Done in my sketchbook the beginning of the month, combination of colored pencil and gel pen so I’m not qualifying it as an Inktober drawing. I was killing time in a local coffee shop waiting for my husband to come back from the methadone clinic, dividing it between making art and reading a noir-ish fantasy novel by Murakami. Though it was early in the morning, the shop seemed crowded with a mix of NYU kids and older NYC beatdowns looking for a place to park ourselves, much to the chagrin of the fresh faced moneyed crowd.
Flash forward to today. After a night out at a private (or at least taking the guest list very seriously) reading of the new book about The Mudd Club by author Richard Boch, I’m dealing with an out of control cough. One that was worth it to watch the Bush Tetras play in an intimate venue, but still—HACKHACKHACK. We don’t have cough medicine in the house, but we do have the ingredients to make traditional cold remedy –onion, honey, oregano and lemon juice. At least that’s what I think until I realize we really don’t have enough honey.
No, bobo, don’t boil the glue stick in your cough remedy. It just happened to be on the table ok.
Eric offered to go out and get more honey. I know, you’re all “If he was willing to go out and get that why not just get cough syrup? CUZ FUCK YOU THIS IS BETTER!!!! 😀
A status on Facebook and Twitter today involves(and one I can get behind a helluva lot more than women willfully silencing themselves)involves women — and quite a number of men posting the words “Me Too” and then sharing stories of sexual harassment and far too often, rape and molestation. While a couple of disaffected “above it all” types have questioned the point of doing this – “what does it accomplish?” (Gotta piss on whatever those survivors try before it has a chance to possibly accomplish anything, amirite? That status quo ain’t gonna maintain itself!) But what’s really moved me is seeing guys I know, the types of guys who are decent fellows but don’t really spend their time worrying about this stuff because…well, they never really felt like they had to. Suddenly these guys are reflecting on the way we as a whole, societally, have normalized certain types of interactions between men and women, and maybe taught them something was fun and games that someone else viewed as unwanted, or threatening maybe. (I’m not talking full on rape here, more harassing or lewd behaviors). For most of us, Hollywood is far away. We can read about the actions of a Harvey Weinstein and find them reprehensible, but we don’t travel in those circles. But reading about them happening to people we know and interact with on a regular basis? Maybe that’s what it was supposed to accomplish.
Anyway, people who’ve known me for a minute know I’m no stranger to dealing with this topic, and my traumas with it, in my work. So in honor of “Me Too”, I’m reposting a public performance of “Psychic Harm Reduction” which ran in World War 3 Illustrated #43. The performance took place in Le Petit Versailles Garden, with Eric Blitz and Andy Laties accompanying musically, thanks to Mike Diana for filming.
Talking about pricey rituals in the park, hanging around Art On A Gallery. With Eden Bower, Summer Solstice, Mike Diana, Raffaele Mary and Casanova.
I’m still getting the knack of my video editing apps. :p
Last night me and Eric saw a butoh performance by Vangeline at Theater For The New City. It was sublime. Use of light as much as sound and movement to evoke different concepts hermetic to my mind, in Eastern philosophy perhaps mapped as something else but existence in flux I think translates across the board.
Possibility for a future painting? But for now, he’s a combination of micron and gel pens. I like those. Lots of colors, travel easy. I have a pack I keep in my bag that I can take out in diners, coffee shops, bars…been exploring a variety of textures I can get from combining different pen types as well. And I haven’t even gotten into posting some of my drawings for Inktober yet!
My inspiration for this was walking over to a friend’s place one day and seeing a Viceroy butterfly just chilling by the curb.
I dunno, it seems a bit late in the season for a butterfly like this. But these days “late in the season” just keeps getting later and later doesn’t it? Thank you climate change!
Here’s a 2″x 2″ canvas I dashed out with leftover paint after an evening working on a larger piece. (That one is still in progress.)
Sleep is an erratic flock of moths darting to and from a lantern I call “consciousness” but I’ve kind of stopped thinking it’s a thing that needs to be “fixed”. I’m of this world, but not of their imposed grid iron. Despite this I’m not free of the overwhelming sadness and pain it creates. Like everyone else I have somehow been complicit just by existing.
It’s been a Princess Nokia kind of morning.
Not only because I’m loving the whole 1992 album, but because today we’re in a world where the Orange Anus just dialed back women’s reproductive autonomy based on the whims of whatever their employers happen to think about it. How worker-exploitation of him. (Not to mention misogynist. That’s pretty much a no-brainer.)
And Brujas Chingonas need that “loud and adulterous” “work of wickedness” energy of Babalon more and more these days. We need to be girt with the sword of the Scarlet Woman. We need the cigar and dagger and no fucks given attitude of Pomba Gira. The mayhem of Anat.
“DON’T YOU FUCK WITH MY ENERGY”
I tried something different and made a video blog last week. Pagan Pride, burial sites, and giant rotating fish. Currently gathering material for another one.
It’s finally herbal tea weather again. Immune boost function as our healthcare access such as it is gets whittled away. Last night I dreamt of a flooded house but at least I know it wasn’t a nightmare because there wasn’t some bloviating orange anus tossing paper towels at me. I totally stole that phrase from TFG.