On Display

Far too often, we live life in a glass case. Like butterflies in a museum, we let our worth be determined by those who pass by. Our wings pinned to the wall, an undecipherable lengthy Latin word claims to identify us. Thousands of others lined up alongside us, overwhelmingly unique, overwhelmingly ignored.

Human beings are scientific creatures. We like to categorize - insects, arachnids, losers, creeps. We like to break things down, piece by piece - large wings, long legs, fat thighs, skinny knees.We use objective facts to discredit subjective emotions. Bugs are gross.

Glass cases are for protection. If you left a butterfly on display without one, people might touch it. They might feel its hairy body, break its delicate wings. If we have a barrier that no one can see, they can't reach through and make contact with the precious treasure that's inside.

A child in a field gently cups her hands around a flower. When she peers inside, there is a gentle fluttering against her skin, as the butterfly breaks free. Her heart beats fast as she watches the little creature spiral high, flying into the sky, displaying its strength and beauty for all to observe.

Which encounter do you remember for the rest of your days? The museum or the field?

In the end, the only people who belong in glass cases are mimes. Historically, they seem to embrace it. Historically, they also have no voices.

So Many Feels!

I have a lot of feelings. If you've been following this blog at all, I think I've made that fairly clear. Over the past few days, in conversations with some of my best friends, I have realized that perhaps I have been gaslighting myself a bit. See, many times, the phrases I use to express my feelings are "I'm sorry, but..." or "I know I shouldn't but..."

It's kinda like asking for a favor by starting "you can say no, but..." however, this particular phrasing hurts no one but myself. It's a passive way of undermining my own statement. "I'm sorry, but I love ice cream." is far less intense than "I love ice cream."

Why do I apologize for having perfectly normal, human emotions? If my statement is merely an honest and actual representation of how I am currently feeling, why do I feel this impulsive need to add a codasil?

On Saturday, I was lent a book called "Odd Poems" by Mary Wrenn Morris. Privately published by a young woman in Maine in the 1930s, our author begins her tome with an introduction worth listening to. She is honest, but unapologetic:

"The following poems have no place in the world of literary jewels cut with the sharp chisel of ultra modern smartness or polished with the infinite care of the classical. They are the direct expression of an emotional development and therefore are preserved unchanged from the original manuscript and in the order of their creation.
Should either the order or wording be changed they would lose completely whatever significance they have. They were written over a period of years and each poem was written under the stress of an immediate emotional experience.
The experiences have been lived and have taken their place in the growth of an individual. Because the individual is, let us hope, still growing there must be a lack of completeness about the poems as a group and it is my earnest hope that this incompleteness may continue to exist for many years to come.
The poems were written because they had to be written. If even one reader can find in them the pleasure of a shared experience then I should consider it well worth while, for the sake of that one individual, to brave whatever scorn or adverse criticism they might call forth."

Damnnnnn. Girl is brave! Her poems cover a range of subjects that are clearly uncomfortable for an audience in the 1930s. The first poem is to a lover, about how she misses him - the second, is a poem to their lovechild, despairing at the man who has abandoned them. From there, the poems range from lonely and sad, to empowered and vengeful. To caring so much about her child, to wishing she had never created that life. As time goes on, we reminisce about old lovers, revel in the joys of new. We feel her pain as she loses a child, is abandoned over and over by friends, family, men. She confesses to being frightened, to being lonely, to being weak, and yet it only serves for me to realize how strong she must have been.

She knows people may judge her feelings. They can easily use her feelings against her. Yet she is courageous - true, authentic, honest expression of self is the only thing necessary. The fears of judgement and ridicule must take a backseat to her one defining need.

When we apologize for what we are feeling, we are kicking ourselves in the heads. We try to free those seeds of honesty from our heart with one hand, and the other hand is grabbing them and shoving them back inside - "don't look! don't look! Nobody saw the real me, right? Right??".




Robert Frost said "Poetry is what gets lost in translation". I think it may be my new job to focus a little less on expressing my feelings in a manner comfortable to others, and instead turn my attention to expressing myself in a way necessary to my own survival. So the next time I haven't hurt anyone and begin to blurt out "I'm sorr-" feel free to give me a sharp smack on the hand. And certainly don't apologize for it.

"It's like Jaws... but in space."

"Oh, what a nice hobby!"
"So, does your (husband/boyfriend/family/significant other) support your career?"
"Y'know, you can fall in love as easily with a rich man as you can with a poor man"
"Are you going to go back to school?"


Every so often, some well-meaning soul flatters me by saying that I seem to always say the right thing, that I just am soooo together. And every so often, my brain shouts "AS IF" while I blush and politely thank that person.

The four statements above seem rather harmless, if not a little insensitive. It may seem hard to believe, but I've actually had these things, and many variations thereof, said to my face numerous times over the past few years. They're said with good intentions, usually as some sort of conversation filler or perhaps as a bit of good advice from some self-proclaimed "experienced" soul.

They cut me to my soul every single time, like a roundhouse kick to the heart.

I am not a parasite. This isn't Alien - I don't latch on to other beings solely to use their resources and reproduce. I am a theater professional. Like many others, I work incredibly hard to try and sustain my own career. Like many, I often fall short. Like many, I sometimes need to rely on favors and a little help from friends and family.

BUT I DO NOT INTEND TO NEVER BE SELF-SUFFICIENT.

Yes, my career has a reputation for not paying well. This reputation is often unfortunately accurate. And when I need to, I will take whatever jobs I can get - whether it be taking in seamstressing and alteration projects, or getting another part time job to help pay the bills when the season is slow.

But I didn't go to college for a hobby. I don't intend to go back to school to learn something else, just so I can get my loans deferred. I appreciate the occasional help of my loved ones, and I intend to repay them a hundredfold when I can. And I absolutely will never ever marry with the intention of having a husband to support me financially.

If I were to fall in love today and get married tomorrow, even if that man was the richest man in the world, I would still get married in a church and have a reception in a park or in a backyard. I would still buy a hundred dollar dress, and be tempted to elope. Why would I want to start a new stage in life by going into debt for a wedding?

Many of my friends have elaborate Pinterest boards for their weddings. Some of these pins are brilliant money-saving tips, and that's pretty awesome. But looking at some of the price tags on cakes, dresses, locations, makes my heart start to race --- not in a good way. It's almost panic attack inducing. I don't understand any of it, to be honest. Maybe I'm just bad at being a girl, but my dream wedding doesn't include spending 2000$ on a dress I'll wear once, 500$ on a cake I'm just going to eat, and 400$ on tiny mason jars to put on string lights, though they may be cute as pie. If I make my own wedding dress, like everyone says I should, it's only because that would be the more economical decision. In reality, I'll probably just buy a cute, old-fashioned white dress off Modcloth. Even better if it's cotton based, so I can dye it another color afterwards and wear it regularly. A marriage doesn't last just for the wedding, so why should my dress?

I've digressed a bit, but the point remains the same. Yes, I could fall in love and marry a rich man, and he could support my "hobby" and we could live happily ever after.

But I would never be happy in that situation, no matter how in love I was, no matter how willing my man was to sacrifice money to let me do my own thing and pick up an occasional job here, a gig there, no matter how "perfect" our life would be. It's nice to be comfortable. It's nice to not worry about paying the rent.

It's not nice to sell out, to give up. And you may say that the above scenario isn't either of those things. Maybe it isn't. But I think I would feel resentment about not having tried, really tried, maybe tried and failed over and over again, to make an underpaying, overworked career work for me. Resentment would eat away me, and that's not a healthy situation for anyone involved.

So let me struggle to get by. Let me fall in love with a man and not think about his financial situation. Let me go back to school only if I truly feel like I want to learn. Let me not be a parasite, waiting to burst out of your chest screaming "Viva la arts!"

Listen to the rythym of the falling rain...

The first night I can sleep with my window open is always a special one. I've got it open right now, a softly warm night - cool breeze wafting in. I'm all snuggled up, listening to the spring peepers. Nature is a stirring out there - all sorts of critters are out and about, starting their families.

My dog knocked me over when I got home, shortly before midnight. She may be 13 but she still greets me like a puppy. I put her on a leash and took her out for a perimeter check. 

We paced around the yard: she sniffing up a storm, while I examined the prints from my LL Bean boots in the soft earth. 

Over the past few years, I have lived in several cities. Cities are great for walkability, being close to my work (they don't generally put too many theaters in the 'burbs). It's all fine for that... But I miss the seasons.

Now I know the seasons still occur on the city, I'm not stupid. But I miss seeing Nature at her best. I never feel more comfortable then I do near the trees.  The signals that nature gives our bodies are not to be sneezed at - I know it's a significant part of my spirit.

Tonight at Adoration, Father Matt was speaking about silence. I love silence. As a crazy busy theater artist who always takes on too much, I never get to make time for true silence. In fact, sometimes I think I can be afraid of the silence. My brain races a mile a minute, even at night.

When I'm in the city, as I am most nights, my window is shut. I can still hear the muffled sounds of cars whizzing by, couples shouting... I can't sleep. It's so very quiet. I think about everything from guy troubles to "if someone was to walk in with a machine gun, where would I hide for optimum safety?" to the scariest scenario of them all (my future! Ah!)

But here, near nature, I get the song of the peepers and the lilting odes of the owls to calm my brain and let me soak up the silence of the mind. Now if only I was camping outside.... Maybe it's not quite warm enough for that yet! 

42

Define Art.

It is a question proposed to most art students on the first day of classes. Usually to scare them a little bit, but mostly to open their eyes. I propose that we ask this question of everyone, not just the artsy kids with their crisp-clean sketchbooks.

Define Art.

It's a puzzler, ain't it? There are so many different kinds of art, how do you possibly include them all? How could you possibly exclude what isn't art?

The reason I put this forth, is because I have the firm belief that everyone can be an artist. Everyone is an artist. It's so easy to create art! I created a guide, just for you.

How to Create Art: The Definitively Indefinite Guide
by Patria A. Ferragamo

Create art when you are sad.

(write a poem)

Create art when you are happy.

(write a song)

Create art when you are in love.

 (paint a portrait)

Create art when someone breaks your heart.

 (paint an abstract)

Create art when you can't feel anything at all.

 (listen to a song)

Create art when you are bored.

(make a diagram)

Create art when you are exhausted.

(compose a song)

Create art when you want to talk and there's no one about.

(make a flowchart)

Create art when everyone's about and you want to talk.

(sketch their faces)

Create art when everyone's around and you want to be left alone.

(embroider a design)

Create art by yourself.

(pace a labyrinth)

Create art with someone else.

(scratch their name in the sand)

Create art with your hands.

(spin a vase on a wheel)

Create art with your head.

(make a perfectly organized spreadsheet)

Create art with your heart.

(dance in your underwear to your favorite song).

Create art with your soul.

(deliver spoken word at an open mic night).

Create art for the community.

(stitch a curtain for a youth group performance).

Create art for yourself.

(write a journal entry about your day).

Create art for everyone.

(paint a mural).

And I mean everyone.

(run for a political office, on a campaign you really believe in).

Create art for a price.

(take yearbook headshots).

Create art for free.

(style your best friend's hair for her wedding).

Create art at cost to yourself.

(knit hats for the premies at the hospital).

Create art at great cost for yourself.

(perform in an agitprop piece, get arrested).

Create art that doesn't accept the popular definition of popular.

(write a blog).

Create art when you are young.

(color Mom's face with mushy carrots).

Create art until you "can't create art anymore".

(glue pictures into a scrapbook).

Create art until you are six feet under.

(have flowers planted over your grave).

Create art even when there are bills to pay.

(write a book).

Create art even when there's Netflix to watch.

(learn to juggle).

Create art.

(make a promise).

I promise you that I can't promise everything. But create art - it's undefinable. Its liminal and fluid, impossible to grasp like water, but like water, we can't live without it. Art makes our time on earth, if nothing else, a little more interesting.

You know what else is undefinable?

The meaning of life.

Odd how two unquantifiable concepts seem to go hand-in-hand.

Faint Heart Never Won Fair Maiden. Fair Maiden, "tabula rasa", Ain't Worth it Anyways.

“I am a canvas of my experiences, my story is etched in lines and shading, and you can read it on my arms, my legs, my shoulders, and my stomach." ~ Kat Von D

Permanence.

/ˈpərmənəns/

Noun.

Origin:  1400–50; late Middle English, from Medieval Latin "permanentia."

The state or quality of lasting or remaining unchanged indefinitely.

Permanence.

If you're like me, that definition just made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. It might feel like a cool breeze just ran down your spine, making you shiver just a little - even sitting in bed, curled up in your favorite blanket.

Yet maybe, maybe you have this little twinge in your heart. Some weird pain. It's probably just a bit of gas, you tell yourself. But that's just how you sugarcoat exactly what you know.


Grief.

"Good Grief". ~Charlie Brown.

Some days are lost causes. You chalk them up to being Peanuts Days. You tried to kick that football, but the Lucy of fate always pulls it away at the last minute. And you can't talk to your therapist about it, because that football-pulling meany Fate is your five-cent therapist.

I'm not good at talking about grief. In fact, I'm really bad at it. This has been a long winter, and it has revealed this weakness of mine most thoroughly. I've watched many of my friends try to deal with it. Losing your friend, your sister, your mother, your daughter, your grandmother... I've just listened, no words to say, awkwardly reaching out to give them a hug. Holding back tears when they hug back. I've tried to deal with it on my own. I've had friends try to help me. And yet I sit silently next to them at the bar, mumbling something about the Bruins, stirring a sweet cocktail that I've no desire to drink. Zombies express more feelings for a cauliflower. But I appreciated that anyone would be willing to sit next to me at all in such a state.

Grief.
Permanence.

Isn't it the oddest thing? If I dislike grief so much, you'd think I'd be okay with permanence. If nothing changes, nothing can hurt. But if nothing changes, what are we supposed to feel? Are we supposed to be okay with every day being the same as the next, formulaic and routine?

If nothing happens, no one can leave me.
If nothing happens, everything can stay.

If nothing happens, nothing really means anything.

Let's blend together our fears. Let's put grief right in with the permanence. Let's throw it in a big ol' needle, cause what is more terrifying? Let's get our experiences tattooed all over our bodies, all over our souls. We are just a canvas for impermanence to change permanently. We cannot go back. We keep moving forward. Let's be raw, open and honest -- allow people to judge us for what they see, what we show. Let's tell stories about our images, our battle scars. Instead of keeping it bottled up, let us wear our hearts on our sleeves.

Perfect, fair skin... quilters say that "only God is perfect", so you must leave mistakes in the work. Even if they show on the outside, we record our imperfections with the needle.

Juicy Juice and the Mystery of the Missing Gluten?

 

I want it to be spring - desperately. I want to start growing my own veggies, and going to farmer's markets. For some reason it feels so much easier to be healthy during the growing and harvesting seasons. Maybe it's because I don't feel like hibernating all the time.

Last week I got a new juicer - it works like a dream. The idea of juicing is that you "free" all the nutrients to make it more easy for your body to digest. Less work, more results. People are really into juice cleanses these days. Clearing your body of all toxins, flushing it with six juices a day, two hours apart.

I'm not entirely sure if I buy all the hype surrounding juicing, but it certainly seems to be a delicious way to add extra vitamins to my diet, so I'm planning on adding it in alongside the other clean eating habits I've been working on establishing over the past few months. 

I think what I like about juicing the most, is that it allows me to expand my repertoire in a fairly easy fashion. Despite my best efforts, with the new dietary restrictions my body has decided to impose upon me, it's getting harder and harder to find easy, everyday meals to turn to. Not that I had an incredibly varied diet before, in fact, quite the opposite. At least now my limited selection of meals is healthy.

It seems to be a sort of fad to be gluten-free lately (dairy-free not so much...), but I'm not going to complain - if it takes a fad for companies to decide to try and make more delicious GF products, I appreciate it. Some people have expressed their doubts about my GF lifestyle, seeing as "well, you weren't that way before". Truth time - I've known I was gluten intolerant since I was about 14. I just pretended that eating cookies, devouring the bread basket at Olive Garden, drinking ALL THE BEER at festivals, wasn't the reason I got sick. It's been a journey of self acceptance. Try imagining that, as a child, you are told that all your favorite foods make you sick. You'd be in denial too!

Last summer, I decided that it was time for me to take control of my life, and specifically, my health. Being sick constantly just isn't fun. And though I have suffered other afflictions throughout the years (those are a different story), I had the power in my grasp to properly nourish my body. Let me tell you, this change of attitude changed my life. 

Yes, I felt shitty for a couple weeks while my body detoxed from all the poisons, and while I went through gluten and dairy withdrawal -- food can be an addiction!! Just ask anyone who has ever craved chocolate....

But I began to see results almost immeadiately. For the first time in my life, I had ENERGY!! My head felt clear, and my body was the opposite of lethargic! I actually wanted to go outside and run - stretch my legs and go. 

Eight months out, I feel like a completely different person. I feel alive, I feel well. I feel more myself that I have in years. I didn't go on a diet - I changed my life. Now if I eat gluten - it's not "cheating" - it's a mistake, because my body rejects it, just like it wanted me to for all those years. Dairy is a different story... allergies are a little more complex than intolerances. Either way, I could never go back - mentally or physically.

There's the side benefit that because I have been so focused on getting healthy, that I have lost (not a small) amount of weight. I feel like I fit in my own skin - again, for the first time since before high school.  I don't think that there is a woman (or many men) in today's society who has not had an unhealthy relationship with food at some point. It's a shame that in a world where people are starving, so many Americans can actually fear food, be controlled by food. Of course, this change in my physiology has had some people asking me for "my secret" or just how I did what I am still doing. There's no secret. No easy track. It's all about changing your attitude and deciding who or what controls you. 

I won't lie - I began this journey with a program. My older brother and his wife had used the Advocare System with great results, and I was envious. It worked for me, but I don't think that this system is the end-all and be-all of nutrition. What I do think, however, is it works as a cleanse and a method of teaching yourself how to nourish your body. There are other methods that could help you achieve this, possibly free, but I can only speak for what I did. Advocare worked because I was dedicated to it - I wanted to change my life, I wanted to be better than my older brother (not gonna lie!) and I didn't want to waste my money (it's not cheap). 

The Advocare Challenge only lasts 28 days. 28 looong days that will test your willpower, but if you can make it through and make a commitment to continuing to live this semi-paleo lifestyle, bravo to you! Everyone is different - your body has different needs than mine. Learning what those needs actually are, versuses what we have been conditioned to believe they are (hint: it's not the USDA food pyramid or America Runs On Dunkin) is the first step to well being.  My body just happens to work best on fruits, veggies and lean proteins (Turkey Jerky is a gift from God), and not function at all on gluten and whey. Am I a model of perfect health? No. I love chocolate. I drink too much tea. I like putting ranch dressing on everything, and I can only afford to eat eggs for protein most weeks (watch that cholesterol!). But I'm getting better, daily. I cheat for reallllly good GF brownies and cake, but I know to not let that make me feel guilty, or let food control me.

So I can't wait for the season of fruits and veggies. There is nothing better than a fresh, juicy tomato, picked straight from the vine, that you grew yourself. Call me a control freak, but if I can give my body the best, why wouldn't I?