Mutha

“Every man, for the sake of the great blessed Mother in Heaven, and for the love of his own little mother on earth, should handle all womankind gently, and hold them in all Honor.”

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

Happy Mothers Day

Roads We Abandon, Roads We Take

Pacing along the banks of Lake Zurich last Thursday night I found my mind skipping like a stone across placid water; ripples bumping into ripples, circles breaking surface tension, the stone eventually dipping below the surface and sinking out of sight.  Anticipation, I think, is the fine line between anxiety and positive expectations and when traversed like a tight rope  it can be an exciting ride.  I awoke on Friday to a stillness that seldom visits me and headed to Zurich to open a door I had closed more than 2 years ago.  A delay proved to not ripple those still waters and, as though no time had passed, we said ‘hello’ and headed south to the Italian Riveria.

Anticipation - Zurichsee

If I could drink the air in Cinque Terre like a cocktail I would do so happily with some muddled sunshine and a dash of sea salt.  This delicious concoction couldn’t be enjoyed in a dainty, fragile martini glass but should be served instead in a big, wide wooden bowl so the sweetness and salt drips down your cheeks as you drink it in.  Cresting the first cliff on our way into Riomaggiore, the Mediterranean spread out bright blue beneath us, it was clear this was not going to be an average weekend  road trip.  The phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ has surprised me with its truthiness more times than I can count so I’m not sure why I find/found myself suddenly so surprised.

Dont Look Back - Cinque Terre

The villages of Cinque Terre look like precariously stacked building blocks, colorful and Seuss-like, all ready to topple and tumble into the sea at any moment.  Tucked into terraces of grape vines and lemon trees, its no surprise that the entire place smells as sweet as honey.  Blue skies, deep turquoise water and a little gravity pulled us down the hill into town and, after a cafe latte, a rush of walking stick-carrying toursist swept us up onto the Via dell Amore (Walk of Love).  Even with what felt like a swarm of people around me, the serenity of Cinque Terre still managed to envelope me.  I abandoned any conflicts I had with sharing the Via dell Amore with both Uncertainty and Strangers and coasted the 5-6 kilomenteres from Riomaggiore, through Manarola to Corneglia.

Riomaggiore, Italy - Cinque Terre

Hot in the sun and cool in the shade, the deep deeeep deeeeeep emerald blue of the Mediterrenean called to me like the sirens song and in Corneglia I made a B-Line to the ‘marina’ to get my feet wet.  He observed right around then that when I want something there is often no stoppping me and I had to (and still have to) agree.  Some frozen lemonade, sweet truths and an uncomfortably packed train ride later we arrived in Monterossa where I let myself get swallowed up by the Big Blue.  Seeing my reflection, hair salty and wet, in his sunglasses after my swim I saw myself clearly, the lines and definition made sharper with the yellow light.  With the sun behind us we rode the ferry back the way we had come with our first glimpse of Vernazza and a sunset landing back home in Riomaggiore.  From some stairs by our rented room we watched the sun go down and I considered how I might go about botteling the sky so as to let it free in my apartment when I returned home.

Sunday - Monterossa, Italy

Leaving the Coast the following morning I drank in my last breaths of salty sea air and Ligurian romance, rubbed my belly where the mounds of fresh seafood were still being digested and smiled at my travel companion who was shuttling us north to Tuscany.  For the last months I have been counting down the days to my trip to the Far East and somehow, magically I was not wandering alone in the Gobi but first skipping over the hills of Tuscany like a stone on water…that cliche about finding things when you stop looking is a cliche for a reason.  Secret vacations and lost weekends could very well be the fuel that propels any woman out of bed in the morning and smiling through her days.

Cinque Terre

This trip went further inward than the mere 1000 kilometers we did on land and the cyprus trees and rolling hills were more of a backdrop than the focus.  Something about travel and the world speeding outside the window frees me and this trip, though not a solo sojourn, was no different.  As I grow (um…older) it gets easier and easier to be the same person regardless of company and geography and I am always surprised at the weight that that honesty can lift.  That statement makes me think of an image of Atlas carrying the world on his back but I think that Hercules was the stronger of the two…

A Bean Divided - Tuscany

Riding bikes around the walls of lovely Lucca, crawling over the hills and fields of Tuscany and the Apanine Alps the day passed slowly before we landed like a glider on the banks of Lake Garda.  Hotel Lido was aptly tucked into a small town called Val di Sogno, Valley of Dreams, and from our balcony we watched the twilight sky go from blue to purple to black.  ‘House red’ is always a good call in Italy and a large carafe liberated some of the harder truths and realities that this trip brought to the surface.  The whole journey, the whole week actually, were something of a crescendo.  More information, more intensity each day.  It built like a wave in the ocean and Lago di Garda was the point when the first bits of white froth curled over and fell back to the sea.  Truths, even when they are dark and prickely, are better than the alternative and with the sunrise on Monday came a renewed sense of understanding and desire to enjoy the day.

Speeding Through Garda

Breakfast crepes, 2 caffe lattes and a castle on a lake are a perfect day by themselves so the laughter and conversation and photos and the rest were all gravy.  We landed back in Innsbruck in time to see the sun set on my Alps, the Tirolean Alps, and relaxed in the furry paws of my best boys.  Though the trip was over for me, the crescendo continued to build and rise, revealing more information and asking more questions up until yesterday when a train and then some planes carried my friend away.  The crescendo crashed like they are wont to do, a wave on the sand sliding slowly and surely back to the sea.  The melody changed now softer, clearer and speaking plainly.

My suitcase remains out.  My passport returns home from the Russian and Chinese consulates next week and in 2 weeks time I will fly away.  Again.  This time alone.  The juxtaposition of a trip spent so clearly together to a trip so clearly alone should provide some contrast and context to consider both where I stand and where I’m going.  I have plenty of food for thought.

Local Ligurian Lemons

If you’d like to enjoy some more photos of 72 hours in Italy, click here for the whole album.

A Sunless Sea

i had an incredibly unsatisfying conversation just now…so unsatisfying, in fact, that upon signing off i felt a strangely deep sadness.  Mesureless melancholy, actually.  Sometimes even no expectations are still too many expectations.   Painting a prison built on materialistic greed to be a perfect pleasure dome, though its easy to do, makes me sad.

I had to learn memorize this poem in 10th grade and i’ve never forgotten it.  I’ve never forgotten it but tonight was the first night in years when i remembered that i hadn’t forgotten it.

If Dreams Were Lightening…

Waiting for my cold medicine to kick in and spin me into chemical-induced, dreamless sleep I figured that I could do a little spinning of my own while my eyes stay open and string some thoughts up here on 2bean.  My whole flat is restless tonight and were it not for this Nyquil, I imagine that I would not find sleep for many hours to come…

Doozer and Walter are in the midst of one of their WWF-style kitty smack downs and there are things falling and breaking all around me as they fight for the coveted role of ALPHA kitty tonight.  What they always forget is that I am the alpha kitty and all their hair pulling, rug flipping, cat growling insanity can only ever get them to second place.  I dream sometimes of video taping them when they behave this way or of making them little kitty-friendly mexican wrestling masks and shiny capes…I have other strange kitty notions as well.  Sometimes when they do the little figure 8 between my legs when im trying to feed them breakfast and circle me like sharks i envision making them little hats with dorsal fins…Landshark!  Candygram!

I bet you’re imagining that a) the cold medicine is working and b) perhaps i took too much but in both instances you would be mistaken.  I am simply putting out into the world some funny images that have lived in my head for a long time.  Sometimes buried treasure chest, sometimes toxic waste dump there’s a wealth of random tidbits in there and sometimes I gotta set them free…even the ridiculous ones about turning my sweet kittens into landsharks.  Especially those, I think.

All the work and congestion and snow in the Springtime and longing and waiting has me feeling all stirred up inside.  Like i’m rattling my own cage trying to break out and fly away… This feeling comes over me often and is usually followed by a credit card bill and airline ticket.  Im never quite sure if Im running away from myself or straight into myself.  In a matter of a couple months I’ll be able to contemplate that exact question from a felt ger in the middle of the Gobi desert.

Music has a way of setting me free in the moment…those moments when I have to stay put and do what i’m supposed to so that I can, eventually, fly off into my dreams and see the world like the child I know I am.  Patience is something im learning with age.  This song has debuted here before but here’s a new incarnation…it makes it ok for me to sleep and wake and work again and again and again waiting for those moments of freedom and real, life-affirming adventure.

“How the hell can a person go to work in the morning, come home in the evening and have nothing to say?”

Its a good fucking question.

My head is starting to clear up thanks to chemistry and with that opening is coming a simultaneous closing.  Closing up shop.  Im tired and needing to close my eyes and sleep.  Its true that believing in this living is a hard way to go which is why its good to believe in more.    Tonight Im gonna believe in free, rambling men….the truth of the Gobi…the strength gathered from routine….the strength gathered from breaking routine.  I gonna believe in something I can hold onto and close my eyes a happy woman….

Our Lives Are Buried in Snow

I got a one line email today from my sister saying “hes fine.  dad in cape coral hospital.”  my first thought was, ‘if he’s fine then he surely wouldn’t be there.’  worry and fear and questions and no answers remind me how quickly everything can change.  i say ‘remind me’ because i know what that feels like all too well.  one second life looks north and without even turning around or bllinking you can find yourself pointing south.  a sneak attack-less pain in the chest, even if it missed the heart by only a kiss, is still something that worries me and i am sending love (and light) to El Capitan…even though he would probably tell me that thats ‘hokus pokus, ugga bugga, bullshit’ most likely.  Regardless, I send the sincere advice to Daddy-oh! . . . get out of the hospital and back on the Whaler and enjoy your summery winter.  Oh yeah…and no bunking!

Its been snowing for what feels like weeks and I vacillate between feeling safe and insulated and outright suffocation.  This could mean that I’m overdue for some winter fun in the Wonderland or maybe I was just spoiled by the tepid Florida sun.  The snow is beautiful but its also wet and cold and slippery as hell.  Tonight I feel protected by the vast, white blankets though also not…also a little cold.  Mostly I’m just worried about my Pop and, as is the case when you’re far from the ones you love, a little helpless.

I’ve known mornings
white as diamonds
silent from a night so cold
such a stillness
calm as the owl glides
our lives are buried in snow

I was sifting through the piles
in my hand a tangled thread
each patient tug upon the snarl
is a glimpse of what has been

burdened bands gain strong hands
gaping holes where diamonds should be
must have been morning that stole them
a glint of white in the pocket of winter

and some hearts are ghosts settling down in dark waters
just as silt grows heavy and drowns with the stones

some hearts are ghosts settling down in dark waters
just as silt grows heavy and drowns with the stones

I’ve known mornings
white as diamonds
silent from a night so cold
such a stillness
calm as the owl glides
our lives are buried in snow

our lives are buried in snow

Light Up White Against the Night

The snow has been falling all day and, sitting in my bed right now watching the snow fall, I have a song playing in my head.  The air is so crisp and cold, reflecting orange and gray while the trees light up white against the night.  It is so pretty here sometimes I feel like I’m inside a snow globe…tonight gently shaken so the flakes swirl and rise before falling back down again.  It’s a dream…but it’s a dream that I wake up to every day.

This feeling brings me back a few years…It was a snowy night just like this one only instead of the gentle noise of the Alps I was escaping the constant buzz of Manhattan by ducking behind the velvet curtain at The Living Room on Ludlow Street to see Chris Thile.  I was lucky to have seen more than a few of his gigs in my neighborhood before we both up and left for greener pastures.  There was one night though, that snowy night I just mentioned, that is on my mind.  Maybe its the snow…maybe its the song…maybe its nothing at all…but I feel like sharing.

The room was full and silent.  Whiskey and lager backlit with candles and the wood floor creaking under the occasional snow boot is still vivid in my mind.  Chris’s microphone died before he could even say hello to the crowd but, seeing as though even a packed house was only about 40 people he just took a big tug off his whiskey and said something like…’so this is gonna be an old timey night.”  At that, they dimmed the lights and Chris, alone with a mandoline, played for us for a couple hours.  The Living Room was an apt name that night….acoustic music with no amp, no mic and no noise was only missing a campfire and starry sky to be perfect.  He played Poor Places towards the end of his set and I remember my eyes tearing up and a feeling of being totally overwhelmed…looking back, I could have been feeling overwhelmed with just about anything.  If I recall, things were a little dicey for me back then but Im not really sure.  Im not sure, I suppose, because sitting in my perch in the snow tonight listening to that song I feel exactly the same way.  Fragile but somehow protected…connected to everything but also behind a thin bubble of glass that keeps the snow in and the wind out…a bit like a lady in a snow globe.

It’s my father’s voice trailing off
Sailors sailing off in the morning
For the air-conditioned rooms
At the top of the stairs

His jaw’s been broken
His bandage is wrapped too tight
His fangs have been pulled
And I really want to see you tonight

There’s bourbon on the breath
Of the singer you love so much
He takes all his words from the books
That you don’t read anyway

His jaw’s been broken
His bandage is wrapped too tight
His fangs have been pulled
And I really want to see you tonight

Someone ties a bow
In my backyard to show me love
My voice is climbing walls
Smoking and I want love

My jaw’s been broken
My heart is wrapped in ice
My fangs have been pulled
And I really want to see you tonight

And it makes no difference to me
How they cried all over overseas
When it’s hot in the poor places tonight
I’m not going outside

They cried all over overseas
It makes no difference to me
When it’s hot in the poor places tonight
I’m not going outside

It’s hot in the poor places tonight
I’m not going outside
I’m not going outside
I’m not going outside

You’re the Result of Yourself

Don’t blame anyone, never complain of anyone or anything

Because basically you have made of your life what you wanted.

Accept the difficulties of edifying yourself

And the worth of starting to correct your character.

The triumph of the true man arises from the ashes of his mistakes.

Never complain of your loneliness or your luck.

Face it with courage and accept it.

Somehow, they are the result of your acts and

It shows that you’ll always win.

Don’t feel frustrated of your own failures, neither unload them to someone else.

Accept yourself now or you’ll go on justifying yourself like a child.

Remember that any time is good to start

And that no time is so good to give up.

Don’t forget that the cause of your present is your past,

As the cause of your future will be your present.

Learn from the brave, from the strong,

From who doesn’t accept situations

From who will live in spite of everything.

Think less of your problems and more of your work.

Learn to arise from your pain,

And to be greater than the greatest of your obstacles.

Look at the mirror of yourself and you’ll be free and strong

And you’ll stop being a puppet of circumstances.

For you yourself are your destiny.

Wake up and stare at the sun in the mornings and breathe the sun of dawn.

You’re part of the strength of your life now,

Rise up, fight, walk, be sure and you’ll win in life.

Don’t ever think of ‘fate’

For fate is the excuse of failures.

- Pablo Neruda

The Sad Trap of Gravity

I have been in my head since Thursday night…

This withdrawal from the world has seen both positive and negative effects. Walking through a shopping center yesterday, my eyes fixed in front of me, the crowds of people felt like droplets on the water. Rippling into me and seemingly through me. I was the boat and my distraction parted this sea of people and left a only a deaf wake of detached confusion and the necessity to ask people that spoke to me to repeat themselves. Part exhaustion and part awe, I decided to steer myself back to the safe oasis of my apartment to let the cosmic dust in my brain settle and to let the noise out with some paint and some sleep.

The opening of Parallel Universe went so well that, I think, that is where the awe came in. About 20 people showed up and one piece (Rock Monster) sold in the first 15 minutes with 2 others under heavy consideration. Either everybody I know is being really nice or I produced something good. I hope it’s both. It felt amazing to have people come and see my work and it also kind of sucked my soul out of me in a way. That sounds terrible, I know, but I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just mean that talking about ‘my process’ and trying to explain how my head works is very challenging and I felt torn…I wanted to make the work more meaningful to everybody by explaining why it exists but I wasn’t able to convey how I really feel and what I really wanted to say. I guess this is the cliche where I suggest that one should let the art do the talking and see what it means to them….

Sure, there are similarities between the rock and the graffiti. Most of them aren’t all that subtle so it doesn’t take much to see. It’s the invisible strings between each pair that tells the real story though. Hanging “Heard Not Seen” next to “Through Me” was a conscious choice…juxtaposing the raw and free ability to surrender to your feelings and the moment next to the reserved and almost fearful image of somebody not prepared to see the truth is a lot like the battle most people fight with themselves every day. How much should I risk? How much should I restrain? Do I need to be quiet and polite here or can I let my thoughts and feeling free?  It is exactly that balance (or attempt to achieve it) in my own life that made this work possible…Getting into that story for each of these would have come across as both pretentious and little preachy and also would have made me vulnerable in way that I wasn’t expecting. It was the hope that people could read this in the work and the fear that they wouldn’t that was hardest for me. But again, that’s no big surprise….it’s the human condition to hope to be truly understood that is responsible for the greatest learnings and stories, I think.

So, long story short, there are still some pieces available for sale. They are each one of a kind. I am hopeful that I can sell enough to break even or, better yet, afford the next exhibition. The process of assembling something from pieces of and parts of me is challenging in a way that I love and I am hopeful that I will get to do it again. If one of these diptychs moves you, call Herr Ainberger and ask him to save it for you.

All of these fragments and realizations have been hitting me in waves. I swirl around in my head for a while and then come up for air only to get sucked back under…the emails are piling up, my house still isn’t clean and all i can seem to do is escape into a Lonely Planet about the Mekong Delta or some oil paints I bought yesterday. Art therapy and prep for an upcoming adventure, I suppose, but something about it is making me feel a little distorted. I think it’s the Sisyphus Syndrome that I speak of frequently…every dream I achieve sees me rolling down a hill into a pile of more. A pile of dreams…that sounds nice, right? It is. It is definitely nice but it also takes work and attention and constant tending. Like a little garden, this field of dreams is my life and my future. I need to pull the weeds, train the roses, water and feed the seeds so that some of them can grow up and bloom. Maybe it’s my middle-American roots, but I put a lot of stock in the cycle of the harvest and the seasons…My little show in Kufstein was an early and unexpected harvest and I guess I didn’t have ‘room in the silo’ for the bounty so it caught me a little off guard.

My temporary withdrawal from the world is just that…temporary. Even the act of writing this here post is part of the medicine that’s pumping fresh air into my lungs and pulling me back up. Gravity and the heavy nature of even the best things in our lives is unavoidable. Sometimes its better to let yourself fall all the way down before you try to stand back up.

As a tribute to gravity and also as a celebration of the role that ‘leaps of faith’ have in my life, I am going to share something with you. I can’t say that this is true for everybody, but for me, I can say that I find myself on top of the hill every time I let go and jump. Gravity be dammed…at least until I achieve my next dream and find myself rolling back down…

Dufus – fus = Du(de)!

A folk-beatnik-poet-hippie-rocker named Seth Faergolza (of Dufus fame) played a solo show at Innsbruck’s club Project last night.  A 2 hour nap pre-show had me all discombobulated and, as is becoming habit, arrive too early.  It wasn’t a terrible move though since I was able to see Spain kick Russia’s tush in the Euro 2008.

As a fellow NY-er (UPstate vs. MANAhattan), I said a quick hello to Seth and then drank a Cuba Libre and watched the usual suspects roll in while Seth carefully assembled his merch table.  The only more impressive merch table I have seen was at a Harford show at John n’ Peters.  Seth had a melange of hand-made clothing, an illustarated zine thing that also contained a double album (i picked one up…zine, very cool.  album, nicht so cool), silk-screened things, stickers, albums and some other random things.

After a 5 minute sound check he asked the room if they were ready and, as it was already approaching 11, everybody said “Yes” or “Ja” in unison.  Oddly, that was the same way he ended the show…”Have you guys had enough of this crap?”  His combination of arrogance and self-deprication is probably what nurtures the poet in him and frees him up to give all of himself away when he plays.  It’s generous and intense but I always had the feeling he was waiting for a little something back… Regardless, I was impressed with his vocal range and tricks and with his ability to fill that space completely with sound.  One of his prettier and more lonely numbers even brought a man to tears.  Believe me when I say it was a strange, yet strangely nice, vibe.

Here are a couple of my favorite shots from the night though, if you’re inclined, you can click here to see the whole lot of them

*_*

Ctrl+Alt+Delete

21st century love lost.  i have no idea where i found this poem but it’s been sitting in a saved txt file on my desktop for months…i often think about how the digital age has impacted socialization and communication and something about this little poem reassures me that not all that much has changed…love lost or found probably feels the same in person, ink or binary.

Soundtrack for an Aquarium

It’s been a busy week of work and music for me and last night saw my second visit this week, of a potential 3, to my new favorite club in Innsbruck, PMK. A friend recommended that I check out Carla Bozulich featuring Evangalista so after some Thai food, wine and open mic night at Project, we headed over to the club. I read a little about her on the interweb but didn’t know what to expect beyond “radical art” and a hint of PJ Harvey.

A broken “paw” managed to cut the set very short so the band didn’t even take the stage until after 11:30. Ambient noise and lots of effects laid the foundation for Carla’s prose and lyrics. “When you see the word ‘never’ cross it out” lingers as one of the lyrics that stayed with me. She has a very strong voice and a real intensity about her. She seemed very sad about her broken hand and had to cut the show short since she couldn’t play some of her tunes.  That said, the music they did play was played with great care and energy.

Some tinkering with pedals and what I think was a screwdriver on her guitar laid a foundation for a trance or vision quest or nervous breakdown. I could also envision her music being an amazing soundtrack for an aquarium…I guess I would call her style “kunst-folk-rock” though I don’t want to assume I’ve seen it all due to her compromised state. The show was intense and interesting and felt a bit more like an installation or an art piece than a rock show but we can all use a little art now and again. Should I have the chance to experience her and her band again, I would certainly go.

Because the nature of the show was so intense and dark and quiet it was quite challenging to photograph. As my number one rule of rock photography is, “Rocking ALWAYS trumps pictures of rocking,” I was modest and only took a few shots. She, as an artist, seemed a bit fragile (in a good way) and the crowd was really enagaged and I didn’t want to interfere with that at all. It was challenging, red lights anyone?, but a fun one at that. If you’d like to see the whole album, click here.