The resurrection of Yo

     Being an artist, for me, has not always been pretty or fun.  Nor does my process fit nicely into the perimeters of a timeline.  I can start a project with a ‘guesstimation’ of when it will be done, but I never really know what will happen once I start.

     In September 2006, I started a life-size mannequin by covering a foam one (I had laying around) with papier mache.  Then, I used the plaster gauze to make a smooth, hard surface to collage upon. I then collaged the entire surface with maps I printed out from various sites I found on the web. In the next step, I laid tissue paper that sewing patterns are made of, and then finally I painted over the entire surface, thinking I was going to sand back through the layers and come up with some interesting texture as skin.  

     By the summer of 2007 she was completely covered. Her torso and arms were sanded down revealing an unusual textural surface with an occasional word showing through. Her legs had red and white striped ‘socks’. Her face had tiny words embedded deep into her skin and eyes.  She sat peacefully in a cross-legged position with her fingers laced together.  And I hated her.  I just could not make any real meaning out of her even though the surface of her ‘skin’  looked just fine.

     Day after day, my frustration with ‘the mannequin’ grew whenever I tried to work on her.  Finally, sick of the frustration, I cut off her arms, then I cut off her legs and I wrote ‘I hate you’ and ‘throw me in the river’ all over her.  That day I promised myself, tears flowing, that I would throw her in the back of the truck, drive down to the river and throw her in.  ‘She will finally stop haunting me',  I thought.

     Then in December of 2007,  I had a near-fatal head injury to the right side of my brain caused by a sinus infection.  I was in the hospital for a month. By the time I got home I still had very little use of the left side of my body.  I could not put on my own clothes, tie my shoes, zip up my coat.  Making art was out of the question.  But everyday for several months I would walk up to the hospital for my physical therapy appointments then walk back.
     Eventually, I learned to read again, type, use my cellphone and most miraculous to me the pictures inside my brain came back.  (I had secretly feared I had lost my imagination).  To make art I would collect things in baggies and hang them on the wall and try to extract meaning from them.  And  I spent a few hours everyday writing.  The mannequin was the last thing on my mind though she still haunted me whenever I went out to the shed.  (I never did make it to the river.)
     I spent the next year volunteering at MECCA trying to learn how to work with others with my new limitations.  The head injury caused a lot of fatigue along with heightened anxiety when dealing with people.  The volunteering helped me learn how to negotiate my new limitations.
     When Mija (the director at MECCA) first said the words ‘Art Challenge’ I immediately knew I had to resurrect the mannequin.  The moment I saw the old lamp I knew that the lampshade was the skirt I had been looking for. And the base of the lamp would be heavy enough to hold up the mannequin.  So inspired was I, that I strapped the lamp onto the back of my bike because I had to start work that day.

      This is when it dawned on me that resurrecting the mannequin mirrored my own resurrection from the brain injury.

     Everyday, for the next two months, I would find little things at MECCA that spoke to me and I knew they belonged with the Resurrection piece.  Death sits on her head to remind me that it is always near, and a skull sits in a closet (or a coffin) on her back to remind me that grieving is a very necessary part of the healing process.  As I first said, for me, making art isn’t always a pretty or timely process.  But, at least this time, it is what makes meaning in my life.

the Thanksgiving Blog.. (it's gunna be long cuz I got a lot to be thankful for)

     Those of you who have known me for at least 2 years will remember I had a near death experience in December of 2007.  The last thing I remember happening that year before going into the hospital for a month was Thanksgiving dinner at Michael's house.  So, this holiday is tinted with other meaning for me.
     After close to 2 years of healing I can say I am thankful to be alive.  I am also thankful for the numerous people who helped saved my life.
     First, there was George, my neighbor, who 'knew something was wrong' after not seeing me for 5 days and finding me unconscious, so near to death that my imagination was sending me pictures of myself already dead and his wife Betty who insisted I might still be alive and calling 911.  Then there was Micki, the chaplain on duty who held my hand and kept vigilant eye contact with me while I was being wheeled around the emergency room, all the while unconsciously deciding whether I was going to stay with the living or pass over to the other side.
     I am thankful to Tina, Suzie, Sandy and Joan and Michele (who drove all the way from San Francisco) for bleaching my house and disposing of everything tainted with the bodily fluids of my dying process and to Tina again for asking my mother to buy me a new bed.  I am thankful to Dan, my old boss, for getting a hotel room for my mother and brother during that first weekend when no one knew whether I was going to make it or not. 
   During that month in the hospital so many people came to visit me.  I know now that all the love and attention is what helped me decide to stay with the living.  I am thankful to Carole for getting the Buddhists to pray for me, to Amy for playing french music on her accordian, bringing tears of joy to my eyes.  I am thankful to Jennifer who brought me her lucky chinese dragon jammies and later when I could eat bringing dinner and setting a little table so we could eat together.  I am thankful to Michele who brought me silly things and made me laugh.  And to Maram, who decorated my room with Jewish stars and read me poetry when I couldn't read myself.  To Lisa, who lent me her vintage Avengers videos, and to Lanier who fed my cats everyday for a month.
     I am thankful to Candy who brought me magazines and lattes and later when I was home her amazing homemade corn chowder.   And to Joan who came back up from San Francisco and stayed with me for 2 weeks, shooting me up with antibiotics everyday.
    I am thankful for finding Bean, the neuropsyche lady, who became my therapist and continues to lovingly listen to me every week.  And to Kendon who asked people to bring me food when I couldn't ask them myself.  I am thankful to Pam who wrote me everyday for 6 months and called me as often as she could.
    I am thankful to Suzie who went to every doctor's appointment with me and wrote down all the facts.  And to Tina who paid my bills and took the brunt of my negative emotions and who continues to give generously of her time to our undefinable relationship.  I am thankful to Alice and Gaylyn and Jill for visiting me whenever they could and spreading their brillance throughout my hospital room.
     And I am thankful to the nurses and doctors who cared for me like it wasn't just their job.  And lastly I am thankful to 'the Gauds' who have been with me through out this process which I now understand to be a soul retrieval.  I thank you all for loving me and not letting me leave planet earth just yet.  I am forever grateful for your love.  You are the village that has helped to resurrect me.