Beddian

Beddian Birthday occurs when the age a person is turning, is the same number as the last two digits of their birth year.

you get one in a lifetime.

that’s about all we can say about 60.

i was thinking about birthdays, and decades and parties and cake

at 10 there was a birthday party at our house. my friend from school, and my two neighbor girlfriends were included. one has to remember how unwelcoming my home was. the party was tense. my sisters were part of the gathering and i didn’t want them there. i was 10 and wanted my double digit gal friend space. i had a pixie haircut and my mom had made us these culotte jumpers. the jumpers were cute but not when your sisters were wearing them too.

at 20 i threw a party for myself inviting co-workers. we were ending a season of work together so it was also like a going away party. i secured food that was my favorite from where i grew up as a novelty, and noone really wanted to eat it.  i remember feeling rather disappointed by it all. like people in attendance were just being polite

at 30 i was 8 months pregnant and steeped in unhappiness in my marriage. my first child was just 3 and i was realizing that he and i were no longer going to be just the two of us – there was a lot of celebration with his extended family, which felt terribly awkward. after that birth i spiraled into post-partum depression, but had NO idea what that was. only in hindsight was i able to put all those pieces together. my mother went all out and made a homemade rib dinner birthday feast. my brother was there – our bdays are a day apart and i remember having a really good time at that birthday. my mom’s kitchen counter was so full of dishes that she lit the candles of our favorite birthday cake on the kitchen floor. that was a good memory.  i can’t even remember if my husband was there.

at 40, my second husband threw me a surprise party inviting people who he thought were my friends. they were not. awkward as get. he lacked finesse in the details. it was hosted at a gals house whom i had recently had a difference of opinion with. shortly there after the friendship ended. turns out hoopla like that. surprises were about him. not about the recipient.

at 50, i was brand new to a community. i was an empty nester. i had just bought a home, a feat i never thought possible, and in the end, not a good fit for me as you know. i got caught up in the making the impossible happen. at that time i was business focused, and later was shunned from a good portion of that town for having my own ideas and hair on my legs. sigh. i bought my own cakes and champagne and hosted my own random gig. the strangest collection of people attended. and noone ate cake. whats that about? someone asked me what 50 felt like and i described it as a springboard into the unknown. something i could feel underneath my feet.  most of my 50’s sucked.

60 finds me the most isolated i’ve ever been. my emotional and physical health challenged. it’s not that i have some terminal illness – thank goodness, it’s the myriad of failings that my body continues to throw my way. it’s my mind when it gets to that overwhelm place and my day is lost, it’s a panic i have that is indescribable. it’s the depth in which my heart is broken. over and over. seemingly the memories of things thwarted just haunt me – if there is a place of letting go – i have not found it yet. lately, the phrase where were you? has shifted to where are you?? but really where the fuck were you goes back to my youth. who’s got your back. who’s got you?? who gets you?  my connections to others virtual, thanks to things pandemic. oddly, i share that with you. we now have virtual connections in common in a very real way.  but how connected are they. really. i tell my children — there are the things we don’t say to each other.  this verbal silence causes harm. this saddens me. speak your shit. people disappear and i dislike it. i’ve distanced and detached for self preservation way too long now. a boundary.  a management of emotional bandwidth with no regret. i am better for it. this is truth for me. I’ve not left others in my wake. i’ve not ghosted or abandoned. i’ve just learned to say no.

I’ll make a special dinner for my beddian birthday. one that complies with my current eating program. i’ll find joy in …well, the only food joy currently is an avocado.

i’ll have a big piece cake in a delayed gratification way ….later. maybe. can one feel indifference about birthday cake?

last night i was snuggled in a blanket reading. for a building of 200 elders i find it rather amazing how very very quiet it is. a deafening quiet at times. so so very quiet. and i love it. i had quiet  years ago when i bought my house and i didn’t know what to do with it. i love and feel grateful for the privacy, and the peace of quiet. i also live in a city, so when the city awakens …there is noise. lots of noise. I also love that. quiet to me is very different from silence.

in my lifetime I steeped into three different communities. one as a new mother, the other as a single mom, and the other as an empty nester. where i live now i am the artist. a long overdue, perfect for current times way to be. each layer I felt i left some footprint, some layer of impact, something i can be proud of. when i wondered what i would be when i grew up i never thought how i would contribute to the world but i did. in my own way i was part of things bigger than myself. today i let my art be the connector. during the pandemic i joined a few new virtual groups. with consistency i ingratiate perfect strangers to me, and to my work. i continue to see that i have a volume of work that has distinction. unique to me. i am an artist. but i really need the affirming. I need the feeling that comes with the statement, “i love your work” I value the following.

how this applies to my nude work remains to be seen. i am just not making much nude work at the moment.

i mentioned this photo a bit ago and that i liked it. so, let me this be my beddian portrait.

 

Kind And True

there is traffic here.

at the blog

that’s nice.

thank you.

over at flickr.

gawkers, and collectors

and rif raf prevail.

a few are

“people”

kind and true.

i appreciate you too.

the people.

it’s been said that i use to be

different.

yes, i took more risks, i was more playful, i was expressed in a different way.

but that’s not because of me.

the really good images i’ve taken??

those come from

attention from all of you.

in the heat of things anonymously nude

where there was dating, and trysts, and newness

many many more of you were way way way more attentive.

i am not complaining.

truth be, today.

not sure if i could be as responsive as I was then.

i became broken if you recall

jilted,

and triggered.

it doesn’t mean that i am not still in here

somewhere.

it just means a certain patient understanding kind and true

person would have to be at the core of the attention i need and deserve..

i was finding self love way before it was trendy

but really?

self love is a crock of mainstream bullshit

love yourself??

be accepting?

nah.

how about allowing others to contribute

how about connection

compliments,

and attention.

be nice to your neighbor for goodness sake.

am i not the gal next door??

that’s what everyone use to say

don’t forget

some chocolate cake.

( had to throw that in there. i am off any and all food that is fun and i am dying )

images below all were spired by the personal attention of someone. a man.

the gift of their attention had me feel pretty, wanting to please and playful

plus i was way hairier.

sigh

 

A Tone Of Sorts

gee, 5 years already.

today marks an anniversary

i got dumped on this day.

such a mix of i really knew better and this isn’t working reality

but shit, i so didn’t have a plan.

just weeks prior

these images were taken.

i don’t know how these happened

actually.

he was not easy to work with in this way.

participating within my creative ideas and all.

these are a vibrant set of images

that i really love.

perhaps he was enjoying himself too?

the tone of them is immediate.

as circumstances go it was a long weekend

my standing in the doorway shirtless would otherwise have not have been a thing to do.

today.

for fun, or to honor said five years – i removed him, leaving just his hand.

a ceremony of sorts.

creative ceremony

with a bit of fuck you on the side.

felt demonstrative to do that.

i like them even more.

in things pandemic

these images sure resonate with the word TOUCH

or 

the lack of.

or in my case, the lack of.

since leaving him. 

forever ago.

i feel like screaming TOUCH ME from the roof tops.

an ache that is rattling inside me.

i know you feel that too.

i sometimes feel the weight of all of us missing normalcy.

as days go today

i am in a mood of sorts

distracted to derailed

to

i can’t remember the third “d” word.

angry. annoyed.

the top image with the doorknob is my very favorite.

 

 

 

 

Goddess

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.

TWELVE 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.

SIGH

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

YAY.

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

HARD.

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.

literally.

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

SOMEHOW.

SHE is in there.

Finally,

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

me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As Usual

the highlight of my things pandemic long holiday weekend include:

very little blog traffic, or internet presence which is as usual on any weekend.

more so though on a holiday one.

a complete loss of time. which i happen to love.

a frozen macaroni and cheese. kid you not, the best.

and a lot of art making. which i am not sure many of you really give a shit about. which i get. you are not here for collages. perhaps my timing was bad when i chose to post/share them.

there was some not so nice behavior from a fan. kindly note i will block those who continue bad behavior. i offer a layer of opportunity for redemption but not much.

this post “don’t be an asshole” applies.

there was also some very wonderful sweetness and communications from some of you.

thank you. thank you very much.

for this alone gal

your reaching out to me means a lot.

warms my heart

and reminds me that i am of value

human

and not alone.

OFF

tomorrow is thursday.

a week ago, on thursday i thought it was wednesday

i then proceeded to think friday was thursday.

i was on the wrong day for two entire days

oblivious.

when i found out it was friday.

imagine how mortified i felt.

imagine the befuddlement

for the life of me i can’t figure out how i did it.

HOW on earth???

and noone said anything.

if you recall i’ve done this one other time before

and felt equally puzzled by it.

WTF.

i can only blame pandemic times.

my good news of the week is that i am in a virtual group show in chicago.

it opens june 5th.

it’s my first opening since early march.

that steam punk show got lost in the pandemic shuffle.

the theme for this one is “touch”

i had done this piece about masturbation

i felt it was a good fit for the art call.

while the show was juried, one piece was gauranteed an in

i only sent in the one.

the 8.5 x 11 mixed media piece includes an image i took a good 10 years ago.

i then made it into a crazy quilt style panel. using magazines, stitching and ribbon. The edges are bound like a quilt. the collage has a baroque feel I think.

with regard to this image at that time i wondered what masturbation might “look like” this was a take on it that i loved. using a timer.

i am very proud of this. its a unique one of a kind piece.

i’ve made others.

let me know if you feel curious to see them.

It’s NOT awful

what if i said that living in times of pandemic isn’t awful

would that be a GASP of a comment?

what if all the alone that i know and that you endure with me

is in her element.

there i said it. i am actually content.

i may have to stay inside

as all of us have been called on to do

i do that anyway.

i have lived this isolated way for a long while now.

i know this life

I might be poor

i might be alone

but I HAVE
SO MUCH. 

there is content.

and there is gratitude.

2 years ago my building was painted. it went from this hideous red sortof color to a lovely bright white

i started calling it my ivory tower.

if my beard gets any longer

we could add the element of rapunzel to the mix

( ok that just seriously made me laugh )

and yes, i amuse me myself and i often.

a recent tarot card pull

found a woman holding a cat

wearing a very very tall dress

filled with hearts.

i saw myself in this card.

the cat lady in her tower.

the card made my laugh actually

it was so revealing

the card was about contentment.

it affirmed OK-ness.

such a simple thing

what sucks the life out of contentment

or being you in the matter

is comparing.

so and so does this.

so and so looks this way

so and so is in love.

If you let it

comparing messes with contentment

it calls out

on the MORE

BETTER

NOT good enough.

It messes with you.

I feel that.

i know those thoughts.

who cares what someone else is doing?

This does not include those I know that are so so very sick right now.

That part just envelopes me with an indescribable helplessness

I don’t know how to help.

and when we add that it’s wordly.

well, that’s a larger empathic swell.

it’s so so much bigger than me

The biggest lesson right now for me

is

I am OK.

I am good.

I am alone

and i am lonely

yet. that’s me.

right??

it’s what is so.

all said,

that does not mean i am FINE.

Fine is so. ORDINARY

Fine says nothing about how one is.

I am definitely not ordinary

( taken recently. i love them)

 

 

Attracted To

you and i have probably had more time on our hands than usual lately.

pandemic and all.

i sometimes wonder if the all chatter going on inside my head was written down somewhere,

what it might say.

how many different directions would it be dialoguing (sp??)

when you’ve done alone for as long as i have

you get use to the chatter in your brain.

i have these epic dreams sometimes

and think, gosh, i just never stop.

the thing is i don’t want to stop.

i want to be a curious, wondering and idea making being.

i always have.

my own ideas always set me apart from others.

i was very young when i left home. too young.

and i didn’t leave. i ran.

when i came back i never felt very welcome.

there was no belonging.

people who knew me when i left had this impression of me.

when i came back – they held onto what or who they thought i was

that was no longer me.

i had changed.

there was trauma that year.

trauma i didn’t speak about

or even begin to understand until many many years later.

this is true in life.

who i was in college

who i was in marriage

who i was a mother

or a friend.

who i was as a lover.

those are all who i use to be.

what about who i am now?

I think all of us hold onto these ideas we have about what makes us valid.

i want to be and feel useful to another. i want others to be proud of me.

i want cherish. that deep something that is very hard to describe.

the pandemic has been a very very fascinating social experiment

it’s brought out the ugly

its’s brought out the scared.

and it’s brought out the inquiry

who you are in the matter means something.

when someone asks how i am doing.

i feel very grateful.

especially if they listen when you reply

i find i am less attracted to certain folks

the energy or vibe they offer

is not what i want to be a part of

we are all going to be different because of these months of

i know i am.

i like the social isolation.

it’s more me than i knew.


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

men

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

 

 

 

Isolation

someone spent some time here today. thank you. no comment so, i have no idea who you are just a rather high stat for the weekend.

ran across this recliner image the other day.

it’s NOT the green chair.

this was a free chair – delivered to me. 4 years ago.

it’s since seen better days.

i spend a lot of time in this chair.

while this image sat on my desktop and before i got to writing this post

i thought i’d try and get some self shots in said chair

but with she who chases feet and makes me bleed

under foot all day and night.

well

photography has to be done when she’s asleep.

by then i’m doing something else

because that’s what these days blurred all together are like.

at least spring is very beautiful.