I’ve posted the work I’ve been doing for this show. I also know that, after this show was being organized, I heard about the J20 Art Strike. I think both the Art Strike and General Strike on inauguration day are good ideas., in terms of shutting down commerce as a form of protesting Trump. Shows like this though are also a type of action. I don’t stand to profit from this. If my pieces sell, the proceeds will go to Planned Parenthood and the ACLU, two organizations that are likely to end up helping out the people Trump’s administration won’t. So, I kept doing what I was already doing.
MF Gallery is at 213 Bond St. in Brooklyn. You can see some of the art that will be up at their site:
All 4 hours. Astral Knife is at 3:41:51
The track is based around the sound of the rats when they were newborn. Which is why Tunnels gets so excited when I play noise cassettes (yeah we still listen to stuff on cassette), pricks up her ears and runs to the side of the cage closest to the stereo. Black Leather Jesus, Tissa Mawartyassari, Puce Mary and Sewer Election…
now I put on Sonny Murray and she’s going between grooming and hitting the water bottle.
Fraught with anxieties, lure Eric into bed to watch Susan Sontag psycho-sexual weirdness where the eponymous cannibalism is merely implied.
But…gauze games. Yeah.
Earlier today I heard Dr. Martin Luther King’s speech “The Other America” on the radio, and I’m hearing him again on Democracy Now!, where they’ve discovered previously unheard recordings of him speaking in London in 1964. Here’s the recording with some images, from their site:
In school they love to tell you that MLK had a dream and well…that’s pretty much it until he gets shot and becomes a Big Important Man In History. But I’ve listened to a number of his speeches when WBAI plays them and there a lot of ideas I agree with there. He was critical of capitalism, economic inequality, police brutality, etc. and in favor of the Creatively Maladjusted.
After an afternoon of art drop off in Brooklyn followed by cuddling with Eric and falling asleep during crime shows, I’m now up in the middle of the night having a protein bar and being amused by a combination of King Of The Hill reruns and zombies of the past trying to affix their names and little not-actually-much-to-tell allusions to online pictures of me and my husband at a gallery opening. They say never read the comments. But sometimes it’s funny.
Another piece for the Handbills of Subversion show coming up at MF Gallery on January 20th. All pieces will be priced $120 and proceeds will benefit Planned Parenthood and the ACLU.
Creativity is both a beacon and a blowtorch in dark times.
My blood work results came back. There is nothing physically wrong with me, at least, none of the things they screened for. No anemia, etc. I suppose that should satisfy the doctor? Or make the fatigue and sleeping problem worse because it still doesn’t have an answer. When I cared for Abuelita with her dementia, my sleep was irregular because her sleep was irregular. Then when she first crossed over, it was normal for me to be so tired, everyone said, my body needed to catch up on rest. But now it’s been 6 months.
On the other hand both Eric & my counselor have pointed out in so many words I’m a schizoaffective artist on disability. So long as I maintain a mental health regimen, don’t flip out and harm anyone or myself, and focus on my work, who really cares what kind of hours I’m keeping? Well, that makes sense, but not being ok with low energy.
So I’m sitting here with a cup of blueberry green tea and my pieces I framed to drop off for another art show and I’m content but not real high energy right now. And I’m thinking that this year I can focus on little things I can change to become healthier and more energetic, even if I’m up doing a painting or editing a noise track at 3AM in the morning.
I finally had the appointment today to have bloodwork done, like my doctor wants. The phlebotomist was good at getting the needles in without pain. With my tiny veins I’m no always lucky. But on the third vial of magenta chrimson the flow slowed to a trickle, creating Raggedy Ann striped patterns in the narrow tube as I watched the show. Frowning, the nurse jiggled the little butterfly needle and slid it in and out try to get a flow started again — no go. I on the other hand was experiencing thrilling jiggly shocks of freshly hatched electric baby beta-endorphin spiders coursing from my arm to my brain.
“I have to try the other arm.”, she said. I rolled up my sleeve to oblige. Next thing I knew she’d grabbed my arm and was leaning in for a closer inspection. My razor scars and piercing punctures looked whiter than usual against my olive skin under the harsh medical examiners light.
“Where do you usually hit this arm?” she asked.
“I don’t–” I started to explain myself but she really didn’t seem to care so I wondered if the truth might actually make things more complicated in this case. I surveyed the terrain and pointed to a more bluish, veiny looking spot of flesh. “Maybe there? That looks like a big one.” I was right, and my reward was a slightly more painful jab and another spider-endorphin shockwave.
sketched with dying pens while waiting to see the doctor. dying pens make interesting marks.