Posts Tagged ‘fertility’

stirs in her winter sleep

February 22, 2010

 

stirring

She tells her love while half asleep,
     In the dark hours,
          With half words whispered low;

As earth stirs in her winter sleep
     And puts out grass and flowers
          Despite the snow,
          Despite the falling snow.

(Robert Graves)

 

Characteristically paradoxical, me.  I’ve changed my mind.  I’m now officially looking forward to spring, whether I like it or not.  I just read the above poem last night (in this book), and that is likely what secured it.  Yep.  I feel it stirring, despite the falling snow.  (Either that, or the extra espresso shot from this morning’s latte?)

This dead little flower is just outside my window, and I was sketching it today with the home-from-school-for-a-dentist-appointment kids, and whoops!  Hope and Mother Earth made an appearance.  Hey there, Mama.  Stir it up.

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Posted in Creativity, Drawing | 7 Comments »

Durga in A minor

February 9, 2010
If you have never been called a defiant, incorrigible, impossible woman… have faith… there is yet time.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
watercolor on arches hot press paper

watercolor on arches hot press paper

 This may be redundant, but listen.  The last couple days have plunged me into some ridiculous, epic journey of self-loathing and rage-y despair.  It was not so much a passive state of depression, but an active fury.  When I said I wanted to throw a temper tantrum, I totally meant it.  I was hard-core craving broken dishes on the driveway and screaming and kicking and throwing.  The desire was really just for the sake of the feeling of it, but more subtly, I suppose, it was the if-i-can’t-have-EVERYTHING!-exactly-how-I!!-want-it-and-NOW!-then-i-will-throw-a-fit . . . thing.  And not being able to throw fits all day long was like being told by the obstetrician to not push.

And, oh!  Look at the moon.  It is a little waning thing.  How predictable.  I hate myself for being so fucking predictable! 

(Just kidding.  But if I would’ve said that yesterday, I probably would’ve meant it.) 

 And so it was in this state that I did this painting.  I’m borrowing this guitar, if you remember, and although I’ve previously never learned anything beyond the first three chords in Harvest Moon or a Nirvana riff or two, I’m trying to get my rock on.  I really am quite terrible at it thus far, and my fingertips are red and swollen and sore, and hooray for a very easy E minor chord, but still, it just feels sooooo damn good to play it really loud.  It is also a good thing to have around when one is craving a temper tantrum.

A part of my self-loathing was regarding my inability to just be calm and sweet and nice.  I mentally noted one failed attempt at Zen, F minor, housewifery, and altogether goodness . . . after another.  I did try to wrangle it in, the crazy.  I was bringing my attention to that which is, but it turns out that that which was was the ridiculous desire to scream and swear and maybe even to bite.  Sometimes what presents itself is the painfully beautiful glitter of snow, and other times it is just, you know, biting. 

Considering the honesty of the emotion made me think (with a little help from my friend), waitaminutehere.  Maybe this is OK, simply feeling what there is to feel, as opposed to denying, or worse, becoming completely out of touch with, extreme emotion.  (And also, she told me that someone called a picture of me cute.  Ah, flattery.)  Fiery is a part of me, and trying to be “good” and “nice” is sometimes especially exhausting.  I woke up thinking about archetypes, and trying to remember some of the goddess myths that would point to the fierce aspect of the divine feminine.  And, so hooray for facebook, where Chameli mentioned Durga.  I cued up Ragani’s “Durga” on my iPod, and I named my painting after her.

 I’m putting the original up on my Etsy, as well as a few prints of both this rocking Durga and The Selkie.  The prints have not yet arrived from the printer, and so I’m listing them at a discount until they do (I am such the terrible businesswoman!).  You’ll get them cheaper for being a little risky and patient.  Apropos.

***EDITED TO ADD: the 8×10 prints have sold, already!  I’ve just listed the 5×7.***

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Posted in Creativity, Drawing | 8 Comments »

Threshold

February 4, 2010
bowels

crumpet on tri-x film pushed, in mamiya tlr

 

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?  The world would split open.

~Muriel Rukeyser   (found on this blog, upon which I am currently crushing.)

 

I often consider the concept of threshold, perhaps because I am drawn to dance alongside it.  I wonder about the paradox of a thing, and about the point beyond which the pendulum swings the other way.  Things like . . .

breaking point breakdown conception suicide insanity orgasm death critical mass critical condition trigger release love affair hibernation hope for salvation loss of balance fucked up childhood one or the other friendly or flirty funny or crude aloof enlightened condescending wise light dark fear pain belief ecstasy lithium saturation

the level of calcium in a cell of cardiac tissue that, when reached, causes the heart to contract.

the crescendo of a feeling or desire that is secret or repressed or denied or ignored and the little thing that breaks the shell, allowing it to wreak havoc on any pathetic attempt at pretense.

. . . and such.

(ahem)

 

It is this bottom of the stairwell, head in hands, on the threshold of insanity feeling that inspired this following little ditty a few months ago, and in turn, I decided to write Motherhood, The Musical.  (I’m totally kidding, of course, but it has a certain ring, doesn’t it?)  It seems the depths of winter are inspiring quite a few of these moments in quite a few of my friends.  I wish I could sing this for you, because I crack myself up, but I can’t figure out how to effectively upload music files.  Anyway.  It’s a waltz:

I’m deep in the bowels of / Motherhood / I’m fertile and sexed and it / Doesn’t feel good / I’ll take all these children / And feed them to wolves / Or I’ll eat them myself / If the damned dogs are full.

Tell me that doesn’t just scream Broadway hit. 

 

Ohmigod.  Please don’t call Social Services.  I’m just kidding.  About the wolves.  Thing.

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Posted in Motherhood, Photography | 10 Comments »

selkie

February 1, 2010
watercolor and ink on arches hot press watercolor paper

watercolor and ink on arches hot press watercolor paper

 

As Shortcake was making her way into the world, I was listening to Aine Minogue’s (an Irish harpist, singer, and folklorist) song The Selkie on my iPod.    It’s beautiful, and it resonated deeply with me the first time I heard it.  But I had no idea what she was saying!  I had heard of the mythological selkie, but knew only that it had something to do with water. 

Recently, the Celtic myth of the selkie has come back into my life en force.  She is a shape-shifter, a sea creature whose sealskin allows her to live in the depths of the ocean.  Her home is there, in Sule Skerry, but she can take off her sealskin and become human for a short time as well.  In the myth I’ve just read, a human man falls in love with her in this form, as she is sunning herself on the warm rocks, and she becomes his wife.  The husband (jackass!) hides her sealskin, so she remains on land, gives birth to his son, and starts to get all parched and peely and icky.  She can live without her sealskin, but only for so long (7 years, I think?) before she needs to return to her watery home.  It is her son who later finds her sealskin, and she returns to Sule Skerry.  Her son is able to travel between the two worlds, and he is who I really identify with.  But enough about me . . .

Here the selkie looks out to the ocean, dreaming of Sule Skerry and longing for her sealskin, pregnant with the child who will eventually aid her return.

I know this feeling well.  Don’t you?

I’ve listed the original painting on my Etsy, and will be listing prints soon.

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Posted in Creativity, Drawing, Motherhood | 3 Comments »

(Destruction and) Renewal

January 5, 2010
watercolor on arches hot press, ink/digital

watercolor on arches hot press, destroyed with ink/digital

And so, apparently, my muse is pregnant.  And hott.  And she wears tube socks.  I can’t shake the tube socks.  But she is unable to tell me how to stop ruining everything. 

I began my routine of late-night art Mondays last night.  I developed a crappy roll of film–an entire roll of images I knew I didn’t need to take; began a beautiful ink drawing, but screwed it up by ignoring my intuition to just stop; then made this watercolor and destroyed her, too.  This one I “destroyed” by getting crazy with the ink. 

What you see here is my desperate attempts on photoshop to cover the ink mess.  Desperate attempts=digitally making most of the inky crap black.  I think I made it even worse.  It looked really good when it was all white.  Sort of unfinished, but in a good, wispy way.  And then, as I had just done with the ink drawing, I ignored that little voice that said “that is enough,” and assaulted it with black ink.

I am on a “ruin everything” mission, it seems.  Yesterday, I forgot to add salt to the bread, and ruined it, which, in turn, ruined the cinnamon rolls I made with the same dough.  And there was last night’s mess of an art session.  And today I ruined what should have been a really good curry dish for lunch.  I mean, Julie ate it.  And had seconds.  But it was RUINED!  RUINED, I TELL YOU!

I’m reading Women Who Run With The Wolves (a title that Hercules had a hard time checking out from the library for me), and I’ve just read a tale about a girl who, essentially, carried a magical doll in her pocket that told her what to do: turn left, turn right, stop talking.  I’ve got that magical doll, we all have that intuition.  I think my current task is to remember how to listen to her.

I think I get it.  I do think I hear her (so many voices up in here).  I do think that I can decipher between internal and external.  But I tend to disobey.

The Illustration Friday prompt is “Renewal.”  I had read that a couple days ago, and remembered it as “Rebirth.”  Close enough, right?  My intuition tells me “yes.”

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Posted in Creativity, Drawing, Frivolous Nonsense, Motherhood | 17 Comments »

NO LAUGHING AT THE AMATEUR SLEEP DEPRIVED POET

December 16, 2009

#1.  I am no longer sleep-deprived, but when I wrote this poem(?), I was.  So it is now safe to laugh.  Or whatever.

#2.  It was this post from Pixie that got me feeling all stirry.

#3.  The photo below is unrelated, unless you really look at it.  Then it is entirely appropriate.  You’ll just have to discover that for yourselves.

#4.  The photo yesterday was not Shortcake.

#5.  Is it poetry if it has stanzas?

tri-x neg scan

tri-x neg scan

 

the somethings that brew in the darkest night
the stirring
power
the depth

i can feel it, almost
like a shadow

whatever is there only
when i look away
like the demon i thought i’d imagined (when i was young)
then almost wished was real (still)

the darkness without the candle
moonless night

inky soul

i can feel it
i can taste it
like drumming, deep
can you feel it

simmer?
new moon, solstice
silent night, holy, night

gestation.

and then
everyone else
who feels it, too
like the hallelujah chorus unsung,
like a storm ready and electric

you
and then
me
and then

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Posted in Creativity, Frivolous Nonsense | 4 Comments »

To Fall…

October 26, 2009

 

tri-x negative scan

tri-x negative scan, Mamiya C330 TLR

How surely gravity’s law,
strong as an ocean current,
takes hold of even the strongest thing
and pulls it toward the heart of the world.
 
Each thing -
each stone, blossom, child -
is held in place.
Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we belong to
for some empty freedom.
 
If we surrendered
to earth’s intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.
 
Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.
 
So, like children, we begin again
to learn from the things,
because they are in God’s heart;
they have never left him.
 
This is what the things can teach us:
to fall,
patiently to trust our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.
 
~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

 

I feel the pull of the seasons, the invitation to the darkness and repose of Winter.  I am gathering my acorns, and feeling naturally melancholy.

I know you feel it, too.  I am reading it on blogs, hearing it in our conversations: talk of Seasonal Affect Disorder, of happy drugs and of happy light boxes.  And I’m there.  I get it.  Or, at least, I’ve been there.

But instead of fighting it, consider this: “to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness.”  I think that too often, we miss this.  We are in high-production mode, and a natural lean toward withdrawal (hey, now.) and silence is not on the agenda.  Or the to-do list.  Or the goal-setting-super-duper-achievement-software.  But what if?  What if we followed nature’s lead, nature’s schedule,  and remembered how to retreat into the silent darkness?  Have you ever wondered what treasures you might find?

 You are not dead yet. It is not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drink in the life
that reveals itself quietly there

~Rainer Maria Rilke

This is me, plunging.  I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.  It is cyclical.  Natural, like the rise and fall of the sun, the wax and wane of the moon, the death and rebirth of the year.  I’ve got some things to gestate, some life to drink in, and this time, the darkness does not scare me.  I welcome it.  I mean, as long as there is chocolate available.  At all times.  Preferably dark chocolate (no pun intended).

and coffee.

 

and wine.

p.s.  the Rilke thing.  I’m sorry, but I am so drenched in the fabulousness of these words (thanks, in part, to picking up this book again), that I can’t help but share them here.  One more.  Yum.

 Everything is gestation and then birthing. To let each impression and each embryo of a feeling come to completion, entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one’s own understanding, and with deep humility and patience to wait for the hour when a new clarity is born: this alone is what it means to live as an artist: in understanding as in creating.  ~Rainer Maria Rilke  (from Letters To A Young Poet) 

 

 

 

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Posted in Creativity, Motherhood, Photography | 19 Comments »

In Which I Get To The Point, Already.

August 18, 2009

For goodness’ sake, NO!!!  I am not pregnant.  It’s true, just saying the word “fertility” is dangerous around here.  (I’m still not so sure about the logistics of The Immaculate Conception of Shortcake.)  But, no.  There is not a #5 in the oven.  Nor in the uterus.

When I received my first “didyourblogjusttellmethatyou’repregnant?” phone call yesterday, I thought, whoops.  I did it again.  I tried to get this out, this something that I have to say said, but stopped short at confusing.  Again.  Dammick.

The problem is that I have a lot to say, and so many different ways I want to say it.  For months, I have been contemplating this motherhood-creativity (there it is, the point!) concept.  Inspired by the depth of it, I started researching, writing down my insights, and seriously intending a book.  Suddenly, though, it appears I do not have the patience.  If I do not start sharing my thoughts, however random or disorganized, they will continue to leak out like yesterday’s nonsense post.  I have envisioned a clear, organized method to present theories, what I have learned, and what I am learning.  I have a good, effective outline for a nice, inspiring book. 

But, I don’t wannnnna.  I’d just rather have a  conversation.  This is me, ever-so-predictable, not following through.  Or, perhaps I am simply being honest with myself.  Right now, I am not writing a book; I am sometimes-blogging.  It simply is what I am happily doing.  I’m more interested in sharing my thoughts than in having my name on a bookshelf in Barnes and Noble (though that would be mildly awesome, I suppose…).

I also have begun an evolving photo project, which is really where I’d prefer to channel my energy.  The subject matter is essentially the same, and as it grows in my mind and on film, I am falling in love with it.  (But that’s another story.)

So, here’s my attempt at a clarification.  It is no wonder that many of you assumed that when I said “fertility,” I meant baby.  My body is particularly receptive to that sort of thing.  *ahem.*  But I meant “fertility” in a broader sense, its connection to motherhood deeper than the physical definition.

The very essence of motherhood is creativity.  Fertility, gestation, and birth are a part of the miraculous creative potential that is inherent in every mother.   Fertility (crap, I’d better stop saying that) is the ability to create, the potential for dynamic newness, a direct connection to the life force.  It is powerful and awe-inspiring, whether you see this force as scientific, divine, or both. 

As women, and more specifically to my point, as mothers, we have access to the flow of this creative power.  What fascinates me, and  subsequently has me obsessed with this topic, is that we don’t use it!  It is ours for the taking, this magnificent gift of creation; and for various reasons, we don’t own it.  For the most part, we don’t even realize it. 

I’ll spill it all eventually: why I’m speaking directly about and to mothers, why I think it matters, what, how, etc.  But if I could do it all in one sitting, then I’d just write the book. 

 

The wave of talking builds. Better we should not speak but let it grow within. ~Rumi

Yeah, I’ve tried that, Rumi.  But I feel like I’m 10 centimeters dilated, and I have got to PUSH!  Dammit!  (I repeat:  I am not pregnant.)

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Posted in Creativity, Motherhood | 4 Comments »

I Know Fertile, I’m A Clownfish!

August 17, 2009

Let me explain. 

“I know funny.  I’m a clownfish!” is, of course, a line from Finding Nemo.  My mom loves this line.  (I imagine that the way I am saying this now is the way Kiki says to people, “my mom loves her dreads.”  There is a mix of annoyance, pacifism, and alarm, all hidden behind a stiff grin.)  

Mom alludes to this line it often, replacing her own word for “funny,” and keeping, however inappropriately, the rest.  For example: “I know coffee.  I’m a clownfish,”  or, “I know running, I’m a clownfish.”  Why does that make any sense, mom!?  She then collapses into silent fits of laughter–shoulders shaking, tears streaming…  Oh, the poor dear.  She is a really smart lady, and I’m sure that the pun–the double meaning of “clown”–is not lost on her.  Regardless, this has nothing to do with my post.

Except for the fact that she’s my mother, and I’m talkin’ motherS.  Not clownfish.

So, initially, my title was, “I Know Fertile, I’m A Mother!”  But I couldn’t do it.  Maybe the “clownfish” thing is actually genetic, like so many of the other endearing traits I’ve inherited from my mom.

Hello, this is me, getting to my point.

Fertility.  This is the point.  Or it was, before I made clownfish the point.

Great.  Now I have to write a completely separate post. 

Thanks a lot, mom.

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Posted in Frivolous Nonsense | 8 Comments »