HER-story:

With words and images, I am telling my story. Through art, through sculpture, I am remembering HERstory...
CASIMIRA

Tuesday, February 19

fearless mother


"The fastest way to break the cycle of perfectionism and become a fearless mother is to give up the idea of doing it perfectly - indeed to embrace uncertainty and imperfection."

- Arianna Huffington

snapshot: my mother and I received similar gifts: Papaya (mine) and Chanel (hers)...








Monday, February 18

pearls of wisdom


I asked for wisdom and my beloved HAFIZ answered:

"One of the dumbest things you can do is backbite an animal or a human being. 

Reason is: Besides the fact that an animal who is feeling grouchy that day might bite you back...

Whenever you speak ill of any living creature something of their shadow might fall on you.

Some unwanted impressions of theirs could spill on your floor, 

and I imagine you are busy enough trying to keep things tidy."
- HAFIZ

snapshot - endless pearls with vintage silks and signature bronze sculpture




Sunday, February 17

connection to the wild


"The way to maintain one's connection to the wild is to ask yourself what it is that you want. This is the sorting of the seed from the dirt. One of the most important discriminations we can make in this matter is the difference between things that beckon to us and things that call from our souls. Nowhere can this be seen more clearly than in the choice of mates and lovers. A lover cannot be chosen a la smorgasbord. A lover has to be chosen from soul-craving. To choose just because something mouthwatering stands before you will never satisfy the hunger of the soul-self. And that is what the intuition is for; it is the direct messenger of the soul."

- Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes


Saturday, February 16


"Stars shining bright above you,
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"
Birds singing in the sycamore tree,
Dream a little dream of me.
Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me,
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.
While I'm alone and blue as can be,
Dream a little dream of me.
Stars fading, but I linger on, dear
Still craving your kiss
I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear
Just saying this
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me
Stars fading, but I linger on, dear
Still craving your kiss
I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear
Just saying this
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me.."

Songwriters: Fabian Andre, Gus Kahn, and Wilbur Schwandt
I have this song on my mind tonight...


Friday, February 15

my beloved royal fish


"You are a royal fish trying to wear pants in a country as foreign as land.

Now there's a problem worth discussing.

Your separation from God had ripened. Now fall like a golden fruit into my hand.

All your wounds from craving love exist because of heroic deeds.

Now trade in those medals; that courage will help this world.

One needs to love those they have yet to love to stand near the Friend.

Why be a royal fish trying to wear pants?

Hafiz, what are you talking about? Has something happened to good brilliant mind?" - HAFIZ

detail from mixed media on paper, circa 2007



Thursday, February 14

my littlest valentine


celebrating 33 blessed months of wildness and wonder...

my fiercely feminine warrior

my little goddess

you have ignited my courage, my strength and my independence

my wild child 

you are a dream come true

you are a miracle

you are your brother's answered prayers 

you are "La Otra" as your paternal grandfather predicted several years ago

weaning you after 33 months feels right and heartbreaking all at once...


excerpts from my journal and breastfeeding selfie 




Wednesday, February 13

sólo por orgullo ese querer


"Hey! 
no vayas presumiendo por ahí 
diciendo que no puedo estar sin ti 
tú qué sabes de mi. 

ya sé que a ti te gusta presumir 
decir a los amigos que sin ti 
ya no puedo vivir. 

no creas que te haces un favor 
cuando hablas a la gente de mi amor 
y te burlas de mi. 

que hay veces que es mejor querer así 
que ser querido y no poder sentir 
lo que siento por ti. 

ya ves 
tú nunca me has querido ya lo ves 
que nunca he sido tuyo ya lo sé 
fue sólo por orgullo ese querer. 

ya ves 
de que te vale ahora presumir 
ahora que no estoy ya junto a ti 
que les dirás de mi ? 

recuerdo que ganabas siempre tú 
que hacías de ese triunfo una virtud 
yo era sombra y tú luz. 

no sé si tú también recordarás 
que siempre que intentaba hacer la paz 
yo era un río en tu mar. 

ahora que ya todo terminó 
que como siempre soy el perdedor 
cuando pienses en mi. 

no creas que te guardo algún rencor 
es siempre más feliz quien más amó 
y ese siempre fui yo..."

 - Julio Iglesias


Tuesday, February 12

rage


Wisdom found me this morning during sunrise meditation and yoga:

"Under the tutelage of Wild Woman we reclaim the ancient, the intuitive, and the passionate. When our lives reflect hers, we act cohesively. We carry through, or learn to if we don't already know how. We take the steps to make our ideas manifest in the world. We regain focus when we lose it, attend to personal rhythms, draw closer to friends and mates who are in accord with wildish and integral rhythms. We choose relationships that nurture our creative and instinctive lives. We reach our to nurture others. And we are willing to teach receptive mates about wildish rhythms if need be.

But there is another aspect to mastery, and that is dealing with what can only be called women's rage. The release of that rage is required. Once women remember the origins of their rage, they feel they may never stop grinding their teeth. Ironically, we also feel very anxious to disperse our rage, for it feels distressing and noxious. We wish to hurry up and do away with it.

But repressing it will not work. It is like trying to put fire into a burlap bag. Neither is it good to scald ourselves or someone else with it. So there we are holding a powerful emotion that we feel came upon us unbidden. It is a little like toxic waste; there it is, no one wants it, but there are few disposal areas for it. One has to travel far in order to find a burial ground...

...All emotion, even rage, carries knowledge, insight, what some call enlightenment. Our rage can, for a time, become teacher...a thing not to be rid of so fast, but rather something to climb the mountain for, something to personify via various images in order to learn from, deal with internally, then shape into something useful in the world as a result, or else let it go back down to dust. In a cohesive life, rage is not a stand-alone item. It is a substance waiting for our transformative efforts. The cycle of rage is like any other cycle; it rises, falls, dies and is released as new energy. Attention to the matter of rage begins the process of transformation.

Allowing oneself to be taught by one's rage, thereby transforming it, disperses it. One's energy returns to use in other areas, especially the area of creativity. Although some people claim they can create out of their chronic rage, the problem is that rage confines access to the collective unconscious - that infinite reservoir of imaginal images and thoughts - so that a person creating out of rage tends to create the same thing over and over again, with nothing new coming through. Untransformed rage can become a constant mantra about how oppressed, hurt and tortured we were...

...Rage corrodes our trust that anything good can occur. Something has happened to hope. And behind the loss of hope is usually anger; behind anger, pain; behind pain, usually torture of one sort or another, sometimes recent, but more often from long ago.

In physical post-trauma work, we know that the sooner injury is dealt with, the less its effect spread or worsen. Also the more quickly a trauma is contained and dealt with, the faster the recovery time. This is true for psychological trauma as well. What condition would we be in if we'd broken a leg as a child, and thirty years later it still had not been properly set?

...There is a life beyond thoughtless rage...it takes a conscious practice to contain and heal such. But we can do it. It truly takes only climbing through one step at a time.

So rather than trying to "behave" and not feel our rage or rather than using it to burn down every living thing in a hundred-mile radius, it is better to first ask rage to take a seat with us, have some tea, talk a while so we can find out what summoned this visitor. At first rage...it doesn't want to talk, it doesn't want to eat, just wants to sit there and stare, or rail, or be left alone. It is this critical point that we call the healer, our wisest self, our best resources for seeing beyond ego irritation and aggravation. The healer is always the "far-seer." She is the one who can tell us what good can come from exploring this emotive surge."
- Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D



Monday, February 11

manic monday




"six o'clock already,
I was just in the middle of a dream,


I was kissing Valentino,

by a crystal blue Italian stream...

it's just another manic Monday,
I wish it was Sunday,
'cause that's my fun day,
my I don't have to run day,
it's just another manic Monday...

all of the nights,
why did my lover have to pick last night,
to get down...
he tells me in his bedroom voice:
come on honey, let's go make some noise...

time it goes so fast,
when you're having fun...
it's just another manic Monday..." - The Bangles

I am learning to love my early Monday mornings - they hold infinite potential for the week ahead...







Sunday, February 10

sin robarte un beso


"Son muchos años que pasaron sin decir que y en verdad te quiero pero encuentro formas de engañar mi corazón.

Son muchos años que pasaron sin robarte un beso solo quiero un beso, y por esa boca no me importa ser ladrón.

No puede ser que no he encontrado todavía las palabras y en esa noche no dije nada.

No puede ser que en un segundo me perdí en tu mirada aunque por dentro yo te gritaba.

Déjame robarte un beso que me llegue hasta el alma, como un vallenato de esos viejos que nos gustaban.

Se que sientes mariposas, yo también sentí sus alas.

Déjame robarte un beso que te enamore y tú no te vayas...

Déjame robarte el corazón.

Déjame escribirte una canción.

Déjame que con un beso nos perdamos los dos.


Déjame robarte el corazón.

Déjame subirle a esta canción.

Para que bailemos juntos como nadie bailó.


Déjame robarte un beso que me llegue hasta el alma.

Como un vallenato de esos viejos que nos gustaban.


Se que sientes mariposas, yo también sentí sus alas.

Déjame robarte un beso que te enamore y tú no te vayas.


Yo sé que a ti te gusta que yo te cante así.

Que tú te pones seria pero te hago reír.

Que se que tu me quieres... Por qué tú eres así.

Y cuando estamos juntos ya no se que decir..."

Carlos Vives and Sebastian Yatra

Saturday, February 9

si miro si toco


"Quiero que sepas
una cosa.

Tú sabes cómo es esto:
si miro
la luna de cristal, la rama roja
del lento otoño en mi ventana,
si toco
junto al fuego
la impalpable ceniza
o el arrugado cuerpo de la leña,
todo me lleva a ti,
como si todo lo que existe,
aromas, luz, metales,
fueran pequeños barcos que navegan
hacia las islas tuyas que me aguardan.

Ahora bien,
si poco a poco dejas de quererme
dejaré de quererte poco a poco.

Si de pronto
me olvidas
no me busques,
que ya te habré olvidado.

Si consideras largo y loco
el viento de banderas
que pasa por mi vida
y te decides
a dejarme a la orilla
del corazón en que tengo raíces,
piensa
que en ese día,
a esa hora
levantaré los brazos
y saldrán mis raíces
a buscar otra tierra.

Pero
si cada día,
cada hora
sientes que a mí estás destinada
con dulzura implacable.
Si cada día sube
una flor a tus labios a buscarme,
ay amor mío, ay mía,
en mí todo ese fuego se repite,
en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida,
mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada,
y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos
sin salir de los míos."

- Pablo Neruda

"I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is: 
if I look 
at the crystal moon, at the red branch 
of the slow autumn at my window, 
if I touch 
near the fire 
the impalpable ash 
or the wrinkled body of the log, 
everything carries me to you, 
as if everything that exists, 
aromas, light, metals, 
were little boats 
that sail 
toward those isles of yours that wait for me. 

Well, now, 
if little by little you stop loving me 
I shall stop loving you little by little. 

If suddenly 
you forget me 
do not look for me, 
for I shall already have forgotten you. 

If you think it long and mad, 
the wind of banners 
that passes through my life, 
and you decide 
to leave me at the shore 
of the heart where I have roots, 
remember 
that on that day, 
at that hour, 
I shall lift my arms 
and my roots will set off 
to seek another land. 

But 
if each day, 
each hour, 
you feel that you are destined for me 
with implacable sweetness, 
if each day a flower 
climbs up to your lips to seek me, 
ah my love, ah my own, 
in me all that fire is repeated, 
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, 
my love feeds on your love, beloved, 
and as long as you live it will be in your arms 
without leaving mine."

- Pablo Neruda
detail from mixed media on canvas, 2017

Friday, February 8

reputations


"When the Queen of Sheba came to Solomon,
she left behind her kingdom and her wealth,
the same way lovers leave their reputations."

- RUMI

mixed media on paper from a series


Thursday, February 7

lovers and tribes


"We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves. 

I wish for all this to be marked on by body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography - to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience."

- Michael Ondaatje 

detail from mixed media on canvas


Wednesday, February 6

word made flesh

"Children show scars like medals.
Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. 
A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh."
- Leonard Cohen

limited edition prints from original mixed medias on paper




Tuesday, February 5

lunar new year blessings


what does this new dark moon whisper...

may we remain still enough and allow ourselves to feel and heal...

mixed media on paper from my journals 


Monday, February 4

las aguas de mis pensamientos


"Hay almas que tienen
azules luceros,
mañanas marchitas
entre hojas del tiempo,
y castos rincones
que guardan un viejo
rumor de nostalgias
y sueños.
Otras almas tienen
dolientes espectros
de pasiones. Frutas
con gusanos. Ecos
de una voz quemada
que viene de lejos
como una corriente
de sombra. Recuerdos
vacíos de llanto
y migajas de besos.
Mi alma está madura
hace mucho tiempo,
y se desmorona
turbia de misterio.
Piedras juveniles
roídas de ensueño
caen sobre las aguas
de mis pensamientos.
Cada piedra dice:
“¡Dios está muy lejos!”
Federico García Lorca (1898-1936)

Sunday, February 3

half agony half hope


“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. 

I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it..."

- Jane Austen (1775 - 1817)



Saturday, February 2

deeply


"The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself." 
- Anais Nin 

mixed media on paper 


Friday, February 1

eyes the color of a storm


so brave - so strong, the child is born
with eyes the color of a storm

earth mother bestows him volcanic fire
making him a man – a king admired

his queen - his one desire
his daughter - his best attire

for a king and the women in his life

mixed media collage on paper, except from my 2007 journals