gilt

Corine -- Coupable

Whatever it is, doesn't it look like that guy did it?
(Polaroid taken during Bay2Breakers 2009)

Guilt

I have to take issue with the number of posts this week that proclaim the uselessness of guilt. Thanks to the way I was brought up, I could write a treatise on the topic, but that's not my mission tonight. I was going to post something else entirely on today's topic, but then I was struck by these posts.

Like most things in this life, too much guilt is toxic and it can lead to manipulation. But lack of guilt is just as toxic. I see too many people who refuse to take responsibility for anything that they do badly. I see too many people who blame their parents for the way they act in adulthood. I see too many people who refuse to feel guilty for hurting others. Too many instances of kids brought up without a sense of guilt who run amok and have a mammoth sense of entitlement. Kids who act like they're the center of the universe and expect to be treated like that; they turn into adults who act like kids.

As children, we all have an innate sense of guilt in us. Parents can increase and manipulate it to their advantage, or they can extinguish it altogether. There is a healthy balance somewhere in there.

I'm guilty -- St.Ofle

I can't be too honest.
My beloved grandfather died a few moths back.

I didn't go visit him in the hospital as he was dying, though I easily could have.
"don't! you'll regret it, he's in too bad of shape -- he may not even recognize you" people said.
Well intentioned, they told me stories of how people they knew had died, and seeing a dying person is a mess (they said).
"You want to remember hi the way he was"
Feeling it was the right thing to do (for myself) I didn't visit him.
Now I regret it.

I think it's selfish.
The thing a dying human wants the most is to feel loved.
The last thing any dying human wants is to feel marginalized, or forgotten.

This is a portrait I did of my handsome (and now dead) grandfather.
(He was the Richard from whence this Richard got the name Richard)

I'm sorry, I'm guilty.

Guilt and remorse are one and the same for me. Wanting to go back in time and make amends. Wanting to know what to say to make sure the same sad things don't ever happen again. Shame is in there too. Being ashamed of not doing more or doing something better. Feeling guilty that I feel guilty. Feeling ashamed that I spend my precious time feeling guilty.

The worst kind of guilt is the one for the thing that happened that I had no control over. It's the Smiths song, played backwards and at a terribly slow speed, making me analyze every, sad detail and annoying the shit out of me. Guilt is a useless emotion, but it's the one I'm stuck with.

OK, time to go for a walk in the sun and be grateful.

toothache

Guilt is an equivalent of physical pain. When we feel pain, we know something is wrong physically. When a person has a toothache, if he (or she) is smart, he'll go to a dentist and take care of the problem. It's hard to ignore that kind of pain, usually it only gets worse with time. But when guilt is involved, you can be sure something is wrong on another level.

GUILT

"guilt" - noun: a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.

it's one thing to not take responsibility for yourself, but don't let yourself get caught up in the game of guilt, which is often used as a tool of control over you by society or an individual. you deserve good things, and you deserve to do well !

alone

Excessive solitariness is not good for you. For example, it has been found that people who live alone are far more likely later in life to suffer from Alzhimer's or dementia.

(The above images are a part of a series I did for a school assignment over the course of this spring.)

Recluse - Jessalyn Wakefield

There was a clear moment in my life when I understood that if I did not learn to be completely alone with my Self in a room, without a phone, without the Internet, without friends lovers books radios noise communication anything, if I could not learn to be in a room with my Self and only the presence of my Self for days, weeks, months, that if I did not learn this I would, quite literally, die.

So I learned.

Recluse. Patricia

1. I found this on all-knowing Wikipedia:

"In Japan, an estimated 1.2 million people are part of the phenomenon of 'Hikikomori' or 'social withdrawal' has become a major problem, often blamed on Japan's education system and social pressure to succeed."

(I had nothing to do with the badly constructed sentence).


2. I can't help thinking of North Korea.

3. Recently I was having a conversation with some people about the biblical basis for Christian monks and monasteries. I'm still not sure it exists.

4. I'm really angry at my aunt for home schooling her youngest kids and quite possibly turning them into social recluses.

Recluse/Balthus

I painted this two weeks ago, it's very small. I have nine or ten other paintings waiting to be scanned or photographed. I have become slightly reclusive, but I don't feel guilty about it. Time alone can be very therapeutic. I see my friends and enjoy the outside world, but on my own terms.

When I was 18 I went to San Francisco to study art, I was ahead of many of my classmates. Like my hero Balthus(it rhymes with recluse), I began painting and drawing as a very young child. It's the best training you can have, to learn to draw as you are learning everything else is a gift. I am thankful for it, art is intertwined with everything I have ever known. So, I pleaded with the school to let me skip the preliminary courses but, we never saw eye to eye. They argued that they were foundation classes, and I argued that they were a waste of my money! Needless to say they won, and I got A's with no effort. I was able to complete my assignments quickly, I used all of that free time exploring the city; climbing fire escapes, sneaking into hotels, running from crackheads, looking for the best views, using the neighboring apartment complexes heated pool, and just having the perfect time.

Now, it seems that I get a surge of energy at night, especially on the weekends. Maybe I am more nocturnal than reclusive, so often they seem to go hand in hand. I could use that energy to go out at night and party, and I do. However, more often than not I give into the urge to devote myself to the process of painting. It's more fulfilling than anything else I could do. I feel that there are secrets to attain, ideas to discover, magic waiting to happen, ideas wanting to come to fruition, and just so much more to learn.

I recently read Bathus' memoir. It was written before this death, and published after. This was done at his request. He is another famous recluse, he was rarely photographed and never gave interviews. He resisted any attempts at creating a biography, at his retrospective at Tate Modern he simply stated "Balthus is a painter of whom very little is known," Knowing how much he prized silence makes me deeply thankful for his words, they have been inspiring and comforting. When I read them I feel like I am reading the letters of a friend whose ideas and philosophies are the same as mine. Often a chapter starts in the middle of a thought. He discusses his painting rituals and a fear of dying before his work can be completed. I understand that and internalize it, I cannot put off what demands to be done. It would be wrong to. I am a servant of painting, painting does not serve me. Painting will continue if I don't, and it must be ritually seized.

So, with this comes a process of reconciliation. A balancing act. Having the right energy at the right time, acting when the idea strikes, and choosing not to become a recluse and not to feel guilty.

recluse -- st.ofle

I've been reclusive.
but only in the morning and at night.
and because having a baby does that.
I'd also like to add that I've fought it, and been out every day.

last night, and this morning I took these with Orson during his nightly "calming" drive.
it's quite peaceful actually, until the car slows for a stop light or sign, in which case orson lets the wold know how much he likes going instead of stopping.

Recluse-Sapphire Cordial

I typed the word “recluse” into google image search and the first full page was filled with brown recluse spider pics and brown recluse spider bite pics. No images of  26 year old girls cursed with wanderlust, or representations of  avoidance of previously frequented social situations that seem pointless and counter-productive.

There was however, a photograph of 31 year old Li Guoxing, an unfortunate Chinese dude who was attacked by a bear in 2006 and afterward became a recluse due to the disfigurement of his face. The picture (if you really want to see it, google his name) is pretty grisly/grizzly (sorry, I couldn’t help myself), but out of some morbid curiosity I took a closer look and found out that Gouxing later became the second ever recipient of a face transplant. Dangg.

Any time something bizarre like this catches my attention, I assume it as some sort of teaching or sign and try to relate it to my own life somehow. There is the obvious “be thankful for what you have” lesson, which is always valid, but as I was considering this in comparison to my recent afternoon spent alone in a graveyard, from which I took a similar introspective deep breath, I read that in July of 2008, Li Guoxing died. Aw, man.

I’m not really sure how to feel about this. I was trying to find more recent pics of him, to see how he healed up after the surgery. I was rooting for him. Now I feel let down (thanks a lot internet, for not telling me of his fate in the first place) and even sadder at his awful circumstances. If he’d stayed a disfigured recluse he would probably still be alive (though there was no autopsy performed, so his actual cause of death is undetermined), but he probably could have written a gripping “I survived” style auto-biography.

So I guess I’ll knock on wood and present myself with the following question: Would I want to live if I were cut off from all human contact? Granted, that’s a very extreme example of “recluse”, but for argument’s sake lets say I signed some kind of deal with the devil where I got to keep my face (I don’t even want to take into account how that kind of disfigurement would effect my psyche), but was not allowed any human companionship, ever. No friends, no lovers, no one.

Right now, when I choose to be alone it feels healthy and welcome, but honestly if there were no option I don’t think I could make it. At first I’d read all the books I’ve been putting off reading, I’d write and draw and make crazy sculptures. But after a while, I think I’d lose all my inspiration and become sullen and start to lose my mind (unless maybe there was a clause where I was still allowed go on Facebook.). After a longer while I’d probably die of a broken heart.

So I think the lesson here is thanks-giving after all. I’m thankful I have a curiosity of new places. I’m thankful for all the seemingly non-productive social situations I can choose to attend. I’m thankful I’ve never had a run-in with a bear or had to have plastic surgery, and last but not least, I’m thankful that I’ve never been required to choose between two absurd extremes and report my decision to Tim Curry.

That was a close one

RECLUSE

vampire, nocturnal, whatever

i am becoming more and more reclusive..always have despised the sun. it's 5AM and i don't have much more interesting to say on the subject except, here is a little article about some famous recluses..

and this one too.


oh, and this guy..
(sorry for the nightmares, self)

!

Vanity

This is me in 3rd grade. I was sick of having bangs so I cut them off myself. My mom was upset and told me she wouldn't fix them. I don't think I cared (but maybe I did. I should ask her if she remembers this event). I hated that cowlick of extra poof on the side of my head and it wouldn't go away. It was there every day.
I wish I had more pictures of me at this time, cause this picture cracks me up!

Vanity

Self-portraits. None of these look like me, which is why I must keep practicing.

VANITY

aesthetic > vanity

once i unconsciously scribbled, "i'm not interested in being beautiful, i'm interested in leading a beautiful life" into a bedside journal at like 3am and when i found it again recently i thought that it sums up quite well how i view today's topic.

i LOVE clothes. i especially adore black clothing. if i could i would (and when i can i will) spend hundreds on the well-tailored, beautifully-draped black dresses and tops and pants and jackets and shoes and all the dark fabrics that i desire.
but what i honestly desire about them is their value when considering how much thought and craft and vision was put into them, and the sense of draping one's body in a visual costume which represents the inner workings of their mind.

i'm actually working on a project called "the dark files" with my friend and local designer michael lopez to craft four or five great pieces that represent our inspirations and aesthetics and then document these pieces in a variety of ways. we're starting tomorrow, yay

vanity -- st.ofle

I don't know anything about female dress sizes.
Hell, I hardly know anything about women.

but I came upon an article on one of my favorite blogs about how the shape of a woman -- an idea woman -- has changed over the years.

Marilyn Monroe was a size 14.

This is a size 14 today.



Then there's this

Vanity

Twins

I have twin cousins on both sides of my family. One set is two years older than me, and the other set is two years younger. I have always been able tell who is who even though both sets are identical. When I was a little girl I wanted a twin, I am the oldest and was the only girl for a long time. I loved spending weekends and vacations with the twins on my mother's side. As children we looked alike and would often dress in the same outfits to make people think we were triplets, it worked!

Now we're all adults and at some point I stopped wishing for a twin. I see both sets of twins having the exact same problems and exhibiting the same risky unhealthy behaviors. Life can be difficult when you feel like you aren't a unique individual.