ocd for u and me

Saw a doc today.
out of the university - will be part of a study program.
psychiatrists in training.

Doctor: "I run a tight ship. Everybody goes through rigorous training, and all meetings are reviewed with the supervisors who then give their notes on the following meetings with you. Don't worry. You will be getting the help that you need..."

She was so very nice.
i felt like she really understood me.

"I know this can't be easy, it impacts your life, keeps you from moving forward. We will be here to help you, help you find answers..."

They had a bipolar expert, PhD, MD on staff, but he is on sabbatical.
"But that's alright. We will find you a match - as close to perfect as we can..."

Huge sigh of relief.

I was on a waiting list since March 2010 for one other hospital.
"We will call you in July for an appointment for an assessment"

September rolls around. I call.
"It won't be before the end of October, but that does not guarantee you will get into the CBT clinic. Just so you know..."

Thank you. Not...

So at the other end of the city, my weekly commute will take almost an hour, but if i can be seen by somebody who cares, and perhaps, out of my misery and fucked up state of mind, will be able to care for somebody else who they will come across in their future practice who will have an equally fucked up state of mind, then all of this is a blessing.

Last night - restless. Bed bugs in my brain. Syphoning the logic out of every logical though, so that all was left was a infected irrational thought, poisoned, and throbbing, infected and disgusting.

Today, the sun alternating with the grey clouds kept me on my toes. Will it rain? Shall I dash for cover?
Oh, nope. The sun is coming out again.
Run into the light, bask in the warmth.

Walking out of the old world campus, tall turn of the century buildings standing like wise old professors over this young new pupil, head filled with glorious and grandiose ideas, silently guiding her along the path of self discovery and enlightenment.

***

I have my first swim lesson 2mrw.
Not so much a lesson as a perfection of techniques.
Want to feel efficient in the water again - a time when my strokes were effortless, poetic and fluid.

Looking forward to finding my equilibrium again, in the water and on land as well...

Moving in the right direction...

Moving in the right direction.
That is the ultimate quest...






Life seems to be leading me into a bunch of different directions: film, tv, writing, photography, directing, traveling. I'm one person and despite the allure of all these different avenues, I think i might have to take one and stick with it. At least for now, but remain fluid and open to all the changes that are coming my way.


As always, Daily Om seems to have it bang on. So much wisdom. So much sense...


August 21, 2010
The Right Direction
Aries Daily Horoscope

You might not feel confident that your life purpose is on track which could make you feel uncertain about yourself today. If you can keep in mind that it is natural to question how your life is going, you may find some relief in your doubt. Taking the time to look back on your life – maybe by drawing a timeline on a piece of paper – you might be able to see the connections of your major life transitions more clearly. As you look at the things that have happened to you in the past, you may, for example, notice that not everything appears to be linear – that there have been some twists and turns along your path. Reflecting on these times and assessing what you learned when your life didn’t seem to be heading in the right direction today may help you to realize that these periods of time can actually be some of the most intense growing experiences.

Understanding that the road we follow in our lives does not always follow a straight line allows us to much more readily accept our life course. The times when things don’t seem to go our way can easily convince us that we aren’t doing anything positive in our lives. In actuality, it is these times that will be your best teacher today – for it is only when you are able to transform a situation into a learning experience that you will set out more confidently on a steadier course and truly evolve. 

Because I still struggle with this...

as promised, and long overdue, my first sound 16mm student film. I made this during the first year of (my 2nd degree) Film Production specialization in what is now called the Mel Hoppenheim school of cinema.

The sound is crap, i know. The picture is shitty but the idea is there and for now,

that is all that matters...

(tip - click on the little square between the bars and the "Vimeo" logo". This way you can see it larger, which is better...)


Clair Obscure - a visual autobiography from Kathy Slamen on Vimeo.

I did everything here, aside from act.

That is my voice you hear. This is my experience you are seeing.

My professor warned me about the pitfalls about making a film on mental illness, because it was a complicated subject, and because i was a rookie, there was a fine line that needed to be balanced upon - because too serious or too light and the message would not come across as intended. I'd either end up with a bad comedy or a bad horror film.

But i was determined, and for 6 months of my life, i was this film in ever sense of the word. And my professor as well as a few close friends and family believed in me when nobody else did. And the day i had my final "rough cut", 12 people were stunned silent for minutes as they absorbed the film they just saw.

And this film has gone on to touch lives, win awards and open minds to what is the major leading cause of illness next to cancer - mental illness.

After the past two years of my public struggle with manic depression, the urgency to put this film "out there" and embark on a new project has come, but I have to lay the foundations first.

This film has already won numerous awards, brought many people to tears, but in the end, it was about sharing my story with the world, and i think that after all is said and done, perhaps this is my purpose in life - to illuminate, educate and reach out to those who are familiar and not so familiar with this disease.

So the next time somebody says that mental illness is not real, tell them from somebody who suffers from it - mental illness is a cancer of the mind and spirit.

it's real, and this film and i are living proof...

i am the little filmmaker that could...

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.

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...

call me a drug addict then...

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

— Anaïs Nin

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.

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

good to know i'm not the only one...

August 26, 2009. 12:56AM. Dear Diary: I can't believe it! Ever since I've started posting semi-nude self-portraits on Flickr back in 2005, I've been flooded with international sexual opportunities! Can my perfectly rounded scoops of flesh and my unyeilding neurotic preoccupation with sex, sexy thoughts and all things sexual (for that matter)really cause such a stir?

Dr. Jo

DRK:

Hahaha! I feel like I've just read a "spam mail" heading!

"My intentions are good, I use my intuition, it takes me for a ride," sang John Lennon. How fitting. I think.

Anyway, this is hilarious.

Dr. Jo:

My breasts have become completely unresponsive to any and all attempts to cajole them back to Fucker. I mean Flickr.

HPK:

hahah! Yep. My hooters have been hiding behind a well padded facade for a while now. Ignorance is oddly blissful, but at times, suffocating. Flickr haunts and taunts me, but alas, mine are unresponsive as well. Don't worry dear Joanne, a few more weeks of bench presses and they will be popping out of your shirt - literally!!! lol !

Dr. Jo:

You too, HPK? My "relationship" with Flickr and the Flickr "audience" has undergone many transformations but it seems to be on the decline as of late. I wonder if that's all there is or simply, has my desire to be "out there" waned a bit? Perhaps I haven't any more to give...or I just like the "intimacy" of FB better? Dunno., but this is fine for now :)

HPK:

It's comforting to hear I'm not the only one going through this bizarre period. Flickr is a strange place now, crawling with bottom feeders trolling for porn in whatever crumb they can find. That's one big reason I didn't post my profile pic here there. Can you imagine how many foot freaks would fave that photo? Ewwwwee...

And I've noticed some of the people I had as contacts have "un-contacted" me. I feel a bit betrayed somehow. I exposed myself to them, they replied with love and support, and now it's as if i don't exist. (but that's a whole other bag of beans).
Transformation. A change of direction in our art? It's all so scary. What used to be my saving grace has now turned into a used kleenex. Why am i keeping it if it is just making my pocket all soggy? But It's more than a kleenex - it's a handkerchief really. And that always has sentimental value attached. So flicker, & style that defined me are my hanky. Toss, wash or keep? That is the question...

in the blink of an eye, she was gone

“There is a theory which states that if ever for any reason anyone discovers what exactly the Universe is for and why it is here it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another that states that this has already happened.”

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taking a little hiatus for a week or so, or more.
Need time to process things. Need time to rest.