A Girl's Primer

I have been working on this trio of drawings for 9 months and I'm finally ready to march these ghosts out of my studio. My triptych, A Girl's Primer, will be in a group show at Aucocisco Gallery in Portland for the month of December. I'm thrilled to be invited to show at Aucocisco with four other artists: Michele Caron, Rachael Eastman, Tanya Fletcher, and Judy O'Donnell. I'm just about finished, still doing a bit of fine tuning, and I need to make the hanging mechanisms. They will hang unframed, and I'm planning to string wire to three boards and attach each drawing to its respective board with velcro. They will then simply hang on picture hangers. Theyre not heavy, but they're big, at 4' x 8' each.

Here is my working artist statement which still needs a tweak or two. I don't want to say too much - just a sort of lead in...

My mother’s loss of memory due to the ravages of Alzheimer’s and her recent death prompted me to create this series of drawings, a triptych populated by three major spirits: my mother, my father, and my maternal grandmother. A Girl’s Primer speaks of love, loss, dreams, desire, memory and experience, and the early forces that shaped me.

Tapping In

On Friday, I unloaded my artwork from my car to bring into the house and put in my flat file, which is set up in my new home studio space. In addition to all my portraits, figure studies, and prints, I had the bulky pieces to my Altared Self installation to unload. I had fantasized about burning this piece for some time - it was taking up alot of space, and I'd exhibited it twice altready (here, and here...), so I wasn't even careful taking it from the car, and tossed pieces of it onto a snow bank while I pulled my other work more carefully from the trunk. I was emotionally raw and tired, for it had been a week full of grieving, and in the middle of all this unpacking, I was overcome by tears. I sat on the edge of the snow bank in the warm sun with my Altared Self pieces and sobbed. It seemed as if the sun was embracing me, giving me permission to have a good long cry. I felt better after that, and suddenly wondered what it would look like if I threw some ashes onto my wet face. This is me always - having an experience, and then stepping back and observing it - wanting to make art about it. So I went to the back porch and took the lid off the ash bucket, grabbed a handful of the gritty gray particles, and sprinkled it over my face. I sat back down in the sun and snapped a few self-portraits. Then I gave myself a good facewash with snow, and felt worlds better. Energized, I finished unloading the car.

At lunchtime, out of curiosity, I Googled ashes and ritual and found this fascinating article. I was particularly interested to learn about the Sapindi ritual which takes place on the 13th day after a loved one's passing. I realized that the next day would be the 13th day after my mother's death. Oh, here was the arrow pointing, the permission to burn the Altared Self piece. The piece was about my old relationship with my parents, and I realized that now that they are both gone, I have a new, freer relationship with them, and with myself.

So, on Saturday at noon, I trudged through thigh deep snow, dragging the two big panels, and planted them firmly in the fluffy white stuff, then added a few of the other pieces that were part of the original installation. I dripped a few drops of fire starter on the panels, struck the match, and stood back. It started smoldering here and there before bursting into flames. It looked so beautiful! I was filled with excitement and delight, and starting taking pictures. It was incredibly satisfying to watch this piece morph and disappear, and when it had burned to the snow, I felt lighter, emotionally, and physically.

I've felt at peace since doing this strange ritual. I even dreamt that my mother called me on the phone to tell me that she loved me, something she was unable to do for the past few years, being tongue tied and stripped of memory from the Alzheimer's.

And now I have all this source imagery to work with. The original piece was so packed with information, these bits and pieces can be works on their own. I want to take these photos and crops of photos to my new studio space and start a series of drawings using them somehow...

Cesi's Gramma

Cesi with Mom's Last Few Things, 2011

digital collage

This poignant word portrait of my mother, written several years ago by my niece, the sweet and talented Cesi Marseglia, was recited by The Reverand Jan Vickery Knost at my mom's funeral service. I wish I had a recording of Jan's strong and beautiful voice reading this - it was sure powerful. Not a dry eye in the house...

Gramma

When I think of Edna Simmons;

Old memories flood my mind, a steep, dark flight of stairs,

onion skins, a little girl skipping in pretty pink shoes,

cats, cats everywhere, cats upon cats, mobiles of color, pottery,

nude portraits, misty beach glass and mismatched buttons,

bright red crab apples, dappled in sunlight, the thick, sturdy branches

of an old beech tree, the best cookies you ever tasted, tiny

hand-knit sweaters, a beautiful dead butterfly

kept in a glass jar, frilly, lively petticoats from her dancing days, porcelain dolls

with eyes that make a clicking noise when they open and shut,

just a few strands of hair left clinging to their bald heads,

ongoing puzzles that would never seem to end, an old,

decorative rolling pin, stale Cheerios,

paper dolls with old fashioned clothing, a shower where the

hot water runs out very fast, going upstairs and visiting the past,

a tiny crib that I used to sleep in, although I was too big, the old

book of farm animals and all the sounds they made, a cute little plastic

elephant in

an Animal Crackers tin, piles of cardboard boxes,

with nothing to put in.

I love you Gramma.

Dark Beauty

Man was made for joy and woe

Then when this we rightly know

Through the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine

A clothing for the soul to bind.

William Blake

A Fancy Funeral Wreath

A wreath for Edna, fashioned with wild grapevines, remnants of a vintage 1950's patchwork square dance skirt made by our mother, family photographs, paper, hot glue, and sisterly love.