It Right Now

I don't know what It is, but I'm going through It right now. That's what my brother says at least. As far as little brothers go, he has his moments.

I guess it's good in a way. Because going through It is just one of many steps required to get through It.

It is ok. It is getting better. I have a doctor for a bit of whatever It is now. But sometimes I feel like this. Jagged, and slightly more off than usual.

Google Me Softly

Two days ago, shortly before I walked out of work 5 hours before quitting time, I googled two things: "nervous break down" and "chronic fatigue syndrome." I had a buzzing in my head that would not go away, a swelling of the brain that made it hard to do anything but put my head on my keypad. I was just really tired.

Having confirmed that said head-buzzing was not a nervous breakdown (I still have affect, joy!), I nearly keeled over when I realized that I had a handful of symptoms for CFS. Despite the prudent advice at the bottom of the page, "Do not self diagnose!" I still slid headlong into pungent, self-indulgent visions of going on disability and sloughing through the rest of my life as I have for the past six months...Eat? Too tired. Dating? Fugheddaboudit. I would just, waaaade on through, napping and napping forever until one day I just didn't wake up. "Whatever happened to Lizzy?" they'd all ask. "Oooooh we don't know, it's too bad, toooooo baaaad."

After two days of serious, non-stop napping, and some revitalizing treatment of Almodovar's Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown accompanied by good friends and oatmeal cookies, I've made some small improvements.

Yes. I've been google-ing more sensible things like, "Mercury Retrograde Dates."

Well, I'll g'on and call it progress, starting to blame my unfortunate condition on more global, nay, cosmic circumstances, rather than feeling totally helpless and personally responsible. Turns out, for the entire extent of my solo show (March 30 - April 24th), Mercury was in retrograde! No wonder it was such a dark time. Likewise for most of August it's been the same. I've had a few relapses to mono-city, I got fired for the first time from a design job that I didn't very much want anyway ... and now I feel like total shit. But then the unexplainable, completely-and-utterly sucky in-between months where Mercury was where it needs to be to make things nice and good, and things really weren't ...

I once again turned to Google for the answer. "Why," I asked the Google gods, "does 2011 suck?"

And the Google gods answered:

"Does 2011 Suck for Gamers?"

"Why does this site suck balls so bad now?"

"Why does graduating from college suck so hard?"

"Why does Netflix Canada's selection suck?"

And

"New Zealander Sucked into Plane Engine and Killed"

Thanks again, Google, for taking me on a ride, and then setting me straight. At least I'm not a recent college graduate trying to play games and watch movies in Canada. And however bad it is for me now, there's a New Zealander out there who really had it way worse.

Funk

Ok, I admit it, I'm in a real funk. Not the good kind, the shake-your-bootie kind.

The bad kind. Like what happens underneath your toenails. Except this one is in my head.

I don't think I've felt this low since sophomore year of college.* While I understand the contributing factors to this funk, and can rationalize my situation, I'm still unable to escape this kind of all-encompassing feeling of heaviness that has descended.

In fact, I expected it. What I'm realizing, however, is that there is really nothing quite as stealthy as fulfilled expectations. People asked me after my show had ended whether I felt a kind of "let down." And I didn't really -- it was something more like relief. But the relief came after months of really extreme stress, and though marked by an above-normal functionality on my part, I hadn't the strength to allow myself to be vulnerable. Well, my body went on strike, and plunged me headlong into uber-vulnerability. I literally did not have the strength to think for eight straight weeks. I was really too tired to eat or do much of anything. And still, somehow, I pushed through three art shows, two web design projects, a major illustration project, and a trip to India.

At a certain point everything just came to a grinding halt. If my roommates hadn't bought and cooked food for me, I wouldn't have eaten. I drove to work, drove home, slept. I lost about 25 pounds. Everything stopped.

My body has now allowed me what seems to be a trial probation. I'm trying my best to be respectful, but it's been really frustrating. And while I am starting to feel much better, the events of the past year have really taken a toll on me psychologically. I feel closer to normal than I have in the past few months, and I've lowered the armor of my hyper-functionality.

And now there is a funk.

I understand that my mind is sort of functioning the same way as my body did. My weakened immune system ushered in a painful, though probably necessary halt in activity. My defenses down, I had to re-learn how to kind of take care of myself properly. This required a psychological adjustment, which meant that I had to start feeling things again. My guard down, the good and the bad flooded in. Small feelings of uneasiness quickly deepened to dissatisfaction, anger, disappointment, fear, and worst of all, cynicism. Take that, Yoda.

Going through the motions of taking care of myself physically was way easier than coming to terms with the psychological reverb. If I would push a little harder one day, just to test the waters, my body would shut down for two. Understanding to some degree physical impotence weighed heavily on me psychologically. Some say that strength comes from within, but what I've found is that I tend to seek strength through doing. When I think about it, the world feels chaotic to me. I am not very diligent about keeping up with news or trends aside from what I hear from other people. Working on things that I care about, really working my ass off, has proven itself as a method to feel grounded. So when even that is gone, chaos descends, and rather than standing up to it somehow, I stumble into a funk.

It started slowly. Initially, I just felt overwhelmed ("Stop!!!"). But then I started to feel disinterested ("I just don't feel like it."). And then sad. Just -- really -- kind of sad ("I don't want to."). And then I realize that things that had at one point made me feel good don't anymore, or only seem to be distractions from a hulking mass which I can't describe short of how it makes me feel, which is...kind of suffocated. I'm afraid of this Hulk.

And then there are these questions which kind of glug up to the surface, in between bouts of functionality, but never around the Hulk.

I wonder whether I'm a good artist, what that means, if it matters. I wonder if I'll always be defined by my environment, or whether I can create my own context, or whether that's just an escapist mentality. I wonder whether I am best suited to make art if nobody likes it or gets it, or gets me. How can I put so much energy into shit that people chew up and spit out... I wonder if anybody ever will actually be able to see me for what I am -- flawed, but with generally good intentions -- and be ok with that.

I've tried to free myself from the need for external validation. I doubt I'm close. However I realize that while I care about what people think of me, it is only to a certain extent. A search for achievement and praise doesn't rule me the way I see it rule some other people I know. But I seem to have created my own more insidious form of external validation, which is doing things that are productive.

I went to a shrink for a couple sessions recently, and she called me a perfectionist. I knew she was wrong right away. Then after some thought I came to a scary realization. I am a productivist, not a perfectionist. I make the mirror, rather than rely on the image it produces.

So, obviously, I'm focusing again on a few projects. Forcing myself to do things again. Working on applications to graduate school. Like WWII, work and focus seem to pull me out of a depression. What scares me is that work kind of put me into this in the first place. So I wonder. Am I capable of not doing anything [productive] and not feel sad? Or is my life, and my work actually an active avoidance of an inevitable state of mind? A scary thought ...


* Of my lifelong galumphing through periods of depression we have the following all-time-lowest-of-the-lows from least most severe: Third Grade, Sophomore Year of College, First year-post-college, Post-break-up last year, Junior Year of High School. Primary symptoms include: not seeing a point, just not seeing a point.

What I've been up to.

Hello.
I haven't posted because I've been busy. Like REALLY busy. And I got mono. Because I was really busy. like REALLY busy. and stressed REALLY stressed. In seven months I:

- Moved to a new house
- Traveled to San Francisco!
- C0-curated a show of Haitian artwork at the Warhol Museum
- Completed a body of work to fill a 2,500 foot space
- Cleaned, prepared, curated, installed and promoted that show
- Raised over $6,000 to pay for that show, including two grant awards
- Applied for one fellowship, one residency, one award, and three grants (and was only declined from exactly 50% of these, which was great!)
- Built a website for myself, and three other businesses
- Established myself as a business!
- Applied for, was a finalist for, and did not win a Data & Technology Award -- but still had to provide an installation of my work (10 TVs, baby!) for the awards ceremony....and take it down in one day (all while wearing an unspeakably adorable strapless dress -- $9.99 c/o Gabriel Bros and totally strange but oh-so-cool black plastic four-inch heels that I also managed to get the same day and ON SALE for $20!!!!!!) (Have you ever over the course of six hours installed and de-installed 10 monitors in godlessly inexpensive and friggen' adorable and utterly impractical clothing? Dare I say, I think not!?!!)
[I digress for the shameless love of the deal and cute clothing! I also:]
- Moved my parents out of their house, and re-appropriated a house full of unwanted furniture to four different homes, one storage unit, and two Goodwill venues...
- Got laid?
- Created and personally installed a new, 9' x 14' installation at a major art fair in New York
- Carted over 40 prints to that same fair.
- Installed another group show in New York, providing technical assistance for other artists
- Came down with an evil virus that has literally been plaguing my life for two of those seven months...
- Turned 25!
- Created over 50 individual digital illustrations for a medical instruction booklet for non-reading parents of children with congenital heart disease. Then laid out that booklet --

All while maintaining a part-to-full time job.

Yep. I feel good about these things. I'm proud of my work, I worked really hard.

Granted. While I've done these things, it hasn't been without some cost to my health and sanity. I did freak out at my new housemates and throw some hand towels on the floor in a writhing fit of put-outed-ness. I haven't been spending as much time with my friends. I also got mono (part deux!) which has profoundly sucked. Nor did I do it all alone (more on that later).

On the phone with a dear friend the other day, she mentioned something that I'd also kind of noticed, but never dared to really think or express. Which was, really, since I graduated college and broke up with my boyfriend of three years, shit's been raining down on me almost non-stop and hasn't seemed to quiet down.

If it wasn't the job, it was the home situation, if it wasn't the home situation, it was the relationship...some minor health crisis....money...then the housing situation...then work....then...then...

The thing is, I haven't really ever looked at it like a long trajectory of what-the-fuck-now-ness. It's just kind of been like, "Oh, my foot's broken." and then "I need a crown." And then, "I can't afford groceries." And then, "My male alcoholic boss scares me." And then, "My alcoholic housemate tried to break into my room." And then... etc. Which, I think is the best way to experience these things. In the moment. Because, really, the notion that the world works in patterns or even that things happen "for a reason," both represent manners of thinking that strike me as awfully trite.

Yet, I haven't felt like things were generally going badly. There was a whole lot of good stuff peppered in, and as a whole, I've been able to kind of do my own thing which has been really amazing. When I look back on it, I see these couple of years as generally great.

I've determined, for one, that this is because I have amazing friends. Who, for instance, drop off Christmas wreaths on my front door in the dead of night when I couldn't afford a tree. Or, say, call me from Greece once a week. Or, say, work for weeks wiring countless touch lights for some idiotic art project I've conjured up. How am I so lucky that people will, like, I dunno -- really help me out, a LOT!

And I think this is also because I've felt like I've really gained some traction with my work. I've been working steadily, but it has at times felt like I was on a stationary bicycle. I just finished my first major body of work (and it was a LOT of work). And it feels fucking amazing. I know more about who I am as a person, as an artist -- and although I did have to trudge through a lot of shit to get here and don't have a lot of external validations to show for it (-- "So, did you sell anything?" -- "Nope!"), what I gained was way more valuable than a few bucks.

I feel so lucky, beyond lucky to have the privilege to be able to work on what makes my heart sing. I feel super-double-lucky to have other people give that stuff the time of day. I feel ooper-triple-duper-lucky to have friends who are willing and able to carry my sorry ass through the mire, and stand with me when I can manage to stand on my own.

I feel like I've learned more in the past couple of years than I learned during four years of college. Without a doubt. I feel more capable than ever after the recent onslaught of shit. ("Well, now that I'm off of narcotics for severe abdominal pain and the two-week-long bout of fevers and sore throats have subsided, all I have to deal with is perpetual fatigue!")

I really couldn't have done any of it without the solid support of my friends and family. Nor could I manage to maintain this outlook. Ok. Well...more blog posts to come!

oof

This month has been really intense ... hoping to make a transition into a quieter time, at least for now. And so glad that it's over. Here's a song that expresses my feelings, which I listened to in high school. 'Nuff said.

A bad day, lately

When you're having a bad day, it just seems like everything is bad, and has been for a long time. And sometimes it feels like it would be impossible for it to be better.

I've been working really hard lately, and I've been under a lot of stress. I miss the other me, the one who could think clearly and was able to take more time.

And I'm just having a really bad day, lately.

Sandcastles

For the past five or six years I've been asking people to describe a "picture of how they think." Like they'd describe a place I'd never visit. The answers have been all so different and all of them are really wonderful. And I find myself thinking about these cognitive process landscapes more and more, referencing them personally and psychologically like I would think, "Oh, that's like Thailand." A place I know exists but haven't seen with my own eyes. Well, in writing this little bit, my father's mother's CPL (cognitive process landscape) came to mind. Hers was so typical of her, and one of the funnier responses ever to that question. She goes: "Black and white." Yep, that was it.

That's just the preface, today's issue is about sandcastles.

You know, I complain about my folks all the time, and to pretty much everybody. They totally drive me crazy, in a way that nobody else ever can or will. It's really a special thing. And, I really love them.

A lot of people have some difficulty understanding how the previous sentence might begin with an "And" rather than a "But." But it is And, because that is how it is.

For some things, I do think a little like my grandmother. Black and white. That part of me tends to be the part belonging to proper noun concepts like Duty and It's Lunchtime. Though, whether or not I always act on my "black and white" instincts in certain regards is a whole 'nother can of worms. Ok, well: relationships, the words and actions of others...never black and white. And that goes just as much for my relationship with my parents. I love them and they drive me teeth-gnashingly crazy; they drive me teeth-gnashingly crazy and I love them. Nobody has to get it, or understand (myself included). It just is what it is.

The weekend of my opening I was definitely feeling both, which is pretty consistently how it happens when I engage with my parents. They've been really supportive of my solo show, even though they, self-admittedly, "don't understand any of it." But because they sensed that it was important to me, it became important to them. This doesn't always happen, mind you. I find plenty of things important that they've disagreed with or pontificated against, causing much ado and gnashing of teeth on both ends. Case-in-point: turning down multiple "good" jobs to "work on art" that "nobody's gonna buy." But, when I ignored them took the plunge anyway, they 1) recognized it and 2) supported me anyway. I can only hope to do the same in like situations.

Again, I digress. So they were supportive, and came down for the weekend, and it was really nice for them to see it, for everybody to see it, who could. Well then, being the super-annoying ultra-duper efficient human specimens they tend to be, they ALSO decided to have a going away party for themselves at their house (which they've sold) the night after my opening, followed shortly thereafter by cleaning and packing the ENTIRE house and moving out the day after THAT. Obviously. They were there anyway. It was "just easier." Oy ... let us say, there was much epic gnashing of teeth, literally and figuratively. I ground right through my night guard ...

Well. After hours of packing and my dad weeping every other minute ( El Padre Doloroso Muy Largo y Obnoxioso ), we kind of took a break and he stopped running around in a tizzy and the two of us watched the end of Shawshank Redemption on TV. My dad and I watched Tim Robbins crawl through miles of shit and were just quiet and still.

Again, not the point. The point was that it [all] got me thinking about this strange and messy and complicated and maddening and wonderful and very rarely quiet relationship I have with my parents.

It is what it is.








What about the sandcastles, you ask?

I determined it'd be best in a separate entry. Aren't I funny? Trust me, it'll be better that way. Stay tuned.