Does That Make Sense?

One thing about leaping out of your box, you think it's going to be a BIG DRAMATIC SCENE. Alas, no. It is SO BIG AND DRAMATIC in your stormy heart, that you fail to see the normalcy of it in other people's eyes.

Such was the experience with Marshall Arisman.

I was A BUNDLE OF NERVES, went the wrong way TWICE, thought for sure that all the GENIUS ARTY students were STARING at me LIKE A PEE ON, until they smiled and waved and gave me the thumbs up when I arrived to the CORRECT exit.

Showing him my work at first was like showing it to almost any aquaintance. Some reaction. No reaction. And then some more reaction. Then he showed why he is the chair of an illustration department, why he is, um, GOOD AT WHAT HE DOES. He went through my work and showed me what was already strong. He also showed me the thread of my work and how that might work in an illustartion industry. It was interesting. As someone who knows nothing about "industry" other than the pictures she sees in magazines and books, it was cool to get an idea of what someone might gather from my work--and therefor what I might WANT them to gather from my work. I was worried that he'd tell me I should DO THIS and DO THAT with my work, or worse, that I should NOT do this and NOT do that. It wasn't like that at all. It was very gentle. He spoke quietly and considered things. He has a habit of saying "Does that make sense?" at the end of every idea he offered me. "You might want to express an ASPECT of a story, not necessarily a SCENE from the story. Doesthatmakesense?" "You obviously know these women you're drawing, why not add more of that to their portraits? Doesthatmakesense?" YES!

The great part is that he gave me some goals and then he asked me to come back. I like being invited to come back. It makes me feel like I have a little calling card that says, "come back soon." I am not so set loose to my own devices in this hurly burly city that is New York, and is my mind. Doesthatmakesense?

Whoever You Are, This is For You

Jean Michel and Suzanne
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

Things to consider, when venturing out of your box:

1. Make sure that you are wearing something that makes you feel fearless. Red shoes are good for this. I think Superman, had that right idea: red shin-high boots. The more the better.

2. Go stand in the sun for ten minutes, and feel the warmth on your chest, so you can remember that you are human, but so alive.

3. If you see something on your way to work that lights you up, stop and take it in. Say to yourself, "I love tulip trees" or "I love girls who laugh with their eyes closed" or "I love the smell of coffee in the morning" and feel the truth of it take root. This is so you know that you have an opinion and it is worth something.

4. Laugh

5. Write, call, reach for someone who understands risk. Someone who will remind you that no matter what the outcome, it is only PART of the story.

6. Say to yourself: The only way to experience something is to do something. I am doing something.

7. When the demons of your mind come to tell you the bad news that you really aren't that good or capable or interesting or attractive or have any hope of anything different, know that you are on the right path and make a run for it.

"alyoop, here I go, my life into flames!" -Sandra Cisneros

I am Wearing a Skirt, People.

This is a BIG DEAL for me. One, it means it is actually warm enough to enjoy skin/air contact. Two, my whole life I've been "blessed" with my mother's (and her mother's and her mother's mother's) Irish curvy hips and legs. I have always felt "BIG" when exposing these attributes. Lately, I have had this feeling of SCREW IT. Wear what I like and look good doing it! So in keeping with arty life in an office idea # 8, I assembled an outfit that I planned in my sleep, dreaming of spring. What you can't see in this picture is my navy blue striped French t-shirt. I feel a little vintage, a little story book.

As I came into work I saw other young women swishing their pale legs under the swaying fabric of skirts. There was a feeling in the air of THIS IS IT, people! Coats were off, energy was buzzing. All the crazies were out on the subway. There was a man preaching and another woman seemed to be cleaning every corner of her PERSONAL SPACE with a few sheets of of kleenex. Then, when satisfied, she opened up her pages of coupons and began to sing to herself.

These are the last days of my long hair. I finally made an appointment for early next week. I am cutting the dead weight, so to speak. It's good to do a little spring cleaning, even on yourself. So shake out your skirts, and your short sleeves. I just spotted a Mr. Softee truck. As far as I'm concerned, it isn't the first robin or the groundhog that tells me spring has arrived, it's the Mr. Softee truck, crawling along a street side, playing a jingly music and offering creamy delicious soft serve. At lunchtime, have a little sweet, and don't forget to take pictures during the day:

For Those of Us in an Office, Who Dream of an Artful Life

from my walk to work today

For those of you people who, like me, find themselves employed by somebody else and in an office, I offer these ideas to shake up your day:

1. Walk to work--either the whole way or a section of the way. Today is the first REAL SPRING DAY we've had here in New York, and I got off the subway early and walked the 15 blocks in total glee, with the sun on my shoulders and the world suddenly blooming.

2. Go get a cup of coffee outside. Offer to buy your favorite co-worker/friend a cup too. Take 15 minutes and go. (Alternative or additional incentive: drink your coffee in a CUP and SAUCER. I did this once, and I felt SO ARTY and GREAT)

3. Buy yourself flowers. I recommend daffodils.

4. Read a poem. It's short, it won't take up too much time, but the heart will remember wonder.

5. Make a list of things you LIKE about your job (I don't care where you are--there are SOME THINGS that you like). Mine would be something like this: the view outside my window, several people here light up my day (hi Chin!), breakfast in the mornings, less worry about money, music from Pandora.

6. Bring your camera to work and take pictures occasionally through the day. Here is one of mine:



7. Do one thing towards your "ideal life." I called and made an appointment at the Schol of Visual Arts and I am going for a walk in Central Park later.

8. Wear something that makes you feel good. I am wearing a pair of my purple dangly earrings my mom gave me for Christmas. They remind me of the artist I always am.

9. At 3:00, have a piece of chocolate.

10. Plan one thing to do JUST FOR YOU at 5:00. Sometimes I go to the Algonquin and write. This week I went to a bookstore and browsed for three hours.

For extra credit: keep a small notebook on your desk and either doodle while you are on the phone, or have it handy to write down ideas for later.

No matter where you are, who you're with, or what you're doing, you are always YOU.

Going Through With It

Well, I wrote a very long post about FAITH and SYMBOLS and SIGNS. Then the whole entry got EATEN UP and somehow ERASED. That is quite a SIGN in itself.

So I'll just say this:

Yesterday, I finally acted on an idea I've had for the last 4 months. I made an appointment to have my work looked at by the chair of the illustration department of the School of Visual Arts. I was too scared to do it before--made lots of excuses--made plans--made proclamations, etc. etc. The only thing I didn't do was MAKE A CALL. It was a lot easier than I thought. His assistant was really nice. Her name is Kim and she asked me how I was. I said I was fine.

I go on friday with a heap of my work, not so much to get approval--as in, if I'm "good" or "good enough." I am going to get help. Where should I go from here?

Wish me well.

Happy Bear-th Day

Polaroid from the Natural History Museum. More pictures here.

As usual, there are a great deal of things I could wax philosophically on today, but I will have to settle on the day's most IMPORTANT EVENT: 34 years ago, my step-brother or brother or hippie patchwork sibling, James Joshua Snodgrass came wailing into the world--with a black eye. Apparently, his head was too big, so they got out the ol' baby pliers and while trying to pull him free, jabbed him in the eye. It's probably good that he doesn't remember it, because we can all chuckle at the black and white newborn snapshot, that has him sneering and weathering a real bruiser. He looks like a real gangster.

Josh and I met at his sixth birthday party, when my step dad, later to be HIS step dad (you do the math), dropped me off at his birthday party. Predictably, I don't remember the birthday boy at all, but I DO remember the choo choo train made of different birthday cakes. I had chocolate chip, with chocolate chip ice cream. Later, when we were both eight, and I DO remember meeting him, I would learn that he was a MASTER at marbles, quickly dispatching with all my good marbles, and a lover of hotdogs and mustard, matchbox cars, and all things Star Wars.

I think I can speak for both Josh and I, when I say that growing up in the same house with someone your age can be both good and bad. The bad part is that you have to weather the same high school, but with no sort of alliance. We were both REJECTS, but rejects of a DIFFERENT SORT. I was a reject, who was quietly developing what I considered my DEPTH. Josh was the sort that liked bikes, and SCIENCE, and the same neighborhood pals that he had grown up with. He was the sort that would eventually go on to enjoy studying how people die, what histories bones have to tell us, and the exciting world of forensic anthropology (who KNEW?). The good part is that when we got older, we could actually have something in common and enjoy it. I think of our college years as something sort of miraculous in our family: we all went our different ways and somehow cameback friends.

A couple of things to downright love about Josh: Sometimes he'll eat brown sugar STRAIGHT. He gets excited about Christmas. EVERY CHRISTMAS he'll get up at 6:00am and say, "Gee, I'm not tired. I don't know why, but I am just not tired. Does anyone want to open presents? I mean, I'm just thinking, we're all up, we might as well get started on stockings." He was THIRTY-ONE the last time I heard him say those words.

Josh and his lovely wife Heather (Hi Heather!) recently moved from Chicago to Eugene, Oregon, so that Josh could accept a professorship at U. of Oregon. When they were moving into their new house, and trying to set up the plumbing, they discovered what looked like a dead cat under their house. It turns out that PG & E won't go under your house if you have a rotting carcass lying there. In order to have a washing machine, they were going to have to remove it QUICK. It must have been slighlty ironic (if not downright ANNOYING as all GET OUT) to Heather, when your husband, who has a background in digging up mass graves in Bosnia to do war crime reports for the UN, and countless other dead-body related work, was OUT OF TOWN and was not AVAILABLE to dispatch of what turned out to be a DEAD POSSUM. This is how I know they are a good match. He said to her over the phone, "I know you can do it." and she did.

I was going to post a picture of Josh sitting in the kitchen of our old house, in his Return of the Jedi pajamas, but I know from fact that he gives the worst ARM BURNS on the planet. So I am posting this Polaroid I took at the Natural History Museum, a place he and I both love. There's something about this bear that reminds me of him. He's got this enormous presence, but inside, he's really just a creature who likes to eat and to sleep and to be left on his own to do his work out in the world.

Happy Birthday, Joshy.

My Mind is Totally Free

I went back to painting last night after a few days of not doing any art (besides music). When you are in a flow with things, and you step out of the flow to innocently just do other things, BEWARE! Beware of the amnesia that comes over you, like a comfortable blanket. It makes you forget that the flow is SO EXCELLENT and TOTALLY EASY to step back into. After two nights out doing music, I was excited to get back into the studio. Then on Wednesday, I put it off for grocery shopping and discussions about 80's movie stars. Last night, I felt myself putting it off again and when that old, "But I am tired..." thought came in, I remembered what Mike Filan would say: F%*$ I am too tired! I am doing this FOR ME! So, I went reluctantly into the studio, and yes, I know, it was totally good. At 10:00, Graham was trying to get me to settle down into bed with a movie, but I was TOO WIRED.

I have been having a lot of breakthroughs lately--both artistically and life-wise (although the art is far outpacing the life part). I cannot stress what a FRICKN' MIRACLE this is. For three years before I moved here, I was a stopped-up wreck. I was in pain over a regrettably sunk music career, hated all my songs (if I wrote them at all), didn't finish anything (except journals and a calendar once a year). I tried everything to heal the block that had come over me. I read ALL of Julia Cameron's work: The Artist Way (twice), The Vein of Gold, The Right to Write, Pen and Paper. I read almost every SARK book. I read everybody else in the artistic/creative sphere: Anne Lamott, Brenda Ueland, Lynn Franks, Sabrina Ward Harrison, etc. I went for walks, I prayed, I went into therapy, I visited psychics, I tried different forms of art. I had some movement, but still felt powerless, at the mercy of this sense that I had been STOPPED DEAD.

Do I need to tell you that I was like a girl who had been badly badly hurt by her former lover, and who looked at each new venture or possability, hungrily, with this thought of ARE YOU GOING TO BE IT? ARE YOU GOING TO SAVE ME?

Then something happened. Part of it was the risk of moving to New York. Part of it was facing things I had been afraid of directly. I went on tour for the first time in 5 years. I played in the subway. I painted a room PINK. Then, inspired by other artists doing collage, I thought, "Well, I'll give it a try." It was like a lock on my brain finally snapped and the memory of art being FUN came washing over me. Suddenly, EVERYTHING had a use. I cut up old paintings that I hated, and hoards of paper goods that I'd been carrying with me for years. When that started to run out, I dusted off my old paints and started to create sheets of colored paper to cut up. Then I started drawing just for the fun of it and photocopying and using THOSE things. Then I wanted to go larger--so I bought a huge roll of paper and made a collage that was 3'x4'. I started telling myself: There is always more where that came from. Then, suddenly, other things started to shift. My songwriting started to come back. It was easier to play and to hear melodies. For the first time in years, I bought art supplies beyond the usual pens and journals.

Last night I was looking at the painting I started--it's big (for me)--at least 4 x 4. I'm trying out new things--new materials, like fabric and book pages. Six months ago, I would have NEVER dreamed I would be doing art at this rate and with such joy and abandon.

Over Christmas I was showing some of the early beginnings of my journal collages to my dad. Next to one of the collages I had written: My Mind Is Totally Free. He said, "That's a powerful statement." Having been totally shackled and even sick with the limits that I had created for myself, I couldn't agree more.

"To be able to give hope, you must experience what it is to have no hope."
-Nicola Amadora

I hope you have a weekend filled with such freedoms.

If Only I Could Use this Gift for Good

Graham and I both decided to be good housepeople and go grocery shopping--SEPARATELY. So now instead of some rotting lettuce, two jars of jam, and some coffee left in our refrigerator, we now have 2 dozen eggs, enough chicken and porkchops to constitute a smalltown petting zoo, an entire forrest of mixed greens and lettuce, two bottles of half and half, FOUR loaves of bread, and enough produce to start a civil war in an unaired episode of the Veggie Tales. The difference between our experiences going shopping, is that I went after work, during RUSH HOUR, fighting off hoards of fellow young professionals, and Graham went during the day and got to see a CELEBRITY FROM THE BRAT PACK, Andrew McCarthy, shopping for organic goods.

The thing with Graham when he sees celebs, he can never remember their names. So it's a guessing game, sometimes including guest stars and entire resumes of films. He described Andrew McCarthy, as "An actor who had been in cheesy 80's movies." When I asked him what movies, did he say, PRETTY IN PINK? Did he say ST. ELMO'S FIRE? Nope. His two examples were Weekend at Bernies and Mannequin. The insane part is that I got who it was RIGHT AWAY. Believe me, this is how I know we deserve each other. I didn't think anyone in the world remembered the movie Mannequin, where a goofy, cute cut-up (McCarthy) haphazardly gets a job dressing windows in New York, when one of the mannequins (Kim Cattral)comes to life. Oh, the ROMANCE!

By the way, I didn't have to do any research to pull up the description of that film--and that's how I KNOW I HAVE A PROBLEM. I remember WAY TOO MANY movie facts from my childhood. Sometimes, I'll relay entire personal histories in a conversation on someone like Andrew McCarthy, and the people who will have started the conversation, will look at me like they are A LITTLE AFRAID. More than a few times people have stopped me and said, HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS STUFF? And I'll look at them, and shrug. "It's a gift." I say. Now, if only I could use it for GOOD.

I Hugged Everybody

Oh my goodness, WHAT A FANTASTIC NIGHT. I am not kidding. This was the best gig I've had yet in New York. It was the best paying and the best audience. I have to admit something. I was a bit depressed on my way over. I'd had a migraine earlier in the day, and the usual doubt was looming. Every single show I ever do, I have the usual voices that come up that say, WHY BOTHER and WHO ARE YOU KIDDING. Last night was no different, but it had an added weight of depression. I came into the city alone, bothered by some teenage boys who wanted me to listen to their cellphone messages (I declined politely). Then I walked over to Avenue A and went into the Sidewlak cafe, where Julz A., the accordian rapper, was just about to hit the stage. I sat down and opened my journal and to my UTTER ANNOYANCE, felt IMMEDIATELY BETTER. Sometimes when my depressive moods get so easily fixed, it's kind of annoying because I think, WHAT THE HECK was that all about? Just a second ago, I was having was felt like a MOMENT OF SERIOUS DOUBT, and now I'm FINE? Oh, PUHLEEZ.

Graham came in on Julz A.'s second song and was immediately TRANSFIXED. It made me feel even happier, because I had come home last night and felt so utterly inept at describing the array of talents that I had witnessed--now Graham was actually SEEING IT for himself. Later he said, "Julz A. ROCKED ME!" Then later disclosed THREE of Julz A.'s promo cards. I think Graham has serious in-like feelings for his unruly "Squeeze-Rock" stylings.

Joe, the sound guy, TOTALLY RULED. He was an excellent MC, and made sure I was very well taken care of. When you walk up on stage with a glass of water and the MC/Soundman pulls out a barstool for you to use as a water table, YOU FEEL THE LOVE VERY MUCH INDEED.

Friends from work came and sat in the front row. There was a surprising amount of audience as I stepped on stage. Two guys proceeded to sit in the front row and SCREAM OVER MY SONGS. I had to break my rule AGAIN and address them. It wasn't just talking loudly, it was literally SHOUTING/SCREAMING. My talking to them didn't amount to much. They seemed to understand me and nodded and took it in until I started playing again, then they commenced with SCREAMING THEIR CONVERSATION. Finally, the waitress--the totally KICK ASS, HOT, TOUGH WAITRESS--threw them out! Once again, I felt the LOVE.

After that, it was all gravy. Since I couldn't see anything but a sea of blackness with floating candles, I was so surprised to hear the CHEERS and the LOUD APPLAUSE from all sides of the room. Some guy yelled out: PLAY IT, BABY! I responded: You BET I WILL!

I played my brand new song (the paint is till wet on this one). I thought I bombed it horribly, but then people CHEERED again! AND I EVEN GOT A REQUEST. As I said from the stage, when somebody requests ANY OF YOUR SONGS, you want to BOW DOWN IMMEDIATELY and say YES, YOU GOT IT. ANYTHING for you! Because it means that somebody out there GIVES A HOOT. In such a world, where there is doubt and often enough dead silence on the other end, this is PURE GOLD.

Afterwards I got to meet people who are totally COOL (Hi Dennis!) and even PERFECT STRANGERS came up to me. Musicians came up to me! Audience members for OTHER ARTISTS came up to me! What a RELIEF and a PLEASURE. Joe said from the sounbooth, PLEASE BOOK HERE ANYTIME. I will, Joe! THANK YOU! I hugged EVERYBODY. It was that kind of night.

Shock & Awe

A very HAPPY BIRTHDAY to musician, artist, father of 6, husband of Brenda, Rick Beerhorst! Rick and Brenda met me at the Sidewalk Cafe last night for my first open mic in years. I had been warned about the enormity of the Sidewalk Cafe's Monday night open stage, but I wasn't PREPARED for the scope and range that the night held in store. First of all, there were SIXTY people signed up. The thing started at 8:00 and I left at 10:45 and they were on no. 15! It reminded me of BACK IN THE DAY when I first started out at Club Passim's open mic. There were at least 30 people signed up on any Tuesday night. It was usually an all night affair. In some ways staying all night, until the WEE HOURS, when only a few stragglers were left, was like a private AFTER SHOW. People would rise to the stage, as if they had just reached the peak of Everest. They would shout out: ARE YOU STILL OUT THERE? And the five of us that remained would all shout: WOOOOOOOO!

At the Sidewalk last night, it was quickly apparent that it had a REGULAR CREW. People knew each other, entire rows of people would have shows coming up together. Open mics can be a sort of GRAB BAG of talent and artistry. You never know what you are going to get. I'd never been to a NEW YORK open mic and was SHOCKED and AWED at the range of acts that kept appearing on the stage. Rappers, Emo kids with ties, rappers with ACCORDIANS, belly dancers turned folk crooners, British spoken word artists exploding into the audience, guys dressed like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky, holding a wine glass and crooning, blonde sisters from Iowa that made me want to EAT MY HAT, teenage kid with braces singing originals entitled "Young People are Customers Too" (and then totally rocking out on his electric guitar). It was CRAZY. My friend Mindy said at one point, "I want to leave and yet, WHAT IS NEXT?"

As it happens, I didn't get to hear Rick play, who was the on eI REALLY wanted to hear. He was no. 53 and I was getting nervous about going home by myself so late and also I had to be at work early this morning. I left him and Brenda doing only what you can do in a jam packed room, filled with guitars, characters and music, TAKING IT ALL IN. I hope he made it.

I am going back there tonight to play my little ol' show. Turns out that the RAPPER WITH THE ACCORDIAN goes on before me, and the BELLY DANCER TURNED FOLK CROONER is on after me.

Oh, you had me at 'hello.'

Unforseen Circumstances

rain box
Originally uploaded by summerpierre.

Okay, okay, OF COURSE, there are unforseen circumstances--so the ART SALE will most likely be trickled in this week. One of the unforseen circumstances is my incompetence when it comes to e-bay. You can have experiences of incompetence, but can you really SEE IT COMING? Not, really.

In the meantime, here's another little DANDY that will be on sale. Are you seeing a rain theme here? YES. I did an entire set of collages in January based on rain, inspired by both my love of rain and my mother's struggle from a flood that was caused by an INSANE amount of rain. I was trying to think good thoughts, and these collages are all GOOD THOUGHTS, indeed.

I hope you all had a good weekend. I protested the war in Times Square, saw the Rauschenberg exhibit, discovered Andy Warhol's house by accident, walked in Central Park, and saw a star from Sixteen Candles riding the Subway! Yep, you guessed it--ANOTHER WEEKEND in NEW YORK!

Hey, and while you're reading MORE ABOUT ME, I want to remind you that I have a show tomorrow night:

Tuesday, March 21, 10pm
Sidewalk Cafe
94 Avenue A at Sixth Street
New York, NY

It's pass the hat--come on down and donate to my Summer Pierre Must Meet Lynda Barry Fund. I's sure appreciate it.

Gearing up for the art sale on Monday

Psycho Kitty Qu'est Que C'est

It's been nearly two weeks since we opened the door to let in Sleater-Kitty and I am here to report, she is a true and honest CREATURE OF THE STREETS. She is INSANE.

Like all relationships, we are learning day to day what her emotional style is. So far, she isn't one for affection, unless you have just come home after 8 hours out in the world, or you are about to feed her, or she is actually eating. Otherwise, her attempts at emotional intimacy go something like this: Is that a hand stroking me? I must ATTACK IT IMMEDIATELY WITH MY TEETH AND CLAWS OF DEATH. Sometimes I'll sit down and she will get next to me to nap. Then the next thing I know, there is a cat sinking her teeth into my arm, getting even more WOUND UP, as I try to shake her free.

So far, I think she prefers Graham. He has a sort of dysfunctional I-hate-to-love-you dynamic going on with her. We'll be lying in bed, and she'll climb up to nap on his chest. She will look adorable and sleepy and Graham will greet her and say, "Oh, you're so cute. I just want to love you..." and then he'll go to stroke her, and she'll like it maybe ONCE and then remember: There's a hand stroking me, I must KILL KILL KILL. And Graham will get all angry and wounded, and say things like, "Why aren't you NICE?" a few minutes later, they're back at it like two love struck amnesiacs.

Occasionally, she'll give us clues to her mysterious history. I woke up in the middle of the night to find her in a trance, kneeding my shoulder and sucking on the blanket. She was in such a state of catatonic bliss, her crazy yellow eyes were nearly wall-eyed. Also, the other night, I peeled open a can of refried beans and she went BAZERK. She must have thought it was a huge can of Fancy Feast, the way she went on in the cat equivilent of "Hey! Hey! Hey! You gonna give me some of that? You gonna give me some of that?"

Also, she starts going nuts around 5:00am every morning. We have to feed her and lock her out of our bedroom. We'll wake up to her discreetly knocking things over, or doing flips in my studio with all the paper. This morning she woke us up by getting under the bed and sharpening her claws on the entire bottom of the mattress.

Graham and I have also decided that had we lived with her for a couple of days BEFORE naming her, we might have riffed on OTHER band names. The Poo Fighter or maybe the Poo-Gee, might have been better. Let's just say, the cat is REGULAR as a day in the office is LONG.

Even though she's pretty much made herself known as a freeloader, a spaz, and an overachieving poop machine, I kind of get a real kick at of her. I love hearing her meow when I am unlocking the door. I love being able to pick her up for 30 seconds upon entering and feel her purr and lean in on me. I also like it how she loves hiding behind my canvases in my studio, to pounce on me as I walk by. She also thinks the giant roll of paper is the Disneyland for cats. They should start an amusemnt park for cats called PAPERLAND. I don't understand the mysterious relationship of cats and paper, but it's SO INVOLVED. There's sleeping, tearing, hiding, attacking, and skidding. You name it, the cat and paper have done it!

No one can say she doesn't have a personality. That alone, makes her my kind of cat.

Yes, it's an opinion, but guess what? It's My Blog and I Can Editorialize if I Want to (with spelling mistakes AND grammatical errors)

There is so much I want to say and I hope that I can get it out. I am sure a lot of you know Keri Smith's work and her writing, and might have seen her recent post about being attacked in a web-based magazine. For others who don't know, a piece was recently published criticizing Ad-Free Blog, an endeavor founded by Keri Smith and her husband Jeff Pitcher, as a way to support a mission of blogs free from cooperate advertising. Apparently, the author, Ken Magill, wasn't down with Ad-Free Blog's endeavor--so much so that he went on a viscious, bizarrely personal attack on Keri and Jeff.

I think the internet, while amazing in its everflowing information, can be one of the most dangerous places on the planet. Nothing says FRESH MEAT like crticism through the easy anonymity of publishing on the net. It seems to allow a certain spirit of FREE FOR ALL when it comes to processing information--both good and bad.

This isn't the first time I have been utterly frustrated, disgusted by 'crticism' I have witnessed, particularly, on the web. Literary criticism has seemed to me more and more personally based. Salon, which I read every day and like, has published many articles on writers that spend more time criticizing the writer and not the work. Don't even get me started on the letters that come in from readers, seemingly to delight in shredding people to pieces.

I'm not writing this to particularly defend or stand-by Keri and Jeff, although I do support their endeavors, as fellow artists, activists, and as human beings who are seeking out a life that is with meaning. I am writing this becuase I am sick of the internet being lauded as an all important medium--where some people are more acceptable to write in it than others. I am also writing this because I am sick of people passing emotionally driven, fascist in nature, personal attacks as CRITICISM. Blogs are personal in nature--to criticize them and take them apart in a "journalistic" piece is to criticize the way someone talks during a conversation. Sure you can do it, but it's just DUMB to, and really not that helpful. Also, WHAT IS THE POINT? So you feel SMART and COOL and BETTER? Oh, how CUTTING EDGE.

If Ken Magill had written a piece honestly challenging Ad-Free Blog, I might have disagreed with him, but I would have at least taken it seriously. I go to journalism to get opinions that I don't get around the water cooler or in the back of my own catty mind. Magill is in a long line of critics that forgot that personal attacks don't amount to honest criticism. As he says about blogging: "...the blogosphere is about as diluted as a medium can get, because practically everyone who has had a coherent thought on the toilet thinks it should be published." Apparently, so is web journalism. Maybe he should get off the THRONE and stop slinging the shit.

Free-dom

One of the MANY perks of this particular temp job (which already includes breakfast every morning and DOUBLESTUFF oreo cookies in the afternoon), is that it also has FREE passes to The Museum of Modern Art. I didn't believe it at first, but then Graham asked if I wanted to meet him after work last night and go to the museum, I thought I'd give it a try. Sure enough the FREE PASS lay in the envelope for me to get into the Museum of Modern Art FOR FREE. It turns out the FREE PASS also let Graham in. For FREE. This is so exciting for many reasons. One, you don't have to wait in line to buy a $20.00 ticket, and two, you get in FOR FREE. Did I mention the free part yet? It's FREEEEEEEEEEEE!

MoMA has one of my favorite collections of all time. Not only does it have my favorite paintings by Hopper,Van Gogh and Chagall, but it also has some new favorites and serious iconic masterpieces that you can't argue if it's art or not. I was standing, viewing the amazingly large Rosseau painting, enjoying the peaceful moment of viewing it alone, while a crowd gathered around nearby oggling its iconic neighbor, The Starry Night. I was admiring the dark coloring when a family came to look. The dad bent down and said to his daughter, who was maybe 8, "Looks like that man is in trouble." By looking at the sagging posture of the little girl, and her braids that were coming apart, I could tell that she was at the end of a very long day SEEING THE SIGHTS. The girl looked at the painting wearily, half scowling. Then she said slowly and deliberately: "That. is. one. disturbing. painting." I was about to laugh outloud, when her mother said rather quickly, "Yep, it sure is. The man was INSANE." Then she went on to add, "Kind of like that lady who yelled at as today, carrying her cart. Right?" Welcome to New York, people!

The great part of going to MoMA for free is that you can go in an hour before it closes and not feel completely stressed that you've got to see everything. You can take your time, go to only your favorites, or anything that catches your eye. One of my new discoveries was a newly acquired painting/collage by Rauschenberg. It had us both riveted for awhile. It was huge and seemed to be free in all forms. It was an assemblage of thick paint streaks, glued fabric, splashes of paint, magazine images, and illustrations. Everytime I looked at it again, I saw something different. Graham pointed out the entire row of paintchips that seemed to united the whole piece. It was the largest collage I've ever seen and its enormity and obvious freedom really INSPIRED me. So, imagine my DELIGHT, when I remembered that there was an entire Rauschenburg show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art until next week. My temp job doesn't have a free pass for the Met, but the Met is luckly by DONATION, which near to FREE.

Museums are the closest things to church for me. I walk in, and their spiritual vibe is OVERWHELMING. I feel so lifted by all the art, inspired, fulfilled, moved, and yes, very FREE, indeed.

You Got My Message in a Bottle (yeah)

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for all your ideas and basic encouragement. This is totally ruling! I feel VERY hopeful and EXCITED. What I liked was the different ideas that I hadn't thought of. One person suggested that I crash on someone's couch for a month and sublet my apartment. This is not only totally NEW YORK, but something I NEVER WOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF. Of course, with a 6' 4" boyfriend and a cat, this is a little difficult. I have to admit that when I read the first lines of Darren's suggestion that I sell myself on e-bay, I thought, Oh dear, there's my REPUTATION PROCEEDING ME AGAIN. Then I read on, and I thought, Geez I love technology! Good ol ebay!

Here's what I've decided to do: a combination of many things suggested:

1. I found out that YES Omega has scholarships (Thanks MARIA!), and I financially qualify to apply, so I've submitted an application.

Because this isn't gauaranteed and because I won't find out for 6 weeks if I qualify, I've decided to also:

2. Have an ART SALE on e-bay! I have TONS of art--collages, paintngs, mini books, etc. I had wanted to try to sell them, but was chicken. It's amazing the guts that desperation will bring you. ALL PROCEEDS will go to my becoming a desciple of the FUNK QUEEN of the USA: Lynda Barry (at least for a week)! Barring unforseen circumstances, the art auction will go on starting MONDAY.

3. I have a show on Tuesday at the LEGENDARY Sidewalk Cafe, which is a pass the hat gig. All funds earned in said hat will be going towards it. I might even have some arty things for sale there too.

Thank you thank you for giving this ol' gal some hope! You're the BEST!

I send an S.O.S. to the World

In an act of total openness (or desperation--take your pick), I need you people's help. I have a dream. I have a dream to take a class being taught by my HERO. It would literally be a dream come true for me to sit in a room with this woman, much less be taught by her. As usual, money is the factor. For two years, I have put off this dream, swearing that I would do it next year when I had "more money." It's year 3 and I am not ony in New York, which is closer and doesn't require a plane ticket to get to this week long workshop, but I am still faced with this financial obsticle. I need someone's advice: HOW DO I COME UP WITH $715.00 in the next month to register for this class? I am not asking for money. I am asking for ADVICE, IDEAS, PRAYERS, ANYTHING to help me accomplish this goal. I feel like a total dork and weirdo for posting this--but when you have a dream and a hope and all other routes have come to nil, you say THE HECK WITH HOW IT LOOKS: I NEED HELP!

I am open to ALL SUGGESTIONS. If you don't want to comment, send me an e-mail with "advice" in the subject line at summer@summerpierre.com

I'm not kidding! Send hope N-O-W. Seriously! No joke! H-E-L-P!

Change

Change is afoot. I am DIZZY with it. It must be springtime, that season of change, when people either shack up or ship off or do a little of both. In the last week I have had news of 3 babies, two divorces, a marriage, a new romance, and three new moves (either in job or location or both). People have been sharing their life stories with me, I have felt a feeling of closeness, the air is warmer, and my work is flowing. What is next? I can only GUESS.

There something about all this that makes me REALLY EXCITED. I think life is fascinating. I love knowing about people's lives so much--the process of life is so beguiling and fascinating. YOU NEVER KNOW. I say that all the time, but it is SO TRUE. In my 20's, this is something I never could fathom. I had very distinct ideas about how life either went or didn't. I had a 50-50 chance of making it--whtever that "it" meant. No wonder I was so UNHAPPY. Then something explodes, or a flood takes all your belongings, and it is all such a wretched mess, and that's when you discover that OH MY GOODNESS, there is MORE LIFE to be had.

More and more I am inspired by people's stories of "failure" of "breaking up" or "cracking up." Most of the time these stories are the ones that break their worlds wide open. Their horizons are suddenly SO MUCH larger than they ever imagined. This is often after a great deal of pain, but in the end, it is so good. It is so good because we are always so much more than we think. We get an idea of ourselves, but ideas are made to be broken. They aren't promises, they aren't infinite. They are only moments. They are creatures who change on us when we aren't looking. My advice is to get an idea and SPEND IT for what its worth. I assure you that ideas have an expiration date. A lot of my trouble has been due to ideas about life and being confused when they weren't always true or steadfast.

All this news this week seems to me about ideas being spent, being built, being thrown out the window. I am sending you love, whoever you are, who is going through a period of change--either good or bad. You are not alone. The world turns, and you are in its current. I am excited for you, and celebrate all that is going, and all that is coming. Look out across the horizon, and feel the warm breeze that picks up your hair and sends it flying.

Anywhere & Everywhere

A couple of weeks ago on This American Life, they did a story about cops trying to locate and arrest graffitti artists in New York. One of the artists they mentioned was a guy named Revs, who eluded police for years, creating 235 "pages" of his life story along the walls of subway tunnels, where most people won't even see them. He would paint a section of the wall white and then spraypaint a narrative, beginning with his birth. I find this FASCINATING. I ran into the bedroom to Graham, who was sitting on the bed reading Hagel, and breathlessly told him of this amazing-sounding guy. Sometimes I feel bad for Graham who has to hear every excited thought I EVER HAVE. Sometimes in one night he will have to withstand me chattering on about everything from an 80 year old octupus finding a mate for the first time, to the latest in the literary controversies surrounding the estate of Sylvia Plath, to quadropeds discovered in Turkey. Some things are more interesting than others, but he always looks up from his book, gives me some sort of affirmative grunt (at the very least) and then goes on with his life.

This time, he seemed a little interested. The next night he came home and he said, "Hey, I think I saw one of that guy's pages on the L." I practically peed my pants. On the way home from the show on Wednesday, he showed it to me, against the wall we pass just before the Grand stop on the L, a smudged white with a scrawl of letters. Last night, we had one of those unusual nights where we went all over town. Graham, now hot on the trail of Revs, saw even MORE pages as I stared at an ad for the Bahamas on the F train. Of course, you blink, and they are GONE. The speed of the train doesn't let you read ANYTHING.

I've looked and looked on-line, but there is nothing directly about the pages anywhere. I know from This American Life that Revs was eventually arrested and charged with vandalism and stolen property. He had been getting into the subway tunnels night after night by wearing a stolen MTA uniform. Everytime workers saw him coming in with a LADDER and a bucket of WHITE PAINT and a ROLLER, they just assumed he was work crew. Eventually, he would go "ligit" as an artist and do sculpture. He also teamed up with another Graffiti artist named Cost, during the 90's and did cryptic messages. I've never been into tagging or graffiti--even though one of my favorite painters began as graffitti artist. Now I see it as an amzing form of guerilla art--something I am more and more attracted to. Like blogging, it is a skip-the-middle-man form of creation. New York seems to be this thriving creature, where everyone goes to MAKE THEIR MARK. It seems only obvious, that artists would do this LITERALLY.

Revs has added to that feeling (I think for both Graham and I) that there are treasures lurking ANYWHERE and EVERYWHERE in this city. Last night, while going for a walk, we by sheer "accident" also stumbled upon TWO sites from two of our favorite movies. I feel kind of inspired to make my own map of New York, dotting the important places that have sprung up along the way. You never know what may occur in this incredible place. It could be something as magnificent as a landmark building or something more quiet, like the unseen written works of a man's life, running underground.

The View From the Stage

Last night was rough. It was good too, but it was one of those nights that I leave feeling depleted, a little down, wondering if there's a point to trying. OF COURSE, there is a point, but I had worked really hard against a tide of obstacles during the entire show, and I was winded from it.

I came into a scattered room listening to the 8:00 performer, who was a young, blond guy, with a beautiful, poppy voice. He was pretty too, in a young TV sort of way. So much so, that when he joked that he was auditioning the next day for MTV's series, Rockstar, I thought, THAT'S PERFECT! Then he said, "Just kidding guys." and I thought TOO BAD. During his set, I noticed that the rock show happening next door in the REAL CBGB’s boomed through the walls rather loudly. I could barely make out the young guy's guitar licks. I got a little worried.

After his set, a crew of women from work came in and sat right in front, which is good for me because when you have lights in your face, the view from the stage is mostly blackness. You see RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, a sea of black, and then the FARTHEST END of the club. It's like being near AND far sighted, without any middle ground. When I started, so did the rock show next door. You know it is really bad, when you are on stage, with monitor speakers pointing directly at you, and yet the sound from NEXT DOOR is drowning you out. To add to this, the young man who played a set before me (and who I sat and listened to quietly--even shushing some of my friends who came in, so he could play in peace) proceeded to stand with two of his audience members and TALK and LAUGH LOUDLY through my first TWO songs. I would have let this slide, because this is not an unusual occurrence when you play a show, except for a few factors: 1) Where they were standing and yucking it up was in a SPARCELY POPULATED LISTENING room. The bar is at the OTHER END for this reason. You come to sit and listen in front of the stage. You go to visit at the bar. 2) I was already fighting with the rock band next door, when I realized that I was getting HOARSE from trying to also rise above them YELLING and LAUGHING. 3) It was totally RUDE and UNECESSARY.

So I broke my usual sense of decorum and stance that you must at all times KISS THE AUDIENCE'S ASS and not make anyone UNCOMFORTABLE. Before my third song I said (rather boldly) to them, "Hey there. Hi! How's it going? You know, I need to do a song here and I could use a certain amount of mood, because well, it's a PERSONAL song, and you know, it MEANS SOMETHING. So thanks FOR LISTENING." To my astonishment, they sat down. At the end of my DEEPLY PERSONAL song, they got up to leave and I thanked them for their time and we were all on our way.

I wish musicians would get this. I can't tell you how many times this has happened--even in a crowded bar, where it isn't as obvious. I mean, you'd think that they'd GET IT, because they were just ON STAGE and I am sure it means something to them to BE HEARD, so why not transfer that over to the next musician? Why not say to your friends, "Hey, let's not talk over this person. Let us go to the bar, or outside, where we can talk IN PEACE." I don't mind if you don't want to STAY and listen, but it's so CRAPPY to be treated with no CONSIDERATION, by a fellow artist.

Anyway, the rest went fine (despite the rock show next door). I got off stage and people were there to say "Yay, Summer!" I signed CDs. The next guy came, and I went to the bar and talked with a few friends. Then Graham carried my guitar for me, and we walked along Houston, seeing other musicians ducking in and out of clubs. I remember so many years of playing and going home, lonely and freaked out about my life. It was nice to have Graham put his arm around me and say sweet things, and to feel tired, but not entirely screwed.

Aleeeedaaaa

In the Car by Alida Bockrath

Okay, it's only Wednesday and it's been a full week of news and changes for dear and old friends. My friend Boreas just informed me that he is moving from his native Bay Area to Kauai in May. My friend Andromeda is getting married and having a baby. Today, we all got an e-mail from our friend Aleeedaaa, who lives a life that some of us only DREAM OF. Listen to this e-mail that she wrote to us today from her house sitting gig in Oregon:

So, I was supposed to go "chalet sit" in Switzerland next week for a month...and then wonder onto Estonia. But my friends trip to Australia (who I was chalet sitting for) fell through at the last moment...

So now I'm thinking about Costa Rica. Land of sun, jungle, snakes, large spiders...and surfing camps. I've been looking into volunteer work. One option is six weeks on an exotic fruit tree farm, deep in the jungle with no electricity or running water. Days spent hacking jungle with machete, harvesting fruit, drying seeds, cooking, washing myself and cloths with a bucket...walking 45 minutes to get to road to take two hour bus ride to closest town to buy our weekly rice and beans. Hmmmm.
There are some pluses. Being awoken by Howler monkeys, complete isolation and beauty of the jungle, but working in thick rubber boots to avoid the 200 types of poisonous snakes found in Costa Rica and avoiding large spiders (size of out stretched hand) who have webs all around the volunteers shack...may be the down side.

The other option is living in a village with a family and hot running water and patrolling the nearby beach at night to protect and find sea turtle nests & eggs...taking the eggs to be incubated, hatched and then released into the sea (get to see little tiny baby sea turtles!!)

Then there's a week of an All Girl Surf Camp: yoga, massage, daily surfing lessons, bungalow with a pool, endless costa rican food cooked for you...

I think our friend Kirstin said it right, that a lot of us have that little man in our heads that says no, when we think of these wilds plans. Aleeedaaa just doesn't HAVE that little man. Her plans are always EXOTIC and she, for the most part, DOES THEM. Did I tell you that she also has an apartment in Paris? Before you get all these ideas in your head that she is an heiress and independantly wealthy, I can assure you that NO, this IS NOT TRUE. For the most part, she makes her living from her INCREDIBLE paintings. She is a true artist of life and to get an e-mail from her with all these options is to make your head dizzy with fantastical plans. It is to look out from your window on the 27th floor in Manhattan and say, WHY NOT? It is to wonder why the heck you worry about RENT, RULES, SCHOOL LOANS, and APPEARENCES when you can maybe be in Costa Rica or chalet-sit in Switzerland?

Then the little man says, "no." and I go back to work. Curse you, litte man! Curse you!

A Cheap Way to Show the Love

Just a reminder to you dear folks that I will be playing at the excellent & legendary CB's Gallery TOMORROW NIGHT at 9:00pm! At $5.00, it's a cheap way to show the love and to entertain yourself in New York City!

What's in it for you:

1. my undying gratitude.
2. songs you won't hear ANYWHERE ELSE.
3. an opportunity to experience this unique venue, leaving New York forever in October.
4. a last look at my long ass hair before I cut it all off!

Let's all pretend it's the springtime and GO OUT on a Wednesday night.

Wednesday, March 8th, 9pm, $5 at the door.
Summer Pierre
(swinging her dad's ol' axe and singing her braids off)
CB's 313 Gallery
313 Bowery (between 1st & 2nd)
New York, New York
Take the 6 to Bleeker Street; or the F to 2nd Ave.

Committed

We got a cat. Or, more acurately, a cat got us. Here's the thing: I love cats. I have been a surrogate cat aunt to every one of my friends' cats. Except for brief periods of shacking up or rooming with someone who has cats, I've never had one myself because I've never felt settled enough. Now that I feel very nested with my boyfriend and my painted walls, a cat seemed like a good idea. Only one problem: our building doesn't allow animals. Everyone I have told this to in New York has said, "You should just do it anyway." I wasn't so sure about that.

So every day or every other day, Graham and I would talk about having a cat and how great that would be and I would do my cat language and Graham would crack up. Then we'd look out the window and stare at the grown up litter of stray cats that are in the back yards and say "Those poor kitties. How are they surviving this weather?" And I would point at one of the black ones and say how much I would love to just HOLD HIM and then we would go on with our day.

So you can imagine my surprise, not an hour after this daily exchange on saturday, I hear meowing out in the hall, outside our door. I opened the door and there stood a little dust colored cat with an orange tail. She saw me, meowed and then ran inside our apartment and proceeded to purr and MAKE HERSELF COMFORTABLE. Graham said, "Let's feed her!" But if you feed a cat, THEY WILL NOT LEAVE. I hesitated and then fed her.

She's skinny as a rail and purrs at the drop of a hat. It's obvious that she belonged to someone at some point, because she is fully domesticated. She has no desire to leave the apartment. I wonder how long she has been on the unruly streets of Brooklyn. After the last 3 days, she's scrubbed up real nice. We named her Sleater-Kitty after our favorite grrrrl band, Sleater-Kinney.

I have to admit (and isn't it OH SO INTERESTING) that I became immediately anxious at the prospect of having a cat. I mean, it's a SERIOUS COMMITMENT. We now are RESPONSIBLE for her. What will happen when we have to go somewhere? WHAT WILL WE DO? I was so FREAKED OUT about this, that I couldn't sleep on Sunday night. Add to the anxiety, the fact that she got up about 5 times in the middle of the night to poop the most NOXIOUS smelling BOMBS on the planet (due I am sure to suddenly having available food), and that was all she wrote. I lay there, clenching my teeth, like a halloween skeleton.

I was bemoaning this to my friend Andromeda on the phone last night, explaining my sudden fear of commitment, when she said, "Funny you should mention 'commitment'. Rob and I are going to get married." After I hooped and hollered, she added, "Yeah, I'm pregnant too." You can imagine how all worries over the cat were sort of SIDELINED after this declaration. It was as if some gynormous being was patting me on the head and saying, "Silly mortal."

This morning Sleater-Kitty woke us up by running around the apartment and discovering the pigeons that roost in the air shaft. Last night she attacked the kitchen rug, as if it were a creature that could fight back. The more I get to know her, the more I see that she is a total spaz. Looks like she found the right home.

Enis n' Jack 4 Ever!

I didn't watch the Academy Awards last night. We don't own a TV, and our subway line was down, otheriwuse we might have gone to a bar to watch it. For years I haven't given a rat's ass about the Academy Awards. Usually, I don't care about the movies they have up for the awards, but this year was different. There was Capote, Walk the Line, Good Night & Goodluck, and especially, Brokeback Mountain.

When Graham brought me coffee this morning, he said, "So I got some Oscar news." I waited for the news of the two categories that meant the most to me, Best Actor and Best Picture. He delivered the blow first, "Crash won best picture." Incredibly, I felt like crying, I was so frustrated. It probably was because I was shaved down to the nerve from an anxiety induced insomnia that I had suffered all night, but STILL, I had the HIGHEST hopes that Brokeback would win.

I know that Brokeback Mountain is a probably a wornout subject. It has been filling the headlines for months. 'Brokeback' has been cited as a HOT buzzword. I know the whole drill, the debate, the hullabaloo. I DON'T CARE. Let me tell you this: During our trip to California (otheriwse known as the LOST Christmas), Graham and I went to see Brokeback Mountian. I went in with high expectations, which is always very very dangerous. At first those expectations kept me from emersing in the movie, but then, suddenly, it was the end of the movie, and a near mute man had just given himself and his daughter the gift of allowing himself celebrating her upcoming marriage. He watches her drive off, a grown up girl, at the beginning of her adult life, happy. He turns away from the doorway, opens his closet, and touches two objects that symbolize his life, and what he ultimately holds quietly dear to him. His eyes well up. As he uttered the last two words of the film, I sat wrecked with grief and loss. Graham and I sat, weeping in our seats, emotionally transformed by this beautiful beautiful story.

It affected me so much that it made me, in a sense, innocent. I was so moved, I wanted everyone to experience this film. We went home to Graham's parents who are conservative Christians and prompty tried to sell this movie to them. For about 5 minutes, still swept up in the glow of this movie, I believed that even they could experience it for what it was: a glowing, sweeping love story, that is both tragic and triumphant. Never mind that it was two men. Jenny, Graham's mother, always up for listening, smiled politely as we went on and on about it, and then finally said, "Well, that might be a challenge for us." I saw the door close on that one. You'd think I would have gotten the hint, but I tried it with other family members, all equally conservative in their beliefs. They politely withstood my enthusiasm, but then uttered words like, "Hmm. Interesting." When my cousin's husband listened to me and then said the words "I don't know. I don't think I...YUCK." I finally got the message and I shut the hell up.

The thing that is groundbreaking about Brokeback is that it isn't a 'Gay' film. It isn't even 'political.' It's just a beautiful, moving story. I still believe that if you put any of your judgements or your ideas, you would be greatly moved by it. I remember hearing about it months ago and laughing at the potentially cliche and cheesy components of two cowboys falling in love. It had the potential to go VERY VERY WRONG. By some miracle, it didn't. I think that part of me that became a sort of innocent, caught up in the love that I felt in that movie, held out a glimmer of hope that the world would honor it with the highest PUBLIC honor. Apparently, the public world is like my cousin-in-law. Who said, "Yeah but...yuck."

I have to admit that I haven't seen Crash. Perhaps it is a great movie. It's just that the themes represented in that movie (race issues in L.A., intertwining lives, etc.) have been done A LOT in the last 15-20 years. When was the last time you sat in a movie that transformed your beliefs, your idea on how the world is seen? When was the last time you saw something utterly original? Ang Lee, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Heath Ledger have done this world a service by for once CONTRIBUTING to the world, instead of just filling it. I feel lucky that my heart has been so opened by this picture, and that it remains so open. Call me liberal, call me what you like, I am more interested in what truly has meaning in this world. As far as I am concerned, labels do not have much meaning, but art, spirit, and love do.

3 Sides of the Same Coin

The Freedom of Overcoming Pre-Buyer's Remorse is Sheer Poetry

Good golly, I am in a good mood today. It's friday, I have a show tonight, great plans with friends(happy birthday Nathan!) tomorrow, some good e-mails to read this morning, and I have new poetry to read. I have been back on a reading frenzy since the New Year began. I used to be a book feind, but then I went through a period where I couldn't read with out getting anxiety attacks. This was during "The Lost Years" or "The Found Years" (however you want to look at it), after everything in my life decided to take a dirt nap, including simple pleasures like reading. It's been a slow climb back, but I feel as if I have been making up for lost time these last few months, reading in heaps (or volumes, as they say). I rush back to books again and more recently, poetry.

I don't remember the last time I let myself buy a book of poems. Books, although I crave them, I have a hard time letting myself buy. It's one of those "luxury" items that I weirdly deprive myself of. Usually when I get up the nerve to go buy a book, I have pre-buyer's remorse and I sometimes talk myslef out of it. There are a stack of books I've wanted for YEARS, and still, strangely, I have never let myself buy them. Mostly, they are art books, like Dan Eldon's The Journey is the Destination. I have wanted this book literally since it was published--when? since 1998?? And STILL I don't allow myself to get it. My friend Jen finally bought me Sally Mann's lush book of photographs, Immediate Family, and I had craved and coveted that book for TEN YEARS.

Yesterday, I was thinking about books that I would really like to read and two books of poetry came to mind: New & Selected Poems, Vol.1 by Mary Oliver and the Collected Poems by Nikki Giovanni. I have wanted these books for FOUR YEARS. I have visited them countless times in bookstores, and checked them out of libraries, but never brought them to my home to stay. I asked myself, why the heck didn't I get one? Seriously, at $16.00, it's a relatively cheap thrill--one that will keep me well-fed for a long, long time. Certainly better fed than the $2.00 cups of coffee that I sometimes indulge in. So, in a fit of inspiration, I went to the bookstore last night afterwork. It seemed so INDULGENT to peruse all those shelves HEAPING with poetry. I felt downright excited, the way you did as a kid when suddenly, out of the blue, a parent or a relative said, "Here's $5.00. We'll go to Toys 'R' Us and you can get ANYTHING YOU WANT." It made you shake in your sneakers, you were so BESIDE YOURSELF. And then when you got to that fuscia colored hallway with all the Barbie accessories, you thought you would faint. It was like that. I was giving myself the green light to get my heart's desire. I was telling myself: TAKE YOUR PICK.

I picked up the copy of Mary Oliver's book and then I spied the Nikki Giovanni book. Oh, no, which one to get? I walked around with both of them in my arms for awhile. One book was a big deal enough, I just COULDN'T GET BOTH. Then that old pre-buyer's remorse kicked in. "Oh, you don't want to spend your money on this, do you?" The old engine kicked in. Luckily, I had prepared for it, buy remindind myself that this voice ALWAYS comes up. So I got quiet and asked myself that old SARKism: What is my most ALIVE choice in this moment? And QUICKLY, like A SHOT, my heart said: BUY BOTH BOOKS.

So I did. AND I AM SO HAPPY! I read some of my favorite poems to Graham over coffee this morning, and I *SIGHED* at Bedford Avenue and at Union Square on the subway and then again at 33rd street and finally at Grand Central Station. Poems are perhaps the best kept secret. They are small devils that slip into your coat and yet THEY CARRY YOU out into the world and back home again.

Quiet Please

It's snowing like gangbusters out there. I sit on the 27th floor and watch it fall, as if someone cut open a down pillow and dumped the feathers all over Madison Avenue. It is INCREDIBLE!

I went out to dinner with an old friend on Tuesday night. It was fantastic. Afterwards, he took me to this bar he had told me about, and my mouth flew open as we entered what seemed like a secret room, with red painted walls, sweeping oil paintings, candlelight, and quiet. Apparently, QUIET, does exist in New York City. This place, which I can't for the life of me remember its name, doesn't allow parties larger than four people. Upon entering, you pass a sign that says, QUIET PLEASE. I didn't need the sign, because once in, I was SPEACHLESS. It was so beautiful and warm and just the place you want to go for an intimate, peaceful hour. I'm not much of a drinker, but even I could appreciate their homespun cocktails, that came like little green paintings. My friend got one that was like a grass green gem and it tasted like a TOOTSIE ROLL! I got one that was a rich wintergreen and tasted like a fruit smoothie.

We talked openly about artistic and life endeavors. My friend is in a band that is doing rather well. It just seems to get better. Tours with national acts, opportunities, and a building fan base. He is living his life entirely on his artistic career. It's really rather exciting. After an entire dinner and half a drink of talking about such things, he stopped and asked, "Is it hard for you to hear about what I am doing?"

I appreciated so much that he asked me that. It wasn't hard to hear these things, in the normal sense. I am not jealous and in fact, I'm very happy for him. His group is really good and to see them on stage, knowing the parts they were borne from, is to feel that the good guys made it, that somewhere God is giving a giant thumbs up to the good of the world. BUT (and there is always a but), if I was going to be completely honest (and in such cases it is always good to be honest), I also felt blooms of shame. He and I started at the same place. When I fell off that path, he took it to the next level. Do you know how good it is to tell someone that you feel shame in front of them? It's probably the most empowering thing you can do. I knew the shame stemmed not at all from his successes, but from my own regret, that idea that clings to me doggedly that I have somehow failed. I was afraid that my friend pitied me, looked down on me--but guess what? GIRLFRIEND, TAKE A LOOK IN THE MIRROR! It was ME, pitying me, and looking down on me.

We talked more about this. It felt good to admit my shame, but it also felt good to acknowledge that I am, for the most part, on the other side of what I consider a very bleak time. I am more creatively and artistically free than I've ever been. I feel a great sense of hope. I know that PART of my path was that struggle of falling short of a dream I started years ago, but it isn't MY WHOLE STORY (not by a long shot). Someone pointed out to me once that failing means that you have utterly destroyed something. I've made some mistakes, but I don't believe anything is utterly destroyed. Looking at it from that perspective, I haven't failed. And as Natalie Goldberg says, "There is no such thing as failure, only a big field to walk in."

I've been walking in a field for awhile, and now I am at the edge of civilization, looking at a new town, with I am sure includes NEW mistakes, new fields, and a whole new set of expectations that will be challenged, if met at all. In truth, I have NO IDEA where I am, or how it all fits. I just like that I rush home to paint, and that playing music is FUN, and that I can sit in a quiet room with an old friend and admit to the parts in me I don't like. I couldn't do that before, when we were both green and at the same level musically. This is where my path has led me, and it's a good place to arrive to, no matter the route.