as a viable employment option. Michels argues that in fine art and design programs in colleges and universities there should be a mandatory career and busines section to help them thrive after graduation. We, as a society, take for granted that artists are expected to have a job and do their art. No wonder we're all so frustrated!

It made me think about the ideas that I was raised with--both by my artist and non-artist parental units, and the messages I got about "real work" vs. doing art. It also made me realize how I have been so invested in this idea of purely magical circumstances that creates a successful career as an artist. It made me mine my history as a player in a thriving music scene. I literally looked down on people who seemed driven (a.k.a. goal oriented), because that made them look "calculated." I preferred the idea of being at the whim of my muse, which would eventually bring me fame & glory. I never planned or thought I could build something real and furtive. It served me and I got to a certain level, but I got in my own way. Such lack of belief in building a foundation for myself and asking, clearly, "What do I want?" gave me a wonderful role that I hadn't realized I am STILL playing: the victim. Oh, woe is me, I bombed out, and everyone else is soaring in their careers, while I am totally freaked out, etc. This isn't to say that I haven't had plenty to grieve in the loss of what I started there. Also, I can't say that everyone I know who is doing REALLY WELL, set clear goals and it worked for them, but I can say for me that this simple idea of planning, and INVESTING in what I actually want has given me more hope than I have had in YEARS. I'm not just talking about being an illustrator (which I am actively working on)--I'm talking about that old sweetheart of mine, doing music. What if I approached it from a place of not "I bombed out, and now what?" but from a place of, "I want to do this and this and this?"

There's only one life, people. I want to set some goals and DO SOME STUFF. I don't have it all figured out yet, but I'm all jumpy and excited. Good thing I have a show tomorrow. CBGBs Gallery HERE I COME.

Studio Sunday

I love looking at people's studios--it makes me go crazy with desire! I love seeing where people work and dream up their crazy ideas. It'a probably more inspiring to me than the actual work. My dream is to see Maira Kalman's studio and/or Lynda Barry's, which I am sure are crazy CRAZY creative spaces filled with color and objects and amazing art pieces in various stages. I kind of wish that in addistion t Self-Portrait Tuesday and Illustration Friday, that there would be a series that people would do on their studios and working spaces. Something like, "Studio Sunday."

I've always had a corner of my bedroom to work from wherever I have lived, but this is the first time that I have had a FULL ROOM to go crazy in--and it can't have come at a better time, as I am spreading out artistically and going WHOLE HOG on the visual art side of my work. So I thought I'd show some shots of where I work. As I mentioned before, when G & I painted it pink, it glowed from underneath the door like ET had just landed. I never thought in a million years I'd be a pink person, but now I'm here to out myself: I LOVE PINK! It is SO FUN. Pushing past the Patti Smith poster and going into that narrow room gets me INSTANTLY in the mood to create.
A painting I'm doing of the photo of my mom I love so much. Thank God for large rolls of paper--it's cheap and it takes the pressure off of trying to make a MASTERPIECE.
I've had my desk since I was in high school, but I am in the market for a flat door that I can convert into a working table. It's just too tiny for me to work at. This is what it looked like AFTER I'd cleaned up the two inches of paper scraps. Still cluttered as hell.
You can see the portrait of Ethel Merman I did to the right--her crazy eyes freak Graham out. The dinosaur poster I've had since I was 11, but NEVER PUT IT UP. I love it! When my friend Nate came over a couple of weeks ago, he couldn't believe it, but HE HAD THE SAME POSTER. I am not a sciencey kind of gal, but as a kid dinosaurs lit up my imagination (and who am I kidding, they light it up now).

Does anybody else have shreds of their materials creeping int the rest of their house? I'm finding more and more pieces of paper, strings, and paint chips making their way into the bedroom, hallway, and livingroom. What can I say? This room cannot CONTAIN ITSELF.

My Name is Summer, and Yes My Parents Were Hippies

People like to make fun of my name. As a temp, you meet people more than you normally would, and so I’ve been getting it more than usual in the last six months. "Summer?” One out of three will say, “Oh, well I'm Winter, nice to meet you!" Then they follow it with, "I bet you get that a lot." I humor them and smile and shrug it off, but after the third time in one day, I am thinking: Nah. YOU'RE THE GENIUS. Since it’s wintertime and very cold in New York, I’m often asked, “Why didn’t you bring summer with you?!” I am looking forward to the summertime, when a heat wave hits, and somebody says, “It feels like YOU out there.” How would you know, buddy?

Up until high school, I lived a relatively free from “winter” existence. Then again, I grew up in what I have learned since then, is considered an ALTERNATIVE environment. I went to a hippie school, and my classmates had names that included Andromeda, Boreas, Vitali, Oak, and Rolly (pronounced Role-e)(hi guys!). Considering the roll call, I was kind of the "Jane Smith" of the group. However, regardless of the pillows on the floor, and meetings where we had to discuss our feelings, I still got teased on the playground and called names. None of them were season-based. They were things that rhymed with my name--names that STILL make me cringe and feel bad. Names like "Bummer" and "Dumber." "Hey, Winter." Didn't come until I entered public school as a freshman. Then it was open season, so to speak.

If you opened my yearbooks, you would see (in all 4 years) that 90% of the entries end with "Have a good summer Summer (ha ha)." Sometimes the more creative types would write "Have the summer of summers, Summer (ha ha)."

My freshman year, the showcase model for the game show Sale of the Century was named Summer Bartholomew. If I had a dime for every guy in a Corona t-shirt that asked me, “Hey, are you related to Summer Bartholomew?” I wouldn’t have any college loans to pay off.

When I applied to colleges, I usually got two responses: one addressed to Pierre and the other addressed to Summer. I used to joke that Pierre got into college, but Summer did not. As it happens, in ALMOST all cases, neither did. (ha ha)

Then, I moved to the East Coast. East coast people find it a very funny name. This morning, as it would happen, two co-workers discussed my name in front of me, and one said, “I didn’t think it was your real name.” I get that a lot. Maybe it’s because there aren’t any hippies left here. I know the cultural consciousness happened on the east coast, because I’ve met people that had hippies for parents, but it seems that east coast hippies have moved on to academic postings or documentary filmmakers, and they seem to name their kids Amos or Noah, and not after seasons or other natural occurrences.

The good news about having a name like Summer is that people remember you. Or when they don't, they come up with the most interesting alternatives. I had a guy ask me once, "What is your name again--Sunshine?" SUNSHINE? Oh, it SO is now...

All said and done, I have to admit that I like my name. I know it fits me, as someone who is arty and who had hippies for parents. Incidentally, I knew a woman named Winter--she was my classmate Oak's mother. They lived on a commune with a kid who's real name was Cisco. In an act of wanting normalcy, Cisco declared in 3rd grade that his name was now DAVID. I hear he is on Wall street.

The point of this little tirade is that my friend Erica wrote to me yesterday and asked if I knew that the name 'Summer' was becoming popular. She had gone into a kid's store and saw all this merchandise with the name 'Summer' on it. Maybe it's the kid in me who watched with envy as every Rebecca, Jennifer, and Kathy got barrettes, mugs, lunchboxes, stickers with their lovely names on it, who wants to say to all the new Summers out there--LUCKEEE. The other part of me wants to say, GOOD LUCK. Then again, with an army of Summers out there, maybe they won't need it.

This Picture

Things I love lately:
1. This picture.
2. Coffee in the morning.
3. Pink, green, blue, & red paint.
4. Homemade Nanaimo bars sent from family in--where else?--Nanaimo(holy sugar buzz, Batman!).
5. Watching clouds lumber over New York on a windy day.
6. Listening to my new CD of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.
7. Making collages.
8. Having a studio.
9. Taking pictures with my digital camera.
10. Having steady employment for the next 5 months.
11. Reading on the train.
12. Lots of ideas.
13. The Writer's Almanac
14. St. Mark's Bookshop.
15. Believing a little bit more that I am living the dream bit by bit.

Sketch Crawl for a Good Cause

Hey, I am partcipating in an excellent idea, Danny Gregory's Sketchcrawl, for an amazing cause. Does anyone want to sponsor me at this endeavor? It'a buck a picture. A cheap way to make a difference, I say.

Let me know if you want to participate. I'll be posting pictures here when I'm done!

2 Kool 2 B 4-Gotten

Oh, how can I adequately express how FRIGGN cool you are? Your father is a poet. You taught yourself guitar in your lonley teenage room in Mexico City. You broke up with boyfriends and moved to different towns in order to write songs. You were blocked for SIX LONG YEARS and talked opnely about it. You made one of my favorite albums of all time. Today you are 53. I would like to look that good NOW.

Happy Birthday to Lucinda Williams!

Keep on rockn', girl.

Inspiration for Me, Inspiration for You

Today, I am inspired by:

My friend Anne who just arrived in Kigali in RWANDA. She is working as a doctor and will be there until March. I met Anne while working for Partners In Health, when we were just two scrappers a year or so out of college, wondering what THE NEXT MOVE WAS. Now she's becoming a doctor and doing amazing work in Africa! Anne RULZ! I wish I could go with her!

My family member Pam, at age 60, voted yesterday for the FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE. A Canadian citizen, she lived for 40 years in the U.S., and returned to live in Nanaimo, British Columbia last February. She was a wee bit excited, and I don't blame her. Hooray for voting!

My friend Brian sent me two links that KILL me. They inspire the desire to make art an every day practice no matter where you are:

Tom Judd does a page of art a day. He is British and VERY arty and I love the idea of setting a goal of a year of art every day. It makes my engines kick into high gear!

Travis Ruse takes photos of his commute from Brooklyn to Mid town Manhattan. I tried to find out if he also has a boyfriend named Graham to see if the similarities continue, but alas, the buck stops here. I have a hope that I'll spy him on one of my trains. His pictures make commuting look FASCINATING. After this morning of being cheek to jowl with some of New York's finest, I can assure you that Travis Ruse's pictures are far more FANTASTIC than the commute itself. I wish I had the guts to take pictures that he does.

PS I am also completely OBSESSED with Snailbooty! WHO IS SNAILBOOTY? What is her story? How can I find out? Oh, when shall we ever know??

Let It Be Known

Graham and I in my crazy pink studio, Friday night.

What to say, but the weekend was near perfection? I could be sad about it being over, but when something lifts you, it carries you out and keeps you lifted through the more routine days, like today.

I went out to tea with a woman I hadn't seen in ages, and who I think is really quite a powerhouse. After we had tea, we walked from Chelsea to the East Village and traded the tea for a drink at my favorite bar. I laughed the whole way, while I shivered in the wind. After she left to go home and write, I wanted to tell her how much she inspires me. She inspires me in a way that isn't CREATIVE. She inspires me with her history, with her belief in the THE WORK. All my life I have met people who "write"--but she is commited and real and IN DEEP with writing, like it is a marriage that requires every day attention. It makes me want to do the same. It makes me want to dig in deeper.

All weekend I was thinking about Truman Capote's history--how I relate to it a lot, and how I like the example that he made something of his life inspite of it. I thought about what stops me and then I came back to that feeling of fear and what am I willing to risk to have the life I want?

I was thinking about this as G. & I walked through Central Park under the bare, historic trees. I was thinking about this when we stopped to watch a hawk ponder over his breakfast of a squirrel on a low branch. I was thinking about this over breakfast at the Manhattan Diner. I was DEEP in thought about it at the bookstore and on the way home, with a huge roll of white paper under my arm. I began to make a mental list of things to do that are OUT of my comfort zone:
1. Play in the subway (again, until it becomes habit).
2. Make an appointment with the Chair of the Graduate Program in Illustration at the School of Visual Arts to show him my portfolio (even though I don't think I am "ready").
3. Sell my artwork (even though I don't think it's "good enough").
4. Join a writing group (even though I don't think my work is "ready").

In short, I need to RISK BEING SEEN, regardless of HOW I LOOK.

When I got home, was it any wonder that I was filled with energy? I set to the desk and rolled out the paper and began TWO large pieces. They are my first large pieces in YEARS. I didn't plan anything, I didn't fuss about it, I just saw something in my heart/head and bent towards the paper and let it be known.

Deborah Butterfield on Park Avenue

We went to see them again today. Can you see how BLISSED OUT I am to be near such beautiful works of art?

Horses on Park Avenue

There was another picture I was trying to post, but since HTML is still nearly Greek to me, it was lost--but if you click on this one, and expand it, you will see what I saw, shocking me silly on Park Avenue yesterday--a horse made of sticks and objects. It was shocking because not only is the horse created by my FAVORITE SCULPTOR Deborah Butterfield, but I just HAPPENED upon it when I was up only blocks where I walk every day! There were THREE of them! They've been there since OCTOBER and are leaving at the end of this month! It was such a moment of mouth agape awe for me.

I am not a big fan of sculture. In truth, I have been only moved by two scultors--Butterfield and Andy Goldsworthy. I saw Butterfield's work some years ago at the San Diego Art Museum and was blown away by her life size assemblages of horses. She uses every material imaginable: steel lettering from a sign, discarded wreckage, andwood. What she creates is an astounding life size gesture of her horses that she lives with every day in Montana. I felt upon seeing her work that she had discovered a language uniquely her own, to express how she saw and felt about these animals. It took my breath away in a museum and it nearly knocked me silly when I happened upon them on the midland grasses that split traffic on Park Avenue.

To me this speaks of the wonderful nature of New York--you never know what you are going to discover if you go a few blocks differently. If San Francisco was built on Rock n' Roll, New York is certainly a city built on ART. I cried out: I LOVE THIS TOWN! Of course, this also speaks to the mysterious miracles that appear, the surprises that inspire and infuse you when you least expect it.

I Want to Be Your Joey Ramone

I want to be your joey ramone
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

Okay, okay, I'm complaining about not feeling cool and then I tell you this:

I HAVE A SHOW AT CBGB's GALLERY!! Aw, YEAH! Okay, it's not THE CBGB's, but it's right next door and that's a heck of a lot closer to my dream of being Joey Ramone than I was this time last year.

Tuesday, January 31st! 8pm!
Summer Pierre playing her songs at
CBGB's Gallery
313 Bowery
NY, NY
between 1st and 2nd

If you come to the show, I will feel SO COOL and SO WILL YOU.

Where All the Cool People Live

Central Park 1-16-06
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

Okay, note to self: NEVER PONTIFICATE HOW GREAT YOU ARE DOING TO THE INTERNET WORLD. The result is an immediate backslide of jealousy, doubt, and...(drum roll please)...boredom. I haven't had anything exciting to say this week. Also, I've been having that feeling that everybody else on the planet is so much cooler than me and that I need a haircut and better shoes and maybe I need to lose 15 pounds. You probably know the drill.

I don't know why I doubt that even the most COOL APPEARING people also have moments of doubt and loneliness. Too often I see myself devided from the world of cool people, only to realize that the cool people don't think they are that cool and they too believe that they are on the outside looking in.

And who is really 'cool' anyway? I mean, how many times have you looked at a photograph of an event with celeberties laughing and holding up their gleaming statuettes and thought--maybe even unconsciously--THAT IS WHERE *LIFE* IS *REALLY* HAPPENING? But it's not true. It's just a picture, an image of an event and not of those people at home, wiping off the make-up, brushing their teeth, and crawling into bed. I think the only person that REALLY has a good time at those events is Jack Nicholson, but that's only because he's completely HIGH and stopped giving a rat's ass YEARS AGO.

But I digress...I have no answers today for myself or anybody. The world is where we live, and depending on the day, it's a cool place to be, no matter who you are.

Sobering Up

It's been a pretty good weekend. A lot of relaxing, doing art and visiting friends. Last night we met up with our friend Michelle and saw Capote (our second time), which was almost even better the second time around. Afterwards I felt buzzed and high with inspiration. I wanted to live in the world depicted in the movie--fantastic clothes, heaps of notebooks with perfect prose surrounding me, as I feverishly write in bed. This is not an unfamiliar buzz I get. I read about or see a movie based on someone's artistic life and my mind goes off on a tantalitic journey of fancying the same sort of reality for myself. It's such a great feeling, but it occured to me last night that it may not do me any better than getting stoned or drunk. Physically, it's probably a healthier high than doing drugs or drinking, but beyond the buzz, I rarely do much with it. In fact, I realized that it may be a way to stop me from actually DOING anything.

I've been an artist my whole life and have gone through many different phases, both in mediums and attitude. The last few years have felt very very hard and dry. I've had a few breakthroughs, but the over all feeling has been this sense of doom that I may never FIGURE IT OUT, meaning I may never GET BACK that sense of flow and fluidity that I took for granted for years. Then, suddenly, something happened: I've been on an artistic roll lately. The collaging I've been doing has spiked an artistic well in me I didn't know existed anymore. I can't wait to create from it and I literally go weak with love when I think about my cluttered desk of paint covered paper, paint brushes, and various scraps of assorted papers. Visually, I feel more awakened than I have in years. This doesn't mean that I think everything I do is absolute genius. It means that I DON'T CARE if it is absolute genius, I am having TOO MUCH FUN. I feel filled with inspiration. It's really kind of a miracle.

As a result, I feel more hope than I have felt in a long time. I want to DO something in my life, and I am. This is very very exciting. I don't know what it means or where it will go--if I think too hard about it, the old monkeys start showing up and saying, "You know, you're not THAT GOOD. What a COPY CAT, what a TIME WASTER..." and then what's the point of anything?

All this is to say that last night after the movie, all drunk on Capote's MOVIE life, I realized it isn't just enough to just be inspired anymore. I want to actually take up inspiration's offer and ACT ON IT. I want to LIVE an inspired life, not some imaginary scenario that feels good to dream about. I may not live in the fifties or be famous, but I can still take out the notebooks and write. And when I got home, it was late, but that's just what I did.

A Post Inwhich I Join Legions of Bloggers, and Talk Incessantly About How Great the Kids Are

Lily
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

Well, it's finally happening: the pictures from the Lost Christmas Vacation are coming off the camera and are hitting the internet world! The previous post on Luke is just the TIP OF THE ICEBERG! I have many MANY pictures that express the rambunctious nature of my little brother. He's kind of, well, ENERGETIC. Playing with him should be categorized as an EXTREME SPORT. Not everyone enjoys it (especially my moody, socially challenged grandfather a.k.a. Grumpus Maximus), but I think he's a total kick. He's probably the best dance partner I will ever have the privelage to dance with. He also has a great sense of humor and thinks I'm HILARIOUS.

One thing that amazed me on this trip was to see how much Lily has grown up and has learned to take her big brother on. She's learned to adapt pretty well, often displaying her CRAFTY BRAINS. For example, when Luke and she run a stretch together, he will easily outrun her. She begins to cry at the despairing unfairness of his speed. When he stops to wait for her, she immediately will cease crying and run PAST him. Genius, I tell you. The best part is that not only does Luke not seem to mind this, he FORGETS INSTANTLY, and so will fall for this ploy over and over again.

One of the unfortunate things that both Luke and Lily inherited from my father is what I call the NAP NASTINESS. They wake up from a nap totally fragile and grumpy as all get out. It subsides after awhile, but BEWARE in the first half hour. They should have a sticker attached to them at naptime that says: DO NOT TOUCH. I experienced Lily's NAP NASTINESS in the San Diego Airport, right when Janae and I were juggling two kids and about an elephant sized load of luggage in the line for tickets. The only person that was able to help Lily make the transition from nap grumpiness to awake sweetness, was Luke. It amazed me how immediately he jumped in and had her giggling and laughing in no time. I think this is one of the beauties of kids. You expect a total meltdown and often they deliver in a way that is so natural and great your heart about falls to pieces.

Before I came out to California, I was on the phone with Luke who told me he had a surprise. He said, "Close your eyes, Summer. I want to surprise you." and so I held the cellphone and closed my eyes. After a few moments he said, "Okay! OPEN THEM!" When I asked him what I was seeing he said, "Everything." That about sums it up--continually, my little bro & sis surprise me--with everything.

Luke Pierre: A Portrait

Welcome to the world of partying with my five-year old brother:

Everyone Should Know It

Kiss 2
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

Graham came home late last night and it was such a scene out of some World War II movie: Me, at the stove cooking him some dinner; him coming through the door and dropping his bags and calling, "I'm home!" just as I dropped the spoon and came running.

But before I nauseate you all by breaking into a rendition of "Reunited and it feels so good," let me first address something that was brought up to me by my dad and Janae. On my trip home they both made made noises about how according to my blog, I seem to have the most PERFECT RELATIONSHIP IN THE WORLD, with NO PROBLEMS whatsoever. This was said with a little nudge and a squint to perhaps relay that I have been applying it a BIT TOO THICK.

Well, what can I say, but I do have a good relationship and you know what? I am SO PSYCHED. I am psyched as someone who has had more than her share of question marks, roads well traveled, and occasional nightmares in relationships. I feel like a refugee from a war torn country, who has climbed every mountain only to make it to the shores of a free land. I never in a million years guessed I coud have anything remotely as calmly good as I do with Graham. I never in a million years guessed that I WAS CAPABLE of having a relationship like this.

That doesn't mean that we don't fight or have conflicts. Let me tell you folks, even Prince Charming might be pushed to his limit if he lived in a small apartment in Brooklyn, with his emotional and unemployed Cindarella. This move has proved to be a NEW ERA for me and Graham Cracker in more than one way. Some (ahem) conflicts have come up. I know you're going to be shocked by this, but sometimes I can be annoying. And (even MORE shocking) so can HE. Also, sometimes when TWO people are stressed and only eating peanutbutter and jelly for days, the romance takes a few punches. But this is also a real part of a 'good relationship.'

In any case, as I am writing this, I am probably digging the ditch deeper, sounding like Tom Cruise standing astride Oprah's Couch. Well, you'll have to forgive me. It isn't that I just have a good relationship. I am lucky to know a really good person. He rules, he makes me laugh, and he enhances my life in a way that totally kicks ass. This shouldn't be kept quiet--everyone should know.

Out of the Vaccuum and Into the Light

I had such a good weekend. I rented movies, but barely watched them, as I ended up being busy with visiting and doing art. My friend Nate came over to my place for the first time. He is only the third person to ever grace our humble abode and it felt like the Queen of England was coming over, I was so excited. I did the dishes! I bought apple juice! I cleared off the sofa!

Nate and I know eachother back from when we were struggling open mic participants in Boston. I can remember the exact moment I first saw him. He was wearing a flannel shirt and he played "Rocky Mountain High" in tribute to John Denver, who had just died. He has gone on to shed the flannel and form a rocket-to-stardom trio, Girlyman, with his longtime friends Doris and Ty. It has been years since we just sat at one of our homes and traded songs and ate and laughed and talked about everything. I found it totally fun and inspiring. When I left the Boston folks scene some years ago, I hadn't realized I also left the day to day artistic communication that I had taken for granted. I was surrounded and steeped in music and musicians. It was easy to be inspired when you were seeing other people's work and you were eager to show your own. Sitting with Nate, and hearing his familiar voice in my livingroom, made me recall that experience and how long its been since I was a part of something like that. I missed my friend's voice, and I realized how ever since that period, I have been sitting in a vaccuum, waiting for something to come to me, instead of all this stale air.

As an artist and as a person, I've worked under the misconception that it was always easier to GO IT ALONE. How dumb! More and more, I know that that I thrive among people and whither among ilolation. It's a reality check. It makes life REAL, when you can connect with a community. No wonder I've struggled with music for so long, I've fallen into my navel and never gotten out!

Yesterday, I literally never got out of my pajamas, and I painted and made collages ALL DAY. I made about eight cards that I am sending out to various friends and family members. Sometimes it's also easier to make art when it's a gift for someone else. Making the cards was a way to connect with my tribe and to also connect with fun of making something. I feel very infused lately with visual inspiration. I have a hankering to make large scale collages and to create an installation. Actually, I've also been daydreaming about my ultimate idea I've had for the last couple of years, to have an installation/performance piece using ALL my mediums. Good thig, I live in New York, the world's LARGEST LIVING INSTALLATION PIECE.

Graham comes home tonight, I CANNOT WAIT.

Murder, She Wrote

Last night after doing several you-are-feeling-sleepy rituals, which consisted of going for a long, brisk walk, drinking warm milk, taking a hot shower, looking into the mirror and saying "You are getting sleepy" about 100 times, and taking an evil blue sleepy pill, I slipped into bed and managed to sleep for SIX WHOLE HOURS. It would have been seven hours, but I awoke from a nightmare at 2:30 am, and it was hard to get back to sleep. Of course, after all the murder-related media I have been ingesting, it finally creeped into my subconscious and woke me up with a jolt.

This was after trying to make a conscious decision to not be fed any more noir material. After reading more of In Cold Blood, I decided that I didn't want to go see the Hitchcock film, Rope, that was playing at the Film Forum. Usually, I will watch anything that Hitchcock has done, especially on the big screen, but I thought it best that I not see a movie about death or killing anybody. I was jumpy enough. So I went to a GIANT MULTIPLEX in search of a movie that-shall-remain-nameless (because if my boyfriend finds out, he will groan audibly and won't let me hear the end of it). This movie-that-will-remain-nameless seems as harmless as an episode of Scooby-Do, but with better looking people and no mystery. So I was very bummed, when I arrived at the GIANT MULTIPLEX and it was the WRONG GIANT MULTIPLEX. I didn't have time to get to the right one, so I decided to go see Woody Allen's Match Point, starring the gorgeous and breathy Scarlet Johansson. Without giving too much away, it turned out to have a MURDER in it! I had NO IDEA walking in. Dang it all! Of course, looking back, the signs were there--the thing is called "Match Point" for pete's sake, which in movie title language is the same as "Checkmate" or "Gotcha" or "Your ass is grass". All synonymous with SOMEBODY IS GONNA GO DOWN. Also, the poster is a black and white photo, which usually just screams DARK THEMED. But it was Woody Allen, and apart from Crimes and Misdemeanors, death has been handled comically, if at all. Well, this movie--Allen's BEST IN TEN YEARS EASILY--is not a comedy.

So I went home with all this in my head, and I even tried to scrub it out, by watching a few minutes of Woody Allen's Hannah and Her Sisters, which is one of my favorite films of all time. Apparently, it didn't take, because I awoke from a dream where someone was about to be killed. I swear, this time, I am going to watch something harmless. Maybe an Elmo video. Maybe It's a Wonderful Life (even out of season), just so I can go to sleep with HAPPY THOUGHTS. Or maybe I'll try to find the movie-that-shall-remain-nameless, unless "Romantic Comedy" is now targeting an audience of preying mantises, where their idea of romance is to bight off your loved one's head.

Scared Stiff

I am on 3 hours of sleep—crap sleep, if you want to know the truth. I arrived in New York at nearly 9pm and thought I was being oh so smart by not checking bags and just racing to the subway. I hadn’t counted on waiting for one train a half hour and the second train 15-20 minutes. All in all, it took me almost TWO HOURS to get home.

With Graham still in California for 6 days, this is the first time EVER that I have been alone in New York. I have to tell you, I am a little scared stiff. Here I am a woman of 33, with all the independence and experience in the world, and yet somehow the 10 year old self asserts herself and I feel scared and alone in such a BIG CITY. As a result, and added to the fact that I am on West Coast time, I couldn’t sleep a wink. When I did sleep, I had dreams about temping for Fran Dreischer, on the show the Nanny. It was TERRIFYING. At least, I didn’t dream of brutal murders, which is what I was afraid would happen. On the plane I read almost all of Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, and it is CHILLING and HAUNTING. Certainly, it is the best read I’ve had in awhile. I had brought with me Joan Didion’s journalistic memoir on California, Where I was From. I know I am going to prove to many people that I am very dumb indeed by saying this, but I didn’t like it. It was too dry. I wanted less history facts and more of Didion. Of course, I’ve never read her before, so maybe my expectations got in the way. In Cold Blood is everything I wanted Where I was From to be—riveting, drenched in gorgeous descriptions, and hard to put down. Though, I am not sure a story of a terrifying break-in & murder is the best thing for me at this point, being that I am a tad bit PARANOID. Yet, what am I to do? I can’t stop now—not when the murderers have been caught and the trail is set. It’s just TOO GOOD to miss.

Well, I’m off to that other terrifying feat of just plain living. I must admit, as sad as I was to leave, and as anxious as I feel to be on my own, it felt good to be home again. So strange how your own bed greets you so gladly, and how no matter ho much you fought it, it felt good to give in and be among your own sheets, blankets, and pillows.

Last Day In California

Sorry to have been so OUT OF TOUCH! I haven't had a computer to talk to since I last wrote. This is a good thing I think, to take a break from the ol' interactive TV screen and just do the REAL LIFE thing. The downside is that there is SO MUCH I want to write in here or could have. For example, at my family reunion, we stayed at the Lawrence Welk Resort, which is really a bunch of condos on a GIANT golf course, dotted with scary brass statues of Lawrence Welk. My grandma Pat made all 20 of us go to the Live Christmas Review Show, which was so OVER THE TOP and UNBELIEVABLE that you didn't know whether to laugh out loud or run screaming from the theater. As it happens, I did both. By all counts, Lawrence Welk was of a particular ilk (the polyester suits, pro-Vietnam, performing poodles kind), and wasn't necessarily HIP, but OF THE TIME. It was so surreal to see people in their 20's and 30's tap dancing and singing their hearts out to 25 Christmas numbers, that weren't even hip in 1969, much less 2005. I kept thinking, "What road leads you tap dancing at the Lawrence Welk Resort to 500 people on a Tuesday night??"

Or, when I was flying back with Janae and my five year old brother and 2 year old sister, I thought I had experienced everything, until my brother screamed at the top of his lungs, just as we were about to land, "I WANT TO GO POTTY!!"

Or how the minute I was done with family and travel and settled into see my friends in Santa Cruz, I became immediately SICK. No one needs to tell me that it was stress and my body was saying: TAKE A BREAK WILLYA?

So today is my very last day in California and it is pouring with rain. I could feel totally gipped on my trip here, but what's the point? Better to take as many pictures as I can, chalk it up to another CHARACTER BUILDING EXPERIENCE and tap dance down my OWN road.