Summer 1970? Well… in my heart, anyhow. First day of summer Barefoot Justine selfies… sunny, brilliant, barefoot, wind on the lake, and high on the James Gang! Peace.
And remember, pot don’t kill people, guns kill people!
Yep, it’s rolled around again! That time of year (my birthday, Jan. 14th) when I reflect on what it means to have successfully navigated another year wholly and purely barefoot.
Well, to start, WOW!
It’s cold, as usual on my birthday, so I got dressed this morning in a pair of favorite bell bottoms, an undershirt and big cozy blue sweater covered in shiny stars. I, of course, wear my usual array of baubles, bells and bangles, and of course necklaces with Ganesh and Shiva on them, but also, around my ankles, anklets, and a pair of leg warmers, which do a lot to keep my feet warm. Lately at night it has gotten a little below freezing, but not much colder than the fifties during the day, days that are easier by far on bare feet than the winters I left in Ohio. Though I still hate the cold with as much weather-resentment as I dare hold on to now that I am in Florida. I was thankful that this is about as bad as it gets as I stepped out onto the cold bricks towards my car.
My first stop, the local Indian restaurant, the buffet has become an almost daily part of my diet. I have been learning to speak Hindi, so I start off my day chatting in Hindi with one of the waiters, who has taken it upon himself to let me practice my sloppy Hindi on him. Funny, a couple years back I was told customers had been complaining about my bare feet… moronic customers who not only cannot mind their own business, but are wholly ignorant of the laws. It took some convincing, but they eventually welcomed me back, and I have become more than a regular, a friend. I’m proud to say I have been close to many of the Indians who work there, and that we have not only enjoyed hanging out together, but have helped each other out quite a lot. This place is warm to me, friendly, and altogether my favorite place in Gainesville, apart from my home and SAW.
It’s cold in my little studio in the back of SAW (the comics school where I work), but my space heater makes it cozy within minutes, which is good as I have a lot of work to do. Soon my feet are warm and I am deep into the little Wind In the Willows and Winnie the Pooh type world I am creating for a proposed animation project that will help educate people, especially children, about the Florida Springs and our water. It’s a project that excites me, not merely because of the lovely theme and characters I am creating, but because it will get me in good graces with prominent environmentalists, good people, real good people. I am establishing strong and deep roots here, which I want, as this is the place I chose to call my home. This place, this town, this school, my room, are the only places I have ever chosen as my home. Finally, I am settling down.
All day students are wishing me a happy birthday as I ramble about the school, the chilly linoleum underfoot. It’s essential, to any hardcore barefooter, to find a job that will allow us to be authentic, so essential to me as I have designed my life around being barefoot, and I have been now, for far more than the last 4 years in which I really started counting. In fact, in the Hindu sense, in this manifestation, I have never worn shoes, nor am I merely a person who does not wear shoes, I am barefoot, and as we all learned in “Barfuss,” there is a difference.
Finally, the deadline met, I took off towards the bookstore to get a diary for my Hindi lessons, as I have been being tutored in Hindi and Urdu. As seems to happen more often than not these days, people don’t hassle me for being barefoot, perhaps it’s because I look them in the eye. After handling every diary and journal in two stores, the diary I chose had a Kay Nielsen cover.
Javed called as I was shopping (my student, Hindi tutor, and friend) to ask if I wanted to go out for ice cream for my birthday, but in classic Javed fashion, there were complications… fortunately, also in classic Javed fashion, the complications led to a better plan: to go shopping, make a spaghetti dinner, get tea for chai (made from scratch, of course), get cake, and watch a Bollywood movie. I stood in the kitchen and put together the meal, and then we enjoyed “Dedh Ishqiya…” stupendous film, by the way. And all in all, a fine birthday, as I had feared I was going to be spending it cakeless and alone.
Bollywood has become my latest passion. I’ve not only been going to a local theater here in town that actually runs Bollywood films, but I’ve been buying DVD’s as well. Dedh Ishqiya, which Javed and I just watched, what a film, I’d like to talk about it for a moment. On the surface the movie seems to be about a pair of criminals and conmen (very much in the style of Firefly), but soon it takes some turns and becomes a movie about women seeking release, and particularly about one woman seeking both a release and a return to who she is and not who the culture might force her to be. Madhuri Dixit is in the film, one of Bollywood’s best, an actress and dancer full of finesse and emotion. She is aging delightfully, though hardly old. Bollywood, a little like Hollywood, seems to prefer it’s women super young, so such a juicy role for Madhuri was a real delight. In the film she has become a rather formal aristocrat, rather like aging actresses become, but there is more to her. Due to her romantic interest, she is encouraged to dance… and what a glorious moment it is to see Madhuri being who she still is… a dancer, a beautiful woman! The camera zooms in close on her silky bare feet as she repeats the exact moves we had all seen in a famous dance scene from one of her earlier films… what a triumph! Madhuri’s character wants this, she wants out of this formal life, and wants to run free and return to her dancing, to her sense of self and not the sense of self derived from societies expectations that aging actors and artists become elderly statesmen. It was inspiring, especially in light of my own reflections on being a year older. In the end the film seemed rather like a tribute, a poem to Madhuri Dixit. My heart soared for her.
So, 4 years barefoot. What does that mean? The same thing it means every year, that it’s possible to live barefoot, and there is no need to entertain the thought of conforming or submitting. It means we can live the life we create if we are bold enough to commit to it, if we are strong enough to say “NO” time and again to those who would deprive us of our true selves. I even navigated a situation with a surgeon who I thought was really going to give me a run for my money on this account, but he seems to have backed off. Yes, gang, I went through a surgery this year (involving my face.. it was a nightmare), and all barefoot. I didn’t think I was going to pull all that off, but did. When the surgeon gave me a hard time about it, I simply told him that I had survived cancer in Korea, and a near-drowning in Thailand, and that I had promised myself ever since that I would not conform or submit ever again… I WILL see my vision of my life through, and in that vision I am barefoot. He looked like he wanted to stand his ground, but he backed off, and seems rather content teasing me about it instead. Perhaps I have won him over. Perhaps he is wise as well as a gifted surgeon.
“Solitude scares me. It makes me think about love, death, and war. I need distraction from anxious, black thoughts.”
Why is it so important that I stay barefoot? There are many reasons, the main one simply being because it is important to me, and that is all the reason I really need. There are also reasonable explanations, and one being that I have a very busy mind, one that tends to chase rabbits into some pretty dark holes, but being barefoot grounds me, keeps my mind on the eternal now. When I am barefoot a part of me is experiencing the sensuality of the world, of my flesh, and of my very being, and all of that helps keep me out of my head… connected to life, to where the real stories are being told. My head is full of illusions, my feet forever in touch with life and living!
What were the highlights this year? I guess getting away with the surgery situation… I thought I had been up against my Waterloo on that one, especially when I had to enter that hospital. Ultimately that one won battle really only convinced me that I need have no fear that anyone can force me to do anything no matter the situation. The problem is, the machine is BIG, you know the machine, the one that tries to suck everyone into its monolithic vision of how things must be, the “THOU SHALTS” and “THOU SHALT NOTS” that are as set in stone as the tablets Moses brought down from the mountain, those blockages in people’s minds that convince them that this or that may not or cannot be done. The constructs of the culture… the bullshit and madness everyone else calls normalcy and reality, which I have learned is nothing more than a logjam of bullshit everyone protects as if civilization itself depends upon it. Hey, guys, break that logjam loose and watch how much more freely the water flows! But no, we are all too afraid that free flowing water will bury our constructs under a flood, a dangerous flood of new ideas and sensual experiences. We are all too afraid of not being protected from ourselves, from true freedom. Well I can tell you, I do not need the constructs of the culture protecting me, I need it to get the fuck out of my way.
But that is the culture’s job, isn’t it, to civilize the wild things… the wild women? Being barefoot is wild, and threatening to those who need society to create and demand submission to its constructs.
What else have I done? I had a nice trip to the Hindu Temple in Orlando. This was another of those lone roadtrips where I hopped barefoot into a car and took off. While the temple itself was great, and while it was magnificent to see Lord Ganesh in all his glory again, the rest of the experience was not so grand, still, barefoot roadtrips are fab. I had another one of those about a month back when I got into the car to go to Jacksonville with some friends (see more on that in a post I put up a few weeks ago).
I also attended the ballet I worked on. That was quite a delight, getting myself all dressed up and sitting in such a cultural moment stoned and barefoot… what a joy! Earlier this year I attended a similar event, a play, and noticed one woman scandalized, she stared at my feet then scurried off to get her husband so she could point to me and my feet… I mean, how weird is that? It’s a rhetorical question, but the answer is… pretty damn weird.
I think the big lesson this year was partially realized just last night, right on my birthday as we were watching our latest Bollywood movie, as my hand slid down over my toes, and as I enjoyed the sensuality of the feel of my own silky topsides and the warm fleshy underside of my toes, as well as the leathery flesh on my soles. This physical body can be a source of pleasure, a source of connection to this experience of being here now, that of being alive. It seems I sometimes forget that, sometimes take it all too much for granted. And in the end, isn’t that what being barefoot is all about? Being connected to my physicality, being sensually aware? I suppose this is a rather long-winded way of saying that being barefoot is the heartbeat of my own hedonism, and that sometimes I take it for granted. That’s really the thing, isn’t it… to learn not to take things for granted, to keep our favorite experiences fresh. And it’s not easy, keeping our joys fresh and our appreciation for them ever-flowing. It’s very easy to forget.
I woke up this morning, the day after my birthday, and realized I still had a few things to say about this, so for a while I wrote a little of what you read above, all the while, thanks to the magic of DVD’s, Bardot was being her fabulous wild barefoot self in “And God Created Woman,” and I began to consider how easy it is to lose track of why I do this. The truth is… it’s a buzz… a sensual high, sure it distracts me from my busy mind, sure it’s who I am and what I’m about, but at the end of the day, what it’s really about is the titillation. Yep, that is the truth of the matter, and it’s why I am not on any of the barefoot lifestyle boards, because for me this is most definitely an extension and expression of my sexuality… much as it was for Bardot. Is it a fetish? Perhaps… but it doesn’t matter. It is life, it is a pleasure, and you can call it what you will.
There is one aspect of all this living barefoot that most people might not fully understand, the physiological. My feet have changed, even changed shape. The supple leathery hide of my soles being only the most obvious change. Now that they have been freed from the binding and malforming confines of shoes, they have spread out, particularly my toes. My toes have become not only much more spread out, but vaguely more rubbery. I’m not certain I’ve had a cold or flu since I started living this way. I’m not certain of the science of it, but I know I am stimulating pressure points, invigorating my circulation, and I know we absorb things through our soles. I believe I absorb inert viruses and my body fights them off, like flu vaccinations. The changes have all been for the better… just like the changes in my life. To be quite honest, I have gained far more than I have lost in being so honest and authentic about who I am and what I want. People respond more positively to me now, things happen more readily for me now, and I have become a tad superstitious. My life was not working back when I was conforming and submitting to so many expectations, now it works better, so like hell if I’m going to change, if I’m going to strap boards or bacteria incubators to my feet.
At the moment I am sitting in my studio, my belly full of veggie and shrimp tempura and veggie fried rice from my favorite Thai restaurant (Wahaha), another of those lovely places where I am welcome barefoot. Here now I am very aware of the sounds of Paul McCartney’s deep catalog work playing away in the background, my brave little space heater warming the place up, and of my ever bare feet, a lovely little chill dancing about my toes. And that’s what I want, to be… aware, aware of the music I play, aware of the pleasure of being barefoot… moreso, aware of the intense pleasure of truly being wholly barefoot, of not owning shoes, and of all the lovely adventures I’m going to continue having.
Below… that’s me, smiling away in my studio…
So, here’s to years of pleasure, of adventures, hope, joy, and hopefully this will be the year the right man comes along. Well… hope springs eternal.
“If I go to a restaurant, other people stare. The meal is ruined.”
“I wanted to be myself. Only myself.”
“I tried to make myself as pretty as possible and even then I thought I was ugly. I found it madly difficult to go out, to show myself.”
“What does it mean, being a woman?”
“Men are beasts and even beasts don’t behave as they do.”
“I say what I think and I think what I say.”
“You can be barefoot and have worries.”
“Solitude scares me. It makes me think about love, death, and war. I need distraction from anxious, black thoughts.”
“People are forever finding something wrong with you.”
Question: So what happens when a flat-broke comic book artist/illustrator and teacher is asked to create set designs for the ballet?
Answer: She does it.
Sounds easy, but the truth is when I got the call from Kim Tuttle at Pofahl Studios to create set designs for their upcoming production of the ballet “A Haunted Swan Lake,” (to be performed at the The Philips Center here in Gainesville), I felt my heart leap… and for 2 reasons. Firstly, I needed the work: secondly, I had NO idea what I was doing! And I don’t mean at the initial stage, I mean all through the project, at each step, I had to overcome over and over again, the reality that I had no idea what I was doing. I had never designed or painted sets. However, as a veteran creative professional, if I’ve learned anything it is that when I’m thrown into water over my head its better to learn to swim than to get out and shiver. I’d say I’ve learned to fake it, but the truth is, I’ve been at this a long time, and I’ve come to realize that all of these situations are just challenges, and challenges I’ve proven to be up to enough times that I never let on to the client that I feel in over my head. This chin-up confidence has yet to fail me.
For this special Halloween performance they needed to jazz up their set, make it different. My job was going to be turning their pre-existing castle backdrop into a haunted castle, and, of course, all this would have to be done on a budget and within the limits of ballet staging. This budget bit seems to be the challenge of the modern era, how to create something dramatic while getting the most bang for your buck. Actually, it’s not easy, but having been a long time fan of pioneering exploitation filmmakers like Jean Rollin and Jess Franco, I have come to realize that financial limitations can often provide a framework within which real creative work can get done. It seems it’s easy to get lost in a big budget.
First thing that happened was a meeting in which I got a look at the pre-existing backdrop that they had been using in “Robin Hood.” It was a nice castle backdrop, and it provided a spiffy framework from which to create my designs. The next step was that Kim Tuttle took me to her warehouse and showed me where all her props, costumes, and so forth were stored… WOW… what a place! It was jam packed full of objects that had been created for past performances, rather like a dusty, dark and abandoned Wonderland. I took tons of pics of things that I thought I might be able to recycle. Plus, seeing her warehouse clued me in on what her expectations and potential limitations might be. When beginning a job like this any and all information is good. I learned in that warehouse what the limitations and possibilities might be.
She also showed me this tapestry she had bought to hang in the center of the castle backdrop, it was a cool skull, but the problem with it was that it was out of place, too modern, and I really didn’t want to have to work around it, but initially I tried.
The first thing I did was scribble a quick sketch into my diary over lunch, just to get me past the intimidation and to get my juices flowing. At this stage I wasn’t expecting any magic, nor for anything truly useful to happen other than my getting over the fear of the blank page. When starting on a journey like this I can get pretty overwhelmed, even intimidated to the point where the simple act of taking a first baby step is enough to get me past my fear and on to the act of creating.
It didn’t amount to much, nor was it meant to.
As usual, before the real work began, I did plenty of research, assembling a pile of images of ruins and haunted castle stage props, old horror movies and so on. I could not possibly stress enough how crucial the research stage is. I had even gone so far as to research stage design.
After that I sat down in my studio at SAW to come up with 3 initial sketches in an attempt to work out what my concept for the stage design would be, trying to work in sometimes conflicting influences from old Universal Horror films, German Expresssionist films, and so forth, as well as influence from the research I had done. I have to admit one of my biggest sources of inspiration were the original “Imagineers” who designed all those marvelous rides at Disney, from the Haunted Mansion to the Pirates Of the Caribbean. The first of the sketches played off the idea that she wanted the setting to be decadent, so I went with a table covered opulently in food and candles, all set along the back. Oh… and they had a pre-exsting staircaise they wanted to use, so I used it with the idea that we would create a facade to cover it and make it look like the stone stairs of a castle, that was perhaps the only idea that survived my original sketches.
Oh… this sketch was probably most influenced by “Son Of Frankenstein.”
My next attempt was essentially an effort to include that tapestry she had bought on-line, not so much that I wanted to use it, as that I wanted her to see that I respected her request that I try. Also notice that I was already thinking about using gargoyles of some kind… which was the seed of one of the more important ideas to come.
You will notice, that as is customary for me, I was using ballpoint pens and markers at this stage.
The third attempt seemed also to fall rather flat for me, but a key element, in many ways the focal point, had finally come to me, the ruined web-like fabric that would surround what I then thought would be the tapestry she had bought. Though the stairs were the first element to survive, that fabric framing the tapestry (which would soon change) was the pivotal element. But what she really got excited about was that I pitched that besides the show-stopping centerpiece (the skull and fabric), it would be flanked by a pair of gargoyle swans to symbolize both the white and black swans of Swan Lake, which you can see here in embryonic form.
Neither of us were thrilled with any of the above work, but the truth was, I hadn’t intended her or I to be thrilled, I just wanted to get some concepts before her and get some feedback. Sometimes when I’m working with a client who has laid an extremely open-ended opportunity before me, or when I’m working on something I don’t really know much about, I tend to start simple just to figure out where the client’s head is at, and to figure out what I’m capable of. Often open-ended assignments aren’t all that open-ended, they are often riddled with traps, and not knowing what the client is really looking for can be a problem. After this meeting I had figured out what was what and I came up with another sketch based upon the wisdom through our discussions over the prior 3 sketches.
The following sketch (directly above) is literally a tracing from the sketch above it. Now that I had the idea, I had needed to tighten the earlier sketch up into something clearly readable, hence the tracing. By the time I got to this sketch all the elements that were to be part of the final stage design are evident: a resolved focal point in the skull and fabric, the swan gargoyles, a cool fully realized design for the stairs (utilizing a coffin shape), and a couple elements we ultimately excluded. I had no intention of letting this be the final drawing, but when I told Kim, after her enthusiastic approval, that I was going to do a tighter drawing, she looked puzzled and asked what was wrong with this drawing?
Well… nothing, I guess.
As you may not be able to tell at this point, I had decided to opt out of using the storebought tapestry and pitched instead the concept that I would paint the skull backdrop myself (what was I thinking? I didn’t know how to paint!) Add to this that I incorporated skeletal swans as the horns on the skull to tie it all together. I realized that concept (the swans) would carry the set design thematically around the focal point of the fabric-framed painting.
One other element I really liked in the above sketch were the chains. The painting and drapery would have to be hung with chain, and so I decided to work in hanging and drooping chains that would play off the drapery.
The next stage was creating a mock-up of the final centerpiece, the skull and fabric elements. This sketch was originally rather loose, as I had intended to redo a much tighter version of it, but since she had approved of the looseness of the set design sketch, I instead sat down with a red pen and marker and black felt tip pens and simply tightened up the sketch enough that it would suffice, and what happened was a sketch I rather like. This sketch was to become the guiding light for not only the painting, but the drapery.
You may notice that the sketch above looks rather abused, torn, stained and so forth. That is because it was there when I painted the final painting, and it was there when the drapery was being created. The sketch is like an old soldier who has seen a lot of action.
At this point I had also begun designing the newel post statuary as well as the swan gargoyles. I researched Rodin sculptures for the newel post, and went directly to the source for the swan gargoyles… Notre Dame cathedral. What I noticed there were that the gargoyles had very clean spacial sculptural lines that made them highly distinctive. The forms of the gargoyles at Notre Dame were deliciously stylized into a graphic abstraction that now seems almost ahead of its time.
Kim called in a sculptor, and he agreed to take on the swans, but decided he didn’t have time for the newel post, so that element got canned, but our sculptor entusiastically got down to work on the swans. He loved the designs. The first I saw of the swans were the works in progress below, all sculpted by Paul Costanza.
Below are the nearly finished swans on their pedastals, the only thing missing is one of them had to be black, so below you will see the black one in all its finished glory. Needless to say I was thrilled with the outcome. He really captured the sketches I had turned in, and without misinterpreting a single thing. I’ve rarely ever turned my work over into the hands of another artist without being disappointed, Paul Costanza did not disappoint me at any turn.
The next step was to work out the exact size and dimensions of the painting and drapery elements. Kim had me over to the studio where we laid the HUGE backdrop out in one of the rehearsal studios, and we began measuring and plotting. It seemed every time we took a measurement, Kim would shake her head and insist the painting and fabric be bigger… and biGGer… and BIGGER, which frankly scared me as I had no idea how to paint, let alone how to paint a huge expressive and powerful skull! Below are the series of sketches and notes I took regarding the measurements.
You’ll also note in the sketch above that we had this problem of the backdrop showing in an awkward way over the top of the painting and drapery, so in the margins I began creating possible solutions to that problem, but in the end that problems seemed to have resolved itself.
At this point I had to call in some people. Firstly I needed a real painter to help me get going on the skull, and secondly I needed someone to create the tattered fabric element that was going to frame the painting. The first person I thought of was the very person who secured this job for me, fabulous local painter and person… Margaret Tolbert. Her work and the things she concerns herself with in her work could not possibly be further from the art world in which I inhabit, but I knew that what she did would mesh perfectly with what I could do in this situation. The fabric was another problem entirely, and in the end I turned to Tomis Aycock, a local artist and eccentric. I’d seen Tomis work on the most peculiar projects, and having seen the way he works (in a state of wholly immersed childlike wonder), I knew he would get the drapery right.
But before I turned all this over to Tomis, Margaret and I had to hang this monster 14 foot canvas (with a 10 foot image area) in the industrial building SAW is connected to. To tell the truth, as we stood poised to paint that thing, staring at the *B*L*A*N*K* canvas I began to have a bit of a panic attack. I think the first thing I said, standing there brush in hand, was “I have no idea what I’m doing…”
Margaret was a rock. She was not at all concerned about it, and never got impatient with me no matter how freaked out I got. Just trying to draw the basic form of that skull on something so damn huge was an ordeal. No matter what I did, every time I stood back and looked at it, the form was eluding me, it looked wonky as hell on all fronts. I was practically in tears as I tried to torture the form out of that blank canvas, and if it weren’t for Margaret, to tell the truth, I may have had a breakdown. She was more than a pro, more like my painting guru. She just maintained her confidence in not only herself but me. She gave me pointers, and finally, I’m almost ashamed to admit it, I almost pushed her out of the way once I had it. All at once, like a miracle, I could see the form, I could see the skull, I went at it frantically, saying, “I can see it… I can see it!” and soon it was all there. Funnily, I had hurt my foot in all this wild enthusiasm, having jumped a little too hard off the ladder, being barefoot, I had also managed a splinter or two, and by the time I got home my big toe was all bruised. Proud battle scars… well, no scars, but still.
But form was only the half of it, I now had to learn to paint expressively, wildly, had to use long brushes and go at it. Margaret did get frustrated with the way I was using the brush, and finally said to me, “Say something!” Meaning… the marks I was making were timid and terrified, and she wanted me to let loose and move some serious paint around. Soon, what had become terrifying became brilliant fun, and we nailed that painting in several hours, from blank canvas to finish in one early evening. Thank you Margaret!
While it’s a bit of a spoiler, the above pic doesn’t really do justice to the 10 foot painting, so below is an image of how it looked on stage in Ocala. Magic…
Quite an impact. Now, with that underway, I got Tomis going on the fabric, showing him what I was after in my research. I showed him ruins and old drapes, and set him to work figuring it out. I tend to be a control freak about my work, but in this case I knew that I was in over my head with this fabric and that it would be best to let Tomis figure out how to torture and tatter the fabric. To my surprise, in the end, he used a torch to burn the fabric… it looked amazing… so decadent and ruinous.
Meanwhile Kim had a carpenter working away on the facade for the stairs (which I would have to paint to look like stone). At this point I began to realize what an undertaking this was, and just how much I was overseeing. It blew my mind to be in such a position where so many HUGE things were coming to life based upon my rather humble sketches. To tell the truth, it was about as close to being a “grown up” as I have ever felt. I’ve never had a team of people working on my seeing my vision through to reality, a carpenter, a painter, a sculptor, and Tomis on the fabric.
Time was wasting and the performance dates were drawing close. We had 2 shows, one in Ocala, and one here in Gainesville at the beatuiful Philips Center. I still had one last element that I had to tackle, the painting of the facade on the stairs. I decided to call in a SAW student to help me, Javed, and yes… I paid him. As we stood in front of those steps with our sponges and paint I must have said a half dozen times, “I have no idea what I’m doing.” It was difficult to instruct Javed until I knew what I was doing. Fortunately I had seen the backdrop, so I knew a pointilistic sponge texture would do. About a half hour into it, it started to take shape and Javed said “I thought you didn’t know what you were doing?” As I said at the beginning, I’ve been at this a while, and most things are within my reach, which is why I have been so readily taking on jobs I’ve never done before.
Ah… that day I did make the one big mistake all artists dread. We had beverages in cups, and had filled a mop bucket full of water for the paint brushes. So feverish into the process was I that I lost track of my water cup and took a big drink out of our dirty mop-bucket paint-water! I knew what I had done right away and did a spit-take worthy of Lucille Ball, Javed laughing away in the background. In the end I not only showed Javed how to paint stairs to look like stone for a set, but how to change a tire… my car had a flat when we went to leave, and being an old-fashioned girl, like hell if I was going to change that tire with a man around.
As a final note on this, one element about the stairs that upset me was that the wooden dungeon door we’d had crafted did not show from the audience. That was brilliant. I had Javed paint the slats of the door black, then I went over them with a paint-gobbed brush and drew lines in the wet paint to pull out the wood grain, revealing the black underneath.
Javed took a couple pics of the stairs, one before, and one after:
And one image of the stairs on stage (see what I mean about the wooden door being hidden?) Notice also the scar on the stair where some stagehand had scraped the hell out of it.
Finally the big night was upon us, and Javed and I cleaned ourselves up and went to the Ballet. I have to admit, as I entered the hall I was pretty impressed with myself for being part of it. We sat in the third row with nothing between me and my work… all of our work, but a curtain, and I could not wait for it to part so I could finally see it all together.
Oh… I opened the program to see how I was credited… they had misspelled my name. Shrug.
When the curtains parted, there it was, my stage design, bathed in light and color and music, and my jaw dropped. It was beautiful, impressive, dark, everything I had hoped it would be, and I leaned into Javed and said: “I did this!” The lighting really brought it all to life, and the few alterations Kim had to make to satisfy the staging situations were perfect (for example, more drapery was added, and the painting was raised higher than expected… note how hard the super cool chains are to see). Mostly what impressed me was what a great tone and atmosphere the design and lighting had created, and how well it sunk into the music.
TO SEE THEM IN THEIR FULL-SIZE GLORY… CLICK TO ENLARGE…
As stunned as I was by the site of it all on stage, it wasn’t until the ballet started that I really got it. I was a cog in a magnificent wheel, classical music, classically trained dancers, a gorgeous hall full of people, and my humble sketches brought to life to house it all. A lot of work for a few brief moments in the spotlight.
I leaned into Javed and said, “You know… it only took me 5 hours to do the design work.”
When the curtains closed on the first act I was rather stunned how transient it all seemed. Here I was, a career illustrator, used to seeing my work in print for years to come, and now… it was gone, just a memory.
But it was all worth it, and I realized that just like the dancers, I had to walk away and start the next project.
And so I have.
If I were on Facebook these are the pics I would post to show everyone that my life is more full of carefree fun, great food, and friends than yours… after all, isn’t that the sole purpose of Facebook, to convince everyone that you are having more fun than they are… oh, and to share fucking cat pics? But this isn’t Facebook, this is life. And life is more complicated than a tweet or glamorous self-mythologizing FB post, isn’t it? Certainly it is more full of questions. I have one…
So what do you do when you’ve suffered a loss, when you’ve walked away from a crumbling source of comfort and you need to let go and move on? Me, I got together with a group of friends and went to the beach, you know, like Gidget would. WWGD… What Would Gidget Do?
I’ve been struggling with a lot of anxiety and sadness lately, and more than a little anger, all over a friend I’ve known for many years. To be honest, I feel like I was handed a shit sandwich. It hurt, but I decided not to wallow in it, to get up and go. I have called in all my friends so we could get together and go do things, so they could come over and I could not be alone. Right now being alone would be death… or at least a really bad stomach flu.
Rather than curl up in the fetal position under my covers and wish I had a bottle of Black Velvet, I decided that the best revenge is living well, but I guess it’s not really a “revenge” situation, so let’s go with: “the best recovery is living well.” I’ve decided to change my life, stop fighting this hopeless situation I found myself in, and let go. I spoke to Ganesh and asked him to remove all obstacles between me and letting go, between me and healing the heartbreak. Taking part in my own obstacle removal, I’ve been traveling to Temples, meditating, and going out with friends, beyond that I am hoping to enroll in dance or language classes. I am coping by moving on and not looking back, no pining, no longing, and why should I? Not when I can go out and do this instead…
I look goofy as hell in that pic… but what the hell, at least my smile is huge. I mean… really, I look dreadfully wonky, but dreadfully happy, too.
Yesterday was just the climax of several days of starting over. Sunday I went to the Krishna Temple (there’s no Hindu Temple nearby), and had a lovely time. Monday I spent the day with Tanya shopping, eating and seeing “Star Wars” (Tanya’s also from the Indian restaurant where I seem to find not only curry, but all my friends). Tuesday my ex-student and friend Jenny came over to indulge our Simpson’s fanaticism, and yesterday Wilson, Niyama and I (all of whom I know from the restaurant) decided to go see former Andaz employee Punit, who is working in Jacksonville. What a day!
Without resorting to generalizations… oh hell, I’m going to resort to generalizations… I’m finding that it has been easier for me to talk to and relate to Indians. Why? Well, many reasons, but their culture, even for the non-Hindus among them, seems to open them up more, seems to make them more comfortable with duality, contradictions, and especially high emotion… and I am full of all three. Wanna see evidence of my generalization, just check out any Bollywood film… talk about emotional! I’ve noticed that in most Western films men only cry when it’s pivotal, and they can usually man-themselves-up and get out of it by getting angry and shooting someone. In Bollywood films, the men just cry when they need to, simple as that.
For a start Wilson, Niyama and I had a long drive to Jacksonville, and since I sat up front with her, Niyama and I had the chance to get to know each other better. Even though I live (and have all my adventures) barefoot, there’s still something exciting about getting into a car as a passenger barefoot and going off on a little road trip. Somehow it seems more adventurous and liberating when I’m not driving.
I realized I was in my element when they put on some music. Now, this is the part where I usually get vaguely miserable as I hate most of the music the people around me play, especially Hip Hop derivative American pop, Punk or Metal. No, not in this case, the music that came out was one of my Bollywood favorites, and each song after reminded me how out of place I feel in the shitty world of Western popular music. I even remember smiling and thinking, “Now these are my people.” I felt so wholly comfortable and engaged in who they were, where we were going, and what we were listening to.
We soon arrived at Punit’s place, and Wilson and Punit seemed to go off on their bromance, talking Hindi all the while, leaving Niyama and I the chance to bond. Personally, I loved that there was a small separation of the sexes, the men, Wilson and Punit, in one corner; the women, me and Niyama, in another, and all of it in good fun. That’s one more thing I don’t get about Westerners, this bit where the guys will treat a girl like one of the boys. I’m not one of the boys, I don’t wanna be one of the boys, I don’t want talked to like one of the boys, and around these guys I didn’t have to be treated that way, and I didn’t have to compete with them on that level… nope, no co-ed belching contests with these guys.
Punit has been a friend to me for some time, and even after he moved away to Jacksonville we have kept in touch. I think Punit and I bonded several months ago when he was struggling, so we’d take trips to the Temple. Getting to see him after so long was truly a treat. Punit is one of those lovely guys who has not let the child in him die… the man really knows how to play! And he knows how to draw that out of others without pushing them.
After struggling to get to lunch, we headed back to Punit’s and worked out what to do. In the end we decided to go to the beach. I’m not the biggest beach bum in the world, but once we got there and I looked out over the dunes to the open sky, I was totally at one with it. For the next hour or so we walked, talked and played, all barefoot in the sand.
I have to say, it was truly one of the more perfect days I’ve had in a very long time. I was able to simply give myself over to having fun, playing, and flowing with whatever was going on.
Unfortunately, in the middle of our fun, I walked off with Wilson and he informed me that he was moving on, probably to the Carolina’s. A tear rimmed my eye, but I just hugged him and told him how much I’d miss him. That’s the life of these guys who work in these restaurants, they seem to come and go, but I have to say that Wilson dumped the news on me in true Bollywood style, in a moment of joy with friends on a misty beach. That’s the way it should be done, isn’t it?
And speaking of the way it should be done, here we are, together, as I start over and refuse to give over to grief and anger, after all anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the darkside… I think Yoda may have said that. The Force, Karma, the Tao, whatever.
After our beach fun, we went out to the restaurant where Punit works and had the most amazing South Indian feast! The food was spicy and perfect, and thanks to Wilson, who remembered it was my favorite, we topped it all off with carrot pudding. It was hard going back to Punit’s place, knowing it was time to go, so we milled about in the parking lot for a good hour, hugs, kindness, and good fun, and for another day I forgot to hurt, and truly remembered what it feels like to be alive, to have friends, and to live a life.
but perhaps even better was the drive home in which Niyama and I really had a chance to get to talk and know each other, the overworked Wilson asleep in the back seat while we talked about art, culture and karma.
Best of luck Wilson, I’m really going t miss you! But thanks, thanks so much, and thanks for going out in such grand style, the way you told me will forever be as lovely a memory as our friendship. And the next time I’m going to say goodbye to someone, I’m going to make sure I do it at dusk on a beach.
Days like these mean a lot when you’ve had the blues. My little patio means a lot when I’ve had the blues. This breeze off the lake means everything. I’d go out on it in the blue kayak, but it’s just too windy to row against. It’d be fantastic, though, the waves on the lake rocking my little boat, spilling over around my heels.
Yeah, I’ve had the blues, mostly solitude, the loneliness of a divorced woman who had been married for a very long time and just can’t seem to find romance of any kind… (by the way, invitations to have anal sex do not constitute romance, guys). The man I really loved, months ago, decided to back off, and now my little “niece” (though in my heart she is more the baby sister I never had) is going away with mommy and daddy for a full month. I’m gonna miss little Molly’s smile, the heart-melting way she cries (like ice cream melting in mid July), and her warmth in those magical moments when she’s feeling shy or overwhelmed and she burrows into me to protect her. In those moments I become the lioness protecting her cubs, and there’s no room for anything else in my heart or mind but her needs. In those moments I know what clarity really means. Then of course there is the continuous chromatic drone of the exhausting battles and demons I fight day after day and year by year. I get worn down. But, as I drove into town today the big blue of the sky invited me to take stock of all I have. When the sky speaks to you, it’s best to listen, to answer, and follow the big blue wherever it needs to lead you.
I drove on under that very sky, past palm trees and Spanish moss, and knew I’d made it. I’m no longer in cloudy cold shithole Ohio, I’m in Florida, sunny Florida, exactly where I’ve always wanted to be. Nope, no California dreaming for me, no desire to go to Colorado or Washington to be in the mountains with all the other hippies, no, no thank you, I’ll take these swamps. You can have the mountain air, I’ll take the rich earthy air of the swamps and the deliciously fresh wet smell of the lake
I knew everything was going to be alright as I drove into the center of town, the taste of Indian food from Andaz on my mind, and the anticipation in knowing that I would be welcomed by my friends. Somehow it always seems a little easier with Indians, it seems to me they listen more, and are more comfortable with not only duality, but emotion–high emotion! Though, I know, I am generalizing. Of course, once I arrived the welcome was as sweet as ever, and the food spicy and everything I needed it to be, and the Masala Chai was perfect today, perfect for sipping and setting aside the noise in my head long enough to sigh and be grateful for each warm spice in the chai… oh, and for everything else. As I was paying my bill, one of the new guys came up and asked me if my fangs were original.
I said, “My fangs? These are just my teeth!” He smiled admiringly and told me I was lucky. I added that they make me look more like a tigress. I went to my car, sat and looked in the rearview mirror… I never really noticed, but sure enough, I do have fangs! I’ve always hated my teeth, crooked as hell, but I guess when perfectly normal canines are crooked enough to be turned ever so slightly outward they do indeed look like fangs. “Lucky?” I guess. This might explain the desire I have once in a while for certain people’s blood.
After admiring my fangs I went barefoot (of course) to one of my little weekly jobs, Badfinger blaring away in the background as I worked, rather like now.
The eagles have begun to speak. I can hear them in the trees. I live under the wings of bald eagles and walk the same ground dinosaurs (alligators) walk, and I just know if I sit here long enough the deer and wild turkeys will gingerly find their way across our lawn.
I had thought of going into town to my beautiful little studio to work, SAW, one more place I know that allows me to be my ever barefoot self, but the lake was calling me, and now that I am looking out over it, the eagles are calling me as well, inviting me to let go and fly. Though this silly pink body can’t fly, I don’t mind, I can let the wind and eagles do the flying for me, and the music, too.
In the background, my windows open, “Coppertone Blues” (from “7 Park Avenue”), the solo music of Pete Ham (of Badfinger) flies out my window on the wind, and I know what I am.
I am not my worries, not my loneliness, I am this… and this is me…
And I am home!
I am finally home.
And as I wind down, with little else to say, Pete Ham’s delicious “Dawn” fades down, and the wild psychedelia of “I’ve Been Waiting” reminds me that I need to take another hit and take a barefoot walk up the dirt road, after all, on a day like this, there’s only so much a computer has to offer.
I was napping. It was raining… and the power was out. The power had been out for some time already. Joe Courter knocked at the door and I thought he’d said he was going to sit in my patio–which isn’t a proper patio at all, it’s some lawn furniture under the exposed hallway that stretches from my room out at the edge of the woods to the rest of the house. It’s quite lovely, as something as simple as going to the kitchen for more water is an adventure like camping because, though there is an overhang, the hallway isn’t so much exposed as outdoors. Some nights I am greeted by choruses of frogs from the lake, other nights owls from the trees.
I got up and was surprised to find Joe sitting on my patio, I guess that part of me that was awake enough to hear him calling in from out my door hadn’t worked out that his announcement that he was going to be sitting on my patio meant he would be sitting on my patio in one of my green chairs. I sat with him and tried not to complain about how long the power had been out. It was dinner time and I was hoping to use the toaster oven. “Well,” I announced, getting up, “I’m making a turkey sandwich.” When I got to the kitchen I leaned out and asked if he wanted one. He did, I told him to sit tight, relax, I’d take care of it. I’m a tad old fashioned, and as unpopular as it may be, I enjoy cooking for the men in my life. To round out the orgy of self-realized sexist cliches… I was of course… barefoot.
But the power was out, which meant I had to get in and out of the fridge in one quick swoop… wheat bread, smoked turkey, pepper cheese, mayo, green pepper, spinach, onion, tomato, and no doubt a few things I had forgotten. I grilled the meat, peppers and onions under cheese, then put mayo, tomato, and spinach on the sandwich, cutting it attractively in that angular manner that always seemed a little uppity in the house where I grew up. A few sea salt and vinegar chips, and a small bowl of pineapple for desert. I have to say the sandwiches turned out fab, and as it turned out, thanks to the power outage, we were now sitting together and enjoying dinner on my patio. Something about the combination of melted pepper cheese over smoked turkey breast always excites me once I start eating it. It tasted even better out there overlooking the lake and listening to all the wildlife.
Finished, Joe suggested we go out on the lake in the kayaks, after all, there was no power, so there was no TV, no Facebook, no needless checks in on email. It sounded like a great idea.
It was perfect out on the lake, cooler by far than it has been, the moisture in the air was cooling rather than suffocating. As we paddled along we marveled at the mist hovering over the water along the shore like you might see in a photography print at an art fair. The lake was hot, hotter than the air, perhaps even hotter than my body temperature, and shallow too, it hasn’t rained much this year. I laid down in the boat to take a nap, or at least to rest.
A few moments into it and I realized that I hadn’t felt that relaxed in weeks! All that tension I had been carrying around was dissipating into the mist, hovering away, or vanishing into the air. Soon the distant traffic noises caught my ear. Seemingly they were a lot louder closer to the surface of the water, as I hadn’t noticed them when I was sitting up. Just as the sound was about to spoil it for me I smiled and felt thankful that I wasn’t out there on the road in some car going to pick up something as essential and unromantic as undergarments. Yes, things were good. We’d had a lovely meal, and now I was floating around on a lake realizing that there was nowhere I’d rather have been… especially in my room on my computer looking at nonsense on the internet. Maybe power outages aren’t all that bad after all. Well, this one wasn’t.
In grass and sand I find
The heart of me, no more,
No less than my mad moon,
Spinning silver off its core.
Tears assemble a reckless line,
In a watch without a hand,
Numbers shift upon the face,
No center, no time and no command.
When storm-waves swell I walk,
To grasp me and sea and sand,
When downpours flood my hollows,
I follow what I cannot see on land.
Barefoot for dread of all I was,
And all that I am not,
Skin to ground before, behind,
Broken bottles full of rot.
I forge my way most gracefully,
Perfumes coward my regret.
I am barefoot to remember,
Am barefoot to forget.