thirty threadbare mercies

The outward expression of an inward grace.

The Failure Club January 9, 2013

Filed under: Art,Artists,Inspiration,Loss,Parenting,Personal — rheabette @ 3:01 pm
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I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be an artist, and I keep returning to the importance of failure. To endure in creative pursuits, you have to become so comfortable with falling down and getting back up that you come to trust your failures as signposts, guiding you along the way.

failure and creativity

I came across this quote in an old favorite book of mine, and I instantly copied it down and stuck it on the kitchen wall in the corner that is currently doubling as my writing space:

“You have the right to work, but for the work’s sake only. You have no right to the fruits of your work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working. Never give way to laziness, either.
Perform every action with your heart fixed on the Supreme Lord. Renounce attachment to the fruits. Be even-tempered in success and failure; for it is this evenness of temper which is meant by yoga.
Work done with anxiety about results is far inferior to work done without such anxiety, in the calm of self-surrender. Seek refuge in the knowledge of Brahman. They who work selfishly for results are miserable.” — Bhagavad Gita

Much of that quote is mysterious to me, but it is a mystery that I want to live in. I currently have so many writing projects that I always have a deadline to meet, and I just want to dig in to the work, creating for art’s sake, not my own gain.

One of my main philosophies is that failure is good for the soul, and I got several chances to put that into action this week. I post a lot about things I am excited about, opportunities that have come my way to find new forms of expression. But since the point of all sharing, for me, is to be known, rather than to create some kind of “self brand”, I feel compelled to share my failures, as well.

I found out this week that a magazine issue that I submitted to is coming out, with no mention to me about my article, and silence always means they took a pass on it. And just yesterday I got an actual rejection letter for a reading series that I really wanted to be a part of. To be honest, I was just glad to hear from them one way or the other, since many publishers never bother to let you know.

Many books that we now consider classics were rejected upwards of 25 times: Stephen King’s Carrie, JK Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Catch 22… the list goes on and on. I’m not suggesting that I am at their caliber, but rather that the company of rejected writers is varied, lively, and well populated. So, I know that I am not alone, and that failure is an important part of the creative life. But it still stings, especially when it was something I really wanted, and/or a piece I love and want to find a home for, like trying to place a beloved pet you can no longer keep.

I’ve also been coming up against failure in my personal life — my husband has been felled with a really terrible virus for over a week, and I’ve had to take on many of the roles he usually does. Despite being a work-from-home mom, I’m really quite terrible at domestic pursuits. I’m a sad cook, and my housewife skills are quite lacking. There’s also many things I can’t physically do, like carry our week’s worth of laundry up the three flights of stairs to our apartment, or meet my writing deadlines while also getting Olive ready for the day.

Therefore, I’ve had to ask for help. And this, my friends, is one of the most beautiful things about failure. Without the experience of not being able to do everything perfectly in life, you’d never make space for others to step in and know the intimacy that arises when one person helps another.

This week, my friends have been so generous and specific in their support to our family. One couple offered to get us take out, and let us pick the place and order it ourselves, having it delivered right to our door. Another family paid for Olive to have a morning with their nanny, so I could clean the house and have a few moments to myself after a long week of caretaking two sick people. And a couple from church acted as chauffer yesterday, helping me pick up my sister and niece from the airport. Several friends watched Olive for small stints while I worked or ran errands impossible to do with a toddler.  In all of these instances, I felt respected, seen, and buoyed by their help.

Just today, it took me TWO ENTIRE HOURS to get my child to nap.  I kept putting my face in my hands, judging myself for the way I’ve chosen to sleep train, frustrated with her and with myself.  But I persisted.  And, she sleeps.

You may have noticed I mentioned in passing that my sister and niece are here, which is what made my daughter so excited that she had such trouble napping.  We are both overjoyed to have them here, and focusing on what I currently have — an unexpected gift in the form of a family visit — is helping me through a period in which I am tempted to look only at what I lack.

You see, I trust failure and I trust loss.  I often find more solace in them than I do in success and gain.  I’d love to balance that out, to find more of the even-temperedness the Bhagavad Gita argues for.  In the meantime, I’ll settle for feeling all of it, allowing space for doubt as well as gratefulness.

 

How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Mission October 1, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Community,Parenting,San Francisco,Toddlers — rheabette @ 8:04 am
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For the past year and a half, I’ve been doing a lot of grumbling about how quickly the neighborhood I’ve lived in for nearly a decade has been gentrified, and several months ago I began plotting our way out of it.

What we found was that we couldn’t leave.

The second wave tech boom that has flooded our ‘hood with $6 price tags on smoothies and more overpriced restaurants than you can shake a stick at has raised rents so high in the entire area that we couldn’t even move to another one-bedroom now, nevermind find a two-bedroom that would better fit our three person family. At first, this made me feel claustrophobic and rageful — 23 year olds with money to burn had taken over our artist’s enclave, and now I was stuck here to watch it die.

However, this summer I have felt rewarded by our decision to stay. First of all, two of the playgrounds that had been closed for renovation reopened. Some of those changes were great, some were problematic, but simply having those spaces available again has boosted the community of families in the neighborhood, and made me feel like I’ve found “my people”.

Olive and her buddy Jah Jah, playing drums at Mission Playground

Me teaching Ophie & Olive how to “surf” on their sideways swings. Serious business here, folks!

An interesting thing has happened in the art scene here, as well. Many of the artist families have moved, but a few of them are like us, and haven’t been able to leave, even if they wanted to. We can’t exactly “take back the streets”, as artisinal barber shops have a kagillion more dollars than us, but we can make our mark in our own way.

Olive helping artist Jonathan Matas create a mural masterpiece.

Walking down our street, Olive and I came across a muralist who was as friendly as he was talented. An ex-preschool teacher, he warmed to Olive’s interest in his art instantly, and soon he was teaching her how to work the spray bottle and letting her take a brush to the wall he was working on.

Over the next few days, Olive got to watch the mural be created, and she and I would often go home in the evening and she would ask to take out her paints to create art “Like Jonathan”. It was incredibly sweet, and really restored my hope that this neighborhood will continue to draw in artists like him, who are not doing it for the marketing strategies, but instead for the love of art and community.

We stopped by the mural-in-progress every day that he worked on it. Olive got to walk a dog, but she’s so slow that he took a nap, which she is loudly protesting.

Another fun city experience that you’ll just encounter on the street is buskers galore.  At the Farmer’s Market, at the park, or on a random street corner, musicians are plugging in and filling the air with sound.  It’s not always high quality, but Olive does not discriminate.  ANY time we find someone playing music, whether it’s a lonely sitar or a five-piece band, she stops to dance.

Dancing in the street

Olive’s partner-in-crime, Rafa, hits the “dance floor” with her. The buskers were impressed by their rhythm!

This summer, many of the Parks & Rec and City College classes for children and families were cut, so the parents and nannies who spend all day with their toddlers found ourselves adrift. I have this mama friend who does not let any barrier stop her. She’s the kind of mom who creates craft tables for her son on a random Tuesday, teaches him how to make spring rolls (he’s 2!) just because, and hosts baby parties full of screaming kids with a smile.

She had been to my monthly free story hour at Rare Device, and had the idea of doing one in Dolores Park, open to anyone who came by. So, every Thursday morning this summer, she lugged her guitar to the park, played a bunch of toddler tunes, and I danced along and curated a story list of library favorites.

The crowd usually grows to about 20 families, and the kids dance the whole time – even while I’m reading the stories!

 

The other parents kept asking us “who is sponsoring this”? It made me kind of sad that they assumed we were getting paid to do something so fun and natural, but I guess that just means they thought it was high quality! Next week is our last one, as Rebecca’s growing pregnant belly and the encroaching Fall Fog are starting to cramp our style. I will really miss this gathering, however, and perhaps we’ll revive it next summer!

Rebecca holding down the jams while sitting in a Radio Flyer wagon. 

So, it’s been a rad summer, and I think I’m going to be reaping the rewards of my decision to stay put and make do with what we have for awhile.  I love raising my child in the city because of all the easy access to free community events and artistic experiences.  For a minute, I feared that all of that was going away.  I have never been happier to be wrong, even when I’ve had to create it myself!

 

Back to School, Back to School, To Prove to Dad I’m Not a Fool September 7, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Inspiration,Writing — rheabette @ 8:02 am
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Since graduating from my Masters program in 2008, I’ve heralded the return of September with considerable longing.  Eyeing the kids with their new backpacks bulging, my brain longed for a desk, a discussion, a lecture outline in chalk, and, glory of all glories, an open-ended question.  The truth is, I should be studying, but it is for an exam with absolutely zero thought-provoking questions, a test so mind bogglingly unintuitive that they change it every 6 months based on how many people passed it that season, not wanting too many folks to get their licenses.  I am in the final weeks of The Artist’s Way, and it has taught me, above all, to listen to myself.  And it’s good timing, too, since my priest moved away and my muse/dance teacher is out with an injury.  I’m having one of those “if you want a cake, bake it yourself already” moments, and so when I asked my inner learner what she was so curious about this Fall, I found myself scouting MFA programs and writers’ residencies.

What I found was: getting an MFA or taking off for a residency program does not work with my current priority, which is showing up fully for my daughter’s early years.  However, I began to ponder how I could create an MFA-style program for my own damn self.  I read this post by my friend and fellow LTYM alum Maggie Wells, and my heart leapt.  Could I possibly take a kick-ass writing class from my own kitchen table, working it around play dates and my part-time jobs?  I read Ariel Gore‘s How to Become A Famous Writer Before You’re Dead, just to make sure I wanted to take a class from her.  I found it so empowering that I scrounged up the cash (when you have no money and you really want something, sell some of your stuff and you’ll get there!) and joined up, my student heart awaiting what was to come.  So far, so fabulous — I’m loving the community of writers I’ve entered, and I’m writing more than ever.  I also set up some face-to-face meetings with writers right here in my community, to read our pages and connect about writing.  Through all of it, I am jumping headlong into my own MFA: the MotherFuckingAwesome Program.  Or, if you dislike cursing, you can always ask, “How’s that Masters in Fine Awesomeness going?”

We absolutely cannot wait for our goals to happen to us.  Recently I was looking at my life, and wondering if it was a series of “we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it” decisions, which has led me to find that a lot of those bridges have snapped in the meantime, and all that’s between me and the places I want to get to are great big chasms… and a shit ton of rope, ripe for bridge-weaving.  Like the character who inspired the title of this post, Billy Madison himself, I’m building my own educational program to shape my craft, based on connecting with other writers, saying yes to each opportunity that comes my way, and writing every day, no matter how shitty my first draft is.

Those aren’t my hands but they are seriously motivating me to clackety clack away!

I’m finding myself so inspired by other self-starters, people who are not waiting for official seal of approval to be who they want to be.  One of those folks is my talented friend Sydney Brown, who is launching a Kickstarter campaign to raise funds to re-vamp her visual art portfolio and commit to full-time art for three months.  She’s making thirty pieces of wearable art in thirty days to jumpstart this effort, and you can learn more about her work and her endeavor here: Transition: 30 Pieces in 30 Days.  It’s totally worth clicking on the link to see the charming video she’s made outlining her project, and be sure to watch ’till the end for a special performance!  If you find yourself similarly inspired by what she’s trying to do, consider throwing a few bucks her way – we scrappers need your support!

So, this year, I don’t have let Autumn pass me by in a haze of classroom-longing.  Instead, I’m getting my butt back to school, my own way.  How are you educating yourself these days, or seeking to meet artistic goals, on your own terms?

 

When Fine is Actually Amazing July 18, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Him Downstairs,Inspiration,Music,Personal,San Francisco,Writing — rheabette @ 12:34 pm
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You know how I was all like, “It’s a creativity tidal wave!  Out of control vibes of art-making and joy!  I poop poly-rhythms and eat submissions for breakfast!”  Well, yeah.  I guess I forgot that tidal waves are powerful tsunamis that can also erase everything in their path.  On Saturday my “creativity tidal wave” took out a) our computer and b) my confidence.

Image by Elise Orlowski

We were pretty well rehearsed, feeling good about the show, which was set for 9pm.  However, at 4pm, my so-called creativity tidal wave crashed into our computer, and sent it flying onto the floor, where the screen cracked, and with it, our sense of having our shit together.  We had five hours to figure out how to get to the songs on that computer, so we could play the show.  We despaired.  We laid face down on the bed.  Then we called for backup.  Our friend and frequent partner-in-crime, Joel Tarman, came to the rescue with a monitor and connector cables we could use, and my husband went into turbo mode, in which he doesn’t speak and becomes part machine.  At one point, when we realized we could salvage the show but it wouldn’t sound a whole lot like what we had rehearsed, I said to him, “Well, this is when we find out what kind of artists we are.  Do we give up because it’s not perfect, or do we play the show and keep it real for our friend’s opening, even if it’s a bit off?

Needless to say, we chose the latter, and it was … fine.  But this, like my friend and fellow artist Emily called it, is when “fine is actually amazing”, because it’s pretty much a miracle that we even played the show at all.  My husband Joel is a professional musician, so he was able to roll with the many changes in the set and improvise — he was relaxed and totally himself on stage.  And I sounded good, but I felt incredibly awkward in my body.  I just felt uncomfortable in my own skin up there, unsure of myself and not in the flow of my performance.  I shared this feeling afterwards with several other artists, who helped me see that sometimes performances just go that way, and that moment of feeling totally in your artist self often happens in rehearsal, rather than on stage.

The best part of the night was seeing the incredible artwork that John Felix Arnold III created.  It was powerful, dynamic, hard-hitting, and moving.  The show was centered around a sculpture that had a ritual aspect to it — a sculpture of a vespa sat on a circle of dirt, with bounganvilla branches beside it.  Viewers were invited take a part of the flower, think of someone you loved that you’d lost, hold out your hand, and drop a petal into the circle.  It was particularly poignant knowing that Felix had lost his friend Alex just last week, and Alex’s voice was in the sound piece playing on the airwaves before our performance.  So, all in all, it was an incredible night, even if I felt insecure about my performance, and shook up by the loss of our computer and the expenses incurred with replacing it.

I lamented to friends that I felt I’d lost some of my mojo and momentum, and my recording session for KQED’s Perspectives was that Tuesday morning.  My girls boosted me up, reminding me that reading my own writing is where I feel most myself, and I shouldn’t let a self-perceived failure mess with my ability to show up fully.  So, I went in to the studio yesterday, and it was a really fun experience.  I encourage all Bay Area writers to submit to their show and have the feeling that video may have killed the radio star, but you revived her, at least within yourself, for one day.

Hearing my own voice on the radio this morning was a thrill that few aspiring writers get to experience, and, for me, it was a big deal.  Here’s a link to the piece, if you want to hear my voice  and/or read what I wrote yourself: http://www.kqed.org/a/perspectives/R201207180735  There has been an overwhelmingly positive response by most listeners, and then, a few voices of negativity chimed in as well.  I am trying to swim in both the cold waters and the warm, inviting ones, knowing that just because everyone doesn’t resonate with my story does not mean I should stop telling it.

I continue to ride the tidal wave of creativity that is rolling through my life right now.  It is leading to some feelings that the waves are crashing over me and I might drown, but in the process of that, I might just learn to surf.

Image by Tony Heff

 

Avoiding An Unlived Life — Even In the Toddler Years July 14, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Dance,Inspiration,Music,Parenting,Personal,Prayer,Toddlers,Writing — rheabette @ 8:07 am
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“The greatest burden a child must bear is the unlived life of the parents.”  ~ Carl G. Jung

I was in grad school when I first heard this quote, and it rang so true to me that I vowed I would not place such a load on my own children.  The best thing about the creativity tidal wave I have been experiencing lately is that it is helping me get through a really difficult period in Olive’s development.  She is figuring out where she ends and I begin, and in the process of that, there is a lot of “NO!”, plenty of food-throwing, and an absolutely unacceptable amount of toddler yelling.  Those little lungs can BELLOW!

The other day I said to Joel, “What other group of people have a job is where they get yelled at all day, they can’t yell back, and theydon’t get paid?  Oh yeah, prisoners.”  Well, unlike folks who are incarcerated, I have the power to change things up.  I’ve been praying the Serenity Prayer a lot, to figure out what I do have control over, and letting go of what I don’t.

Quote by Reinhold Niebuhr, graphic by Pat Pitingolo

And that is *sort of* working.  I secretly think the glass of wine at the end of the day works better than all the prayer, but I can’t drink when I’m with her, so prayer will have to do!

In fact, whenever I ask my friends who have survived the toddler years how they did it, their answers often include fermented beverages. When I told Estelle that Olive was entering the so-called “Terrible Twos”, she tweeted me this blessing: “may your journey into hell be swift; your drinks strong & your babysitters always available. Gather your reinforcements, friend.” Rhiana just had one word: “booze”.

If I want to get through the next two years without becoming a total alkie, I’ve got to have more tricks up my sleeve than just my nightly glass of wine, but what should they be? Deep breathing and prayer? Check. Doing fun things with Olive so we have as many positive memories as we do battles of wills? Check. But truly, the number one thing I think I can do right now is live a brilliant life myself, immersing myself in things other than just my parenting, so that when Olive throws a tantrum about the cheese she has begged me to bring her, shredding it up and grinding it into the couch with astonishing speed, I won’t feel like my life is a total failure, because I have meaningful things going on other than just parenting.

Olive cannot appreciate that my writing, dancing, and singing is bringing me joy, meaning, and connections with other humans. She’s pretty self-centered — she just wants me at her disposal at all times. But I think children can feel when you are so invested in whether or not they are behaving well that you are taking it personally, basing your worth on their ability to obey a simple request to stop throwing toys at other kids. I’m not advocating disconnection, I’m asking for even MORE engagement with the world around you, so that one day Olive will say, “My mom was really rad. She kept up with her arts practices, even when I was in my screaming-on-the-streets-of-San-Francisco phase.” She may not understand that it is all that is keeping me sane, but hopefully, her burden will be lighter than if it also held the weight of years of giving up everything in my life as a service to hers. That is too much for a child to bear. So, parents, be brilliant, live your life boldly, even when you’re so exhausted from a day of wriggly diaper changes and copious hand washing. Not only is it keeping me afloat in a time of many frustrations, but it is building a life that one day, both Olive and I will be proud of.

I can’t believe I actually got a picture of both of us smiling! It’s probably because it was the end of the day, and Papa was home…

 

Creativity Tidal Wave July 13, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Body Image,Dance,Fashion,Him Downstairs,Inspiration,Music,Personal,Writing — rheabette @ 7:42 am
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I would not say that my creativity was blocked before I started The Artist’s Way – I have been steadily working at my arts practices, plugging along like a little worker bee.  But I am realizing now that I was slightly stuck in those practices, and consequently being very safe with my art making. Now I’m taking risks, putting myself out there more, and finding myself in a creativity tidal wave. It is simply amazing to me, how much can happen when you create space for it, defend it from internal aggressors, and then just effing go for it. Since I began doing The Artist’s Way, I’ve been confronting head-on the ways that I’ve stemmed the flow of creativity in my life, because of shame, co-dependancy, or fear. Replacing those contracting forces with love, acceptance, and playfulness has wildly affected my life in some very concrete ways.

First of all, my husband (who is also doing The Artist’s Way) and I actually started practicing for the show we are playing this Saturday. When we haven’t played music together in awhile, the first rehearsal is excruciating. We are grumpy, rusty, and full of blame and criticism. It’s pretty much a disaster. The only good thing about it is we have been together so long that we know the pattern and keep telling ourselves “It gets better It gets better It gets better don’t give up!” Then, the following night, we find some kind of groove, letting go of our creative resentments and saying yes to each other’s offers. So now, I am actually excited about our performance, and if you are in the Bay Area this Saturday, July 14th, you should come to Old Crow at 8pm for the incredible art that John Felix Arnold III has created, and stay for our croonings and beats.  I’m doing a lot more singing this time, letting myself be even more vulnerable in my performance, as we are singing about love together.  It scares me, and that is exactly why I know I need to do it.

Of course we have all of our same old tired problems, but we are starting to find creative solutions to some of them.  Now that we have some space and courage to try new things, we are shifting things around, rather than wasting time complaining about what we can’t have. We rearranged two out of the four rooms in the house, and the result is an altered perspective, and a greater investment in our cozy space. Showing the changes to my friend Ellie, I said, “Look! There’s a dance floor in the bedroom now!” “Only you would see that freed-up space and call it a dance floor”, she replied. Sure enough, pretty soon Olive, her friend Caden and I were all stretching on the bedroom floor together — the space was just too inviting to be solely for walking.

Speaking of dance, I’ve been bringing Operation RAD BOD to my dance classes, stretching myself to get even more comfortable with my body as I move it around. The classes I take are greatly cardiovascular, but I often dance in exercise pants, a tank top and a long sleeved dress over that! The teachers usually wear short shorts and tank tops, and no matter what the students don, we are equally drenched in sweat by the time the hour is over. I never really thought I was choosing my outfits based on any kind of body shame, but in the heat of this past Saturday, rather than reaching for my usual somber attire, I pulled from the bottom of my drawer an electric blue “run-skirt” — basically a mini with tiny shorts attached underneath. I topped it with a pink sleeveless top, essentially showing more skin with that outfit than I would anywhere but the beach. I didn’t really think too much of it, I just pulled it on and rushed to class, arriving to the delighted surprise of my friends. They were hilariously inspired by my colorful, tiny attire. Rebecca said, “You have great legs! I’ve never seen them before!” The fact that we have been dancing together for 5 years and she’s never seen my legs made it jarringly clear to me that I’ve been hiding my body in my dance classes.

The class was packed, and there’s a huge mirror in the room, but I did not once find myself obsessing about how all my skin looked as I shook it around. I don’t know what happened, but I was just… free from all that self-consciousness, and I had a blast, actually not overheating for once! On the walk home I realized that what I’d done out of opening my dress choices to more options was actually a big step in Operation RAD BOD. I posted my brave sartorial choice to my Facebook page, and was encouraged by how many people enjoyed that I’d thrown off the fetters of somber fabric and embraced my own skin.

Another great part of the Artist’s Way is you are encouraged to get in touch with your child self, allow yourself to play, and simply have fun. By a series of fortunate events, I found myself in a toy store without my child. I was able to browse the things I was actually interested in, rather than monitoring Olive’s interactions with the wares. I found myself drawn to a fashion coloring book — a huge tome filled with fabuous fashion illustrations that you fill in yourself — high heels to decorate, dresses to pattern, sunglasses that need a face drawn around them, prints that need colors chosen for them. I bought myself every color of Le Pen that they had, and brought it all up to the cash register, my inner artist in a state of glee and ecstacy that I was actually doing this. I then spent the evening coloring fashion illustrations, rather than watching mindless TV.  I felt my world expanding with every swirl I added to the page.

It feels a little like this. (Image by Richard Burbridge)

As I am owning myself as an artist — spending my free time singing, coloring, and writing, instead of comparing, judging and tuning out, I have been amazed at how the creative opportunities have been pouring in. My friend Esther from LTYM SF told me how to submit to KQED’s Perspectives, and I mulled over what I could possibly write about for several weeks.  Finally, an idea came to me, and though I don’t have the kind of life where I can just sit down and write any second I’m so inspired, at my next writer’s group I banged it out, and sent it off.  Much to my surprise, the editor contacted me right away, accepting my piece!  I had such an encouraging talk with him about my writing, and it happened on a day when all I was feeling was “I want to punch today in the throat.”  So, I really needed a win, and now I am greatly looking forward to being on the airwaves next week!  Things are flowing, and I am feeling more alive.

I’m sharing all of this with you because I want to spread the reality that if you let yourself be creative, if you make time and space for it, and you drench yourself in positivity rather than small-mindedness, you will be amazed by how much color and opportunity will come your way.  I’m not much for the New Agey “you create your own reality” stuff that is thrown around a lot in our post-millenial culture, as I have too much of a sociological understanding of the very real effects of classism, racism, sexism and homophobia in our current world.  However,  creativity is within you.  It could be bringing a creative perspective to your feud with your neighbor, a fresh eye to the haircut you are regretting, or just taking a different route on your walk to work.  Whatever you choose, I invite you to let your artist self take control of something today, and report to me what happens!

 

Too Vulnerable To Make Art? June 25, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Blogging,Books,Personal,Writing — rheabette @ 7:25 am
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I have at least 5 drafts of blog posts on my WordPress Dashboard. It’s not that I don’t have time to finish them, although I have been extremely busy this summer. It’s simply that this whole blog is about being vulnerable, and the past few weeks I have felt like I don’t have any skin, like it’s been peeled off and I’m walking around raw and red, ready to be flayed at every passing wind. When I write, I want it to feel like this:

However, lately it has felt just too scary to push “publish”, like the lightening coming off my limbs when I clack the keys will surely bounce back at me, jolting me with electric shocks. Making art is such an act of bravery. Creating and putting it out there is the scariest thing on earth, as your very soul is on the chopping block. Usually, I have no shortage of courage, as it is a muscle you build over time, and I’ve done enough things that terrify me to know when it’s a good scared that means “Keep going” and when it’s the kind of terror that’s telling you to get the fuck out of there. However, I’m really struggling these past few weeks. I write things, save them, and agonize over whether they are the thoughts I really want to put out into the world. I pick them apart and use parts for other entries, which I don’t post either. I can’t say I have Writer’s Block, because I’m writing every day, just not publishing any of it for the world to see.
I am starting The Artist’s Way today with several friends, and I’m hoping that will help me find the bravery I need to continue to be vulnerable on this blog and in my life, even when I feel particularly sensitive. The last time I did The Artist’s Way was 9 years ago, newly married and struggling to find my voice. Going through Julia Cameron’s model for freeing the artist within led to many incredible realizations, one of which led me to move to San Francisco! It was such a wonderful place for artists and social workers when we first moved here 8 years ago. My beloved city is changing incredibly quickly, and I find myself at another crossroads, unsure of where we will end up. So, it’s time to go back to The Artist’s Way, and make sure that the choices I’m making for my life and my family are coming from a place of creativity and joy, rather than fear.
Would you like to join me? You can get The Artist’s Way at any library, or, chances are, if you’re reading this blog, you’ve probably got a copy tucked away in a dusty bookshelf. Whether you’re ready to make that commitment or not, send me a little bravery, tucked in a sachet of healing petals. I don’t want my tough skin to grow back — I like living with my heart wide open. But I want to be able to create art from that place, even when it scares me.

 

Bell jar dancing June 4, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Christianity,Dance,Inspiration,Mothers,Music,Parenting,Personal,Prayer,Psychotherapy,Writing — rheabette @ 1:03 pm
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The bell jar was lowering, the sweet cloying smell of the air contained within threatening to suffocate, so I danced faster than it could descend.  Not in any manic way, but a deliberate, furious expression, meant to stave off a case of the mean reds so angry that even time with my ridiculously happy child could not abate it.  I already had on my best dress for dancing, with a full skirt for making dramatic turns, and slippery shoes to help me make the most of the tiny kitchen parquet floor.  Jokes are often made about how folks with depression listen to sad music to wallow in it, but that is not the real reason.  We turn to The Smiths, Leonard Cohen and the like to inject some soul into our barren landscape — we need depth, not to candy coat our sadness with smiles.  So, I turned on the soundtrack to Dancer in the Dark, which is arguably the most depressing movie on earth, with some seriously soulful Bjork songs throughout.  Olive’s face filled with delight when I began to spin around the room, but I only saw it for a moment before I closed my eyes, needing to be fully in the movement, working through all the stuck places in my mind, heart, and back muscles.  Some moms need to steal away for a nip from the bottle of Jameson mid-day to get through, but me, I dance.

untitled photo by A/R, 2009

A few of my friends on Facebook recently have been breaking the unspoken taboo against ever saying anything negative about their lives, and starting to really show up. Their status updates, instead of pictures of the mouth-watering food they are about to eat, baby updates galore, or a pithy celebration of how generally happy they are in life, have instead been indicating disappointment, fear, and even depression. Now, this is a dangerous thing to do on Facebook, a place uniquely designed for people to pull out their best Dear Abby impersonations at every turn. So, as I endeavor to write to you about my struggles with mood on this blog, please hear this: I do not want you pull a Coldplay and try to fix me. I like myself a little broken, just as I am. But if you want to know me more, especially in those places of brokenness, it’s totally cool to ask more questions about my experience.
So, here’s a little secret that those posts of brand-new babies rarely say: motherhood will not save you from depression. Sometimes, it will even create it. I was not shocked about this fact, I knew that going in. Right before I got pregnant, I was really going through it. I admitted to my therapist that I wished that having a baby would bring me happiness in my life, but that I knew that it wouldn’t fix any of my current problems. “I know that I will still be myself, prone to melancholy, thinking way too much about my relationships all the time, and taking care of everyone else while neglecting myself. However, now I’ll also have a baby to love. This will add to the difficulty of my life, yes. But it will also increase the love. I need to increase the love.”
I often come across mothers that have thrown themselves so fully into motherhood to stave off ever having to talk about their actual lives, what’s really going on for them. But motherhood does not save you from having to work through your shit. Sylvia Plath still sealed her children into the living room to protect them from the fumes, and stuck her head in the oven, ending her short and brilliant life, and abandoning her kids because she thought they’d be better off without her. In fact, the stress of motherhood often causes things to crack and come apart, revealing wounds you thought you had pasted over for good but were actually only festering under that dirty bandaid you slapped on when you were 14.
Over dinner recently, a friend admitted to me about her bouts of anger that make her fear that she is turning into her rageaholic father, lashing out at her kids and partner in ways that surprise and terrify her. In the course of discussing it further, I said something offhand about how struggling with mental health issues so early in life helped me find the things I need to do to stay sane, and if I stray from those, all hell, literally, breaks loose. She returned to this comment later, asking, “So… what are those things that you do to stay sane?” It was interesting, because I hadn’t really spent a whole lot of time articulating what it is I do to stay relatively balanced, even though it takes up pretty much all of my free time.  So, over a healthy amount of wine, I found myself espousing a bit of a manifesto.

I call it my Threadbare Three:

First is Exercise. Getting my endorphins going and literally working through the feelings in my body, as I did dancing in the kitchen this week, is the best way I know to shake off and work through the accumulated stuff in my body.  I am not always dying to go to dance class — sometimes I would much rather veg, especially after a particularly hard day of running around playing peek-a-boo tag with Olive.  But once I get there, and let myself really go into the movement, I feel a melting in to my body, and, moving through all the stuck places, I start to feel free, and by the end I’m often feeling like I just might take flight.  Not always, mind you, but enough to keep me coming back, several times a week.

Second is a Spiritual Practice. For me, this is being a part of a church, praying, and reading spiritual texts.  I think this is important because depression/anxiety/mood disorders in general are about the specific problems of being YOU.  You need experiences that get you outside the particulars of your own little life, and into the oneness of all life.  We are both the wave and ocean, and if we spend all our time being the wave, we miss out on the vastness and depth of the sea.  I don’t think it matters which spiritual practice you choose, as long as it is one that is based in love and leads you to a place of peace.  Joel and I have really been getting into adding Buddhist practices to our Christianity lately, and it’s really deepening our understanding of the spiritual plane and helping us learn to love others more.  I think Jesus is down with that.

Finally: Expression. This means creating art, and/or going to therapy. You need a way to tell your story.  Often, we need someone to help us sort through our story, especially if it has really painful parts that we still don’t fully understand or know how to integrate within our lives.  A therapist is someone who is trained to guide you through this process, bringing you to a place of freedom from your past, and a present that doesn’t involve denying any parts of you, but rather helps you be a whole person.  I am not currently in therapy, but I just ended after 12 consecutive years of this deep work.  I found it incredibly helpful, and I recommend it for basically anyone looking to grow personally and find some clarity in their lives.  The other way to go with this step is creating art, preferably every single day.  For me this means taking 20 minutes out of my morning to write, and hopefully squeezing in more writing and art-creation time later in the day.  This final step in the Threadbare Three brings all the others together, as I often dance for both exercise and expression, and I find making art to be a sacred experience, as we become co-creators with God.

Enlighten me further, my friends: what makes up your Threadbare Three?

 

 

What Happens When You Listen May 17, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Blogging,Community,Parenting,San Francisco,Writing — rheabette @ 7:47 am
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The experience of participating in Listen To Your Mother San Francisco 2012 was one of a great folding in, an initiation, and a true joy. It was as if the mamas (and one papa) were saying, “Bring it in, bring it in. Let’s get close and personal.” Sharing stories as diverse as struggling with breastfeeding, the perils of clingy college-aged daughters, and how a group of mothers responds when you are first called the “N word”, the parent-writers got up on the stage, one by one, and revelled in the power of storytelling.

Sherri, holding a flower from Andre, looks on as Nichole hugs the jitters right out of Robin before the show. Image via Kim Thompson-Steel

Sitting just offstage, I felt the electricity in the theater as one reader after the other got to that point in their piece where they had the audience hooked. “She’s killing it!”, one of my cast members whispered in awe as Margaret shared her hilarious and touching story of when her children’s lesbian grandmothers announced their intention to marry with perfect delivery. We cheered each other on every time one of us returned, arms raised overhead, “I did it!” barely escaping our lips before we were enveloped in high fives and arm squeezes. And maybe a sip of Cosmo-from-a-flask.

Stepping up to the lectern for my read-through with my ladies at my back! Image via Kim Thompson-Steel

I was the youngest one in the cast, which for me just meant that I had been writing and mothering for much less time than any of my other cast members. I saw them as experienced, talented, beautiful parent-writers, who had a lot to teach me. Robin would probably laugh at this assertion, as her whole piece was about people who ask her how she holds her life together, to which she answers, “Hostess cupcakes, of course.” Seriously, I saw this experience as a bit of an initiation into the “club” of being someone who writes about parenthood, usually alone at my computer with my daughter literally hanging on my arm, as she is doing now. Meeting these women face-to-face, learning from them and laughing with them, made me feel like I was a part of something — parents who are trying to put something real out into the world, in a time of ridiculous baiting of so-called “Mommy Wars” and negativity all around.

Crooning my way into the audience’s good graces.

The power of vulnerable storytelling is that you leave feeling validated, and your audience leaves knowing you a bit more. And the people who came to see me, from my church, my dance community, my friend base, and even a few moms from the neighborhood who just know me from the playground, are all people I really WANT to be known by. It was beautiful, sharing this experience with them, and with my cast members and directors. My only regret is that I had to cut out right after the performance, as I was catching a ride at 4:20AM to go to the Midwest for a wedding! So, since I had to skip the cast champagne toast after the performance, I am toasting you now, beloved cast members — thank you for sharing your stories and a bit of your lives with me. The power of that evening will stay with me always, encouraging me to be more honest and vulnerable in my everyday life, as it always leads to me more connection, more true community.

Taking our bows! Image via Sherri Kuhn

If you want the 360 degree view on the experience, check out the pieces my cast mates wrote about that night:

Margaret

Joy

Andre

Melissa

Rhiana

LTYM SF (Kim/Kirsten)

Estelle

Sherri

Even one from an audience member! Lizz

More to come as we all gather our thoughts about this incredible night.  Thank you all for your support for my debut as a writer-performer!  My heart is full.

 

True Feelings Are Shown From the Way that I Talk: R.I.P. MCA May 5, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Loss,Music,Personal,Pop Culture — rheabette @ 8:03 am
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I had just wrangled my daughter into her stroller when the phone rang. Since my husband rarely calls at 10:30 in the morning, I picked up, happy to hear his voice. But his tone was somber, almost apologetic. “MCA died, Honey.” I felt all the blood drain out of my head and limbs, going straight to my heart, which took off in wild variations, not unlike a beat from Paul’s Boutique. “What?! What?!!!” And then I was crying in the middle of the sidewalk, feeling like I’d lost a close friend, when really it was a man I’d never even met.

That is what good artists do — they give you their art as a gift, which makes you feel like a greater part of the world, close to another human that you have never had a linear conversation with, instead having conversed on a whole other level, allowing yourself to be moved by their creations. Oh, how the Beastie Boys moved me. I think I’ve created illegal dance moves to their songs, things that would make me blush profusely when faced with the evidence in the cold light of day. Something about their ability to be goofy and serious at the same time, set over heavily sampled beats, just made you want to dance in the most wild-out ridiculous ways possible. The dance floor was cleared at my wedding, when Joel’s Haitian relatives and my Connecticut working class guests were shocked by what could have taken over the college boys who were now inexplicably doing push-ups and knocking bodies, while the women were literally jumping on top of each other and screaming along the words to Root Down. And then they joined right in, because, come on, the Beasties are universal.

I once had a crush on a guy who informed me, knowingly smug, that he didn’t care for the Beastie Boys. “The way they come IN all at ONCE is so overRATED. They annoy me.” The crush lasted as long as that car ride. Anyone who can’t get into the joy and groove that the Beastie Boys create was never going to get my bra off.

I first discovered the Beastie Boys when I was 12, which was kind of perfect, as their early stuff was so immature that it fit my tween development to a tee. My best friend Meagan and I videotaped ourselves rapping along to Fight For Your Right, even convincing her mom to come in and “bust us”. Thank God YouTube was not around in 1993.

Everyone has their favorite Beastie Boys album, and though I know others were perhaps more groundbreaking or classic, Check Your Head was just my album. It combined enough punk sensibilities for my little alterna-chick to get behind, and I remember carrying around the cracked CD case to play at every friend’s house I went to.

Adam Yauch was a rare being, a hip-hop celebrity who had a spiritual awakening and was not obnoxious about it, just let it change him radically and then found a way to bring that into his art and life in inspiring ways. I mean, what other celebrities have changed so radically for the better, and created so many opportunities for others to get involved in activism? I hadn’t even heard of the plight of the Tibetan people before MCA took on their cause.

When 9/11 happened, my husband and I bought our tickets to the New Yorkers Against Violence concert, the proceeds of which all went to help victims of the World Trade Center tragedy, and went to the Hammerstein Ballroom to see the Beastie Boys themselves. It was a kick-ass show, and a night of healing, as all of us were there to say, “We are incredibly sad that this happened, and we are desirous of peace in response.” Yoko Ono’s set was particularly strange, and mostly consisted of her howling, but at the end she yelled, “We’ll make it!” with so much surety and pride that I deeply believed her.

Lately I have really been pining for the 90′s, when there was still music that was radical, dangerous, that called the system into question enough to irritate lawmakers, middle-aged parents, and talk radio pundits. When was the last time you heard something on the radio like Sure Shot? Well, probably yesterday, when the whole world was in mourning for Adam Yauch, whose life is an example of someone who stayed true to his community and reached out beyond the boundaries of it at the same time. I am so grateful to him for the joy his work brought to my life, from the audacity of Nathaniel Hornblower’s antics to the way MCA’s rhymes just made me want to get up and embarrass myself on the dance floor. My heart goes out to his wife, daughter, and the brothers Adam and Mike that he shared his life with. But it is also with all the people of my generation, who feel that we are losing our friend.

“Surely, he was all real things to us: our blue-striped unicorn, our double-lensed burning glass, our consultant genius, our portable conscience, our supercargo and our one full poet.”
― J.D. Salinger, Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction

 

 
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