November 17th, 2011

I am constantly putting things in my mouth. My sore, sad mouth. It has a ridge, my tooth. A sharp ridge where my tongue wanders to constantly. My 8 hour root canal, ended with a temporary filling that is torturing my pain loving tongue. I am not really complaining- stating facts. Write what you know, you know. My mouth busy devouring anything liquid or smooth enough to be swallowed not chewed. My mouth is much less adequate than my fingers, of late. Give me space to write and I seem to have something to say. Not so true if locked into conversation. I’ll leave my mouth to step one in the nourishment process, and allow my fingers to do the talking.
While I was in the dental chair and under the life-saving influence of nitrous….I wrote some things in the cover of my Patti smith book. This is what I wrote.
1. A dental patient’s worst enemy is her own empathetic tendencies.
2. We are wise wise women, we are giggling girls.
I was thinking I was really on to something. I stopped my dentist/friend and said I must have a pen. And I wrote first, what was so obvious to me- I was more worried about my dentists needs and feelings (is he tired yet? Is he hungry? Am I opening my mouth wide enough…I am so much work for him…blah blah blah), than my own. I think that is hilarious- when my guard is down I worry about those that don’t need any worry, and I hum and write down Ani Difranco songs. The muse for my 15 year old self. The beginning of my belief in being edgy. The other thing that permeated my whole self during this marathon dental day was my obsession with my Patti Smith book. I constantly spouted out new details about Patti and Robert. I would drift out and picture them, and then the images would shift into my friend rhea and I. I had a full days fantasy of living the crazy-artists-in-new York in the late 60s early 70s. Rhea and I would have done that time so right! Obviously Jimi Hendrix would have found us beautiful and endearing, and Janis would have wanted to hold hands and tell stories. Bob Dylan would’ve written songs about us and people would’ve been mad at us when we were too tired to do another drag show etc. etc. I am soaking up the hope and possibility of living the kind of color I never thought was for me to have. I am not disappointed to miss out on reckless drug use turned overdose, or over-sexual exploration turned disease. I am super happy to live in a world where safe sex and full presence are celebrated- at least by yours truly. I have always been amazed that I seem to have the most attractive friends, and now I am also amazed to have the most colorful, pain-enduring, full hearted-even when heart broken, hilarious, sarcastic and critical, art obsessed artist community in my dearests. I sat in that chair and thought, “now this is not as bad as poor Robert Mapplethorpe, with his abscessed gums and trench mouth. I have had this book for months and although those that know me well know that I have a habit of feeding myself the best books in doses(in hopes that they never end), the length of time I have taken with this one is appalling---well it was until I realized it hid itself, until I needed it most. Scared in the dentist chair and full of questions about my future. I needed my present life muse at that moment, and images of artists surviving and dying and losing and succeeding – all while choosing to create. Fighting to create. Thus begins my own fight. I hope you’ll remind me how much I love it.

Ocean ahead, mountains behind.

"Transformation happens through tears much more than through threats and punishment."





I took a walk yesterday morning, when my head wouldn't stop and my eyes refused to seep. The walk I chose is one I forget all too often. It is right behind my parents house. One walks over a small hill and low and behold they are smack between the ocean and the mountains- with a pretty magnificent 360 degree view. The flag in the picture marks a spot for hang gliders to take off. The last few days have been heavy laden with deep deep breaths and loaded sighs. I want to understand where I am when I'm in it, and yet it seems the moment always gets the better of me, and the learning comes mostly in hindsight.
What I've learned in hindsight of the past few years-
Ask those you trust, for support. Always.
I'm going to be forced into being supported in most things at some point. I might as well ask before my knees buckle and give people a chance to see where they can actually stand.
The truth has a way of living- it just gets louder if you try to ignore it
I like to keep myself on a short leash. I like that it makes me uncomfortable, sick to my stomach, unable to sleep and eat well---when I don't speak up. It took some really painful unlearning of inappropriate compartmentalizing(mouth-full) to get back to feeling uncomfortable with holding things in.
I think i might be maybe- a really good partner-when i let myself be.
I'm not always wrong, sometimes I am. When I'm wrong, and I have realized it, I'm good at taking responsibility for it. I'm really fun. Some people really like and love how much I want to learn about them. Some people appreciate that I don't let things go unsaid for long. I am good at listening, and I am worth listening to.
All those last things are hard for me to say still. I know they are true though, and since I am not writing to a crowd of thousands I'm not going to worry about it.

so, with the mountains at my back, doing a beautiful job of sitting firm, I am wiggling my way forward into the ocean. It is cold there, and scary deep and unpredictable. In the ocean off the beaches that I call mine- is also where I have met my sweetest magic. Whales I have asked for- dolphins constantly(really. like, somersaults in circles every time I go to the beach lately) reminding me when I am hopeless-not to be, baby seals(sea lions?) perched on the beach in my walking path- just because I need them(that is my story for it anyway).

Vermont 2007- susibrister.com

These Pictures are from my time at the studio center in 2007. They were taken by Susi Brister, a fantastic photographer and lovely woman. *she actually found me a nail-polish, while we were there, that was called "Susi loves Sydney". Yeah, really like her. The first photograph is me, and the second is my studio mate and collaborative partner, Chrystal Powell.



Collaborations in art and in life seem to be what is on my heart, in my mind and attempting to make it to my tongue- so this seemed an appropriate shout out for my old friend, and a reminder for me.

this should be the last thing before one goes to sleep

Too sweet not to share....
thank you sweet Caitlin.


http://vimeo.com/m/31158841
( you'll have to copy and paste this for some dumb reason. blah)

What it is to be carried

my beach-mesa lane.
Back in California...

I've had this post started for 3 days. i keep starting it, then erasing, then starting, then erasing. This back and forth is my evidence of what is going on in every facet of my life day to day right now. I am reminded, or maybe really seeing for the first time- what transition looks like for me. It's maybe similar for most, but I'll speak for me.

Transition:A period during childbirth that precedes the expulsive phase of labor, characterized by strong uterine contractions and nearly complete cervical dilation.
No I have not had any babies, i have been lucky enough to be surrounded by them and their expectant mothers all my life- and so I borrow the language quite naturally. The transition description has always gripped me. -the period that precedes the expulsive phase... oh crap.

I have listened to my mother tell stories of women during this phase of labor saying things like, " OK, that's enough. I'm going home now. I'm done...etc. see you tomorrow." I am sitting in what change has happened- that cant be reversed and thinking-" well, maybe not. maybe later. maybe I'll be terrible at..."
I am opening opening, trying to make room while my heart is quivery at the shift and letting go. The letting go of normal.
when I am not busy telling myself I am crazy, I do feel like the universe is trying to make me feel crazy.
-characterized by strong uterine contractions -
Finances are ridiculous- and then my tooth has the NERVE to need a root canal. Spent last night red in the face and eye balls even aching in pain- then went to the dentist to hear they only want $1500 for a root canal. PS, my wisdom tooth looks damn impacted in this x-ray I so bravely show below. Embarrassing.
PHOTO_I

Chrystal and I have a talk about the tests we've been putting ourselves through to see if we, our loved ones, our potential families could handle/survive us as artists forever----we are saying "yes, we can do this. yes, the money will come. We can be brave and make this work" and what happens- she breaks her wrist, making it nearly impossible for her to see a way to make money right now-since that would be either in her restaurant or in the metal shop- not good for the broken bones. And on the same day my tooth gets effed. I swear I am tempted to fall for this jump into 9-5 and medical insurance(really there should be better ways for artists to get medical insurance), and I will choose not to for now. As I am trying to walk around believing that I have found independence, that I can make it on my own blah blah blah.
surprise.
I totally need help. I totally need my family- who by the way- picked up a ton of slack while I was away and then continued to do so today.

tran·si·tion   /trænˈzɪʃən, -ˈsɪʃ-/ Show Spelled[tran-zish-uhn, -sish-] noun
1.movement, passage, or change from one position, state, stage, subject, concept, etc., to another

I suppose it is my job to resist. To throw a tiny fit when things are going in ways I don't believe yet. my poor system is freaked out. I built my whole peace on the safety of predictable and practical- both of which I'm not very much of.
It is also my job to fight for my heart. To resist the Resistance at some point. God knows I am floored by the truth right now. that I would die if I ignored this consuming thrust into making and listening and meeting others through creating physical things .

as I was feeling all sorts of pitty parties coming on- i recieved an email with this photo. He titled it, warm days. No pity please! get it together sydney. it's real sweet all around me. Family, lover, friends. It doesnt always take much. Heart settling in again.

_



What it is to be carried.

I am staring out the window. Lake michigan, the rhino cage at the zoo and a very old and very beautiful conservatory are across the street. The weather is dreary, and I am continuously aware of this new limbo that has been created by the shift that has taken root and charge in me. So, again, in an effort to touch my feet to the ground I write about some of my recent dearest(s). Sophie felt sorta arms length(and I remember why darling S) until all of the sudden, not at all. What a charming woman- discreet giggler(when important), sincerely aware and cautious- then an under current of wildly fun and fantastic dancer. Hm. Excellent combination. Wish I knew more too. I was and continue to be touched by the last minute connections that were made in what was my safe haven/ studio. If I cared to wrap things into one lesson-which I don't- but will go ahead and dramatize for a moment- I would dare to say that each time I thought about being available and then chose to do so- I was so sweetly met by surprisingly open hearts. Sophie was one of them. We had, what, 10 minutes talking alone and that's all it took. Sold. Smooth next door to me- constantly questioning everything I said- and flipping most questions I asked- then saying something simple and generous- reminding me a little of who I am(gently). I appreciate his willingness to keep talking- plus, we were kind of an amazing karaoke duo. That's super hard to find. No woman no cry, lauren hill and wyclef- all branded now. Never satisfied with his work- and always somehow working. Described his family in a way that had me thinking I know what they look like. Maiko is another surprise. Wasn't hard to like her work and even more- to love what must be her- because she made it...I feel careful of exposing much- but would like to say I saw her floating around the periphery, and am still thinking now, the center of things would be better with you in it. We were like, kindred, somehow both part of that ballsy and equally fragile family.
Right now I am still on vacation. Minor panic attack this morning- I speculate due to lack of making and digging. It feels dumb to continue to miss you all so much, as we are adults, far passed the first kisses and late night sardine games of summer camp. But I like to think my missing carries more weight for me the second time around- since I've done this before, chose it again and somehow miss it/you/myself there- more this time. The best I can do with that is write in here as if you are receiving a letter from me (which some of you will) and as if you'll read this and some of my work will be done as my care for you settles into your skin- through the layers and maybe softens the blows of words and people that fling themselves and their tongues around with no thought in the world of where it lands and where it might hurt.
My life is dear, and moving and good. I love it , am proud of it, am living it. AND vermont stole my heart completely separate from that. One heart two worlds. Very pleased.

My current muse...or keeping some momentum

I'm about to traipse around Chicago by myself for the day, but since i just opened and looked at all the individual studio portraits for this last month AND the sweet group photo- I thought I'd post a pic for those at home....I'll write of my Chi-town adventures later....mwah!

last night with (most) everyone in Johnson



I'm spinning a bit with the events of the past month-walking on a Saturday morning with Alec- one of the first to ask who i was away from this place. Reminding at important moments who i am(although maybe he would call it reflecting). Investing in the possibility of and then the very true connection we share. Changing my sleep patterns, so that i became more accustomed to the late-night freeze around 3am than the glisten of an early morning- as is usual. I am reading reading reading Patti Smith's book, "just Kids" and thinking----"My God, I am an artist" Somehow I'm finally believing that. Kathleen helped convince me to move forward only on an artful path for now- she will visit in a couple of weeks- originally arriving in Ojai for a silent retreat and now extending things a bit to hike and soak in some hot springs with me. I am planning and scheming, reading the words of Patti and then drifting, when inspired, into day dreams of returning to Vermont, figuring out who my audience is and how to travel for arts sake. Ed Smith listed schools for me to apply to, telling me i fit in a particularly great group of metal working/jewelery women that are doing something else with it- because we have balls. Which i appreciated- a lot. A good amount of those i loved this last month had been divorced, or struggled through, and were married still, after finding each other as young artists a bit lost and passionate, agreeing to always have each others backs and never promising not to change. One woman told me she married her first husband, saying to him- " I know we are supposed to do this, that i have some life to do with you AND I know we aren't going to stay married"- my words there, but you get the gist. They were married 6 or 7 years- a long time ago- and remain friends. Another friend said to me in the context of his re-marriage after divorce, "once you say you are choosing someone for life, and it doesn't last for life- it is very hard, if not impossible, to say "for life" again. This is not speaking in opposition to deep commitment, or true and faithful love that lasts- but instead recognizing how the break down and break up of a life commitment often moves us (if we're lucky) into a very real commitment to staying present- day to day- room for change- no room for shame- sort of thing. The word promise took on a different energy for me.
I was privileged to hear sweet Bill Frisell play music to a packed house of maybe 50, and a few nights before that to about 30 of us. He accompanied Liz, from Australia, who led us in rounds. Casey- improve theatre troop girl led us in hilarious games which some kind of pretended to hate- but shit man- we are a bunch of artists who can not say no to most experiments.
snuck away from the crowd to bravely throw myself into river for the first time in my underwear(with a few companions)- we came out the other side of the muddy trail between bushes- to find we were not the first undy clad group to think of the river that afternoon. so we froze together- bonding and soaking up sun on the mossy rock before being forced to toss ourselves back in to get to the other side.



sweet heather rummaging through her insides to meet me half way with an exercise in mind vs. heart in a truly amazing collaborative experience/installation- titled: the importance of words no.2. Hopefully there will be a no.3 and 4 etc.-as we have found each other kindred and connected. Me, dancing that fine line of being "all in" without losing my ground or my mind.


Nick is as generous a man as the best i have met: snarky edges- soft insides-man of character...plus, he made me a kick-ass knife AND a small and perfect anvil so that i can work all night without waking the neighbors. Now that is a nocturnal metal worker response to my whining-for sure. Also got me out of the crazy and into the woods for views and fall smells- huge points. If i could bottle the faces, voices, laughter, and inappropriate shares of Mr.Harlan Mack, I most certainly would-keeping me up on my toes and laughing. Sure to have a sip of good whiskey waiting for me-over a chat while he works on rollin a cigarette and keeps a wandering eye on his lovely wondering dog ada(aida?)...then will, William, encyclopedia of everything and surprise late night poet on occasions when(I'm guessing)particularly touched and cozy with his surrounding company. Erin, my favorite weaver, very quietly nudged me open with her young and absurdly wise self- winning the hearts of many-even as she is sure the old ladies don't like her for her body covered in tattoos-but come on- she's got "TREASURE" written across her mid-section. How bad can a girl be?! Not bad at all. Just bad-ass-weaving-maniac. Not unusual to find Jesse at her side. The two of them wide-eyed, i swear telling secrets, and bringing a sweet amount of joy to each others situations. Jesse making amazing site-specific installation- or maybe you'll find him making gross(and awesome)bra tops out of people's hair- to be modeled with a watermelon bracelet that flings juice at you as she saunters by-leaving you unsure if you've just been sprayed by the hairy bra. yuck and yum at once. kinda. Darling Arista, so surprised by her own indulgence of our group of residents. As a staff member, usually keeping herself more protected from the monthly goodbyes. She sank into us and i trust felt received. we shared some good, sloppy, tearful evenings together. I am grateful i sometimes push past the fear of loss in order to invest and connect even for a short time. It is hard today, but my love and care for these dear people(there are more to be spoken of tomorrow...)so outweighs the grief, i cant help but sit in the shock of change. Repeating, thank you thank you thank you- as i finally own my place, privilege and choice to be an artist- an observer- a sponge and someone who challenges.

BVT-PHL-CHI Oct.22, 2011

I have been so silent since I arrived at the studio center a month ago. I will slowly insert myself back into the real world, dragging my heart out of art camp...so forgive me, if i am all over the place...or too short when i should be long- or too long when i should be short.

I am posting a video of an art- maybe installation?- i was involved in. It is nostalgic and sweet for me to watch, but probably wont mean much to any that weren't there. I will continue to add other photos of the surrounding area and, of course, the artwork and life change that was made and developed while i was away.

So, this video was the documenting of a piece done by a man named Matthew. He is a quiet man. Spent most days blowing up hundreds of balloons and then filling areas with them- like his studio-so we could jump in them etc. The video covers a moment when he decided he wanted to release a few hundred into the river. It's freezing cold and he needs a bunch of us to get into the river at the other end and catch any strays before they pop and choke the local wild life...

Abut 300 Balloons Matt Callinan

Safe is nice, even when it smells like old meat, mildew or the dusty roads of Bujumbura, Burundi.

So, I am hear in Burlington, Vermont. Safe and sound...things went pretty well today. It's nice and helpful to learn that the airline website, the woman on the phone and the ticket counter all have completely different policies about baggage- how much you are allowed to have and how much it costs. I got by OK though, and ended up switching for the biggest exit row seat ever.

The plane from Newark to Burlington was interesting- I arrived late and sweating from running across the airport. Ran into the plane which was, oh, about 95 degrees and rising...it smelled like old meat, body fluids and a little like burning trash(which I fondly connect to walking down the dusty streets of central Africa). As we took off in our tiny, sweaty plane, the man next to me promptly ordered 3 vodkas for our 30 minute flight(which made for entertaining dialogue between he and his female companion-like shouting at her, "why are you talking to me if you cant talk loud enough for me to hear you?!" real nice.) and the plane vibrated so hard the whole way, my arm had lost feeling by the time we arrived in VT.
So happy to be here and looking forward to the room I had reserved that looked like this....



But ended up in a mildew smelling, soggy carpeted, bunk bed room in the basement with no windows.

That's all for now...hoping for a full nights sleep, cuddled safely in the bottom bunk.

My first box of supplies for the trip arrived today. it was full of sparkling brass and copper in different forms. Soon i will receive a few new tools as well as some silver in sheet and wire and shot. Each day I wake up with a list from the night before of things to organize, order, shred, pack...hoping to feel prepared for what is ahead of me- this next right of passage- hoping to feel good enough to hear what it is i am meant to be making and learning before i come home to life unfolding something new again. One thing I am fairly certain of is that I have a lot of tools in my possession. Not sure if they are the right ones of course.
Last time i made this trip i had a confidant and partner with me- i had a certain kind of (what seemed to be)unchanging structure to come home to. Looking back i can see that what i thought was sure is never sure- we choose every day what our lives will look like. And even now, i know that the clear eyes and absence of illusion is sweet and safe in its own way. I am still not comfortable with the reality of how alone we are even when we are together- at least i see that now as i recognize the truth of our individual responsibility to our own lives. I suppose part of what is about to happen is the reminder of what solitary physically feels like- and from there a better appreciation for the kindness and fullness that love is, when shared.
My comfort at the end of the day continues to be that i have faith and belief that
i love a loving God. That I will learn even as I fail. That I will not always have to fail- in order to learn.

a life rightly lived

Rebuild and rebuild and rebuild. Rebuilding finance and heart and friendship- here and there things fall apart a little- and I wake up and throw a brick or two on the newest layer of mortar - praying that my new and next house will be built on an unshakable landing, a knowing soul and heart, a faithful love. This time away comes as I close up a chapter of unbelief and choose to believe in love lasting and souls colliding. Sing it true, choose it wholly- re-learn the trust that a life rightly lived demands. I plan on loving a lot. I plan on being available and open to change and pain and growth in the ligaments of things. All this openness... as much as it hurts to stretch out and make room for a bulls eye a little left of center on my chest- it is a relief when finally there is no longer another choice.
When I was close to the end of my art school experience- one of my dearest mentors/instructors said to me, "I'm not worried about you. I don't wonder if you'll still be making art or doing it well in twenty years- you have to make art. You'll die without it."
That is how I feel tonight about LOVE as well. Re learning art and love. It's awfully sweet in here.
So, I choose to live.
And all the beauty and terrifying unknown that comes with the deep breaths that follow.

What is my "process" anyway?

A dear friend gave me the word "contained" tonight. It is the perfect word. Two weeks from today, I will be greeting my sweetheart who will be arriving essentially to send me off to Vermont. I have been having dreams full of anxiety around what it is- how it is I will use my time away....to really say something. I have spent a significant amount of time containing my emotions- which unfortunately I had come to equate with weakness, craziness, out of control. I have been containing my anger(less lately, thank god). I have been containing myself creatively, as I connected great progress in art with the demise of my marriage.
So, now, how to get UN-contained- set free- full of life and absent of fear?! Just keep going. I have learned in my years of exercising the creative process that when all is dead and boring in that regard- you better just make something.
so little by little, my brain is coming back to life. I find myself wishing i had one of those tiny tape recorders everywhere i am as words or phrases or materials file their way into my thoughts. This space will be where I make time to update you, my friends and family on this particular adventure back to a life of art-making. Thanks for loving me.