It is with sheer delight that I announce my new creative partnership with sound engineer and singer/musician extraordinaire, Elia Einhorn! Elia will be engineering and co-editing my podcast (in development), and I’m honored to have both his genius and his warm character onboard.
As for Elia, he’s the chief sound engineer at www.thetalkhouse.com and front man for the group Fashion Brigade. If he’s not heading to record in the homes of Kim Kattrall, Harvey Weinstein, or Laurie Anderson all in a day’s work, he’s performing alongside Ira Glass and Fred Armisen at benefit events! A recent import from Chicago, Elia makes amazing things happen wherever he goes, and that’s a testament to both his talent and his generosity of spirit.
More news on our collaboration in the months to come! MORE
I just discovered this photo of myself… evaluating some of my earliest relationship art pieces.
They say, Think back to what you were willfully consuming yourself with before age 7, and your purpose is wrapped inside that.
And probably our sanity and satisfaction is in the constant revisiting and unraveling within our adulthoods of that motivating spark pot of passion that drove our cores forward, when our realities were unencumbered by limiting thoughts about what’s responsible; when our beliefs were still soft and open to becoming 10,000 differently shaped loaves off of the mother yeast we knew ourselves to be within…
So I’m glad to have left my beliefs pliable. When I can knead them easily, they are my best art material. And my needs, they become something altogether surprising.
So let’s be 7 again. Or 6 or 5 or 2, for the weekend. And take note of what we end up doing. Because it’s easier done, than said, I promise. And we have the freedom to do it… from now on. MORE
When you remember his toasted words, “Here’s to our new relationship” from the other side of the white tablecloth of a new Turkish place two blocks away, post-affair, all airwaves frosted with the mutual attempts at your repair and you think, yeah, Choice is not mine, There is no right trajectory, Forgiveness is the way, Life starts and is always now, so It must be all ok…
And it feels like it is, for the consistently spliced in milliseconds that nudge your belief into your own self talk and the false reinforcements coming at you like Pops cereal from across the table, yellow like cheery bursts yet filled with air; all those puppet-like projections meeting your shoulders as you stare at your chutney and hope that a sparkler eraser combo stick might show up.
But whether or not the man across the hummus platter actually had any longterm intention to keep holding my hand by choice, I shall not know for certain. His frequent struggle with my hand was enough to break my heart from very early on, as I conditioned myself to not seek or expect yeses as things that could be born up from inside of him naturally.
But I stayed, and I kept looking the nos in the face, pretending they had frosting and positive ideas about our redesign behind their opinionated posts. That they could convert to smiley faced right thinking, given enough time.
And therein lies my… MORE
Here’s a little self-portrait / photogram composite and part of a larger installation I made at 19, the final of my darkroom class. I had brought my partially broken 35mm Canon to my favorite little cemetery, a tiny fenced in plot holding the 19th century remains of the Chamberlain family in East Albany, VT; I grew up on that family’s hill. I always felt comfortable there among the graves somehow, like their inhabitants could offer me some understanding from the depths of their silence over the heartbreak and health plagues that both cast their shadows upon – and also sought some comfort within – my trips home to them in college.
Grief burns no less at 19 than at later points in life. But at 19, we might wish to dramatize its demons, as the rearing of their heads is more fresh somehow. We are obvious about our pain; we paint it upon ourselves in bold strokes like war paint. We put our heads behind the bars of our dollhouse chairs if actual prisons hold no place for us and our seemingly clean records, and we make selfies.
That is, until we wake up and realize that we all suffer, and that suffering isn’t exclusive, precious, or noteworthy, but simply commonplace. Until we realize that those who need not paint their pain so obviously are maybe the stronger among us. Until we realize that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional, as a friend just reminded me over the phone… CLICK for more. MORE