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.

nuno and needlefelted mixed media..

     Last winter while I was recovering from a head injury a friend turned me on to nuno felting...(a technique where you felt through a porous fabric like cheesecloth or lace).  I was addicted almost instantly.  As with any new activity there was a learning curve.  I made several scarves using all kinds of fabric as a base.  Some I liked.  Some not so much.
    For awhile the scarves just sat there in a pile collecting dust.  Then one day after acknowledging that this was a process, I hung them all up on my wall in the order that they were made and made a sign "Progression of the Scarflet Species".  It helped to know that just because some of my attempts were less than perfect I still learned something from the experimentation.
     This year for Xmas I am making everything (as opposed to buying stuff).  A few friends got scarves made just for them.  One friend will get something a little different.

   I cut the winged portion of the above piece out of one of my 'failed' attempts.  I cut the heart portion out of another one of my "less than perfect scarflets".  Since I like to mix things up a bit I embellished the winged heart with an old button, several different beads and a leather cord with some red beads on it.  Here's a picture zoomed closer in...

Now, lets see who gets it.. hummmm... i think i will keep that to myself a few days longer... xoxoyo

La madre de todas mis santos patronas (the mother of all my patron saints)

     If you been following my blog you know that a month ago I returned from Oaxaca.  I went down there to take a class with Michael deMeng.  The class was of the mixed media/assemblage variety and it focused on diablos and santos (devils and saints).  I had a few ideas about what I was going to do down there but foremost was to celebrate the death of a relationship I no longer wanted hanging around in my psyche.  What better place to go than Oaxaca for 'dios de los muertos'. 
     I packed a rusty old vintage singer oil can into my bags along with several of the paints Michael recommended.  I also packed a couple of gears and an old round tin that used to hold saddle soap.  Below you will find an image of La Madre in her first incarnation.

     By the time I got home I already knew she wasn't done.  She was supposed to be the mother of all my patron saints.  When I left Oaxaca 'La Madre' could barely stand up without leaning against something.  And where were all my patron saints?  I liked the singer oil can for a body and I liked the gears.  I also liked that I used some tin pieces from Oaxaca like the flaming heart on the front of her body.  The wings hung downward like a mother bird protecting her young so I knew those were okay too.   First thing I did once I got home is I added a base.  It made the whole piece a lot more stable.  Then I painted the red lines along the bottom edge of her wings so they would not be so distracting.  After about a month of toying around with 'La Madre', I am pretty sure she is done.  Below is a view of her in her new incarnation.

       The pink and gold spirals going around the base have the names of several made up patron saints written in black.  I purposely wrote them in the spirals, in spanish, making it impossible for anyone to read.  (I guess I forgot to say before I started this piece that I am not religious and it's just catholic kitch to me).  First I made a patron saint for older women who live alone.  Then I made one for women who feed the birds and for women with long necks.  There is even a patron saint for all the goddesses (diosas) and one for whimsical women.  I added yet another heart that I found in Oaxaca to the top of the figure thinking it needed more overall balance.  Then I added a glass bead in the shape of a spiral in the center of the base that she stands on.  Lastly I wrote her name in gold on the top of the base.  "La Madre de todas mis santos patronas".
     I'd say she is done.  Tell me what you think...

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.

Volkswagons, Bicycles and Taxis...

    My first occupation in this life was that of a volkswagon mechanic.  Remember the very first 'idiot' book that came out?  Well it taught me everything I needed to know about repairing most volkswagons.   Imagine my surprise in Oaxaca when every other car was an old volkswagon, usually chopped and painted like the one below.  This one was made shorter, into a two seater and I presume it was not originally a convertible.  I know it's a bit weird but all the volkswagons made me nostalgic for the 70's.  So, I took about 30 shots of the most interesting ones.  I won't bore you with all of them but indulge me with just a little browse....

 

  I found this one.. an art car... kinda like one of my bugs from the 70's.  I had 20 of them during the 10yr period between 1972 and 1982.  Okay enough about the bugs.

The other interesting vehicles i saw were taxis and bicycles. And sometimes a taxi was a bicycle. These little vehicles are not allowed in the city of Oaxaca so you will only see em when you go to the outskirts called Xoxocotlan or Xoxo (pronounced hoho) for short. lastly a few shots of interesting bicycles...

Here in Eugene we are proud of our homemade bicycles but i have never seen one like this here.

The Sand Sculptures of Oaxaca

One of the surprises for me about Dio de Los Muertos in Oaxaca was the tradition of making sand sculptures.  Enormous sand sculptures.  Some were easily more than 50 feet high and 25 ft wide. 

     They started bringing the sand and the bricks to contain it on the 29th of October.  By November 1st several sculptures/paintings were well under way both around the zocalo and on one of the main streets leading down to it.  Of all the questions I asked I only got one definitive answer about the tradition.  The Sand Sculptures/Painting were done by students of the local art schools. 

 Some were religious in nature but most were depictions of huge skeletons.  Occasionally mystical creatures were drawn. 
     Primarily red, blue and yellow were used but occasionally a golden glitter was added, especially when the drawing was religious in nature. 
     Some were pretty funny like this last one of a skeleton crawling out of his world and back into that of the living.  Beer in hand, smile on his face, it looks like he just might make it back. 

     One thing is certain, this particular sculpture got his picture taken often during the course of dio de los Muertos.

Sofia Reyes, famous crafter of 'black pottery'

After a visiting the several shops where they make alebrijos we came upon a tiny town where the famous potter Sofia Reyes lives.  Sofia is 90 yrs old.  We were so honored when this living legend gave us a demonstration of her technique.  She uses NO pottery wheel. Instead she balances the clay on two inverted dishes.  The picture to the left shows her transforming a lump of clay into a vessel.  Note, only the hands are moving.   She has been doing this all her life and has also taught her daughters and their daughters to make the black pottery.  The pottery is fired in an outdoor, underground 'kiln' of sorts.  It looks like a simple hole in the ground though I am sure there is much more technology to it than that.  I had no more room in my luggage by this point so I did not buy anything from her amazing inventory.  But many of the group I came with did.  While we were in her shop much ruckus could be heard in the streets.  Turned out a mini parade was going by with all the town's children dressed as muertos.   I went back to sit on the bus with Damien the handsome and flirtatious driver who offered me some local made bread.  I had to refuse since most 'local's' food is made where they have no running water and it is way too easy for a gringa like me to get sick.       But as I was waiting for the others to return I saw a lovely little old lady walking home in the rain and I took a picture of her thru the bus windshield.   I thought it came out pretty sweet.  Next entry is a vignette with pictures of the visits to the alibrijas wood carvers....