I was going to write something epic, but it looks as though it might be a disappointment.

Before you read this particular blog entry, I need you to know something. Despite all the melodrama, I'm actually very happy and have a practically unwavering positive outlook on life. I write this knowing that I'll most likely be criticized for being too personal on the internet. Still, the purpose of this blog is not to relate an idea, but to explore it. I'm trying to make all these loose ends and fragmented ideas fit together in a cohesive way, and you just happen to be along for the ride.

Lately, I've been seeing disappointment everywhere.

Everyone around me seems to be mired in it. Jarred by an unrequited love, a lost job, an unmet expectation, a broken promise. And while disappointment has and always will be a part of my life (such is the lot of the optimist), the fear of disappointment, which is much worse has started to rear it's ugly head.

I need to come clean, to make a new start, to set everything back to zero. I'm at the end of a year--how quickly time flies--a whole year of joy, creativity, work, avoidance of work, love, rejection, exhaustion, sickness, happiness, rapture, and yes, disappointment.

 I stopped writing regularly. Sure, I have been busy, but mostly I've neglected the written word because until now, being honest was a near impossibility for me. Life has become so complicated and compartmentalized. Different groups of friends, different men, different women, different conflicting ideas, different conflicting goals, different values, and never enough time. When this precarious balancing act gets too complicated, I start to eliminate the things that seem like they will be the most disappointing.Sometimes, these are the things the are also the most valuable.

So, what gets thrown overboard?

First, there's love. 

I've ceased having contempt for my ex (my desire to plug my ears and sing loudly every time he talks has dissipated immensely), and have learned to appreciate the lessons that he was able to teach me. All lessons but this one: People will disappoint you. I don't appreciate this lesson because I don't want to believe it.

But slowly, my skin grows thicker.

I became so obsessed with the idea that everyone would eventually disappoint me that it seemed logical to conclude that eventually all relationships would end in complete and utter emotional carnage. I don't know about you, but I would rather be the purveyor of emotional carnage than the recipient of it. And so, I became ruthless. The Genghis Khan of love..

To the victims in this slaughter, I justifed being so flippant about commitment, sex, and emotional attachment by intellectually boiling it down to the (debatable) fact that humans are not biologically suited for monogamy. (You can blame the book, "Sex at Dawn", for this bit of scientific dogma that I cling so desperately to).  I, therefore, am sane and completely natural. And all you monogamous motherfuckers are crazy.

But then, life always raises the stakes.

Love strikes.

Hard.

I immediately forget all my beliefs about monogamy being a farce. I forget to condone polyamory. I fall in love. Of course, it is too easy to say the resolution to my cold-heartedness is only a matter of letting my walls down and allowing myself to love someone.

This is why: someone as complex and contrary as me could never become enamored with a simple man. I could only love someone who was as complicated and mysterious as myself. The feeling of being with someone so unpredictable makes me feel out of control, and so instead of falling asleep reading the love poetry of Byron, I fall asleep reading "The 48 Laws of Power". I believe that wielding total control in the relationship can help save me from disappointment. And of course, I am wrong. Not only do I completely sabotage the relationship, I am the one to disappoint him in the end. And sadly enough, I have broken the connection in a way that makes it completely irreparable.

What good can I take from this? People we love will disappoint us without meaning to, and without even trying. This happens because we have unrealistic expectations. We expect them to make us happy, or we are afraid that they will make us miserable. But alas, true happiness comes from within. If we accept that life is tumultuous and human relationships are volatile--- and if we acclimate to that chaos, then we can be happy independently of others and can easily be content with what they provide or do not provide for us. If we rely on those around us for validation, for company, for security, we end up making them miserable. But, when we allow people to be nothing but themselves and if we accept them wholeheartedly, it is impossible for them to disappoint us.

Sure, there are extreme cases. The man you love steals your bulldog and sells him for crack. The woman you love cheats on you with an entire football team. Still, to unconditionally love someone is to love them for who they are, and not what they do.

Now lets get to the good stuff.

Let's talk about art. 

I wish I could be inspirational here, but I can only be honest. When it comes to what I have accomplished creatively in the last year, I have completely disappointed myself. I continue to paint, but my focus is about 10 percent of what it was and where it should be. And even though my art has become more cerebral, even the depth of my thoughts disappoint me.I spend a lot of time thinking about what I want to say and less time executing my ideas. I see so many breathtaking things in my mind's eye that I simply do not have energy to create. Sometimes it is difficult for me to begin a painting because I feel like I will not be able to do justice to the image I envision. I agonize over even the tiniest brushstrokes, and still they do not meet the standard I set. And still, I know that all these are excuses.

The real problem is lack of discipline.

Funny how discipline works. When you have it, you think you will have it forever--like it's getting a metal plate surgically inserted in your head--it's not going anywhere. It feels permanent. Well, I have bad news. As hard as it is to cultivate self-discipline, its simply a breeze to lose it. Anyone who has done extremely well on a diet, made themselves look smoking hot, and then eats nothing but frozen pizza and oreos for the next two months can relate to this. Being in this place is treacherous because the longer you neglect your willpower, the weaker it gets, and the harder it is to summon.

If you forget to water a plant for a couple days, nature is forgiving. Go a week, and you have to give that plant extra care. Go two weeks, and it's going to feel nearly impossible to save it. Deprive that plant of what it needs for a month and you'll have to sow new seeds.

Its time to start sowing new seeds. All the time I give people advice that I should be adhering to myself. Here's a pearl of wisdom I should be taking to heart: Always be cultivating new ideas, sowing new seeds, regardless of whether you see any growth. Eventually, you will find that you have a bountiful harvest before you. All it takes is patience, diligence, and a little faith.

It also involves taking opportunities as they come your way. I've been lucky enough the last few months to get commissions from several extremely generous people that have motivated me to continue painting.

Right now, I'm working on a commission that I think might end up being my best piece ever. I know I say that about every painting I do, but this one especially combines all the things I love. My two major influences in painting are Mark Rothko and Gerhard Richter.

MARK ROTHKO

GERHARD RICHTER

I don't think its any coincidence that both these artists are (were) also prolific writers. Maybe because they have allowed me to enter their work and view it through their own eyes, I have acquired a higher level of reverence for what they have created. Similar to both Rothko and Richter, I am infatuated with color. I love Rothko's minimalism and simplicity, as well as the way he builds up layers of paint on his canvas. In Richter's work, what I most admire is the ability for one painting to have many interpretations, like an open-ended question. Richter treats his viewers with respect, and takes it for granted that they are intelligent enough to derive the correct (albeit subjective) meaning from his work.

The painting I'm working on is mostly white. A very fair skinned woman is sitting on a bed with white sheets  with her back to the viewer. She is facing a while wall. It is that simple. If you are a painter, you know that painting white can either be totally gut-wrenching and horrible--or it can be completely wonderful. It just depends on how much of a masochist you are. I, for one, love it. I love it because when you paint white correctly, there are hardly ever any parts of a painting that are totally white. In life, when you look at something white, say a crumpled sheet on a couch-- you are hardly seeing any white at all. You are seeing a million different shades of blues and pinks and greens and purples and mauves and greys. For lack of a better description, it's just beautiful. The white wall in the background will be very Rothkoesque while the clean, minimalist nude in the foreground will spookily recall Gerhard Richter's early figurative work.


In my mind, it's a masterpiece. 


In Conclusion...


When I recall what I wrote earlier in this blog about the need to accept people as they are in order to avoid disappointment, I realize that I also have to apply that to my work and in a general sense, to my life. 


All you can do in this life is try your best. If you focus too much on the outcome of your labors, you won't be present enough to actually enjoy what you're doing. When you are present, you are joyful. Joy is manifested in presence -- that point at which we shed the past, let go of the future and are just there, where we are, in that moment.You have to do the thing  you are passionate about because you love it, and for it's own sake, and not because you are hoping for some other gain. To develop as an artist (or even as a human being), you have to constantly challenge yourself, growing and experiencing life in new and invigorating ways. If you don't do something because you think it will bring disappointment, you are living in fear and cheating yourself. 


Take Mark Twain's advice:
"Throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

This is what grumpy looks like.

Who knew that growing old was going to be so sobering? I'm an adult, finally. There's no denying this fact anymore. There is evidence of my adulthood everywhere: In my mailbox, chock-full of invoices, account updates, and credit card offers. In my new adult car for which I make adult payments. In my adult wardrobe which is starting to consist of more and more things that are appropriate for adult parties (weddings, babyshowers, bridal showers, dinner parties). And you know what?

I hate growing up.

All throughout my childhood, my mother would read to me from a myriad of different books before bed. When I was very young and my attention span was not yet ready for Tolstoy or Nabokov (she didn't read Lolita to me until I was a preteenager), one of my favorite works of literature was called Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

 In this book Alexander finds that from the moment he wakes up it seems that the Gods have conspired to make his life a living hell. He wakes up with gum in his hair, drops his sweater in the sink, is told that he sings too loud, and gets his foot caught in the elevator. His mantra throughout the book is that he is moving to Australia.  The entire gist of the book is that everyone has bad days and that having a bad day is no reason to up and leave everything you know and love. You'll have bad days in Australia too. It is the naivete of childhood that allows Alexander to believe that Australia is the solution to all of his problems. Logical, rational adults know that running away from your problems is just a short term solution to the real problem: the utter disappointment of life.

Day 129: My Newest Artist Statement

When I told my friend, Weasy, that I had to rewrite my artist statement because my last one was too whimsical, she said, "Yeah, because you're a fucking capitalist now! No more of that hippie bullshit..." Then, there was a long pause while I patiently waited for her to finish taking a bong rip so I could listen the rest of what she had to say. And while I don't know if I'm exactly bourgeoisie yet, I'll agree that the time has come to stop saying things like, "When I paint a tree, I experience the spirit of it, feeling the spiraling upward movement of the trunk as its verdant, luxuriant branches reach for the sun." 


Why didn't someone tell me that I sounded like a loony tune?

Anyway, it was time to spruce it up a little, so here is my newest Artist's statement.

Each painting I create is a simulacra, a copy of an image that has already been disintegrated into its basic components: line, color, texture, form, and value. The images I utilize have already been filtered several times before I begin working with them, at which time I filter them once more before they reach the eyes of the viewer. A car driving down the street is distorted by rain and overcast light. When seen through a wet windshield, the hazy luminescence of taillights on pavement and the unearthly glow from neon signs smear into heavy, protracted streaks of color. Finally, a photo taken of this scene pixellates and further manipulates the image through digital manufacturing. This artificial picture is the one I work from and turn into a final simulacra. Because the subject becomes purely aesthetic, it loses its power as an object and ceases to be a part of reality, transforming into something simultaneously hyperreal and abstracted.

My work is important because it reflects our own experience as humans in a modern world, where everything is filtered several times before we are able to process it. The substance of our society is not truly substantial, but made up of images of things, of ideas of things, and of false things. Reality becomes completely mediated and artifical, a culture of comprehensive and nearly total representation. This simulacra is then something that we use to define ourselves and our surroundings. News broadcasts, images and video on the internet, and radio reports become more real than our immediate personal perceptions. The conciousness of popular culture becomes so inundated with this simulacra that it is often no longer possible to determine what is real and what is false.

The size and scale of my paintings are important. The world is saturated with images both photographic and illustrative. Human eyes have become desensitized to the power of images and art. For this reason, the scale, size, and vibrant color command the viewer’s attention. The immensity is especially important and so I work on large canvasses and wood panels. These surfaces have layers of paint built up on them and then sanded down, creating a distressed history on the surface that allows the bottoms layers to show concurrently with those of the top. It is the tactility of the paint, the vitality of textures that layer on one another that bring the viewer to the ultimate realization that what they are looking at is not in fact a true simulation, but a tangible object, made by human hands and not a machine.

The Road to Recovery

So, I did it. In the bitter cold and the pouring rain, I crossed the finish line at the 2011 LA Marathon. That was on Sunday, and I am writing this Tuesday night.

I. am. in. so. much. pain.

I'd like to make a formal apology to the gods for my hubris when I smugly stated to a friend that I was "indestructible". (To be fair, I was referring to my ability to deflect acid/radioactive rain during the marathon, and not to running the 26.2 miles itself). I take back my haughty presumptions of invincibility and would like to publicly acknowledge my human frailty. Now, please, make my feet go back to their normal size, and if you could give me the strength to walk without limping and cringing with each step, it would be very much appreciated.

The marathon didn't go as smoothly as I had planned it.

First of all, in the useful information packet they gave to me last Saturday, I learned that I should be there no later than 6 a.m. No problem, just go to bed early and wake up at around 4:30, leisurely drive to Dodger Stadium, maybe have a protein shake or a coffee before, saunter over to the starting line at around six to begin my mental prepartion, right? Easy as pie, right? Wrong.

First of all, I had to work the night before at the Capital Grille until around 9 pm. Thats 9 hours of being on my feet when my body should have been building up the oh so useful glycogen stores. After work, I made the infamous carboload dinner consisting of pasta and marinara sauce. At this point, its 11 pm and I'm freaking out about my ability to wake up on time because when I am sleeping it is nearly impossible to wake me up unless you shake me violently or blow a fog horn in my ear. Alarm clocks are virtually useless.So, when I went to bed on Saturday night, it was with the knowledge that I would quite possibly sleep in, regardless of any effort I made or failsafes I put in place.

Despite the overwhelming sense of dread, I slept like a rock.

When I jumped out of bed at 6:30 a.m. instead of 4:30 a.m. and realized that the start of the marathon would be in exactly one hour, I went into panic mode, becoming less human and more primal Looking back, I see my movements were a little like a rat thats just been placed in a snake terrarium--chaotic, terrified, frantic.

Not that there was any danger of being eaten by reptiles if I didn't get to Dodger stadium on time, but me running from bathroom, to closet, to kitchen, to closet, back to bathroom repeatedly over a period of five minutes made me feel like I had lost all civilized rationality.

When I pulled up to Dodger stadium at 7:30, there was no traffic. Of course, because all traffic had ceased 90 minutes ago, when everyone had *finished* arriving. However, I was informed there was no parking. The corpulent man who told me this seemed to have a hard time hiding his impish glee when he suggested that I "park at the bottom of the hill." Park at the bottom of the hill I did, about a mile away from Dodger Stadium. Since the start of the race was supposed to be at 7:30, I was feeling something resembling hysteria. I imagined bringing up the very back of the marathon like that pathetic rhinocerous bringing up the back of the stampede in the movie Jumanji (see below).

As I was sprinting up the hill to the starting line, spectators turned around to point and laugh at the presumed late sleepers. How funny, they must have thought, to start off a twenty six mile race with a grueling sprint up a steep hill.  Fortunately for my pride, I wasn't the only one who was running late. I somehow ended up running in a group with about four other stragglers as the national anthem blared over the loud speakers.

With an empty stomach and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I began the LA marathon. I'll admit, I was a little stoned, as it is my habit to partake of medical marijuana (sports medicine) before a run. That's probably why when I looked around and saw I was running next to guys who looked like this:

I really didn't think it was that strange.

Maybe next marathon I won't pace myself for the first seven miles with the men's elite running. By mile seven, when I had sobered up enough to realize that I was a) running next to some super fast professional running motherfuckers and b) starting to get really exhausted-- I thought it would possibly be a good idea to slow down.

The rest of the race went swimmingly, literally and figuratively speaking. Amidst the bitter cold rain and wind, I finished in record time and then proceeded to freeze my balls off. At the end of the race, I couldn't find my ride home and ended up wearing three space blankets and shivering convulsively until I conned my friend Mark to pick me up from the Georgian Hotel. I can't stress enough how miserable I felt after the race. Barely able to walk, exhausted, dehydrated, shivering, and cold. When Mark finally pulled up to a side street in his little black Honda, I had literally never been so happy to another human being in my entire life. The first thing he said to me was

"Whats wrong with you? Why are you walking so funny?"

I didn't realize I was walking funny, but my best guess would be either that I couldn't feel my feet or that I just ran twenty six miles. I would like to publicly thank Mark on my blog, regardless of the way he made fun of me nonstop for the next day and a half, for saving my ass from the cold and rain. I owe you one.

The Great Wall of China Marathon is happening in exactly two months, and I'm pretty much scared to death. I don't know what the road to recovery from this ordeal  will look like, or how soon I should start training again, but like the LA Marathon, I'm pretty sure it isn't going to go as smoothly as I anticipate.

That's okay, because adventure is the spice of life.

Radiation Schmadiation

So, the toxic plume is going to pass over us soon in California thanks to the earthquake/tsunami/quasi nuclear meltdown. Most everyone I know in California doesn't care. Things are business as usual. Californians are going about their business, getting their double nonfat sugarfree vanilla lattes at starbucks, picking up their dry cleaning, texting on their cell phones while driving, living in blissful ignorance. Won't they be surprised when they wake up tomorrow morning looking like this.

Well, I'm happy to stay that I am standing on the front lines with my fellow coastal dwellers to withstand the nuclear bombardment that is to come. Last night I tried to plea for time off at work, stating to the CEO of  our multibillion dollar corporation (who was conveniently visiting the restaurant last night) that I feared for my health as well as for the health of my fellow coworkers. I insinuated that possibly he should consider the financial repercussions of coercing cocktail waitresses to slave away on the eve of a nuclear holocaust. He laughed heartily, and believed I was kidding. When I brought it up again to my manager, he looked at me like,  "Really, Anna, enough is enough." Ah, well. When you're goofy and sarcastic all the time, people tend to put everything you says into the category labeled "POSSIBLY BULLSHIT". Then, when you need it the most, it is difficult to get people to take you seriously. You probably are asking yourself if you should take me seriously now.

The only person I know who will escape the horror is my dear, dear friend who hightailed it for Texas on Tuesday. He asked me to come along, but due to the above circumstances and my reluctance to back down from a fight--yes, even a fight with Plutonium-- I had to decline. Plus, Texas is only for steers and queers. (I'm kidding, I'm kidding, sheesh.)

So, I will forge on in the California sun, and am even going to run the LA HONDA MARATHON on Sunday. This will be awesome, and I want to at least place in the top ten for my division. I know this seems like a silly thing to shoot for when life is teetering in the balance, but what can I say? I live on the edge. 

To My Association.

Dear Association,

Hey there. Just dropping you guys a note about the parking situation in the complex. It's pretty much hell. I've lived at this complex for almost 3 years and it has never been this bad.

First of all, my car was towed from an open space even though there was a permit displayed. That was a $300 problem that I was too busy to communicate to you at the time. Soon after, the permit I was using was stolen out of my car. Not that it matters, since anytime after 9pm there is no parking whatsoever inside of the gate.

Since of course there is never street parking outside of the gate, when I come home from working in LA at midnight I sometimes have to park half a  mile away.

Being a woman that gets harrassed in broad daylight, I really shouldn't be walking out late at night. Especially in the borderlands. Even this might not bother me, except for the fact that I know a large number of the units are in fact empty so there is no reason that every space should be taken.

Its even more frustrating since MY car was towed at 3 pm, when there was a plethora of open spaces, even though I had every right to park in front of my unit. Since parking passes are being stolen out of cars, theres probably good chance that a majority of the ones out there are either stolen or fake.

Furthermore, maybe its time to change security companies AND tow companies since the security guards are obviously getting kick downs. And, in case you were unaware, "South Coast Towing", your tow company of choice, is a completely corrupt and reprehensible group of legal car thieves. I'm not implying that finding a reputable and fair tow company is an easy task, I've just noticed that this particular outfit is especially evil. Just letting you know.

Furthermore, there is a group of drug dealers that live in the complex and operate their endeavour here by using sprinkler heads, empty mailboxes, grates, and drainpipes as receptacles for drugs for dropoff points. If I notice these things, I don't know why the security guards haven't?

Also, FYI, my balcony is going to fall off any day now due to termites... and the light over by stairs has been in a state of disrepair for over a year.

Anyway, hope your day is going fantastic.

Cheers,
Anna

Life's delicious.

If you read my last blog entry and were bored to death by all my bitching, rest easy. I have less to complain about now that I've started parking half a mile away from my house and have successfully avoided parking tickets, corrupt security guards and ravenous tow-truck drivers. Also, my dog has refrained from running headlong into any other neighbors' windows, lucky for me and those two demonic creatures that live downstairs.  So, although now I'm teetering on the edge of broke, I have so many things in my life right now that I am infinitely grateful for I almost feel rich. 

First, I moved my art studio to Los Angeles, into a warehouse with four other artists. It is truly amazing. Yes, its located in a pretty sketchy neighborhood, but I like most things in my life a little rough around the corners. The people I'm sharing the warehouse with are creative, inspiring, interesting, and kind. There is a fashion designer (and his beautiful and talented fashion designer girlfriend), a photographer, a metal artist, a painter/performance artist, and a martial artist/musician/problem solver. They are all super badass creative people, and I feel so lucky to know know them.  I love it there, and its so nice to be able to paint in a large, open space.

The warehouse itself is something like fourteen thousand square feet. It has two levels. The bottom level is for pure creation. Well, pure creation and skating. Theres a freshly built halfpipe across the warehouse from my studio.Don't know about you, but I think its awesome. The second level is more or less for offices, fashion design, hanging out, cooking, etc. The whole place is awesome, and is becoming better and better and I acquire the things I need to be comfortable (space heater, constant source of coffee, a curtain for my studio, large headphones, paintbrushes that aren't totally tore up)

Painting in front of other people takes some getting used to. I've never really mentioned this quirk on my blog but I'm intensely private and tend to isolate when I'm painting. It's almost a borderline secret activity for me and when I paint out in the open, exposing myself to the world and it's criticisms, it feels a little like standing stark naked in front of a firing squad. Why did I move my studio from my hermitage into a collective, you ask? Because Erin Lopes, the first art teacher I ever had when I was eight years old, told me that to be an artist is to be comfortable with being uncomfortable.
And lately, its true, I've been too comfortable. And what follows comfort but complacency and eventually....a total extinguishing of the spirit? I realize how dramatic that sounds, but its incredible how quickly mediocrity can creep up on your life if you allow yourself to be too satisfied with who you've become. Not to say that you shouldn't be grateful for the things in your life or proud of your accomplishments, on the contrary, you should be constantly celebrating your successes.
But to live your life with a dream in mind is simply exquisite, assuming you have the will and the courage to go for it.
Speaking of dreams and goals, I'll be doing the Great Wall of China Marathon this year. However, in comparison to last year, I'm doing much, much better. First of all, I'm eating properly so I won't be in dire need of medical care at the finish line. Second of of all, I have discovered a secret weapon for running that surpasses all others.. Being an avid researcher of running science, I have investigated several different tools used by long distance runners all over the world. Here are several:
1. vibram five fingers: They correct my running form, make my feet and calves strong as steel, and garner attention from passerbys who are geniuinely intrigued and in some cases, disgusted by the audacity of the ten toed monostronsities.

2. chia seeds: Eaten by ultramarathon champion runners from the Tarahumara of northern mexico, little chia seeds give you ample energy and sustenance for long runs, and are a nutrition powerhouse. And as far as flavor goes, well...frankly, its a little like indulging in hamster food, without the occasionally pleasurable sunflower seed.

3. pandora radio: music on long runs is totally indispensable

4. unbending will and positive attitude: If I go out to run 12 miles, I'll run 12 miles, regardless of weather,
bodily pain, or laziness. Possessing an inner commandant will take you far, literally and figuratively speaking.

and last but not least....

5. A running partner. My running partner, Mary Jane, has been inexplicably motivating and encourages me to go longer, faster, and harder than ever before. And although I'm not quite sure if Mary Jane is coming with me to China, as there are some visa/passport issues, but I'm sure simply by training with her until I leave will do wonders.

Everything else is going swimmingly in life. An abundance of love and laughter from friends and loved ones. I'm living with my sister and her boyfriend, which is interesting and well, fun? Yes, fun. I've been neglecting my plants, but oh well. I don't have time. The one thing that is missing in my life in nature. I miss hanging out in the trees. I need to get to the woods, or the jungle, or the ocean soon. I can't be good for a human being to spend all day in a concrete jungle.

Also, I'm painting a lot. Works in progress...:

All in all, I'm still totally in love with the entire world. (some people more than others)