What you touch yourself

What you touch yourself!?! – is the shocking response I get from men who find out that I masturbate.

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I am not sure why the expectations of masturbation are so different for woman than they are for men, but they are. Women are shamed for it or told that it’s not okay.

I figure when we encourage woman to self-explore it gives them power within their own sexual awareness.  They discover their likes and dislikes better, and if they can bring themselves to organism, they are less likely to make bad decisions when it comes to having a sexual partner.

I’m currently working on two separate paintings. One with is full of  women’s vulvas and their fingers, the working title is “self-teach” and the other is a grouping currently of two canvases with both a female and a male masturbating, the title is “Watch Me”

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The Self Touch painting is at this pointing, sitting unfinished because I am dealing with the personal shame surrounding my sexual knowledge, openness, and my exposure of my evolving work. I have let it sit on an easel while the rest of the painting presents its self to me. I’ve been reading several books Wet, A Decade of Negative Thinking, and Hot White Truth through these books I have been able to acknowledge my fears and work on furthering my path and desire for social change through both my writing and my art.

Over the weekend I was able to discuss my work and concept with a fellow artist. We discussed my new nickname and the local bar where I have been painting, which is the Pussy Painter.

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However, this nickname has created a buzz it has opened dialogue with the blue collar crowd. They have asked me very real questions about my art, my subject, and my concept as an artist. My favorite question so far has been “Are you just super horny?” No… Than a yes, accompanied by a laugh. Then I go into the theory behind my art.

We talked about the complexity of “Watch Me” that the pairing of the two makes the individual paintings stronger,  combined with the spaces I am working on these paintings, which is on the patio of a local bar makes for an added layer of complexity to the title of “Watch me”

We discussed the reasons as to why I choose to a paint these subjects in public places.

I even had a very gruff man say, although he wouldn’t seek out nude art, especially  male nudes he could say that this was a beautiful painting of a dick.

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The idea behind “watch me” stems from the trend of sexting and dating in 2017.

 

Relationships become virtual and lacks an organic connection. However, there is a sexual virtual connection between the two subjects this idea of strangers sharing this private act between one another while describing what they want the other to do to each other enhancing sexual stimulation both in their minds and genitals.  The climax is also different than masturbating alone because even though it’s self-inflected the desire was created by the interaction  and the experience was shared.  As the artist I get to a part of this intimate exchange the moment of “Watch me” and by taking out to the a public place to create it, I become the part of the subject as other strangers watch me bring out this private moment onto the canvas.  Again, it sparks conversation about self-pleasure, sharing it with others, and the most important part it opens up the conversations on sex positive.

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**all working is in progress

Trusting My Voice

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So last night I sat staring a white blank Word document with that cursor flashing and blinking. I started to write and then I hit the famous delete delete delete.

Even wrote a paragraph on parenting struggles of raising teenage boys, with my lack of male role models growing up.

I asked for some suggestions on topics to write about. I am tired of writing about my personal life, which has more to with being so publicly vulnerable than anything else.

I mean for fuck sakes, I am strong, independent women and I don’t need a relationship. Yet sometimes I want one. Maybe to reassure me that I am worth someone else time and energy.

I have multiple posts saved and waiting to be published some of them are perhaps passed the expiration date to actually post them, or they may not apply and/or were simply fleeting thoughts.

The suggestions of topics to write about were the possibilities or the idea of a parallel of universes, timeline crashing into one another, or perhaps maybe in an alternate realities where we end up with everyone we ever dated.

Would it be Blissful or would it be torturous… What would the outcome be?

What I should be working on is my book.  The one I have been privately writing for the last nine months and I am at the rewrite and editing stage. I am almost at the finish line, but multiple doubts come into play as I get closer to the final version.  You know the doubts, its like a loud judgmental voice stating “that no cares about what you have to say” or that my voice will shame the ones I love.

Fear prevents us from doing and changing…
Yet softly my inner voice says, “Lean in and trust your truth”

Love Is Magic and that’s what I want.

Through the things we don’t want we discover the things we do want.

I have loved and lost; confused love with lust. I’ve made sacrifices because I was lonely, scared, or didn’t believe I deserved the same kind of love I am capable of giving.

I want the next man who thinks he loves, to stop and think before those words are said. I want to know if you love yourself first.

Because you have to love yourself before you can let someone love you; before you can love someone.

I want your action to show me that you love me not words. Anyone can say I love you, but it’s the feeling, the energy, and the connection behind them.

Love is sorrow and bliss wrapped up in life experiences.

It’s being present the moments.

It’s laying in the grass looking at the sky.

It’s laughing and crying over the dinner that was burned.

It’s the flowers from the ditch.

It’s the feel your hand on the small of my back.

It’s my finger gently tracing the shape of your body.

It’s the sound of your breath as I fall asleep next to you.

It’s dancing in the raining.

It’s holding each other when explained or unexplained sorrows enters our world.

It’s feeling calm and peaceful while simply sitting on the couch.

It’s laughter, smiles, tears, and sighs.

It’s knowing that sometimes we have to put ourselves first.

Yes, I want to be the Center of Your World and you to be the center of mine while still being individual people.

Love should be easy and warm.  I want to fall in love with a man that is my best friend who I can tell my deepest, darkest secrets and show him the magical galaxy that’s hidden deep inside my soul. Someone who knows that sometimes as a creative spirit, I have to go deep in that rabbit hole, but also knows exactly when helping me come out of it.

And I will do the same for them.

Love Is Magic and that’s what I want.

The last letter to him

May 10th, six days after he had shown up and feed me the same story, he called and yelled at me for about a post that had nothing to do with him. He told me that she was upset, but with no regard for what his drunk behavior does to my psyche. Below was my response because I didn’t get a chance before he hung up.

We have a pattern and I have tried to break it. All I’ve wanted in the last six months was for him to keep one promise to pay back the money he owed me for one of the many secrets I helped him keep.  I wanted it to be the one thing that he hadn’t lied to me about.

At 2am this morning, he showed up drunk in his usual fashion, singing the same song full of I love you’s and let’s fuck. I stood my ground and logic won over loneliness.

Perhaps it was the healing of a very old relationship that reminded me of the kind of love I wanted. And it’s not this because I deserve better and truthfully so does she.

May 10, 2017 – sent via text

Things I don’t publish, post about and haven’t ever told anybody… Just so you know. 

 

The night I was confronted with this situation.  I ran away from, only to get home to puke in my drive way and cried until my whole body hurt. I didn’t have anyone to lean for support. My friends told me I was an idiot if I believed you. Yes, I told her because I needed it to be over one way or another. That night and for several nights after I cried myself sick and then to sleep on the floor by my window. I couldn’t sleep on that mattress that smell like you. I wanted you to choose me because that would have made it real.

 

But could you ever be faithful?

 

I have cried until it hurts and scream at the universe. The feelings come in waves and it feels like I am drowning. Our experience touched me on a soul level that truly doesn’t have a term and I can’t put into words. I painted and wrote about us because I wanted to understand how we were so sexual connected. 

 

I want to feel that feeling all of the time. The “feeling” is associated with you for now, but with time it will fade into a fond memory. We don’t know if we would work in the real world because we never tried. 

 

You drink too much and I’m a smoke too much. We both like our freedoms. 

 

But in the end, I want a man who only desires me, who works hard and is devoted to my mind, my heart, and my body. As I will be with him. I want to live in bliss and sorrow as a team.

 

I don’t know what you really want. However, I am sure you know your action prove that you want to be where you are. I am hurt, but I will survive. I will grow, learn, and love again.

 

However, I have to write and paint because it’s who I am, part of the person you once said you loved. So you shouldn’t try to take that part of me away.  I know that you have asked me to hate you, but that’s not who I am either. I did want you to hurt, to be in pain and suffer like I was, but not permanently because I’ve seen a part of your soul that you don’t share with many people. That’s the part of you that I want you to nourish and grow.  You have to love yourself though before you can truly let anyone love you back. 

 

I know I shouldn’t send this, but you ask me not post. I write and paint for me and I share it because I work through so much alone that at least when I post it I feel heard and can release it. Too often in this world we don’t feel heard, because as people we listen to respond, and never hear the words that are being said. 

Creativity and Sex

I was staring at this canvas that needed to be toned yellow in preparation for this painting on self-touch. Its whiteness mocks me.  I have been sitting on this idea, minimally sketching about it. I have been so lost with school. That I forgot to paint. I forgot the thing that makes sense to me. The NEED to create. I have been reading about why artists have made art. How to stop and really see?  What is considered art?  I have been introduced to feminist artists, which I might be more like then I thought.

I have abstained from sex and men kind of in general.

I had a mean girl’s night.

I have masturbated.

I have read blogs and found people who I can discuss sexuality and creativity with. They seem to understand that these two parts are connected.   They get how these two are so intertwined.

There was a point where I couldn’t focus. I wanted to quit, to give up. I wanted to have sex to clear the chaos that was running through my brain. I want to get lost in something that made me feel amazing.  I even trolled my phone for about twenty minutes for someone to call or text. I couldn’t do it. I finally felt like my heart and vagina have found some common ground.

I was stressed and I want to touch a man. I wanted to feel his warmth, feel his body, his touch and his smell. I wanted to exchange energy and body fluids. I wanted to connect to someone new in real life and not online, not in a text, but letting someone new in scares the fucking shit out of me.

Instead of texting…

Instead of calling…

Instead of letting someone new in…

Right here in this studio, where I had wept over school and life. I laid out a blanket. I turned off the light. The room glowed from the candles that were lit in the window ledges and on the desk. I turned on the sounds of crystal bowls. I laid on the floor, stared at the sketches of my vagina on the wall. There are a few with my fingers, one with a dildo, one that’s a close-up of my clitoris.

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I took a deep breath, little coconut oil and began to message around my vagina, I rubbed my labia in between my thumb and index finger. First, the right and the left. I grabbed my thigh and moved my hand up to my breasts and pulled  my nipples. I grabbed my crystal wand, it was so cold on my skin. I lightly moved it crossed my clit and back again. It felt so smooth and gave me a tingling sensation.

I moaned aloud as I slid this cold hard wand inside of me. I widened my hips and my knees bent pointing outward while the bottoms of my feet came together to make a triangle. I paced my breaths with the in and out motions of my wand that I controlled with my left hand, while I continued to rub my clit with my right index and middle fingers. I arched my back and separated my feet. I pushed the wand out while I orgasmed loudly, staring at the shadows on the ceiling and with tears in my eyes. I lay for a while to catch my breath and to feel my pussy pulsate.

The was an act of self love not a sin to be ashamed of, this is the reason this painting should be painted.

I got dressed and turned on the light and put yellow paint on the pallet. I opened my google music app and selected my paint playlist.  MGK’s, “At my best” played as I made the first circular stroke.

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Glimpse of my past

Below is my thoughts I wrote, but never published in response to an article I had read. I tried to find the article again to share it, but I was unable to. July marks several big events in my life.

This was written a week before I signed my divorce papers.

OCTOBER 2o14:

I read this article because of the title. I understand how hard it is when you realize that you and your spouse are no longer as in love as you were in the beginning of a marriage. She made some valid points, being a woman today contains so many pressures. We have to prove that you can not only provide financial support and run the household,  but also be devoted mothers to our children.  She made changes to be less stressed, and seemingly has a spouse that responded to her changes. The reality is that only works when both people are willing to make changes and work together on the relationship.

The hardest part of my marriage truthfully, was when I realized how depressed he was. Sadly, I had given up talking  about it because it would just turn into a fight, it wasn’t until the boys started noticing things. He did go get help and it was an improvement, but also understood that there was more that could have been done.

He had made many efforts with the kids. I watched for years as he suffered silently because he could no longer let me in and I in turn I had shut him out.  I felt like I was watching our marriage slowly destroy the people we were and the people we had become.

I knew that the relationship that he had with his family was strained because of our marriage. He didn’t want to choose and he shouldn’t have had to. I knew that I could not deal with his family’s over involvement  and constant criticism of the person I was. My husband was stuck with agreeing with them or defending me. He tried for years to smooth this over, by avoiding it or by fighting with me and/or them.

I could no longer watch this conflict destroy him. He physically looked sick, his skin was pale, he always seem tired and quick tempered. I knew this was something that after fourteen years had never gotten better and never would. I had tried to repair and pretend it was all okay.  I finally made the choice and asked him to move out.

After only a few short weeks, I saw life in him again. He had color again, he looked healthy and happy. He seemed to have a new zest for life that I hadn’t seen in years. He was spending time with people that he had distanced himself from over the years. I don’t know for sure if that was him, me, or just life, but he no longer seemed lost.  The boys also talk about the things they do with their dad, and that he seems better than before.

Through this whole process I struggled with whether or not this is what I wanted. I was scared. I had no job when he moved out and I didn’t know how I was going to financially support myself or our boys.  I knew that I couldn’t let that fear continue to be the driving force that kept us married. I didn’t want him to hate me and I didn’t want to hate him. I also really wanted my friend back. Once I was able to get a job, which I love, I was able to look at our marriage with clearer eyes.  Seeing him physically looking healthier I know that we made the right decision. He needs his family and I knew that they would never truly respect, love, or make me a part of their family.  Although I knew I was no longer in love with him, I still loved him as a person and as the father of my children. I gave up my marriage to save the person I had been in love with for years.  His well-being was more important than us being married. 

Dear Fuckboy

I thought I would have more of a epic feeling when I let you go. I knew when I met you that there would be an ending to this chapter. Ha-Ha, I really didn’t think you would have a chapter but you most certainly do.  We manage to keep the lines clear for the most part. There were moments when the lines were blurry, usually in the euphoria of mind blowing sex.

However, everytime we came back to this reality, the truth was we are not on the same vibrational level. I also know we have attempted to end this several times, but we still keep falling back into this pattern. I have told you I am ready for more  and that you are not the one.  I want someone who will connect to my mind, my heart and my soul. You are not this man.

I used you to make the hurtful emotions I was dealing with to go away. I wanted you to bring me to that euphoric state. But I’m also aware that it was time to deal with the hurt and to not go numb or replace it.  I no longer need to be afraid to let down my guard, so instead of texting “let’s fuck”, I texted “let’s end this for real”

You didn’t put up a fight you responded “do what you want”

However, when you came to my house at 12:30 AM and woke me up, not by a phone call or a text, but my throwing shit at my bedroom window like a teenage trapped inside a 40 year old man’s body. This was a violation of a clear line drawn out previously that you are not allowed here when my kids are home!

You seemed shocked when I opened the door not with a smile, but a baseball bat. I remind you that I had told you I was done. I reminded you that my children were home.

We didn’t fight there was not yelling. You were drunk, trying to convince me that I am the one and we should run away together. I lightened the grip on my bat. When tried to kiss me and I turned my head, you looked so hurt and when you went in for a second kiss and I gave in.

I felt nothing! I was no longer connecte; I had released myself!

The bat still in my right hand, hanging by my side. I look at you and said I release you too!  I am done, don’t come back, go give yourself to some who needs you.

I left you standing there on my porch. I went inside, locked the door behind me, turn off the porch light and went to bed peacefully.

Good bye fuckboy you have served your purpose!