My whole world lurches sideways –
familiar days and plans
tumble violently from grasp,
dates and weeks flounder
in the murk of confusion,
and I’m falling,
falling again –
I can no longer make sense of June,
or how long it will take to get to the end of it.
I know you didn’t mean to, but your words
wrenched my heart so roughly
it’s seeping again – I can’t help it.
It’s an old wound, really,
shaped by the story of a thousand cuts
that began before
we both were born.
It’s not your fault,
but a little tenderness
would do a lot for the mending.
It’s funny how a tiny prick
can bring you to your knees
while a single hard blow
doesn’t always do the trick.
But the wind is cruel and merciless – sirens sent us all scurrying underground while the house shook and groaned in the middle of the night. On the way down I grabbed things that might vanish, or that I might need if everything came to an end in the end – chilled water tattered leash sensible shoes passport that may very well outlive me flashlight to find my way through the rubble and oh yes, a clean pair of underwear. I sat near the washing machine on the stool with the wheels and the tray underneath with my head in my hands wondering what to do. A spider approached from across the room and stopped right in front of me. We sized each other up while I reminded myself that she probably had pretty eyes and did good work in the studio that I never use. I even thought we could be friends until I moved my leg and scared the crap out of her. She made a beeline for the workbench at lightning speed and I realized the thunder was slowly fading. I’m still wondering what she was trying to tell me.
I know you didn’t mean it,
but I’m staring at July
through vaseline eyes
and still can’t quite get a grip
on what it is that I’m supposed to do.
I could throw me a rope
but time escapes
like an eel through fingers
I can’t feel the bottom anymore,
but my friends are holding my head
Sirens send us all to the basement
while the house shakes and groans
in the middle of the night.
You didn’t know I would pull you from the grave and hold you so close, but neither did I… and now here you are your blood in my veins a face in the mirror that is not me, but us— a father a daughter a mysterious fusion forged ever so lovingly because I still believe in you.
Imagine the place where miracles are born of hearts and desires and the alchemy of the impossible is made tangible to the soul.
The more I work on the Mixed States project, the more I feel connected to my father, who was lost to me in a fatal car accident when I was only five years old. After his passing I was not permitted to grieve, and for fifty years it was drilled into my head that he was nothing but an asshole. This was difficult for me to reconcile because I was his only daughter— daddy’s little girl—and in 1963 he was frozen forever in my mind as a god on a pedestal. A wise person recently suggested that [in order to resolve conflicting stories and feelings] I needed to learn who my father really was—not the god, not the supposed asshole—but the human being inside the man.
What I’ve learned so far is that he was very generous, affectionate, a great storyteller, and a gifted artist. He liked to travel and read, and always kept a dictionary beside his bed. He loved new gadgets and cameras, and his boundless passion for knowledge required a serious investment—a twenty-four volume, leather-bound, hardcover set of the 14th edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica (1962). I just know my dad would have loved today’s gadgets, Google, and especially the work that I do! I’d like to think that he would have been proud of me.
The Mixed States project is turning out to be much more than I had anticipated. Today I ran the first generation double-exposures through additional processing, which has transformed the images even further. Unexpectedly, it gave the feeling that I was melding my father even deeper into myself, thus the Beyond the Grave idea and the poem above. Although this journey is intensely personal, I can only hope that my work resonates with some of you out there. ❤
This is what I know… The core of being is a timeless ghost born yesterday and every day through every word and every thought caressing the heart of the matter. Me? I am ageless— the same as yesterday, with tomorrow frozen in last night’s dream of what will be but never is because this morning, to no one’s surprise, it was today, and I am still right here right now forever in this moment. Oh, but for today… that place, that state, that familiar constant where time stands still, and where we breathe the essence of ourselves until the last exhale, which will not be tomorrow but some other today not unlike this one. Yet… anchored as I am to the moment, I no longer recognize myself, not in the mirror, not in the mortal reflection of my outer shell no… but oh, in the photos, in the miracle of arrested time traveled forward and permanently captured oh yes, there is the soul of me the familiar one suspended in animation transcending the veil of decay.
The past twenty four hours have been insanely productive with much thought, contemplation, and creation. Yesterday I was feeling out of sorts, in a rut, and thinking that I was in need of a new metaphor for my life. I’m done riding the roller coaster… there’s got to be another picture that fits. The image below was an attempt to articulate the feeling, which got me thinking about these old photos of myself that have been surfacing, which then split off in two different directions—one in the form of a fully formulated project, MIXED STATES, and the other in the form of the poem above, Timeless.
And that’s how I roll… barely at all, or fast and hard in explosive creativity. The images below are from the Mixed States Project, fully fledged and barely twelve hours old. Enjoy, and thanks so much for stopping by.