something amazing is happening.

Time to wrap it up, and round ‘em up – this month’s puppies for sale.

2012-02-02T17:00:00.001+01:00

The ones that have been part of the conversation this month, helping to navigate the sometimes treacherous waters. Helping to stay the course, clarify the desires and uproot the not-working-bits.

Drawings...

That come from the interior space where metaphor and meaning-making churns…

That place where magic and mystery reside...

These drawings are allies...

Reminding us that this place exists. Bouncing off the walls (metaphorically of course), to set the tone we love to be in and remind us that yes, magic, and mystery and creativity are the places where we come alive.

Where the juices flow.

Where the space-just-for-you is wide open.

Whisking you into the realm of "you."

Yours for only....

$75 + shipping, all drawings are 8.5”x11” on paper, original works, unframed…

(If you’re totally in love with a piece, and operating under a specific budget, let me know. I love getting these to the places where they most want to be and am open to payment plans, adjustments, etc. )

"From the moment I opened my mail, I couldn't stop smiling as I held your artwork in front of me. (I hope that was an appropriate reaction). I actually kind of chuckled, too. Mostly because something - everything - about this drawing connects with me in some way. I feel like it really, totally relates to whatever the hell is going on with me at the moment. Even though our situations may differ, it's the feelings and emotions that cut through our individual situations that are the connective forces. Thank you for being a part of my life in this way."

Stephanie Artist, Healer, Educator

Mark the Spot Where it Entered

A New Universe is Unfolding

That's the Spot

Woah - Where Am I?

How Do I Learn to Surrender?

In A Woman's Body

Don't Leave Things Dangling

Or go big, and scoop this baby up.

It’s ready to hang out and have the conversation that you’ve been longing to have.
See, and read, more about it here.

$750 + shipping.

(Again, if you've fallen in love and want to negotiate on the price, let me know. I'm listening...)

Holes in Your Theories, 48"x28"

Email me so we can determine things like shipping and such!

Today’s She-Ching answer to: How do I learn to surrender? How do I fall back, and into, trust? Answer (+ corresponding drawing): Don’t Second Guess Your Motives.

2012-01-31T14:19:00.001+01:00

Don't Second Guess Your Motives, ink on paper, 8.5"x11", Jessica Serran, 2012. $75: email me.

This week’s theme: trust, and surrender and my relationship to my masculine side (whichsnowballs into my general relationship to the masculine, and yes, men.)

It’s archetypal, and not – all at the same time.

It came up last week.

Questioning my Surrender Muscles

I signed up for the Heart Of Business Heart of Money course. In it, there’s a dailyRemembrance practice, which is great cause I’m a self-proclaimedself-forgetter.

At some point in the Remembrance, or in the reading, orsomewhere, the idea of being fully supported came up. Fully supported by something bigger than me. Supported in our businesses. Not having to do so much all thetime. Making space.

Which is where I found my edge.

I used to be a big advocate of trusting the universe.

I used to do it, and believe in it, fiercely – in somecapacity.

I used to believe in a universe that had my back.

But at some point during this past two years of “things”happening, all of it came up for questioning. Not in an existential – is there a god or is there not a godkind of way; more like this:

Maybe my trust in the universe is so strong because it’seasier than trusting people.

Eek.

So I started to explore this “trusting people thing.” Specifically the idea of trusting a man.

In this new Re-membrance practice I’ve started to wonderabout the relationship between surrender, and trust, and support (and all theback pain that I’ve been experiencing).

So I’m asking, exploring, and drawing.

When the shit hit my proverbial fan a year and a half ago, Ifound myself religiously consulting the I Ching. It was partially for fun and partially a desperate attemptto have something tell me what was up or how to frame things.

In that place I was in – uprooting and questioning trust, Iwas desperate for some type ofguidance.

But lately, guidance that reeks too heavily of a male voice,or masculine way of experiencing spirituality has started to chafe.

Hence, the drawing being called a She-Ching reading. Cause it came from me, and through me. And I understand this language.

The idea of Not Second GuessingMy Motives is rocking my socks.

A novel idea. Thanks place-that-the-drawing-came-from!

And so you know: If you see one of these drawings that you love, that could adorn yourwalls and keep you connected to your depths, email me. They’re for sale! $75 + shipping....

On Metaphor, Contain-hers, Marion Woodman + a Nietzsche quote that I’m both fond of, and slightly put off by…

2012-01-26T18:01:00.000+01:00

My MA Thesis began withneeding to answer the question: Why make art? To which now,I have an answer that works for me.

My partner-in-conversationcrime has been asking questions about images -- where do they come from, how dothey get here, and what are they for?

He’s a studier of philosophy,which makes his answers, and the places that he goes looking for these thingsvery different than mine.

He offered a Nietzsche quotethe other day:

"You creators, youhigher men! Whoever has to give
birth is sick; butwhoever has given birth is unclean.
Ask women: one does notgive birth because it is
fun. Pain makes hensand poets cackle.
You creators, there ismuch that is unclean in you
That is because you hadto be mothers.
A new child: oh, howmuch new filth has also come
into the world! Goaside! And whoever has given birth
should wash his soul clean."

And then this one:

"An image costs as much labor to humanityas a new characteristic to a plant."

Jacques Bousquet

We were talking aboutthe idea of image, and form as well. Which for me, has to do with this marriage of soul and spirit -- ofcreativity needing a form, a container, a body in order to come into existence.

The container.

Or as I recently spelledit, the contain-her. But not in anoppressive, restrictive way. In asafe – “hey, I’ve got you,” kind of a way.

A place for the inspirationto go.

A body that it passesthrough.

Which, I suppose, isinherently messy. The “unclean”thing in the Nietzsche quote is a bit too loaded a word for my taste, but if Iconsider it in terms of blood and bodily effluvia I can get with it…

Things emerging…

I’ve been adjusting myrelationship to my practice lately. Being fiercer about my boundaries, clearer about my schedule, moreexplicitly nurturing of the creative process itself.

Because it’s aboutboundaries, and a body that can support what wants to come through.

It’s about having a strongenough container so that the images can emerge.

Conscious Femininity

Woodman gets into this insuch beautiful ways in her book Conscious Femininity:

”…she also has to be verystrong as a container—the feminine principle is the container and that’s truein a man as well as a woman. Thinkof a poet like John Donne, for example. He says, “Nor ever chaste except You ravish me,” speaking to God,speaking of himself as a poet or an artist. An artist has to be ravished by the archetypal unconsciousor there is no art.”

Woah. I repeat, in the name of MarionWoodman: An artist has to be ravished bythe archetypal unconscious or there is no art.

--Pausing to digest that one—

Puts a serious spin on theinner critic and all the internal noise that is so often a part of makingimages.

She goes on: “It’s his femininity that is ravishedby archetypal energy. So thecontainer has to be strong and at the same time very flexible.”

And then she goes on to talkabout how once that is over, we have to be able to return to our everyday selfand step out of the archetype.

And scrub the toilet…

Reminds me of ElizabethGilbert’s brilliant Ted talk about the artist as a vessel and not the one who’sentirely responsible for what comesthrough.

We show up. We set up the banks of our river. We labor. And new life comes through.

Then we go home and wash thedishes and scrub the toilet…

I love the profoundness, thesacred and profane combo of it all.

These moments of rapture,the exquisite joy of the process, the labor pains and then re-membering that wehave to then return to our “selves. “

Watching with curiosity atwhat has just emerged…

And the mess, the bloodymess that precedes it, without which, life couldn’t continue…

More on the container here: Some Structure and So Much to Digest

In the folds... a drawing. Wings? The brain? Labium? All of the above?

2012-01-25T17:26:00.000+01:00

And something coming out of the middle...

Coming Up and Out, ink on paper, 8.5"x11", 2011. $75: email me.

Am I too self-absorbed?

2012-01-24T13:06:00.000+01:00

This morning’s hot topic.

Are all of my twitter tweets and facebook postings andblogging all in the service of self-absorption?

And is that a bad thing?

But more importantly: who’sasking?

And who am I answeringto?

Seems like we’ve bumped into the energy/target audiencething again.

One of the things I learned last year, and steadily relyupon, is how to defend myself.

How to speak up, and to, the voices and determine whosevoice it is in the first place.

The conversation this morning went something like this:

Practical Masculine voice: You’re too self-absorbed. All these posts about you, and your process and yourart. Come on. People will get tired of that and see throughit and understand just how selfish you are.

Me, at first: Oh. Well I should reallyconsider that. Too bad I’m pastthe point of rational consideration and am now feeling like a piece ofself-absorbed shit.

Practical Masculine, now authoritarian voice: Yes. You should indeed consider what I’m saying. Take it on my authority that it’s notwhat the world needs.

Me, getting skeptical: Um… hold on a second. Whyare you the authority here? And how do you know what the world needs? I don’t imagine that you’d be the person who my work wouldnecessarily speak to anyways.

Practical Masculine: Well, because you’ve given me this power.

Me, growing taller: Hmmm. I see. True. I’m not going to get into all the cultural and social andpersonal factors that contribute to it being your voice inside my head insteadof my own... Not now. What’s important is that I decide formyself if I’m too self-absorbed.

Practical Masculine: Well – what do you think?

Me, with the words of Marion Woodman and Pinkola-Estesblowing at my back: Well, I’m anartist. And yes, that can be avery self-absorbed activity, however, there is a certain necessity in thatself-absorption – in going deeply into our internal universes. That’s where the images come from.

And,the point is that I need to go into that space, in my alone studio time tomake the work.

And the point isthat for a very long time I’ve longed forresources – for information, for beacons pointing to the delicate and messy andintricate parts of the creative process and that if anything, I’d like to bethat for others.

I’d like thesewords, these confessions, these tweets, these posts to be a space where otherscan come and realize….ahhh, it’s thecreative process at work – I’m not alone. There are patterns. There are stages. There arethings being birthed and things dying.

Humbled, at-my-service-masculine: Oh. Well thatsounds like a really good reason to post what you post and do what you do.

Me: Yeah thanks. I know that I can navel gaze attimes. And I’m not saying thatthis won’t change or evolve, but for now I’m in a new stage of putting thesethings out into the world with these new platforms and I’d love it if you couldsupport me – function as a strong container, help me to discern what’shappening and help me to protect my energy.

Masculine, now feeling empowered and purpose-ful: Ahhhh, yes. Thanks for the guidance. I see now what I can be in service to. (Dundun na na… knight in shining armour soundtrack playing in the background)

Me: Great! I’d love your support. I’d love it if we could work on thistogether, in a healthy way, in a way that is mutually supportive. I can be your creative muse and you canmake a safe space for me to dance, and play, and paint and be wildly creativeinside of.

Oh the sweet relief of writing and self-defense.

How I actually feel about the quote-un-quote art world…

2012-01-19T13:13:00.000+01:00

…. And why I think it’s time to better understand andarticulate my often disappointing-and-adversarial relationship to it.

Interesting that I just used the word adversarial.

A few weeks ago I had several encounters in the same weekwith the “art world.” Or so I wasreferring to it then. And itoccurred to me that the term “art world” is

a. very broad

and b. clearly layered with some of my own gunk.

It’s a term that I use with a fair amount of regularity, andgenerally with a fair amount of disdain. Disdain and disappointment.

Butwhy? And what the hell does thisterm mean to me?

It’s time to unlock its hold over me and unravel some of itsmysteries.

What Iusually mean when I say “art world.”

It’s this: “art world” is my term for the overly-heady,disembodied world of art and artists that feels incomprehensible unless you arepart of the elite intellectual circle from which it came, complete with theappropriate reference materials and cleverly interwoven concepts.

It’s a world of floating heads. A world of art statements that read more like an encyclopedicentry of current buzzwords than anything applicable to day-to-dayexistence.

It’s the realm of “clever” art, emaciated art, art that seemsto reference itself and other self-referential works.

It’s work that makes me feel stupid and clueless andinept.

It’s work that I don’t know how to enter.

It's work that feels separate from any of my lived experiences.

And yes, if I had to put an image to it, it’s an emaciated,cool-haircutted, 25ish looking hipster that would surely float away if too biga breeze happened by.

There, I said it.

This is how I actually feel about the “art world.”

And this ismy personal confession of what that term has come to mean to me.

Which, I understand is largely steeped in my subjectiveexperience, and also, in some animal that is most likely actually serving some purpose in me.

‘Cause I feel some opposition to it.

I resent it, yet I’m drawn to it.

I have disdain for it, yet I’m a part of it.

Which makes it a loaded, and valuable topic.

And one that I have a fair amount of energy invested in.

It’s notthat concepts, or the intellect is bad. I just want to know what it’s inservice of.

I like ideas. Iget caught up in my head. I getit. I’m not totally exempt…

Two weeks ago I was asked, by a curator here in Prague, whatmy experience was of being a foreign artist on the Prague scene.

A good question.

I started by giving some caveat about how I might not be thebest person to discuss it, because my project here is long-term and involveseveryday people and isn’t just about an effort to get shows and be knownhere.

But…

Upon further examination, nicely punctuated by several of my“art world” contacts saying they would do something and then not followingthrough that week,

I realized that actually, the reception amongst the “artworld” has been poor. No bites onthe exhibition proposals I’ve sent out. No gallery show lined up. Iget expressions of interest, but no offers.

So if I don’t go into victim/angry-Jessie mode about this,and instead examine it, it leads to some interesting realizations, all of whichhave to do with this declaration of what the “art world” means to me.

And targetaudiences.

And getting clear about what my work really is and what it’shere to do.

I draw guts, and bodies. Messy, gritty human-experiencing bodies. Bodies that speak and voices that admitthe stuff that can be hard to look at.

Sure, I draw a good-number of floating heads, myself, but actualfloating heads, ie the art world that I’ve put myself in opposition to, aren’tgoing to know what to do with my work, because the work is about the body.

And it’s bloody and messy and irreverent andself-reflective.

So there I have it.

And with great fear and trepidation for the scary prospect ofsaying things that limit possibilities, I’m realizing that knocking ondoors that aren’t interested is a huge waste of my energy.

Of course, not all galleries, and not all venues fall intothis “art world” category.

But here’s the bottom line for me at the moment: “duh,find your audience lady. Narrow itdown. And stop allowing the energyto spill out unnecessarily.”

Phew. I said it…

Been dancing around and saddling up to this for a while now:
Making Meaning in Contemporary Art
Day 4 - Tabor - Bloodletting

I actually do have the time, she said to herself. And realized that she was actually starting to believe it…

2012-01-17T11:56:00.001+01:00

Something’s shifting. And it’s connected to the last series of posts I’ve written about

a.   what I’m done with
b.    re-membering what I’ve already done
c.   claiming my needs

d. not letting in things that don't serve me

e. realizing, in the words of Tracey at twistedpinky.com - it's balls to the walls baby!

and f. a tweet about not having a schedule, but havingrhythms.

Cause listen up y’all – I’m an artist. I know – it’s a pretty obviousstatement.

And I’ve watched how, over the past 6 months, forces,probably safe to say that they’re internal forces having an oh-so-interestingrelationship with the external ones, have tried to cock block me from doing andhaving what I want.

Shit’s been running interference. And I’ve allowed it. For various reasons that I don’t need to get into here.

But now I say, oh hell naw.

Evidenced in this morning’s experience of going to anightmarish, poorly-built, depressing bureaucratic office to pick up a Christmaspackage that was delayed at customs.

I saw my energy sinking. But I stopped it deciding that I don’t actually have thetime to go into that right now. No. I have other thingsthat are more important.

Like this.

Like figuring out just what this blog is.

Like writing out my needs – financially, and what I’m readyand willing to have.

Like acknowledging how weary I’ve become of distractions andhow much I’m responsible for not getting sucked in them.

Like formulating my next post on this topic that I’m afraidto write about: how I actuallyfeel about the quote-un-quote art world… dunh dunh dunh…

Stay tuned…

A drawing: It's where the cord got cut -- you were left gasping...

2012-01-16T16:49:00.002+01:00

Where the Cord Got Cut, 8.5"x11", ink on paper. $75: email me: j@jessicaserran.com

A list! Seeds that I’ve planted. Shit that I’ve done! Moves that have been made…

2012-01-13T15:00:00.000+01:00

My new year officially starts this week.

Cause I’ve made some important choices. I’ve listed my “wants” in clear and plain English. Not the wants for my art career, causethose have been the easier ones to state, but the wants for everything that surrounds and supports my art career.

Which, my friends, is a revolutionary act for me. I’m pausing for a moment of celebrationand relief. (and my god, to think,where might all this energy go now?!)

It’s part of my effort around Re-member-ing (putting thepieces of me back together) cause I can be such a skilled forgetter.

And if I spend some time in Re-membrance it helps shore up amore realistic view of what’s gone down and stave off some of thenot-true-fear-monger-ers within…

So this is: Pulling-from-the-past-to-remember-what-might-shoot-up-from-the-soil-in-the-near-futureso I can continue watering and shining light on it.

Some are actualities that have already manifested, some haven’t. The point is that I’m focusing on theenergy and the intentions, and the re-member-ing...

Feel free to reflect on your own seeds in the commentsbelow.

THE LIST

1. Was accepted for the residency that Iapplied for at meetfactory in Prague.

2. Applied forfunding for said residency.

3. Showed workat the Woman Made Gallery in Chicago – yayy women’s art!

4. Dug myfingers into my Identity project, all in a city where I didn’t know anyonethree months prior to last year’s beginning. This included: cold emailing a whole bunch of people; talking endlessly, with confidenceabout the project; getting funding from the Arts Institute here in Prague;figuring out what the project really wanted to be; opened up to beingwonderfully supported – both conceptually and logistically with it; send outoodles of exhibition apps; found a great publisher to work with; worked out aspace to have the book launch; interviewed eight participants; completed fourpaintings and learned a whole bunch about this place, it’s people and theculture -- which also happens to bethe land of my ancestors.

5. Applied for teaching positions in Rhode Island and Detroit. (untilnow I had totally forgotten aboutthis. )

6. Started, and kept up weeklyCzech lessons. Pleased my brain,and my ancestral soul in the process.

7. Not reallyan accomplishment, or a seed, but I saw the most amazing art by a man withschizophrenia. Totally moving,powerful and what an amazing visual description of the psyche.

8. Entered abunch of art competitions, applied for a total of I think, eight grants…

9. Participatedin open studios here in Prague.

10. Helped empower young girls in Prague through DebbieGordon’s wonderful Rock Camp for Girls.

11. Sentdrawings and paintings to the beautiful, new, Portland-based Beam and Anchor.

12. Said yes toactually getting help with my website and realized that I don’t need to spendendless hours working on something I’m not an expert in… phew…

13. Said yes tobeing helped, in general.

14. Featured ina photo project about the studio complex where I work in Prague and a similar space in Bratislava.

15. Did Havi, of the Fluent Self’samazing course on gathering testimonials and then… gathered my testimonials.

16. Did the SoundBite Shaman’s incredible course: Howto Describe What You Do, When What You Do is Deep, Powerful, and Hard to Describe. Oh my god – I highlyrecommend this to anyone struggling to find the right words to articulate yourglorious gift.

17. Realizedwhat a wealth of goodness was in the pages of pages of sketchbooks and that it was time to release them tothe world! They’re all over thisblog or available on my website for your purchasing, wall-adorning pleasure.

18. Did ahome-décor, text-based mural here in Prague.

19. Starteddabbling in editing art-related texts.

20. Contactedan artist I really admire and started a lovely, productive conversation, whichled to participation in the amazing new tumblecloud.

21. Wrote acrazy amount of copy for my new website.

22. Dove in,and have fallen in love with twitter.

23. Realizedthat I had been a total facebook voyeur and not the active participant that it feelsso much better to be.

24. Fell inlove with the most perfect little being in my whole world – my niece!

25. Applied withconfidence and conviction for another emerging artist award.

26. Re-wrotethe description for my beloved drawing project, now titled: Drawing the in/Between.

27. Talked artin my favorite gallery space in Detroit.

28. Realizedthat gift certificates are a fantastic idea for what I do.

29. Wasinterviewed by the amazing Jason Lahman for Art 21’s blog.

30. And a wholebunch of miscellaneous internal, soul-strengthening stuff: stabilized throughtherapy;

made friends in Prague; cold emailed oodles; figured out how to walkthrough the city without consulting a map every time; let anger towards onevery particular anger-receptacle go; handled logistic life here; drew; painted;figured out how to use images from others as source material; created books ofsequential images interspersed with text; figured out what my “tendonitis”,then neck pain, then the hives really meant; went to Canada, met myniece, saw my brother start the next beautiful phase of his life; decided thatsaying No is my personal obligation for the good of all and my soul; learnedhow to rest, sleep in and really care for myself; decided that I’m very wary ofspiritual ideas that are passive and disempowering; bought a mooncup andtotally love it!; realized for the first time ever that I might actually wantchildren of my own; realized how fiercely I’ve pushed away notions of truepartnership; learned how to really talk, with an open chest about my work andabout what I do; pursued a lot of art avenues -- met curators, proposed shows,got clarity on what the project actually is and wants to be, wroteintroductions; got back on the blog wagon; naturally started to slow down inthe kitchen and enjoy the process of making nourishing, sustainable food; tookcare of a bunch of necessary paperwork in a foreign country; gave myself thechance to experience something I’ve always wanted – a quiet, hustle-freeholiday; and finally, wrote this post and hit send!

Dying Possibilities Make Space for New Ones, she said, in her most journalistic voice.

2012-01-11T13:54:00.000+01:00

Fragment from Find the Holes in Your Theories, mixed media on board, 48"x28", 2011.

Menses. Shedding. Lettingpossibilities go and making space for new ones. Literally, and of course, metaphorically.

What is no longerpossible.

It’s not possible anymore to spread my energy thin.

It’s no longer possible to say yes to things when my bodysays NO.

It’s not possible to deny what lies beneath the surface. (because the physical body will start to scream)

It’s not possible to put my career, my health, and myself-care second.

It’s no longer possible to hide.

It’s not possible to pretend that I don’t feel deeply andthat art-making isn’t central to my well-being.

It’s not possible to believe that this isn’t my path, that thisisn’t viable, that this isn’t lucrative.

It’s just not possible…

And I’m willing tolet these things die to make space for new possibilities.

It is possible to respond with impossibilities of your own…little deaths that might be occurring.

It is possible to purchase drawings from this blog. (email me when you see one you like: j@jessicaserran.com)

It is possible to honour my cycles. To rest when the body says rest. To listen when the body says eatchocolate. To stop drinking coffeein the middle of the cup because you know it’s over – at least for thatday.

It is possible to say No to things that feel unhealthy, tocatch them as they are coming in and to protect myself.

It is possible to watch the seeds we plant spread, to waterthem and to trust.

It is possible to thrive. To create what we want. To be in integrity and take mindful, sweet care of ourenergy.

It’s also possible to sink deeper into trust, which meanshonouring the uncertainty and loosening our control of the reins – even just awee bit.

It is possible to send this out and to feel safe.

It’s also possible to hold this all lovingly, to know thatthe unconscious gets prickly when new things come into consciousness and togive it another task so that it doesn’t feel completely out-of-a-job.

It’s possible to remember that change takes time, thatawareness-es often come fast and hard and that integration is an ongoingprocess.

It’s possible.

Prelude to this idea here: I think I understand the twinkling Christmas lights.

Mark the Spot Where it Entered: A drawing. About knotted fleshy bits that came, and may possibly went.

2012-01-09T19:43:00.001+01:00

Mark the Spot, ink on paper, 8.5"x11", 2011, Jessica Serran, $75.

I think I'll call them Documents of Engagement, she said, while darkness fell all around....

2012-01-06T15:37:00.000+01:00

Letting Darkness In, 8.5"x11" ink on paper, 2011, $75.

Caution: Melancholy material. Could be considered un-uplifting...

This week I am weary.

Weary and heavy.

If I could turn the background colour of my blog to red, Iwould. (Which doesn’t particularlystrike me as the colour of weariness, but it’s appropriate, given thegoing-down-into-the-darkness aspect of bleeding)

The weariness is partially understood, can be partiallyaccounted for, and partially exists in the realm ofnot-sure-yet-if-I-fully-understand it, or if the partially-understood-parts areto be trusted and not a disguise for something else.

All good questions.

What I know is this. I started to feel disheartened when it was suggested to me that puttingyour work in the “wrong” gallery is akin to career suicide.

I just don’t want to believe this, but more affectingly isthe thought that we could be so fickle and create even more hoops for artiststo have to jump through.

Sigh…

I’m a fan of juxtapositions. And hope that viewers can discern. But maybe this is the problem as well, because yes, I alsoappreciate a well-curated show.

Anyways. Pointsof debate are numerous. What’smore relevant for me is this disheartenment.

I think it caught me in the place where I tend to feelconflicted. That space of me-in-relation-to-the-“artworld.”

Maybe I should define for myself what “art world” means tome, since really, it’s such a vast, diverse animal... Then maybe the conflicting aspects of it wouldn’t sneak upon my so easily.

So how shall I handle it?

Just going to be sad, and weary and disheartened for awhile. I’ll go into it and seewhat else is there.

Yesterday was one of these days too. I went to an artist’s book releasepresentation. The artist Jan Brož did a series of artworks andinvestigations based on a Glass Factory in the area where he grew up – Rapotín, Czech Republic. I was thinking about this approach toart-making, which led him to research the history of the factory, the socialsituation and the realities of how privatization, after the fall of communismaffected the workers and the industry.

It struck me that there was something similar with his wayof working and the project that I’m doing (Identify,which I haven’t talked much about here on the blog but it’s still in the works). Kindof art-as-research, where theobjects both further the exploration and document discoveries along theway.

I thought to call my objects ‘Documents of Engagement’,which is kindof an accurate way of describing them.

(I thought this because I surrendered to yesterday’sheaviness and found this in the dark self-reflective/self-critical space I wasin.)

Also perhaps a line of cards based on my drawings calledPseudo-Sentimentals.

Anyways, vulnerably yours,

Jessica

Let's see, I'm sure there's a few other vulnerable posts floating around:
This is a good one - talks about the "art world" too: Exposing My Pimply Butt
About menstruation and admitting my pain: Space and Time

And about what to do in the darkness: Learning to Be Responsible

: : : : : : : :

Oh, and a heads up if you're not already aware: Most of the drawings on this blog are for sale, including today's: $75 + shipping.... : : : : : : : :

Knee length lizard tights, fear-ball producing fish + some thoughts on love, the sheer terror of relationship and Lady Death.

2012-01-04T18:32:00.000+01:00

I found some more anger. It hangs out around my shoulder blade, alongside the fear. Evidently it hangs out there because itis trying to both distract me, and to get my attention if I listen closelyenough.

No problem. I’mworking on it. The last post addressedthis body piece and the idea that the mind will create physical symptoms todistract us from feeling things in our subconscious that are threatening orscary.

Got it.

As in -- I understand, and also that it’s working in fulleffect.

Got the shoulder pain --still.

Last week I battled it. Told it that I knew what was happening and that the gig wasup. It’s helping, but still –ouch.

Working to get better acquainted with the pain beneath thesurface.

Working to be willing to feel it.

This painting has gotten some balls rolling (pun intended!) andhelped with some of the unearthing/puking up/gutting…

This guy started it.

Fragment from Find the Holes in Your Theories, mixed media on board, 48"x28", 2011.

He emerges, in the painting, from a fleshy/tissue-ymass. (I'll show you in a minute...) But the tissue isn’t thecolour of vibrant full-of-life tissue. No this tissue is full of pastels. Full of nice ideas and wistful fantasies….

Yuck. I’m sonot a fan of pastels.

Some part of the fish guy thinks that he wants to be on theside of the pastel bit, but he’s not sure and doesn’t know where to turn forthe answers. What emergesfrom him, birthed in self-doubt and confusion is a fleshy, red and orangegut-filled mass that contains two things:

1) the fear balls from last week, trying to distract it from what’sreally going on and

2) two pairs of legs wearing knee length lizard tights.

Fragment from Find the Holes in Your Theories, mixed media on board, 48"x28", 2011.

I’m still trying to understand the lizard-legs, and wrotelast week about the fear balls – those sneaky, distracting fellows. Always waving their proverbial redflags.

What I know, and how it connects with Clarissa PinkolaEstes.

I know that I’m searching for new ways to approach intimaterelationship and partnership.

New ways to frame what I want it to be.

And I know that something about relationship terrifiesme. Gets the ‘ole gutsclenching.

And I’ve found that Estes, so beautifully talks about alife-death-life cycle in relationship. That couples must learn how to sleep with lady death and ride the wavesof relationship, making room for periods of birth, death, entropy, incubationand re-birth.

Sleeping with Lady Death.

I know how much this inspires me.

And at some point Estes talks about how in her experience asa Jungian analyst she encounters clients who are at that point in a newrelationship where it becomes so terrifying that their first impulse is to runfast and hard.

And that many do.

And I know that I’m surprised that more people don’t talkabout the sheer terror of getting into relationship and the dying, giving up,going in, and re-emerging that’s involved.

And I’m learning that the fear is part of themoving-closer-to-what-my-heart-and body are longing for.

And on a good number of days, this movement will scare theshit out of me.

And if I don’t connect to my body and open my heart, I’mbound to let the fears run rampant.

And that’s never good.

But….

I’m also learning to ride the waves and understand the fearballs -- that I can stand back and observe, or have a conversation with them –see what they have to offer, or maybe just offer them a nice cup of hot tea.

So I’m trying to connect to what comes up for me inrelationship and this painting is part of it…

Lucky for me, the paintings seem to know this stuff before Ido.

Here. I’ll attacha picture.

Find the Holes in Your Theories, mixed media on board, 48"x28", 2011.

A drawing: It's a one-winged bird thing. The other wing fell off and is hugging my head.

2011-12-29T17:05:00.000+01:00

I think I understand the twinkling Christmas lights.

2011-12-27T14:21:00.000+01:00

I’ve got a couple of posts up my sleeve; ones that I’ve wantedto get to but are being repositioned by some other business.

Holidays, yes –which I’ll speak about...

But also because stuff has been coming up and out – throughthe body, and I’ve needed to pay attention to it.

Like literally. I broke out in hives.

The same day that I got myself a new desk to help remedy theergonomic (or what I thought was ergonomic) conditions surrounding my neck pain,I broke out in hives.

Which, I realized last night while reading John Sarno’s TheMindBody Prescription is veeeerrry, interesting indeed…

SneakingSuspicions.

The posts that I’ve wanted to be writing are all in connectionto the most recent painting and the last few posts about the Fear Balls. I’m going to get to that,but some things are currently on an interjection mission.

All of this, however, does remain intimately, and interestingly,connected to the previously mentioned Fear Balls, and the painting.

Fragment from Find the Holes in Your Theories, mixed media on board, 48"x28", 2011.

Caring for mycreative process.

It’s become much clearer to me that I need to staysuper-mindful about how I surround, comfort and care for my creative process.

I’ve been doing this with this last painting, and the latestdrawings, and these blog posts. Seems that my focus and intentionality is working. (Cause you know, I got hives man!)

It’s like Charles, the beloved professor used to say, “youhave to set up the banks of the river so that the water can flow through.”

This is how I’m seeing my process. Choosing to be deliberate and intentional about showing upso that movement can take place within that space.

Movement indeed.

If you’re a regular reader you’ll know that I avoid gettingtoo-specific-with-details about my life and instead (for numerous reasons) tryto take a step back and speak to the lessons and the patterns and thethoughts.

Just wanted to say that. I won’t go into the nitty-gritties but try to walk youthrough the essence of it.

Timing.

It’s Christmas. My first Christmas not being home with family. Which has given me the chance to consider this holiday, thisseason, and to ask myself what it all means to me.

I’ve noticed how quiet it has been when I’m not wrapped upin the usual activities.

And the quiet has felt appropriate. Winter-y.

During my last period I was thinking about what I’m calling“the menstruation metaphor.”

Bleeding as evidence of dying possibilities.

A time to grieve for eggs that haven’t been fertilized andfor a part of us that is leaving; shedding in order to open up space for futurepossibilities.

Along these lines, I’ve been wondering what this time, this dark, winter, holiday time is about.

Winter Solstice/Christmas.

I won’t even get into talking about the adoption of pagansymbols and rituals by the Christians… or perhaps the evolution andappropriation… whatever… here’show I’ve been experiencing it.

Winter solstice is the longest night of the year. It seems that Christmas, in part – withits symbols and activities, is about bringing light into the darkness.

There are the twinkling Christmas lights, and shiny sparklythings.

It’s a time of cozy interiority.

A time when the world slows down (or at least it does if youcan avoid holiday madness) and we go inward. To our homes and to our families.

What it means for me.

I’m making distinctions about the type of action andefforting that I’d like to have happen at this time of year. And what it all means to me.

I guess that similar to my time of menstruation, when thedarkness comes, it’s a good time to rest and nurture myself.

To go inward and honour the darkness.

A good time to listento my body.

This year, my body broke out in hives, which I just realizedthis morning, happened precisely on the Solstice.

This year I had to rest.

This year I walked down to the old town square and for thefirst time I understood the twinkling lights and the effort to bring light intothe darkness.

This year I feelsilence, and appreciate it.

This year I feel the thinned veil between the conscious andthe unconscious.

How it relates to apainting.

My painting, and the process I was talking about above arein service of understanding what’s happening beneath the service.

I’ve used this latest painting as a way to focus on what’sbeen happening in my body.

It started because the pain in my shoulder/neck was so loudthat my only option seemed to be to go inward with it.

It’s hard to followthe thread some times.

I’ll be honest. I haven’t always believed in transformation. I still don’t some days. I wonder what rituals, what acts, what intentions canactually cause change. I doubt thepotency of some things. I questionand I forget.

But something from this process, this most recent paintingprocess, is changing that belief.

When I really honour my process. When I care for it. When I continue to put energy in, and stay in conversation with what iscoming out, things seem to carry themselves along in amazing, and mostinteresting ways.

I know that this is about working with, and creating alanguage that I understand.

A language that speaks to me and comes from me.

A language of metaphor and symbols that can speak to thingsthat my conscious mind can’t always wrap itself around or access.

The MindBodyPrescription

Sarno suggests that the body will create symptoms to helpdistract us from unpleasant emotions that are trying to rise to thesurface.

First it was tendonitis, then neck pain, now the hives. Something tells me that there’s apattern here.

That something deep,and threatening is trying to come to the surface.

And my body, bless it’s heart, is both trying to protect meand simultaneously giving me the information that can help bring about healing.

Cut-out from Find the Holes in Your Theories, mixed media on board, 48"x28", 2011.

Raising the Red Flags

What a complicated system indeed…

But thank God.

The question right now is how to tap into my ownknowingness, to find the resources that I need, and to understand what’shappening beneath the surface.

Join me. Fillme in on thoughts about the darkness and this time of year and how you bringlight to it…

something amazing happened....

2011-12-23T17:03:00.000+01:00

An interview with Jason Lahman, Art 21 blogger-in-residence!

Check it out here: The Coincident Dance of Image and Word: An Interview with Jessica Serran

Happy Holidays y'all!

Part 2 of: What the fear-ball lodged in the back of my neck was trying to tell me...

2011-12-19T16:08:00.000+01:00

In Part 1: of What the fear-ball lodged in the back of my neck was trying to tell me, the fear-ball told me to paint.

Which I did. Cheers all around!

And while I was painting, the fear-balls led me to the idea that itwould probably be wise if I stopped perceiving the past as a series of poor choices,and instead perceived it as oh, I don’t know – okay, and totally acceptablegiven the information and resources that I had available at the time oreven cool! I jumped in and lived – I experimented… I tried.. I followedmy heart… it failed.. que serasera!

All of which is much kinder.

The thing I’m learning is that unless I’m able to do this I’m goingto have a hard time moving forward and letting who I am now (which is not thesame person as who I was then) inform the choices that I make.

And plus, seeing the past as a series of poor choices doesn’t feelparticularly good for my sense of self in the present.

So. Moving on….

Right. So Ipainted. Which helps theinformation to flow.

And a bunch of it came in – information that is.

One of which was this phrase: There is enuf time and there is enuf money. (spelled according to how it came out on the canvas.)

Which came out when I finally let myself really feel the pain in myneck. When I stopped trying tomitigate it and wish it away I could actually feet it.

And goddamn it hurt.

And goddamn it I’m saying that out loud.

It hurt. Anotherbreakthrough. For the back storyread this: Anger + Grief...

And then I softened a bit around it, and started wondering what elseit had to say.

I admitted the pain and then I asked itto speak.

Which prompted the sneaking suspicion that the fear of being who I was as opposed to who I am now wascausing a whole lot of this tension.

And that the person who I am now, would be much better off if I wasable to come from an open-hearted place.

You know, like making decisions from a place of abundance.

From a place of trust.

From a place of connecting to my heart instead of letting all thefear do the talking.

Cause the fears are valid – but we’ll talk about that next time…

The place that I would like to come from…

I don’t want to come froman emaciated place of scarcity. Iwant to feel, really feel that there is enough time and enough money and enoughspace. I want my higher self tospeak – the knowing self, and I want to be able to access that place inme.

Which, nicely brings thisfull circle, because that’s what painting helps me to do.

And additionally nice, wasthis quote of Einstein’s that a friend read to me this weekend:

“The distinction between past,present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion”

Preliminary stuff:

So. This week’s experiment:

If I move slower, and rememberto breathe… if I infusespaciousness and slowness into my days, can I jump off the wheel of “there’snever enough time?” into a place of ahhhh… and ease… and empty-fullness?

And, lest we forget…

The puppies! Christmas is just aroundthe corner. (Holy soon-nessbatman!)

If you’ve been debating, or waiting, or whatever – doingthe things that we all do, now’s a great time to cozy up to that sneakingsuspicion that your loved one would dearly appreciate a personalizeddrawing!

They don’t have to decide anything now… Cause we’ve got gift certificates!

They’re here: The drawings are kind of like puppies metaphor...

Coming back from a wee painting hiatus, if you will…

2011-12-13T16:30:00.000+01:00

There's some sorting through that I'd like to do this week.

Some sorting through and a very gnarlyknotted neck/back pain-thing.

Ouch.

And the question for me is – how?

How do I want to sort through this?

The gnarly neck pain-thing kindof forced me to stop in mytracks yesterday.

Cause it hurttoo much to keep doing what I was doing.

So I stopped and did the only thing that seemed like itmight help. I painted.

I came back from a painting sabbaticalthat I had been on, and I painted.

Now here’s the thing, which is indicative of how some otherthings have been internalized by me.

I just called it a sabbatical – when the way I reallyperceive it is like this: “My armswere hurting, I couldn’t paint. It’s not good that I couldn’tpaint. And also I prioritizedweb-design work over painting during my time in Canada. I’m a bit of an idiot. I can’t take care of myself properlyand I got myself into this pickle because of that.”

Again, ouch.

That isn’t very nice, and is very, very different from something along the lines of “um, yes, I chose to take a littlesabbatical. A wee hiatus, if youwill….”

Must I be so mean to myself? Must I put things in this perspective?

Which, nicely segues into my next topic.

How I perceivethings, often, in general.

I’ve mentioned this before. It’s not entirely new. In fact it’s really, really old. But that’s okay too (said the voice of kindness).

The question of perception is about allowing things toactually be the thing that needed to happen, as opposed to the thing that happened because I f****ed up in some way that is all myfault and a failure on my part that I should have avoided.

Boy, saying it, or rather typing it out loud is a bitshocking.

Cause it’s the waythat the internal stuff often goes down for me.

And I realized, as I painted yesterday, and processed aparticular batch of fear-balls that were arising, that unless I decide tohonour what has happened and the choices that I’ve made, I’m going to get stuckin the past.

And I’m going to get stuck in a place that doesn’t allow meto move forward and be the me now who made certain choices then, but is adifferent me now and can make different choices than I did back then… if I choose to, of course.

This is calledforgiveness, isn’t it?

I have this image in my head of a character who looks atthis stuff, who looks at me and the choices I made two years ago – it’s anelderly woman, someone who’s lived, someone who’s tried things and hadunexpected results, someone who lived bravely… she’s looking at me, flips herhand back and says “anh” – in this kind of whateverlady, just let it go kind of a way.

Que sera, sera.

So I’m moving towards that place… and towards making future choices based on seeing pastchoices in a kinder way.

Andopening up a space for the fear-balls – on the canvas, and opening up a spacein my body to make choices based on openness, deep breaths and my heart.

Choices that come from a me who honours the old choices anda me that has learned from them.

And it feels really good to be painting again.

Thanks fear/neck/gnarly balls!

And lest I forget...Holiday gift-giving bliss…

The Christmas gift certificate thing.

The puppies… um, I mean, the drawings! A reminder for you…

They’re available.

They’re an awesome gift.

They’re here: The "drawings are kind of like puppies metaphor"... (bear with me, I can explain...)

: : : : : : : :

And another on this topic of directing kindness towards pastchoices: Anger + Grief: We Can Do Some Crazy Things When Death or Loss Seems Immanent.

The “drawings are kind of like puppies” metaphor... (bear with me, I can explain..)

2011-12-08T19:50:00.001+01:00

Or… choosing a drawing is somehow akin tochoosing one puppy from a whole litter of puppies when what you’d really loveis to take all of them home!

(Seemed like a pretty delightful intro, which Ican’t actually take full credit for… If you’re out thereoh-art-collector-who-said-it-to-me-in-this-unforgettable-way... props andsweetness to you!)

Okay, so what am I talking about?

Right. Focus.

It’s holiday time. And I don’t know aboutyou, but it’s always a bit conflicting for me.

I love giving presents, but I also tend toover-do it some years and end up stressing myself out.

I’m simultaneously delighted, and inspired, whenI come up with what feels like the perfect thing to give my lovedones.

See for me, it has to both:  
a. express how I feel, and 
b. fit in nicely with the things that theylove.

And boy, when those two things line up…yee-haw… It’s a Happier Holiday!

So. In the spirit of giving things thatpeople love, things that come from your heart and things that resonate withtheir world… you’re in luck!

I’ve got puppies. And lots of them.

Puppies, puppies, puppies.
 Drawings,drawings and more drawings...

You can pick one. Or not. Andinstead give a gift certificate that allows your loved one to do thepicking…

 Gift certificates make life easier!

Your loved one can pick a drawing that I’vealready done, or order one from the newly named, formerly-named NeedHelp? drawing project.

That’s right. Customize it baby!

For now…

You just have to order the gift certificate,and the choosing can happen later… like in some post-holiday quiet timebliss…

Problem-os solved!

A gift certificate from the world of JessicaSerran that grants the art-loving receiver
a. a customized drawing based on whatever they think,feel, want, and tell me.

-or-

b. a pre-existing puppy: one of thosedrawings from my sketchbook. (Mama dog is kindaprolific so you’ve got options!)

Oh, and if you haven’t seen my new website yet,don’t be alarmed… that’s where these links will whisk you away to. (I’vebeen keeping it on the down-low since it’s still in progress… )

So.

When you see the PERFECT HOLIDAY GIFT drawing...

Click there.

Once payment is received I’ll send a giftcertificate to your inbox. You can print it out and give, give, give in any old way thatyou’d like!

Done drawings here: http://www.jessicaserran.com/sub_gallery.php?cid=1&scid=3
Drawingproject here: http://www.jessicaserran.com/sub_gallery.php?cid=3&scid=12

$40 for any of the above, plus shipping…

And a little incentive if you’re on thefence: prices will be going up in the New Year… so now’s a great time toget in on this action!

Happy giving!
 love, jessica

The life of this woman: Coming back to myself.

2011-12-05T10:26:00.001+01:00

I wrote this last week on my Twitter Profile:

Image-maker. Artist. Woman. Painter andmap-maker of the internal. Oh - and a habitual self-forgetter, which logically,then makes me a self-remember-er...

“A habitual self-forgetter, which logically, then makes me aself-remember-er..”

There was something wonderful about naming myself that. And then adding that I’m aremember-er. Somethingcompassionate. Somethingunderstanding of the cycles that are inherently a part of most everything thatI’m a part of.

I used to want to be in Remembrance all of the time. I thought that that was the goal. I like that I’ve learned how toremember quicker, and how to initiate re-membrance in the necessary moments, butI’m glad too, that the forgetting is being greeted with more compassion….

Kindof like “Oh, it’s happening again…”

I talk aboutSelf-Care. (interesting… both came out with capital letters…)

Last night while lying in bed my body was active. I don’t know if you ever have that –but it was a kind of restless, internal jittery thing where I can feel theenergy circulating – popping around… things churning… Sometimes it’s physical, sometimes hormonal, sometimesmental.

There were the thoughts last night. Thoughts that I realized I could have attended to.

Thoughts pressing in on me.

But it occurred to me, in such a new, much surer way, thatmy only responsibility in that moment was to sleep. That everything would work itself out better if I made thatmy priority.

So I set an intention for things to resolve themselvessomewhere between the resting and the commitment to taking care of myself.

And realized that having that intention was as powerful inthat moment as any thinking or other actions I could take.

I don’t know how to account for the night of dreams thatfollowed, or if I did something specific that invited them in, but it was anevening of dreams filled with incredible amounts of conflict. Some really gnarly stuff.

I’m putting it in thezone of “huh, that was interesting…”

In the zone of ‘I’m not going to try to over, or underprocess it…” I’ll stay curiousabout it. Not attach easy meaningsand simultaneously not dismiss it.

I got to my studio this morning with the intention of takingcare of some logistical stuff. Butmy head was so fuzzy. When I askedmyself what I actually needed to be doing it was drawing.

Not writing emails.

Not working on the website.

But drawing.

I needed to connect with myself.

Which brings me torhythms and schedules.

I’ve been thinking about rhythms, as opposed to adhering tostrict schedules. What do I need,and when? What does my body knowabout what it wants and how can I stay in a place of asking….

“What would feelreally good in this moment?”

And also, how can I make choices that provide the space Ineed to process things, and be quiet, and honour my creative process?

Things like not scheduling meetings on days when I’mpainting. Because painting needsit’s own space and takes me to particular places….

And how can I rest when my body needs it?

How can I adjust to honour the fact that it’s winter anddarker and my body wants a lot of sleep?

Flow seems like an appropriate word here.

Notes from the Artist in me and the Sleepless Jet Lagged Night.

2011-11-24T12:09:00.001+01:00

(sounds a bit like the title of a nice children’s book or fairy tale)

I’m back. Andboth a bit better, and a bit worse for the wear. Which is today’s topic.

The wear. Andnicely, because I love double entendres and words that sound the same but meansomething different… Thewhere.

And, to throw in a little rhyme – the self-care.

The wear, where and theself-care.

Yes. That’sit. The three hot topics.

We’ll hit the where first:

Canada for a month, with a few days in Portland. And now, back in Prague. While each location differs greatly,what doesn’t differ so much is the me that is currently, and consistentlybumping up against self-care issues.

Going from where to where has increased the level ofwear. Read: brutal jet lag. Probably exacerbated by a poor level ofself-care when I was in the first two of the three wheres.

This is it.

This is the hot topic. This is the thing that while I couldn’t sleep last night at 3am, wasoffering up some alternatives.

New ways of being needed.

Because, well, because I needthem. Because some of my ways arenot serving the artist, the woman, the highly sensitive being in me. And I'm angry with myselffor making some choices that haven’t put these needs at the top of mylist.

For good reasons. Not the anger, but the reasons for not taking care of myself.

The reasons always seem good. And nice. Andgenerous. And important.

I can always justify them.

(There does have to besome compassion here. And thecompassion is this: I do know thatthere are old patterns and old stuff here for which I haven’t known or seenplausible, functioning, healthy alternatives. So it’s okay to be where I’m at with this.)

I did tell myself that at least I was aware of the fact thatI was pushing myself too hard.

A-where? Ummm… So where was I exactly?

Which brings me to the question of where have I been? But not in an immediate-past type ofway.

More like: where have I been in regards to myselfand my creativity and these self-care issues.

Not the first time that I’ve asked these questions, andsurely not the last.

But I do have some new bits to add to the equation.

The Wild WomanArchetype

I’ve been listening to these incredible audio files ofClarissa Pinkola Estes where she talks about and tells stories from her book Women Who Run with the Wolves.

About the Wild Woman archetype and ways that Wild Women mustcare for, protect and prioritize her own well-being and desires.

She says all of this and I hear it in a way that is helping somethings to shift.

Like how I see this issue.

How it is no longer tenable, or healthy, or wise to overlookmy sensitivities, my needs, the requirements of my creative process, and myenergy.

In fact I have to make choices based on these things.

Energy.

Coupled with what felt like a powerful Reiki massage, (astep that I took the other day towards self-care) I was up in the middle of thenight last night feeling clearer than ever about how imperative it is that Ihonour my own rhythms and guard the artist in me.

(Of course it’s a bitfuzzier this morning, but I can make space for that too.)

I have to make time and space for my creativity. And I have to structure my life so thatit is in accordance with my rhythms and my creative cycle.

Going to the bar and having a few beers after being in thethroes of the creative process does not honour my process.

Not sleeping well does not honour my process.

Allowing the wishes and needs of others to trump my own does not honour myprocess.

It’s about myinstincts, really.

I have a knowingness. And there are ways that I can access my wisdom and learn to reclaim myown wild nature. Re-claim the part of me that intuitively knows how this looks.

I understand that this has been suppressed and that there-claiming of it will take time.

And I actually think that this past year of sleeplessness,and laying awake when I should be sleeping, is a direct result of not tendingto my creativity and my self in the ways that I need to.

I think that my body awake in the night is trying to bringattention to the things that I didn’t attend to during the day.

I got myself into a pickle with this last year. A necessary pickle. A creatively-processing pickle. A dark-night-before-the-dawnpickle. But not a pickle that I needto revisit in the same way.

I’d like to learn from that past pickle and implement thechanges that I need to.

Boy would I ever like that.

The thread runs deep. More self-care posts here:

Second Night in the Farmhouse.
What I've Been Learning.
Life and Its Curveballs.

Pressure - an old friend.

2011-10-19T16:31:00.000+02:00

In Canada for a month.

Can’t seem to concentrate. Jet lagged. Ugh.

Routine lost. Schedule awry. Trying to gowith the flow.

Not always successful.

Double ugh.

(interject someself-care and tenderness - and some pink italics)

How to do this gracefully?

How to take care of myself and have realistic plans andexpectations?

I’d like to paint, but can’t seem to carve out thetime.

Other demands.

Other things pressing.

PRESSURE!

Now that’s a familiar friend – an old friend. Self-imposed or whatever, it’s payingme a visit.

How I’d like to come up with a realistic plan. With realistic expectations.

(insert some awarenessof an old pattern and the admission that I don’t know what to do about it yet…)

How I’d like to feel spacious and organized and relaxed…

I exploded the other day in the face of this pressure that I couldn't get any objective distance from.

Triple ugh.

(insert some forgiveness. period.)

I worked on another blog post last week on the plane, butit’s not ready yet. And this feelsmore therapeutic at the moment. We’llsave the other one for another day.

I kindof want to surrender but I’m afraid that somethingthat resembles passivity is not what’s called for at the moment. Not here anyways.

Not sure….

(insert space tobreathe and to ask the question: what would feel really good right now?)

Been wanting to work on my next-envisioned series ofpaintings – The Grief Cycle. Charcoal. Black charcoalmixed with the colourful-rest of what I do.

Oh, the desire to paint….

Now that’s what I want to do.

What I do know.

Writing this feels damn good.

And - it's not the first time I've felt discombobulated. (how I love that word!)

Other pressure/schedule-related challenges here:

The Shape of Things.

Exposing My Pimply Butt.

Hitler + 420.

Anger + Grief: We can do some crazy things when death or loss seems immanent.

2011-10-10T13:04:00.000+02:00

I think it’s time to do some grieving. Maybe it’ s the cold weather settingin.

What is grief? Where does it reside? How do we, well me, really, engage withit?

Bear with me. We're about to go on a bit of a ride.

I think about grief and my thoughts go towards the images thatI draw of bodies. Swollen bodiesand emaciated bodies, bodies with excess bits of flesh. Bodies distorted. Bodies shaped by experience. Bodies with expanded organs. Bodies with visible guts.

But before grief, there’s the anger.

Sadness is not something that I spend much time with. But anger – now that’s familiar. I’veoften wondered: what would replacethe anger if it no longer took up so much space?

Something about this thought has been desirable – seemed wiseeven. Sort of Buddhist-y and all fullof forgiveness and peace. But thenthe thought comes: if I let go ofthe anger will I also be letting go of something valuable – something thatmight actually contain within it heaps of useful information.

Perhaps there has been something justifiable in theanger. Maybe it’s been there for areason. Maybe it has served some purpose. Maybe it’s actually appropriate.

There’s a collection of catch-phrases and pseudo-spiritual-wisdomideas that swirl around in my mind and intervene at this point. They translate into something like: No. Anger is bad. Period. Mustget rid of it.

But what if I actually considerthe anger…

…without jumping to premature ejection, and consider its role? I might realize that actually, the angeris essentially a result of all of the things that I would have liked to have hadhappen – but didn’t.

Things that I intuitively sensed wouldhave been healthy for me. Orhealing.

I think the word intuitiveis important here. That there isan inner-knowing about this.

And besides, it’s not like any of my other attempts to “justget rid of it, or let it go” have worked.

So what then? What to do with it?

This strikes me as being pretty reasonable -- importanteven: That I had/have certainneeds that intuitively felt right, and that when they were not met anger was aresponse that helped to raise a red flag.

That's a great realization, but now what?

Well today, something else occurred to me, in kind of abackwards-ordered sort of way. Meaning that I primed you here with a bit of the conclusion that came after a different sort of investigation.

It occurred to me because grief seemed to be knocking on my door. Most likely from the inside.

Who let grief in?

Something shifted for me last week.

A big something. And it had to do with an animosity-receptacle. One that had been the recipient of a pretty hearty chunk of myanger. And in an unexpectedly niceencounter with him I went from feeling anger, to feeling Re-membrance.

A sweet sort of Re-membrance for thisplace and what got me here.

I remembered what I allowed in and what I opened myself upto. And in that Re-membrance Ifound fondness for a time of big openings and big allowings.

And in hindsight, in moments like these, I see this as abeautiful thing to have done.

Where did this opening and allowing bring me?

Well, it got me to this place. This place is where I’m currently residing. Both literally and metaphorically.

This place is the result of the unfolding of my choices, thethings I let myself fall into, and the circumstances that led me here.

So what’s the problem?

While it’s true that hindsight, and self-tenderness bringwith it the above-mentioned sweet Re-membrance about why I chose what I chose,what happens much more frequently is that I look back with self-dennihilation, (that’sa combo of denial and annihilation) and it means that I tell the story of whathappened in a particular way.

And in that way there lies self-contempt andembarrassment. As if I should have known better.

As if I could have known better? As if “better” and all of my ideas of what that is are the mostdesirable outcomes.

Here’s the thing and the way I see it:

The story could be told in two ways.

In the first way, which I most often choose, well less choose and more like “defaultinto;” in this version of the story I position myself as having donesomething wrong, with the underlying accusation being “I should have known better.”

As you can probably imagine, this doesn’t do wonders for mysense of self.

The second version, the kinder version, goes something likethis: Here is what happened and here is how I’m honouring myself for making thechoices that I made. Here is how Itake this as part of my journey and part of what I needed to go through. And here is how I treat myself withkindness, knowing what I know now, and knowing that life is a journey.

In this version I honour my heart and how I listened to myintuition. I see it as a beautifuladventure and the catalyst for so much growth and change. And in this version I don’t feelembarrassed about the growing that I needed to do.

Elizabeth Gilbert said this, when asked about the best piece of advice she’sever been given: It was the words of her mother, who inthe 1970s was counseling young girls about whether or not to have the baby theywere carrying, or whether to have an abortion. Her mother made the girls promise that when they looked back on the decision they made, thatthey would remember that they made the bestpossible choice at the time, given the information and the abilities they had.

I love that.

When I apply that, I remember that two years ago I dove intosomething that my heart deeply longed for. Something that it hadn’t yet allowed itself towant.

And that what followed was a crazy ride down a very unknownpath.

And that my abilities to negotiate this at the time werelimited.

And that a lot of pain, death and discomfort followed.

And that anger was the response that followed, in my woundedand confused state.

Hurt wasn’t yet a part of my vocabulary.

I've stayed in the anger for a long time, even when mytherapist tried to help me see it reasonably, and logically as “two adults whotried something and couldn’t make it work.”

But the pain was so deep.

I couldn’t have told you that at the time because I wasn’t evenadmitting that I was hurt. No, hurt was not a very big part of myvocabulary. I beelined towardsanger instead.

Hurt would have meant that I felt justified feeling what Iwas feeling. Hurt would have beenan admission that my vulnerable heart was wounded.

But then there was this sweet conversation with saidanger-receptacle…

And something shifted, and along with it went some of theanger. It no longer feltappropriate to just be angry.

And in this space that opened up I actually felt fondnessfor how I felt in the beginning. I could remember why my tender heartdove in so fully.

And then something else happened. Compassion.

Which was great, but in that compassion I started to sensesadness, and loss. And I didn’tknow how to hold that at all. I was in new territory.

And then I got a chest cold.

It’s grief, I think. Unacknowledged grief.

And I had to ask myself if I even knew what grief reallymeans.

And I had to ask what grief wanted.

It started to talk to me about loss. And loss started to mean that somethingthat I once loved, and deeply longed for, was no longer available to me. Which is much harder for me to admit,for some reason, than anger. Andmore complex to hold because it’s not as clear-cut.

Anger has been a more one-sided ally. A less nuanced friend.

Loss is greyer. Loss feels like a closing of possibilities. Loss frightens me. Cause it’s not like the thing that I want is dead and gone, it’s justthat it’s inaccessible to me. It’s no longer available and Ican’t have the thing that I wanted.

And I have to live with this.

Which affects my sense of control.

I guess there’s something kind of child-ish about this. I don’t mean that in a derogatory way,but rather like a child who wants what they want and gets upset and angry whenthey can’t have it.

Loss, for me, I’m learning, means that it’s still out there,but that it isn’t meant for me to have, or it needed to go away, or I wasn’tready for it… or it, for me.

And that means that I can’t control it.

That it has a life of it’s own that it will go on livingregardless of my wishes.

The scary part.

The part of me that sees the source of this knows that itcomes from feeling like there was never enough space for my own wants and needs. I wasn’t allowed to be in pain and Iwasn’t allowed to be hurt.

And howscary now, as an adult, to realize that life is not mine to control, but thatlife has a life of it’s own.

Or at least that’s been scary for me. Which has meant that anything that appearsto eliminate a possibility has felt deeply threatening. Because if I eliminated a possibilityit might mean that I could lose thechance for something and then I might have to grieve, and let in loss, orsadness.

Anger has been easier. A more faithful companion for my well-protected heart.

But I'm opening up to loss, and grief, and seeing what comes in, or who knows, maybe something will go out.

Defining craziness: My own terms.

2011-10-06T16:49:00.000+02:00

I want to qualify something here – which is how I use theword “crazy,” because I tend to use it fairly often.

And it’s a pretty loaded word, and can be a dangerous one.

I was writing some words last night for my new website, and Iused the word “crazy.”

I paused, like I always do in the face of that word.

And a few things occurred to me: The first, is that I like theword crazy -- when it means what I want it to mean. The second, is that I hatethe word crazy -- when it is used in a dismissive way. By dismissive I mean things like, “oh, she’s just crazy.” Which to me is about the same, and just as bad as “oh, she’s just PMSing.”

(Appropriate examples because part of mymission here is to transform my relationship to the feminine and all that itentails.)

Both examples are problematic, and well, to use the worditself – “crazy-making.”

So why do I find these things so problematic?

Because they glaze over and prevent a deeperexamination. And I hate that.

I hate feeling dismissed. The worst part, the oh-so-human part, is that quite often I’m the guilty party. I’m guilty of being dismissive towards myself! Oh it’s a sad state when I dismiss how I feel and dismisswhat’s really happening for me.

And it’s painful.

And it makes me feel crazy.

Okay, okay. Tell me what you mean by crazy already!

Yes. So here’swhat I came up with: Crazy, for me,is the feeling I get when I don’t yet have a place to put something. When something is floating around in mewithout a place to hang whatever hat it happens to be wearing. Thatmakes me feel crazy.

And, crazy to me is also the sometimes hormonally inducedstate, which, in all of its wisdom, ushers in any of the as-of-yet un-assimilateditems. (The chicken and the eggnature of this secretly delights me. It’s like a cleverly designed system that keeps things from gettingburied or stagnant.)

Having a period is the marvelous opportunity that I am givento spend some quality time with the aimless, dislocated parts of me. Usuallywhat they want most is just to have a space to hang out and talk.

And reveal their jewels.

Crazy then is the precursor to greater sanity.

Sanity. Jeez. What the hell do I mean by this? Such loaded words today.

By sanity, I mean a place of freedom where I can draw my ownconclusions, where I feel seen and heard, and where the meanings that I makeare based on what feels right to me.

It’s a place where I give myself full permission to use myown navigational system – a place that has a sense of rightness. A place where I can breathe and say “ahhhh…yes. I’m really not crazy!”

Which of course, will most likely be called into questionagain, predictably in some not-so-distant future, like say 28 days. Or even better – some unspecified timethroughout the month.

It’s a dance I tell you.

A constant dance.

Kind of like forgetting to re-member so that we canre-member all over again.

: : : : : : : :

Oh yes, more has been written on this craziness theme!
Riding the wild/dancing the river.
What to trust.
Space and Time.

The post that unravels as I write it.

2011-10-03T13:59:00.000+02:00

That started out as: I don’t know how to lessen the intensity.

It could also very nicely, and poetically be titled : The Aviator’s Wife.

I feel like my life is a crash course some days. Stimulus, stimulus… a little morestimulus. Confront, challenge, godeeper – cry, perhaps cry again, (the reasons could be numerous) and just praythat you can get some sleep at night.

I find that during the weeks where the intensity isparticularly heightened I notice numerous synchronicities and bumpings-into inmy external environment. I keepseeing people that I know in random places. Yes, Prague is small, but this is something else.

Coupled with bleeding, beautiful breakthroughs with thecopywriting course I’ve been doing: (I highly recommend: The Soundbite Shaman if you want some help getting to the core of wordingwhat you do and who it’s for), a meeting with an animosity-receptacle-representativefrom the past who now is the recipient of a lot less animosity, exciting newson the art front, a well-received blog post, and a general frenzy of energy andanxiety - the kind that disrupts good nights of sleep, as I plan for a month inCanada and some time in Portland..

Sigh… by thetime Friday afternoon rolled around my body couldn’t go any further.

Calming a racing heart.

I tried to level out the energy, and calm my racing heart. This looked like several very longwalks in the fall air. It’s theonly thing that seems to lessen the anxiety and intensity these days.

Not so bad since I love “the fall.”

And all-in-all I couldn’t be more pleased, or grateful.

My question, which is rhetorical, and mostly-philosophicaltoday, is this: Why, when we makebreakthroughs, are they almost always followed by bouts of fear?

I’m not going to answer it today, but instead, hold it inthe realm of just noticing…

Mixed with a little, “ohhello fear, I guess you’re here because we made some progress and now you fearyour extinction – I would be nervous too if I were you.”

Moving on….

And in. To thenext stage, which feels possible now that I a. have established the coremessage of my work, or as the Soundbite Shaman calls it My True Spirit, whichhas led to b. feeling ready to move on with putting my new world together (iewebsite and online presence), which is nicely punctuated by c. the relief ofbeing kind in the face of old hurts and d. the challenge of being able to holdnot just anger, and resentment, but the ability to honour what came beforewithout letting hurt paint a one-sided picture.

(Pause, and hear the voice in my head of a dear one who recentlysaid to me “You’re a delicate being. You must treat yourself delicately.”

Oh yeah. Nowthis is good.

The thread unravels.

Writing this I just realized how much point d from theprevious paragraph was conveniently called into question yesterday whilewatching the film The Aviator’s Wife.

I was totally confronted…

Can I name it?

What was I so confronted by?

I guess the answer would be that I was confronted by thecan’t-always-know, or guarantee, what-life-might-throw-your-way ebb of justabout everything.

And the realization that try as I might to rationalize, orlinear-ize or protect myself from the shit that terrifies me – by trying to accountfor it in cause-and-effect terms, I can’t. It’s slipperier, and I’m starting to think, much moreelemental than logical deductions and wishful explanations can accountfor.

Aw life. Howyou betwixt me.

: : : : : : : :

More betwixtations:

What about all this heaviness and transformation?

Sometimes shit just has to crumble.
Separation Anxiety.

13 Reasons to Feel Good (Post Personal Apocalypse)

2011-09-23T14:50:00.000+02:00

Here's the list I promised last time, reflecting on this pastyear and giving myself some time to reflect and Re-member – it's not entirely comprehensive,but full of noteworthy stuff.

Whenever I write the word Re-member I think about an actof putting the pieces, or the members of some dis-membered whole back together– as if the fragments of some lost or disconnected parts of ourselves arere-uniting. Or maybe the metaphoris of a team, with all the members of our wholeness coming together.

Put me in coach!

Anyways, if you read this and think to yourself ‘Hey, I’dlike to make a list of my own.’ Go for it. You could post it in the comments section. That would be totally rad!

Speaking of rad, I’m going to do something radical here – I’m going tocombine drawings from the newly titled “drawings that could hang out in yourspace and be your ally” series with a corresponding Reason to Feel Good. You’ll have already seen most of these,but let’s think of it as – a year in review…. Contact me if you want to hang out with one of them on apermanent basis! $25-40 each, sliding scale + shipping.

Okay, so here it is, The List:

A list of 13 noteworthy Reasons to feel good, Post-personal apocalypse.

Reason 1: The amount of times that my fits of crying are a result of a profound sense of loneliness, disorientation and sheer terror at the thought of having to be the one who decides for herself how I want to feel about things, has lessened significantly. No. really, it was dark.

Reason 2: I got a therapist and I’m not afraid to admit it! Sort of a rite of passage I suppose, and a bit surprising that it took me so long considering that I lived in California for five years. I guess the timing wasn’t right, or the desperation wasn’t deep enough! I think the gold in this is really two-fold: I acknowledged that I needed help and I did something to help work through a whole bunch of old stuff that had lodged itself deep in my being.

Reason 3 is related to Reason 2: I’m much more resourceful and willing to seek out resources for things that I wouldn’t have thought to before. And I see how fiercely self-reliant I was trying to be, or something like that, and how it really pays to open up to what’s available. Serious, exciting Yay! on this one. Which translates to exciting movement and development in the field of How-my-stuff-is-recalibrating-in-exciting-new-ways, a.k.a. Yes I want my own business-art-thingy to put-the-heart-of-me-out-in-the-world-in-a-way-that-honours-my-heart, feels-deeply-resonant, and can-be-a-viable-sustainable-thing. (I better keep an eye out for the hyphen-police!)

Reason 4: I didn’t completely shut down and resign myself to becoming crazy-Aunt-Jessie-with-the- moo-moo-and-a-small-herd-of-cats, but instead used the experience to figure out how to do this love-thing differently in the future.

Reason 5: Ifound a place to live and a studio in Prague, have made lovely friends, andall-in-all feel relatively at ease in a foreign city where I didn’t know anyone11 months ago.

Reason 6: Stilllearning Czech… slow and steady…. Tak tak tak as Old Grandma used to say asshe hobbled across the room clutching her walker. In case you're wondering, we did actually call her Old Grandma, lovingly of course.

Reason 7: I’mdoing it. Doing my project – doingthe thing that I want to be doing, doing the thing that confronts me deeply,fortifies my courage, and makes me realize just how much this adventurerequires a more than healthy dose ofI-have-a-somewhat-whacky-vision-and-I’m-just-crazy-enough-to-believe-that-it’s-possible.

Reason 8: Said project has gone from utter beginning-stagechaos to a reasonable amount of clarity.

Reason 9: Launching, well more like planning, the next incarnation of my website and my world. It’s just cool. And exciting. And challenging. And somehow through all of this I unstuck a sticking point that was preventing me from moving forward with the not-quite-explainable attraction to business that I've had for many years.

Reason 10: Just 'cause... And by just 'cause I mean that I have a new understanding that feeling good need not be dependent on how much I accomplishor how productive I am… still working on this one -- will probably fall into the 'lifetime's-work' category, but making bits of progressall the time.

Reason 11: Isleep. Often through the night,without terrible night sweats. This literally makes me feelgood.

Reason 12: I’mgetting much better at talking myself through the really scary moments andknowing well enough that I can navigate them on my own and remembering more often that there’s usually magical stuff like goldand solutions and new understandings on the other side of the gunk.

Reason 13: Thedrawings… always the drawings. Ithink they speak for themselves!

Oh, and bonus Reason: I both let myself get hooked on coffee again, (gave myself a little comfort and pleasure in the chaos) and broke the dependency when it wasn't serving me any longer.

And you? Reasons to celebrate?

My arms! My arms! I don’t want to go to the gym…

2011-09-20T16:00:00.000+02:00

I had planned to go to the gym Friday afternoon but my bodywasn’t interested. Earlier in theday I had been searching The Fluent Self blog for some comfort for this armthing.

I searched for posts about arms, or Stu (the name of hervoice recognition system – side note: I think it’s short for Stupid!). I found this fantastic post about aconversation she was having with her healer/massage/magic lady. She too was struggling with a “repetitivestress something.”

They asked her arms if they wanted to speak. They did, and they kept chanting No more pain! No more pain! No more pain! This talking-to-your-body idea wasdelightful, as was the ensuing conversation that she had with her arms, as washer later revelation that ‘boy my arms were awfully repetitive!”

The MindBody Prescription

As I perused the posts, I found a suggestion for this book, The MindBody Prescription: Healing the Body, Healing the Pain by a blog-commenter who said that it helped her through her ownrepetitive stress injury. I thenperused that book and found some online posts about others who also used the book tohelp heal their pain.

I can’t speak expertly on the book’s content, but the snippetthat grabbed me was the suggestion that perhaps the arm pain could be someother pain that had relocated itself in the system.

Re-locating pain?

What a fascinating thought.

And then more reading and a page that discussed someoneelse’s process as they applied the ideas from this book. This person started to clear up some oftheir emotional stuff by writing letters to people who they haveunresolved stuff with.

My realization: Hey, I have some unresolved stuff!

What followed.

A letter, to say what I felt – clearly. An admission of the pain, without anoverlay of muddled compassion.

This was something that I hadn’t done yet. I was still stuck inthe murky waters of over-contextualization and watered down admissions – without even knowing it. I had acknowledged some of my own contributions that made the situation difficult, but I realized that I hadn't fully acknowledged the pain.

The denial: Muddywaters.

It occurred to me that by muddying the waters I waspreventing myself from admitting, acknowledging and expressing my own hurts. So. Letter wrote, pain acknowledged, and lettersent! Progress indeed.

Timing…

After the reading and letter-writing I asked my body whatwould feel good. I was viscerally not interested in thegym. The unanimous answer was awalk… and trees. Trees! And freshair! And the type of recalibrationthat comes from the rhythm of walking.

I meandered through the nearby parks, made my way behindPrague Castle, and through more hilly parks and trees. And I reconnected, in the beautifulSeptember air, with how it felt to be here two years ago when I first came tothis country, succumbed to its September-spell, and fell in love.

Falling.

I remembered how in love I was with that first month heartwo years ago. And I rememberletting myself fall in lovefor the first time. Beforethat it was something else – more like I was stumbling into love.

Now, I can see why falling in love has to be a completelymagical and seductive affair. Otherwise who would stick around and go through the confronting, hardstuff that inevitably follows?

Two years ago I fell, blissfully. Actually it was twoyears ago to the day. Irealized this while walking.

Andexactly one year ago, to the day, Ireturned to Europe after the hardest summer, the darkest night.

And exactly one day later I was askedto leave the love. And then thedarkness continued for many more months.

And now, exactly oneyear after that I remembered all of this walking, blissfully, through theCzech hills again, after having wrote a letter, exactly one year later, to honour how I felt and help myselfheal.

These timings and associations always comfort me. Because I tend to forget soeasily.

Next post: Alist of the progress I’ve made this year and the stuff that I’ve done. To celebrate, to remember and to put that shit down on paper, cause have I mentioned that I tend to forget?

Strategic planning + the pit of despair.

2011-09-15T11:55:00.000+02:00

Oh, the phrase Becareful what you wish for.

Because yes, I did say that I’d like to listen to my bodymore. And I’m constantly negotiatinghormones with desires -- the reality of my body and my fixation with planning. And you know me, that incessant driveto be productive.

But there’s some good stuff, somenext-incarnation-strategic-planning stuff that happened in my most recentweakened state, once I was finally able to surrender to it, that is. There is one day every month when Iwill not be able to stop crying. Iget shaky and weak, and beware the person or more importantly, the thought(although the two can actually be one and the same) that gets tangled in my web.

It might seem a little over the top and hard to understand all the crying. And believeme, it feels that way for me too. Not to mention the coinciding dehydration -- but that’s another story.

Water-retention-issues aside, my tactic last night was torest (a good move) and to avoid things like work, exercise, and people.

I holed up with a couple episodes of Mad Men, hoping thestorm would pass, but this morning it was still brewing.

So, plan B. PemaChodron.

I googled Pema Chodron , having been reminded of her bookWhen Things Fall Apart yesterday. I found her and Bill Moyers talking about being hooked by an unpleasantemotion and being able to sit in a space with what’s arising.

I didn’t sit this morning, but I laid. And I let the discomfort and thething-that-I-mistakenly-thought-I-could-avoid-by-zoning-out-to-Mad-Men come tothe surface. Or more accurately, Iwent down to meet it.

It’s this remembering thing again.

I’ve been reading some material from Heart of Business (anamazing resource on ways that the heart can actually hang out and play acentral role in business) and doing a practice that the founder, Mark Silver, callsRemembering. To simplify, youbreathe into your heart and speak the name of your chosen version of divinity.

I tried something like this. I went in and connected to my heart. And acknowledged that I was in pain,and feeling a sadness, which was slowly starting to feel like depression. Probably because I wasn’t giving it thespace that it wanted.

That core need.

Long story short, after sitting in that space long enough I connectedto how important it is that I feel paid attention to – that my close friendsand partners are genuinely interested in me, and I in them. And that I can feel hurt when I don’tfeel met. This accounts for somuch of how I operate in the world. As my therapist suggested – if our core needs are met in a relationship,other things are easier to deal with.

I’m acknowledging, and reminded of how core this need ofmine is. And just how much it liesat the heart of my art and these projects I do.

I get inside of people’s experiences. And I share mine. I want to hear them and I want to beheard, or seen. And then I reflectback the things that got embedded in my filter. And make up my own version of the story.

So. Moral of mystory.

Listen to the body. In these days when “hormones” reign, itcan actually be a beautiful time to connect to something deeper. There’sgold in there, baby! Andsometimes all of my nice ideas of how I’d like to use my time will need to bethrown out the window.

Sigh.

Now. On to thestrategic, or lets say “essential” part

What do I call what I do and how do I point to it?

I mentioned in my last post that I wanted to run some“tag line” ideas by you – the words that I want to put after my name thatallude to the essence of what happens in this art/work world of mine.

Tell me if any of these resonate or chimein if something else occurs to you:

Jessica Serran, we all just want to feel heard. (try topicture these in that handwriting of mine)

Jessica Serran, normalizing the crazy, and making the crazynormal.

Jessica Serran, at your, “I’m in the middle of some process”service.

Jessica Serran, there is space for it here.

Jessica Serran, somewhere in the middle.

Jessica Serran, we’ve been here before.

Jessica Serran, mapping processes and tracing trajectories. There’s room for it all.

On the verge of something. (italicize the word something)

2011-09-13T13:56:00.000+02:00

A friend asked me last week if I felt like I was on aprecipice, and if I sensed that on the other side of this precipice was a newplateau. Am I on the verge ofsomething?

An integration, perhaps? A coming together in a way that explainsthe current challenges?

I said that I didn’t know, because I’m questioning the rolethat wanting, or needing the breakthrough, or the plateau, plays in me.

It’s the highs and the lows, baby. And an addiction to it. I said that I’d rather learn how to problem solve, and dealwith things gracefully.

She asked how this was looking? I said that it’s more about being able to observe, ie. stayquiet in the freak-out moments and not run away, or avoid it.

She’s been trying to do something similar, as both of us arein phases where the external curve balls are regularly being thrown our way.

Remembering.

I started to re-read my blog, wanting to go through what ishere, partially because I’m figuring out how to move forward with it and how tobetter link it to the new website that I’m working on.

This takes me to a necessary, and beloved place ofremembering.

It’s the classic “Remember who you are” thing for me. This was the one-liner that my motherwould always send my brother, sister, and I out the door with asteenagers. It was never, “Be homeat such-and-such-a-time” or “Don’t do drugs”, but instead this one-liner thatmade us think while letting us know that she trusted us.

Beautiful, but of course, we were teenagers. Appropriately we often “forgot”, anddid what teenagers will do. Butthe sentiment remains relevant. Ilook back through the blog because it helps to remind me who I am…

It helps me to remember. Because sometimes I get lost.

I was thinking that with my next blog post I could run someideas by you for the new title/tag line of my website. I’d love some feedback. I’m trying to find the rightJessica-language to describe all of this,and to frame what I do as an invitation. If anything comes to mind in the meantime, let me know.

Oh, and a left-handed drawing!

: : : : : : : :

And more similar goodness: (I like adding these links to older posts! It gets me going through the archives..)

I'm selfish and contracted and easily irritable. (how can you not be seduced by that title?)

...not sure what to name this one. (on self-forgetting and remembering)

So just be dizzy. (ah yes, the highs and the lows...)

The word 'patients' sounds a whole lot like patience

2011-09-05T14:21:00.000+02:00

The physical.

So I’ve mentioned this arm thing that’s been happening. By happening, I mean “consuming everyaspect of my day-to-day life.” Temporarily not having the use of my dominant hand is, well, complicated.

By complicated, I mean “causing some necessary recalibrationwith how I relate to productivity and my ability to surrender to what is thrownmy way.

I’m sure that I’ve said this before, but productivity is amajor part of the dominant paradigm that I came from, and one of the harder,more oppressive forces for me to shake.

Yes, this is an identity thing, again… wink and sigh…

Patience.

My partner-in-crime, who I have referred to previously asmy-partner-in-conversation-crime, has been taking care of me so that I canrest more. He lovingly calls me“the patient.”

While talking the other day about how this time is essentially ablessing in disguise that gives me more time to learn about my, quote-un-quote,lessened productivity, (along with time to learn about many other useful thingslike Twitter, and blogging and marketing) it occurred to me that the wordpatient sounds a whole lot like patience. A nice, and rather appropriate double-entendre.

So. What doesthis mean?

The non-physical partof the physical. The metaphor. The how-I’m-making-sense-of-all-this.

Well, the sort-of-sad, but I’m-always-in-the-midst-of-some-processtruth, is that my strength, up until now, has not been in an ability to berespectful of my body and its need for rest and rechargation (no, that’s not aword).

And this time of forced rest and rechargation is allowing methe time for some very necessary research and envisioning that I wouldn’t haveotherwise allowed.

Ah yes, allowing…

A stage of the process that I learned something about longago, in my California days. The stage that usually comes just before I receive something that I’ve longed for, activelyenvisioned, and invested in.

And this is how I comfort myself, and send a little reassurance my way. It's the story that I tell myself that actually does make it feel reasonably okay. Mix in last weekend’s hormonally induced letting go/metaphoricaldeath/time to cry and “die,” and I figure I’m exactly where Ineed to be!

So where am I?

Poised for the next incarnation of what I am offering as mygift. Poised to integrate my workand my site and the fabulous things that I’ve been learning by the likes ofHavi Brooks of The Fluent Self - an amazing woman who helps people get unstuck and move closer to offering the world the thing that they have dreamed of, Naomi Dunford - another woman, a Canadian, who runs Ittybiz.com to help small businesses get market savvy skills in her wildly entertaining and irreverent way, and Pistachio - Twitter expert-extraordinaire.

Poised patiently of course. If I were a semi-colon and a closed bracket I’d be comingtogether to form a wink as I type.

: : : : : : : :

There's more along these lines here, because yes, these themes do tend to recur!

It’s dark in here.

Tumultuous Territory.

Let it fall.

Artists in their "natural" habitats…

2011-09-03T14:58:00.000+02:00

Peek inside… Daniela, of thebestsellercreativeplatform.org wandered into my studio one Thursday afternoon a few weeks ago. (p 148)

http://issuu.com/thebestseller/docs/era21

She was working on a photo project, documenting the working-space wonders of the building where I work in Prague alongside a similar mixed-use space in Bratislava. First half of the minimally-worded book is the space in Bratislava, second half is Prague.

Great photos of the creative class in their “natural” habitats!

Woman down!

2011-08-29T17:03:00.000+02:00

Been wondering, why, in some regards I can be such a scaredy cat?

It’s the focus of my intense wonderings this past weekend. The question is a good one, I think. I’m reminded of the suggestion that I really try and answer this question of what am I so scared of when the fears arise -- give myself something concrete to work with.

I’m scared of a lot of things, but for some reason really sticking with something (a.k.a commitment) has been something I’ve avoided. Except for my art – for as difficult of a career choice as that one is, somehow I’ve managed to remain fiercely loyal to it.

I talked a bit, a few months ago about flirting with the world of marketing, and that I had started doing an online course, http://jessicaserran.blogspot.com/2011/07/ways-of-seeing.html, all of which is true. I’m no longer flirting with it, I’m full-on immersed in a stream of marketing, social networking, and business-y bliss. I’ve also got this arm problem lately that has required a lot more rest than work these days, which means plenty of time to read and research. Truth-be-told, I get really excited about the possibilities of all of this marketing/running-my-own-really-successful-thing-in-the-world-where-I-get-to-do-what-I-love-and-others-benefit-from-it! And, simultaneously, wouldn’t you know -- a bunch of fear around doing this, and having what I want is arising.

I comfort myself, in part, with the reminder that moving closer to your dreams is understandably scary. If it weren’t, we’d all be living out our deepest passions. But these days, that reminder isn’t quite enough and I’ve had to go deeper. What is at the heart of these fears, and why does my chest feel so closed off when I notice how my body feels in this space of fear? This wonderful lady at The Fluent Self has been helping me along, unbeknownst to her! Her way of meeting the fear and talking to it is something that I’m trying to remember to do.

Mentioning her brings me back to this marketing stuff. I’ve found a slew of great resources through her blog -- amazing people approaching what they do in a way that deeply resonates with me. It’s so much about connection and getting to be who we are in the world. I’ve been reading Twitter for Dummies and am super excited about the possibilities of using Twitter to connect with people.

Insert: Amazing resource -- a woman, Laura Fitton, who goes by Pistachio, who consults and thoroughly examines how Twitter can be an incredible tool for so much!

While I expose a hell-of-a lot in my paintings, I watch how triggered I get just trying to figure out some days what to post on Facebook. I am lovingly admitting to myself lately that I can be such a scaredy cat sometimes!

Today's post: commitment - why so scary?

A Little Crudeness: Opening The Books Wide Open

2011-08-24T11:41:00.000+02:00

Love, letting go, and outlets for our aggression...

And a little crudeness -- it had to be said, and as always, bits about the feminine, bleeding, and the process of it all. Toss in some thoughts about rest and self-care – perpetually hot topics in my world, and Voila!, we have this month’s batch of drawings!

I want to offer this batch on a sliding scale, $25-$40 (+shipping), with the latest economic concerns and all. Contact me directly and we’ll work things out. j@jessicaserran.com

The thread is here as well, in June’s collection of drawings: The Hours, The Years... The Drawings: Opening the books wide open. http://jessicaserran.blogspot.com/2011/06/hours-years-drawings-opening-books-wide.html

And July’s: http://jessicaserran.blogspot.com/2011/07/available-drawings-being-gutted.html

Happy end of August… already, I know!

Jessica

And They Rested, 8.25"x11", ink on paper, 2010.

Freudian Slip, 8.25"x11", ink on paper, 2010.

Unfold Beautifully, 8.25"x11", ink on paper, 2010.

This Crossroads, 8.25"x11", ink on paper, 2010.

Sit!, 8.25"x11", ink on paper, 2010.

Inter-Uterine Device, 8.25"x11", ink on paper, 2010.

I took a risk, 8.25"x11", ink on paper, 2010.

Enter the Folds, 8.25"x11", ink on paper, 2010.

One-armed chaos.

2011-08-18T10:23:00.000+02:00

I don’t just make images. I need words. Words that punctuate the images and vice versa. Truth be told, for years I’ve fantasized about being an artist in conjunction with something corporate or business-y. I imagine myself being in conversation with others and then making images that punctuate these conversations. Some think this is sick, I know. But it’s true. I was told about a nice idea presented by the philosopher/psychologist/writer Felix Guattari, about the analysand needing to follow whims that might seem to come from left field, but that contain within them desires that might lead to an important trajectory that could unstick a person and move them beyond some rutted way of being.

Take an example: a patient in the course of treatment remains stuck on a problem, going around in circles, and coming up against a wall. One day he says, without giving it much thought: "I've been thinking of taking up driving lessons again, I haven't driven for years"; or, "I feel like learning word processing." A remark of this kind may remain unnoticed in a traditional conception of analysis. However, this kind of singularity can become a key, activating a complex refrain, which will not only modify the immediate behaviour of the patient, but open up new fields of virtuality for him: the renewal of contact with long lost acquaintances, revisiting old haunts, regaining selfconfidence
.... In this, a rigid neutrality or non-intervention would be negative; it's sometimes necessary to jump at the opportunity, to approve, to run the risk of being wrong, to give it a go, to say, "yes, perhaps this experience is important."Respond to the event as the potential bearer of new constellations of Universes of reference. (Guattari, Chaosmosis, 19)

It’s a nice idea. I feel similarly about my fascination with this corporate thing. It feels like something that is there for me to follow and to see where it could lead. If you know of some corporation looking to hire an artist-in-residence such as myself, let me know!

I’m typing with my left hand today. Got some right forearm issue that I’m grappling with – the hardest part is my slowed-down productivity, which seems nicely, and poignantly connected to my identity. Funny that I am spending a whole year examining the identities of others.

I watched this Eve Ensler video yesterday. I love her talk of her own evolution and her relationship to the body. I’ve been wondering: How do we unstick ourselves of old patterns and ways of identifying? And how do we comfort ourselves in these difficult periods of transition? More on that soon.

http://www.ted.com/talks/eve_ensler.html#.TkoBBh81UzU.facebook

I’ll spend a bit more time using my left hand here, which I might add is doing funny things to my brain – good-funny I think. Perhaps some kind of pattern-changing-good-funny.

Chapter Three

2011-08-15T11:30:00.000+02:00

I know that I reveal a lot here, but I’m going to have to draw line when it comes to the question of “okay, what is this painting about?” Not because I object to you asking, but because the question itself is too pointed. It’s more nuanced and fleeting than that. It’s something else. And for as much as I can help walk you through the process, I can’t actually offer you a quick and dirty summation of what you’re looking at. It’s kind of like trying to explain a dream or anything that walks these lines between metaphor and meaning, between rationality and something else. The answer resembles the painting itself; it is a circuitous dance of impulses, feelings, stories, events and everything in between.

Of course there is content, and themes within each – I might be able to recall the personal happenings that influenced any given painting, but there’s no guarantee of that. It could have been a struggle with family, or a lover, or the difficulty of feeling justified at all in these creative endeavours. While the themes may seem obscure to some, they are actually pretty redundant and I would argue, they are ultimately not so obscure. They might reside beneath the surface of everydayness, but that’s the point. I’m trying to get beneath the realm of personal specificities, by diving into them to find the deeper, more common threads within our collective experience. I’m trying to map out processes and trace trajectories. What do I mean by this? Well, let’s take this one for example:

Can't I Just Surrender? mixed media on file folders, 80" x 72", 2007.

Have you ever felt merged with something or someone? Have you ever felt that you wanted to fly but realized that you were too bound to another person, or to a particular place to be able to do so? Have you ever felt afraid of the feminine or felt that others were afraid of your femininity? Have you heard about the relatively obscure condition called Vagina Dentata – a condition wherein some women are literally born with teeth in their vaginas, a condition that some psychologists believe is a metaphorical way of explaining why some of us fear the power of the vagina that birthed us all but can also feel like a dark, cavernous abyss that could potentially devour, and swallow-us-whole? Have you ever thought about the womb, duality or the ovaries – these polarities that seem to reside at the heart of so many things? Have you ever wanted to merge with someone, “to become one” only to realize that your attempted merger felt like more of a prison sentence? Have you ever wanted to “heal”, to rise above, to transcend and surrender – whatever these things mean, but felt so deeply wounded yourself that the path towards healing seemed impossible?

Expose Yourself, mixed media on file folders, 72" x 65", 2007.

These images will naturally take time to unfold, both for you and for me, and will demand your time. At some point it occurred to me that I am actually trying to implicate you in the process and trying to make you a part of the conversation. Your eyes have to travel through whatever visual “landscape” is before you. You’ll have to get close and then move further away in order to negotiate the tiny text and the overall picture. You’ll have to negotiate the ways that we tend to read text and your mind’s desire to read things linearly. There are connections, and relationships between all of these things, but they aren’t fixed. My work now is less about the screaming voices and more about voices and impulses that come from somewhere. I no longer resign them to some psychological terrain and have started to question the source of all that I tend internalize. I turn to feminist discourse. I look for currents, for social patterns, for archetypal and philosophical explanations and then I paint to try and process it and turn it into an object. The work is always rooted in conversations that are being had, be it between self and self, or self and another, self and society, or two other people altogether.

At Some Point You Can No Longer Tell Who's Fucking Who, mixed media on board, 60" x 60", 2011.

So tell me – does this help? Did we get you any closer?

A Primer, in Three Chapters, For those of you who “just don’t get it”

2011-08-08T10:47:00.000+02:00

Removal, mixed media on file folders, 36"x36", 2005.

Chapter 2:

As the colour blobs became more layered and the scribbles led to obsessive mark-making and repetitive patterns, a Rorschach-like thing started to happen, except that it wasn’t about using words to name things. That would enter into the equation later. It was more about seeing images in the scribbles and blobs and then further defining, and clarifying the forms in order to flesh out the dog, or the weirdly shaped woman with a bird head from the proverbial coffee stain. It was often a female form that I saw. My scribbles naturally tended to resemble breasts, or legs, or the feminine curve of a well-shaped lumpy belly. At times, bits of little drawings popped into my mind – a jar or a sewing machines; the house was a popular motif for a while and strange winged creatures never ceased to satisfy. Line has always been most dear to me; a painterly painter is never who I’ve been. It was always the artist’s sketch that fascinated me more than the “completed” image -- that moment of spontaneity, sureness and ease that transferred whatever was being attempted to the empty surface. So dashes and connecting lines and things that seemed diagrammatic, became a natural extension of the refinement process. I was making connections as connections occurred. I was making connections in the moment of creation to whatever seemed to be connected. This was my world, after all. And while all this might hover somewhere near the language of psychology and therapy, with this talk of the unconscious and the automatic, of impulse and intuition, I was also allowing myself to play -- drawing connections where I wanted to, and satisfying something deep with the use of the clever puns that popped into my mind and the self-referential metaphors. It seemed meaningful enough.

A Dress to Dance In, mixed media on file folders, 36"x36", 2005.

I knew that at some point I would have to name all of this. I would need to conceptualize, and theorize about these images. What was I doing? And how would I write a master’s thesis about it? And of course there is the actual content. What are these images about?

I just wrote this to the friend that I mentioned in Chapter 1:

Think about boundaries and whatever systems we employ to keep things safely hidden or protected. In my work I expose my thoughts and my feelings - that which is deeply personal/private, and I make it public by putting it on a canvas and making it visible to others. I don't like this term, but the paintings could easily be thought of as a "visual diary" that I'm letting the public peer inside of, except it’s not page-by-page – it all coexists on the same plane. But imagery is less linear than writing and can't be absorbed in the same way. These images have to be read differently. They have to be inquired into. The exercise that I mentioned about describing the work is applicable here because I think that the act of describing forces us to spend time with something and understand it through a slow unfolding. If I were you, I wouldn't try to "get" an overall message or statement from a piece of mine. That's too linear - too flattened. Think of it more like the way that a dream floats into your consciousness in the morning. You see bits of it in your mind, and you know that you have inevitably forgotten parts of the story. The image is fuzzy, but you get a feeling from it, and some sense that perhaps it contains meaning. You know that it came from another world and that the laws of everyday waking consciousness and rationality don't quite apply to it. I would suggest starting with one of the main figures in a painting. Try to gain some insight into her alone. Who is she? What does her distorted form make you think about? Is she pointing to something? Does she feel lonely, or empowered, withered or convicted?

I'll leave you with this for now....

Inquire away!

A Primer, in Three Chapters, For those of you who “just don’t get it”

2011-08-03T12:48:00.000+02:00

Week One: Chapter One

I’ve been having an email conversation lately with a dear friend of mine – someone I’ve known for quite a while, who recently admitted that, for as much as he would like to understand my artwork, he just doesn’t. I’m reminded of the guy who came up to me one night in a bar, during the time when I was sporting a shaved head. I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but he thought that he should let me know that he thought it was “really f&%ed up” that I had a shaved head. I was surprisingly refreshed, especially given the frequent looks of semi-concealed judgment or disapproval that the haircut so regularly prompted. I thought to myself “okay good, at least I know where this guy stands. I can work with that!”

I feel the same way about my friend’s admission and welcome the challenge to try to convey what the work is about, or to at least open up a door through which you can enter. So I figured that a primer is in order. I know for certain that there are others out there who would really like to understand my work, but for whatever reasons, just don’t. Bless your hearts for trying. Perhaps you can even help me by shedding some light on why the work seems difficult. Be objective. Am I doing something that puts you off?

I’m going to stretch this primer out over a few weeks of posting and see if we can get somewhere. I’ll try to coax you into the work by laying a few things bare… mix in some personal anecdotes… a few images, and see where that takes us. For now, let’s start with a little history.

I had an uncle who came up to me once and said in a whispered hush, “Hey Jess – do you ever get visions???” He looked around, in that way that one does when they’re making sure that no one else has overheard the just-revealed-confession. I answered, “No, not really.”

I’m not the artist who sees something in her head and then goes to the canvas to put it down. My mind doesn’t work that way. I rarely see an image in my mind before I begin, and even more rare are the moments when I have a plan before I start to work. So where then, does the work come from? Let’s consider this:

It must come from someplace else.

My work, in its conception, has more to do with listening, than it does with seeing. What do I mean by this? It’s just the way that I work. Some of us are visual learners and thinkers; some of us hear things, some of have to touch, and some of us are better off when we use our bodies. I don’t claim to be restricted to any one of these styles in particular, but I know, from years of placing myself in front of a blank canvas that my work feels most alive, and vital, when I come to the canvas without a plan and instead, try to follow the impulses. We certainly have to credit and send a nod in the direction of those artists and writers who came before me, and introduced ideas about automatism and stream of consciousness methodologies. What happens to the work when you get out of your own way -- when you create a channel and a means to capture some of those fleeting thoughts that float through your awareness at any given moment? I was already doing this with colour and line. I knew how to listen to those impulses. I had been painting abstractions for years:

Time, acrylic on canvas, 60"x60", 1999.

Crane, oil on board, 48"x60", 1999.

Migrating, oil on canvas, 72"x72", 2000.

But it wasn’t enough. I remember being in college and hearing other artists talk about that blissful art-making experience, where time seemed to stand still and the creative process would sweep them into some timeless abyss. And I remember thinking to myself, huh? Really? I must be doing something wrong. I usually found myself swept into a torturous and conflicted world where mental chaos and emotional pain were far more real than any sweet, timeless abyss. Art-making unleashed the flurry of unheard, unspoken, ignored, repressed and wounded internal voices. Yeah, it hurt, but, the impulse to create was persistant which meant that I would need to find a way to manage it all. Otherwise I was destined for a life of sadomasochistic creative pursuits. By the grace of whatever higher power has my back, I had a professor in Berkeley at the time who started to shed light on the creative process and the role that things like the proverbial “inner critic” tended to play. Sometime, during that magical four months I decided that I’d better make a place for all that tortured me. Instead of wishing it would disappear, I gave it a home, and it looked like this:

It's just a box, cardboard, acrylic, magic marker, 48"x24"x24", 2004.

I would literally crawl inside this cardboard box, pull the self-created trap door shut with a marker in hand, and start to listen and scribble. There might have even been a scream or two that emerged from that box. Instead of longing for the voices to disappear, I made them appear, in physical form. I gave them a closer listen. The scribbles seemed to help and then slowly words, words that I could no longer ignore started to appear…

And then I did this:

The Eighth Day, paper, acrylic, file folder, graphite, thread, 10"x3"x3", 2004.

It’s a hand-made book that collected a month’s worth of mental chatter. Instead of just trying to make paintings in my studio, I spent most of my time writing down the thoughts that went through my head while I painted. I documented, and documented… and documented, the barrage of fleeting, periphery or painfully present, screaming, nasty thoughts that were afflicting me. It was the usual business about why I sucked as an artist, why it was a bullshit thing to be doing and a waste of time – how I should do something more useful… blah, blah, blah…

I typed these thoughts up, cut them out, glued them to the back of the paintings that I was working on and put the book together with a biblical overlay about the creation story and what happened on each of the proverbial seven days.

In this act, in these months, and in this box, something significant started to shift.

As I moved to canvas – or rather, to file folders that I taped together with masking tape, scribbles, words and feverish brush strokes came into conversation. And then collage came in as well. Flip through a National Geographic and grab whatever image I felt drawn to. I didn’t want to know why I was drawn to it at the time, only that it somehow felt relevant and spoke to me. I could figure the rest out later. I placed them on the canvas, and watched the years of aesthetic training and formal sensibilities start to refine these collections of words, lines, colour blobs and collage. I tried to care as little as possible about whether or not I made a successful piece of art. It helped that I was working on these manila file folders and cheap masking tape. Minimal material investment resulted in minimal pressure. The flurry of words and scribbles and colour blobs came to take on visible forms and shapes. Afterall, I was a painter, and I knew how to draw and put compositions together. The screaming voices were benefitting from being better heard, while my natural sensibilities pulled images and shapes out of the scribbles and blobs. It’s hard to talk about this and not point to surrealism and the language of psychology – after all; I was trying to help myself. I was letting things rise up from the depths and clearing space for something else to arrive.

Flesh and Blood, mixed media on file folders, 36"x36", 2005.

I’ll stop here for today, and continue with this next week.