I’ve been wondering about GODDESS.

not woo woo goddess

not mystical goddess

or religious goddess.

at least literally.

i mean figuratively.

i mean the adored goddess

the old, fat, wise one.

and HER shape.

bear with me. pondering post ahead.

A goddess is a female deity. Goddesses have been linked with virtues such as beauty, love, sexuality, motherhood and fertility. They have also been associated with ideas such as war, creation, and death. In some faiths, a sacred female figure holds a central place in religious prayer and worship. ( wikipedia )

when you and i met

12 years ago.


i had just lost a bit of weight.

i can’t remember if i ever divulged how much weight i lost

when i began photographing  myself here at anonymously nude

i had just lost 100 pounds.

yay me!!

i irst posted to show courage, and to understand what another sees.

the camera and my minds eye told two different stories

i found self love before self love was a hashtag

i LIKED what i was then.

in 2015, eight years later, a surge of unexplained weight gain occurred.

enough gain to scare me.

35 lbs in 30 days.

i blew up.

it felt like i blew up

the gain was like get to the dr scare me.

“you must be menopausal ” the endocrinologist said.


fast forward to now. 2020

all that weight. all those ONE HUNDRED POUNDS

is back.

UGH. it didn’t happen over night, the 2015 surge started it all …

recent dr work confirms – I don’t have cancer, or a brain tumor


but two years into figuring IT out

i can’t lose weight.

i’ve lost my knees, and my feet hurt

and my thighs are thick.

and my self love is


really hard to find the love

reasons why, like health reasons are still being explored.

BACK to goddess.

I began wondering about community

because to have that level of adoration one has to earn it.

bear with me.

i was back in town – the town i grew up in

on a break from school,

this guy from my grade school life

pumped my gas.

we talked for a really really long time

and he was a such delight.

like a guy i just wanted to hug.

and seeing him again and the feeling of our great conversation lingered

my growing up was detached from the community i lived in

he alone in those moments,  made me feel like i belonged somehow.

and then he died. death by choking on his vomit death.

horrified. mortified. not even equipped to …

i didn’t have the f-ing guts to attend the funeral.

because if i did that would have meant that i was part of the community somehow.

i’ve never spoken about this.

i have been thinking about how i was raised.

my one sibling and i agree

we were not parented.

we made it up as we went along.


who influenced me???

definitely the mothers of my friends, the librarians – is that weird? i loved those ladies. I felt so welcome and loved at the library, the nuns? uh no? ( actually … i’d have to think hard about that one. what characters those nuns were. perhaps there is more influence than i give credit . different conversation) 

MY POINT is in order to establish SELF AS GODDESS

one has to have a community who adores THEE.

perhaps that’s why i am here on the interweb.

is this why i’ve kept myself here?

This gets me to the history of where you didn’t belong

the million moves

the hyper focus of survival

the mortification of things failed

the make it up as you go along.

the WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU in the matter of.

ALL of this wondering was spired by a recent set of photos that

i see goddess in


SHE is in there.


why does said goddess have to be manifested in a physical form.

could my art, my thoughts and actions, could my knowledge be enough value?

somehow NOT rising to said goddess status feels way more authentic.

way more me.

way more earthly.

i mean, really who do i think i am anyway??

perhaps somewhere in the history of this blog there was that level of goddess adoration.

so much so, i felt assured and confident in that attention and in that following.

things change.

its so quiet here.

I drafted this post in early july.

one might think it’s yesterdays news but it is not

the goddess theme is finding me

in odd, mysterious and wonderful ways.

so far,  it has nothing to do with a nude alter ego

imagine that.

below, and behold

fat and wise











I’m Still Here

so my cat’s newest antics in the morning to awake me is getting her claw stuck in the tin mirror i have hanging near my bed. it’s not her mission to get stuck, more so the sound her paw makes on it is fun sounding, and to her that’s a way of communicating. i need lessons in cat speak perhaps.

i’m still here. hello. i’m here!!

i had a dream a few nights ago. when i think of this dream it STILL makes me laugh. out loud. all by myself. to tears. roaring with laughter. last night i thought about this dream and ended up sobbing. is the dream a vehicle to remind me of laughter. the tears of joy?? Or should i be troubled by the ridiculousness of the dream.

or am i simply miserable?

i’m still here. hello. i’m here!!

over the decade that i’ve been writing here. few will reach out to me and tell me that they “read me” from blog post to blog post. from the beginning to the current. in one sitting. in one anonymously nude sitting. wow. each time i hear this i feel amazed. remember i thanked someone for being at my blog last week? the high traffic? someone had sat up the entire night. reading me. wow.

one man, long ago, was in an italian coffee shop. he said, there he was in public enjoying this delicious secret. he then went home to his wife. and he told me about her. and his unhappiness of their marriage. i never quite know what to say. thank you? thank you for reading my work. Thank you for enjoying my photography  i don’t usually hear from these men again. they just want me to know that they spent time with me. which is of course rather wonderful.

what I wish is a deeper sense of their experience. i was here isn’t enough. it’s not that the person isn’t enough. i just wish that I WAS MORE.

I’m still here. hello. I’m here!!

the longer things pandemic keep us isolated. the more my personal reality looks me in the face. i never counted the days that i’ve stayed at home before. ( i was last in my car 15 days ago ) 

the truth is, thats rather normal for me. i can do blur of time really well.

it’s what comes with the pandemic mind that I am having trouble with.

i know i do not feel this alone.

this is all a real mind fuck.

an article is circulating. don’t get me started about the stupidity of the press – – it’s about the insensitivity of asking “how are you?”

are you kidding?

the article pissed me off. like fuck you pissed me off.

do not diminish my caring inquiry. do not turn caring and asking into some better politically correct bullshit you should say it this way language. no no no.

I’m here. hello. I’m still here.

Lately, I’ve been turning old nude images of me into art.

i feel rather delighted and proud of them.

and then, i talk myself out of sharing them because

i decide that noone gives a shit.

they don’t want to see my art

they want to see my ass.

i remind myself that i make art not for you

but for me.

but i wish that my art was cherished.

or more so, that i was cherished.

with things pandemic, things art feel like a big thumb squishing my creative mind into the woodwork.

i’m here, hello, I’m still here.

my intimate times with myself are less and less.

and my photographing things intimate

are even less.

but then a moment finds me.

a moment spired usually by some stranger being kind.

and i feel attended to …

for a second.

i’m here. hello. I’m still here.

out of that, my creativity is affirmed.

images like these

which are very me

and very creative

are just a moment in time.

that i give away.

that slips away into internet heaven.

i’m left with

many many strangers


and women who

perhaps have a moment of joy.

i should feel satisfied somehow.

i don’t.

this triggers stuff.

emotional stuff.

because that’s what it all is.

one big ball of way too much.

I’m still here. hello. I am here





if you say the word trigger

it’s an alert.

it says you have survived something

and usually those somethings are not good.

its a word that is used way too often now.


i loathe mainstream terms

sure i survived.


but when there is  hashtag and a campaign around it

when survivors are now a tribe


The words do however set the tone.

and the word trigger

i find very useful

i didn’t mean to run into these images but here they fucking are.

the triggers in this trio are there.

allow me to share.

first image. i remember this day. i had put this dress on backwards and didn’t notice. so like me.  this shot – headless me? was a bit like where had I gone. the “i” part. I love the missing head, the front of the dress on the back of me and the feet in the other direction — this is a great odd shot. I was losing my home here. my lovely little circa 1926 bungalow. my lovely 27 windows of 4 way light. my first space of my very very own. the owning of which happened without a plan in 4 days. my income once here began to spiral. the beginnings of repressed memories and trauma began here. and, so did my alter ego that all of you know so so well. ( or think you know anyway ) I have been writing for cathartic reasons lately and am glad of it. thank you for reading. and for noticing. i am ok. just alone as usual.  but thank you for wondering. so the trigger in this image was the toaster oven. go figure. when i moved in with mr cowboy. he pitched my toaster oven. big big demonstrative ceremony to the dumpster. this has got to go. in the scheme of things NOW I actually have no need for one. but then — a toaster oven was a fixture of home. and he dismantled home emotionally for me. at so so many levels. he messed with it. he messed with me.

second image.  in my creative mind and heart. images like these are an expression and story i want to tell. coupling. my belief in two. visually the moment captured here = lust and desire. it shares an i feel pretty and it pauses a something between two that is a feeling. not a selfie, not contrived, not predicted. it’s real. i can feel the tenderness of these two lips touching. it was like that between us. chemistry at it’s best. lips kissing to wet between them lovely. yum.  the day after this was taken. this man dumped me via text. who the fuck does that. i was stunned.  i gave it or his so called dump some time, because it was JUST weird. He crawled back with an automatic sorry and a handful of pesticide ridden yellow roses. I allowed that. this is where i should say to myself wtf  — because i asked for more of him.  we all have part in our messes. the trigger in this one — stops me in my emotional tracks. the very very memory of such tenderness makes my stomach turn inside out. how is this even missing from my LIFE. we all deserve kisses. lots and lots of them.

The last image was taken for someone who at the time was paying attention to me virtually. he. like most. fleeted. but at the time this was taken for him. the banter was very lovely. I enjoyed taking this image and would do so for  special certain reasons and circumstances. This image reminds me triggers all of my humble beginnings – 10 years ago — my alter ego, my courage to be nude and my looking at myself. inside and out. I keep trying to say… that person is no longer here. I keep speculating about trauma, and age because the other side of it all is there and real. when i look at this image i don’t see the same flesh. and age has altered the demographic

At some level I have stopped looking. or have lost the desire or the feeling of i am…worth looking at i guess. and this isn’t to self deprecate. this is to say who really cares. because who does ?? because really.  if am deserving and worthy. then that should be standing by my side.

My cat was sick last week. for about 4 days she wouldn’t leave me. her curled form upon my chest had me feel a tenderness again that had me weep. she’s a fucking cat. and some of you are not cat people so, i get that but  …the emotional value of a pet is sortof there. and she, and I are together more than anything else. the thing is. i, as you know, tell stories with my photography. i offer a narrative. and doing so in social media has had a volume of folks fall in love with her. It’s pretty neat. In the spirit of that — two strangers and one friend have gifted funds for a now empty vet envelope. not small change either. generous gifting.  That said, I am fully prepared for a next circumstance for her in a way I would have not been able to manage on my own. THIS is pretty great.

I should write more about the gifting economy sometime. and money, and triggers.

another time. 

Things June 2013

fun to go down that memory lane thing



full moon


and dresses that the light passes through.

my breasts were deflated here. flatter. bigger. definitely bigger than before

the one of me standing in the doorway

back facing in. i love the crooked band on my back.

i love my hair.

and that light through my legs

i admit. pretty hot

that image was used in my online dating profile at the time.

i am laughing as i remember the date i had that month

the dude with the wad of banana bubble gum in his mouth

he was making saliva after a dentist appointment i guess

talk about having nothing in common.

i forget what mr name i gave that one

summer solstice.

a time to honor our mother earth

to open our container or vessel and fill it with her light.

fill our selves with her light.

if only you could see the sunset right now.



i have a long awaited art opening this evening. the idea for the installation sprouted with a share and tell, a mock up of sorts. I thought perhaps 36 pieces. the gallery owner said MORE. Triple it. oh my gosh — there are officially 94. two sided. 188 collages all told. the hanging is impressive.

the very very newest element to my paper collage art is stitching.

it happened mid 2018 at a time where i know the distraction happened for a reason.  the stitching had me bury myself in learning and in new ideas.

all i wanted to do was stitch. and then, the hand me down sewing machine died. I called her Fiona, for her fabulous moments and for her finicky moments. and of course she didn’t work any longer. that’s how things go with my life.

but then, in the new year, a new hand me down sewing machine found me. new meaning. used twice. sat in a closet for two years. oh my gosh. new!!  her name is Kendra.

now hear me when i say sew. or stitch. to clarify. i do not sew. i zag and i zig because i love the look of that, and it’s super forgiving.

i made a birthday card for a gal whom shares the same birthday month as I

when she received it she said my stitching was like me stitching my life back together.

what she said felt so TRUE

the reveal my art provides amazes me.

i think that is why i make.

it’s like seeing my life, both the good and bad, on a platter of sorts

i describe this particular installation as FLUID

in its making

it just poured out of me.

I could have kept making and making.

I love that.

Here is the next reason I titled this post BREATHE

Early January i had a panic attack. I wrote about it …I think. ( couldn’t find it )

i had another one yesterday.

and for what reason??


I declare that moving forward that I ask others to do the math parts.

i am done.

when that little girl in third grade said, i don’t do division ….she had the right idea

i don’t do math.

my second husband said he’d do the dishes if i did all the cooking.

perhaps a good trade,  IF he did the dishes properly.

makes me sound like a bitch, but i’ve done a volume of dishing for hire

if it’s not clean they dock your pay.

his intent was perhaps in the right place but the man was a slob.

the entire area around said clean dishes was like train wreck

at one point he said. just let me do the math. by that time i had an inkling of mistrust of the man. i believed with all of me, and i still actually feel this way now — it’s better for me to do the math and fail. oh and am I EVER good at that. But i do the math somehow. I do.

My panic yesterday was more because it involved math, and it involved my good faith and my pride. part integrity, part wanting to make an impression.

my challenge in speaking about my art here. is blending my self/self with my alter ego self.

this is why when a provocative magazine found me, I tore apart the parts and did some collage work with it. the thing is, the work is just not the same as my work/work.

which is REALLY hard to explain.

fine lines i guess. fine lines.

perhaps i will stitch some of those?????

( if i leave conditioner in my hair and french braid it all – it makes it super wavy/thick feeling. except that the conditioner is still in it. so there is that ) 




That Was My Man

he nuzzled my neck. inhaled the scent of my hair, spooned himself and wrapped his arms around me. i felt myself smile. his nuzzling turned into little sweet wet kisses. i pressed my ass into his groin, his anatomy responded — lovemaking ensued. when we awoke we were on an orange thick shaggy circular carpet on the floor of the library foyer. we were nude. my lover was actor jack black (!!) clothed people were stepping over us on their way to return their books and do their research. we held onto each other intertwined.  the next scenario he was nude in a recliner in a corner  of what felt like a dollhouse. I was wearing an apron. my sister walked in. she was parading herself in a loud orange polka dot sweater with of all things a frilly collar. and no panties. her nipples were perky, large and erect. He was watching her with great interest. I said, well he and I are now lovers in case you were wondering. he started to play with himself. she unbuttoned the sweater and said well obviously i need a bra….and proceeded to lean over him with her breasts. next thing i see is the two of them behind the recliner kissing each other madly with wide mouths and tongue. I was livid. steaming mad. that was my man I said, that was my man.

^^^ last nights dream.





Shifts That Make Sense

There is this blogger who started about 4 years prior to when I did. I am speaking about my work blog. Not this one. But still, she’s been out there. As have I. I have been writing publicly for 13 years. Thats a lot of life and a lot of words when you think about it. Her blogs, as has her life has shifted many times over the years. When new major changes occur it’s a neat thing to be a part of. i feel her happiness and her joy – and i really enjoy that. i love being included. however that lady has NO idea about me. i remember her once writing about having fans. internationally she’s very very well known. Her comments about fans struck me profoundly.  they are what gets her through her day. her blog is monetized. mine never got to that. blogging is her income. blog comments spire traffic. its business as usual – ya know??

I grew up without much television. I am not really into pop-culture, or the news. Gossip as in the comings and goings of film stars and such, pretty stupid stuff. passing by commentary …OK, but some folks are deeply vested. Like they think they know this person because they are famous.  I don’t discount the impact of anyone who cultivates a following. I mean this emphatically. Influencers are a pretty valuable thing. especially the really authentic good ones.

This is where fans come in. I have fans here. thousands of men and women have clicked through this expression of mine. And based on the praise that finds me — i feel what i do here is very impactful. Just because you read me…or view me, does not mean you are anything more than a fan. now please hear this — fans are beloved to me. just like my fellow blogger – i write for you. you keep me here.  you are especially of value when you participate here with praise and encouragement or jokes ( giggle) but the boundary is important.

Another very great influencer online and I talked about this boundary. I have wanted personally so much to he heard and understood that my spew here sometimes got intimate. I have ached for companionship here.  she has always felt that was a mistake — to be real and all.  she is a vague poster. one never really knows with her. that aloof mysterious thing.  which to me borders on paranoia  – but thats just my opinion — Have I found it? Companionship? In a vested real very human way? No. In a peripheral/subtle way. Yes. Many varieties of ways  – yes. For which I feel grateful for – YET – My ability to do peripheral is lessoning. This is the shift I am speaking to. IF and when I allow someone into my inner circle. It means something to me. What does a fan then become?  an acquaintance, a friend, a patron?? What then does that really mean??  Oh …I KNOW her. UH – Do YOU? Do you know me? Really know me? I say that you don’t.

What am I trying to say here?

Mostly, the shifts that I am currently making in my life have to do with emotional boundaries that I am getting better at putting in place for myself. I am saying no. I am saying hey that doesn’t work for me. I am saying you are not a fit for me and this is why. 

Camera Update

after a month of experimentation with my mirrorless camera and a gifted used point and shoot of the same brand. lumix. i shared some of my frustrations on fb with these two camera’s. since my gifted canon, now dead, was so good to me. that’s been the basis for my comparison. someone suggested that i try a different canon – a camera within the same brand and offered to lend me one. what a great idea. the camera was a bit of a clunker and heavy for me, but on the realm of high performing or doing what i needed when i needed. wow – it was way spot on.  interesting experiment. i used it this entire month. i impressed the person who loaned it to me. i even did a single shoot with both point and shoot cameras. just to see how they faired. more files from the canon were usable than the lumix. this is true for all my lumix shoots. more work for me. i found kindred mentorship recently for a project that i want to take on and that requires a hot shoe. would you believe i had to google that? learning!!!! all that said, perhaps this may be where the big lumix can shine for me. we’ll see. what i am exploring mostly is what is my next camera?? and why?? and then finding a way to fund it. story of my life.

i teach a workshop. monthly. i’ve taught this workshop for two years, but i’ve been teaching it at one level or another for 20 years.  In it I offer prompts to my participants that foster motivational self exploration and inspiration. one of the thoughts said. follow your own advice. good one. duh — good one. a reoccurring theme for the entire year has been about true to self action. stay in your own lane. i so love that guidance. focus on your own shit it said. yes!! the other day a prompt shared how it’s important to surround ourselves with those who nurture us. this struck a profound cord for me. one can be supportive and encouraging from afar, but nurturing is a bit like tending a plant. the watering occurs affectionately and with consistence. if there is no watering. the plant will die.  i require watering. needing attention is one thing. needing to be held and or be treated with tenderness is another. being ignored, or not treated with common courtesy is not acceptable. if angst is part of the equation. it’s not fun or meaningful anymore

i have lost patience for those who fleet in and out of my personal space. i don’t have the energy for it. this is me focusing on my own shit. i feel the need to draw a line. at a glance. anyone can be a fan of ones spirit and creativity, or of ones mind. i share so much of this with you. Knowing me might be good for you, but what if it is not a good fit for me. again – what if it isn’t a good fit for me???  In actual action, in tangible attention – vs what i call fleeting or random – many i know can be very lacking. both men and women.  up your game my so called friends. or,  as i said before. i will lose not only my respect for you. i will simply think less of you.  i will think less of you. meh. and in that — you will eventually lose my return attention. I can’t spend my energy that way any longer. waiting for folks to give me the time of day. its not healthy. i am calling it a boundary. its a moving forward gesture for me. someone recently said that my expectations are expectant. what the fuck. without discussion this was i guess a decided thing. “you expect too much”  perhaps those who think that are low performing or don’t expect enough?  works both ways. both have to participate. to me if there is a missing – on either side. then a discussion can occur. not a finger pointing. there is enough stupid going on in our world. don’t be be so fucking ordinary.

regarding being bearded. when i shaved all of this off  i wrote about feeling like my personal gumption wasn’t there to keep it. i felt raw. fetal and the center of attention in a way that didn’t feel very positive. i felt vulnerable.  in current times i have found that gumption, i feel liberated. I don’t care what others think. Add that there are medical reasons that are defining how and why my body is so broken. I can focus on self in this arena also.

what i wish most for this face of mine is to be kissed. seems like a silly thing to wish for …but that’s my current thought on the matter. kissed by someone who wants to kiss me for me. not the novelty of my face. sigh. big sigh

this post is way longer than i intended. these are recent captures. not common for me to share current work. 



It’s When You Stop Looking

emotional spiral happening here.

new year

new digs


i believe myself to be on the other side


too much fight or flight.



it’s something i have to name

but have little experience with

it’s more disorienting than i am use to.




the new space has the most light i’ve had since arriving here.

city studio i am calling it.

and, mirror placement is available.


i might actually consider looking at myself again.

it’s when you stop looking that you stop seeing.

when a compassionate and encouraging audience stops looking

then the reason for posting fades.

i stopped looking when my journey here was so thwarted.

there is no way i could have predicted the challenges.

it got complicated.

while i am here,

let me remind all of you something

i am not the person you think i am.

i am not the person that first began

blogging here.

and you can’t possible know me from what i write and share here

i am way too much much more.


and adding emphatically

i will never do video.


requesting video from me

is THE most unacceptable disrespectful request.


whatever had any of you think otherwise?

hugely mistaken.

the way to have me

in your inner circle

is to not be a shit about it.

patient, loyal, and not fleeting works

this is about a person.

not the nudity

or expectations you seem to feel you are entitled to

there i said it.