Pink Flamingos, and Sympathy For Those Who Do Not Always Have Sympathy

      
       You know, I have some experience. To all former wealthy who can no longer make a living, and to people of all ages pushed out of the job market. I feel for you, to be sure, who doesn't? It was the case all along and still is the case that for 99% of artists, facts of education, talent, ability, work ethic, productivity, real can-do attitude and willingness to do it all...counted for virtually nothing in U.S. middle American culture; they also did not count in the exploitative art world. Most of us were far from appreciated all along, let alone honored or allowed to earn a living. Always generous, I have this to say to the unemployed and those employed beneath their level: yes, it hurts to feel you are a tree falling in the forest with no one there to hear. My heart goes out to you, just wait it out, keep going, you never know. Survive.

      Along the road to destruction, how many jewels have been thrown by the wayside, how much cultural wealth, our national treasure, has been allowed to slip through the cracks? People will not pay for fine art, but millions of dollars have been thrown away on pink flamingos for the garden. The question remains, what did most waste their money on then, and what is money wasted on now?

       I was taught in grad school that our reputation was everything, we could easily be blacklisted, be careful. But the level of repression of every genuine human instinct and thought that this engendered was phenomenal. In the long run all the walking on eggshells has done artists little good. Maybe it is time for a paradigm shift? Easy for me to say, I recently gave away a lifetime of art work, which did incidentally free me up to say what I please, no small matter at all.

Baby Aaron

The miracle of facebook for me is that I was able to reconnect with Aaron, the tiny babe I cared for from the time he was two weeks old until he was two years old. What an adorable little golden- curled personality was this child.

I would stroke the little soft spot where the cranium has not yet closed in infants ever so gently, barely touching it. A look of sweetest contentment would enlighten his already Yogic little face as he lay upon my belly, then the two of us would sleep an hour or two.

His first word was "Nanra," for Chandra. Then he said "Mama," "dogie" for doggy, "hoie," for horsie for the giant horse that the Revolutionary War soldier rode in the enormous painting at the Berkeley Art Museum. It was wheelchair/stroller accessible, and I frequented it with Baby Aaron on a regular basis.

I had taken care of and taught art to hundreds if not thousands of children (beginning when I was eleven, until well into my thirties) by the time I met Aaron, and after as well; but he is the stand-out in my memory, the most precious little infant of all. we met when I was twenty-eight, as I recall. Now Aaron is studying for the Bar examination!

Pages are from my book, Insomnia (Awakening).

Assemblage sculpture was the first of it's kind that I did. It is made from the baby-suit, tiny tee-shirt, and outgrown stroller given to me by his mother. It was created in the garage of his parents that they graciously allowed me to use as my art studio.

The original photo of the piece (smallest, yellow and black) was taken by Amanda Dahl, for the website created by Aki Sasaki for my work, http://www.darksecretlove.com/chandra.