There has been quite a bit floating through my mind these days and while written communication has never really been difficult I’ve been finding it hard to communicate verbally lately, like the connection between my mouth and brain has been severed, maybe thats a good thing. I listen to customers all day, talking about stupid shit, about being too fat, about not living life with fervor because they cant get past size, and while I’m usually up for giving the fatties pep talks and sending them into the world outfitted not only with style but with sense of self-worth, these days I cant wait for my shift to be over so I can mosey to my car, throw in my tunes and just drive allowing my own thoughts to kind of melt away….
A few days ago my cousin mentions to me that she’s noticed I havent painted since I’ve been home, a few days prior I had walked into the garage to look for a few things from my storage and I stood there, inhaling dust looking at my work, forgotten in the garage, huge panes of thick glass painted and glued and smudged and dripping with my thoughts, outlines of bodies, and streaks of iridescent medium, and suddenly I feared I wouldnt be able to do it again, I feared the emotions that would seep through my hands and onto my work. Because I havent been painting, this highway that my emotions usually filter through has been shut down, its been interesting watching life play out, Patsy Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight” comes to mind, instead of searching for lost love, I’m searching for myself. Dramatic much?
I havent been to the MOCA since I’ve been home, which is tragic, especially because they are closed and preparing for their newest installation, a retrospective of the collectives work dating back to 1940, the MOCA Grand Ave is showing work from 1940-1980 and then the MOCA Geffen is showing 1980 to present. We’re talking over 6,000 pieces of modern art history for your viewing pleasure, we’re talking about a collection that is internationally regarded as one of the most important collections of postwar art in the world, we’re talking Pollock, Claes Oldenburg, Robert Rauschenberg, Mark Rothko, and one of my absolute faves Diane Arbus. I’m also hoping they choose to show pieces from WHACK!, the femist exhibition from last year, which was stunning, maybe a little Takashi Murakami, even. If you’d like to come with, let me know, even if I dont have a partner in crime for the visit, I’ll visit alone, the scope of this project is amazing, and I’m really proud that LA is finally establishing itself as a center of contemporary art. November 15th.
I remember when art became life support to me, I was with my deviously handsome punk rock boyfriend in St. Petersburg when I walked into the Salvador Dali museum for the first time and I came face to face with the work of an artist I had admired for years, even still I remember the smell, algal blooms had brought red tide to St. Pete, floating through the museum there were often moments where I had to sit down and catch my breath because I literally felt like I could not breathe in the presence of something so humbling, like the weight of his work was pressing down on my lungs begging me to acknodwlge how important his work was in my life, I remember my eyes glazing over, and tears forming, and I remember thinking that I could never live my life without falling in love with art, in every form, everyday, I felt similar viewing Roy Lichtenstein, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Jackson Pollack, Mark Rothko, and Jasper Johns all for the first time, like the ultimate in foreplay, making my heart race, the hairs on my neck standing at attention, pupils dilated, low gasps and growls of excitement…..
So, I dont know where life goes from here, and while stenciling Downtown might not be the answer to healing, it helps me to feel things I sometimes forget, I think I need a giant sticky note for life…..