It occurred to me to share pen & marker (or pen & pastel) drawings I tend to do after dinner in front of the television. I do euro style dates out of habit from when I was in diarylike communication with a fellow painter who is French, and so I've dated with day before month for decades now. Hope it doesn't seem pretentious but I can't break the habit, ha. Drawings after dinner in front of the tv is also a decades long habit since usually the show is not gripping enough for full attention. And I highly recommend doing the same, drawing in front of the tv, it's quite therapeutic.
These are yellow mums that are still alive on the coffee table, and they have lasted for a little more than 2 weeks! : ))
Here is raw read number #2 from my working title book, Diary of a Yogi. The entry is from April 8th, I have been writing every day since February 13th.
Thank you, Manuel, for your comment on the first raw read video, as it immediately prompted me to do another, just now. I have never read unfinished material before that first one, and now this is my second read of unfinished material-- in fact it's the first time I have even read the material, myself, as I keep writing without looking back, my new rules-- so you all are inspiring my journey of creative firsts, and it means so very much to me. To the depth of my heart, I thank you.
I just pitched a gallery, moments ago, inquiring if they would like to see the plans for my awakening series, which begins with the Petals sketch here (shedding petals of emotional body gunk) and the second would be the green and pink painting you have been seeing in process, Sun in My Heart, and the awakening Cells sketch here, which as I type all of these I see the order is quite debatable. Once all 3 paintings are finished, it may not matter what the order is, anyway, as it will not be a triptych, as I originally conceived.
The gallery I was with for a few years has been shuttered due to illness, and this happened just a little before the pandemic, so really her timing was on, in terms of taking care of herself, as we all should be doing-- taking good care of ourselves-- no matter what is happening around us.
I hope this isn't true but this may be the only photograph I can find of this painting, Gabriel and the Train, which was sold at my first major solo show at Watts Towers Center. The reason I thought of it is-- not only because it's the exact 2 year mark of my last solo show-- but because I photographed a friend for a portrait on Saturday who didn't get the lottery to remain in the U.S. and so must return to India within the next two months or so. When I photographed the friend who is the subject of this painting, he was also at a significant crossroads of his life, and the emotions were evident in his face in all of the photographs, which seemed to be captured here, as well as in the train moving behind him. A friend happened to have this photograph and posted it on Facebook so I had the opportunity to save it and thank her.
Just as I want to thank you again and again and again for supporting me here on this platform and inspiring me to remain authentic and on purpose.
A friend sent a poem this morning dedicated to the painter R.B. Kitaj, and his work reminded me of this painting I did last year inspired by a morning in Bangkok, and the colors in the painting felt akin to David Hockney's and R.B. Kitaj's, though I was painting what I saw. The colors in the room were all that and more.
This story popped into mind when a friend said yesterday that the world will never be the same again, and of course this is true, as change is the only thing we can count on. But this story, which is very short, was written in 2012 when the spiritual community were full of talk about the end of the Mayan Calendar and the recepton of light to come on 12/12/12. I played with this idea for Halloween but listening to it now I realize it's more about what is and what isn't real to you, that what you observe is a reflection. And though it was read on a night meant for "spooky" stories and the audience were all dressed in their pajamas, there is even more playfulness here in what we think, believe and imagine to be reality.
Here is the painting a week and a day later from the last post of it's beginning. Two years ago today was the opening of my retrospective show, Paintrospective, and there is the bittersweetness of memory for times past and great wonder for the future. I am so grateful to you here for encouraging me to keep on keeping on. I send you love and gratitude.
Instead of my usual Cathedral-of-the-Trees hike in the glorious mountains where I hear Julie Andrews singing,The Hills are aive with the sound of music!, I painted. I wanted to work on the beginning of this trio series where I try to show what is happening with me spiritually. This one in progress is the Sun in my Heart. I don't know how she (or I) turned out green-- I know techinically by using yellow and blue, but not yet emotionally why I'm choosing what I'm choosing-- and I don't know how literal the painting will become. But I already recognize myself in the feeling space. The paintings on the easel are always in musical chairs-- Laura on Wilshire Blvd is on the floor, and Imogen as the loving presence of Joan of Arc is temporarilly on the wall, half finished, as is another small Joan of Arc painting lying on the mantel-- but there is no other way for me to work with oils. When I get to a place where it seems I may begin to pile paint and loose the honesty of the color, then I have to set it aside until I see more clearly what is next to do.
Another from my Vivaldi Music Book of Artist Dates I took myself on: Agnes Martin retrospective at LACMA. I not only love her work but love the philosophy in which she lived. She built her house in New Mexico with her own hands, made art as spiritual contemplation, and lived peacefully. She is often referred to as a mystic.
A few years ago, I remembered Julia Cameron's words in The Artists Way about taking yourself out on an Artist Date. I have a Vivaldi Music Book of Magnicat, containing records of my artist dates. This page is when I went to see a documentary on David Hockney. The theater ticket stub is the faded square on the side of my oil pastel drawing, inspired by the evening and his colors.
On this rainy morning, when my wall heater isn't working, the house is cold, and so I am working, writing in bed, I thought I would share one of the paintings I wake up to, and is in view when I do these very occasional work-in-bed mornings. It had a daytime background when I first painted it, then I changed it to black. I am not sure if it is actually finished.
This film teaser I appear in was made by The Ralph J. Bunch Center for African American Studies at UCLA. It features as well, the late great Wanda Coleman, who has been coming up in posts and literary conversations these days-- such as the one I had on Saturday for an AWP Writers Conference Panel-- which gives me great pleasure because I not only idolized her as a writer and poet but she mentored me, she really took me under her wing for gigs at colleges, literary venues, and bookstores. She also, as an editor, chose my poetry for a Woman's Building publication. Here I get to talk about my appreciation for her, as well as a bit about what it can be like for a black woman writer. Wanda died before the film could be made, so of course I treasure this clip.
Thanks to you all, I have been twice as productive as a writer and a painter, and I just wanted to read to you, at the same time that I read to myself, the first page of Diary of A Yogi. Of course it will go through multiple edits, but I thought it makes more sense to share with you the raw first page, since I have been so inspired by you, in the first place. Your support means everything in the world to me. Thank you from the depth of my heart.
PS I read this coming straight off of a writer's panel for AWP, which went well, so while I had the light on, so to speak, I thought it was a great time to record this now for you.
On this rainy day morning, with a fire going in the fireplace (it's cold inside!) I have this painting in progress. I want to start making short videos reading to you the pages-in-progress on the book I'm writing.
Thank you for encouraging me, my productivity has doubled, if not more, since you have been with me.
I don't know if this painting is finished, it hangs over the television so I see it prominently every day, and mom hated it. This morning when Imogen sent me a photograph of James Baldwin in Durham, NC where we lived for some years when I was a kid, it brought me to this painting when my parents were my whole world. And my first meditation nirvana experience was about 10 or more years ago when I looked at this painting and thought about all of the qualities I appreciated in them, and felt this depth of gratitude for all that they have given me, making me a part of them, and them a part of me, and the mediation went blast off into bliss.
This painting "Kevin" was done many years ago but I got a text this morning from the buyer saying they wanted it and they wanted it "Now." So the morning was all about packing up and shipping to New York and then a dance of joy for its new home.
As I have begun the regimen of writing about my spiritual life, to egg myself on in materializing this as a book, I created a dummy cover in all of 15 minutes, by photographing a corner of a Danish architecture magazine cover, changing the color hue and typing on the titles in bold font, then putting on my phone as a screensaver, so that when my alarm goes off at 6:45 and I shut it off, it then goes to this picture, and I am all the more motivated to get out of bed and continue on. I may change it any time in the coming days or weeks, but it doesn't matter, it's just a form of commitment, how it assaults the eyes and makes me get up.
I paint in the afternoon and evening, which has been the case for many years now, likely due to where the light falls in the spaces I have lived in. I used to write without an hour of the day preference. Emptying the mind of words, first thing in the morning, however, is working well for me. And reminds me of Julia Cameron's words in The Artist's Way about the benefit of Morning Pages.
I was grabbing Getty Images of me the other day to post on IG, which reminded me that the Getty has a little comic book of mine in their Ron Athey archive collection, entirled The Adventures of Ron Athey and Lisa Teasley, which are cartoon scenes from our friendship, done in '99. We have known each other since 1985 or 6. Today is Chinese New Year, and The Year of the Ox, which is Ron's sign, and he is currently in NY for the Valentine Day opening of his retrospective at Participant Inc. He has invited me many times to collaborate with him as an artist, which has taken us to venues all over Los Angeles, including the Broad and Cathedral St Vibiana. Ron has toured all over the globe with his spectacular shows. In the book of his work, Queer Communion, I have an essay in it, as well as a pictures of a portrait of him that was bought by Amelia Jones, the head of USC's Roski Art School, who is also co-editor of the book Queer Communion, as well as the curator of his retrospective. Here is just a bit of so much rich history, emotions and travels all over the world, and so very very many laughs. Above are just a few of the cartoons, #1 is during a dance performance I did in a canoe of ice cream and chocolate syrup for his and Vaginal Davis's club G.I.M.P., #2 was a birthday scene when I gave him a hotcomb as a momento of when he used to do his high school girlfriend's hair, #3 he is doing my hair while I was interviewing him for an intended biography #4 was a walk in Griffith Park, #5 a lunch with he and Imogen drawing at the table #6 backstage in Paris when his assistant at the time asked me the question everyone in Paris seemed to think.
Inspired by last Easter with a dear friend who played Julius Eastman's "The Holy Presence of Joan of Arc" during our sweet celebration, I decided back then that I would do a painting of Joan through Eastman's eyes. Imogen posed for it on the left, and on the right you see the in-progress of the painting, which is not much bigger than your foot. The painting in progress below is a study, and is six times the size of the "actual Joan" painting I intended. I have done this before, a very large study painting for a small one, and both naturally take on their own lives quite separate from one another. It occurred to me just now to share this quirk (if it is a quirk) with you today. I appreciate you so much for accompanying me in the progress. And yes, the study is way out of proportion, her arms and hands : )
This story, The Elephant Talker, was recorded for Stay.Home.Stories and has a much nicer looking video thumbnail on their Facebook and Instagram sites, but I wanted to have it in my collection, as well, and Patreon requires that you upload from YouTube (or Vimeo) where I am still learning how to navigate the platform, and will keep my YouTube library set to private, so that only you here can see my video uploads just for you. This story, as I explain in the recording, was written for the final Cal Arts anthology called Black Clock, but what I did not add is that it is set during the time of German general Lothar Von Trotha ruling command of the genocide of the Herero Tribe in South West Africa.
The painting above, Spartacus and Debra, was a commission done in the early '90s,(also, the painting below) done for the same people who have commissioned me to paint them and their extended family, over the years. They probably have about 6 paintings in total. Lately, the husband has been messaging me about how many people, while Zooming, admire this one of his wife and their bird, and all of this has reminded me of the fact that I have been doing painting commissions since I was 10 years old.
Our school principal commissioned me in the 5th grade to paint a pink elephant for her. After this one that she had me present to her at an assembly, kids started commissioning me to draw or paint their mothers, their crushes, their favorite musicians, and album covers from elementary to junior high to high school. As time went on, the commissions kept coming along iwth my growing confidence in experience. And every time, no matter who or what the commission is (people, flowers, animals, objects), I always take great and deep pleasure in exploring someone else's adored world. It is an honor.
I am extremely grateful for your support. It means the world to me. I launched here on January 12th, so it hasn't yet been a month but already your support has seemed to double my creativity as well as to herald significant change in my life. So this is in deep deep thanks to you.
The image above is Self-Portrait with My Dragon, oil on canvas.
The gallerist for my solo retrospective "Paintrospective" in 2019 wanted to include this series of sketchbook watercolors I did inspired by lines in the bible's Song of Solomon, but I thought they were too playful and odd next to all of the other paintings.. There are about 23 of them all together and they are 8" by 6." I am tempted to do another set based on new lines while listening to "Just (after Song of Songs)" on the 2015 "Youth" film soundtrack. I did a "serious" painting of one from the sketchbook, which was sold years ago and lives somewhere in New Mexico, and this post reminds me that I need to keep better track, better records of my work, and where they live. I don't think I even have a photo of the painting titled "Comfort Me With Apples" from Song of Solomon. If you are interested in seeing all of them, just let me know.
It's a rainy day in California, a blessing for all life, and inspires me to anticipate the spring flowers, as well as to post here the flower pants I painted. If ever you are inspired to get painted pants (or shirts or Tshirts from me) just inquire : )
One of my favorite painters is Gerard Richter, particularly when he painted a series of realism portraits of actual photographs of family members, friends, etc. The moments he chose were never typical, always off in tone and angle and subject, so in 2016 when I saw this candid photo taken by a partner,-- with whom I was entertaining marriage and my move to Berlin-- I knew I would paint it at some point. He took pictures of me brushing my teeth, walking down the street, waiting for the subway, sitting at my laptop working, etc., and this was just as I was either getting up from working at the laptop and being called away, or else I was getting away to the laptop-- whichever the case doesn't matter. But here I worked with stark color and the fictionalizing of a real moment and the fictionalizing of the self. Even my traditional "self-portraits" are fictional portraits.
This story was commissioned by the Broad Museum for their Summer Happenings in August 2017. I performed the story at the Broad with accompaniment by composer/musican David Harrow, who played the theremin. Here I am reading Magic is the Natural Order just for you, for the first time since that performance, recorded here in my dining room today, with the painting on my left, unfinished, and the one on my right with the dragon, happily finished, Looking forward to hearing what you think!
Greg Tate, the leader of the band Burnt Sugar Arkestra ( Tate is also a well-known writer and cultural critic, if you have watched any recent jazz docs you have likely seen him) asked me to write a poem to perform for one of their albums. This appeared on All Ya Needs That Negrocity, and there is nothing to watch on this video, but you can hear me recite the poem to music. It's an extensive jazz piece, 9 minutes, I am on in the beginning and the end, so if you're on the phone or laptop, lay it down to listen at your leisure.
This morning I was delighted to find a DM on Instagram from a reader who said she was so happy to have found me there on IG because my novel DIVE is one of her "alltime favorites" and that I am an "amazing writer" with many exclamation points. Who would not be floored by this kind of note? During 2020 I experienced a resurgence of notes of praise from readers, which buoyed me as a writer during the challenging year for our globe. Clockwise above is the award-winning story collection GLOW IN THE DARK, published in hardcover by Cune Press, the acclaimed novel DIVE published in hardcover by Bloomsbury, the also acclaimed paperback novel HEAT SIGNATURE, the paperback DIVE and the paperback GLOW IN THE DARK, all published by Bloomsbury. For E-readers, you can go to Amazon, Bloomsbury, etc. but for signed copies of the books, do feel free to reach out to me!
At any one time, I have about four or five works-in-progress, playing musical chairs on the easel, walls or floor. My Sunday hiking partner saw this piece on the easel and blurted out, Vulva!, then blushed and giggled like an adolescent though he has 5 decades. I agreed that it looks like that, but it's actually a crevice in a hill on El Pescador beach in the Malibu/Zuma area with imagined blowing petals of Bougainvillea from my backyard.
Toward the end of our Sunday hike, on what was a very crowded trail at Los Leones in the Palisades, I felt a bit dizzy and couldn't climb all the way to the top, even though I had just found out that it was my Sunday hike partner's birthday. As we made our way down the hill, an unmasked girl looked up at me with big loving eyes, as did her small dog, and shortly after we passed one another, the overwhelming waves of bliss took me over again, only this time they didn't stop at the heart, then went from the crown, through the throat to the heart to my belly and all the way down to my toes. My hiking partner had to help me to his car, and once in, I marvelled at the packed beach on PCH from Sunset to the pier, only inches between people so elated to be out in the sun after so long cooped up during this pandemic. I was a noodle, my entire body flooded with love for every person, every tree, every little piece of trash we passed. Because my hiking partner lived for years in an ashram he knew exactly what I was going through, while asking for a little narration, and through some of these beautiful waves, I was clenching my teeth in resistance. My body could only be described as a noodle, limp and surrendered to these relentless waves of bliss. He got me home, and I got myself in the tub and submerged myself, after barely managing to get Alice Coltrane's Satchitananda on the stereo. I lay my entire head, face, nose, mouth back in the water. The waves continued, and well after the 45 minutes in the tub. Once they were "over" they remained very gently in the background. Monday was like a hangover/afterglow. Today, Tuesday,, I feel "normal" but also surely in the midst of some kind of transformation. Every stranger I interacted with today-- the framer, who said he would frame a print for me for free! the florist, the cafe guy who handed my sister and me the bag, the small store I bought old spotted bananas in-- everyone was kind and generous hearted and it just felt special to be alive right now during this time in our history as humans.
