Marja Van!!!!

Tim went to the post box and pulled out a little package and it contained the whole world.
This beautiful piece of marvel was made by M-a-r-j-a Van.  She teaches in the Far North.
 Postmarked Inuvik.

Thank you Ms. Van!

Photo taken in bed. Better shot tomorrow. This is a detail of the beautiful natural dyed scarf
Marja Van has made and gifted me.

Spiritual Artists

Spiritual practice and art are not the same thing. Not to me.
Your flimsy and exploitive marketing tactic is more than tired. There is nothing remotely deep in most people's work that is described as spiritual. It is tiresome and often reflects a shallowness I didn't imagine was even possible to achieve. Appropriated crap. Not spiritual.

Art, to me, is best when it reflects self, environment or connection. Sometimes the simplest line can do that. Simple object well thought out and resolved. Refined. Pared down. Matured. Of self and effort and talent.

It takes more work than to hysterically figure out label after label for yourself. Don't call yourself anything if you are sampling and exploring. You are not a conceptual artist until you have explored concept. Really explored an idea and not shit it out for amateur show or two. Lived it.

Needing to describe yourself in early practice is unnecessary but learning is okay. The labels really don't let you get away with anything.

I love blind jurying. It separates the wheat from the personality or attractiveness. It removes the bimbo factor, the friendship, the potential connection. It is scary. No artist's statement to dazzle and distract jurors. No fancy stories over ridiculous work. Just it... Raw presentation. The cream always rises and the substantial holds an honest place.

Your true art will stand out as it is if you shut the fuck up about it. Cliche description is worth nothing as the work stands there naked.

Needing to use labels like Soulful Art. The Sacred Feminine. Etc. dismisses it all for me. As does making a bloody mess and experimenting and hanging it on the wall because you are afraid of the strength of one single piece. Nothing but the best you have. Not from an experiment but from a long term exploration and mastery. Effort. Hard,hard work. Research. And admitting what belongs to you and what belongs to others.

I could give a damn about your spirituality.

Pale Butterflies

I have been withdrawing from the methadone that they gave me as a substitute for the morphine I can't tolerate. Turns out that withdrawing is pretty rough. Not as rough as the side effects. I am now stunned to discover I can't take narcotics without big trouble.

Not great. Luckily my pain level has subsided a bit with the lack of activity.

Life is made easier by my husband. We are now alone. For three days.

He is trying so hard. I am being really sick and difficult. I have held down two meals in a month. I struggle to keep fluids in. The coughing retching uses hours a day.

I visit people and can barely sit up. Not very good at being a sick person.

My anger stuns me. Keep having to remind myself that it is a side effect of two drugs. And that anger is part of this.

I am doing the best I can.

Tim found me three beautiful pale butterflies that died in the windows during the mating frenzy.

Post Box

I love having a post box at the end of the Sweethaven Road.
I never know when a surprise will arrivve.

My favourite gifts are hand written letters. I love the personality and love each hand drawn word each person makes.

This mornings mail brought this beautiful letter from Abbe. I have know her for so many years.
My eyes danced across her words. What a beautiful gift! It will be placed on the wall at the foot of my bed to remind me of the kindness and thoughtfulness people have by giving of their time to share words of encouragement and friendship.

Bad Drugs

I had a great appointment at the BC Cancer Agency today.
Not what I expected. Our discussion moved from cell counts, dosage and severe side effects to quality of life issues.

Tim was ferocious regarding what happened to me during the MRI. I was physically hurt through complete willful belligerence. He was furious about the fact my Oncologist actually expected many of the side effects that have happened to me not as a result of the hormone blocker but as a result of the booster drug. It was not a necessary drug and the other drugs work fine without it.

I have been in bed most of the time since August and have had such serious side effects I had to be watched 24 hours a day. These side effects were severe vertigo, vomiting enough to lose an enormous amount of weight, at least one nose bleed a day and bad pain. I also developed severe and debilitating reactive airway symptoms that managed to make it so breathing was difficult and my oxygen sats dropped 6 points. The depression and emotional impact of the drug was also huge and life ruining.
All off this not part of a necessary drug regime.

Tim had to take time off work when it may not have been that necessary and friends have had to come in and care for me. We have had to hire someone and buy expensive off protocol drugs to get me through this. Tim was sure that I was not going to make it through the fall.

I am definitely not through it yet but one day off the drug the side effects have dropped by half. I can almost breath clearly, I stood up without fainting or tipping over. I ate real food and kept it down.

Tim and Femke are hovering in the sweetest way. I hope they can stop doing that. But to have their love and care is enormous. And I will never doubt my beautiful husbands dedication and love again.
I look at him and he glows with the most serene and beautiful light. He has barely had a minute to himself or a good nights sleep in weeks. I am overwhelmed. His generosity and kindness have made this almost worth it.

He put up the beautiful antique canopy bed in our bedroom. He painted the hallway and the second floor. He lovingly created another space for me to sleep in the big window in the living area. It meant he had to re purpose and construct platforms while Femke, Chris or Judy  watched me. It is a beautiful, peaceful space where I can take part in the life of Sweethaven while still in bed.

Tim on the Mount Park just behind Sweethaven. 2014.

Femke pulled out my needle bag and handed me wool. It was very hard to coordinate myself at first but it is now happening. I am using my hands today.

It looks like I might get a little reprieve where I will hopefully be able to finish documenting my work and try to make some new work. All the plans are there. The material is there. And so is a little bit of energy.

Time for all the crap to get shoveled out of here and scrapped off my shoe to make way for decent people and experiences. I have learned so much this fall. Lots of it not happy. Some of it shockingly ugly. But lots of beauty. There is clearly no more time to follow any other agenda but the one Tim and I define. He is with me for six months if we are lucky enough to have six months. If not... we will make other plans.

I am deeply in love with the man I chose to spend my life with and raise a family with and start to grow old with. Even though it has been 33 years. It is better right now than it has ever been because of the deepest connection possible. He is a truth teller, has nothing selfish or shallow about him and he lives with integrity every single day. I could never measure up but I will seriously try.                                                

Right now I am hungry. For the first time in weeks.

Direction

There is a consequence to making a decision to work with and surround yourself with people who are differently directed or less skilled. Sometimes the consequence is regression of your own art practice. It can also result in having to reclaim your path and contacts. Or find you are surrounded by copy artists, Sunday painters or posers.

I made a decision to change direction a few years ago. It happened at the peak of mid-career success. I quit organizations, stopped teaching, let memberships lapse and didn't follow up on extraordinary invitations that were coming in internationally.

At that point I was winning International Awards like the one from Hand Weaver's Guild of America for Innovative Practice, being published in Textile Forum Austrailia and in the European Textile Network Magazine. I was also guest speaking and teaching with an Invitation to teach at the National Taiwan Craft's Institute. There were other things like a life profile in the Column Left Atrium with the Canadian Medical Association, a documentary and invitations to show in New York, England, Holland and Hong Kong.

But I decided, perhaps out of fear, that I desperately needed a studio up North and to open a gallery.
It allowed me time. It allowed me a whole new perspective and some grounding time. It did not allow time for creative growth and eventually choked my creativity almost completely. I was surrounded by bad landscape painters, people who attend art events to get laid and used the nearby art school as a glorified summer camp or by artists who have dated prescribed practice and messages. Not all of course. There was meetings with  Peter Von Theissenhausen, John Hall and Harold Klunder.  Got to work with Claire Kudjundzic and Bill Horne, Carolyn Anders, Corey Hardeman and Paula Scott.

Hard lesson from all of this. In some ways the time spent in Wells was wasted and destructive on both a personal and professional level. Except I made friends and lived the intimate but invasive life of a small town. But professionally artistic life ground to a near halt. There may not be time now to reclaim it.


I can only blame myself for what happened.

A Picture of Superman

Got me through another hard night. Superman got up three times. No sleep for either.
Awoke to blueberry smoothie and fresh made tea. Hydration.