Category: ART

What you see here and what’s really going on with me are two wildly different beasts. While I write and post, I haven’t been much into engaging with followers and I apologize for that. I love reading the comments, and certainly censoring or outright deleting some, but truth be told, the pandemic messed with an already fragile soul. What I like to project and who I actually am are vastly different. I have struggled with melancholy and anxiety for most of my adult life — presenting as introspective daydreamer and shy when I was a child. Or call it depression and stress — whatever. The point is, I haven’t been much into this scene lately. Living in a busy tourist town, while trying to recalibrate a post-pandemic life has been a challenge and I am still adjusting. What is that saying about the world being too much with us? I think sometimes we all want a break from that world; I think many times we need a break from that world, and I think sometimes we need to hear someone tell us, it’s okay to take a break from that world. Why? I truly believe we are not wired to live in that kind of world — a world that moves at breakneck speed. We are sensory beings, we are animals and that world we’ve become conditioned to accepting as “normal”, as “desirable”? It’s NOT — unless it’s truly desired. And even when it is supposedly desired, I will still believe those that believe that are fooling themselves. I am not aboriginal. I don’t even know what my ancestors did for their version of Walkabout. I only know that I want to do my own version. I want to go on Walkabout, retreating into the Dreamtime, walking the Ley lines, rescuing myself from being swallowed whole by systems that can easily absorb all of me. Thirty years ago, I might have thought I’m watching too much TV. Which was okay in a way because it was passive and relaxing — it WASN’T social media (and by social media I include TEXT messaging, probably one of the worst kinds for me) — it was just plain media — social implies engagement — and in social media I feel an inherent urgency to always always always get back get back get back as soon as as soon as as soon as — and I can’t, I simply can’t. Because…as a child when I was asked why about my feelings…I couldn’t articulate…because…sometimes…there is no reason…it just is. On that note, tonight I’m posting a grab bag of hosiery and gloves for giveaway — US and Canada are free shipping; beyond North America, shipping charges apply — no charge for the items themselves. We’re just clearing out what no longer serves us. And for the record, please know that I do read each and every comment, and if you haven’t been blocked or deleted, know that I appreciate your time. As for me, right now I’m dreaming of Walkabout.

Today is the fifth anniversary of my mother’s death. Anniversary sounds like it could be a day of celebration, “day of remembrance” is a more appropriate expression perhaps, but anniversary, commemoration, I guess those words work too. The bottom line is she died, and it wasn’t until then that I truly saw her as a human being with a life; with hopes, and dreams, fears, foibles, and shortfalls beyond those in her role as mother, my mother, my sisters’ mother, a person in her own right, separate from me, even though obviously there is probably no greater connection than that of a mother and child.
I don’t particularly like going to the cemetery where she’s buried, that’s one of the advantages of cremation, burial at sea, or a family plot I suppose. I enjoy visiting my grandparents, aunts, and uncles in the shady cemeteries where they rest, but my mother? She’s an ancestor who still feels too close to me. I’d rather remember her when I catch a glimpse of her in one of my expressions, remembering one of her sayings (when she was livid with anger she’d say “I’m on the warpath!”), or when her face would light up when a kid or grandkid visited her. How about you? If you’ve lost a parent, how do you feel about visiting their grave? I love cemeteries for many reasons, I just don’t love my mother’s.

Subscription Update: After much deliberation I have decided to scrap the subscription service idea. I expect paying customers to be respectful, and while many of you actual gentlemen are, there are several Neanderthals (no disrespect to Neanderthal humans intended, it’s merely a colorful expression) who aren’t. There’s a right way and a wrong way to speak to a fellow human being, regardless of gender, and when I feel a person is capable of learning and understanding that, I give second chances, but with restrictions. Then there are those who simply aren’t able to grasp the concept, and I block them immediately and forever. This is not a sex site. I am not your mommy, auntie, granny; and I detest sexual slang. However, I appreciate fun, innocent and flirtatious repartee.

So, without further ado here is what will be on offer this Fall:

*One censored photo at a time on my artfoodsoul blog, along with a price. Prices will range between $10.00 and $35.00, depending on the photo. Photo will be available for one week or a set number of purchases for that photo, whichever comes first.

*If you are interested in the non-censored, you will contact me via IG.

*If you’re someone I’m familiar with and trust, someone who has been respectful, I will allow you to purchase the uncensored via Paypal. I will then email you the photo.
If you’re new to IG, you will not be allowed to purchase for several months (kind of like a probationary period).
Photos will be of an art or erotic art nature. If you’re looking for playboy-type or, “smile for the camera” while nude, there are 1000’s of others out there to suit your needs. This is not about the money, otherwise I’d be doing an Only Fans. And I do not disparage anyone who does OF or Patreon. I actually seriously considered Patreon, but I really want to be able to control who sees my more intimate photos. And there are many of you whom I will be comfortable sharing with. It’s about knowing the person I’m sharing with.

Earlier this month I finished “Sometimes You Have to Lie,” Leslie Brody’s excellent biography about Louise Fitzhugh, the author of one of my favorite adolescent books, “Harriet the Spy.” It has occurred to me how appropriate it was to be reading this during Pride Month. Louise never hid her sexuality, well aware her money, privilege, and talent allowed it. Most of her long-term romantic partnerships were with women, and while she may have had a few “gentlemen” friends, they were never a serious interest. She was an outspoken social justice advocate, and I was thoroughly absorbed in her literary world of the 60’s and 70’s. Her gender fluid fashion sense had me captivated and a quote from another author’s novel sort of clicked into place for me how I feel about identity and sexuality.
It’s from Carson McCullers book “Member of the Wedding,” another story about a pre-teen tomboy, Frankie, in whose ideal world “people could instantly change back and forth from boys to girls, whichever they felt like and wanted.” Sounds good to me, Frankie.

Today was the perfect day to get started on the garden cleanup. Spring is always touch-and-go weather-wise (and health-wise) here, so when all the conditions align — warm sun, but not blistering hot, no wind, and no rain; no aches and pains, allergy fatigue, headache or any other obstacle in the way — once I get started out there, it’s hard for me to stop, but I am trying to pace myself better these days so I don’t fall into overwhelm with little accomplished. Cleared out along the border fences, and spotted asparagus (already a couple pickable stalks) peeking out. Rhubarb, violets, poppies, coneflowers, lupines, bee balm, coreopsis — once it gets going, there’s no stopping it — especially now that we have it protected from Oonagh. Mugwort grows outside the perimeter of one of the fence lines — an herb for boundaries, protection and dreaming. Good for smudge wands, in smoke blends and tinctures. The violets are a gentle reminder of the simple wonders of just being — and the flowers and leaf, besides use in smoke blends — are also good for tea, edible flower garnishes (candied violets anyone?), flower crowns, simple syrup or an essence. It truly is a garden awakening, and should all the powers align yet again, I’ll be back at it tomorrow. (Photo is from last spring).

I aspire to live in a land of magic and wonder, and occasionally I realize that I already do. It’s just sometimes I forget. One of the reasons I love vintage pieces is for the stories they hold, and I’ve always loved a good story. The excerpts below from Mary Ruehle’s book of poems, “Dunce,” speak to this. They are from the poem “Inglenook.”
“I live in the museum of everyday life,… Open daily, the doorknobs are covered with curated fingerprints and pass on the latest news.”