I'm a rock-n-roll thing

ZOELAB 365 DAY 39

I think some of us are born with a rock ‘n’ roll gene. I discovered it in myself as a child. It first bloomed for me at eight years old, when I discovered the Beatles. I would lie on the floor and listen to all my parents’ Beatles records over and over. I memorized every song, and eventually bought every album I could. At 13 I wrote my term paper about their lyrics. At 15, I started learning electric guitar. It blossomed for me again in a new way when I first heard the Velvet Underground. When I was 16, I flew to Nairobi, Kenya to visit my brother who was there visiting his Kenyan girlfriend. He picked me up from the airport and had The Velvet Underground album playing in the tape deck. I had never heard anything like it. It opened up a whole aesthetic world for me that I could never have imagined. It was my introduction to art rock, and the first seed of being a future songwriter was planted. The Velvet Underground continues to be one of my greatest inspirations in all areas of art. I named my second film after a song of theirs, and the title of my first full length screenplay also came from a VU song.

I am excited that Emilio also has also been given the rock-n-roll gene. It bloomed in him quite early, before he was even two years old. He discovered the drums through a 10 year old boy.

We are very close to a family from Michigan who has six boys. The two youngest ones (Georgie, 4, and Vinnie, 6) are Emilio’s best friends. The older four boys and their father have a band that plays a mix of blues, rock, jazz and funk. The dad, Ben, plays guitar, Benjy(who will be 18 next month) plays bass, Obë (now 16) plays keyboards, Ricky (now 14) plays congas, and Marty (now 12) plays drums. Their debut in Baja as a musical group was when they performed at our wedding a year and a half ago. We hadn’t even heard them play ahead of time, but we had a feeling they were going to be good. They turned out to be a great band, and got the dancing started at our wedding. We invited them to come back the next Sunday, and we had hosted a jam session with leftovers from the wedding. We continued to host a casual afternoon party with food and music every Sunday for the rest of the season. Every week different musical people showed up with instruments to plug in and large bowls of food. There were times the Sunday jam sessions became so big, we had no idea who was going to show up. Lucas told me that our Sunday jam sessions gave him warm memories of his own childhood, as his father is a professional musician, and he spent much of his childhood among large groups of people hanging out and playing music.

Our friends, who are now called The Groovetrotters have since become professional musicians playing all over Baja. They are plotting their way into global success, with plans for a tour in Europe. They are working on a logo, and have asked me to go take a photo of them tomorrow to use for it. We are also in the process of helping them make a music video.

Rock-N-Roll & Emilio

When Emilio was two, we began finding child drums at segundas. Lucas strapped them around a bucket, and Emilio had a drum set. Emilio played them with great skill and energy.

One time we spontaneously made a song together. No drums in this one. But we made this when Emilio was a the height of his interest in drums.

More Stories

Emilio: “I’m a rock-n-roll thing. I’m a rock-n-roll guy.”

When I’m introducing a new song to him, he asks: “Who’s the drummer?”

During one long car trip, I spent the entire time searching for songs on my ipod based on his specific request to hear “rock and roll drums.”

While we were listening to a Ratatat song (electronic music):

Emilio: “I have a question for you. What kinds of drums are those?”

Me: “They’re electronic.”

Emilio: “Oh, are they rock n roll drums?”

Me: “No not really.” “I want to hear Joan Jett. I want to hear rock n roll drums.” So then I played him I love rock-n-roll. And he was happy. It brings back a memory. I was about eight when that song was popular. I remember my best friend Nicole and I jumping up and down on a bed in a bungalow in Woodstock, NY that her family had rented for the summer, singing I LOVE ROCK AND ROLL as loud as we could.

Rock-n-roll is about rebellion, enthusiasm, and not giving a shit what people think. For me it also has to be a little raw. It makes sense that a toddler would love it. Maybe Emilio will join Garafön when he is older and then Lucas won’t have to play both keyboards and drums, each with one hand.

The Slow Making of a Dream Part Two: First Phase of Building

After Campo Elias Calles, and after Emilio was born, we needed a new place to live. It was winter 2010, Emilio was 5 months old. Our friends, who live in La Huerta (a mostly gringo area next to a surfer’s beach, surrounded by farmlands) took us in. They let us live in a small casita on their property, and in exchange for rent, we did chores (childcare, haircuts, house projects, shopping, etc.) By the spring of 2011 we were ready to start the first stage of building. With out shopping around at all, we hired the first worker we met, a guy named Transmission (who had done a little work for our friends’ on their property) to build a fence around our property, which is about 1.5 acres. It doesn’t seem like much now. But then, having that fence meant everything. It meant that even though we didn’t yet have legal ownership, we had possession of the land. Our land had a boundary.

The North East corner of our lot.

Then we had him built a 13,000 liter pila (giant cement water tank). Next, which was really his specialty, he built a beautiful one-sided palapa (made out of pine polls, palo de arco sticks, rope and palm fronds (found in elias calles). No nails or screws are used. The palm fronds are woven in between the long palo de arco sticks.

He also built a small cement bodega (lockable storage space) that would be used to lock up tools during the building process, but would later become our bathroom. One of the walls of the cement bodega would be one of the walls of our eventual house that would be built under the palapa roof. Jutting out from the low side of the palapa, on the North side of the building, is a media sombre pergola (a shade roof made out of palo de arco sticks woven together), and a floor of adoquin (cement pavers) below. That was to be our patio.

This work was done in a few months. We were so happy and so grateful, but the work was far from perfect. The pila leaked (and still does). The bodega door was put on backwards (and it still is). We found out we were overcharged. But still, we were happy, especially with the quality of the palapa which was beautiful (and still is, even though it leaks and has termites eating it.) It wasn't until it was done and Lucas and I came to spend a little time in the space that would become our house that I knew it was real. It had all seemed like a pipe dream until that very moment. I cried and hugged Lucas and everything changed. I knew then, that we really were going to have a house. And I knew, even if I couldn’t see his vision, which was constantly shifting, that I had to believe in Lucas. That he was going to create a beautiful and unique house for us.

Self Portraits (not selfies because I used a tripod)

ZOELAB DAY 35

To continue on the theme of self, I am sharing some self portraits I took yesterday. The goal at first was to create a new profile photo for facebook (while Lucas was away, he has just returned this evening.) But really, to be really honest, the idea started because I was having  a particularly good hair day, and I wanted to capture the way my hair looked. (A good hair day can sometimes be an equivalent for happiness.) But, because I couldn’t create one I liked for the context of facebook, and I just couldn’t capture my hair. I started to become interested in creating an image for the sake of an image, and in capturing a certain kind of light. I began to let go of my vanity of how I looked in the photo, and then alternately, my fear of being (and appearing) narcissistic, and I started to feel like a character in a spontaneous film. The more I saw myself as someone other than me, the more fun I had with it. I began to objectify myself for the purpose of creating an image. This reminds me of Cindy Sherman’s early work from the 1980’s. I was very influenced by her untitled film stills series and wrote a scholarly manifesto about creating identity as a means of empowerment in the postmodern age, which compared Cindy Sherman with Madonna. In college I also made a lot of self portraits, as girls in college are often want to do. In one series, I created a character who was an androgynous movie star. The photos captured myself in moments in between--expressing an ambiguity of gender, as well as story. Creating those self portraits in college was my way of getting back into acting, which I pursued soon after I graduated.

The self portraits that I took yesterday, tell a different story, from a different film. I am not sure what yet, they are experiments. By taking them and sharing them, I am releasing my fear of being exposed in this kind of way.

The Self

ZOELAB DAY 34

One day about six years ago I had a sudden realization about what true self is. I have found the common advice to “just be yourself” was vague and hard to follow. What is “your true self”? How can you know what it is? That has been a difficult one for me because I am a person in constant flux, emotionally, mentally, geographically, even physically. This fluctuating sense of self  partly creates the need to make art. After embarking on a path of spiritual growth during graduate school, I began to discover that my true self is whoever I am in the moment. The truth is temporary. And subjective. And subject to constant change. The true self is a stream that is both within us and that we ride on top of. True self is contacted when we are present, spontaneous, integrated. We become familiar with our true self when we slow down and pay attention. When we are mindful. 

Children are the best teachers on how to be your true self. Children are constantly changing and growing. They are bursting with spontaneous energy. And their spontaneity is infectious. A healthy child is naturally integrated with mind, body, and spirit. They cannot help but be their true self at all moments because they are living in the present moment. As their guides and teachers in how to survive and thrive in this world, we sometimes need to teach them how to control this irrepressible true selfness. Not destroy it, or ignore it, but to recognize their present truth, and then to look outward to see what else is going on. Part of growing up is realizing we share the world with others and learn how to manage our true nature in balance with others.

Carl Jung’s theory of The Self, the ego, and the individuation process has greatly influenced my  personal growth and my work. The true self as seen as the whole self. Jung called it The Self archetype, often symbolized by a mandala (a circle or spiral with a center) to show completeness, as well as no beginning or end. “The Self is the ordering and unifying center of the total psyche (conscious and unconscious) just as the ego is the center of the conscious personality.” (Edinger, Ego and Archetype). Jung believed that we all born with original wholeness (where the ego (which only exists as a potentiality) and The Self are one, and the individuation process is the process of our ego’s separation from The Self. Simultaneously, we become conscious of our ego (our conscious personality) as it comes into being and separates. As our ego develops, we begin to reject certain parts of ourselves that doesn’t feel acceptable, these parts are our subpersonalities, that become our shadow. Our original wholeness becomes fractured, or at least it seems that this is so. As we continue to develop, however, we begin to long for our original wholeness, and these split off parts of ourselves. We reintegrate them by bring them back into the light by accepting them. The process of reintegration is the process of embracing our shadows and integrating our polarities. Archetypes are symbols or subpersonalities that emerge out of the collective unconscious that help this process. Jung is viewed as the grandfather of expressive arts therapy, as he experimented with art making, active imagination, sand play, as tools to aid in the process of individuation. Through out life, we cycle in and out of ego-self separation and reunion. It is a dance that gradually brings us closer to integration. When we are integrated, we live in consciousness of the ego and its needs, but from the perspective of The Self (the totality) and  we feel empowered to choose which parts of we want to embody or connect with. These parts of self, or archetypes, can be seen as signs, or symbols that have mutable meanings depending on the person, and the culture that the person exists in. We all have polarities within us, and in the collective culture, and yet we often see ourselves as only one half of a polarity. This is painful partially because we are ignoring significant parts of our truths and our experience, and partially because it is an isolation from our spirituality, or Self. What appeals to me about Jungian theory is its innate multiplicity, it creates more space for all the varied and in-between experiences of being human, across culture, gender and time. In a certain way, I believe Jung was a postmodernist. I continue to use archetypes in my own process of individuation. These are characters that continue to appear in my life, naming them, drawing them helps give me a more playful, curious approach to the sometimes painful experience of development. This has been a rudimentary explanation of a very complex, and beautiful theory. I will write more about Jung and his theories in the future, especially as I continue to gain more knowledge of his work.

This daily web check in gives me consistency while there is so little consistency in my experience of my self. To have this space to check in every day (in whatever way that feels most relevant and true to the moment) is one constant, while all other aspects of life are so variable. I see the site and the whole year (the 365 days) as the integration of all my selves and polarities. By allowing myself to freely flow, but keeping daily track of this flow, I am allowing an integration process of all aspects of self, while still finding a center point (represented by this site.) I have chose the spider web as the mandala, the symbol for The Self. This will become the organizing web map page. And, of course, the spider is a perfect symbol of creativity, wisdom, and the complexities of life.

the spider web is a spiral: the spider is simultaneously at the center and the circumference

A List of Every Job That I've Held (that I can remember) in Chronological Order

ZOELAB DAY 33

1980's

1990's

2000's

2010's

1. babysitter

2. portrait model for my mom

3. after school teacher

4. assistant teacher of english as a foreign language to chinese 1st graders

5. postcard order filler at postcard factory

6. film projectionist for college film program

7. teacher of english as a second language to immigrants

8. teacher of english composition to teenaged immigrants at a junior college

9. waitress at middle eastern restaurant

10. intern for light projection artist

11. intern/production assistant for soft porn film production

12. intern for a filmmaking magazine and film producer tutor of english as a foreign language to a chinese twelve year old boy

13. art assistant to children’s text book design company

14. freelance haircutter

15. assistant to independent film publicist

16. assistant director’s liaison and assistant press liaison for film festival

17. assistant publicist for film distribution company

18. freelance production assistant for industrial films

19. waitress at mexican restaurant

20. assistant to small family publishing house

21. designer and creator of children’s art and poetry book for community garden

22. production assistant at my uncle’s corporate event production company

23. actress in various plays, student films, television shows, improv troupes, independent films

24. receptionist for a film director’s production office

25. freelance script reader for acquisitions department of film company

26. door to door advertising salesperson for a city map & guide

27. private assistant/caretaker for cancer patient who wanted help with organizing personal letters

28. cocktail waitress at korean restaurant and lounge

29. sales associate for women’s clothing boutique

30. story writer for pornographic magazine

31. director’s liaison for film festival

32. director’s liaison and press liaison for independent film festival

33. publications coordinator and designer for children’s social services agency

34. volunteer tutor to ten year old boy in reading and math

35. art program coordinator and teacher of art, music, drama, and writing for summer youth program

36. freelance nanny

37. freelance fit model

38. teacher of creative writing and filmmaking to children at summer program

39. teacher of acting for the camera and acting improvisation to children at a drama program

40. led music, drama, movement group at a community center for seniors

41. trainee psychotherapist and expressive arts therapist to teens and adults at an LGBT center

42. intern psychotherapist and expressive arts therapist to children, families and individuals at a counseling center

43. teacher of improv to adults

44. filmmaking teacher to ten year old and twelve year old sisters

45. sales assistant to photographer

46. teacher of creativity workshops and creativity coach

47. web designer

48. wedding planner for hotel

key:

bold = job held or repeated for one year or longer

a note to my readers (if you’re out there):

try doing this exercise for yourself, it’s fun and brings up odd memories. also, it is interesting to look back to see a pattern in your life path/career path. if you try it, i’d love to hear about your experience.

Lists

ZOELAB DAY 31

Sometimes I am too tired to write anything but a list.

Latest Firsts

making granola

pooping in the potty

mopping entire floor

imaginary friend

falling asleep in bed for nap

...

Projects I want to do this year

write, act, direct an improv-based web sitcom pilot 

get back into playing music/recording project with garafone

art for life planning

create fashion line for winter fashion show/launch seis-doce

plant vegetable and herb garden

tile and paint bathroom and kitchen

...

Emilio spoken phrases

paris-y

i feel a little bit sad and a little stressed out because i broke my camera

you look like a bird flying

can you teach me yoga?

...

art forms 

I am thinking of focusing on

for the month of october

sewing

music

video

...

themes to organize posts around

home

inspiration

mexico

happiness

art & creativity

projects

culture vs. nature

...

Emilio’s   Favorite rock songs by  ladyrockers

i love rock n roll by joan jett

(he sings: put another dime in the juice box baby)

the movies ruined my love life 

by social service

(he says: the movies ruined my bug’s life)

cherry bomb by the runaways

(he calls them the runways)

huffer by the breeders

...

The Terrific Freedom and Terrible Loneliness of Expatriating

ZOELAB DAY 27

It’s harder to write these posts when I am feeling down. But writing these posts makes me feel more alive, more connected, and more able to work with whatever it is I am going through. Start from where you are. After all, as the poet, and songwriter Dave Berman (of the Silver Jews) says: “You can't change the feeling but you can change your feelings about the feeling in a second or two.” It is a time of great loneliness and longing for me. I have felt it before. It is very hard to live far away from my dear friends and family. Everyone who lives in the first world seems so very busy out of  necessity that the modern urban life calls for, and it seems people don’t have much space in their lives for communion, relaxation and hanging out. This seems like a luxury rather than a right. The friends and family I have here are all away right now--avoiding the bad weather and the boredom. And some more recent friends that I have made here, have decided not to return, for now. I chose to be here for most of this summer so that we could experience the true seasons of this place, and so that I could have a sense of continuity, and because we finally have a home, and I want to be home.

Moving to another country is a terrifying and exhilarating leap of faith. Even in moments like these, I don’t regret it. And I don’t want to leave. I have always been an adventurer and have strived to have as many experiences as I can, and haven’t generally let fear or the prospect of failure get in my way. In fact, as an artist/seeker/psychologist, I am as interested in failure as I am in success. I find it freeing to let go of the protective grip of the ego that wants to uphold an idealized and restricted view of ourselves, and accept that we all fail as humans. We all make messes. We all feel rejected sometimes. I think our view of a failure changes once you look at it from a further perspective. A failure in a moment becomes a learning experience or just one chapter of a great story. When we don’t get the response or result we want, we want to give up in shame. But it is so important to keep going. To show up. It takes humility, and courage to show up. That’s what this project is about for me. Showing up everyday, even if I don’t want to, even if I feel sad. Because in the showing up, I am continuing to make a commitment to something. I believe a commitment is an important and rare thing in this day and age, where everything seems exchangeable. The few commitments I’ve made in my life have turned out to be the best choices I have ever made because they have forced me to grow up. Everyday of showing up, is like more change in the bank, adding up slowly. I keep going because I have faith that the coins will add up to something rich and meaningful that will give back to me someday. I don’t know exactly what form it will become, but it will reveal itself in another chapter.

In our dream to make ourselves a house in Mexico, which took about five years, and is still in the making, there were some moments of great sorrow and disappointment. We didn’t have money or prospects, getting the paperwork for our title seemed impossible, our friends who also had land near us decided to move back to their homeland countries. In those moments we stopped believing it would happen. We had a dream not only of our own home, but of a community of people who want to live a peaceful, simple, independent, fun and artful life. We have several friends who own pieces of land near ours who have not yet come to build on their land. I do believe they will come. I haven’t given up on this dream.

Our town, Elias Calles, is a valley situated at the foothills of a beautiful mountain range. Our land is on the very last foot hill before the land becomes more or less flat. The view from our land is stunning. Looking West, you can see a nice piece of the Pacific ocean. There is a dip caused by the arroyo (dry river bed) that allows visibility of the ocean through there. Looking South, you see more of the thick tangle of desert plants, looking East, there are more rolling mountains, and looking North, my favorite view, is a valley of pure cactus forest, with rolling mountains behind. There are no houses to block the pristine view. The only sign of culture is the Telcel (cellphone) tower built jutting out of one of the mountains. This tower was not there when we were camping four years ago. So we had no cell service or internet then. Elias Calles is on the verge of getting electricity, when that happens the town will change greatly. There will be more than forty people living here. There will be lights on at night. There will be stores and restaurants and a gas station. Right now Elias Calles has: a one room school house that teaches kids from age 5-12 (the teacher is known to be the best in Baja, and provides programs in filmmaking, and traditional pottery making from local clay). A church. Two small stores with no electricity--the drinks are kept in coolers. A sometimes-open taqueria. A sometimes-open highway side flower stand. And a small handful of Mexican and Gringo families living here off solar power or a generator.

I realize that building happiness is a long, slow process and we have to be willing sometimes to endure difficulty for the sake of realizing who we were meant to be. I just received a comment from my mother that said: “It’s taking me a long time but I am realizing my daughter is a 21st Century hippie.” I prefer the term bohemian, but she’s right. The process of discovering this truth about myself has taken me a while as well. For all the times of loneliness, there are many more times of great happiness and gratitude. I am so grateful that we are able to spend so much time with our child in these invaluable early years before school. I appreciate that Emilio is receiving a wonderful natural education. He has a considerable amount of physical freedom. I am reminded, and now it feels like foreshadowing, of the subject of my 9th grade term paper--Jean Jacques Rousseau’s book on education called Emile, or On Education. In the book, Rousseau recommends that children receive a natural education that emphasizes the child’s experience of the physical world, and in particular, of the five senses. Written in 1762, it was a book of great controversy at first, that later became an inspiration for a new system of education in France (which lead, based on Rousseau’s recommendation, to a nationwide increase in breastfeeding).

In our life here, I feel grateful everyday for the opportunity to have time for hanging out, artmaking, being part of a community of people who look after each other. My whole adult life I have tried unsuccessfully to create communities. Living here is the first time I have really felt part of one. I love living in a place where you run into people you know everywhere you go. People rely on each other here. We take showers at each others’ houses when the electricity shuts down. We make trades for services and goods when we can’t pay with cash. One of my goals, which I have been working on lately by having weekly Spanish conversations with one of Mexican friends, is to improve my Spanish so I can be more connected to the Mexican community here. One of the blessings of living as an ex-patriot is the inexpressible feeling of cultural freedom. The feeling of not belonging can be lonely, but it can be extraordinarily freeing. As a parent, I feel free from the judgment of my own culture. We can make up rituals and rules as we go. We are free to live according to our natures, the unique expressions of the culture of family that we are creating. I am learning a new relationship to nature, which keeps me present. I am learning about and finding appreciation for things I never had to think about: water, electricity, privacy, ownership, wind, phases of the moon, plants, creatures. I continually feel their presence and lack of presence. I also appreciate the food. The fish here is very inexpensive, and some of the freshest and cleanest you can find in the world. Vegetables grow here like crazy. We have discovered both watermelons and cherry tomato plants on our land that have grown with out our planting them. And no one makes grilled meat like the Mexican taquerias.

I want to end with a good old fashioned want ad. The photo on top of the post is of a for sale sign for the lot on the North side of us, directly across the road. We are looking for a neighbor. We will be good neighbors to you, and trade fresh vegetables, eggs, and interesting books for something you have to offer. Any takers? Think about it, it could be a lot of fun.

                                  The view of our land from your land.

The Slow Making of a Dream: El Campo Elias Calles, The End of Camp

ZOELAB DAY 24

After six months of camping, and seven months of pregnancy, we decided that we needed to find a house to live in for the end of my pregnancy and the beginning of parenthood. I had met a woman who had taken pity on us, and offered to let us live in a casita on her property in another town in exchange for basic caretaking. We moved in and soon made ourselves a little nest. (For a post about the summer of 2009 and Jimena see Day 1.) A few weeks after Emilio was born Hurricane Jimena hit Baja a few hundred miles north of where we were. The destruction wasn’t devastating in our area, though there was some destruction. After the hurricane, which was a few months after we had left camp, we decided to go back see what had happened to our land. We had half abandoned our camp--we had been in such a rush to make a home for ourselves indoors we hadn’t even bothered to pack away our tents. We had left them out in the open to disintegrate in the sun, and then be blown around by the storm. Everything was a mess.

It was hard to see our beloved camp so destroyed, but I found relief in knowing I had documented it in its glory days. We also knew part of its beauty was its transience. 

This is what the circle of trees looked like that day (to see the circle of trees in the spring, click:)

The next year, we also re-discovered the forgotten superhero nativity scene and fake christmas tree that our friends Jeremy and Charlotte had brought for the Christmas we had spent at camp (which was also our first night at camp.)  

The next year, we also re-discovered the forgotten superhero nativity scene and fake christmas tree that our friends Jeremy and Charlotte had brought for the Christmas we had spent at camp (which was also our first night at camp.) 

Three years have passed since the summer of Hurricane Jimena, and now another hurricane--Miriam--is due to hit Baja this week. Lucas and his sister are heading out tomorrow to drive up the Baja with an empty trailer. Their plan is to get North before the hurricane hits. Lucas is going to get the last of our stuff from our storage space and drive it down. I’ll be excited to reunite with it. Among what I remember of our belongings, there are four vintage pachinko machines, my journals, and Lucas’ incredible collection of rare art books. This also means nine days of a certain kind of aloneness. I’ll use art and creativity and compassion to make the best of it.

The Story of Elias Calles to be continued....

The Slow Making of a Dream: El Campo Elias Calles, Part Two

ZOELAB DAY 23

“It was extraordinarily peaceful to be pregnant and surrounded by nothing but vast amounts of sky, desert, ocean and mountains.”

Our campsite continued to develop over the months we were there. Eventually Lucas made a mediation and yoga spot for me. Spring came, and the trees started to spring leaves. We found a beautiful arrangement of elephant and paper trees that naturally made a semicircle. Both kinds of trees are short, and they had no leaves because it was winter. The paper tree has peeling skin that is very fun to peel, but apparently once you peel it always stays smooth. We cleared around this circle of trees so that it would be more noticeable.

At the time I was avidly collecting rocks, shells and small animal bones that I had found in the area. I started arranging these around the circle of trees. Having been a city girl my whole life, it was a real shift for me to live in nature. I became very fond of it. It was extraordinarily peaceful to be pregnant and surrounded by nothing but vast amounts of sky, desert, ocean and mountains. The simplicity of life was comforting, even if I wasn’t always comfortable.

The Slow Making of a Dream: El Campo Elias Calles, Part One

ZOELAB DAY 22

I've been putting off telling this story even thought it's the story I most want to tell. It's a difficult story to tell because it's complicated, and we're still in the middle of it. And also because it occurred (with many breaks in between) over several years, and I documented it thoroughly (not knowing what I'd do with all the images.) I just spent an hour looking through 2,283 images (photos & videos) that I have taken so far of our land, and the surrounding area of Elias Clales.

I have another more recent impetus to tell this story because an artist friend, Tia Factor, who makes uniquely gorgeous paintings, is doing a project where she asks people to describe a place that they have been to, and often return to in their imagination. The place represents comfort in the person’s imagination, so the person returns to it over and over in his/her mind. Then, after doing some image research, Tia makes a painting of the place based on the person’s description. I had wanted to participate in this project, but I hadn’t been able to think of a place that I had returned to over and over in my mind. But then I realized I did. Elias Calles is that place, even though I live here now. For so many years it was an imagined place, imagined and experienced from so many different perspectives, a place that contained hopes and dreams, and then loss of those same hopes and dreams. And even though we still continue to live here, there is so much about it that is still in our imaginations. All of our plans yet to be realized. This is what I wrote as my description to Tia (plus a few more words) for her painting:

Elias Calles is a hard place to describe because it is not like anywhere else I have ever been. I don't really have a point of reference. I had first heard of it from Lucas about five years ago. He told me he found a piece of land he wanted to buy in Mexico with some money he inherited from his grandmother. We thought of it as an investment. A few years later, we decided that we wanted to build a house on our land, move to Mexico, get married, and have a baby. This was all before I had even seen our land. I had been to Baja only once in 2004, after we had left New York City and before we were to move to San Francisco. It was a different part of Baja, and I had had a difficult time. (Another story for another time). I am not sure exactly what made me want to do something so uncertain, other than I was done with the particular chapter of our life, and we both wanted the experience of living in a different country and having a child. It was an intuitive decision based on what felt right. The plan was that Lucas (who had been going down to Baja often for many years) was going to build us a rudimentary house out of earth bags the year before we moved. He got started that year, but he was never able to finish. We were going to live in our house, try to have a baby when we got there, and then build ourselves a life. Things went a little differently then we had planned. I was a few days aware of being pregnant as we drove the 1,500 miles to Southern Baja from Northern California in our fully packed 1985 Toyota Landcruiser with our dog, Ping. During our journey, the World economy collapsed, two of our tires exploded, (we were saved within five minutes of our first tire exploding by Los Angeles Verdes--a Government road side assistance group that drives up and down the highway helping people with car trouble) and the frame of our car cracked as we literally pulled into our destination.

The first time I saw Elias Calles was in early December, 2008, a few days after we moved to Mexico. When I first saw it, I have to say I was disappointed. It looked like a scary, poisonous forest from a Disney movie. All plants had large points sticking out of them, everything was brown, and dry. There was nothing cleared on the land.—it was a dense low forest of shrubbery and cactus. I could not see the beauty--at first. I just didn't get it. Lucas was going to build us a campsite (because the house wasn’t ready and we didn’t really have the money to build). We started clearing the land with the help of our French friends Charlotte and Jeremy, who had made a little campsite on their piece of land nearby. Charlotte saw how uncertain I was, and tried to reassure me by saying that you created your little spaces out of the land and it starts to become yours. Fortunately for us, our friends allowed us to stay in their house in a nearby town, for our first month here, which was my most nauseous month, while Lucas built our campsite.

Lucas began to build our campsite--we cleared two 12 by 12 areas with the help of our French friends and Lucas’ sister (who is co-owner of the land). He made a temporary floor out of adoquin (red colored cement hexagons). We put our sleeping tent on one. And the other became our kitchen. To create shade for the sleeping tent, Lucas created a tensile structure, using large pine poles and a tarp. To create a space for the kitchen, we put up a four post canvas tent and screen walls. We filled the kitchen with a small folding table covered with bright Mexican oil cloth, for eating, a wooden freestanding counter for cooking, a high intensity 2 burner metal camping stove, a vintage 1920's sink resting on two tables (this sink is now in our kitchen), with a drain that went into a bucket. We also had our water tank on top of our broken landcruiser (it could no longer be driven after we arrived.) which Lucas filled by climbing up a ladder, and pouring water jugs into it. The water pressure was great, due to the high flow, gravity water pressure system. Our water drained out into a bucket below the sink which we dumped on the trees around the campsite. We also had sleeping tent that was large enough to stand in, and fit a closet and queen size mattress. This was deluxe camping.

Our campsite developed over the months we were there. Lucas hooked up a solar panel, and we had enough electricity to charge our laptops and have LED Christmas lights on at night. Our kitchen was fully functional and we were able to create delicious meals. We had our families and friends come to visit us in our little desert oasis--some who had never camped before in their lives and fell in love with the experience.

To be continued in next post...

On Television: Part One

ZOELAB DAY 49

I have a confession to make:

The main, if not totally conscious, reason I chose to do this project of blogging 365 days for a year, was to knock myself out of the indelible, lifelong habit of whiling away the evening (the most precious free time of the day, especially for a parent) watching television. We don’t actually have a television in this phase of our lives, but we do have computers where we watch shows that were once on television. This is the habit of western culture at large. Watching TV (in whatever form of screen) before you go to bed. How many of us have spent a lifetime doing this? TV watching is the most addicting habit I know—or at least within the context of the time after dinner, before bed. There have been a few periods of life that I  was able to break this habit, which involved either a creative project that I was really excited about, or lack of access. Please understand, I love television. Well, I love some television. It has provided such pleasure to me for much of my life. At its best, it provides a unique balm to the troubled soul living in an uncertain world.  A kind of home that doesn’t quite belong to you, but gives you the illusion that it does. At different times in my life, I have fallen in love with: The Mary Tyler Moore Show, I Love Lucy, Freaks and Geeks, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Arrested Development, 30 Rock, Flight of the Conchords, The Magic Garden, The Muppet Show, Saturday Night Live, Six Feet Under, Kids in the Hall, Taxi, The Office (yes, the American version), and most recently, Girls.

When I was living in Brooklyn and pursuing my acting/ screenwriting/filmmaking career, I had the habit (as many urbanites do) of going home late after a full and tiring day pursuing my dreams or at least trying to survive in an expensive and energetic city, picking up take out on the way home, and then watching syndicated sitcoms until it was time to go to sleep. This was the period of my life when I was a syndicated sitcom serial monogamist. I went from favorite sitcom to favorite sitcom, based on what was syndicated at the right time: 10:00, 10:30, 11:00, and 11:30 at night. Two hours of time (equivalent to a feature length film.) There were some sitcoms that I thought I’d never watch, because I hated them at first, most especially: Seinfeld and Friends. Friends was extremely popular when I was in college. I didn’t watch any TV while I was in college, except during visits home, and when I lived in China for a semester. I lived in a foreign student dorm (which was really a hotel) and each room had its own television. American syndicated sitcoms were a welcome friend. Anyway, back to Friends. I had a deep disdain for it. Maybe my disdain was on principal because it was so popular. But somehow, when I moved back to New York, and started watching it in its syndicated time slot, its charm warmed its way into my heart.  And then it became one of my ten, and ten thirty favorites. I particularly loved Lisa Kudrow’s portrayal of Phoebe. I suppose I most related to her character. Lisa Kudrow was brilliant and funny in the roll. I loved how her character was almost dumb, but not quite. It was a subtly different take on the ditzy blonde. Phoebe had edge and she was always a little bit surprising. Which reminds me of my personal definition of comedy: the truth delivered in surprising package. Seinfeld I also hated at the beginning. I found Jerry so whiney and his hair so terrible, that I had to turn away. But, the show’s undeniable funniness lured me back in, and I became an ardent fan. I remember watching it on Thursdays during its Prime Time slot and then again, later, and every night, during its syndicated slot. I even tearfully watched the last episode.

There were two other sitcoms I had love affairs with during this phase that were both because the show was great, but also because I had developed an awful crush on the male star of each of them. Those sitcoms were: That 70’s Show, the crush being on: Topher Grace (Eric). Were you thinking it was Ashton Kutcher? I know you weren’t thinking that. Maybe you were thinking it was Danny Masterson? Who definitely was crushable. But no, it was Topher Grace. His boyish charm with just a hint of cockiness, which, somehow, always got teased out of him. It was also his laugh, because when he laughed he seemed like he was breaking character--it felt so real. It is said in the acting world, and I agree with this, that laughing (far more than tears), is the hardest thing to “act”. And the other sitcom? Newsradio. And the crush? Dave Foley. Dave Foley’s character Dave, had a very similar appeal to Topher Grace’s Eric. Actually, now that I think about it, they were very, very similar. In looks, in the boyish charm, with that touch of cockiness that got teased out of him. And in the very sincere laugh where you feel like you are seeing just the person. Hmmm.

This essay will have to be continued over the next day or two. I have a lot more to say on this subject, and I can’t stay up all night writing. After all, I still want to watch a little something before bed.

One more thing. A behind the scene irony:

Just today a video projector and screen came into our possession (how it came into our possession is a story in itself that I will tell at another time). As I write this, Lucas, who has hooked up the projector and screen, is watching Boardwalk Empire. The screen is set up just a few feet away from where I sit, at the painted ivory table (which I use as a background to many ZOELAB images). I can see only the back of the screen. Only just yesterday we received a bunch of shows and movies that we had ordered. Perhaps this is not at all ironic, but rather, writing this is helping me to resist the temptation to melt back into the couch with him to be blissfully entertained by new content in a new form.

Inspiration from Children's Books

ZOELAB DAY 19

The artwork from children’s books has always captivated me and has had a great influence on my aesthetic. One of the great pleasures of parenthood is getting to reenter and share the incredible world children’s books with my child. Luckily, Emilio loves books as much as I do, and loves a lot the same ones. I am also lucky that my mother was kind enough to save my favorite childhood books. Most of which are in their house for Emilio (and me) to read when we visit. Three of which I have removed from their home (sorry mom) and have scanned tonight to share with you. 

Illustration from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

There is an ineffable quality that children’s book illustrations have. There’s a sweetness because of the innocence and hopefulness that they convey, and yet at the same time, there is a darkness too, a sense of a larger, mysterious world somewhere lurking. Maurice Sendak illustrates this dichotomy so well in his books. 

Illustration from I am a Bunny by Richard Scarry

This was Lucas’ favorite childhood book, which I didn’t have as a child, but have come to love as an adult. It’s illustrated by Richard Scarry, who was also one of my favorites as a child (as he is to so many). But here, his illustration style is more painterly than the more cartoonish style for which he is known. This is my favorite page from the book--someday I want to make a light box out of it and hang it in our house. 

Illustration from Goodnight Moon by Clement Hurd

This book is a classic of course. The images are still so haunting to me. Again, the dichotomy: the innocence of a child’s play room juxtaposed with the darkness of night approaching. And the colors are so unusual and otherworldly.

On an aesthetic level, this was my favorite book of all. It was given to me by my grandmother, Nana, whose first husband, my Dad’s father, was a communist. The book was published in China in the 1970’s. It was perhaps the instigator to my affinity for Chinese aesthetics and culture (which led to eight years of Chinese language study, and living in China for a semester of college.) The book contains several tales with no words (other than the title) teaching children how to be cooperative. I remember how much the book enchanted me as a child. There was something about the drawings-- the colors, the line quality, the utter cuteness of it all. My love of this book is so special, that I have never been able to adequately qualify it. It was as if the book had been made just for me.  

I have come to believe that each of us has a unique aesthetic that expresses something about our soul. Aesthetics are the language of our soul. When we are children, we are living closest to our souls. I think this is why books or music from our childhood continues to have such a powerful impact on who we are as adults. The best way to inspire ourselves, is to inspire the children we once were/still are.

Focus

“My whole life I have been self-critical about being a dilettante, a dabbler, an amateur, someone who doesn’t really stick with things.
”

Last night, while I was drawing, I had a revelation about how I want to continue with ZOELAB. I had been considering doing resolutions or organizing the year in a certain way, so I wouldn’t be so all over the place, but I couldn’t quite come up with the right format. I was worried that piling on resolutions would add too much pressure. And then as I was drawing, it occurred to me! I realized how much I was enjoying drawing, an activity I don’t normally put a lot of effort or time into (not since being in school.) But because I had been spending more time with it lately, I was focusing on it, the focus shed more light on it. It allowed me to get deeper and also wider with it. So I decided that I would pick an art form to focus on each month. It would be just long enough to go a little deeper with one of my art forms, with out having to give up too much of another one.

My whole life I have been self-critical about the fact that I move from medium to medium. It is easy to be disparaging about it, and call myself a dilettante, a dabbler, an amateur, someone who doesn’t really stick with things. Especially because there is pressure from our society to pick one thing and become really good at it. From as young as I can remember, I wanted to be an artist. Actually, I had written in my journal at age eight that I wanted to be R & F (rich and famous) or an artist. When I was about seven years old, I went to visit my dad at work, which was a film production company. I got to use the typewriter and the copy machine. I typed myself up a resume that had my name, address and what I did: artist. writer. dancer. I drew a picture of myself typing at a typewriter, while wearing dance shoes, and a painting covered my mouth. I made as many copies of it as I could. Soon after that I went through my movie star phase. I dreamed of my big movie role every night before I went to sleep. It all started when a friend of my father’s was casting a hollywood movie, and was considering me for a part. I really thought I was going to be cast, but they ended up choosing a kid who looked more like the adult version of the character. I was heartbroken. But I still continued to want to be an actress for many years. Always trying out for the school play, never getting even a call back. I was told my voice was too soft. I even asked my parent’s friend who was an actor, to coach me before one of the auditions. Still no call back. I also began studying piano, which lasted a few years. It ended in frustration and sadness when I switched to a new piano book that no longer had the finger numbers written over the notes. I discovered that I hadn’t actually learned to read music, I had just been following the numbers. With out the numbers, I was lost. I also started keeping a journal at this age. Most of it was lists of presents I had gotten for christmas (I was thorough and wrote down every single present I received) or secret crushes (describing the exact way that the bangs of the goalie on our soccer team (I was one of two girls on the otherwise male team) would bounce up and down on his face when he caught the ball), or lists of colors in order of most favorite to least favorite. I also kept lists of every Beatles song I could think of, and every movie I had ever seen. I started writing lyrics to songs, and I even wrote a play. It was a mystery. At this time, I also did a lot of dance and choreography. My audience was usually my parents, but later on I performed modern dance in school. In high school, I decided I wanted to be a painter, and also took up photography. Then I decided I wanted to be a filmmaker and made a super 8 film in high school that was based on the ideas from a Milan Kundera book that was about kitsch and the opposite of kitsch (shit). I also started playing the guitar. I decided that I was going to major in art in college, even though I knew that I really wanted to be a filmmaker after college. This was a practical decision because the college I really wanted to go to had a film program, but I didn’t get in. The college I decided to go to (and am so happy I did go to) didn’t have a film program, but they had a great art program. In college, I fell more in love with photography, as well as conceptual art, and postmodern theory rocked my mind.

When I graduated from college, and moved back to Brooklyn, I tried to start my film career as well as my acting career. After one year of misery working a lowly full time job, I applied to the two New York film schools. I was rejected from both. I didn’t give up. I worked at as many film type jobs I could and I met a lot of famous people in the film world. I worked in film publicity, production, script coverage... I made some great friends, and had a wonderful, glamorous time, but it never led to any actual creative work. I was convinced that someone would discover me. No one discovered me. I studied acting for several years, as well as film production and made a 16 mm short. I also wrote a feature length screenplay that I directed a staged reading of, but I never took it to the next level. I decided it was time to apply to graduate school again. This time to theater programs for acting--I applied to seven schools. I got rejected by all, except by one which wait listed me-- eventually they rejected me. I didn’t give up, I dove into studying acting. I continued to study the Meisner technique, I also took classes in comedy improvisation which was thrilling. One of my dreams since I was a kid had been to be on Saturday Night Live or be in my own sitcom. After six years of really trying at acting, a last embarrassing stint in an experimentally bad play, and several months of therapy, I decided to quit acting. Being an actor was turning me into someone I didn’t like. It was no longer creatively fulfilling.

It was then that I decided to achieve another unrealized dream: rock-n-roll. I got back into playing guitar and I wanted to try songwriting. I took classes in music theory, voice and guitar at the same conservatory that I had studied piano at when I was nine. I had no idea how to write a song, but somehow I thought I could. Songwriting had always been one of the mysterious arts to me. It seemed like magic to be able to do it. I had bought myself a digital four track recorder, an acoustic guitar from a stoop sale, and I developed a method where I would take out one of my poems and then try to sing over the chords I played. Soon enough I was actually writing songs, with different parts that I layered with the four track. I actually liked my songs. My boyfriend at the time bought me an electric guitar. I was hooked. One day I ran into an old friend from college who worked in the same building as me (120 Wall Street). It turned out she had just started learning drums. We decided we needed to start playing together so I showed her my songs. She liked them and we started practicing at a seedy music space. We knew we needed a bassist. A few weeks later I met a British woman at a party who was a trained classical musician who played several instruments. I asked her if she knew how to play bass. She said no, but that she wanted to learn. She showed up to our practice with a bass and started learning to play while we were learning our instruments. Even though we were green, each in our own way, there was instant chemistry. We were stumbling our way through magic. Suddenly I was the leader of an all girl rock n roll band. It was creative ecstasy. We practiced weekly for several months. We all worked at non profit type jobs and called our band Social Service. During that time my therapist and I had decided I needed a career other than being a dabbling artist. After an intensive investigative survey of what career I was to choose (that involved actual excel spread sheets), I decided I was going to graduate school for counseling psychology focusing on expressive arts therapy. The day I found out, from a google search, that expressive arts therapy is a mode of therapy that involves not just one discipline, but all or any of the arts disciplines: music, dance, writing, visual art, drama, and that there is a school in San Francisco that offers a MA in it, I knew I had found my new career. This meant, though, having to give up the band, which was, and still is, heartbreaking. We did record a five song demo and had two live performances the month before Lucas and I moved to the West Coast.

This story is not over yet... (there are more art forms, more stories of failure and success) but I have to make my deadline of going to bed by 10:30... However, the point of this story is that I haven’t been able to focus on one art form. I no longer want to see this as a negative thing. I have decided that I don’t need to discount what I do because I am interested in so many forms of expression. I am not a dilettante, I am a multi-disciplinary artist. I am spider woman, spinning twelve webs at once. It makes me kind of dizzy. I may not achieve as much at each one, or my progress may be slow, but that doesn’t make what I do less valid. I couldn’t possibly choose just one art form, and I don’t have to. But I do think it would be nice to have the experience of focusing on something for a little while. Say, a month at a time. This is how Gretchen Rubin formed her Happiness Project by focusing on one thing each month. For my project, I like the idea of the focus being the art form (or maybe sometimes a project). I am considering adding one aspect of life that I am focusing on as well. Something I want to bring light to, in order to make a change. I know this month is more than half over, but I definitely think drawing has been the focus and will continue to be the focus of this month. After all, it was while drawing that I had this realization.

Art with Children

Last winter, Emilio, who was two-and-a-half at the time, started to get interested in drawing and painting. I had gotten him an easel with a dry erase board on one side and a chalk board on the other, and a roll of butcher paper to use for painting. He took to painting right away. I was amazed by how careful he was in his choice of colors and strokes. He actually seemed to be thinking about what the painting needed next. I consider this a spiritual approach to art, an inner knowing about what the piece needs as if its future were predetermined. I discovered abstract art in this way. 

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As a child I made hundreds of little pen and ink drawings in little black notebooks. I remember the day I discovered this particular style of drawing. I suddenly realized all I had to do was listen to what the paper needed next on its surface, and then draw it to the best of my ability. Much like improvisation. It was if the unconscious had its own particular destiny. And sometimes the most appropriate language of the unconscious was abstraction. One school morning when I was about eight years old, I was drawing a picture in the little office of our house. I was supposed to be getting ready for school, but somehow I got entranced by a little sketch I was making of a monster who was pooping out some sort of abstract shape. My mother, who is a painter, suddenly discovered me and was about to scold me for the fact that I was going to be late for school, but when she what I was drawing, she couldn’t help but praise me because she saw how intently I was drawing and she liked the drawing. She saw that I was discovering a new way of drawing. It was then that I realized the idea of art being holy on some level, and that it may be more important than other more practical things, like getting to school on time. This was a wonderful thing growing up in my family. Art came before other activities. Both my parents value art as a form of communication and presence. When I was in high school, I started making abstract paintings--my parents gave me a book for my birthday called The Spiritual in Art: Abstract Painting 1890-1985. This book expressed my language.

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I love watching Emilio discover his own painting and drawing styles. He had one phase that lasted a few weeks where he experimented with little groupings of energy connected by line. (Drawing above on left is an example of it.)  It’s very inspiring to watch him discover and play with form and line and color. I think we all need to draw this way sometimes. Creating marks because we want to see what it will look like and feel like. Not because we have a plan. I started to draw with Emilio and he would sometimes make marks on my drawing. At first I was annoyed because he broke the rule we’re always taught: “you’re not allowed to draw on someone else’s drawing.” But then I started to get curious about the idea of embracing the presence of his haphazard marks over or near my more controlled marks. Again, I learned to let go of my preconceived notion of how something is supposed to look, and realized his style with my style was really fun to look at. So I got out a bunch art cards and had him draw on one, and then give it to me and then I added something to what he drew. Then we tried the reverse, where I drew on a card, and he got to draw on it next. This is what we made:

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A few months ago, Emilio’s friend Georgie, who is one year older, came over for a sleepover. The three of us sat and made a drawing together. I had the middle of the paper, and each boy had a side of the paper. This is what we drew:

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Drawing with children is inspiring and fun. I recommend trying it. If you don’t have a child at home, try drawing with your inner child. I am sure s/he would love the attention.

Eleven Years

ZOELAB DAY 11

It was one of those days where you remember where you were, what you were doing, who you were with. Eleven years ago today: it was a few minutes after 9 AM, and I was coming out of the 2/3 Wall Street Subway stop and I looked up and noticed pieces of paper falling through the bright blue sky. It was a surprising sight. I continued to walk as I looked up. I thought maybe the paper was ticker tape, related to the mayoral democratic primary that was to happen that day. But somehow, I also knew that it wasn’t. That it meant something different. I thought to myself “I’ll always remember this moment,” not knowing what it could possibly mean. I arrived to my building, 120 Wall Street. The building was an anomaly, the non-profit building of Wall Street. I found out later by pure coincidence I had two friends who worked also at two different offices in that building. As I entered, it became clear that something was going on. Someone was crying in the elevator. Once I got to my office, the headquarters of the organization Jewish Child Care Association, I found out what had just happened. A plane had hit the World Trade Center. How could that be true? It seemed impossible. We turned on the television. It was true, and then another one hit. And then one collapsed. And then the other one collapsed. Each one was unbelievable all over again. Panic hit me. I got a few phone calls from friends and from my mom to check to see if I was okay. Looking out the windows, the streets were covered in gray ash. People ran into the lobby of our building to take refuge. No one knew where it was safe to be. Nowhere felt safe. I couldn’t decide what to do, where to go. Should I go downstairs? Should I go home? It seemed absolutely wrong to go outside, to walk over the bridge, back to Brooklyn. And yet, after hours of waiting, a small group of people from my office convinced me to walk over the bridge with them. It didn’t seem like a good idea, the bridge felt like a target, and yet, what else could I do? My cousin called, who was in Brooklyn, and he agreed to pick me up on his Vespa on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge. I walked in my small group, thousands of others were walking too, making our pilgrimage to the bridge. Everything was covered in the gray ash. We walked slowly. There were no cars. We made it to the other side. My cousin was there, and rode me home to my uncle’s house, where his wife was waiting with pasta and wine. We all drank and talked manically. I slept at their house that night, in the basement apartment. It was best not to be alone. When I woke up the next morning, the nightmare was still inside me. It was a collective nightmare. Some lived it much more closely and still do. Everyone looked for love wherever they could find it.

Several days later I wrote this:

Finally a place to rest my weary decade-ridden head. I rise and wait for further cities to burn. But we all hear the same song. I don’t mind if you sing, but please remember to drink clean water and not to blame time. Time is always the same. I thought I was born in the wrong time: time (who is older) has proven me wrong.

I am older this week. I am centuries old. Like the rabbi said, I see the face of god in the faces on the subway. The space around them shrinks and turns gray, towards history. But the faces have the colors that painters see. The faces show that our hearts have expanded to show how death has always been part of us. We are older now, but really, we have always been older. We just didn’t see a use for it. Now we have many uses: to walk, to light candles, to dig, to share our own blood, to sing old songs, to embrace ourselves by embracing others.

I am swollen with grief but I am alive. I burst daily in little ways. I try not to hide from the symbols that alienate me. I try to look beyond symbols,beyond unnatural boundaries, beyond fearful unity. I look instead for truth. Every symbol contains a lie. That is natural. But what is left that does not contain a lie? A tree. A dog. A sister. A dance. An office. Perhaps all things contain lies, but to see purely is to see myself in the face of the world. Whether it is ugly or beautiful. All things are both ugly and beautiful. That is truth. We knew this before and now we realize this. I realize this: to be useful takes me on a journey. At one time, I felt my life was stagnant and I was stuck under heavy fallen walls. Now I see that every moment can be a journey and those walls are fear of those journeys.

At a time like this people feel humble. They feel they have suffered less than others, they feel their words and actions are inadequate. People even feel guilty, ashamed of having any petty thoughts, any thoughts other than thoughts of victims. I say it is a time to be as big as possible. To appreciate the words and thoughts and art and breath and life we do have. To say I am not humble, I am human. Anything we do can be important, if we do it with care, thought, truth, strength, courage, love... there are so many people in this world, we all count for something. Unspeakable acts have happened before and they will happen again. It is time to start realizing how our actions affect others, even those who live in other countries who speak other languages who believe different ideologies. It is time not to shrink, but to expand. The more we expand as people, the more people will remember what is to be human. At a time like this, people feel sentimental, they generalize in order to feel better, in order make sense. People are ready to rush to judgement; they call others evil; I don't think I believe in evil. I think I'd rather believe in something a little more human. Evil relates to god, to the devil or god's enemy. It is hard for me to find solace in god at a time like this I know that others need that, and that is fine. But I hope that their connection with God eventually leads them to other beings here on earth. I hope religious leaders are able to help people with that connection. God is important in the way all things are important: plants, humans, dogs, houses, mountains, dirt. If we see god in these things that is fine. But if we see only evil in other human beings then we don't understand them. We have failed to try to educate ourselves. I hope that everyone feels the joy and beauty as well as responsibility of being a person born on earth. I hope everyone who is fortunate enough to have access to education and communication takes advantage of these blessings and passes them on in whatever way they can. The way in which they choose to pass on their humanity, that is the joy and beauty of life, the importance of this act, that is the responsibility of being human.

The Happiness Project

ZOELAB DAY 3

The impetus to do this project came a month ago while I was riding the Peter Pan bus from the Berkshires to New York City. I had just had a visit with my family, and my brother had lent me his copy of The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin (which I’m not planning on returning to him). He had told me about the book a few months ago on the phone (we both secretly love reading self help books). He told me it was a self-help memoir about a woman who decides to dedicate a year of her life trying to be happier. She writes about her experience of applying the principals of happiness based on her extensive happiness research and also on self-reflection. She writes about the process of trying to be happier, and the effect it has on those around her, especially her husband and children. She is transparent in the book revealing her own flaws and struggles and difficulties in keeping her resolutions. My brother said the book made him think of me, and then he suggested that the self-help book on creativity that I’d been planning on writing also be a memoir. I had already been half-heartedly writing about our life in Baja. The suggestion lit a spark in me: a book that integrates my own experiences as a mom creating a life and home from scratch, off the grid, in Mexico, while I build my organization “Art for Life”, while at the same time also experimenting with the ideas and exercises for unleashing and increasing creativity on myself. 

Later, while riding on the bus, (Gretchen comes up with her idea to do the Happiness Project while riding on a city bus) I read the chapter in The Happiness Project on Aiming Higher, where Gretchen starts a blog. It occurred to me: this is what I need to do! I had started a blog on wordpress three years back while I was pregnant and camping on our land. It was about our life in Baja, and I enjoyed writing it, but it was too difficult for me to keep it up due to limited electricity and internet access, and then the baby came. And then it was too difficult for me to do much of anything. Now, our son is three years old, and we are living in our house and I have more time and energy to contemplate, build a business, stay organized, and create art. The perfect format occurred to me: one entry a day, for 365 days. The only stipulation is that I do at least one entry a day, of words and image, for one year. The entries can be on anything I want. Whatever I am struggling with, inspired by, interested in. Past, present and future.

ZOELAB is my Happiness Project. It is my attempt to remain positive and proactive and productive, and at the same time to stay honest with my feelings, accept the reality of limitations, and make time for relaxation and rest. It is about trying to make contact with myself, and anyone else who is interested. It is about being my true artist self and living a bohemian life that reflects that, and it is about trying to achieve my life’s purpose. It is also a gauge to keep me in balance--the balance of health and growth for the mind, body and spirit. ZOELAB is the organizing/integrating principle around all the seemingly disparate elements in my life. It is about sharing the process of art and life simultaneously, while trying to striving to live my potential. Some entries will be about planting our garden, or ideas about how to bring more creativity into parenting. Some entries will be about trying to keep up with a resolution (for the day, week or month), some entries will be about sharing my art and design work (music, writing, drawing, photography, video, fashion design, graphic design, etc.). I imagine the project will change and grow as the year progresses--unexpected discoveries, patterns and shapes will emerge. Within the web that I am building daily, there will be stories on a theme, or whole books. My plan is to create theme pages as a way to organize posts by themes, so that a particular theme can be searched and read each as its own separate piece. The other unknown aspect is the reader/viewer. As people read and respond to my posts, this will change the course of the project. This is my hope. The openness of possibility is very exciting.

As Gretchen does in her Happiness Project, I plan to include my versions of resolutions and secrets of adulthood (which is her term for rules or guidelines for living.) I have been collecting them and will create a page of them soon. It will be a growing list. For now I am going to share one that I have come up with recently. Always have a book I’m very into reading. I may not read everyday, but I never want to finish a book before I know what book I’m going to read next. Reading books brings me a lot of happiness. It’s inspiring to read another’s ideas, or to live inside someone else’s story. While I am in the middle of a book, I tend to adapt the narrator or writer’s voice in my head--s/he starts to narrate my inner life, adding a new perspective. Plus, reading almost always inspires me to write. And not only do I want to write, I tend to write better. Also, if I am in a bad mood, reading a book almost always lifts my mood. Forgetting myself can be the most positive thing I can do. That being said, I broke my own rule because after finishing The Happiness Project (about 2 weeks ago) I didn’t immediately start a new book. But the book I plan on starting is My Ear at His Heart: My Father, a memoir written by Hanif Kureishi about his reading an unpublished memoir by his father about his childhood. I recently took this book off of the bookshelf of my father (who is also a writer).

One of the parts of The Happiness Project that most struck me is the idea that the pursuit of my own happiness is worthwhile, even if it can sometimes be perceived as selfish. Ultimately, and the studies Gretchen quotes support this, happiness is not selfish because its infectious and cyclical. “One of the best ways to make yourself happy is to make other people happy; one of the best ways to make other people happy is to be happy yourself.” - Rubin. Because I am a mother, and often the emotional and organizing center of the family, I find it’s especially important to be happy. My happiness has a direct impact on my husband and son. And then that happiness comes back to me--my family’s happiness brings me more happiness. The happiness doesn’t just stay within the immediate family, it extends to the larger web of family, friends and community. Gretchen’s project book proves this to be true--I am already happier (more inspired, more self-aware, more productive) as a result of reading her book and embarking on my own project. And her book is NY Times Bestseller--she has sparked many others to start their own happiness projects. 

I will be returning to this subject in future posts. This is just to whet the appetite.

I want to add a note about the photograph/collage in this post. It’s called “I took photographs today to help me feel okay.” I made it in 2007 for a photography show in Oakland called “Don’t Fail me Now: a photographic tribute to what carries you through the day.” It’s a collection of digital photos that I took at various times at moments when I was feeling lost or invisible as a way to feel connected to myself, to the moment, to my surroundings. I’d like to do a few more of these tile pieces as I have many more images that fit into this subject. I borrowed the title, (which I slightly changed) from a lyric to a song I had written. Here are the full lyrics. Someday I’ll post the song when I make a satisfactory recording of it.

Don't Tell me how

To be alone

To be a friend

To me again.

And where were walking

It is snowing.

Where were walking 

It was stolen.

I’ll draw pictures of your face

Capturing your grace

So it won’t be a waste

And I’ll take photographs today

In my close-up way

To make the pain okay

Don’t tell me why

I’m afraid

To be inside

Of you again

And where were walking

It is raining

Where were walking

It was frozen

I’ll write letters to your face

Capturing your ways

So I can know this place

And I took photographs today

So I could run away

From all of the display

Don’t tell me who

I can be

In my mind

To see again.

Where we’re sitting

It is sleeping

Where were sitting

It was broken.

I’ll take photographs today

You teach me how to play

To make the pain okay

I’ll make jokes about your face

So I will know the taste of

Your skin and your embrace