photographer. artist. author. singer. songwriter. musician. teacher. student. humanitarian. visionary.

Damage

Image
self port. Winter of ’09
Barefooted/evening gown/Gestapo jacket
Abandoned industrial park
(After a bitter breakup)

“Don’t ever be afraid to look inside of yourself and see who you are.”

-my Dad

“You have to walk through your past; through the wreckage, and survey the damage.”

-Candy Finnigan, Interventionist (quoted from the tv show:  “Intervention”)

“Don’t ever be too proud to cry and say you’re sorry.”

-Mormon preacher who married me years ago.
(God forbid I should marry a Mormon and share myself with 10 other women, um…NO. I mean, the Mormon preacher who married myself and my x husband. I’m no Mormon, but I’m not prejudiced either. I was down with it.)

“You have to hug the monster. Embrace the pain that rips you up. Hug it. Befriend it. Thank it. It’s only a “bad situation” if you believe it is. Turn it around.”

-me

“You have to take the bad and make it good. Shape it, remold it, take the old and make it new.”

-my Pastor (and dear friend, told to me once in a dream)

 

Image

“Tears keep the heart soft.”

-me

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6 responses

  1. powerful, beautiful…. and very important……..
    (I love your work, but “work” is not the right term…. it’s your expression of soul…..)

    March 21, 2013 at 10:53 pm

  2. Thank you so much, Wendy. [big, big hugs.] You (and the rest of the Bubble-ians) have helped to pick my heart up so much. I don’t know what I would do without you guys. Your words reverberate through my mind and heart, always. A million thank you’s for making me a better person. (And you know especially what I’m talking about..heheh..) XO

    March 21, 2013 at 11:06 pm

  3. I agree with Wendy. This is extremely powerful expression of your soul. Its beautiful.

    March 24, 2013 at 11:40 am

    • Thanks so much, Amy. My x ( “J”) had once again ripped my heart out of my chest, and I had two choices that day: roll around in my tears and completely crack in half or, grab my camera, evening gown, army jacket and go meandering about old military barracks in the snow, barefooted. (I feel like a few commas are missing…heheh.) I chose the latter. (Now when I look back at that time in my life, I think of the snow freezing my toes and having to focus my camera on the tripod in 30 degree weather. I also think of how much fun it was running from the security who was called on me!) I blasted the miserable break-up right out of my system with what I call “memory transplant”. If I don’t want to have a tragedy lashed upon me, I will go out (in the midst of all of the pain, etc.) and do something strangely wonderful, bizarre, and most importantly- artistic- so that years later, my memories will be of my art, and not my loss. (This is so much more psychological than I had hope to be in this comment- my apologies!) I know we have similar brains (and psychological interests) so I thought I’d share that with you. 😉 (By the way, it really WAS a blast running from security.)

      March 24, 2013 at 12:02 pm

  4. That is SO frickin’ brilliant! A memory transplant! What a brilliant (did I say that already) therapeutic device. Using the grief to create something, and do something that generates a new interpretation. I love it so much!

    March 25, 2013 at 1:40 pm

    • Glad you do! If it weren’t for “memory transplants”, I’d be a goner. (I’m serious.) But I pick and choose my battles- therefore I pick and choose my “scars”. 😉

      March 25, 2013 at 5:12 pm

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