ageless souls soar

our 2007 holiday greeting
he kissed me
13 years ago
today

he married me
5 years ago
today

his kiss still makes me blush...

being grateful

2007 detail from one of my newest pieces, part of 2008 collection
During my yoga this morning, I was struck by how grateful I am to life, to God. Gratitude is healing.

"I thank God for all the things I don't have."
St. Teresa of Avila

forest song

a favorite photo of my beloved bangles in the forest
My wearable sculpture is inspired by nature...it is a tribute to nature.

As I walk through the forest, I listen to my soul.

The forest song is sung by every branch and by each delicate leaf.

Nature is healing...

excerpts from my journals

Musa Matriarcal

my beloved Grand Mother Maria
Madre Mía

Santa María

Luz de Cada Día

Santa Mujer

Madre María

Musa Matriarcal
hoy te sueño
hoy te siento
a mi lado, siempre amando...

celebrating the birth of my Matriarcal Muse

vida verde - green life

detail from "VIDA VERDE" sterling & turquoise CASIMIRA
The first time I wore VIDA VERDE was in Seattle, at a party of actors - intellectual theatre performers. One blue-eyed professor recited RUMI to me and concluded that I was born to be on stage.

The turquoise stones are from a vintage necklace I found in a little London boutique...years ago. I remember it was raining and grey, deliciously romantic.

Seattle and London have very similar weather.

brad pitt & my wedding

2007 sketch
Last night I dreamed with Brad Pitt. It's not the first time. Always, he is wearing a CASIMIRA...

Fame is a strange phenomenon. Earlier today I was shocked to discover a photograph from my very private wedding on a very public YOU-TUBE video...and no, Brad Pitt did not attend my wedding.

mother ocean's womb

components inspiring a sculpture
I often dream with Mother Ocean. Her salt waters and waves. Her sandy beaches. After swimming in her womb, I feel refreshed and cleansed, truly renewed and reborn. One of these days I will live on the beach...and swim by moonlight...

over stimulation

the fortunate candle that witnessed our showering & dressing

The power went out this afternoon. While our neighbors fretted over raw turkeys in ovens, we showered and dressed by candlelight.

Stepping into the hospital, I began perceiving gloomy ghosts desperate to communicate. We sat with him for an hour, his white beard growing while the clock tick-tocked. He may be going home tomorrow.

A precious baby boy greeted us, his angelic smile filling us with the freshness of new life. I held him, silently giving thanks to his parents, to him, to God. I breathed in his purity and peace. He recognized me and spoke with his eyes.

A broken man embraced me and I almost broke down. I hope I was able to transfer a bit of peace to him.

I ate a few bites of tortellini pasta and salad, afraid of undercooked turkey. I listened to the nightmares of a beautiful girl. I tasted a decadent chocolate mousse. I said I would see all of them tomorrow. He dropped me off and would meet me later on.

She looked gloriously young on her birthday. She wore two CASIMIRA pieces with unsurpassed style and glamour. I ate a bit of turkey breast (their power never went out) and Nicaraguan stuffing. I left four raisins on my plate and drank a glass of chilled white wine. There were six desserts not including birthday cake. My favorite was his bread pudding made from churros and drizzled buttered brandy.

The art critic arrived after me and had to eat while others watched. He did not touch the turkey, but enjoyed the ham.

Ava Gardner arrived late but lovely. She seemed tired and a bit sad. I need to spend more time with her.

The diplomatic chef and famous surgeon disappeared. Perhaps they went to watch Grey’s Anatomy?

I received a dedicated Coco Chanel book, a belated birthday gift. Coco and Carolina Herrera are two of my favorite designers.

Conversation fluttered between art and sex. At one point, circumcised penises where sketched on paper napkins while a forest green linen napkin became a visual aide. She claimed not to know about kundalini or penises and is terrified of snakes. As a paparazzo played with his new equipment I began to understand Sean Penn.

We discussed the possibility of publishing a book dedicated to celebrating the life of a great man.

I spontaneously took one of the sculptures off my neck and gave it to him. He was so happy and so was I.

While driving our friend home, we saw deer and foxes. Good omens. We are blessed, truly blessed...

It was a very full evening...I would love not to have to see another human being for the next 48 hours...over stimulation of the senses, especially my sixth sense...

a few Thanksgiving highlights

ANOTHER holiday

2007 study for sculpture

Charlie Brown:
We've got ANOTHER holiday to worry about.
It seems Thanksgiving Day is upon us.

Sally Brown:
I haven't even finished eating all of my Halloween candy.

excerpt from “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” circa 1973

how great how happy - really?

2007 "Her Head in the Clouds" mixed media
Everyone kept saying how great she looked. They seemed to ignore the far-away gaze in her once-vibrant eyes. She smiled; she had become an excellent actress. Everyone kept saying how happy she looked. She grinned when in reality she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. In the middle of the party she discretely stepped outside to smoke another cigarette and to telephone her lover.

excerpt from a short story written in 1999

an ex-president & cuff links

collection inspiring a sculpture & a story...
I had a very strange dream last night. My dreams are often strange, prophetic and layered with symbolism and meaning. This was a VERY strange dream, however.

An ex-president - I won't mention names or countries - was attempting to take off on a hot air balloon while eating a hamburger.

I was shopping in a supermarket and bumped into all kinds of interesting people from the past.

Before waking up, I received a fabulous design for men's cuff links - just fabulous - many of my sculpture designs originate in dreams.

figs & diamonds

study for sculpture
Given the choice between receiving a fig or a diamond as a gift, which would you prefer? He asked.

The fig, of course. She answered.

I thought you would prefer the diamond – a fig-sized one – still rough with vibrant earth energies, unpolished and raw. He challenged her.

A diamond does not nourish my body yet has the power to harm my soul. She replied.

How can a diamond hurt your soul? He wondered.

It is not the actual diamond, but what it represents. Today, a diamond represents wealth and poverty -- the wealth of earthly possessions and the poverty of spiritual enlightenment. A diamond represents ego and attachment to the material world. She bit into one of her breakfast figs.

Are you saying you will never use diamonds in your sculptures? He smiled.

On the contrary, I will use diamonds just not make them the center of attention. Plus, you asked what I would prefer YOU give ME as a GIFT. She laughed.

memory soup

painted silk, turquoise nugget and notes on my desk
recipe for memory soup:

zip-car

goya-girls

mylar bone landscape

fourteen-thousand dollar photographs

planning an exhibit

greek feud

caressing hair

tank top strap

laryngitis necklace

tar-tar-NOT

black olive

déjà vu

fold-up-tables

las tremendas tetas

el nica viejo y vulgar

the temptation top

travel writing

fertility clock

dreaming of babies

can't always get what you want

dancing

reading coffee cup: volcanic mountain of ghosts

¿por qué no te callas?

tassology

what do you see?
an island
a lush tropical island formed from volcanic eruptions

a leaf
as if painted in watercolor washes

a ballgown
belonging to a fairy queen

...so am I a fairy queen
who paints in watercolors
and lives on a volcanic island?

...or I am going to travel to a volcanic island
wearing a leaf-ballgown belonging to a fairy queen?

what do you see? I asked him.
I see we need to do the dishes, he answered.

perhaps I should drink another cup of tea in my quest of becoming an expert in tassology...

cry of hunger

2007 collage detail
This early morning, I opened a window trying to figure out where the wailing sound was coming from. Had someone left a crying baby in a basket outside or does that only happen in film and fiction?

It is the cry of hunger, he told me. A baby bird is crying for its mother who is out getting food.

The cry of hunger.
What do I hunger for?
What does my cry of hunger sound like?

I hunger for peace.
I hunger for balance.

My cry of hunger is often silent....do I need to be more like that baby bird, wailing in the early morning making sure I am heard? Or is there a louder sound in the silent cry of hunger?

mamisma - mamista

detail from my notebook

soy mamisma o mamista
y ni lo sabia...

no es exactamente lo opuesto del machismo
no es exactamente lo mismo del feminismo

mamisma es
una fuerza feroz y femenina
una fuerza natural y maternal
compasión con amor

soy mamista
y mi alma siempre lo sabia...

Gracias Isabel Allende...un placer conocerte anoche...

being mamisma or would it be mamista
without realizing it...

it’s not exactly the opposite of machismo
it’s not exactly the same as feminism

mamisma is
a fierce feminine force
a natural and maternal force
compassion with love

I am mamista
and my soul has always known it...

Thank you Isabel Allende...a pleasure meeting you last night...

stones

2003 sculpture surrounded by some of my stone collection
woke up
dancing to the rolling stones
my body
feeling the rhythm
moving freely
without judgment

some people like to
walk for exercise
jog or run to stay strong
some people enjoy machines

I dance
till I drop

I sing
till I laugh

I stretch
till I lengthen

yoga and the rolling stones
extremes that keep me in balance

excerpt from my journal

fragile as a thread

silk threads & amethysts waiting to become part of a CASIMIRA
if a human being is as fragile as a single thread...

...is humanity the cloth made of countless woven threads?

who are the threads in your life?

what texture is your cloth?

decálogo - decalogue

it's not what you think it is...2007 study for sculpture
Decálogo del Artista - Decalogue of the Artist

I. Amarás la belleza, que es la sombra de Dios sobre
el Universo.

I. You shall love beauty, which is the shadow of God
over the Universe.

II. No hay arte ateo. Aunque no ames al Creador,
lo afirmarás creando a su semejanza.

II. There is no godless art. Although you love not the
Creator, you shall bear witness to Him/Her creating His/Her likeness.

III. No darás la belleza como cebo para los sentidos,
sino como el natural alimento del alma.

III. You shall create beauty not to excite the senses
but to give sustenance to the soul.

IV. No te será pretexto para la lujuria ni para
la vanidad, sino ejercicio divino.

IV. You shall never use beauty as a pretext for luxury
and vanity but as a spiritual devotion.

V. No la buscarás en las ferias ni llevarás
tu obra a ellas, porque la Belleza es virgen,
y la que está en las ferias no es Ella.

V. You shall not seek beauty at carnival or fair
or offer your work there, for beauty is virginal
and is not to be found at carnival or fair.

VI. Subirá de tu corazón a tu canto y te habrá
purificado a ti el primero.

VI. Beauty shall rise from your heart in song,
and you shall be the first to be purified.

VII. Tu belleza se llamará también misericordia,
y consolará el corazón de los hombres.

VII. The beauty you create shall be known
as compassion and shall console the hearts of men.

VIII. Darás tu obra como se da un hijo: restando
sangre de tu corazón.

VIII. You shall bring forth your work as a mother
brings forth her child: out of the blood of your heart.

IX. No te será la belleza opio adormecedor,
sino vino generoso que te encienda para la acción,
pues si dejas de ser hombre o mujer,
dejarás de ser artista.

IX. Beauty shall not be an opiate that puts you
to sleep but a strong wine that fires you to action,
for if you fail to be a true man or a true woman,
you will fail to be an artist.

X. De toda creación saldrás con vergüenza,
porque fué inferior a tu sueño, e inferior
a ese sueño maravilloso de Dios,
que es la Naturaleza.

X. Each act of creation shall leave you humble,
for it is never as great as your dream and always
inferior to that most marvelous dream of God
which is Nature.

- GABRIELA MISTRAL

English translation by Doris Dana (with a couple changes by me)

waves

2007 Untitled, a recent photo I took in Nicaragua's Isletas
waves

my body moves in waves

when I dance...even when I walk sometimes

waves of laughter...waves of grief...waves of waves

"I love waves; I wish I had some in my hair. My daddy did, but I guess I didn't dive into that end of the gene pool. Virginia Woolf wrote my favorite book, The Waves, and I have a son who surfs them. I danced a thousand dances to Patti Smith's song "Wave" and I've waved a thousand good-byes. I've seen waves come and take my house, flood the same bedroom where they accompanied countless nights of lovemaking. I have ridden the waves of labor, of sorrow, and of bliss."
- GABRIELLE ROTH

from her book "Sweat Your Prayers: Movement as Spiritual Practice" which I am currently reading and practicing

un tesoro

2007 "TESORO" mixed media collage

llevas un tesoro por dentro

ofrecelo al mundo

con humildad y seguridad

you carry a treasure within

offer it to the world

with humility and security


part of the message I received in a dream last night

delicious ambiguity

2007 Untitled study for sculpture
On the way to Whole Foods' salad bar, I found this quote about perfection and delicious ambiguity...

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity."
- GILDA RADNER

one of the greatest artists

2007 mixed media depicting a fellow artist who lives in Granada and participates in art courses taught by Robert Barberena De La Rocha through Future of Nicaragua Foundation in association with Arts for the Aging
She wears butterflies in her hair and sings old love songs never forgotten. She sports a vintage pair of Chuck Taylor All Stars and tries not to use a cane when walking. When I hug her, she smells of fresh roses and baby powder. Once upon a time, she loved to cook and occasionally shares secret recipes. She is one of the greatest artists I have ever met, teaching me about the Art of Living.

meeting & kissing BOTERO

the postcard Maestro Fernando Botero signed for me last night
...So it stopped raining. The sun began to shine. Plans changed. I blow-dried my hair. I wore a CASIMIRA with tiny Colombian emeralds.

The exhibit was truly disturbing on numerous levels. The smaller, intimate watercolors and pencil drawings on paper impacted me more than the larger colorful paintings which reminded me of cartoons at first glance.

I recognized his tall wife from the Spanish HOLA magazines certain Latinas enjoy reading at salons and on airplanes ( I like to quickly view the photos, but have never purchased a copy). She seemed elegant yet not without a certain air of melancholy. Dressed all in black, as if mourning a youth that has begun to escape her. I could not help but notice a little stain on the right sleeve of her suit. I admired the bold sculptural necklace she wore. She said something about speaking French better than Spanish and about being married to the most famous man in the world. I asked if I might have a photo with her. She was gracious and kind. My camera was moody and out of focus.

He seemed to be a perfect gentleman. White hair and beard with sparkling little eyes of a man who has lived and seen a lot. Impeccably dressed in a dark blue-gray suit with stripes. He smiled and glanced into my eyes with a hint of mischief. An excellent memory - he remembered my grandfather who purchased his first painting in the United States. He signed my postcard. I may have given him a kiss on the cheek...I can't remember. Did I kiss Botero? Did Botero kiss me?

Will he ever paint me? Actually, I am not sure I would like to be portrayed as a cartoon figure...a chubby one at that...and I doubt he would consider changing the style which has made his art instantly recognizable.

So, does rain bring poetry and does sunlight dry it all away? Read yesterday's entry for a possible answer today...

rain, poetry & fernando botero

1996 Untitled, detail from mixed media
I have been awake since 5 a.m. The rain outside is comforting...soothing. This early morning has become a favorite time for me – a little gift I give myself. My morning ritual is made up of yoga practice and meditation followed by writing. I love knowing a lot of my neighbors are still sleeping. I have a busy day ahead...I need to complete a (gorgeous) necklace and begin to make some more cards. After classes, I am meeting my Mom to attend international poetry readings. Since it’s raining, I don’t have to worry about blow-drying my hair...what will I wear?...something that goes with the necklace I suppose...and what about meeting Fernando Botero?...that will have to be on another occasion, perhaps when he paints that portrait of me...

excerpt from my journal

noble soul's disappointment

2004 self-portrait in metal

“Disappointment to a noble soul

is what cold water is to burning metal;

it strengthens, tempers, intensifies,

but never destroys it.” - ELIZA TABOR

disappointment only creates opportunities - JOYFUL opportunities

el talismán de tu piel

2007 self-portraits inspired by Andy Warhol







"el talismán de tu piel me ha dicho
que soy la reina de tus caprichos,
yo soy el as de los corazones,
que se pasean en tus tentaciones,
el talismán de tu piel me cuenta
que en tu montura caerán las riendas

cuando una noche de amor desesperados
caigamos juntos y enredados
la alfombra y el alrededor, acabaran
desordenados
cuando una noche de amor que yo no dudo
la eternidad venga seguro
tu y yo, el desnudo y el corazón...seremos uno

yo soy la tierra de tus raíces: el talismán de tu piel lo dice,
yo soy la tierra de tus raíces: lo dice el corazón y el fuego de tu piel,
yo soy la tierra de tus raíces: el talismán de tu piel lo dice,
yo soy la tierra de tus raíces: a ver que dices tu

el talismán de tu piel me chiva
que ando descalza de esquina a esquina,
por cada calle que hay en tus sueños,
que soy el mar de todos tus puertos,
el talismán de tu piel me cuenta
que tu destino caerá a mi puerta"
song lyrics - © ROSANA ARBELO

I woke up dancing....singing...loving life...

hija de la luna

2007 "Hija de la Luna" linoleum print on hand-made tree-free paper

nací una noche salvaje

del vientre sagrado de luz


soy hija de luna

hermana de sol

madre de estrellas

the little print was created in Nicaragua as part of a recent course taught by Robert Barberena De La Rocha

deepest fear

2007 study for sculpture

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us."

–Marianne Williamson

día de los muertos

gemstones from my studio waiting to become a CASIMIRA sculpture
los espíritus me andan siguiendo
he soñado con muertos
con lunas llenas
con playas plenas
con diamantes y esmeraldas

hoy
día de los muertos
celebro mi vida
y la tuya también

hoy
día de todos los santos
me visto de luna
canto diamantes
bailo esmeraldas

muertos o vivos - todos somos los mismos