in/out

so in less than 12 hours, a new decade will be upon us.

We will be entering a whole new era.
I know that this will be the moment for me to become the "mover and shaker" that i'm meant to be.


Last night, 2am, i had a vision for a multi disciplinary art project.

3am, more ideas. Had to fumble around to find post it notes in the dark.

4am, got up and emptied my head. It felt good. So very good.

For once, i have a sense of purpose and direction. Lucid and aware, the fog has lifted just in time to ring in the new year.


Spent the weekend with E and mom in Vermont. It was truly lovely. We shopped until we almost dropped and feasted on taste bud quivering French cuisine. The drive back, in the dark, slippery roads and blowing snow, we laughed and sang, grooving to the bee gees. Our little family.

So to now shut down for the last night of 2009, the decade steeped in crap but at the same time graciously spotted with glorious glory, i wish you all a wonderful New Year's celebration, and may this new decade be filled with happiness, health and the "big break" we are all waiting for.

I know it's out there.

In with the new, out with the old!

I can't see out of this foggy mess right now...

My daily om says...

December 22, 2009 Fog Coming out of a Haze When we feel muddled and unfocused, unsure of which way to turn, we say we are in a fog. Similar to when we are in a fog in nature, we may feel like we can’t see where we’re going or where we’ve come from, and we’re afraid if we move too quickly we might run into something hidden in the mists that seem to surround us. Being in a fog necessarily slows us down by limiting our visibility. The best choice may be to pull over and wait for the murkiness to clear. If we move at all, we must go slowly, feeling our way and keeping our eyes open for shapes emerging from the haze, perhaps relying on the taillights of someone in front of us as we make our way along the road. By and large, most of us prefer to be able to see where we are going and move steadfastly in that direction, but there are gifts that come from being in a fog. Sometimes it takes an obstacle like fog to get us to stop and be still in the moment, doing nothing. In this moment of involuntary inactivity, we may look within and find that the source of our fogginess is inside us; it could be some emotional issue that needs tending before we can safely go full steam ahead. Being in a fog reminds us that when we cannot see outside ourselves, we can always make progress by looking within. Then again, the fog may simply be teaching us important lessons about how to continue moving forward with extreme caution, harnessing our attention, watching closely for new information, and being ready to stop on a dime. We cannot predict when a fog will come, nor can we know for certain when it will lift, but we can center ourselves in the haze and wait for guidance. We may find it inside ourselves or in a pair of barely visible taillights just ahead. Whether we follow the lights out of the fog, wait for a gentle breeze to lift it, or allow the sun to burn it away, we can rest certain that one way or another, we will move forward with clarity once again.

we will move forward with clarity once again.




indeed we will...

what i am, what i am not

Today, I feel fragile and worn.

Despite the wonderful news that I was 3rd place winner at the Art Festival in the Ukraine. Pretty damn impressive for something that i was not even going to enter.

They found me.
They liked my stuff.

I am a photographer.


Got another email from an arts company in NYC. They seem like a "vanity agent" - pay us 1000$ and we will put you in our arts magazine. I wrote to Bob in NYC. He's the man in the know and i know he has my back. I will wait on his advice before moving in on this offer.

I am not (that) gullible.

While posting my last batch of images on flickr, i found myself editing each shot. Don't put this one, it's not flattering. Don't add that one, your stomach looks like a soggy bunched up sheet of flesh. This one is too dark, too much grain and the blacks look muddy. Judgment is my biggest enemy.

I am a perfectionist.

A link from a fellow flickr self portrait artist threw the monkey wrench in my "best laid plans for accepting myself". It's 3am and still not sleepy. More wired than anything else, and when i'm wired, the buzzards swoop down into my grey matter and pluck at the veins that feed blood to my brain.

I'm not accepting sleep as an option.

E said that this latest series is one of my best. Sam on flickr also said the same thing: "You have reached a pinnacle of sort with your art". Wow. That is very cool. I am very happy.

I am learning to accept compliments.

So best laid plans led astray. Best intentions run amok. Self image out the window. The girl must not be more than 21. Her body, svelte, skin taut across her flat belly and perky breasts. No droop or stretch here. She was interviewed in a magazine that is an erotica online one. Very tasteful, but catering and by the under 30 group. Mostly women in this issue. And she is one of them. Her photographs are pretty. Moody lighting, sensual poses and come hither expressions. I'm jealous of her beauty, her youth, her ability to have the self confidence to show herself so boldly. What happened to me?

I am not jealous.

I am lying to myself.

What happened? Life happened. Cancer happened. Death happened. Mental illness happened. Why would a gallery owner in the heart of the New York City gallery district believe so completely in my self portraits? Because they are real. Not plastic, not fake, not perfectly staged. This must be my mantra. Realization of what the most important things in life are. I longed to be in his gallery, and two years ago, i marched on in with nothing but my big city set of balls and a few prints. That was good.

I am learning to take what is important and make that more important than the unimportant stuff.

I will not stop photographing myself.

I will become more forgiving of myself.

I will unconditionally love myself as i am.

I will not let them get me down.

what i am and what i am not
what i will and will not do




...

Perhaps...

The pain is excurciating.
If i didn't know any better, i would say that i was absolutely certain that something inside of my head, growing, expanding, squeezing out my brain, soon to spill out of the corners of my eyes, pour through from my nostrils, and push through my ears - will evolve from a rolling rumble into a trembling scream.

Perhaps it is this:

Perhaps for some people, in order to first find their passion they need to suffer, just to uncover what is of prime importance, and then the suffering itself can create emotional energy i.e. passion, which then fuels their work. 
~ Margot Hattingh


After a long talk with sis, sister of sis, and mr. fyst, i discovered that within myself stands a confused little girl, wanting everything in the candy store but not enough money to buy it all...


Or can i put it all on a store credit?


There is an inner torment. Twitches of regret for not having moved forward in leaps and bounds from many yesterdays. Disappointment in not having moved from wanting to doing. Yes, i have accomplished a lot in the past few years, but am i happy? Why not? Will i ever be?


Art is indeed suffering. The evidence is in my latest series of images. But i need to transcend that. I need to make my art something profitable. Something viable. At the same time, i need to stay true to the very essence that makes my work different from everybody around me. Unique from everybody else who wants to be a photographer, filmmaker, a writer. I know it's there inside of me somewhere.


As I stumble around like a newborn calf, rubber legs and wet from the womb, my eyes slowly adjust to the new feelings inside of me. One apprehensive step in front of the other turns into a trot, then soon, a gallop. Body free, mind at ease, the future - an open meadow.


Right now, the ground is moist from the morning humidity of uncertainty.
Eyes slowly adjusting to the possibilities of tomorrow, and learning not to fear today.

December 8, 2009


My Daily Om


Spot on - as usual...




The Impossible Dream

Right in Front of You



When it comes to the things we want, there always seems to be an endless list. No matter how many times we get something off that list, we add new things to replace it. In life, this drama of wanting and getting and wanting is all part of the dance. The things we want motivate us to get up and get them.

And yet, at the same time, we can torment ourselves with our wanting, especially when we want something we can’t have or can’t find. It is in cases like these that it might be fruitful to entertain the idea that maybe what you really want is right in front of you. Maybe you are using this desire you can’t fulfill to distract you from truly engaging the blessings you already have. It may seem like that doesn’t make sense, yet we do it all the time. It may be easier to see in other people than to see it in ourselves. We have all heard our friends wishing they were more this or less that, and looking at them we see clearly that they are everything they are wishing they were. We know people who have wonderful partners and yet envy you yours. We wish we could give these people a look at their situations from our perspective so that they could see that what they want really is right in front of them.

It’s not too far-fetched to consider that we might be victims of the same folly. It can be scary to have what we want. We get caught up in the chase and forget to enjoy the beauty right in front of us—like a child who never wants the toy she has in her hand but always the one just out of her reach. Take a moment today to consider the many things you are holding in the palm of your hand and how you might best play with them

it's all about you...

it's all about you isn't it?

It always comes to you doesn't it?

disappointment

hands thrown up in the air for this one...

here are a million reasons why somebody does or does not do anything. how we choose to interpret things is entirely of our own doing.

i'm sick as a dog. now you know that.

Now I know that it's too much to ask for anything, unless it's about you.

and you're sick as a dog.

It's all about you isn't it. Always will and always will be.

And I have my own reasons why i may or may not care anymore.  And I have my own reasons why i may or may not reply to this email and how you chose to interpret this is up to you...

(note to self - No reply, no comment...)

but you knew that...

Mr. Fyst, you were right...

Mr. Arty, you were right. The painter man was spooked out by death. Wrote me a long email explaining what happened with his mother when he was small - came close to the big D word. Flipped him out. Then one of his best friend's sister died. He loved them to bits, but still could not bring himself to the funeral. Says he still beats himself up for it, has tried to change his character but can't seem to do it. Change his attitude that is.

Up until my grandmother died last March, it had been a long time in between deaths. The last one being my best friend who offed himself in a hotel room. I wept for days, then off and on for weeks, then off and on for months. Even to this day, I still shed a tear.

I mourn the loss of one of the best friends I have ever had, mourn the loss of the possibilities for him, the lives he could have touched. The world would have been a better place with him still in it, but on the flip side, when he was on this earth, so many people were touched by his life, love and laughter, and i was one of the privileged.


I remember seeing his ashes in a beautiful burgundy box on the altar of a small chapel. Our gang sat around it - 5 on either side. His cegep family, and his blood family. Back then, the idea of cremation freaked me out; but today, my grandmother's ashes is right beside our wedding picture. She could not make it in person, but at least she was there in spirit. Technically, she is here in person, but in a different and smaller more compact version...

So that closed door is now re-opened. Happy about that, but i tread with caution. I have begun to guard myself, but begun to question wether i must now lower my expectations of my friends and their behavior and what i will accept as "acceptable behavior".

Still now word from She. Not even a  "well, bitch, if that's the way you feel, fuck you", which is what i expected. At at least that. Latest post on fb says that she's going on vacation. Posted on somebody else's post that "I'm sick too and nobody is taking care of me!"

well girl, you made your bed, now lie in it...

but it still hurts, and it hurts my attitude towards my art and myself.

I looked at my latest frame series. Not a lot of activity on it. Received one private message that said it was brilliant - and i had reached a new pinnacle in my creativity.

Really?

why does it feel like i am rotting inside? Why do i feel as if I am slipping away?

but anyway.
The hurt will eventually turn to annoyance, and from that, minor irritation. There will be a scab, but to heal entirely, i must avoid picking at it. That is why i have removed her from my news feed. Removed all her old emails from my inbox, put them into a folder called: "I don't care anymore".

Same with my father. E and i are drafting the final email. His attention span is the size of a pin head, so being concise is key. Looking for a one two punch. Then walking away from the fight for good.

It's windy outside, snow rolling by like ice capped waves. Snow. That used to equal skiing. Father and daughter time on the slopes. And that was lots of fun. But in order to move on, i must forge new memories, new experiences.

one step at a time. One hill at a time.

So mr. Fyst - you were right, as I knew you would be. I felt the same way and knew that A was a kind heart, yet tormented soul, but for the others? Well, they have their own demons to wrestle with, but there is a difference between being self centered and centering the self.

onward and upward. On the page and onto the screen our words will go.

the final emails

so i did it.
Sent out my final emails to all three people in question.
It's 3am and i'm winding down. Finally.


went to mom's for an after dinner visit. My new galpal called and left me a message, wanted to know how things went.

I mean, really? How wonderful is that?
she called just because she wanted to let me know that she was there if i needed her. 

Well, i called, gave her the good news and told her that the feeling was mutual.
When I'm a friend, there are no conditions - except that you respect me because i respect you.

i was so moved that i was moved to write my email to my ex galpal to ask why she could not so much as send me a little text message. 3 little words - are you okay?

it was not brain surgery...


Long email to (ex?)girlfriend.

Done.

Asked questions - why? But honestly, I don't think i'll get any answers that I will like, but tried my best to not sound preachy, or accusatory (but when somebody does not call to know how your mother is in the light of our situation, how can you not accuse them of being insensitive?)

that was a huge endeavor, lots of weeping and anger, but it's all out now.


Worked on dad's email. Surprisingly enough, did not blubber through that one, but was more focused and determined to get my point across logically and in a concise and clear manner.  I guess there were no waves of tears because this ending was a long time coming. The disappointment had been forming a callus over the sore for decades. His reaction to the whole wedding debacle was outrageous. But i had to ask him the last question: do you want me in your life or not?

so that was sent to e for revisions in the morning.

3:12am

urgh. Need sleep. Will stop after this next paragraph...

and last but not least - an email to my other friend A. Told him that i wasn't attacking him (as many of us artsies so often feel when people confront us) but i was just disappointed and wanted to know why he didn't even call. not even a stupid facebook poke (i despise those things!!) and told him that i would go to the moon and back if he asked me, and even if he didn't but thought about it and wanted to, i would still go.

but that is me, and that was my email. With this one, i made sure that i left the lines of communication open and friendly (albeit disappointed, but still friendly).


done...

sent one last shout out to B in nyc. He's so cool. Told him that my mom was NED, and that i didn't want to leave him hanging without news (because my last email which i sent on Thursday was pretty bleak and despondent, on the verge of some kind of news, but at that point, seemed bleak, even though, in reality, now we know, that it wasn't).

And that was a good closing to my marathon email session. Ending off on a good note. Told him that i was so happy that i still had my little connection to nyc through him and the gang at the gallery.

At least someone cared, and that's what matters.
That there was someone.


my bed cares too, and i'm off to embrace it.

door closed, window open

a day after the roller-coaster ride.
Shit. I am so completely exhausted. I was so exhausted last night that i could not sleep. And when I did finally manage to keep my mind and eyes from ricocheting off the walls and inside my head, whatever brief somnambulist respite was quickly transformed into a rabid marching band of chaos and cacophony.

I woke up, heaving and sobbing - sleep sobbing perhaps? it was strange. I had been crying in my dream, but it seemed as if the tear ducts had shut down and only the lungs and nervous system were in high sorrow/anger gear. Of course, what was going on was a direct reflexion on what i had been feeling all day - a sense of utter and sheer disappointment about the behavior of two so called "friends" who showed absolutely no sign of compassion or interest in my or most important of all, my mom's situation/diagnosis. Nothing. No phone call, no email. No signs of life. They were too busy gazing into their own butt holes to notice that the world around had kept on spinning.

I had been dumped - a series of "fuck yous" over the past 3 months. First, my head shrinker, who mysteriously fell into oblivion after my desperate plea for help email. He did, in fact, receive my phone messages because he called my pharmacy for a  new prescription two weeks ago. Perhaps a phone call to me was too complicated because it involved being human and actually listening to me and not giving medical information to a voice recognition automated telephone computer system...

then the other girl i met from the climate change thing. We got along famously, and I was all excited that i had a new friend (how girly kiddy is that?), soon to be followed by a "flush and dash" email. "You're really nice, but you have too much shit going on in your life right now that I can't and don't want to handle."

But all things considered, and in the light of what has happened with all the other "So called friends who care" in my life, that was an act of honesty that i really did appreciate. It takes guts to be honest these days, and to do so tactfully (she did apologize because she said that I "seemed like a really wonderful and fantastic person, but that the timing was all wrong..." was honorable. She does not lose brownie points for that, but rejection always hurts.

Then there was captain dad who erased my comment on fb without explanation (there really needed no explanation - actions here spoke louder than pokes) leaving me confused and deflated.

Then there was my so called friend of a million years. In retrospect, E said that all was wonderful on the friendship front when her marriage was falling apart, she miscarried several times, she was stumbling through difficult project and needed somebody's shoulder to cry on. Well, guess who exposed their broad scapula? But when she got married again, her 1st project was met with critical acclaim, she had a child and her latest project immediately began to bloom, i was only worth, at best, a three word email reply to a long one I had initiated.

A few days ago I had sent a sad email - reaching out for her support, and to be included in this "group" which, by definition, was broad in interest by definition, and asked to keep me and mom in her prayers, she replied unsympathetically and unapologetically barring me from her "club meetings" and then proceeded to flip the coin by saying: "but you can come to my other party" and "I gotta go because my child had figured out a way to use potty time to manipulate a shift in her bed time" so eloquently followed by "thumbs crossed" in relation to my mom's next day doctor's appointment.

thumbs crossed?

whatever.

But the general tone surprised, hurt and offended me.

The next day, I got nothing. No email. No Text message asking how things were going. Nada. It's not like SHE DIDN'T KNOW. She did very well, and in the past, was quite concerned about this mother and daughter duo, but I guess that compassion or concern was too much to ask at this point. Mrs. Superstar with the model husband, perfect child and stellar career on the rise.

flush and dash

then came my so called other friend whom I have done countless projects with, and have done countless favors for. I lent him my camera, which he broke into a million pieces (lens and body), has yet to pay for it, and most recently, introduced him to a new friend of mine who was instantly smitten by him and his work (rightly so, he is a mad genius) and has promised and was absolutely delighted to work with him in the future, did not get so much as a "thank you for putting me in touch with this person. I really appreciated you taking the time to put in a good word for me."

Nothing.

I was crushed. Felt like a chaperone the whole meeting. It really was supposed to be about us working as a team, but when that project fell through, my talent as a photographer and cinematographer was instantaneously dismissed and i literally faded into the woodwork as the conversation focused entirely on him.

awkward.

I had previously asked him to watermark my images when he put them on his site. He had previously agreed. But when i asked the question again that same day of our (well, HIS) meeting, he aggressively refused.

and it's not like he didn't know about my mother's appointment. I'm sorry, but not even a facebook message (which he seems to only communicate by these days). Nothing. No follow up, no fb poke. Nothing.

I was thoroughly disgusted.
There was no excuse for this. And I am considering cutting ties with all of the above. Why do i even bother to help these people out when they blindly walk all over me when on the flipside, i would shit down my own throat for them.

I'm too nice, gullible, honest, kind, weak, stupid.

but i can spend time beating myself up for my lack of spine, or i can acknowledge that i am a kind heart who cares, perhaps a little too much. But that is who I am. I have never asked for anything other than a little compassion and common courtesy.

And it seems that even that is too much to ask for from these people these days.

Dad - I have removed you as a contact from my fb account. It just hurt to much to know and not know what you were doing, and having you blatantly ignore me was more than i could handle.

that was a difficult task, but had to be done.
Next on the chopping block - ms. perfect I don't give a fuck about anybody except myself.

a short concise email - you are a bully. I have been afraid of hurting you. You are cold and don't blame your nordic ancestry for your lack of compassion and genetic disposition to be "reserved". No excuses. I was always there for you, without any restrictions. If the shoe had been on the other foot, I would have offered to come with you for support with your mother had you needed me. Without blinking, without wanting anything in return other than your friendship. You obviously have more important things in your life and our friendship is not one of them. You hurt me more than you know, and your blatant self centeredness in the light of somebody you "supposedly called a friend" to not even call to see what the results were is disturbingly disgusting and deeply selfish.

Have a nice life in your perfect little world.
When your world falls apart, and I'm sure it will one day, don't look for me. I won't even cross my thumbs or toes for you.

and lastly - my so called friend for the past 20 years. Yea, your life is shit, and you live at home at 40, people in the art community are trying to sabotage your career because you are the best and they don't like competition, but you know what?

Is your mother fighting cancer?

Do you have to live a gut wrenching week before her diagnosis to see whether she will live or die?

Do you have to deal with medications that are supposed to keep you from cycling out of mental control but barely keep you from killing yourself?

I didn't' think so. And what have you done for me?

Did you lend me computer/camera equipment you needed, borrowed it for two years, then gave it back to me broken?

Did you put me onto the right people with money and interest who are now falling at your feet to work with you?

I never saw that happen, not even anything remotely close to it. Well, my so called friend, a major overhaul about the definition of our friendship is on order. It's a two way street, not a one way racetrack where my back is the asphalt you burn your tire tracks into.

so shape up, wake up and realize that your friend is a true friend but who will not be trampled upon anymore. I loved and accepted you without conditions, but i need to put some game rules down. I have to look out for myself now.

Perhaps that is why I have been so sick as of late. Other people always come first. I'm always the last to help myself, if at all.

no more...

but then, a door closes and God opens up a window.

an old dear friend who i had a deep soul connection with moved down the east coast. We lost touch, but she came to my wedding. Well, we never really lost touch as the bond was always there, but on a spatial level, we were miles apart.

I emailed her a little desperate letter, telling her how much i missed her company and companionship. She emailed me back the next day, telling me the same. Welcoming me into her home any time i was nearby, and was keeping me and my mom in her prayers.

That was a blessing.

I got a phone call from a man who is now the manager of a huge 3000 sq. feet retail store affiliated with a festival I was a part of many years ago. He absolutely wants me to be a part of this year's festival and called to tell me to get my butt into gear and ship him some stuff. Without conditions. Open acceptance. Happy to know me and still hangs a (now framed) thank you card that i had sent him almost 4 years ago on his wall. "I see it everyday when i walk by".

That is a blessing.

The art festival in Morocco that invited me to show at their event, waived the 150$ per piece entry fee/promotion costs so I could still be a part of their festival. "I am an artist too, and know how difficult being an artist is. It is something i can do for you gladly. Welcome to our festival - for free!"

that was a truly a gift

and the gallery owner in NYC who believed in my art so completely, and who i was afraid I had lost contact with forever because i became sidelined with my mom and own health and did not have the time or energy to nurture that relationship replied to my email today. He came down with H1N1 flu, had been on his own personal hellish path and told me to "not be too hard" on myself and said that he was thinking about me and my mom, and that we would definitely talk soon.

a relief and a gift

and of course, the biggest one being my mom's clear diagnosis. NED. In the end, that is all that really matters. Love,  life and health of a loved one. Being surrounded by the people I love and who truly love me. E who is so incredible and supportive as a man and husband, my cousin 1000 miles away that still calls me "big HPK", and my mom. My beautiful wonderful courageous inspirational mom.

clean bill of health, new beginnings, fresh starts and an an open window.

Let the stale air out and let the sunshine in.

:-)

stepping into a new day

so she is clear.
No Evidence of Disease - or NED as we now call her.


we waited (waiting rooms are NOT for waiting...) and worried. Her worry team, me, E, Bet and mom. The doctor came around the corner in a flash, and gave us a huge smile with one of those TV talk show hosts wave "How ya doing there!?"

Could it be???
was it too good to be true?

well it was true, and it was good!

long LONG story short, he said that the scan was clear. Nothing.
He was so very happy, but nobody was more relieved than my mom, then came me, and b and e were a tie for 3rd.

we celebrated by going out to our chicken bbq hut to celebrate. Oh that comfort food is better than any booze!

And we ate, waved our sticky fingers at eachother the way the doctor did to us, laughed and cherished this new lease on life.

We are always mindful that we never know if this shit will come back or how or when, but today was a good day. Today was a good day indeed.


I have other shit to gripe about, like how to of my "supposed best friends" never called, emailed, nothing to see what the results were - and to them i say a big -
F*&K you. You have been terminated!

Life really is too short to worry and give effort to people like this.

and i removed my dad from my fb.
it was too hard knowing and not knowing what he was doing and that he (or i should say - his whore wife) was watching my every post.

out of sight - out of mind
and in my mom's case, out of body, out of life...

it was a good day indeed...

fold and hold

i'm really quite exasperated today...

maybe i hope too much, maybe i wish for things to much.

I was never really good at waiting for xmas to open presents, was always the first to peek. Became a wiz at re-taping boxes after they were open.

but today, a meeting which i had hoped would open up doors for me, opened up doors for somebody else. Which is fine actually. I'm a quite happy that i was able to help them out, but one project that we were supposed to work together on got postponed (in my mind, indefinitely), but it seems there is a much greater interest in their work instead of mine. Which in reality, one part of me is extremely excited because their work needs to see the light of day because it has been a long time coming, but on the other hand, i feel deflated, defeated and discouraged.

"oh well" i say with a smile.

Chin up, big grin, move along.

but sleeplessness is slowly chipping away at my resolve to keep at this.

And one final kick...
a friend (level of friendship now in question) had a general invite on fb, but in what seemed to be a chipper email was just a notification to say: "this meeting is only for these people involved in this kind of project. No exceptions". 

well...

okay, and how are you doing today?
Hmm, guess what? my mom will find out if this cancer is going to spread to the rest of her body on Friday and i'm slowly loosing my mind and feeling more and more isolated from the world around me and the people who (or say they) love me.

and thanks for the notification that i am not part and will absolutely not be a part of your social club...

whatever..

oh well...

I look at the photo of me and my mom in the limo on my wedding day and so desperately wish that I could turn back the hands of time to that one moment when everything was perfect, soak it all in again, because now, in retrospect, i wish I did and could have for a lot longer...

it's sad and ironic, that 5 years ago when I started this blog, my life was a play waiting to happen. Literally. So many things happened - the good overshadowed the bad. There was magic. Now there is none left.

you got one more shot universe.
if I don't get something happening soon, i am seriously throwing away my fucken camera off the tallest building in the city. No excuses this time.

and if you really fuck up, i might just follow my camera on the way down...

oh yea - happy b.day to my incessant ramblings...

five years ago, November 10th 2004, i started this blog.

it's been a good run, and i think i'll keep it up for a little while longer.

Happy birthday to me :-)

Buddhist Shmoodist or slavery to a pattern

This kills me...
It just keeps on getting better/worse.

Why do i even bother?
At this point, I don't even know. Perhaps it's a distraction in the light of the diagnosis of mom's scan this friday. Or perhaps it's the hopeless romantic in me who thinks that one day he will wake up and see that he has a daughter who is still willing to unconditionally welcome him into her broken heart no matter how many times he trampled and ripped it apart.

but this is getting closer to the final straw.

His post on fb:

Great debate I was in at my Tibet/Buddhism course here in Mt.Tremblant yesterday. Had a great workout this morning at the gym and now heading into St.Jovite for afternoon of Billard training from a pro in preparations on our every Monday nights league. No time for retirement!!!!!! Mimi working as usual with the Swine H1N1 vaccinations...

My reply/post

I had studied Tibetan Buddhism when i did my religion minor in University d must say that is a fascinating religion of pure, yet difficult doctrines for the lay man to follow. Practice is a long journey which requires much study and discipline. I'm very surprised that you are taking a course. Good for you! Perhaps of benefit to you (and to those that were once close to you) would be a careful examination and practice of the Six Paramitas as this is the path of the Bodhisattva—one who is dedicated to serving the highest welfare of all living beings with the awakened heart of unconditional love, skillful wisdom, and all-embracing compassion, but following this path takes patience, which is in itself is the heart of the Buddhist path which requires courage, patience, flexibility and intelligence. Good luck and namaste.

and when I went to check the next day if he had commented on it - he had deleted it.


Fucken deleted it.


I knew that it might rattle his cage and wanted this to be a litmus test of his continuing hostility towards me, all the while putting up this front that he is on the path to enlightment.

and he calls a treadmill a "threadmill".

Oh you have no clue how tempted I am to write:
"it's a TREADMILL not a Threadmill you douchebag"

but I am sitting on my hands to keep from typing it, for now...


but in the meantime, i might just post this in my status.

Just for kicks...






I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.
Anais Nin 

sometimes...

sometimes, it's good to talk about your problems, but sometimes, it's good to make light of them as well...


enjoy

Debbie Downer @ Yahoo! Video

this could not have come at a better time...

This is a brilliant post by the amazing actress Glenn Close.

I thank her for writing this.

it needed to be said, and i could not have imagined of a better time than today to stumble up this.

Mental illness and I are no strangers.
From Alex Forrest in Fatal Attraction to Blanche Dubois in A Streetcar Named Desire to Norma Desmond in Andrew Lloyd Weber's Sunset Boulevard, I've had the challenge -- and the privilege -- of playing characters who have deep psychological wounds. Some people think that Alex is a borderline personality. I think Blanche suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder and everyone knows that Norma is delusional.

I also have the challenge of confronting the far less entertaining reality of mental illness in my own family. As I've written and spoken about before, my sister suffers from a bipolar disorder and my nephew from schizoaffective disorder. There has, in fact, been a lot of depression and alcoholism in my family and, traditionally, no one ever spoke about it. It just wasn't done. The stigma is toxic. And, like millions of others who live with mental illness in their families, I've seen what they endure: the struggle of just getting through the day, and the hurt caused every time someone casually describes someone as "crazy," "nuts," or "psycho".

Even as the medicine and therapy for mental health disorders have made remarkable progress, the ancient social stigma of psychological illness remains largely intact. Families are loath to talk about it and, in movies and the media, stereotypes about the mentally ill still reign.

Whether it is Norman Bates in Psycho, Jack Torrance in The Shining, or Kathy Bates' portrayal of Annie Wilkes in Misery, scriptwriters invariably tell us that the mentally ill are dangerous threats who must be contained, if not destroyed. It makes for thrilling entertainment.

There are some notable exceptions, of course -- Dustin Hoffman in Rainman, or Russell Crowe's portrayal of John Nash in A Beautiful Mind. But more often than not, the movie or TV version of someone suffering from a mental disorder is a sociopath who must be stopped.
Alex Forrest is considered by most people to be evil incarnate. People still come up to me saying how much she terrified them. Yet in my research into her behavior, I only ended up empathizing with her. She was a human being in great psychological pain who definitely needed meds. I consulted with several psychiatrists to better understand the "whys" of what she did and learned that she was far more dangerous to herself than to others.

The original ending of Fatal Attraction actually had Alex commit suicide. But that didn't "test" well. Alex had terrified the audiences and they wanted her punished for it. A tortured and self-destructive Alex was too upsetting. She had to be blown away.

So, we went back and shot the now famous bathroom scene. A knife was put into Alex's hand, making her a dangerous psychopath. When the wife shot her in self-defense, the audience was given catharsis through bloodshed -- Alex's blood. And everyone felt safe again.

The ending worked. It was thrilling and the movie was a big hit. But it sent a misleading message about the reality of mental illness.

It is an odd paradox that a society, which can now speak openly and unabashedly about topics that were once unspeakable, still remains largely silent when it comes to mental illness. This month, for example, NFL players are rumbling onto the field in pink cleats and sweatbands to raise awareness about breast cancer. On December 1st, World AIDS Day will engage political and health care leaders from every part of the globe. Illnesses that were once discussed only in hushed tones are now part of healthy conversation and activism.

Yet when it comes to bipolar disorder, post-traumatic stress, schizophrenia or depression, an uncharacteristic coyness takes over. We often say nothing. The mentally ill frighten and embarrass us. And so we marginalize the people who most need our acceptance.

What mental health needs is more sunlight, more candor, more unashamed conversation about illnesses that affect not only individuals, but their families as well. Our society ought to understand that many people with mental illness, given the right treatment, can be full participants in our society. Anyone who doubts it ought to listen to Kay Redfield Jamison, a psychiatry professor at Johns Hopkins, vividly describe her own battles with bipolar disorder.

Over the last year, I have worked with some visionary groups to start BringChange2Mind.org, an organization that strives to inspire people to start talking openly about mental illness, to break through the silence and fear. We have the support of every major, American mental health organization and numerous others.

I have no illusions that BringChange2Mind.org is a cure for mental illness. Yet I am sure it will help us along the road to understanding and constructive dialogue. It will help deconstruct and eliminate stigma.

The World Health Organization (WHO) estimates that by the year 2020 mental illness will be the second leading cause of death and disability. Every society will have to confront the issue. The question is, will we face it with open honesty or silence?

letter to a doctor

Today, I was just so desperate.

Got a message from my G.P, that my shrink said he wanted to take my meds down by a huge chunk. I can feel the difference between 10-20mg, but 150 made me so nervous i cracked.

All the ooze just came spilling out.

It had to come out. I was rotting inside.

make of it what he will, but you know, this month being "mental health awareness month", it might be a good thing that this gets out.

Dear Dr. C

just got an email from my g.p who informed me that you advised I decrease my Welbutrin to 150mg from 300mg (i kept on forgetting to take the extra 50 mg because i had to manually split the pill, and by the time i did remember, i had started to get manic) and no Starnoc or Xanax.

I can honestly tell you that is going to be a big problem...

Since you are not at the office right now, i have reluctantly resorted to email because i think this needs to be sorted out very quickly. and apologize profusely for bothering you, but since we can't speak on the phone tonight in detail about this matter, i don't know what to do or who to turn to because I am so completely desperate, and if my mood gets worse, might have to make a trip to the emergency tonight.

I'm a) worried about going down to 150mg of Welbutrin. From 300 that is a HUGE jump for my system. And if the current 300mg is keeping me barely afloat on good days (in terms of depression), I don't even want to think what 150 will do to me. Those lows terrify me. I have tried to commit suicide in the past, and with those thoughts lurking close to the surface these past two months, would a huge decrease like that be a wise thing to do during this time?

and b) without Starnoc (with was the only thing that helped me sleep in the past, and i believe had been taking it while on Welbutrin approximately 3 years ago, and had taken it 6 months ago, and again on the night before my wedding because i had "an emergency stash) i don't see why it would be a problem now since i am still on Welbutrin, unless there is some policy about doctors giving prescriptions for getting medications over the border, or via the internet that nobody wants to tell me about directly, because up to now, i have not had any solid comprehensive answers as to why i can't take it now.

I find it beyond frustrating and infuriating that I should have to be penalized for not being able to get a medication that is readily available in the U.S but not here in Canada because somebody didn't do their job marketing it properly at the corporate level. I will call Servier Canada again this week, as well as the people at Wyeth (who are holding on to the patents but not giving information to if or when they will put Starnoc back on the market), but this time i will get all the names of people i speak to as well as everything i was told in writing (which was) "Starnoc was taken off the market - purely for marketing reasons", because when i explain my story, it seems to me that every doctor i tell thinks I'm full of it. I'm not a liar, just desperate to be able to get the drugs that help me get the sleep that i so desperately need.

as you know, Ativan and i do not have a good history. I skipped a dose one night and thought i was honestly going to die. And nobody bothered to tell me that going off "cold turkey" was equal to somebody detoxing cold turkey from alcohol or harder drugs. I had to find out the hard way.

It was beyond any word that terrifying can describe, and i never want to feel that way again. I don't want to have to take it (Ativan) on a regular basis because i don't want to be dependent on a sleeping pill, but the catch 22 is, if i need it, i will take it, but if i do take it for more than one night in a row I will have to keep on taking it because cold turkey or skipping a dose one night is not an option - so the only way to do so is to taper off. I want to take something only when i need it, and not worry about going "cold turkey" when i don't.

I hope that you understand my predicament.

And i'm not sure if I shared this with you, but, when i was on Ativan in the past, I had gone up to 2.5 mg (about 6-8 months ago ?) because the 0.5 mg initially prescribed stopped being effective. Right now, i'm up to almost 1mg. The pattern is sure to repeat itself, which once again, as stated above, the eventual outcome is not an option.

Immovane makes me physically ill, because the nausea from the metallic taste in my mouth last for 24 hours. And unless i take large doses of Trazadone (which recently, I have taken up to 2 pills a night), I feel as if i am completely stoned, clumsy, disoriented BUT not sleepy.

Sleep plays a big part in the regulation of my bipolar, and perhaps because i have not been able to sleep, has made me in turn, more manic. At this point, i am so completely desperate, I don't know what to do, and I'm sure it's not easy for all the physicians treating me, but I am so very terribly distraught right now, and with my mom's scan at the end of November, it's imperative that I remain calm, focused and be able to sleep, which will in turn, will allow me to be able to be calm, focused etc. If and when the cancer comes back, i can't afford for my sake, but mostly for hers, to be the one who needs an incredible amount of emotional support and/or physical care because i have had another meltdown.

And yes, I have tried yoga, acupuncture, meditation, hypnosis, Valerian root, Nytol, Tynenol PM, Benadryl , holistic/natural sleep medication, warm milk, bananas, turkey, Melatonin (which my pharmacist advised me against because of my thyroid problem), and have also asked her about SAM-E, but she also advised against it because i am on the Welbutrin and Lamictal, but aside from knocking myself unconscious, I don't know what else to do.

I will as of tomorrow, try to scramble to find somebody who will see me through the system for free because after consulting with my husband tonight about our finances, we simply can't afford to pay anybody through private practice. I had maxed out this year's limit with other "therapy/councelling/life coaching sessions" (at 175$ hour, and my yearly limit being $500) and since i am not working, or in any real shape to do so, unemployment has run out and welfare not really an option since we are "supposed to be making enough income" to survive, life seems at best, bleak. Over the years, I have been through the system many times. I know that after my first nervous breakdown some 21 years ago, the average waiting time back then was 3-6 months at best to see a doctor through the hospital. Honesty, I don't think that i will be able to last that long, (if not longer now) and that scares me, well, to death.

Once again, I apologize profusely for sending you this email, but i want you to know what is happening since you are following my case and do know me and my sorted history, but also because in my current state, am manic so can type quickly, and i can still type and weep at the same time, unlike talking on the phone - this needed to be told and don't know if i will be as coherent or in any shape to talk about this tomorrow.

If you would like, you can call me at home tonight.

I will take another ativan to try to stay calm, but 1mg will be tonight's limit, and i really hope that will be enough. If anything, my husband is at the ready to take me to the hospital if need be.

And tomorrow, I will be on a photo assignment from 10 to 1pm, and then away from 5-11pm, and Friday morning might be the best time to call me at home, but because i am (trying to) working with an organization that needs photos quickly, my computer is always on.

I'm attaching my mood charts so you can see what has been going on. In all actuality, October has been quite an uneventful month, and normally, that would have in turn, stabilized my mood. When things around me in my life get out of control, i tend to swing, but with a calm environment, my swings came out of the blue and have taken me completely by surprise and have terrified me.

Dr. C, thank you once again for your compassion and understanding of my difficult and complex situation, and once again, sincerely and deeply apologize for troubling you.

Sincerely,

HpK

nyak, nyak nyak nyak...

I'm feeling quite pissy with a twist of pms-y so it could get ugly at any point today: i can be a total he-bitch and roll up my sleeves and have a good old fashioned stand off with anybody who crosses my path.

Funny, i completely forgot to gloat about my burst of ball busting attitude that seemed to come out of nowhere a few weeks ago when that trash can of a bimbo blonde twig catapulted her Tim Hortons full cup of coffee on the back bumper of E's car. What the hell was she doing walking TOWARDS a car that was OBVIOUSLY BACKING UP!?!?

after I heard the thud, i rolled down the window as she walked by and out of my mouth came: "and what's your problem bitch?!"

I could hear E's chin hit the steering wheel after i said this.

"What the fuck? You were backing up into me?"

"Well, you are not supposed to walk INTO cars that are BACKING UP! Open your eyes woman!"

That really came out of nowhere - this wind of salty gumption, but shit, it felt awesome.

And as we pulled away, she hobbled on her 10 story stilettos into the loblaws, waving at us sarcastically. I smiled and gave her the finger.

bimbo

It's good to dust off the shoe treads of people who trample on my head every now and then.

call me a drug addict then...

"This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice."

— Anaïs Nin

three month window of light opens a little wider

we saw mom's doc last week, just for an update.

no scan, no results, just preparation and more rendez-vous.

but as she said: "I now have until mid November to not worry about things. As of today, the window stays open a little longer, even if only for a little while."

i'm hoping that it will stay open for many many years to come.

The three month window of light opens a little wider.

I really like that sentence.

It's so simply, but the meaning is so profound in so many many ways...

ride the dragon

life has been chaotic these past few days and I have no clue why.

Usually, there is a direct corelation between my mood and what is going on around in my world, but lately, things have been, well, quiet. Non eventful. Mom saw her doctor who is sending her for scans in November (our little 3 month window has opened up wider for a few weeks), but no real "news". A follow up of sorts. So there was no real reason to get anxious.

but i am, and it's rough.

I have not swung this high or low in many many months. I'm thinking back to maybe a year, or two? And I'm not even taking the extra Welburtin that the doc prescribed to me. I don't even want to think what that would be like. When i tried it two years ago, I was flying into walls, and if i decided to augment my dose now, i might fly off of buildings or bridges.

so i try to put one foot in front of the other but I can't help but to be very nervous that at any moment, my manic instinct will kick in and i'll be running in the other direction, well, actually, with no direction in particular, in circles perhaps, until i collapse into a heavy weeping mess, looking to get lost in the spaces between horrible thoughts of suicide and exalted grandeur.

last night, I happened to stumble upon the movie - Control.

I had watched the whole film about a year ago, and it still affects me deeply. An instant vivid snap into a time in my life when death was a welcome respite from the exhausting whirling orbit of fear and elation that i lived every moment of every day for months on end. The fact that it is so breathtakingly beautiful to look at did not help to pull me away from not watching it, but as a result, i regressed to the tender age of 16, when life should have been full of promise and possibilities, but was devoid of life and hope, and where suicide was the only path to calm and rest.

15 minutes was all it took, and time began to warp.

And what i find odd was that my regression into these dark memories began during the point in the movie when the band is actually doing quite well; their career is taking off, interest in their music is growing, and the young men from Manchester are still filled with hope and optimism.

Just like i was once, a long long time ago.

"you know, E, the thought of suicide is never far enough in my brain. It's always "this" close to moving into the liquid plasma of my current existence. It's never far enough, and that scares me."

i silently wept as he lay on the couch. He was too buzzed after a night of jamming with the guys to truly grasp what i was saying, and I am not angry at him for that; it's the exact opposite - I feel sorry for him that he has to live with such a ticking time bomb.

when i was 16, Ian Curtis' deep oily crooning of life left unfinished resonated with something almost primal in my soul. Beyond the words, beyond the tempo, a mysterious and macabre comfort connected me to him. He got to complete what he wanted to end before i did. Each song is a testament to this.

Sometimes i am thankful for that, sometimes i envy him for beating me to the finish line.

a little blippy

feeling a little blippy

flipped out tonight over a silly little incidental thing. Went and ruined a wonderful supper that i am feeling horribly shitty about right now, but when the manic monster rips my head off and shits down my throat, only projectile sewage vomit spews forth.

It caught me off guard, literally. Before i knew it, small appliances and kitchen items were in flight around the room. Thankfully, the cats hid and so did E.

on the upside, i gave the litterboxes a super duper disinfecting/cleaning. Now kitties have two boxes to shit and stink up.

yummy.

hopefully i will shrink down back to normal size in a few hours, and for long enough to let me fit comfortably beneath the luxurious 400 thread count sheets mom picked up for me.

bleh.

blippy bonne nuit!

little explosions

insanity visits

with little explosions

in the mind

frenzied cognitive eruptions

yesterday, today, tomorrow, next week, next year

compressed into a nanosecond

electrostatic convulsions

stumble words from the mouth

come faster through my fingers

thundering

hyperkinetic delusions

not enough words to describe

or ways to outline

the utter disorientation

gravity immobilizes logic

solidifies paranoia as

liquid ice inside my eyes

dizzy with terrifying intensity

evaporation

insipid, inert reaction to the

anguish and lost hope of

hope

how can u be shut out

without having to shut down

completely

why will

no

pill

keep

you

away

meow

i live this every day times two. And i love every minute of it...

kitty prozac

Kineko is now on kitty prozac.

Welcome to the family my lovely little feline friend...

he has been picking off his fur for a week now. Looked up on the internet - nerves.

Poor neurotic little cat. Takes after his mom i guess...

If he were human, perhaps this would equal "cutting himself"?

We bought these "treat pockets" - soft chewy cat treats that have a hole in them so you can pop in the pill and mush it closed. Brilliant. Beats having to pry open his mouth and shove the pill past a gagging salivating tongue slapping mess. He does seem more chill now than before.

Geeze. I think i'll try a dose, sans the treat pocket.

but seriously

this weather is starting to get to me.

October November are my suicide watch months. I watch for signs of thoughts of suicide. They are really just passing microblips on my radar, but still, enough to shake me up every once and a while.

My three month window is beginning to close as well. Mom goes for her scan in a few weeks. Then the rest is up to the universe.

But today, the grey cold damp day, I'm looking for sunshine in the pits and corners of my mind to sweep away the blackness that seems to be accumulating one speck at a time...

5am and my letter to a friend in a gallery in New york city

September 21st, 2009

From the desk of hellophotokitty...

20

Hey Bob,

it's been a long long while.

How have you been?

well, so much has happened here, i wouldn't know where to begin, so I'll give you the condensed reader's Digest version (or at least i will try...)

mom's cancer has come and gone, and come back again. Her ordeal has been nothing short of unbelievable. When I tell people about this story, they often shake their heads and say: "ooh, she must have had some bad karma". Fuck Karma, blame it on genetics. Bad genetics.

As i think i may have told you, it started off with her skin cancer, followed by a year of interferon. Then it came back - spreading to her lungs. A serious operation which left the experience of being in one of the city's apparently foremost cancer care research center/care facility equal or greater than having your fingernails slowly pulled out one by one, while having them dipped in a vat of iodine for hours on end. An anthropologist friend of ours visited her during her stay. "I've been to Ethiopia and and some of the other poorest parts of Africa. This hospital is about as close to a third world country on this continent as you can get". So much for our shining healthcare system...

So we had hoped she was in the clear, and for a while she was, until a few months later, the cancer came back onto another spot in her lung. Her options? Let the disease run it's course or try the new immunotherapy treatment called IL2 - Interlucan 2. Simply put, the last ditch effort at cancer, and as brutal as they come. Many patients have to be put into intensive care during the rounds and some even die. Mom made two complete rounds (1 week on, one week off, x 2 - and then times another two a few months later). And a miracle of miracles - the tumors had not only shrunk, but disappeared. A medical miracle. But it took its toll.

She was well for the Wedding (yea, E and i finally tied the knot after 10 years. I had to wait a decade. He's a little slow sometimes, but has a good heart...;-) which was the most important thing. She got to walk me down the isle and do the whole mother daughter thing every mother wants to experience. It was simply the most wonderful and delicate moments of my life. And everything was perfect - the day, the weather, the food, my dress, my hair, except my shoes. E trampled all over those during our first dance - a Foxtrot, which we had spent months practicing. Well, at least they weren't more than the dress and we did manage to look good on the floor.

So honeymoon to Cuba which was another dream come true. God bless Castro - he managed to keep this pristine gem of an island unspoiled and overrun by tourists and MacDonalds corporations, but now it's anybody's guess how long before you can smoke a "Cubano" cigar with your Big Mac...

We get back and two weeks later, find out mom's cancer has come back. Again. In her small bowel and intestine. Invasive surgery pronto. She is healing well now, but once again, through the jungle belly of The General Hospital which we have come to know and love (and the food, paper pulp and glass shards have more taste than the shit over there...) she managed to overcome great obstacles, but at what cost?

All of this cancer battling has done a number on all of us. It's true that cancer touches everyone, not only the people who suffer from it. Personally, i have literally gone underground. Hiding in dark subway stations, people's basements and if i go any lower, I'll be sitting in 5 feet of dirt. But there is a strange thing going on. I have shut off my "art valve". My creative spark which once propelled me to fearlessly bare everything (literally), and march into New York City with an attitude and some hot pix into your gallery, has now all but died out.

I play your wise words over and over again in my head: "you gotta pick one thing and stick with it, be it photography, writing or cinema." Well, i have tried all three separately to varying degrees, but it has been tantamount to shitting out the North tower of the world trade center. I have never felt so constipated creatively in my life. I have put down the camera, taken up the pen, put that down to fiddle with a video camera, but nothing. And it's freaking me the fuck out.

Hmmph. This what is now looking like to be a long letter, but i will try to refrain from babbling...

How do you do it Bob? How do you keep fresh in the midst of life's setbacks and crap that gets thrown to us on a daily basis? How do you weather the creative barren dusty death valleys when you are lead into them by blind faith or perhaps a sadistic form of deliberate bad judgment in map reading of rugged territory? Do you think that we "need this" to define us or our art or both at the same time?

I have spoken to my other "artist friends" and they say something along the lines of: "oh it will pass" or the sappy: "you'll find your muse/spark/purpose soon". But what happens when you don't? Bob, I have seen your art. It's intense, vibrant, chaotic, fearless and fearful at the same time. I have a funny feeling that you must have gone through some serious shit in your time. Some serious shit that must have also brought you to the brink of a creative meltdown. What made you turn around? Or have you even turned around at all?

Sometimes I get sentimental about New York and look at the post card from your gallery, the show I was (and still amazed at having being) a part of. There is a side of me who mourns for the loss of this ballsy in-your face "i am woman hear me roar" person. And part of me wonders where the hell she has taken off to cause i know she's around somewhere. Or is she?

I guess I'm writing all this to you because i know you understand me, and the complexity of my artistic process as you have been witness to the genesis of many of my pieces. I don't want you to think I'm asking you for a psych evaluation here, (if i were doing this in person, then i would at least take you out for dinner first), but i just wanted to touch base in my own quirky outrageous vulnerable way.

Perhaps it's a rusty pipe dream, but i hope that one day, after all is said and done, and i manage to shit out an earth shattering piece of work that will give everybody who sees it a boner that will last them a lifetime, that it will hang in your gallery (not the boner, but the piece of art, although a hanging boner framed and put under glass is an interesting conceptual piece that i might just run with...). Well, stranger things have happened.

It was not too long ago that i came to New York city for the first time and was almost literally laughed out of the Art gallery, and then I blinked again and there i was, naked and under glass in your gallery, hung in a primo spot (and with a couch no less. Did I ever thank you for that prime real estate spot you bestowed on me? Well if not, so many belated thank yous.)

I find it odd how I have held off sending you this letter for a long while. Perhaps I felt strange not sending you something "new" from the hpk photographic factory of debauchery and insanity, but keep hope that somehow, somewhere i will pick up my pretty picture machine again. And when I do, you can be sure that you will be the first fucken person in the whole wide world to know about it.

so on that note, I will close this letter.

I have chosen to turn this into a letter letter rather than email. Guess getting back to my creative roots, back in the days when a pen, typewriter and a piece of paper was a civilized way of communicating to the outside world , makes me feel a little more connected in an often disconnected world.

And oh yea, I'm giving you a copy of the "gift cd" I made for our wedding guests. From a to z - did everything on it. But as much as I would like to take credit for composing "fly me to the moon" for Old Blue Eyes and other great swinging tunes as well, I'm happy to say that I'm still a retro queen at heart and pretty creative with the graphic design ideas.

Take good care of yourself Bob. Give my love to Seb and Mari and then save a little for yourself :-)

And thank you for everything, including looking at/listening/reading my stuff, but most of all, believing in me and my art.

Hpk

5am...

just finished a marathon photo correction session.

The Japanese client job went well. Lots of work in that one, but I'm tracking the UPS shipments to Atlanta and Japan. 4:15am, they left Louisville Kentucky and are on their way to their final destination.

Yesterday, or was it the day before? Gah, i don't even remember, I had another job. A friend actually. Her magazine turned 10 and her regular photographer canceled. So I came to the rescue. But that also meant lots of photoshop work to follow.

It's 5am and i just finished the whole thing.

I needed to finish it. Feel like something bigger is coming my way and need to free up some creative time.

Speaking of creative, nah, this first...

I was thinking to myself: I need to find a good astrologer in the city. I need to find out what the planets have in store for me. I need to be prepared, find guidance and stable footing. Need to get a path, so that way i can try to walk a straight line with some purpose and level of determination.

Well, guess what? I was taking my walk to send my packaged and along the way i see this little sign - astrology, and vhitu and feng shui. Wild.

On my way back i knock on the door. A little round indian lady with henna stained hands smiled when she saw me.

"Yes, can i help you?"

Asked her about the astrology, apparently it's her husband who does it. She disappeared into the invisible curtain of curry that separated me from her world and came back with a colorful card. Vishnu dancing next to a cell phone number.

"It's very busy now. U will call to make an appointment?"

"Yes indeed. How much does your husband charge?"

"Ohh that depends. Best you call him."

and so i will today, or whenever i plan to get up if i do decide to fall asleep now.

Rain on my window and david sylvian on the itunes.

He always makes me think of rain.

a round table of three

so i did it - shot the dreaded conference.

A round table of three doctors. That was it.

No audience, no other "press"

I opened the door, saw a table, three microphones, chairs and turned to E:

"Is this it?"

and so it was, and i was relieved.

Nothing is more stressful than trying to examine every aspect of what you are doing and trying not to look stressed when people are watching you work.

Hallelujah.

So i set up the room with two strobes opposite on the diagonal of each other. Very straightforward. Was planning to use an on camera flash but ditched the idea last minute.

90 minutes later, the meeting was over, i had clocked in almost 100 pictures and one of the doctors made a comment about how he felt as if he were part of a fashion shoot.

I thanked them all profusely for being so patient despite the endless pops of light that kept on going off, but assured them that I got some amazing shots.

And i really did.

now come the long painstaking part - processing those suckers.

Along with the city shots, i have over 350 photos. Gonna take a long time - days and nights, but for the cash they are paying me, it's an investment of my hours and effort.

But go figure - 55 days late and i got the bleed from hell.

So i'm trying to pace myself between looking out the window, procrastinating a few nanoseconds here and there, working my little mac into the ground and changing pads/tampons every 15 minutes.

Life is not that bad...

R.I.P canon 10D

the night before my big shoot, my little back up camera died

i am furious and distraught.

also kicking myself in the foot for lending it to a friend who shot it into the ground.

I knew that it was a weak little thing, but he is my best friend and was in a jam.

but now i'm in a jam.

and he's not around, or has no cash to help me out.

i wanna cry...