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.

:-)

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

guardian angels exist in cyberspace.

I was getting very distraught that my postcards had not made it to the gallery in time for the opening last night. After an hour with customer service, they agreed to reprint 500 more postcards rush order and ship them off last night.

Well, I just received confirmation that they arrived safely.

a day late - well, i guess I'll make an impression ;-)

but this is what moved me.

An old friend of mine from flickr who is now on facebook posted this onto my profile.

and then, what i wrote back to him.

an end of the week blessing of sorts.

Me:

Releived that the Postcards FINALLY made it to NYC. A little late, but I guess I'm sure to leave a lasting impression ;-)

Derrick: HPK, believe it or not! -- I prayed that those postcards got to you in good hands eventually (several times). In fact, I sent my guardian angel out to make to guide those cards to you in fashionable time. And, of course, none of this ever fails!

What is interesting is that yesterday I had started to write you a wall post that was going to ask if perhaps you had gotten them yet (because I sensed in my heart that you were going to get them; my guardian angel never fails me). If you had of said "no," I was going to say, "...have a little faith, because they are going to be there soon, watch and see." All of this is true.

Then I see now that you received them. Perfect!

and what i wrote to him right after...

Derrick, you have no idea how completely floored i am that you took a few moments to pray and ask your guardian angel to help get those cards to nyc! I was gonna get all mushy gushy on my post, but thought that i would rather tell you personally. Thank you so very very much.

It's been such a long time since I have been moved by the kindness of strangers (well, you're not a stranger, but we have never "Met" per say, but you know what i mean...) that when i read this a few minutes ago, i shed tears of joy and thankfulness. I have always felt that you were a special person from the moment i saw your photos, and then as the years passed, and i got to know you a bit more, that opinion became solidified. You have such a way with words, the sentences you compose, the images you create - the kind only a caring and sensitive soul would imagine. I'm almost speechless! Thank you thank you thank you!!

Guardian angels - not many people talk about them anymore. I once had an experience when i was very young - perhaps 7 or 8. I always had a statue of a guardian angel on my bureau. She was beautiful - tall, stoic, cascading long golden hair, a shimmery white robe and delicate sparkled wings. It was an old ceramic figurine that was passed down from my mom to me. Well, one night, i awoke from a horrible nightmare and sat up in bed. Before me was the fading apparition of the same guardian angel, now larger than life - extending her arm out to me as if to say: go back to sleep. It's okay, i'm here to take care of you..." And as i try to focus on her, she slowly faded away. That night, i had the best sleep of my life. I tried to explain it to my mom but she shrugged it off as part of a dream, but i knew otherwise.

it was not until a few days after my grandfather's funeral did my mom start to believe in what i was saying. Her father had a long suffering bout with lung cancer and when he died, was skin and bones. A few days after the funeral, my mom was awake, tossing and turning, in and out of a light drift of unconsciousness when she noticed something glowing on in the curtains in front of her. She looked up and it was her father - radiant, glowing, and looking healthy and happy. He reached out to touch her shoulder, as if to say: "I'm here, i'm happy and i love you". She was filled with grace and love and as she fell asleep, felt protected and at peace. She still considers that the best sleep of her life.

I often have dreams of dead relatives. They never actually "Speak", just telepathically communicate. I had told my grandmother (my mom's mom) when i was about 15 that i had these dreams. Her face lit up: "back in the old country (czechoslovakia) we would consider people who were able to see the dead as special and very gifted. You have a special connection with the beyond." well, it was many months before i dreamt of her, but a few weeks ago, both my mom and myself dreamt of her ON THE SAME NIGHT!! and to both of us, revealed that she was happy and at peace (although she did make my mom work - "I'm coming to visit and I'm bringing 5 friends - I hope you don't mind!". (My mom always seems to be working in her dreams. Guess it's a capricorn thing cause e does the same... lol) And then, two weeks later, we both dreamt of my aunt and my grandmother - AGAIN -THE SAME NIGHT!! So as i get older, i realize that there are perhaps things as the afterlife - planes of energy that vibrate long after the body is gone, and that sometimes, if you are sensitive enough, or perhaps, ask loudly enough, you will get a reply.

Atoms communicate to each other. On what level still is the great unknown, and perhaps will forever remain the greatest mysteries of the universe. All of that to say, I guess you have a really great relationship with your guardian angel Derrick. And because you shared that relationship with me in an indirect way, I am so very blessed to have you as a friend in my life. :-))

I have one little favor to ask though - if you can please say some special prayers for my mother? She is still on her arthritis medication which happens to be an immune system suppressant. The battle rages between her oncologist who says to go off it (because he thinks that it suppressed her immune system so much that despite the IL2 treatments which were immune system boosters, so that the cancer was able to come back) and her g.p who says to stay on it. She is battle weary and i fear that if the cancer does come back, she will refuse treatment, or that the cancer will come back with a vengeance - brain or pancreatic cancer, which there is usually no hope for survival. I'd like to believe in miracles - that she will beat this thing, but after reading your post, I now believe in little ones, and they are the building block for the big ones. God Bless you Derrick. Than you for being so very special. oxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxxooxoxoox hpk

when it all comes together sometimes...

today, i had planned to see an art expo. An old friend of mine now has a gallery (and oddly enough, a few doors down from the last amazing show I saw last week, and even more bizarre, in the same spot where i worked in a photography gallery almost 10 years ago. Weird..) and had contacted him about stopping by.

When i looked to see who the artist was, i was blown away. Dita Kubin - a brilliant beautiful photographer who's show was all about self portraits. Well, i was not ready for what i would see that night. It was one of the most pleasant life path affirming surprised i had in a long time.

Well, not so long ago.

This morning while waiting for my doctor, i picked up the august edition of Vogue that was just lying around. I flipped through the pages of the "powerful women over 40" issue and said to myself: "yea, if that were only me..."

but what really blew me away, in the light of the whole "self portrait" bender i have been on, telling everybody who will listen that i am re-igniting my pilot light for my documentary about self portraiture, i flip to the center of the mag, past Christy Turlington who looks sinfully beautiful at 41, to the women of 50; and low and behold, a glorious shot of the queen of self portraiture. SImply put - my inspiration, and who got me into this s.p kick - Cindy Sherman.

I almost fell onto the floor.

The whole article talked about how now that she's 55 (she looks like she's 30), the way she is approaching self portraiture is different because she has aged and matured. Giving a new angle to the many visages she steps into. I felt relieved and rejuvenated simultaneously.

It's as if i had asked the universe: "where the fuck am i going with this stuff? Where should i even begin to look!?" and there, as plain as day and as black and white on the pages of this magazine, the woman who moved me so completely that it changed the course of my photography forever. Cindy Sherman.

wow.

Talk about synchronicity.

And the week before, just happened to receive an email about 2Fik's show, without knowing that he was also a self portrait artist, and also today, seeing that my photo that i submitted to "Book about death" had made it onto facebook.

I know, some people might be saying: "n'ya. Small beans that facebook..." but I am #400 in the entries - out of 500. I like round numbers...

but still.

I feel good.

and despite the next little march up the hill of ill health and uncertainty (mom starts her methotrexate, which she is dreading like the plague, and then my switch/upping of my anti depressants, it can start to get ugly and insane; but something is being laid down in the big law of the universe. Soon, this path, a dirt road, will find the materials it needs to become paved.

one stretch of road at a time.

At least now, I know that other people are waiting to go somewhere on it.

If i build it, they will come.

one scoop of asphalt at a time.