Stuck on the words.  

Words are spinning around me in a chaotic fashion. It is both fierce and at the spend of light at times it feels like I’m trying to catch a falling star.   

Intimidated by the words that I cannot catch. 

There are times when the words get stuck on repeat and come at me over and over again. I write them and sketch, show them with those other free-falling words.  

They are spun in so many colors and there are so many options.  

The written words seem to be the hardest they are the bond of commutation and I chose the words I use so carefully with yet simple words can elude me.  

I see the words and images in all directions. Everyone else sees them left to right, but it’s not that predictable for me they come in like the rain and in all directions.  

Music slow the words down and the painting use to silence them.

Now, I am painting to catch the words.

 

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”

Doubt

I had this dream I was sitting in a room. “I don’t doubt his love for me” I say.

He says, “I don’t doubt her love for me”

A non objective person in the room says “If you don’t doubt his love and he doesn’t doubt your love, then what do the two of you doubt?” Unanimously we respond, “my capability of loving the him/her enough.”

Not Sioux City

I had been so busy trying to wake myself from a nightmare that the time we were together felt like a dream come true. A dream I had let go 18  fucking years ago.

Yet, because I still love you because you are important to me,  I let you in and told you my secrets, only I watched you walk away like you did all those years ago. I am not Sioux City, but I was “the one”

The one you pulled in only to push me away after I exposed my heart. You, like most want me, but only if we can run away and pretend the real world doesn’t exist.

I was distracted by my trip, able to let you and my real life out of my head, and enjoyed myself, reconfirmed my lot in life.

As I came back to reality, you didn’t even ask if I made it home okay, you shut me out just like before. My heart will not go back into the cage, but it is bruised and its my only fault because I am too trusting and see the good in everyone.

Today, my heart is heavy because the reality is that it was just a dream and I wanted to believe it was more.

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.