emily: 24 hours in dan diego

Emily arrived last night, just after the laundry incident. We went to El Zarape down the street for dinner, where we were mistaken for a couple by a tipsy woman on a food break from the women's night wet t-shirt contest at Bourbon Street, the gay bar by my house. That was a first for us. Dinner was delciious as usual. We were both pretty exhausted, so after a brief stop to see the fuss at Bourbon Street(contest was already over) we went back home.

We were sitting in our pajamas and underwear on the bed talking for hours, when Trent called, and then not only were we up late on my bed in our underwear, but now I was talking to my boyfriend on the phone and we fell into a fit of giggles at our grownup slumber party.

Saturday morning after breakfast, we walked into Hillcrest so Emily could get a haircut. I took her to Hairspray, and she was satisfied with the whole experience. We ate a light lunch at Bread and Cie(cheese plate and tomato soup with french bread!) and then went over to pick up Trent, some wetsuits and surfboards and went to the beach to go surfing.

Emily did well for her first time. She stood up a few times. I am feeling more comfortable, learning to paddle and catch waves on my own, and had fun sitting on my board watching the waves and turning myself around, but still need to work on my pop up.

Waterlogged and chilled, we went for dinner to the Chicken Pie Shop, and stuffed ourselves with chicken pie and fruit pie, coleslaw and mashed potatoes. After dinner, back to the boardwalk, and people watching at the amusement park.

It was a good day.

dirty laundry

I’ve been debating whether or not to move into a smaller and less expensive place. It would mean, most likely trading in something. Like neighborhood, safety, quiet, or charm. It would mean moving to a studio, which may or may not be a good plan. My mind has been made up, at least for the time being, by what happened Friday evening.

Feeling adventurous on day a few weeks back, I walked in the opposite direction of my usual laundry mat, and decided to try out the other one. Bigger, a little less clean, but cheaper, and closer to the library, the second laundry mat won me over.

This evening, whilst awaiting a call from Emily, scheduled to arrive at any time now, I went forth to clean some sheets, towels, and rejuvenate my sock and underwear supply.

All went well, with a comic book reading excursion during the wash cycle, until close to the very end. When I returned from outside to retrieve my dry laundry, an odd couple were in the midst of an argument.

And there, between the arguing couple, were my clothes, my towels, fluffed dry and unreachable. I waited a moment longer for their anger to subside, for one of them to realize that I was there, watching my laundry and waiting for them. That moment passed, without either of them noticing. So I pushed my cart right in there, between them, and they moved away from me and farther from each other, still at sixes and sevens.

Do you have your bus pass?” he shouted over my head. “You’ll need it.”

“No one fucking talks to me like that. I’m no one’s god damn mother!” She shouted to his back as he marched out the door.

And it went on and on, with the pair of them opening and slamming dryer doors, shaking fists of wet clothes at each other, and shouting through a tour of the back and front doors.

The entire atmosphere was charged with a lunacy of rage and resentment; it was uncomfortably funny to watch. I started folding towels, carefully avoiding looking up or making eye contact with anyone. Which was difficult, as once when I had my head up to fold a sheet, another customer smirked at me, and I found I couldn’t help but respond in kind.

When I left, clean pile of sheets and towels, socks and underwear towering in my arms, I wondered if it was worth it. Should I go back to the smaller, more expensive laundry mat? Without the having library, and its collection of graphic novels, next door? How much is a few quarters worth? Being able to fetch my laundry without being in the middle of other people airing theirs?

keep your eyes peeled

I'm rather skeptical at this point of anyone is reading this, as no one has said anything to me or commented on anything yet.

However, I will be at Angel Stadium tomorrow night for the first game in the Angels/RedSox series. Erica and I will be, surrounded by BLS alumni, in the left field terrace box. If you happen to be watching the game, look for us. We'll be representing Dorchester Latin grads.

As those who have been reading regularly have undoubtedly noticed, on my mind of late are death and faithlessness. I am staring transfixed at the vanitas still life set up at my worktable, and its double, the half-finished painting drying next to it.

I have been corresponding with an old and read friend who is going through a separation currently. She describes her difficulty in processing it: ‘someone who I've known and loved and considered a best friend for 15 years is now basically a stranger to me.’

Andrea and I spent the afternoon talking, laughing, and watching various baseball games. We rambled on about many things, including the transformations we experienced moving out here. At one point she looked at me, through eyes that were a bit watery with captain and diet, and told me earnestly that I am one of the most alive people she knows.

The deaths that I have been digesting, the physical presence of infidelity, both reveal something horrible that I do not want to acknowledge: the feeling of betrayal of one’s expectation of life.

Tonight I took a walk on the boardwalk at Mission Beach. I savored every moment, breathing into my life. I did transform. Sometimes it takes someone else who is witness to affirm it.

memento mori

Last night the freeway entrance ramp was blocked off by a freaked out and angry cop placing flares across the lanes. We waited for a while, chatting with the guy in the car next to us. How very California it seemed. An accident (of course, what could be blocking the freeway this time, more bananas, a sectional, garden furniture), a friendly guy stopped next to us, who was funny and apologetic for his crappy car.

Then, the helicopters arrived, and the ambulance pulled up without the sound. When the cars were allowed to pass in single file, we drove through the accident scene. There were several cars at the side of the road and pieces of something spread out across the fast lanes. And eventually we passed the yellow tarp covering the body.

Bad dreams that night.

Today I find myself spending the day painting a vanitas still life. I had brought home a skull to sketch, and had an empty bottle of wine, and a candle.

A couple had been arguing on the side of the road outside their car. Some people passing pulled over to call the police. The argument escalated, the man turned and walked away, the woman ran into the road, and was hit by three cars.

vanitas vanitatum dixit Ecclesiastes vanitas vanitatum omnia vanitas

starlight and airplanes

Tonight, Trent and I went to see The Sound of Music with our friend Cathie and her daughters. Alex, the son of the couple who run the Kroc Center, was playing Kurt. I loved watching the Julie Andrews version as a kid, and still know all the words to Trent's slightly malicious but good-natured delight. It was a terrific production, and Alex was great on stage.

The play was at the Starlight Theater, and as you can imagine in San Diego, it was indeed outdoor and under the stars. It was also under the flight path. Countless planes flew overhead during the performance. During musical numbers, the cast sang though the noise, but otherwise the entire stage froze action and waited until the plane was no longer heard. It made for a rather disjunctive viewing experience, although memorable.

Cathie said that every few years a suggestion is made that the theater move to a new location, or be enclosed, but there is a fair sized following who find charm in the interupting planes. I wondered how the actors felt, performing in front of an audience that doesn't mind these large continuity problems. As you can imagine, this is one of those moments when it comes into clear focus that I live in Southern California, which I suspect at times is another planet altogether.

somber evening

Tonight when I got home, I lit two candles and said a hail mary for Jonathan and Michael. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to church to worship. Now I pretty much go only for weddings or funerals or when sight seeing on vacation. In fact, I don’t think I’ve lit candles and prayed at home since a long ago Friday night dinner at the Herson’s. It’s a somber evening, but I’ve been listening to a reggae song that Briana gave me on a mix, that has the line ‘every day is good because of being alive,’ and this line resonates.

Earlier today I discovered that someone I know reunited with and slept with an old friend who is married with three young children. High school sweethearts who haven’t seen each other in ten years. On a weeklong conference in San Diego. First night in ten years and they got back together. She will return home to tell her husband.

My brow is furrowed trying to figure out how I feel about this. I have several scenarios that have unwound themselves in my head. (skeptic)Is the ultimate goal of this infidelity to get out of the marriage? (romantic) Are they two people who have loved each other from a distance for a decade only to finally fulfill their dream of being together? How can one break such a significant vow? I’m giving this too much thought. Why should I even feel anything? It’s not my life, and these people are only peripherally in my life through friends. It is not my place to pass judgment. But still, I am filled with sorrow, and anxiety, for the peril that the marriage and the children are now in. I think about my friends who have in the past few years, in such joy, pledged themselves to their loves. I remember watching at their weddings how real and tremendous and loyal love can be.

I am floored when I realize how often things like this happen. Marriages don’t last. Families are rearranged. It’s always surprising for me to witness it because it’s not part of my own experience, and I hope it never is.

at work

I’ve spent the past few days manically printing images of Japan, swimming, and teaching art. With all that’s been going on, both with travel and with family, it feels comforting to be back into a routine again.

The Japan portfolio should be available for viewing soon. I have a few more days of making work prints, and then I’ll be in the editing process. This may be on of my last ventures into the darkroom.

Yesterday, I was told by a photo store salesman that Kodak has stopped making black and white paper. I took a look at the shelves, and they were indeed barren. Everything has been moving over to digital or some time, but now the stead-fasts , like me, are being driven by crisis to re-evaluate putting anymore energy into traditional photography.

I’d be okay with transferring over to digital. I’m not concerned so much with quality, as I feel that the medium is a means to an end. It’s the cost of a digital slr, and a quality printer and inks, and the worries over backing up data and storage of digital files.

It seems that every August I get inspired to make art, and am brimming with ideas. This year is the first year in many that I don’t have something new beginning to preoccupy me. I feel wonderful that I have this time, and I am supposed to be spending it making work.

tv?!

Trent left me a message last night that he had bought me a present, and he would be bringing it over later. This present turned out to be a small tv (the selling point of this - I can keep it in my closet when I don't want to watch it or even see it).

We settled in happily to watch two hours of terrible television(I saw my very first FearFactor) and eat meatloaf, peas and focaccia. It was weird having a tv in my house again.

The best thing about it is that I'll have some background noise when I knit.

corporeal form of angels

Friday morning, as a test for the final project I did with my campers from the Museum of Photographic Arts, I made a life size photogram of myself on coated muslin. I painted the muslin with cyanotype solution, and when it was dry, ran out to my front yard, threw it on the grass, and threw myself down on top of it. The fabric was still damp, and bunched in places, and I was not able, by myself, to keep some of the surface from getting fogged.
Laying the the grass, on this cloth, I watched until the sun had turned it a deepest blue. Then quickly I ran with it into the bathtub, and washed out the remaining chemicals.
The image, with all it's techincal flaws, was still very beautiful to me. I brought it with me to a meeting I had the the Salvation Army DHQ. The women there were also interested in the image, and decded that it looked like an angel. And there was something about the image that made it look as though it were leaving the surface of the cloth, ascending.

Early Saturday morning I had a terrible call from home. It is times like this when I solidly feel how far away I am from my family. My cousin has died. Unexpectedly and by himself. My mother relayed messages to me throughout the day, giving me the details as they were given to her. The image that struck me was that his parents had found his body, and the dog was waiting there with him.

later when I was putting away my projects from the week, I layed out the self-portrait I had made on my bed. There it was this same body, but now it was also referencing a chalk outline, the life size record that a corporeal body had existed there.

Today I made a few more image, throwing myself down on the muslin and waiting until the sunlight fixes my image. I am trying to experiement how to stitch and alter the surface to hold on to the duality of a body transcending/ascending. To make the viewer unsure of which way this form is appraoching the surface of the cloth.

The project, which was initially for the students, has held on in my thoughts.