I have dreams. Dreams to remember.

As if to prepare me for writing this blog today, I had a delectably curious dream last night just aching to be interpreted. I had a baby for which I was judged very harshly. It was like a speed-thru gestation period because I went from finding out I was pregnant to having the child within the span of the dream. I can't remember it all, but I was at my good childhood friend's house, and it was near a lake. We were on boat docks for a lot of the dream. I was so embarrassed that I was pregnant and obviously unattached, and when I was pretty far along, she was like, "Oh wow, I didn't think you would actually go through with the pregnancy."
After I had the baby, he had some kind of disorder where he grew very rapidly and for that reason, I had a very confusing moment when I went ahead and let him drive somewhere, but then freaked out because even though he looked like a grown teenager he was only a couple of months old. Bizarre. Oh man did I love this freak of a child, though. It was very "us against the world."
In addition to the birth that nearly took place in my home, there seems to be a flurry of baby activity all around me. I got into an argument with a friend of mine recently about the decision to have children in this day and age. He believes that everyone who purposely has children is fulfilling an extremely selfish indulgence. His argument centered on the terrifying fact that the population on the planet went from 1.6 billion to over 6 billion people over the course of the last century.
Although my argument wasn't against his logic, I found myself heatedly defending parents of my generation. I just don't think it's selfishness...it's as basic as breathing. Pretty much the only thing we're wired to do besides survive ourselves, is to survive as a species. But over the week, I've decided my defenses are waning. Just because it's basic, doesn't mean it's not a choice. I struggle with this because in life, much like my dream, I am in no position to bring a life into this world, and yet it's hard for me to imagine a life where I don't eventually do just that. Repeatedly.
So a few weeks ago, I was able to see the Jung exhibit at the Rubin museum. I'm pretty much one of the only New Yorkers I know who's never been to see a therapist/analyst/psychiatrist. My feelings about it have changed over the past couple of years because of testaments from very trusted sources, and I'd probably venture a visit had I the time or money. But that's what I pay you for, right? I guess I had a somewhat tainted perspective because it seems to be playing into the ego that's causing you the misery to begin with. Get over yourself. Meditate. Take a walk in the woods. But I now understand it to be an extremely helpful tool in what Jung called the "higher development of personality."
I went to the museum with a couple of close friends who I admire as artists and individuals. Totally down to earth, educated and talented, the newly married Dunns made the outing 100x more pleasurable and interesting than if I'd gone alone. I mean, Emily has a degree in Art History from Vassar and an awesome understanding of art therapy?! She was like my own personal reference manual. This whole exercise of doing uniquely New York activities is a very transparent ruse to spend time with New Yorkers I find interesting, if you've not caught on.
The permanent collection alone is worth a visit up to the Rubin. Relatively new, it opened in 1999 and the collection includes varied types of Himalayan art from the 12th century onward. A very fitting exploration as I'm getting ready to learn to teach a practice born of this history and region of the world.
I'm leaving on a retreat for the weekend before I start training, and though I think the practice of yoga is important and revolutionary and has the ability to change the world, I'm cautious and averse to subscribing to any dogmas. I learned at the Rubin, for example, that Buddhism came to Tibet supported by Imperial patronage. Also, the goddess Green Tara, is your go to for protection from 8 fears, including elephant stampedes and snow lions. Though I have a healthy fear of these things, they probably wouldn't make my top 8 fears here in Clinton Hill. Like the antiquated laws of the Bible, I feel there are parts from all religions to take or leave. The roots of yoga, however, like the Golden Rule or Christian philosophies are common sense pathways to harmony and happiness in this lifetime, and I think the grace they can deliver to believers is invaluable.
I was really drawn to and have thought a lot about the Jung Mandalas and the Atmavictu ("Breath of Life," or dragon-like representation of the creative impulse). I also can't help but keep coming back to the individuation process and synchronicity.
~Side note: I can't stop thinking about this novel, Loving Frank. Maybe because I have so little time to read these days, and therefore have had a lot of stew-time with this one, but also because I think that there's something to the time period. If you are completely ignorant (as I was) of the story of Mamah Borthwick and Frank Lloyd Wright's love affair, this will blow your mind. Guaranteed. I mean, how had I never heard of this??
The turn of the 20th century (I think Jung is even mentioned in the novel) completely fascinates me. Before the population explosion. Before the atom bomb. Before we declared war on the planet. Not to say we weren't already plotting. But you know what I'm saying? When the webs were smaller and it was all so much more...manageable. All the weird synchronicity of subjects I have been learning about these past few years seem to circle around and back to this time in human history. I think I'm beginning to understand why. More on that to come.~
I had a stranger tell me he liked and read my blog Tuesday. I can't explain how terrified and happy this made me. It's helped me decide that although I will continue to work on the other writing projects brewing, I won't forgo the blog to do so. I was kind of debating. But I have Ann Courtney, my mom and now this guy from the coop to entertain with my antics.
On Valentine's Day, before an embarrassing co-ed-like drunken spew-fest at an underwear dance party (don't ask), I went on a very fun date with my dear old friend, Brie. The Moviehouse Hearts New Films Festival at 3rd Ward was just what the creative doctor ordered. Like the 48 hour film projects, the filmmakers were given certain prescriptive elements to include in their films. They were supposed to be 3 minutes, centered around love (a surprisingly unannoying Valentine theme), feature a celebrity death, and include the three wise monkeys.
My favorite was a silent-film nod featuring a glass of milk. I can't remember the exact title, but it was French (Le lait de l'amour, peut-être?). Clever and funny, it would appeal to any analogy-lover such as myself. My next 3 favorites you can watch on youtube: 2nd place, 3rd place , and honorable mention.
Last weekend, I went all the way to Queens (I'm really branching out here!!) to help a friend with a design project. I modeled as Juliet for a poster he's creating for a production of Shakespeare's R & J. Topless! Whooooohooo. Scandalous. Only a tiny bit of my back will show, and I trust this man with my life (artistic and otherwise) implicitly. We then went to a class at this beautiful new space. I used to workstudy at the Yoga Room, and their success and lovely new digs really made me want to branch out into the world of NYC yoga more. I've been more or less monogamously married to Greenhouse...a relationship I value more than anything considering the journey I'm about to go on there, but I should definitely be checking out what this city has to offer in that capacity! Duh.
On our way back to Marc's, we happened upon this crazy new thing called pizza cones and had to try it. Not bad, but really just a glorified pizza roll. We laughed that although not uniquely New York to eat such a thing, to happen upon it on a walk home is exactly what we love about this city. The night concluded with lentil soup and Olympic-watching. A hearty winter combination I was more than happy to partake in. Even though it was ice-dancing. It's all about the company;-)
This weekend: A retreat to Heartland for some Ayurvedic cleansing practices. Hmmm. Wish me luck.

Jung at heart, short on time.

Sooooooooo the uniquely New York activities have continued uninterrupted, and I've got some ideas for blog posts scribbled here and there. In my moleskin or slingshot. On the backs of receipts. There's even some lengthy starts to posts saved here on the blogspot thingamabob.
The thought of sitting (or lying as the case may now be) down at the computer to hack it all out for my mom and Ann Courtney is not something I'm averse to...I simply ain't got much time these days.
I've also been mulling over the whole blog "medium," and I think that my efforts may indeed be more productive elsewhere. The three blogs I used to read religiously are no longer with us, and my slightly embarrassing and completely annoying addiction to facebook makes any trip online an enormous and horrible waste of time. What is it I think I'm going to miss? My mom "liking" my best friend from high school's sister-in-law's brother's status update? Somebody's plea for help on some weird cyber-farm? (I've got real chickens to tend to!) The ex-lovers' irresistible pictures with their new beautiful girlfriends? I keep saying I'm going to get off of it. But I don't want it to be that I can't go on. I want it to be that I don't want to go on. I guess it's the equivalent of watching mindless, bad tv...which is why I don't own a television.
I've also been working to promote the 200 hour Yoga Teacher Training I'm about to start @ Greenhouse Holistic in Williamsburg. This has had me on facebook (and online in general) more often than usual trying to network and such. And I find myself interspersing personal online time with business online time because I'm a dork with no self control. Harkens back to all those temp jobs I worked when I first moved to NYC.
Anyway, Thursday I've carved out some time for you and me. Just the two of us. Like a good negligent friend. The excursions I shall write about are the Jung Redbook, the 3rd Ward Valentine's Day Short Film Lonely Hearts Club, and the cone-pizza or naked Juliet. Bated breath, I'm sure. Goodnight:-)

The first of many

Missed. Outings.
Bah.
S'ok. We should all stop shopping anyway. And I really don't need anything. My room is clean (cue chorus of angels singing), and I got lots o stuff.
Though thrift stores do excite me on many levels. I just need the proper partner in crime. Is it you?
Worked my first shift at the coop today. Pretty funny stuff. Made some new friends...Morgan the precocious six-year-old was my favorite. Of course, ran into 3 people I knew including one acquaintance who was working the same shift and happens to live a few blocks from me. And drove his car. So I did get to grocery shop without breaking my back on my bike on the way home. Saaaaaaweet.
NYC, the biggest small town you'll every live in.
Next stop, the Rubin Museum on Sunday. I think. Cross those fingers, cyberfolk.

Next Outing: Tuesday 26th

Consignment shopping. Mama needs a new pair of shoes. Well, not really. But I could use a new coat, maybe. Location: Park Slope early afternoon, Williamsburg late afternoon, and possibly Manhattan in the evening? Suggestions? Favorite spots? Let me know!

Birthdays

"All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence." -MLK Jr.
Anything worth anything has gotta hurt a little bit. Friday night, I went to a really great class where we did a bunch of hip-openers. If you've not had the experience of this, it sounds so cheesy and new age-y, but well, you store a lot o' junk up in there. And I decided that I may have been feeling a little too sensitive for the outside world. So I graciously refused the gentleman callers and delighted in the thought of eating a special birthday brownie (my sisters started the tradition of bringing them up for me last year), cleaning my room and maybe watching a movie. As soon as I was feeling...relaxed, my dear sweet landlady went into labor.
It was a planned home birth. But not a planned coincidence of me being high as a kite and someone BIRTHING A CHILD in my bathtub. It was pretty hilarious timing. And I may have had a slightly religious experience. I like to think hilarity and religious experiences are pretty inseparable. Like you and your best friend from high school.
Having just been to yoga, I was actually a second away from taking a shower when the excited papa-to-be ran down the stairs and started to run the bath. So I went downstairs to use the 1st floor shower. And there it was. Shampoo. Not strange content for a shower, I realize. But strange considering it was that brand.
Dana told me to get this shampoo (she, being a curly headed deva herself, knew I'd always coveted her position as such). I could not remember what she'd said. All this time. And here. Nearly 4 years later. Warp years. Slow years. Year years. Here she was. I saw her lips saying Devacurl. Heard her voice. Saw her nod her head authoritatively.
If you're new to my life or blog. This was my sister from another mother. My childhood playmate, my closest friend in high school. And the greatest loss of my life. Her sudden death in a car accident in 2006 was a reckoning with something greater than myself because I'd spent a lot of unplanned time with her during the last month of her life. Just by chance. One month in KY between LA and NYC.
I feel so small sometimes. But probably smaller since then. I picture splitting a log, a big lumberjack God with a beard and a red and black flannel shirt, suspenders and a huge sharp ax. A friend and I once chatted about how strange it is that humans haven't just evolved to truly accept death. The one thing we will all have to experience, and it's still so...laborious.
I guess it was just a lot. Being high and having this reminder while a new life is coming into the world 15 feet above my very DevaCurl-soaked scalp. But a lot in a really beautiful, alive way. M'lady was in labor through the night and ended up going to the hospital the next day to give birth to a beautiful baby boy (the grandmother told me the beautiful part...due to bias, I will have to confirm this with a series of rocks, tickles and cuddles of my own when they bring him home).
It was intense. The loud, pained, deeply personal moans and groans of labor made a fitting soundtrack to my dramatic religious experience* and stoned inner monologue steadily repeating a Gone with the Wind quote too inappropriate for an MLK Day post.
"All progress is precarious, and the solution of one problem brings us face to face with another problem." -guess who
I like this quote of his a lot because it encompasses the beauty of the complexity of this unbelievable human being. My yoga instructor spoke of him tonight, saying it might be the most important national holidays we celebrate, but that we shouldn't look up to him. I was resistant to this idea at first. But now I'm beginning to see what he meant. This beauty of complexity is inherent in us all. Nobody thinks they can make a difference, but what if everybody lived as though they could? (On that note, if you haven't yet, there are tons of options on how, but I encourage you to give: http://www.clintonfoundation.org/haitiearthquake/)
Sometimes it's really hard to keep your eyes straight ahead. And much harder than trying not to look up, is looking down.
Parts of the south still celebrate the confederate war general, Robert E. Lee. They decided to pick his birthday to do it. It just so happens to sometimes fall on MLK day. Poor taste, maybe? We've come such a long way. Can't be held back and hung up by the pinheads delighting in ignorance and hatred. And yet, it makes me happy this was said: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-PEaWUduCM.
The diversity of NYC is what will hold me here longer than anything. My bike ride was a little smaller-scale than I'd planned. Just around Prospect Park with my favorite Danish roommate (the Greenways will be better spring/summer events anyway). We stopped at the lake and had a fitting diversity celebration bird show. Seagulls, mallard ducks, swans and geese all gathered at the shore where people steadily tossed them little treats of bread and popcorn. The world was brown and gold and smelled like some change's a-coming. But like the man said, progress is precarious, and I predict a long winter yet before the change of seasons in my fellow man.
"Almost always, the creative dedicated minority has made the world better." -da man
This is where I veer off the narrative and start with interrogatives. Are you an artist? Do you like festivals? Do you want to go to Kentucky? Do you want to contribute? Perform? Give me ideas? Let's get together for the 2nd annual Motherlodge festival! See inside for details.
*said religious experience, alas, prevented me from cleaning the still dreadfully messy room this blog has since prevented the cleaning of ce soir. Keep your judgments to a minimum, please.

Next Outing: Monday 01/18/10

Today was beautiful! Cleaned up the chicken coop and went to the coop. And I just realized those were homographs. I'm sometimes slow.
Anyway, Monday's supposed to be similarly loverly. Got a bike? Wanna ride with me? Exact route as yet to be determined...likely one of the Greenways (up the East of Manhattan, or to Coney Island). Take off's around noon-ish. DO IT!!

Exhibition A

After a long weekend of celebration and a long day of stimulation, it's taking every ounce of energy I can muster to keep up the documentation of my uniquely New York outing. That's a lot of tions. And it's only week 2. The mere fact that I'm now re-thinking this task/resolution because of laziness is what I'd like to call exhibit A. I'm reminded of something my baby sister said to me this weekend, "I just feel like I suck at life." (She does not, however, suck at anything, and I was quick to reassure her of this.) And of a song lyric my other sister wrote, "My dad is afraid because I never finish anything..."
My siblings and I can be a bit lazy together it's true. I like to think that we enjoy each others company so much there's no great impetus for good planning. This coupled with the fact that we all seem to share the same vices, made the Target free Friday at MOMA a no go. Sadly. I was the bum who slept really late, and we had a show to catch and we thought we'd go out for dinner. Time management is just not a skill we...inherited. We do like to have fun, though. And we happen to be quite good at it.
But I think this might be important. Not the blog, but the conscious effort to take advantage of things. The experience of actively trying to grab life by the horns (or some other equally cheesy metaphor), and documenting it in some fashion. Even if the fashion is very humbling and makes me feel a little excited and a little lame at the same time. Humbling because it annoys me in the same way being an actress or some modern art annoys me. Exhibitionism.
To celebrate my life yesterday, I accepted a proposed birthday brunch date to Egg in Williamsburg with a new friend. Highly recommend this place, Brooklynites. Very sustainably minded and socially conscious...plus the food was fantastic. Best cheese grits I've had this side of the Mississippi. Not recommended: breakfast first dates. Well, at least not for me. Not exactly a morning person, and after the weekend I had, I felt a little like...well, like I suck at life. Ha!
The Bauhaus exhibition at MOMA was a highlight. As was the company of an old friend with whom I can't help but have fun. I'd heard or read about the Bauhaus movement while in Paris (art history was part of my curriculum), and then again in Berlin (I believe as part of the free walking tour I got to take), and have since been intrigued by the paradoxical idea of modernism. That's one of the big reasons MOMA was one of my first choices. Modernism makes things accessible. Individualizes things. It includes you. Takes the power away from the dictators and encourages original thought and forward thinking. No wonder Hitler wasn't a fan. The Nazis were such dicks.
Anyway, I was moved by the words scattered about in Scala's Der Traum (dream, yearning, birth, dying...pretty much covers it all, eh?), and taken with the immensity and sweet cotton-candy-dream color palette of this work. I also really liked the Grotesk sculpture meant to incite laughter and repulsion (who doesn't like that combination).
I can't say I completely understand modern art, and some of it certainly annoys me. The shoe box and yogurt lids of Orozco, for example, just seem like a waste of space. The Tim Burton exhibit was cool. I got to thinking about how prolific some can be in this life, and started to get the birthday blues. I think that's a totally valid emotion to have about this dwindling of time we all are forced to recognize as we age.
Overall, the trip was very needed. I do feel inspired. I wrote some about the acceptance of other people's work as part of my own...a weird concept that I feel might be vital to happiness. Sometimes it's just too overwhelming to think of how little I've been able to contribute or accomplish. Envy and depression may be the last traits you'd want in a yoga instructor. Miró and Rothko both had works that were very reminiscent of the great Dalí which caught our attention, and Gabel and I talked a little about imitation and originality and art and the ego. Was Dalí miserable? I have to wonder. On some level. And I don't mean to deny his genius, but did it make his life less joyous that he couldn't include himself in the whole?
I've found some very self-sabotaging behavior rearing up as of late, and I can't help but think it's probably a little bit of nerves concerning this new journey and career change. Self-loathing being so acceptable among artists, I've certainly learned to live with my demons. They love my disastrous room...it's comforting for them when I forget what day it is, or show up an hour late for shifts at the studio. Or lose brand new x-mas gifts. Or set bad examples for my younger sisters. We've been together so long, I can't really imagine my life without them. And not necessarily in a bad way. Like Tim Burton's illustrations and characters they're loony-dark. Cartoonishly scary. Not right, but oh-so-lovable
I chatted with my close friend from KY on Skype, and then proceeded to get a little down again. We live in totally different worlds with crazy opposite responsibilities. And I must say, I get jealous sometimes of her adorable 3 year-old, loving husband, and big pregnant belly (or built in tray, as she likes to call it). Though never am I jealous of the 5 dogs she's chosen to house and rescue...she's a bit of a nut.
After a little web surfing and comparing and despairing, I can't help but wonder, "What the hell am I doing?" The one saving grace is my sister had a friend from KY come up with them for the weekend. A young, beautiful wiseforheryearsbutgreenasthehills singer-songwriter who I may have had a little crush on. She's far more stylish and talented than I was at 20, but it was also nice to see myself through fresh eyes of someone from a similar background who was coming to the city for the first time.
"How do you know everyone?" she says. And I had to laugh at her tiny scope. We, of course, ran around the city in circles of people that I know and have come to love...went to restaurants and bars where everybody knew our names (cue Cheers song). I was also 20 when I came to NYC for the first time. And didn't know a soul. And had never heard of Bauhaus. And understood modern art far less than I do now. And had no idea my demons were even separate from me. Looking at this young girl was like looking at an old photograph of myself. Sepia-toned. But like Mac-book style. Because it's not really that old. It's just made to seem that old. Because eight years, after all, is just a drop in the bucket.
And I think about how my friend from home has this beautiful life, but it's truly not something I envy. Not to say my choice to be alone and experience these different things is any better...but I just can't think of it as worse. No matter how lonely it can seem.
Discoveries of the day: I have a totally cliché love for all things Klimt. And I'm really intrigued by the Soleri-designed town of Acrosanti in Arizona. (Probably has something to do with the great book I'm reading, Loving Frank, as he was a student of Mr. Wright's.) New and high up on my places to go. Feeling a little better now (it's officially not my birthday anymore as I finish writing this...and probably won't post until tomorrow after I've had some sleep and can properly edit), and can't help but think of all the exciting possibilities that each day (birth or not) brings. As the blurb next to Rothko's Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea says of his early view of art, "an adventure into an unknown world."