JFK was wrong about fear.
It’s been interesting to see who can say what in American society. Who is allowed to be a victim and who is not. The liberal bias is a collection of cross-checks within a groupthink mentality. In order to be allowed to speak your mind you have to surrender your pathos, and in the process, make yourself vulnerable. When certain people get ahold of your tragedy they hold it up and use it to shame you, alternatively, behind your back and sometimes even to your face. But these laughs are always at the behest of a decider. So, you can observe a fool laughing at your pain – follow their eyes to see who they are trying to impress. Or simply, trying to please themselves. It doesn’t work so well one on one. It’s beyond most people’s reason to consider what horrors you may have endured, sexual, psychological if you hold up a front of strength. They try to tear you down, almost never to empower you. That is, until the groupthink holds you up. A single, strong individual walks this line and after a lifetime of censure – sees the cues of who is saying what behind their back and can begin to assume the reasons why. It’s an effort on the part of the individual to be understanding, offer compassion to the mean-spirited. To understand why. They assume you are something. Yet, you are sentience – like them. Consciousness itself. They are not intelligent enough for self-awareness. Identity is a construct of the visible.
The true life of a person is much larger. The total experience of the mind. And so, you can begin to see who is really alive by their eyes. It’s a reticence, to move slowly, and to see – like an animal who is friend or foe. In this game, there are no victors. It’s fam. When you judge, you lose. What you’re losing out on is love. It’s a lonely world for great thinkers.
The only unconditional love is what YOU feel.
Don’t expect people to be ethical or spiritual – people lie to themselves and follow the crowd.
Give up on people when they give up on you.
You haven’t time to babysit.
Make genius works of art.
I made history as a production artist working in digital textile printing. I’m going to leave behind work – paintings, video art, songs and poems. People have been talking about me my whole life. Alternatively being kind to my face then laughing about me behind my back. There was never a woman in my corner pushing me forward or cheering me on. I had to take strength from failure. I am not popular in the public eye. Yet I am now and always have been an ethical person – beautiful and true. Egalitarian, lost in the subtleties of ignorance. My morality and quality have always been there – what changes is how I feel about the disrespect. I have no care for people who don’t produce. They don’t know what it takes, nor what I endured to stand where I am today. It’s horror beyond description. When people betray my trust I leave them behind. The work is far more important. It is not without sorrow that I continue forward. Sorrow is the ocean on which I sail. When I arrive I will be unbreakable. I am a warrior.
Who are you?
I’m trying to drive you mad with beauty.
Morning baths at the Owyhee River. The stars are patterns I do not fully know though they shine enough to light the mist above the hot springs. Most days there are no others. I arrive between 6:30 and 7:00 and leave before the sun comes up. I use Peppermint Dr. Bronners but I’m sad to see the bottle has been edited.
I scored a little plot of land in Washington State. Here I am praying to the landowner to accept my offer. It’s a small lot in an agricultural town. I have chickens and goats for neighbors and the people are poor. That is perfect for me, to blend in as a hermit. The parcel has about 30 mature fruit trees on it, the scrolling plums are my future subject and the shadows of the seasons. There is a barn nearby with artist studios for rent. I want to take care of the trees and use the fruit to make jam. It’s food to trade for eggs and cheese.
I lost so much so fast I became preoccupied with arranging the pieces of my life in abstract orders to become subject material for my next group of paintings. Here is a look at my research for those of you who are interested in the artist’s process. Life hurt so much I needed to imagine painting it after I lived it in order to endure.
Fatalism – my father’s fatal flaw.