FOR THIS EVERYDAY LOVING // Day 9, 3 April 2020

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Because when it comes down to it, love is all that matters, eh.

[For this everyday loving, 2020 is available as a limited edition studioprint]

BLOOD TANGLE // DAY 8, 2 APRIL 2020

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This one’s for all of you not doing okay.

Those of you who are not, right now: doing yoga, making exceptional plans for the future, doing brilliant WFH, home-schooling your child with ease and grace, soaking up the lazy hazy days of this slowed-down, sweet lockdown life.

For some of you, life right now will be brutal. Difficult. Very very dark. For some of you, some of the time, you’ll feel like you’re in a blood tangle on the floor, trapped inside the nightmare box of your spiralling-downward thoughts.

I just wanted to say: I see you. I’ve been there. I understand. And I’m sorry.

Find whatever/whoever it is that pulls you out of the darkness, whatever it is that helps you see the flicker of light when you’re down deep in that fcking well, and hold onto it for dear life.,

and this too will pass.

Last night I watched Toy Story 3. It was wonderful and magical. I laughed, I cried, I said Noooooooo when the evil pink bear left Woody and his friends to get fried in the fire even though Woody had just saved his life. I was so happy when they survived and found their new girl to love them. What a great movie. I was in such a lovely mood.

Then I decided to watch an episode of a TV series I’d heard was good. Two thirds of the way into it and two scenes one after the other triggered my PTSD. My lovely mood was all over. I felt panicked, my heart was racing, my thoughts went so fcking black. In nearly an instant I was, boom, back through the years. Back to the days that were the source of so much hurt and fear. Like an idiot, wanting to be staunch in front of my partner, I continued watching. Not. A. Good. Move. By the time the episode ended I was a mess.

PTSD [post-traumatic-stress-disorder] can hit you like that. Out of the blue you can be triggered by one second of something that to everyone else is just business as usual entertainment.

My partner was so lovely with me. He held me while I cried, he assured me I wasn’t the loser I felt myself to be in those moments. He made jokes and brought me back out of the spiral so that I could then read my comforting teen-fiction book until my heart/mind/body calmed down.

I have done so much internal work over the last decade, so that now, 99% of the time, the brutal shadows of the past are gone. I hate the 1%. But I accept that my dark history, and my continued response to it, is part of me. It is what it fcking is.

And BTW, in case you get the wrong end of the stick, the 99% is really great. I am really doing great. I’m deeply in love, I’m healthy, I’m fit, I have great friends and solid supportive loving family. I have a damn interesting son I love to the moon and back. And, of course, I have my work. I am know who I am, I know what my purpose in life is. I’m living on beautiful and solid ground nearly all of the time. Life really is good.

BUT …

this Covid situation is tough. For everyone on the planet. Don’t be fooled by the Instagram hype. Everyone has their moments in the dark right now.

But you, you have it real tough. And I’m sorry.

I SEE YOU.

I’ve been there.

I understand.

You’re not alone.

This too will pass.

[Blood tangle 2020 is available as a limited edition studioprint]

WALKING THE LINE //. DAY 7, 1 APRIL 2020

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A lovely woman, T, messaged me today, thanking me for these wee daily artworks I’m posting, telling me they’re helping her face each day. Each day in which, at the moment, she has “this consuming feeling of sadness” which she feels like is smothering her.

This - edited -was my response:

“…and it’s so natural that you feel overwhelming sadness - there’s so much global collective grief right now. I think the way forward is to walk the line between acknowledging our grief/trauma/emotions, and not getting lost in it.

It's a line I've walked for over a decade while dealing with - and healing from - significant personal trauma. For me, it’s the making of my artwork combined with keeping my body busy, while turning to face my self and my emotions head on, that enables me to work and laugh and love and live this life fully. The way forward is through, not around.

Facing your actual feelings/internal landscape is often a very painful process. When you’re in them, the emotions feel so bloody big, and I’ve felt so far down, that sometimes it’s required what felt like an herculean effort to pull myself up and out and through. I just keep returning to what works - consciously using the tools I have to release the emotions [artwork/excercise] to the other side and feel okay again.

I'm of course completely imperfect at this. Everyday I step on the damn tightrope that this life is, and I just put one foot in front of the other, and keep on going, hoping to get to the other side. Some days I fall. Some days I experience such beautiful joy. Some days, like today, I feel like there is not really an “other side” to get to. Some days I just take being able to walk the line at all as a huge win.

[Walking the line 2020 is available as a limited edition studioprint]

I WANTED TO TELL YOU // Day 6, 31 March 2020

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⁠I woke up heavy and down, despite waking up to my lovely partner.  Forced myself to get up and put on my workout gear.  Went for a walk around the streets.  I began quite tearful, my head full of feeling locked in by the lockdown: fck all this smallness. ⁠

⁠

As my body moved though, climbing stairs and steeps paths, my head began to clear.  I saw cute chickens clucking, gentle flowers swaying, adolescent kereru playing silly buggers, and a particularly gorgeous house putting its shoulders back and showing itself off very well in the sunshine. By the time I got home I felt good enough to smash out a workout which left me feeling sweaty and wonderful.  The day continued well, with yum food for lunch and a lovely woman calling me to discuss some work we're going to do once this rahui is done.  Last but most definitely not least,  I may or may not have participated in some very delicious sunshiney kisses. ⁠

⁠

It was a bloody good day, and I had my arms wide open to receive all the beauty and warmth that came my way. I soaked it all in. I'll take all the happiness I can get right now, because no matter how you look at it, this corner's a tough one.⁠

⁠

I wanted to tell you⁠

love⁠

that⁠

happiness⁠

is found⁠

in the⁠

smallest⁠

of⁠

corners.⁠

++++

[I wanted to tell you, 2020 is available as a limited edition studioprint]

HOME, DAY 5, 30th March 2020

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All of a sudden, for all of us in New Zealand [and around the world] home means something so much more than it did.

Sanctuary. Safety. Refuge. Comfort. Love. Delight. All of those things for sure. But home is also now a place we are required to be in, and not leave, except for shopping, essential work, short walks. Regardless of the emotional landscape within our walls [excepting cases of the horrible violence I hope very few of us have to ever face], we are required to stay put. Screaming children, fighting adults, bickering teens. Whatever. We have lost something essential. A freedom we took for granted. That loss is so heavy that no wonder so many of us are struggling.

I'm in a loving and beautiful relationship, we're in a gorgeous warm dry home, I am financially okay [thanks NZ government], I've got no small children to look after [you parents with small children will need medals after this], my son is safe and secure with his father, my family are all okay, my dog is being looked after by a wonderful woman back in Whanganui. My mental health is okay, my body is fit and healthy. And, crucially, I’m still able to do my work. The thing that offers me such relief and release. I am so freaking fortunate. And my heart still hurts. I”m still struggling. I can only imagine how incredibly difficult it is for so many people.

I sat in the supermarket underground carpark for about an hour this afternoon. I'd gone with my partner to do our shopping. I'd wanted to be out in the world around people more than I'd wanted the food. We got to the queue only to be told it was one person per household/bubble. My partner is the cook so it made sense that he go in. I went and sat in the car and waited. I hadn't brought my phone. So I sat there and waited, and cried. I felt caged. Restricted. A big heavy weight on my chest. As the minutes passed, I stopped my sorry-for-myself tears and did deep breathing and really just slowed myself down. I thought of my mother and the pain she endured when she was dying, how she fought every bloody day to sit in her chair and watch the birds feeding, to wave at the neighbours as they walked by. To text her children and keep in the loop of their lives. I thought how her world got smaller and smaller and how she just kept fighting, and also kept accepting that this was how life was for her now, even with all the new indignities.. This four weeks I [we] am being asked to stay at home is nothing compared to that.

I realised half the difficulty I've been having is that I've been holding so tightly to how things were "before". Things aren't as they were and no amount of wishing will make it so. It's time to let go of "before". To accept that right now my life is very small. That for the next few coming weeks, it revolves around these walls I"m calling home. The beauty of accepting this situation I literally cannot change, instead of struggling against it, is that I can then begin to see all that is lovely right here in front of me. I can begin to change and respond to the new landscape we find ourselves in, and expand and deepen as a result. And isn’t that what I’ve wanted for thirty years? To walk across new internal landcapes, to expand and deepen so I can be as myself as I possibly can, and therefore be able to express something which is entirely my own as a result?

As I've said before: happiness is found in the smallest of corners.

[Home 2020 is available as a limited edition studioprint]

NAVIGATION // Day 4, 29 March 2020

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Trying to orient myself to this stay-at-home new-normal.  Spent the day feeling dark and down, trying to find my way up.  It wasn't easy.  Full of stuttering stumbling difficult navigation.⁠

⁠

The rain fell heavily all day.  I felt trapped. Caged.  Even the ridiculously excellent scrambled eggs with smoked salmon made by my partner, accompanied by an excellent kiss, didn't lift my mood. ⁠

⁠

Finally the rain stopped and we got out for a walk. Christ it was good.  But there was of course the polite moving away and tight smile from every person we encountered: social distancing is horrid. ⁠

⁠

But I did see the most beautiful sight.  Two kereru in flight. They are my very favourite birds.  I've been seeing them all week here in Wadestown, but they've been sitting /shuffling in trees.  Today they flew low down and right toward us and I got to hear the gorgeous sound of their heavy wings beating.  It completely and utterly made my day. ⁠

⁠

I'm thinking that if every day I can find it in myself ⁠

to find one beautiful thing/experience/moment, then that will keep my damn wobbly arrow pointing upward, and away from the dark fearful place it seems so easy right now to get lost in. ⁠

⁠

One beautiful thing: I hereby set my compass.⁠

[ Navigation, 2020 is available as a limited edtion studioprint.]

RED CROSS // Day 3, 28 March 2020

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A red cross for all of us who need a bit of care right now.⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣For the nurses and doctors and all those in essential services, including two of my sisters and my brother.⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣A red cross for the small grief I feel everytime I pass someone on our daily walk outside, and we move to separate from them, hold the requisite distance. Small griefs that add up to feeling quite tearful by the time I get home. ⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣+++⁠⁣

⁣Day 1 was surreal, day 2 was "i got this, no sweat - actually maybe this is kinda fun". Day 3 the reality has sunk in of the enormity of what we as a country are doing for the next four weeks.  I applaud it, I support it but jesus wept this is so outside of any of our experience, this is so fcking hard, on so many levels, for us all - all of our hearts are hurting in exactly the same way. ⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣But hey, today is today and in half an hour I'm gonna be eating a beautiful dinner my partner cooked, and then I'm gonna turn off my tech and lose myself in Westworld.  Then I'll sleep and dream and today will become tommorrow and will bring what tommorrow brings.  And so it goes. ⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣One day at a time, eh.⁠⁣

⁣++++⁠⁣

[Red cross 2020 is available as a limited edition studioprint]

ONE DAY AT A TIME // Day 02, 27 March 2020

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This is the perspective I'm taking on this.  One day at a time, one foot in front of the other.⁠

⁠

I'm a recovering alcoholic [11 years sober, YES!] and in AA they teach you the value of what many would call these days "being present". If you think to yourself "I'm never going to have a drink again for the rest of my life", it makes you want to run at a sprint to the bottle store.  If you instead think, I'm not having a drink today, it makes it all so much more manageable/possible.  Especially at the beginning.⁠

⁠

So that's me now.  Not freaking myself out with the wide-angle view of this lockdown [or rahui, as my friend Lisa called it, which is a much gentler and less restrictive word]. Instead going, okay, today, I'm staying at home, today I'm just seeing the people in my bubble..today I'm standing in line at the supermarket, today I saw a kereru at closequarters feeding, today I had a videocall after-work party with friends. Today. Today. Today. ⁠

⁠

And then tommorow comes and turns into today too and soon enough, all the todays become the length of time we've had to stay at home, and we will have gotten through.⁠

[One day at a time, 2020 is available to purchase as a studioprint]

HERE THERE IS US // Day 01, 26 March 2020

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Drew this. ⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣Because here we are. ⁠⁣

⁣Together. ⁠⁣

⁣Us. ⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣Us in our homes.⁠⁣

⁣Us in our self-prescribed bubbles.⁠⁣

⁣Us in our country.⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣We are here doing this.⁠⁣

⁣Together.⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣Us⁠⁣

⁣is a powerful word⁠⁣

⁣at the best ⁠⁣

⁣of times.⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣

⁣Now⁠⁣

⁣it means ⁠⁣

⁣so ⁠⁣

⁣much⁠⁣

⁣more.⁠⁣

⁣⁠⁣[Here there is us is available as a limited edition studioprint]

The hope of my body

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The hope of the body, on my workroom wall, 2020

I’ve had these words on the wall above where I work, for thirty years. I typed them out on the typewriter I wrote my first poetry on. The photograph you see here is of a copy of a copy of a copy of the original piece of paper, long since too tattered to be particularly readable. The words come from a James K Baxter poem, as part of his Pig Island Letters sequence. There are two truths for my life contained within these two stanzas, but, in the way of poetry, the meaning remains mysterious and the only way to respond is with poetry of my own.

The first:

“for what we did not have: that hunger caught

Each of us, and left us burnt,

Split open, grit-dry, sifting the ash of thought.”

I responded with this:

For all those things, 2011

For me, it’s the idea that it’s all those things that hurt us also shape us, drive us forward, make us determined to really live.

---

The second:

“The hope of the body was coherent love.”

Those words rang so true for me but I never could quite work out what they meant - my eyes flicked to the sentence nearly every day, it still remained like a beautiful dream half-remembered on waking, the meaning of which you can’t catch - the dream drifting away from you the more you try to hold onto it.

Recently though, I fell in love wth a man I’ve been waiting my whole life to find, and all of a sudden James K’s words came clear. The hope of my body was love I could understand . That’s what coherent love is. Love your body can understand, that you can feel with your whole heart.

In response, I wrote these words, made this painting.

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The hope of my body, 2020

---

The hope of my body

has always been this:

You and I

lying in the light

of a gentle room

learning the language

of our kisses.

You feel like home.

And now, maybe, finally, I can take James K’s words off the wall. Find new territory to explore.