acute artistic therapeutic therapy

share time. sometimes i get down. not like Cutting A Rug getting down, tho certain conditions do allow for that particular phenomenon to occur, but the particular seasonal fog of My Particular Body + Change In Said Body + How My Perception Of That Is Wired In My Particular Brain getting down where no amount or combination there of of coffee/cat time (probably would help if i had a cat to have time with)/netflix+cereal/ok fine i'll go for a walk around the block/talking with roommate Beth Leppard will cut through. sigh. 'twas even a semi recent moment when i looked at my phone, simultaneously wishing it and thanking it that it did not have the capacity to dial for me just from me looking at it, wondering if i should call my erstwhile therapist to see if her plant/sensible shoes/corner of the room over her right shoulder would be available for me to stare at while i talk to the rest of the room and oh she just happens to be in there listening and repeating things back to me in a learned way. 

that moment quickly passed. 

and in the wide open field of that next moment, a new option presented itself to me in the form of a text: what are you doing sunday? (nothing.) do you want to be a russian dancer for CHWS? (yes.) details to follow. (ok great!)

details being the requisite time and place, sign this waver. oh, and bring a dance belt. uh. . . . scanning the email list and realizing i am the only female bodied individual cast in this fictional ballet company. . . uh, excuse me, costumer? i must clarify. . . ah yes, no worries? dance belts will be provided? great. . . that was me saying YES to being filmed half naked while in the snag of a body image issue hick up. well, ilvs, how bad could this be?

well, ilvs, turns out not bad at all, once i got past the Am I Actually Going Pant-less On Camera? Yes I Do Believe I Am! factoid. follow up factoid: nothing, and i mean nothing, negates negative self image issues like wearing SOMEONE ELSE'S DANCE BELT for 3 hours in a chilly workout room with 2 walls of mirrors and 1 bank of windows that look over pike street, in the company of 8 sculpted male dancer friends, also in dance belts (their own), while your Not That Kind Of Lady Friend lady friend, dressed as a russian ballet troupe's mean queen bee, smacks your calves with a riding crop while yelling 'CALF!! CALF!!!' in a thick russian accent, all the while cameras are rolling on the set of your friend's web series to be viewed in the not so distant future by probably most of your friends and pretty much everyone else in the far reaching corners of your community. 

so, to wes and the cast and crew for both fully witnessing and fully documenting both my external and my internal growth, a big ridiculous, awkward, liberating, scintillating, challenging, heartfelt Thank You. who knew that's exactly what i needed?

lumi + ilvs 4ever

lumi + ilvs 4ever

if she walks like a lamb and quacks like a lamb, she's probably an artist

for approximately Several Days last week, i sallied forth about the overcast and kinda rainy seattle city administering to That Which One Does When One Is Mostly Self Employed As Performer Of The Art much like any other Several Days save but for one noticeable detail: my hands were bright red. 

fortunately, 'twas not due to a You Need To See A Doctor 5 Minutes Ago medical condition. in blessed fact, it did not involve the pain or the harm to anyone or anything, myself included.

and so how does one find themselves with fire engine red extremities? well, in this particular instance, it was a direct result of a combination of not wearing protective nitrile examination gloves and waiting too long to use ACTUAL SOAP to wash my paws off after being tasked repeatedly to hands and knees it to the deck and sop up several gallons worth of RED using an astonishingly absorbent sponge. the RED being neither actual blood nor a corn syrup based liquid representation of vital fluid, but just plain ole water from the mop sink dyed the certain color choice of a certain ALICE GOSTI, whose art performance project i am at her technical beck and call for. the take away on my end of aforementioned duties being that i left theater von theater with palms and phalanges looking like a person who just committed some kind of ritual involving at least one but probably closer to many a sacrificed lamb. needless to say, it was noticeable. fortunately for me, other pronounced visual clues (walking around in broad day light with a retinue of artsy looking folk) and universal safe assumptions (i mean really, who sacrifices lambs these days?)(don't answer that.) meant that i, with my wildly out of place tinting, was read as not just AN ARTIST, but a WORKING ARTIST at that. 

never you mind that the presumptions were based off a pedestrian occupational hazard that comes with being a stage lackey, this clandestine outside validation from my fellow humans i will willingly take! (the smattering of jesty crime scene/slaughtered lamb Dad Jokes that tagged along with this misdirected recognition, i could pass on, thank you very much.)

and during those Several Days, while basking in my By Association Artist Aura, it occurred to me Several Times to instaphoto document the task at hand, but, lest i give all the members of my Virtually Assembled Via Some Overly Complicated Algorithm online community a heart attack upon seeing a photo of me covered in RED, i resisted.

instead, i give to you a photo of Cap'n Ron's hand crafting a BUTTER LAMB.

point your dreamy eyes to the upper left corner and you will see fingers slightly red. now imagine if the red were from RED and not poor lighting/extreme color incorrection, and that the lamb crafted was a lamb slaughtered and then you will begin to get an idea of what it would have been like to lay eyes on a photo of what my hands looked like in the moment.

speaking of moments, this one moment now now is a good time for me to preemptively field your question of: did you specifically googleimagesearch 'hand + lamb + art + would be gore'? or did you happen to be on Cap'n Ron's website and worked the blog plot in order to showcase a photo highlighting the how to's of the misunderstood art of butter sculpturing and your fascination thereof?

it's the latter, thank you very much. i love EASTER and it's just around the corner and i'll be damned if i am caught THAT SUNDAY with a bunch of rectangular sticks o' yellow laying out on the table with all those right angles and pointy corners casting harsh shadows and poking holes in my soft focus pastel ambiance. o yes, between the moments of sponging art gore and going about my other artistic ventures, research on the upcoming Big Day is being done. i know of no better way to spend the day/night/wee hours/crack of dawn. well, other than blogging about it, of course. 

till then.