Well, hello again. Sorry for the long silence. Again I have been painting and not painting and doing other things instead of painting. A lot has happened. A lot of it is not happy or pretty. But I am not a victim.

Because I believe in the power of telling my story to heal, I am writing about the last three years of my life as concisely as possible. There is so much I do not understand about what has happened. I am hoping writing it down will help me to see the threads appearing and disappearing and appearing again in ways I cannot when I am the weaver everyday and glean some kind of underlying message or purpose to this seemingly random and unrelenting downturn in my life.

In July of 2009 I lost the job I thought I would be doing until I retired. The firing was politically motivated. I collected unemployment and lived off of a dwindling inheritance while doing my art and looking casually and confidently for the next good job I was sure I would find. I lived and worked in some very cool studios and made a few really good, high-quality, visionary paintings, along with drawings, sculpture and other crafts. Aside from a couple of very small pieces and cards, none of it sold. Insulated from poverty with my UI and savings, and already starting to feel anxious about the future, I wasted a lot of time and money trying to buy other people's love and affection, and pretending that I was already successful, among other misguided things. I wish I could have been more realistic, focused and self-disciplined. But life was good for a couple of years.

In August of 2012, my unemployment insurance ran out. My savings were gone. I liquidated a retirement fund, started selling off my possessions and living off my credit cards. I began looking for a job in earnest and found that I was now unemployable because I had been out of the job market for too long. Every professional job I interviewed for was probably going to someone who would start at a lower rate of pay and was younger. I lost my studio in an up and coming arts district because I could not pay the rent and insurance and my work was not selling. I set up a studio in the house I was renting, knowing it would be temporary. Little did I know how temporary everything in my life was about to become.

When I realized I would have to move and had no place to go as the month was ending, I was very anxious. Out of the blue a former neighbor offered to let me move in and stay rent free with my cat and a few possessions. Not knowing her well, I was hesitant. We would be sharing a room with only a folding screen in between for privacy.  I tried to warn her of my cat's quirky behavior, which she waved off, and thought all would be well as she is a pet sitter and already knew him from taking care of him where we were neighbors.
I had no idea that she would refuse to let him sit on the couch with her, she would not feed him or give him treats when it was clear he was upset and missing me, and that she would start to crazily say he was 'evil'!
Things went downhill until she told me I had to remove him or move out. I was fortunately able to find a decent place to board him. But unfortunately his stay there contributed to some health problems he is having now and may have definitely shortened his life. He was boarded for nearly four months, while I worked at an $8 an hour job cleaning in a gym, and used up my remaining credit on boarding fees, when I had planned on using it for gas and food. I moved out shortly thereafter and have been renting a room I can barely afford. I lost my job at the gym. I have appealed the denial of my unemployment insurance (UI) and it is pending. I still have no job and no income. A dear friend has taken in my sweet suffering cat, and has generously been paying his vet and food bills while I cannot. It is a terrible burden to know that my choices have made another being suffer so much needlessly. It is almost too much for me to bear.

I received a grant to go to bartender's school in August and have been looking for any kind of culinary job since I graduated. I am so motivated about getting into the culinary industry now, I am sure I will be getting something soon.The competition is fierce, but I am determined. I am grateful I no longer have to hide:  I am a PASSIONATE FOODIE PUNK AND PROUD OF IT!!! All I need is a foot in the door. I am ready to work HARD. I might dye my hair and paint my nails black.

Another thing I never planned for is the income needed to house my artistic legacy. And what would happen when I had no income at all. I can no longer pay for the rent on the storage space that contains my entire lifetime of art making -- 18 meduimu -to large sized  paintings, many boxes of journals, sketchbooks, portfolios and loose pages of drawings  Boxes of framed art, small table-top sculptures. Most of it amazing beautiful powerful. Frames. Tools and supplies. My entire lifetime of work. And all of my other stuff. The people who run the storage facility so far have been very kind have have not removed my stuff. But they could any day if I don't pay something soon. More money. More pressure.

I have been making small pieces of art in sketch books, as always. I have also been doing larger collages filled with the ephemera of my daily life -- parking and grocery receipts, want ads, magazine photos, etc -- which I attach to watercolor paper, then draw and watercolor around and over, making a dense, deplorable looking-- mess. I call it 'stupid' art because it looks so stupid and meaningless to me and I am sure to everyone else. It is like looking at a badly written diary entry. Too grim, too real and raw to be taken seriously. But what else can I do where there is chaos all around me and I just keep having everything taken away as I grow poorer and poorer...Sometimes I am so confused and tired that I cannot even think straight.. But I create anyway because it is the DOING that gives my life meaning and if I could not do it I would probably stop living. Maybe this is what I was supposed to get. Well, I know it now. I cannot live without making art. Even when I am not aware of it I am making art -- in true Dada, anti-art, punk, anarcho- fashion. I could not not do it. It wasn't like that before. I approached making art more as a necessary hobby and sort of was dabbling at times. My interest would wax and wane and I had little passion for it. But not anymore. Do or die has new meaning to me today.

In 2009 I met an amazing gallery director and curator whom I instantly respected greatly and from whom I took two workshops. He reviewed my work and told me he believed  he could sell a painting from my student days for $8000. I have been following his advice for career development ever since and wish we could be in contact because I just adore him! And to tell him I have had to alter my career plans a bit.
 
Because of my economic situation, I cannot really pursue my art career development as I had planned. Why didn't I plan for the times when would have no money? --because I didn't want to believe that would happen!  I am doing what I can trying to market small art pieces and cards. It has been difficult. It is hard to not get discouraged. I am unable at this point to approach galleries because I neglected to get high-quality reproductions of my work made, and this is pretty much a requirement if one wants reputable representation.

I am not giving up. I am taking the long view. My art has a life of its own and when it is ready to be seen it will create the time and space and all I will have to do is show up with it. I am just hoping that I will not lose what I have already created. It is really all I have.

(Photos to come)