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mallorys_cameraMany, many, many people I know are going through enormously difficult times right now. A good pal's lover is recovering from a life-threatening brain abscess; a member of the Home Team just suffered a full-out mental breakdown (he's going to Ithaca – Ithaca! -- to recoup); another pal is dealing with her disturbed teenage daughter in ways that make me think the two of them are gonna be the southwest equivalent of Grey Gardens in another 20 years or so.
I'm not sure if this is "same as it always was" and I'm just noticing it more, or stuff is unusually tough this year.
I do know my own inclination is to hunker and pretend I'm not noticing it. Because what, after all, can I really do for any of these people?
Does it help to have somebody say: I see what you are going through? I really, really see it? You are not invisible to me?
When I was going through the darkest times, I got some material assistance from some very unexpected sources, and I will always be deeply grateful for that.
I'm not in a position to offer material assistance to anyone, though. Wish I were. I'd divvy up that Lotto check in a thousand ways.
Anyway, I do see; I do bear witness.
And it's an almost physical pain to see people I care about going through this kind of shit.
On that note – just completed Hayden Herrera's justly celebrated bio of Frida Kahlo. What that poor woman went through is unbelievable. I doubt very much that Kahlo would have become an artist if she weren't sublimating, though. She never seemed to take her painting very seriously; it was primarily a distraction, an activity that helped kill the time she spent strapped to her bed.
Ask the oyster: Is art worth the amount of pain you have to feel to create it? Is it possible to make art without feeling pain?
More hunkering on the agenda this morning.
This afternoon, I'm meeting Swain 2 at a local pizza and beer joint. I feel like getting shit-faced drunk, but knowing me, I probably won't.
I'm not sure if this is "same as it always was" and I'm just noticing it more, or stuff is unusually tough this year.
I do know my own inclination is to hunker and pretend I'm not noticing it. Because what, after all, can I really do for any of these people?
Does it help to have somebody say: I see what you are going through? I really, really see it? You are not invisible to me?
When I was going through the darkest times, I got some material assistance from some very unexpected sources, and I will always be deeply grateful for that.
I'm not in a position to offer material assistance to anyone, though. Wish I were. I'd divvy up that Lotto check in a thousand ways.
Anyway, I do see; I do bear witness.
And it's an almost physical pain to see people I care about going through this kind of shit.
On that note – just completed Hayden Herrera's justly celebrated bio of Frida Kahlo. What that poor woman went through is unbelievable. I doubt very much that Kahlo would have become an artist if she weren't sublimating, though. She never seemed to take her painting very seriously; it was primarily a distraction, an activity that helped kill the time she spent strapped to her bed.
Ask the oyster: Is art worth the amount of pain you have to feel to create it? Is it possible to make art without feeling pain?
More hunkering on the agenda this morning.
This afternoon, I'm meeting Swain 2 at a local pizza and beer joint. I feel like getting shit-faced drunk, but knowing me, I probably won't.
