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.

sarahb - my twin

i have a twin.

she is 4 years older than me.

but, really, she's my twin.

a few years back we got so tired of having to respond to inquisitive strangers that we were not twins, so we began to play along. we would just tell curious folks that we were in fact twins. it was fun.

it's a funny thing though, we didn't start looking so alike or sharing similar mannerisms, until we were living in different countries. bizarre. her name is zeina. she's super rad.

Twins - Michelle Suzanne

I have always been fascinated by twins. There are a few sets of twins in my extended family and when I was younger, I always hoped that the next set of twins in my family would be my kids. I heard that having twins skips generations. I also wished I had a twin, because my little sister was a pain in the ass. I also really always have loved sideshow freak type things, probably because my mom had a bunch of photo books of old old old barnum and bailey sideshow performers and I thought they were so weird/cool. I also bought one of our own Jessica M's paintings of pretty conjoined twins and I love it!

There is an extremely rare form of identical twins that occurs perhaps in one out of every 75,000 to 100,000 births or 1 in 200 deliveries of identical twins, that of conjoined twins.

Here are some fine photos of my favorite kind of twins.


Daisy and Viola Hilton, 1924. "Twins are capable of earning living in practical pursuits.


Daisy and Viola again, in the movie Freaks, 1932



Diane Arbus' (who I love!) photo, Identical Twins. (not conjoined) Then (1967) and in 2005. The twins' father once said about the photo, "We thought it was the worst likeness of the twins we'd ever seen."



Conjoined twins born July of this year in Indonesia. The boys, who have not yet been named, have two heads, a pair of lungs, two arms and two hearts. They weighed 7 pounds. CNN article here.


I could do this all day.
<3

Cocteau Twins

Cocteau Twins

Two live vids of my favorite Twins.

Musette and Drums - from the album "Head Over Heels"


Wax and Wane - from the album "Garlands"

"COME AND PLAY WITH US" (TWINS)

one of the best scenes from one of the best movies

juan francisco casas twins -- st.ofle

Do you know Juan Francisco Casas?
I've had an obsession with his work, and an obsession with combining images lately.
I combined the two, and layered two of his drawings.



here are some JFC goods
Juan Francisco Casas Images
juanfranciscocasas.com/
wikipedia article

Missing

I woke up this morning to news that my cat was missing. I looked everywhere, I searched for hours. This evening I found her, but when I picked her up she scratched my arms. In that past three years she has never once been remotely interested in going outside at all. She is full grown but still looks like a kitten. She poses and makes adorable noises all the time, she loves attention. If I walk by her and she wants to me stop and play with her she taps my arm with her paw.

A few years ago I saw that two kittens were dumped off in our neighborhood. They appeared to be nearly identical, one was male and the other is female. They were skiddish to say the least. In the ghetto there are tons of uncivilized folks, and my neighbors fit that description perfectly. They had a pit bull that they kept locked in the backyard, they never walked it at all! In fact, we had no idea they had a dog. Apparently they let it roam the neighborhood at night.

Thanksgiving of that year we went over to my mom's house for dinner. On the way home we were discussing the kittens, they were beginning to warm up to us. Even though it would require some adjusting, we decided to bring them inside. We pulled up to our house and noticed the gate was open, immediately we knew something was wrong. The pit bull was in our yard! I could see the boy kitten lying in the grass by a tree, it was obvious that he was dead. The girl kitten was near the front door and the pit bull was a few feet away from her. Rob freaked out and started chasing the pit bull with a brick around the yard. We chased it and yelled and tossed bricks, there was nothing we could do to get the dog to leave. A half and hour later, I was finally able to get the neighbor to come across the street and get the dog, they're lucky Rob didn't kill it. I think he might have, we were infuriated.

The girl kitten, Isabella, was shaken. Rob was able to grab her and bring her inside. Two days later she was living it up in comfort and luxury. We named her brother Isafella. I am certain she is in the yard somewhere and I doubt she will leave.

Missing

Last week I finished reading a fascinating book, What is the What. It's a best seller, so you may have heard of it or perhaps even read it. If not, I strongly recommend it to anyone who cares about either a good story, or, more importantly, about stuff that goes on in this world and looks like nothing we know of at home. Basically, it's the story of a young Sudanese man who ran from the war as a child and eventually moved to the US, where life wasn't necessarily that much kinder.

The following excerpt is his description of the first time he ever saw a white man, at the age of 9 or 10, in a refugee camp in Ethiopia. In spite of the much more colorful theories below, the white man turned out to be a UN worker. Reading this was quite an experience:

"-You haven't seen him?
-No. You're saying he's a white man? His hair is white?
-No, his skin, every part of him. He's white like chalk.
[...] I followed their [his young friends'] stares and saw what seemed to be a man who had been turned inside out. He was the absence of a man. He had been erased. An involuntary shudder went through my body, the same reaction I had when I saw a burn, a missing limb--a perversion of nature.
I began to walk toward the erased man before I realized I had not lifted my pants after urinating. I fixed myself and followed the crowd of boys who were herding in the direction of the erased man. [...]
We returned to our shelters, to our chores, but over the course of the day, theories about the new man abounded. The first theory held that he had been sent by the Sudanese government to kill all of us--that he would count all of the boys, and then he would decide how many weapons he would need to exterminate us. Once he had done so, the killing would come at night. This theory was quickly debunked when we discovered that the elders did not fear him; in fact, they were talking to him and shaking his hand. Naturally, then the pendulum swung and the next notion positied that he was a god, and that he had come to save all of us, and would lead us back to southern Sudan, to triumph over the murahaleen. This idea gained currency throughout the day, and was underminded only when we catalogued the activities in which the god engaged. He spent most of his time with a few of the elders, building a storage shed for food, which seemed like work too pedestrian for a god or even a minor deity. Thereafter, some of the older boys offered more nuanced views." (pp. 279-280)