hand series one

roller coasters are meant for giving thrills or chills

they are not meant to be the under-carpet

of ones life; duality is often confusing within this principle

offering drama instead of decision

offering stimulation instead of balm

clearly these peaks and valleys are offerings themselves

created by our own hands

(approx 2 x 1.5 metres)

the world of  aAND 

(a little bit drowning under the weight of days just passing by even with all their sweetness and relatively low-grade-stress comparatively speaking for this time of year )

2009: tTHE yYEAR oOF aAND  not used as cop-out but intention to create aANDsSPACE.... that space inbetween worlds unfettered by judgement and surrealism in conjunction with ideals and straight lines and jumbled up mis-beliefs regarding self....aAND as opposed to bBUT, is really what it means, though sounds less profound than what it really feels like inside:

aAND aAND a AND a AND aAND aAND aAND aAND aAND aAND aAND aAND aAND aAND 

 aAND so what is happening inside this "aANDness" is a constant trickling of faith, building its rivers of belief. hmmm, what does that mean? it means that amongst the financial concerns of my day, the head-butting that occurs with passionate frequency between me, myself, & i aAND my bBIG lLOVIN mMAN 'n mME - that  a deeper voice is raising its octaves to be heard. amongst all that which could/should/might discourage me in my creative outpouring and envisioning and planning and wWANTING and dDOING and bBELIEVING iIN- it is taking up more and more space inside my head and heart and home.  

"as it should be," says the little-&-getting- bigger-voice, "as it should be."

clean-up time/or waiting  taken this summer in the foyer of the space where we rehearsed and smoked and walked thru to get to the fresh air waiting outside

emptying 

as well 

as 

i 

can

the sun took hold of me today and said, 

"hey babe, have a little fun for a change."

so i did.

mMY lLIFE

tongue rancid with complaint

heart lost 

and begging 

to be found 

-that childhood longing to be found- 

sought out, reclaimed, searched-for-kind-of-found

(my daughter's favorite game at the moment, to lose and find

her fingers, toes, macaroni, mama, bear...)

and all i can think of amidst the externalised bitching is:

inside i feel empty and exhausted and irate 

and i never thought i would be a mother like this

and where did all those years of practicing self-love and acceptance go?

and where do i hide my vulnerability over and over again? 

and why do i start complaining now (literally) about spilled milk?

and in whose book did i play the heroine or master or slave?

and i can't believe that i become so hopelessly paralized by so many things in my life

and i used to enjoy a cigarette or 2 and now i wonder if i'm Attached 

and when will i finally grow up? and beauty is truly

in the eyes of the beholder 

and the feeling of exuberance WITH all the sliminess of life 

is something i long for more of

        (approx 2 x 1.5 metres)

one of my favorites because the words are dancing 

      and it's clear that i don't know what i'm saying but the colours do

                                   

i'

v

e ha

d 

a HARD day

                                  but have 

made it through

                                  everything feels meaningless

                                  tho wrought with meaning

                                  everything feels thin inside

                                  like i'm see-through