Cheryl de los Reyes Cruz (A Work In Progress)

A New Direction

2011-09-15T05:28:00.001-07:00

And the new city is...

drumroll.......

Buenos Aires!!!

Most of you already know that. Just thought I'd make it official.

Living in the city (but which one?)

2011-06-29T10:58:00.000-07:00

Flying in, yesterday, from Los Angeles I went from a city where the air is usually so dry and hot that I forget how close I am to the ocean, to a city where the salty sea air is so ever present you can actually see it, for a few hours, until the fog burns away. Approaching the bay area, I saw many waterways, manmade and otherwise, and the dark, leafy green of vegetation in abundance. Leaving LA I mostly saw the pale, muted colors of parched earth and concrete dotted by the occasional bright blue swimming pool.

I've been thinking a lot, lately, about different cities. At least the one's I've been fortunate enough to have lived in or visited. And playing one of my favorite mental games (less a game than a necessity these days)---which city will I live in next?

First, San Francisco and the bay area. I love it here. Most of the best and the worst things in my life have happened here. I love how pretty this place is and all the distinctly different neighborhoods it has, like North Beach with it's bad coffee and overprice food balanced out by the colorful characters and bars full of free entertainment. The Mission where you never have to speak or hear a word of english if you don't want to. Alameda (where I live) with its quiet, small town cuteness, where I can walk around late at night and still feel perfectly safe, where every street I know by heart. Then again, I hate it here too. How, despite how close things are here, because of traffic and parking, it still takes forever to get to most places. How everything here is too familiar, too close. How too many relationships have soured in recent years. How ready I am for change.

Next Los Angeles. For most bay area natives LA seems like another state altogether. We have a lot of bad things to say about it. We bristle whenever we hear them say, Frisco. But on my most recent visit there I had time to reconsider some of my opinions. For one thing Los Angeles has amazing museums, places worth spending an entire day or more exploring. Since most people have to drive long distances to get there I suppose it has to be. And driving in LA, over the freeways and through different areas, after seeing mile after mile of unimaginative sameness which would lull me into some kind of eyeball stupor, I would then be struck, more times than I once thought possible, by the beauty of the place.

That unimaginative sameness, that cheap, quick to build architecture is, I think, justifiably poked fun of and disliked. Human beings need beauty and all those plain box buildings and nothing facades cheats viewers out of the pleasure they might have experienced had the builders spent a little more care and thought towards their neighbors. Then again you can choose to see all those plain buildings as blank canvases. How many creators have been drawn there to let their imaginations loose? (Hmm, didn't Steve Martin mention as much in some movie?) No wonder LA is known for its street art. I just wish everyone would get in on it, leaving no wall untouched by an artist, trained or not.

Next, New York. The Met, the Society of Illustrators, the history, the theatre, the shopping, the food. I would live there if I could afford it. Nuff said.

Ditto for London. At least, thank God, the museums are free in both cities.

Next, Vancouver B. C. and Seattle. They're both prettier and cheaper to live in than the bay area. Then again they're far too similar as well for me to consider moving there. Unless, of course, I got a job in either city.

Next, Toronto (and Quebec City, Montreal and Ottowa). All very nice cities, all very livable, cheap, pretty and interesting places to live or visit. But, again I'd have to get a job there to consider relocating to anywhere in that part of that world.

Next, Tokyo. My first impression of it, from my sister's high rise apartment in the American Embassy compound, was that it was indeed Blade Runner massive, gloomy and grey. After some exploring I saw it was also the cuteness and orderliness capitol of the world. Brightly lit signs, anonymous voices politely giving you directions, awe inspiring toy and electronic shops, quiet temples, perfectly manicured parks, weirdly dressed teenagers giving you the peace sign, the ubiquitous Beatles (in shops and in bars like Abbey Road and the Cavern Club. The tribute bands there sounded exactly like them, btw.) Course I didn't have to worry about rent in Tokyo and I made up to fifty dollars an hour teaching English, but I found I could get around, eat well and shop whenever I wanted to without spending a lot of money if I went to the right places. They have, for example, what has to be the best dollar store in the whole world. Four floors of diverse and surprisingly well made stuff. If you shopped no where else you could still get everything you needed there. And I could go to a sushi boat or noodle place and have a large, filling meal for less than ten dollars. If I had only less than five to spend, I'd go to the 7 eleven (which was everywhere in Tokyo, and full of much better, far more edible items than here in the states) and get a couple of seaweed wrapped (hopefully) tuna filled rice balls, a drink, and sometimes a dessert.

Not sure I'd ever want to relocate to Tokyo, though. Hard to say why. Same goes for Beijing which, though a wonderful place to shop, explore and eat in, as well, had tap water unsafe to drink and a constant, at times oppressive smell of burning tires going on, even indoors, all day and night. Not surprisingly, my oldest nephew developed asthma there and my two older nieces, little at the time, often got sick from the milk.

Next, Paris. I know, it's a common American dream, especially among artists, to run off to Paris. And I've only spent, in total, about two weeks there so I may well be mistaken. But this city is so ridiculously beautiful, with every street and alley worth exploring, worth taking out one's sketchbook to try to capture it's charm. Then with its museums, galleries, cafes and history Paris seems to have collected so much creative energy over the years that it is now a vortex of creativity. What magic must flow out of your imagination in such a place. I would like to find out.

Next, Buenos Aires. Those who know me and/or have been following this blog know how I feel about this city. This place, more so than any other city (except maybe Paris), made me want to tear up my plane ticket and never leave. And yes it is called the Paris of the south but it only vaguely looked to me like Paris, or it looks like what Paris might have looked like after the war. The streets were dirty, the air smelled mostly of car exhaust and cigarette smoke, the sidewalks were cracked and uneven, parents with small children rifled through garbage, and many of its most beautiful buildings were empty, boarded up and crumbling, giving parts of the city this haunted, haunting forlorn quality. The Ghost Hunters team could probably spend an entire season there investigating.

Somehow, though, this was part of its charm (well, except for the parents with small children rifling through garbage). Most of the cities on this list, except for maybe Beijing, felt well ordered, more or less. Even a young city like LA feels well ordered. Buenos Aires, on the other hand (which is just as young, I believe) feels like someone took a big eraser to the surface of it and wiped a lot of it away. Or tried to anyway. And what's left is a rough kind of beauty and a feeling of possibility and openness. Like Paris in the twenties or New York in the fifties. What artist wouldn't want to be part of that? The cafes, affordable restaurants (even if the menus all look pretty much the same), old world streets and all the charming people doesn't hurt its case either.

One thing I haven't mentioned is the friendliness of the people (or lack of) in any particular place. Only because I find people to be as friendly in one city as the next. Everyone has bad days, everyone wants to be treated well. I've heard many people say Paris was the capitol of rudeness, but I only found that to be true in one particular instance out of all the many people I met there. And in LA I was tempted to write everyone off as not that open, until I met a particularly nice cashier who I ended up talking to for quite a while. Maybe it was me who wasn't that open. And true, people did seem, on the whole, way friendlier in Buenos Aires than anywhere else. But maybe that's because I was particularly happy the whole time I was there. And I did run into the rare a-hole there as well.

So I guess what I'm saying is everywhere has a certain, overriding feeling to it, certain smells, certain sounds, a certain look and light found only there. And it all depends on what characteristics I want to incorporate into my life. The rest, friends, family, roots...is up to me.

More New Work!!

2011-06-24T12:54:00.001-07:00

Avaible, also, on my Etsy shop.

New work!!

2011-06-17T20:47:00.000-07:00

Workshop sketches...

also on sale on my Etsy shop
More goth project sketches. Don't really like this one. I think it was more like therapy, or a dream where my mind needed to unload a few things. This, though I doubt I'll turn this into a painting, I like more...

Some concepts...

Goth evolution

2011-05-23T14:06:00.000-07:00

Hope and Doubt

2011-05-01T09:23:00.000-07:00

I went to the New Living Expo on Saturday to get a psychic reading even though I wasn't sure I believed in them anymore considering how past readings that predicted I'd be married, with three kids and working for Lucas by now have obviously not come true. But I've been feeling an urgent need for guidance lately and thought a cheap reading couldn't hurt and might even be helpful.

I walked past booths selling special healing water, special healing clay, special healing jewelry -

"Hold it in your hand. You should feel some tingling."

I did as directed. I wanted to feel something---how neat would it be to heal emotional wounds and protect myself from negativity just by wearing something pretty!---but, I didn't feel a darned thing. And told her so. She didn't say, okay, disbeleiver, I am escaping the field of your negative energy now. But I imagined her thinking that as she walked away.

I also walked by people getting healed in various ways, a lot of them simply sitting in chairs while someone held their hands to their shoulders or chests. One blissful looking woman sat in a broom closet sized chamber which reminded me of a sauna, except it didn't heat up. The door was open and the woman wore a heavy jacket. The air or light inside, supposedly, was charged in some particular healing way. How the hell does that work? I wondered. Or does it work simply because the woman thinks it works?

Further down, a man sat with a string of copper wire thingies shaped into diamonds held against his chest as a woman stood before him dangling a singular diamond shaped thingy in small circular motions. Oh, come one! I thought. What bull.

After a while I wondered if anything there was real, the little devices promising to protect you from cell phone radiation, the crystals, the homeopathic, healing lotions, scents, and teas, the psychic claiming to channel a saint.

Speaking of psychics, anyone in a turban or the smallest whiff of barely scraping by as a psychic (aka: I will say anything you want because I really need your money) I walked right past. Otherwise, my only criteria was that the price be as low as possible. So when I happened across a pleasant looking young woman charging $20 per twenty minute reading, I thought, Well, she looks nice. She'll do.

But as I was signing up, she went on break, and I found myself paired with another, older woman. Is she a fake psychic brought to me by my negativity and doubt? Or, I wondered, is she the real deal I hoped for?

I wanted to tell her as little as possible, so when she asked for information, all I told her was that I was trying to decide between two options, with one feeling more like a move forward than the other. From this she went on to describe, perfectly, how I felt about x, how I was ready to do y and z, the circumstances surrounding my situation and how moving towards y and z will feel, in the meantime, like "walking on glass." But considering the alternative, here she described my energy leaks, the little pains here and there that I had begun to worry about but which were nothing more than my fear of speaking my truth and walking my own unique path. She even pointed to a particular pain I had been worrying about that very day, and as she cleared it energetically, I felt the discomfort completely disappear. Was what she did real? I don't know. But the discomfort is gone and the few times I've felt it start to return I tell it, oh no you don't. I ended up spending nearly an hour with her, fifty five well worth it bucks. Afterwards, I went for a long walk round the city, thinking about x, y and z...

I wish I could tell you more. But things are rather tricky at the moment. The psychic also mentioned how I was going through a grieving process. But one, I think, for more than just the loss of my father.

Well, that's it for now.

More travel sketches

2011-04-18T01:13:00.000-07:00

Cafe Tortoni

El Federal

Clasica Y Moderna

Catedral Metropolitana

Cafe de Las Violetas

Bar Seddon

Here, but not here

2011-04-11T12:15:00.000-07:00

Two weeks since Buenos Aires...

I know, I should have shared a few travel adventures by now, but I came back to two projects that needed my full attention and creativity. And getting back on California time, if you know what I mean, was even more difficult than adjusting to BsAs time (long, sad sigh...). Last week, for example, I was watching the Argentinian film El Secreto de Sus Ojos on my computer while finishing up a sketch I'd started in Buenos Aires, when a car outside backfired several times (a common sound down there where most vehicles seemed to be 10 ys old or older) and for a moment I was back in Buenos Aires...

Also, I am contemplating some changes. Big changes.

And, unfortunately (or fortunately---I'm not complaining!) I have to get back to work. But will post again soon.

Some bar in San Telmo -

Recoleta -
El Gato Negro -
A cozy little restaurant in Parlermo -
A tango music concert at 36 Billiards on Avenida de Mayo -
The Jardin Botanico Carlos Thuys -
Here's what I wrote in FB about it - While in the middle of this sketch, these two guys who'd been up all night partying came over to see what I was up to. One of them spoke English so we ended up discussing what the figures were expressing for almost an hour (joy, gratitude, drunkeness, etc...) even though, I have to admit, I was thinking I don't really care what the statues are expressing I just want to finish my drawing. Then again, after days of only the most rudimentary of exchanges with people, it was great to be discussing art for a change. Not to mention the one who spoke English was just about the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. He asked for my email, then gave me his, told me the bar where he worked at and asked me to come by. But he was, as he put it, 'so f---ed up' from partying that I wondered if he'd even remember me if I did come by. So I didn't...I know, horrible story!

Bar Britanico, San Telmo -
A monument in front of the Belles Artes Museo -
Check out that tiny door!! What is it for? Would have so loved to walk through that -
Todo Mundo on Plaza Dorrego -
Somewhere in BsAs, forget where. I was lost at the time -
La Poesa -
El Ateneo Grand Splendid on Avenida Sante Fe -
Yes, this is a book store and the cafe sits right on the stage!!!

Took tons of photos. Too many to post here, so here's the FB link to my BsAs albums

1. The city

2. Street Art

3. Night Life

4. Churches, etc.

Flying solo

2011-03-03T00:22:00.000-08:00

I'm off to Buenos Aires today for the next three weeks. (Not looking forward to the flight, I have to say. I leave here at one pm and don't get to BA til the next day.) The last time I traveled outside of the country was back in 05, to Beijing, and I've been yearning for another international adventure ever since. But of course with the economy and my iffy work situation I've learned to play it safe.

Then my mother tells me my sister is coming back for a two week visit. And I start to panic. I won't go into details so let's just say I'm not eager for even a two week replay of my sister's visit this past fall.

So I start looking for travel deals. Where to go? I've always wanted to spend a month in Rome. Or the Italian countryside. Or Paris! And the French countryside. Where could I spend as much time painting and playing the tourist that my budget would allow? After looking at nearly every possibility, then thinking how much more comfortable I'd be just staying home...if only countdown to sister wasn't happening, then looking again, and realizing, with deep and utter frustration just how indecisive I can be. Anyway, long story short, I end up choosing Buenos Aires, the Paris of the south.

And, funny thing, as soon as I did, I stopped being mad at my sister. We will probably never be close again, but, so what? Moving on...

The thing with my family is that everyone thinks they know what's best for me, and they will get me to do whatever it is if it's the last thing they ever do. Because they care so much about me. And it's this!---this emotional manipulation I get from them that exhausts and enrages me so much. I hate them. I love them. I want to run away from them.

Unfortunately, since I'll be gone for three weeks there was no way to not tell my mother that I'll be gone. And she did not take it well. Oh. My. God. Why did I choose Buenos Aires? Don't I know how dangerous it is? And you're so small. Now I'll have to pray for you all the time. And I won't sleep a single second until you get back. Blah, blah, blah, so on and so forth.

But anywhere can be dangerous if you don't practice precautions. In London, where I was staying with family, I fell prey to one of those stupid ATM scams. Luckily that particular card was tapped out. Moreover, the worst thing that ever happened to me, getting attacked and nearly raped on my way home very late one night, happened right here in San Francisco. I still walk around there. Though, never in that neighborhood.

Still, her fear got to me. I felt guilty for causing her so much worry. I second guessed my choices. And I went overboard on the research.

But, the more I found out about Buenos Aires, the more excited I became about actually going there. It is scary to go to a new place all by yourself. I don't speak the language. I don't know the customs. And I especially don't know about eating dinner at bedtime and dancing when I'm usually asleep. But I'm going anyway. I feel good about that. And, at least through the wonders of the internet, I know three or four people there, so to cyberspeak. And the apartment I've rented (super cheap!) will have wi-fi so I can assure my mother I am still alive at least once a day. (And post here and on FB too! Though maybe not every day.)

My mother didn't give up though. She came by my place tonight to warn me of thieves who break into rooms. Then she texted me some other warning when she got home. Then she called, just to make sure I'd gotten that last warning and to tell me yet another one. By then I was pretty ticked off and cut the conversation short with only the slightest twinge of guilt afterwards.

Sigh...I don't know what'll happen down there but I trust that I can handle it and I trust that I've made the right decision to go.

Okay, gotta finish packing. Hello Buenos Aires!!!!!!

Marching right along

2011-02-28T23:16:00.000-08:00

...because I posted this minutes before March 1.

Anyway, being a stubbornly optimistic kind of person, I have entered yet another contest. This time a movie poster competition for a film about a fur crazy fashion designer who gets kidnapped by animal rights activists. I want to win real bad. But, after seeing which image won in the last contest I entered (it sucked. It really did. And I know I'm putting that into internet space for all to see, but it really did suck) I won't take it personally if I don't. This illustration, which I put a tremendous amount of effort into, will look good in my portfolio, at least. That said, please look here, and vote for me!!! It'll make me feel better (and appreciate you all the more!!) even if I don't win. Though I really hope I do.

A contest and some new work

2011-02-04T23:00:00.000-08:00

I've been entering every contest I can lately and one of them is a Talenthouse contest whose theme is love. Winner gets to photograph the rock group Maroon 5 during their US tour. S0 please!---please!!---please!!!---click here and vote for me :)

Some new work -

Above, my newest Etsy sketch. Below, a sketch I did in Golden Gate Park.

One of the character sketches I did recently for Dragon Pencil. This character isn't going to go anywhere but hopefully one of my other designs will.

After a week or so of doing nothing but characters, I felt the need for a landscape painting -

Happy Friday!!!

The mental health benefits of shoe shopping

2011-01-15T15:48:00.000-08:00

One thing I was saving for last year was a much needed, super fast computer. Then I got one, a 3G iMac, almost brand new as well as free of charge, from my dad (Thanks dad, wherever you are.) So here was a nice chunk of change that I could have used towards rent, towards my house fund or towards a holiday trip. But instead I decided to help the American economy by going shopping. But first I have to say I don’t usually enjoy shopping. Loud, overcrowded malls and hours spent trying on things that don’t fit just exhaust me. And, like a guy, I have no problem wearing the same thing day after day (with a good wash and a change of underwear of course). I can go entire seasons without buying anything but food and art supplies. But this season, as they say, was different...

Anyway, I didn’t want to spend all my former computer money, and definitely not all at once. So I started the day after Christmas, braving the Union Square crowds, and came home with just one item, a jacket at sixty percent off that cost me a mere two twenties. On another day, I went to the boutiques on Haight Street where I found the shoes of my chic, bohemian artist’s dreams (Fluevog) but resisisted the immediate temptation to buy. Instead I spent days internet comparing, only to go back to Fluevogs where I bought two pairs, both on sale (but still costing more than I have ever paid for two pairs of shoes at once). Other day’s hauls were a three dollar cupcake, a twelve dollar scarf, a fifteen dollar pair of jeans, thirty dollars worth of hole free socks, and so on.

Like lots of sleep and homemade soup helped me recover from one heck of a cold, this prolonged shopping spree has helped me, in a way, through a rather blue period. With no crappy non art work to do (for now and forever more, please God), no kids to babysit and feeling disheartened about my art career (which I know is by no means unique to me, some unbelievably talented friends of mine, people who have worked for Lucas and so on, are in the same boat), on top of some unanswerable questions about life, death, family, forgiveness and the meaning of it all, it’s a simple pleasure, like a hot bath or a my favorite song on the radio, to have some vague object in mind that day, maybe a cute top in this particular shade of blue, or a dress in that style, for as little denaro as possible, and then to go out and actually find it.

It’s not just a distraction, something to do. I think, at certain times, it’s a way of making oneself feel safe. This other thing is still a puzzle and a problem but look! I have successfully hunted down this very practical item which will prevent hookworm or keep me warm. Something I and others will (hopefully) take pleasure in looking at. So I have not only ensured my physical survival, but perhaps my social survival as well. And it’s too bad a quick trip to the grocery store doesn’t do the trick but I think the change of routine, the sense of discovery, the hope that if I don’t find the exact item I want here I’ll find it somewhere else eventually—and having that hope validated time and again—are key here. It forces my brain to wake up, to feel excited for several hours, and then the triumphant moment of purchase followed by the primal sense that all is well (temporarily) in the world. It’s shopping sex. The closet of survival has been restocked.

(She shall Seychelle by the seachore.)

A few days ago, I was feeling unsettled about a possible upcoming job. I wanted it for the money but dreaded having to do this kind of promo work yet again. I found myself in an unfriendly mood and wishing things I am ashamed to admit to, like why couldn’t my father have left me a huge honking fortune so I could buy a true home of my own in some charming but reasonably priced place (unlike the bay area) instead of this unexpected little nest egg (which I really am grateful for). So, with my former computer money still not entirely spent, I went to this shoe boutique I’d stumbled upon the other day. And somewhere between first getting in my car and coming back home, cute new shoes in hand, it occured to me that I have to stop feeling bad about my work situation. What’s upsetting me is not the fact that I can’t afford a three bedroom, mortgage free house with a gorgeous view (for now, at least)—something I wasn’t even thinking about a year ago—but the fact that I’m a highly trained, highly capable artist who, at the moment, isn’t making a living doing what I love best. This hurts deeply. It’s like I’m being insulted by every art studio in the world (except Dragon Pencil but have they given me any assignments yet?!!!) But there it is. Reality. Suck it up.

But maybe, or at least I can pretend, the universe has conspired to give me this time to create whatever I want. Not only that but it’s like, in a weird way, my father has hired me, and paid me in advance, to finish that collection of illustrated short stories I began last year and put on hold during my sister’s visit. And he even gave me a nearly computer to work on. Now, I have no choice but to finish it.

Okay! Back to work...

A Happy New Year

2011-01-09T13:33:00.000-08:00

(@ the De Young)

I hope so because 2010 just sucked. So much so that after trying to recap all its suckiness the other day in the first draft of this blog post I needed chocolate bad which I tore into before leaving the store. Going back for seconds, I just had to look at the ingredients list. Of course there was soy in it, my favorite chocolate bar, as well as every chocolate bar there. (I have sworn off soy in all its nefarious and increasingly ubiquitous forms because it’s one of the reasons why 2010 sucked so much.) So I settled for a comforting cup of soy free (so far) hot chocolate back home...only to forget the milk. My apartment stunk of microwave burned chocolate for days.

Oh well. I put it down to last year’s lingering suckiness. Health issues (bronchitus, soy, a heart murmer I have to stay on top of, a monster of a cold I just got over), lots of personal drama, heartbreak, way too much family time, near constant financial worries, boring, occasionally 12 hour back to back exhausting, occasionally demoralizing crappy non art work (product promotions), death, et cetera and so on. Basically every area of my life has shifted or changed. 2010 was an intense year emotionally and physically and right now I feel dazed, depleted and a little lost.

Which is why I’ve taken a rest from blogging lately. Either I was too exhausted to write or I just didn’t know what to say. After my last post, my family was adamant I not speak at all. I made the mistake of telling them how I wanted to respond to some of the people who’d known my father, people whose comments were, here and there, on the judgemental side. I’m sorry, I wanted to say, he may have been your friend and all that but he was my father and blah bi-di-blah, not nice things, misplaced anger and resentment.

2011, I think, will be about making choices. Thanks to some parting gifts from my dad, I have the breathing space to figure things out and more freedom to do what I want. I haven’t taken another crappy non art job since mid December. Instead I’ve been sleeping a lot, trying new recipes, window shopping, getting back in touch with friends and, of course, practicing, learning about and looking at lots of art, which feels more like therapy right now. I mean, standing in front of Sargent’s La Carmencita, I forget any fears of ending up like Lily Bart. (Why didn’t she just take the money and run, for god’s sake? Idiot.) An astrologer friend of mine (her link here), who recently gave me a reading, told me this year I would ‘come into my own.’ And that last year was about clearing away so I could start over on a blank canvas. That’s for damn sure. Time to break out the paints...

(marker & gouache)

(gouache)

(left-marker, right -marker & photoshop)

(photoshop)
(marker)

(marker)

2010-12-01T14:00:00.000-08:00

My father passed away last Saturday. I'd finally gotten home after a long, long day when my brother called and said to come over because our dad might be dead. That simply could not be, I thought. My brother hadn't checked him properly. How often had we joked how our dad was like Mr Burns, no matter how old and decrepit he became he was just too mean to ever die? He would keep going on forever. So I pulled on my coat and shoes and rushed out the door hanging onto that word might.

But at the house a fireman told me he was gone before I entered. Inside I found my brother leaning against the stove in total shock, a policeman gently questioning him, and my father on the floor covered with a blue blanket. I sat beside him trying to accept the fact that the familiar person lying in front of me was now just an empty shell. I wondered if his spirit was there somewhere coming to terms with the same thing. I hoped, prayed he'd gone in his sleep. But why was he on the floor then? Had he been trying to go for help? "Because he was an alcoholic, remember?" my brother later said, something the paramedics could tell, he informed me, without his having to saying a word.

Yes but...

I wanted to run my hand over his hair in apology for not getting there earlier when I could have actually spoken to him. And might have if only he'd looked a lot more asleep and a little less dead. He didn't have the peaceful look of someone who'd known it was his time. He looked like he'd accidentally vacated his body which only made me picture, again and again, what his last days and hours might have been like.

When my sister arrived we discussed what to do. Whether burial or cremation, a cemetery here or the Philippines, a funeral mass or a simple memorial service. I suggested we each speak and invite friends and family to do the same but my sister shook her head. "I know you feel guilty, Cheryl, but I don't think that's necessary." I resisted the urge to say that if any of us felt guilty it was her for not speaking to our father in over two years, for having been here since August yet failing to patch things up, for bringing three of his grandchildren over here yet never letting him see them even once. But what would be the point? Besides, our mother was in the next room. And I knew this was my sister's way of dealing with overwhelming feelings. Moreover, tired of being their go between, I'd stopped trying to make peace between them ages ago. I could have brought the girls over to see him myself, in spite of how my sister would have reacted, or at least told him she and the girls where here just blocks away from him...but I never did. So, a few hours later in a noisy all night diner, between sniffles and tears, I reminded her of all the funny stories everyone told at our grandfather's funeral and how nice it would be if dad had something similar. "Not everyone hated him," I added. "Okay," she sighed.

Monday, my mother and I made arrangements at the funeral home. Afterwards, she told me how, when they'd asked about him, and I'd talked about how he loved opera, fishing, fine art, fine food and travel and hoped I'd have a funny, touching enough story to tell at his memorial, she'd remembered the days when she was working two jobs and just before she was about to pay off a bill she found out my father had already used the money on something completely useless. When she'd confronted him about it, he'd replied, "So? Sue me!"

"Oh, so that's why you didn't say anything," I said. "I thought you were too sad to talk."

"No! It was because when she asked us that all I could think was the words, so sue me!"

It's been four days. His home is being cleared, his bills and accounts settled, obituary written (by me) and sent in to be printed, friends and family informed. Not the way I thought we'd be spending my sister's last week here before she and the girls returned to Fiji. She was right. I do feel a lot of regret. Out of the three of us I was the one who got along with him, who'd put the past behind us and found a way to let all the horrible things he sometimes said go in one ear and out the other. I've jokingly called him asshole dad here on my blog. But he was just my dad, I loved him and I regret not being there for him towards the end.

My sister and brother, on the other hand, have their own list of regrets. And my mother, who has known our father since high school, who hasn't slept in days, is going through her own grieving process.

His memorial service is this Saturday and I'm still not sure what to say. Then, sometime next year, I'll have to go to the Philippines for the first time in my life, along with my father's remains, so he can be placed beside his mother and twin brother. That, I'm guessing, will be a strange, emotional trip. More on that later.

New painting and my first Etsy shop listing

2010-10-17T19:18:00.000-07:00

and my first Etsy shop listing :)

New paintings

2010-10-11T13:53:00.000-07:00

Photoshop CS3.
Gouache, in some cafe in Berkeley.

Gouache, Sunday Oct 10th in Golden Gate Park with the Blue Angels flying overhead.

Uncertainty is a good thing

2010-09-21T20:08:00.000-07:00

so claims Deepok Chopra who says uncertainty is where creativity and freedom meet. And since my August and September were filled with uncertainties of the most physically and emotionally draining kind, my October is looking to call on all my creative recourses to see myself through. Not sure about anything at the moment so I apologize for the lack of detail in this post. But it's hard to describe even how I'm feeling, which is an unusual thing to say for someone who experiences the world through feelings. In some ways it's the worst place to be, but I think I'll probably look back and realize this was where things finally changed for the better.

Sunday painting in a Napa winery...

Getting paid to paint for a good cause at Nordstrom's TOMS shoe event...
Vivienne looking a little too much like Justin Beiber...

The hardest part is what to leave behind, ... It's time to let go!
-- Winnie the Pooh

My week in bits and pieces

2010-08-18T12:34:00.000-07:00

Things - Strawberry flavored makeup. Playdough confetti stuck on my rug. Half eaten Oreo cookies. Welch's grape jelly. Corn dogs. Pop tarts. Goldfish. Hannah Montana songs. Minnie Mouse drinking cups. Sponge Bob Square Pants. Caillou. Elmo. Cotton Candy. Candy. Hot dogs. Pizza. Teddy Bears.

Words - Cheryl, I want...--Mommy, I want...--Hey, that's mine! --No, it's not! It's mine!--No!!!--Gimme!--Can you..?--Can I have...?--Can we go...?--I'm so starving!--Why you hit me?--Go to sleep!--One more sound and you get a spanking!--Stop it!--I hate you, stupidhead!--Stupidhed! Stupidhead! Stupidhead!--Be quiet!!!!--Are we there yet?--How long is it?--Ten minutes.--How long is ten minutes? One show or half a show? - I put makeup on my wips. See? Smell. - On your wips? - No! My wips!

The girls trying on my shoes ^

Places - Capitola Beach, Half Moon Bay beach, every playground in Alameda, Golden Gate Park, some place in Napa where I had the best Tuna & Wasabi burger, and...

Santa Cruz. Olivia and Lili about to ride a roller coaster on their own for the first time...
Vivienne's camera face...
All wrapped up for a California evening at the beach...

Some sketching bits and pieces I've done in cafe's, workshops, and during train rides...

which about sums up all the artwork I've managed to create lately.

Lili's family portrait...
Two months and half a week to go...

My life right now

2010-08-12T12:54:00.000-07:00

1. One sister, three nieces, five people, one small apartment and one car...for another two months and one week. (Long story, but basically two of my nieces need special schooling for two months for dyslexia, something they can't get over in Fiji, and with my sister's ridiculously high mortgage, the most practical solution is to squeeze in with me for a few months.)
2. One story to write. And rewrite. And rewrite again.
3. Four more community service hours...
4. One kickball game I was really looking forward to (because kicking things is really good therapy)...canceled. Darn.
5. Five blessedly solitary hours to write...or not write.
6. Six nights (and counting) sleeping on the floor.
7. Three totally free (ahem) art programs to install on my computer...if I only knew how.
8. One horoscope reading by an astrologer friend who basically said all this plus the drama, heartache, disappointment and frustrations of the past year is because that tiny, faraway planet Pluto has been and will continue to press down on me until April 30th, 2013. For my own good supposedly. Out with the old, in with the new, big changes are being forced upon me. And the more I fight this weeding out process the harder I'll make things for myself.

So, with that in mind, instead of getting frustrated over all the words constipating in my head maybe I should instead see this as an opportunity to write a rather simple but long needed blog post and to eat a big bowl of peach ice cream--(worse for you, cholesterol wise, than a plate of spare ribs, someone told me recently. But I am choosing to forget that pointless bit of information.) As for the four visitors who've taken up most of my living space, including my big, comfy bed...It is nice to be needed. Within limits. And little Vivienne is awfully cute.

Still, can't help wishing it were 2013 already.

I like to play

2010-07-29T19:30:00.000-07:00

I went to an underground dodgeball game the other night. Having grown used to open skies, soft grass, even softer nerf balls, six to eleven players on each side, and the pretty casual feel of it all, I was not prepared for the super caffeinated, Road Warrior experience of night time underground dodgeball. Concrete everywhere, lots of noise, florescent lights, thirty plus players on each side, dozens of hard rubber balls flying back and forth at potentially damage causing speeds. For a full hour and a half. It was, quite simply, overwhelming.

My life, lately, has felt like that. Nonstop hard rubber balls coming at me from all sides. An almost steady barrage of one thing after another. Look away for a second and---THWAT! A few times I just walked right into it, like some dumb, wide eyed baby, not realizing I might get hurt. Other times I realized I'd been hearing warning whispers for weeks, "Look out for that fast ball that will come at you from the right, Cheryl! Here's a cough just like you know when to remind you to keep your damn eyes open!" Other times I saw the ball coming, nice and slow, giving me time to think, ok, hmm, what am I going to do here? Step out of the way or try to catch this one?

I admit I was tempted to turn back after sizing up the situation in that underground car park. I wondered if I should have stayed home, saved myself the gas. Choosing safety and comfort over...what? Who knows how every decision to stay and join the game might affect the rest of my day, my week, my life? I wanted to find out. Even if I might get hurt again...

Besides, it's not in my nature to stay home. A friend, in college, once told me I tended to carefully deliberate over things...only to impulsively go ahead and do what I want anyway.

True. I look at a situation, try to predict all the possibilities, what I might do in each...and then I step into the game and generally surprise myself each and every time. Life surprises me each and every time. Hopefully, I have grown wiser and better at self protection since my college days. Though I don't think I have grown any better at predicting what I will do. But I have definitely grown more resilient in any case. I play, I fall, I cry, I heal, I get up and join in again. Then I stumble, I dust myself off, I go play some more. I rest a bit, gathering my bearings, then I dive back in.

Just this last week, for example, a few hard ones have hit me squarely and most painfully on the face. 1. The death of my beloved laptop, taking two month's worth of writing, and all my art programs, with it. And 2. a very bad, very demoralizing job interview, precious hours I will never see again --- for a job I didn't even want, no less. But, at that moment, could not afford to turn down either. Even dance therapy wasn't enough to make me feel better afterwards.

But some wonderful things have happened, too. Things I could never have predicted, reminding me how every moment is filled with potential, how I am never alone, never without support, and my life is as joyful as I allow it to be.

And today is a new day. Old friends and new are inviting me to come out and play. Tonight...some kickball. Or will I end up playing underground dodgeball again? I'm not sure yet. Then, tomorrow, dancing. And Saturday and Sunday, maybe some kickball again. Or who knows what? Can't wait to find out.

Through a child's eye

2010-07-01T17:46:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, still here, but am getting over a pretty bad cough right now so have stayed away from posting (i. e. complaining).

Anyway, had lunch with my sister and her family last week at the airport during their stopover at SFO before they headed the rest of their way back home to Maryland. During the lunch I gave my camera and my sketchbook over to my nieces to play with. And Vivienne, the two year old, who has been learning about ghosts and devils from her older brother Sam, drew this monster...

First she drew in the details, then she covered it over as if to erase it. Some kind of infantile coping mechanism? Maybe. The figure hovering behind the monster supposed to be me, btw.

Vivienne drawing the monster...

Lili's portrait of me...
Interesting how they both drew my hair in exactly the same way.

These are the photographs Lili took...
Sam (above) and Philip and my sister (below)

Me looking tres thoughtful and deep (of course!) Am actually eating, thank goodness she didn't get a shot of me dribbling food off my chin...

Olivia...
Baby Vivienne...
Lili's self portrait...
Happy fourth of July everyone!!!

It Takes Two

2010-06-21T18:47:00.000-07:00

Dancing is a wonderful training for girls, it's the first way you learn to guess what a man is going to do before he does it. - Christopher Morley

Anyone who has read Jane Austen probably remembers the Netherfield Ball when Elizabeth Bennet dances first with Mr Collins and then Mr Darcy.

“Mr Collins, awkard and solemn, apologizing instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give. Her moment of release from him was ecstasy.”

With Mr Darcy, on the other hand, their dance begins even before they step onto the dance floor when he, -

“took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand that without knowing what she did she accepted him.”

Austen makes no mention about how he dances, which, in Austen speak means he’s an excellent dancer. Instead she focuses on how they communicate. Elizabeth’s good natured teasing brings him out of himself. Darcy leads Elizabeth one way, she reciprocates in another.

How a man and woman dance together, Austen implies, says a lot about what kind of couple they’d make.

With this way in the back of my mind, I went to a beginning tango class last Friday. Note to self: if I really want to learn to dance the tango, best not to dance with other beginners.

This being a small class, I had the choice between two dance partners. The first was a guy with such large feet that I found myself continually thinking, must steer clear of clown feet, must steer clear of clown feet, must steer clear of clown feet. Didn’t help. Kept getting stepped on anyway. Until the teacher came over to explain the obvious—because of our pretty marked height difference I had to compensate by taking longer strides.

Second partner, height was not the issue, his being only an inch or two taller than I am in heels. All the same, the dance did not go well.

“I want to do more turns,” he said, “but you have to loosen up more.”

“But, I can’t tell where you’re leading me.”

He responded by squeezing my right hand while his other hand remained as limp as ever at my side.

Well, he’s trying, I thought. Give him the benefit of the doubt.

But while we were pouring ourselves some wine another student had brought, he said, smiling, “That ought to loosen you up.”

“Uh - huh,” I said, thinking, Excuse me, but I’m really starting to think you’re a dumbass. Then again, this was my first official tango class. What do I know about tango?

Then, dancing with a new partner, a latecomer, I made the mistake of telling him this was my first ever real tango class. “Okay,” he said, taking a teacherly tone, and suddenly I felt my every step being closely evaluated. “Okay,” he said again after a while, “First, you have to loosen up.”

Again with the loosening up?!! I thought. But was it really me? Or was it because I couldn’t tell where he was leading me either. From the few other times I’d danced with more experienced tango partners, I never had to guess where they wanted the dance to go. They led. I responded. It was fun.

But this...was so not fun.

But this also being my first official tango class, I just agreed with him. What if I had it wrong? What if the woman was supposed to lead as much as the man?

At least I tried to tell myself this. But my gut refused to believe—I was the one going backwards, after all. I couldn’t even see where we were going. The man had to take a stronger lead.

Dancing with partner number two again, and again finding myself playing guesswork against his indecisive lead, I told him about dancing the tango in Union Square not too long ago with some old timers who kept a firm grip on both my hand and my waist so that I always knew exactly where they were leading me. And of dancing, once, with a swing instructor. I didn’t even know the steps, but because he was such a strong lead, I found it easy to follow him just the same. But with his way of leading, using only one hand to direct my movements, I couldn’t help but feel uncertain about where to go. Straight backwads? Backwards left? Backwards right? What did he mean? It was really hard for me to tell.

He took it better than I thought he would. “I did not know that,” he said. “I’m glad to have learned something new.”

And, I was tempted to say, you were wrong for putting the blame entirely on me. Dumbass. But I didn’t.

Talking with partner number one during a break, I mentioned my little Austen theory, how you can usually tell what kind of partner a man will make by the way he dances with you.—(Like dance partner number two, I thought, but did not say, would be a total blamer. Anytime anything went wrong in the relationship, his first impulse would be to blame the woman. Probably an only son. And partner number one, a sweet enough guy, but...twleve or more steps to turn me around? Oh, so clueless I’d be tempted to send him to a professional for lessons. Also, needless to say, the weak lead thing...not at all appealing.)—And, only half joking, I said that every couple even thinking of getting more serious should be forced to take a tango class together first.

“Oh!” he said, “I don’t know about that. I know this one couple who never danced together at all. They even cut the first dance out when they got married.”

“Hmm.”

The Beauty of a Woman

2010-06-17T20:40:00.000-07:00

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:

They are the ground, the books, the academes,

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.

(Shakespeare, Love's Labour's Lost)

FWI: this post contains images of partial nudity.

Went to Dr. Sketchy's this week at 111 Minna. Artists gather there once a month to sketch all night and hopefully sell some work...

In the adjoining room, more artists gather to sketch burlesque performers. This time the models were the striptease duo, Fishnet Follies...

Truly Beautiful Women

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.

For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears,

the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes,

because that is the doorway to her heart, the place

where love resides.

(Audrey Hepburn)

Course, always wearing really gorgeous underwear---even if you're just running errands or playing in the park---doesn't hurt either! That way you're always ready to do a spur of the moment striptease! Hey, why not?

(Viola! Photoshop painting from a 20 minute sketch.)

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive.

They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;

They are the books, the arts, the academes,

They show, contain, and nourish all the world.

(Love's Labor's Lost)

Blah, blah, blah...

2010-06-11T18:50:00.000-07:00

A low self-love in the parent desires that his child should repeat his character and fortune.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.

Dr. Seuss

There is, I used to think, the me that I like best, the me who only comes through when I'm in a good mood, when I feel cute, when I've had enough sleep or enough to eat, when I feel a sense of all is well in the world and in myself. The me who can go to a party where she doesn't know a single soul and, because I am being the me I like best, others gravitate towards. She is sweet, funny and light hearted. She likes herself and she, you sense, likes you too just the way you are.

The flip side of this is the other me. The me I don't like so much because I haven't slept in two days, because my hair has decided to do its own thing, because I feel disappointed or worried or scared. This me tends to hide behind her sketchbook or her shyer, quieter facade because she is afraid you will judge or hurt her. This me must be coaxed out of her shell as if she were a wild animal. She longs to join the party but because she doesn't like herself, you instinctively worry she may not like you either.

It is an exhausting, sometimes maddening, push me pull you path between these two extreme me's. Because being the best version of me is always on condition of something else being this way or that. And so I waste a lot of energy trying to ensure that the conditions I encounter are supportive of the me I like best.

But, maybe because I've made myself suffer enough, maybe because the time was ripe, maybe because I sense deep down that the only way forward is to get off this roundabout path, it's dawned on me recently that the me I like best is not the me who appears only when conditions are favorable. That this me is simply me. The real me.

So...I visited my father a few days ago, not because I wanted to but because I was doing a favor for my brother which meant going to my dad's place to get a few items out of my brother's room---which is usually locked because my dad, using a logic all his own, likes to throw his children's possessions away when they aren't looking.

And when my dad, after finding I had locked the room behind me, began to scream about some guest he was having over, one of his coworkers who needed a place to stay for a few nights, so I had better fucking open that door or else---I naturally didn't believe him. Instead I pointed out that he was showing this (fictional, I thought) coworker more consideration than he was showing me, his own child. And he basically said, well you fucking deserve to be spoken to this way, you...

I tried to cut him short with a, "Don't talk to me like that!" Slam! But he followed me out the door continuing to say fuck you and other nice things until I drove out of sight.

I'm not laying blame here. I've long since forgiven my father for, well, being who he is. And I drove away more amused than anything else. Oh, asshole dad! There you go again! What I'm saying is that he, in large part, is how I learned to view myself in this either or way. If I am nice enough, if I do this or that, if this or that happens, then I am my number one fan and like to assume that everyone else wants to join the club. If I don't, if I can't, if conditions are not right then da fences go up again.

When I told this latest dad incident to life long friend, Lita, she said my response should have been, "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, Dad. That's all I hear when you talk to me that way."

"Ooo, wish I'd thought of that!" I said. "Next time."

Yeah! Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, asshole dad.

And if I should find myself fretting because I have fallen back into the either or habit, I will tell myself, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, Cheryl. That's all it is. Because you are love. You are lovable. You love.

I am love.

I am lovable.

I love.

Lord, let me live until I die

2010-06-07T19:00:00.000-07:00

Lord, let me live until I die. - Will Rogers

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain. -Lord Byron

I hope life isn't a big joke, because I don't get it. ~ Jack Handey

I've been wanting to start a post off with quotes. For the heck of it. Speaking of which, not that I planned it this way, but I did a number of things this past week just for the heck of it. Like rappelling 163 ft down a cavern (with interesting/v. nice Christmas tree/dodgeball dude) despite my completely irrational fear of heights ...

Where does that fear come from? Did I fall off a really tall building in a former life?

Anyway, the worst part was, after making it down the first 30 feet to this natural ledge, I looked over and downwards through this small opening to see the other 130 feet I still had left to go, and all the itty bitty people who'd be looking up at my nice, womanly ass for the next twenty, thirty minutes. Stepping through that hole just might have been the single most terrifying moment of my life.

After that the idea of zip lining through the air didn't seem as scary...

Wheee!!!!

Saturday, despite not having registered for the event, I snuck into a 5K marathon (See Jane Run) with my life long buddy, Lita, and her friends. The race started at 8:30 am. We finished an hour and twenty minutes later (we were in no hurry, believe me) and by 11 am we had enjoyed copious amounts of (free) champagne, sunshine (am sunburned now---ouch!) and girl talk.

One of her friends, by the way, was facing the imminent death of her mother from cancer. Though you wouldn't know it by her readiness to laugh which says a lot, I think, about her strength of character and maturity.

Later that day, Lita did a tarot card reading for me. Naturally, I asked ---Hello! Where the heck is my dream job? Whether you believe in this stuff or not, my answer seemed appropriate: 1. Faith - Trust that I'm where I need to be. Be patient and know that it is happening. 2. Flow - It's time to let go. Everything is falling into place.

Okay...I will do my best to have faith that my seeds are sprouting. I will trust in that answer.

Sunday afternoon, in the city, I danced the tango. Is there any better dance? The mutual give and take required is such a great metaphor for any human relationship. The more open, trusting, spontaneous and able to reciprocate you are, the more enjoyable and beautiful the dance...

One of my dance partners, by the way, was this very old man (at least in his late eighties) who had shuffled across the stage and down the steps just to ask me to dance. How could I say no? Halfway through the song, though, it occurred to me that I hadn't see him holding his other dance partners this close. And I wondered is this gentleman not quite so gentlemanly...or is this the best way for newbies like me to learn the tango? Whatever. I found him pretty amusing, in any case. Hope I'm that fully engaged and full of life when I reach that age.

How I got over

2010-05-25T17:15:00.000-07:00

Just got over the most horrendous case of soy milk poisoning. Not the throw up, better in the morning kind of poisoning, but the slow, insidious, lethargic, foggy headed kind where you realize, oh f--k, I must be allergic to soy! Which would make sense considering how I'm allergic to peanuts, wheat, barley, oats, grasses, pollen, dust, et cetera and so on. Not that I've allowed this to keep me from enjoying all the foods which should be on my do not eat list: pizza, pasta, Reece's Peanut Butter Cups, all kinds of beer, toast, all those wonderful, comforting foods which play havoc inside my body making me somewhat tired and nasal drippy but which can also be effectively counteracted with sugar and (until last year) caffeine.

But no more voluntary food poisoning for me. Not after experiencing the kind of fatigue (making it extremely difficult to write or paint) which, no matter how much I slept, only got worse with each cup of soy milk I innocently ingested. Not after doubling over in excruciating, utterly blinding pain (when before I would feel just a twinge of discomfort here and there) making me want to schedule my surgery for that very day to have these benign little suckers ripped out of me once and for all. I can't help wondering now if I would have even had a fibroid issue in the first place if I hadn't been slowly poisoning my body all these years. Maybe, maybe not.

So for the past week I have been eating nothing but safe foods. Eggs, chicken, lots of veggies and fruit, popcorn, goat milk, cottage cheese. Even so it took me about five days to bounce back to normal. I hate soy with a passion now. I want to poke holes in every carton I see. I'll probably want to knock them out of the hand of every shopper about to put a carton of that foul tasting poison into their grocery cart. Don't drink that crap! I'll want to scream. Don't chew it, suck on it or lick it either!

Even though, to be reasonable, it was probably my propensity towards food allergies that made my reaction so strong. Then again, a friend of mine who is allergic to nothing, tried soy milk for a while and noticed it changed her previously like clockwork menstrual cycle. And since she works in a hospital, she had many, many other horror stories involving soy to tell me.

Anyway, on to my photographs of the week:

1. People looking at art in the De Young...

I love this elegant older lady...
I bet she lives in a large, beautiful house filled with original art.

From Glide, where I will be doing my community service...
Food I will no longer poison my body with (except on special occasions)...

Sunday plein air painting. Except, because I was still getting over my soy poisoning, I only had energy enough for doodling...

A bluebird about to eat whatever the hell it wants...

The shi shi rich versus them world of Sausalito, where I once made enough money as an unlicensed street artist to fund a summer backpacking all over Europe.

5 pm. Almost dinner time now. Hmmm, what will I have?

More progress, more or less

2010-05-19T17:40:00.000-07:00

Over a week already! Where have I been? Well, bad day in traffic court last Tuesday. The unbelievably unfair verdict I got kept me from getting a good night’s sleep for a number of nights. Honestly, community service plus traffic school plus a fine for failing to make a full stop on a right turn on adeserted street at 11:30 at night?! Even though I’m pretty sure I did since it’s a matter of habit. So, I suspect my city is trying to squeeze money (and free labor) out of its citizens wherever possible. The rest of the week I spent writing and sending out queries. Responses I’ve received so far are far more promising compared to the last round I sent out. So, crossing fingers and toes...

I also went out Friday and Saturday with new dodgeball and hiking friends (Pub crawl, middle of the night dinner at Mel’s Drive In, beach hike in Half Moon Bay). And it struck me, more than once, that I was in the process of making new circles of friends. Something I feel is necessary. And a lot of fun. But I did get a little, er...teary eyed about it. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or maybe because I’d been feeling rather lonely. New friends, casual friends, old and very dear friends, sister friends, I have them all. But a girl needs a best girl friend. And, in the last three years I’ve lost two of them.

For a while I couldn’t help wondering if it was me. Maybe it was all my fault. I could have handled things differently, said something else, gave it one more try—what was it that doomed these relationships?

If I had to name one thing I’d say it was passive aggression. Or a fear of confrontation. I’m not the most talkative person in the world. I’m thoughtful and sometimes shy. But I’m also very up front. If I have an issue with someone I mention it, clear it up, then forget about it. Because otherwise it sits on my brain impeding my creative processes. But with these women, time and again I’d try to clear things up, things I felt deep in my gut were corroding the seams of our friendships, and I’d get an oh, no there’s nothing wrong, in response. Only to feel like I’ve been struck with a hammer by something they said or did not ten minutes later.

The thing with passive aggression is that it is extremely difficult to respond to. The passive aggressor gets to hit you with a hammer and not get blamed for it. I see my bf give me the evil eye over dinner because I won’t agree with her that yes, one should indeed be miserable if one is not as rich as Bill Gates. And when I mention this she says, No, I didn’t. Or I sense that my bf has a real issue with me concerning something and I ask her, Do you have an issue with me concering such and such? And she says, No, I don’t. Then, later on, I get an enraged email from her basically saying, Yes this was an issue for me and even though I wouldn’t admit that to you you should have known anyway.

Sigh...What can you do? But find new friends.

Though, it must be said that, through sheer determination, I have managed to stay friends with one of these women. But, it’s just not the same. I don’t feel safe confiding certain things to her anymore. Even though maybe, in time, I hope will again one day. Though am not holding my breath.

So, thank God for new friends, casual friends, old dear friends, sister friends, all my friends. Even ex friends. And future best girl friends.

New Work, etc.

2010-05-08T18:00:00.000-07:00

Some Photoshop work. One painterly...

The other comic booky

Ah, the magic that is Photoshop. I would hate to do all that inking with actual ink.

And these are couple of shorts created by one of my Academy friends, Niki Yang...

Brilliant, Nikki!!!

And thank you, thank you, thank you!! to everyone who commented on my last post. I read each of your comments with a deep sense of appreciation at both the therapeutic marvels of blog rambling and for all of you willing to read these ramblings. I meant to reply of course, but it's just been one of those weeks, the kind where words keep eluding me. I blame it on all the painting. With the visual part of my brain doing all the work, the language part just lies on the couch procrastinating.

On the other hand it has been a pretty good, pretty satisfying week. The sadness, the jeez WTF!! I felt over angry depressed friends's overblown yet not unexpected reaction, as well as my unresolved health issues gave way to relief (yes, life is too short for friends like that) and an oh well it'll all work out as life always does kind of mindset.

I am a hopeless optimist. But if you've been following my blog you probably already knew that. I believe things happen for a reason, that when you feel cornered it just means there's a door you haven't noticed yet, and that with all the personal upheavals I've experienced lately, some I've mentioned here, some I haven't, and my continuing career frustration can only mean one thing - that the best is yet to come. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Rumination

2010-04-29T22:00:00.000-07:00

Meant to write this big fancy post starting with a few words by Rumi and what glorious insights occurred to me while sitting in a dark theatre listening to Coleman Barks read---(if you ever get the chance to hear him read in person I highly recommend it)---but that mental thread has pretty much petered out...

The 6th Dalai Lama's name, Tsangyang Gyatso, by the way, means, 'Ocean of Melodious Songs.' (Barks read his poems as well.) Mine, according to Meaning of Baby Girl Names dot org, means 'Darling'. Darling...Hello, my name is Darling.

What's been on my mind lately:

1. To surgery or not to surgery. Probably, yeah. Or risk having a miscarriage later on as these benign thingies suck life giving blood away from my future fetus...

That ultrasound, btw, was the most frightening test I have ever, ever taken ---(this feels...unusual, said second opinion doctor with her fingers up my...) as I waited to see if my life was about to turn into either a life and death struggle or a life and soul struggle. What if she found something non benign? Could I accept infertility? Probably not well. One woman I know who had similar thingies had to have her entire uterus removed. Then again she had a stomach like a full balloon (How could she let it go that long?) and I do not.

2. Art.

Or...?

I hate it when I go through the art or what? struggle. I've been contemplating grad school to learn medicine or social working or joining some gigantic government run machine (peace corps/world wide charity/etc.) so I can get away from all this uncertainty and contribute to the world in more direct ways by helping to save lives and other such deeds. But do I really want to do any of those things? Maybe after I retire, if I ever do. But if I went back to school right now I'd just want to study either writing or art history. So I guess I have to come to terms with the uncertainty of my profession. It's really comforting to know that every artist, from Cezanne to all my heroes in animation and illustration, has gone through this What am I doing? am I good enough? struggle.

3. Ice cream. Mostly chocolate, fruit flavors or pistachio. I am craving ice cream like crazy these days. So why, why did I get Trader Joe's soy ice cream? If I had no idea what real ice cream tasted like I might like this stuff. Otherwise, with every bite, I think god I wish this was real ice cream.

4. Stories. I was watching Michael Wood's Shakespeare documentary and thought this would make such a great novel and/or movie. Two cousins, two great poets, Robert Southwell and William Shakespeare, one the most wanted Catholic outlaw of his day, the other the greatest playwright. Southwell dedicates a book challenging poets to write for and about God to his cousin Shakespeare which his cousin, by nature, cannot comply with any more than Southwell can give up being a Catholic though he must have known it would lead to his death. And while one is stuck in prison being repeatedly tortured before he is finally executed by the Queen's henchmen the other is writing things like A Midsummer Night's Dream and Love's Labour's Lost. Each, in their own way, a threat to the higher ups of state religion and monarchy. Faith, survival, exquisite language, family drama and all that, set in a really interesting time in history. Maybe, when my glorious film and illustrating career is over, I'll dedicate a few years to this story. Maybe not. Just another story running through my head these days.

5. In regards to my is this friendship worth saving? post, I decided...it wasn't...because I'm just profoundly tired of this person's anger and her neverending depression. I would genuinely like to stay friends but don't see how she and I can be friends right now. So I wrote to tell her how I wanted to end things on a note of love and forgiveness, how it was she herself who ended this friendship, little by little. And she was free to stay mad at me but I was moving on and I left it at that.

What decided it was that after all the crappy things she's done over the past year she had the nerve to throw a tantrum when I demand time to myself. And the nerve to assume that if I should need time to myself it can only be because I'm upset with her---because of course everything has to do with her.

I want to have more compassion. I've been there myself. But she has exhausted my compassion supply. She is a grown woman after all. But if it's not her supervisor then it's her sister, or she doesn't make enough money, or she's too something, something, too what the f--k ever. It's always someone or something else's fault. And one time too many she's tried to make it my fault.

But I meant what I said about moving on, which to me means not holding onto any anger or blame whatsoever. I want ---because this is a sad end to any friendship---to just feel glad we were friends at all, because she really was a good friend once upon a time.

Ok! Sorry for the long post. I'll end with something Coleman Barks mentioned, the Hasidic proverb, God made man because he loves stories. Adding that at the end of your life you'll have to review the novel of your life with God, so make it something he can enjoy.

Off to write some stories now. Have a great weekend everyone!!!

New stuff

2010-04-17T11:22:00.000-07:00

This is part of a 'practice illustration'...

A quickie I already posted on FB and Goth Painting number two...
Happy weekend everyone!

Is this friendship worth saving?

2010-04-09T22:00:00.000-07:00

What would you do?

I have a particular friend. When I first met her three years ago she was so sweet and thoughtful that she quickly became one of my favorite people. But a year ago...a romantic rejection, job and self image issues...and she began to withdraw. Since then seven out of the ten times I'd ask her to go out she would say no. And if I did manage to drag her for a night out of dancing, etc. half the time, before we'd even left or upon arrival, she'd either change her mind and want to go home or she'd want to do something less social.

Talking to her about what was going on, she just said she was going through a really rough time. I suspected she might also be clinically depressed. So I gave her what I hoped would be helpful advice along with a lot of space. I'd ask her now and then to do something. If she said yes, fine. If not, fine too.

The dynamics of our relationship had changed. Instead of a friendship that was more equally give and take, I felt like I'd become her constant cheerleader. But if I needed her to listen in return, I could no longer always count on her to be there for me. Moreover, I couldn't complain about it because, as she kept saying, she was going through a rough time.

So, when I began to go through a temporarily rough time myself a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but think twice before contacting her because experience has taught me that there was a strong chance she'd either 1. not listen. or 2. make me feel worse. And (isn't this always the way?) from me always being the one calling her she then starts constantly contacting me. Why aren't I asking her to go out so she can just say no again, or so we can sit in some moody corner and talk about how miserable life is? it felt like she was asking. So I told her, very to the point, that this wasn't a good time and I'll talk to her later, okay? But, alas, it's not okay and she keeps calling and texting until, in a hormone and stress induced bad mood, I tell her, Look, I really need some space right now while I work some things out, just like you've done many a time over the past year, so just let me be for fuck's sake.

She responds by calling me a bitch.

Well...

guess I shouldn't have added that, for fuck's sake?

Because I feel, well, kinda weepy and heartbroken, I'm strongly tempted to call or email her to try to set things straight. On the other hand, common sense tells me maybe it's for the best if I just walk away.

What would you do?

Happy Easter, Peeps!

2010-04-03T20:00:00.000-07:00

Yay! I have yet again devised a way to avoid the dreaded Easter family reunion this year. Not that I really have to anymore as they have basically given up on me. But if I can force myself up at 4 am, and I am not daunted by the threat of rain, I will go for a sunrise group hike along an oceanside mountain which will culminate by an open air Easter service complete with bagpipe player. Then I will volunteer at Karma Kitchen, my way of making up for my rather self involved profession...

Happy Peep Day, everyone!

(Images from St. Louis Today, the Wash. Post, Domestic Goddess, Crafters.Org, etc.)

Just remember the five D's of dodgeball: "Dodge", "Duck", "Dip", "Dive", and..."Dodge."

2010-03-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

The autumn after I graduated college (ten years ago) I was working for a place I loved. My workmates were friends and teachers from the Academy and we all had high hopes of the company becoming the Nickelodeon of the internet. Instead it folded the following summer.

To get over my disappointment, I threw myself into a solo bike ride down the coast. I was in excellent size two shape, had a solid, brand spanking new bike, but no real idea what I was doing, how I might (as I usually do) get lost in unfamiliar territory, or be caught on the road long after sundown, miles away from a place to stay for the night. I didn’t think of that before setting out. I just went.

Contrast that to my tentatively signing up, over a year ago, for dodgeball then taking nearly that long to actually show up for a game. I wanted to play in the park with others who felt likewise. But dodgeball is a game of violence, exclusion and degradation. What if I showed up and found a bunch of fully padded White Goodmans bent on making it to this years tournament?

(B. Stiller a.k.a. White Goodman)

They might, in their winning-means-everything fever, see petite and slightly out of shape me as easy pickings. And I’d have to slink off the field without scoring a single point (as I did every time I played a group sport during my grade school days) having publicly proven once again my athletic moronitood.

But, as it often goes, the worst of my preconceived worries were all wrong. The players, thank God, were more like these guys...

A game of exclusion it is not. And while winning is nice, no one keeps track.

But I was right, more or less, about the violence of the sport and my own athletic moronitood. During the last game I was on a streak. I dodged that ball, then this one, then another. I was about to score for sure! Then I decide to turn around and push a stray ball out of the way, thus turning my beautiful, womanly ass into a big, fat target. I can’t explain that brilliant move except through athletic moronitood.

I’ve made many more embarrassing mistakes. Embarrassing, at least, to me. There aren’t many rules in dodgeball. But I keep forgetting half of them. In my defense though I only listened to them once and they basically went in one ear and out the other. Game rules, to me, are like computer or cell phone manuals and other things I never bother to read.

And since the top of my head only reaches up to the average man’s clavicle, and most players aim for the chest area, this means I get hit in the face. A lot. On the plus side this also meant, in one case, being treated to a Guinness when the guy in front of me ducked out of the way and the ball meant for him (thrown by someone with a powerful arm) hit me square on the nose stunning me for a few good seconds.

And if the ball wasn’t dangerous enough, there is the ever present danger of another player tripping over the grass and slowly falling backwards on top of you even as you desperately try to roll out of the way. (Those things really do happen in slow motion. How is that possible?) And if the guy is about six foot five, this is, as they say, an oh, sh--! moment.

Also, being a woman who might lift a five pound weight only every now and then, I’m also finding it a real challenge to actually hit anyone. The ball will go in my target’s general direction but the target usually has enough time to step—not run—but just step out of the way. Or they reach up, over or down to catch it. And then I’m fetching stray balls until the next round.

But, believe it or not, over drinks after the last game someone turned to me and said, “You’re really good!”

And like a giggly girl I replied, “Oh, no! I’m blah, blah, blah, horrible, blah, blah.”

“No,” he said, “you’re blah, blah, agile, blah, blah, quick, the way you blah, blah.”

He looked and sounded utterly sincere and I didn’t get any I’m-just-trying-to-sleep-with-you vibe from him so...can this actually be? I, in the dodgeball world at least, am a decent athlete?

Maybe a tournament is somewhere in my future?

Sisters

2010-03-17T19:00:00.000-07:00

Since I neglected to pencil in ‘buy birthday present for sister’ this year, and then I forgot to call or email her on the actual anniversary of her birth, I have done this belated birthday sketch for her instead.

When she and I were growing up, older sister was my number one tormentor. The one who kept laying claim to my favorite toys, who forced me to play Darth Vader while she and her snotty friend Crystal got to be Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia, who convinced me mountains were the graves of giants then laughed at four year old me for my naivete and, worst of all, who stuck me with that stupid nickname which older members of our family still insist on calling me. Teyel. A word which makes no sense whatsoever and sounds a little too much like tail. As in, there’s Cherry followed by her little tail—oops, I mean sister.

When my sister and I are fighting, these and many, much more horrible incidents of torment are what I used to (and sometimes still do) remember. But then, when she’s at the other end of the country, or, currently, somewhere in the south pacific, I think how differently I might have turned out without her.

After our mother left and our father was finding even more ways to be erratic, illogical and frightening—living with him was like living in some Alice in Wonderland nightmare world where parents did not make sense, parents were forever changing form, parents could be truly dangerous—he, for some reason thought it would be a good idea to pass out on my bedroom floor night after night or even, once or twice, on my bed. If I’d been in a less traumatized state after the loss of my mother, I would have been able to fend him off better. I could have put into words exactly why asshole father should not do this. Not that he would have listened.—And not, I have to add, that my father was a child molester. But to lose my mother and then to realize this—this brain half gone asshole of a father was our sole parent now—was not, to put it mildly, at all comforting.

It was then of course that my formerly number one tormentor became my number one protector and best friend. My sister, without my asking her to, stepped in by inviting me to play sleep over with her. She’d read to me from a book of Grimm’s fairy tales night after night, a comforting ritual, until it was safe again to sleep in my own room.

So that’s what this image illustrates.

Happy birthday, Cherry. Love ya!

Goth project progress (say that twenty times) and my Christmas list

2010-03-05T13:28:00.001-08:00

This isn't the post I planned to publish. I was working on another but got stuck on how personal it kept getting. Certain things like having to see people now and then who I may need to mention for a post to make sense is getting in the way of my freedom of speech. Not that I want to talk about them specifically, as in gossip, but one friend of mine asked I not blog about her ever. She wasn't too clear on whether she minded an alias or not so think I found a loophole. Then again I have the feeling she would mind even with an alias. How silly is that? So how to discuss something which kinda involves this person without mentioning this person? And, oops! Here I've mentioned her already when she specifically asked me not to! Darn. Sorry, friend I can't mention! Hmmm...ok, am working on this.

Anyway, goth painting number one is done. Or rather I have finally given up on it...

And if you must compare, the original photo can be seen on my photo blog here. Sad thing is, I chose to start with this one because I thought it would be the easiest, quickest one to paint. Little did I know it would take six frustrating weeks to finish making me wonder many a time if I might be visually retarded.

Goth painting number two, also, is under way...

It's still in that yet to be messed up stage. Luckily, after six weeks of oil and brush practice, I'm hoping this won't take me so long.

And, inspired by De Campo, I too have begun planning my Christmas list. Look here and try to resist this c(h)andelier of dreams!

It's by Jello, who will make only ten of them, each consisting of about 5,000 hand strung bears and taking about two months to complete. It's a childhood wish come true!!! As kids my sister and I used to play space-ship-eat-all-you-want (because we couldn't in our house. Not because there wasn't enough food around but because our parents didn't want us, or rather my sister, to get any chubbier than she already was. I usually got full after two bites *unless when eating desert.) made out of all the boxes we could find in the house (again not because we didn't have toys but because boxes are just fun) on which we drew magic space ship buttons for all the only for special occasion goodies we could think of, banana splits, sundays, donuts, chocolate and strawberry shakes, french fries we (my sister) didn't have to share, etc. Anyway, imagine my disappointment when I read the fine print and realized that the gummi bears are not actual candy gummy bears (WHAT?!!!) but mere acrylic impostors. There goes my fantasy of snacking on my c(h)andelier some drunken evening.

Oh well, still want one!
Or maybe I'll get it for my sister?

One last thing. Found this on an old Academy classmate's blog (N. Stapley)...

Haven't you always wondered?

Dear Universe,

2010-02-18T16:25:00.000-08:00

I want this, please...

Or better.

Thanks,

Cheryl

A whole lotta...

2010-02-15T04:00:00.000-08:00

I wish this was an anonymous blog. I had a rather interesting V-day weekend. I love when life surprises me (in a good way), when I look in the mirror and like what I see, when I jump in rather than play it safe. Could have gone the other way. V-day weekend could have been a mine field. But focusing on creative work has more or less kept me grounded. And, the other day while riding the train, when I was starting to think sad thoughts about myself, I looked up and saw this man whose face expressed so much sadness. I wanted to put my arm around him like an angel from Wings Of Desire. And with that, the urge to comfort rather than to wallow, the deceiving fog of self pity lifted and I knew everything would be alright. Then life throws a curve ball at me again. Or is it? I don't know yet. Life is inexplicable, scary, awesome, frustrating, a lot of fun, I don't want to miss a minute of it...and...I trust that life is leading me in the right direction, no matter what happens...

So, I stopped by my alma mater recently to see the Graduate Fine Art Photography exhibit. I love fine art photography and I saw there some really promising artists...

Dickhead, so to speak...
Hee, hee...

The models...

Nipplehead...
Ivan Feerman...

I love this series. It feels a lot like my goth true self/projected image project. So it's a bit disconcerting to see someone else do the same thing. But really interesting to see their take on it as well.

So, after those fine works, some of my own. I call it...Saturday, SF Waterfront...yeah...If only the guy in the white hoodie had been wearing red...
I gave this hard working guy a dollar...
one for this kid too...
but not this guy...

Loved his sign though. Who has spare weed just ready to hand out, I ask you? Well, in SF, a lot of people I guess...

Cheryl's choice

2010-02-12T04:29:00.000-08:00

This dream of a doll house (which I photographed last year while visiting the Smithsonian Museum of American History with my sister) has always struck a cord with me. It feels like...my head, my world =

Except mine is more complicated, messier, books and clothes strewn about everywhere, with rooms that really need a good dusting (odd term, that. Undusting sounds far more accurate), and rooms that are half finished and rooms yet to be built. Not to mention big picture windows, a yard with paths leading to the outside world, etc. To take one of those paths means setting aside work for awhile which is hard for me to do sometimes. I have to close the door to distraction in order to get the work done. But too many days like this makes me restless. Which is probably why I'm feeling the urge for a long walk in the sunshine this weekend. Hiking weekend, yay!

Here are a few things I've been working on...

I've never designed specifically for a graphic novel before and finding inspiration through artists like Chris Appalhans, Scottie Young (he has a pretty funny podcast, too), Dice Tsutsumi, Peter deSeve, etc. has been a lot of fun. Every unique style communicates with a different sounding vocabulary and I've been struggling to find the right (and my very own) vocabulary for the first story I'm working on. So I've been doing some experimenting, and these sketches show the direction I'm about eighty percent sure I want to go in...

Then again, I might save it for the next story. And for this one go back to this style...

which I really like. It feels dreamier somehow, while the former feels more comical. But the latter takes about twice as long to do.

Oh well, choices, choices, I'll figure it out eventually.

Have a great weekend, folks!

The film I wish I'd made in art school...

2010-02-08T11:22:00.000-08:00

Another quiet, productive week. I don't know...you finish a painting, you like it, you feel a sense of accomplishment and relief...then the art critic starts up again asking me is this really the best possible way I could have approached this thing? So I went to the Stanford Art Museum this weekend (a small, two hour kind of museum with a decent number of works by artists like Whistler...

Degas, Picasso, Kandinsky, O'Keefe, etc.) both to get out of the house and to look at what others have done. Like these for instance...

They have a wonderful disregard for accuracy and beauty. Not that I like them all that much.

An interesting approach to the family portrait. How would I portray mine? My dad would probably be a crab or some other unpleasant creature you don't want to get too close to. My mother would be a bird or a cat, something that's either loving or dangerous depending on her mood. My sister...a dog, or something like no-nonsense Mr Rat from The Wind In the Willows. My brother...maybe a fox or a slippery fish. Nothing is ever on the surface with him. You have to keep asking, brushing things aside, extending an open hand and...never mind. Creative drama is the only drama I want to deal with these days. What would your family portrait look like?

On a (slightly) different note the dead mice are still underneath the stairs. Cat did not snack on them after all. And the underpaid gardener, who I assumed would sweep them away as part of her job, didn't. So I get to observe the process of death whenever I walk by that way. Still gruesome yet fascinating.

On yet another note, for those of you who aren't into examining art or dead creatures and might need a laugh today...

Love this video. Almost makes me want to get back into animation.

How headless mice and bad sex liven up a quiet week

2010-02-01T04:00:00.000-08:00

My neighbor's cat, a sweet, well fed little beast, killed two mice the other day and left their bodies to rot underneath the outside stairs, the one I have to use if I want to leave the house. They're just lying there, their tiny little heads riped clean off and lying next to their fat, lifeless bodies. Gruesome...Yet fascinating....So of course I took a closer look. And noticed that the cat had ripped off their heads by the jaw so that their tiny lower teeth were protruding from...

Oh, never mind. Why am I going on about dead mice? Because it's the most exciting thing to happen all week besides this awful sex dream I had. I mean the sex (with this bald guy I was not at all attracted to, why couldn't it have been a lucid dream?) was awful. And the one I was really interested in (in this dream) got discouraged because he thought I was with the bald guy. And, as if the universe was teasing me, I kept running into bald guys everywhere I went that day! I know there's a fair amount of them in this town, but to run into so many of them in the space of a few hours?!!!

Anyway, it has been a productive week though. I bought a subscription to Lynda.com to brush up on my 3D skills. (Maya 2010 is extremely daunting, by the way. Best not to think about the thousands of tricks and commands I have yet to learn.) I also made good progress on some writing and painting. And Sunday, I joined my painting group to paint in the lovely Marin countryside...

My little oil (3rd one from right, bottom row) was a good start but since the idea was to finish a painting in three hours or less (one guy finished two!)...well, I really need to practice my speed painting skills.

Watercolor. Three hours. Amazing. Wish it was mine.

Afterwards, some browsing (and shopping and eating) in the extremely cute little town of Mill Valley. I'm guessing this is a wine shop...

I love Benefit products...

and pretty lamps and paper...
And the porcelain tea set. And the impractical but v. pretty tree full of hearts...

Wish I'd gotten the Tiger Woods candle now.

Would've made me laugh every time I lit it.

When I got home Sunday night the mouse bodies had not, evidently, rested in peace. Eeeuw. Hope I find nothing but mouse bones next time.

Kind words, Sweet thoughts, Good Times

2010-01-25T14:30:00.000-08:00

Awards make me very happy. Last week I received this one from Elizabeth...

and I've been working on this post ever since, off and on. Sad to say it's taken me a while to come up with ten things that make me happy because of how I define it, i. e. as a general state. A lot of things give me pleasure and enjoyment but either I'm happy or not. And I am in general. But I do feel things deeply. I sometimes feel the feelings of others deeply. I can get lost in their emotions and mistake them for my own. And with the events this past week in Haiti, Massachusetts, the Supreme Court all against a backdrop of cold, constant and gloomy rain, these are some of the things I've been turning to lately in order to stay grounded and, in general, happy:

1. Writing/painting/drawing.

I don't know why I procrastinate some days. Artistic doubt maybe, which does serve a useful purpose. It keeps me from becoming complacent. But if I'm not careful this doubt becomes a runaway train robbing me of creative enjoyment. But whenever I'm working it feels completely right.

2. Connections.

I grew up in a family that thought judgement, shame and blame were the most useful tricks in the toolbox of life. So maybe it's no surprise that I end up with a few friendships that, at times, mirror this old dynamic. And how I react without making things worse has been part of my growing up process.

Never throw anyone away, Audey Hepburn once wrote. Well...sounds nice, but some people I really can do without, their absence a gift that just keeps on giving. The trick is discerning who I should let go off (i.e. happily drop) and who is worth the work. Because we all go through difficult times.

So last week I met with a certain friend, and another I haven't seen in a while, for coffee and dinner. I enjoyed it but I also found myself afraid to touch certain topics, things I would not have hesitated to bring up before. Oh well. Trust must be rebuilt one step at a time. And if we don't become as close as we once were, then at least I can be glad of the fact that I did what Audrey Hepburn would do, I didn't throw her away.

3. Reconnections.

Facebook is awesome. Since signing up I've reconnected with a lot of people I'd lost touch with over the years, grade school friends, people I used to work with and so on. The thing with grade school friends, though, is that it is impossible not to see the ghost of their little former selves superimposed over the adults they've become. Or to not hear their childish voices when they update their status. Strange too, not like I feel free enough to invite them, or myself, over for coffee. Still...in a childhood that was both happy and horrible (thanks to dear old dad), they made up a big chunk of the happy part. I'll always be grateful to them for that.

4. Artistic connections.

Writing and painting can be very isolating activities. And I love being around people. So I've joined as many writing and painting groups as I can. On line, there's Chiustream of course, whenever I want. Some drawing/painting groups that meet once a month. Every other week, there's the writing group that meets in a cute Noe Valley cafe for all day writing marathons. Then, once a week, I meet with a writer friend also for the sole purpose of writing. These groups not only keep me company but they also keep me motivated. Don't wanna sit there staring into space or watching The Office online when everyone else is typing/drawing/painting away.

5. Gifts/free things.

Of course I love Christmas and birthday gifts. But getting gifts during post gift giving season for no reason in particular? Like these side dishes Beecher's Handmade Cheese sent me...

last week for no other reason than having mentioned them in one of my Seattle posts! Wow, the power of the written word. Does this officially make me part of the media? When they contacted me I assumed they'd send me trial size versions, quarter cup servings just enough to make me want more. Not these enough for three meal sized boxes all including their amazing cheddar (am guessing it's cheddar though they simply refer to it as handmade). Christmas in January for an artist on a budget. Wonderful.

6. All the hot chocolate I want and/or a dessert every day.

Right now I have a bag of chocolate pieces in the fridge. And in the freezer, some frozen cookie dough, Toll House and Trader Joe's. And, after too many samplings of both, I have to say T.J.'s all natural chocolate chip cookie dough really is way better. (Think this'll get me some free T.J. cookie dough?). Thank goodness, because if I didn't, I'd have to brave the cold to go on a special dessert finding expedition.

7. Playing.

Shopping, goofing around with my nieces and nephews, running in the rain and splashing through all the puddles, dodgeball. I don't let myself play enough. Sunday I chose working with my writing group over a muddy, freezing game of dodgeball. I was glad to get some work done but afterwards I thought, gosh, I should have played dodgeball! So I made up for my uberseriousness with a few hours of bargain treasure shopping.

8. Live music/dancing/poetry and/or literary readings.

I went to this Rabbie Burns thing at the Edinburgh Castle on Saturday night because it sounded too good to miss (men in kilts, poetry, free food). It wasn't, unfortunately (too much ranting about current events which I was trying not to think about, not enough poetry) and if that's what haggis tastes like (very, very bland, though the haggis ceremony was pretty cool), not sure if I'll try it again. But I'm glad I went anyway.

9. Sleep. And 10. Having worked out

Because having had a good night's sleep or having worked out (in between or despite the rain), especially in the morning when I don't have to spend the rest of the day dreading a work out, ah, that's the best.

Now to pay it forward. The ten blogs I nominate for this award are:

1. Britt-Arnhild's House in the Woods

2. Shanster's Goats N More

3. The Battle of Essence Versus Existance

4. A Journey Into Fiction

5. Drollgirl

6. Where There Are No Chickadees

7. Yes No Maybe

8. La Belette Rouge

9. Maya Photography

10. Brightened Boy

and (I just have to sneak one more in)...

11. American Fool

MOMA's 75th Anniversary

2010-01-21T05:00:00.000-08:00

The SF MOMA celebrated it's 75th anniversary last weekend with free admission and extra late hours, a chance I couldn't pass up.

Coming from a traditionally trained background, I don't love modern art but I am learning to open myself up to liking it more and more. And what better place to be on a rainy, Saturday night?

This sculpture is brilliant. I've seen it before, in DC, and it always strikes me as something really fragile, far too white and shiny, and, of course, weird. Just like it's subject is supposed to have been...

The sculpture on the right is just plain creepy. Really creepy.

This, to me, looks like an angel in the sky during a time of trouble...

According to the plaque, if I remember correctly, it's a volcano erupting.

And this looks like a bunch of people who watch too much tv news...

I can't explain this one at all. I feel no reaction to it whatsoever except to wonder what it's doing in a museum. Looks like something I'd find in a basement...

This Warhol I liked quite a lot. It was interesting to stand before this huge piece seeing how each little picture changes from one to the next...

Egon Schiele, one of my all time favorite artists...

This sculpture, I don't know if it was meant to or not, but it makes me laugh...

Part of Kara Walker's very affecting mural...

Gerhard Richter's interesting, but not so affecting, painting...

...? Makes me think of chocolate cake batter.

Nice, soothing colors and shapes...

Something (boring) made from lead, hence the barrier...

Another work I don't want to get too close to...

My interactions with modern art tend to be mainly cerebral, especially with the more inscrutable works like the four directly above. It's like a visual puzzle I want to figure out. But I much less seldom experience an emotional reaction, even after learning the theories and ideas which went into its creation. It's like jazz, hard to pin down and always surprising.

What do you think?

Hmmmm

2010-01-15T09:40:00.000-08:00

What do you think? Maybe I'm all gothed out (only a week into the project! Must be having an artistic moment here) but I can't tell if these photos are successful or not.

Maybe colored photos work better for this particular model?

What's this? Actual expressions?

This image strikes me as most typical of the shoot. The perfect surface and yet so...

The thing is, with my first goth model, Ross, I didn't have to direct much to get him to emote. His intensity came out naturally. But with a professional model I found myself suggesting all sorts of things to get a reaction (do you know any poetry? Any songs? Any acting exercises? How about we shoot here. Or here? Can you show me an emotion? Anything? Okay, let's go for boredom and indifference again, etc.) and still getting lots of pretty (but uninteresting?) shots.

Actually, I realize I like these photos. Some of these might make excellent paintings. I just hope they're more than pretty pictures. And maybe I set myself up for disappointment by hoping for another Ross. It didn't help that my painting has gone from iffy to maybe I should just paint over it. And I'm sending out another portfolio to Blue Sky today, a place I've long dreamed of working for. And I got a parking ticket Wednesday. And I had dinner with new friends last night and one of them was not at all nice to me in the way that women who want to appear nice while not being nice can be. (i. e. jellyfish comment. But so what? The others were great. Why focus on the jellyfish?)

Gosh, I'm being so serious. My project! My career! I need a trip to Paris toute suite! Ex-ney tout les egativeness-nay. Relax. Blogging things out, I feel better already. You see, this is why I'm taking a break from certain people in my life. I'm feeling vulnerable, I want more emotional support (but am not getting it from them) and need to nurture my lighter side. Think will call one of my happy friends. Or my sister. And eat some (or a lot of) chocolate. And then I'll get back to work.

Goth walks into an ice cream parlor...

2010-01-12T09:30:00.000-08:00

Spent the day painting and baking yesterday.

The goth project is going well. I finally sat down to look over photos from the second goth photo shoot - my double goth shoot - I took a while back. A lot of them came out better than expected. A few of them (maybe the one above? in color of course) will become paintings. My first goth painting is in that iffy stage. Will have to make corrections today. But since I haven't picked up my oils since July this is to be expected.

But the scones I made, if I do say so myself, were excellent! Top notch!

Moist, full of lemon and ginger flavor, mmm - so good!

Okay, I confess. It was a mix. But I didn't burn them, or get the water to mix ratio wrong. I did forget to put the oven at the right temperature, and I had to bake them at twice the usual time, but they didn't suffer for it, thank goodness

Tomorrow, I have hired a professional model to play goth for a few hours. An amazingly gorgeous one, I have to say. She reminds me of the French actress Isabelle Adjani. I would have preferred a genuine goth, but maybe a pretend goth will add another layer to this masks we wear/real selves etc. thing I'm exploring? We'll see. I'll keep you posted.

Beautiful new things

2010-01-11T14:30:00.000-08:00

I fell in love with these shoes at first sight....

I wanted them. They had that artsy yet classic look I'm going for now. So the salesman needn't have said a word. But I let him go on anyway because I enjoyed his enthusiasm. He was so excited by these shoes!!! all designed by designer, Dan Sullivan! Only a hundred and fifty pairs exist of each shoe design! And only two boutiques in the world sell them! One here in New York! The other in London!!!

The toe part pinched somewhat, but a bit of breaking in, I told myself, should take care of it. Otherwise they seemed comfortable enough. And they were on sale. So I bought them. And didn't give them a proper trial run until this Saturday while running errands (all dressed up just for errands, I felt so Sex in the City!) but halfway to my car I began to wonder if I'd been fooled by desire. For one thing walking quickly was impossible. When I tried, I found myself holding my breath. Then one of the toes on my right foot began to feel numb.

How did I miss this? I wondered. Why did it feel so right then and yet is so obviously wrong now?

Because, you see, I've decided to chuck the mental junk no longer serving me. More gut impulses, less overthinking, less regret, more looking forward, less anxious effort, more going with the flow. So getting something as simple as the right pair of shoes wrong might, if I overthought it, send me into a spiral of self doubt. I could think, okay, this is why I grew into an overthinker in the first place. To save myself money and from disappointment. But I'm not going there. Some shoe inserts, a trip to the shoe repairer, and I'll be saying to myself, I knew it all along. These adorable, raspberry colored babies and I belong together.

One thing my gut has been telling me for awhile now is that I need a break from all the negative people in my life. That this is vital for me in order to move forward. But is also difficult when said people are close friends and family and have been, for the most part, the ones I socialize with the most. Even more difficult when I've already gone through a few breaks and relationship changes already. But I don't mean a complete break. Just a break for now, however long now turns out to be. And I don't mean negative as in they're awful people. I just mean, they're in a negative place at the moment and look, as a consequence, at the world this way while I need to look that way instead. They're in a different place than I am emotionally. And maybe this is a good thing, exactly what we need, a necessary phase for all of us to go through...each on our own...for a while then we can all come back together later on and talk about what we did while each of us were on our own and...maybe my urge to break away, my desire to run off to Paris or wherever is, in some part, a response to them.

So I went it sans usual company this weekend, and really liked it, because (thanks to meetup.com) I didn't feel alone. I had fun trying new things and going to new places. I went to the movies (Leap Year, predictable but fun), out for drinks and played dodgeball (whole lotta fun! can't wait to go again) with dozens of potential new friends. I even stayed home Saturday night to watch An American In Paris in my pajamas because it felt like the right thing to do.

But part of me can hear the worrywart voice warning me not to stray too far from familiar faces. Call them! Send them a text. So what if you end up feeling judged or blamed again? So what if they shoot eyeball daggers at you over the dinner table because you won't be dragged into that tired old argument? Who knows where this will lead? Everyone and everything I'm comfortable with right now could become another finished chapter in my past. And so I feel some sadness, some trepidation, but also a lot of enthusiasm and hope. I am ready for new things. I feel it down to the marrow of my being.

I'll let you know what happens.

Marry Me, Road Work Ahead

2010-01-07T05:00:00.000-08:00

Two signs (in NYC) which go oh so well together...

A few photos I forgot to squeeze into my last post...

L. and I went to Bingo Night at the Bowery Poetry Club where we were happy to lose since winners, in one round, had to walk on stage naked. (The other prizes weren't so great either). But I was wild to win the last round (a pot of $220) but was one square short!!! I wanted to leave in a huff after that but L. got me to stay for an open mic which featured some pretty atrocious acts. Like this guy...

whose lyrics (I'm gonna sex you up! etc. etc. I'm gonna sex her up! etc. etc. I'm gonna sex him up! etc. etc.) I've (mostly) deleted from memory. The guy dancing on the left turned out to be a remarkably bad poet. And the guy sitting down turned out to be a dancer who did this outrageous, yet strangely endearing dance routine set to Mr Roboto by Styxx...

This wasn't the only night spot we went to. We went to a few bars and a dance club on New Years Eve where I'd hoped to live out some Carrie Bradshaw-esque fantasy, meeting my own Aiden or Mr Big over an expensive cocktail. But it was not to be. Places like this, for meeting significant others anyway, are perhaps no longer for me. Because of course the moment I stop looking, like while walking down a street in Greenwich Village or taking a rest while enjoying some music in Central Park, then boom!...In short, I should stop trying so hard and keep looking forward (my themes for the year).

More cute window displays...

Okay, pictures out of the way. I am back home still settling into things, which means sleeping a lot (9 to 11 hours a night) and not getting much done. Last year I might have worried over this. So much to get done, no time to waste! But this year I've decided to take things more in stride. I'm sleeping a lot and doing a lot of nothing because my body and mind need a rest. I haven't been writing because other art projects need attending to.

And, while resting, I have envisioned my next painting series. Something I hoped to find all last year, but nothing I came up with felt right. So I'm going with an impulse I, for some reason, kept pushing aside, a series based on the goth photos I took, with some new goth models I'm hiring mixed in. In the gallery exhibition of my dreams (in London or Paris of course) I have a collection of paintings and fine art photographs displayed, the paintings done in a realistic yet dreamy style, like Thomas Wilmer Dewing and Lucien Freud mixed together (at least in my mind's eye, who knows how it'll actually turn out). The purpose of the series is to explore the roles we play, the masks we show to others, yet how our real selves show through all the same.

Last year I might have hesitated and agonized more. Can't I think of anything more ground breaking than that? But this year, after the comfort of a tarot reading that promised success and a new move if I went with this impulse (I know, so much for not hesitating, but I just had to make sure) I'm going with it. I'm looking forward and getting to work. Starting today.

New York, New York!!!

2010-01-04T05:00:00.000-08:00

(Note: to anyone who finds this page through Google images, I'm really curious to find out which image brought you here. And, if you want to use it for your own purposes, please be kind enough to tell me what those purposes are and, if possible, to give me credit as photographer. You can leave a comment here or email me at teyel@hotmail.com. Thanks!!!!)

Happy New Years everyone!!!

I am back from vacation. Recovering from vacation actually. Which of course means vacation photos and (because my brain is kinda mushy today) not too much commentary...

New York, needless to say, was super crowded.

and super freezing cold. (Grand Street, our home base in New York.)

Street art in Little Italy...

66 Perry Street, Greenwich Village, a.k.a. Carrie Bradshaw's place...

Wall Street...

The Met...

I've visited this museum a number of times and still haven't seen everything inside it. So I was determined to have a full day there on this visit - and still didn't see everything. Too many of the works demand more than a passing glance. These works I found especially moving or beautiful.

Central Park...

A cupcake truck!!!! Every neighborhood should have one...

Wish mine did. I'd have my cupcake money ready by the door, and every time I heard the telltale music of a passing cupcake truck I'd run out of my apartment and...O, cupcake truck! Where art thou?

Shopping...

The most amazing department store windows I've ever seen...

Fancy birthday lunch at L'Ecole...

The Jazz and Sketch workshop at the Society of Illustrator's Museum...

where I mingled with kindred spirits and enjoyed a glass of wine...

Times Square...

and the blasted ball we endured hours of drizzling cold for.

It was worth it.

Cookies, Christmas cheer, and a new painting

2009-12-11T09:00:00.000-08:00

I have been really emotional lately. It's not PMS. Well, it might be. That, and my fatiguing seasonal part time gig, the holidays and an upcoming b-day. Yesterday I was running on the beach and the beauty of the morning, the way the storm clouds darkened everything but a bright ribbon of light on the nearly still ocean water in the far distance, yada, yada, brought tears to my eyes. This morning, once again provoked to tears by the beauty of nature in the morning light, I ran through a big and tangled inventory of feelings. 1. I am really, really happy to still be alive. But 2. a little scared I will have another bout of heart trouble even though I 3. doubt I will have another one since my heart seems to be recovering nicely. 4. Sad that my dream job is still eluding me. 5. Hopeful and optimistic that it's just around the corner. 6. Frustrated to still be living in the apartment I thought would only be temporary and that I haven't had a boyfriend in like ages and ages. Damn, why did I turn that threesome opportunity down? Why? 7. Annoyed that L. has been depressed and therefor not much fun for the past several months. 8. Guilty that I am annoyed with L. for being depressed. 9. Grateful and 10. amused that after many months of searching for work I finally land a (seasonal) job as a Nestle Tollhouse cookie baker. Six to eight hours, three days a week baking three hundred and sixty cookies per hour. And I am supposed to say, but just can't, I really can't, say, Nestle baked some love for you today. Fuck they did. Well, is holiday money. And I do love the smell of fresh baked cookies. 11. Lazy. I love sleeping in, not having to get anywhere by a certain minute and a day stretching before me to fill any way I want. There's nothing like a part time non-dream job to make me 12. appreciate my time. Today, after my run, I checked my email, worked on my next illustration, had a late night hot chocolate with L. and wrote this blog post. 13. Disappointed not to be spending five weeks in Paris but am 14. looking forward to a week in New York City instead. Who cares if it'll be freezing cold there, I love New York! Lastly, I feel 15. eager to experience more of life, whatever happens, even if it means more birthdays.

Some photos from some of my lazy days off...
the Christmas display at the Hyatt, SF.

Thompson Street, Alameda, where every house looks like this for the holidays...

Kelly Reemston's art reception...
then drinks at The Pied Piper Bar, The Palace Hotel, SF...
A busker playing in the Powell Street Bart station...
some jewelry store displays, Union Square, SF...
I love the delicate details of these puppets.

My latest illustration, which took me longer to complete (because of the part time gig) than anticipated. I'm putting together a book of short stories, each one I hope to illustrate in a different style. This one, obviously, is about a girl who can fly...

Art (not mine) and other November things

2009-12-01T23:27:00.000-08:00

I had the worst of all nightmares in a string of nightmares last week. My brother and I were sleeping in the same bed as if we were kids again. But that's not the bad part. My dad, feeling lonely and sorry for himself as he so often does, climbs in between us and holds me like he sometimes did when I was really little and still scared of the dark making me feel trapped and angry. Cut to, as if this were a movie, a nunnery under attack. And one young novice gets the bright idea of putting a big fish from the dining room table over her head to protect her from harm. Yes, a fish over the head is just what the manual says to do in just this kind of situation! So over her head the fish goes but the knight who reaches her first slashes her down anyway, fish and all. But, God knows why, somehow her clever fish trick works, though not in the way she had intended. Cut to the Mother Superior praising this dead nun for her quick thinking, and her sacrifice, which saved the rest of them from suffering the same fate. Cut to me again. My dad is now standing beside the bed, by the door, and I am relieved but also upset to see him spit on my brother, his saliva glowing in the dark.

In waking life this plays out as me playing go between for my brother and sister and our dad. Which is rewarded by my being the only one he treats with common decency. Which makes me feel good for having let go of childhood traumas and being able to have a somewhat peaceful and mature relationship with my father. Cut to my sister once again shutting him out of her life last week, just in time for Thanksgiving, and my dad turns on me with such contempt I feel like I have been spiritually attacked. Only to repent as he suddenly remembers I am a human being. Only to relapse the next time he loses patience. And so on. Making me feel what else but trapped and angry.

But, let's not think about that. Am not that kid anymore. No fish over the head panic attacks over annoying but passing occurrences like that. Breathe in. Breath out.

I am feeling way, way better this week. But have been reconsidering birthday trip to Paris, which is disappointing, but necessary. Talking things over with my sister she pointed out that what I was doing was looking for an escape, but Paris would be nothing more than a temporary one. The moment I come back I'd be in the same place I am now. Only without money. Much better to use money on some kind of brilliant career move like, literally, moving out of my puny apartment which I've been wanting to do for years. Or, as my brother advocates, upgrading to the latest super cool computer. Or... not sure yet.

Anyway, here's a few images from my November album...
three Doggie Diner heads. What were they doing there? I don't know.

Some artwork enhanced by natural light...

The Golden Gate Bridge...
and boats.

If Dashiell Hammett were around today he might look like this guy...

Kelly Reemsten's amazing artwork at the Caldwell Snyder Gallery...
Why didn't I think of that?!!!! Damn, she's good.

Buskers I should have tipped...
But didn't.

Nightmares and dreams

2009-11-19T06:00:00.000-08:00

I've had nightmares every night this week. Can't remember Monday's but I did wake up with a start and had to take one of the anti panic pills the doctor gave me. Excellent stuff, I must say, but am trying hard not to rely too much on them. Tuesday woke up after a nightmare in which I'd been shoe shopping in this really nice boutique where I flirted like crazy with the cute sales guy. But as I was paying for my purchase and I was trying to work up the courage to give him my number, he suddenly seemed to lose interest in me because he'd seen that there was something physically wrong with me. Wondering what he'd seen I found myself in front of a mirror examining myself and I realized I'd lost a lot of hair on my left side (heart = left side = hmmm.). A neat row of it was just gone like it had been mowed off with sheers. Wednesday I woke up in a good enough mood to think I'd gone a night without a nightmare until later when the nightmare I'd had that morning popped back into my head while I was brushing my teeth.

I always have nightmares when I'm working through difficult issues. A few years ago, when I was on the verge of cutting things off with my brother, I dreamt I was flying through this black and white Sin City type place on my way out of there but before I could get away I had to find someone so I flew into a building, into this dark, dreary kitchen because someone in there needed my help. After an anxious search I found him and took him by the hand then lifted his sleeping or unconscious form into the air like he was a big sack of flour. Up and over the rooftops we flew while whoever it was we were escaping from slowly gained on us. And the closer this menacing figure came the heavier the man I carried seemed to be until his feet were nearly brushing the top of the street lamps and it took all my strength to keep him from hitting them which would have slowed us down even further. I remember getting so frustrated with him for not being able to help me, for his weighing me down and putting us even closer in harms way. Then I woke up.

Another time, when my father was still my number one least favorite person, I dreamt I was literally trying to escape from him by running through the horrible cookie cutter suburb we used to live in until I took off into the air and I was flying over a Pixar-like Irish landscape, a country so lush, vivid and breathtaking that everything else, all fear and hopelessness fell away, and what had started off as a nightmare had become one of the best dreams I ever had.

Last week my brother was the only person I told in person about my little heart troubles. He then told my mother who then told my sister who then told my dad (and an old friend who I was so glad to hear from) even though she'd sworn never to speak to him again. As soon as he heard he dropped everything and drove over to my place to see if I was alright. It really was heartwarming to see him so worried about me especially, I guess, considering how I spent most of my growing up years wishing he'd either disappear or die in order to spare us the misery that was his presence. Dad bought me groceries, took me to an excellent Japanese restaurant for lunch, then told me to drop my crappy health insurance for something better and not to worry about the cost cause he'll pay for it.

Tonight I'm hoping for more flying dreams, maybe one where I fly over to see the Northern Lights and because this is a dream I don't feel cold at all. Or maybe I'll fly over the Himalayas to see the Dalai Lama. Or both.

Later...
(Current work in progress. It'll be one of the illustrations in a book of illustrated short stories I'm currently working on.)

Hey everyone

2009-10-27T20:36:00.000-07:00

Darn, I really didn't mean to stay away for this long. Well, after dozens of calls to my phone and DSL providers, and three technician visits, I am now back online. I'm leaving out of that short summary a month's worth of frustrations. For example, on the second tech support visit, I tell him I have no dial tone. He laughs as if to say, lady, you saw how much work I just did, how I figured out the problem is with your modem, and now you want me to do even more work? Hmm, I think, being the nice person I am, maybe he's right, the problem's with my DSL modem, not my phone line. (Even though, from the very beginning, I felt the problem was with the wiring. A wire was going to the wrong place, which of course would mean it was my phone company's fault.) Do you have a phone I can check for dial tone? he asks. No, I say, sheepishly. I only use my cell phone. He shakes his head, laughing some more, as if to say, She has no phone! She's worried about her dial tone - and she has no phone! Before I can get offended he says he'll look into it and get back to me, meaning (I realize later) he'll do nothing whatsoever about it and leave me wondering if I'm going crazy. Later, I would also realize, hang on! If the problem's with my modem, and not my Mac or land line, then logging onto the internet on my laptop through dial up should be no problem. But after some experimenting, I confirmed that there was indeed no dial tone, just like I'd told no. two dufus AT&T tech guy. A fact confirmed by no. three tech guy. The wire was in fact wired to the wrong place! (Ha! In your face no. two!!!) How and why wired to the wrong place, can only guess. Quelle nightmare, quelle month, but is over.

I don't mean that having no internet for a month made life into an ordeal. But it did help feed my tendency to wrestle with my dark side. Sometimes I'd be working on something and I'd think, oh, why bother when I can't even post the darned thing? Or, because I was a little bored and couldn't turn to my usual amusements or distractions, I'd ruminate about how those closest to me have annoyed or offended me. (Oh, I so don't enjoy doing that! So why do I still do it?) And so September, a happy month which ended with my winning lots of money in Vegas (from football bets), turned into glum October during which I got a traffic ticket, had cross words with a close friend, and suffered heart palpitations forcing me to give up caffeine perhaps forever, though I hope not. I know, I could have spent some of my time at some wifi spot with my laptop, but I'd determined when I got it that I'd never weigh it down with internet since it's my artwork and writing computer.

Anyway, anyway...huhh...back to normal. And good things from past month: I have begun running and strength training every day again as better means of dealing with stress and strengthening heart so it never palpitates again, I now speak more to strangers (not that I never did before but now am so very glad for any chance to converse), um...got a few things off chest with close friend I had words with, I still have all my Vegas winnings which will use for birthday trip to...Paris? The south of France? Lisbon, Prague or Naples? I want to go somewhere, anywhere, where I can spend at least two weeks outside of my usual environment as means of dealing with and looking forward to the yearly trauma most western women must endure, that reminderer that one, at least in this culture...well, you know how it goes...ugh...

One thing I wanted to post about earlier this month was my trip to Vegas for a Journey concert with my mother. She's crazy about Journey which makes me very happy because she needs more fun in her life. Here she is having lots of fun...

Here's a copy of the Trevi fountain...
Inside the Venetian...I know, every tourist gets this shot. But wow!...One of the pools at The Bellaggio. I want one of these in my backyard one day...We didn't eat here. I just thought it was funny. Trop chic, ce restaurant! The Eiffel and the Palais Garnier together at last...Inside the Parisian...Gambling, (indoor)outdoor cafes, ten dollar crepes, I love Vegas! However campy and unnatural it is, everyone must see it at least once.

One last story: even though I felt pretty lucky in Vegas, on the slots I kept winning small amounts or breaking even. There was one machine in particular which, as my mother puts it, kept calling to me, even though playing it meant betting more than my usual. Well, on my fifth go, wouldn't you know it, jackpot! ($110) except...because I'd grown so used to betting the median to least amount, to playing it safe in other words, I didn't qualify to actually win the jackpot. I was so upset (I had a feeling about that machine!! So why did I still hold back?) I didn't want to play anymore after that.

So my mother told me about a man she used to work with who went to Vegas and played a machine with a jackpot of over a hundred grand. Of course he won the jackpot. But since he only bet the least amount his winnings only came to about a thousand dollars. "Oh! he was cryyiiing!" she said, laughing, "But no one felt bad for him! The cheapskate. That's what you get for betting the least amount. If you're not willing to risk everything every time, then don't even play."

Good advice, mom.

The artwork at the top of the post, by the way, is one of my latest. More later, or you can check out my recently updated illustration portfolio.

Most rare Sunday post

2009-09-20T01:10:00.000-07:00

Some ink and marker practice...

Someone found my blog the other day with these search words - what book? and the day came when the risk to remain in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom? anais nin

Most awesome. And fitting.

Still listening to Bobby Chiu. His common sense stay on track message is exactly what I need right now. Another thing he keeps saying over and over again is that if you want to enjoy more success you have to learn to control your mind. Don't let anything distract you from your goals. Don't complain all the time. Don't dwell on the bad things. Like people being mean to you. And wouldn't you know it, someone, a total stranger, was super mean to me today (Saturday) on purpose and for no good reason. I almost let it ruin my evening trying to make sense of a senseless act of unkindness. But I kept reminding myself of his advice: take control of my mind, decide how I want to feel. So I did some screaming therapy in my car (anyone who says I'm quiet ought to hear me scream) and went on to have a great evening at the ball park listening to Il Trovatore with friends. Not that the incident didn't flash in my mind now and then threatening to make me someone not fun to be around. But I kept reminding myself of where I was, in a ball park, on a beautiful if chilly September evening, listening to exquisite music. I told myself it was a test. Can I decide how I want to feel or not? Think of the opera. A woman throws her own baby into a fire by accident, most of the main characters die. My life is a piece of cake compared to those tragic lives.

Enough for now. I'm spending Sunday in a park, listening to comedians making me laugh at life's absurdities (Comedy Day, GG Park), with friends or without them, and sketching.

Monday morning addition
Robin Williams accepting a comedy award, the best five minutes of Comedy Day (which was only five hours actually). Just before him, some poor comedian completely bombed, a few titters, but mostly complete silence. (The equivalent, I imagine, of people walking by without glancing at your work in an art show.) So, it was even more striking when the audience roared with excitement and rose up to get a better look at him. He was hilarious of course.

This being San Francisco... a gorgeous afternoon in the park turned into a foggy evening.

I believe...

2009-09-18T04:00:00.000-07:00

I am an excellent painter. Despite last week's failure's that is... I could make them work if/when I paint over them. But...I need to move on to other things.

This one...

I'm more satisfied with. It's an older piece I'd originally finished with flat overlays of color. Because of course I didn't believe I could handle anything more difficult. This time I started with the monotone figures in the middle (easy peazy), then went on to the more difficult figures on either side (not so easy, especially the hands).

Speaking of belief...

In my first semester of art school, my artist self still an eager pile of unmolded clay, I had the misfortune to have a rotten art instructor. One who, when I proudly handed in my final project (a watercolor painting I'd worked all week and all night on), eyed my work this way and that, hand on chin, before saying, without conviction, "Well...I guess you'll be an OK illustrator...one day." Well. I'm not one to cry in front of strangers (I prefer bathroom stalls), but after that parting shot from instructor dumbass, I bawled - crying out loud bawled - for five city blocks, all the way from school to the Powell Street BART station, on my way back home.

Later, I would face the terrifying Barbara Bradley. An icon from the golden age of illustration. Towards the end of each semester she would take each of her students aside, during non class hours, for a talk about their progress. Every student dreaded this meeting. Even the superstars (so they said). Because we'd all heard how former students of hers had been permanently scarred by this fifteen minute interview. Some, legend went, had even dropped out of school because of it.

My last name putting me among the first in line, I didn't have the build up of dread most of the others felt. Also I was too busy drawing all the time. So why did I still suck? That's the question she addressed during our talk.

Basically, it came down to me being too much of a tight ass. It looks like you don't trust yourself, she said. How could she know just from looking at my sketchbook?!!! But she zeroed in on my exact problem. I didn't trust myself. I didn't believe in my own abilities. Damn she was good.

It didn't help that I belonged to an unusually promising year of students. Among them were the future head of storyboarding at Lucas, future animators, art directors, story boarders, concept artists, etc., for Blue Sky, Pixar, Dreamworks, Disney, etc. Students who would go on to work on films such as Men in Black, Cars, Star Wars II and III, Madagascar and basically every major animated film since the year 2000. Studios were recruiting them even before we left school. And then there were students like me, students who, some teachers assured us, would inevitably bloom after graduation.

I tried hard to believe this. But the philosophy at the Academy was that not every student was meant to make it. The majority of you, one teacher told us, will not be working in the art field five years after graduation. So you better work your butts off.

And I did, determined not to be one of the majority. But when I languished in job after job, always waiting to take off but never quite leaving the ground, I began to wonder if I was fighting the obvious, that I was one of the majority who wasn't going to make it.

But now I see my mistake was to always take whatever job came to me first. One classmate of mine turned down Disney soon after graduating because the job they were offering wasn't quite what she had in mind - even though her remaining in the country depended on getting work. I thought she was crazy. But a year later she was hired by Pixar, to do precisely what she'd wanted to do all along, and she's been happy there ever since.

If only I could go back in time and talk some sense into myself. But here I am, older, wiser...

and starting to believe in myself at last.

Some free day at the Academy of Science sketching...With the summer tourists gone and the kids back in school there were no lines to wait through.
This fish stared at me the whole time I was drawing him. I wonder what he was thinking? The museum has been newly renovated, with lots of new aquariums - but no fish roundabout! So, even though I give the place a thumbs up for cleanliness and architectural design, it was missing something without that fish roundabout. The experience of standing in a gigantic room watching large fish swim round and round you made you feel like you were in their world, not the other way around. So, boo Academy of Science! What were you thinking leaving that out?!

Thank you, Bobby Chiu

2009-09-10T04:00:00.000-07:00

Last Monday morning I was running through my mental to do list, trying to decide what to work on that day, what new piece of artwork which could, if it was good enough, get me into the studio, gallery or agency of my dreams.

But where to start? What to do? An illustration or painting? Some character designs or the short story I'd left unfinished? In one week I'd received three rejections. Three more to add to that already thick pile. So whatever I did it had to be better than good. Because the walls of my apartment were shrinking. And pressure - from parents, from depressed friends demanding I be problem free for them (could I ask them to return the favor without sounding like a bitch?), bills, my own unfulfilled expectations, all of them pushing in on me from every side. I was drowning and feared sinking deeper if I applied my time to the wrong choice. And my sister, my support of last resort, was unreachable, in Fiji, until she called with her new number. So round and round I went. Until I'd given myself a better than good migraine and had to lie down the rest of the morning.

Great. Just great.

Later, my head still aching in a dull, unrelenting way, I wandered around the internet looking for useful things, or something useful to do, ending up on the Imaginism blog. I clicked on one of their Youtube tutorials. Then another, and another. What I'd taken to be lessons on storyboarding or digital painting were instead the artist, Bobby Chiu's meditations on life and advice on how to succeed as an artist as he paints a digital illustration in forty minutes or less. Tutorials, basically, on how to persist in the creative endeavor no matter what.

In one video he explains how artists should never take a crappy art job just for the money...Like I've done. Time and again. Because I assumed any art job was better than not working at all. It robs them of their enthusiasm for art, he says. You go home, after a long day of creating crappy art, art that is useless for your portfolio, and you're not going to feel like working on your own stuff. And before you know it, your skills have stagnated along with your career. Viola. My life.

Another thing he talks about. Practice. Like an athlete, hands, tone, line, color. The work of other artists, how do they think? What can you learn from them? Practice, for ten, fifteen hours a day. Always pushing oneself to the next level. Have I been doing that? Now and then, yes. But consistently, no. I've gotten lazy. I've been spending more time looking for work, or distracting myself from my state of unemployment, than I've done practicing the very skills I want to be hired for. The drive I had in school, where I went from all day drawing classes to extra life drawing workshops at night, every day of the week (except Sunday where I went sketching) had been burned away by too many crappy art jobs.

But not any more. Inspired by Mr. Chiu, I dusted off the Wacom and began painting digitally, a skill I've long desired to learn but had deemed so difficult, so frustrating and counterintuitive to one used to the feel of oils and brushes, that I gave up after two or three very tight but not very good paintings.

Back in school I would have continued on despite the frustration because my drive to improve was so intense. Frustration, he says over and over again, is nothing more than the cracks in the dam. It means I'm starting to learn. And I'd given up just as I was starting to take off. Never mind. Nothing for it but to start again. Eight hours later I'd completed the image in my previous post. A nice start. Pat myself on the back.

Another subject he talks at length about, his theory that bad things now equals great things in the future. Because current difficulty, he says, is nothing more than the universe asking you, Are you sure you really want this? Because if you are then you're going to dust yourself off, despite setbacks and disappointments that would make less resilient souls consider plan B, and plow forward. Where good things await. Have faith.

I listened to these videos every day last week. And much of this week, too, as I worked for eight, ten, twelve hours each day. (Except Sunday and Monday when I went out sketching. Sunshine + sketching = happiness. My dream studio has glass walls, and a glass ceiling, with trees on one side and the ocean on the other.) I am retraining myself to work at the level of enthusiasm I used to work at, to have the same kind of optimism and belief in my future I had back then. I imagine, throughout the day, a more satisfying way of living, one without so much struggle, a life I am fully capable of achieving. And, at night, I see my next painting in my imagination, and I can feel how it should be painted, though I'm not at that level yet. But, as I said somewhere last week, I know I will get there. Wish me luck.

Filling the blank page

2009-09-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

Hey folks,
Sorry I haven't been visiting so much this week. I'm still keeping busy. But instead of trying to distract myself from my situation, running off to the seaside for half the day and so on, I'm diving into my artwork, taking advantage of this opportunity to learn and improve as much as possible.

I've got a lot to learn. But I'll get there.

more details later,
Cheryl

My week in photos

2009-08-25T03:00:00.000-07:00

I did this illustration Sunday night. I was inspired by the work of Jonas Bergstrand (dot com) who combines computer drawn elements with photos (hand drawn, then scanned, in mine). I love the freedom and possibilities this approach gives you. I also love how quickly I can complete an image. This one took me about two hours. Hope this cinches the magic formula that lands me another creative agency (sent my portfolio out to over two dozen Monday). If not I will try again. And again. And again. I already belong to Emerging Blue (dot com). I'm even one of their featured artists. Nice people. Wish they had more clients...

I mentioned last week that I was going to the Academy of Sciences to take advantage of it's once a month free day. Well, I went. Didn't go in, though. Because of this line...

I asked someone in front how long he'd been waiting. "Four hours. We've been here since ten." What? After the Smithsonian museums, where even on crowded days one can just walk in for free ($25!!! at the Academy), I was incensed by how expensive museums can be over here, forcing many to wait in ridiculous lines during free days without any assurance of getting in. But remembering I was there to de-stress, not to find something else to rant about, I went for a pleasant park hike (in dreary SF summer weather) instead.

I don't take a lot of nature photos, but I was struck here by the patterns...

Afterwards, Japantown, the new New People store. Hmm, what do you think? I find this style utterly hideous and can't see it catching on here. But I might be wrong.

Friday, I took another 'day off,' this time to Half Moon Bay. In restless moody moods I sometimes crave the open ocean and sunshine. But I spent most of my time there wandering through cute little stores...

I want this dish set. I would love to walk into my kitchen at night and see my dishes glowing neon green.

Friday night, L. and I went here...

The Saddle Rack. I don't like country music, but this kind of dancing, the kind with steps with or without a partner, I do like. One guy there, must have been in his seventies or eighties, danced every dance with a new partner each time. I bet he gets marriage proposals.

Saturday morning at Peet's...

I love the expression on the face of the girl on the right. Priceless. It's like she's never heard this kind of music nor ever seen anyone dressed like that before.

Saturday night L. & I went to the picturesque little seaside town of Capitola for this landscape photography club meeting I'd signed up for.

Injured woman and her child on the Capitola esplenade...What would you have done? I took this photo because I saw a moving moment happening. But afterwards, especially after the friend or husband of the woman stepped in front of her (to prevent me from getting a clearer photo, I think), I felt guilty. Then again I was glad I got the photo. Ruthlessness for the sake of art. The child stayed there the entire time, even while the paramedics examined her, by the way. And the woman I presume, since she was allowed to go home, was alright.

I took this policeman's photo (I asked his permission first) because I'd never seen a policeman, on the job, in a wheelchair before. I had to ask (though maybe I shouldn't have) if he ever chased any bad guys (so to speak). Sometimes, he said. I tried not to picture it.

Hmm, that was kind of a mean thought. I should have asked him to be my apres goth model. What images would I have ended up with then? And I'd see him as more than a policeman in a wheelchair. An opportunity lost...

I did these squirrelized photos because I have too much time on my hands..

This is my adorable niece Vivienne. I just want to reach through the screen and pinch those fat, little cheeks. Hers of course.

Hey guys! Look behind you!

This is my favorite...

Something about the squirrel in contrast to Mr Dark Night of the Soul makes me chuckle every time. I know, I'm a child. But what's funnier than moody self absorption? ;-)

A cartoonized version of the squirrel...
Hee, hee, hee... Yah, too much time on my hands.

A nightclub full of artists

2009-08-19T03:00:00.000-07:00

Look at us.

Artists. In a nightclub.

Alcohol. Music.

Sexy people showing lots of cleavage.

And what are we doing?

Drawing.

This guy, at least, is using the opportunity to indulge in his private fantasies... Hope he didn't mind me peeking over his shoulder, taking a photograph, and posting it on my blog.

But what's this guy doing?!!!
There's a half naked girl on stage and he's drawing his neighbors.

Some of my own sketches...

I'd planned to write more, the things going on in my life at the moment and all that. But all I can come up with, late this Tuesday night, is some morose kind of art rant which began sometime during that art workshop Monday night when I made the error of comparing the course of my career path, that sad, erratic mountain range, to those artists, many of them former classmates, who are getting by quite nicely doing what they love. Variations of that inner rant is always there, somewhere, actually. Silent monologues of self doubt, the reasons for and against, and so on. Eff it all. I'm taking Wednesday off. Free day at the Academy of Sciences. I'm going to draw dinosaurs, rain forests or just stare blankly at the stars in between contemplating what a speck of nothing my worries and self doubts are. Then Thursday morning, or Wednesday night, I might come back and delete this little rant, embarrassed at this public evidence of my fears getting the better of me as I make ready to send my portfolio out to all the illustration agencies out there. And as I reconsider my Pixar/Disney/Lucas/Dreamworks dreams...

Oh no, rant coming on again. Later all...

Obama Clinic

2009-08-17T04:00:00.000-07:00

For my latest illustration I borrowed from the painting, Gross Clinic by Thomas Eakins...This is the original sketch which some of you might remember from a few posts back...I wasn't happy with it, but I didn't want to abandon it either. So I played around until I got this...

And using my newest computer toy, Painter 11, I electronically inked over the rough sketch and put in some background color...

Then finished it up in Photoshop... At this stage I realized, wow, Obama looks just like that guy from SNL! I was also somewhat troubled by the realization that, depending on how this illustration is captioned, it could be swung in favor of either left or right. I mean, if empathy of all things can be seen as a detriment to sound judgeship, what horrible things might be said about democrats with Legos? So, for the google record, this is an illustration in favor of rational public discourse (exemplified by the ever calm democratic President Barack Obama) and a careful and logical examination of issues. In the back of course are republicans like Sarah Palin and Cheney/Rove/Limbaugh/etc., public figures who seem incapable of this kind of mature and respectful public discourse. Or worse, reject it despite their better instincts in favor of inciting fear, anger and hatred in as many people as possible. Not that I feel like debating politics here. Nothing seems to make a good person lose sense quicker than the subject of politics.And here I imagine Obama not so much speaking to republicans (would they even listen? Probably not) but to people like me. I, for one, am willing to listen.

Geek meets Goth

2009-08-11T05:00:00.000-07:00

I saw his ad on Craigslist, "aspiring 21 year old goth model seeks photographer," and thought, why not? I pictured some variation of Marilyn Manson, midnight hair, scary eyes and a bloodless complexion, the kind of character I'd try to sneak a photo of should I come across one on the street. And here was one offering his time in exchange for mine! I might get one good image out of it. Or, considering the letter I mentioned in my last post, maybe a series of images, something I could base an entire exhibition on. So, we email back and forth a few times, and, then, one morning last week, we speak over the phone.

Now, I am not a morning person. So when he called, like 5 minutes after I'd just woken up, needing coffee, food and a good pee, I was not in the best state of mind. But I understood that this was more than an appointment setting phone call. We were feeling each other out, getting a sense of what working together might be like. So, repressing my bad mood and my need to visit the loo, I asked him the only thing I could think up after only a few hours of sleep, which was, how did he become a goth?

He proceeded to give me a short (half hour long) history lesson on gothdom starting with it's beginnings in Roman times, on down to his first exposure to the world of goth in grade school, mentioning along the way Edward Scissorhands, Depeche Mode, the Cure, Dexter, Son of Shaina (?), Todd McFarlane toys and used a rare turn of phrase I took to be part of popular goth-speak, I'm beguiled.

He also referred to being a goth as a calling. And I, having reached an age where 21 is starting to seem more or less interchangeable with 12, might have scoffed (privately) a bit more than necessary at this. Wasn't it all just a form of rebellion? A way of standing out in a crowd? But, repressing such condescending thoughts, I admired the fact that he was as big a fan of Depeche Mode now as I was growing up. I also made the foggy headed, and yes, condescending, mistake of expressing this admiration with words like cool and interesting.

He then casually expressed his disdain for generic words, words he wished people would strike from their vocabularies. Words like -

" - Like the words I just used?!!!"

'Well, no! I mean, I understand that people can have other things on their minds. They're busy or they're tired."

"Uh-huh."

We arranged a time and place to meet. And though I'd said I was looking forward to it, in truth I wasn't so sure. I'd formed an image of him as this sees the world in black and white type. An adolescent who measured the world and everyone in it by the rulebook he spent most of his time writing. Already I'd proven myself to be another lazy minded grown up. I had used words like cool and interesting. Who knew what else I was capable of doing, what else he might catch me on?

But the next day, standing in front of Starbuck's at the appointed time, I saw this rather sweet looking person just days out of childhood and immediately my maternal side kicked in. I bought him a chai tea and an extra strong coffee for myself to prevent any more lapses into lazy thinking (fine, he might have had a point) during the photo shoot.

Still, he didn't look as goth-like as I'd hoped and I wondered how well the photos would turn out. I also wondered why he considered himself a goth when he didn't dress like one from day to day. Wasn't being a goth about the get-up? What good would photos of himself like this do for a goth modeling portfolio? Moreover, how would I make this work? After our first fifty or so photos I still wasn't sure, especially since all of them looked as dull and unpromising as this...
But I sensed that all he needed was to feel completely at ease. Luckily, there was a small, private courtyard nearby. We talked some more, he loosened up, he sang a Depeche Mode song, he practiced some theatrical exercises which to a passing onlooker might have looked goofy. But the results, I must say, are amazing, a total transformation...