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

change skins

augh.

I'm throwing up my hands for this one.

It seems like there will be a never-ending who hurt who first cat and mouse game.

I mean hello - the man is 67 years old. Grow the fuck up!

His email was like a kick in the face, transporting me back, 30 years ago when i sat at a table across from him. It was the final settlement of the alimony child support fiasco. I had moved in with my boyfriend, and he and his wife deiced to pay a visit. Turns out it was a fact finding mission, not a friendly drop in - according to my father (through his lawyer), since i was living with somebody now, there was no need to pay child support. So he began the process of claiming that he was going to sue me for all the back child support/alimony payments.

it was ugly - even more disgusting than the divorce. I was 20 years old, just recovering from a severe breakdown, sitting in front of a man who called himself my father. His eyes dead, black, not the brown i had remembered them to be.

Back room discussions between lawyers finally ironed things out.

He would continue with the original agreement as stipulated in the divorce papers 19 years ago. Child support until my 21st birthday.

As our lawyers passed around the papers to be signed, i passed him a paper with all the names of my current doctors. Three psychiatrist, an endocrinologist, gynecologist and a general doctor all agreeing that i was in fact, suffering from a severe hormonal imbalance, and severe Premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PPMD) and manic depression. My "fits of crying and depression" were not in my head, and were not tools to "manipulate" him into giving me more money. They were real.

I said this, pointing to the list of doctors and their phone numbers.

"every one of them said you can call them for details. Every one of them said they would be happy to explain all of this to you. My problems are not "in my head". They are real."

Without blinking , or looking up, he snarled:

"well, if i asked my doctor when all my problems started, they would say they all started when you were born!"

and that was all he said.

He stood up, pushed the chair away, shook his lawyers hand and bolted for the door.

We all sat there - mouths gaping wide open.

Stunned.

In shock.

did he just say that?

His lawyer began to apologize profusely, sincerely disturbed by his client's outburst.

What could he say? What could we say?

Our lawyer took me into her office, and gave me a big hug.

"He's just an evil man. In all of my years of practice, i have never seen anything as despicable as this. I am so sorry this had to happen."

I was in shock. My mom was in shock.

We sat in the car, running the scenario over and over in our head for days.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months, and then into years.

And then one day, it just happened.

I learned to let go.

I woke up and told myself that he did what he did for some strange alien reason that i would never understand (which turned out to be his psychotic wife who always believed i was out to steal him from her) and that holding a grudge was only poisonous to me. I had to accept and love him nonetheless.

So then i opened the door to forgiveness. Opened the lines to dialogue.

And one day, out of the blue he called. Left a long message on my phone. He had cancer, had beat it, was retired, and looking forward to reconnecting.

And we did, and it was wonderful. Finally, as adults, we were able to talk, laugh. I had my father back in my life again. Not as my father per say, but a wounded man who was happy to reconnect with a young woman he had once loved dearly. A part of him. He a part of me. Associated by blood lines.

Blood is thicker than water.

but after months of spotty correspondence, old patterns re-emerged again. "Yea, we will get together, come up north", but something would always come up.

Here we go again.

I was the 11 year old girl, sitting on the stoop of her front door. Tiny suitcase in had, waiting for dad to pick her up for a nice weekend up north.

he never came

"I forgot..."

I forgave, moved on. Accepted and then let go.

Life went on.

Then one day, the nasty email from facebook.

"I'm entitled to know what is going on because I am your father.."

whaaaatttt???

I wrote back, calmly. Logically, giving all the facts.

His reply, short and sweet. Something about he suffered pain of loneliness, and that certain people and situations kept me away from him.

cryptic.

I moved on, opening the door to dialogue. Besides, i wanted him to be a part of the biggest day of my life. He was still my father. Not a very good one, but still one.

It was pleasant, but that was it. He only came up to me to say goodbye at the end of the night. We laughed, took a few photos and that was it. The joy of the day overshadowed the awkwardness of that final exchange. But I was still happy he came.

Then the lovely email - a day after my honeymoon.

Another kick in the stomach.

Then the news mom's cancer had come back.

Sucker punched again.

wounded and weary, knowing that another boxing mach would begin soon - round x with cancer treatment. Not again, fucken cancer. Can't you stay away?!

so i replied. Trying to be as honest as possible. What did i have to lose anymore?

Dad,

All i can say is that i'm so very sorry that you felt the way you did. It was in no way done to hurt anybody. I was very saddned and very depressed when i got this email a day after my honeymoon. I didn't know what to say - what could I say after all? I think sorry would not be enough...

You know, not having you in the wedding party was such a tough decision. I was very very confused and it caused me many sleepless nights, but please try to see this from my perspective, please try to understand - if things were different in both of our lives and i had to make decisions on how our lives would have turned out - we all would have been a happy family - both mom and dad walking me down the isle, but the reality of it all is that mom has been all alone to raise me all by herself for the past 30 years. I could not make you a bigger part of this wedding without causing her a lot of pain, and because of everything i have seen her go through first hand, and all that she has done for me and seen me go through, i felt it was my way of thanking her for taking care of me and loving me so much. She was involved right from day 1 - driving me to every store in the city, spending late nights with me making the invitations, planning, and all while in between, doing her il2 treatments. Lots of stuff happened so quickly - it seems like i blinked and the day was over.

It was a hard decision but i hope you understand that as an adult, people have to make difficult decisions in their life, and this was one of them...

And the day really went by so quickly - it was hard for me to get to everybody. People were coming up to me to talk, i really wished you had taken a moment, taken me aside and had a nice father/daughter chat, wished me well, and told me how pretty i looked, because every girl wants to hear that from her dad on her special day - regardless of the situation. But I want you to know, that despite the way things turned out, I was so very happy that you came, and yes, i too wish we could have taken some photos together - but you know what? Nobody got family photos. I have none of us with eric's parents or with you or mom, so don't feel left out. Somebody was supposed to be looking out and making sure all of this got done, but it happened. We can't go back in time and change it or be angry because of it.

but alas, things happened the way they happened. We live and move on.

i think there are a lot of unresolved issues - and the wedding was not the place to talk about them. I know we need one on one time so we can really talk. Email is so hard, and not very personal.

In an email long ago, you wrote: Some situations and some people had kept you away from me

what did that mean exactly? I was always there, always waiting, hoping that we could reconnect, and i hope that we still can.

hpk

Mom had her operation. Another hell experience in the hospital. They didn't give her medications to her for 4 days. Prozac, synthroid. Anti depressant and thyroid medication. Two very important meds. She was going through serious withdrawal. You don't come off cold turkey with prozac. It can make you lose your mind.

Seriously...

She was let out of the hospital too early, without any dressing on her 30 inch incision across her belly. No follow up appointments. Nothing.

She got sick, the wound seriously infected. Rushed to the hospital again.

The never-ending saga.

Then a reply.

Mute and dazed, i walked away from the computer. E was away on business and knew that re-reading this would drive me insane. I fwd it to him and waited for his call.

He came back. We talked. I cried, yelled and cried some more.

I had no more strength. Fighting for my mom in the hospital with incompetent and insensitive staff, seeing my poor mother suffer again drained me. And now this.

Thank you for your email.


It still does not change or lighten up my hurt.


I'll make it short, like your comment, "as an ADULT, people have to make difficult decisions in THEIR LIVES and that things happened the way they happened." You certainly made yours.


In closing, I truly wish you and your mate all the best.


Dad.

I guess that was it.

or that is it.

There is no solution to this never ending fight.

He is now dead to me. How anybody can do this to their own child is beyond my comprehension. Grow up old man. You will forever be under the iron thumb of your so called wife. She got you to tie your tubes, she will make you cut the strings with your only daughter.

You are made for each other.

so i try to walk away, not looking back,

not looking back.

“To change skins, evolve into new cycles, I feel one has to learn to discard. If one changes internally, one should not continue to live with the same objects. They reflect one's mind and the psyche of yesterday. I throw away what has no dynamic, living use.”

~Anais Nin